#his faith is finally rewarded

[s0fter-sin]

catholic soap and the church being the rv point makes me absolutely feral. just the church being foreshadowed when alejandro is driving them through las almas, subconsciously you feel the weight of it; you know something about it is important. and then soap is wounded; he’s betrayed and alone and you understand

this is where soap needs to go. this is where he’ll be safe. this is his salvation. this giant beacon he can see for miles, where ghost keeps telling him to go and he fights with everything he has to get to it

but then soap finally makes it… and it’s overrun. it’s been desecrated by shadows. it isn’t safe. but soap still gets this sense of relief; not because he’s at the church but because he’s with ghost. and you realise; the entire time it wasn’t the church he was pushing towards, wasn’t the church that would grant him safety

it was ghost

thinkin about how soap, who grew up a devout catholic, may have felt when he arrived at the church in las almas. he’s halfway to death’s door, committed more sins tonight alone than most do in a lifetime. there’s blood on his hands and only some of it is his own. he can see ghost, his savior, through the gates, and he thinks there’s probably a metaphor there, but he’s too hopped up on adrenaline and blood loss to think about it. for a moment he feels like a kid again, except instead of praying for good grades or sisters that don’t make fun of him, he’s praying that he makes it out of there alive.

then ghost vaults himself over the gate like a fucking cat, and they’re moving again. soap feels a bullet graze himself somewhere but he barely even registers it. he wishes he had had time to go inside the church. he hadn’t been in years- his prayers had long since been confined to his shitty bed in the barracks.

ghost is yanking him by the wrist to cover and it feels like holding hands to say grace over dinner.

[shrikeseams]

When you idly think about Celegorm possibly being most like Nerdanel of all the sons of Feanor, and then you start thinking about Nerdanel getting a post-Darkening moral decay arc all of her own to mirror her son(s)'s.

[hussyknee]

Trying to explain what the fuck just happened in Lankan politics today.

The leftist party has won 159 seats out of 218 in the Parliamentary elections. The single biggest landslide win since we broke from the British and achieved universal franchise in 1948.

Any party achieving a super majority in the executive and legislative is, objectively speaking, bad. It disables checks and balances, which is a catastrophic thing for any democracy, and the only two other times it's happened for us has irrevocably eroded the fabric of civic rights and democratic freedom. Also, the reason the NPP won the North and East is that the colonized, genocided and subjugated people there have no faith in electoralism anymore. The way this government has engaged minority issues has been utterly abysmal and now they've been rewarded for it.

On the other hand:

The winners. Are all. Grassroots. Candidates.¹

We have voted out every single career criminal that's been barnacled into the Lankan political arena since before I've been alive. The fascist party has only three seats.² The other fascists didn't win a single seat. The neoliberal legacy party won none. There are only forty people in Parliament that represent any sort of dynastic political legacy. After 76 solid years of nothing but political dynasties.

This is barely five years after the Rajapaksas swept in and absolutely glutted the Parliament with their family members and cronies end to end.

This is the illegitimate interim government we had for most of the last 18 months. We literally, physically, chased the Rajapaksas out of the country and this fucking demon set up a puppet government just so he could finally sit in that goddamn chair and be the despot he'd always dreamed of in exchange for letting them all come back. He's now gone. His entire circle is gone.

THEY ARE ALL FUCKING GONE.

In US terms, just imagine that, five years from now, when Trump's GOP has control of everything, the entire GOP and the worst of the Dems are all purged from Congress and Senate, the Green Party in control of all three branches of government under a pro-union left-wing President and an unmarried female LGBT rights activist Vice President, and the Dems reduced to barely 20% of the House.

This is my anthropology professor. She joined politics from the small nascent leftist coalition to help keep the government accountable. She's now the Prime Minister and the most popular Parliamentary candidate in the nation's history. (Edit: She was knocked off first place by a dude in the final result. Boo.)

(On the other hand— the woman who helped make me a radical anarchist and literally helped write a book on political dissent and resistance...now is the state. Uh.)

But there are so many women in Parliament! We had the lowest female representation in a South Asian Parliament and some of them were from the list of seats reserved for parties rather than elected ones. Most were either anti-feminist conservative embarrassments, widows and daughters of elite politicians and neoliberal shills. It's still only an increase of a few percentage points (Edit: from the previous 5% to 10% in the final result!) but now we have elected academics, feminist advocates, activists! There Is a representative for Malaiyaha Tamils in the Central Province for the first time in history and it's a young woman! (Edit: now it's two female Malaiyaha MPS!!) This is the plantation community that still live in conditions closest to the slavery the British forced upon them two hundred years ago!

I'm like. Completely mindfucked. To be very very clear, the NPP coalition formed around the nucleus of the JVP that used to be communist but haven't been in 30 years, they're now just social democrats who are left of places like the US and UK, whose "left" is now center-right. They're only threatening to the Western mainstream media for some reason who can't stop bleating about how we have a "Marxist" government now. In reality, the actual chances for radical reform are still quite low, and the opportunity for further erosion is quite high with a super majority government regardless of affiliation.

On the other hand:

What the fuck.

Sometimes living through historical events is really damn amazing.

---

¹ Well, nearly. There are a few career politicians and a nepo baby but they aren't so bad either.

² Goddamn it, Baby Rajapaksa and Sri Lanka's answer to JD Vance have wormed their way in using the list of Constitutionally reserved party seats for non-elected members. FUCK the National List.

[lilacgaby]

title: saved.

pairing: childhoodfriend!katsuki x reader

when all hope failed you two, a twist of fate saved your futures.

alt. ending to this imagine | standalone(?)

note: my sincerest apologies to everyone <3 please accept my heartfelt apology (if i @/ed you it's especially dedicated to you)

katsuki held your hand taut in his, looking for a way, any way, to save you.

he couldn't find one, but he fought to. he was fighting the feeling of grotesque horror that came over him at the sight of your wound, your pain, the smell of your blood.

it was too much.

but he pushed through. he pushed through for you, he had to. he saw how your forced your eyes open, he felt the squeezing of your hand trying to keep yourself there with him.

upon inspection, the wound was piercing your lungs more towards the left-mid side of your body. his prayers now became answered, as a hero with a shattering quirk came running up to him.

they decided the best and quickest force of action would be to shatter the base of the beam, and fly you to urgent care where a team would be waiting.

he could do it, he had to. katsuki pondered, now moving over to address you, with slightly glazed over eyes. "babe, i- i have you. just hold on." you squeezed his hand in acknowledgment.

the plan was set into action, he tried to ignore the sounds of your guttural pain. the whimpers are sounds of choking are ones that'd haunt him for years, he was certain.

as he blasted over the city, little regard for his own injuries, he only had you on his mind.

he let out a sigh of relief as he saw the hospital come into view. the team waiting with a stretcher outside like he'd planned.

"we're here baby, you can rest now. i got you."

"you saved me." is all you said before finally letting your eyes shut. your body went limp with sleep and not death as he feared, the slightest rising of your chest comforting him as they got you on the table.

they immediately rushed you in and got to work, he wasn't able to see because a team was called out just for his wounds as well.

they treated him for a minor would on his arm, a pathetic excuse of an attack that only managed to land because you were on his mind. he laid in the bed, red eyes still alert and ready.

his exhaustion caught up to him, he fell asleep without knowing, only waking up to his mom shaking his shoulder. "hey kid, wife's asking for your dumbass. hurry it up." being the words that greeted him that day.

"whatever hag." he muttered under his breath as he jumped out of bed, directed to your room immediately.

you were still a bit out of it, drugged with pain relief medication. but still, with a dopey smile you greeted him. "kats' you're here."

he let out a smile for the first time in hours, he took your hand in his, his thumb over your heartbeat. "yeah, i am."

while your recovery wasn't fast, you were allowed home after three days. you'd likely never be the hero you once were, but the alternative was death so it's not what you were worried about.

the fight had left you with a hole in your body, your lungs now only at half capacity. katsuki was there every step of the way for you,

the entire ordeal even made him rise in the ranking, so his frequent absences were rewarding in multiple ways.

he'd take on most of the chores around your large home now, even hiring a maid for weekdays when he'd be gone. he was now clingier than ever, asking about you every hour, sending you texts and voicemails chatting about his day and asking of yours.

when you finally were well enough to make your redebut as a hero? he was ecstatic, though it was clear from the fact that he'd never let you patrol without him that he'd be stuck like glue to you for eternity.

he'd be proud of you for this, so eternally faithful to you that he asked to renew your vows for your anniversary this year, excited to gift you the new ring he had made for you.

everything you'd do in the day he'd find a way to be apart of. from laying his head in your lap as your watched shows, sitting by you as he paid for you nails, lugging behind you as you insisted on buying groceries even though the maids were on top of that, putting his arm around your neck whenever you stood by him.

but it's not like you minded,

after all, what's a princess without her knight in shining armor?

(tags: @that-one-fangirl69 @boyfie-hater @miliswrld @pretty-sparkle-bomb @prettyinpikk @rengokuswife2 @unk0wn-us3rr @keylozinzazane @kanvis @rhas-writes @h3ll0-kitti @yuckiman @kovu-bunnbunn @teacakes06 )

[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ BY YOUR SIDE . pierro x fem reader

warning ꒱ྀི incest. ddlg dynamics. daddy kink [ papa + dada ] . size kink. creampie. reader kinda being a litl brat / repost / unedited as always :p / wc ꒱ 2.5k / 18+ / ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !

there’s the faintest, most desperate echo of a mewl that can be heard from outside the biggest room reserved for no one other than the first harbinger himself.

fourteen days he was away from you. fourteen days without your touch. fourteen days he was unable to see you. fourteen days without inhaling your scent. fourteen long, bitter, cold days pierro spent missing you and still, finally graced with your presence, he’s as composed as ever.

he leans until his back hits his chair, and he relaxes. with his half-empty wine glass discarded on a nearby tray, he eases himself down from his budding desire with deep and steady inhales and exhales. his eyes are clouded over with lust.

the level of patience pierro possessed was carefully crafted throughout the many years he’s been alive. his resilience has never been more clear than it is right now, as his daughter, whom he loves so dearly, clamored over him half-naked.

he found your struggle to be quite a show. chin resting on calloused fingers, he occasionally rubs the scruff of his stark white beard. It’s become habitual for you to crawl and seat yourself on his thick thighs. pouty and close to tears, your fingers claw at his polished suit to steady yourself.

he’s always been the one to take the lead, but he’s forfeited that control momentarily, allowing you to use him to your heart's content.

your chest bares from the looseness of your clothes, and his facade slips only slightly. your hips swivel clumsily, and his erect cock bounces off the plumpness of your butt. he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

you raise your bottom higher, placing his cock right against your wet slit that stained the coarse hairs at the base of his shaft. his body tenses at the contact, his eyes zeroing in on the pretty sheen that coated his remarkable length.

“hnnn.”

a strangled moans escape when it skims over the surface of your twitchy button—a gentle caress with enough pressure to make your back arch.

it was difficult prepping yourself for the first time, but you refused his help. you were like him in so many ways. you’re a creature constantly chasing perfection. one attempt after the other until you’d be rewarded with what your efforts promised, but pierro just didn’t want to see you hurt.

“take it easy, little one.”

his hand cups the softness of your ass, lightly squeezing it. you shake your head. brows pulled together and lips trembling as the drag of your cunt wets him further.

he expected you to behave like this.

a recent conflict pulled him away longer than he expected, and he knows that in his absence, you were unsatisfied. your fingers are not nearly as thick and long as his to ease that ruminating ache between your legs, but he was here now to finally take over, and you wouldn’t let him.

holding your chin, he tilts your head up. you see the concern sewn into his mature features.

“I'm not going anywhere; you don’t need to rush.” it’s a very simple affirmation, but it did nothing to relieve your troubles.

‘liar’ you want to retort, but you choose to remain silent. the truth is, he couldn’t promise that. you knew he’d leave again, and each time you were never sure if he’d return. how you managed to have such little faith in a man who’s lived nearly half a millennia and witnessed such catastrophes was unheard of.

to others, he’s feared—untouchable, unscathed, a force to be reckoned with, but somehow a much smaller and weaker girl— his girl worries for him dearly. It's humorous, but he could never, in good faith, hold it against you. It's been too long since he’s felt the delicate touch of another and to be looked after with such care. he’d readily take as much as he could.

you put your hand on his shoulder, and the other grabs his cock by the thickest part as it comes to life in your palm. it’s warm and beads pre-cum that slowly drips, following the path of his most protruding vein. there’s a feeling that shoots through your body, and it’s all too familiar as you watch the milky drops descend.

you have to bite back another broken moan.

hovering over his dick, you cushion it right against your entrance, swaying from the slight loss of balance. finding your footing, you try once again to tuck him between your walls, but the leakiness of your cunt makes the head of his cock slip. your frustration was an understatement.

pierro watched you closely as you moved sloppily. stuck in a mulish state, you’d rather fumble instead of asking for his help.

“you’re going to hurt yourself, love,” he remarks. while aroused by the brief contact of skin, pierro remained humbled at your show of defiance.

you make a noise, brushing off his concern and rolling your shoulders to straighten up.

“don't care, ‘need to have you inside of me.”

you huff your chest every time his smooth tip rubs your slippery opening. tracing it against the silky folds of your cunt, they separate as you struggle to insert him. you begin to brace yourself. it only takes a few more shaky attempts until his cock finally penetrates with a swift and brutal plunge.

“hmmph—!”

you can’t stop twitching around him when he’s buried so deep. your head hangs back, and your bit lip is barely enough to keep the hiss at bay. no amount of rubbing against his thigh could ever prepare you for that piercing stretch that churned your insides. the stretch that forces your legs further apart and makes your eyes tighten in desperation.

your stomach flexes, and anxiety wrecks you. you breathe audibly, finding it in yourself to remain calm, but archons — you were a few thrusts from already cumming.

“do you need papa to help you ?”

his voice stirs you from concentration, and it borders on breaking.

pierro would be a liar if he said watching you take him didn’t bring a sense of triumph. riding him was no easy task. even after countless nights and all sorts of positions, his girth still proved to be a challenge, one that would take a lifetime for you to master, and that was one of the few things he could actually promise you, time.

but you ignore him and the concern in his tone. you’re a big girl, you don’t need his help. you’ll have all of him inside of you even without the wonderful burn of his fingers to help loosen your gummy walls.

you inhale slowly hoping that it will somehow allow the tension to subside and it does. it takes a minute, maybe two until the pressure feels comfortable. you’re still not quite all the way down, there’s another few centimeters left until he’s fully sheathed inside your walls. you’ve been resting your weight on your toes that dangled close to the floor and you know you should in fact take your time, but your body refuses to cooperate.

it's a wet plop from your thighs and ass meeting his groin when you force him in.

“h-hah—!“

pierro’s cock sharply hits your precious cervix and your eyes reel back into your skull. your daddy pats your leg encouragingly. even now he could barely fathom how such a small pussy could be so accommodating.

“there you go.”

inevitably, the praise still made your chest feel heavy. “that’s it, sweet girl.” that baritone voice made blood rush to your cheeks. lightheaded is what you felt. all the fire you once possessed turned into a lovesick, numbing feeling that left you unable to retain any air. especially when he adjusted his hips and his veiny cock bumped your cervix once more.

“ah— f-fuck!” you whine.

the hand on your thigh squeezes your softness as a warning.

“language.”

you're winded up so tight, afraid that if you moved an inch, you’d cum. the tears that brimmed your waterline fall.

“s-sorry papa.” you sniffle, “but it’s so deep, n’ I feel it stretching inside me.”

“does it hurt?" he hums. “would you like to stop?”

you shake your head profusely.

“no! please, I don’t wanna stop, not yet.”

unwilling to be separated from him, you lean on his chest. it’s warm and reminds you that you couldn’t be anywhere safer. slowly, you begin to ride his cock. a messy rhythm that did enough to please you.

his dick presses against your insides as your hips rotate in sloppy circles. your clit brushes against his skin with every move, pulling you closer to the end you missed so desperately.

 you speed up, chasing that feeling selfishly until it grows and becomes too powerful to control.

“daddy . . .” you try to halt your hips, but you can’t stop the desperation. you settle for slowing down even more, but it only seems to drag the pleasure out further.

“I might make a mess” you mumble. you tuck yourself closer to his chest again to escape the burning flush of embarrassment.

pierro knows your body better than you do and even before your own realization, he was able to quickly assess your expression and feel how your cunt pulses around him. he understands what’s happening before you do.

“just focus on me. focus on papa.”

you nod.

it takes a moment to get the courage to move faster, but his cock nestling in your cunt couldn’t placate you. your humps pick up, and your thinking crumbles to know people stood less than 10 feet away, walking past the room. knowing they could possibly be hearing the moist noises of your cunt while you fucked him sloppily. the nervousness wasn't present; instead, a sweltering, mind-breaking urge grew. one that turns your stomach into knots and makes your your knees dig into his hips

“let it out, my dear.”

your legs lock around him, and a disgruntled groan leaves his lips as your pussy clenches.

“daddy. ” your nails scratch him, but he doesn’t flinch nor shy away. his hardened skin from years of ruthless battles could surely withstand the dig of his daughter's nails.

with a petulant whine and submissive arch of your back, your pillowy breasts block his vision while you seize around him. clenching and unclenching, arousal streams down his massive cock and sprays his front in spurts. your hand comes to rub at your clit to ride out the addicting high.

pierro could only watch in awe. how quick and easily you came to make his shaft throb to the beat of dull and erratic twinges.

“pretty girl, you’re going to make this old man faint.”

he presses a kiss on your nipple, holding you while your cunt continues to milk him. he hasn’t yet reached his own high and still he makes no effort to rush your come down. he’s far from a selfish lover, but that was something that came naturally as it’s his job as your father to make sure you are pleased in all aspects.

pierro’s cock remained snuggled inside of you. he pressed light kisses on your skin, as your breathing slows. before you can lose yourself in it, the scratch of his beard makes you pull away. turning up your nose, you make a noise of disapproval.

“you need to shave, daddy.”

he rubs his chin to feel his beard himself. it has been a while since he’s given it a trim. “you don’t like it?”

you take a second to think, staring at the thick gray covering the lower half of his face. “that depends. can I shave it for you?”

his eyes widen a bit, and his head turns away. “that’s . . . dangerous.”

you frown. “then no, I don’t like it.”

pierro laughs, and he rubs the sides of his face against your soft cheek, the hair of his beard uncomfortably prickling your face.

“w-what, what are you doing?” the scratches against your face mushed you two closer. his nose and lips poking you until your lips clumsily collide.

“papa, stop!” giggling, you push him away, but he holds you still. the kiss is uncoordinated at first because of your laughs, but he doesn’t mind it. one peck and then another until your lips are interlocked, moving at a slow pace that manages to steal your breath.

he groans when you move closer, and he guides your hips, hoping to drag more moans out for the rest of the night. feeling his cock throb, you remember he didn’t finish, but it didn’t take long to transition from the playful atmosphere to what it was once prior. the arousal was now thick in the air, weighing you down into submission.

your father picks you up with ease and fucks you like a toy. rough hands resting on your hips drag you up and down on his cock. the schlick schlick of his cum-coated length, plunging so deeply until it kisses your womb.

“cum inside me, d-dada, use me. use me to make you cum.”

“keep talking like that, baby; daddy is so close.” your pussy puffs from his slams. how something so small can manage to swallow his sheer size amazes him. balls slap against your ass, his grip on your body is tight, digging into you, and such a display of strength it was.

