#i am raising my hands to the sky in reverence

[opultea]

Eons Ago

You and your husband listen to a tale of the mythology from your homeland, and from your lives.

A.N. - Zhongli and Cloud god reader origin story! This pair originated from my Where's My Kiss? drabbles and then had a cameo in my Babe, Look At Me! headcanons. Maybe I'll make a masterlist for Zhongli and Cloud god reader?

Zhongli x Cloud God GN Reader (No Pronouns) - Romantic - SFW - Fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

When the sky and earth were first created by Celestia's light, they were intended never to meet. If the sky and ground ever touched, the world would be crushed between them, all life lost to the weight of the heavens. But it seemed that even despite this fundamental law of Teyvat, when influenced by the force of love, not even the gods could help but disobey.

The world was young when the God of Contracts and the God of Cloud were born. The great dragon and shimmering white tiger roamed the lands alone, observing and discovering the world. The land was not as plenteous and grand as it is now, for the gods were young and had not created the wonders we marvel at today. The two gods wandered, familiarising themselves with their land and growing their power. And then they met.

Rex Lapis was the first to notice that he was no longer alone, and he was the first to fall. The dragon stared above as the white tiger lay in the clouds, the gentle shimmer of its fur the only way to tell its form apart from its bed. The god of contracts observed the calm and loving gaze held within the creature's glowing eyes, admiring the world below. Feeling himself pulled toward the god in the sky, Rex Lapis spoke;

"Oh great creature above, pray tell your name so that I might worship it as I do your beauty,"

The illuminated beast peered to the earth below, where the dragon perched on a mountain peak. Leaping down from the highermost clouds where it lay, the god observed Rex Lapis curiously, before speaking its name.

"I am the one they call Oculi Caeli, the one who dances in cloud.” The formality behind the introduction was dropped at the soft smile the cloud god formed, head tilting. “Although, neither this name nor this form needs such dutiful reverence. After all, it seems we are of equal power and beauty,”

Rex Lapis, intrigued by the god’s disposition, proposed a contract.

“Then, let us forever consider ourselves equal so that we may always treat each other as we deserve."

The contract was sealed, and a love was born between the sky and the earth.

Your hand flew to stop any tea from bursting from your mouth. Your hidden giggling caught the amused gaze of your husband, who took the teacup from your shaky hold.

"Are you finding the story amusing, my love?" Zhongli teased, though he lovingly stroked your back to calm your spluttering.

"I just wasn't expecting such an abrupt statement," You cleared your throat. "I'd like to think there was a bit more to it than simply 'and then they fell in love', wouldn't you agree?"

A deep chuckle resonated in Zhongli's throat.

"Yes, perhaps you are right. Though let us honour our dear storyteller and allow him to finish his rendition of this tale,"

When the first humans were born, their fragility was coddled by the god of clouds, who shrouded them from the burning sun of old. Their intelligence and fairness were nurtured by the god of contracts. Together, the two gods raised the people of old to lead them to the greatness of our nation today. The people adored their gods, touched by their kind-heartedness and inspired by their great love. Temples were erected to celebrate them, and not one was ever complete without a statue of the holy tiger and dragon mid-flight, locking eyes, tails intertwined.

"I've always thought it'd be quite difficult to fly with our tails intertwined," you whispered to Zhongli, brought out of the tale by imagining the silly action.

Zhongli chuckled, patting your thigh before nodding toward the storyteller, refocusing you.

However, two familiar voices make your head swivel. "Aether, Paimon, come join us," You call, waving your hand over toward the duo.

Paimon waves excitedly as the pair approaches your table at Third Round Knockout. Aether smiles apologetically.

"Are you sure we aren't interrupting your date?" He asks, concern mixed with some level of teasing in his tone.

Zhongli chuckles, his eyes glowing with a pleased sense of pride. "Nonsense. You are most welcome to join us. We indulge in your company, after all."

The pair take a seat, Paimon quickly helping herself to the red bean bun you offer her. She looks curiously toward Iron Tongue Tian, swallowing her food swiftly before she asks; "What's the story about today? You two seemed pretty interested in it,"

You and Zhongli share a look, knowing smiles exchanged. Zhongli takes your hand in his, affectionately placing the joined hands on his thigh.

"It is a story very close to our hearts," He says mysteriously. "I'm sure you will gather exactly what makes it so as you listen,"

Aether and Paimon tilt their heads, interest piqued as they listen carefully to the storyteller, who continues the tale.

But such prosperity could never last, for Celestia felt great unrest brewing, and the Archon War broke the world.

The world turned red, the land splattered with blood and the sky angry with the hatred that seeped from below. The cloud god walked through the war-torn plains of Teyvat with heavy sadness. Tempest and blackness had been forced from the sky, causing great tiredness and discontent in the god who had always adored the pure white clouds.

"My love," Rex Lapis' voice rang deep through the open plain. "It is not safe here; Osial plans an attack. We must make haste."

"This place used to be a bamboo forest, teeming with life." The soft tone took the god of contracts from his battle-framed mind. He kept his silence and waited for his love to continue. "Now it is torn apart. Not even the weeds grow here anymore."

"Caeli, there is nothing we can do for this place, but we can save our haven from the wrath of Osial if we go now."

"Osial and his wife are not much different from us Morax; they are two gods that will do anything to protect their love for each other,"

"That may be so," The god approached, bringing his hand to his love's waist. "But they are lovers on the other side of a war. Bloodshed may not be ideal, but it is the only path we have left."

The cloud god was despondent. The deity pushed Morax's hand away.

"I will not come to watch you tear them apart."

Rex Lapis did not understand. So he left and did exactly as they both knew he would. As he knew he had to.

When he next returned, Oculi Caeli was still on the ground, staring down at the earth.

"Why are you not amongst your clouds, my love?"

"It is too painful. To be up so high, and to have such an encompassing view of all the destruction and pain in the world below." The god gripped the dirt. "I wish you would bury me. So I did not have to see anything at all,"

Rex Lapis rushed to Caeli's side, on his knees to hold his love close.

"Do not speak this way," He pleaded, bringing his lover's head to his chest. "I will cover and covet you. I will shield you from all that troubles you. But I will never be the reason you are lost to me. This, I vow forever,"

In the years following, no one saw the cloud god. Some believed the deity to have died in the Archon War. Others theorised that Rex Lapis had sheltered his love away in the mountains, so he could protect and love Oculi as he had promised. Even today, no one truly knows what occurred, why the god left this earth, and whether the great Archon Rex Lapis has since had to mourn his love.

Today, our temples still carry statues of the two gods, tails intertwined and eyes locked with an eternal love that echoes through the sky and earth even after their death.

The audience applauds as Iron Tongue Tian takes a bow, some dabbing their eyes at the sentiment in the ancient tale. Paimon rubs her eyes of tears, shooting up from her seat and flying toward you and Zhongli, fists curled.

"What actually happened? You guys can't make us listen to that story without telling us the real ending!" She demands.

You giggle behind a crooked finger, settling a hand over her shoulder to calm her. A pensive look of remembrance passes over your eye.

"The theories are not so far off. I- Oculi Caeli could not take the pressure and tragedy of war. So Rex Lapis hid the god away in Jayeun Karst, where he placed Caeli into a deep sleep. The adepti watched over the mountain heart where the god slumbered, and for centuries, Caeli lived in a dream."

"They say Rex Lapis grieved as if his love had fallen, in the years they were apart," Zhongli continues for you, his smooth voice edged with an old pain. "But he also took heart, knowing that Caeli would not have to see him committing the atrocities he knew made the god's heart break,"

You squeeze your hands around your husband's, moving your knee so it sits against his.

"When Caeli was awoken, after the war, there was a bond to repair between the sky and the earth, as our storyteller put it," You smiled softly, your eyes meeting Zhongli's, a gentle understanding present in the silent exchange. "The time they had spent apart had changed them both. Living in the dream world for so long had placed a haze over Caeli's mind, and the war and bloodshed had hardened Rex. But they fell in love once, and they were more than sure they could fall in love again,"

The two of you share a small smile, and you lean to place your head on Zhongli's shoulder, a gesture he meets by placing a hand on your opposite shoulder to squeeze you discreetly closer.

"Aww, you guys," Paimon places her hands on her heart, evidently touched. Aether smiles at the scene, his heart warming at the prevailing love you shared.

Notes: Oculi Caeli - Latin for 'the eye of heaven' (When Morax calls you 'Caeli' it means he's calling you 'heaven' 😚)

Literally never thought this would get out of my wips, but somehow it's here. Hope you enjoyed!

[mayhemchicken-artblog]

"the vampires convene under the light of the full moon, raising their arms to the sky; they refer to each other as "brothers" and talk very formally; they occasionally all chant "blood! blood!" in unison; and of course they all carry matching shovels which they use to dig up the body."

This is so funny I would think it's a scene from WWDITS.

And the part with one (1) vampire among the evil cult groaning during the entire raising process is potential for comedy gold scene.

Imagine them all in black cloaks going "Thy time has arrived, brother!" and lifting their arms chanting "blood blood". Meanwhile Varney keeps going "Why am I even needed here" "Can't Satan or whoever just raise the dead himself if he needs us so badly" "I mean I myself rose without a vampire chanting so?" "I have better things to do such as languishing" "Is he rising yet?" While one of them whispers to the next, arms still lifted, why do we have him come for evil rituals he always ruins the vibe.

oh that's basically exactly what happens. the following is a direct quote from the text:

"Brothers," he said, "you who prey upon human nature by the law of your being, we have work to do to-night -- that work which we never leave undone, and which we dare not neglect when we know that it is to do. One of our fraternity lies here." "Yes," said the others, with the exception of one, and he spoke passionately. "Why," he said, "when there were enough, and more than enough, to do the work, summon me?"

over the course of the scene, varney proceeds to make the following complaints:

he was busy -- he's hungry, he was out getting food, why'd they have to interrupt him like this

"I was engaged in my vocation. If the moon shine out in all her lustre again, you will see that I am wan and wasted, and have need of--" "Blood," said one. "Blood, blood, blood," repeated the others.

he doesn't have time for this, can we hurry it up please

"Let the work be proceeded with then, at once, I have no time to spare."

who even was this guy we're digging up

"Let it be done with. Where lies the vampyre? Who was he?"

this guy sounds like an asshole. fine, i'll help dig him up, but he can climb out of the grave his own damn self, i'm not helping him

"Shall we aid him." "No," said Varney, "I have heard that of him which shall not induce me to lift hand or voice in his behalf. Let him fly, shrieking like a frightened ghost where he lists."

wow he's taking a while. did we even dig up the right guy?

A quarter of an hour, however, passed away, and nothing happened. "Are you certain he is one of us?" whispered Varney.

are we done yet??

"Is it done?" said Varney. "Not yet," said he who had summoned the[m] to the fearful rite[...]

he goes through the whole scene with the approximate air of someone who's been summoned to a mandatory work meeting on his lunch hour. the other vampires treat the whole scene with grave (haha) importance and mostly ignore his constant complaining. funniest of all, they seem to view him with some reverence, as he's apparently well known and well respected in the vampire community for having lived a really long time (if the line of background he drops in this scene is to be believed, he goes back as far as the 14th century!)

and then as soon as the scene is over, we return to the main plot as though nothing had happened, which at this point in the story consists of three different parties of scooby-doo villains (including varney) all trying to outscheme each other at once, complete with silly disguises and attempts to scare people by dressing up as a monster. the vampire council is never mentioned again and are never relevant to anything else that happens.

book of all time.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Cozy Up with: Shadowheart

[Autumn Photography by: coldoctober]

[Shadowheart Photography by: @aristenfromwarsaw]

Author's Note:

I took a nap and woke up immediately inspired for Shadowheart's Cozy Up! I hope you enjoy!

“I can't believe I let you talk me into this,” Shadowheart scoffed as she raised a particularly large glob of pumpkin intestines into the air, then let it flop unceremoniously onto the ground beside her. 

“Certainly we've had worse on us at this point,” you teased. “The blood, the viscera; I personally feel like the goblin guts were far worse.”.

She shuddered. “Don't remind me.” She peered into her pumpkin. “You know this is its own form of viscera.”

“Sure, but this is viscera that can become food with Gale’s help.” 

She made another disgusted face through her chuckling. “Please refrain from telling me any more about how this disgusting orange gloop will end up inside of us. I'd rather not know.” 

You laughed, the sound carrying on the chilly evening wind to the other side of camp, where Astarion let out an exasperated sigh. “Still disemboweling the gourds, are we?” He called from across the fire. 

“Regrettably,” Shadowheart replied. 

“Oh, come on now, you two!” You exclaimed. “Once we finish these bad boys, our camp will look incredible!” 

“You had better be glad I love you,” Shadowheart muttered under her breath, but the corners of her lips betrayed her. You grinned at her until she met your eyes, then you shot her a playful wink. Her smile revealed itself in earnest, and she looked back down at her pumpkin, her face flushing in the soft glow of the fire. 

“I am, and I love you too, Shadow,” you murmured in return. You may have believed she didn't hear you, save for her pointy ears flicking ever so slightly and reddening in response. 

The moon had risen, almost to the center of the sky, before you lowered your knives and let out a loud whoop. “Finally!” You rose and stretched, easing your body out of its crunched position. Shadowheart was already standing, and you waded through the sea of newly carved jack-o-lanterns to reach her, and turned to observe your handiwork. “These will do nicely.”

Shadowheart huffed a laugh and laid her head on your shoulder. “Thank Sêlune, that's over.” 

“Oh come on, it wasn't that bad, was it?” You giggled and petted her silky black hair. 

“No… I suppose not,” she replied. “However, my hands are aching.” 

“Mine too,” you admitted. “I'm definitely glad we don't have more. Hey Gale?” You called across camp to where the wizard was reading through one of his many tomes. His eyes flicked up to you.

“Ah, are you ready?” He asked a little belatedly, his mind still lost within the book. 

“We are!”

“Very well.” He rose and came over to where you and Shadowheart stood. “This is quite the amalgamation of faces you have here,” he smiled, his hands planting themselves on his hips as he looked around. 

“Yes, and we are exhausted, so Gale, if you'd please…” Shadowheart tapped her foot. 

“Right, yes, of course.” Gale turned to the jack-o-lanterns and raised his arms. “Ecce!” With a quick, fluid motion, the jack-o-lanterns were glowing with soft candlelight, illuminating the shadows of their faces along the ground they sat upon. A soft gasp reached your ears from beside you, and you glanced at Shadowheart with a grin. 

“They're… beautiful,” she whispered, almost reverently. “I-” she paused, looking at you. “I've never celebrated Liar's Night - or any holiday really. Lady Shar was not fond of such frivolity. So… thank you.” 

You wrapped your arm around her and brought her close. “To many more celebrations in the light of Sêlune.”

~

fin

[marjoch]

fuck it, history of agathario fic, starting with agatha’s first kill + first rio interaction. josmarch on ao3 for updates throughout nanowrimo!

SILVER SPRINGS

chapter i. your only dream

“I think my mother hates me.”

Agatha Harkness felt sure. Home, if she could call it that, was chaos within itself. She hated the way it crept into her bones, easing its insecurity and anxiety into whatever it was that held her together. And, since her mother hated her, everyone else may as well have: Evanora was revered as both a leader and a teacher of skilled craft. The tension was evident to everyone around. The mother and daughter would hardly speak to each other, and were rarely caught in the same room. The distance began when the questioning began. Fourteen-year-old Agatha possessed curiosity that could not be contained, and avoidance was easier for Evanora, so the girl resorted to her own means of learning. This learning came in the form of a friendship with Corina, a girl her age.

Corina was different. She had grown up outside of the village they lived in, and moved in with her aunt with her mother at age ten. Her father was the only member of her family who was not a hereditary witch, but he was hardly family to begin with, living far away. Agatha was fatherless, created and born from her mother, a stubborn woman who was determined to make something her own. Agatha thought Evanora believed her existence was the only thing she��d ever done wrong. Corina laughed the stories Agatha told her, even if it was only to lighten the mood.

By eighteen, Corina and Agatha were nearly inseparable. They would wander from home when they were able, traveling the forest they’d come to know well. They were there now, sitting underneath a pine tree, picking at the straws. Agatha could not help but think her friend looked beautiful in her purple dress. “You sound certain,” was Corina’s response.

“Is it not certain? You see the way she looks at me.” Agatha shook her head. “You are the only one who sees me as good.”

“Why would anyone think otherwise?” Corina questioned. The silence spoke enough. It had gone around in recent whispers that Agatha was educated above her rank, and that she was not afraid of the possibilities. “No one knows, Agatha. Just you and I.”

Agatha may have felt alone, but she was stubborn. Corina saw this in her, and it was one of the reasons their friendship had survived. “I am not ashamed,” Agatha resolved. “If I am good at my craft, why am I meant to hold back from exploring it?”

It was an inquiry that didn’t need an answer. Agatha stood from their sitting place, brushing the pine straw off of her skirt. She extended a hand to Corina. Her friend took it, and allowed Agatha to help her to her feet. The slightest lingering of their hands upon standing together made Agatha’s heart skip a beat.

