#herald sighting

[canisalbus]

While they're certainly no dogs, I saw this art and knew instantly who it looked like:

.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

"Don't you ever wonder what waits beyond the stars,"

"Where the sun we know is only a cinder in the sky?"

[thecryptidenthusiast]

No wait, because I’m still thinking about the ‘Sidestep hating Herald’ thing-

There should’ve been a choice early on to be sympathetic with Herald. Because Sidestep’s immediate hatred/forcing us to dislike him has always been a point that just…didn’t feel like it fit right, especially when you’re first reading book one. (At least not for every Sidestep, I’m sure there are some that do hate him for taking their spot!)

But the opening fight while you’re possessing Argent feels personal and angry with him, so you’re thinking oh! There’s history here we’ll learn about! Something to explain why we got such enjoyment beating him/taking the time to kick him again.

But there was none. This is just a new recruit we’ve never even met.

Why hate him then? Because Herald is ‘taking their place’ on the team? Why don’t we hate Argent the same way? She’s another new recruit. And Herald is the poster boy for the Rangers, the ‘face the cameras love’ according to Step, not like their old role.

(Also! This makes even less sense on the vigilante/sidekick path! Like sidestep, you were just the masked weirdo that was always hanging around the Rangers like a stray! What about Herald is setting you off??)

Being sympathetic would’ve been so interesting. Step sees this young recruit, very obviously in over his head (considering we wipe the floor with him in the museum fight) and they see younger them. Somebody stuck in a system that’s using them. A system that’s going to chew him up and spit him out, like they were, because nobody is looking out for this kid.

He’s going to get himself killed, and nobody is going to stop him. Just like nobody was there to stop us.

(Would’ve added an interesting conflict in the friendship/relationship too, with a Step wanting to do what they can to protect Herald. And Herald not wanting that, he’s already considered the “kid” on the team, he doesn’t want his idol/crush seeing him that way.

Herald needing to learn that he’s still got some ways to go to being a hero vs. Sidestep needing to realize they can’t paint him in their shadow, they have to trust him to know his limits.)

Anyways, I don’t want to be mean to him anymore-!

[meat-loving-meat]

Valdemaran mind magic makes directed energy weapons viable send tweet

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

It's alarming how easily i slip back into being a little eating disordered freak when I have nothing else to distract me

[dutybcrne]

Thinking abt HSR!Kae and where he would keep his Fools mask...

[unicronnomnomnomnomnomnomnomnom]

"Hey Sari." Rodimus says, drinking a giant coke. "Need a break from heralding, huh?"

The violet-haired human hisses at him, yoinks his holoform's Switch, and goes to play it in her little closet.

He shrugs. Teenagers.

[thewulf]

Bulletproof Bonds || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Maybe a husband!Aaron x Long Time BAU!wife and how there’s a new member to the BAU and she keeps trying to flirt with Aaron but he keeps turning her down🥲 but the new member doesn’t know that Aaron and reader are married, and new member just thinks of reader as competition to get with Aaron, eventually leading to reader getting really mad cause new member does something really stupid on a case that leads to reader almost getting seriously injured??... Read Rest Here

A/N: Really loved writing this one. Hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the request @viscade !

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: Yelling, gunshot (non wounded)

In the bustling chaos of the BAU bullpen, Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the multitude of case files scattered before him. A usual sight for the unit chief. The harsh fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across his features, accentuating the lines of exhaustion etched into his face by years of chasing monsters in the dark.

You sat by his side, a silent sentinel amidst the whirlwind of activity. Your own workspace dedicated beside him cluttered with documents and crime scene photos. The faint aroma of stale coffee hung in the air as you both delved into the intricate web of clues left behind by the latest serial killer to plague the streets. It was always so easy with him, your husband. The way the two of you were able to bounce ideas off each other was like none seen before.

The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone present as they grappled with the enormity of the task at hand. Each unsolved case seemed to loom over them like a specter, a constant reminder of the lives lost and the justice yet to be served. Amidst all the usual chaos, Agent Sarah Miller made her presence known. Her arrival heralded by the soft click of her heels against the linoleum floor. She moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the world-weary countenances of her colleagues. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Sarah's eyes lingered on Aaron as she sauntered past his open aired desk, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She was young, ambitious, and hungry for success. Her gaze fixed on the formidable figure of the BAU's leader like a moth drawn to a flame.

Despite Aaron's cold indifference, she persisted in her attempts at flirtation, undeterred by his lack of response. Her tactics were shamelessly transparent, her words dripping with false sweetness as she sought to capture his attention. Agent Sarah Miller yet again walked past Aaron's desk, her gaze lingering on him for a moment too long before she turned her attention to you. There was a subtle flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she took in your presence, her lips curling into a barely concealed sneer.

"Hey, Hotch," she purred, leaning against the edge of his desk with practiced ease. "You must be tired of staring at all those files. Why don't you take a break and grab a coffee with me?" Her eyes kept looking back to you in brief flashes to gauge your reaction. You decided early on after her brazen attempts that you would give her none. A layer of disgust masked on top of the doe eyes she was attempting to give your husband was meant for you. She was very forward, you had to give her that one.

Aaron's response was polite but firm, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I'm sorry, Agent Miller, but I have work to do," he replied, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him.

Undeterred, Sarah flashed him a flirtatious smile, her gaze lingering on him expectantly. "Maybe some other time, then," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness before she finally strolled away.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her blatant display of interest, the subtle scoff escaping your lips as you returned your focus to the files sprawled across your desk. "Some profiler she is," you muttered under your breath, the sarcasm dripping from your words like venom. It was a small act of defiance, a way to vent the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface as you watched Sarah's failed attempts at seduction.

Your comment earned a small smirk from Aaron, his lips quirking up in amusement as he glanced up from his work. His eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, a shared understanding of the absurdity of the situation. In that fleeting moment, you found solace in the unspoken reassurance that he was not blind to Sarah's antics, nor was he unaffected by them.

As the tension in the room continued to get heavier, you exchanged a knowing glance with Aaron, the unspoken bond between you speaking volumes. It was a silent reminder of the unbreakable connection that bound you together, a tether grounding you amidst the disarray swirling around you. In that moment, you drew strength from the knowledge that no amount of flirtation from the new agent could ever hope to rival the deep-seated love and loyalty that defined your marriage.

But beneath the surface, resentment simmered, fueled by the blatant disrespect for the boundaries of your marriage. Each lingering glance, each flirtatious comment served as a reminder of the fragile line Sarah was treading, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the calm facade. Yet, as frustrating as her antics were, you knew that the true test of your marriage lay not in her misguided advances but in the unwavering trust and devotion you shared with Aaron. A bond that would withstand any challenge thrown your way.

You had to give the girl credit. She certainly didn’t stop. It was not even an hour later that the girl came crawling right back to him. In the dimly lit bullpen of the BAU, the seasoned agents huddled together, their eyes darting furtively around the room as they exchanged knowing glances. Reid, Garcia, Morgan, and Prentiss stood in a tight circle. Their voices hushed as they leaned in conspiratorially.