“y’r so deep. . my cunny was made for you.” the words are uttered in pauses from the force of his motioning hips. your tits point towards the ceiling—your nipples, perked and moist from his eager mouth, bounce, and the sight makes any remaining coherent thought disperse.

“you’re going to take every last drop of my seed.” it’s not a question but a demand, and like you were taught, you pleasantly comply.

“yes, daddy.” the veins in his arm are pretty and decorative. you look at his flexing muscles the way you’d look at a painting. eyes, absorbing the details that marked his brown skin. sweat trailing down his massive frame.

you want to kiss him, but your wrists are bound by his hand. maybe they’ll bruise later, but it’s not a concern of yours, you only want to see the man above reach his completion.

“make it so full with your cum until it leaks out of my little pussy,” you say barely a whisper, but the effect on him is still the same.

a gruff growl tumbles from his mouth, and his grip grows tighter.

“I'm gonna give it to you. daddy is going to fucking breed you, darling.” he uses your body to pump his cock, losing himself to the massaging of your tight walls.

his cock swells inside your creamy pussy, and then a stream of cum jets out. milky ribbons plugging you to the brim until it spills from the sides.

“ah–thaaat’s it. that’s my little girl .” he grunts. squeezing you tightly, the sound of his mess squelching in the now warm room could be heard. countless nights have ended with him buried in you, and still, your cunt managed to make him feel like a young man.

he rests his head back and swallows audibly to catch himself. you watch him in amusement at his sudden breathlessness.

“just give. . . *whew* papa a minute,” he sighs.

[artdcnaldson]

the ONLYYYY thing on my mind right now is what happened (or didn’t happen 😔) UNDER THAT BLANKET. can’t even imagine the energy in that room. i need a prequel horrendously badly cat 😭

Three’s Company || Art Donaldson x Reader x Patrick Zweig

Rating: E (18+)

Notes: Patrick POV, exhibitionism, very tame descriptions of fingering, sexual fantasies, masturbation

Word Count: 841

Summary: In the Fall of 2006, Patrick just wants to watch a movie with his best friend. Art, unfortunately, gets distracted. Then Patrick gets very distracted.

A/N: Mic…. This was supposed to be short 😭😭😭 but I knew I had to feed you 🩵🩵

Requests are OPEN

Patrick wasn’t paying attention to a single damn thing happening in the movie, and would’ve liked to, considering he was the one who paid the money to rent it from Blockbuster.

He was having a very hard time focusing on Channing Tatum playing soccer when you were panting beside him, hand fisted into the blanket that was covering you and Art.

Your thigh shifted, bumping against his, and you offered a sweet apology that was more of a squeak.

Art was grinning, looking like the cat who got the fucking cream while his hand moved beneath the blanket, finding a home between your thighs. Patrick couldn’t look at him, because making eye contact with Art meant acknowledging that he knew what was going on.

Art was probably doing it on purpose— the fucker. Maybe he was mad that Patrick got to have Tashi, and was making a point about having something the other person can’t. But Patrick wasn’t going around fingerfucking Tashi while Art tried to watch a movie, was he?

“I can’t fucking hear,” Patrick snapped finally, hoping if he turned up the volume on the laptop, it might cover the feeble attempts you were making to stifle pretty gasps and sighs.

He mashed the buttons on the laptop, maybe a little too hard in his urgency, but the volume spiked, barely loud enough for him to force his brain to tune you and Art out.

You leaned into Art’s shoulder, muffling your noises in the junction of his neck.

“What? You don’t like the movie?” Art teased. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, and it was then that Patrick finally met Art’s gaze.

That smug motherfucker.

He must’ve done something particularly nice with his fingers, because a low moan slipped from your lips that you tried to pass off as… fuck if Patrick knew. It had to have been your first attempts at exhibitionism, because both of you were awful at it.

Art grinned, tilting your face to eye level. “Should we turn it off and do something else?”

“No!” You piped up quickly, eyes wide and glossy.

Patrick tried his best to conceal his annoyance and focus on the movie as Art pulled you closer and closer to the brink. Which was hard, because all of those little noises and the feel of your warm body beside him was enough to make anyone go fucking crazy.

He’d been faithful, even if Art was dubious. He hadn’t stepped out on Tashi— he would probably have a moment of clarity in some foreign country or a shitty bumfuck country club that he loved Tashi.

But it was like Art wanted him to break.

Your body was trembling, breath coming in shaky pants from your pretty, open mouth.

If things were different, he would’ve kissed you. Licked right into your mouth, let his hands wander.

Finish her off, Donaldson.

Art would have the first set, but Patrick could rally. He could always make you fall apart with his mouth. Better yet, he’d fuck you and make Art sit there like a asshole watching the goddamn movie Patrick had rented.

Art wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t like feeling left out. Whatever, Patrick would let you swallow Art‘s cock down your throat as a reward for him being so fucking ballsy in the first place.

A muffled squeak snapped him back to reality. You were panting, giggling softly in the juncture of Art’s shoulder.

Art’s cheeks were pink and flushed, and he wore a smug grin on his lips before he slipped the fingers that had just been buried inside of your pussy between his full lips. And then, like it hadn’t even happened, he reached over and grabbed his Gatorade from the nightstand. Patrick watched as he took a long drink, throat bobbing, and felt like he was going insane.

“What’s happening?” You asked, leaning over to whisper in Patrick’s ear. “I totally zoned out.”

Patrick stood suddenly and went for the door, hyper aware of his cock straining against his jeans. “Start it over, I’m gonna go smoke.”

He made it halfway to the door before Art spoke up. ���Patrick?”

His voice was strained. “Yeah?”

“You left your pack.” Art was smug as he handed Patrick his pack of cigarettes— his fingertips still spit-slick when they grazed his wrist.

There was a silent exchange then. An I-Know and an I-Know-You-Know-and-I-Know-You’re-Hard. Patrick almost scowled as he snatched the cigarettes out of Art’s hands and darted out of the room.

He probably should’ve smoked. It would’ve been smarter than… well, anything else running through his brain. He settled on the shared dorm bathroom, a thin curtain of privacy in a mildly molded shower, and a spit slick hand working himself to completion.

Then a smoke.

Ten minutes later, he walked back into Art’s dorm and you smiled sweetly over at him. He sat back down, stole the popcorn from your lap, and glared at Art for good measure.

Art’s laughter made him forgive him for the whole thing anyway.

Thank you for reading!! Hope you enjoyed 🩵 let me know what you think + any other requests in the changeover universe 😚🩵

[plussizeficchick]

Like That | Sleazy Alpha!Kirishima x Chubby!Reader

Warnings: Dubcon(blackmailing)Cunnilingus, P in V, breeding kink, predator/prey kink(Kiri likes the chase😉)

Summary; Reader’s been keeping a secret from her fellow classmates, except Kirishima’s figured it out. You know what they say, when life gives you lemons

“-gonna be soo cute! Just you, hey! Are you even listening to me?!” Kirishima mentally rolls his eyes before turning to face the omega that was talking his ear off. “Sorry, what was that?” He asked. He had a way of disarming people, big glassy eyes, a cute little pout and the person is putty in his hands.

The omega chirps, flustered by the look he gives her before batting her eyelashes, the sight quite literally making Kirishima want to throw up. She giggles and the noise grates on his ears. “I said that I’m excited for the party after you guys win the game. My outfit’s going to be really cute.” She winks and Kirishima knows what she’s implying.

She thinks that by the end of the night she’ll get in his pants but he knows better. He has only one omega on his mind, one that he knows was made for him specifically.

You thought you’d hidden it well, and if he wasn’t a prime alpha you may have even gotten away with it, but his senses were stronger than the average one and your scent made his mouth water.

He knew why you presented yourself as beta, he honestly couldn’t fault you. Prime omegas were extremely rare, so with you being the only one on campus, it would’ve caused quite a stir.

That was the main reason he was even talking to this girl. He’d seen you around her and he was hoping to get an in to talk to you. “Sounds nice, you bringing any friends?” She goes on to list a bunch of names that he doesn’t care to know, only recognizing his heart skipping a beat at the mention of your name. Jackpot.

— —

This was not your kind of party. It was overly crowded, way too many people to fit inside the enclosed space, but that wasn’t your main focus. You were on a mission.

Your mission: Avoid Eijiro Kirishima.

He made you extremely nervous. His predatory gaze always somehow on you, as if he’s studying you. As if he knows something.

You have a feeling he knows what you really are, his senses as a prime alpha more heightened, so you’d understand if he knew.

But that was just all the more reason to avoid him.

You thought you were doing pretty well, trying your best to enjoy your university’s big win, but then you come to see Kirishima standing in the far corner of the room, nursing a drink with a girl by his side, failing miserably at flirting.

His eyes are everywhere but her, and he’s barely giving her a response. And if that’s not the worst of it, as soon as he catches sight of you in the tight bodycon dress you have on, he’s making a beeline towards you, cutting her off mid sentence. You turn to leave, hoping that the sea of bodies will help him lose track of you. You lose faith however, when you feel his warm, calloused hands grip your arm, turning you to face him.

“Hey, pretty girl. I was hoping to see you here.” He murmurs softly in your ear. You feel a shiver run down your spine at the close proximity. You quirk a brow, “Oh really? And to what do I owe the pleasure?” You answer sarcastically.

Kirishima takes a moment to look you up and down, drinking in the sight of your dress hugging your curves deliciously, the thought of finally getting to peel away the small piece of fabric enough to get him hard. “I was thinking that since we won the championships, maybe you’d want to give me a little reward.” He says, pushing a bit of your hair behind your ear. “I mean, wouldn’t it be a real tragedy if all these alphas were to somehow find out you were a prime omega?” He smirks at the shock that etches onto your face.

He wouldn’t.

“You wouldn’t.” You practically hiss. He just gives you a smug grin, hands up in mock surrender before leaning directly into your face, “I’m not saying I would. I’m just saying it’d be a real shame if word got around and no one could protect you if something were to happen.” You frown at what he was implying, but what other choice do you have? If you didn’t, alphas were going to salivate anytime you crossed paths and omegas would feel threatened, especially those mated. And he knew that. “What do you say, omega? Wanna get out of here?” He grins, his sharp teeth glinting in the light.

He would.

— —

As soon as Kirishima got you into his room, he was all over you. The scent blockers that you thought you’d so strategically hidden were ripped off without hesitation, Kirishima burrowing his nose right into your scent gland. He groans at the smell, a mix of honey and cinnamon.

He licks at your scent gland, releasing pheromones that will hopefully push you into heat.

He pulls away slightly to get a good look at you, tweaking your nipples through your top and he notices the slight rubbing in your thighs. You were just too cute.

He leans into you, nipping at your neck. “Aw, what’s wrong baby? Need me? Need your big, strong alpha to make it better, hm? Talk to me.” You whine at his words, the feel of his teeth grazing your scent gland about to send you into a frenzy. When did it get so hot? “Please, Eiji.” You practically beg, but that’s not enough for Kirishima, no. He wants you to need him.

He tsks and gives a slight shake of his head before pulling away from you slightly. You whine at the loss of body heat but Kirishima is quick to shut that down with a searing kiss, tongue swirling with yours before sucking and nipping at your bottom lip. “You need me, baby. Know you do. Jus’ wanna hear you say it.” He whispers into your mouth.

How did you end up like this? He had practically blackmailed you, threatened to expose your secret and throw you into the lion’s den, yet you’re seriously aching to get on your knees for him. Ready to give him anything he wants.

“Need you, Eiji. Need you so fucking bad.” You mewl into his neck, sucking hickies into his scent gland. Kirishima groans at your neediness, ready to devour you completely. “Yeah?” He asks, and you nod vigorously. You don’t know why, but you feel the heat intensifying. And the waves of arousal feel much more profound than usual.

Kirishima seems to notice your confusion, cock stirring in his jeans. You really have no idea how this works do you? “What’s wrong, babe?” He asks you with faux concern. “Heat about to break?” He grins wolfishly.

You feel your stomach fall to your ass.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” He says, peeling away at his clothes. “Well, I’ll try anyway.” He chuckles.

The sight of his rock hard abs and muscles has your panties soaking and the way he’s looking at you, like you're a cute, chunky bunny ready to be eaten has your heart skipping beats.

“Well?” Kirishima gestures to your clothes, wanting more than anything to rip them off your body. “Not gonna make me wait, are you?” He asks, stroking the length of his cock. You immediately shimmy out of your clothes, your eyes trained on the motion of his hand. He has the prettiest dick you think you’ve ever seen. It’s heavy, the tip is a nice shade of pink, and it’s drooling pre and you want nothing more than to feel the weight of it against your tongue, but it seems like Kiri has a different idea.

“Next time, baby. Right now,” He hoists you up as if you weigh nothing, and honestly, you probably don’t to him, and he unceremoniously drops you on his bed. His hands find purchase on your thighs, it being one of his favorite things about you. “I need to taste you. You gonna let me, hm? Gonna let me make you cum for me?” He mumbles into the skin, and you know you're done for.

“Please, Eiji. Please make me cum.” You beg, tears welling up in your eyes. The sight has Kirishima groaning. He wants to ruin you.

He spreads your pussy lips apart, running a finger along your slick before sucking the finger into his mouth, moaning at the taste. That only seems to encourage him to drink right from the source. Before you know it, he’s pushing your thighs to your chest and is sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking over the bud in rhythmic strokes. You gasp at the feeling, nobody ever eating you out with such vigor before. He’s moaning into your cunt, lapping up as much of your juices as he can but it’s just not enough! He needs more.

He reaches one hand down and rubs it through your slick before pressing a finger inside. You moan, your cunt clenching around the digit while trying to ignore the embarrassing shlick! sound your cunt is making.

It doesn’t take long before Kirishima pulls an orgasm from you and you barely have time to recover before the second one rips through you.

You didn’t even realize he’d come up until you felt his lips against yours and the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

You gasp as he stuffs his full length in one go, the tip rubbing against your g-spot deliciously with every snap of his hips.

It feels so good, almost too good, the way he’s grinding his pubic bone against you, and when he rubs your clit in tandem with his thrusts, you know you’re a goner.

You’re gushing around his cock, a lewd squelch sound being made every time his hips snap into yours and you’re barely able to form a sentence. “Feel good, baby? Fuck, your pussy feels s’good. S’good to me, baby. So. Fucking Good. Gonna knot you. Fill you up with my pups. Y’want that, baby? Say “yes, daddy.”” Emphasizing his words with each vicious thrust.

He’s fucking into you with vigor, chasing after his own orgasm and at the same time you both reach your climax, your cunt spasming around his pulsing cock as he shoots load, after load into your abused cunt. He’s pawing at your body, the feeling of the soft, doughy flesh somehow intensifying his orgasm.

You cry out, your plush stomach flexing as you feel all your muscles going taut as your orgasm washes over you. Kirishima works you both through it, laying sweet kisses along your neck and chest before pressing one to your lips and cheek as you both come down from your high. You giggle at his softness, knowing he couldn’t keep the act up for much longer.

“Kiriii.” You whine as he blows raspberries into your neck. “(Y/NNNNN).” He mocks back, before pressing more kisses to your face. “We need to shower.” You pout, the sight making him fall deeper in love with you. He sighs, snuggling further into you, “But whyyy, we’re just gonna do it all over again and you smell like me.” He pouts back and neither one of you can help but bust out laughing. “Alright, alright. I’ll get the bath started. You want cookies?” “You have my favorites?” You ask, perking up at the sound of your favorite snack. “Don’t I always?” He smirks. He is your alpha after all.

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @sintiva @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @luna-indigoduh @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @haikyutiehoe @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ."

Word count: 4,900.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 10. Him.

When she left King's Landing, it was as if a black shadow had settled over the entire city, a dark suffocating mist smothering any ray of light despite the sun's bright rays. The Red Keep became cold and hollow. It transformed into a labyrinth of echoes from shared memories, now faded in time, like a persistent lament that could be heard in every corner. 

As the days passed, he sought refuge in a rigorous and emotionless routine. Breakfasts became occasions for his mother's presence, and lunches were spent with his sister, though the conversation lacked the vimness it once had. 

It was a comfort, albeit a fragmented one. Alicent was always attentive, quick to notice every visible need. However, her affection manifested in an attempt to keep him safe, shielding him from any perceived dangers, but not from the stormy sea of his own emotions. She was aware of his pain, but they never spoke openly about what truly troubled him, fearing that stirring those deep waters might overflow them. Instead, she offered practical advice and an outward calm that barely touched the surface of his emotional distress. 

Helaena, with her serene and enigmatic nature, was a peculiar source of comfort. Her visions and whispers, often cryptic, seemed to touch the chords of his deepest thoughts, as if she could see beyond the obvious. In her presence, he found fleeting moments of peace.

The loss of her usual brightness after her marriage to Aegon only accentuated the air of affliction in the castle, revealing a wound in her soul that resonated with his own. It was clear that neither of them had wanted that union, but it was she who had suffered a brutal clash between her ideals and a starkly different reality she faced.

Despite this, she often repeated to him that phrase he had heard for the first time so many years ago, accompanied by a small, wistful smile: "Our wait will be rewarded." 

He found it increasingly difficult to hold onto trust in those words. They had become a thin fragile thread, turning his faith into a dull ache and keeping him anchored to a life that felt increasingly distant and unrecognizable.

Her absence left him with an overwhelming void, a sense of loss so profound that it seemed to consume every corner of his being—worse even than the loss of his eye, as if a part of his soul had departed with her, his best friend, his love. 

He wrote to her many times, pouring into the pages a torrent of emotions he couldn't express aloud. Each one contained a silent plea for a response, a sign that she still thought of him. But her replies never came, and with each day of silence, his misery grew like a storm that besieged him without respite.

He immersed himself in a series of mental scenarios, imagining every possible reason for the lack of response. Had she heard about his indiscretions the night before she left? Or was she angry because he hadn't allowed her to visit when she needed him the most? 

He tried to convince himself that she needed space, that time and distance would heal their wounds, but as the weeks turned into moons, the lack of words became an increasingly heavy burden, leading him to question and finally accept that, perhaps, he deserved the silence.

Sometimes, when fate offered a reprieve and luck favored him, he would see her in his dreams, even if they were tumultuous. In them, she would drift away whenever he tried to reach her, her expression distraught at his sullied touch. The pain of her absence mingled with the fleeting joy of seeing her face again, creating a cut that seemed impossible to heal.

There were moments when he nearly mounted Vhagar, to escape the place where his memories kept him imprisoned, and fly to her. But fear and insecurity held him back. His heart, wounded and fragile, couldn't bear the possibility of meeting a version of her who no longer wished to see him. The thought of facing that rejection was too devastating.

His connection with Vhagar was another of the few true comforts he had left. Flying with her offered a breath from his earthly troubles, a sense of freedom and power that he found nowhere else. However, even this source of relief was restricted. His mother feared the dragon, not just for her size and might, but for what she represented: an unbridled power and independence that she could not control. With maternal concern deeply rooted in her, she limited his opportunities to fly, fearing that something might go wrong.

He and his siblings were now only permitted to fly during royal journeys, which had drastically decreased over the years, along with the king's health. 

These limitations felt like heavy chains pressing down on him more and more. His desire to fly, to feel the wind on his face and Vhagar's roar beneath him, was an essential part of his being—a way to feel free and leave his worries behind if only for a brief moment. Every time it was denied to him, the frustration and resentment grew, adding to the tangled web of conflictions that tormented him.

He threw himself into his studies with an almost obsessive intensity, as if each text and lesson could offer a distraction. This rigorous pursuit of knowledge was more than just a means to an end; it was a way to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at his insides.  Instead of confronting his pain, he buried it under a façade of determination, finding in discipline another means of desertion.

