#gods and spirits crate

[celeste-clearwater-06]

The Kitchen Window (pt. 6 - the epilogue)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (Raph has to make his intentions clear to you and to whatever it is that you two are)

warnings - none

word count - 2.5k

READ PREVIOUS PARTS BEFORE THIS

“I look stupid, Mike.”

“Nah, bro you look great!” Raph’s younger brother is looking his outfit up and down, trying to perfect any wrinkles or stray threads, “She’s gonna love it, trust me.”

Raph scuffs his new air force’s on the cement, while the other turtle straightens the collar of the graphic tee up around his neck. Maybe he could lend his fashionable little brother a bit of slack. Mikey knew a lot more about this stuff.

It’s early August. Summer’s fleeting, to warm days and cooler nights, which are perfect for this exact occasion.

Raph has been a mess of fluttering nerves all week trying to set this date up, with the help of his brothers and April. Every little detail, meticulously planned.

At first he was gonna do it on his own, in secret. Come to your door, trip over his words and fumble the bag, because lord knows he’s not good with expressing his feelings.

Thank god for April and his siblings, though it hurt his ego a little to come to them and admit he didn’t know how to set up a lousy dinner. Of course they were happy to help. Mikey and April especially.

So now, the five of them were on the roof of your apartment complex and pulling together all of their different tastes and ideas to create this adorable little date for him and his girl.

Raphael didn’t know what the two of you were. After that bizarre (albeit fantastic) first kiss, his visits to you were so much more frequent. Even if it was quick, he’d make a pit stop to your window for a peck on the cheek that kept his spirits up for a long night's patrol. More often than not, you two would be chatting away in the late night hours. And then of course make out a little, with him hanging on the sill like a fool.

It was so great, and it filled Raph with something he didn’t know he needed. Every second he wasn’t with you, he counted down till the next time he'd meet your gorgeous face again, greeting him with a kind, welcoming smile that made his knees wobble. But that was it.

There wasn’t really a label. Not that he liked those anyway.

He just needed some clarity. Some sort of outwardly spoken agreement that you guys weren’t just really good friends who kissed and held hands and tried to hold in your laughter in the dark, trying not to disturb the peace of your neighbors.

“Oh this looks great.”

Raph watches the way April appreciates her work of a cute little vase of flowers on the center of a table, hands settled on her hips. Well, it’s less of a table than it is a large wooden crate with a nice-ish tablecloth, but it serves just the same. It’s not too extravagant, not too drab. Just right. It suits the mix of your different lives. Little, dollar store candles light the area with a warm haze, next to the tin containers filled with the meal you’d taught him to make months ago. He’s hoping it tastes as good as it did when you make it. Raph hasn’t told you how often he whips it up at the lair when he’s missing you.

“How’s lookout, Leo?”

The blue-banded turtle looks over his shoulder, where he’s crouched on the ledge right next to the fire escape ladder.

“All clear.”

Thankfully, everything seems to be coming together just as Raph wanted it to. It settles some of the butterflies that rage in his stomach. The time for one of his brother’s to go and fetch you from your apartment is growing closer and closer while Donnie is scooting the plastic folding chairs next to the crate.

He’s so not ready for this. A little voice is nagging in the back of his head to just back out now.

Raph knows you’ll at least like it. Just how you like everything else he does for you. He has no clue why this is so damn difficult.

“Alright, Raph.”

April clasps her hands together and looks up to him for approval.

“What do we think?”

He thinks it looks great. Raphael loves the gentle little glow everything gives against the dim light pollution that stretches out over the city. Will you?

“You’re a lifesaver, O’Niel.”

“Don’t forget it.”

He snorts.

“I guess it’s showtime then!”

Mikey attacks his older brother with a hug from behind.

“Aw come on Mike!” Raph’s trying to swat him off his shell, but not before his two other siblings, and April crowd him with an embrace, that eases the nerves running rampant. He rolls his eyes, but can’t hold back the grateful grin that breaks through his annoyance. Their words are encouraging and warm, fueling the confidence he’s so desperately been trying to grasp for all this time.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

“Trust us, she is gonna love it.”

Leo’s hand ruffles over Raph’s red bandanna.

“Go get em’, tiger.”

Ouf, what a cornball.

“Alright, alright!” They all break away from the group hug with excited smiles. This is home to Raphael. All his favorite people- well, most - in his corner of the ring and hyping his happy-ass up to romance a cute girl.

“Leo?”

“I’ll go get her for you.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Your apartment is warm. Over the weeks, the walls are filled with picture frames and cute decor that April and the boys have been bringing you. Polaroids of you and the boys are littered on your bedside table and posted on the fridge with little paw print magnets. Most of them are with or of Raph. Him sleeping with an open mouth, or being dog-piled on by Mike and Donnie. Your favorite is the one where you’re sitting on his shoulders, laughing, while he’s grinning into the camera flash. April took it, down in the lair, where he was parading you around after everyone had a few-too-many drinks. The once empty living space is now full of life and love and sooo, so many cat toys.

You’re on the livingroom floor now, playing with sweet Vannie to distract you from the lack of texts from your best friend. It’s been worrying you all day, that Raph hasn’t responded to any of your messages, even the funny memes, like the others you send him daily.

You’d given up on the last message, a little over an hour ago, though it doesn’t keep you from repeatedly glancing at your phone while your cat darts after the laser pointer across the carpet and onto the sofa. The little bell on her collar tinks quickly with each movement. She sees someone through your window before you. Two taps against the glass make your head whip around excitedly.

It’s not who you’re expecting, but Leo’s visit is still a nice surprise.

“Hey Lee!” You hide the disappointment with a happy smile that he returns.

“How’s it going?”

“Good! Good,” he doesn’t miss the way you’re trying to peek over his shoulder, “Have you heard from Raph at all? I couldn’t get a hold of him today.”

“Actually yeah.”

This perks your attention right back up, locking with his eyes that carry a mischievous glow.

“Oh! How’s he doing? He didn’t get hurt on patrol, did he?”

Leo chuckles.

“Nah. He’s been busy.”

Busy? Weird. Even if Raphael were kicking sorry ass, he’d text you back in a heartbeat. Something fishy was going on.

“Oh. Huh.”

“You wanna see him?”

That, you couldn’t say no to.

“Is he here?”

Leo knows, with the way you two talk about each other, that it’s love. He knows more than both of you. It's so funny how his younger brother and you will spend hours at a time just sitting in silence or talking about life, and then when you’re apart, all that one of you can think or say has something to do with the other.

“He’s up top,” his head gestures back up the fire escape. You’re already climbing out the window, while he and Vannie stare. Lee takes a hold of your arm when your foot reaches that first step. You look back at him with a puzzled stare.

“You gotta close your eyes.”

“What?”

It’s a surprise. That makes you nervous.

“Just trust me. I’ll take you up there, you just can’t look.”

Uh oh. You’re hesitant to follow his instructions, but his hand is already blinding your vision, and he’s scooping you of your feet. You shout in surprise.

“Leo, what’s going on?”

The only reply you recieve is his heavy footfall on the metal stairs. He has to take his hand away, but you keep your eyes clenched shut, partially to obey his order, but the other is so you don’t have to see how far up you might be from the ground below.

“This is freaking me out Lee,”

“I’m not gonna drop you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Oh, he knows. He’s just great at keeping secrets.

The final, thudding footstep lands on concrete, and he sets you on the ground, steadying you onto your feet. Your breath is nervous, heart racing, senses heightened. You can hear the buzz of the city off in the distance. A cool breeze brush through your hair. The concrete scraping on your wooly socks.

“Alright, take a look.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Your eyes blink open. Then again. Your brain isn’t processing whatever is in front of you, until he speaks.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

Raph’s hands are shoved into the front pockets of jeans you’ve never seen him in. They’re new. So are his shoes, and the black, long sleeve tee that’s perfectly tailored to fit, and let his shell still breathe from the back. The casual clothes are incredibly flattering on him. You can still see the faint lines of his toned muscles under the cotton, catching in soft light. He’s so handsome, it hurts. And cute. GOD was he cute.

Shifting his weight, subtly from one foot to the other and smiling, anxious and bashful, while you stare at him in bafflement. Behind him is an adorable, candle lit dinner and your favorite flowers in a glass vase, all tuned with the ambient sounds of New York.

“Oh, Raph.”

His name comes out in a sigh, incredulous, full of shock and wonder. You take a few steps forward to better take in the effort he’s thrown into all of this. You’re nearly speechless, breathless, and trying to swallow the lump in your throat. He set up a date. A date! For you!

“You like it?”

His eyes are hesitant, but full of a childlike hope when they meet yours.

“Raph, this is… you did this?”

“Well, I had help. I ain’t this creative.” Raph chuckles nervously, nodding to where Leo was standing, now gone without a trace, “But… yeah.”

“For… me?”

You’re still so surprised at the sweetness of it all.

“Well, I’d hate to be up here eatin chicken and rice by myself all night, so yeah.”

He’s easing up, gentle grin mirroring yours.

“Raph this is so great!”

Like a kid, you all but skip over to look closer at the make-shift table and chicken and rice in their bowls, stream rolling off in the tepid air, while your fingers over the tablecloth. He’s laughing at your stupidly huge smile.

“I was hoping you might think so.”

You look up at him, face glowing in the candlelight.

“I know I haven’t been texting you back. Been a nervous wreck all day.”

His expression contorted into a soft gout of admiration, a soft smile, and even softer, green eyes. Your heart leaps. You know what that look is. You’ve seen it so many times in Raph’s face and now you’re putting it all together while he stands just feet from you. He’s so perfect.

You stride back over to him and let him take your hands in his. He’s nervous again, taking a deep breath.

“Look,” he begins, “I just… I figured if we’re a thing and all…Well, I wanna do this the right way. I hope it’s alright with you. I know it’s nothin’ fancy but…”

He groans, slapping hand over his face. You giggle at how he trips over his sentence.

“I had a whole, stupid speech for this shit. Now I just look like a fuckin’ idiot.”

Those fumbling, nervous words speak novels to you. He doesn’t have to say much for you to just get exactly what Raph is trying to say.

“I think… that sounds great,” your voice is soft, “And I also think I’m in love with you and I have had no idea what to do with myself, since the first day we met.“ you exhale the words like they’ve been trying to claw their way from your throat.

This catches him completely off guard. Raph’s eyes are as wide as they were the first night you kissed him. His nostrils flare. Before you think you’ve fucked yourself up royally, he pulls you up towards him in a soul-snatching kiss that depletes the air from your lungs, feet nearly leaving the ground. You’re desperately grabbing at the collar of his shirt to deepen it, but he pulls away, and lifts you completely from the ground in a tight embrace, leaving you both gasping for your breaths.

“Jesus, you have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that,” Raph sighs next to your ear. “I love ya. A lot.”

His arms tighten further around you and you smell a nice cologne in the crook of his neck, where your head is buried.

He sets you back to your feet and lifts your chin with his finger for a much more gentle, passionate kiss, that you accept happily. His hand rests gently on your hip.

“You’re the best thing that coulda ever happened to a weirdo like me,” Raph’s forehead is pressed down against yours, with closed eyes.

“You’re better,” you counter. He gives your hip a squeeze, “Let’s be something. Even if it’s hard.”

He chuckles.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, Sunshine.”

You’re both right where you belong, centimeters away from each other, smiling like idiots, and finally off that steep cliff that’s been taunting you for months. Raph is your home, and you’re his, far out of that little kitchen window.

A Polaroid click behind you just makes you shake your head with a flustered grin.

“Mikey, are you shittin me right now?”

You can hear his little brother shuffle back into whatever shadow he came from, laughing along with the rest of the party that's hidden away.

“Fuckin idiot.”

fin <3

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Oh no, wait...

What's this?

A gift for my dear readers?

Take a listen 🤭😝

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

I GOT YOUUU

I'VE BEEN SLAVING AWAY AT THIS SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST CHAPTER, JUST TO GET TO THIS POINT MUAHAHAHA

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED READING (AND LISTENING!!) AS MUCH AS I DID CREATING THIS FUN LITTLE STORY!!!

The Kitchen Window was SUCH A FUN PROJECT, and I'm so glad I've been receiving all of your guys' support, interaction, and kind words 😭😭 as a token of gratitude, I decided to make that little audio clip that has been the death of me to create 🫠

Thank you all again SO FUCKIN MUCH

This concludes the 6 part story, The Kitchen Window 🩷💓💕

Please, LIKE, REBLOG, AND ASK TO BE A PART OF MY TAG LIST SO YOU DONT MISS OUT ON MORE WRITINGS LIKE THIS ONE

Till next time!

LOVE YA BABESSSS 💕💓🩷🌸🧼🫧

taglist - [ @ladyofparchments @well-its-not-human-anymore @raphaelsrightarm @chiliiscereal @milkytheholy1 @moxfirefly @raphsgrl @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @imthegreenfairy86 @aurora-the-kunoichi @angelhazeisaweirdo @raisin-shell @fyreball66 @redsrooftopprincess @milykins @ahhhhhhhhhfuck @quitecontrary-to-mary @the-cauldron-witch @brins-rogers @yelocaltrashcan @pheradream-15 @asillysimp @miranexx @cinnamonskiss @le0n-ardo @silveritydreams @goldenflowerdragon @loveshrubs @glitterystarfishfestival @supersleepyslowpoke @floflodoesart @crimsonrubie ]

[elryuse]

Let The World Burn

Kang Hyewon X Male Reader

Tags : Royalty AU, Empress, Yandere, Tyrant, Cold, Fierce, Dangerous Love, Obsession, Maniac, Kingdom Words : 3,183 Words

A Lovely Yandere Commision Work for My Friend @Pizza_anon From Ko-fi. I Hope You Guys Liked it.

The sky over the Imperial capital was a tapestry of silver clouds and blood-red banners. It stretched endlessly, a reminder of who ruled below — Empress Kang Hyewon.

Her name alone could make generals flinch and nobles bow lower than etiquette demanded. Her empire was flawless in its cruelty, immaculate in design. Cities bowed to her. Families bled for her. Her throne was carved from marble and myth, and her empire thrived on obedience.

But even gods have moments of disruption.

It began in a village without a name. A place the Empire only remembered when taxes were due or rebels dared to whisper. It was there — among farmers, filth, and forgotten sons — that she saw you.

You don’t remember the first time she looked at you. But she did.

Mud streaked your arms. The coarse fabric of your shirt clung to your chest as you hauled crates with the ease of someone who had no choice but strength. Your eyes weren’t dulled like the others. They burned with something dangerous: spirit. Resistance. Life.

That was what undid her.

She arrived in a gold carriage with blood-red curtains, guarded by a phalanx of imperial blades. Everyone dropped to their knees. Even the cattle seemed to bow.

Everyone, except you.

You were late. You didn’t know she was coming.

When you did finally appear, dirt-stained and panting from work, you stood still as her cold eyes found yours.

And for the first time in years, Empress Kang Hyewon smiled.

They said you were "recruited." That was the word. A summons, not an arrest.

But everyone knew what it meant. When the Empress herself requested a peasant by name, no one questioned it — they only watched with widened eyes and hushed prayers.

You were bathed in rosewater, dressed in imperial linens, and brought to the palace — a sprawling monument of white stone and crimson silk. A city within a city, filled with paintings of gods and soldiers, with mirrors that never showed your reflection quite right.

You didn’t know why you were there.

No one told you.

You weren’t made to scrub floors or pour wine like the other new servants. Instead, you were given a room — alone. Finer than anything you’d ever slept in, though still far from the luxury of nobles.

Meals were delivered. Robes were tailored. Your hands — once calloused from years of labor — began to heal.

And still, no explanation came.

Until she did.

She entered your room without a word.

No guards. No warning.

Just her.

Empress Kang Hyewon, in a gown that shimmered like ice under moonlight, her crown absent but her presence undeniable.

You stood.

Not out of fear. But something else — a tension that coiled in your chest like fire about to catch.

Her gaze swept over you. Not like a ruler assessing her servant, but like a storm considering a tree: wondering how long until it breaks.

“You didn’t kneel,” she said.

Her voice was silk over steel.

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know you were—”

“I know,” she interrupted.

Silence followed. Heavy. Sharp.

Then she stepped closer, and your breath hitched.

“You looked me in the eye,” she murmured.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect—”

“But you did.”

She was close now. Close enough to smell the delicate perfume that clung to her skin — something cold, expensive, and floral, like winter blooming.

“But I didn’t mind,” she added softly.

Your heart thundered.

She looked at you like you were prey — not in the way of a hunter, but something worse.

An owner.

A collector.

And then she smiled again — faint, dangerous, beautiful.

“I want to see what you become under my hand.”

The days blurred after that.

You were summoned often, though never for tasks. Not like the others.

Instead, she would have you sit beside her during court, your presence ignored by nobles too terrified to ask. Sometimes, she had you walk with her through the palace gardens, where roses bloomed the color of fresh wounds.

Other times, she’d simply watch you.

Sitting in her private chamber — all velvet and candlelight — as you stood quietly by the wall, unsure what was expected.

It felt like being studied by something ancient.

One night, she broke the silence.

“Do you know what they say about me?” she asked, swirling wine in a glass worth more than your village.

You didn’t answer.

She chuckled. “They say I’m cold. A serpent in human skin. That I slit throats with words alone.”

Her eyes flicked toward you.

“But you,” she whispered, “you don’t look at me like they do.”

You met her gaze. “Should I be afraid?”

A pause.

“No,” she said. “You should be mine.”

They whisper now, the servants.

They speak in corners, behind tapestries, careful not to be heard.

Why does the Empress favor him?

Why does he dine alone, in silence, with silver cutlery?

Why does she smile — actually smile — only when he’s nearby?

No one understands.

Because no one knows.

Not what happens when the sun falls.

Not what begins when the doors to her private wing close behind you.

At night, you go to her chamber.

Not because you are ordered.

But because you are summoned.

Your room always bears a single black ribbon tied around the door handle. That is her signal.

That is the command only you obey.

Her chamber is dark, lit by only a dozen candles and the glow of a hearth.

She sits by the window, in a silk robe that falls off one shoulder like moonlight slipping down a mountain.

“Come here,” she says.

You do.

She doesn’t touch you at first.

Instead, she looks at you — hungry. Not for flesh, but for something deeper. As if she wants to consume your very existence.

Her fingers trail across your jaw.

Rough from labor.

Still not soft enough for court.

“Every man here wears a mask,” she whispers. “But not you.”

You shiver.

“Should I?” you ask.

She steps closer.

“No,” she murmurs, “I want to break you without ever changing you.”

You become her obsession.

And you feel it — in the way her eyes linger, the way her fingers curl possessively into the fabric of your shirt when you part.

She doesn’t ask for loyalty. She assumes it.

She doesn’t demand love. She waits for it to become inevitable.

And part of you hates it.

Hates how the other servants flinch at your presence.

Hates the golden cage you now live in — one carved by power and lust and quiet madness.

But another part…

Another part waits for the ribbon each night.

Another part aches when she doesn’t summon you.

Because as much as she owns you…

You’re beginning to wonder if she’s becoming yours, too.

One night, as rain lashes the palace windows, she pulls you to the edge of her bed.

She looks tired — not physically, but spiritually. The weight of empire etched into her shoulders.

“You could run,” she says suddenly. “No one would stop you.”

You say nothing.

She leans in.

“But you won’t.”

Her hand touches your chest, over your heart.

“I don’t need chains to keep you here,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the smallest crack in her imperial mask. “You’re already bound.”

And for the first time since arriving, you don’t feel like a prisoner.

You feel like a secret.

A dangerous, beautiful secret that even the most powerful woman in the world doesn’t want the world to see.

Because in here, behind locked doors and quiet confessions, Empress Kang Hyewon is not just a ruler.

She is yours.

And you…

You are hers.

The palace was colder now.

Not in temperature, but in tension — the kind that crept down the spine of every noble and servant alike. Whispers followed every footstep. Eyes darted to the shadows with suspicion.

Because something was shifting.

Something dangerous.

And it all began the day she bled.

It started innocently. A diplomatic summit. An annual display of loyalty, where nobles from the outer territories kissed the Empress’s hand and pretended not to plot behind her back.

You were never meant to be there. You weren’t a guard, nor an advisor. Just… her favorite.

But Hyewon brought you anyway.

She didn’t say why. She never did.

You stood just behind her throne — dressed not in servant garb, but a tailored jacket of midnight blue, embroidered subtly with her crest.

The nobles noticed. Of course they did.

Their gazes sliced across your skin, full of poison and envy.

But Hyewon didn’t flinch. She leaned back in her throne and sipped wine, letting her fingers rest lazily on the armrest… just close enough to yours.

“I like the way they hate you,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded. “It makes me feel closer to you.”

You didn’t know how to answer that.

So you said nothing.

But your silence didn’t stop the chaos from erupting.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

A servant — or what everyone thought was a servant — slipped past the outer guard. No one noticed the dagger until it was too close.

You didn’t think. You moved.

Your body collided with hers just as the blade slashed the air. It caught your side, not hers. A blinding jolt of pain flared through your ribs, but you stayed upright, gripping Hyewon tight as guards tackled the would-be assassin.

Blood soaked through your shirt. Your knees buckled.

Her hands cupped your face instantly, shaking.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why did you…”

You didn’t have an answer.

You were just… there. You had to be.

“I don’t know,” you choked, “I just—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, eyes wild, voice cracking. “Shut up and don’t you dare die.”

You didn’t die.

But someone else did.

Many someones, actually.

The rebellion was small, hidden until now — a faction of peasants and defectors who had decided that Empress Kang Hyewon’s reign had lasted long enough. That her cold elegance and ruthless efficiency needed to end.

They made a mistake.

Because they hadn’t considered you.

And worse — they hurt you.

The palace turned red after that.

Not in banners.

In blood.

She didn’t hold court for a week. The nobles trembled in uncertainty. The servants stayed silent.

Because they heard what she did in the dungeons.

One by one, the rebels — and those even suspected of sympathizing — were dragged into the bowels of the palace. Screams echoed against stone and iron. They said she interrogated them herself.

Bare-handed.

Face blank.

Voice low and merciless.

She didn’t ask for names. She ripped them from mouths.

Not because they threatened her empire.

But because they had dared to harm you.

You awoke in a bed far softer than yours.

Bandaged. Bare-chested. Dimly aware of the pain in your side and the pounding of your heart.

Then you heard the chair creak.

She was there.

Hyewon.

Crownless. Sleepless. Her gown was wrinkled — Hyewon, who never allowed a thread out of place. Her eyes were darker than before, ringed with shadows and fury.