"So, who's going to crack first?" Garcia whispered, her eyes sparkling mischievously behind her glasses.

Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "My money's on Y/N. She's got that poker face down pat."

Reid nodded in agreement, adjusting his glasses. "And she's got a wicked sense of humor. I don't think she's sweating it."

Just then, Morgan, ever the observant one, interjected with a grin. "You know what, I'm with both of you on this one. Y/N's handling this like a pro. She's probably just waiting for the perfect moment to drop a witty comeback."

The others turned to look at you, noticing your bemused expression as you observed the scene unfolding with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The new agent, eager to impress, leaned in a little too close to Hotch, her voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. "So, Hotch, any plans for dinner tonight?"

Hotch glanced up from his paperwork, his expression remaining impassive. "Just finishing up some reports, Agent. Nothing planned."

Undeterred, the new agent persisted, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. "Well, if you change your mind, I know this great Italian place down the street."

Hotch merely nodded, returning his attention to the file in front of him. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Agent."

Behind his back, the BAU members couldn't contain their laughter, stifling their giggles as they watched the new agent's attempts fall flat. It was clear that Hotch was immune to her charms, his focus unwavering even in the face of relentless flirting.

As Sarah retreated, finally somewhat defeated, the BAU members exchanged triumphant looks, their silent bet settled. Hotch may have been unflappable in the field, but when it came to dodging unwanted advances, he was truly a master of his craft. And you, well, you were just enjoying the show, your amused smile barely masking your annoyance as you watched the scene unfold.

The breaking point came during a particularly intense case, where the unsub's erratic behavior had everyone on edge. You felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of an abandoned warehouse, every nerve on high alert.

In the heat of the pursuit, Sarah's impulsive decision shattered the fragile equilibrium you had struggled to maintain with your team. Ignoring protocol and disregarding the safety of the team, she charged ahead recklessly, her actions sending shockwaves rippling through your ranks. Bullets flew past you like angry hornets, the deafening roar of gunfire echoing off the walls as chaos descended upon you.

It happened in the blink of an eye, a split-second decision with far-reaching consequences. A bullet sliced through the air like a deadly whisper, its trajectory aimed straight for your chest. But thanks to the protective barrier of your bulletproof vest, the impact was nothing more than a forceful shove, the fabric absorbing the blow with a sickening thud. The impact knocked the wind out of you, pain searing through your body as you stumbled backward, clutching your chest.

As the adrenaline faded and the reality of what could have been sunk in, fury ignited like a wildfire within you. You rounded on Sarah, your voice a crescendo of anger as you unleashed the pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks. Each word was a dagger aimed straight at her heart. Your tone laced with a venomous ferocity that mirrored the intensity of the emotions raging within you.

Coughing up blood, your vision blurred as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Anger surged through you like a tidal wave, drowning out the pain as you staggered to your feet. With a primal roar, you lunged at Sarah, grabbing her by the collar with a strength born of desperation.

"What the fuck was that?" you yelled, louder than you ever had before. And certainly not in front of the team. Your voice raw with fury. Each word was a thunderclap, reverberating through the warehouse like a warning shot. "You could have killed me! Or them! Do you even realize what you've done?"

But Sarah's response was a defiant sneer, her gaze unwavering in the face of your righteous indignation. "I did what needed to be done," she spat, her voice laced with arrogance. "I'm not afraid to take risks to get the job done."

The words were like a slap to the face, a cruel reminder of the recklessness that had nearly cost you everything. With all your rage, you shoved her away, your hands trembling with anger as you struggled to contain the tempest raging within you.

"You're a liability," you growled, your voice a low, dangerous whisper. "And if you ever put my life, their lives,” You pointed to Spencer and Emily behind you, “in danger again, I won't hesitate to take you down myself."

As you stood there, trembling with fury and pain, the rest of the team made their way over. You still hasn’t seen Aaron yet but the rest of them looked on in shock and disbelief. Derek surged forward, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pulled you back from the confrontation. "Easy there Y/N," he said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to calm the storm raging within you. "Cool off."

Emily and JJ exchanged worried glances. Finally, Aaron found you after too many moments of losing it in front of everyone. His eyes widened in alarm as he took in the sight of blood staining your lips, his heart clenching with fear at the sight. "What happened?" he demanded. His usually calm voice was laced with urgency as he reached out to gently touch your arm. His fingers trembled against your skin, his touch a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of the moment.

Still reeling from the confrontation and the shock of narrowly escaping serious injury, Spencer stepped forward, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. "Aaron, Sarah made a nearly fatal mistake," he said, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "Her impulsive actions endangered everyone on the team, especially Y/N." You were thankful he was willing to step in because you weren’t quite sure if you had the right words.

Aaron's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury as he turned his gaze on Sarah. The air around him crackled with palpable anger, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Is this true?" he demanded, his voice cold and steely as he pinned her with a hard stare.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, her bravado faltering in the face of his unwavering gaze. "I...I was just trying to apprehend the unsub," she stammered, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

But Aaron's patience had worn thin, his temper flaring like a raging inferno. "You made a reckless decision that put the entire team at risk," he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls of the warehouse. "Until you can prove that you're capable of following protocol and putting the safety of your teammates above all else, you will not be back in the field."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of her actions. Sarah's expression fell, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his judgment. It was a harsh lesson, but one that she would need to learn if she ever hoped to earn back the trust of her colleagues and prove herself worthy of wearing the badge.

As Aaron turned away, his attention returning to you with a renewed sense of protectiveness, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the unwavering support of your team leader and husband. But as you tried to catch your breath, a sudden coughing fit wracked your body, drawing Aaron's attention back to you. Concern flashed across his features, his eyes narrowing with worry as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to steady you.

"Hey sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear as he brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Let's get you checked out, alright?"

You attempted to speak, but the coughing fit continued, leaving you gasping for air. So, you shook your head in protest. You were fine and you knew it, but the damn bullet hit you right in the lung leaving you gasping for air. Aaron's worry deepened, his brow furrowing with concern as he knelt down beside you, his hands hovering anxiously over your shoulders.

"Honey, just breathe," he urged, his voice filled with tenderness as he placed a comforting hand on your back. "We'll get you to the hospital, and they'll take care of you. I promise." It wasn’t usual that he dropped those sweet terms of endearment to you in front of the team, but he couldn’t really care. Not when he could’ve lost you.

Despite your protests, Aaron's determination remained steadfast. With gentle insistence, he scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest with a strength born of love and concern. "You're going to the hospital," he declared, his voice unwavering as he carried you towards his SUV. “I’m not taking no for an answer sweetheart."

As Aaron settled into the driver's seat beside you, his eyes flickered with concern as he stole glances, his hand reaching out to brush against yours in a silent gesture of reassurance. But despite his unwavering determination to get you to the hospital, you couldn't help but feel a stubborn sense of resistance bubbling within you.