Physical training became another outlet. Every sword strike, every grueling exercise, was a cathartic release, a way to channel his frustration and sadness into something tangible. He often pushed beyond the limits of prudence, driving his body to exhaustion. 

The relentless ache became an inescapable companion, following him even in his busiest moments. Despite his efforts to keep his mind focused on other tasks, the image of her smile and the echo of her laughter lingered like ghosts that refused to be exorcized. 

He found himself wondering, with a knot tightening in his chest, if she had forgotten him, if she had found a new life on the island and no longer thought of him. This uncertainty consumed him inside, like a flame that never went out.

The nights were especially cruel, filled with restless tossing and turning as his mind replayed memories and imagined scenarios. The fear of having lost her forever and the guilt for not having done more intertwined, creating an internal struggle that left him exhausted and unable to find sleep. 

As the months stretched into years, he adapted to an existence where her absence was a constant. Yet, he never stopped missing her, nor did he stop yearning for the joy her presence had once brought into his life. It was a quiet, persistent longing that he learned to live with.

His kind sister continued to bring him fresh roses every week, a simple yet constant gesture that tried to fill some of the emptiness. Sometimes, in his frustration and pain, he rejected them, leaving them to wither untouched. Other times, in a fit of desperation, he would throw them away, as if by doing so he could uproot the feelings that consumed him. But there were moments when, with an almost reverent stillness, he would lean over them, breathing in their fragrance and letting the soft petals brush against his skin, searching for a trace of the connection they once shared.

On one particularly lonely night, he dusted off the gift she had given him, a tangible symbol of their bond. He wore it with pride, like a talisman against the encroaching sadness. Next to the cherished case, on his nightstand, he kept a piece of the sapphire. Each time he looked at it, he imagined her, and clinged to the memory of her with all the strength he could muster. It was a small comfort, a glimmer of the love and friendship that had once been his.

He was sitting at the table, engrossed in conversation with his mother. It was a quiet breakfast, one of those rare moments of peace they could enjoy together lately, as she had been increasingly occupied with court matters. 

She was giving him news about Daeron and the impending arrival of some nobles for the festivities in his father's honor. Everything seemed routine, just a simple update on the day's affairs. 

But then, almost as if it were of no consequence, she mentioned: "A raven has arrived from Dragonstone." Her tone was casual, almost offhand, as if she were talking about the weather or some other minor detail. However, the words fell like lead. "Rhaenyra and her family shall be joining us."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He stopped eating, his fork halted midway to his mouth, and he sat motionless. His mind went blank, struggling to process what he had just heard. She, the girl who had filled his thoughts and dreams for all those years, would be returning.

Alicent, keenly aware of her son's reaction, watched his face carefully. Despite her attempts to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes showed a flicker of concern. She knew the significance of the announcement for him, and though she tried to downplay it, she couldn't ignore the palpable tension that hung in the air.

He finally set the fork down, his mind swirling. He tried to maintain his composure, but the lump in his throat and the quickening of his beatings were hard to hide. "When, precisely?" he asked, his voice taut with barely suppressed anxiety.

"A few days before it begins, I suppose" she replied, not taking her eyes off him. "Nothing to be concerned about." But they both knew that was far from the truth. The news was anything but trivial. Her arrival was not just another court event; it was an emotional earthquake threatening to shatter the fragile calm he had painstakingly built over the years.

As the days crept closer to the celebrations, the nights grew longer and more sleepless. He found himself going over every possible encounter, every word he wanted to say to her. Anxiety gripped him, a gnawing fear that she had changed, that the woman he had loved and lost might no longer exist in the form he remembered. The thought that perhaps nothing remained of what they once shared was a weight he couldn't bear, leaving him on edge.

The days passed wrapped in a fog of anticipation. The news loomed over him inevitably and followed him wherever he went. The arrival of servants from Dragonstone only intensified this sense of imminence. 

Among these newcomers was Lyra, the lady-in-waiting who, years ago, had wished him a happy birthday with genuine warmth. Now, however, her gaze was tinged with disapproval, her brows furrowed, and her expression hardened. He felt each of these gestures like a small sign of what was to come, amplifying his own discomfort.

He had set aside the books, as they no longer worked; the words blurred in his mind, and he was unable to concentrate. Instead, he spent those hours wielding the sword, until the skin of his palms became rough and calloused. 

One day, waiting for his sister for lunch, he anxiously eyed the usual vase of roses, which already appeared wilted. Helaena arrived with a smile he hadn't seen in a long time, it was bright, contrasting with the gravity of his own thoughts; however, she did not bring new roses as she usually did. 

She noticed his unease and, in a casual tone, remarked, "you shan’t need them for some time, I believe." 

During lunch, she spoke with overflowing energy, filling the silence of the room. He, though less communicative, felt relieved by her presence and liveliness. 

As they finished, he accompanied her to the door. She bid him farewell with contagious cheerfulness and went to her room, leaving him deep in thought. He lingered in the hallway, contemplating the change in her demeanor, wondering what she had meant.

Just then a roar from Vhagar echoed through the air, strong and clear. It was soon followed by another. The sound, different from usual, carried a tone of joy, almost of celebration. It caught his attention, pulling him from his reverie. 

Nervous and conflicted, he closed the door and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn't feel ready for what was coming; the feeling of losing control overwhelmed him, it was a sensation he despised more than any other.

After some period of introspection and as the commotion on the floor of the chambers died down, he decided to head to the yard. There, more crowded than usual, he found the usual scene: guards and nobles training fervently. Criston Cole waiting for him, stood ready, morningstar in hand.

"Are you ready, my prince?" Criston asked, his voice laced with challenge and a slight smile playing on his lips.

He nodded, taking a wooden shield and a sword from the armory table. They both faced each other, taking their positions. With every muscle tense and alert, he began to move his body, eager to release the pent-up nerves consuming him.

Criston was the first to attack, his movements swift and precise. He, instead, chose to maintain a defensive stance, blocking and dodging. He heard each clash, the impact of metal against wood and the crunch of the ground beneath their feet. 

As the fight progressed, Cole increased his aggression, launching more powerful attacks. At one point, he managed to hit his shield, splintering and breaking the wood. He threw the remnants aside, adjusting his grip on the sword. Even without a defense, he kept his composure, with more calculated movements. 

They moved in circles, gauging each other's reactions. It was then that he spotted his nephews among the spectators. The sight of him, whom he had not seen since the attack that cost him an eye, ignited a flare of anger within him. He bitterly remembered the injustice of that day, how Lucerys had emerged unscathed while he bore the scar, a permanent reminder.

Criston, sensing the shift in his energy, redoubled his efforts, but he, driven by a surge of emotion, held his ground. With precision, he found an opening in Cole's defense. With a quick and decisive maneuver, he ended the fight with the sword pressed against his opponent’s neck, securing a clear victory. The yard erupted in applause and murmurs.

Criston, breathing heavily, looked at him with a mix of respect and pride. "Well done, my prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time" he said, with a playful smile.

He had little interest in such spectacles. He viewed tournaments as mere displays, insufficient to measure a warrior's true worth. 

Aemond, with heavy breathing, replied firmly with an icy tone: "I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Then, with his gaze fixed on his nephews, he addressed them "Nephews, have you come to train?" The question carried a sharp edge, a latent provocation that resonated with the unresolved hostility between them.

The young men remained silent, their expressions serious. Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the armory table and took another shield, determined to continue.

As he walked behind his mother, his gaze was fixed ahead with his siblings flanking him on either side, all heading towards the hall where breakfast would be served. 

The night before, she had been absent from supper, and while he felt a temporary relief that the encounter had been postponed, it was mixed with the sadness of not having seen her.

As he entered the room, his heart skipped a beat. His gaze instinctively sought her among the others, and when he found her, it felt as though time had stopped. He tried to walk with apparent calm, though inside, a battle was raging. 

She was watching him too, and in that brief moment their eyes met, he felt a jolt course through his body. None of the fantasies he had harbored about this moment could have prepared him for the reality. She was completely different, yet unmistakably the same, her essence unchanged. 

She was more radiant than he had ever imagined. There was an air of dignity, confidence and grace in her bearing that left him breathless. There was a dignity in her presence, a poise that was almost otherworldly, captivating him beyond mere words. Her gaze, filled with a subtle strength, seemed to pierce through his defenses, making him feel as though he were standing on the precipice of an emotional abyss. 

He quickly averted his eye, fearing that his emotions might overflow if he maintained contact any longer. He took his seat, and the ensuing silence was almost palpable, heavy with tension and unspoken feelings.

As breakfast progressed, he tried to maintain his composure, but his mind was in turmoil. Every gesture she made, every word she spoke, was a new wave crashing over him. Seeing her after so long was both a blessing and a torment. His hands clenched together on top of the table as he noticed her eyes following him, her gaze inscrutable.

She was even more enchanting than what he thought was possible. The maturity of her features only served to enhance her natural allure, making her beauty more profound. Her face, framed by the dark cascade of her curls, seemed to shine with an inner light. 

Every detail, from the way her eyes sparkled with hidden depths to the delicate curve of her lips, revealed the woman she had become. Her attire, the deep black fabric draping elegantly over her, accentuated her striking features.

Each glance at her was a painful, bittersweet reminder of the time past and lost. 

His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “Nothing to be concerned about.” Everything in him was concerned, everything in him was engaged.

The mere mention of Dragonstone seemed to light up her face; the joy in her expression and the smile he adored were unmistakable. At that moment, he knew her stay would be temporary. She had found a new home, a new life away from him, and the realization was like a dagger.

Upon learning that she had become a dragonrider, he felt a profound joy for her. He recalled the long nights they had spent talking about dragons, imagining what it would be like to fly. He wished he had been there to see her take flight for the first time.

When the king remarked, “The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne. It suits you well” and Helaena, by his side, nodded slightly, a dark fear settled in his chest. It was a gesture laden with foreboding that he was reluctant to explore.

A few hours later, he found himself having lunch with Helaena in her room. The soft afternoon light filtered through the windows, bathing the space in a warm golden glow. Despite the cozy atmosphere, he was lost in thought, his mind still dwelling on the events of that morrow and the memories they had stirred.

Helaena, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. “Brother” she said softly, her voice filling the room with calmness. When he looked up, she was watching him with a tender expression. “Are you well?”

He hesitated, the words he had kept buried for so long finally emerging. “Will we be together?” he asked quietly, his uncertainty and longing for answers evident. He trusted that fate had its own path, but he needed to know if there was any possibility of a future for them.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she chose her words carefully. “Some things will depend on you; others are already woven into the fabric of destiny. But I have found that after a long winter, summer is appreciated more” she replied with a wisdom that seemed to come from a deep place. His brows furrowed with a hint of concern. “But you must always keep the door open.”

He nodded, caught between optimism and resignation. He bid farewell to Helaena, each step he took feeling heavier under the weight of her words. As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with the person who had been occupying his thoughts. For a moment, he was caught off guard, stunned by the unexpected encounter.

“Niece” he greeted with a courteous gesture, inclining his head

“Uncle” she replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a barrier he recognized immediately. “I was looking for Helaena.”

“Of course” he said, stepping aside to let her pass and holding the door open for her. With another polite gesture, she moved past him, her presence filling the space of the room. Helaena gave him a small knowing smile as the princess entered.

He let out a long weary sigh as he closed the door, feeling a growing sense of unease. 

That night, after a long bath, he once again found himself unable to sleep. Sitting at the edge of his window, he gazed out at the clear sky while idly spinning a sapphire between his fingers. The distant roar of Vhagar echoed, and the restless tides mirrored his own agitation.

With a long sigh and a sudden resolve, he adjusted his patch back in place, rose and walked toward the fire crackling in his room. Lighting a candle, he moved quietly towards the back door, leaving the sapphire behind. 

It had been years since he last opened it; since that night, he had avoided the path, as if keeping it shut could keep that memory at bay. Now, driven by an unknown force, he opened it swiftly and stepped into the hallway.

A light from the other end caught his attention. It was her, holding a candle, walking toward him with a serious and determined face. Upon seeing him, her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. They both stopped in their tracks, staring at each other. Words crowded in his throat, unable to be spoken.

“I wished to speak with you” she said softly, breaking the silence gently. He nodded, still silent, fearful that his voice would betray him. “Shall we go to your chambers?” she suggested, her tone firm but laden with silent expectation.

He nodded again, feeling foolish for having been paralyzed. He gestured towards the way, even though she knew it by memory. Stepping aside to let her pass, his heart pounded with a frantic, uncontrolled rhythm. She pushed open the door that had remained ajar and entered with the same familiarity of years past.

He closed the door behind them and approached cautiously. She moved to the window, where the moonlight bathed her in a silvery glow. He noticed then how she was dressed, wearing a robe over her nightgown and her curls disheveled, contrasting with the elegance of the breakfast, yet to him, she looked utterly divine.

She faced him. A pang of sorrow struck him at her expression. “Why?” she asked, showing a vulnerability that made him feel even more guilty.

“Why what?” he replied, dreading what was to come.

“Why did you never come to see me?” The question felt like a dagger, striking with precision. He looked at her, feeling a knot in his stomach.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words escaped him. Finally, he found his voice, though weak. “I did not know if you wished for my presence” he murmured, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

She looked at him as if unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is this some jest? I asked you so many times” she said, her tone incredulous. He furrowed his brow. “Did my letters mean so little to you that you did not even take the time to read them?” she added, her bitterness palpable.

He felt as though the world was swaying beneath him. “What letters?” he asked, trying to process everything, his voice softer, trying not to alarm her further.

“The letters!” she said, her words laced with indignation and sadness. “The ones I sent you” she continued. “I thought we had something special. Did I imagine it?” Her tone trembled with emotion. “I waited for so long, I wrote to you so many times, like a fool.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “I hoped… I hoped for a response, a visit, something to let me know you hadn’t forgotten me.”

He took a step forward quickly, his heart pounding against his chest, feeling an urgency he could not ignore. “You wrote me?” he asked, incredulous.

She lowered her hands, her eyes burning with impotent fury. “Do not mock me” she said, turning away, looking out the window again.

He followed her, overwhelmed by a newly discovered helplessness and a fluttering hope of reconciliation. “I wrote to you as well, hundreds of times” he tried to meet her gaze, seeking some glimmer of understanding. “I swear this to you, by all the gods” he pleaded.

“I never received a single letter from you” she replied, finally looking at him with her beautiful eyes shining under the moonlight, her anger softening momentarily with disbelief.

"Nor did I. Not one. Had I received any, I would have come to you at once. You must believe me," he said, “I thought you did not want to hear from me” he whispered desperately, his deepest fears laid bare.

“Why would I not?” she asked, still with a hint of distrust in her eyes from the revelation. Everything seemed so absurd and cruel, yet he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

She shook her head, her steps carrying her nervously back and forth in the room, her mind working frantically to understand. “It does not make any sense” her voice was a barely audible murmur, more to herself than to him. “Why?” She continued to mutter, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and anguish, while he merely watched her.

Suddenly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching for an answer he did not have. “Are you not upset about this?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, annoyed.

He continued to watch her, feeling a strange sense of peace amid the chaos. "I cannot find it within myself to be angry at this moment," he replied, "not when you are here before me once more." His voice was filled with a sincerity that surprised even him.

There were so many emotions at play, so many unresolved things, but at that moment, all that mattered was that they were face to face once more.

“I never stopped thinking about you, wondering why I never heard from you, missing you.” He wanted to reach out, touch her, somehow close the distance that had formed between them, but he couldn’t. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Is that true?” she asked, almost whispering. “Did you truly never stop thinking about me?” She looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and in that shared silence, he understood the magnitude of what they had lost and what they might still recover.

He took another step towards her, his expression sincere. “Never” he said firmly, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. “Not for a single second.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and bit her lip, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions.. But the pain and confusion were still present, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. “This is… too much” she murmured, shaking her head slightly.

He nodded, understanding the enormity of what they had just uncovered. “I understand” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.” 

She turned, intending to leave the room, and he followed, prepared to escort her to her door. But just before they could move too far, she suddenly stopped and turned back to him. In an impulsive move, she threw herself at him with force, wrapping her arms around his waist in a desperate embrace. She pressed her face against his chest, her hands clasped tightly on his back, holding him with an intensity that suggested she feared losing him forever if she let go.

He, taken aback by the gesture and despite feeling he didn’t deserve her pure affection, couldn’t help but reciprocate the embrace. He wrapped his arms around her with a tenderness he rarely showed, letting himself be carried away by the moment. He rested his face on the crown of her head, breathing deeply, the sweetest and freshest scent of roses filling his senses, enveloping him in an intoxicating warmth.

It was a silent comfort. He realized how much he had longed for this contact, this closeness, more than he had even admitted to himself.

"I'm sorry" she murmured against his chest. "I'm sorry for everything." Tears began to fall, dampening his shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his body.

She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with something more. He found himself getting lost in that gaze. “What do we do now?”

With a gentle smile, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I won’t let us be separated again" he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “If you will allow me, I wish to mend what has been broken.”

She nodded, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shrink to the small space between them, where only the two of them existed.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @squidscottjeans @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @fossface @truly-abysmal

[arabellasleopardcoat]

No masters or kings (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.

Warnings: Angst (w/happy ending) Religious guilt, repression around sex. Kissing. Thoughts of sex, but no actual smut. Just angst and fluff.

Requested: Yup! Modern reader falls into Sept x Aemond

For as long as he could remember, Aemond had been alone. He had been an outsider to his siblings and nephews, all with a dragon. He had been an outsider to other noble children, marked apart by his distinctive features. He had been an outsider to his father's family, Rhaenyra and her children.

The loss of his eye had only exacerbated that. The girls at court were frightened by the sight of him, and he often worried about how he could secure a match. No longer activities he had found solace in, like studying and swordplay, came easily. Everything, from reading to being able to walk down the stairs without tripping, had to be relearned.

His faith in the Seven had permeated all of his childhood. His mother was the only person to pay attention to him, even if it was sometimes in a way Aemond could not appreciate. When he thought of her, his mind's eye always conjured her with a seven pointed star hanging from her neck.

Aemond had tried his best to keep her happy. She was all he had. So instead of running from his lessons and incurring on indecent behavior, Aemond had closely listened to the Septons that educated them. He had prayed daily. He had read the Seven Pointed Star and annotated its passages, committing them to memory.

Paradoxically, the time when he felt closer to the Gods was after the loss of his eye. It had been then he had truly understood what it felt like to be favored by the Seven. His faith demanded sacrifices, but always rewarded them. An eye for a dragon. The biggest dragon in Westeros.

Sacrifice will bring good things. It was a very simple lesson, but one he committed to memory regardless.

As a child, Aemond had not prayed for a dragon. Nor had he prayed to the Warrior to make him strong and able to defeat his enemies. When Aemond was a child, he had often prayed for a friend. Asking for the Maiden to send him someone kind. An angel. He had never spoken it out loud, afraid of appearing weak. Children were such cruel creatures, after all. But Aemond never forgot to ask the Maiden for it.

Aemond prayed. And suffered. And prayed, and suffered, and thought that at least this life he was leading, of loneliness and desperation and so much fear, would finally account for something. For the Gods favored those who suffered and sacrificed, and if his reward didn't come in this life, it would come in the next one.

His prayers were always the same. Each morning, before anyone else could rise except for the lowliest of servants, Aemond went to the Sept. He spent equal time in front of each of the Seven's effigy and lit a candle for them. He prayed in silence, asking of them simple things. Aemond knew he already led a privileged life, so he did not dare ask for more.