Down by the creek halfway back to home, Agatha and Corina took their shoes off to wade. Agatha held her skirts up, but Corina let the hem of hers hit the water. She was turned away from Agatha, so Agatha could take in the view. It’d been months since she’d started feeling something different: a warm, happy feeling that only came when she was around her. She had to make Corina aware of how much she meant to her. This feeling was practically bursting out of her.

“We ought to head back,” said Corina, noticing the sun hanging low in the sky. She walked to the dry ground and started putting her shoes back on. Agatha hung back.

“Corina?” she began. Her friend looked to her, assumedly prepared for whatever Agatha had to say. The way she looked at Agatha made her stomach flutter. This feeling was so possessive over her body. “How do you feel?”

Corina raised an eyebrow. “In what sense?”

“I feel something. It’s new. It’s something I feel in your presence and miss in your absence.”

Corina seemed to change, and Agatha wasn’t sure if it was good. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Agatha followed her out of the water, now, and reached for her hand. Corina just watched. “Do you feel nothing at my touch?”

In response, Corina drew her hand away. She looked more understanding now, but she didn’t seem happy about it. She backed up from Agatha. “Do you mean to tell me you harbor feelings for me?” She put an emphasis on “feelings”. She sounded unamused. “I am your closest friend. Why do you betray me so?”

“Betray?” Agatha shook her head, a small laugh echoing her disbelief. “I mean to flatter you. I didn’t intend to offend.”

“You assume I would be flattered by your attempts? I would never be seen with you in that way. The thought of it is revolting.”

Agatha was stunned. And, hot-headed as ever, anger followed. “You are my closest friend, and this is how you treat me when I confide my deepest secret?” Corina was finding the words, so Agatha continued. “You are no better than my mother, provoking me to see me lose myself.”

“Do not compare me to that woman. She is your cross to bear.” Corina sounded serious, and Agatha sensed her preparation for physical argumentation.

Agatha wasn’t shy of a challenge, and there was something itching at her — this little game was almost fun. Drunk on adrenaline and covert longing, Agatha breathed a deceptively disinterested sigh. “In the glow of your insults, you almost look just like her.”

Corina’s yellow glow danced across her fingertips. She said nothing aloud.

“Do you think you can best me?” Agatha said. Maybe it would be foolish to hold back on getting ready, but the anticipation was impossible to beat. Corina and Agatha had never sparred before, only taken turns on fallen trees or makeshift dummies. They’d been too afraid to hurt each other.

Corina sent a warning shot, a small ball of yellow energy that hit Agatha in the side. Agatha braced for the feeling of discomfort, but found that the sting gave way to a rush of energy. The slightest buzz, straight to her spine. She countered with the same move, and Corina groaned. Then, immensely angered by the pain, Corina gave it her all.

She wasn’t the strongest witch, and her magic often weakened in moments (like when she needed to take a breath, Agatha had always noticed). Agatha was caught off guard, but quickly moved to fight back, not afraid. The same energy from before flooded into her body, and one taste was all it needed. Without any forethought, Agatha clung to it.

“Agatha! Stop! You win!” Corina cried, but her words were a haze to Agatha’s senses. She felt as if she was being reawakened from a week’s long slumber, rejuvenated and alive more than ever. The energy slowly tapered off, leaving Agatha on her knees, head reeling from the rush.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, breathing heavily. “Are you okay? I don’t know what happened.”

When there was no response from Corina, Agatha looked up. Corina was face down in the ground by the creek, and Agatha quickly crawled to her, turning her over. She reflexively gasped when she saw a barely-familiar body, a remnant of her friend. Her clothes were fine, but her face was grey and sunken, and she was devoid of life. Agatha just stared, calculating all the possible ways she could explain this to her mother. She then put her shoes back on and decided to wander, looking for branches that looked like they would make a nice coffin. Her thoughts raced. She had cherished Corina, regardless of how indifferent she was trying to make herself feel. But she didn’t have time to cope with this right now.

Agatha wandered for a few minutes before deciding to give up. The sun was nearly to the horizon. While she walked, she was planning how to make a midnight getaway out of her mother’s house without discovery. Either that, or she could fake her own death? She shook her head. Someone would find her. She wished she could disappear.

A surprise awaited her when she arrived back at the scene of the crime. In place of the body was a bed of flowers, a tight-knit community of daffodils and dandelions. Agatha looked around, searching for a witness or a culprit. Out in the shadows stood a dark figure, and Agatha watched it turn and walk away. Her curiosity wanted to follow, but something in her gut sent her home.

Corina’s death was the beginning of Agatha’s hands-on learning experience. After thinking about the event for weeks, she had the urge to find that energy again. She would tell her mother she was headed out for the day and would travel far and wide to find lost witches in the forest. Sometimes she would start an argument in hopes they would volunteer themselves up. After all, she was only defending herself. She felt bad about tricking people into friendly duels that turned bad. She would rather them go down on their own accord.

Agatha also learned that once someone had provoked her, it felt impossible to break away. The stronger the opponent was, the harder her body desired to take. Once it began, it seemed the energy was the only thing keeping her alive until there was nothing more to take. To attempt to cut it off felt like dying in itself.

The rumors about Agatha continued to circulate until her mother had enough. Agatha was becoming far too dangerous, and she had to go. Years of learning had turned her into a threat that no one wanted to deal with. Agatha’s stubbornness carried her until she realized her mother meant her words.

Her mother did hate her, but Agatha still wanted to do better. Surely there was a way she could prove herself worthy and good. Maybe she had a problem. This power was necessary to keeping her going, but surely there was a way to control it. She knew it was over when she tried explaining and received dismissal. Everyone wanted her gone, and Agatha was prepared for the isolation of being a coven-less witch.

After taking power from those who had conspired against her, Agatha went to sit down at the edge of the gathering. It was here that she saw the same shadow again, moving through the woods towards the scene of the crime. She’d thought she had seen it during some of her other forest tricks, but this confirmed it for her. She watched as the shadow stopped, sensing Agatha’s eyes.

“Are you following me?” Agatha called out. She wasn’t afraid of anyone in these woods. She had a solid track record.

“It’s not you that I follow,” said a disembodied female voice.

Agatha shivered.

The shadow moved closer, then, and stopped behind an oak tree that Agatha particularly liked because of the way the branches twisted around themselves. From behind the tree came a brunette young women in a clean-pressed green dress. She had a dark cloak with a hood over her head, but her long hair fell to her hips. She was what Agatha felt for Corina, a thousand times over.

“I wish I saw you like this more often,” Agatha spoke, meaning her words but not intending for them to come out.

The young woman seemed to enjoy the cheekiness. “Perhaps you will.”

As easily as she came, she left.

Agatha was busy anyway. She took the bare minimum and set out into the forest, on a mission to find a new home, or at least a temporary place to stay. The rest of the village were likely to be on her heels after they saw what she had done. She also needed more power.

When she found a good resting place, she stopped for the night and curled up by a small fire. In the morning, following a dream about the mysterious young woman, she awoke to a garden of lavender.

[ddarker-dreams]

Loaded Question.

Yan Arlecchino x Reader. Commissioned piece.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, brief alcohol mention. Word count: 2k.

The Knave has grown past the point where she must investigate matters herself.

If a person’s life is divided into acts, then she’d consider the final word of that era written. The ink has dried, the page long turned. Through excruciating effort, she climbed the ranks, claiming the revered title ‘Harbinger’. In this frosty wasteland, there is no higher honor, aside from holding the throne the Tsaritsa occupies.

Menial endeavors are below Arlecchino. Not due to a lack of interest on her part, but to prove she must never lower herself to such a degree again. Her ambitions are great, her drive greater. She won’t stop at reaching for the stars.

She plans to have the entire night sky twinkle and dance inside her palms.

So why do you, a lowly creature of the ground, interest her so?

It’s an itch that’s been bothering her for some time. She’d like to say there is some grand, overarching reason to explain away her curiosity, but she’d only be lying to herself. She’s read your file frequently enough to have memorized the document in its entirety. There was nothing of note on the first read, the fourth, or the thirtieth. Still, she searched, trying to find some justification for the intrigue you sparked.

Her efforts conducted from afar have been ineffective. This is why today, she’s trying a more hands-on approach.

You stand behind her, your Fatui mask in place, uniform dusted with remnants of snow. She isn’t facing you directly. She’s opted to gaze out the windows of her office, her back turned to you. By not facing her scrutiny directly, she hopes your body language will be more open. Reveal little nuances you’d otherwise try to conceal. She can still make out your movements by your reflection in the glass.

“It’s been a busy season, hasn’t it?” The cadence of her voice is smooth. It isn’t time to put you on edge.

That’ll come later.

“Ah, yes, there’s been no shortage of work to do, my lady,” you reply, a little eager, but not inexcusably so. You have no idea what her intentions are, after all. “It’s good, though. I prefer that over sitting around and twiddling my thumbs.”

You are nervous — hence the rambling — yet she doesn’t find herself miffed by it. There’s a touch of something in your tone that warms her, like a steaming cup of hot chocolate enjoyed by the hearth. Sweet, comforting.

She could never stop at one sip.

“[First].”

“Y-Yes, my lady?”

Arlecchino pivots on her heel. You straighten your posture, your spine going stiff as a board. She clasps her hand behind her back and looks at you through thick eyelashes.

“Do you have any idea why I called you here?”

You shift your weight from foot to foot. Poor thing, she muses. Your trepidation is tangible, thicker than the blizzards that paint Snezhnaya in silvery white. Some may call her cruel for playing with you like this, but they’d be wrong. This is her kindness. Allowing you time to think, to mull over what words you should choke out next. Her patience for you surpasses what she gives her fellow Harbingers.

Your shoulders droop. You must not think your response will satisfy her.

“I… can’t say I do. I’m sorry.”

Arlecchino sighs, shaking her head while she does so. Your guess was right — your response was unsatisfactory, though it’s no fault of your own. She’s holding all the cards. You don’t even know you’ve been dealt a hand.

“So am I,” is her unexpected reply. “Up until a few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill you or not.”

You go stiff enough at the admission that it might as well be rigor mortis.

She advances on you. Slow, steady steps, her heels echoing against the stone floor. Gloved hands raise to trace the outline of your mask. It’s then tossed haphazardly into some corner of the room. She smiles at the unobstructed view of your face. Your widening eyes, inward pinching of your eyebrows. She can feel your shallow breaths against her cheek.

“You aren’t a threat,” she isn’t sure if she’s saying this for your sake or hers. “You aren’t scheming, waiting for your moment to strike. I know what that looks like. The little tells that come with it. No… you’re just you. Unassuming, genuine you.”

Arlecchino drops her voice to a husky whisper. “Are you frightened, sweet thing? Do I scare you?”

She finds the trembling of your lower lip mesmerizing.

“I don’t want to be scared,” comes your admission. She raises an eyebrow. “I want to understand.”

This earns you a chuckle. It isn’t derisive, you just stir up pleasant sentiments in her that she didn’t know existed. She cradles your face in her hands. Through the fabric of her gloves, she feels the heat your skin radiates. Lovely, she thinks. You’re oh so lovely. She regrets not doing this sooner. There is no substitute for having you in person, at her mercy, which you’re unaware you have in spades.

With some reluctance, she parts from you. Her fingertips graze your cheeks while she pulls back. She returns to her position behind her desk, her back turned to you once more. Whatever barrier she’d previously torn down between the two of you rises again. It won’t be there much longer, but she still has work to do.

You’ll be a treat to enjoy later.

“You may leave.”

At her order, you rush to gather the mask that was thrown aside. It’s slightly askew when you set it into place. She assumes you’ll fix it when you’re free from the oppressive atmosphere of her office. You waste no time shuffling toward the doors. You give her one final glance over your shoulder, then the wood creaks open, your footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Arlecchino releases a shaky breath. How long has it been since she’s struggled to maintain her composure like that? She places a hand over her pounding heart, savoring the erratic rhythm. You cause the fleshy organ to sing.

What a delight it is. What a delight you are.

-

There is no moon out tonight.

The wind doesn’t howl, tree branches don’t rustle. All is eerily silent.

Your dorm room is a small, pitiful thing. You have a twin-sized bed against the flaking wall, an old desk, and a closet too small for her to stand in. Your personal belongings are next to nonexistent. A few trinkets, some books, and a candle whose wick is charred from frequent usage.

Arlecchino pinches your thin bed sheets, pulling them up for closer inspection. How is this meant to keep the biting cold away? How many nights have you spent awake, shivering from the eternal winter this land is cursed with? It’s unforgivable.

The groan of floorboards gives you away.

“My lady?” You squeak. Water droplets cascade from your hair, you must’ve just gotten out of the shower. She frowns, she’ll need it to dry before you’re taken outside. It wouldn’t do for you to be sick while adjusting to a new home.

“You said you wanted to understand,” Arlecchino motions to the box on your bed which contains all your personal effects. You rub your eyes, as if thinking she’s an apparition. She can’t blame you for believing that. “Well, here is your opportunity. You’ll be coming with me. I assume you have no complaints, correct?”

The abrupt sharpness in her voice gives you pause.

“I—” you shiver beneath the weight of her stare. “I… have no complaints.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have listened to them, anyway.”

Arlecchino drops the box into your arms. You hold it close to your chest, shrinking into yourself. She appreciates how quick you are on the uptake. The thought of exerting physical force on you was unappealing, it’s no way to start off a relationship. You’ve done well to keep your emotions in check. No crying, whimpering, or begging.

“I’ve decided to open my home to you. It isn’t a long journey from here. Whatever you need, I’ll provide, within reason. I’m sure you know better than to take advantage of my kindness.”

You nod, wholly incapable of forming words.

She gives a closed-mouth smile. “Excellent. For being so agreeable, I’ll let you ask me a question. Just one, however. Choose wisely.”

The cogs turning in your head are apparent. She doesn’t rush you, seeing as this is a reward for good behavior. It’s important you learn this early on. The lesson will serve you well.

Your lips part, a few words tumbling out that she struggles to hear.

“Hm? Speak up, [First].”

“Do I… need to report to work in the morning?” You finally croak out. The Knave blinks. A moment passes. Her hand rises to cover her mouth, muffling the sounds of her laughter. She feels light, euphoric, any slivers of doubt that you wouldn’t entertain her melting away. It’s foolish she entertained the notion to begin with.

She can’t remember the last time she laughed like this. Not serving some hidden agenda, just an authentic expression of joy.

With some difficulty, she gathers herself. “No, sweet thing. Accept my care and you’ll never need to lift a finger again.”

That night, when she sits by her fireplace, she has a servant bring in another chair.

The flame dances to some long-forgotten melody. It casts a warm glow upon your face, hypnotizing you with its gyrations. Arlecchino rests her head upon her fist. To think this study was a lonely place a few hours ago. The difference your presence brings can already be felt in the room, sinking into the little details.

Your coat hanging by hers on the rack. Your former Fatui mask resting atop the mantle. The chessboard between your chairs.

In a few more moves, she’ll have you in checkmate.

She’s broken from her reverie by the sound of you yawning. You try to cover the display, a futile endeavor, considering how sharp her senses are.

“It’s been a long day,” she muses, sipping the red wine from her glass. “You should rest.”

The fire crackles, a piece of wood falling into a pile of ash. Glowing embers spark in its wake.

“Ah, well, I’m afraid I don’t know where my room is.”

“Our room,” she corrects, a hint of fondness bleeding through. You finally look at her, your interest in the flame lost. “And it’s just down the hall. A maid can help guide you if you get lost, the servants of this estate are at your disposal.”

You mull over this revelation. She can’t fault you for your caution, especially since you’re exhausted. Still, she hopes you can piece together that she would’ve killed you by now if that was to be your fate. She’s going to lengths to ensure your comfort. Your gratitude might not be necessary today, but she’ll expect it soon enough.

“Then… where will you sleep, my lady?”

“In our bed.”

Your lips form an ‘o’ that she finds terribly endearing. The urge to tease your blossoms, its roots taking hold.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Arlecchino leans forward, steepling her fingers. “A goodnight kiss, perhaps?”

You stand up immediately, your face betraying your embarrassment. “I could never hope to expect that from my lady.”

“Hm. A pity, that is.”

She lets you turn in not long after that. As enjoyable as toying around with you is, she doesn’t want you sleep-deprived. You need to be at your best for the future to come. If you were to ever let your dissent slip through the cracks, it’d awaken a beast inside her that’s better off remaining in hibernation.

For you and her both.

When the flame starts dying off, she prods at it with a fireplace poker. Nothing can start or end without her express approval.

Not even the elements.

The Knave reclines in her chair, exhaustion’s tendrils wrapping snug around her.

This ‘investigation’ is turning out to be her favorite yet.