You tried to sit up.

She pushed you back down, gentle but firm.

“Don’t,” she said. “You’re not ready.”

You searched her expression. “What happened?”

She stared at you for a long, long time.

Then she said, voice low: “They touched what’s mine.”

Your throat tightened.

“Hyewon…”

“Don’t speak. Just…” Her hand cupped your face. Her thumb brushed your lower lip like she was memorizing it. “You’re mine.”

“I didn’t mean to get in the way,” you murmured. “I just… I couldn’t let them—”

She leaned down suddenly, lips brushing your ear.

“You protected me,” she whispered. “No one’s ever done that before.”

Her voice trembled.

Not with weakness.

With something far worse.

Emotion.

“I’m supposed to protect you,” she said, pulling back. “Not the other way around.”

You swallowed.

“But I’m just—”

“If you ever say that again,” she hissed, “I will burn this palace to the ground with everyone in it. Don’t ever call yourself just anything.”

A silence.

Then she looked away, voice softer. “You bleed for me. I’ll kill for you. That’s balance.”

Rumors spread.

Of course they did.

The boy from the village, bleeding to save the Empress.

Her fury.

Her obsession.

And something new — her fear.

Because for the first time in a decade, she looked vulnerable. Not to war. Not to treason.

But to you.

A week passed.

You recovered.

But something in the palace changed.

Nobles no longer scoffed. They bowed — to you. Shallowly. Bitterly. But still.

And yet… there was someone else.

A nobleman. Lord Seong Minjae.

Young. Handsome. Viper-tongued and rich beyond measure.

He arrived under the guise of support, bringing soldiers and supplies to “aid the crown.” But everyone knew what he wanted:

To marry the Empress.

To steal the throne she held alone.

To eliminate you.

You caught him watching you during court.

Not with curiosity.

But calculation.

One evening, Hyewon summoned you — no ribbon this time. Just two guards who led you to the garden.

She was there. Alone. Lanterns swayed in the breeze.

She didn’t look at you when you arrived.

“Lord Seong asked for my hand,” she said.

You stiffened.

She turned, slowly.

“And I laughed in his face.”

Your heart thudded.

“But he’s dangerous,” she continued, stepping toward you. “Too powerful to dismiss completely. If I reject him outright… it might fracture the court.”

You understood. Politics.

So you asked, “What are you going to do?”

She stopped in front of you.

Her gaze was ice and fire, fury and yearning.

“I’m going to give him exactly what he wants.”

You flinched.

“…You’re going to marry him?”

“No,” she said. “I’m going to give him hope. I’ll play the game.”

She leaned in, lips brushing your neck.

“But I’ll sleep in your bed.”

You shivered.

“And when he finally overplays his hand,” she whispered, “I’ll break him.”

You swallowed hard. “This… this is dangerous.”

“So is love,” she said.

You looked up, heart pounding. “Is that what this is?”

She didn’t answer with words.

She kissed you.

Deep.

Possessive.

Like she was sealing a pact with your soul.

Later that night, as you lay in her arms, her fingers traced the scar on your side.

She whispered against your skin:

“You’re not just a servant.”

Another kiss.

“You’re not just a man.”

Another.

“You’re mine. The only thing in this cursed world that I won’t let the crown take from me.”

You closed your eyes.

And in the dark, you finally admitted to yourself—

You didn’t protect her because you were loyal.

You protected her because you loved her.

And now?

You weren’t sure who was more dangerous:

Her empire.

Or her love.

She changed after the rebellion.

After your blood stained the marble of her throne room.

After you, a boy from a forgotten village, shielded an Empress with your own body — not for duty, not for coin, but something you still couldn’t name.

And after that day, Hyewon was no longer content to rule her empire.

She ruled you.

The transition was slow, then all at once.

She began purging the council — the old, greedy men who once advised her with veiled condescension. One by one, they disappeared. Exiled. Silenced. Or executed publicly under vague charges of “treasonous intention.”

Their crime?

Suggesting she send you away. That you were a “distraction.” That her obsession with a commoner would rot the empire from within.

They were right.

And she killed them anyway.

Then came the reformation.

She rewrote the laws.

Words like "equality" and "nobility" lost their meaning. Ideology became crime. Dissent became blasphemy.

“No one speaks but me,” she declared, draped in crimson velvet before a sea of trembling nobles. “No one thinks but me.”

It sounded like madness.

But no one dared to say it.

Because her gaze was fixed on you, seated beside her throne — no longer behind it.

You wore black, now. Silks you didn’t ask for. Rings you didn’t earn. The people no longer whispered “servant” when they saw you.

They whispered “consort.”

“Beloved.”

“God.”

She built you an army.

An entire division of elite soldiers — all women. Trained from birth. Loyal only to her.

Or rather, to you.

The Crimson Vow, they were called.

Their only purpose: Your protection.

They followed you everywhere. To the garden. To the bath. Even into the library, where you once begged them to give you privacy. They didn’t blink.

One of them said simply, “We would rather die than let a breeze harm you, my Lord.”

You didn't ask for this.

You never wanted this.

But Hyewon never asked what you wanted.

“She’s gone too far,” said Lord Seong, days before he vanished.

“She’s losing herself,” whispered the palace doctor, before he was found hanged in his chambers.

“She’s in love with him,” a maid whispered in the hall.

She was skinned and hung over the palace gates by dawn.

No trial. No mercy.

Just a message:

He is mine.

At night, she held you like glass.

Her voice, soft only for you.

“I didn’t build this empire to rule,” she said once, stroking your jaw as you lay tangled in sheets of silver thread. “I built it so I could protect what I love.”

Her lips pressed against the scar on your side.

“I built it for you.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because part of you loved her, still.

But another part — a colder, quieter part — feared what she’d become.

What you’d made her become.

You turned your face away.

She kissed the back of your neck anyway.

And the world watched.

The once-proud Empire of Aurelia became a land of trembling silence.

Books were burned. Borders closed. Statues of you and her replaced the old gods.

Rebels who still rose were crushed beneath steel boots and ash.

And always, at the heart of it all, stood Empress Kang Hyewon.

Beautiful.

Merciless.

Devoted beyond reason.

She no longer spoke of justice. Or legacy.

Only you.

“Let them call me a tyrant,” she said one morning, overlooking the smoldering remains of a border village that had dared fly a different flag.

Her hand found yours.

“They can hate me.”

She pulled you close, so close your breath caught.

“But if the world burns to keep you safe, then let it burn.”

And in that moment — watching flames lick the sky, feeling her heartbeat race beneath layers of armor and silk — you realized something:

You didn’t know if this was love.

You didn’t know if you should run, scream, or kiss her.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because Empress Kang Hyewon had made her choice.

And now the world would bleed for it.

[spaceycat]

 ⋆★⋆ dating bartender!steve rogers ⋆★⋆ (headcanon list)

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: hard times by paramore (3:03)

✰ mixes you drinks all the time, literally will let you try the whole menu free of charge and likes to see what you think of every single one but gets yelled at to go back to work LOLL

✰ practically has a crate full of glacé cherries (or your favourite drink condiment) for you at ALL. TIMES.

✰ oml, the bar gets so pissed off at him for defying the set button up, tie, sleeves thing but he NEVER wears a tie, rolls up his sleeves and unbuttons a few from the top.....

✰ whenever you stay behind at the bar he works at he likes to take you behind the bar and let you try to mix a cocktail without any instructions "whoa-- whoa, baby, you're gonna break something then we'll both be in trouble."

✰ likes to sit you on the bar counter and kiss you senseless, until you broke a bottle of pretty expensive champagne and he sticks to bar tables.

✰ does a bunch of cool tricks at the bar and you're like.. whoa

✰ like flipping the bottles onto his hands, throwing and catching the shaker pieces, pouring liquor into the shaker from really high up you GET THE GIST.

✰ he's the kinda dickhead that has drinks that have too much liquor in it or is literally just pure spirits

✰ he's good with his hands

✰ like really fucking good

✰ like you imagine him fully putting you onto the bar and fingering you like WHATTT

✰ also plays the darts in the bar? and is lowkey the reigning champ which adds to the whole good with his hands thing

✰ does NOT get hungover cuz this man knows every single secret on a hangover cure...

✰ alot of late nights and early mornings, but you're not against it cuz this man is hella needy in the evening (and fucks like it too)

✰ awe hell he just kisses and touches everywhere he can when he's tired and needy, fucking up into you - gripping onto your hips for life.

✰ kisses your cheek, nose or forehead when he has to leave and spends his entire breaks with you.

✰ im inlove with him oh god

[sukukuna]

スククナ EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SORCERER (UNPAID)

part 1 part 1

premise; Shoko is done with being the only one who has to constantly handle everyone else's trauma and curse induced breakdowns. So when you casually mention you're pretty good at giving advice, she immediately recommends you to the higher ups as the new, unofficial therapist.

this is just a short intro to a series! if people enjoy this, i might continue it :p will include lots of characters!

You think that you made a mistake labelling yourself as a good listener.

Now you have a desk made of milk crates, a bean bag that you're 90% sure is haunted- a bean bag that occasionally tries to swallow some of your clients (just Gojo). Your office is a repurposed janitors closet, and payment comes in the form of boba tea, strawberry mochi and the occasional cursed trinket.

You're not sure how you ended up here. You're not exactly sure how to leave, either.

If you could go back in time, you'd go back to the moment when Shoko was patching you up after a rough mission, smoking a cigarette wistfully and complaining about how she had no time to herself.

You'd rather slap yourself in the face before uttering out the words "I'm pretty good at giving advice," again.

Because apparently, that's all it took for Shoko to appoint you as the new 'emotional support sorcerer' for Jujutsu High.

"I don't have a degree." you told her. She rolled her eyes as you voiced the obvious, tapping out her cigarette bud.

"Neither did Freud," she replied, tossing you a stress ball shaped oddly like a baby cursed spirit. "Welcome to the job."

And then there's the clients.

"Its pretty simple. You just listen to them and maybe patch up a cut or two, and make sure they don't completely implode. If they start crying, that's on you." Shoko handed you a hastily scribbled schedule of her working times. "I figure if you survive today, you'll be fine.

"Ah," you blinked up at her. "Okay." She smiled, and you were certain she was enjoying your discomfort. "Who's first?"

Her grin widened, and you shuddered. "Gojo."

".....Gojo?"

And Shoko just laughs.

CASE NO.1 SATORU GOJO.

You had only been in the Janitors closet Therapy room for five minutes when the door swung open like a storm hit the place. Satoru Gojo, in all his obnoxious glory comes strolling in with his blindfold and smug grin, looking like the worlds most egotistical superhero sorcerer.

"Y/n! You're the new group therapist, huh?" He slid into the beanbag chair like he owned it. You observed the haunted bean bag, as if making sure Gojo's boisterous energy wouldn't affect it.

"Uh-huh," Suddenly you were regretting every decision that led you to this moment.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "Well, don't you worry. I'm gonna be the best client you've ever had."

"You're also the only client I've ever had." He ignored you.

Sighing to himself with a wide grin, "You won't be able to handle my perfect emotional depth." He sinks further into the bean bag, and you wince as the air starts feeling thicker, and the bean bag starts to seem more...menacing.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. "Right...So what brings you here?"

He grins, and places his hands behind his head, his blindfold riding up slightly. "Well, I'm perfect, obviously, but... sometimes, I get a little tired of being the brightest star in the sky. It's exhausting being this good looking. And everyone loves me. Its a lot, you know?" No, no I do not.

You just stare at him blankly. "...And that's the reason you're here?"

He sighs dramatically, flopping back into the beanbag. "And also, like, How do you even deal with being this amazing everyday? Its like a curse."

"Gojo," You start, voice thick with sarcasm. "You're going to be fine. I'm sure the emotional toll of being a literal god doesn't keep you up at night."

He blinked. "Wait. It doesn't?"

DIAGNOSIS: CHRONIC GOJO SYNDROME

TREATMENT: COMPLIMENTS. KIKUFUKU.

It had been exactly fifteen minutes since your first 'session' with Gojo. Fifteen minutes since Satoru had stormed out of the makeshift office, having delivered the kind of emotional performance that only someone with his level of ego could pull off.

You rubbed your temples, trying to process the tidal wave that had just crashed into your psyche. You had managed to take a few notes, but they all stated the obvious.

EGO - IMPOSSIBLY LARGE

PROBLEM - ??? TOO PERFECT ???

SOLUTION - ?????? MORE THERAPY ??????

if this gets interactions i will continue <3

[axolotl-in-highheels]

,, Demon made man"

CoD x f! "Violent" reader

Featured characters:

König

Krueger

Horangi

141 as a collective

Note: this is very self indulgent, I only really made this because I am sick and tired of all those x reader hc where you are being walked all over by these men.

So to counteract this i bring you hc for a reader that is just a violent, selfish bastard who has no problem hurting her team-mates if it means finishing a mission.

TW: violence, sadism, bullet wounds, meanies :(, just be prepared for some nasty shit

If you like this kinda stuff let me know, i'd love to go in-deph in a possible part 2.

◇◇◇◇◇

König

At first, he didn't spare you a second glance, hell not even a first one. Just another part of an everchanging team no more no less

However, he noticed quickly that you had a problem with authority, his to be precise.

You blew him off at every given chance. Butting into his commands, going off on your own to solve the problem at hand and then take all the glory

It also didn't help that you behaved similar like his old bullies. He though about just shooting you if you weren't so god damn slippery

One of his most memorable memories were is a small russian town where you kidnapped a hostage you needed information out of

The interrogation was left to you, he was planning on you being the good cop and him the bad one

However, that quickly de-railed when you started to peel the victims skin off. Eating up every cry of pain with a sick grin

Since then, every time you are paired with him his pulse skyrockets

Sebastian Krueger

Similar to his Austrian collegue, he didn't notice you at first, maybe he'd scoff at having to drag a girl around as another weight on his boot but nothing more

But his tune changed abruptly when you two were on a solo-mission

It began on the helio to the drop-off zone. He had been cleaning one of his knives when you made fun of his technique.

Later when you entered the town, the order was to retrieve a suitcase filled to the brim with important info on the ultranationalists

It was never officially stated but you both knew that whoever secured the case would get all the glory, so you two were butting heads all the way there.

It all came to a head when you were just one room removed from the case. He had shoved you back, intending to take it himself, when all of the sudden...

You shot him, right in the back of his knee downing him. Sauntering over in the most casual way, like one would take a stroll through the neighborhood.

Oh he saw red but couldn't do much of the account of a bullet wound in his leg.

After the mission was over he was waiting to smother you in your sleep, unlucky for him you got the praise of the higher-ups and a month vacation for yourself.

The next time you saw eachother was in passing but by then he couldn't have done anything no matter how much he wanted to.

Horangi

For some more positive vibes, you got along quite good actually.

You two hit it off, albeit a bit klunky since your voices were drowned out by the loud-ass helio

Your missions together were embossed by good teamwork and a quick completion

Even then, Horangi noticed you were off, after peticularly bloody missions you were unusually chipper and in high spirits like a child who got gifted a candybar

But one assignment really cemented his suspicions.

It was in a chinese mafia den. The entire mission was already going to shit from the get go, you, Horangi and one other soldier were hiding behind a crate, surrounded by lower goons

When all of the sudden you grabbed the soldier and brutally used him as a meat-shield to advance to the offenders.

Ever since then he decided to never stand within arms reach of you. Ever.

141 Extra

You only went out with the taskforce once before their captain refused to work with you anymore.

At first the boys were quite welcoming, bit hesitant, but welcoming nontheless.

Seargent Soap and Gaz were very chatty with you, ingaging in endearing small talk.

L.T. Ghost was pretty stand-offish but that was to be expected by his reputation.

It all went south quickly after you were rounding up cartel members, shooting them down after you were given the order to leave no one alive

At the end, you encountered the son on the leader, a teenage boy maybe 15 or 16.

The 141 was debating what to do with him since they couln't eliminate a child. You however saw the foreboding danger.

The assassination of his family would undoubtedly lead to revenge, something that will be dangerous.

So, without hesitating, you killed him. A bullet point-blank to the skull.

The aftermath was ugly, first stunned silence then outrage. Soap was on you first, going on and on about ethics, Gaz quickly joining.

After much verbal berating and a lack of guilt from you cemented their disdain.

Since then, they avoid you like the plague.

_________________________________________

So, I hope you enjoyed that. Like I said it's kinda violent but I feel like that is what this fandom needs. If you are curious the reader is based off an OC if you want to know more about her or want her to be the focus of a part 2 let me know.

Let me know your opinions, good or bad in general. Construcive critisism is also very welcome.

Anyways, thank you for reading

[hummingbird24220]

Ye Olde Bit That Went Too Far

One Piece x Reader

I had more fun than i should have writing this. Hope you enjoy and don't have a stroke reading it xx

'Twas a fair morn upon the Thousand Sunny, waves gently kissing the hull and seagulls crying yonder in the skies above. The crew lounged in mirth and merriment, unaware that thou hadst awoken with a singular goal: to speaketh like an absolute medieval maniac for the entirety of the day.

Lo, you bursteth forth from thy quarters with great aplomb, arms stretched to the heavens.

“Gooooood morrow, mine dearest crewmates!” thou didst declare, voice carrying upon the wind. “Verily, the sun doth shine like Sanji’s golden locks, and the day ringeth with promise!”

Luffy blinked thrice. “Huh?”

Zoro, polishing his sword, raised a brow. “Are you having a stroke?”

“Nay, good swordsman! I speaketh thus for mine own amusement,” thou saidst, striding across the deck like royalty. “Forsooth, I am possessed by the spirits of drama and olden days. Make peace with it, or begone!”

Usopp burst into laughter. “Oh no, they’ve gone full theater kid.”

“Naught but a knave would mock me so!” thou declared, pointing a dramatic finger. “Usopp, bearer of tales and slayer of beasts, dost thou dare insult thine most loyal companion?”

“I didn’t insult you!” he said between giggles. “That was a compliment!”

Then Sanji appeared from the galley, cigarette in mouth. “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Ah, Sanji the Golden! Thou hath stirred the morning gruel once more?” thou saidst, approaching him with a hand on thy chest. “Truly, thy culinary hands are kissed by the gods themselves.”

He paused. Blushed. Lit another cigarette out of pure confusion. “I… uh. Thanks?”

Zoro muttered, “If they say ‘hath’ one more time I’m jumping overboard.”

You whirled on him. “Speak not in jest, green-haired demon! I shall challenge thee to a duel of words and wit if thy disrespect continues!”

Zoro stood. “Fine. Dost thou even lift?”

A gasp. “How darest thou.”

Nami walked by, sipping tea. “If they start saying ‘milady’ I’m throwing them off the ship.”

“Alas!” you wailed, collapsing onto a deck chair. “Mine heart is sore wounded. Betray’d by mine own crew. But nay! Yonder babe—Luffy—did call thy name. I shall away!”

Luffy grinned. “I didn’t call your name, but I am a babe. Heh.”

And so the day continued, with you refusing to drop character. Robin found it “charming,” Franky tried to match your tone (“SUPER ETHEREAL, MY FAIR DAME!”), and Chopper was utterly bewildered.

You regretted nothing.

-

The sun didst rise higher o’er the glistening sea, and thou, devoted to thy bit with the resolve of a thousand stubborn goats, didst stride across the deck with flair unmatch’d. Yet fate—cruel and most foul—had other plans.

For as thou didst saunter yonder toward the foremast, thy pinky toe didst strike the corner of a crate most merciless.

"BY THE GODS!" thou howled, hopping on one foot like a harlot scorn’d. “A CURSE UPON THIS UNHOLY BOX! MAY IT BE SMOTE BY THE WRATH OF NEPTUNE HIMSELF!”

The crew turned, startled by thy lamentation. Chopper rushed forward.

“Are you okay?!”

Thou grabbed him by his little shoulders. “Sweet deer of medicine, listen well—I have suffered a most grievous affliction. Mine toe—mine precious, valiant toe—hath betrayed me!”

Robin, who had until then been reading beneath the shade, looked up with a gentle smile. “Thy lament is great, dear friend. Perchance, the crate was a foe in disguise.”

Thou gasped. “Robin! Dost mine ears deceive me, or hast thou joined me in this most noble tongue?”

She closed her book with elegant grace. “Why, yes. 'Tis a language most poetic. I find it rather... soothing.”

Sanji, holding a tray of fresh orange slices, looked between the two of you. “Wait… are we all doing this now?”

Brook twirled his cane. “Indeed! For what is life, if not a stage for such melodious speech? Yohohoho!”

Usopp grinned and puffed out his chest. “Aye! I, Usopp the Brave, have always spoketh with valor and drama!”

Franky struck a pose. “SUPER YE OLDE STYLE, BABY!”

Luffy started repeating random words he thought sounded cool: “Bequeath! Thou! Henceforth! Rubber-rubber sword!”

Zoro groaned, rubbing his temples as if smiteth with a headache from the gods.

He turned to Robin, narrowing his eye. “Why ist thou so damn good at speaketh in such tongue?”

Robin gave a coy smile. “Mayhaps I read too many ancient texts. Or mayhaps I was born with dramatic flair in mine soul.”

Thou clutched thy chest, tears of pride welling. “Mine crew… mine beautiful, chaotic, theatrical crew!”

Zoro sighed, pointing his sword at thee. “Just know, if this keeps up, I shall challenge thee to a duel… and speaketh not a single word the whole time.”

“Then thou shalt lose, for I wield both blade and bard!” thou declared.

And lo, the play did continue, for none among them couldst bear to stop. Forsooth—it was the dumbest day ever, and one of the most glorious.

-

As twilight painteth the skies in hues of gold and wine, the Straw Hats did gather 'round the galley’s table, where Sanji the Golden-Chef had laid a spread worthy of kings and fools alike. The scent of roasted meats and buttery loaves did waft and swirl, dancing betwixt the hungry crew.

Thou did siteth at the head, goblet raised high.

“Hark!” thou proclaimed. “Let us feast upon this bounty as though ‘twere our last repast! For who knoweth when the sea shall claim our bones!”

Nami arched a brow. “It’s literally just dinner.”

Robin, sipping wine with grace, did reply, “And yet our dear orator speaketh true. One must never take for granted the bliss of warm bread and salted flesh.”

Sanji, who had changed into a frilly cravat just for the bit, bowed deeply. “T’was cooked with love most pure. May it fill thy bellies and ignite thy spirits!”

Luffy had already stuffed half a turkey leg into his face. “Verily, this bird… slaps.”