His prayers were so ingrained, he recited them with little thought. Yet, when he came to the Maiden, Aemond always fumbled. With the other Gods, he knew exactly what to ask for. But with Her, he only felt unease. So he rapidly mumbled his childhood prayer, and moved on. It had become a tradition, even if he was no longer the appropriate age to pray for friends.

Aemond knew it was the wrong thing to do. When you were praying, you were supposed to be present. To think of all the aspects of the Seven with the devotion they deserved. But when you are taught as a child to pray, it turns into instinct.

Just as someone who has trained enough with the sword barely thinks about his next move, someone who prays enough doesn't need to think about what they will ask next. It's too ingrained.

At this hour, the Sept is quiet. Aemond enjoys praying here instead of in the one inside the Red Keep. There are no court ladies around to bother him, nor an Aegon making mocking noises while he tries to pray. Despite wanting to join his mother in prayer sometimes, he just couldn't take the royal sept. It lacked the peace septs were supposed to make you feel.

He leaned down, lighting a candle before each effigy, and muttering his usual prayer.

“Warrior, give me strength.” Aemond whispered. He lit the candle and moved on. “Mother, protect my sister and my mother. Father, bring your justice upon my enemies. Maiden, bring me someone kind. An angel.” And as he kneeled to light her candle, something hit him from above.

The weight of the thing was too great for him to remain upright. Aemond was sent sprawling to the floor. His head slammed on the stone floor of the Sept, making him grunt. A woman screamed. Probably, one of the commoners visiting the Sept. They were few at this hour, most having already begun their labors. Her scream was echoed by one of another woman, and soon, hurried footsteps were nearing him.

Aemond tried to sit up, reaching a hand out to move the weight aside. What he gripped, made him fall back down.

Cloth. Cloth covering something soft, something that yielded under his hands. An arm. You. The Gods had answered his call. There was a woman right on top of him, eyes closed and expression smooth, as if in peaceful sleep. The Maiden had sent him an angel, after years of solitude and sacrifice. You were his reward.

Aemond lifted you and set you aside, on one of the benches of the Sept. A couple of the commoners hurried forward, to gape at you, but Ser Criston stopped them.

“A miracle! A miracle!” Someone was screaming, and you twitched. More and more commoners started to pour through the entrance of the Sept, all gawking and murmuring about the woman who had appeared out of thin air.

The people were bright-eyed, frenzied by the demonstration of the Seven's power. They started pushing at Ser Criston, and trying to touch Aemond and you.

Cole and Aemond exchanged looks. If no one controlled the crowd, they might very well end up being torn to shreds by them, in their frantic attempts of touching the holy being they were guarding.

Aemond unsheathed his dagger.

“I think… We need a Septon.”

You were being carried somewhere. You could tell because your head swayed with the movement, unsupported. It was giving you terrible neck pain.

“If she has fallen out of the sky, and there is no hole….”

“A miracle! A miracle! The Seven have…” Fuck, your head hurt, and the woman screaming was not helping things. You flinched, trying to curl into yourself. This felt like the worst hangover ever, and you had no leverage to avoid the noises, since you were hanging in midair.

“The Prince must be held in high regard, for clearly the Gods favor him. Thousands of people pray here daily, yet the Maiden herself answered his plea.” The man from before continued speaking.

Someone else scoffed.

“Surely, this is a bit much. The Prince is hardly…”

“Shut up, Cole.” The person who was carrying you barked. The movement his chest made when he was talking made you fearful of falling down. Despite the strength in his grip, you weighted more than a few sacks of flour or a gallon of milk. People were not supposed to carry other people for long, unless they were frat boys attempting to impress girls or some sort of soldier.

You tried to sit up, the movement making all your body ache. Where were you? Why were you being carried? The last thing you remembered was going into an occult museum with a friend.

Everyone has that one friend. The slightly witchy one who believes in ghosts and crystals and whose favorite month of the year is October. The one who likes terror movies, and scary podcasts and dragging you to haunted houses and escape rooms.

It will be fun, they said. It's an occult museum, what could possibly go wrong?

Where the fuck were they? You were so going to strangle them for getting you… Wherever you were.

“My Lady.” The man holding you said. You looked up and met a pale blue eye and an eye patch. You startled. He looked straight out of a low-budget pirate movie, all in leather. “Are you alright?”

“What happened?” You lifted your head, noticing everyone was cosplaying as medieval priests and knights. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. The man holding you looked an awful lot like Aemond Targaryen. You would recognize that ensemble anywhere. You had read enough fanfics for it. “Is this a renaissance fair? A comic con?”

It was worth the shot. Perhaps something happened to you and you had stumbled into a comic con? But was it so easy to stumble into one? You thought the tickets for those were expensive, they surely wouldn't just let you in.

Something had happened to you and these kind cosplayers who were… Doing something decided to help you? That seemed more likely.

“No, my lady. This is Westeros. The earthly one.” The man dressed in the more expensive costume of a priest was speaking. He had an elaborate head accessory, billowing robes and some strange pentagram with way more points than usual. His voice was the one which had been muttering about a Prince, and being favored.

“What is a renaissance fair?” The man had the oddest combination of a white cloak and armor. You looked at the man and froze. He was… Oh, what was his name again? Oranges guy!

“Something they must have in the Seven Heavens.” The expensive priest answered, in a matter of fact tone. “Clearly. The Prince asked for an angel. Angels reside there.”

Your mouth was hanging open. They thought you were an angel. Holy shit. You looked down, at your scuffed sneakers and clothes. You didn't feel very angelic, but like hell if you were going to miss the opportunity of receiving royal treatment in Westeros. If you truly were here, you would rather not learn how the lower class lived.

Another priest turned to you. He was dressed as expensively as the first one, but he lacked the head accessory.

“Tell us, young lady. Were you an attendant for the Maiden? What are the Seven Heavens like?”

You panicked. Perhaps pretending to be an angel from a religion you had no clue about was not a good idea. These questions would continue, you knew it.

“Don't be ridiculous, Eustace. Everyone knows that angels can't divulge that sort of thing. It's basic theology. They come to fulfill their purpose, not to entertain fools.” The man with the head accessory spoke, as if talking to a child.

You did your best to sit up. Aemond held you more firmly, and raised his arm on your back, encouraging your head to loll towards his shoulder. You were moving inside a prehistoric looking building, corridors made from stone and decorated with tapestries. The Red Keep, perhaps.

“And what do you believe the being’s purpose to be?” Eustace asked. You did not like being referred to in such a manner, and you fought Aemond's grip a bit harsher. He merely settled you against him and kept walking, this time going up a stairwell. You squirmed.

“The Prince's wife. He prayed for a companion. That must be it.” The expensive priest, Septons they were called, now that you remembered, seemed to have become an expert on all things you. Wisely, you kept your mouth shut.

“Is that why her attire is so immodest?” The oranges guy spoke, reaching for you. He clearly noticed his Prince was struggling and hoped to relieve him of the burden. You clung to Aemond more tightly. You were honest enough with yourself to know you had many impure thoughts about him, and were not going to lose your chance.

Aemond grunted. Encouraging him to keep carrying you beyond his capabilities might not have been your best move.

“You can put me down. I can walk.” You spoke softly, trying to sound your most angelic.

“We are nearly there.” His voice sounded agitated from the physical exertion, but his tone screamed danger. It would wound his pride putting you down now, you realized. He wanted to look strong. “There is no need.”

“The Gods see all, and angels are pure beings. They do not know of such earthly concerns, for they have not been exposed to the sins of the flesh.”

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, sure that you were dreaming. This was turning crazier by the second.

“That is a crass word here, my lady.” Aemond whispered to you. “You shall not repeat it.”

Safe to say, you were learning your lesson. When an occult museum artifact has a sign that says, “Do not touch” you DO NOT TOUCH.

Marrying an angel was not a part of Aemond's plans. Begrudgingly, he admitted he may have to reconsider his more violent revenge plots. Aemond had to prove himself worthy of you, and for once, worthiness did not mean prowess with a sword or riding a dragon. It meant piety.

Piety. Kindness. All the virtues that the Faith enforced and that you were made of. All the virtues Aemond felt he lacked, sometimes.

Taking his nephew's eye would not be kind. You had explained so, as if you could read his mind. You also said that Aemond should not attempt to force him to pay his debt. It had been an alarming show of clairvoyance.

That you were privy to his most secret inner thoughts should not have surprised him so. It was only further proof of your angelic nature.

Your arrival had the Kingdoms in an uproar. The Citadel had wanted to record the circumstances around your appearance, the Faith had made you pose for a portrait. Some even dared utter that perhaps Aemond was better suited to be King, since the Gods clearly favored him.

The King was displeased, but your miraculous arrival had been witnessed by too many to deny it. Aemond had been authorized to marry you, only out of sheer pressure from the High Septon. You were a hero to the man. Families who had been worshiping the Old Gods for generations now rushed to convert. Only House Targaryen remained stagnant.

Even after your marriage, Aemond struggled to catch a minute alone with you. Anywhere you went, people were currying for your attention. If it wasn't his other asking you to join her in prayer, it was some Septon asking you questions, or near mobs awaiting outside the Red Keep for you to appear on a balcony. People thought your touch was magical, that you could heal the sick and bless the innocents. Aemond had to fight to keep their hands off you.

As the wife to a Prince favored by the Seven, all thoughts of going back were stomped on. You had mentioned it once or twice, before he had married you. Going back home, you had said. Aemond understood that the earthly world was much different than where you had been from, and the homesickness that came with it, but he hoped you forgot such silly ideas. There was no way for you to go home, and if there was, he would not allow it.

In hopes of distracting you, his mother had suggested expediting the wedding. Aemond had agreed, but he had soon realized that it was not enough. While sweet and kind to him, and clearly loving, your mind still drifted to thoughts of your life before. Something stronger was needed. And there was only one stronger bond than marriage. He had to put a babe in you.

Such thing, unfortunately, was much harder than expected. To produce a child, a couple needed to lay together in ways Aemond and you had not. You were loving, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks every chance you had, but it was a pure kind of affection. You had been told that you were his wife, and what that entailed, innocent being that you were. It didn't mean anything. You were only trying to do what you thought was needed.

Aemond didn't dare touch you. It was his right to do so, but he was unsure if it was the moral thing to do. You probably weren’t too sure of the connotations of the act and all that it entailed. Besides, was it really his right? You were no ordinary woman. You were an otherworldly being, an angel, a perfect woman carved out by the Maiden herself and sent to him to love and cherish. You were not meant to be hurt or tainted in any way.

Intercourse was dirty. It hurt maidens, and it was a sin when practiced outside the marriage bed. Despite always pleasurable to him, and sometimes to his companions, Aemond was not too sure he should submit you to it.

You were heavenly. Asking you to have intercourse with him would be asking you to roll around in the mud while wearing a white dress. It would make you earthly, change you. And you were perfect just the way you were.

Yet Aemond could not contain these… Urges. When you kissed the corner of his lips, all he could think about was grabbing you and deepening the kiss until he got to know every inch of your mouth. When you hugged him close, letting him curl around you at night and hide his face on your neck, Aemond thought of kissing and bitting and sucking the supple skin until you were writhing in pleasure. When your hand innocently grazed against his thigh, he thought of his hands squeezing your own thighs, pulling them apart to reveal your core.

It was a sinful way of thinking. He knew it was wrong of him, but he could not stop. He could not control it. If only his waking thoughts were sinful, things would be different. Waking thoughts could be controlled. Dreams could not.

Every night, without fail, Aemond woke up drenched in sweat, breeches uncomfortably tight. He saw you in his dreams, in all sorts of lurid positions. Your pretty lips parted, your thighs fluttering open and closed like the wings of a butterfly. You on your knees, back, your bosom spilling from your bodice, your pretty breasts, nipples puffy. His mouth, his hands, his cock, on you, in you.

The dreams were pleasurable while they lasted, but as soon as Aemond woke up and saw you sleeping peacefully next to him, the guilt returned. You let out the tiniest puffs of air when you breathed, and always chased his warmth on cold nights. Adorable being that you were, you curled into him, unaware of the turmoil you caused.

Aemond could no longer take it. At first, he tried looking for answers to his dilemma inside of books. He soon found out his studies of philosophy and history had not prepared him for the monster that was theology.

So he asked for advice. To the only person who had to be an expert on the topic. The High Septon.

By the end of the day, a panel with four Maesters and ten Septons had been formed to discuss the issue.

“She is a pure being. The Queen and a Septa have confirmed that she has female anatomy, but having it does not mean she should be defiled.” One of the Maesters spoke, frowning. Aemond nodded along. It had been like he thought.

“It's hardly defiling if the Maiden gifted her to the Prince. She blessed the union.” The High Septon argued, sitting straighter in his chair. He clearly was uncomfortable at the thought of Maesters, of all people, interfering in these matters. What Aemond could not figure out was why the man had invited them if they clearly ruffled his feathers.

“The Maiden is a maiden. That's the whole point.” Another Maester rolled his eyes. It was a sound logic. Aemond felt even guiltier after hearing that. Thinking about you in such a manner was impure. You were a representative of the Maiden herself, here on Westeros. Even thinking of such dirty things near you was disrespectful. It was as if he were thinking them about the Maiden herself.

“Well, yes, but if you ask for a wife, is it not implied?” Septon Eustace chimed in. Aemond had never particularly enjoyed the royal Septon, but he was proving to be very useful. “I do not presume to know how the Prince words his prayers, nor do I think I can know his intentions, but…”

A companion. Someone kind. The prayer had started innocent enough, a child asking for a friend. Aemond had kept it worded exactly as it had been back then, when he was eight years old and dragonless. But he had grown, and so had his intentions. When he spoke of a companion, did he still think of a friend? Or rather, a wife?

The word companion indicated someone that assisted, that served to cater to a necessity. Not quite a friend, but someone to ward off loneliness. A somewhat inferior being, even. It was a term used to refer to pets, after all.

Women were precious beings. Images of the mother, to be treasured and protected, but never equals. Wives were, after all, lower than husbands. It was why they must be obedient to them, why they should mind the children and the home. They were not made to stand on their own. Women were made to stand next to a man.

Besides, wasn't it interesting? The Gods could have sent him a man. A boy. A dog. But instead, they had sent him a woman near his age, with pretty eyes and a tempting mouth.

“Hardly.” A Septon interfered. “There has been precedent of marriages that…”

“Marriages declared null.” The High Septon snapped. His mood was a reflection of the room. The conversation was starting to turn more and more heated, murmurs breaking out among the gathered. It brought uncomfortable memories of the day Aemond had met you and had to fight a frenzied mob. He had the feeling this was going to turn into that quickly.

Perhaps sensing the same, another Maester spoke.

“Why don't we ask her? She must know the Seven's will in the matter.”

Neither of the fourteen other men in the room had thought of that.

When Aemond asked you, timidly, if you wished to consummate the marriage, you could have danced from joy.

You had decided early on that if going back was not an option, you were going to make the most of your stay here. You missed your family and friends, but your life here was so pampered that you didn't feel so bad. Any quirks of behavior that you had were excused as part of your angelic nature, and you had the biggest crush on the man who had married you.

If only Aemond didn't refuse to even touch you. So far, you have tried everything. You have kissed him. Stroked him. Cuddled far too close to him, so you are nearly on top of him. Groped his thigh, almost his cock. Your behavior has bordered on indecent even by modern standards, yet Aemond dismisses it all as innocent. He is either the most oblivious man on the planet or he doesn't want you.

That suspicion had given you pause. If Aemond did not want you, you weren't about to force him to do so. You had stopped with your insistent touching, and went back to light kisses on the cheek. Instead, you had made the mistake of looking around.

You are so horny it's driving you mad. Being married in Westeros is not what you thought it would be. You expected much more sex. Besides, everyone here was insanely good-looking, especially the man sleeping next to you and waking up every morning with a raging erection. Anyone with a sliver of a libido would be frothing at the mouth and clawing at walls from horniness.

In your other life, you had watched HOTD and understood the message clearly. Despite being a common occurrence, cheating was not a good idea. There were no reliable contraception methods and no way of preventing STDS.

Even if you were not aware of all the possibles consequences of cheating from your knowledge about the show, you now knew Aemond. He was terrifying, devout, and hated his bastard nephews. You did not want to see what he would do if he caught you cheating.

So here you were. Into forced chastity and perpetually horny, with your husband asking you if you thought it was a good idea to consummate the marriage.

You could have jumped from the bed in your haste to show him exactly what you thought. But you had to maintain your air of an otherworldly being. Which you technically were, since this was not your world.

“Whichever you think best, my Prince.” You answered, voice soft and patient. Just as you had always spoken in his presence. It had done wonders to make Aemond seek your company. He found you soothing, or so he said.

Aemond reached forward. His hand cupped your cheek, very gently. You looked up at him with your most innocent eyes.

He lowered his hand, shoulders slumping in defeat. You tried not to let it show how much it hurt you to have all you wanted dangled in front of you and then taken away.

“I cannot touch you. Nor should I lust after you. You are…” Aemond’s eyebrows pinched together. His face showed an inner conflict that made your own heart soften. Perhaps he had grown to care for you, in the ways you wished he did. He just didn't think it appropriate.

You stepped closer. This time, it was your hands that cupped his face. Aemond's eye closed, briefly. He seemed to be enjoying the touch, committing it to memory.

“Kiss me.” You whispered, pulling him close. Aemond went into the hug, nuzzling your hair. Despite the sweetness with which he responded, his frame was tense. “Please. I beg it of you.”

“I can't. I can't defile you.” He sounded truly strained. You rubbed his back, gently. “ A perfect being, such as yourself, does not deserve this.”

“It won't hurt. I know how to do it.” You explained, softly. Perhaps he worried about hurting you, you thought. You were no blushing virgin, but Aemond did not know that.

“Of course. You are an enlightened being. But it does not mean you have to put that into practice. You must know of the mysteries of death, yet you have not hurt anybody.”

“Because killing is wrong.” And truly, it was a ridiculous comparison. Sex had not killed anyone, at least that you knew of. It was not meant to hurt.

“Sex is, too. It's only for making heirs, and I am a second son. I don't need heirs.”

And by the look of his face, Aemond really believed what he was saying. The thought of him suffering, of being so deeply repressed, hurt you. You understood well how damaging thinking about sex in that way could be.

It hurts you more to think it might have been exacerbated by you. The thought of you being this perfect soul, someone so pure and easily hurt, and then the thought of tainting you. It said a lot about his mental health.

You vowed then you would aid you in any way you could.

“It's not wrong.” You whispered, and moved slightly back from his embrace. “Let me show you.” And you were kissing him, and Aemond was kissing back. His lips were soft, and he held you as if you were the most delicate glass vase he had ever held. You understood him now. And one day, Aemond would understand this too.

[kissofhoon]

BESITOS !

(>/////< " ) ⠀ ── ⠀ 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌

𝒑𝖺͟𝗂͟𝗋͟𝗂͟𝗇͟𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗆 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗒𝗎𝗇 𝗑 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝗀𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝙜𝖾͟𝗇͟𝗋͟𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝒘𝗈͟𝗋͟𝖽 𝒄𝗈͟𝗎͟𝗇͟𝗍 𝟤𝟧𝟢 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝒘𝖺͟𝗋͟𝗇͟𝗂͟𝗇͟𝗀͟𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 (𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 "𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒"), 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝒏𝗈͟𝗍͟𝖾͟𝗌 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖺 (𝗆𝖾!) ( 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝗒 )

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“ay, no, jaeyun.. repeat after me-“

for what seemed to be the tenth time you’ve repeated yourself, your boyfriend couldn’t seem to pronounce the word ferrocarril properly. maybe you should have given him a word that was much more.. simple, but you had faith he could pronounce it!

