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pedrosyouknowwhat · 2 days ago

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under his grasp

Pairings: Dark! Suitor! Marcus Acacius x Queen! reader

warnings: noncon, cheating, victim blaming, oral (f receiving), threats of rape (not to reader), noncon insinuations (not to reader), breeding kink, unprotected p in v, violence, etc

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Seeing he had gone for good, you had dressed back into your wedding dress as it was the only comfort and clothes you had and decided to sleep in the marital couch, too scared that crawling in his bed would give him any ideas.

Morning came and you were up earlier than expected, sleep being scarce and more frightening than being awake. As your gaze searched around the room, the thick body of Acacius laid pleasantly in his bed. You tried to sleep longer, but handmaidens bustled into the room ready to prepare you for the first day of you endless nightmare.

They were quiet, Acacius’ handmaidens. They greeted you shyly, perhaps unknowing how to greet a Queen, and presented you a lavish turquoise gown; you allowed them to dress you as some stirred Acacius awake, but he batted them off, grumpily.

“I can dress myself.” He groaned, and you could tell that after he left you the night before, he had drunk.

Certain handmaiden caught your eye; she was young, similar to you physically, and she stood close to you. Her movements were timid, perhaps even more scared than the others. Your eyes followed her as she left the room.

True to his words, Acacius dressed himself in more casual robes; a beige picta. The silent was deafening, casting shadows over the dawn as you sat still, unaware of what to expect.

“When are we returning to the Palace?” You managed your courage to mutter, and Acacius finally posed his tired eyes on you.

“When you learn to be a good wife to me.” He answered sharply. “A husband cannot spend his nights looking for solace in another’s woman’s embrace.”

His words felt thick around him, his eyes glaring daggers. You felt a knot in your throat.

“Was that what you did after the events of last night?” You dared to ask him. He hesitated for a while, you could see it in his swerving eyes.

“Do not blame me, you decided not to comply.” He responded, and his feet padded closer to you, his broad figure becoming bigger and bigger.

“That didn’t deter you the other night.” You bit, rage lacing your words. “and I guess that didn’t deter you yesterday, as I can’t believe your other woman was whorish enough to sleep with a newly wed man.”

He chuckled at your words, pleased in his fantasy that you were portraying jealousy. “You would be surprise by how many girls like you dream of pleasing a General as myself.”

If that was true, then it felt unfair. For him to take you, just to dispose of you later, felt unfair. It all felt like a twisted joke, because despite not wanting him, he had done all of this for a reason.

“But just so you know,” He added, a sly grin on his face. “the one I bedded last night wasn’t compliant either.”

It felt like salt on a wound, and your face twisted into a bitter expression. He enjoyed it so much, the fight, your hatred, it fueled the fire in his loins.

“You are disgusting.” You spat, rising to your feet. “I cannot fathom how you portray yourself as the Hero-��

A sharp slap cut your words short, sending your face to the side as you gasped. His grip fell again on your face, now slightly more tender as he forced you to look at me.

“Oh, I am no Hero,” He sneered. “I am far more than that, I am your God now, and like Gods, I do not preach morality.”

You felt weak once again, but hatred still run through your veins as you glared at him. Your cheek stung.

“All this fighting has made me wanton.” He confessed, and your eyes widened in fear of his words. “after all, we must give Rome a heir.”

“You will be crowned King shortly,” You ushered, perhaps pleading. “you can have bastards and make them heir.”

He tutted at your excuses. “But I want you, darling; our heirs will rule Rome.”

“Why does it matter anymore?” You questioned, seeing impatience running through his features.

“Enough.” He barked, letting go of your chin. “Get on the bed.”

What if I say no?

What if I scream?

What if I comply?

Your mind raced, and he grew angry but you stood your ground. His lips almost curled into a smirk as he grabbed your forearms, as bruising as he had done the first night, and begun moving you towards the bed.

Your instinct kicked in, and you fought because complying was too humiliating for you. Kicking and clawing came to no avail as your back hit the soft, tousled fabrics of the bed.

“Are you going to behave or do I need to tie you down again and fuck you like a breeding mare?” He barked, and your arms grew weak under the threat. His gaze fell over the pretty dress that you wore, and he fought the urge to rip it apart. It was new, and a gift to you from him.

He opted for lifting your skirt and producing his manhood from beneath his robes. You didn’t want to look at it, feeling its weight on your leg was enough to tell you.

Your arms had fallen limp against the bed as he forced your thighs apart, presenting your cunt to his eyes.

“I realized I had forgotten something,” He confessed to you, and your mind screamed. “did not taste you properly yet.”

His dark eyes were set on you as he lowered his face to your exposed core, a pink tongue darting from his lips and licked a line along your seam. A whimper escaped your pressed lips, thighs shaking, and his mouth latched to you.

Like a man starved, he sucked your most intimate part, sending shivers along your body. Your nails dug into the covers, begging someone or something to stop the pleasure he was eliciting so darkly. But your hips buckled, making him even wilder as he thrusted his manhood into the bed. Like a man on a mission, he constrained his desires in order to get you to submit beneath him, which perhaps brought him more pleasure than the act itself.

A hand that was spreading your thighs apart let you free, but the limb curled itself into you, presenting yourself as soft mewls and squeaky moans left your lips. His fingers tangled themselves in the slick mess of arousal and saliva, pushing through your swollen walls; you jerked as he curled them inside, working your clit with his tongue.

There was a slight pain from the pressure, but it fueled the heat you felt, nipples pebbling against the silk of your dress and electricity jolting through you. Your thighs shut around his head, thick curls slightly matted from his efforts, and he knew.

A hand on your hip, holding you still, and now his digits thrusted in and out, fucking you until your legs wrapped around his neck, and you felt pressure relieve as you shot slick arousal directly into his face.

You didn’t care to try to reason what he had forced your body as you fell, spread, on the sheets, eyes lidded and throat hoarse from the war cry that had erupted from you.

Through your blurred vision you saw him rise on top of you, wiping you from his lips and face as his devoured all the essence you had poured onto him.

“No-” you whined as you felt the engorged tip of his cock pushing against your abused folds, hands rising to push at his chest.

“Come on, dumb girl,” he muttered at your skin, a hand gently taking your wrists above your head as the other propped your leg over his shoulder, letting himself slide right in with a pleased grunt. “I have pleased you, now do your duty.”

He sheathed himself in with a hiss, head bobbing back as your overstimulated core clenched around him. The sting had dissipated, and shame rose to your cheeks as you felt a need for it. The feeling, of needing to be fucked, pitifully reminded you of those nights along Lucius, the ones were his body heat felt like forbidden fruit, were you craved he would touch you, and were you would feel shame burn on you the next day as wild images blurred your thoughts.

But Acacius wouldn’t let you feel that need ever again, that you knew. He was an animal, biting into your soft skin as he rutted into you, as if trying to get closer. In a way, his assault felt like his desire to imprint on you, to make you yours, thing that he wouldn’t let you forget as he groaned and moaned it into your ear.

“There you are,” he mumbled, almost whispered, tightening the grip around your wrists unconsciously. “being fucking good for me, letting me fuck my wife.”

And you could fight it, you howled like a bitch in heat beneath him, letting General Acacius breed you despite the tears in your eyes. Your leg muscles stung beneath him, splayed like whore, for what felt like hours.

“Gonna finish inside you, paint your walls,” He panted into your ear before nibbling on your lobe. “gonna fuck the heir of Rome into you, dumb girl.”

True to his words, his pace picked up even more as he decided to finish the job. His grip snaked to your lower back as he pressed himself into you with a guttural groan, and you felt his sticky wetness inside of you, coating you; something you couldn’t clean up.

Perhaps this was for the better; the sooner you’d give him a heir the sooner he wouldn’t have an excuse to do this. But you knew that fantasy was unrealistic. Acacias had no excuse for enjoying the act so much.