Franky clanked two tankards together. “SUPER SLAPS, BROTHER!”

Brook raised his goblet as well. “To Sanji! The culinary knight of this fine vessel!”

“TO SANJI!” all but one did shout.

Zoro sat slouched in his chair, arms crossed, eye twitching.

Thou turned to him. “Why doth thy tongue lie still, oh grumpy blade-wielder?”

Zoro sighed, then picked up a fork. “Because I speaketh only when mine stomach is full, and not before.”

A pause.

Thou smirked. “Thy sass is palpable.”

Sanji slammed his goblet down with flourish. “Then let there be a toast! To our battles won, to the tides yet to turn, and to the finest lady aboard—”

Thou leaned forward. “Ah, sweet flattery. Continue.”

He blinked. “I meant Robin.”

Thou: “A curse upon thee.”

Usopp, already wearing a napkin as a cape, stood on his chair. “Let it be known across the Grand Line! That this feast was had, and that it was awesome!”

Chopper clapped his hooves. “I declare! Never hath my tastebuds known such joy!”

Robin turned to thee, raising an elegant brow. “Dost thou ever plan to speak normally again?”

Thou took a bite of bread, chewed slowly, and answered with solemn dignity:

“When pigs taketh flight, and the sea runneth dry.”

Zoro groaned. “We’re doomed.”

Luffy flung mashed potatoes into his own mouth and cheered, “THEN LET US DINE UNTIL THE MOON DOTH CRASH UPON THE EARTH!”

And thus, the feast did continue, full of clamor and jest, with tankards raised and crumbs everywhere, like a tavern out of time. Twas a dinner to remember—not for the food, but for the sheer nonsense of it all.

-

The Thousand Sunny did dock upon the shores of Beldoria, a lively isle filled with merchants, hawkers, and wares aplenty. The crew stepped off the ship eager for adventure—or at the very least, a snack and some new socks.

And thou?

Thou did descend the ramp with the grandeur of a royal exile.

“Behold! A town of riches and revelry lies before us!” thou declared, spreading thine arms wide. “Mayhaps I shall acquire a cloak of velvet, or a vial of perfume forged from moonlight!”

Zoro was already rubbing his forehead. “You promised—PROMISED—you’d stop when we made land.”

“Nay, swordsman. I made no such vow. Perhaps in thy dreams, but in truth? I remain ever thus.”

A few townspeople nearby turned, eyebrows raised.

One elderly vendor leaned toward another. “Oh! A noble, by the sound of it. Didst thou hear their diction?”

“Aye,” the other replied, eyes wide. “Surely royalty—perhaps a minor lady, or a wandering bard princess!”

Thou turned and bowed deeply. “Fair citizens of Beldoria, thy humble traveler greets thee. I seeketh wares most wondrous, treasures most sparkly, and snacks—preferably fried.”

The old merchant clapped his hands. “Of course, my lady! Right this way!”

Zoro stared in horror. “No. No. Don’t—don’t feed into this.”

Usopp whispered, “Dude, they think they’re an actual noble.”

“THEY’RE NOT!” Zoro barked. “They’re just an idiot with too much free time!”

The merchant frowned. “Is… is this your servant, my lady?”

Thou placed a dramatic hand upon Zoro’s shoulder. “Aye, he is mine protector. Stoic and loyal, though cursed with the tongue of a foul-mouthed goat.”

Zoro looked like he might actually commit homicide. “I’m gonna cutteth offeth youreth toungeth.”

Luffy, already riding in a cart pulled by goats, shouted, “Yonder! There be candy apples!”

Chopper scampered after him. “Wait for me!”

Sanji was flirting with three flower girls, all of whom had asked him if he was also “of noble descent.”

Robin, ever amused, strolled beside thee with a small smile. “So. Thou art famous now.”

“Aye,” thou said, inspecting a jeweled brooch offered by a starstruck merchant. “Fame is a heavy crown, dear Robin. Yet I wear it like a dramatic hat.”

Zoro lagged behind, arms crossed, scowling at every person who looked at you like you were the second coming of King Arthur. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“You did,” Robin replied. “When you agreed to join this crew.”

“This is why I drink,” Zoro muttered.

Meanwhile, a crowd had begun to form around thee. Children asked for blessings. A bard asked for a duet. A noblewoman batted her eyes and asked if thou required a consort.

“Alas, I must decline, fair lady,” thou said, flourishing your coat. “Mine heart belongeth to the sea… and possibly snacks.”

-

What began as a quiet shopping trip didst quickly descend into utter madness, as a gang of rogue mercenaries attempted to rob the village square. The Straw Hats, ever the champions of chaos and justice alike, sprang into action.

Steel clashed, dust billowed, and in the midst of it all—thou.

Thou stood upon a toppled produce cart, brandishing a blade not thine own (liberated from some fool mid-combat), cape billowing as if thou had summoned wind itself.

“FIE!” thou cried, slashing through an unlucky attacker’s sword and pride in one swing. “HAVE AT THEE, VILLAINS! I BRINGETH UNTO THEE—RUIN!”

Zoro, elbow-deep in his own pile of unconscious enemies, didn’t even look up. “They’re still doing it.”

Sanji lit a cigarette with a shaky hand. “God, just let ‘em tire out.”

Usopp ducked behind a barrel. “They just kicked a guy while quoting Hamlet! Hamlet, man!”

Robin, meanwhile, fought beside thee like a shadow with a smile, her clone arms assisting thy dramatic poses. “Your form is quite... theatrical.”

“Only the finest for my audience!” thou shouted, flipping dramatically over a fallen crate and landing in a three-point stance atop a flour barrel.

The last few mercenaries, dazed and bleeding, tried to regroup.

One squinted at thee as thou wiped the sweat from thy brow, foot upon a smoldering cart, saber held aloft to the heavens.

“Hear me now!” thou proclaimed. “Let it be known across land and sea—on this day, in this place, we didst layeth the smacketh down! For we are VICTORS!”

The mercenaries exchanged glances. One whispered, “...are they possessed?”

Another shook his head, dropping his weapon. “Naw, man. This one’s got too much crazy in their eyes. I ain’t dying for this.”

And lo—thine enemies fled! Broken in body, confused in soul, and wholly uninterested in whatever fourth-wall-defying monologue thou had prepared.

Silence fell upon the square.

Until—

Thunk!

A wooden ladle struck thee squarely upon the temple.

“OW!” you shouted, immediately dropping the saber and stumbling. “ZORO, WHAT THE HELL?!”

Zoro, halfway across the square and still very much grumpy, shouted, “You’re done now, right?! You done?!”

The entire tone of the world shifted. The dramatic shading vanished. The wind died. The music stopped. You blinked, now just a normal person in a ruined fruit stand with dramatic sweat and a nosebleed.

“Oh my god, I was doing that voice for like… three days straight.”

Chopper held up a hoof. “Three and a half.”

You rubbed your head. “I think I blacked out a little.”

Robin, smiling sweetly, offered you a napkin. “You had a good run. I was impressed.”

Luffy was already looting candy from a fallen vendor. “Are you gonna do it again tomorrow?”

You looked up at the sky, exhausted.

“...Maybe just weekends.”

-

The sun had dipped low, casting molten gold across the sea as the Sunny gently rocked beneath the fading day. The crew had returned victorious, full of snacks, coin, and mild emotional damage.

You lay sprawled on a deck chair, a bag of ice pressed to the growing bump on your forehead. Your legs were limp, your spirit hollow, and your tongue?

Still.

For the first time in days.

Zoro sat nearby, whetting Wado Ichimonji, finally at peace. “So. You done?”

You gave a raspy sigh. “I’ve… old timey’d myself out. I’ve got nothing left.”

Sanji peeked out from the galley. “Thank God.”

Usopp flopped next to you, arms wide. “I was one more ‘hark’ away from jumping into the sea.”

Chopper passed by and held up a tiny flashlight. “Your pupils are normal now. But I’m keeping this ice bag on just in case you slip back into… you know. The persona.”

You groaned. “Don’t let me. No matter what I say. If I start again, someone hit me with a frying pan.”

“Gladly,” Zoro muttered.

Robin appeared beside you, handing you a cup of tea. “You were very committed.”

“I was in too deep,” you whispered, eyes hollow. “I became the character.”

She smiled. “You had the entire town convinced you were a lost royal.”

Luffy dangled upside down from the mast. “Can we make that your new bounty poster? ‘Dramatic Pirate!’”

“No.”

He pouted. “But it was so funny!”

“NO.”

Silence.

A breeze passed.

Nami strolled by, casually setting a second bag of ice next to you. “Just in case. For the emotional damage.”

You took it without protest.

And then… peace.

The waves lapped gently. The sun dipped low. No one was shouting “hark” or “hast” or “fie.” The deck was quiet. Your lump throbbed, but your soul was calm.

Until Luffy grinned.

“Next island, we all speak pirate, right? Like full ‘ARRR’ and ‘shiver me timbers’?”

You didn’t move. “If anyone does a single pirate voice, I will leap overboard.”

Zoro gave a satisfied nod. “Now that’s the most normal thing you’ve said all week.”

And for now—only for now—the theatre was closed.

[thetravelingtyper]

Beasts of the Deep...Pt 1 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Researcher! Reader ? Au)

In ruins beside the sea, you discover something from another time...

WC: 4.8k

Part 2, Masterlist

Warnings: None

From the Destruction of Leviathan by Gustave Doré (1865)

Sapphire waves crashed listlessly along the jagged cliff. As their consistent roar turned to a sweet hum in your mind you devoted yourself further to your work. Before you laid a dazzling sight. Flecks of mother of pearl, abalone and silver sprinkled the ground of the royal chamber you were in, the flickering of lamplight sending dazzling shimmers all around. The site was remarkably preserved, surprisingly kept even. In dry walls, despite the proximity to the sea, silver cording inlaid flourishing designs. Seals, whales and other sea life swam in the brick, their forms colored in with fresco and mosaic.

You look up from the rubble before you to trace the shine of pottery. Different fish shaped vessels line the room, undisturbed by the many earthquakes that ravaged other sites in the area. You didn't need to open them to tell what was inside. Dried wine, honey, ichors of the gods that once ruled this distant land. You remember your supervisor rumbling about the rich lives of the elites that lived on this island, how cruel they were and the enormous wealth you knew he was hoping to find (that you kept to yourself though, better not to risk his ire). 

But while all the others sought the grand prizes of burial mounds and lavish riches, you sought the ecological knowledge of the far past.You pulled your journal out and with a miniature camera took photos of the mosaics, jotting down notes for later. Just as you heard voices approaching from the stairs to the outside you stood up, pulling yourself into a stretch as Matthew entered the chamber.

You turned to meet him as the cover of the tarp opened as sunlight finally streamed into the chamber. You pull a smile to your face as the man finally makes it down the stairs, a smirk on his face that has your mood souring.

“You and the others already took everything of value.” You spit out, riling up at the look in his eyes when he sees the silver in the walls again in the new light.

“Find anything of value left in this stupid hovel?”

“You and Saph are too protective of this site, too bad we can’t strip the walls,” He kicks a boot in the dirt kicking up a fine cloud of debris and dust, “would make up for the losses.”

You cough, your eyes wanting to water, but you wipe them with your bandanna. 

“Maybe if you and your goons stopped breaking things we wouldn't be set back so much. Besides it's illegal to deface anything, that includes the walls.”

He just hums, looking you up and down with a strange look in his eyes before turning to head back up the stairs. 

“Whatever you say Mole.”

You ruffle up at the nickname, but before you can reply Matthew is marching out, closing the tarp and leaving you in the dim lamplight.

You stand a moment before sighing. Reaching down to the crate at your side you adjust the oil feed and the light bristles with life, a warmth radiation from it that seeps into your downturned spirit. Matthew, while rough, did have a point. The dig needed something to be able to keep going. The small island you were working for was looking for a prize to boost the floundering tourist industry so time was running out. 

You stand for a moment in thought, eyes tracing the menagerie of creatures swimming though time around you. You always found yourself drawn to the room, some deep set curiosity swirling in your mind. While your eyes wander there is a different sort of gleam, off set from the pearly white and abalone. Your head tilts as your eyes find rest on an ancient beast. 

Stepping closer to examine it you are met with what could only be defined as a monster, swirling around itself in rage, its coils lined not with silver but gold, set apart from the rest of the art in the room. Spellbound you reach a hand to it and upon touching the old brick a jolt of electricity runs through you and you shoot back in surprise.

“What?” Your voice seems muffled but the wide room, the dust itself concealing anything from the outside, to your shock then there is another gleam, one you hadn’t noticed before at the heart of the beast, guarded by raised claws and fins. Your hand reaches for it and the shape comes loose from its crevice. 

As your fingers curl around the shape there is a noise like thunder in your mind and warmth in your heart. You feel then like you are being watched, and all at once the world seems to seep out and an old magic flood in. The creatures in the walls become drenched in color as the feeling of water rises until you are floating in a wide sea. 

Around you the cries of gulls echo into the wide world and the stars about this dark sea drip their sterling light. Your mind's eye widens as there is then a leviathan, a great dragon emerging from the waves, golden eyes staring into yours. It speaks in an ancient rumble than a mighty clawed hand reaches around you.

Voices again from the outside of the tent and all at once you are human again. You blink, the mist in your mind washing away with lucid waves. You find your palms curled together in front of you, as if reaching to offer something before a great deity. You break from the position, opening your palms and gasping. In your palm is a pendant you have never seen before, insent in a golden scallop shell, with a crackled glaze is a sapphire the size of a half dollar. It is wired in with sturdy gold wire with four, two on each side, pearl beads. The pendant rests heavily in your hand and without thinking you find yourself reaching up and pulling it on in a daze.   

Once the pendant is hanging at your sternum you wake in a stupor. You blink luridly, unaware for a moment before your hand darts to the pendant in shock.

“What?’

You question yourself before quickly reaching to take the jewel off but find that once you reach for the clasp they seem to alway slip out of reach. Anytime you try to lift the pendant off a shock jolts your mind painlessly and you drop it back to your chest. You begin to worry but the sound of a voice at the top of the stairs and daylight once again flooding the room has you moving the pendant under your shirt to hide it as Saph comes down the stairs. You kneel down to the wall after one final glance towards the beast only to find it gone.

“Thought I might find you down here, did Matthew bother you too much?”  

You look up to the woman and smile, hoping your apprehension doesn’t come through.

“He’s just being himself, a right old dick.”

She snorts at that and approaches you.

“Come on, we're heading back into town for the day, there’s a storm coming in and the museum wants us back early.”

You look up to her at that, working to gather your journal and camera and stuff them into the satchel at your side.

“But it was clear outside only a while ago.”

She nods at that but gestures to the stairs,

“You might want to take a look now.” 

You pull yourself up and move to follow her, pulling a tarp over the debris at your feet and putting on your satchel. You give one final look around you and the animals in the wall seem to shine a little brighter as you nod to Saph to head up. She starts up the stairs and you follow, but as you leave the room you swear you feel a set of eyes on you. 

-

In some dark forgotten place, an old force breathes. The sound of chains breaking and a low rumble fills the room. Statues crumble in the movement as a large tail slides into the shadow, but what emerges is not a beast but a man. An exposed chest heaves as he steps from the labyrinth of shadow, a beast of the dark coils around his body and he grunts in pain when the pattern of it inks itself onto him. The gold braces that bound his hands and ankles dissolve then, running down, droplets of gold then dissolving into the cobbled floor. 

-

You make it out of the ruin and find the cleared sky now gathered in stormy clouds. Saph helps you past a tumbled over table and you both watch as Matthew gives orders to a few college students who in turn fumble with equipment, flustered. You shake your head in exasperation before going to help. 

They greet you with relieved smiles and you, upon taking a hammer, help to pin the tarps to cover the exposed works. You feel Matthew approach and stiffen before a firm arm is reaching out to grab a board before it knocks into you. He steps around you and lifts the wood before setting it aside. You mutter out a thanks as you finish your task. He just winks at you before turning to the others. 

As you and the students stand there is a flash of lightning and a loud crash of thunder that makes one of the students yelp in surprise.  

“That’s enough for today go ahead and head home guys!” Your voice rings out over the picking up wind and the students scamper off towards the jeeps in the distance. Matthew looks to you, some shine of concern in his eyes but you mention to Saph.

“I'll ride back with Saph you go ahead we’ll lock down.”

His voice is cut off by a rumble of angry thunder and the clouds threatening to drench you three. He nods curtly and heads off to the jeeps. You see the college students pull out soon followed by him. Saph heads off towards the jeeps but something pulls you to the edge of the cliff, past toppled walls and torsoless statues. A row of them line a path to the cliff face. You step the ancient treaded stone, the click of your own work boots muffled by the winds swelling around you. The world seems to shift then.

As you take the final steps up to the dias, the stones smooth out as if kissed by the rough sea. You feel the sudden urge to take your shoes off to feel the coolness of the stone but ignore it to instead look over the vast ocean. You almost feel like at the summit of history here, the ruins around you lending to the fact this ocean was once owned. But like most beasts, very few could tame the sea.  

You rear an arm out to the horizon then, the massive clouds in the distance swirling in the wind, dark and foreboding. There is a rumble then, and a flash of lightning strikes the sea between the scope your parted fingers. The water churns and you swear you see movement under the waves before Saph is calling for you. As your head turns away a form slips beneath the waves.

-

The ride back into town is calm despite the torrential downpour that falls upon you two just as you close the door. The wipers work overtime as you stare out the window in thought, the sea slowly sinking away to the forest that separates the dig site from the town.  She leaves you to your thoughts for a while, at least before the ringing of her phone makes her groan.

“He won’t let up will he.” You smirk at her, a fond smile lighting up on your face as Saph ignores the phone.

“He should know I am busy!”

“He is just a love sick puppy for you. For an engineer he’s quite soft.”

Despite her mock frustration her smile is sweet when you discuss her fiance. The two were together for a long time but he only recently proposed and when she got stationed off of the mainland on the island he had been insistent in calling every day when she got off. 

“He probably just saw the weather-” she fishes out her phone and passes it to you, “can you let him know we’re heading back into town before it hits?”

You slide her phone open, past the image of her cat Shadow and type in a quick message, signing off with a smiley face. He pings back only a second later with a hello to you and a best wishes. 

You set the phone into the cup holder and his calling ceases as you both laugh. 

The rest of the trip into town is quiet, the forest breaking up to the edge of softened civilization. Cattle graze in fields and you catch the occasional deer and seagull mingling in the temperate climate. It was thankfully the ending of summer so the weather was usually even, but sudden storms would still kick up and apparently a large front had decided now it was time to strike. 

The leaves in the trees were starting to turn as you both pulled into the research center of the local university, your main base away from the ruins scattered around the island. Saph pulls into the free spot and stops the engine as the rain pours outside. 

“Ugh I wish this rain would let up, we're gonna get drenched! It was supposed to be clear this afternoon.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and prepare for the water but as you crack open your door the rain lets up, slowing to a drizzle, then a sprinkle then nothing at all. Saph raises a brow, and you chuckle.

“Maybe it likes me.”

Saph rolls her eyes as you get under cover of the awning and she follows, the rain then deciding you had passed safely comes down again, at this Saph smiles.

“Maybe.”

The doors slide open and you pass through the students leaving for the day, their waves and smiles warming your heart at the dedication. The weekend had finally arrived and you all could now get a long break before the fall classes began and you lost a few of the students to their courses.

As you make it to the archeology department there is a group of other work study students standing at the entrance to your office. Saph looks to you and you catch Matthew's blond hair over the crowd. He seems to be arguing as there are semi raised voices and you and Saph make it to the outer ring of the crowd. There is another voice that washes over you, and their blue eyes find you over the crowd and yours widen when the pendant feels heavier under your shirt.

Matthew's eyes trace the other man’s eyes towards you and you can see the frown set on his face as he shifts blocking the other man from view with his height.  Saph looks to you as the students realize you’ve returned and part to let you both through. 

“What's going on Matthew, why are you here?”

The blond turns to look down at, running a hand through his hair, eyes looking too you and Saph.

“I was going to ask you to dinner to discuss team development-” A hand on his shoulder makes him startle as an older man joins the two men, you nod your head in greeting towards the dig supervisor, a man you didn’t quite like.

“There will be no need for that Matthew.” Mr. Wright winks at you and you feel Saph step closer to you.

“Mr. Wright it’s a pleasure!” Matthew is quick to correct himself, an easy smile lighting his face as he shakes his hand. You roll your eyes in your mind and let your eyes wander to the third man as the two make pleasantries. In a smart brown suit is a tall man, hair nicely swept back and a well groomed beard, flecks of grey in the brown. As you meet his face you find his eyes on you, when your eyes meet his eyes he smiles and you swoon. He steps past Matthew, disregarding their conversation to address you.

“Dr. Jonathan Price, professor of history and archeology.”

You nod and smile at his manners and as your hand meets his his other takes it and he squeezes your hand.

You reply with your name and your position. You were the student coordinator for the department, on loan from the mainland after the recent discoveries. 

“It’s good to meet you Dr. Price,” His lips quirk up and there is a shine in his eyes. You hear Matthew clear his throat, seemingly irritated. Dr. Price just chuckles, releasing your hand with a final squeeze in his,

“John is fine Love.”

You just nod, taken aback before Mr. Wright draws his hands together with a hum. 

“I’m glad you two are already so chummy, from now on you will be working with Dr. Price in the cliff sights around the island. Matthew you will be transferred to the salvage department.”

Matthew turns to him in shock, 

“But I thought you needed a new lead for the cliff sites?”

Mr. Wright nods, hand coming to his beard in though, he then claps you on the back, 

“Congratulations dear you've been promoted. Dr. Price, I leave her to your care. And now Matthew we need to discuss the findings for this sudden squall that's appeared.”

With that Mr. Wright turns and Matthew gapes after him before realizing himself and after glancing at you he follows the older man. The students chatter with congratulations before there is a ding of the intercom for the school.

As a warning of the oncoming storm we recommend all students, staff, and faculty leave soon before the worst of the weather hits. 

“Alright you guys you've heard the intercom, now shoo and have a good break!” You smile at the cheers from the students as most disperse, while a few linger chatting with Dr. Price he discusses details of an essay for his class calmly as you work to unlock your office and opening the door you hear Saph’s phone ring.

“Saph you need to get home, go on and talk to Chris I’ll text you when I get home!” You call out to her over your shoulder as you set your stuff on your desk. She  leans into your office, minding the sun catchers that hang from your door frame. Your office is filled with plants and trinkets you’d found that the school let you have.