[ssentimentals]

truly, madly, deeply {xu minghao}

pairing: minghao x fem!reader

prompt: every inch of you is the most incredible thing that God ever created (that newlyweds!au everyone needed for their souls)

warnings: smut (minors you know what to do? correct, pass by), bodyworship and praise, honestly this is very-very soft with lots of dirty talk (more like sweet talk), minghao is so whipped in this one that i am barely coherent myself tbh

wandering hands caress your body adoringly, making you smile even in your sleep. this is probably the best way to wake up from a jet-lag induced nap, you think, as you slowly blink your eyes open. minghao’s touches are like butterfly kisses – they tickle and send burst of warmth in your chest. you arch your back, shuddering at the contact with his naked skin, turning your head to take a good look at your boyfr- husband. husband. this is something new to get used to.

'are you awake?' minghao asks quietly, raising up on his elbows to get a good look at your face. you nod and he smiles, leaning in to leave a sweet kiss on your shoulder. 'good morning, my sweet wife.'

you giggle, turning fully to look at him. part of you wanted to tease him, but when you make eye contact and you see how he looks at you, all these thoughts disappear. minghao has always been very open about his feelings for you, always voiced out loud what you mean to him and made sure that you know where you stand in his life. but he didn't really have to say all of this, because his eyes told it all; the way he was looking at you always was louder than his words. reverence in his touch, awe in his eyes, fondness in his tone - minghao was like that from the day one and time didn't change him at all. even the way he looks at you right now, like you are the most wonderful painting, a sky full of stars, the most-

'how did i get so lucky?' he whispers, looking all over your face in an awe. 'you are by my side and you are my wife. life doesn't get better than that.'

'i got very lucky with my husband too,' you mumble, turning to the side to face him properly. all the love and adoration in his eyes makes your skin tingle.

minghao's eyes twinkle and he bites his lower lip, leaning. 'you? calling me 'husband?' life actually can get better.'

you laugh and this sound makes hao's chest squeeze tighter just like always. he hopes it never wears off, this spell you have him under. he hopes no matter how much time will pass, the effect you have on him stays the same. he hopes what is ahead of you as husband and wife is even better than what you had as boyfriend and girlfriend. all of his prayers are filled with you, he hopes you know that.

'someone is awfully cheesy,' you push him back and he goes easily, letting you lay half on top of him.

'did you sleep well?' he asks, caressing your back. while material of his t-shirt which you are wearing is nice, it's not enough to satisfy him; his hand sneaks beneath the t-shirt for the skin to skin contact. 'that flight was too long. how are you feeling?'

'i'm okay,' you answer, looking up. 'and you?'

i am in love, is what minghao wants to say but instead he leans in to peck your lips. what supposed to be a peck turned into a gentle kiss, because it's an impossible thing to get close to your lips and leave it all just at a peck. he kisses you slowly, throughly, just like he knows you like it; after so many years together, your body has no secrets from him. it's as responsive to his touch as it was in the beginning and he takes a pride in that, in making you feel good, in knowing how to do so in mere seconds.

'hao,' you call out as he slots his leg in between yours, giving you a perfect place for subtle grinding. which is a very tempting offer, considering how quickly he makes you affected with his kisses. 'we have to go.'

'where?' he asks in between kisses, running his hands all over your body.

'breakfast,' you mutter, turning your head to break the kiss and sighing in pleasure as he starts peppering your neck with kisses. 'aren't you hungry?'

minghao looks up, grinning. 'for you? always.'

and he doesn't care if it's cheesy and maybe kinda cringy, he knows you are only endeared. there used to be a time when he dreamt of this: of having you next to him like that, not only physically but emotionally as well. then, there used to be time when he dreamt of you two being bonded in a legal sense too. and now it's not a dream anymore, it's a reality, his reality. now that he has it, has you - how do you expect him to ever get enough?

'hao, i think-' your voice breaks into a long moan as his fingers slip inside your underwear.

'if you still think then i'm doing a really bad job.'

with how busy you both are, a lot of love making restors to quickies and that is not okay for niether of you; especially not for minghao. he loves to take his time with you, loves to unravel you like a birthday present and make you sqiurm and beg and pant before he even got naked. it's a privelege to be able to have you intimately like this and minghao doesn't take it for granted. knowing that now you two have all the time in the world, he's not about to let you go out of bed any time soon. or ever, if he can.

'so lovely,' he whispers, undressing you. 'always so pretty for me, my pretty wife.' when you cover your face being shy, he gently grabs your wrist, making you look at him. 'hey, what is that? why are being shy? is it because i'm calling you 'my pretty wife', hm?' you squeal, trying to close your face again but he doesn't let you, grinning. 'aw, my darling. but i'm not lying, am i? you are my pretty, sweet wife.'

'hao,' you whine, kicking your feet a little. this kind of praise leaves you flustered and you don't know what to do apart from staring at him helplessly. 'just-'

'just what?' minghao interrupts, staring up at you lovingly. 'just go on with it? is that what you wanted to say?' he slips your underwear away, caressing your thighs gently. 'but i want to take my time, love. every inch of you in the most incredible thing that God ever created, i have to worship it right.'

whatever you wanted to say dies on your tongue as he starts kissing you. minghao is a generous lover, he is all about giving; not a single inch of your kiss is left unkissed by the time he finally moves to the place where you want him the most. he loves your reactions, lives for them, really. content sigh here, broken moan there, a shiver, arch of the back, tightening hold on his shoulders, trying to close your thighs to ease the pressure - he notes it all, saves it somewhere at the back of his mind so he can re-live them later on. if minghao was asked about his favorite activity then making our thighs shake with how he's eating you out would be his answer. being in between your legs, edging you on until you can't help but bracket him with your thighs is something else, a different kind of pleasure.

'hao, i'm- oh my god, i'm-' your hips rise up but he pushes them down gently but firmly, not letting you get away from his tongue. 'fuck- so good.'

hao hums, continuing to lap at your juices, instering one finger in. 'you can cum whenever you want, princess,' he mutters before diving in to suck on your clit, making you scream. 'i want you to feel good.'

'i feel good, so good, i'm gonna-'

it's beautiful, the way your back arches, how you fist the sheets so tight they almost rip as a long moan penetreates the silence when you finally reach your high. hao smiles, pats your thighs soothingly and starts marking them up, inserting second finger in. by the time he's done with you, you should not be able to walk so he can carry you to the jacuzzi he's seen earlier and fuck you there.

'mmm, hao,' you call, licking your lips invitingly. 'come kiss me.'

he obliges, how can he not, have you seen yourself? minghao is not sure he can ever say 'no' to this request. he kisses you, lets you taste yourself on his tongue. 'my sweet, sweet baby,' he whispers, looking at your satisfied expression.

'i thought i'm your sweet wife,' you interject softly, caressing his back. 'do you want me to take care of you too, my husband?'

if his dick twitches at this, he can't be blamed. but it's all about you, just as it always is, so he stubborly shakes his head and instead moves closer to pay attention to your breasts, adding one more finger in. 'i wish we could do it all day,' he confesses, hearing your high pitched whine as he sucks on your nipple. 'i'd do it all day and night with you.'

tangling your fingers in his hair, you tug a little, making him groan. 'i- is that your plan for this honeymoon?' you ask, breathless. first two orgasms always come quickly for you and you can already feel familiar tingling.

minghao looks at you cheekily. 'you won't be against it, right?' he bites just a little at the swell of your breast, smirking at your sharp intake of breath. 'you won't, i know. you love it as much as i do.' he starts thrusting his fingers faster, watching our face like he's enamored. 'you love it when i make you crazy with want, when i make you cum so many times that you are sore by the end of it, when-' he cuts off, licking in your mouth.

beautiful sounds you make always set him on edge and you starts whining, trashing a little in his hold, he can't help it even if he planned to tease you - he has to give it to you. minghao curls his fingers just right and you orgasm for the second time, shaking in his arms. he peppers your face with kisses, positioning himself in between your legs, hiking them up. waiting for the tremor to pass, minghao caresses your face until you open your eyes, aware of your surroundings. 'with me?' he asks and you nod lightly. 'all good?'

you nod again. you feel much better than just 'good', but it's hard to form sentences when you feel him slowly pushing the tip in. 'just like that,' he whispers into your ear, when you will your muscles to relax. 'taking me in so well, breathe for me.'

you want to stay present, but it's impossible to do so when your eyes roll to the back of your head when minghao fully slots himself in. it feels full and too much, you claw at his chest, whining. 'shh,' he soothes immediately, pushing your foreheads together. 'c'mon love, look at me.'

opening your eyes is a feat but you manage it, blinking up at him. there's so much love and lust and adoration in his gaze that you can choke with it; this man loves you like you always dreamt of being loved - truly, madly, deeply. looping your arms around his neck, you peck his lips as a sign for him to move. 'i love you,' you whisper. you actually want to shout it out, to tell everyone in this world that this man is yours, because that's how he makes you feel.

minghao's eyes flutter and when he looks at you again, there's tenderness there that makes you want to cry. 'i love you,' he whispers back, starting to slowly pick up his rhythm. 'you have no idea how much, you are everything to me, my-' he groans when your walls tighten around him. 'fuck, so good- always so good to me, perfect for me, wanna be yours so much-'

you hiccup at this, moaning into his mouth when he starts thrusting harder. 'you are mine,' you remind him, voice laced with possessiveness you never usually show.

his hips falter and then he pulls out completely only to slam right back in, catching your shout with his mouth. 'just like you are mine,' he mutters, biting at your lower lip. 'so sweet, so pretty, all mine, my wife.'

it doesn't take you both long to reach your highs and when you do, it's both of you moaning each other's names, holding to each other for dear life. 'love you, love you,' he keeps repeating, staying inside you and not willing to pull out just yet.

'love you too,' you let out, spent and satisfied.

there's a certain glow around you and minghao can't look away even when he knows you get shy because of his staring. you look so beautiful, his brain kind of short circuits at the sight. 'sticky,' you mutter after few minutes of being plastered to each other.

minghao nods, gently pulling out. he gulps at the sight of his semen slipping out and groans loudly, when you stretch, completely oblivious to how seductive this simple gesture is. you say something about shower and breakfast, but his mind is filled with images of you, and bubbles, and jacuzzi, so he doesn't even let you finish before he's lifting you up, smiling at your surprised shout. 'hao! what, where-'

'we are so not done,' he announces, carrying you to his goal. 'one more round in jacuzzi baby and then i'll bring you breakfast right to the tub, okay?'

you stare at him in shock, gasping at the way he purposefully grips underside of your thighs, close to a very sensitive part. 'you were not jokinng about the honeymoon part,' you realize as he carefully puts you down. there are rose petals in an otherwise empty jacuzzi and you try not to blush at this. 'rose petals are really over the top, hao-'

'no,' he says, checking water temperature before signaling you to get in. 'i haven't even started spoiling you yet, just wait and see.'

minghao fears that sometimes you don't feel the full magnitude of his feelings. you don't understand what exactly he feels for you, how gone he is for you. and it makes him sad and angry, but then he realizes - he has all the time in the world to make you see, to make you understand how madly in love with you he is. and he's going to do exactly that.

a/n: this idea was kindly provided by an amazing anon, who i hope will see this! haven't written something smutty in a long time, hope this is fine - nini

tagging @prpldahy (if you want to be tagged too - let me know!)

my masterlist is here

[bleachification]

trojan horse - dazai

+ dazai x reader (fantasy au)

+ this is ch. two of all that glitters is not gold (the prologue)

ch. one is here: dissonance

ch. three: in reverence

Golden armadas decorate the sea like jewels fastened upon a crystal hand, dotted plains of might and power—all at the behest of your nation’s adversary. The kingdom’s greatest foe… Prince Dazai Osamu. 

Princeling, as you used to call him. A nickname borne of affection and sullied by betrayal. 

Tonight, the royal fleet departs for its homeland with jewels, satins, and you aboard. In less than four hours, your vows will be cemented into your country’s history and the war shall halt—on paper, that is. The mere thought makes your head throb. 

Waving the useless deliberations away, you turn away from the window. A sweeping glance across the space before you elicits a tingle of discomfort that crawls up your spine and burrows its way into the back of your throat. Wooden chests and velvet cases filled with your most prized material possessions line the north-facing wall. The furniture, stripped of any and all embellishments, look like skeletons. Your room seems infinitely more spacious now that everything is packed up. Barren of comfort, you swallow at the sight. 

It is almost as if you are a stranger in your own home. 

“Is everything ready?” You ask. 

“Yes, your highness. As you requested, I have packed up all of the items written on your list,” the man behind you replies.

“Including…?”

“Yes,” he hesitates. “Although, if I may speak, your highness…”  

You turn towards the large window, gaze drifting across the sparkling cityscape wrought with peachy hues and sharp outlines. “You always do Chuuya. Go on, say what you intend.”

Chuuya runs a hand through his hair, huffing in irritation. “This is dangerous… foolish. Even for you.”

You crack a small smile at his bluntness. It is a comfort. “Did you just call me a fool?”

You’re teasing him. Just like you always have. Just like you did back when titles did not matter and your loved ones were not handpicked in favour of court politics. Back when things were much, much simpler.

Chuuya only scoffs. “You had to hear it. It may as well be from your childhood friend.”

You level your gaze at the ginger-haired man, the face you have known since birth only stares back at you, unfazed. “Ah, so you’re speaking as my friend, then? Not my personal aide?”

“And if I am?” He asks. 

“Then I appreciate your concern. But I will be fine. I have gone through much worse than that of a wedding, remember?” You raise a brow when he rolls his eyes so dramatically you fear they’ll fall out of that thick skull of his. When he doesn’t speak, you continue on, “I can handle this. I can handle him.”

“He is not the person we used to know! He never was,” Chuuya protests. 

A shooting star falls across the sky, leaving a glowing path in its wake. You make a silent wish and pray the heavens hear you. “I understand.”

“Do you really?” Skepticism coats his every word. 

You turn your head slightly, just enough so you can see him from the corner of your eye. Chuuya crosses his arms, impatiently tapping his fingers against his bicep as he expresses his disdain.

“Yes.”

Your answer only irritates him further. “If that was the case, you wouldn’t be packing belladonna in your bags and strapping daggers to your legs! If you insist on going down this path, Y/N, you could–”

“Die?” 

You are well aware of the consequences of your plans, death included. But if the cost of revenge is your life, you will gladly pay that price. 

Chuuya realizes this and his irritation fades to something softer. Something sadder—more fearful. “Yes. Precisely that. You could die.”

You step down from your windowside and make your way to Chuuya's side. Luggage litters the marble floor, causing a misstep or two. In what feels like a mere moment, the dying sunset casts the already lustrous room in a gorgeous light. Warm orange tones pour into the room like a golden tide, flooding out any and all dullness. 

You nudge his shoulder with your own, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. Chuuya looks like he’s about to go and strangle Dazai himself just to keep you from coming to harm. “You don’t believe I can do this? That I can hurt him? Bring him to his knees?”

Chuuya shuffles so that he is facing you, still scowling, still with arms crossed. “You know it’s not about that. He… Dazai is out of his mind. Who knows what he’ll do to you if he uncovers your true intentions.”

Chuuya says his name with such scorn you almost feel bad for Dazai. Almost.

“Do you really think that I’m unaware of how… cruel he is?” You pause, a distant memory floats around the back of your mind; a painful past you can never outrun, “I experienced that inhumanity firsthand, Chuuya… watched as it destroyed my family, and nearly my empire as well. I couldn’t burn the image out of my mind if I tried.” 

Your best friend falls silent. You do for a second as well, resolve hardening in the process.

“For that, he will pay. By no one’s hand but my own,” you vow. 

A hand that you have trained for years, all for the sole purpose of hurting him. To be able to bear the heavy weight of a blade—to lift it and apply just enough pressure that you are able to draw fear from his eyes and a line of red across his throat. The thought of having that much power over Dazai… it is addicting. Exhilarating. Terrifying. 

Chuuya stares at you in both irritation and concern, his nerves firing at every end as he paces the length of the room, muttering as he does so. “So damned stubborn… Cannot believe… Just like when…”

“Are you done cursing under your breath? I do still require your help with preparing for the ceremony,” you comment, rolling your eyes as his grumbles get louder. 

Chuuya practically stomps his way back to you, huffing in defiance. “If there ever was a record, let it be shown that I am vehemently against this moronic plan.”

You make a noise of agreement. “Duly noted. If that is all, will  you come help me with my cosmetics now?”

You stroll over to the cushioned seat tucked under the shimmering vanity hidden away in the corner of your room. A round mirror pebbled with milky pearls and brushed with diamond powder sits atop a glossy desk surface. The ornate piece was gifted by your father for your birthday many years before. For a second, you are glad for the marriage. For as long as it lasts, you will never have to see that sickening thing again—never to be done up on the whims of the Emperor. 

You sit down. The chair is soft—too soft—and you sink further into the cushion than desired. 

Chuuya grabs a few elaborate accessories, powders, and a shockingly large pile of fabric from the drawers and closet next to you. He drops them unceremoniously onto your empty bed and shifts through the mess before he finds what he is searching for; a small pot of safflower lotion. 

“Yeah, yeah. I still don’t understand the reasoning behind all this dress-up,” he mutters. He hands you the lotion and busies himself with the mountain of clothing on the bed. 