“it’s fe - rro - ca - rril.” you spoke slowly, exaggerating each syllable to help jake pronounce the word.

he mirrored your pronunciation in a hushed voice, mouthing it and repeating it in his head until he was certain he got the pronunciation correct. he needed to get it right or else he wouldn’t be rewarded like you promised when first started his spanish lessons.

“fe.. rro.. carril..?” he questioned cautiously, tilting his head to the side in the adorable, puppy-like manner he usually does. his eyes twinkled in expectance as he awaited your response.

and when he’s met with your dazzling smile, he knew he got it correct after what felt like the twentieth attempt.

“you got it! good job, baby!” you praised, your hands immediately cupping his cheeks.

jake gave you the brightest smile, feeling the way you placed a plethora of kisses all over his face, each kiss making his heart flutter to the point it may burst.

you planted one last kiss on his plump lips, letting it linger before you pulled away. your eyes gazed at him with pure adoration and glee, overjoyed he finally got the pronunciation correct.

“now,” you spoke, a mischievous smile forming on your lips. “try to pronounce sinvergüenza.”

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© kissofhoon, 2024

[justawritterwithideas]

law in pink | s.r

♡ previous part | next part ♡

summary: A case takes them to Massachusetts, where you are reunited with your past and the people who carry it.

warnings: a bit of jealousy on Spencer's part, though overall nothing so far in this part.

this story is spencer reid (season 7) x ssa elle woods!reader

words: 1,185 words.

a/n: after a while, I finally bring you the third part of law in pink, the truth is that I've been wandering a lot about what to write, but I finally found it. I want to point out that this "chapter" will be divided in two or three parts (I'm not sure yet), to reward you for your time. Without anything else to add, thanks for reading.

Working in the FBI field always ended up surprising you.

Not because every day was a new adventure, with new cases that could border on the edge of human sanity, but because it could bring you face to face with people from your past.

A new case had dragged you to Massachusetts, where you saw old faces you recognized on your way to the police station.

The conversation with Emily was what was stealing your attention, and even more so when it was about one of the topics you dealt with the most, besides the criminal code, and that was hair care. You had recommended a new product to the woman and she was talking to you about how good her hair looked, it even looked shinier than usual from both perspectives.

"I know! Plus, it's not tested on animals and their products are 100% natural, it's like a little bit of paradise in your hands." You commented sipping from your coffee, placed your bag to the side as you watched Spencer walk in with a folder in his hands and well focused on it.

It was no secret that after his gift it had caused the two of you to connect a little more than usual, and everyone could tell with the little love language gestures you each had on each side, like how every morning you gave him his coffee the way he liked it because you had memorized them or how he took care to save you a spot next to him on the jet where the sunlight would hit so your skin would get the vitamin D it needed for the day.

You quickly pushed away the chair that was in front of the map the opposite had drawn up and watched him sit down, returning to your conversation with Emily. Spencer thanked you with a silent gesture, causing you to smile as you listened intently to Emily converse about the difference in her hair from week to week.

But, their conversation was interrupted as Derek and J.J were entering the room with a box of donuts.

"The breakfast express had just arrived, ladies... And Spencer." The smell of frying and sugar made you immediately turn to the table to see that they had found just the donuts you had been chatting about a couple of days ago.

"Are those the gluten-free donuts? I haven't seen them in years, they look just as delicious as when I was here." Your voice let out a soft sound of joy, approaching the one glazed with pink and had a flower drawn on top. "These are the best donuts you'll ever taste, and it's also suitable for the gluten intolerant."

The sweet taste of the donut made you stir as you brought a hand to your mouth in surprise, it was as if the past had just slapped you in the face.

You turned in the direction of Spencer, who looked quite immersed in his work.

"Spencie." The man looked up at your call. You brought the doughnut close to his face and smiled, letting the scent of your 'Miss Dior' perfume permeate his nose. "Try it."

"Ah, no thank you. I am at the moment somewhat busy, Y/N..." His hand was trying to push yours away, plus you kept watching him with that look that caused Spencer to give you the whole world. "B-besides! I'm faithful to my chocolate donut with sprinkles-"

"With sprinkles on top... Come on, Spencer, I'm not asking you to eat it all, just taste it."

The tasting-not tasting fight they were carrying on was interrupted when Hotch walked in where his face showed quite a bit of annoyance.

"What's going on, Hotch?"

"The suspect's lawyer is in the interrogation room." Commented Rossi, who simply modulated 'he's a jerk'.

"He's coming to talk to us now." Finished Hotch, who was heading straight for a cup of coffee but didn't quite reach for it when a rather annoying voice interrupted him.

You didn't know if it was your imagination or the memories of that place that made you cough, the smell of expensive cologne and mint made you push the donut away from your hands. You set it down on a napkin, listening as it echoed back to that voice that once spoke honeyed words to you.

"Agents, a pleasure. I'm defense attorney, Warner Huntington III."

Where was the closest place to hide from that character? You thought, but you wouldn't let the man you used to call "teddy bear" get you down at that moment.

" Lawyer Huntington, this is the BAU team. Agent Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Prentiss, Dr. Reid and Agent Woods."

Your gaze connected with Warner's, who let out a gasp of surprise at the sight of you.

"Y/N... Wow, it's been a while, darli-"

"It's good to see you, Attorney Huntington." You commented as you watched him from your position.

You watched him approach you, plus Spencer's body made it so he couldn't take any more steps than intended, well... Spencer's leg was the one that separated you, as he stretched his legs out, separating you both just enough so that nothing of your bodies would rub together in any way.

A safe distance for both of them, thanks to Spencer.

"You two know each other?" J.J. asked, who watched intrigued.

"We were coupl-"

"We were part of the same Harvard Law generation, actually. We both graduated, but we took different paths." You lied in front of them, and they could read it when Warner's face grimaced.

It was clear that the two of you had a bond that was more than close, but the way you didn't want them to find out was the answer to resolving that which the others had to find out until you decided to talk about it.

"Rather, both of us-"

"Counselor, what exactly is the reason you're here?" asked Spencer, who watched from his position, with that feigned smile you already knew how to distinguish.

"Ah, yes. I was coming to introduce myself as the defense attorney, as well as discuss the legal issues surrounding my client." He turned to look at Hotch, who was drinking from his cup with that face that the situation displeased him. "I'd like to discuss a few things with Agent Woods, since we both graduated from Harvard and have the same degree from-"

"Actually, Agent Prentiss is also a Criminal Justice graduate, you could discuss with her along with Dr. Reid in addition to Agent Woods."

The way Hotch had cut Warner off made you let out a small chuckle, thanking in the direction of the major, who was simply giving you a discreet wink.

"Yeah, right. Three's better than one, you're right." Warner's voice wavered a bit before he opened his mouth again. "Good, then I'll come by later to discuss these details, they're calling me from the firm, excuse me."

Silence immediately settled in the room, but before they could blurt anything out, you immediately turned in everyone's direction and blurted out.

"I have a good explanation for this, I promise."

♡ first part | previous part ♡

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

[ninibeingdelulu]

His biggest fan ✧

bachira’s version here

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Plot: You’re the girlfriend of one of the player of Blue Lock, cheering him up during one of his game.

A/N: 100% fluff. My man, my man. Daily reminder: English isn’t my first language.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The crowd roared with cheers as the final block secured the victory. Rin stood with his teammates, breathing hard after the grueling match.

All their training had paid off with this win against the tough opponents.

As the announcer declared their team the champions, Rin searched the stands. Finally, his gaze landed on her - you were jumping up and down, waving a banner with his name on it.

Your eyes shone with pride for him.

Despite his usual stoic demeanor, Rin felt a warmth spread through him at your enthusiastic support.

You had been there for all his matches, always believing in him even when he doubted himself.

As his teammates crowded around to celebrate, Rin broke away from the group.

He jogged over to where you waited at the edge of the court. Your smile only grew brighter at his approach.

Without hesitating, Rin pulled you into a tight embrace, uncaring who might see this rare display of affection. You hugged him back just as fiercely, so happy for his achievement.

"I couldn't have done it without you," Rin murmured in your ear.

His cold facade melted away in the comfort of your arms. For a moment, all that existed was you and the joy of sharing this victory with the one who loved him unconditionally.

The crowd faded into the background as you both savored the warmth of that celebration hug, a sweet reward for their enduring love and partnership.

As Rin held you close, he was loathe to let go just yet. Your heart swelled at this unguarded show of emotion from him.

Pulling back slightly, you smiled up at Rin, noting the way his dark eyes still shone with exhilaration and triumph.

"You were amazing out there," you told him proudly.

Rin's stoic mask had fully slipped away now, and the barest hint of a smile tugged at his lips in response to your praise.

"It's thanks to your faith in me," he insisted quietly.

Behind you, his teammates continued calling out in celebration, but you and Rin were lost in your own world in that moment.

Impulsively, you stretched up on your toes to plant a kiss on Rin's cheek. A faint dusting of pink colored his cheeks in response.

His arms tightened around your waist then, drawing you even nearer.

You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat where your hands rested on his chest, a testament to the intensity of the match but also to the depth of feelings you both shared.

All too soon, Rin's coach was calling him over for a team huddle. Reluctantly, you began to step back, but Rin held on a moment longer.

"Wait for me after?" he asked, uncharacteristically hopeful.

You beamed and nodded, thrilled by this softer side he chose to show only you.

With one more fleeting caress of your cheek, Rin released you and jogged over to celebrate with his teammates.

You watched on proudly, certain this was only the beginning of great things for the man you loved.

[makimacult]

on sunday & the dreammaster // sunday's parallels with aventurine

the dreammaster's relationship with sunday is actually extremely fucked up and uncomfortable when you look at it as a whole:

when the siblings find the charmony dove, he tells robin that her idea of simply building a nest for the dove is "idealistic" and prods at sunday until sunday finally says that he wants the bird to live no matter what, even if it's in a cage.

ages are vague in star rail, but at least from the ~vibes~ sunday gives off (+ robin is referred to as a "young songstress" at one point), i think we can say that sunday was probably pretty young when he was made the bronze melodia. gopher wood is the dreammaster, the leader of penacony—and he's okay with making his orphaned foster son, who was p much already displaying trauma responses as a child (the immediate conclusion that "the dove's parents abandoned it", saying he has no dream and simply following what robin says her dream was) listen to the confessions of the sinners of the dreamscape? sunday being appointed as bronze melodia is the direct triggering event that leads to him losing faith in the harmony.

the dreammaster telling sunday about robin getting shot and almost dying—this is such a strange way to tell your adopted son that his sister was in mortal danger. "perhaps as a reward for her consistent deeds of harmony" its all just rather passive-aggressive and manipulative; definitely aiming to be the nail in the coffin for sunday's faith. if robin, the ideal advocate of xipe, can't be protected while doing charity... then what is the path of harmony even worth?

the most damning part of course is sunday's final conversation with the dreammaster, where the dreammaster references robin, basically sets down an ultimatum for sunday that one of the siblings must follow the path of the order and fulfill the plans they've set in motion till now. by now sunday's relationship with the dreammaster is much colder than it was in the two flashbacks about the bird and robin's gunshot wound—he clearly doesn't fully trust him anymore, but at the same time he has lost all hope and believes only in the path of the order that the dreammaster personally set him on.

the two excerpts below basically summarise sunday for me—"someone has to stay awake in the sweet dream" // "we sleep because we are afraid to awaken from our sweet dreams." firefly admits that sunday is a pessimist who feels deep compassion for all; he creates the sweet dream paradise using the order's power because he genuinely believes it will enable everyone to live their best lives.

the interesting thing is, a rejoinder to sunday's thesis of: "people sleep because they are afraid to wake up from their dreams" was already given in version 2.1, through aventurine's character arc and the conclusion he comes to during his conversation with acheron. i've already talked about sunday and aventurine's surface parallels here, so i'd like to focus specifically on their views about "dreams" in this post.

acheron and aventurine agree that people sleep because they are not ready to welcome death, and are preparing themselves for their inevitable ending—ratio adds that it is impossible to be "dormant" in the dreamscape. this is directly contrary to what sunday wants. sunday rejects that inevitable death, and wants to create a stagnant, safe, paradise in a cage for everyone. a macrocosm of what he wanted to do with the charmony dove as a child all those years ago.

version 2.1 and version 2.2 directly build upon each other, especially through sunday and aventurine's character arcs. you would imagine that aventurine, who has constantly suffered, is terrified of death and not really a big fan of living as his life was atm, would be exactly the sort of "weak" person that sunday wants to build a paradise to protect. but as he goes through his journey in 2.1, we see that he comes to an entirely different conclusion from sunday. he decides to keep moving on, so that he can make his parents proud when he meets them again at the end of his journey. sunday, meanwhile, loses all hope and quite literally falls from grace. still, robin catches her brother at the end; there's still hope for him.

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  8 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: “faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe”

You were relieved to find the house empty. A sense of calm washed over you, and a deep part of you seemed to open up. Unzipping your coat felt like the world's weight suffocating you melted away. Still, you couldn't help but wish for normalcy at this moment.

You were so grateful to have your mind free from Zayne's influence. But of course -

"Damn it," you cursed, your laughter turning into a sob as you made your way towards the stairs, the sound echoing through the quiet foyer. When you fell onto the bottom step, pain rippling through your knee at the impact, you continued to sputter and laugh. The drug coursing through your veins brought a temporary sense of peace that only a chemical could provide.

All the while, you imagined Father Sylus leaning down, chuckling lightly, eyes full of life, promising to be there. For you.

"Sonofabitch!"

You finally made it onto your feet, cursing under your breath. Your perception was off, and all you wanted to do was lay down. Take that nap. Worry about it all later. 

Eventually, you end up on the couch, and hours later, your father found you still holding on tightly to your mother's urn. You had taken it off the mantle for company. Despite dried tears on your face, you slept peacefully with your arms wrapped around the decorative container.

Your dad's gentle shake brought you back to consciousness, but your head was still spinning. You tried to offer a weak smile as he kneeled over you, but it came out more like a grimace.

"Are you okay?" His voice was rough and concerned as he studied your face.

Tears pooled in your eyes, making everything even hazier. It felt like you had chugged a bottle of Nyquil, every nerve in your body raw and trembling. The memory of the earlier scene replayed itself in your mind.

"Dad...Can I ask you something? Just a question, completely random." Without waiting for his response, you clutched the urn tightly to your chest as you sat up. "Am I a good person?"

He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Of course you are, kiddo," he replied, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat despite the effort it must have took.

"But...am I truly good?" You fidgeted nervously, catching him off guard as he went to turn away.

"What's going on? Y/N, why are you asking me this?"

"Nothing," you were almost whining. "Am I just some sort of garbage person who eats up all the good? Like, I just take the good and consume it until it comes back around as something bad? It's like I gobble it up and-"

"Christ, Y/N, quit talking like that. You're stoned, aren't ya?"

Shaking your head, you were hit with the tears again, a wave of neediness for...what? Comfort. Reassurance.

Your father sighed as he sat next to you. "Baby," and it was comforting, despite the years gone between when he last used that endearment, "I'm not sure what's going on, but I promise you're doing just fine."

"That's the thing, Dad, sometimes I don't know what I'm doing."

"Isn't that the burden of the damned?" He huffed a soft laugh. He placed a hand atop yours, which still grasped the urn.

You longed for her presence. Just a moment to talk. To remind yourself that she, at the very least, thought you were decent. Cared.

"Y/N, would you believe me if I told you you have the biggest, sweetest heart I have ever seen?"

His words seemed scripted as if he were reciting lines for some feel-good sitcom. But he was doing his best, given the difficult circumstances and how you acted. You wiped away your tears and wrapped your arms around him, letting go of the urn. He hesitated momentarily before returning the hug with his big arm, holding you tightly.

"Why do you think that?" you asked him softly.

"Because I know it. And I've been wondering where you got such a kind heart - it's like a miracle. In this world we live in, people do so many wrong things and small mistakes that end up causing pain." His voice grew tense as he pulled back to place a hand on your shoulder. "You've been down on yourself lately, and I haven't helped, but you need to know that you're doing just fine."

Just fine.

You forced a smile through your sob and nodded. The anxiety and darkness may not have disappeared completely, but in that moment, they didn't consume you.

"Now, let's put Mom back on the mantle and stop torturing ourselves," he said.

"Yeah, she's not going to stop me anyway," you rasped with tears still in your eyes.

You took your mother and walked her back to the mantle, feeling an overwhelming urge to scream at her. To curse the fate she had given you. Wish it never happened. Or simply curse everything and everyone, including yourself.

Thanksgiving Day snuck up on you.

Perhaps it was ironic because Thanksgiving was, of course, the day you'd leave a bomb sitting.

If you could, you would've wished there had been no guests, no big to-do. A few less complications to a situation that already felt like a powder keg.

But you were home this year, so your dad had been eager for a decent get-together. Since your mother's death, you and your dad bounced around between Talias and Xaviers, and in some cases, you were left to fend for yourselves. After a while, it became less of a special occasion and more of a way to keep morale high until you went to college and moved out.

When your dad mentioned that Father Sylus would join you for a holiday, you felt more surprised than you should have. It wasn't uncommon for the priest to receive invitations from church members to spend special occasions together, but this invitation sparked a bit more joy within you. However, the thought of Zayne being somewhere in town filled you with a sense of... It was hard not to let it dampen your anticipation.

"Can you hurry it up?" You asked, watching Rafayel struggle to light a joint behind the shed.

"Relax. No one's outside."

You squinted toward the back door, making sure no one was going to walk out and bust you, and the door was, in fact, still closed. The sight of Zayne had kept you feeling trapped and scattered for days. It fucked up everything inside of you and just barely now was in the recovery phase. Though, could you ever fully recover? Would there ever be a day when the idea of Zayne hadn't sucked every brain cell out?

Rafayel breathed out a cloud of smoke, making a sound in the back of his throat. Satisfied, he took another hit before offering it to you.

"Thanks." You muttered and brought it to your lips.

It took him a moment to retrieve it, and then Rafayel looked down at the lighter before speaking. "Hey, Y/N."

You hummed in response, feeling the substance take effect and calm you down as you shut your eyes and leaned against the back of the shed. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to say thank you."

You opened your eyes and scoffed. "Why are you thanking me, Rafayel?"

"Because it's Thanksgiving, and I'm grateful for my friends - friend." He pushed his purple hair away from his face.

You tilt your head back and groan, "Wow. Did Talia put you up to saying that?"

"Well, yeah - wait, no! Friends have a way of making everything seem better, don't they?"

"To call you a hopeless romantic would be an understatement. Let me hit that again."

Rafayel handed you the joint again, and you took another long drag, feeling the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. The high started kicking in, making everything feel hazy and dreamlike.

"I'm serious, though," Rafayel persisted, his growing, almost uncharacteristically voice soft. "This past year has been rough. But having you and the others... it helps. Makes things a bit more bearable, you know?"

You nodded slowly, understanding where he was coming from. Probably now more than ever. Even still, you let out a dry laugh. “More like my drama makes yours seem like a walk in the park," you said sardonically, “What shit are you going to come up with on Christmas?”

Rafayel shook his head with a chuckle. "Hey, I'm just trying to express my gratitude here. No need to deflect."