“Are you sure? You didn't bring your car today, how will you get home?” She moves to step into your office but her phone rings again, no doubt a worried Chris. She silences it another time but you wave her off. You hear the students part ways as thunder rumbles outside, and she frowns. 

Dr. Price’s voice resounds from the now empty hall and he steps into view of the doorway. You both turn to him and he approaches and with a nod form you enters your office. Saph looks at him a little caught off guard and unsure but you wave her concern off.

“I can see her home.”

“If you don’t mind of course, I was hoping to discuss some things with you anyway before the weekend hits with work next week.”

“That's fine with me, I stay close to campus anyway. Head home Saph.” Outside the window lightning flashes and the lights flicker a moment.

Saph still seems apprehensive so you smile and round your desk to pat her arm. 

“Go on ahead and call Chris.”

She finally gives up at Price’s nod and you sigh in relief as she hugs you and moves to head out.

“Text me when you get home.”

And with that she finally leaves, leaving you and Price in the warm lights of your office. Warm eyes regard you as he watches you gather your things. In his presence the amulet warms and you reach for it subconsciously. You look up to him and meet his eyes and there is electricity in your blood then.

You feel a sense of sincerity from him in a strange way, comfort in some shared secret. You know then he is aware of you. He rounds your desk, approaching you. Your eyes widen at this, uncertainty nibbling at your mind but all he does is open his arms in question. 

“You found something today didn’t you dear, something that is more than it seems.”

The utterance of the amulet takes a weight off your shoulder. You reach under your shirt and pull the gem out, it shines with a bright luster. He looks at you inquisitively and you step forward into his reach as he hums. Admiring the amulet. However when he goes to reach for it there is a sudden crash of thunder and lightning that sends the room into darkness. You jump in surprise but Price only chuckles, mumbling something that sounds like “typical” under his breath. His arms return to his sides and the power flutters back to life.

You blink at his expression and finally question him.

“How did you know I found it?”

He answers your question with one of his own,

“How exactly did you find it?”

You look at him apprehensively, 

“I don’t exactly know how, one moment there was a great beast lined in gold in the murals on the wall and next it was gone.”

Price nods and then looks at you with new eyes. They soften considerably and you find yourself wanting to turn away from the look but you are captured by the ocean in them. He looks ready to speak but the power flickers again and he sighs.

“That is enough for today, it is already ticking into the evening so I should get you home. Do you mind riding with me?”

He seems older at that moment, and you feel for him. In return you smile and gather your backpack from your chair and nod.

“I would like that thank you.”

“Of course dear.”

He allows you to grab your things, and follows you out of your office, holding then closing your door for you. You pass down the hall in relative silence, the sounds of the rain on the ceiling a soothing rhythm. But when you make it to the front doors of the building the rain ceases for a minute and you look up at the sky in wonder. For your curiosity a single drop falls and hits you square in the nose but nothing else falls. As you blink and then wipe your nose, Price just watches you with a look.

Passing the work jeeps you make it to a sleek car, and while shuffling your things Price steps around and opens the back door for you to set your things in. Doing so he then opens the passenger door and helps you to slide into the car before closing the door and heading to the driver's side. And in a final moment, as the rain begins once again, Price backs out of the spot and pulls away from the college.  

-

As you make it through town you finally reach your apartments, a charming little brick building converted from an old factory into newer apartments. The rain lets up as Price slows then pulls alongside the curb. 

“Do you need help with your things?”

“I think I am fine, I appreciate it John.”

“Anytime Dear, here.” He motions for you to stop before he digs in the glove box pulling out a little notebook and pen. He writes something down and tears out the paper before passing it to you. On the paper you find his number scrawled in fine writing. 

“Contact me sometime over the weekend and I would like to get coffee to discuss some things about the site, if that is fine with you?”

You flush a little but nod, a smile tugging onto your lips.

With that he watches to make sure you make it into your apartments, only pulling away when you get inside.The cold front sets in as you walk up the stairs to your floor, the sound of rain battering the windows and thunder rumbling over the building as the storm moves overhead. You make it to the third floor with ease. When you get to the top of the stairs you hear some movement up ahead and see quite the sight. 

“I will thank you John.”

In the apartment next to you, one that had been empty since you’d moved in, there were two men lifting a sofa in the hall, blocking your passage. The door to the apartment was closing and the taller man cursed, a thick Scottish accent and you, without much thinking, hurry forward to get the door for them. When he realizes what you are doing he smiles and nods to the other man who steps backwards into the apartment.  

“You’re a blessing, Love.” The other man finally sees you and his face lights up with a charming smile, English accent thickening his annunciation. You shift aside and they bring the sofa into the apartment. 

Looking around there are boxes scattered and some assorted pieces of furniture already in place. There is a blur of black that darts from the kitchen and struts into the living room to investigate the arrival of someone new.

Your heart warms as the men set the sofa down and the Scot drops himself onto it with a huff. You naturally slide your satchel down and kneel down to greet the fluffy black cat that greets you with a loud purr. You scratch under her head and she wiggles. You fall back onto your behind when the cat jumps into your arms. 

“Nyx! That’s rude sweetheart.” The other man shakes his head and approaches you to help you up. An arm drops and while cradling Nyx, who stretches her front legs over your shoulder, you take his offered hand and he pulls you up while the Scots head turns, tilting in interest.

The man who helped you up lingers a little close, he offers to take the cat from you and you both try but she just meows in protest. She doesn’t dig her claws in so the man is able to lift her like a sack of potatoes. 

“Kyle, we need to introduce ourselves now.” 

“Go ahead Johnny, I need to take care of the child. Sorry Love it's her dinnertime, I am Kyle by the way.

The other man, who introduces himself as Johnny, pulls himself up and approaches you with an easy smile on his handsome face. His eyes are electric while he meets Kyle's honey eyes in a shared look. Their eyes turn to the pendant and the same warmth fills your chest. Johnny approaches and you hear the thunder rumble louder in warning but Johnny just smirks.

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips pressing a light kiss that angers the storm. 

“Johnny”

Kyle reappears from the kitchen followed by Nyx who ignores her food to come between you and Johnny, nudging her head against your pants as the power flickers.

“What, I gotta greet the lass don’t I?”

“You know how he is.” Kyle mutters it quietly, while Johnny just gives a cheeky grin. Johnny then gestures to the amulet.

“It's pretty on you lass.” 

He releases your hand but lingers close to you, enough so you can feel his watch from the shirt he wears. He looks down at you warmly and you feel a tug at your heart when Kyle moves to join you. Nyx looks at him and meows to which he chuckles and looks down to you as well. You warm a little in the cheeks under their scrutiny but your phone ringing breaks the silence.

“That would be my coworker. I need to let her know I am home.”

“Aye lass don’t be a stranger now thanks for the help, we’ll see you home.”

He collects your satchel and you head out the open door followed by them and Nyx who lingers at your feet for attention. When you reach your apartment Johnny laughs.

“We’re lucky then to have you so close.” 

You give him a small smile and unlocking your door you bid them both a good night. They wait for you to close your door before Johnny scoops up Nyx turns to kyle,

“So it begins.” 

“Indeed.”

End Part One

[barmaidatthegarrison]

Green Eyes and Gunpowder (8/?)

Thomas Shelby x OC (Emily Hughes)

Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.

Word Count - 3,913

Warnings - sexual assault. Not super duper graphic but like. You are warned.

A/N - Hey it's June - I'm back. Stressed to all hell, but alive rip.

Thanks for the support <3 Would love to know what you think!

Chapter 7

Thankfully he and Emily were able to walk quickly through the back way, dodging all the staff and other less savoury characters hanging around.

“Prussian or Romanian?” She asked with a smirk, teasing.

She spun to dodge a man walking by with a large crate with a snort. While they didn’t talk about the plan, she still knew what he wanted from her – thank God he hadn’t fucked things up that badly.

“Prussian this time.” He smiled back, stifling a laugh as she grabbed his hand to pull him a little faster.

“I’m holding you to that dinner, Tommy!” She joked back, her smile absolutely took his breath away.

As they turned the corner, she dropped his hand, pausing for a brief moment. It was always interesting to watch her shift into someone else. Her shoulders rolled back, her smile turned calm and placid, her countenance sharpened into something posh and aloof.

Interesting and discomforting. Maybe it was because he knew she hated it, but he hated it too.

“Good day, gentleman. Apologies for the interruption, I’m Lady Catherine Everton. I just stepped out to speak with the man riding my family’s horse. If I could be permitted to pass back inside?”

The two men’s gazes turned to her, sizing her up and down. They weren’t quite leering, but Tommy didn’t like the way their gazes lingered.

“And he is?”

She huffed, convincingly annoyed. “My father insists on my having protection. Ridiculous if you ask me. He’s Prussian, doesn’t speak a word of English, so you can imagine the scintillating company that he makes.”

The two laughed, one stepping back to hold the door open for her.

“I hope your day gets better, Lady Catherine.” And she smiled demurely, sliding past the two of them.

As soon as they were on the other side, Tommy placed a hand on her spine, urging her towards the banister so they could take a look at the whole room.

“Left corner.” She said softly.

His eyes flicked up and then back down, lighting a cigarette to hide the motion.

“How about that dance, love?”

And her whole face lit up.

“You know he wants to fuck me.” It was through sheer force of will that he didn’t twitch at that, but his hand did tighten on her back, pulling her a little closer to him.

“That’s not happening.”

“Glad we agree.” She joked, spinning in his arms. “We should go dancing more.”

He felt himself smile, “There’ll not be no dancing in the Garrison. Singing’s more than enough, innit?”

Her body was pressed close enough to his that he could feel it when she laughed.

“Are you saying we can’t go anywhere but the Garrison ever again?”

“It’s a new acquisition, love. We have to support the family businesses.”

“A true family man, I see.” She twirled again, “Won’t even take his poor, sad best friend to go dancing more than once every few years.”

“Poor and sad are you now?” Her tinkling laugh raised his spirits. He knew he’d been smiling like an idiot for this whole dance, but he couldn’t be fucked to care.

“Not as poor and sad as Arthur’s going to be if you don’t start leading us back to the service door.”

There was no way Kimber would suffer a woman at the table, and they had to play his game now. So when Tommy came charging back with the bags from Arthur, she hung back a few moments to peer at the cuts on his cheek before kissing his forehead and telling him to clean them before he bandaged them.

“Whiskey, neat.” She ordered, leaning forward on the bar. In the corner of her eye she could see Tommy seated with him, and that’s where she needed to keep her sights.

“And a French 75. Put the lady’s on my table.”

Sighing, she should have seen this coming.

“I can buy my own drink.” She shot back, not bothering to look back at the man who was trying to flirt with her.

See the best part about being in Birmingham was that this rarely happened – people didn’t even try with her, scared of the woman who lived in the home and hearts of the terrifying family. Though sometimes it did ache in her heart when they called her Tommy’s girl – it wasn’t true but by God she wished it was.

He didn’t seem to care about her obvious annoyance, coming to lean next to her on the bar. “Don’t be like that, love. You’ve been left all alone, I’m just trying to offer you some company.”

“The only company I need is the drink.” And with that she took the glass from the bartender and stepped away.

Or she tried to, instead coming face to face with Billy Kimber.

“Your man said it was alright for me to have this dance.” She doubted that, but she happily played along, taking a sip before abandoning the glass back on the bar.

The music turned slower, a waltz rather than the quickstep it had been before. Kimber pulled her indecently close, hand a little lower than she would have liked, but she said nothing, offering him a look of disinterest and placidity. He seemed to respond well to the hard-to-get attitude before.

“You’re that lovely barmaid.” He said finally, as if coming to some grand conclusion.

“Your memory is sound.” She let her accent thicken a bit, but held her head higher.

“A woman as beautiful as you – hard to imagine you with that Peaky.”

Her eyes flicked to Tommy, who she could see watching intently, unhappy but not showing a lick of it. To anyone else, he’d have been the picture of uninterested.

She offered a small smile, “I’m attracted to power, Mr. Kimber.” She said softly. “In all of its forms.”

That was the right thing to say, as his eyes darkened. She could practically see him lusting after her.

When the dance finished and he went back to Tommy and his accountant, Emily lit a cigarette and pulled herself to the bar.

God she wanted to go home already. Sometimes, if she let herself think about it, Tommy’s ambitions scared her. He wanted to become a man who frequented these parties, welcomed and wanted in high society. Wanted to be counted among the toffs, the ruling elite. But this wasn’t her. It was a role she played, and though she played it beautifully, it crawled under her skin and made her itch, drained her energy and left her tired and sad.

Would he leave her behind one day? If she failed to live up to the expectations he was trying to set for his new life? She hoped not. Before the War, he wouldn’t have ever wanted this. Now though, she wondered how long she had left at his side before he found a proper posh girl to bring to these things – a girl who didn’t snap at men who flirted with her, effortlessly high society, who didn’t have to pause and steel herself to become what was needed in these scenarios.

Her mind turned to that barmaid again. Grace would probably do better here than she was. Somehow that ached more than anything else had yet.

In the corner of her eye, she watched Kimber turn to look at her, whispering something in Tommy’s ear. Only a few minutes ago, Tommy’d said that man wouldn’t be allowed to have his way with her. She hoped that was still true now that his ambitions were so close at hand.

One set of hands covered her breasts, resisting her struggles, pushing her shoulders into the ground, while the other ripped her skirt.

“Hush now, doctor, we don’t want anyone to hear. Think of this as a reward for all the work you’ve put in here.”

She could barely breathe, the scent of smoke and mud near overwhelming. Before her wrists were trapped, she’d managed to claw her hand violently against his face. She’d drawn blood, but not enough to stop him, only enough to make him mad.

“Fucking bitch. You’ve been teasing us for days. What did you think was going to happen?”

And his hands moved up and she couldn’t stop him. She tried to kick, tried to flail, but couldn’t scream. If she screamed they were dead – the whole tent was dead, but maybe death would be preferrable to feeling the way his cock slid against–

“We’re leaving.”

Violently, she flinched away from the hand that touched her, ripping herself out of its grip. Her hand balled into a fist and her heart pounded violently against her ribs, stealing her breath. The ringing in her ears reached a fever pitch and she was poised to strike. Poised to run.

Until her eyes flicked up to meet familiar blue. Very familiar blue.

Tommy?

What was he doing here? Was he with them? What was going on?

Slowly the sounds of the hall came back to her, the fast music and chatting patrons, the clink of a glass behind her at the bar. In her periphery the images of dancing men and women, spinning dresses and waiters moving through the crowd. The volume of worry she could now see in those familiar blue eyes.

The races. They were at Cheltenham. Kimber and the Lees and contracts. Fuck. With effort, she let her fingers relax, releasing her fist.

Tommy’s hand was hovering near her own, his whole body radiating concern, eyes locked with her own.

“Sorry.” She breathed, taking a heavy breath. Her voice sounded thin, even to her. “Sorry I was… I was somewhere else. We’re leaving?”

Slowly, he reached out again, watching her for reaction before cautiously putting his hand on her back. His tentative touch made her feel like a broken thing, a fragile piece of glass he was desperately attempting to not crack any more than it already was.

“Come on, love.”

He didn’t say anything as he guided her out of there, touch as soft and as gentle as he could make it. She was trembling under the hand he absolutely refused to remove from her back. Basically tucking her under his arm, trying to avoid letting anyone else so much as graze her side. The idea of anyone touching her right now made him feel violent.

It had scared him when he’d startled her. She looked at him with wild, unfocused eyes, pale faced and panicky. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so viscerally afraid. And she hadn’t recognized him, none of the warmth he so depended on in her eyes. That somehow frightened him the most.

He didn’t start the car right away when they got in. When he reached out for her hand, he started at how cold they were. Quickly he shucked out of his jacket and laid it over her shoulders, relieved when she pulled it tighter around herself.

She was still bloody shaking.

“Did you get your deal?” Her voice was stronger now, less small than it had been. So little of the fear lingered, but it was still there.

He didn’t respond to that, just kept looking at her. Waiting.

“Sorry about the end. It won’t happen again.”

“Want to tell me what it was?”

“France.” He almost flinched at that. “Didn’t sleep well last night, got stuck in my own head.”

Sometimes he forgot. Not that she’d gone over, but that she’d seen things too – that the thing’s she’d seen had gotten to her. She was always so much more put together than any of them were. Sometimes he forgot that she would have bad days too.

“Okay.” He started the car. If she wanted to talk, she would, and he would listen.

“Did you get your deal?” She asked again, clearing her throat. The jacket had helped with the shivering, but it wasn’t totally gone.

“Looks like it.”

She nodded. “What did he want at the end there?”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“Looks like you’re making a deal.” The accountant confirmed that they were at least getting somewhere, but Kimber seemed uninterested. “I have a condition.”

Tommy felt himself tense at the way Kimber’s eyes slid back to Emily, at the way he traced her throat as she took a long drag of her cigarette. The way he lingered on her legs.

“Some time with your girl, Shelby. It’s a simple request.” He got closer, leaning towards Tommy. “I’d like to try my luck, and she’s far too pretty for a man like you.”

Swallowing harshly, Tommy tried not to grit his teeth. “She’s not part of any deal, Mr. Kimber.”

The thought of his hands on her, the way he’d take what he wanted from her. Looking at her like a cheap whore, like something he owned, filled Tommy with a rage he didn’t know he was capable of. Kimber wanted her and he was willing to force her into it.

The man raised his eyebrows. “Anything I fucking want is part of the deal.”

“Pick any other fucking woman. She’s not up for grabs.” The anger was coming into his voice now, the danger he had learned to master. The Devil of Birmingham.

“Gentlemen.” The accountant cut in. “Perhaps we should stay on track here. Mr. Shelby’s proposal is sound, Mr. Kimber. It will prevent significant losses for us.”

Kimber ground his jaw, attempting to stare Tommy down, but this wasn’t a fucking coin thrown on the floor of his pub. This wasn’t a petty ego trip. This was Emily – his fucking Emily – and he would throttle this man with his bare fucking hands right here before he let him touch her.

When Tommy didn’t answer, she nodded.

“I thought so.” Her voice was soft again. Distant. “Thank you for not letting him.”

“Don’t.” The word came out without his permission, stern and unyielding. “Don’t fucking thank me for that.”

The tension he hadn’t realised was building in his body, only began to loosen when she laid her head on his shoulder. Automatically he wrapped an arm around her in turn. Burrowing into his side, she sighed, still cold to touch.

“Okay Tommy. I won’t.”

By the time they made it back to Small Heath, he was calm again.

“What have you done?”

Tugging on the front of his cap and smiling when he shouted in indignation. Arthur snorted from his place on the bench seat.

“You don’t call family meetings often, Johnny. Tell me what you did.”

For John’s part, he glared at her without heat. She was teasing him, and he was used to that, but he had to put up a good face.

“I found me a woman.”

She furrowed her brows, taking a chair at the table, and accepting a glass from the oldest. He was seeing someone? Not anyone he told her about. Through the door she saw Tommy and Polly make their way in.

“Alright John there’s only one man guarding the house.” Tommy said in lieu of greeting, rejecting the glass Arthur offered him. John got to the point rather quick after that.

Lizzie Stark.

John wanted to marry Lizzie fucking Stark.

It took all her self-control not to laugh like everyone else. God Johnny.

It wasn’t even that she was a whore, it was that she knew for a fact that she was still taking other clients – perks of being a bleeding doctor. Fuck, even Tommy had been one of her fucking clients. That thought sobered her quickly.

Right. He’d have anyone but her.

“Johnny.” She said, breaking into the teasing and laughter, waiting till his eyes met hers. His defensive anger falling away when she smiled sweetly at him. “Could I talk to her before you get married? Make sure she’s up to the job, little brother?”

He took a few moments to contemplate, looking out the window and then back to her. Purposefully it seemed ignoring his brothers. Eventually, he nodded to her.

“Thank you, love.”

She knew what the wire cutters meant. She’d heard stories on the front from the boys who ended up in her care. Polly only seemed to take the threat more seriously when all of them froze, looking at each other in shocked understanding. When John’s voice shook as he bade her to stop moving.

The boys were saying something about Erasmus Lee having been in France, about the grenade possibly being anywhere, but her mind was rushing a mile a minute.

If they wanted to kill Tommy, bombing the betting shop wasn’t smart. It was in fact the worst way to get Tommy – the man whose name was on the bullet. Hands going numb, the towel dropped from where she had been holding it against Scudboat’s face.

She was bolting before she could even think about it.

“It’s not here!” She shouted back, halfway out the door already, skirt hiked up.

The Lee’s had probably seen them leave the races. They probably knew what Tommy’s car fucking looked like. The car was a perfect way to kill him – to increase the chances that it would get the man they actually wanted dead.

Her heart was in her throat as she ran faster than she’d ever done before.

Finn was always playing with bloody cars, in the scrapyard or in their garage it didn’t matter. He liked turning the wheel and making engine noises. He’d snuck away after barging into the Garrison with his warning. She couldn’t be sure where he was but it wasn’t a low chance it was in the bloody garage and she’d be dead in hell before anything happened to that boy.

She shoved through the crowd of men chatting nearby, stunned still when she finally made it to the vehicle.

“Finn.” He smiled at her, evidently not registering the fear in her face or voice. “Finn, sweetheart, how did you get in the car?”

“I climbed over the front!” He laughed as she edged closer to the side, primed to grab him if she had to. “Look Em, I’m all grown up now.”

Normally she’d have complimented him, agreed with him, and he’d have beamed. Normally there wasn’t a fucking grenade in the car.

“Crawl back out, Finn. Right now. Exactly the way you went in.”

He thought it was a game. The way she was slowly edging closer to him. He thought she was playing with him, going to chase him like she often did. He would run and she would catch him and tickle him and he’d giggle.

As soon as he reached for the driver’s door, she leapt across the seat and grabbed him. Not fast enough. Not fast enough to stop the door from opening. She didn’t see the grenade but she heard the pin hit the ground, and she pulled him into her arms, enveloping his small body in her hold.

Between her body and the wall to shield him, she hoped that would be enough.

The last thing she heard before the bomb went off was shouts of her name.

Tommy blamed the shock for how long it took him to run after Emily. Always five or ten steps ahead, of course she figured it out, shooting out of the betting shop like a bullet from a gun. The fact that John and Arthur ran after him just as fast, no longer afraid that every step would end in an explosion, only highlighted their faith in her.

He almost stopped when he heard Finn’s giggle and Emily’s voice laced with unbridled terror. He was almost close enough, almost there. Only a few steps away when he saw Emily grab Finn, and envelope his body with her own, pressing both of them low to the wall.