“It is something I hope you never come to understand, my dear friend,” you sigh. 

After all, there is no worth in a canvas without paint, much less a doll bare of face. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

Four days and four nights. That is how long you have been at sea, a prisoner of your father’s accord on the enemy prince’s ship—No Longer Human. You find the name a bit morose for your liking, but there’s no accounting for taste, you suppose. The others following aren’t much better. You spared the various liners a glance before boarding the capital ship. From memory, there was one called Twin Dark, and another painted with swirling red letters of: The Crystal Rose. You’d much prefer being on the latter—roses are your favourite flower. They have been ever since childhood. 

You wonder… 

No. You shake the inkling of a thought out of your head. The chance that that man would remember something so obscure about someone he so despises… laughable. 

But you don’t laugh. You don’t do much at all. You stare out of the floor-to-ceiling glass that is more akin to a wall than a window. Vast ocean greets you, sparkling like a veil of crushed gems under the setting sun, sitting snug below an infinite sky. 

Someone knocks on your door—three quick raps. You make a noise of confirmation and the door quietly opens to reveal a stranger. The man who walks into your room is tall and lean, with thin wired frames resting on the sharp bridge of his nose. His hair, long and so blonde it almost glows, falls across his shoulders and ends at the small of his back. There is a sternness to his expression—humourless and collected, but not cold. In fact, there isn’t anything antagonistic about him. 

Under normal circumstances, you would give him a friendly smile, say hello, maybe even compliment him on his clothes. Today is not a normal circumstance. He wears garments stitched of a gorgeous blue silk, reminiscent of the midnight sky. Layers of fabric pool off of him, white and grey, all covered by a traditional robe. The robe is lined with silver edges and tied together at his front with a matching sash. The patterns on the outerwear swirl together, falling lotus petals that almost come to life with his movements. From the looks of it, he must be a high-ranking official in Dazai’s court. 

The blonde man pushes his glasses up with his left hand and adjusts the box he holds in his right. It doesn’t exactly look impressive, a rectangular package wrapped in silver paper. It’s the size of a large book. The only thing out of the ordinary is the black lettering on the surface; a phrase written in glittering cursive. Your name. 

The blond man bows. “I greet Your Highness, heir to the Northern Empire. I am Doppo Kunikida, Chief Minister and personal aide to His Majesty.”

“His Majesty?” You raise a brow. Last you heard, which was only three days ago at your marriage ceremony, Dazai was only a prince.

“Yes,” Kunikida says. 

You wait. The Chief Minister stays silent, something  you are sure he does quite often. 

“I am in no mood for games,” you state plainly. 

Kunikida straightens and nods his head almost imperceptibly at your thinly-veiled irritation.  “Apologies. His Majesty, Dazai Osamu, has succeeded the throne as of two nights ago. The formal coronation is set for three days' time, the evening after our arrival.”

You blink. Dazai is… king? The little boy who used to pick out flowers and break down sobbing when a thorn pricked him is now the leader of an entire kingdom? The leader of the enemy kingdom, you remind yourself. As the king, his power has risen considerably, along with the stakes of your position and plans of revenge. 

Guess you really can't call him Princeling anymore. 

You swallow down the uneasiness in your throat and turn your attention to the silver box, hoping Kunikida doesn’t pick up on your anxiety. 

“What is it?”

Kunikida hands it to you before taking a step back. “A gift.”

“Let me guess, a gift from His Majesty?” 

If Kunikida notices the sarcasm in your tone (and it is quite difficult to not notice it), he doesn’t show it nor comment on it. “A wedding present, he said. A small offering of peace.”

You want to shove the new King of Yokohama’s peace offering down his throat until he takes the shape of a rectangle. Sadly, Dazai isn’t here for you to do so, and it would be quite the scandal; ‘Royal marriage ends after three days due to newly appointed King Dazai’s death by cardboard box.’’

You thank Kunikida for the gift and he quietly leaves with another bow. It might be your imagination, but the stony-faced Chief Minister seems relieved to be dismissed. You hadn’t let your annoyance show that clearly, had you? 

The box isn’t very heavy. You set it on the large four-poster bed in the center of the room. 

You haven’t seen Dazai since the wedding—if you can even call such a stifling event that. He disappeared right after and left you in the care of the soldiers and attendants of Yokohama Kingdom. They are the ones who brought you aboard the ship and showed you to your cabin. Though “cabin” isn’t quite the accurate description for your quarters. Aside from the huge bed laden with piles of silk and cotton and the seemingly never-ending glass wall to your left, the room has everything and anything you can possibly think of. 

The marbled tiles under your feet are cold to the touch, and the deep blue reminds you of the midnight sea. Rows and rows of clothing, shoes, and accessories line the walk-in closet in the back, right next to the silver-gilded fireplace that lights up the room with warmth.  Across from it sits a large loveseat tufted with silk and made of black velvet.

And yet… despite the glamour and luxury of your accommodations, the only thing that catches your attention right now is the gift. You pick it up and stare at the shining letters. You should throw it into the fireplace. Let it burn to ashes. Better yet, you should chuck it off the side of the ship and pray a shark eats it. 

Your fingers twitch. 

About all of three seconds pass before you rip open the outer wrapping of the package and uncover it. There is a folded note sitting atop a gently folded bundle of satin—a stunning article of clothing. The garment is noticeably traditional wear, and very formal. It shimmers with every little touch, every little breath. It is coloured a deep red, a shade not unlike blood, that is beyond flattering against your complexion. 

The sight of it makes you want to hurl. First it was your father, now it's Dazai who thinks he has the right to dress you up… to show you off like some sort of war prize. 

You won’t let him have the satisfaction. You toss the clothing aside and reach for the envelope that came with it. You open up the folded paper and immediately recognize Dazai’s handwriting. It hasn't changed much since he was young. Slightly more polished, and definitely less chicken-scratchy. 

Y/N,

I have drafted letters like this one every single night for the past ten years, only to throw them all into the fireplace out of frustration. Or perhaps it was out of cowardice and shame. Even now, I am nervous—no—terrified at the notion of you reading this. Even now, you have such a startling effect on me. 

You must hate me. I understand. Anyone would feel the same in your shoes. Although…regrettably, I cannot say the same for myself. But that is an indication of my own weak constitution more than anything else. 

No matter. You hate me and that is that. But we are married now and I am set to change things. Our countries require our amicability, despite any personal feelings you may harbour. I will not force you to care for me—but I will try, for as long as I am able. 

Please join me for dinner service tonight. In three hours time; southern side of the upper deck. 

We have much to discuss. 

P.S. After much deliberation and many sleepless hours, I decided that red would look best on you. Though I fear even a paper sack would leave me quite speechless as long as you were the one wearing it. 

Your (beloved) husband,

Dazai Osamu

Your first thought is to punch a wall. Your second thought is to punch a certain king right in his smug face. After so many years, he is still pretending to be on your side. Still pretending that there is anything left between you that isn’t the shattered remnants of a tragic history best left in the past. 

The fireplace flares as it swallows up the last of the note and garment, leaving nothing behind but charcoal dust and a soft warmth that rolls over the room. You sigh, both satisfied and exhausted; completely drained from the emotional turmoil of the past week.

The sun is long gone underneath the waves, dark midnight now settled in its place. The moon, in all its glory, lights up a path across the sea for the ship to follow and casts a silver sheen over your room. There is not a speck of land in sight. It is as if the world had been swallowed by the sea, with only the stars as companions. The sight makes you sleepy… and just a little bit homesick, which surprises you. 

Kunikida shows up a short time later, ready to bring you to Dazai. You insist on taking your dinner in your quarters, much to Kunikida’s protests, and lock the door behind the maid that brings it. Just in case. Though the lock didn’t do much to block the incessant knocking on your door that sounds just as you are about to fall asleep. 

Peeved and a little puzzled, you stumble out of bed in a daze, making your way to the door that is currently taking a beating from the other side. 

Is it Kunikida? The maid from earlier? Who the hell could need you at this ungodly hour?

The answer comes in the form of Dazai Osamu. His hair is tangled and sticking in all directions, like he was tossing and turning. His clothes are nothing but a cream cotton robe covering a pair of loose matching bottoms, wrinkled and creased. He is still as beautiful as ever. 

You slam the door in his face. Or at least, you try to, but Dazai anticipates it and sticks a foot out to block it. He winces, ever slightly, but gives no other indication of discomfort. 

You are positively irked. 

Before you are able to cuss him out and physically push him away, he speaks up.

“Apologies. I couldn’t sleep. It seems that even in the dreamland, you manage to plague my every thought,” he says with a slight frown. 

Confusion and irritation swirl in your chest as you take in… everything. Is he out of his damn mind? More than usual? 

You narrow your eyes at him, not buying this innocent act of his for even a moment. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with that information? You act as if this problem is one I can, or even want, to help you solve. Though I assure you that is not the case. Unless there is an emergency—a real one—leave me be, Your Majesty. You and I have nothing to speak of.”

His frown deepens. “Who…You don’t need to call me that.”

Your left eye twitches. “What?”

Dazai swallows, an air of nervous energy pours out from him, along with annoyance. That just makes you even more mad—if anyone should be annoyed, it should be you. It also puts you on edge—Dazai is rarely nervous. 

“There is no reason for you to call me by a title. My name—it is yours to use freely,” he says.

“I disagree. Now, Your Majesty, why are you here?” You reject him flatly. 

Dazai is clearly unsatisfied with your decision but decides to drop it. For now. He clears his throat. “You didn’t come to dinner.”

“I didn’t want to.”

If your reply hurts him, he doesn’t show it. He just nods like he expected that answer from you. “Right. Is it because of the clothes? Kunikida said that it would be a nice gesture, a way to show goodwill, and I thought it would look—”

“No, not because of the clothes,” you interject. Is he messing with you right now?

“So it was because of me.”

You cock your head. Your mind is on overdrive trying to work out his motive for being here—for bringing up all these strange, irrelevant things. “If you knew that, why come here at all?”

He smiles sadly. “Wishful thinking on my part. I thought…” He hesitates, clearly unsure if he should voice his feelings out loud. He tries anyway, “Well, let’s just say it is a treacherous thing to be stuck in a past that no longer exists. I was feeling… nostalgic. It will not happen again.”

A small lump forms in your throat at the finality in his tone. You swallow it down and make a noise of agreement. “A wise decision.” 

You expect him to leave, but Dazai lingers at the doorway. This entire time he has been nothing more than a foot away from you, yet the distance between you continues to grow into an insurmountable gap. You wonder how you ever loved him; how you ever looked at him and felt something other than heartache and hostility. Those memories feel like a mere figment of your imagination nowadays. Perhaps they are.

After a moment of silence, he says: “It was never my intention to hurt you, you must believe me on that.”

Your knuckles turn white from how hard you clench the doorknob. It takes all your willpower and patience not to put a blade through his head, right then and there. 

Not his intention to hurt you? Believe him? Such pretty words undeserving of being spoken by such an ugly liar. 

“It's a shame I am not the naive little kid that you used to know. Because if I was…” You lean into him, until your mouth is right next to his ear. 

Dazai stills. 

“I might actually believe you,” you hiss. 

You pull back and ignore his stricken expression. 

Dazai shakes the shock away and nods. He takes a step back, understanding his cue to leave. He turns and takes a few steps before stopping and looking back at you.

“Good night, Y/N,” he softly whispers.

You shut the door without another word. 

[sp1cy-t0ss]

Astrobleme

Antares is officially a series! This one is pure fluff.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49804744

‘Cuddling,’ Damian muses, is a more nuanced activity than he had thought as a child. There are a staggering variety of ways to do it, but he has found his favorite. 

People are often clingy when they hug, squeezing even if they try to rein in the impulse. It could be tolerated, even enjoyed, from anyone allowed to survive the attempt, but sudden restriction of his movements and tight pressure could still bring a vague sense of unease if he wasn’t prepared.

Danny, as in most things, is different. He is more than content to nestle into Damian’s arms like he has always belonged there, simply soaking in the affection as though there’s no safer place in the world.

At the moment Danny is curled up against him, head on his shoulder as they lay on the ground somewhere in Midwestern America to stargaze. It’s not something Damian ever thought of doing in the past, but his companion makes all the difference.

Danny speaks of space with wide-eyed passion, rambling excitedly about the properties of each planet, achievements in exploration, and how this sky’s constellations vary from those in his own dimension. It’s hard to keep up at times, but his enthusiasm is infectious and endearing. It’s impossible to watch Danny’s eyes light up and not share in his wonder.

Damian’s favorite part of stargazing, however, is the stories. The night sky is a tapestry of myths and legends, and Danny seems to know them all by heart. He weaves their tales with a softer, almost reverent tone, eyes on the sky throughout. On those nights, he can hypnotize for hours.

“Antares, can I ask you something?” Danny’s gaze is fixed on the sky, as it has been for two hours now, but a subtle tension in his face betrays his nerves.

“Of course.”

Danny steels himself with a deep breath. “Iwantyoutobiteme.” 

The words come out more like a bullet than a sentence, and are just as unexpected. Surely Damian heard wrong. Surely. 

“What?”

Danny looks away, clearly mortified. “That’s my question. If you would...bite me.  I swear I can explain.” 

The mental image is admittedly captivating. Very captivating. He would make the most beautiful sounds...damn it, focus! Careful to let none of these idiotic thoughts show, Damian allows himself a raised eyebrow. “I did hear you correctly then. Why?”

Danny rolls over on his side to look at him.

“You know how I spent a few months in the Realms before I came here?” At Damian’s nod, he continues. “Well, um. I learned ghosts have a thing about scars. They’re memories, you know? We only get scars when there’s a lot of emotion involved.” He drags a hand down his face and groans. “You already know that, why am I telling you?” 

He did. It was why his Beloved still bore faint burns from his so-called parents’ weapons.

“You may tell me again, if it will help,” Damian says patiently as he places a careful hand on Danny’s cheek. Danny does much of his on-the-fly thinking out loud, and this is clearly important to him.

Danny gives him a grateful look and relaxes into the touch. He takes a fortifying breath. “Right, right. Memories. And, well, most of those suck. Obviously. So ghosts will mark their best friends, their families, and…partners. Like tattoos, I guess. And...I want one from you. A memory that doesn’t hurt.”

Damian’s eyes widen in shock. They both enjoy the occasional teasing nip, but deliberate scarification is miles beyond that. The idea of irreversibly marking his Beloved, of injuring him to do so, is antithetical. He can’t.

And yet…an indisputable claim. A symbol of their bond that nothing could take away. His more possessive instincts virtually sing at the idea.

He needs more information. “...And a human can do this?”

Danny nods. “You’re liminal enough that it should work. But you wouldn’t be able to channel ectoplasm through a weapon like most ghosts do. You’d have to…bite. Maybe scratch, that might work.”

“I didn’t get to do it with my fraid before I left,” he admits. “We didn’t know about the…ritual, Dad calls it. Even if we had, everything happened so suddenly and...” Danny wilts at the unspoken memories.

“Are you certain you want my mark? It would be permanent,” Damian cautions. His Beloved can be so impulsive, after all.

“I know. I’ve thought about it for months, ever since our anniversary, and…even if Clockwork is wrong about us, even if we break up tomorrow…” Danny briefly looks pained, but he shakes it off with burning eyes. “I want to remember this.”

Damian suppresses a shiver at his conviction. The question is, does he want this? It seems a drastic act less than two years into a relationship. His rational mind wants to hesitate. 

But…

A vigilante’s life is one of constant danger. Any ordinary day might tear him away from his family, his friends, this ridiculous boy who has stolen his heart. Even if he never falls in battle, Damian is only human, only mortal. His love, with any luck, will live for centuries or more. 

The odds of becoming a ghost upon death are high in his circumstances, but there is no guarantee.

The pure hope shining in Danny’s eyes makes the decision for him. He cannot leave him behind. “So do I,” he finally says. “How will we do this?” 

Damian is rewarded with a smile that could end wars. He can’t help but return it.

Danny sits up on his knees and braces himself with his arms, practically vibrating with anticipation. “It’s pretty simple. Dad says you just make the mark, and I…concentrate on you. How I feel.” He mumbles the last bit, embarrassed. “It’ll take a bit for the mark to settle though, so I’ll be out of it for a few minutes. Just let me come back on my own.”

Damian nods his understanding. “And where do you want it?” 

“My wrist,” Danny says with no hesitation. “I want to see it all the time. ” Oh, it isn’t fair what those words do to him. Danny knows it too, if the glint in his eyes means anything. He transforms with a grin, but it fades in favor of a blush as he presents his upturned wrist.

Struck by inspiration, Damian drops to one knee as if proposing and lifts the offered wrist to his lips. Danny lets out an embarrassed meep at the gesture, as planned, but Damian isn’t done. A moment like this requires an appropriate vow.

“My eternity is yours, my love.” With that, he presses a gentle kiss against Danny’s pulse point, and bites down.