His weight fell over you, shortening your breaths as you finally peered your eyes open, gaze cut by the mountains of muscular flesh of shoulder and back. The simple robe he had placed slipped from his body, and you felt sweat dampening as his torso pinned you down. His hand unwrapped his grip, knitting his fingers with yours. You begged he didn’t fall asleep.

But he didn’t, and you were grateful for that. Knowing he was crashing you, he tossed his body beside you on the bed. The silent rang in your ears; anticipation heavy, until he spoke.

“Each time you displease me, or deny me,” He said, threat and decisiveness in his voice. “I’d like you to think of our first night, and I’d like you to remember the pretty faces of the handmaidens I have here, at my power-and to know that I was considering you a Queen at the time.”

He had made his words clear.

#dark! marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #dark! marcus acacius x reader #dark fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gladiator #pedro pascal x reader #dark! pedro pascal #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator ll #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius

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tacitusk1llwhore · 3 days ago

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What's up, y'all? This post has been wildly anticipated, and I have literally spent days on it. So let's get right into it, yeah? The Van Der Linde Gang is not a family; it is not a group of down-and-outs living outside the law for freedom (not entirely). It is, in fact, a cult, or, at the very least, most of the time operates like a cult would. To understand this we have to know exactly what a cult is, so what is the definition of a cult? A cult (as according to Google) is a misplaced or excessive admiration for a particular person or thing. This is one of the many definitions. So there you are; it's a cult, case closed! Just kidding, I wouldn't make it that easy, so let's look deeper into cult mentality and how it relates to the VDL gang.

Let's look first at what some characteristics of a cult leader are, and then let's match them to Dutch as a person. Cult leaders are incredibly charismatic; they come off as personable, as these wonderful, easygoing people who accept those as they are and bring in those who have been deemed by society as undesirable. But what makes them so very charismatic? How is it so easy for them to fall into this role? Having an image of yourself rooted in grandiosity, not reality. But Dutch isn't like that! You cry, to which I say—hold on, I'm getting there. Dutch is like that; Dutch has always been like that. In the traditional cult sense, he doesn't believe himself to be god, nor does he proclaim himself supreme or anything that we typically associate with cults. What does he do then? He corrects himself; he blame-shifts, and often. One of the first hints that I got that maybe this guy isn't as cool as I thought he was was all the way in Colter. When speaking to Charles, Dutch tells him to get indoors, on account of the cold and his injured hand. This seems so sweet, something from genuine concern and care for someone under his leadership. Until he slips up in his language and says, "I—We need you strong." He starts off simply stating that he himself needs Charles strong, greatly overestimating the true need for Charles amongst the other gang members. Charles provides for the gang in the form of food, money, and little repairs. If something were to happen to Charles day-to-day, it wouldn't affect Dutch all that much. Who would it affect? Those that cannot hunt for themselves, Abigail, who can't leave camp on account of her son, those that rely on the men of the gang to provide for them. If there was a food shortage in the gang, Dutch would be just fine; he can hunt for himself. You know who probably can't? Tilly or Mary-Beth. By first and foremost stating that Dutch himself needs Charles strong before he switches to include everyone, we see the first sign of his exaggerated sense of self-importance. His use for Charles is exploitation; he can exploit his position, his lack of connection outside of the gang, to make him money. Others use it for Charles's basic necessities. It is also well known that Dutch is allergic to accountability, as we see in the phrase "You'll keep doubting me and we'll keep failing." This is said to Arthur after yet another one of Dutch's poorly executed and subsequently failed plans, through no fault of Arthur. Dutch needs a scapegoat; he cannot fathom that he himself makes poor choices, and so he narrows his perception, forcing a round peg through a square hole to frame himself as perfect. It was Abigail's fault that Hosea died; it's Arthur's doubt that makes their jobs not run smoothly; John isn't loyal anymore because of Abigail. Never once do we see Dutch take accountability, and we shouldn't expect him to, not when his sense of self is so insanely inflated.

Behaviors and body language also play into this; Dutch is very often seen standing, chest puffed, shoulders back, with a cigar in hand. He will stare off in silence, giving us this illusion that he's thinking, that he has all of these wonderful ideas running through his head so fast he simply has to take a pause to go through them all, to contemplate. Did you know that body language amongst cult leaders is typically comparable? This powerful, almost Superman-like pose is a common one amongst them; it exhibits power and confidence, combined with subtle, casual movements or actions, like smoking a cigar or rubbing the temples. This can and does give the illusion of not only intelligence but also power and empathy or deep contemplation. Dutch also dresses luxuriously; he wants to stand out against the gang as this intellectual genius. He wants to seem so much more well educated, with so much more money, so these people who are more intelligent than him but less confident or well off look at him and say, "Wow, I should follow him; he's doing well for himself; he's confident; he knows best." When in reality it's all a ruse, and body language, the set apart from the others, is another way he does this.

Now let's look at what I think is one of the most cult-like aspects of the VDL gang, and that is how they got their members. So many people say, "Oh well, how could anyone ever join a cult?" "Why not just leave?" "You'd have to be stupid to join a cult!" But the thing is, people do not purposely join cults. People are lured into cults in multiple ways: the promise of money, freedom, love, luxury, but most of all, family. You know who the prime targets for cults are? The marginalized, the poor, as well as the young, the naive, and the downtrodden. Take the analogy of the frog in water: if you slowly turn up the heat, the frog will boil alive—such can be applied to cults; no cult starts with these crazy behaviors, rules, or rituals; they condition you slowly, they put you into a position in which it is impossible to leave, and when you realize the truth, it's too late. Let's look at the stories of some of the members of the VDL gang, how they came to be. Arthur, taken off the streets after his abusive father was hanged, leaving him orphaned and destitute; John, saved from a mob trying to hang him for thieving, this, of course, after he was also orphaned and had run from an orphanage (orphanages in the 1800s were child workhouses); Tilly, who was rescued after running from her kidnappers, after killing one of them to escape. Javier, freshly in the US, running into Dutch while the pair were stealing chickens, Charles, a loner with no family who had been on his own for decades, accepted into the first group he's known that has treated him fairly. What do these stories all have in common? These people were all at their most vulnerable when they were picked up by Dutch; they all were destitute, poor, hungry, afraid, or searching for a place to belong. It's easy to indoctrinate those that have nothing waiting for them on the outside. Dutch preys on people who have nothing, because when you give people with nothing something—you buy their loyalty right with it.

These people are so very loyal to Dutch that they would die for him; they literally state it (or at least Arthur does). The framing of a family is also a common tactic; if you make these people see you as one big family, not little worker bees, you can convince them anything they do for you is doing something for their family—for the greater good, when in reality, it's for you—it's for your gain. These men are called "Dutch's Boys." This implies a fatherly role, almost infantilizing those under the leader and bolstering their importance within the dynamic. These men have killed, stolen, robbed, kidnapped, and done the worst of the worst for Dutch, under the guise of a better life for them and these people they care about, when in reality it's for Dutch and his ideas that never included them in the end. The rules themselves also point to a cultish dynamic; if you rat, or talk, or are considered a traitor in any way, you are killed. Molly was not the first to be killed for this; I doubt she was even the second. It was so bad at the end that people were sneaking away in the night; they knew truly they were never just free to leave, the thought, or fact, rather, that they would be potentially murdered in front of their fellow camp members outweighing any want or wish for goodbyes. Let this be a reminder that most of these people were so indoctrinated they watched a woman they had lived with and cared for be murdered in cold blood, then be burned rather than buried (a sign of disrespect then), and didn't say anything; they didn't try to stop it; they didn't even defend Molly. Uncle actually brought her back, knowing that she was drunk and hysterical, probably knowing what the outcome would be. We see Arthur, who was realizing the error of his ways and the error of the gang, try and stop things, and later Karen go off on Grimshaw in her drunken state, but besides looking a little shocked and then going right back to work, no one did anything or said anything. Reminder: that's not normal. Killing someone for a betrayal (that turned out to be untrue without further evidence in front of a group of people and presumably a child) with such ease and to state, "It's the rules." As an explanation, it is not a family unit; it is a cult.