Arthur and John yelled their names, horror overcoming them when they saw the pin on the ground.

The bomb went up and took and car with it, all three boys sent back by the force of the explosion.

His ears were ringing, his head ached. Blinking the dust and debris out of his eyes, Tommy was already rolling over to get up. To his left and right, John and Arthur were doing the same. So were some of the blokes who’d been unlucky enough to be hanging around.

They looked okay, his brothers looked fine. The ones he could see anyway.

“Are you okay? Finn, does anything hurt? Look at me.” Emily’s voice was wild, frightened, but hearing her sent shockwaves of overpowering relief through him.

What remained of the car sat burning, but Tommy could not have cared less in that moment. His legs, only not trembling through sheer force of will, pulled him towards the two voices coming from the corner of the garage. The smoke was thick, the heat searing, but he didn’t care – he needed to see.

There they were: Emily on her knees, holding tightly to a crying Finn. Both covered in soot. For all that he was still a little boy, Finn didn’t cry much. But right now, pressed into Emily’s neck, he was sobbing. That made sense – this must have been fucking terrifying for him. It was terrifying enough for them.

Emily turned to look when his footsteps approached, hackles raising and falling as soon as she realised it was him.

“It was in the car.” She said, even though it was obviously. Her shoulders started sagging a little, relieved herself. “I remembered Finn liked to play in it.”

He nodded, he’d pieced most of it together on the run over, the worst run he’d ever taken. Placing a hand on Finn’s shoulder, he squeezed, comforting the boy. Finn’s response was to sob harder, hiding his face deeper into Emily’s neck.

She was still breathing harshly, fingers of one hand gripping as tightly as she could to the young Shelby. Squeezing Tommy’s hand still on Finn’s shoulder with her free one, she pushed them to standing, letting the boy stay in her arms, carrying him like he weighed nothing.

They were fine. A few scrapes and bruises, but okay.

Or…

“You’re bleeding.”

There was a small spot of red growing on her back, just below her shoulder.

She blinked at him before trying to look over on her own. A small piece of what looked like metal was sticking out.

“Shrapnel.” She said wearily. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse. Pol can pull it out.”

He hated when she said that. I’ve had worse. He knew it was true, but he fucking hated it.

Kissing the top of Finn’s head, she started to make her way out of the garage, bade that he follow her – as if he’d ever done anything else. At the same time, Arthur and John came out from around the burning remains of their car.

“Fucking hell, woman.” Arthur breathed, relief and teasing in his voice. “We’re going to need a new car.”

John reached out and ruffled Finn’s hair, comforted by the sight of his brother being okay.

“Well we can afford one, eh?” The third brother joked, smiling at Emily, who smiled back, tiredly. The five thousand quid in the safe agreed with him. So did the five thousand they were expecting at the end of the week.

A couple hundred for a car was nothing if it meant the family was safe.

“Come on. Let’s get you both home.” Tommy said, his voice low, eyes falling back to the metal still protruding from under her blouse.

---

A/N2: Couldn't figure out a good place to stop so I just kept going... hope you guys liked it. I promise we are so close to coming to a head. And I'll be dealing with Grace in the next chapter... or 2?

Tagged: @weaponizedvirtue, @taorislover94 @maaxxxaam @thehanes22

[mtchee]

Bubbles Along the Surface - [Zhongli] GN

blurb:

A minor god awakened years after the Archon War, and with your brother, Osial, pinned to the depths below, you've made your own way in the world. In the most recent year, sailing with a merchant crew, you've forever decided to conceal your identity as a god, keeping to the life of a mortal with an intense fascination with the land of Geo. In all your years, its only now you have the chance to finally step foot in Liyue, meeting a tall and handsome man who eventually comes to be your beloved--but not without a few misunderstandings.

cw: not edited, fluff, minor angst, second-person-pov, spoilers for liyue playthrough but nothing major, osial is [name]'s older brother, archon siblings fr, zhongli loving on you, a reassuring zhongli, feat. childe but really he only gets like four lines

| masterlist | genshin impact collection |

[8.2k]

Eons ago, after the Archon war, arose a young archon hidden in a dreamless sleep beneath oceanic depths, protecting them from the catastrophe above. Awoken by the change in currents, they rose to the water's surface whilst their elder brother was pinned to the crust below—for they was the beloved sibling of the God of Vortex, Osial.

Their own title, God of Bubbles, and it was they whom were responsible for the health of marine life and the ocean oxidation.

While their followers had either converted or were wiped out in the war, they retreated from their title as an Archon, knowing it would only get them into trouble with the rising seven who battled for their rightful seats in ruling Teyvat.

Though their stories never died.

Sheltered due to the war and then lost without their big brother, they began a new life as a merchant, sailing the high seas and traversing from nation to nation. Although the world had changed from what they had originally thought, they were open minded and of a bright spirit—and couldn't wait to explore.

"To Liyue we sail!" The captain called, a rugged but sweet man who practically adopted you, "they've new silks due for Inazuma on the second moon, if we get there early enough we can rest on some solid ground for a while. Lets give ourselves a holiday, ay?"

The rest of the crew cheered back ecstatically, having been docked in Schneznaya for more than long enough. They could use a change of scenery; most weren't built for this kind of cold.

You laughed at their eagerness, quickly aiding your mates in loading on the last few crates of supplies before the ship was to set off once more.

You made sure your route was clear of storm—well, as much as you could. Your power's influence was better equipped for the water's depths, not its surface.

But you made do.

"Excited, love?" Darla, a Fontaine merchant about ten years your senior (physically at least) approached, a wide and knowing grin on her face, "you've always wanted to go to Liyue, haven't you?"

You grin back, eyes closed as you giggle sheepishly, "You've heard all my rambles, haven't you? Of course I am! And we get to stay there for... how long? Oh! Almost two moons! Two moons! Darla, that's two months of exploring! I've always wanted to visit the adepti shrines..."

"Of course you have," The older woman rolls her eyes playfully, gently bumping into your hip, "calm yourself, dear. We don't want you to combust."

You laugh at her in good nature.

"How come we're staying so long anyway? Not that I'm complaining."

"Why do you think?" Darla gives you an incredulous look, "because you're the captain's pearl, that's why. He's always had a soft spot for you," she nods her head towards the old man by the wheel, "not that the rest of us mind. Gives us a break too."

They watch as while the evening prevails, the ship's leader bounds below deck despite his age and practically hauls up a barrel of drinks for the mates to share, letting out a bellowing laugh all the whilst.

You snort, "Mm, I see what you mean."

After a week or so of smooth sailing, you finally port in Liyue Harbour and settle yourselves at the available inns, unloading any personal cargo and clearing the ship for its future stocks.

The Portside is bustling with life, fishermen promoting their fresh produce and other sailors maintaining their boats. Your eyes are wide in awe at the architecture and vivacity, excitement only continuing to build within you.

"Oh, pa!" You eagerly turn to your father figure with pleading eyes, "the city's just past the docks, may I please—?"

"Just be back before dark, alright?" The captain huffs out with feigned exasperation, "some of the crew and I will be hangin' around the plaza for a bit. Some place called Third around Knockout? I dunno..."

He scratches the back of his head before letting out a puff of air as you launch yourself at him, arms latched tightly around his torso in a hug.

His once narrowed eyes widen while the colour pink tints his sun kissed cheeks, "O-Oi!"

"Thank you, pa!" You pull back with a gleeful smile, "I'll be back soon, I promise!"

You lean up and places a chaste kiss on his frizzy cheek before rushing off past the docks.

The male stammers as some of the crew snicker at him from behind, teasing him for putting up his so called 'cold exterior'.

"Yeah yeah... uh, b-be safe!" He calls out at last. He quickly whips around to those laughing, "who're you chucklin' at, huh? hUh?!"

Eager to explore, you find yourself in the middle of the plaza ahead of your crew and are immediately overwhelmed by the smell of food and a rush of people.

You can't help but grin at the sight.

You wander past the open shops and stalls, simply admiring the sights and everything the locals of Liyue had to offer. You feel your heart swell at the kindness of a sweet granny who ran a toy stall, the elder woman giving you a colourful paper windmill with the only explanation being that you had a beautiful smile.

You express your gratitude and wish for her good health before continuing onwards with more of a skip in her step, gift clutched to you closely.

In the midst of your exploration, you bump into a tall man, profusely apologising as you stumble for your balance, toy falling to the floor.

"Ah, no sweat!" The male replies, and you look up to meet deep blue orbs and a boyish grin. The ginger haired stranger leans down to pick up your fallen gift, handing it back to you whilst introducing himself as Childe.

"[name]," You reply politely, shaking his hand with a bright smile, "it's a pleasure! Uh, a-apologies for the collision..."

At your sheepish expression, the male only chuckles and waves it off, a certain glint appearing in his eyes at the mention of your name.

"You're not from around here, are you?" He tilts his head curiously.

"Oh, no, heh, I'm a—" You stop yourself momentarily, clearing your throat, "I'm a foreigner. I work as a merchant across the waters."

"I see, I see," His gaze grows half lidded, flickering to the glowless hydro vision by your waist, "you like the ocean?" His curiosity peaks as he notices you perk up immediately.

"Yes! Indeed, aha, it's practically my life."

He gives you a nod of understanding, and you indulge yourself in idle chatter before parting ways, the male heading towards the crimson stairs leading to the balconies above. It's then that you realise where you are.

Not in the plaza, that's for sure.

Finding yourself lost, you take note of the increasingly darkening sky, "Oh dear..." your stomach drops.

Your eyes dart around hurriedly in hopes of landing on something familiar, spinning around in a circle and only managing to loose hope.

Your chest tightens as the sun finally dips past the horizon, and you cuss quietly under your breath. Your knuckles grip the stem of the paper windmill closely, the toy being your only sense of comfort.

"Excuse me," A deep voice adresses you from behind and you jump.

You whirl around, wide eyes meeting the chest of the individual talking to you.

Wary gaze trailing upwards, you come into contact with almost luminescent amber isises, and a concerned frown.

"Are you alright? You seem rather... distressed."

You take in a sharp breath, eyes flickering—the man is breathtaking.

He is tall and of a strong physique, with wide shoulders and a toned, but slimmed waist. His clothes are dark, although intricate and rich with black and brown to gold features.

His hair is long at the back, tied neatly in a low tail whilst the front frames his eyes in curt strands.

You blink, "Oh, yes. I—uh, ahem. I-I'm not from here, you see? And, um, I appear to have found myself a bit lost..." you can't help but feel small under his stony gaze, hearing him hum lowly in response.

"I see. From where do you hail?"

"Oh, I'm a travelling merchant. I docked today with my crew and told pa—uh, m-my captain that I would be back before dark, but..."

"Ah, I understand," The male's stern features seem to melt ever so slightly at your stammer, and he gives you a small smile to ease your nerves, "do you recall where you are suppose to be?"

"Somewhere called Third Round Knockout, I believe."

You give him a sheepish grin in return, toy clutched close. The stranger's eyes lighten in recognition of the name.

"A place I frequent in my days of rest. If you would like, may I escort you to your destination?"

"Really?" You brighten hopefully as he offers you his arm, "you wouldn't mind? Thank you, sir!"

"Zhongli," He states as you link your arm with his, "you may refer to me as Zhongli."

He smiles at you softly, causing you to flush, and begins leading you back towards the plaza.

"Mister Zhongli! Mister Zhongli!" You wave him down excitedly, the male breathing out a chuckle at the notion.

Throughout the following months, the two of you had bumped into each other once more and became well acquainted, soon becoming friends as you met up frequently.

The geo user became acutely aware of his new found friend's fascination with Liyue and was more than happy to show you around and tell you the many tales of said nation.

You got to know each other well within your first visit, you having been rather disheartened when the time came for you and your crew to leave--though the man had assured you that when you next returned, he would still be waiting.

"[name]," He greets with a gentle smile, opening his arms as you gleefully jumps into them, "how have you been fairing?"

"Good," You reply curtly, smiling up at him, "but better now that I'm here."

You laugh when he shake his head at you, "What about you? Are you okay?"

Zhongli tilts his head slightly with a confused hum, "I heard about the Archon's passing, news of it has already reached Fontaine although it was a few days ago. Are you alright?"

"Oh, that, yes," Zhongli clears his throat and composes himself, "indeed, it is tragic. However, I believe the Qixing has everything under control."

"I suppose. Something doesn't... feel right though..."

He leans forwards in interest, a certain glint in his eyes at your words.

"Oh? How so?"

"I'm not sure, I just feel as though Morax—uh," You glance at him momentarily, catching yourself before you blurt out something controversial.

As an Archon yourself, you swore you could still sense the presence of Liyue's God; though you doubt herself, chalking it up to the fact that you were an inexperienced Archon, simply sensing the ramenants of his power.

"N-nothing. It just feels, odd? Someone having the ability to murder a God, and the Geo Archon no less... Um, anyway..."

Zhongli hums, the glint in his eyes ever so prominent, "I understand what you are inferring. In any case, it will be a long time before any such revelations come to fruition."

He takes note of your nerves, watching as you squeeze your left hand nervously and swiftly changes the subject to ease your discomfort.

You traverse towards Yujing Terrace, where Zhongli breaks any silence by running his mouth on about the flowers maintained in the gardens.

"A dear friend of mine, Madame Ping maintains the flora."

"Really?" You hum, "what kind of silk flowers does she grow?"

"All three variations I believe," The man goes on to continue but is interrupted by a high pitched and child-like voice from afar.

"Mister Zhongliiiiiii!"

The duo pause and turn towards the sound, you tilting your head at the sight of a frantically waving, floating mushroom fairy child and a boy.

The unknown blond makes no attempts to hush his companion, simply shaking his head at her loudness before approaching.

Glancing to the side, you notice Zhongli's ease in their presence and calm yourself.

"Ah, Aether, Paimon, hello," He greets with a nod, "what brings you two here?"

"Oh, we were just about to meet Ms. Ningguang! We've got a special invitation to head up to the Jade Chamber!" The mushroom fairy child—Paimon—explains proudly.

"Oh? Impressive, indeed." Zhongli humours her kindly.

"Sorry, did Paimon disturb you?" The blond—Aether—asks, ignoring his companion's offended 'hey!'.

"Not at all," You give the two a smile, "don't worry about it. Zhongli was just going to show me around Yujing Terrace."

Your companion nods, "Aether, Paimon, this is [name]. A dear friend of mine."

"[name]?" Paimon blinks, "you mean like the—"

Zhongli clears his throat, "Anyhow, I suppose the Qixing won't be too fond of waiting. I take it you are prepared?"

Sharing a peculiar look with Aether, the two communicate silently.

"Right!" The blond scratches the back of his head, "we've just picked up a gift for Lady Ningguang. Hopefully it's good enough."

"I'm sure she'll enjoy it." The taller assures.

Paimon huffs and stomps in the air, "Hey! Why are you interrupting—"

"Anyway, we'll see you later then! It was nice meeting you, Mx. [name]!" Aether grins at you and waves before bolting off, leaving his companion dazed.

"I—uh, whaaa? Heyyy! Wait for me!" The floating mushroom fairy is quick to fly after him, the two fading from sight.

You laugh, mildly confusde, "Well, they're an interesting pair."

The male beside you releases the breath he was quietly holding, chuckling softly, "Yes, indeed they are. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, about the silk flowers..."

"[name]?"

You perk up at the sound of your name, peering up from behind the stock of open crates you had been counting.

"Oh, Zhongli!" You brighten immediately, hopping over the boxes to reach him.

"Hi! What are you doing here? I thought you had work today?"

Despite your concern, you give him a grateful smile, a familiar warmth creeping up your neck.

The man smiles at you contently.

"I took a small break earlier than usual, though my boss doesn't mind."

He internally winces and fights back a flush of embarrassment when recalling Hu Tao's thorough interrogation for the sudden departure.

He wasn't in any trouble for doing so, no—but once Hu Tao found out it was to see someone outside of work, oh boy...

"Ah, anyhow," he clears his throat, "I... wanted to ask you something, and I suppose I just couldn't wait any longer."

Your interest peaks. Unfortunately, so too does some of your crew mates--a few of them slowing in their work to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Zhongli takes in a breath, "I was hoping to be able to treat you to dinner tonight, if you would be interested?"

His amber eyes meet yours with a hopeful glaze. Despite his outward composure, he could feel his nerves skyrocketing once he took note of their minor audience.

Your eyes widen and you bite back a squeak.

Is this even real? Or are you just assuming things? Oh, you could feel the excitement bursting within you—wait, but you're an Archon... oh gods you forgot about that. Ugh, but he's so—

"[name]?"

You snap out of your thoughts, embarrassment flooding you.

You quickly blurt out, "Yes! I-I mean, uh," you straighten yourself up as to not seem so flustered, "sure, ahem. Um... a-are you...?"

Zhongli let's out a subtle sigh of relief, closing his eyes as he allows a ginger smile to grace his lips.

"Yes, [name]. If you would, may I take your hand in courting?"

Oh.

Oh.

OH SHI-

You tense and fight to push down an unholy squeal, mind racing. You could feel your mouth go dry the moment he reopened his eyes and made contact with yours.

You only manage to give him another giddy smile, nodding shyly with sore cheeks. Zhongli chuckles at you, taking a step closer and gently grasping your dominant hand in both of his.

"Then, I will see you tonight by the stairs of Yujin Terrace. Do not fret, my dear, you are perfect as always."

He brings your hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss upon its skin whilst maintaining eye contact.

He gives you one last charming smile before stepping away and leaving the harbour, ignoring the light blush coating his cheeks.

Later that day, as the sun kisses the horizon, you make your way from the inn and towards Yujing Terrace.

The night life in the plaza is bustling, the noise and chatter growing faint as you move farther from the docks.

Well into the city and past Luili Pavilion, the moonlight glinting across the shallow water catches your eye.

You slow and stop for a moment to peer into the pool, smiling softly as the golden bass and koi curl towards you. You glimpse a shadow passes from behind.

You giggle softly and, with a wave of your hand, summon gentle currents beneath the water's surface to play with the fish.

While the bass laze and let the gentle currents drag them along, the koi play along with the hidden tides, weaving in and out of the streams.

"Ah, there you are."

With a gasp and a jolt, you drop your hand to your side and step away from the waters edge.

"My apologies, [name]," Zhongli chuckles light heartedly, "I did not mean to frighten you."

"No! Not at all, aha," You quickly smooth any secret crinkles in your clothing and give your suitor a sheepish smile, heart racing in mild panic, "j-just nervous, I guess."

"Nervous?" The male quirks up a brow, "do I make you nervous, my dear?" Though his eyes--sharp as always--watch you attentively, the cheeky glint and subtle smile gives him away.

Stumbling over your tongue, you simply sigh and give him a pleading look, warmth creeping up behind your ears. Zhongli just smiles at you before offering you his arm; henceforth, commencing your date.

As evening turns into night, the moon rises higher and higher into the darkening sky with the two of you remaining arm in arm.

You find yourselves at the very top of the Terrace, where the annual Rite of Descension would have taken place.

Overlooking the sea of clouds*, you lean yourself against the railing, sighing softly as you gaze down at the waters fondly. Zhongli remains behind for a moment, watching you and getting lost in his thoughts before finally approaching.

He leans down beside you, facing the ocean although his attention is drawn to your being.

"[name]?"

You hum in response.

"May I... tell you something?"

Your attention peaks at his hesitancy, and you turn towards him curiously.

Zhongli keeps his glowing eyes out on the ocean.

"What I am about to say must remain secret between us. It is something that only a select few know," His gaze never wavers, "and I hope it changes very little, if it changes anything at all, between us."

Your brows furrow slightly, and you give his profil a soft smile, tilting your head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

Zhongli takes in a breath, "You know my name, correct?"

Your frown deepends, "Zhongli?"

The male nods slowly, "Indeed. Although, prior to this name, I used to go by many others—the most famous of which is one, revered, throughout all of Liyue."

You lean towards him in your puzzlement, and it is only then that he looks at you.

"My name, is Rex Lapis."

He doesn't blink, and your heart stops.

You can't breathe.

Disbelieving of your own ears, you search his gaze for any sign of deceit.

Alas, he remains firm.

His sharp amber irises seem to glow in the low light, glinting beneath the moon.

You swallow nervously and take in an uneven breath, a single word passing through your lips.

"...Morax."

Dread fills your entire being, and fear overturns your heart.

Why would he tell you this?

Why would he tell you now?

Why should he have ever told you? You don't just say that you're a dead archon to your friends—

You feel deathly cold all of a sudden.

He knows.

All tension in your being drops into the weight of lead as the entirety of Teyvat comes to a halt.

He knows. 

He knows who you are, he knows you're a God, he knows all about you.

And for how long?

You feel sick to your stomach, and so you take a step back.

Seeing you fumble and your dreadful silence, Zhongli's firm gaze softens. He sighs quietly through his nose and moves towards you as he speaks.

"[name]—"

"Please."

He stops, face falling at the amount of fear in your eyes. He sees the unwavering fright in your very being.

The horrors of the war echo in your memories--whereby from stories or the experience of its aftermath.

Unadultered terror regarding your ultimate death as an archon sits like cement in your bone and tissue.

Zhongli watches, and you don't dare to breathe.

This wasn't how it was suppose to go.

He steps towards you again, but you fear to step back.

"Please don't."

Your voice wavers, almost a whisper.

It takes every fibre of your being not to retreat in immediate terror. But you know the power of a God, even if they no longer claim the title.

Zhongli's heart clenches, eyes widening as his mind begin to race once he notices your form trembling.

Though your hands were tense and nearly hidden by your sides, he could see their tight tremors. Barely glancing off to the side, he could see ripples surfacing from beneath the shallow pools of water decorating the Terrace.

They slowly grew bigger, and began to bubble.

"[name]... My dear, please. Calm yourself—"

"D-Don't!" Your voice barely raises, though your fear and desperation are apparent.

"Please... I...I don't have any followers. I don't have any land. I-I don't plan on taking anything, I swear I've basically only just woke up—"

His brows furrow, "[name]—"

"—I'll leave! I promise!" Your legs give out, and you collapse to your knees.

Your terror filled eyes no longer dare to look upon him, "I...I'm not a part of the seven but... I-I didn't..! I'd never..!"

A pitched cry forces itself passed your lips, "if I had a choice I wouldn't be here in the first place so p-please! Please... Banish me to the seas! I just--I... I don't want to die..."

Zhongli's stomach drops, "Oh, my dear—no..."