Cool flesh easily parts under his teeth, and he drags thick lines lengthwise another inch or so up Danny’s arm. The electric, almost citric flavor of ectoplasm fills his mouth. It tastes…good, contrary to his expectations, and he swallows the liquid on impulse before withdrawing.

For the finishing touch, Damian uses a fingernail to carve a thinner line back across the same skin in a simple, elegant flourish. It won’t do to have an identifiably human bite mark carry over to Danny’s human form, so an obscuring element will help disguise its origin. Perhaps more importantly, he has a point to make. After all, his Dove deserves only the best.

When the mark is complete, Danny gasps. He stares forward with eyes wholly consumed by green light, unresponsive. as though in a trance. A rumble of love-mine-excited-happy-LOVE radiates from him with startling strength, far beyond the rare faint impressions Damian is accustomed to from his Beloved. The ritual itself is all but forgotten as he basks in the emotions.

A ghost’s ability to project and sense emotions seemed like a glaring weakness at first. An aura cannot lie, and thus is a double-edged sword. Damian held that opinion, at least until an otherwise typical date nearly brought him to his knees when he sensed Danny’s emotions. 

Feeling his new partner’s contentment, security, and honest affection toward him was… humbling. Addictive. 

(He’s certain it always will be.)

After nearly ten minutes, Danny’s eyes dim and he blinks dazedly at his bleeding wrist. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, expression euphoric as he admires the wound. Though the scene is odd, knowing that he brought his partner this happiness brings Damian a rush of pride and warmth.

“Did it work?” he asks.

Danny faces him, his smile definitely beyond human limits now. “Yeah! See?” He shoves his wrist into Damian’s face once more.

Indeed, the wound looks as though it’s been healed for weeks. Raised lines stand out proudly from Danny’s skin with a faint silvery sheen. The only oddity is how wide the scar still is, as if something prevented normal human flesh from properly knitting together. 

“Beautiful,” Damian hears himself whisper as he trails a finger down the marks. And they really are; his signature, right there for all to see on this most precious of things. The knowledge sits like embers in his chest, crackling with satisfaction.

Danny preens at the comment, and Damian realizes he can still feel the echoes of love-proud-mine from his Beloved. Perhaps it’s an effect of the scarification process.

Eventually Danny clears his throat. “Normally we’d both get one. But I know you can’t have identifying things like big scars, so I got you something instead.” 

He reaches into his chest cavity and pulls out a black ribbon, carefully placing it in Damian’s hand. Closer inspection reveals the ribbon to be a silk choker, deep black and inlaid with gems that sparkle like nothing Damian has ever seen, in the exact green of Danny’s eyes. Deeper green thread connects the gems in a familiar shape: the Scorpius constellation.

“Crystallized ectoplasm,” Danny explains. “I made them from my own ‘plasm, so they have my ectosignature. Humans won’t know what it means, but ghosts and liminals will.” He gives a proud grin.

While Damian processes that, however, nerves rapidly encroach on Danny’s enthusiasm. His smile falls. “You don’t have to! I brought normal emeralds if that’s creepy! Unless–”

Damian hooks the choker into place, cutting off Danny’s fretting. The ribbon is exquisitely soft, flush against his neck without pressing into it. No one would be able to grab it in a fight, and the silk glides comfortingly across his skin as he turns his head. With a little focus, he can feel a faint chill from the gems.

It feels like home.

Damian finds himself fighting back watery eyes before speaking. A roughness in his voice still betrays him. 

“I will treasure it. Thank you, Dove.”

Danny still makes no attempt to hide his own tears, pressing his forehead to Damian’s and wrapping him in a hug. It’s tight this time, but eagerly reciprocated. 

“Thanks, Daylight. I love you so much.” The words are mumbled into his neck, and he meets them with a silent kiss to the half-ghost’s forehead. As their embrace loosens, Damian feels his Beloved slump against him. It seems the ritual is taxing on ghosts, and he feels himself flagging slightly as well. Carefully, he sets Danny on the ground and settles into a spooning position. It’s a warm spring night and there’s not a soul around for miles; they can rest here for a while.

It’s not surprising when Danny starts purring. He tends to lose control of the function while dozing – one of his many endearing quirks. 

What startles them both into waking is the other purr that sounds out to answer it. 

The boys bolt upright, cutting off the quiet rumble in Damian’s throat. Neither says anything for a long moment. Then Damian sighs. “We have to tell your father, don’t we.” It’s not a question. Gods only know what this means in terms of his growing liminality, no matter the cause.

Danny falls backward again with a groan. At the same time, his aura flares with abject mortification. “Oh Ancients, we have to tell him you bit me.”

“How dreadful,” Damian snarks. “I’m the one with five siblings that already call me a vampire.”

Danny laughs. “Good point– You’re totally screwed. Remind me to stock up on garlic, bee-tee-dubs.”

Damian glares without heat. “You’re the worst, Winters.”

“Oh yeah? Do you vant to suck my bluud about it?” Danny taunts, wiggling his fingers and hissing for effect.

A deep, theatrical sigh. “Pennyworth must cease feeding you after midnight.”

From there they settle into familiar bickering, but most of Damian’s mind is on other things. Tonight was a milestone, marking a stronger bond between them, yet it also feels like nothing has changed. He can’t bring himself to fear the future like Danny does, fully convinced they will be together forever. One day Danny will truly believe their happiness will last. Perhaps not someday soon, but Damian can wait.

He touches the ribbon around his neck, feeling pure devotion radiate from the glittering gems, and smiles.

After all, we have eternity.

[killuwumi]

a blazing past - diluc (small angst blurb)

a/n: suddenly im a writer of blurbs...queen of blurbville...idk what has come over me. anyway more prompts from pinterest...

warnings: angsty, curse word, mentions of diluc’s past, (beating up fatui so maybe violence but only if you really, really squint. nothing graphic.) not proof read, all lowercase (lazy)

"we all fucking burn in the end."

his brow furrowed as you watched him, looking from a distance as he walked to the dragonspine camp of fatui..is this what he always did when he was angry? isn't that, a bit much? 

his figure got smaller and smaller as you waited by the campfire he had lit for you, right on the outskirts of the sheer cold. you have to wonder what made the man that you see ravaging a camp of strong fatui agents, screams and grunts can be heard even where you are sitting. 

bright red and orange streaks in the sky, a bright contrast to the otherwise hazy and white blanket that covers dragonspine. one last dawn breaks forth before everything stops. the noise, the colors, the thoughts in your head all come to a stand still. 

diluc is walking back, claymore dragging as he wipes it off in the snow, red follows in his path as he pushes his claymore into the soft dirt next to where you sit before sitting down and leaning against it. 

"who taught you that, diluc?" your voice is soft, a calm soothing sound, strangely unafraid of the man who sits next to you. 

"i learned how to fight in my youth, if that is what you are asking." he brushed some of his hair out of his face, as he pulls down his hair and it sits like red waves on his back. the hair tie in his mouth as he re adjusts his ponytail.

you watch him, your hands holding a stick and poking at the fire, it feels a lot like what you're doing right now..poking at a fire. "no, diluc. i mean who taught you to think like that?" 

his hands rested at his sides as he raised his eyebrow, a small look of shock on his face. he can't recall the last person that asked him such a bold question aside from kaeya. 

"i'm not sure, i must've picked it up along the way somewhere. perhaps coping with my past in the only way i know how." his voice is dull, no longer holding the anger from before, but he isn't sad either. he speaks like he is telling you about the weather, and it almost hurts you. to hear a man so revered in mondstadt talk about his past in a monotone, unwavering voice.

a silence falls between you, diluc only looking down at his hand as it rests on the ground beside him, near to yours.

"i apologize for speaking so boldly earlier." your voice waivers as you speak, giving away the guilt you are feeling. as diluc looks up from his hands and to your face, his deep red eyes meeting yours. "it should be me who apologizes, it appears i have worried you and put on quite an animalistic display today. i am deeply sorry." 

diluc watches your actions carefully as he apologizes, you grasp the dirt beneath your fingertips and your brows furrow, it looks almost like you're holding back tears. "please do not worry. i am fine." diluc tries to reassure you, softening his voice. 

you feel so stupid, you shouldn't be crying, why are you the one getting emotional. you weren't even supposed to come on this commission. 

"it is okay to worry people diluc.." is all you can muster to say before curling up into your knees, burying your face. diluc just watches and reassuringly hums an "i know." 

[feyhunter78]

Hi! Would you be able to do hcs or a fic (your preference!) for Elrond taking care of his s/o when she’s sick? I’ve been feeling pretty under the weather as of late and the way you write for Elrond brings me so much comfort🥹 no pressure though if you have a lot of requests!!

Hi love!!!! I'm so happy to hear my Elrond brings you comfort, that really boosts my confidence in writing his character!!! I'm sorry you're not feeling well :(((( I hope this makes it a little bit better! <3

Elrond and Sick Reader HC

Elrond first knows something wrong when you miss lunch. You two had plans to meet at a small restaurant run by a sweet older couple who doted on the two of you and served the best tea and cakes you’ve ever had in your life. It wasn’t like you to miss plans the two of you made, so he thanks the couple for the tea, and hurries to your quarters.

You have a seasonal illness, a nasty one, one that keeps you in your bed, head pounding, stomach rolling, your body swinging between burning up, and freezing. You’re covered in blankets, and your throat hurts from coughing.

Elrond knocks softly, and you almost don’t hear him enter.

When you see him, you realize you missed lunch and feel awful. You start to apologize, but your voice gives way to a coughing fit, and you sink back into your pillows.

He's immediately by your side, asking you dozens of questions, and pressing his lips to your forehead to check your temperature. He soon determines you have a fever and makes it his mission to nurse you back to health.

Elrond brings you some water and fluffs up your pillows, urging you to rest before disappearing for a while. You’re half asleep when he returns, and he sits beside you, smoothing your hair down. He places a cool rag on your forehead and begins to brew you some herbal tea, promising it will ease the soreness of your throat.

As you drink it slowly, he goes to open your balcony doors, letting fresh air and sunlight into your room, dispersing the stale air that had lingered as you fitfully tried to sleep the night before.

Once he’s finished bustling around and giving you every kind of herbal treatment possible, he sits with his back against your headboard and has you rest your head in his lap. As his fingers run through your hair, he tells you about his day so far, and how much he missed you when you didn’t show up for lunch.

You apologize again, and he shushes you gently, shaking his head. “Do not apologize y/n, you are ill.”

“But I should have sent word, or attempted to show, if only to tell you I was not feeling well.” You protested weakly. “I feel terrible thinking of you sitting there all alone.”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “So stubborn, so strong of heart, my starlight is. Do not fret. I had a wonderful conversation with Marta and her husband, while I waited.” His expression was kind and open, no hint of irritation or anger. “Truly, I only left because I was concerned for your wellbeing.”

You gave him a soft smile, raising one hand to up his cheek. “And I am grateful you were.”

He leaned into your touch. “I will always be concerned for you, you are my love, my world, your pain is mine, and I would willingly take this illness from you if I could.”

Your heart swelled, and you blinked back tears. You were so tired, the illness sapping your strength. “I love you, Elrond, more than the sun loves the sky, or the moon the stars.”

He took your hand and kissed it reverently. “You are my sun, my sky, my moon, and stars, but even the celestial bodies must rest, and you should follow in their example.”

You nodded, already feeling sleep tugging at you, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier. You slept soundly, safe and comforted in the arms of your love.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @elronds-pointy-ears, @elrondscalaquendi, @dilf-superiority, @jesticace

[stupendouspeanutstarlight]

Undiscovered Future - pt. 2

A New Chapter! This one is a bit longer, so happy to see the enjoyment on the first part. Will try to keep updates consistent, hope you all enjoy!

______________________________________________________________

Trying to learn the customs of the clan didn’t prove to be hard, but because of the clan's past with sky people integrating among the people was difficult. Harsh stares, many near death experiences, and low whispers followed Savanna wherever she went for some time. Not only did her sky people features make her stick out among the clan, but they all had skin that was green like moss and shorter stature to navigate the marshes. Having saved the Olo'eyktan’s daughter Nali was her only saving grace, Nali would scorn her people when she heard of mistreatment towards the young girl. Nali’s mate Eketxme had also grown to care for Savanna, being forever grateful that she had saved his mate. Only the Olo'eyktan and his family knew of Savanna’s parenthood, they became a second family to her and the village warmed up to her as they watched her interact with the people and her gentle nature. When Savanna passed her Iknimaya she became a revered hunter and warrior among the people at only the age of sixteen. Then came the day that her clan was called upon by the great Toruk Makto. 

Gathered in the center of the village, a place deep in the dense swamps and hidden in a cluster of trees where the clan resided the Olo'eyktan spoke, “My people! Toruk Makto has called for the aid of our clan! The sky demons are burning the forest and will soon reach our borders if we do not aid in this war! Because of this I am sending some of our mightiest warriors to assist. May the Great Mother guide us!” An uproar of cheers could be heard, many of the elders and older warriors remembering the first time Jake Sully called upon them. Welling up with tears and cheering among the people who Savanna now believed to be family, she raised her bow and joined in. An affectionate arm lead her by waist and Nali led Savanna out of the crowd towards her father, mother and Eketxme. 

Eketxme approached her slowly placing his hands atop her shoulders,“Savanna Sully! You will join the war party, make your people proud!” Silent tears made their way down his face, always getting more emotional for his family than would be expected of a mighty warrior and future Olo'eyktan. Welling up with emotion Savanna wrapped her arms around a man who had become a paternal figure and choked on a sob. “Show the demons the power of our people! Show them the power of Savanna Sully, daughter of Toruk Makto and of me. I see you.” 

Preparing to leave the place that had quickly become home Savanna wondered if she would be able to make her people proud? Would she fail to live up to the expectations and drown? Would she return here? As if overhearing her nervous mind Nali appeared at her nook's door, peeling away the hyde that blocked the entry, “What makes your mind race child?” 

Wrapping her arms around herself and sinking onto the padded floor, Savanna released a heavy sigh looking at Nali with glossy eyes, “I don’t want to let all of you down, and what if I meet my dad and he hates me?”  

Squatting next to the distressed teenager Nali wrapped her arms around her form and began to rock her, “Do not worry. You are perfect, if the Great Mother wills it you will meet Jake Sully and he will adore you! You think to much for a child with such an absent mind”

Giggling softly Savanna looked up to Nali and reminisced, her life had changed so much that day. If she had not stepped in, Nali would have died along with the beautiful baby boy she adored so much that was growing so big everyday. This place that she held so deeply she feared she would not return to for a long time, “What if I never get to return home?” Savanna whispered softly.

“Ma Savanna, even if you never return we will never forget the wonderful, talented sky demon we cherish so much. The whole village will feel your absence until the day you return. This is your home, you can return whenever you want and we will embrace you with open arms.” Wet droplets began to soak into Savanna’s shoulder as Nali began to sob, “Find Jake Sully, if he doesn't love you as I do he is a fool! You are my family, my little savior, my child!” Hearing the horns signaling the warriors time to depart, Savanna and Nali separated, both with tears streaming down their faces and hugged one last time. Leaving was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do and as Savanna and her fellow warriors rode off on their ikiran towards the Omaticaya, Nali, Eketxme and little Uawwa waived until she was far out of sight. Breaking down in her mate's arms Nali knew she’d miss the child she loved and adopted all those years ago, but this was necessary in Savanna’s journey. 

Upon entering Omaticaya territory Savanna wore a cloak weaved of reeds to conceal her foreign features, she did not have to have direct contact with any military meetings and chose to stand in the back to receive orders. The first mission was to be a raid on a transport train full of supplies headed away from the RDA’s basecamp, due to lack of experience on direhorses herself and her clan members were to provide arial assistance on their ikirans. Loving her bow but, Savanna knew her skills were in her gun, having brought along her old M60, she set off to find ammo. Wandering aimlessly through Omaticaya territory still concealing her face and body to lay low, Savanna accidentally bumped into a small girl, “Oh i'm so sorry! Are you hurt?” Crouching and inspecting the young girl closely for scrapes spinning her around she found nothing.

  Giggling and squirming, the girl grabbed Savanna’s hand, “You have five fingers like my dad! What’s your name?” 

Stunned silent Savanna couldn’t think straight, only avatars and children born of them could have five fingers! “I’m Savanna, from the swamp clan! What’s your name?” 

“Tuktirey, but everyone calls me Tuk!” 

“That’s a beautiful name!” Gesturing to her gun she continued, “You wouldn’t know where to find ammo for my gun would you?”

“I know who to ask! Come with me!” 

Before Tuk could lead her off a girl a little younger than Savanna rounded the corner looking agitated. “Tuktirey! You can’t just run off! Time for supper!”

“Kiri!! I want to show Savanna something! She needs my help!” Whining Tuk began to tug on Savanna’s hand once more, but Savanna could see Kiri was highly agitated. Due to Turk’s relation, and visible human characteristics Kiri displayed she worried she’d catch on about her characteristics as well. 