I will say that just because this is a cult doesn't mean that Arthur seeing the gang as a family or those members calling themselves family is any less true. That dynamic was real for them,that love was real based upon personal relationships and at some point probably real for Dutch, but realizing that he could get away with anything because he gave these people everything turned slowly into something far more sinister. It went from taking from the rich, taking in the downtrodden to help them to, I saved you; now go do my bidding. These people saw him, saw one another as family, as friends and brothers, and he saw them as chess pieces; he states as much. Again, frog in hot water.

Is the VDL a cult? In many ways, yes—common cult tactics are used by the leader, including love bombing to the women and those who he has raised. Calling Arthur son, knowing he has no father, only when he wants something is manipulation; his interactions and the implications of the change in relationship between him and Molly also imply this. The VDL was never a true family as Dutch would have them believe or have us believe. Arthur is an unreliable narrator in that regard; that love was real, absolutely, but the unit, the scenario, wasn't. The VDL ran like a cult; Dutch was not a good person, and he knew exactly what he was doing the entire time.

That's my hot take for the day.

( @moeitsu I know you said you wanted to read my take on this so I figured id tag!)

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 community #red dead fandom #rdr2 fandom #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption community #rdr2 arthur #rdr1 #dutch van der linde #rdr2 dutch #van der linde gang

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whereangelsplay · 2 days ago

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taking a deep breath because this feels painfully vulnerable to do. i am in need of financial help. for the last year i have been trying my best to make it with as much dignity as i can but i am a point where i can't do it anymore. in december of 2023 i went on strike with my coworkers from our jobs at a coffee shop. our jobs were taken by other people and so we started a worker owned co-op cafe but about 4 months in 3 people left and since then it has been me and 2 other women of color. we have done the best that we could with our resources but people just stopped showing up and supporting us. i am fortunate to have a partner who has picked up a lot of the financial load but it is starting to affect our mental health, health in general. for the past 2 months i have been searching for a job and cannot land an interview. to say that my self esteem is low is an understatement at this point. with the slowness of january, i cannot afford rent or my phone bill. if you have the means to share and support, i kindly ask for any help. i have linked my venmo and cashapp below. thank you for reading. <3

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raayllum · 21 hours ago

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Can you explain why Claudia is so upset with Terry when they reunite after he leaves? And why Terry, of all people, looks so guilty with her that he can't even look her in the eye? It's one of those things where you know this should all be reversed, but isn't. Why? Why is the betrayer so hostile to the betrayed?

God I loved the messy as fuck whatever they had going on Claudia and Terry dynamic in S7, and I think there's a few reasons why

One of the cruxes of Claudia's character is that she is attached to seeing herself as a good person, and others as not-good by comparison. This means that she can engage in the exact same behaviour and justify it while assuming that others' reasonings couldn't possibly measure up.

This cognitive dissonance is not exclusive to Claudia (Callum and Rayla in particular have a tendency to justify each other's choices in ways they don't with other characters, i.e. Rayla viewing dark magic use being 'evil' except when Callum is using it and he's the 'goodest' person she knows) but the focus on 'my view of myself' largely is. Most other characters in TDP are focused on "I still view this other person as a good person," not being focused on "I view myself as a good person". But Claudia is, and it's this core desire being increasingly pitted against "I will do vile, awful things to keep my family together" that are constantly duking it out.

When Claudia finds Soren and Terry waiting for her, it's clear that not only has Terry joined her brother, but has turned against her (as he could've left and then just fucked off somewhere else). This association with Soren, I think, is one of the things that gets her haunches raised, since Soren made it very clear what he thinks the last time they saw one another in 4x07:

SOREN: You have to stop trying to release the greatest evil this world has ever known. CLAUDIA: I knew you wouldn't understand.

All Claudia hears is "there's something wrong with you." That she's the bad guy and on the Wrong side (which, to be fair, Soren also calls her and Viren bad humans when trying to wake Rex Igneous in 4x09). And, by extension, that Soren is better than her. More correct, more moral, more Right.

And Claudia cannot stand feeling judged. She cannot stand being treated like 'the bad guy' (because of course from her perspective, everything she does is right) and she struggles to hold a conception of "I did something genuinely wrong and can still be a good person" (see: "We're not going to the dungeons Soren, we didn't do anything wrong") usually leaning into one or the other, and normally the latter.

So Terry being with Soren is also "you think I'm wrong, you think I'm bad, and you think you're Better than me" (vs Aaravos' "believed we could be better, so he gave us magic"). She thinks the pair are there to stop her, and she's not wrong, on a certain level.

So when Soren makes a gesture of good will, openly contingent on Terry wanting to spare her ("You're here to save me? How generous [...] I can change, and you will help me. Did I get everything?" Karim vibes), it's just seen as "you're showing off how/why you think you're Better than me" and was, quite frankly, never going to work.

Soren setting down his sword came closer, as it's more reciprocal, and it also symbolizes Soren setting down his mantle/duty (the same sword that killed Viren the first time, presumably). But Soren makes another mistake; the same mistake he made in 4x07:

Dad is dead, Claudia. You don't have to do what he wants anymore.

Set down your staff, Claudia. Dad's staff.

But while Claudia has been doing stuff for Viren, she hasn't done what he wanted in a long time. She's been doing what she wants ("You are not letting go, Dad!") for a hot second, and now alongside Aaravos. (I need to write a scene on her and Aaravos' talk in 7x06, but that's for another day.) And that has included taking down elves and dragons as a whole (and any elf that doesn't help her) for a while.

The dragons and the elves, all the arrogant fools blinded by the searing light of their own self-righteousness.

They are wrong, and she and Aaravos are right ("So much we can make right"). This is a very black-and-white viewpoint in many ways, one that some characters are faster as dismantling than others, but I have no doubt that Arc 3 will push it to its breaking point for all of them. Soren and Terry have thrown in their loyalties with the elves and dragons, since Terry was previously a "good elf Exception" alongside Aaravos because they were both helping her and, as previously discussed, Terry has now turned against her, and all the baggage Claudia carries about such a thing is now dumped onto him by proxy (which Terry doesn't necessarily know or understand).

So what does he look so guilty over?

Honestly? The illusion plan. I'm sure he's worried that Claudia might get hurt, and that things might escalate / go south, but he is ultimately there with a plan that is not what he wanted. What Terry wanted was to find the real Lissa and give Claudia a real chance to connect with her mother and maybe change her ways. But it's not real. It's deception, and he knows it.

TERRY: You lied to me! AARAVOS: I never lie. I simply said we needed a big feather and a very small feather. That is all. TERRY: No. You say you never lie, what you do is worse. You tell people half-truths and let people fill in the rest. You make people lie to themselves. It's deception. It's manipulation, and it's wrong.

She betrayed him, and now in his own way he's betraying her.

So what makes him decide to turn around and do something... similar, shall we say? There's a few things. The first is that they're on a time limit and have no way to reach Lissa. The second is that it's plausible the others were going to do it anyway, and Terry accompanied them because 1) he couldn't stop them, 2) he felt responsible, and 3) hoped that his presence would make a positive difference to Claudia.

The second is the other half of what Aaravos says to Terry, I think.

TERRY: I'll tell Claudia. AARAVOS: Oh, it will change nothing. She loves me. [...] And what of Claudia, then? She knows so much more than she tells you, and she keeps it that way to protect you.

Now, Terry rightfully understands that Claudia wasn't keep things from him to protect him; she did it to use him and to keep him from leaving ("I knew he'd leave once he found out"). However, Terry being willing to live in a half-truth and employ one on Claudia because he genuinely believes it will help her, because he thinks it's a truth he needs to withhold to protect her ("You have to promise me that no harm will come to Claudia" is most easily kept if she backs down)... that I can believe, especially since it lets him believe that she's capable of change/quitting. He wants to Save her, not use her.