"I'm fine, Aaron," you insisted, your tone tinged with frustration as you crossed your arms over your chest. "This is incredibly dramatic. You’ve been hit in your gear too."

Aaron's expression softened at your words, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Maybe I am," he admitted with a chuckle. "I also know what it feels like honey. I’d rather be safe than sorry."

You shot him a playful glare, unable to suppress the teasing smile that danced on your lips. He cared for you, truly. Every inch of himself loved you more deeply than even you could have fathomed. You also knew that love bore stubbornness and there was no talking him out of what he knew he had to do. You were just along for the ride now. "You just can't resist playing the hero, can you?" You spoke up after a moment of silence between the two of you.

Aaron chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced over at you. "Guilty as charged," he replied. "Always remind me never to get on your bad side," Aaron quipped, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips as he attempted to alleviate the tension that hung heavy in the air.

You managed a weak laugh trying your hardest to hide the pain radiating from your chest. However, so grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were about to take matters into your own hands back there," he teased gently, his voice laced with affection.

The image of you, ready to throw down with the new agent, brought a genuine laugh bubbling up from deep within you this time. "Well, she did have it coming," you admitted with a mischievous grin. "But I guess I'll let you handle the heroics this time."

As the laughter subsided, Aaron's expression turned more serious, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry things got so heated," he said softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I should have stepped in sooner. I thought she was harmless. Dealt with her type so many times before." He sighed, running a hand through his hair before finding your hand and lacing his fingers within yours.

You squeezed his hand, a warm smile spreading across your face. "It’s not your fault you’re such a silver fox," Tossing him a wink you couldn’t help but to tease him right on back. It’s how you knew everything was going to be just fine. The two of you had dealt with so much worse and come out even stronger, this would be nothing but a minor blip on your journey together.

Aaron laughed at your playful comment, a warmth spreading in his chest at your familiar banter. "Ah, so you're saying my charm is both a blessing and a curse," he retorted with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You nodded, a fond smile playing on your lips. "Something like that," you agreed, feeling a surge of gratitude for the ease with which you could navigate even the toughest moments with Aaron by your side.

As the car glided through the streets towards the hospital, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the engine. Despite the events that had unfolded, you found solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. With each passing mile, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of reassurance that only Aaron could provide. His unwavering love and support was everything you needed. He guided you through the darkness, illuminating the path forward with hope and determination.

As you arrived at the hospital and Aaron helped you out of the car, you knew that this was just another chapter in your life together. You couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the man beside you, your literal partner in crime, your rock, your everything. Together, you were truly unstoppable.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y

Request Taglist: @michasia24 @alicexvrose @samsgoddess @octoavia @agustdpeach @nescavaneck @casualpruneranchfire @sebastiansstanswhore @kaysolai @samron15 @lillianacristina @ryswritingrecord @bitterest-taste

[mya-valentine]

Eclipsed by Fate

Synopsis: As Kinich and his beloved venture into the perilous Night Warden Wars, their bond is tested when a fateful sacrifice leaves him grieving. With the promise of resurrection, Kinich faces two agonizing days without her, haunted by her absence. When the moment of reunion arrives, he embraces her once more, determined never to let go.

The night before the Night Warden Wars had arrived, and Kinich sat quietly beside you, his golden eyes staring off into the flickering flames of the campfire. You both knew what was coming—the battle in the Night Kingdom against the dark forces, an ever-growing threat to Natlan. It was your first time going into such a dangerous fight, and though Kinich was one of the most capable warriors of the Sun, his usual confidence had faltered.

His hand tightened around yours, his voice low and tinged with worry. “I don’t like this… You shouldn’t be coming. It’s not safe.”

You smiled softly, gently placing your hand on his cheek, pulling him out of his trance. “Kinich, I’ll be fine. We’ve trained for this. I’ve trained for this. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He let out a heavy sigh, his brows furrowing. “It’s different out there. You don’t know what it’s like in the Night Kingdom, the dangers lurking in the shadows.” His grip on your hand tightened even more. “I’m not sure I can focus on the fight if I’m worrying about you the whole time.”

You shifted closer, looking into his eyes with determination. “Then trust me, Kinich. Trust that I’ll fight just as hard as you, that we’ll fight together.”

His gaze softened as he leaned into your touch. “I do trust you. I just—” He paused, eyes flickering with fear. “I can’t lose you.”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips brushing against his gently. “You won’t,” you whispered against him. “We’ll get through this.”

---

When the time came, the Night Kingdom was a terrifying sight. The landscape was cloaked in darkness, a heavy mist swirling around, concealing the enemy forces. The air was thick with tension as the champions of Natlan prepared for battle.

Kinich stood tall beside you, his armor gleaming despite the night. His weapon was gripped tightly in his hand, his focus unwavering—but you could sense the unease rolling off him in waves.

The battle began with a ferocious cry. Shadowy creatures of the Night Kingdom poured from the darkness, their forms twisted and otherworldly. You fought alongside Kinich, your heart pounding in your chest as you deflected attacks and struck down enemies with precision. The two of you moved in perfect sync, a seamless partnership honed over countless training sessions.

For hours, the fight raged on. Victory seemed within reach, and despite the exhaustion weighing on your muscles, you felt a sense of relief as the enemy forces began to thin. The Natlan warriors had fought valiantly, and there were no major casualties—everything seemed to be going as planned.

But as you and Kinich regrouped with the others, a dark figure emerged from the shadows, moving faster than you could react. An Abyss Herald, towering and powerful, its eyes glowing with malevolent energy. It moved directly toward Kinich, its weapon raised.

Your heart lurched in your chest. Without thinking, you threw yourself at him, pushing him out of the way just as the Abyss Herald struck. The impact of the blow tore through your body, searing pain shooting through you as you collapsed to the ground.

“No!” Kinich’s voice was filled with panic as he scrambled to you, cradling you in his arms. His hands were shaking as they pressed against your wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. “Stay with me! Please, stay with me!”

Your vision blurred as you looked up at him, his face contorted in anguish. You reached up, weakly touching his cheek. “I’m sorry… I had to…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Don’t you dare apologize!” Kinich’s voice cracked, his tears spilling onto your skin. “I need you! You can’t leave me!”

Your strength was fading fast, your body growing colder as you slipped into unconsciousness. The last thing you saw was Kinich’s tear-filled eyes, and the last thing you heard was his broken voice calling your name.

When you died in his arms, Kinich’s world shattered. He was barely aware of Chasca’s hand gripping his arm, pulling him away as the others urged him to retreat. Everything was a blur—the sounds of battle fading into the background as his mind screamed for you.

Chasca dragged him back toward the exit, her expression somber but firm. “Kinich, we have to go. We can’t stay here.”

He barely registered her words, his gaze fixed on the spot where your body had lain, his heart in pieces. Everything felt wrong, hollow. How could this have happened? How could he have let this happen?