Sickness fills him to the brim and despair overwhelms him in waves.

He slowly lowers himself to your level, gaze soft as he does so.

"[name], please, look at me," Your lack of response causes him to sigh, but his patience is ever present, "here, how about you take my hand?"

Sniffling quietly, you tense when he draws closer.

"...I couldn't... M-Morax—"

"Whilst I retain the name of a former archon, the name you have come to know bares no such burden."

He keeps his hand outstretched, "So please, won't you look at me?"

It takes a moment of tension before you feel you foolishly dare attempt to make contact.

Your head lifts ever so slowly, and though you refuse to meet his eyes, you gradually reach out a trembling hand to meet his.

Zhongli breathes out a silent sigh of relief, gently tracing his thumb across your tense knuckles to soothe your nerves.

He whispers small praises of strength and gratitude, smiling gingerly when you look at him in alarm and embarrassment when he presses a kiss to your stiff fingers.

"There you go," He hums softly, "nothing is going to harm you, lest of all me, my dear..."

Slowly, slowly, the tremors stop and terror fades from your body. Exhaustion clouds you once you you're conscious of your senses.

Your embarrassment only grows at the awareness of your state: settled on your knees and with tear stained cheeks—not just in front of another archon but your (once upon a time) date no less.

Uh oh, you forgot about that.

You take in a sharp breath and look away to hide your face, clearing your throat as you attempt to pull away your hand.

Zhongli refuses to let go.

Instead, he stands, and gently pulls you up with him. Your voice wavers, feeling the dryness of your tongue, but Zhongli is patient.

He waits for you to gather your bearings.

"How," You sniffle quietly, "ah... how long have you known..?"

You refuse to meet his gaze.

Zhongli smiles gently, "From the very moment you mentioned your name."

"What?" You blink.

He chuckles lightheartedly, "No mortal would dare name a child after a God, my dear. Besides, your youth as an archon means you have yet to master how to conceal your presence."

"Oh."

While mortals may not be able to detect a God among the people, there is always a connection from archon to archon unless they wish to mask it.

As you are a young archon (though two thousand years old, you've been asleep for the past five hundred) with your elder brother trapped beneath the ocean depths, you lacked the guidance he would have provided.

You've managed to figure out a few things on your own, but your isolation from others of your being have left you clueless.

Zhongli smiles at you softly, "Not to worry, my dear. While I may have officially, well, unofficially, really—retired from being an archon, you are no longer alone. Do not carry this burden by yourself, hm?"

You take in a bashful breath, "R-Right. Thank you, uh, Zhongli."

He offers his arm to you once more, keeping a soft look upon his features as to keep you assured.

You glance between him and the ground, hesitation clouding your mind before you rationalise your thoughts—he had known about you from the moment you met. If he really wanted you gone, you would be.

But you weren't.

And so you give him a shy smile before accepting his arm, and you continue your night at a slower pace.

Though you both remain oblivious to the soulless blue eyes that observe you from within the shadowed darkness of the night.

A sly smirk traces his lips—a that plan would soon come to fruition.

Nearly two weeks since that night, you help load up at the docks on a bright sunny day.

The ramp creaks slightly with every heavy weight carried over from land and on board, the workers chattering about as they go on with their business.

Zhongli and you had continued to meet up, occasionally for lunch, but more so in the evenings so you had more time to spend together. Your crew mates teased you relentlessly, but they were nice about it—thanks to your pa, that is.

He was in near tears when he first heard about it, sniffling about how his little one was all grown up, even when you've never been a child in the time he'd known you, but it was funny (and sweet) nonetheless.

Darla was ready for all the gossip, and gave you all the romance talk you could ever need.

Needless to say, you were incredibly embarrassed that day.

Particularly when Zhongli came to pick you up at the docks after seeing you were late. Never again will you let Darla speak to him.

Zhongli was amused though.

It was around midday when things began to get weird.

It was only you who noticed at first, though you brushed it off seeing as you would be the only one to notice.

You'd noticed the currents beneath the water's surface began to quicken, gradually turning into a swirl. Then the sky darkened, and the swirling currents moved further out to sea before breaching the surface—a vortex.

Thunder clouds rolled in and lightning struck the ground. At the sudden change in weather, the people of Liyue slowed in their works.

Panic came to fruition as the vortexes rose into the air, connecting with the storm clouds above.

Harsh rain pelted down on Liyue Harbour, the ocean waves rising and crashing down like a dominoes on the docks; the water became so rough it began to damage the boats and ships, fiercely pulling the wooden stakes of the docks.

"Run! Run!" People screamed, "move inland!"

"Away from the waters!"

"Move! Quickly!"

The harbour was in hysterics.

You felt pain grip your heart at the fearful screams of the people you had come to love, worry flooding you as the wooden stakes began to rock.

"[name]!" Your pa comes barrelling towards you with heavy footsteps, his rain drenched clothes weighing him down, "stay away from the boats! Get inside the buildings!"

He hurriedly nudges you away from the docking point, eyes rapidly blinking to get rid of the water.

"What about you?!"

You have to yell over the sound of the thunder and heavy rainfall.

"I'm getting the rest of the crew!" He calls back, "stay put!"

You can do nothing but nod, dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events.

As you turn to leave the harbour, a deep voice calls for you.

It's quiet, yet it rings throughout your head and echoes in your ears, and your eyes widen.

You recognise the voice, though it had been many centuries.

"Big brother..." You mutter under your breath.

You move your gaze towards the violent waters, seeing a small, snake like tendril beckoning you forwards. You feel a sting in your eyes--and not just for the pelting rain.

Nervous butterflies flurry in your chest as the rain falling around you grows lighter.

"[name]..."

The voice beckons you, and you move closer.

It repeats your name again, "little one... follow..." the tendril falls back into the water, and you gasp.

"W-Wait! No!"

You rush towards the rough waters edge and collapse to your knees, peering into the depths.

Desperation clings to you and you loose all rationale, a cotton haze in your mind forcing you to no longer pay heed to the life you had built since your awakening.

"Brother! Brother, where are you!?" Your eyes dart around before spotting the tendril once again, and relief floods your system. It motions for you to follow before disappearing once more.

You follow.

Chasing it across Liyue Harbour and spying it from the ocean border, it popped up each time before dropping down and appearing someplace else.

Before you knew it, you found yourself by the cliffs of Wuwang Hill.

You struggle to see through the veil of rain, the thunder grumbling louder and louder. Through the thick of it, you spot the faint outline of a man, his back turned to you.

Shock almost paralyses your body. You find yourself slowly moving towards the man nonetheless.

The closer you gets, the better you can determine some of his features.

While tall, he maintains a lean build, ocean hued locks cascading down his pale back. His body is adorned in a loose hanfu, colours corresponding with the oceanic depths.

Your eyes widen when he turns his head toward you, lapis blue irises meeting with the [colour] of your own.

The smallest of smiles tugs at his thinned, pale lips, fondness softening his gaze.

"Hello," He greets, voice—though with a slight rasp—is rich and otherwise smooth, "little one."

Your heart races, a heavy breath leaving you before you bolt towards the man, tears streaking down from your eyes and mixing with the rain.

"Big brother!" You cry out, embracing his form from behind.

Despite your affection, the male keeps himself facing the cliffs edge. He places his hands upon yours, tracing your knuckles softly.

He hums softly, "My dear, sweet sibling," a sad look overcomes his features, and he gazes out towards the harbour.

At his lackluster, you sniffle before looking up confusedly.

"Osial..?" You question, eyes glistening.

He does not ordain you with a response.

Your attention slowly draws towards the city of Liyue, absolute horror filling you to the brim at the sight of it—vortexes reaching from between the sea and the sky threaten to swallow the buildings and wreck the stone mountains, whirlpools drawing closer to the bayside.

You spot giant tendrils of a hydra composed of water thrashing amidst the chaos, roaring and hissing as the rain pours heavy.

"Osial!" You cry out in terror.

"Brother—what's going on?! What are you doing?!" You remove your arms from the figure of the God, pushing yourself in front of him in a panic, "brother, please!"

The male's firm eyes do not falter, and he merely glances at you.

"It is for the best, dear one," A frown makes itself known on his once passive features.

You feel a swirl of emotions well up inside you, "What? No, no! Please—brother, Liyue is my home!"

Osial's gaze hardens, and anger clouds his view.

"Liyue," He spits the name, "has corrupted you, dear one," his fists clench by his side, and the large tendrils of water grow even more fierce, "he has corrupted you."

Your stature falters, "W-What..?"

The man only huffs, crossing his arms across his chest as he holds his chin high, "Do not act so naïve. I know who you confide with. You have betrayed me, little one."

"Betrayed you..? Betrayed? Brother, what are yo—"

"You have made treason with the one whom trapped me under our depths for millennia. You have taken side with Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon—he has taken you from me!"

The God's hair rises in opposition to the heavy downpour, locks twisting into the form of snakes that hiss, "and so I too, will take something precious from him."

His voice booms across the hills and across the waters.

From the edge of the Jade Chamber, Aether and his comrades divert their attention towards the sound of the yell, and their eyes widen.

You feel your heart break in your chest, "What..? No.. no! Osial! Brother—" you begin to scream, tears, like a waterfall, steaming down your face, "brother, please! Think for a moment! Brother!"

The elder ignores your cries of anguish.

Staring you down sternly despite the ache in his chest. He says nothing as he pushes you to the side, walking towards the cliffs edge once more.

He turns to you one last time, a sharp bite present in his tone.

"Once this is over, I will be back for you, dear one. And him," His eyes glint dangerously, "I will kill."

And then he leaps, vanishing into the furious, crashing depths below.

Your stomach drops, and the amount of panic coursing through you makes you dizzy.

You can't lose your brother.

But you can't lose him either.

And you surely wouldn't be able to cope without your beloved city.

So you run.

You race through the forest on foot, terror coursing through your veins.

While it would be faster to traverse through the waters in your bubbled form, it's current condition would render you immobile, and it would only be easier for your brother to hunt you down.

You hiss at the rain hitting your eyes, pushing through the irritation and the pain as you continues to run.

Not to the harbour, no.

It would be much to easy for him to find you there.

You must get away, far away.

Away from the waters, away from your brother, and away from him—your beloved, Morax.

Zhongli.

Your body aches and your heart shatters, but you persist--never once sparing a glance over your shoulder at the chaos that ensues.

You didn't know where you were, but even if you were far, the distance between you and the harbour still could not disguise the explosion from afar.

Your eyes widen at the light booming from whence you had gone, hands covering your gaping mouth as you fall to your knees with a stifled cry.

That was it.

It was done.

The fight was over, but you could feel it, in your heart, that it was not your brother who had won.

The breath in you chest is forcefully taken from you, and you can't find it within yourself to fight for it back.

You stumble into the nook of a mountain base you had hidden in, falling onto the cobbled and cold ground with tears. Your shoulders heave with your heavy and silent cries, before a loud scream escapes you, rocking the land and rippling the waters.

A searing pain grips your heart.

Despite their victory and with their feet on solid ground, the traveller and the rest cannot help but feel unease.

After their win is assured, a shrill shriek of pain ruptures the air, having echoed from afar. The people of the harbour shudder and almost collapse, looking around in fear, worry, and wonder.

But the group know better, and Aether shares a look of alarm with Paimon—their attention is yet to be caught by the figure slowly and weakly rising through the bubbling of the ocean water.

Through your tears and anguished cries, your exhausted mind forces you into a deep slumber—your body rested in the cave.

You remain undisturbed for days.

Panic and worry consumes those who know you, unknowing of your whereabouts and your condition.

Zhongli, putting aside his contract, feared for you the moment of the attack.

News reached him quickly of Osial's anger towards Rex Lapis for having 'stolen' his beloved sibling, though information of Morax's mortality remain only with the adepti and the Qixing.

By request of the former archon, the traveller sought the help of the fellow adepti to track down the missing god, the Qixing keeping an eye out, though having to prioritise the chaos of the people.

Within the time of their search, you awaken in a daze. Though still heartbroken, your mind is in more ease.

You peek outside of your little cave, stepping out and glancing around. It seems that you made it to the border between Cuijue Slope and Tianqiu Valley, near the adeptus mountains.

About to leave your enclosure, a cold fear consumes you as a shadow obscures you overhead. You look up, spotting the retreating form of Cloud Retainer from above.

Panic grips you again, and you immediately return to your stone cold haven.

They've discovered your existence—they're after you.

After the defeat of your brother, they've come to deal with you next. Since the destruction your brother had caused, surely only death would befall you as punishment in suit.

Tears gather in your eyes again and you muffle a weep. Your body stiffens at the sound of a shuffle from the cave's mouth, and your throat tightens.

Slowly, you stand, keeping silent as the intruder grows closer. You take in one last breath, deciding to play defense as there was no where for you to go.

You summon your catalyst which rotates with your elemental, encased in a bubble with strands of water circling around it. In your spare hand you generates the first burst of hydro, ready to attack.

Anticipation and anxiety flood you as a head pops around the corner, followed by a body with a sword in their hand.

Without hesitation, you clench your eyes shut and let out a battle cry, throwing down your elemental and attacking at a rapid pace.

While your original attack is not powerful, it's continuous onslaught is fast and taxing.

Yells of alarm and pain are heard from the intruder, voices reverberating around the cave.

"Wait! W-Wait!"

"[name]—Wait! It's me! Aether—t-the traveller!"

"A-Aether..?" You slowly cease your attack and peek your eye open, gasping at the sight of the familiar blond male and his floating mushroom fairy companion, "oh! Archons..! Aether, Paimon—I'm so sorry!"

The traveller gives you a sheepish grin whilst Paimon shakes the remaining bubbles off her head, smiling at you.

"Don't sweat it!" The little fairy dismisses.

"So this is where you've been hiding, huh?" Aether comments, "are you okay?"

You shrug, weapon dissapating, "I..I don't know. I've been too afraid to leave, and had fallen asleep in my grief... I don't know how to feel."

The male hums, "Liyue has been looking for you, you know," his voice is gentle, "come on. Everyone is worried."

With a bit more coaxing, the traveller and his companion manage to lead you out of the cave.

You freeze at the sight of someone waiting outside.

Xiao had been standing guard the mouth of the cave, waiting for Aether's return. His hardened eyes meet yours, and you cower in fear, re-summoning your catalyst on a whim.

Your hands bubble with hydro.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Take it easy!" Paimon flies in front of you, waving her arms about frantically, "it's just Xiao! Paimon knows he looks scary, but Paimon promises he's really nice! Deep, deep down!"

You glance between Paimon and the adeptus, who eyes you back wearily.

"He...he's not here to kill me..?"

"Kill you?" Everyone is taken aback by the statement, "why would he kill you?" Aether furrows his brows worriedly, "we've been searching for you for days."

"And Zhongli's been worried sick!" Paimon chips in.

"Z-Zhongli..?" Your eyes flutter, and your guard lowers, "oh no... please—take me to him..!" And so they do.

A weary but rushed trip back to Liyue Harbour consisted of Paimon fretting over you and lowkey (okay, highkey) freaking out over the fact that you were indeed another archon, you fearing for your life whenever Xiao so much as glanced at you, and Aether reassuring you that no one wanted you dead. 

Reaching the harbour was like a slap in the face for you, of both uncertainty and relief--relief at the fact that most were safe, and casualties were little, but uncertain of how those who knew you would react to you returning, especially the Qixing and Zhongli.

You wondered if the Qixing will let you roam or imprison you for your brother's acts, or if Zhongli will shadow you in favour for his city--though that would be fair, you conclude.

They are his people after all. 

"Baby pearl!" Your head perks up at the name, head darting around in search for the source of the watery call, "oh, thank the archons!"

Your papa comes barreling towards you, unshed tears glistening in his dark brown eyes as he wraps his arms around your frazzled form, "you're safe..! You're safe..." 

"P-Papa..." Tears, once again, well up in your pretty [colour] orbs, and you sniffle at the tightness of his hold, "...papa..!"

You let out a cry, sobbing into his shoulder, "I-I'm so sorry..!" 

"You're okay, pearl, you're oka-y!" The usually stoic captain's voice cracks, and he sniffles with you. As your tears die down, he straightens himself and clears his throat, turning towards your onlookers, "thank you, for bringing [name] back safe." 

Paimon tiltes her head slightly, "Hm? Doesn't he know that they're...?" She eyes you shaking your head rapidly and a lightbulb goes off in Paimon's head, "Ooh! Paimon gets it. Yes! We kept them very safe indeed! Hehe." 

"Of course, sir," Aether nods respectfully, Xiao simply dozing off into his thoughts. 

"Papa," You gently call his attention, "have you seen Zhongli anywhere?"

The man scoffs, "Where haven't I seen him? He's been frantic since you left. He's either by the pavillion or the terrace. You've given the young man quite the fright."

You sweatdrop.

"Ah, y-yes..." You give your papa one more shaky smile, planting a grateful kiss on his scruffy cheek, "I'll be back soon okay? I promise I won't be going anywhere again."

"Hmph, you better... now, come on you lot! We could use a few more hands down by the docks!"

Xiao promptly disappears at that, with Paimon groaning and Aether simply smiling and giving a polite nod before heading off to help. 

With that, the young archon begins making their way towards the destinated areas, checking the pavillion first before heading up to the terrace.

Anxiety pulses in your heart momentarily, but you quickly dismisses it--like papa said, Zhongli had been frantic, so you have nothing to worry about. 

Making your way up the stairs, you ignore the eyes of a certain ginger who walks opposite to you, watching as you pass him by.

Reaching the top, disbelief takes over your very being.

Your jaw drops and your shoulders sag at the amount of shock coursing through you. 

There, atop the end of the terrace, was Zhongli talking to a man only a few blue hairs taller than him.

His clothes are slightly tattered, and still loose, reflecting colours of the ocean depths. His skin, though pale, is slightly bruised. And although his brows are furrowed ever so slightly, the smallest of smiles rests confortably on his thin lips. 

It was Osial. 

Your brother.

Your brother. 

Talking to Zhongli. 

The geo archon. 

Civilly. 

How in the abyss were you suppose to react to this?

How the hell are you suppose to approach them?

Do you say hi to your brother first? Would Zhongli be offended? Or do you greet your lover? But wouldn't Osial be mad then? You couldn't really just waltz over either, you'd just been recovered from hiding. What does someone even say after that?

Your mind races with these conflicted thoughts, eyes dazed and mouth still agape in shock. 

You blink.

"Ah, [name]," Your brother addresses you first, the two men turning their attention to your figure, "dear one..."

His gaze is soft, a regretful look on his features. His shoulders are no longer held back and squared, and his chin is no longer held up so high. Sadness overwhelms him at your lack of response.

You continue to stare, only taking small, slow steps towards them. 

"I..." He sighs, "my dearest kin... I am so... sorry. Truly. It was I, who was corrupt, not you. Never you." His throat tightens, but he continues.

"So many years under trapped under the surface made my mind weary, and I was easily influenced by those you call the Fatui. I had not meant to hurt you, or cause you great fear... My mind was overwhelmed by anger when I was told that the very God who entrapped me had stolen you, forcefully entrapturing you," Osial closes his eyes in remorse, "it is only now that I learn it was all a ploy, and for that, I deeply apologi--"

He stops mid sentence, eyes snapping open in surprise with a silent breath. 

Once within arms length, you had thrown your arms around his waist, nuzzling into his chest with watery eyes. Osial looks down at you in bewilderment, Zhongli quietly chuckling at his expression off to the side.

You sniffle. 

"I'm just glad you're still here, big brother..." 

Blood rushes to the male's cheeks at the sentiment, and his own eyes begin to gloss over with unshed tears. He takes in a sharp breath, holding you close and tight. He rests his chin atop your head.

"As am I, dear one... I had taken you for granted..." Osial is the first to pull away, smiling down at you gently.

He cups your cheek in his hand, caressing it gently, "My, how you've grown... so beautiful and mature now. I've missed you, little one." 

"And I, you, dear brother..." You smile tearfully back up at him, leaning into his familial touch. He places a loving kiss on your forehead before releasing you, stepping away and looking towards the former geo archon.

Your eyes draw towards the dark haired man, stomach fluttering while your heart does flips. 

Zhongli smiles down at you fondly, gaze soft. He steps towards you, outstretching his arms before pulling you into a secure embrace. He nestles his nose unto your head, breathing in your familiar scent.

"You had me so incredibly worried..." You flush at his bold affection, nuzzling him back. 

"I know... I'm sorry." 

He pulls back to look at you, cupping your face in his hands, "It's alright, my love. You're here now, and we're safe. Everyone is."

Your breath hitches in your throat, heart thumping from his endearment. He leans closer to you, nose brushing against your as his eyes grow half lidded.

"...I'm overjoyed that you're safe--"

"Ahem," Osial clears his throat, interrupting you.

Your face blossoms in heat with embarrassment, and you turn away in shame from your brother. Osial's arms cross with a deadpan look on his face.

"Not in front of me, you overgrown reptile," Osial hisses.

Zhongli rolls his eyes. 

"Blink, then, you water-born cretin." 

With that, Zhongli leans down and captures your lips in a long overdue kiss.

A squeak escapes you at his uncharacteristic vigor, though you figure he's doing so to get on your brother's nerves. Despite that, you can't help but indulge, eyes fluttering shut and humming into the kiss.

Your mind goes haywire at the feeling of his tongue gently running over the plump flesh of your lips. You can feel his breath through his nose caressing you, the air breaking upon contact with your skin, and he moans lowly against your mouth. 

Osial gags at the sight, "Alright--alright! That's enough! Get your filthy hands off of my family, you decrepit fossil!" 

It's safe to say that his protests went on unheard. 

[ghostcreaturetypething]

Regarding my most recent post about Dean wanting to ask Sam and Bobby for help in Season 5 episode 2, ‘Good God, Y’all’

The thing about Dean Winchester is that he is nothing if he is not many many overlapping contradictions in an oversized leather jacket.

He is presented, initially, as this…this smirking, leather-wearing, smooth-talking fuckboy.

He’s presented as the kind of person who’d rather die bloody than ask for help, who’s so out of touch with his emotions that he barely realises that he has them, the kind of person who’ll destroy everything around him when he’s upset because he simply does not know any other way to deal with it. He’s the ‘belligerent one’, the one who doesn’t care about other people’s feelings, who speaks his mind without thinking and has little care for the consequences.

He’s never thought about what happens to the spirits who’s bones he burns. He believes every supernatural being to be evil and therefore deserving of death, no nuance, no exceptions, no complicated emotions. He’s uneducated, he’s coarse, he objectifies women, he drives an obnoxiously massive car, he never stops drinking or flirting or starting fights.