That doesn't mean he thinks it won't Hurt.

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paxaz535 · 20 hours ago

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Brothers Best Friend

♡pairing ♡

paige x black!oc

chapter iv

chapter i , chapter ii , chapter iii

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it was 9:30 when daveli heard voices entering her room. She was still kind of sleep but the voices were waking her up. she stirred and looked over her shoulder. she could’ve sworn she heard paige’s voice, she was confused.

she decided to sit up slowly, “SURPRISE!” She jumped at the loud sound. She finally opened her eyes to see Angelica, David, Paige and Makayla. Daveli rubbed her eyes to see Angelica had a mini cake with a candle that said 18, Makayla ana Paige had sparklers while David had those party horns that you get at little kids birthday parties.

“What the…” Angelica cut her off. “You better not finish that sentence.” Daveli just laughed, covering her face. “thank you guys but I look so dusty right now.” Makayla laughed and jumped on her best friend. “Wake up! You’re 18.” Daveli hugged her, excited to see her best friend after some weeks.

“Hurry up and get ready so we can go to this mall.” Angelica spoke as she gave the cake to eli. Eli blew out the candle and sat the cake on her nightstand. Angelica then gave the three other young adults a look and left the room. Paige, David and Makayla just nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.

Daveli didn’t peep it, she was too busy trying to make sure the cake didn’t fall off the nightstand. “My baby sister all grown up.” David spoke as he flopped on her bed. Paige came around and sat next to Eli, pulling her in for a hug. “look at you, kiddo.” daveli shook her head, “you officially cannot call me that anymore.” Paige just laughed, they both knew she was gonna continue to call her that.

“Okay, let me freshen up, please.” Everyone got up from the bed and Daveli went to the bathroom to do her routine. “Wait, what time did Angelica want us to go decorate the room?” Makayla whispered as she looked at the two. “I think she said around 11? no later than 3 because i’m pretty sure eli rented out the pool from 6 to 10.” Paige answered as the three left the room.

Daveli came downstairs. She had on a long white dress with elegant ruffles at the end with black heels and a mini black purse. she styled her braids in a half up half down style and to finish it off, she had a soft but natural make up look. She made sure to bring some crocs cause she was not walking around the mall in some heels.

Makayla was the first to notice and immediately squealed. Daveli laughed, seeing everyone turn her way. “you actually look decent for once.” David commented as he turned off his phone. Daveli flipped him off. Angelica was still in her room, getting ready.

When she didn’t hear anything from paige, she turned to see blue eyes already looking at her. She giggled, “what, p?” Paige just shook her head. “You’re just really pretty.” She spoke softly, a grin on her face. Daveli cheesed, “Thank you.” she look over to see makayla smirking and shaking her head.

Angelica came out, she had on a black pencil dress with some heels and her hair was in a up do. “Aw, look at my baby.” Daveli smiled, going in to hug her. “You’re so beautiful.” They pulled away. “Thank you, mommy.” Angelica stepped into the kitchen to get something.

“Here.” Daveli looked to see a cute silver tiara. Angelica placed it on her head. “This is too cute. Thank you.” Angelica then went to grab her keys and made sure she had everything. “Let me take a picture of you.” Makayla spoke.

“Okay, come on, we can go outside.” Daveli walked towards the door, “Ma! we finna go take pictures!” Angelica just said okay, “yall come too.” Daveli spoke as she looked at the best friends. “Actually, we were just gonna play the game…” David started but Paige got up and grabbed him by his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

After taking pictures, Angelica finally came out. “Okay, I’m ready, let’s go. Yall gotta be at the hotel by 4.” They nodded, “Okay. have fun, Eli!” Makayla spoke. The two got in the car and pulled off, Eli waving at them.

Makayla peeped Paige looked at the 18 year old before she left, she had to keep it in mind.

______________

“Where you wanna go first?” Angelica asked her daughter as they entered the mall. Daveli thought about it, then immediately answered, “I’ve been needing to go to Victoria Secret and Bath & Body Works. those are my top priorities.” Angelica laughed and nodded her head, “Okay baby. it’s your day.” They began to walk into Victoria Secret and the first place Eli went to was the underwear section. she seen some she had wanted a while back so she’s grateful that they’re still in here.

Daveli knew herself so she made sure to grab everything she NEEDED before she spent all day in there. If she could, she’d buy the whole store. “Okay, I’m ready.” They were on to Bath & Body Works.

———

The clock struck 10:40 and Paige found herself playing the game with David. Makayla had to go pick up some things for the party and said she’d be back before 12. The blonde had finally got the confirmation by her friends about the party and was excited that most of them were available.

11:23 pm yesterday

p: yo

are yall free this weekend?

today at 10:00

az: yea i should be

carol: yerppp

jaida: yea twin

p: ight

slide to eli’s hotel party tdy around 4

we staying till sunday

everyone: bet

“Yo, dave. what should I get Eli?” David looked over at her and back to the screen. “Uh.. She likes flowers.” Paige then nodded her head, she set the controller down and grabbed her car keys. “P? come on man, I was just about to whoop your ass.” David spoke as he paused the game. “I’ll be back, bro. just like play by yourself.” David groaned and just turned the game off completely. now that he thinks about it, he should probably get his sister something too.

————-

When Daveli and Angelica was at the food court, Daveli got a text. She looked down to her phone to see it was her dad. Her face slightly dropped and her mom noticed that. “What’s wrong?” She asked. Daveli looked at the screen before showing her mom what she saw.

Angelica put down her lemonade and looked at her daughter. “you gonna reply?” Daveli sighed, she wasn’t expecting to hear from him today. it was almost too much. but who says he won’t text again? she might as well. “I guess.” Angelica just nodded, going to take a bite of her pretzel.

dad :/ : hi sweetheart

happy 18th. here’s 500

hope you enjoy today

eli: thank you

Angelica shrugged, “hey. at least you got 500.” Daveli just chuckled, a part of her was still upset but she couldn’t really do anything about it. The time was now 12:15 and Eli wanted to hit 2 more stores before they left. She still had to pack since she just bought a new bathing suit and some pajamas. Angelica agreed and they both left the food court. She then seen she got a text from Makayla.

makayla: hey momma

we at the hotel

just letting you know

angelica: okay sweetie

send me a picture when yall done

makayla liked this message

—————

When Daveli got home, she was met with an empty house. Angelica had somewhere to be so it was just her. She wondered where everyone went so she decided to facetime call Makayla.

Makayla was putting up a birthday sign and other decorations while Paige and David got the plates and napkins set out. Makayla had her friend Emma bring bored games and set those up in a specific spot in the room. It was the four of them helping out while music was playing in the background.

All of a sudden, the music stopped. “Facetime call from Eli Baby” Everyone paused. “Oh shit.” David spoke as he walked closer to Makayla. The girl told everyone to keep quiet and she answered the phone. “Hey girl.” Makayla spoke.

Eli was in her room, she had her duffle bag out while packing some clothes for the weekend. “Hey, kay. Where is everybody? the whole house empty.” Makayla quickly glanced at the three and looked back at her camera. “Uh, I had to pick some stuff up and I think P and David are at the store.” Makayla lied as she noticed David throw his hands up.

Makayla shrugged in defense, not knowing what else to say. “Oh okay.. well, i’ll be here.” Eli spoke as she looked at the girl. Makayla nodded her head, “Okay, we all should be there soon.”

——————

It was now 3:30 and everyone was back at the house. Makayla told eli she had to pick up emma, which eli didn’t have a problem. She loved emma and they got along well so she was excited that she was coming. Paige came back with a book bag, probably with her clothes and david didn’t pack yet so he was doing that right now.