“They’ll bring her back,” Chasca reminded him as they fled. “Two days, Kinich. The Ode of Resurrection. She’ll be back.”

But two days felt like an eternity.

---

Kinich spent the next two days in a daze. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Every moment without you felt like agony, his mind replaying the image of your death over and over again. Ajaw, ever the tormentor, took full advantage of Kinich’s despair, mocking him relentlessly.

“Look at you,” Ajaw sneered one day. “Pathetic. So lost without her. How’s it feel, knowing you couldn’t protect her?”

Kinich’s hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. He just wanted the two days to be over. He just wanted you back.

---

The ceremony at the Ode of Resurrection was a solemn affair, the air thick with magic as the flames roared to life. Kinich stood at the front, his heart pounding in his chest as the flames danced higher, swirling with power.

And then, from the flames, you emerged.

Kinich didn’t wait. The moment he saw you, he rushed forward, tackling you into a hug, holding you as tightly as he could as if he were afraid you’d disappear again.

“You’re back,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re really back.”

Ajaw’s voice chimed in from the side, his tone laced with mockery. “Oh, you should’ve seen him while you were gone. So pathetic. Depressed. Couldn’t do anything without you.”

Kinich didn’t even acknowledge him. His focus was solely on you, his hands cupping your face as he gazed at you with tears in his eyes. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his lips trembling. “I thought I lost you.”

You smiled softly, your hands resting on his as you leaned into his touch. “I’m here now, Kinich.”

Without another word, he pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss, pouring every ounce of his love and relief into it. The world around you faded away, and for that moment, it was just the two of you—together again.

And this time, he wasn’t letting go.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[sun-snatcher]

Your take of Círdan being an old man who enjoys pestering people is my absolute fave bc yeah if I was the oldest elf alive I'd be a little shit half the time too for funzies

( credits to the lovely @peregrintook for this beautiful gifset ! )

✵ — WATER-DAMAGED!

summ.  Elrond arrives at Círdan’s workshop. He finds his heart instead. or:  The Herald and the Artisan fall in love. pairing.  elrond peredhel / f!reader  w.count.  1.2k (a lil baby!) a/n.  set in s2e1, friends-to-lovers kinda , fluff galore , mutual pining , Círdan being a thirdwheel (but highkey enjoying it because he’s a little shit like that)

       YOU’RE QUICK TO attempt to bundle Elrond up like a child when he’d arrived. 

Frantic, almost, at the sight of Lindon’s renowned Herald— drenched to the bone, head-to-toe, and dripping river water from his mess of curls, leaving puddles and a wet track wherever he went on the stone of the workshop.

“He’s not here yet,” is what you’d said, when he’d urged you for Master Círdan. The shipwright had gone off to appraise proper timber for the frames of the vessels prepared for Valinor, now that High King Gil-Galad has decreed preparations to set sail. 

“But he should return by nightfall, latest. So will you please sit down, Elr—”

“I cannot,” he overrides, wholly unconvincing through the chatter of his teeth. “You’ll be at risk if I stay.”

You blink. “…From who?”

“I—”

In the distance, a horse whinnies. 

Elrond tenses instantly.

“…Are you— hiding?” you realise, as he springs to his feet to make headway for the sidedoors. “Elrond, wait!”

“Thank you, truly, for your kindness, but I cannot allow the King’s Guard—”

“That was just Silef,” you say incredulously, muscling the door back shut and stubbornly standing in his way. “My mare, remember? From the stables just uphill?” 

A pause. 

He listens with pricked ears: gates of a stable door squeaking; hooves clopping from paddock ground onto pasture grass; the sound of grain and feed being chewed on, after a moment's pass. A notable absence of marching Elven armour and feet stamping its way downhill towards him. 

Just Silef. You’re right. He’d been paranoid. 

“Á quildessë, Elrond,” comes your quiet voice, gentler now as you chase to meet his anxious gaze. “I will make sure no one comes into this workshop, unless it’s Master Círdan himself,” you assure, resting your hands on his forearms. “Just please, sit down. You’re shaking.” 

…He is. He hadn’t even realised. 

It might have been adrenaline, or the bite of the cold from wind and water— but he’s trembling, nonetheless, like a leaf. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, much, much later, when you’d stoked the coals of the workshop hearth to life, and set him upon a wooden seat beside it.

From the open foyer of the atelier, the sea-reflected hues of the setting sun does little to hide the tentative worry in your features. Your voice is as gentle as the lap of tidewater. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“I shouldn’t have… barged in.” 

I shouldn’t have involved you in the first place, and put you at risk for treason for harboring a dissenter.

The firelight paints your face in soft, flickering licks of ochre as you tenderly dry off the dampness in his hair, the water trickling down his face. “You were afraid,” you reason generously.

(You don’t tell him that he looks adorably… pitiful. With eyes like that of a kicked puppy, almost. Even worse that he looks half-drowned.)

Elrond doesn’t argue. You’ve always been a kind friend to him. So, so kind. Ever-ready and steadfast to extend an olive branch, impervious to tactlessness, or even offence, from the sheer tenacity of your patience. Elrond has always admired you for it. Elrond has always—

Liked you. Cared. Loved.

(Too much to allow himself to let you get caught in this tangle he’s been forced into.)

He lays a hand over yours, and you pause mid-wipe of a droplet down his lined jaw. His eyes are shut briefly, as if falling into the comfort of your touch— candid indulgence. It makes your heart stutter.

That you’re allowed a quiet moment to admire him this close, so much so you can see the rings of sundering blue in his eyes; or to touch him this affectionately, so much so you could feel the very change of temperature on his skin— 

You think you’ve been blessed with a handsome vision by the Valar themselves.

“You must be curious,” he says, voice a low murmur. His palm swallows yours entirely. His fingers are warm by now. (You shouldn’t notice such details— but you do. You’re an artisan, after all. Or perhaps hopeless romantic is a better suited term?) “But this is beyond even me.”

He slides your hand down, much to your dismay, and uncurls the pouch he’s been clutching onto since he arrived. Now that it’s infront of you, there’s a pull to it you can’t quite understand.

You reach, almost too keenly— 

—but you close his fingers around it instead.

If Elrond had shown any surprise, you didn’t notice. 

“Must be why you’ve sought out Master Círdan,” you muse, looking up at him. “If it’s beyond you, it’s most certainly beyond me, a mere shipwright’s apprentice.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Elrond adds quickly, realising how he must have come across. 

“I know,” you laugh, before he can take off into a tangent. (It’s bright and musical to Elrond’s ears— thinks if he could drown in its sound, he would have done so willingly.) “You forget I know you.”

Not entirely, he doesn’t say. You don’t know how much my heart sings to be near you. How much your presence— or the very thought of you, even— have always brought comfort to me. 

You don’t know how much I’ve been resisting the urge to kiss you since you first sat me down by the fire.