"Sorry, sorry," you replied, "I do appreciate you, Raf. Truly. I'm just... not…great at this heartfelt stuff."

"Don't I know it. But that's what I love about you, Y/N. You're real. No bullshit."

"What are you guys doing?" It came without warning, and you heard the voice cut through your dazed state. You faltered, hand dropping the joint to the ground and toeing it on reflex. Rafayel, however, reacted a little more violently, grabbing at his chest and yelping.

"Shit, oh my God, it's you," Rafayel sneered, glaring at the man who had rounded the corner of the shed and toward you two, "What, Father, you never smoked pot before?"

"Excuse me, Rafayel, for intruding." Father Sylus extended an open palm, glancing at the younger male unimpressed and then looking back at you.

And then, the shock came. Maybe even a hint of shame. It was interesting how there was always something lingering despite feeling relieved and at ease after Father Sylus had seemed to alleviate your heartache and suffering. It clung onto the back of your neck, whispered in your ear. You didn't have any ill feelings towards the man; no drama or negativity. The opposite, actually. So why did you feel this way? Why would you feel guilty when the whole point was that he made you not feel that way?

The three of you were quiet; Father Sylus watched you, hands sliding into his pocket as Rafayel bent over to grab the fallen joint and snub it out completely.

"Did you need something?" You croaked out.

"I was sent to fetch you two," Father Sylus hummed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but Rafayel interrupted him.

"Where's your thing?" Rafayel took hold of his neck, making a fake choking sound.

"Excuse me," Father Sylus replied, expression completely deadpan. "Thing?"

"Collar, ya freaky weirdo. Don't you wear those around all the time?  dunno, I've always wondered."

"Dude," you hissed.

"No," Father Sylus raised an eyebrow, speaking slowly, "When I do, it means I'm on duty. At the moment, I'm off the clock."

You couldn't help but notice the much more casual shirt —a gray button-down with a navy cardigan—nothing fancy as if he didn't want to stand out.

"But like,” Rafayel wasn’t finished. “Technically, aren't priests always on the clock? What if someone died or something? Like if they murdered someone in a fit of rage and then thought, 'oh man, now I'm gonna call Father Sylus, who doesn't have the collar -"

"All I want," the tall man shook his head, "is just one good, quality conversation with a grown-ass adult that doesn't involve the ability to identify me as a priest."

Your friend stopped, looking wide-eyed between you as if caught in a vice. Despite your current situation, you couldn't help but give a sharp bark of laughter.

"So answer my question, Father." Rafayel prompted, nodding in agreement, laughing himself.

"It's in my glovebox."

"Ain't it sacrilegious or something for you to take that off?"

Scoffing, Father Sylus crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

"Fine," Rafayel muttered, stuffing the joint back in his pocket and turning toward the house. Father Sylus snickered under his breath and then shook his head.

"Excuse him," you whispered, crossing your arms beneath your chest and trying to suppress another laugh. "He has trouble knowing when to stop talking."

"That's nothing new." He drawled, shifting his weight. His voice softened as he continued, "It was the last thing I expected to hear when I turned this corner."

You nervously picked at the sleeve of your shirt, feeling a knot form in your stomach and your mouth turn thin.

"Relax," Father Sylus reassured you.

"What?" You asked without looking up from what you were fidgeting with.

"Do I seem upset to you?"

"It's not that." Your tone was forced and awkward as you let out another stiff laugh.

"Not everything has to be so tense," Father Sylus said. "My collar and Rafayel's…humor should be the least of our worries."

You laughed again, looking at another part of the yard and tightening your grip around yourself. A lump formed in your throat, and you brought your hands to either side of your face, letting them slide down your neck before resting in front of you again.

"What is it?" Father Sylus questioned, the sound coming out thick and concerned.

Slowly, you raised your head. It took a lot more energy to make eye contact with the man than before. With trepidation, you let the wall come down, leaving you exposed and susceptible. The priest took on a wide-eyed, attentive look as he anticipated whatever was coming as if understanding the shift.

"Do you think things happen for a reason?" You forced the words to come out, hating how your voice wavered and cracked unnaturally as if you were scared. As if part of you felt the sting that was approaching. You had The same reaction when you feared anyone finding out about Zayne.

Father Sylus looked unsure. Losing some of the authority, he shook his head slowly. It was almost as if you could see the gears turning and the suspicion.

"Kind of a silly question to ask, don't you think? Isn't that everything that faith is built upon?" The low rumble in his words was gentle. Then, a tilt of his head suggested that he understood what you meant. "Any reason for that particular question?"

Swallowing, your lower lip trembled as you looked to the fence on the side of the yard, teeth pulling at the skin of your lip, dragging it harshly. Father Sylus took a cautious step forward and reached out. A squeak caught in your throat as he delicately took your chin between his fingers and forced your gaze back up towards him.

"Everything in life happens for a reason, Y/N." He whispered, coaxing gently—an encouragement.

It burned to the core, raw and desperate.

"I really like you, and that's so stupid. Everything is stupid." You choked out, unable to keep it inside. The sensation of the high was almost nonexistent now as you stood there under the careful touch and affectionate tone.

It was a breath of silence that followed, a moment, and then a smile crept across his lips. Soft and kind, a curious look in his eyes.

"Stupid?" He asked.

Your shoulders slumped, feeling a bit defeated and self-deprecating. "Because...I mean, that guy, the one who was married - last week he came back and said, like, so many fucked up things...not, like, directly."

"...Ah, I see."

"No, I mean, that's not what I want..." Biting back, you stopped yourself, "I'm not making sense."

"You make perfect sense. Take your time, Y/N."

Resting a hand on your forehead, you closed your eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried again, "It's like I'm being destroyed from the inside out because every time something good comes into my life, someone or something stomps all over it."

"Sounds like most of the demons that follow us around. Doesn't give them the right to torment people, though." It was evident that Father Sylus was trying to lighten the mood.

"Don't look too put out," he muttered lightly, leaning down. "I like you, too. Scared shitless and all."

Your legs were like jelly. But then he smiled warmly, wrapping an arm around your waist as if he could tell the feeling was bittersweet.

"We should go inside." You mumbled, fighting off a big grin, but settled on a shy, pleased smile.

"Agreed." He didn't sound any less enthusiastic, humming lowly, "But I lied before."

"What do you mean? No one told you to look for me? That seems a bit on purpose, you know," you grinned.

A hint of amusement flickered across his face, barely noticeable as the corner of his mouth twitched. But when your eyes met his, you knew he was being genuine.

"Well then," you said, straightening up.

Father Sylus chuckled and brushed a gentle kiss against your jaw. A spark ignited within you, spreading throughout your body like wildfire. In an instant, you were pinned against the shed, his arms on either side of you, fingers finding their way under your jacket to pinch at the soft parts of your body.

His lips met yours with urgency and need, biting softly at your lower lip. You gasped in response, but he didn't break contact as he deepened the kiss even more. A burning desire consumed you as if the air around you was suffocating without your lips intertwined.

In a sudden surge of pleasure, it felt like setting an entire forest ablaze and knowing it would spread further than you could imagine. It was a euphoric physical reaction, with his hands holding onto your waist and yours gripping his shoulders tightly. You tasted everything within him as if every thought resided on his tongue.

"This is it," he breathed as he pulled back, eyes searching yours, studying your features. Noses brushing, a hitch of breath was the only barrier between your mouths, the pull you felt towards one another, "this is it. This is where I'm supposed to be. This is it, Y/N."

Staring at him, your hands limp at his chest, you found your words. "What do you mean?"

"I know, it’s fucking insane. But God, to tell you how good it feels..."

Swallowing, your body screamed a chorus of confusion; it set your bones against the beat of your heart, the thundering percussion making you acutely aware of the sensations that had just registered.

"I - how - I don't know what to say."

"We've got a lot to talk about."

Blinking rapidly, your eyes burned against the realization. The desire rumbling against your nerves and bones didn't feel like something so twisted and ugly. And it hadn't felt like that the last time you saw him or the time before that - so, what was this, really?

"Okay." It wasn't in protest or doubt.

"Inside," Father Sylus straightened and adjusted his shirt where your hands had rucked up the material at his chest, pulling you away from the shed. He cleared his throat, not faltering once, "after dinner, yeah?"

"Yeah."

You wanted nothing more than to press into him, to wrap your arms around him. Because even now, a bubble of hope lifted you. It was like an impossible remedy. The man radiated in a way you'd never felt before, an overstimulation that couldn't possibly be fabricated.

When the two of you stepped inside, Father Sylus turned to you and grabbed your hand, squeezing it before letting go and heading into the dining room.

A sharp inhale of air brought you out of it, turning to see Xavier standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

"What is it?" You asked, head foggy.

His expression shifted, concerned, maybe confused. Then he shook his head, stepping towards you and holding out a hand. You looked down and saw your hair clip. Taking the metal piece, you ran your finger along the floral pattern, giving him a small, tentative smile.

"Did I leave this in the bathroom?" You asked quietly.

"Found it in the church office when I went to fix the boiler." His brow pinched as he shifted, then, "I know what's happening."

Clenching the hairclip in your palm, you squinted, confused. You remembered when you wore the hair clip last, the day that you had -

"It's not like that." Shaking your head, the hope was tangible for a split second. Like a piece of paper dancing between your fingertips, a precious memory about to be swept away.

"Sure looked like you meant something to him just now. Like...he wasn't a priest. Or you weren't a member of his congregation." Xavier muttered.

Stupid sneaky motherfucker. It’s always the quiet ones.

"That's not funny." You sputtered.

"So that wasn't what it looked like." He tried a different angle, the corner of his mouth upturning, a quirk in his eyebrow. He looked smug; the way his eyes gazed at you was knowing. "Were you getting high just now, too, or am I imagining that?"

Fuck. "Who do you think you are?" You snapped, trying your best to keep your voice low, throwing a finger to his chest; all the joy quickly retreats from your grasp, the burn of sorrow taking its place. "What does it even matter to you, huh?"

Xavier shook his head, taking in another breath of air. Despite the harshness in his words, there was still a glimmer of protectiveness in his eyes that you had always appreciated. But it also made him stubborn and less rational.

"He's a priest, Y/N. No matter how much I've tried to deny it, that’s what he is." Xavier whispered, gently grasping your hand. It was almost as if he regretted saying those words, the fire in his eyes contradicting the softness in his tone. "It's not about you - he shouldn't be involved with - it has nothing to do with you."

That did not work on you, not the way he was hoping. Before, would that have sufficed when your troubles were trivial, and the world seemed darker? Would you have pushed it away with the facts stated so clearly? This seemed more immense than anything you'd ever had the displeasure of facing because it was Father Sylus’s fault as much as yours.

However, Xavier wasn't the villain; the situation was not so black and white.

"Don't tell anyone, " you begged, your voice cracking. "Please don't tell anyone. Please."

Xavier's frown deepened, brow furrowed. He didn't respond immediately, mouth closing, opening slowly, and then clearing his throat.

"Do you like him?" he asked gruffly, breathing harshly through his nose.

"It doesn't matter." You admitted, pushing his hand away. There you went, lying again. But what difference would it make if you told the truth? The inevitable would happen; it was already happening in front of you. Someone was figuring it out. That's just the way things were for you. You may not have always understood; no amount of divine explanation would ever make the pain of uncertainty have meaning.

Xavier opened his mouth to speak again, but his dad called for him from the living room. Huffing again, he looked at you again, hand running through his hair before disappearing toward the doorway to his side.

You quickly wiped away your tears, trying to regain your composure before anyone came in and noticed. Without thinking, you grabbed your dad's keys and one of the pies, then made your way outside, knowing that the holiday was over for you. You got into the car and reversed out of the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires, settling down like dust.

Zayne sat across from you on the bed opposite, his expression serious and solemn. Finding the hotel had been easy; you simply drove around to the three in the area until you spotted his car. One of his long legs was crossed over the other as he sat, the pie sitting between you both on the nightstand.

"I wasn't expecting you to come here," he mumbled.

"Where else would I have gone?" You leaned back, not liking the look on his face - regretful, scared, anxious. It was unfamiliar to see him like this.

"Do you want a drink? I have tequila."

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head and rested your temple on your palm. "No thanks. I don't drink hard liquor because of my mom."

"Oh." The mood in the room shifted and it was clear that any attempt at a joke had fallen flat. Instead of being offended, Zayne gave an apologetic glance.

"She was an alcoholic. She died in a car accident." Closing your eyes, you forced a small smile.

"You never told me that's how she died."

"It didn't seem important. You weren't exactly interested in talking, unless it was to sleep with me." It might have been a cruel statement, but at the end of it all, that's what the relationship had been, right?

"What was she like?"

The question made you smile - a real smile that caught you off guard as much as the question. "Kind but tough. She used to tell me that life sucks and you have to hold onto every good thing you can get."

"She sounds like a wise woman." Zayne shifted and put both feet on the floor, rubbing his hands together between his knees and bouncing one of them.

"I needed you to leave me alone," you told him bluntly, shifting the conversation in a new direction.

"I know," he said, shame flashing behind his eyes. If there was ever a time when he wasn't difficult to read, it was now. "I didn't trust myself to -"

"If that's how you really felt, it would have been kinder to stop answering or calling altogether."

He clenched his jaw and tilted his head down slightly, showing his remorse. "I realized that too late."

With that, you sighed. Nothing would be gained from this, it would serve no purpose.

Unless....

You took a deep breath and leaned forward, inching yourself to the edge of the bed. Your hand reached out and touched his knee, causing it to stop moving. In that moment, you wondered if it was even the same person you were touching. But as you looked into his eyes, locked onto yours with unbreakable intensity, you didn't flinch. You wouldn't let his actions control you any longer.

"I forgive you." The words came out easily, bringing a sense of calm over your body. "Do you hear me? I forgive you. Don't beat yourself up over it. Things happen for a reason. I'm sorry your marriage fell apart, and I'm sorry if I played a part in that."

The gentle rise and fall of his chest stopped for a moment, as if he had been short-circuited by your words. You just needed to say it, to get it off your chest and into the open. Because if you ignored the pain or refused to acknowledge it, the weight on your shoulders would crush you. Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned.

"That wasn't the only reason." Zayne finally admitted.

"What do you mean?"

A small, melancholic smile tugged at his lips as he looked down and then back up into your eyes. You couldn't help but notice the way his gaze flickered to your lips before returning to meet yours once more.

"She can't have children," Zayne explained to you, "she was pregnant once, but had a miscarriage." You could sense the sadness in his voice as he spoke. "After that - constant fighting and sleeping in separate rooms. And then...I met you."

He fell quiet, leaving any unspoken words hanging in the air. You could hear them loud and clear: you weren't the one who changed everything for him, even if he had been the one to turn your world upside down.

Licking your bottom lip, you squeezed Zayne's hand and offered a subtle nod. "God only gives us challenges that we are capable of overcoming."

A slow grin spread across Zayne's face, almost disbelieving. "Are you sure about that?"

You nodded confidently. Zayne's pain mirrored your own, but his feelings towards you? That was something he could work through, of that you had no doubt.

Suddenly, a sharp ringing cut through the room. You jumped slightly and grabbed your phone from the nightstand. It was your dad calling. A pang of guilt and embarrassment hit you as you wondered if he was worried about you. You fought against the urge to answer and instead held up your phone to show Zayne the incoming call.

"I left right before dinner," you explained, ignoring the call and standing up from your seat.

"You walked out? What happened?" Zayne's curiosity was genuine, and you found yourself looking at him again.

"It's a long story," you replied with a shrug. There was no telling how much time there really was, and even if there was any time left, it wouldn't be enough to tell him everything.

He tilted his head and rested a hand on his knee as he leaned forward. After a moment, he stood up and eyed you curiously. His mouth opened, but then closed again. He rubbed his neck and took a step towards you, hesitating before continuing. "Take care of yourself, Y/N."

His subtle change in expression, the crease in his brow and the glint in his eye, were all too familiar to you. You both let out a sigh as you looked at the dimming screen of your phone.

"Well, take care." You said, shrugging your shoulders before turning away. "Happy Thanksgiving." 

There was nothing else to be said. Or rather, there were countless words that could express what you both were feeling, but they were beyond human language. Words crafted by poets or scientists centuries ago lacked the ability to accurately capture the emotions between you two.

"The biggest mistake I've ever made was-"

You held back a sob, trying not to imagine where his sentence would lead.

"Cheating on your wife." You cut him off, unable to hear any more.

You wished things were different, with every fiber of your being. Wished you could turn back time, find some kind of answer that wasn’t this. That wasn’t the past couple of weeks. As your body began to tremble, you struggled to breathe through the growing fire inside of you.

As you stumbled out of the hotel and towards your car, the sky had already darkened and the sun was setting, casting a beautiful glow over everything. For some reason, your mother's favorite song came to mind, its lyrics hanging in the air around you. Maybe that's why she always listened to sad songs - maybe even she couldn't explain it. But right now, thinking about it didn't bring sadness to your heart; instead, it brought something greater, something beyond comprehension, maybe even this plane of existence.

You found yourself half singing and half mumbling along as you gripped the steering wheel, beginning the journey back home.

I could drink a case of you, and still I'd be on my feet.

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91 I MESSED UP MY LINKS SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY BC I HATE FORMATTING HERE IS THE LINK TO THE LAST CHAPTER

[yaeggravate]

THEORY: KAEYA IS HALF-SEELIE

Back by unpopular demand: Seelie Kaeya theory.

I have already talked about this before, many, many times, but I wanted to gather all my jumbled thoughts from the past few months into one proper post along with some new revelations that further support the theory.

I just want to clarify first that I don't like abandoning the narrative in favor of a theory. I wouldn't be constantly trying to push for this if I wasn't at least 80% sure.

Kaeya is my favorite character in the whole game, but I am well aware of the limitations being put on his character…

…Unless 5-star Kaeya comes through for us, that is.

*UPDATE: added a section on Arlecchino 🥳 (4.6)

**added more info about Nicole (4.7)

***we now have verbal confirmation Seelie are angels! (5.1)

Apologies for the long read but I had to make it as thorough as possible, you understand.

INDEX

1. Seelie = Angels 2. Connections to Seelie and the Jinn 3. Midsummer Night's Dream 4. Nicole Reeyn 5. Arlecchino 6. Visual Similarities and Characteristics 7. Perinheri

SEELIE = ANGELS

Yohualtecuhtin, Lord of the Night: The people of Natlan worship me, and call me their "lord"... In the ancient past, before we died out, we were also known by a different name... "Angels." Yohualtecuhtin, Lord of the Night: But, adventurers like you are probably more familiar with our devolved form... Seelies. Traveler: So, Seelies are angels...

Note: 5.1's Archon Quest has finally verbally confirmed Seelie are angels but I will leave my old reasoning here to show you that it has always been foreshadowed.

Seelie are equated to angels in the game. The floating eyeball versions are even modeled after a type of sea slug called Sea Angels. In case you need more evidence than that:

Nabu Malikata is a Seelie survivor. Her last name Malikata can be derived from malayikata ملائكة which means angels/messengers in Arabic.

The Jinn were created from Nabu Malikata's blood, they are referred to as the "descendants of Seelie" in the world quest "The Falcon's Hunt".

Seelie were heavenly envoys who would deliver messages from Celestia to humans. Nabu Malikata even refers to them as the "fallen envoys of heaven", after they were cast down.

So, if you ever happen to spot the phrase "heavenly/divine envoys", they are actually referring to the Seelie.