Paige had got the girl a bouquet of pink flowers but she left it in the car, she wanted it to be a surprise. She had to make david get her something actually nice, if she didn’t he’d end up getting her a plushie and called it a day. He ended up getting her new The Weeknd posters to hang around her room since she loved that man so much.

Eli finally finished all her packing and was downstairs chilling with paige, makayla and emma. “you excited?” the blonde asked the younger girl. Eli sighed happily and nodded. “Yea.. kinda nervous though. knowing David, he probably invited the whole city.” Paige just chuckled, nodding her head.

“Well, I only invited three people. you know one of them actually.” Daveli looked over at her, “Azzi?” She asked. Paige nodded her head, a smile on her face. Daveli just smiled, she loved Azzi. The curly head girl was always so sweet to her, they had met when eli was 15.

Daveli then remembered who was coming and looked over at the two girls. “Guess who the fuck David invited.” Makayla and Emma turned towards her, their smile dropping. “Who?” Makayla had a feeling, Emma had a thought but she fully didn’t know.

Eli looked at them like, ‘yall know exactly who i’m talking about’ Makayla then snapped her head towards Emma and back at Eli. “No.” Daveli nodded. “Wait, who?” Emma asked, looking at the two. “Girl, Nai.” Makayla answered, making Emma gasp. “No, he didn’t.” Daveli just nodded, “Yes, he did. He being messy.”

Paige was gonna ask Eli something about the Nai girl but was cut off by David rushing downstairs. “What yall doing? It’s already 3:45, we gotta go.” Daveli rolled her eyes and got up, “took you long enough. Ma!” Angelica came out her room, she wasn’t going to stay because one, she had work, and two, everyone grown as hell. They didn’t need a chaperone, they knew better.

“We about to go, okay?” Eli spoke as she came to give her momma a hug. Angelica nodded, “Okay sweetheart. yall be safe! don’t do nothing to get yourselves in trouble.” Everyone nodded and waved their byes at the woman. “Alright, i’m guessing everybody taking their own cars?” David asked.

“Yea, might as well. Yall following me?” Eli asked as she stood by her car door. Everyone agreed and got into their cars. Daveli was the first to pull off and everyone followed, hopefully this goes well.

ok so i know i said things were gonna get interesting this chapter but i realized the chapter would’ve been way too long

but i promise chapter 6 is where all the good stuff happens

just enjoy this !

taglist - @melpthatsme @prettygirl-gabi @rebecca-woso @starfulani @avvwritesstufff @evry1luvzaee

#uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #basketball #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fic

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gundamthey17 · 1 day ago

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Day 5 of Payneland Promptfest 2024

I am in fact still working on the Payneland Promptfest 2024 prompts..... maybe I'll finish by December of 2025

Day 5: Snuggling (alive!au)

(the ao3 link has more info about the backstory for this au if anyone's curious. it's not super necessary for this fic, but i spent an inordinate amount of time on it because i am incapable of writing a story without context)

Summary: The Dead Boy Detectives (who are actually very much alive, thank you) find that the heat has broken in their flat-slash-office.

xxx

23 December 1990

“Charles, do stop kicking the radiator.”

"You tried your way. Now it's my turn, innit."

Edwin, who was seated at the desk and holding the phone to his ear, sighed. "If tools were ineffective, I highly doubt blunt force will do the trick."

"Won't know until we try, will we?"

Edwin rolled his eyes as Charles continued kicking.

"What did maintenance say?" he asked between kicks.

"I am still on hold."

"Bloody brills."

Edwin pinched the bridge of his nose, a sure sign of a budding headache. Charles knew he ought to stop kicking the radiator, but he needed to vent his frustration somehow.

"You are not going to accomplish anything beyond potentially hurting yourself or breaking it further. If you would just be - yes, hello." Edwin motioned for Charles to be quiet. He covered one ear as he spoke into the phone. "Yes, that is correct. No, we still have power, just no heat... I beg your pardon?"

Charles looked up at the change in Edwin's tone. 'What?' he mouthed, but Edwin shook his head and continued speaking.

"But we have no heat! It is snowing, for heaven's sake! Is there no way you can - but I - very well. We will see you then." Edwin hung up the receiver with more force than was strictly necessary.

"What did they say?"

"As it is currently after business hours, and the start of a holiday, they cannot send anyone out to fix the heat until Wednesday."

"What? Can't you try the emergency maintenance number?"

"That was the emergency number. Apparently, lack of heat in December does not constitute an emergency," Edwin said, his voice dripping with contempt.

"What a load of bollocks!" Charles looked around their flat-slash-office. He shivered. "They seriously expect us to spend three days like this?"

"Evidently so."

"Bollocks," Charles said again.

Half an hour later, Edwin was still sitting at the desk. He had put on his coat, but otherwise seemed to be steadfastly ignoring the rapidly falling temperature inside the office.

Charles, wearing two jumpers and his jacket, had other ideas. He was in the process of raiding the bedroom and the closet for every single blanket they owned, and tossing them into a growing pile on the small couch. Even the tiny, crocheted throw blanket got added to the pile. (They had received it as partial payment for a case. It was canary-yellow and supposedly enchanted to always smell good without ever needing to be washed. It was too small to really make a difference, but Charles had already committed to finding every blanket, so onto the pile it went.) He muttered a steady stream of curses under his breath as he worked. When he had gathered every last blanket, and the couch itself was hardly visible anymore, he climbed into the middle of the pile and nestled himself in. Even after all of that, Charles was still shivering.

He also hadn’t grabbed anything to entertain himself with, or turned on the telly, before settling into his blanket nest. And once he was inside, he was loath to come out again. Surely, at some point, physics would take over and the blankets would have to start doing their job. Surely Edwin would finish whatever he was working on and – and what? Talk to him? Anything to occupy his mind and distract him from both the boredom and the bloody freezing office. He tried to wait it out, to be quiet and patient and let Edwin work.

He did not last long.

“Edwin,” Charles whined.

Edwin hummed but did not look up from his writing.

“I’m still cold.”

“And what exactly would you like me to do about that?”

It was a good question, that. Charles hadn’t actually thought about it. But the answer became immediately obvious. “Come sit with me.”

Edwin’s pen stopped. He glanced up at Charles. “What?” he asked, and there was a slight edge to his voice that Charles didn’t know how to interpret.

“Please? It’ll be warmer with both of us.”

"I find it improbable that you can still be cold under all those blankets."

"I've got bad circulation. Look!" Charles held out his hand. True to his word, his fingertips were pale and bloodless.

Edwin frowned at that, but he shook his head. “I am busy. We have a case, if you recall.”

“So? It’s a holiday, and clearly no one else is working. If emergency maintenance can take a holiday, we ought to be able to.”

“I am sorry, Charles. There is simply too much to do.” Edwin started writing again.

"Edwin! If you don't come over here, I'm gonna freeze to death."

"Charles," Edwin said in a scolding tone. "Given your history, you should not joke about such things."

"Given my history, I'm allowed to joke about such things," Charles retorted. "Come on, I know you’re cold too. I can see you shivering."

Edwin sat up straighter and pulled at the collar of his cardigan. “I am perfectly fine.”

Charles sighed. He suspected now that he knew the true cause of Edwin’s reluctance, but he was unsure if he ought to press the issue. The wind picked up, rattling the window, and Charles shuddered reflexively. Abandoning caution, he said, "Look, mate, I know you don't like touching, but if there was ever a time -"

"I never said I don't like touching," Edwin said quickly.

Charles looked at him curiously. "Didn't have to say it, did you. You go stiff every time I so much as pat your shoulder."

Edwin set down his pen and pressed his fingertips together. "I... am not used to it," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "But that doesn't mean I do not like it."

“Would you be willing to give it a shot? Please?” Charles hated the note of desperation that had crept into his voice. “I’m really bloody cold, mate.”

Edwin sighed and stood up. "Let me put the kettle on, and then I'll join you."