He feels a little smile coming, the kind he couldn’t help, that would light his whole face whenever he cast his gaze on you. “You do, don’t you?” he whispers, voice sinking into something almost— nostalgic, at the sudden unravelling of old memories shared with you throughout the age.

“Well, when it comes to Kingdom politicians…” you shrug teasingly. “As much as I’m allowed to be privy to.”

He barely laughs, too busy looking at you with rapt, reverent attention. It curls a timidness in your heart. “You are allowed all of me. Always.”

Something takes wing in your chest. Butterflies, maybe. Doves taking flight in your ribcage. 

As are you, to me.

At least, that's what you would’ve said, had your ears not caught the distant clop of hooves headed downwind towards the river edge. “Master Círdan is here,” you say instead, diverted. You recognise the huff of his steed anywhere.

You watch Elrond perk up and tune into the approach: the rustle of saddle and stirrups, the shuffle of robes and footsteps. When the doors squeak open and shut, the Kingdom’s shipwright finds the Kingdom’s herald standing in the heart of his own workshop.

“Elrond,” he says, by way of greeting. There’s naught a hint of surprise in his voice— Círdan had felt a call louder than the sea long before he’d arrived, and now he can understand it’s carried in the herald’s charge. “Have you come to seek a certain apprentice of mine?” he asks, regardless.

It’s playful. Knowing.

“He seeks you, Master Círdan,” you answer politely, rounding from the corner where you’d grabbed your spare pelerine cloak to pass to Elrond. “Here, to keep warm.”

“Thank you.”

You bow your head to them both. “I shall be at the lighthouse just across.”

Your fingertips brush against Elrond’s hand as you leave. It tarries; merely a millisecond— enough, however, for Círdan’s keen eyes to catch— before he watches you depart through the sidedoors to give them the privacy they needed. 

Elrond's hand flexes reflexively. Longingly.

A beat passes.

“…Are you sure it is still me you seek?” Círdan muses, brows shot to his hairline.

The tips of Elrond’s ears burn. 

[temple-of-hermes]

Lord Hermes Basic Info

Greek name: Ἑρμης

God of: Heards and flocks, travellers and hospitality, roads and trade, thievery and cunning, heralds and diplomacy, language and writing, athletic contests and gymnasiums, astronomy and astrology

Epithets: Epimelius (keeper of the flocks), Criophorus (ram-bearer), Agoraeus (of the marketplace), Dolius (of crafts, of wiles), Enagonius (of the games), Promachus (champion), Hermeneutes (interpreter, translator), Tricephalus (three-headed, of road intersections), Cyllenius (of Mount Cyllene), Acacesius (of Acacesium), Aepytus (of Aepytus), Propylaeus (of the gateway), Pronaus (of the fore-temple), Polygius (unknown), Paramnon (unknown), Argeiphontes (slayer of Argos), Maiados Huios (son if Maia), Diactorus (guide, messenger), Athanatus Diactorus (immortal guide), Angelus Athanaton (messenger of the gods), Angelus Macaron (messenger of the blessed), Chrysorrhapis (of the golden wand), Clepsiphron (deciever, dissembler), Mechaniotes (trickster, contriver), Pheletes (thief, robber, rustler), Archus Pheleteon (leader of robbers, thieves), Poecilometes (full of various wiles), Polytropus (wily, many-turning), Poneomenus (busy one), Buphonus (slayer of oxen), Oeopolus (sheep-tending, shepherd), Daïs Hetaerus (comrade of the feast), Charidotes (giver of joy), Charmophron (glad-hearted, heart-delighting), Dotor Eaon (giver of good things), Acaceta (guileless, gracious), Euscopus (keen-sighted, watchful), Eriounes (luck-bringing, ready-helper), Cydimus (glorious), Ericydes (famous, glorious, splendid), Aglaus (splendid, bright, glorious), Cratus/Craterus (strong, mighty), Masterius (of searchers), Pompaeus (the guide)

Job: Messenger of Zeus, guide to the Underworld

Depictions: Young, beardless, handsome, athletic; older, bearded

Symbols: Winged traveller's cap, winged boots, heralds wand, short sword, pouch, hermea (stone road-marker, wayside shrine),

Sacred animals: Hare, turtle, sheep, cow, ram, hawk, horses, mules, goats

Sacred plants: Crocus, strawberry tree (not to be confused with the strawberry bush)

Day of the week: Wednesday

Number: 4

Planet: Mercury

Celebrations: Hermea

Parents: Zeus and Maia

Partners: Aphrodite, Apemosyne, Brimo, Carmentis, Chione, Circe, Crocus, Daeira, Herse, Iphthime, The Oreads, Peitho, Penelope, Persephone, Polymele, Tanagra

God Equivalents: Odin, Mercury, Thoth

[myceliumelium]

The Thrall Children of Himring

A continuation of this here, with the help of @apocalypso-36 with Elrond, and @animeandbooksarelife who created itty bitty beastie.

Correspondence between Lord Elrond of Imladris and Lady Idril of Dol Amroth

Scholar Idril, I am an attentive reader of your works, especially when my own name comes up in it. I am writing to you now to inform you of an error you made, in referring to my blessed late brother, King Elros Tar-Minyatur, and myself as the 'Thrall-Children' of Maedhros Feanorion. I strongly believe I speak for both myself and my beloved twin when I humbly beg you edit your works to instead refer to us as his 'foster children'. While the conditions were far from ideal, and there was no shortage of problems with our relationship, he and Maglor Feanorion took care of us to the best of their ability. Thank you for your consideration. Lord Elrond Peredhel, Herald of High King Gil-Galad, Bannerman of Lindon.

My lord Elrond, I would like to start by profusely thanking you for taking a moment to correspond with a humble scholar, such as myself. As for the error you mentioned, it is no error at all, for I was referring to Maedhros’ apparent tendency to take in the children of escaped thralls or young escaped thralls themself, if they found themselves in need of shelter. I have only found two of these children ever referred to by name, the first named Ruinmir and the second only ever referred to as levain or little beast, but there is substantial evidence that they were not the only ones. Though I see now that my phrasing was confusing and I should reword for the sake of clarity. Though, now that you have opened dialogue, I find myself compelled yet again to ask if you would be willing to shed some light on certain details, as we seen the confusions that may come from working without the invaluable insight of people such as yourself. With admiration and hope of continued dialogue, Lady Idril of Dol Amroth

Excerpts of “On thralls and their lives in the north-east of Beleriand” by Saelgol of Lothlorien

“The greatest thrall communities were indeed centered on and concentrated around the fortress of Himring. Census data recovered from the ruins on Tol-Himling explicitly marks out it’s thrall populations, in a similar way to how they denote other elven cultures. Thralls are identified much the same way as the vanya, noldo and sinda populations. Though they enjoyed an additional measure of acceptance within Maedhros’s lands, does not mean they were considered a culture of their own right, rather than outcasts, living along the fringes of elven territories.” pp. 17