“It’s alright Tuk, I need to head off to my people before supper as well! I’ll see you later alright!” Ruffling the young girl's head Savanna stood and walked towards her fellow warrior's hut.  

Watching Savanna leave, Kiri grew confused. What Navi has a human name? “Tuk, who was that?” 

“One of the swamp clan's warriors! Her name is Savanna!” Bubbling with excitement Tuk rambled about her new swamp friend all the way home and occupied all of the Sully family's conversation that night, but forgetting to mention her five fingers. 

When the next day rolled around and Savanna began to prepare for battle she had managed to find ammo for her M60 and acquired an old military vest. Having met Tuk and Kiri the day before Savanna knew the Sully family also had two boys, deciding to keep an eye out for distinct hybrid features Savanna left her clan's borrowed hut. Knowing her sky people background would quickly be discovered if she removed her cloak, Savanna opted to keep it on right until the battle started. 

The battle was going well, Navi units in the sky were taking down helicopters and the ground team was handling soldiers in suits. Having successfully derailed the train ground team began to haul the supplies out and celebrated, cheering filled the air until a sight made it fade into the background. Two ikirans landed on the battlefield, flying closer to see what the ruckus was about between the two young warriors, but as she approached Savanna recognized the distinct hybrid features. Feeling delighted on finally seeing the people who were her brothers, Savanna was momentarily distracted until she heard the cries of her people. One of the warriors from her clan was shot down from his ikiran and a missile was headed for the battlefield where her brothers were. “Run! Get out, move!” Screaming and willing Daisy onward Savanna could only watch in horror as her brothers were flung sideways from the force of the missile. Heading towards the closest brother, Savanna made a clumsy dismount in attempts to get to him. Looking over she saw a tall muscular Navi assisting the other, so she hurried to the closer brother. Calling upon all her medical background from the years of her mothers teachings and what she had learned from Nali, Savanna quickly checked for any open wound, or punctures seeing only scrapes and bruising she released a breath. Applying some herbs and vines from home, she wrapped up the bigger wounds on the boy's arms. 

Coming to his senses he groaned and looked at the figure above him, “What happened?” His voice came out mainly in a groan, but all together he seemed relatively ok. 

“You were blown away by a missile! You really are a dumbass landing on the ground! What’s your name?” 

“Neteyam, and the only reason I landed was to watch over my dumb brother Lo’ak!” As if realizing Neteyam shot up and looked around frantically. “Where is my brother?” 

Trying to stand and achieving nothing but being out of breath she gently pushed him back down to sit. “Lo’ak is fine! I saw he was receiving attention from others when I made my way over to you.” Finally being able to breathe properly and assess the situation, Neteyam looked at Savanna’s face. He felt something familiar, like she resembled someone he knew, then it began to click, the eyebrows, falter nose, and five fingers. She was no true Navi, but what a hybrid? Neteyam hadn't heard of any hybrids like his family among the Omaticaya, and you were older, surely he would have heard of you. Snapping him out of his daze she spoke, “Ok well I don’t trust you to fly on your own, so you fly with me. We should be back at base camp relatively quickly!” Leaving no room for protest Savanna called Daisy and heaved Neteyam in front to ensure he didn’t plummet to his death on the way back. Hearing the horns to signal return, she took flight and wrapped a protective arm around Neteyam. 

On the return a new voice came from Neteyam’s comms, “Neteyam! Neteyam come in!” 

“I’m here sir.” The way his body tensed in front showed that he was in for a scolding when they returned, in order to delay his possible torment Savanna slowed her speed. 

“Are you ok? Where are you?” The voice was wavering, almost afraid, what kind of connection did Neteyam have with who she assumed was someone in a commander's position. 

“I’m ok, not seriously wounded anywhere. I’m en route on someone’s ikiran.”

“Who are you with?” 

Then it hit Neteyam, he had not asked a single thing about her, he blindly accepted Savanna’s help and was now miles above ground with a stranger, but he did not feel any fear, if anything she relaxed him. Before connecting back into the channel Neteyam turned his head to look at Savanna, “What’s your name?”

“Savanna Sully, daughter of Heather O’donald, a warrior from the swamp clan!” Smiling at the dumbfounded look on the boy's face, she giggled, obviously catching him off guard, but why wouldn’t it? A Navi who appeared to look just like his brother from a clan of people who had green skin, and claiming to share his last name. To try and refocus him to respond she gave a light tap to his comms, then returned to wrapping an arm around his waist to secure him to Daisy. 

Nervously biting his lip Neteyam hesitantly responded, “Um…  Savanna Sully, daughter of Heather O’donald, a warrior from the swamp clan.” 

Masterlist

[timeless-fanfic]

The restoring hope mini series is FAN-TASTIC. I was the one that requested it and you’re doing it justice 🙌🏼 I loved how you turned it into a 10 part thing!

Restoring Faith

Chapter 10: Restoring Hope

Word Count: 1488

Andrew x Reader

Note: I am so very glad you have enjoyed it so far! Here is your finale...

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden light over the quiet village. The air was cool and fresh, the sky a brilliant expanse of pink and orange as the new day began to unfold. It was the perfect setting for what was to come—the day Andrew and [Y/N] would pledge their lives to one another.

Inside the small house, [Y/N] stood in front of a simple mirror, smoothing the fabric of her dress with trembling hands. Her heart was full—overflowing with emotion as she prepared for this moment. She could hardly believe that after all the pain and loss, all the uncertainty and grief, she had found this peace, this love. God had truly restored hope in her life.

Behind her, Miriam sat on the floor, humming a tune as she played with a small bouquet of wildflowers she had picked that morning. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and she couldn’t stop talking about her role in the ceremony.

“Eema,” Miriam said, her voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe today is the day! You’re going to look so beautiful! I can’t wait to walk down the aisle with you!”

[Y/N] smiled, turning to her daughter and brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you, my love. You’re going to look beautiful too, just like a little angel.”

Miriam grinned, her excitement contagious. “And Eliam said he’ll be brave and carry the rings, even though he’s nervous.”

[Y/N] laughed softly. “I’m sure he’ll do a wonderful job. He’s a brave boy.”

Miriam nodded seriously, then jumped to her feet, clutching the bouquet tightly. “I’m going to make sure everything’s perfect!”

As she dashed out of the room, [Y/N] took a deep breath, turning back to the mirror. She still felt the weight of her past, the loss of her first husband and the many nights she had spent wondering how she would raise her children alone. But today, that weight felt lighter, almost as if it had been lifted entirely. Andrew had been there through so much—helping her heal, showing her that it was possible to love again. And now, she stood on the edge of a new life, one filled with hope, love, and faith.

There was a soft knock at the door, and [Y/N] turned to see Peter standing there, a warm smile on his face. “It’s almost time,” he said quietly.

[Y/N] nodded, her heart skipping a beat. “I can hardly believe it.”

Peter stepped inside, his usual confidence tempered with a quiet reverence. “I wanted to tell you something before we begin. I’ve known Andrew for a long time, and I’ve never seen him this happy, this... certain. You’ve brought something into his life that I didn’t think he was searching for, but now that he’s found it, it’s clear that this is where he belongs.”

Tears filled [Y/N]’s eyes, and she smiled softly. “Thank you, Peter. That means so much.”

Peter nodded, offering her a steadying hand. “You two deserve this happiness. And you’ll have all of us supporting you—whatever comes next.”

With a final squeeze of her hand, Peter left to join the others. [Y/N] stood alone for a moment, gathering her thoughts and offering a silent prayer of gratitude. This day, this moment, was more than she had ever dared to hope for. And now, it was time.

The ceremony was simple but beautiful, set under the large olive tree near the village’s edge. The disciples had gathered, along with a few of [Y/N]’s close friends from the village. Eliam stood proudly beside Andrew, holding the rings in a small wooden box, while Miriam held tightly to her bouquet of flowers.

As [Y/N] approached, walking slowly beside Peter, her eyes locked onto Andrew’s. There was a tenderness in his gaze, a quiet awe that made her heart flutter. His love for her was clear in every step, every glance, every smile. It wasn’t the kind of love that swept you away with its intensity, but a love that grew steadily, patiently, like a seed planted in fertile soil.

When she finally stood before him, Andrew reached for her hands, his touch warm and reassuring. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

[Y/N] smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in her heart. “So do you,” she whispered back, her voice soft but steady.

Peter stepped forward to officiate, his voice calm and filled with a sense of reverence. “We are gathered here today,” he began, “to witness the union of two souls who have been brought together by God’s grace. Andrew, a disciple of Jesus, and [Y/N], a woman of great strength and faith, have chosen to build a life together—a life grounded in their love for each other and their shared devotion to God.”

Andrew’s grip on her hands tightened slightly as Peter continued to speak, his words carrying the weight of the moment. [Y/N] couldn’t help but glance at Eliam and Miriam, standing proudly by their sides, both children beaming with joy. This wasn’t just the beginning of a marriage—it was the beginning of a new family.

As Peter spoke, [Y/N] felt a wave of peace wash over her. She remembered the prayers she had whispered in the quiet of the night, the moments of doubt and fear that had plagued her after her husband’s death. And now, standing here with Andrew, she knew that God’s plan had been at work all along, even when she couldn’t see it.

When it was time for the vows, Andrew turned to face her fully, his eyes shining with sincerity. “I never expected to find this,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I never expected to find a family, to find love in the midst of everything else. But from the moment I met you and the children, I knew that God had brought me to you for a reason. I promise to love you, to honor you, and to be a father to Eliam and Miriam. Together, we’ll follow God’s path, wherever it leads.”

Tears welled up in [Y/N]’s eyes as she listened to his words, her heart swelling with love for him. When it was her turn, she spoke quietly but with conviction. “I’ve been through so much, and there was a time when I thought I’d never feel joy like this again. But you’ve shown me that love is not something we lose—it’s something that grows, something God blesses us with in ways we can’t always understand. I promise to stand by your side, to love you, and to trust in God’s plan for us. Together, we’ll be a family.”

Andrew’s smile was radiant, and for a moment, it was just the two of them standing there, the rest of the world fading away. Peter, his own voice slightly choked with emotion, asked for the rings. Eliam stepped forward, his small hands trembling slightly as he handed them over.

“With these rings,” Peter said, “you seal your promises to one another, and you begin your life together as husband and wife.”

Andrew slipped the ring onto her finger, his touch gentle and sure, and then [Y/N] did the same for him. The act felt both sacred and deeply personal—a physical symbol of the love they shared and the commitment they were making.

When the ceremony was complete, and Peter declared them husband and wife, Andrew pulled her into a warm embrace, his lips brushing against her forehead in a tender kiss. The disciples cheered, and the children ran to their sides, wrapping their arms around both of them.

In that moment, [Y/N] felt a joy unlike anything she had ever known. This was her family, her home, her future. God had restored her hope, not by taking away her pain but by bringing her through it and blessing her with love and peace on the other side.

Later that evening, as the celebration continued, Andrew and [Y/N] stood together, watching the children play under the stars. The fire crackled softly in the background, and the sounds of laughter filled the air. Andrew’s arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close, as they took in the beauty of the moment.

“Can you believe it?” Andrew murmured, his voice low and content.

[Y/N] leaned into him, a smile on her lips. “I can. Because I believe in God’s plan for us. Even when I couldn’t see it, He was guiding me to this—to you.”

Andrew pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his heart full. “I’m grateful for that every day.”

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, surrounded by their family and friends, [Y/N] offered a silent prayer of thanks. This was the life she had been given—one filled with love, faith, and hope restored.

And it was only the beginning.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Jon X (Chapter 49)

"All praise R'hllor, the Lord of Light," the wedding guests answered in ragged chorus before a gust of ice-cold wind blew their words away. Jon Snow raised the hood of his cloak.

Wrong religion, I'm going to need a second ceremony.

+.+.+

The snowfall was light today, a thin scattering of flakes dancing in the air, but the wind was blowing from the east along the Wall, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan used to tell. 

Jon keeps referencing fictitious ice dragons. He's the only character who does this.

Probably because he's Ashara Dayne's son.

It felt like walking down the gullet of an ice dragon. - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

The wind was gusting, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan had told when Jon was a boy. - Jon VIII, ADWD

x

The road beneath the Wall was as dark and cold as the belly of an ice dragon and as twisty as a serpent. - Jon VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

Alys Karstark leaned close to Jon. "Snow during a wedding means a cold marriage. My lady mother always said so."

He glanced at Queen Selyse. There must have been a blizzard the day she and Stannis wed. 

The first few pages are purposely written in a way where it seems as if Alys Karstark (girl not in grey) and Jon Snow are getting married.

Do you get the sense a certain character was supposed to appear near this chapter?

+.+.+

A strained smile was frozen into place on her thin lips, but her eyes brimmed with reverence. She hates the cold but loves the flames. He had only to look at her to see that. A word from Melisandre, and she would walk into the fire willingly, embrace it like a lover.

Do people not understand he's being critical of her?

Of course Daenerys is next. Daenerys VIII ->

She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don't you see? Don't you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children. - Daenerys X, AGOT

+.+.+

Though only a few men of the Night's Watch had gathered about the ditchfire, more looked down from rooftops and windows and the steps of the great switchback stair. Jon took careful note of who was there and who was not. Some men had the duty; many just off watch were fast asleep. But others had chosen to absent themselves to show their disapproval. Othell Yarwyck and Bowen Marsh were amongst the missing. Septon Chayle had emerged briefly from the sept, fingering the seven-sided crystal on the thong about his neck, only to retreat inside again once the prayers began.

And here I thought Septon Chayle was killed by ironborn in A Clash of Kings.

This is one of those times Jon is completely in the wrong. They have every right to disapprove of this. The Lord Commander should not be playing politics and making marriages.

+.+.+

Alys Karstark slipped her arm through Jon's. "How much longer, Lord Snow? If I'm to be buried beneath this snow, I'd like to die a woman wed."

"Soon, my lady," Jon assured her. "Soon."

Eager Alys.

Eager Sansa?

+.+.+

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. "My lady. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"You're not scared?"

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand.

Are you ready to laugh?

That's considered Queen Arya / Jonrya foreshadowing. Hahaha.

Similar to Ygritte, we have Jon making a superficial comparison between Arya and Alys, but Alys is OBVIOUSLY A STAND-IN FOR THE OTHER SISTER.

But I don't necessarily want to give away my hand. So, what do I do when I plant the seed? Well, I plant the seed, but I try to do a little literary sleight of hand, and while I'm planting the seed, my other hand is up there waving and is distracting you with some flashy bit of wordplay or something that's going on in the foreground, while the seed is being planted in the background. So hopefully the seed is there, the foreshadowing is there, but maybe you won't notice it, because it's surrounded by so many other things. - George R. R. Martin

+.+.+

The Magnar of Thenn stood waiting by the fire, clad as if for battle, in fur and leather and bronze scales, a bronze sword at his hip. His receding hair made him look older than his years, but as he turned to watch his bride approach, Jon could see the boy in him. His eyes were big as walnuts, though whether it was the fire, the priestess, or the woman that had put the fear in him Jon could not say. Alys was more right than she knew.

This is shit writing. The last time we saw Sigorn he was threatening to kill everyone. Maybe spend a small paragraph telling us how we got to this point, George.

"Fight for you?" This voice was thickly accented. Sigorn, the young Magnar of Thenn, spoke the Common Tongue haltingly at best. "Not fight for you. Kill you better. Kill all you." - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

"Who brings this woman to be wed?" asked Melisandre.

"I do," said Jon. "Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth." He gave her hand one last squeeze and stepped back to join the others.

"Who comes forth to claim this woman?" asked Melisandre.

"Me." Sigorn slapped his chest. "Magnar of Thenn."

"Sigorn," asked Melisandre, "will you share your fire with Alys, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?"

"I swear me." The Magnar's promise was a white cloud in the air. Snow dappled his shoulders. His ears were red. "By the red god's flames, I warm her all her days."

This is cute.

+.+.+

"Alys, do you swear to share your fire with Sigorn, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?"

"Till his blood is boiling." Her maiden's cloak was the black wool of the Night's Watch. The Karstark sunburst sewn on its back was made of the same white fur that lined it.

Girl not in grey is still not wearing grey.

+.+.+

"Two went into the flames." A gust of wind lifted the red woman's scarlet skirts till she pressed them down again. "One emerges." Her coppery hair danced about her head. "What fire joins, none may put asunder."

"What fire joins, none may put asunder," came the echo, from queen's men and Thenns and even a few of the black brothers.

Except for kings and uncles, thought Jon Snow.

Don't you hate it when queens kings and aunts uncles do that?

Daenerys VIII ->

+.+.+

Like so much else, heraldry ended at the Wall. The Thenns had no family arms as was customary amongst the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, so Jon told the stewards to improvise. He thought they had done well. The bride's cloak Sigorn fastened about Lady Alys's shoulders showed a bronze disk on a field of white wool, surrounded by flames made with wisps of crimson silk. The echo of the Karstark sunburst was there for those who cared to look, but differenced to make the arms appropriate for House Thenn.