"Aces!" Charles couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

—--

Charles made an opening in his mountain of blankets so that Edwin would be able to sit next to him on the couch. Edwin handed him a steaming mug of tea and took his seat. They wrapped the blankets around themselves, their shoulders just barely brushing together.

Charles stared pensively out the office window at the falling snow. "Do you ever think about what would happen if we got caught? Do they arrest people for truancy? Or would they just split us up and force us to go back to our parents?"

"I think the latter is the most likely, though I shudder to think of the consequences. My father would have me institutionalized."

"For reals?" Charles turned to look at Edwin, but Edwin's eyes remained focused on the opposite wall.

He nodded. "He said as much before sending me to the school." They never mentioned St. Hilarion's by name if they could help it. "Said it was my last chance to prove that I could be... normal."

Charles snorted derisively. Then, feeling like that wasn't enough to fully communicate his disgust, he added, "That's bollocks."

"That is all assuming, of course, that the demon does not find me first." They never used Sa'al's name either. Edwin was unsure whether it could hear its name being spoken, and neither of them were keen to find out.

"That thing is not gonna take you away from me. Not a chance in – well, you-know-where." He gave a crooked grin.

The ghost of a smile flitted across Edwin's face. He took a cautious sip of his tea before asking, "And what about your parents?"

With a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Charles said, "My dad would probably just beat me senseless. He’s done it for lesser offenses." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and let out a single, humorless chuckle.

Edwin finally looked at him. "I will make sure that never happens again," he said fiercely.

Not quite knowing what to say, Charles nodded. "Cheers to that," he muttered, lifting his mug.

"It is irrelevant anyway. We are not going to be caught. We are presumed dead; no one is looking for us. We just have to make it for another year, and then we will be of age and we won't have to worry about the police or our parents."

"And we're gonna figure out how to undo a demon sacrifice, so we won't have to worry about that bastard anymore either."

Edwin's brow knitted. "I do not know if the ritual can be nullified without the caster. Since Simon and the others are all dead, it may not be possible."

"We will figure out a way. I promise."

Edwin suddenly pushed the blankets off and stood up. Charles’ face crumpled as he feared he’d gone too far. Edwin noticed and smiled placatingly. "It is all right. I'm just getting a book."

Charles sighed, relieved. He smiled too, a genuine one this time. "Brills! How about another one of those Poirot stories? I like him. He's a fun chap."

"He is a fun chap," Edwin agreed. He grabbed a large hardcover book from the bookshelf nearest to the desk, and returned to the couch.

Charles shifted under the mound of blankets so that he could put his arm around Edwin's shoulders. "This okay?" he asked quietly.

Edwin nodded. He cautiously leaned back against Charles' arm before opening the book. "What about The Adventure of the Clapham Cook? I do not believe we have read that one yet."

"Don't think so. Let's hear it."

Edwin cleared his throat. "At the time that I was sharing rooms with my friend Hercule Poirot, it was my custom to read aloud to him the headlines in the morning newspaper, the Daily Blare.”

—

Several short stories later, Charles had fallen asleep. His head lolled against Edwin's shoulder. Edwin was surprised to find himself feeling quite comfortable. Between the blankets and their combined body heat, he hardly noticed the frigid temperature of the room. He gently set the book aside. Then, hesitantly, he rested his head against Charles'. Charles did not stir. With Charles' comforting warmth next to him, and his soft curls under Edwin's cheek, Edwin closed his eyes. Soon, he too fell asleep.

#paynelandpromptfest2024 #fanfic #my writing #alive au #they both ran away from st hilarion's in 1989 #snuggling for warmth #charles hates being cold #edwin wasn't born in 1900 he's just Like That #payneland #edwin payne #charles rowland

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bigassmoth · 1 day ago

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Something so enticing about a post-apocalypse yandere

Someone dependable who you know will never ice you over resources or possible death. Its scary at times, they seem to consider killing you so "you wouldnt have to endure anymore", but their intense affection for you always wins out.

They dont let you do any dangerous work, so you are put in charge of the base camp. There is only the two of you- and there will never be anyone else. Your companion cannot share you- but they will insist its because outsiders will be a liability and ultimately betray you. So socially isolated you assume your companion has good intentions. When they touch your face, tuck your hair behind your ear, inhale your scent when they hug you- contact they want before they leave the safety of the base. You are lonely too, which is why you let them slide into bed with you and wrap their scarred arms around you. So desperate for human contact that you feel yourself getting wet and hot when their breath tickles your ear.

"Ah...you should have told me. No- it's my fault that I didnt notice sooner." Their voice is so soft and gentle- a voice that has walked you through so much panic and grief. Their rough hands are on you, stroking your legs and ass at a slow pace.

"We should do this...so you can get some sleep." Their fingers dip into your underwear. You dont know how much time passed and how many shuddering orgasms you unleashed with your body pinned between theirs and the wall. Their fingers worked you again and again with a lazy roughness- a result of their marred skin and dexterity. While their mouth lavished your neck with gentle but wet kisses.

Any number of excuses pop up. They join you in the shower, they pull you into their lap during breakfast, they steal your attention from your games.

"To keep your stress down"..."To make sure youre healthy"..."Mental enrichment"..."To save on water"

Of course you dont need any excuse when you kiss the corner of their mouth and ask them to fuck you into oblivion.

As time wears on and resources bounce back from a lack of predation while nature reclaims the space, your survival is easier. They scavange for toys as your lazy days have facilitated frequent fornification.

What you will never know is the number of other survivors they encountered. Some matched their wariness and they parted with a mutual understanding. Most were friendly- wanting to tag along with them or recruit them to their group after witnessing their survivor skills. "Of course we always welcome more hands! Are you traveling with anyone else?" They dont answer, no one needs to know about you. Persistant individuals are killed- they dont trust that some annoying liability wont follow them back to you and attempt to persuade you directly.

When they come back they are extra clingy. Burying themself into your embrace as soon as they have cleaned up. Your gentle hands on their scalp and back, your concerned voice.

"If we ever met other survivors, would you want to join them?" You assume they are distressed after another isolating experience outside.

"Hm, if you trusted them then yes I would. It would certainly lessen your workload." You comfort them, "Im sure we will meet someone at some point. It cant possibly be only us."

They take your comfort in a different direction. Its fine that they killed that enthusiastic man today- because they didnt trust them. You wouldnt mind living with out people, so there was no other survivors they could ever trust. Elimination was necessary.

They grumble their agreement while falling asleep against you. Your complaints about needing to get up and make dinner fall on deaf ears. Once they feel like it they will prepare food, lovingly provide and care for you the way that only they are allowed to.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere smut #zombie yandere #survivor yandere #yandere apocalypse

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justcameheretobyler · 3 days ago

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As a writer, I really doubt they won’t make Byler endgame.

I’m not that good with the cinematography hints or some other details like clothes or lighting.

But, the subtle way the characters interact, the lines they say, I always use that for foreshadowing and to imply a feeling the character is not able to express (or is not totally aware of it yet)

So, in this perspective, I was glad when I got introduced to Byler cuz Mike is my favorite in narrative speaking and some things from s3 and s4 were kind of off even knowing he’s a 16 years old kid and that could explain his flaws while growing up.

But the reason I liked Mike is for his awareness in moments of crisis his loved ones have and the leadership nature in him, also the fact he’s always a step ahead of any situation, specially when he needed to reassure Will or El how important they are for him and that they’ll be okay.

He also reassured Dustin he’s his best friend too.

That’s Michael.

So, why a character that cares so much for how his people are feeling, even with the trauma and his explosive reactions at times, how that kind of character would be so inconsistent with the two people he cares the most?

He needs to have a reason.

Mike is the heart of the party. I do think he’s a very important character for the writers.

So it cannot just be a coincidence or them trying to make him dirty.

He’s struggling, he’s suffering, so he’s messing up things that he can’t handle anymore.

He’s hiding something the audience could know if they pay attention, but the idea of a writer is that you don’t know it.

If you don’t know it, that’s better.