“Heavy policing of thrall communities was a common enough practice. Many lords feared that they were a threat to public order, “bringing back from angband barbaric practices and dark ghosts in their hearts”(Helcariel) such as bloodsport, a musical tradition named “night howling” by outside observers, and post-mortem cannibalism of their dead. These practices shook Exiles to their core, though Maedhros himself is said to have been disturbingly unbothered by it, which only added to his orcish reputation.”pp. 48

“Parentless children were a distressingly common sight amongst thralls. Often their caretakers had gone to great pains to smuggle them from the cursed land with no consideration for their own escape, or had been killed in the arduous trek. Others still were given mercy deaths at the hands of their brethren as they were too far gone to survive outside Angband. As a result, many children arrived alone into the care of thrall communities.” pp. 69

“Lord Maedhros was often noted to take in these children. Some of the very few written records we have from the hand of a thrall comes from a village chief, who wrote to Himring saying “We have two more mouths that we can feed, otorno. Two boys and a girl. The young boy and the young girl are desperately ill and we do not think they will survive, but the elder boy is healthy, he says his name is Ruinmir, and that the two younger are his little beasts.” And about a century later, we have records of an elf named Ruinmir Aldion, working in as a scout for Maedhros, and listed to have a dependant recorded as Levain, which I have verified is not a proper name but an epessë roughly translating to “Beastie.” By the accounts we have, the lord Maedhros fostered them both personally, though he never adopted either of them in earnest.” pp. 70

[writers-potion]

Writing Magicians

If you are drafting or deepening a magician character, consider these personality traits and common characteristics of magicians. Your magician doesn't have to be set in stone or have all of these traits.

Intelligent

Magic requires a critical, quick, analytical mind to practice and implement. Must be capable of making difficult decisions.

Good Memory

For memorizing spells, potions ingredient lists, rituals and anatomy of magical creatures.

Creative

Magicians need to adapt existing spells and rituals to the situation

Self-disciplined and focused

Casting a spell or conducting a ritual requires the magicians to have unwavering focus and self-control.

Patient

Magic takes time to practice, especially if it's not a talent that you're born with. You also need patience to calm your human sacrifices down and make those stupider than you understand what's going on.

Highly trained

Mere talent is not enough. Practice - and pain - makes perfect.

Specialist

Magicians will have a spell/an element/a potion they are exceptionally good at

Musical

Many forms of magic involve drumming or chanting, or even singing.

Spiritual

Many forms of magic are linked with religious practices or concepts. Your magician might be heralded as a spiritual saint, or hunted for being a heathen.

Prayers are often a part of magic rituals.

Studious

Magicians are always keen to learn more, expanding their skills range, acquiring news spells, understanding different forms of magic and exploring scientific subjects.

Many magicians will amass books, or sign up for every available online class.

Well-orgnized and Methodical

The best magicians always have information and ingredients at hand and know where to find them.

They prepare thoroughly before rituals and have Plan B,C,D ready

Introvert

Many magicians like quietude and solitude in which they can recharge to practice a new spell in peace.

However, some magicians love social gatherings, maybe even showing off their power.

Ethical

Magic gives a person power, and requires moral judgements to apply this power wisely. You magician protagonist will be ethically challenged, but pull through difficult decisions guided by his good heart.

You magician villains, of course, will fall due to their unethical practice of power.

Sharp Sense

Your magician is likely to have a goos sense of smell/sight/sound, so that they can tell poisons part and catch the exact note of the chant.

Descended from Magicians

Magic is often portrayed as a talent that is passed down generations. It can be of blood (you must have "magical blood", so to speak), or it can be a guarded family secret.

On the flip side, your hero can be the only one with magical talent in a family with no such powers.

Psychic

Although magical and psychic gifts are separate matters, the power of foresight is often considered a branch of magic.

If your hero is a psychic, make sure it has limitations and consequences!

Day Job

Few magicians practice openly. Even if the magician earns money from her practice, she'd want to disguise her identity and pretend to work a more everyday job.

Many modern magicians work in the medical sector; other are employed in scientific, engineering or the arts field.

Pet

Magicians are known for thei close relationships with animals.

This can be a typical pet, or a mythical animal, or perhaps an incarnation of the devil, who knows?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[theinnerunderrain]

"Venus, planet of love was destroyed by global warming" [Yandere! Emperor x Fem! Princess Reader x Yandere! Empress]

Warnings/tags : Yandere themes, mentions of war and violence, minor character death, historical, coercion, suggestive themes.

Notes: I might write a part 2 for this but it'll be a lot darker and have more suggestive (adult) themes!

+

The Empress of the Solis Imperium was renowned as the most noble woman on the entire continent.

As a mere princess from a neighboring region, you had the privilege of catching sight of the empress at a few royal occasions. A single meeting was all it took for you to deem her the most noble woman you had ever encountered. Every step she took, every breath she drew, every movement she made exuded nothing but elegance. She was a true epitome of beauty. You were a mere whisper of a presence from a distant land, with no power or wealth to rival hers. So, it was almost inevitable when the Solis Imperium chose to seize your country, the invasion heralded by the clash of swords and gunfire under the dreary cover of a rainy dawn. Startled from sleep, your mother hastily draped an overcoat over your nightgown, her urgent gestures propelling you down the dimly lit hallway.

As you followed closely behind your mother, shouts echoed around you, growing louder with each step. Suddenly, a deafening gunshot pierced the air, and you watched in horror as blood began to seep from your mother's back.

Her startled scream filled the hallway as she crumpled to the floor. Dropping to her side, you tried desperately to help, but before you could do anything, imperial knights caught up to you. Their strong grip tore you away from your wailing mother. You couldn't remember what happened next, only seeing another soldier approach her before darkness enveloped you, the last sound echoing in your mind being your mother's cries.

Upon waking, expecting to find yourself in a dark dungeon surrounded by eerie creatures and chains weighing down your wrists, you were instead greeted by the comfort of a soft bed and the sensation of clean, new clothes against your skin. A maid stood beside your bed, busily preparing a warm cup of tea. As she noticed you were awake, she turned to you with a gentle smile, her expression tender and welcoming.

"Ah, you're awake," she exclaimed softly, a look of relief crossing her face. "I was worried, as the young miss has been asleep for a few days now."

You tried to reply but only managed a soft cough, prompting the maid to hand you the cup of tea. You hesitated, staring at the warm liquid, its bright orange hue inviting yet unfamiliar. Taking a cautious sip, you were pleasantly surprised by its flavor—a delightful blend of grapefruit with a hint of honey.

"It must be delicious! It was recommended by the empress, after all," the maid remarked with a smile, her eyes bright with anticipation of your reaction. You nodded in response, taking another sip and feeling the warmth of the tea soothing your sore throat.

The maid continued speaking, her voice gentle yet urgent. "Ah, perhaps I shouldn't be distracting you so much. Please wait here; I must inform the empress." With that, she hurried out of the room, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the weight of the news you had just received.