I'm a bit confused, if Harrion dies will House Thenn rule Karhold? Will this be their new sigil? Alys is marrying into his house, not the other way around.

This won't be the last marriage we see between the free folk and northern houses. There's too many unmarried women, and too many wildlings to settle.

 "A wolf for every widow," Mushroom japed, "he will warm her bed in winter, and gnaw her bones come spring." Yet hundreds of marriages were made at the so-called Widow Fairs held at Raventree, Riverrun, Stoney Sept, the Twins, and Fairmarket. Those northmen who did not wish to marry instead swore their swords to lords both great and small as guards and men-at-arms. [...] The resettled northmen not only strengthened the riverlords who welcomed them, particularly House Tully and House Blackwood, but also helped revive and spread the worship of the old gods south of the Neck. - Fire & Blood

+.+.+

"Hobb's mulled some wine with cinnamon and cloves. That'll warm us some."

"What's cloves?" asked Owen the Oaf.

"What will you name the babe?" she asked. "Cinnamon if she's a girl? Cloves if he's a boy?" - Alayne I, TWOW

Do you get the sense a certain character was supposed to appear near this chapter?

+.+.+

"Will my lord be feasting with us?" Mully asked Jon Snow.

"Shortly." Sigorn might take it as a slight if he did not appear. And this marriage is mine own work, after all. "I have other matters to attend to first, however."

How can that be? Only kings make marriages.

Marriages and inheritance are matters for the king, my lady. - Jon IX, ADWD

+.+.+

His boots crunched through piles of old snow. It was growing ever more time-consuming to shovel out the paths from one building to another; more and more, the men were resorting to the underground passages they called wormways.

We know how the secret underground tunnels of King's Landing will become relevant, but we haven't figured out the wormways yet.

+.+.+

"I could feel our lord's fiery gaze upon us. Oh, you cannot know how many times I have begged Stannis to let us be wed again, a true joining of body and spirit blessed by the Lord of Light. I know that I could give His Grace more children if we were bound in fire."

To give him more children you would first need to get him into your bed. Even at the Wall, it was common knowledge that Stannis Baratheon had shunned his wife for years. One could only imagine how His Grace had responded to the notion of a second wedding in the midst of his war.

Kill me the day I start fangirling over a man who hates all women and doesn't have sex with his wife.

+.+.+

The royal ducklings fell in behind them as they made their way across the yard, marching to the music of the bells on the fool's hat. "Under the sea the mermen feast on starfish soup, and all the serving men are crabs," Patchface proclaimed as they went. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."

You.

The merman feasting has to be Wyman Manderly.

The only crab that makes any sense to me is Godric Borrell, Lord of Sweetsister, who we met in the first Davos chapter.

"A pity. Gella's not. Homely women make the best wives. There's three kinds of crabs in there. Red crabs and spider crabs and conquerors. I won't eat spider crab, except in sister's stew. Makes me feel half a cannibal." His lordship gestured at the banner hanging above the cold black hearth. A spider crab was embroidered there, white on a grey-green field. - Davos I, ADWD

That leaves starfish soup. The general consensus is that this is a clever nod to House Bolton.

I'm not sure, but I don't have a better answer.

+.+.+

Melisandre's face darkened. "That creature is dangerous. Many a time I have glimpsed him in my flames. Sometimes there are skulls about him, and his lips are red with blood."

A wonder you haven't had the poor man burned. All it would take was a word in the queen's ear, and Patchface would feed her fires. 

Do people not understand he's being critical of her? Daenerys VIII ->

All it would take was a word in the queen's ear, and Patchface would feed her fires. 

What if the word is Shireen?

Maybe Patchface, instrument of the Drowned God, will kill Melisandre.

Kidding, kidding.

+.+.+

"You see fools in your fire, but no hint of Stannis?"

"When I search for him all I see is snow."

Is this regular snow, Jon Snow, or Ramsay Snow? It's not Jon "Azor Ahai" Snow evidence, I'll tell you that much.

When I was reading comments for this chapter it was amusing to see how many people were able to work out that 'snow' is often used to symbolize Jon Snow.

Yet they have such difficulty making that connection when it's drifting snowflakes making out with Sansa.

+.+.+

"He is not dead. Stannis is the Lord's chosen, destined to lead the fight against the dark. I have seen it in the flames, read of it in ancient prophecy. When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. Dragonstone is the place of smoke and salt."

Jon had heard all this before. "Stannis Baratheon was the Lord of Dragonstone, but he was not born there. He was born at Storm's End, like his brothers."

Great point, Jon. Does anyone know if another character was born at Dragonstone?

+.+.+

"And what of Mance? Is he lost as well? What do your fires show?"

"The same, I fear. Only snow."

Is this regular snow, Jon Snow, or Ramsay Snow?

+.+.+

"I am seeing skulls. And you. I see your face every time I look into the flames. The danger that I warned you of grows very close now."

"Daggers in the dark. I know. You will forgive my doubts, my lady. A grey girl on a dying horse, fleeing from a marriage, that was what you said."

You're pissing everyone off, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to be a little cautious, vision or no vision.

+.+.+

"I was not wrong."

"You were not right. Alys is not Arya."

"The vision was a true one. It was my reading that was false. I am as mortal as you, Jon Snow. All mortals err."

Gosh, it seems everywhere you look someone is misinterpreting a vision!

"Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …" - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Anyway, can Melisandre please ask herself why this girl not in grey wasn't wearing grey, and didn't travel near a lake?

+.+.+

"Even lord commanders." Mance Rayder and his spearwives had not returned, and Jon could not help but wonder whether the red woman had lied of a purpose. Is she playing her own game?

Yes.

+.+.+

"You would do well to keep your wolf beside you, my lord."

"Ghost is seldom far." 

Ghost would have followed as well, but as the wolf came padding after them, Jon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and wrestled him back inside. Borroq might be amongst those gathering at the Shieldhall. The last thing he needed just now was his wolf savaging the skinchanger's boar. - Jon XIII, ADWD

+.+.+

"Your niece is wed."

Cregan Karstark's lips skinned back from his teeth. "Alys was promised to me." Though past fifty, he had been a strong man when he went into the cell. The cold had robbed him of that strength and left him stiff and weak. "My lord father—"

"Your father is a castellan, not a lord. And a castellan has no right to make marriage pacts."

"My father, Arnolf, is Lord of Karhold."

"A son comes before an uncle by all the laws I know."

Oh dear, someone is going to be upset when they learn that.

Daenerys VIII ->

+.+.+

Cregan pushed himself to his feet and kicked aside the furs clinging to his ankles. "Harrion is dead."

Or will be soon. "A daughter comes before an uncle too. If her brother is dead, Karhold belongs to Lady Alys. And she has given her hand in marriage to Sigorn, Magnar of Thenn."

She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." - Jon IV, ADWD

+.+.+

"I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first?" He laughed. "If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

"My name is Snow."

I am not the trusting fool you take me for … nor am I half wildling, no matter what you believe. - Jon XI, ADWD

Unless this is Game of Thrones, in which case he is.

+.+.+

"Sigorn leads two hundred Thenns," Jon pointed out, "and Lady Alys believes Karhold will open its gates to her. Two of your men have already sworn her their service and confirmed all she had to say concerning the plans your father made with Ramsay Snow. You have close kin at Karhold, I am told. A word from you could save their lives. Yield the castle. Lady Alys will pardon the women who betrayed her and allow the men to take the black."

He called him Ramsay Snow. Lol

Add two hundred Thenns to Team Stark.

+.+.+

I should make his head a wedding gift for Lady Alys and her Magnar, Jon thought, but dare not take the risk. 

Aww, what a gesture.

Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. - Sansa VI, AGOT

x

Jaime thought back on the head he'd given to Pia. He could almost hear his little brother chuckle. Whatever became of giving women flowers? - Jaime IV, AFFC

+.+.+

Behead this fool, and they will claim I am killing northmen to give their lands to wildlings. Release him, and he will do his best to rip apart all I've done with Lady Alys and the Magnar. Jon wondered what his father would do, how his uncle might deal with this. But Eddard Stark was dead, Benjen Stark lost in the frozen wilds beyond the Wall. You know nothing, Jon Snow.

Sometimes you really don't know anything.

Wonder about the uncle, forget the father.

+.+.+

Old Flint and The Norrey had been given places of high honor just below the dais. Both men had been too old to march with Stannis; they had sent their sons and grandsons in their stead. But they had been quick enough to descend on Castle Black for the wedding. 

He's making friends with the mountain clans!

Let them liveeeeeee.

+.+.+

Each had brought a wet nurse to the Wall as well. The Norrey woman was forty, with the biggest breasts Jon Snow had ever seen. The Flint girl was fourteen and flat-chested as a boy, though she did not lack for milk. 

A fourteen-year-old wetnurse?

+.+.+

That old rogue Ulmer of the Kingswood proved as adept at dancing as he was at archery, no doubt regaling his partners with his tales of the Kingswood Brotherhood, when he rode with Simon Toyne and Big Belly Ben and helped Wenda the White Fawn burn her mark in the buttocks of her highborn captives. 

Why is this here?

+.+.+

"Do you dance often, here at Castle Black?"

"Every time we have a wedding, my lady."

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon."

"Anon?" teased Jon.

"When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

Aww, did you dance together when you were children?

What would she do when the music began to play? It was a vexing question, to which her heart and head gave different answers. Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne . . . - Alayne II, AFFC

Every jonsa already knows this, but I will say it again:

Anon means soon; shortly. And yes, you absolutely should be side-eyeing this exchange.

+.+.+

"My lady should dance with her husband."

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

His mouth twisted. "I think we have already given them sufficent amusement for one day, don't you?"

"As you say, my lord." She pulled her hand back.

Joffrey and Margaery led in their place. How can a monster dance so beautifully? Sansa wondered. She had often daydreamed of how she would dance at her wedding, with every eye upon her and her handsome lord. In her dreams they had all been smiling. Not even my husband is smiling.

[...]

"Lady Sansa." Ser Garlan Tyrell stood beside the dais. "Would you honor me? If your lord consents?"

The Imp's mismatched eyes narrowed. "My lady can dance with whomever she pleases." - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

"My lady should dance with her husband."

I'm not done!

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?"

She considered for a moment. "No. I don't think so."

[...]

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to...another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. - Alayne I, TWOW

I bet she will. I bet they'll both find their proper dance partners.

Do you get the sense a certain character was supposed to appear near this chapter?

+.+.+

"Different," she said, "but more like us."

"Aye, my lady. The Thenns have lords and laws." They know how to kneel. "They mine tin and copper for bronze, forge their own arms and armor instead of stealing it. A proud folk, and brave. Mance Rayder had to best the old Magnar thrice before Styr would accept him as King-Beyond-the-Wall."

Kneel to whom?

+.+.+

"And now they are here, on our side of the Wall. Driven from their mountain fastness and into my bedchamber." She smiled a wry smile. "It is my own fault. My lord father told me I must charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how."

Aye, but now you're almost six-and-ten, and we must pray you will know how to charm your new husband. 

Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him." - Alayne I, TWOW

Do you get the sense a certain character was supposed to appear near this chapter?

+.+.+

"My lady, how do things stand at Karhold with your food stores?"

"Not well." Alys sighed. "My father took so many of our men south with him that only the women and young boys were left to bring the harvest in. Them, and the men too old or crippled to go off to war. Crops withered in the fields or were pounded into the mud by autumn rains. And now the snows are come. This winter will be hard. Few of the old people will survive it, and many children will perish as well."

No pressure Sansa, but there's no food.

We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. - Jon IV, ADWD

x

"Post guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale." - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

It was a tale that any northmen knew well. "My father's grandmother was a Flint of the mountains, on his mother's side," Jon told her. "The First Flints, they call themselves. They say the other Flints are the blood of younger sons, who had to leave the mountains to find food and land and wives. It has always been a harsh life up there. When the snows fall and food grows scarce, their young must travel to the winter town or take service at one castle or the other. The old men gather up what strength remains in them and announce that they are going hunting. Some are found come spring. More are never seen again."

Ned Stark's grandmother was Arya Flint.

Arya married Rodrik Stark, The Wandering Wolf.

+.+.+

"When your stores begin to dwindle, my lady, remember us. Send your old men to the Wall, let them say our words. Here at least they will not die alone in the snow, with only memories to warm them. Send us boys as well, if you have boys to spare."

+.+.+

"As you say." She touched his hand. "Karhold remembers."

This is why the House Royce words are so obviously a reference to House Stark.

There's no way the House Royce words are a coincidence.

+.+.+

The letter had been written by Maester Harmune; Cotter Pyke could neither read nor write. But the words were Pyke's, set down as he had spoken them, blunt and to the point.

Calm seas today. Eleven ships set sail for Hardhome on the morning tide. Three Braavosi, four Lyseni, four of ours. Two of the Lyseni barely seaworthy. We may drown more wildlings than we save. Your command. Twenty ravens aboard, and Maester Harmune. Will send reports. I command from Talon, Tattersalt second on Blackbird, Ser Glendon holds Eastwatch.

Four Lyseni ships?

The three Braavosi ships would bring the fleet at Eastwatch up to eleven, including the Ibbenese whaler that Cotter Pyke had commandeered on Jon's order, a trading galley out of Pentos similarly impressed, and three battered Lysene warships, remnants of Salladhor Saan's former fleet driven back north by the autumn storms. All three of Saan's ships had been in dire need of refitting, but by now the work should be complete. - Jon IX, ADWD

That was one chapter ago. You notice the older George gets the more this is happening?

+.+.+

"No, my lady. This news was long awaited." Though the last part troubles me. Glendon Hewett was a seasoned man and a strong one, a sensible choice to command in Cotter Pyke's absence. But he was also as much a friend as Alliser Thorne could boast, and a crony of sorts with Janos Slynt, however briefly. Jon could still recall how Hewett had dragged him from his bed, and the feel of his boot slamming into his ribs. Not the man I would have chosen. He rolled the parchment up and slipped it into his belt.

Not sure what will come of this, if anything.

+.+.+

The fish course was next, but as the pike was being boned Lady Alys dragged the Magnar up onto the floor. 

They consummated the marriage!

+.+.+

Axell Florent smiled. "The king might say the same if he were here. Yet some provision must be made for His Grace's leal knights, surely? They have followed him so far and at such cost. And we must needs bind these wildlings to king and realm. This marriage is a good first step, but I know that it would please the queen to see the wildling princess wed as well."

Jon sighed. He was weary of explaining that Val was no true princess. No matter how often he told them, they never seemed to hear. 

Wait for it. It's building.

+.+.+

Jon had heard enough. "Ser Axell, if you are truly the Queen's Hand, I pity Her Grace."

Florent's face grew flushed with anger. "So it is true. You mean to keep her for yourself, I see it now. The bastard wants his father's seat."

The bastard refused his father's seat. If the bastard had wanted Val, all he had to do was ask for her. "You must excuse me, ser," he said. "I need a breath of fresh air." It stinks in here. His head turned. "That was a horn."

I know Stannis told him to keep his mouth shut, but I don't know why he doesn't say the quiet part out loud.

Every time Jon reminds us he rejected Cool Girl Val, I laugh.

+.+.+

"Two blasts," said Mully.

Black brothers, northmen, free folk, Thenns, queen's men, all of them fell quiet, listening. Five heartbeats passed. Ten. Twenty. Then Owen the Oaf tittered, and Jon Snow could breathe again. "Two blasts," he announced. "Wildlings." Val.

Tormund Giantsbane had come at last.

He's more excited to see Tormund. Lol

Final thoughts:

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon.

Soon!

❤️❤️❤️

-> return to menu <-

[magnus-sm-writes]

OC Kiss Week Day 5: Darkness

Hiprax is drunk, and so is Uzyeont. They lie on the deck of the ship, staring at the sky. For once, the clouds have parted to fully reveal the stars. “My mom used to tell me the stories behind the stars.”

Uzyeont rubs his thumb along Hiprax’s hand so lightly it almost tickles. “Tell me.”

“Look. That bright star there.” Hiprax raises his hand to point. The bright star that forms the left talon of the Yandor rests right above his finger. “That star right there. It’s the talon of the Great Dragon Yandor. Then you follow them up there—” he moves his finger along the arch of stars that make up his arm-wing. “His wing. The coils of his body.”

“What did he do?” Uzyeont’s breath clouds above them, covering the stars for a moment.

“He fought Phyrrm the Egg-Eater.”

“Mm.” Uzyeont takes a drink from his bottle of rum, then passes it over to Hiprax.

Hiprax takes a swig himself, then gestures to a dull star. “The back spine of the Wiley Wyvern.”

“Where?”

“Right there. The tiny one. You can barely see it, because she’s always sneaking around.”

Uzyeont sits up to squint at the stars. “Oh! There it is.”

Light from the stars and the moon skims Uzyeont’s dark skin. He smiles at finding the Wiley Wyvern. If they had met when Uzyeont was younger, would he be this happy without having to be drunk?

“The stars are up there,” Uzyeont says, his smile growing thinner, sharp on one edge.