It makes me so happy when a reader comes to me like: omg I didn’t see that coming! But it makes sense!!

That’s what a writer wants, that’s what we’re looking for.

But it was too much deceiving, the GA couldn’t see it at all, so they had to literally say Will was in love with Mike. Cuz Will was the harder to read.

Even with the van scene people still can’t read the room.

So Noah had to literally say it out loud: WILL IS SO GAY AND IN LOVE WITH MIKE.

The writes know what they’re doing. They know the GA is convinced on the ElMike thing so the plotwist coming from Mike is easier and more interesting.

So, as a writer I just cannot see ElMike “happy ending” they got too messy and they don’t even try to show chemistry anymore (talking about their acting and dialogues). Which is not the same with Mike and Will scenes. You can say they take a good care of their lines and everything else.

I could talk about Will and El side, but I have seen enough posts about those two.

May be later.

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame

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kii-nami · 3 days ago

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WHITE COMET'S DESCENT | IL CAPITANO

You never state for what reason you are holding him back, but it is already obvious. The Commander of the Khaenri’ahn army went missing with one swift strike of the starbound ice. You don’t seem to think of people as disposable yet cannot bring yourself to warm the snake’s nest willingly. Thrain shares the sentiment: he has never been a fan of holding his enemies closer than his friends. And despite your peculiar character, this is definitely something Thrain cannot fault you for. Queen [Name] Einherjar is incapable of trusting even herself. He fears that one day it can become your downfall. He accepts the position with no hesitation, yet it does not save either of you from damnation.

CW: 9K WORDS; PART TWO OF TWO; FEM!MC; MADE-UP KHAENRI'AHN LORE; OCS MENTIONED; PART OF A WIDER GENSHIN AU BY ME AND MY FRIEND; INCLUDES A NECESSARY MAVUIKA NERF; IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS FEEL FREE TO ASK, I NEED TO RANT ABOUT HOW THEY BUTCHERED NATLAN

His lady cannot die, as she buried her own mortal flesh under the Sea of Flowers at the End a very long time ago.

It takes five years of your companionship and the watchful eye of the Crimson Moon for Thrain to learn that you do not deem yourself a living being. You have died twice and twice you’ve been reborn as someone else in a corpse of the white comet long faded. And now, the rapidly evaporating ice that makes up your body is all they can ever have.

Not that they will have anything at all for much longer.

You entrusted him with Saga’s life. Ordered to accompany her, Lumine and Alice through the collapsing terrains to the closest gate that can take them up above. Whatever is in the box the witch forced him to carry, Thrain doesn’t know and does not dare ask. Not that he is able to complete his mission, as halfway through their journey Alice, startled by Skirk’s sudden appearance, orders him to immediately return to the palace. In all honesty, Thrain has no right to comply with Red Witch’s demands; your word will always weigh more especially under such circumstances. Yet something in the way their hushed, tense conversation seems to be moved more by the inconspicuous glances than the careful choice of words that makes Thrain stop questioning Alice’s choice.

Lumine departs with him, lips tightly pressed together and strained muscles stonier than usual. They never truly got to know each other, so the silence is a bit overwhelming right until the point Twilight Sword appears, barricading their path. Distraught and somehow guilty, Dainsleif tries offering his side of the story. Lumine unsheathes her sword without much of a word, just throwing a nod towards the desolate, floating island to the west of the royal palace. Then she strikes first.

Whatever happens next Thrain does not know. Those closest to you wish for someone to return to your side no matter what, and if it so happens that they can’t do so anymore, then he will become that person in their stead.

When Thrain arrives at the Einherjar family’s burial grounds, his platoon is already waiting for him. Anxious and horrified, they scurry to let him pass to the entrance of the building. The air of the royal tomb is dry yet heavy, the marble and diamond follow his every step, vacant eyes of the statues watching him pass by. You are nowhere to be found but the dull light flickering at the end of the dimly lit corridor is guiding Thrain in the right direction. He stops at the heavy doors, creaked ajar just enough for a person to barely slip in and slides it fully open.

“Princess Saga has departed safely, along with Lady Alice and the box.” Thrain enters Lady [Name]’s crypt without announcing his presence. You can hear his footsteps, for better or for worse, and he guesses there isn’t much time to abide by etiquette now that the sky is falling.

As if expecting him, you are already facing the entrance with your misty eyes gazing right through him, “I am glad.” You say, hastily turning away. “What about Lumine?”

The Bough which crowns your head looks particularly heavy when you take it off and place it on Lady [Name]’s tomb. No headpiece and no extravagant braids, no diamonds woven into your hair and no flowing silks or sheer tulles clinging to your skin. You look more like a soldier than a royal, yet something in the way your shoulders quiver under the weight of your cape prevents Thrain from forgetting that you are, in fact, a queen. His lady. Now and until the memory of this world fades away.

“The last I’ve seen of her, she deserted…” Thrain cuts himself off, picking and choosing what is better suited to say to you in this moment. Watching your hand trembling on top of the stone of the first princess’ tomb, Thrain is sure that any careless word will surely send you spiraling. “To engage in battle with the former Captain of the Royal Guard, my lady.”

He must have made the right choice for once, and you huff. “Whatever helps her sleep at night.” Unclasping your cape, you throw it mindlessly onto the marble casket and face him once more, this time focusing on Thrain instead of the horrors hiding behind his back. A second of silence. Then another. With unblinking eyes, you unapologetically stare at Thrain as if you were seeing him for the first time in your life. And when you address him at last, there is a foreboding sense of finality laced into your tone, “Commander, I wish to formally dismiss you from your duties. You and your platoon may leave this place for good.”

Thrain expected as much. It is evident in the way you sent all those dear to you away long before the ground started shaking. It’s not even a bit surprising now that everything is done you are trying to push him away as well. And Thrain is a knight first and foremost, he was taught to never question any orders and follow them with no complaints even if it is only death that waits him when it’s all over. Yet here you are, relieving Thrain of his duty so he can preserve his life. A life that is not of equal value to that of a queen. A life that to you is far more precious than that of your own self.

Hands crossed over his chest, Thrain rewrites fate of this world for the worst, “I am afraid I must decline your offer, my lady.”

It is not something Thrain says after weighing all his options, but something that happens on its own, with not much thought yet with all the urgency of the collapsing ground below your feet. Your death would mark the loss of the Plane of Fólkvangr, and with the world as he knew it no longer existing, there is no point in preserving his life if the souls in his restless heart have no place to return to.

“That is not a suggestion, that is an order, Sentinel Knight.” Your voice is firm and icy, leaving no room for arguments. “Abandon Khaenri’ah, there is no hope left here.”

Only it is not an argument, never was and never will be. Thrain is a man of honor before he is a soldier, or a knight, or even something as primitive as a simple human. Abandoning you to fight on your own means abandoning the code of honor. Abandoning his beliefs means abandoning the memories of those whose will Thrain is carrying with him wherever he goes. And you are right, people like you and him are not allowed to forget.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, my lady.” Thrain declines once more, this time more deadpan than the last.

You huff, exasperated, accusatory finger pressed against the metal armor of his chest plate, right where his heart is. “Why, of all times, it is now that you decide to be difficult with me, Thrain?”

“I have never been exceptionally easy for you to deal with, my lady.” It is not the best of ideas to prolong this conversation. The world is quaking, the crimson skies burn with celestial blight, and your game of chess has finally come to its end. You always knew something that others didn’t, and you still hold something up your sleeve even with all your cards spread on the table. And if this something is your third death, then this time around it would be not as lonely as those two that came before. “Nobody should ever die alone.”

“Nobody will die.” You snap, knuckles knocking against the metal with a thud that oddly resembles drums. “You will live to fight another day.”

Your lies, as impressive as they usually are, fall flat this time around. Thrain reaches for your hand; some lines have long been blurred enough for it to seem like the only appropriate thing to do. Even with the leather separating your skin, you are freezing. Colder than you have ever been, as doomed as the time he saw you for the first time: dripping blood and diamonds, with no future ahead of you except the one that spells your death date in the slowly fading stars.