Before you could stop her to ask more questions, the maid hurriedly left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You stared at the now empty cup of tea, trying to process everything that had just occurred. A war had broken out, your kingdom invaded, your mother attacked, and an imperial knight had apprehended you. Your family, your people, your knights—all gone. They were gone, gone, gone. Your stomach twisted at the thoughts, a wave of nausea rising as if you were about to vomit. Dropping the empty cup of tea into your lap, you buried your head in your hands, overwhelmed by the realization that you might be the only one left alive. The weight of survivor's guilt bore down on you as you thought, "I should have died too."

As the door creaked open, you were startled from your reverie, looking up to behold the empress entering the room. Your eyes widened in awe, but you swiftly composed yourself, offering a slight bow despite your bedridden state.

"Ah, you're awake. I was quite worried for you," the empress remarked, gracefully making her way to sit beside your bed. Her smile was soft yet elegant, accentuating her features. Her mahogany blonde hair was artfully pinned behind her ears, and she was dressed in a flowing pastel gown that emphasized her regal presence. Her piercing blue eyes, filled with concern yet there was an oddness of madness behind them, met yours, and you felt a wave of reassurance wash over you in her presence.

"It must have been shocking to awaken to such violence. I offer my sincere apologies for the loss of your kingdom and family," the empress continued, her voice filled with genuine sympathy.

You couldn't help but feel a wave of sickness wash over you, knowing that she was partially responsible for the decision to invade your land. Despite this, you remained silent, listening to her words. She reached out and gently took hold of your hands, her fingers adorned with a silky white glove.

"Yet, you are still a princess, and we cannot simply discard you like an expendable commoner," the empress said, her tone laced with a mixture of sympathy and detachment.

You wanted to scoff at the irony of her words, to scream and claw at her flawless facade. Her excuses and lies flowed effortlessly, masking the truth with each elegant syllable. If her words held any weight, they would have spared your elder brother, who possessed far more knowledge and capability than you. Yet, they chose to spare you, knowing you lacked the charm, power, or influence to pose any threat.

"Given your tender age, my husband—or the emperor, in this case—has decided to position you as a concubine. Doesn't that sound wonderful?" she asked, her voice laced with a deceptive sweetness. As her thumb tenderly stroked against your palm, the scent of roses invaded your senses.

"Your only responsibility is to produce an heir. Many do not know this, but it is difficult for the emperor and me to conceive."

Your mouth instantly went dry at her words, and you stared at her with wide eyes, your lips parting slightly in disbelief. Yet, her expression remained sweet and unchanging, despite your obvious discomfort.

"Haha, don't stare at me like that. You're acting as if we're sending you to war," she teased, reaching to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. A wave of heat washed over you, beads of sweat forming on your forehead, contrasting with the empress's cold hand against your skin. Your head began to throb, and your limbs felt heavy and weak.

"Ah, the tea must be setting in now," the empress commented, her tone nonchalant as she observed your discomfort.

The tea? The tea that the maid had served you earlier. You realized, with a sinking feeling, that it must have been laced with something to induce this sudden weakness and disorientation. Panic began to rise within you as you struggled to maintain consciousness, your thoughts racing as you tried to make sense of the situation. The empress gently pushed you back onto the bed until your head rested against the pillow. As she stood up, her beautiful face left a lasting impression in your blurry vision.

"Rest up now, my dear. You have many long days ahead of you," she said, her voice fading as darkness overtook your senses, and you slipped into unconsciousness.

-

Upon awakening, the gravity of the empress's words became apparent. You were swiftly ushered into a bath, attended by servants who scrubbed your skin and combed your hair with oils. Their ministrations were firm yet gentle, leaving no marks but providing a discomfort that hinted at the magnitude of your new reality. After the bath, you were clothed in a dress of beige hue, its fabric exquisite and embellished with intricate floral patterns and delicate frills. It was a garment of elegance and refinement, a stark contrast to the simple attire of your past, serving as a poignant symbol of the profound changes in your life.

After the servants had prepared you, you were ushered into a grand dining hall to have breakfast with the empress and emperor. You were seated directly across from the empress, her forever sweet smile lighting up the room, while the emperor sat at the head of the table. A lavish spread awaited you, with stacks of food including soup, bread, chicken, and vibrant fruits laid out before you. However, your attention was drawn to the two rulers. It was your first time being in such close proximity to the emperor. In contrast to the empress, his hair was as dark as the night, and his eyes were a soft shade of teal, giving him a more reserved and colder aura compared to the warm presence of the empress. He appeared to be five or six years older than the empress, meaning he was approximately ten years older than you, nearing his forties.

"Princess [First Name]."

The resonant timbre of the emperor's voice momentarily broke your reverie, prompting you to look up at him, your hands instinctively fidgeting with your dress beneath the table.

"I apologize for the delayed greeting, as my duties have demanded much of my time," he began, his tone measured and formal. "Allow me to express my deepest condolences for the tragedy that befell your land. May your family rest in peace."

His words, though seemingly sincere, lacked the warmth and empathy that would have provided true solace. It was evident that his expression of sympathy was more a matter of protocol than genuine compassion for the plight of your small nation. You forced a smile, though it failed to reach the corners of your eyes.

"Ah, thank you so much for your kindness and sincerity," you replied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

You thanked them, though it was for nothing. Certainly not for the loss of your family and people. Not for the seizure of your land and the imposition of a life that felt like being a doll in the hands of a capricious child. The emperor nodded at your words before continuing, delicately cutting into a piece of chicken with a silver fork that appeared to be worth a small fortune.

"You are most welcome. I trust that the empress has explained your duties here within our nation?"

"Yes.."

You replied with a hint of hesitation, savoring a sip of the soup before you. Its delightful flavors and comforting warmth brought to mind the soups your mother used to lovingly prepare for you during times of illness. The emperor appeared pleased with your response, his gaze thoughtful as he studied your face. A small, knowing smile graced his lips before he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Excellent. Then you'll be well prepared for what lies ahead," he remarked, his tone carrying a sense of reassurance or you had hope for it to be reassurance. As he reclined in his chair, the empress's smile remained fixed upon you. Despite your efforts, you couldn't help but feel a tinge of worry seep down your spine as you tried to decipher their expressions, hoping to unveil the true emotions hidden behind their masks. However, their faces revealed no clues, leaving you with a sense of uncertainty.

"We are excited to welcome you. Your duties will officially begin today."

Perhaps this new chapter wouldn't be as dreadful as you had imagined. Maybe, if you were to make a mistake, it would hasten your reunion with your family. On the other hand, serving the emperor and empress might not be so terrible.

At least, that's what you hoped.

However, a strange feeling began to form at the pit of your stomach, planting seeds of doubt within you.