“And you’re here.” Hiprax props himself up on his elbows, then takes another drink of rum. He hands the bottle back to Uzyeont. “If my advances are unwarranted, let me know.”

“Advances?” Uzyeont coils his braid around his hand and down his forearm with his free hand.

Hiprax clears his throat. “I, ah—I would very much enjoy kissing you.”

“Well, then. I suppose you should begin those advances, if you are serious with them.” Uzyeont sets the rum bottle to his side, then arcs his back in a satisfying-looking stretch.

Nerves churn in Hiprax’s stomach like a roiling sea on a stormy night. He shivers, though he has no sensitivity to the nighttime cold.

Then Hiprax carefully, slowly moves to straddle Uzyeont’s hips, giving him enough time to deny his advances. He’s very rarely been turned down, and yet, he’s concerned about losing Uzeyont’s trust more than Uzyeont denying him. Damaging their friendship would add more cracks to his heart.

“Pretty boy. You act as though you’ve never been with someone before.”

“I have,” Hiprax says, and though it is the truth, it does not sound that way.

Frost grows on the planks beneath Uzyeont. Uzyeont shivers and burrows deeper into his furs.

“Stop being so nervous, sitaav. You’re in good hands.”

He’s only half-sitaav, but Uzyeont doesn’t know that. Hiprax settles on Uzyeont’s lap, careful to keep half his weight on his haunches.

“Where do you keep all that weight?” Uzyeont’s hands move to tangle in Hiprax’s hair. “You have nothing on your bones. Is it here?” He tugs on Hiprax’s hair, just slightly, then scratches his long nails against his scalp.

“Mm.” Hiprax leans into Uzyeont’s warm touch. “My mother always said we had dracon blood somewhere in our line.”

“And yet, I see no scales.”

With this skin, no. There are no scales. The sitaav appearance holds up well. If he could look the way he does while transformed, he would be happy. Instead, there is a dracon beneath the skin.

Hiprax swallows his nerves. “Beautiful boy.”

Uzyeont shakes his head a bit like a dracon. Prideful creature. If anyone deserved to be one, it was Uzeyont, not Hiprax. He deserves the fear and reverence that people give those with dragon blood. Then he grins, sharp as a dracon, and just as dangerous.

“I am, aren’t I?” He pulls his furs around both of them, though he doesn’t have to. “Though a sitaav like you won’t need the extra warmth.”

“You feel like fire.” Hiprax buries his nose in Uzyeont’s skin. He smells of fire smoke and alcohol, of the salty sea around them, the animal smell of furs.

Kayeit elve were born of fire the same way sitaav elve were of ice. Uzyeont’s fire had not been put out by spending his life on the water the way Hiprax’s ice hadn’t been melted by it. There is something special about each species on this world, a piece of magic that cannot be taken from them. That, Vrynnd had taught Hiprax, was the gift of the dragons. That each species they made was as unique as them.

“Wonder what you taste like, silver.”

Hiprax leans his face against Uzyeont’s, pressing the broadness of his flat nose against Uzyeont’s just to feel the mountain-bump of it, then brings their lips together.

Sailor lips, Hiprax has found, tend to be rough as those who wander the land. Travelers wear the ruggedness of the land on their skin. What little light shone on Uzyeont’s skin disappears as Hiprax’s silver hair hangs around them.

Uzyeont’s mouth is warm. All Hiprax can taste is rum.

“Booze,” Uzyeont mumbles. “And cold. How do you taste cold?”

Hiprax smiles against Uzyeont’s mouth. “The air is cold,” he says, then kisses Uzyeont again, if only to feel the warmth of him.

“I will keep us both warm.”

Despite knowing Hiprax can’t feel the cold, Uzyeont wraps his limbs around him, then attempts to roll them over so Hiprax is the one on his back. Hiprax has to assist, being heavy as he is. Now with both Uzyeont and the furs draped over him, sweat begins to form on Hiprax’s chest. Above them, their breath clouds to cover the stars.

[amunyan]

Love me, not him! (5/7)

The next chapter of my little story; And I am still very unsure about it…😅🫣 Mostly of how I am portraying the characters… Anyway – I still try my best to continue. Hope you like it🤗

„Come in“, Mereoleona said with a little smile on her face and you closed the door behind the two of you.

After the fight she invented you to her room. You expected that she would want to talk about the incident. As you entered the room, however, you first looked around; almost reverently.

Even if you knew her for so many years now, it's the first time Mereo dragged you into her room.

„Didn’t expect it to be this tidy... But it only makes sense; Most of the time she is out in the wilderness, and although she is part of the royal family, she doesn't own that many things - probably because she is always on tour for months at a time “, you thought to yourself.

While you were looking around, Mereoleona had got something to drink.

„Here“, she said handing you one of the two glasses in her hands. „It's the same sake from the last time we got drunk together. I remembered you liked it.“

You were never much of a drinker, nor were you the type to hang out in pubs and bars. Only when you were with Mereoleona.

„Thanks“, you said and she sit down on the deep red sofa, standing in front of the big windows. An old, classic sofa, you also never expected her to have. Shyly, a little unsure what to do, you stood there for a moment, as she called for you: “(Y/N)!? Don’t just stand there! Come, you can sit next to me – you know? “

“Uh? You don’t want me to talk to you about the incident?”

“What? Why? I thought I made myself clear? I don’t care about this shit. So come on – let’s drink!”

“Okay…” Carefully, still unsure what to expect, you sit down next to her, as you gaze fell outside in the night. A beautiful view of the city, with all its lights opened up in front of you.

„Although the headquarter is this close, I never saw this sky. Never hat this view… It’s impressing”, you whispered.

“Really?” Mereoleona looked at you, a little skeptical. “I prefer the sky over the wilderness and in the forests. Anywhere else – far away from the city lights. It's more breathtaking...”

“Similar to the night sky at the hot springs?“

She nodded. „If you want to, I can take you with me on my next trip. For a while... Of course only if my brother wakes up again. Otherwise I am stuck here for the next years.” She angrily took a sip out of her cup, while you were still staring out the big window, still completely overwhelmed and thrilled by the view.

“It’s cute, how easy it is, to impress you…” A laughter left her mouth and you turned around to her. A little embarrassed. Even more when you met her eyes and a soft smile appeared on her lips. “But if it's with you... it wouldn’t be this bad.”

„What? With me?” Your eyes widened and you tried to stifle a nervous laug. „ Oh, come on. I thought I already told you; I’ not that special.”

„I think you don't understanbd, (Y/N). Fuegoleon always told me about you. Mostly how much he can rely on you. So...”

You raised your eyebrows. Unsure what to expected next.

“So... Nothing really happened between you two?”

“What?” Sourly, you contorted your face. You wondered if she really meant it. The next moment you remembered that it is about Mereoleona. She is always serious. She is not the person for funny jokes. Sometimes for jokes, but only unintentionally.

As you told her, Fuegoleon is hardly that open towards you, you let out a deep sigh.. “He is always friendly to me. But also more distant than you. I don't know if this is a good sign. Or...?“ You tried to picture Fuegoleon like Mereoleona; unconventional, loud and direct. Not exactly rude, more like a bad boy…

“No...”, you stopped yourself from your stupid thoughts. “I compare two totally different types of people. Even if they are siblings, Fuegoleon would show his affection different than Mereoleona. Affektion? Wait a Minute.“ The Moment you realised that this thought appererd for the second time today makes you kind of nervous. You looked up and saw in Mereos blue eyes, her gaze at you. Still waiting for an answer.

***************************************************

A: You tried to smile cheekily, winking at her, pressing your finger to your lip. "This is our little secret."

B: You put your drink away to lean towards her and put your hand on her shoulder. „This“, you said grumpy, looking at her with an unhappy face. “This is the only way he shows his gratitude to me. A pat on the back."

****************************************************

A:

„Is this so?” She looked at you with a raised eyebrow. Patterned you very closely. And you hoped that she don't want to have more details. The moment of her, watching you in silence felt like hours. But she seems to be pleased. She closed her eyes and a soft smile appererd on her lips. She sighs softly, as she quietly said: „I can't believe that my brother really found such a loyal puppy.”

“Yes... seems so," you said meekly, unsure of what to answer. The next moment she leaned towards you. She came very close and your heart beat faster for a moment. Her right hand ran through your hair. “But you both need to get your shit together...”

“Huh?”

„When Fuegoleon wakes up, you should tell him quickly about how you feel. Otherwise...” She strokes your cheek and puts her hand to your chin, pulling you up gently, “I can't guarantee anything anymore.”

à continue at AB

B:

“Oh”, she said with a disconcerting undertone and a mischievous smile on her lips that showed her fang. “Is that so?”

The next Moment she also leaned towards you, running with her fingers through your hair. „But you are such a sweetheart. It hurts, to see you always this sad.”

You bite your lips and wanted to back away. But within seconds Mereoleona had put away her glass and had bent above you. Like her pray, you layed now under the lioness, your wrists also fixed by her strong hands.

„Mereo...“ Your eyes widen und your heart beated faster. She seemed to notice and her grin became brighter, as she realised you again. „You are sweet when you do this. It makes me want to tease you even more.”

à continue at AB

AB:

You can't help but blushing badly.

„Mereoleona...“, you whispered. You bite your lips and paused for a moment. Questioned yourself if you really should ask for her reasons. It might was the alcohol, but after a deep breath you tried to formulate your question. „Why? Why is it that you like me. Me? I mean... I am not great at fighting or overpowered strong - like you. Neither am I intelligent nor can keep a cool head in difficult Situations - like Fuegoleon. I am one of the weakest squad-members…

If you got saved the last chapter à See... The fact that you had to save me proves it...”

If you won the fight à And the fight just now… it was only luck…”

She quietly looked at you, seeming unsure about what you wanted to tell her. So you continued and tried to make yourself clear: “Years ago, everyone used to make fun of me. Told me I am not even worth of being a Magic Knight. Even if I always tryed my best. But... Because of beeing clumsy, the opposite happend. I mostly always coused problems and little disasters....“

„Is it because of this, you always try to appear as serious as possible?“

You nodded. Looking away, to hide your sadness. „I don't want to disappoint Fuegoleon...“

„But why are you pretending?“ She asked, looking at you as she took a sip of her sake, unimpressed.

„Why?” You got louder. Even a little angry. “Didn't you hear me? I am a mess of a person.” You pointed your finger at yourself before looking away and crossing your arms in annoyance. “Your brother shall not be ashamed of me, if I am by his side...”

“You have no reason to. Because Fuegoleon trusts you. Even though he is the leader of the Order, you are not his subordinate.”

„But...”

Her voice got louder. It dominated your attempt to contradict „There is no need to work for his trust anymore. You already have proofed yourself. Or why do you think it is, that he relays on you and none of the other members?”

Silence has taken over the room and you need a moment to process this fact, you have been blind for too long.

***When you chose A above***

„He likes you. More than you know, (Y/N). Everyone already knows that you have grown so much since back than. You are the only one not able to see it. It's not just that he relies on you more than he should.... He tried to help you with confidence...”

„Huh?!“

She heaved a deep sigh. Without looking at you, she gently taps you on the shoulder. "Do not disappoint him. That's an order! Next time you confess your feelings to him, speak up. Speak a little louder and be bit prouder. Not for nothing are you a proud lioness...“

à next chapter; 6A

***When you chose B above***

„Not only my brother noticed that. I already told you today, how amzing I think could become. No”, she shakes her head slowly but firmly, “how amazing you already are, (Y/N).”

She bent down to you again and put her fingers in your hair. She looked deep into your eyes before closing them. “The only one left to notice is you.”

The next moment you felt her lips on yours. United in a brief yet gentle kiss.

„This is something I wanted to do for so long now“, she whispered against your lips.

“Did you... did you just kiss me?!” You looked at her, blushing and incredulous.

***************************

Push her away carefully à B-1

Let her have her way à B-2

***************************

B-1:

„I am sorry if I sent the wrong signals to you. But...“ You grabed your lips in disbelief. Than you looked away. Tears come to your eyes, as you thought of Fuegoleon. „I can't. It would be unfair to your brother.... Unless I've never told him how I feel out loud enough, that doesn't mean I don't have feelings for him.” The first tears dropped over your nose down to your knees. You wiped them away quickly.

„I understand”, she said quietly with a pinch of sadness in her voice. „Don't think too much about this innocent kiss.”

She heaved a deep sigh. Without looking at you, she gently taps you on the shoulder. "Do not disappoint him. That's an order! Next time you confess your feelings to him, speak up. Speak a little louder and be bit prouder. Not for nothing are you a proud lioness...“

à next chapter; 6A

B-2

You bit your lips, not able to say anything. The fact that she not only told you about her feelings but now the kiss. Tears begun to swell in your eyes.

„Are you okay?” She asked concerned.

You nooded quietly before you wispered. „Even if we spent more less time together than I spent with Fuegoleon ... I feel so much closer to you somehow. Why is this, Mereo?”

The tears running down your face began to drip from your chin and she came closer to wipe them away. “You really are a crybaby, aren't you? Do you hate me that much?”

„No... I just feel guilty towards him... Also I never thought you are serious about this. I thought you wanted help me out. To get closer to your brother...“

“That's exactly what I wanted to do. But seeing you so sad all the time made me want to protect you. I wanted to show you how special you were to me. But...” Her eyes wandered to your bandaged arm. Her voice grew unusually quiet. Almost guilty. “But I've probably just been hurting you all this time...” “No.” You contradict her quietly, leaning towards her „I am not strong enoght to stand against you. Not only physical...“ Now it was you who placed her lips on hers.

à Go to Chapter 5.5

[greatpestilenz]

Starry Night Passion - Hobie x Reader

   As you and Hobie sat on the hood of his car, gazing at the starry skies, a sense of tranquility washed over you. The night was filled with the gentle breeze and the faint scent of smoke, creating an atmosphere of comfort and closeness. Both of you took occasional puffs from your joints, exhaling smoke that mingled with the night air.

   As you pointed out the constellations in the vast canvas above, Hobie's contentment was evident in his gaze. He cherished these moments with you, sharing both silence and conversation under the twinkling stars. The two of you had been dating for months, and there was a deep connection growing between you.

   "Look, Hobie," you said, tracing your finger along an imaginary line connecting the stars. "That right there is Orion's Belt. It's one of the most recognizable constellations in the night sky." You smiled, feeling a sense of joy in sharing your knowledge with him.

   Hobie leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with interest. "Really? I've seen it before, but I never knew what it was called. What else can you show me?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

   You continued to point out constellations, weaving stories of ancient myths and legends associated with them. From the graceful arc of the Big Dipper to the mythical tale of Perseus and Andromeda, you painted a vivid picture of the night sky and its celestial wonders.

   Hobie listened attentively, his eyes never leaving your face. Every now and then, he would interject with questions, eager to learn more. "And what about that cluster of stars over there? What's it called?" he asked, his finger tracing the sky in search of the unknown.

   "That's the Pleiades," you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. "Also known as the Seven Sisters. In Greek mythology, they were the daughters of Atlas, transformed into stars to escape the pursuit of Orion." The stories flowed effortlessly from your lips, each word creating a connection between you and the vastness of the universe.

   Hobie's admiration for you grew with each passing moment, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. He marvelled at your knowledge and the way you breathed life into the stars above, turning them into captivating tales.

   Breaking the silence, Hobie finally found the words he had been searching for. "You know," he began, his voice laced with sincerity, "the more I learn about the stars, the more I realize how lucky I am to have you in my life. You bring a whole new dimension to my world."

   Touched by his words, you felt your heart flutter. The connection between you and Hobie had grown deeper, intertwining with the cosmic beauty of the night sky. It was in this moment that you both realized the power of love and the immense beauty that surrounded you. You smile and lean against him, the night air now filled with your comfortable silence as you revere in the quiet beating of your hearts.

   Breaking the quietude once again, Hobie called out to you, his voice carrying a mixture of confusion and curiosity. You turned your attention towards him, waiting for him to express his thoughts. "What is it, Hobie?" you asked, wondering what was on his mind.

   Hobie took a moment, contemplating his words before speaking. "I kinda wanna do something," he said, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden urge for action. "Like what?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

   His eyes locked with yours, filled with determination and affection. "Like this," Hobie replied, reaching over to gently take the joint from your hand. As he did, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. Time seemed to stand still as your hearts connected, sharing a moment that transcended words.

   Breaking the kiss, Hobie's voice was soft and sincere. "I want you to feel all of my love," he whispered, his gaze unwavering. It was in this intimate night, beneath the starry skies, that the depth of your connection deepened, and you allowed yourself to fully embrace the love that Hobie had for you.

   In that intimate embrace, beneath the starry skies, you allowed yourself to be enveloped by Hobie's love. The night was filled with whispered promises and passionate kisses, each moment affirming the bond you shared.

   As the stars continued to shine brightly overhead, you and Hobie embarked on a journey of love and exploration. Together, you discovered that the universe was vast, but your love for each other was infinite. And in the embrace of the night, you found solace, knowing that your hearts were forever connected in this cosmic dance of love and stardust.