He is objectively, based off of all the evidence at hand, a grade A dickhead, and he knows it, and he couldn’t care less.

Except. Except, except, except…that leather jacket is his dads. It’s his favourite item of clothing, and he wears it everywhere. Except many of his best lines are actually from movies he’s watched, and loved enough to practically memorise. Except his first instinct in a dangerous and complicated situation is to call his surrogate dad or his brother, who he supposedly is having difficulty trusting at this point, to help him. Except he initiates difficult conversations and is actually incredibly articulate at expressing his emotions and owning up to his bad behaviours. Except the fact that he smashes things when he’s upset is proof that he feels emotions so deeply that sometimes he can’t stand it, and he visibly feels guilty after every time he does it. Except he’s effortlessly good with kids, gentle and sweet and un-patronising, getting through to them when no one else can. Except he apologised for insulting a man unprompted and tried to earnestly explain that he didn’t mean it and have a productive conversation with him, even after the guy had beat him up. Except he let a vampire go after she proved to him that she doesn’t want to hurt anyone, despite everything he had been taught to believe. Except he’s read Kurt Vonnegut and has a GED and built his own EMF meter from an old walkman and was so goddamn proud of himself. Except when a woman tells him no, he backs off immediately. Except he gets incredibly flustered when someone expresses those kind of attentions towards him. Except he adores his car, has rebuilt her over and over again, and he speaks to her softly and smiles while he’s driving and —

hell, he puts his hands up and keeps them open and empty when he’s trying to help someone who’s scared, and he loves steam showers and cowboy movies and love songs and stupid kids toys and he grew up taking care of his baby brother in every way he knew how and he laughs at his own ridiculous jokes and he talks to himself and he makes references that nobody gets and he wanted to be a firefighter when he was little because all he’s ever wanted to do was help people.

Except he isn’t really any of the things that he initially appears to be at all. Except he’s actually gentle and selfless and caring and optimistic and brilliantly intelligent and creative and funny and sweet and he’s got the same big green eyes he had when he was four and nothing bad had ever happened to him and a smile that melts your heart. Except, despite everything he’s been through, despite the mask he built over the years out of layers of false toxic masculinity and pain and shame, pieces of his real shelf cannot help but shine through.

Because you cannot trap the sun in a crate and throw a blanket over it like a shameful thing, however hard you try. You cannot box it up and cage it away from the sky. And the thing about Dean Winchester is that, however much he orbits the people around him, he is the sun. He just forgets that sometimes. And he goes to a hell of a lot of effort to make sure everyone else forgets it too.

Somehow though…I just don’t think they will.

[multifandomfix]

Imagine getting drunk with Father Mulcahy.

It starts innocently enough, just the two of you sitting on a crate outside the mess tent, watching stars blink into existence over the 4077th. The bottle between you was a gift from Klinger, who swore it was “liberated” from a general’s private stash. You raise your brow. Father Mulcahy hesitates.

“For morale,” you say with a grin.

“For morale,” he agrees, uncertain, but smiling.

The first sip burns. So does the second. By the third, the gentle priest is already buzzed. And he giggles. Giggles, at nothing at all. It’s a charming sound, you think.

You nearly drop the bottle. “Are you already drunk, Father?”

“I believe I may be…lightly anointed,” he says with a hiccup and a proud nod. “Divinely spirited.”

“A lightweight,” you corrected. He nods.

You’re both in stitches after that, laughing harder than you have in weeks. He starts humming a hymn, then pauses halfway through and sings the last verse like it’s a bar tune. You join in, slurring the words as if you knew them anyhow.

“Is it wrong to feel happy,” he asks suddenly, voice quieter. “In a place like this?”

You glance at him. His smile is softer now. “No,” you say. “It means you’re still alive.”

He nods, looking up at the sky, stars blurring just a little in his watery eyes. “You know,” he whispers, “I love them all. Even Frank Burns. God help me.”

You toast to that.

And he downs it like a champ.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-ivy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Francis Mulcahy: @callsigncrash, @dictatorwholock, @edgessunflower, @neapolitantoebeans, @mramirez1222, @multifandomlover01, @i-your-friendly-neighborhood-emo, @locke-writes, @magpie6322, @lemonflavoredsock, @booksabound1991

[ravenswritings]

── adrift | 02 [sails]

> love & deepspace; rafayel x fem reader > romance, fluff, angst > multi-chapter; 4.4k > content: the events of the forgotten sea myth, 2nd person pov, reader has a backstory, pirate!reader, violence > [ ao3 ]

|| masterlist || - 01 - || - 02 - || - 03 - ||

Sometimes you wonder what happened after you left, if the emissaries cussed and panicked as they combed the island looking for you, if they found another poor soul to sacrifice in your place. But you don’t let yourself linger on the idea for long. You left that life for a reason, and you don’t want to spend time reminiscing or imagining pointless what-if scenarios.

You’re miles and leagues away from that life now. No longer a lamb for the slaughter, a pitiful sacrifice to a Sea God towards whom you’ve never felt any particular connection.

Eager battle cries, screams of pain, the thudding of hurried footsteps on a wooden deck; the sharp scent of gunpowder, and the faint but distinctive metallic odor of blood.

You brandish your cutlass at a well-dressed but roughed-up man who cowers against the deck. He scrambles backward, hands and feet slipping against the wood that’s slick with blood and seawater, until his back hits the solid siding. A few measured steps bring you right in front of him again, and you lift the tip of your blade to just below his chin. The man trembles, chest heaving, but he makes no further moves to escape. Fear is the emotion overwhelming his beady, wild eyes, but there’s a subtle indignant rage there that embodies the question: how dare you?

A grin spreads across your face; you can respect someone who doesn’t fully submit to terror, even when they otherwise bow their head and follow the path of least resistance. You like people with spirit.

“Are you going to cooperate now?” you coo, tapping the tip of the blade upwards against the soft underside of the man’s chin. He squirms, tilting his head back as he tries to avoid the sharp point. With the skin stretched taut, you can clearly see the fearful man’s pulse jumping in the prominent artery along the side of his neck. “I’m being honest when I say we won’t kill any of you, so long as you sit nice and quiet while we take what we want off this ship.”

“Won’t kill us…?” the man rasps, brows furrowing as a scowl begins to settle on his face, anger overtaking fright. His trembling worsens, fingers curling into his palms against the deck. If you weren’t holding a blade to his neck, you suspect he might lunge at you. “You bastards destroyed the mast! We have injuries! We’re as good as dead!”

Shrugging your shoulders, your expression is wholly unapologetic despite the grave situation he paints. Does he expect an apology? Funny. “Well, whatever happens after we leave isn’t our problem. Have some hope—maybe there’ll be a passing ship that comes to your aid. Wouldn’t that be lucky?”

Dread fills the man’s face again as you turn your head to call out to your crew. “Tie them up, then start grabbing what you can!” When you look back down at the man, your smug smile is deceptively sweet with glee. With a flourish, you flick the blade away from his neck and slide your cutlass back into its sheath at your hip. Grabbing him up by the lapels of his fancy, expensive coat, you drag him over to the splintered, broken mast where several of your crew have started binding the unfortunate folk sailing on the mercantile ship. Your men make quick work of tying up the merchant you bring over, firmly knotting the thick, scratchy rope over his arms and torso as he struggles.

Now, time to get to business.

You stroll across the deck, ignoring the cussing and wailing of your victims. Your crew members who aren’t busy tying up the ship’s passengers are already snagging crates and sacks containing anything that might be interesting or useful. This is a pretty large mercantile ship, so there should be plenty of supplies for your crew to make use of. And, if you’re lucky, a variety of valuables. That’s always the hope when you come across such ships, of course—an abundance of gold and gems and other shining, glittering things. While your crew infiltrates the belly of the ship, you make your way to the captain’s cabin. It’s only natural, you think, for the captain to rummage about the other captain’s quarters.

Before long, you and your crew finish carrying whatever items you could grab onto your own ship, pulling away the sturdy plank that connects your ship to the merchant vessel. With the anchor lifted and sails opened, your ship sets off, back on its course that you had planned weeks ago. Gradually, the broken and looted ship disappears from view, bobbing atop the waves but otherwise stationary, unable to make any meaningful progress with a snapped mast and no sails to catch the wind.

Back in your cabin, you’re sifting through a crate filled with books and rolled parchment. Admittedly, you aren’t the most avid reader, but you’ll skim through things if they seem interesting enough. The box you snagged from the other captain’s quarters is full of texts on Lemurians, sirens, other mythical sea creatures and tales of ancient underwater civilizations. Many of these myths are not new to you, given the fact that you grew up in a temple dedicated to the Sea God and only heard more and more passing whispers in your travels since then. Still, it has been a while since you’ve actually read anything written down pertaining to them. The idea of Lemurians, half-person and half-fish beings with long lifespans and a rich culture, are very fascinating to you even if you’re not sure you actually believe they exist.

Regardless, now that you have tasted freedom far away from the heavy, suffocating life you led at the temple, you allow yourself to dream. You allow your mind to become intrigued with the unknown and the fantastical—such as the Lemurians. You no longer have to worry about tending to your duties in the temple, nor about the looming threat of becoming a sacrifice. Instead, you can focus on things that make you happy, like the freedom of sailing across the sea and the thrill of confrontation whenever you and your crew decide to swarm a ship for goods.

Speaking of which—your crew should dock at a port town within the next two days. Not to attack and loot and plunder this time, which means you’ll have a chance to organize your current supplies, stretch your legs, gather information, and plan your next course. It’ll be a nice change of pace, and you can pawn off anything that your crew has no interest in keeping.

In the meantime, you kick off your worn leather boots and plop down on your cot, making yourself comfortable as you flip open the pages to some epic that you’ve decided will occupy your mind for the next few hours. Assuming the weather stays nice, the next couple days will be mild and easy.

When the first glimpses of land peek over the horizon, eager chatter breaks out among your crew.

As much as you all thrive out on the seas, being on land allows one to rest easy for a while. No navigating, no manning the sails, no making sure there are enough rations and that everything is functioning as intended. It’s nice to indulge in the steadiness of land and one’s own two legs bringing them right to a tavern once the day starts winding down. Standing at the helm, you squint against bright sunlight as it dances across the surface of the water. The breeze is steady, occasionally whipping your hair across your face and causing the back of your jacket to billow out.

Somerlow is a busy, sizeable port town, one of the bigger ones you’ve been to recently; big enough for multiple large vessels to pull up with ease, trade ships frequenting the port due to the sheer amount of business available, the docks and streets always bustling with people. Sturdy buildings of brick and wood create a charming, picturesque profile as one approaches from the sea, accented by the figures of other ships bobbing at the docks, temporarily anchored while their crews unload their goods and replenish their supplies. It reminds you of the harbor that you were dropped off at years ago, after a several week long journey with the pirate crew that helped you escape your island.

-

Leaning against the gunwale, you peered out into the horizon, trying to spot the pier that Captain Martell had said that the ship would be coming up on soon. It was drizzling, light rain falling from slightly darkened clouds, which made it difficult to see much farther out.

You were antsy, so antsy. Your feet left the island four or five weeks ago—or was it six?—and you were eager to step back onto land again. Not that your time on the ship has been terrible. You have actually really enjoyed it, and you’ve learned a lot. Just as the captain had said, he and his crew weren’t in the business of providing free rides to “little girls running away from home” which meant that you had to pull your weight. It didn’t matter that you had no experience on a ship this size; Captain Martell stuck you with the crew and made sure you learned how to run a sea-faring vessel. It was hard, but it kept you busy, gave you some sort of purpose in the middle of the ocean.

As grateful as you were, you were also very eager to see what the next chapter of your life held. It was daunting as hell, sure—you abandoned everything you knew and set off with no actual plan—but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t also excited, that the anxiety mixed with the anticipation in a cocktail that left your heart fluttering.

Then, you spotted the silhouette of land through the rainy haze. Perking up, you pushed off the siding and stood straight, stretching your arms above your head to work out some of the tension in your spine and shoulders. Your feet brought you up to the helm where the captain was steering, and you sidled up next to the bearded, heavyset man.

“Is that where we’ll be docking?” you asked, clasping your hands behind your low back as you peered up at him. “Where you’ll be dropping me off?”

Captain Martell didn’t spare you a glance, keeping his eyes on the water. But he responds: “Aye, that it is—Hascord Wharf.”

You hummed as if the name meant anything to you. It didn’t. Captain Martell probably knew it didn’t, either. While getting to know the crew on the Oceans Gold, what their stories were and where they hailed from, you quickly realized that your world was so very small. You really didn’t know all that much beyond your island and the few nearby that dotted your previously well-known horizon. Perhaps doing some reading would do you well.

Some time later, the ship docked smoothly at the port, one final lurch signaling the end of its voyage. The crew had long been ready to disembark, some waiting up on the deck with you while others were busy with furling the sails and securing the ship via mooring lines. Despite the way that you impatiently bounced on your heels, wanting nothing more than to leap onto the docks and start your new life, you allowed the rest of the crew to get off the ship first. It was a good few minutes before you found your moment, but just as you were about to step onto the gangway yourself, the captain called out to you.

“Hang on just a moment, lass!”

Halting mid-step, you turned back to look at him, head tilted and brows raised in curiosity. “Huh? What is it?” You turned away from the gangway, taking a few steps across the deck towards him as he lumbered down from the helm.

“Now, you know I’m not the type to give handouts—but I figured I shouldn’t just let you leave without giving you at least something,” Martell gruffed, though he had something of a smile on his face. A kind smile rather than his usual jeering grin; it appeared just slightly out of place on a rough-and-tumble guy like him. You blinked, watching as he reached into his coat pocket.

“Here’s a bit of coin, should get you through the week if you don’t squander it.” The captain dropped a small woven pouch into your hand, the coins clinking as it settled heavily in your palm. “And… These.”

In his hand are two matching silver bangles, the edge of each one dotted with a cluster of three squares of coruscating opal. Your parents’ bracelets, the very ones you gave to Martell when you demanded to be let on his ship. A trade; those bracelets for your freedom.

For a second, you didn’t say anything, not having expected to see the accessories again after you handed them over. You also didn’t expect to have them offered back to you, with no strings attached. Then: “You’re giving them back?”

Captain Martell shrugged, still holding the bangles as he turned his wrist, the silver and gemstones glinting even in the small amount of light filtering in from the overcast sky. Then, he held them out to you again, wordlessly prompting you to take them. As your fingers wrapped around the pair of bracelets, he answered you. “I am. Sure, they’d be worth a pretty penny, or make for a fine gift. But these were practically the only thing you had with you when you came marching up to my ship. Figured they were probably important to you.”

Staring down at them, the iridescent opal winked up at you. “I suppose they are,” you admitted, your voice soft, yet steady. Sentimentality was not something you often indulged in, feeling that it held you back too much when you were trying to adapt to the next big wave in your life. And yet, having these pieces of your parents back in your grasp, you couldn’t help but feel… at peace. You were fully willing to give these silver bangles up as a barter for your escape, and you couldn’t say for sure whether you would come to miss them or not. But still, now that they were returned to you, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you missed them more than you expected. “They belonged to my parents. So… thank you.”

“Ah, don’t you dare get sappy on me, lass,” Captain Martell clicked his tongue, brushing off your thanks with his brusqueness. “You pulled your weight more than I thought you would while we were sailing, so let’s just say those little bangles were a deposit that’s now back in your hands.”

Clearing your throat, you tucked the coin purse and the bracelets in your small canvas knapsack, then met Martell’s eyes again. This time, with a smile on your face. “Still, thank you. I was more than willing to give them up… but it’s nice to have them back.” With that, you turned your back on the unexpectedly thoughtful captain and took a few steps onto the gangway leading to the dock. “If I don’t see you again—good luck on your next adventure, pirate!”

“Same to you, lass. Don’t waste this chance.”

-

Slowly, you ease the boat up to the pier; water laps at the hull, tame but noisy close to the shore like this as waves splash between ships and dock pillars and against the stone seawall. It’s much different compared to the deep, rhythmic whooshing you hear when you’re sailing in the middle of the ocean. Like clockwork, your crew pulls in the sails, attaches the ship to the dock with the mooring lines, and gets the gangway ready for disembarkment.

“And the Apostate has once again successfully moored,” you mutter to yourself once everything is secured, pleased that your latest conquest and subsequent return to land has gone so well. The Apostate. One who renounces their religion, one who abandons it and turns their back on it. Perhaps it’s a little on the nose, but you love both the significance and the irony of naming your ship as such.

After your desperate escape from the island, you spent a couple of years as part of the crew on a ship called the Sanguine Eel. There had been a bit of a disagreement among a number of the crew, the captain and quartermaster even butting heads. If you remember correctly, it was something about how some of the crew felt restless and bored by the captain who was growing increasingly tame, the amount of pillaging and heists dwindling down little by little. It resulted in a split, with roughly a third of the crew—including yourself—taking their leave. Within that third, there were a few in particular who gravitated towards you, content to follow your lead. It surprised you at the time, but they simply shrugged and said that they liked your headstrong and untethered attitude, the way you seemed so level-headed only to jump at the chance of spicing things up.

From there, you and your crewmates joined the Mermaid’s Fall. Some months with them, and you were making a name for yourself. Women did not often become pirates, so you naturally caught the eye of others of the same “profession” anyway, but it was more than that. You put in the work, had no qualms taking charge when needed, and you weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. You were the one clawing the way to victory in a seemingly hopeless situation, dragging the rest of the crew up with you. All the while, you balanced a sharp tongue and good-natured humor, which helped with getting along with those who treated you with basic respect.

Eventually, your hard work paid off—you were pretty chummy with the captain of the Mermaid’s Fall, and when a raid resulted in the capture of a merchant vessel, he let you claim it for yourself. He knew you had been itching to lead a crew of your own, to be the one who had the final say in both the journey and the destination, the one deciding if one raids a seaside village or spares it. Of course, you took the chance without hesitation. So, once you finally got ahold of your own ship, you wanted to give it a name that meant something to you, regardless of how it sounded to others. It was your ship, after all—your ship, your freedom, your future. You didn’t bother naming your rag-tag crew, but at some point they just came up with one themselves. The Renegades. A perfect complimentary term to apostate, denoting those who change allegiances and desert an organization, a nation, even a set of principles.

Stepping away from the helm, you hop down the stairs to the main deck. The crew begins to disperse—everything had been discussed beforehand, and you’ve all been traveling together for long enough that this is all old hat by now. Some are going to be busy making trades, pawning off some valuables to lighten the ship’s load while stocking up on necessities; others will start working on minor repairs and cleaning.

Most of them, though, are going to hit up the local tavern.

Which is where you find yourself, in fact, some time after the moon replaces the sun in the now-blackened sky. The Rusty Shark: a tavern that has become quite a popular haunt for pirates and similar ilk, with a rough-hewn bar, sawdust-strewn floors, and a salty, rum-tinted atmosphere. You’re sitting at a mildly rickety wood table along the far wall with a couple members of your crew—Pierce and Annetta—and sipping on some ale that’s sweet enough to almost, almost, mask the bitter tang of alcohol. The coin purse in your pocket is heavy, practically bursting after you sold off most of those books you nabbed from that mercantile ship and a few too-gaudy pieces of jewelry you’d never wear. Your legs feel stiff after several trips back and forth from the ship to the town, making sure everything was more or less accounted for before you decided to relax.

The three of you are relatively quiet, conversation sparse between sips of your preferred beverages, but it’s comfortable. You’re simply taking in the atmosphere—the boisterous tavern-goers that are deep in their cups, a bard strumming away in one of the corners on a makeshift stage, the warm and rich smell of food and smoke and booze mixing together.

Every once in a while, your ears catch the scattered murmurs of various patrons. The trend of the evening makes you grin against the rim of your mug. “The Renegades are in town!” “Really? So that big ship with the black flags…?” “Yeah, that’s the Apostate. Nasty thing. I heard a couple of them bragging about the loot they snagged from a mercantile—think it was the one that just set out last week?” Some sound curious, others apprehensive; either way, you honestly kind of love the infamy that comes with your line of work, even when it gets to the point where folks are spinning tall tales and spreading the most ridiculous rumors. You haven’t heard any of the latter yet in this precious port town, but you’re sure it’s only a matter of time, especially with the way some of your crew likes to boast and exaggerate.

“Did you hear that?” you whisper conspiratorially to your two companions, leaning in as if to keep the gossip hush-hush, your eyes wide in mock surprise. “The Renegades are here!”

“Yeah, and I heard that their captain is just a little girl who can’t hold her liquor,” Pierce plays along, making a lighthearted jab at the fact that you’ve been nursing the same mug of ale all night. Annetta snorts into her cup, pulling it away to swipe a finger across the beer that dribbled from the corner of her mouth when she laughed.

You snicker, too, chest warm from both the little amount of alcohol in your system and the pleasant camaraderie.

One evening, a few days after you dock in Somerlow, you call a meeting with a portion of your crew to brainstorm and establish the next journey.

You feel that you have a decently-sized captain’s quarters on this ship of yours, but it’s always amusing how small the space feels when half your crew crams themselves into the room as you all huddle over the heavy wooden table in the center. A slightly worn map is pinned to the center, holes pricked through old destinations and faint tracings of potential paths scrawled across the parchment. It’s one of the many maps you have stashed away, but one that has a larger view of the region you’re planning on sailing around for the time being.

“What about that island to the east?” one of the crew suggests.

Mildly unimpressed at the man’s very vague phrasing, you raise a brow and gesture towards the aforementioned direction on the map, rapping the back of your knuckles against the parchment. “Which island? There are a lot over that way.”

“One of the larger ones; has a temple for the Sea God, I think. It probably gets a decent amount of trade, and the temple might have something good.”

Even though the crew member didn’t actually point to any specific spot on the map, your eyes immediately find the depiction of the one you’re fairly certain he’s talking about; it’s a small, nondescript outline on the parchment, practically indistinguishable among the others around it, but it’s the island that you used to be all too familiar with. It’s been years since you escaped the temple. Back when you first left, you remember your gaze frequently tracing around the very same drawn island on a similar map, as if you couldn’t really believe that you actually managed to leave. Your life from back then occasionally crosses your mind, eliciting mild but conflicting emotions that you always just stamp back down. Nostalgia and sentimentality of a simpler time and the handful of happy moments you had, indignation and restlessness at the memory of being kept in the temple to serve as the temple’s ritual sacrifice.