As for what they may have looked like, the Mural Room in Dragonspine features a depiction of an envoy with wings and what looks like horns or a crown on its head. Translated from Latin, the text next to it is as follows:

Fidelis angeli iuvant The angels help the faithful

Seelie are guides who reward humans with treasure after they lead them back to their Seelie courts. Simply put, they are returning a favor. Who else do we know of who is obsessed with favors?

ANGELS GEORG

The Seelie Kaeya has a bunch of notable connections to angels, the more you start to look for them the more you notice.

According to Kaeya's character story A List, he owns a book called The Adventures of Angelos, in which he keeps a list of names. Angelos, of course, means angel.

Between the pages of "The Adventures of Angelos," you find a list of names written on a sheet of official Knights of Favonius letterhead paper.

Kaeya's favorite haunt is Angel's Share. The logo for Angel's Share is two angels drinking from a wine glass. Angel's Share was established by Dawn Winery, where Kaeya was left at for unknown reasons. According to Diluc's character story, Crepus told him the following:

"The world would never turn its back on the faithful."

This is reminiscent of the mural in Dragonspine: "The angels help the faithful."

Furthermore, the teacups used to represent the mage Nicole can be found in Dawn Winery. Nicole is known as the "guide who never gets lost" and there is one teacup missing in the trailer. We'll get back to that piece of porcelain later.

It's possible that Dawn Winery had some dealings with the Seelie or that it was established by them. Remember Crepus owned a Delusion which means he must have had ties to the Fatui. We know of one character who is both Seelie and Fatui: Columbina.

Columbina is most likely a Seelie since the decorations in her hair match perfectly with the decoration on the Seelie courts. The character of Columbina is also known as a fairy-like dancer; fairies is what the Seelie are in popular culture… (More on that later.)

In the third volume of the book Drunkard's Tale, a lone wolf meets a Seelie survivor who is singing in an unfamiliar language. This Seelie is speculated to be Columbina. The Seelie is adressed as Maiden with the same characters in Chinese as Columbina's other title Damselette.

少女 = Damselette / Maiden

Curiously enough, this particular volume of the book can be found in Dawn Winery.

Kaeya's favorite drink is Death After Noon. This is based on the real drink "Death in the Afternoon", which famously contains absinthe. In the Book of Revelation, Apsinthion, or Wormwood, is the name of an angel or star who fell to earth.

The Abyss Mages chant in Enochian which is the language of the angels. They use this language when they regenerate their shields and to control the Hilichurls. The Abyss Order mostly consists of former Khaenri'ahns.

When Kaeya spots the Abyss Mage back in the Temple of the Wolf, it speaks to him in Enochian. They even added a subtitle to highlight its importance.

Kaeya: There's no way hilichurls organized an ambush like this themselves — not with their limited mental capacity… (A Hydro Abyss Mage reveals itself) Kaeya: Thus YOU were behind this. Hydro Abyss Mage: Gohus, Chiso Vonph.

Kaeya claims he's blessed with certain linguistic powers when the Paimon asks him how he gathered information about the Abyss Twin.

Paimon: What exactly did you have to do to find this out!? Kaeya: Heh… Let's just say I'm blessed with certain linguistic powers.

In the manga, it was implied Kaeya was able to read an unfamiliar script that not even Lisa, the Akademiya's best student in two hundred years, could understand.

We don't know where Kaeya lived beforehand but he might have lived in the Dark Sea. The Dark Sea is not a literal sea but any place outside of the rule of the Seven. Think Enkanomiya and possibly Khaenri'ah.

Kaeya: But, as you can see, this is but a deserted land. Based on previous experience, I decided that it would be best to wait for contact.

In the Midsummer Island event, Kaeya says he's been stranded on an island before, and in typical Kaeya fashion does not elaborate. (This might be connected to the Nameless Island, which Kaeya visited on his birthday.) Venti alludes Kaeya might have come from the Dark Sea, by the poem he gives him:

Venti: "Majestic waves cresting, surf roaring its tale, none but the ocean to hear as I sing." Venti: "The stars in my eyes as I chart toward the horizon, that into one day, from the endless dome of night I shall spring."

Palaces of the Seelie can be found in one particular ruin of the Dark Sea: Drunkard's Tale, where the Seelie maiden was situated. (AKA Columbina)

This wasteland is said to be a land beyond the dominion of the deities, inhabited only by the grotesque ghostly remains of fallen gods, where the former palaces of the Seelie now stand empty.

In the Veluriyam Mirage event, Kaeya starred in a play written by Zosimos. According to Idyia, Zosimos based the play on a rumor he heard about a thief and a mage, meaning there might be some truth to it. He then combined the story with Idyia's backstory.

Kaeya's character, the unnamed dagger bandit, follows a shooting star, which turns out to be a woman. The dagger bandit is most likely meant to be someone related to Kaeya, since he hailed from a dark realm and his vision is modified to look like an 8-pointed star (as per Zosimos's design). The dark realm could very well be Khaenri'ahn.

As it turns out, Zosimos's namesake Zosimos the alchemist, claimed fallen angels were the ones who taught humans the art of metallurgy.

The ancient and divine writings say that the angels became enamoured of women; and, descending, taught them all the works of nature. From them, therefore, is the first tradition, chema, concerning these arts; for they called this book chema and hence the science of chemistry takes its name.

…Yeah, I don't think it's a coincidence the play Kaeya starred in was written by this specific guy 😮‍💨

Maybe we're meant to equate the fallen star with a fallen angel. Whoever this fallen star and dagger bandit are, is unknown, but I think we can safely assume it has something to do with Kaeya's family and/or Khaenri'ah's deeper lore.

Kaeya's constellation is a peacock. Peacocks have countless eyes just like how angels are popularly depicted. In Renaissance art, angels are even portrayed with peacock wings.

The description of Kaeya's friendship namecard in CN implies he has many Augen. 👁

孔雀漂亮尾羽上的花纹很像是永不闭上的眼睛。所以凯亚并非少了一只眼睛、而是··· The patterns on the beautiful tail feathers of a peacock resemble eyes that never close. So Kaeya isn’t missing an eye, but…

And then it just trails off. I think it’s meant to say: "Kaeya isn’t missing an eye, rather he has many of them."

Perhaps they were being literal.

The Jinn In his hangout, Kaeya gifts the Traveler a lamp said to have housed a powerful Jinni. As said before Jinn are descendants of the Seelie.

The people turned against each other, and the Jinn scattered across the lands… Broken souls became fuel to a titanic machine, and the mindless descendants of the Seelie were degraded into slaves of infinite power…

In comparison to other companion gifts, who are connected to their item in some way, Kaeya's gift stands out as an outlier… unless it is a surprise tool that can help us understand him later.

He is also familiar with the tale of the in-game book Shepard and the Magic Bottle, although he changes the ending of the story as he recounts it to Klee. This book is about a Jinni who gets freed from a bottle...

From his hangout, we learn Kaeya owns a lucky coin that can allegedly do anything he wishes from it. He then goes on to say there's a pre-existing arrangement between them. Perhaps this coin has a Jinni fragment inside of it similar to Benben.

That would be the simple explanation… but nothing is ever simple with Kaeya.

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM

Now onto the most damning piece of evidence. Kaeya himself is based on the changeling baby from Midsummer Night's Dream. Oberon is the Fairy King, whose name is the French derivative of Alberich.

This checks out as Oberon was also an important figure from the Merovingian Dynasty that included names such as Chlothar and Caribert.

Titania is the Fairy Queen, who adopted her scion's baby after she died in childbirth. This baby was the son of an Indian king, in other words, an Indian prince.

In today's popular culture, Titania is the Queen of the Summer Court, also known as the Seelie Court.

Most literature, folklore, and pop-culture interpretations of faerie depict Titania as the actual leader of the Seelie Fey, she often rules the Summer Court.

Princess Fischl is also connected to this play, as she had created a Sommernachtgarten, or Summer Night Garden, that now lies in ruins in the domain Midsummer Courtyard.

Suddenly Kaeya and Fischl being featured in the Midsummer Island events start to make sense. I wouldn't be surprised if Fischl showed up again in this year's summer event.

How Kaeya and Princess Fischl are connected is still unclear but the possibility of them being related keeps growing. Whatever the case, the Indian prince's (adoptive) mom being a Seelie Queen is pretty straightforward.

"But isn't he adopted? That means he isn't a Seelie!" Yes, but remember Oberon, Titania's husband, is Alberich who Kaeya IS related to.

It's hard to tell what direction they're going in, but I have no doubt Kaeya is half-something, because the other character he is based on is Hagen, who is always half-Human, with the other part being either dwarf or elf.

With all the angel/Seelie/Jinn connections, I think we can guess what Kaeya's other half is.

Before I forget: Oberon and Titania fought over the child; Oberon wanted the boy to become a knight, his henchman, but Titania refused as she felt obligated to raise him in his mother's stead. Unfortunately, Oberon succeeded in getting Titania to hand over the child, as he had trapped her in a dream-like state...

Another fun thing I discovered is that the title of the trailer Winter Night's Lazzo is a reference to Midsummer Night's Dream as well.

An explanation for this could be that aside from the aforementioned Seelie, there exist a darker counterpart, the Unseelie, which has its roots in Scottish folklore.

The most common courts from traditional legends are the Seelie or Summer Court, and the Unseelie or Winter Court.

In popular culture, the Unseelie Court is the Winter Court ruled by the Queen of Air and Darkness: the sister of Titania. This Winter Queen seems to be unnamed but I've found some call her Mab, another reference to one of Shakespeare's plays.

Did you know they probably named Snezhnaya after the fairy tale of the Snow Queen, which is Snezhnaya Koroleva in Russian? Snow Queen, Winter Queen, Tsaritsa... The shoe fits 🤷🏽‍♀️

In Genshin, there is no mention of any Unseelie yet, but if the Seelie are like angels, then the Unseelie might be the equivalent of fallen angels or demons. Well, we shall see how that plays out.

Back to Titania, she was a fairy who adopted her friend's son after she passed away. Is there is a character who could fulfill this role for Kaeya, acting as some kind of guardian angel?

NICOLE REEYN

Nicole is a witch of the Hexenzirkel, known as Mage "N". She is a powerful prophet capable of divining the fate of the world.

She is also a teacup.

Alice says Nicole is the guide who never gets lost and that she is obsessed with guiding people. That's literally Seelie 101!

Alice: The "guide who will never get lost" is N, otherwise known as Nicole. You may have not encountered her yet, but she is a truly extraordinary woman who has made this world's direction and order her subject of study. Alice: Some of you may be fortunate enough to have already heard her voice. Like a prophetess, she will only speak to guide people toward the truth when a change has occurred in the world. Alice: She has a tendency to�� suddenly speak in someone's mind without any warning.

New dialogue from Wolfy, the stuffed toy from Imaginarium Theater, pretty much confirms Nicole is a Seelie. He talks about a "Boar" Tribe, where the "boars" did bad things and were punished by their Master.

Wolfy: The master took out a rusted set of scales, and told the boars to stack their own things on both sides. If the scales tipped to one side, they could leave.

The boars who gave up their heads turned into animals like wolves, snakes and lizards and the boars who gave up their muscle became rabbits, instinctively guiding people to treasure. Guiding people to treasure is the number one job of the Seelie husks.

Loading Screen Now you see them; now you don't. Once a mighty race that lived to guide mankind, now the most Seelie offer is a little treasure to willing followers.

However, there was one boar who placed their head and muscle evenly on both sides of the scale, which caused it to break in the middle. This "boar" is Nicole.

Wolfy: And so she became a mute person — for she had placed her voice upon the scales as well. Wolfy: She is also a friend of Madame Mage, and I hear she likes to speak in people's heads!

The witch pictured on this slide from the Hexenzirkel teaser is most likely Nicole since it immediately cuts to her teacups.

She is blowing away wind similar to depictions of wind deities. The accompanying subtitle even is "sometimes, we all need to vent our troubles to the wind". This could mean Nicole is some kind of air spirit…or a Seelie, who were once "faster than a storm" according to the Aranara.

Furthermore, Nicole losing her voice, or perhaps giving it up, is reminiscent of the fairy tale The Little Mermaid, written by Hans Christian Anderson, Anderdottir's inspiration. In the book, the mermaid sacrifices her voice to become human. However she fails to uphold the condition and dies, which turns her into an air spirit.

Perhaps she's a Seelie, or a descendant of the Seelie, similar to the Jinn. In the Danish opera Holger Danske, Titania is the Queen of the Sylphs, who are air spirits. We don't have Sylphs mentioned verbatim in the game yet, aside from Venti being an air spirit.

Kaeya conveniently has several references to the wind.

He is dubbed the Frostwind Swordsman, his outfit is called Icy Featherflight, his OTHER outfit is Sailwind Shadow, his sixth constellation is Glacial Whirlwind, and he has a passive that decreases stamina consumption…

Noelle even describes him as someone who comes and goes with the wind.

As mentioned in the previous section, Kaeya was stranded on a deserted island, this might be referring to the Nameless Island, which, according to an old blog post on the official CN website, Kaeya visited on his birthday. Where this island came from is unclear but it is shrouded in mist and invisible on the map.

The Nameless Island has a sun-or moondial associated with the God of Time. The weathered transcription is as follows:

Ravaged Carving: "Stories brought on the wind will bloom into legends in due time."

You can also hear this faint voice speaking when you do the quest related to the island:

Faint Voice: "An ancient tale comes whisked in the wind…" Faint Voice: "In time, it will grow and sprout once again…"

In the same blog post, Kaeya says the following:

我还有很多故事…还有很多时间。 I have plenty of stories… and plenty of time.

😮‍💨

When Kaeya casts his burst you even see him pull the wind towards himself, towards that eight-pointed star.

Furthermore, he came to Mondstadt during a LATE SUMMER NIGHT'S STORM, contradicting the fact that there hasn't been a single storm in Mondstadt since Venti gave them his protection.

Kaeya's Character Story "If Master Crepus hadn't taken me in, I doubt I'd have made it through the storm that night."

Vind: Since Lord Barbatos began protecting Mondstadt, we have not seen a single storm, and the watchtowers have slowly fallen into disrepair.

He probably wasn't lying about this since Varka could have easily fact-checked this with Diluc or Dawn Winery.

Perhaps Nicole was responsible for this odd contradiction if she was the one who guided Kaeya and his father to Dawn Winery. Coincidentally, the Jinni Liloupar was able to command sandstorms at her will.

Liloupar once had the immense power to command sandstorms at her will. The howling gale that lashes the desert used to be the blade and shield at her disposal.

Since the Jinn are descendants of the Seelie, perhaps Nicole could have a similar power. (Or maybe she became a giant wind turbine, who even knows anymore.)

"But why would a witch go through all this trouble for just one guy?" If Titania took care of her friend's baby after she died, then maybe Nicole was friends with Kaeya's mom and decided to offer her protection.

Or perhaps they were sisters. There is after all a teacup from the same teaset missing from the trailer.

Let's just get this out of the way first: No, Nicole is not Diluc's mom, the pattern on the teacups can be found within the architecture of Dawn Winery, which means she's either the founder or an ancestor of Crepus or both. Angel's Share is named as such for a reason.

Diluc does not possess any huge Seelie/fairy/angel/witch connections other than Angel's Share so I don't think she's related to him. Kaeya on the other hand 🤷🏽‍♀️

I am not going to say anything about the possibility of Nicole being Kaeya's mom, but I will say that Nicole's name means "Victory of the people", while the first character in Kaeya's name means victory as well.

Nicole = from νίκη (níkē, “victory”) +‎ λαός (laós, “people”). Kaeya = 凯亚, 凯 = music of triumph; paean; triumph; victory

And please don't forget the poor missing teacup next to Nicole's, it is no doubt going to be important.

Anyway, Kaeya does have some serious connections to Princess Fischl, with hints at him being a Prince continuing to persist, so he's definitely not some random guy. Whether he's aware of this or not is debatable.

He's called "our last hope", by his father, which like everything pertaining to Kaeya, is never explained. However, the Aranara Aranaga describes hope as a dream that never dissipates… A Midsummer Night's Dream if you will 😉

Aranaga: There are dreams because there is memory. Memory is nourished, so there is life. So, it can grow, the thing to repel Marana (forbidden knowledge). Traveler: I'm guessing you mean "hope"? Aranaga: Yeah, right you are, Golden Nara (Traveler). The thing that flows, cannot be seen, cannot be touched… Hope. Like the wind… But it never dissipates, like a dream.

Nabu Malikata Nicole has some fascinating similarities with Nabu Malikata that I will briefly list here:

Nabu Malikata last name can mean angels but it can also mean queen. Nicole Reeyn's last name is derived from reine which also means queen.

"Nabu" means prophet in Akkadian and she was able to predict her own death, Nicole is a prophetess too.

After Nabu Malikata disappeared, Deshret dreamed of her feeling her way through a crystalline maze. The inside of Irminsul is a crystalline maze. Nicole is part of the Hexenzirkel who travel to the Irminsul to study it.

Nabu Malikata is the Mistress of the Orchard and Wine, Nicole has ties to Dawn Winery, a wine orchard.

Nabu Malikata is also a dream-mother, capable of giving humans dreams. According to Furina's character blurb, Nicole left a fabel inside someone's dream.

I can't say they're the same person but this is one of those things that will keep haunting you once you uncover it. And now they will haunt you.

ARLECCHINO

Enter "Father".

What we know of her so far is that she is the last surviving descendant of Khaenri'ah's Crimson Moon clan. Arlecchino's blood is cursed, yet unlike the other curse-bearers we know like Dainsleif and Chlothar, she still ages visibly. Before we get ahead of ourselves, it's specifically stated in her boss description that she IS the Crimson Moon's SOLE scion, so Kaeya is likely not part of that bloodline.

Someday, the hearth-fire's faint radiance shall burn the old world away, incinerating the final scion of the baleful moon as well.

I think we all know by now that Arlecchino has some angelic features.

Like Kaeya, she is associated with an animal with many eyes: a spider. And like Kaeya, she wears one prominent wing on her back but only when she is in battle. This wing is actually crafted by her from spider silk, so it's not actually an "organic" wing.

Arlecchino shares boss theme lyrics with the most famous one-winged angel in recent history: Sephiroth (FF7). They are both in turn inspired by Abezethibou, a fallen angel with one red wing. The interesting thing about Sephiroth is that he was born from an experiment, where they injected cells from an alien "calamity" into him when he was still a fetus. This led him to develop the iconic one black wing.

Furthermore, the title of Arlecchino can be traced back to the Erlking, an evil elf who could kill children with just one touch. Arlecchino does seem to be somewhat inspired by him as seen in this comparison.

Erlking means Elf King which just so happens to be the meaning of Alberich (Elf King). 🤨 There's even a dude straight up called Alf (elf) in the Perinheri book.

In the Romance-speaking world, beings comparable to elves are widely known by words derived from Latin fata ('fate'), which came into English as fairy. This word became partly synonymous with elf by the early modern period.

😑…

Since the Balemoon Bloodfire that runs through Arlecchino's veins originates from the long-dead Crimson Moon, it's possible that either the moons are angels or they were the ones who created them. The Seelie must have come into existence somehow; it would make sense for them to originate from the Moon Sisters.

The moons would not be as low-ranked as the Seelie-angels, they'd most likely be akin to Archangels/other higher ranked angels. Luckily for us, Mona's astrolabe conveniently uses the names of 4 Archangels.

(From the Wiki) Mona's astrolabe (Outer ring): GBL URL MKL RPL The archangels Gabriel, Uriel, Michael, and Raphael.