[urbanrelics]

HAUT FOURNEAU 4

I adore visiting blast furnaces. They are the most spectacular sights I've ever got to witness. The intricacy of the engineering is quite simply astonishing. This particular specimen in Belgium, which has been under close surveilance since it was shut down in 2008, has been preserved in a remarkably good condition. Almost immediately after the closure, an interest group was established that wanted to preserve the blast furnace as an industrial landmark.

This blast furnace company, which is a defining feature of the city of Charleroi, was founded in 1836, during the heyday of the European steel industry. Like all other steel companies in the region, this blast furnace was also the subject of numerous takeovers and mergers. These mainly took place in the 1960s and 70s. It always remained a flourishing company, competitive on a global scale. However, the takeover by the Duferco group in 2001 heralded the beginning of the end…

The site was then operated under the name Carsid. After a fire in 2007, the furnace was temporarily shut down to carry out the necessary repairs. At the same time, capacity was increased and a number of environmental investments were made. The installation would now be operational for another ten years. Barely a year later, the blast furnace was shut down again, due to “poor prospects”. Due to the economic crisis and the declining demand for steel, the operation of the blast furnace company was no longer deemed profitable.

A “temporary” closure and the search for a buyer should bring relief. After more than three years of uncertainty and economic unemployment, the curtain finally fell for the blast furnace. Since HF4 is one of the best preserved blast furnaces in Europe, the Walloon government is striving to preserve the furnace as industrial heritage. Although a ministerial decree has been published to this effect, the demolition work on the site is progressing steadily…

Unfortunately Charleroi is one of the poorest cities in Belgium. There is no budget for the necessary sanitation and preservation works, which would run in the millions of euros. The futures is looking bleak for this beautiful piece of industrial heritage...

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ AS YOU WISH ꒱ DILUC RAGNVINDR X READER

warnings ⟢ minors do not interact—i will block you! bondage. slight dubcon (but not really...trust). cunnilingus. reader has a vagina, wears panties, is shorter than diluc, and is referred to as “dearest” once.

word count ⟢ 952

notes ⟢ this fic is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was diluc + bondage. i want to give a HUGE thank you to my beloved zebra (@tartagliove) for the beautiful redraw of darknight hero diluc in the banner. ze—i’m in awe of your talent, and i feel honored to have your artwork at the top of my fic!

The sounds of gore cease suddenly.

You hold your breath and listen, straining to hear signs of who won the battle. Tendrils of smoke drift into the air and the ripe stench of death coats your tongue; gooseflesh skitters across your limbs. When the blindfold is ripped from your head, you let out a shriek, chest heaving as you regain composure. A mere pace from you is a masked figure who is renowned in Mondstadt, more legend than man: the Darknight Hero.

His entire body is obscured by an inky cloak, a birdlike mask covering all but the lower half of his face. A shock of crimson hair is gathered high into a ponytail at his crown, his tresses a cascade of flames that lick down his neck and back. His irises are the same color: the glowing embers of a dying fire, sparking hot then fizzling out.

Before you can so much as thank him, he gestures to your arms. They are bound with rope that looks like it was dipped in the cosmos—indigo charmeuse pinpricked with wandering stars—intricately woven with Abyssal magic to suspend your wrists above your head.

“It’s going to be a while until that magic wears off.”

His voice is rich and flinty; it reminds you of charcoal. When his gaze flickers to your flimsy nightwear, you squirm against your restraints, acutely aware of your vulnerability.

“What would an Abyss Herald want to do with you, I wonder?” The hero slowly circles you, appraising, an umbertail falcon stalking his prey. “You have no vision. And you certainly aren’t prepared to fight.” A gloved fingertip, sooty with ash and ichor, grazes the hem of your shorts—much too close to your inner thigh.

“Is this an interrogation?” you snap. “Because I’d also love to know why I’m here.”

An amused smile tugs at the man’s lips. He’s so near that you can see the puckered flesh of a scar that cuts across his cheek; he grasps your chin with surprising gentleness. While his words are terse, they drip with honey. “You’re a mouthy one, hm? So tell me, then,” he pulls your shorts down and they fall to your ankles, a digit moving to stroke the waistband of your panties, “were you touched here?”

“S-stop,” you stutter, swallowing thickly. “This hardly seems appropriate for the hero of Mondstadt.”

One strong hand steadies your waist while the other pets the pubic hair that curls out from beneath your lacy briefs. He chuckles and leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear in a whisper, “Are you claiming you don’t want this?”

From the moment you first spied the tall, broad figure of your savior, a simmering warmth ignited in your belly, kindling into a roaring fire. Lust seeps through the thin garment that barely preserves your modesty, clinging to your labia. Even in the dim, flickering light of the room, your need is apparent in your smoldering stare and spit-slick pout.

Swiftly, he withdraws. “I will not stoop so low as to force myself on—”

“Don’t play the proper gentleman all of a sudden. Touch me.”

Without another word, the Darknight Hero drops to his knees. His eyes are a dusky glass of dandelion wine, drinking you in as he mouths at your clit through sopping fabric, his tongue pressed flat, savoring your arousal. But he doesn’t tease you for long; he tears off your final layer and discards it like an afterthought, humming at the sight of your exposed cunt. The stubble on his cheek scrapes the plush of your thighs as he spreads your legs. You wobble with the movement, the rope burning your wrists as your arms stretch uncomfortably.

A sweet peck to your clit is your only warning before he slips between your folds. He starts with tender licks and caresses, occasionally dipping down to lave at your hole, then returning to where you need him most, sloppily sucking until your head grows fuzzy with pleasure. You try to focus on and decipher the patterns that his slippery muscle weaves. His mouth melds perfectly with your heat, and his deep, rumbling groans heighten your bliss.

But your shoulders ache, and you’re worried that your ankles are going to give out on you.

“Diluc,” you whimper.

In an instant, your husband stands up—chin dewy with your desire. He rips off a glove and singes the rope; your body floods with relief as your arms fall slack. He removes his mask to reveal his drawn expression: brow furrowed and jaw firmly set. “I pushed you too far,” he states, examining the bands of raw flesh that encircle your wrists.

You shake your head vehemently. “No—not at all. I agreed to this, you know.”

His visage softens with your reassurance, though his eyes still shine with concern. He presses a featherlight kiss to each of your injuries. “Shall we return home? I’d like to get some salve on your wounds as soon as possible. In fact, I may visit Sucrose for a fresh jar. Of course I won’t detail what happened or why we need the salve...”

Diluc’s anxious rambling trails off, and he soaks in your palpable irritation as you frown.

“What is it, dearest?”

“Well, I was hoping the Darknight Hero would finish what he started,” you huff, ignoring the heat that blooms in your face at the admission.

“Oh,” he smirks, stepping closer, “is that right?”

“Don’t make fun of me—I’ll make you regret it.”

“I would never dream of such a thing.”

“So…” You press your palms to his chest, rising to your toes. “You’ll take me up to Mr. Ragnvindr’s study, hero?”

His lips ghost yours, sticky, heady with you. “As you wish.”