Sometimes you wonder what happened after you left, if the emissaries cussed and panicked as they combed the island looking for you, if they found another poor soul to sacrifice in your place. But you don’t let yourself linger on the idea for long. You left that life for a reason, and you don’t want to spend time reminiscing or imagining pointless what-if scenarios.

You’re miles and leagues away from that life now. No longer a lamb for the slaughter, a pitiful sacrifice to a Sea God towards whom you’ve never felt any particular connection.

The mere idea of seeing your old island after the last handful of years makes you want to crawl out of your skin. However, you’re also incredibly curious to see what might’ve changed since you left. You’re not sure how you’ll actually feel once you step foot there; perhaps dread at being back at the place where you felt so trapped for much of your teen years, or perhaps a triumphant satisfaction at the fact that you’re no longer anchored there. And the idea of looting the temple for valuables you know they keep stored in a makeshift vault in the cellar…

Shaking yourself from your thoughts, you click your tongue and decisively press the pad of your finger against the island’s depiction. “Actually, that sounds like a fine idea. Last I heard, there was a temple there, and the port is busy enough. There are a lot of smaller islands that we can check out in the area as well.”

You make no distinct mention of your intimate familiarity with the island, not wanting to dredge up old memories in front of this much of your crew. Enough time has passed that you’re more or less comfortable speaking of your past… but there’s a time and a place for everything, and you simply don’t feel like announcing your history right now. Perhaps when you get to the island and raid the temple, you’ll drop an all-too-casual “you know, I was raised here” just to see the heads of your crew whip around towards you in surprise. Then again, a small handful of your crew—ones that have been with you from the start—know about your past already, how you wanted to escape your island so badly that you convinced a pirate crew to take you aboard, and that’s how you started leading a life of piracy yourself. You wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve let a few things slip to the others so far.

In any case, you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it. For now, it’s time to hash out the details, plan the route, and make sure the ship is ready to set sail. Somerlow will have to be content with your crew’s presence for a short while longer.

[silversokolova]

Ghost Swap

Ghost Swap! Block A prompt by @metalfaceirl: "cabanela using brainrot speak, everyone is horrified". For Ghost Swap by @fyeahghosttrick

8:18 PM

"I don't know," Ray lied, "I'm just a desk lamp." That part, at least, was true. For all intents and purposes, he was but a humble desk lamp who sat in the lonely junkyard on the outskirts of town. His explanation served its purpose in getting the red-suited spirit- Sissel, his name was- to investigate matters himself.

A red-suited corpse, two detectives- green and blue- and a doctor gathered around a couch, Ray wriggling happily in his lamp atop a nearby crate.

Ray watched matters unfold before him- these were new (yet similar) events, not ones from his own timeline- the timeline he abandoned ten years ago. More new events continued to come, and before Ray knew it, a familiar face appeared from the junkyard's top floor- where everything that night began- one of several beginnings. The face in question, Ray recalled, belonged to a man named Cabanela, a loose and lanky white-coated lawman of an inspector who merrily danced his way through the rigorous horrors of that night. Ray recalled speaking to the man ten years ago on the same night- the night he was repeating at this very moment- and the genuine smile on his face as they shared memories of the purple-haired little lady and briefly spoke of the media she consumed.

"Ah, the tension of a crime scene!" Cabanela exclaimed, dancing his way down the stairs, "Yeah, what a gyattingly sus crime scene! Nothing like it, rizzlers!" What? Ray could feel both his and Sissel's confusion despite neither spirit being in the ghost world. That's not how Cabanela ever spoke to Ray, or anyone else, in fact. That was how the little lady's friends spoke-- Ray froze in horror, the sudden caseation of movement in the lamp going unnoticed by the living near him. Oh gods, this can't be happening. It wasn't real, was it? Had Cabanela somehow retained the accursed knowledge Ray imparted on him all those years ago?

"Something tells me…" Cabanela mused, shooting a glance towards… Ray couldn't tell if the inspector was glancing at him, the people around him, or the red-suited corpse between them. "That somebody just thought, 'On god for real'!" The doctor scoffed while the blue and green detectives both looked as if they aged twenty years, their sudden change in liveliness met with a remark from Sissel, "If that white-coat keeps this up, I'll have two more deaths on my hands." None but Ray, the only other ghost present, heard his remark.

"Skibidi flex me this crime scene for clout, turn it into a bussin' scene!" Cabanela joyously remarked to the green- then blue- detective, the latter flinched at the inspector's words, while the former's jaw gapped open, utterly dumbfounded. "Ghosting me, boooys? Is my high-key rizz not good enough for you?" ("So this is the head of the Special Investigation Unit? He seems, uh… unique," Sissel commented.)

The doctor was the first to leave, "Welp, I've done all I can do," he declared. "Fanum tax!" Cabanela declared as the doctor- now $20 lighter and none the wiser for it- passed by. "High-key he's not sigma ong for real," twirled Cabanela, hoisting the red-suited corpse over his shoulders, much to the shock and horror of all parties present ("Hey! That's mine!" protested Sissel, whom attached himself to the core in said body). Cabanela then stood in place, staring into the very souls of the two detectives, whose spines quivered in fear. "No cap, it's not that cold, or are you two boys just ratioed?" Cabanela noted.

The blue detective collapsed ("He's not moving, but he's alive," commented Sissel), "Sus!" commented Cabanela, whom took a graceful leap over the blue-suit and towards the remaining detective, their bodies barely avoiding touching each other, "No cap?"

The green detective shuddered, "I-I'm green cap," he stuttered, lifting his cap. Cabanela was not amused, evidently, prompting him to peer over and look inside the hat after twisting it upside-down, "Hmm, you'd get massive rizz if you filled this with water and put a head in it- But only if it was porcelain-colored!" Cabanela informed the now utterly confused man, "Why, it'd show up on everyone's FYP," he 'helpfully' elaborated, much to the relief of nobody. "Why's this guy gotta be the one to handle my body?" Sissel lamented.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Cabanela suddenly exclaimed in his second sane statement, unceremoniously dropping the corpse on the ground (eliciting a minor chuckle from Ray) before ceremoniously dancing his way over the body and to a nearby telephone booth, where he then dialed a phone number. At Ray's insistence, Sissel reluctantly moved to the phone's core to eavesdrop, while the green detective took the opportunity to flee, abandoning his blue-capped coworker where he laid.

Ray hoped Cabanela's interference wouldn't force him to wait another ten years, provided the opportunity to make another jump back in time presented itself once more…

[ornii]

—They will be Loved—

So after finishing the Multiverse of Madness film, I had an idea of a story where the reader is the Widow of Black Widow (see what I did there?) and is also the spirit of Vengeance because Ghost Rider needs an R-Rated MCU Film, and shares his grief with an also grieving Wanda.

Strange Had requested help with a “little” issue as he called it, little being an absolute lie since it’s dealing with the god damn multiverse, but you relented and agreed. It’s been, lonely since Nat left and the avengers are gone, it’ll be nice to at least get out of the house.

You rode down the countryside, the hum of your chopper in your ears and the wind on your face, you went to the orchad of Mrs Maximoff. it was often you did the dirty work of others. This one, was personal though. Wanda did some things many would consider simply evil, but it’s not always so cut and dry with things like this. The white petal orchard trees lined the side of the road and nearing her home, a voice of pure evil calls from the back of your head like a speaker.

“I sense immense magic here..” the Spirit of Vengeance, my others self you could say, was speaking to you

“Yeah, I felt it too..” You replied, I saw from the corner of my eye a woman grafting the orchard. You slowly came to a halt and halted your bike and kicked up the stand. Stepping off, you approached her, the warm scent of apple and grass felt so, human. And you haven’t felt human in a long time.

You get behind her, and she obviously senses your presence.

“Apples, right?” You ask, trying to break the ice with your old friend. “Nat would have loved it..” you start.

“Eventually.” Wanda replies in Jest, she turns to face you and you can see that her beauty hasn’t changed at all. Those beautiful eyes hold so much grief behind them. You nod, “It’s almost to good to be true, you know?” You say, trying to hint at Wanda.

“It's all very real. Thanks. I put the magic behind me.” She said to you, she walks off to continue pruning limbs and you casually follow her, “Well, I knew sooner or later you'd... show up, wanting to discuss what happened at WestView. I made mistakes, and people were hurt.” She said, the pain in her eyes, her power was neatly unmatched, and that lead to catastrophic consequences.

“I'm not here to talk about WestView Wanda.” You say.

“Then what are you here for?”

“Strange, needs your help.” You start.

“With what?” She inquired, you rubbed your chin trying to think of a way to explain. “You, ever come across the concept of, the Multiverse?” You said, Wanda didn’t look as confused as you thought she would.

“The Multiverse. Vis had his theories. He believed it was real. And, dangerous.” She drops the limbs into a crate and then gives her full attention to you.

“Well, he was right about that. From what he told me, he found a girl who can somehow travel across it but she's being pursued.” You say.

“Pursued by who?”

“Some kind of demon. From what strange told me, I’d go with Underworld Deity, a Trickster wouldn’t try to take her by force but trick her into giving her soul or powers away. Strange is ready to defend her, and we could use another Avenger.” You offer, trying to get a smile out of Wanda, she gives you a sad one.

“There are other Avengers, (Y/n).”

“Yeah but, it’s not really the same, besides between Clint, A Teenager webslinger, and …Whatever I am. We’re the best line of defense for her.” You explain, and Wanda poses a question.

“What if you brought America here?” She asks.

“Here?” You reply? And the spirit in your head also picks it up.

“She knows the name of America Chavez…”

“Yeah, she’s been stalking her..” you think, and Wanda goes on.

“Yeah. I know what it's like. To be on your own, hunted for abilities you never wanted. I can protect her.” She explains, you continue to look at Wanda, not saying anything as she realizes her slip up.

“..You never told me her name, did you?” She asks, now realizing she’s been had.

“No. No, I didn't.” You reply, Wanda sighs, and looks around. “You know, the Hex was the easy part. The lying, not so much.”

Wanda calmly moves her hand, which dispels the illusion and reveals the truly hellish world she’s been on, it’s blood red, mixed with such evil darkenss, no life, no trees, no happy little farm. And what stood there for you, was a Book. The, Book.

“The Darkhold.” You felt its eternal power reach out to you, ready to swallow you whole. You fight its call of power and hear Wanda.

“You've heard of the Darkhold?” She asks you, turning your eyes to her, you see her dawned not in regular civilian clothes, but that of the Scarlet Witch.

“it's the Book of the Damned. And that it corrupts everything and everyone that it touches. The Way Chthon intended it, it shows you falsehoods and a sense of power you will never control.”

“The Darkhold only showed me the truth. Everything I lost... can be mine again.” She said, somehow believing her own lies, you shook your head in disbelief, that Wanda would go so, far.

“What do you want with America? And What do you want with the Multiverse?” You demand, and she gives up her plan.

“I'm going to leave this reality, and go to one where I can be with my children.” She said, but you calmly countered.

“Wanda, your children aren't real. They were made from magic.”

“That's what every mother does. If you knew... there was a universe, where you were happy, happy with Natasha, with a family, wouldn't you wanna go there?” She asks you, and admittedly, she’s right. A simple life on the countryside, away from the Spy games and Occult evil, a world where you’re happy. Your anger slowly transformed into melancholic empathy, you frowned softly to Wanda.

“You know… Nat couldn’t have kids, so we considered adopting. It was the last thing we talked about. She really would have loved any child we had. I know it can’t compare to you and Viz though. It’s not enough that, In Many other universes, they’ll be loved?” You ask, Wanda’s walls come down for a moment and you saw the real Her. A grieving mother and widow. A tear comes down her eye, and she couldn’t reply.

“You’re right, I would love a world where I can be happy with Nat, love her, hold her… but in order to do that I’d have to kill a version of myself that’s happy. I can’t do that, I can’t kill a version of myself for my own happiness. If I did that, would I even deserve to be happy? Would you kill a version of yourself that’s happy because you’re not?” You reply. Just for a moment you saw Wanda’s eyes have a hint of remorse in them. “Wanda, what you plan do to will cause irreparable damage to our universe and the one you intended to murder and implant yourself inside, if you try to child's power, she won't survive.” You warn her, but it seems she unfortunately stuck in a fusion of corruption and grief.

“I don't relish hurting anyone, (Y/n). But she's not a child. She's a supernatural being. Such raw power could wreak havoc on this, and other worlds. Her sacrifice would be for the greater good.” She said, still trying to justify this absolutely diabolical behavior.

“You’re starting to sound just like Him, the same man who killed Vision and half of the universe.” You shake you Head, turning away from her to walk away.

“Strange killed half of the universe When he gave Thanos the Time Stone.” She retorts back to you. You halt in your steps and slowly turn back to her.

“He breaks the rules and becomes a hero. I do it and I become the enemy. That doesn't seem fair.” She replies, You Storm over, frustration coming to a boil, she could see it, the red burning flame in your eyes, the Ghost Rider.

“That was different, Strange gave Thanos the stone because it’s the only way in Fourteen Million outcomes that we beat Thanos. You want it to bring back children that don’t exist for you, Strange was Selfless, you’re just Selfish.” The venom in your words, they haunt Wanda, the growing disconnect between her and reality was apparent.. she shook off your threat.

“Return to Kamar-Taj, and prepare to hand over America Chavez by sundown. Peacefully. After that... You'll never see me again.” She bargains.

“And if I refuse?” You ask, and her sinister aura changes.

“Then it won’t be Wanda who comes for her, it will be the Scarlet Witch.” With those haunting words, she turns to walk away, you felt a blend of anger, sadness, grief all your own.

“Wanda..” you say, she stood still but didn’t turn to face you.

“I… I Miss the people that we used to be..” you say. Wanda gives a shaky sigh, you can hear her trying not to break down into tears.

“.. So do I Pral..” she mutters before leaving, as much as it tore you apart, as much as you hated it. This, could only end one way.

[calypso707]

Could I request for Astarion to react to gn crush always thanking him for helping them even something simple like for helping to carry some stuff for them?

My first request, this is so exciting !

reminder : I'm a french who writes in english, so I apologize in advance if I didn't understand the request and if there is mistakes, but I hope you'll like it !

Enjoy ! (๑>◡<๑)

OS - Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks.

You had been on the road for months, desperate to find a cure to get rid of the larva in your skull. Trying desperately not to fall under the spell of the Absolute. You could not even remember what your life was like before.

This adventure, strange and incredible as it was, had allowed you to surround yourself with people you could trust. From a tiefling to a devil to a two-hundred-year-old vampire. They had chosen to follow you and fight by your side and with time, bonds had been formed, feelings established.

Your eyes rested on each of your companions before finally losing themselves on the object of all your desires, who was nonchalantly seated on a wooden chair outside his tent, absorbed in the manuscript he held in his hands. You scrutinized his whitish curls that surrounded his face harmoniously, the wrinkles that lined the contour of his magnificent carmine eyes, his slightly pink lips that from time to time silently rephrased the words he had just read. Gods, he was seductive, dangerously seductive. And like a novice, you had fallen under his spell.

It took all your strength to refocus on what you were doing and chase him out of your thoughts. You sighed silently, assessing your mental state. Today, you were feeling particularly exhausted. The burden on your shoulders was growing heavier and heavier, many lives depended on you, and fear was creeping quietly into your mind. Your thoughts became more and more scattered as you tried to sort the camp's provisions, placing in a wooden crate alcohols and other drinks that might warm the evenings and lull the spirits. Just as you were about to grab it and bring it to the campfire, the crate lifted before your eyes. Astarion.

"Let me take care of that for you, darling"

There. His mere presence dispelled the darkness that was trying to envelop and consume you. He noticed your trouble and raised an eyebrow, a wicked smile on his lips.

"Well, cat got your tongue?"

You cleared your throat, finally shaking your head. "I thought it was not your habit… Aren't you afraid of breaking a nail?"

"Terrified but what can I say? I am in a generous mood tonight. Enjoy it." He winked at you, words heavy with meaning.

You smiled, examining his facial features carefully before replying, "I thank you, Astarion."

A strange expression appeared on his face, confusion.

"Thank you so much," you said.

You had thanked him before, countless times, and each time he sighed in despair. He always scoffed, pointing out that it sounded like torment to his pointed ears. But once again, you wanted to thank him. Not because he was helping you carry that old wooden crate, and he knew it. You were thanking him for everything he had done and continued to do for you. For his loyalty, his strange sense of humor, his presence. You thanked him for existing.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to have a look at my other writings on Astarion !

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of The Poisonned Tree

Astarion x gn reader : On your skin

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

[gayskogul]

Another Saturday

I pulled the short straw again. That was three weeks in a row now that I'd worn the scarf. I brayed about it, but didn't mind, really. You got an extra finger of booze every now and then for the trouble, and the jigs were easier to do backwards.

These dances were good, all said. It beat the alternative, sitting around freezing with nothing but our thoughts for company—and God knew no one wanted that. Being so far out from town for so long, one's own thoughts could take on a cruel voice. Almost as cruel as the keening of the wind as it raked away at our cabins with icy claws.

We used the mess for the dances, seeing as it had the most space. The room was overly warm from a bunch of oil lamps, set upon the floor. They cast long shadows that nipped at the heels of the dancers and twisted about in time with their steps. Pipe-smoke hung in the air, which didn't help. It had a way of making one's head fuzzy. I'd loosened my shirt a few buttons, like most of the others. Sweat pooled in the exposed hollows above our collarbones, and in the light it glistened like strings of pearls.

One of the younger lads from down south had pulled out a fiddle. He sawed away at it with his bow, striking up a number of merry tunes. Another man, with iron starting to thread at his temples, kept the beat with a battered drum. Old Morgan swayed atop a crate and played his concertina. Occasionally, someone would join them and sing a verse or two, but being heard over the laughter and stomping of boots upon wood was harder done than said. There was no tin whistle tonight. We'd lost him to the cave-in.

I drank my spirits and danced with the other men. It had taken a while getting used to, indulging in such silliness. But with the strong drink and the feverish mood charging these impromptu fetes, nobody paid that any mind. It wasn't so bad, dancing with them. There were a few of us who played the woman at these affairs, so one never felt too exposed. Besides, with a strong frame and good arms from all the mining and hauling, one could feel quite secure with another man doing the leading. I was led by Garrick, spun by Leopold, knocked knees with Ernest. Fritz dripped with sweat after he dipped me, and I laughed and dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief after the tune ended. One-eyed Dominic grinned and pinged the strap of my suspenders on my shoulder after our jig together. It stung like anything, but gave us one hell of a laugh.

It was when I'd gone to pour another slug of whisky into my cup when you came up to me. You tapped my shoulder once. I'd been wondering if you'd do it for a while, now.

"Next one's mine?" you said, fiddling with the brim of your hat.

"If I must," I said, rolling my eyes and plucking at the scarf, because it was easier to pretend.

You flinched and began to stutter an apology. But the tune had started up, so I pulled you by your shirtsleeve and yelled, "Come on!"

Within the crowd of dancers you looked more than a little bewildered, but you moved well enough. The booze did most of the work. You were taller by about a hand, but were awful wiry. You hadn't been here as long, so there was none of the miner's stout muscle built up on you yet. We shared two more drinks, grimacing at each other through the liquor's harsh burn. By the time we'd gotten to the fifth tune without stopping, a curl of hair, darkened and damp, flicked forwards onto your brow. There was a deep rosiness daubed high across your cheeks. From the heat, I'd guessed. When the music slowed to a ballad you nodded to the door.

I was more than happy, naturally. I'd been tossed between the men for a few hours now, with barely a break between dances. Freezing or not, my head was starting to fog over with a thickness that only fresh air would cure. I threw on one of the furs and stepped out onto the deck. The wooden boards were slippy with ice.

You came out a minute later, carrying two full tin cups. I grunted my thanks.

There was a fleeting lick of amber up your side from the lamplight inside before the door clicked shut behind you.

We leant over the deck balcony and stared out into the treeline. The tops caught the moonlight and lit up like silver feathers.

"Got a light?" you asked, a straight dangling from your lip.

I did, of course. I lit my own, then tilted my chin up. You hunched over and raised a hand to shelter the gap between us from the wind. Your fingers were quite fine, considering our line of work. The tips of them were hot when they brushed against my cheek. You smelled like pine and soap and smoke, and I could taste the fire of the whisky on your breath.

My skin prickled. I puffed a couple of times until your straight was lit, then pulled away and drew my coat tighter around myself. Damn cold.

You hadn't bothered with a coat. The whisky was enough, I thought, until you shivered a little.

"You warm enough?" I asked.

"Plenty," you said.

You didn't say much. You never did. At least, not with words. Your eyes always did the talking. And with barely a foot of night between us, they had much to say tonight.

The drink made my head spin. I'd had enough that stringing together a sentence was getting to be a task, so I decided to try your way of talking. The windows to the cabin were covered with thick curtains and furs to block out the draughts, and with the moon as the only witness I figured it safe enough to risk a longer look than I might've done inside.

You'd shaved today. I saw the hazy shadow coming back in under your jaw already. I was glad that you'd left the moustache. I thought it was funny how you'd cleaned up for the party tonight. How you'd worn a nice, clean cream shirt tonight, with no stains from the soot. How you'd wanted to look your best for a group of tired and lonely men. How you'd danced with none of them, besides me.

Snow had started to fall again. Soft and downy, hanging thick in the air, it made a blanket of sorts to cushion us from the raucous sounds inside.

"It's been grand tonight," you said. "A right bacchanal."

You'd called it a bacchanal before. Not a dance, like the rest of us. None of us had known the word. With your fair hair and delicate features and fine accent, I'd always wondered that you seemed out of place. I wondered what had brought you here. Maybe it was why you didn't speak.

"You dance well," I said. It was a lie, but the upwards curl of your lip around the straight was worth a little staining of the soul.

You didn't reply. I saw what you wanted to say.

I wanted you to say it, too. But I didn't dig. I watched you ash out your straight upon the bannister that we were leant against, and stride back towards the door. Fingers on the handle, latch half depressed by your thumb, you turned back to give me another one of those long looks of yours. I think I knew what you'd said with it. You smiled and headed back in.

For a while, I stood there under the moon. With my big coat, my cup of whisky and another fresh smoke, the night barely touched me. I thought about you and let out an amused huff. Silver smoke curled around my hand and flitted off upwards. You were right, of course. The dance had been grand. With a bit of luck, I thought, it'd be better next week. Maybe you'd get the scarf. I'd ask you to dance, and not let you go, that time. I ground the straight out next to where you'd done the same.

There was always another Saturday.