…It is unknown who they are referring to but since she is using her astrolabe to divine someone's fate they're probably the names of the three Moon Sisters + Sun. (We can't be sure yet if the Four Shades are the Moon Sisters/Sun so I will refrain from making that assumption until we know more.)

Arlecchino has another weird ability: her blood can create afterimages or shadows which appear like this around her in her boss fight:

These look awfully similar to the Pari in-game, and Pari just so happen to be like fairies in Persian mythology. Arlecchino's nickname was even Perrie, which is probably a pun on Peri, the inspiration behind the Pari.

In the game, the Pari are sentient beings of Khvarena, which in turn was separated from Nabu Malikata's body. As it happens, Khvarena can also dwell inside humans, these people are called the scions of Khvarena. (More on that here where I proposed Kaeya's mom might have been one of these scions.)

Stamen of Khvarena's Origin Nabu Malikata: "And so I separated you (Khvarena) from my body, and I ask you now to prevent that nightmare's coming."

No doubt about it: Arlecchino is carrying the bloodline of a (dead) moon angel…thing. Maybe all Khaenri'ahns are descendants of angels, but it's hard to say for now if they inherited it through normal means, or if the Crimson Moon clan used a ritual to transmute their blood. According to the book Perinheri, the Crimson Moon dynasty was deeply involved with alchemy, though it fell off by the time of the Eclipse Dynasty.

(Perhaps they even used the Moon's remains (ashes) to achieve this. Maybe that's why Arlecchino glitches: she was "re-born" from the "afterimage" (ashes) of the Crimson Moon.)

Combined with Zosimos's play implying the fallen star was a fallen angel, Khaenri'ahns could very well be descendants of fallen angels. In that case, they could be like the Nephilim, who are descendants of humans and fallen angels. Nephilim is often translated as giants or the fallen ones, which is very funny considering the meaning of Titania's name (Titan).

Speaking of Titania… In Arlecchino's teapot voicelines she talks about an opera called The Unexpected Dream. Unclear if this is referring to thee Midsummer Night's Dream, but given what we know of this game and its apparent obsession with the play, it wouldn't be too far-fetched to assume it is.

The name Titania for the queen of the fairies appears to have been the invention of Shakespeare, for, as Mr. Ritson remarks, she is not "so called by any other writer." Why, however, the poet designated her by this title, presents, according to Mr. Keightley, no difficulty. "It was," he says, "the belief of those days that the fairies were the same as the classic nymphs, the attendants of Diana. The Fairy Queen was therefore the same as Diana whom Ovid (Met. iii. 173) styles Titania."

Also, scholars suggest Shakespeare's Titania is ultimately referring to the moon goddess Diana, so make of that what you will. There's even a part in the play where Titania looks up at the moon and likens it to a crying eye… Another fun fact: on Tsurumi island, there's a mural from the ancient civilization ruins that references a poem about Diana by the Latin poet Catullus.

In any case, Arlecchino basically adds fuel to the theory that Khaenri'ahns might be the descendants of angels/Seelie. Though whether they inherited it naturally, through snorting up moon ashes or making deals with suspicious purple crystals remains to be seen. The Balemoon Bloodfire is dubbed a "noble blood" which means the Crimson Moon clan was regarded as nobility. Just another thing Arlecchino and Kaeya have in common.

This poses another conundrum for Kaeya though: if it's his Khaenri'ahn father who gave him his supposed "angel" ancestry as opposed to his mother, we're still left with the mystery of where he got his royal heritage from. Nobility ≠ royalty.

The Alberichs weren't of royal blood, we know this, yet Kaeya's prince-baiting adventure continues, same as it ever was 😮‍💨

BREATH OF THE FEYWILD

This is the fun part where I list similarities between Kaeya and the Seelie, from his design to his personality.

Visual Design As you know, Kaeya has a giant wing on his back with three feathers. (Funnily enough the pattern on the outer border is the same as the sun- or moondial on the Nameless Island 😑)

No one else has wings on their outfit other than Paimon and Skirk who has a tiny one on her back. Arlecchino has one wing that only appears in battle or during her charged attack. Seelie courts have a little wing emblem and that angel in the Dragonspine Mural has a stylized wing.

Kaeya has one eye and wears a fluffy boa, same as the Seelie husks we see floating around. Though Kaeya doesn't have two horns, the peacock on his namecard does have two little feathers on its head.

Also, the Seelie emblem on the domain murals look similar to the 8-pointed star on Kaeya's outfit. The downward point is elongated which could represent the cone-shaped legs the Seelie husks have.

Seelie and their beauty keep being equated to moonlight… Kaeya is called canonically good-looking in game and has unexplained light streaks in his hair.

Kaeya was left in Mondstadt (Moon City), ordered a Moonlit Alley in his hangout (with Venti present) and gifted the Traveler a Moon Pie for his most recent birthday 😒. Surely of no importance whatsoever.

Personality I am basing this on the known Seelie we have in the game: Nabu Malikata, Columbina, and Angelica (from the book Perinheri).

First of, Seelie were guides of humanity, and taught them wisdom and language.

Arama: A Seelie? In the ancient stories, Seelies were a great race with wisdom and beauty beyond the pale of this earth. They traveled with Nara (humans) and taught Nara languages and the philosophy of nature.

… In his teapot dialogue, Kaeya offers to put together a guide for the Traveler when they ask for his wisdom.

Traveler: Can I rely on your words of wisdom in the future? Kaeya: I'm at your service. In fact… would you like me to compile a guide for you…? Kaeya: It would contain all kinds of practical knowledge for at home and on the road, including the techniques I have developed for communicating with people from all walks of life. I'd like to share it all with you.

Kaeya acts as a teacher for Klee giving her advice on how to dodge the authorities (Jean) and whatnot.

Speaking of dodging, as stated previously, Seelie were said to be faster than a storm, and Kaeya has a passive called Hidden Strength that decreases stamina consumption. He's actually one of the fastest running characters-gameplay wise.

The loading screen description for Seelie says the following;

Now you see them, now you don't.

Finally an explanation for Kaeya's ability to teleport in his normal attacks. It's just as Noelle said, he comes and goes with the wind.

In Scottish folklore Seelie will ask humans for help and give them a reward in return. In his Story Quest, Kaeya does the same, asking the Traveler for help and gifting them a sword for their efforts. Yes, it was a trap but he did do all of that, and in his Story Quest no less! Story Quests are designed as a glimpse into the character's life….

Wait a minute, he led them into a trap. Where have I heard that before?

Angelica! The woman from the book Perinheri is very obviously an angel (HER NAME LITERALLY GIVES IT AWAY) and thus potentially a Seelie, or at least someone belonging to the angel hierarchy.

Angelica led Hleobrant on with promises and then led him into a trap, not unlike what Nabu Malikata did to Deshret. She knew she was going to die and used his feelings for her to make sure she would never be forgotten.

Furthermore, if a Seelie is insulted they will exact revenge on those who wronged them.

Diluc: Yes… about Kaeya… Diluc: I should have known he would see this as the perfect opportunity to get back at me.

Dude pulled up the Wikipedia page on Seelie 😭😭😭.

Another thing about Kaeya is that he will collect the fears and sensitivities of people as material to tease them about. …In the Harbingers trailer, Columbina teases Dottore about his age, knowing full well he's sensitive about it.

Columbina: I must say, you're looking very young today, Doctor Dottore: You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment

Wanderer describes Columbina as someone who is eerily unbothered and unfazed in every situation.

About Damselette Let me ask: what should you do if you were to encounter a "damsel" who is oblivious and innocent at any given time, and unconcerned and unfeeling in any given situation? If it were me, I could at least challenge her to a fight. But if it were you… with your conscience, I would stay away from her.

In his character story, Kaeya is described as having a cavalier attitude which in that context means, "showing arrogant or offhand disregard; dismissive", since he put the lives of his men in danger by triggering a Ruin Guard 😂. They hate to see a whimsical guy winning.

Character Story 5 Sinister thoughts flashed through Kaeya's mind, and he simply smirked: "This world is truly… fascinating."

You can also see this in Crepus's famous death scene where he was standing in the back smirking Just according to keikaku.

According to Scara, Columbina appears to be oblivious, though whether she's feigning or not remains to be seen. Kaeya has his own fair share of moments where he pretends to be in the dark.

Think the opposite of Furina who pretended to know everything.

He even acted like a "damsel" in need of help right of the bat in his Story Quest.

Kaeya: This is bad… Such a hassle… What am I going to do… Traveler: What's wrong, Kaeya? You don't usually lose your chill. Kaeya: Oh, thank the Thousand Winds! (Traveler), your arrival must be the grace of the gods! Kaeya: If I may ask — envoy sent by the Anemo God to save this mere mortal — could you spare a moment?

(Would be very fun if Columbina and Kaeya know each other from the dark recesses that is Kaeya's childhood and Kaeya is mimicking her behavior like some kind of mentee.)

Both Nabu Malikata and Columbina do not seem to possess human emotions which makes sense since they operate on a higher level than humans. Does make you wonder if Kaeya's occasionally strange behavior is a result of him being half-Seelie.

While not exactly a personality trait, Kaeya repeats some of Nicole's sayings which I thought was interesting.

Nicole: History does not change easily, but human hearts can. Kaeya: History always repeats itself. Kaeya: Anyway, that's exactly why actors need to wake up and realize they don't have to follow the script. There's nothing to stop them from following their gut and making it up as they go along.

As for why Kaeya would know this: find out in 2026 😂 (😭)

Venti Since fairies and air spirits are another potential branch of Kaeya's family tree we can consult the most prominent air spirit in the game: Venti.

Kaeya and Venti have a lot in common, personality wise. Both like alcohol, are mischievous, and have a very mellow attitude.

They also tend to disappear when we need lore the most.

This is very stereotypical of how fairies are portrayed. Down to their love of wine and penchant to pull pranks.

Is Venti some kind of Seelie? Well, he does have wings, and he was a single thread of the thousand winds which represent freedom… Freedom, just like Angelica.

Play within a play In Midsummer Night's Dream, the fairies toy with the humans like dolls. It's their meddling that causes all the mishaps in the play. They even call Oberon the King of Shadows, with shadows referring to the fairies as well as being Elizabethan slang for actors.

[…] even within this fictional world [Shakespeare] has created, the human characters are still treated as plot devices, pawns to be manipulated and directed across the play by the faeries.

If you've read the manga, you know where this is going.

If not:

“All the world's a stage, and all the people merely players – Kaeya Alberich”

–William Shakespeare

Kaeya has more instances where he treats people like they are fulfilling a role: in his outfit description he talks about the bandit and the knight as roles they have to fulfill. When he first meets the Traveler, he applauds like he just witnessed a performance. In Diluc's Story Quest, he breaks the fourth wall by mentioning the chapter of the Story Quest he's in.

Paimon: Kaeya!? Where did you come from? Kaeya: I just picked a good spot to quietly sit and watch the show. Paimon: Whaaa… You've been here this whole time!?

BECAUSE HE COMES AND GOES LIKE THE WIND KEEP UP PAIMON

And after Crepus's death he ponders on the roles he should have played: that of a son and that of a brother.

Very normal behavior…FOR A SEELIE.

You see, Deshret and Nabu Malikata created a City for the Jinn, called the City of Amphitheaters… where they had theaters 😮‍💨

Altar of Mirages The Jinn once used this place as a free theater and a paradise without sorrow or care.

Princess Fischl also introduced theater to the paradise of the Immernachtreich where her people would dedicate plays to her. (Don't underestimate how connected she is to all this!)

PERINHERI

In case you're unaware, a new book released in patch 4.5 called Perinheri has given us new Khaenri'ah lore. I'll only mention the bits relevant to the theory but it's definitely worth reading if you haven't already.

In the story, a woman named Angelica visits the "Kingdom" as a supposed Princess from some defeated nation. Angelica declares she will marry the greatest knight of the Kingdom and lists several names, one of which is Alberich, leader of half of the knights.

But that's not the only interesting part.

Angelica leads Hleobrant outside the Kingdom's borders which causes him to transform into a beast. This is because he is cursed: his ancestors forsook their gods when they came to live at the Kingdom.

Angelica, however, bears no such curses as she explains:

The witch, Angelica, explained thus: "Hleobrant is the descendant of those who forsook their god and came to the Kingdom. This is why the Kingdom's obstinately pure-blooded aristocracy persists. This is the price of betraying your own god. As for you, Perinheri, you are one who drifted there. Thus, you bear no such curse. You may not have the nobility to shoulder a world, but you too have your own destiny. And as for me? I betrayed no one, not for a moment, until my god died, so I too bear this curse not. But you now see who I truly am, yes?"

Look. I don't think I need to spell this out but Angelica is an angel, her name is even explained to mean "one who is as a divine emissary", which, as we established before, are Seelie. Kaeya even has that stupid book The Adventures of Angelos which is obviously a hint towards whatever the fuck he is.

Angelos, Angelica…. Need I say more? 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

She also conveniently disappears at the end BECAUSE SHE COMES AND GOES LIKE THE WIND

Anyway, this could explain why Kaeya isn't cursed, his mother was a Seelie who never forsook her god. We don't know what the bloodline of Khaenri'ahns consists of… so I can't confidently say they are all descendants of angels. Kaeya definitely is though. You're still a Seelie and that's FINAL.

Otherwise I don't know how else you could explain all of the above.

If he's not a Seelie/angel or a descendant of one, then the only explanation I can think of is that he was blessed by one and is under their protection. Perhaps he was even raised by a bunch of them like the Indian prince from Shakespeare's play.

Maybe in some kind of Sommernachtgarten ☀️🌺

Or a Winter Palace 👸🏼❄️

Frost Prince, Sun Prince, Seelie Prince, whatever Kaeya might be, I will keep updating this post as we go along for the sake of the five people reading this 🫡.

It's like Shakespeare always said, it's Kaeya's world and we're all just living in it.

[oddyseye]

Mutiny.

Odysseus and Eurylochus have such a complicated relationship and everyone always dumbs it down to wrong one thing or another. It’s complicated. It’s layered. It’s tragic. And it’s way more than just an argument over cows. Mutiny isn’t just about hunger or leadership — it’s about loyalty, exhaustion, and two men who want the same thing but can’t see eye-to-eye on how to get there. Eurylochus doesn’t really trust the guy anymore. He’s fed up with Odysseus being this godly figure that can do no wrong, while the crew is dying left and right. Every time he calls Odysseus “Ody”, it’s like this little jab. He’s trying to strip away the whole kingly aura that Odysseus has due to this lack of trust after Scylla. Eurylochus still has a sense of duty and respect for him as the leader, but you can feel the frustration in his voice. He’s just done with the whole “heroic” persona Odysseus has created for himself. Like, Eury is the guy who sees the crew as actual people. He’s the approachable one — the “buddy” that the crew can rely on when things go wrong, while Odysseus is their king, the champion of Athena, and the guy who’s supposed to lead them to glory. But Eurylochus is done waiting for that glory. You can tell from how he keeps saying, “We’re never gonna get home,” that he’s already checked out emotionally. He doesn’t have faith in their survival anymore. To him, they’re already doomed, and he’s not just going to let them starve to death when there’s a solution right in front of him. The cows. Yeah, the cows are the tipping point. Eurylochus sees the cows as a desperate measure, and while everyone else is still hung up on the gods, Eurylochus is just like, “Look, we’re not making it home. At least if we eat these cows, we’ll die full.” And sure, everyone seems blind to the fact that killing Helios’ cows is basically a suicide mission, but that’s because they’re still stuck in this idea of “respect the gods, and they’ll reward you.” Eurylochus, though? He’s not playing that game anymore. He knows they’re screwed, so at least with the cows, he can take control of the situation. Maybe if they’re gonna die, they can go out on their own terms, at least with their bellies full.

Now, Odysseus. This guy is like the living embodiment of stubbornness. You can see he is a student of Athena in that aspect lol. He can’t see it. He can’t admit they’re already beyond saving, and he’s too proud to make the hard call. Maybe it’s the godly influence talking, or maybe it’s just Odysseus being too obsessed with his own destiny, but he refuses to see that he doomed them. He wanted to hold onto the last shred of hope — that somehow, they’d make it out. But Eurylochus sees past that. He’s not naive. He’s not going to just keep playing the hero's game. His frustration with Odysseus has been building for a while, and it finally erupts when Odysseus sacrifices six men for his own pride and stubbornness. The key to this whole confrontation is that Eurylochus isn’t just questioning Odysseus’ decisions. He’s questioning his humanity. There’s this raw edge to Eurylochus’ anger. He can’t understand how someone who claims to be a hero could so coldly lead the crew into situations where they keep dying. And at the same time, Odysseus doesn’t have the capacity to understand Eurylochus’ perspective.

As the mutiny shows, he’s not leading the crew as a man anymore. And that’s the core of the tension between these two.

The part where Eurylochus directly challenges Odysseus is when the mutiny finally feels real. Eurylochus’ words cut deep.

“You miss your wife so bad, you'd trade the lives of your own crew?!’’

That’s an accusation, a personal attack. He’s accusing Odysseus of putting his own desires above the lives of his men, of wanting to go home so badly that he's willing to make reckless decisions. Eurylochus knows exactly what’s going on. Odysseus is so obsessed with the idea of getting home, so attached to the end of the journey, that he forgets the responsibility he has to his crew. He’s willing to sacrifice them in the pursuit of that dream.

Eurylochus is the one with enough clarity to call out the emperor’s new clothes. He’s not just upset about the deaths of their comrades. He’s angry because he sees Odysseus as a man who is no longer a leader but a symbol — and symbols don’t save people. They don’t keep the crew alive. Up until now, Odysseus has been their guide, their protector, and their hope. But in that one instant, he becomes just another man — just a man who’s lost his way, and more importantly, someone who has lost the trust of his men. This moment is about more than just the confrontation. It’s about the growing realization that Odysseus isn’t the infallible hero they thought he was. It’s Eurylochus realizing that following Odysseus blindly is no longer an option because the man they’re following doesn’t have a clue how to get them out of the mess they are in.

At the end of it all, Eurylochus and Odysseus are no longer two men working together for a common goal. They’re two men at odds, and Eury's willing to go to extreme lengths — betrayal, mutiny, anything — to take control of the situation. This mutiny is his last stand, his way of saying, "I’m not going to die because of your stubbornness. I’m taking matters into my own hands."

It’s heartbreaking, too, because Eurylochus isn’t doing this out of spite. He’s doing it because, in his mind, it's the only way to ensure that at least some of them will survive.Eurylochus wouldn’t have gone that far if he didn’t care. It’s so easy to say he’s just turning on Odysseus, but this is a guy who, for years, followed Odysseus into every battle, every insane godly encounter, every impossible situation. They were in this together — not just captain and crew, but real partners. How do you reconcile the fact that the person you once followed into battle — the person you trusted with your life — is now the reason your crew is dying, one by one?

The whole dynamic between Eurylochus and Odysseus is like this tragic love story in its own right. They weren’t just captain and subordinate. They loved each other, in a way, and when that love got tangled up with responsibility, fate, and the unrelenting pressure of survival, it destroyed them. Don't bash me btw this is not a ship post, I just said think their relationship reminds me of a certain couple but this isn't what I came here to talk about.

This wasn’t about “sides.” It wasn’t about who was right or wrong — it was about two men who tried to make it, who had fought side by side for years, and then found themselves unable to reconcile the two parts of themselves that were pulling them in opposite directions. And that’s where the real sadness is: Eurylochus and Odysseus were so close — so damn close — and it all fell apart because neither of them could face the truth of how broken they both were.

It’s the most tragic thing.