Somewhere on the mainland an explosion convulses the realm just as he lifts the palm of your hand to press a chaste kiss on top of the black leather covering it, “I never thought you for a liar.”

“Then you have never thought of me enough.” A joke, as amusing as it could have been at any other time, is still a lie no matter what. “Please don’t make this harder for me.”

And Thrain is sure he should have thought of you a bit less than he did, it would have been more appropriate that way. It would not have gotten him here, however, so Thrain cannot regret the thoughts that crossed his mind in those long five years of knowing you.

A woman of no shortcomings, you never weep. Yet as you hesitantly lean against his chest, face once again hidden from the world you love more than life itself, Thrain can’t help but wrap his arm around your shoulders carefully. Allowing you a moment of weakness before your final endeavor of resilience may be the only thing he can offer you, but what is that if not his duty?

Your breathing is erratic, you shiver every time you hear another slab of ground collapse into abyss, yet you never shed a tear. You move away from him on your own, only when some warmth seeped into your bones, and the sorrow on your face is so unbounded, Thrain finally understands why you hide yourself so. You’ve finally given up.

“What is our next course of action?” It’s just you, Thrain and the platoon he ordered to stay back to protect you, not trusting a single person from the royal guard after the reveal of Dainsleif’s betrayal. It is nowhere near enough to protect everyone, but neither does he expect to do so. Defeat is inevitable; now it is simply the matter of how you meet your end.

You frown, still clearly apprehensive about his disobedience, yet answer anyway, “I will cleanse as much of abyssal corruption as my body can allow. Then I shall engage the demon gods. So you must leave.”

The desperation in your voice is almost enough to convince him. Were Thrain anyone else, he probably would have abided by your final wish. He isn’t, so he doesn’t. With countless souls in the crevices of his modified heart, he met death face to face more times than he can count. He isn’t afraid of dying once more, this time by your side. Maybe this way you all can reach the Plane of Fólkvangr together.

“Put your trust in me to watch your back.” Thrain wonders if anyone ever told you that you have done well with what you were given. Whether your bloodied efforts and sleepless nights were appreciated. If someone ever reminded you that there is more to life than that tall wall of ice you have built to separate yourself from this world. If so, they did a poor job. If not, then he shall be the first. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Arms limp at your sides, your mismatched eyes still begging him to leave, “What kind of queen would I be, willingly letting her people walk into a decade long plan of treachery instead of shouldering it all by herself?”

You don’t get it, but Thrain can’t truly blame you for it. He too, is used to perceiving his life as duty. For those like you and him, who are strong, it is easier to embrace the burden than let another, weaker person, carry it for you. But he wasn’t born into a lie and neither did he choose to live in it willingly, Thrain knows how to trust his people. You, despite all your efforts, never truly learned how. And that is precisely why you couldn’t see Dainsleif’s true intentions. For you never really trusted him, so you never truly knew him. And he took full advantage of it.

“The one which knew her people stood with her till the very end.” The answer is simple, and even if you think your people despise you now for letting the skies catch fire, Thrain knows it to be false. “A human one.”

“I am a weapon.” You defend your lies with teeth bared and winds raging.

“You are a woman.” Thrain’s truth is as harsh as the cold radiating off your body. “You loved him, and he betrayed you.”

Shaking diamonds of your pupils, you take a guarded step back. You must realize who he is talking about, because your manic laughter forces all the air out of your lungs until tears pool in the corners of your eyes. “Oh, how scandalous.” You muse, a teasing lull to your vowels, “You have learned all about court drama, haven’t you?”

“Only what you taught me.” And you taught him a lot, so Alice has no way to cling to his poor choice of words. Assured Gold can never hold anything against him even with his life being all but in the palm of her brilliant hand. You’ve blinded Vedrfolnir and colored Thrain just the right shade of royal grey for Surtalogi to find him unappealing. You may have dragged him into the life of danger far greater than even that of a demon god, but you have never left him to fend for himself with only the voices of the dead ringing in his ears. That alone is worth a lot more to Thrain than you could ever truly grasp. “I will stay. Whether you want it or not. That’s my duty, not as the Commander but as your trusted friend.”

“I asked you to make things easier for me, not to complicate them even more.” You sigh, heavy and breathless, then you close your eyes. When you gaze at him once more, Thrain knows things will never be the same again. “Those of us who have already escaped will see the sun; those who remained will meet their forever end under the Crimson Moon.” Whatever you decide to do next, it won’t change the outcome of the game you’re playing. Death is unavoidable. Yet as you extend your hand to him, Thrain can’t help but hope. And hope is a thing far too misleading. “Come, my friend, the nation only falls when the last of its people is dead. Khaenri’ah will live in their memories.”

The six eyes follow your every move as you step out of the crypts. Not even once do you spare the Shade of Death a glance. Head held high, you move ahead to your final resting place. And as the ground beneath his feet trembles with god-made quakes, Thrain crosses the line once more.

“What has she done?” A question so innocent in nature, it could tear the veil of sin all over again.

“Complicated things.” The crimson of celestial retribution clings to your body as if it met someone it dearly missed. You welcome it into the Blade of Fólkvangr, the sharpened edge pointed at the skies, “And I am about to exploit that.”

The horizon burns with a peculiar kind of flame Thrain has never seen before. You march there with conviction of someone who has nothing to lose. The transparent crown above your head is shimmering with the glow of a thousand stars. When he notices the protection of your unwavering will is extended to him as well, it is already too late.

It is the last time Thrain thinks of death as a punishment.

La Innamorata masks her true intentions even under the watchful eyes of those most ignorant of the truth.

A lot can change in 500 years, yet nothing can uproot your masterfully disguised sorrows. There is something hopelessly disheartening in the way Thrain, too, learns to hide the truth behind the most mundane of conversations.

Although it is only Thrain and Saga who seem to be exempt from volunteer work, recently you’ve taken a liking to forcing the Harbingers to do some meaningless manual labor.

The old man Alberich is tasked with carving some chess pieces; a pointless thing it seems to be as you never end up satisfied with the finished project. The nameless puppet, rescued from the grasp of the crazed Doctor, is forced to look after the stray cat you took in on a whim one day. Zandik himself, is exiled into his lab with a pile of your journals.

Even now Rosalyne is rearranging the bookshelves in the precise way you instructed her to; she is rightfully confused about your ever-growing collection of fairytales but never dares to complain. Peruere, the unwilling recruit in the place of late Crucabena, is trying to tend to your flowers although her success rate isn’t all that high. Artificially made they may be, yet they die as any other. Although you don’t look all that burdened by the loss of your hard work.

“They died today.” You state absentmindedly, bringing his attention from the empty flowerpots back to you. “The winter is particularly harsh this year.”

Peruere throws you a quick glance, most likely the culprit behind the wilted flowers. The girl, as much of a blank slate as she may seem, is extremely sensitive in the most disconnected of ways. A survivor of the Crimson Moon dynasty; she’s young, misguided, and extremely powerful. A combination which you favor and are not afraid to use to your advantage. She may not be young enough for you to raise into the perfect heir to your ideals, but she is old enough to understand that those who have nothing to lose are the most terrifying.

In Thain’s opinion, you seem to baby her a little too much. But then again, isn’t love both one’s strongest weapon and their greatest weakness?

“Your sorrow wilts those flowers, my friend.” He plays along, Peruere’s shoulders relax just enough for her to not be stone stiff under the pressure of failure.

“I do not weep for that which I do not yearn for.” You examine the black obsidian pawn in your hands – one of Alberich’s creations that you deemed not suitable enough – and finally finish setting up the board. “And I am not particularly attached to windwheel asters, Thrain.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it, [Name].” Thrain takes it as his cue to make a move, carefully taking the white marble piece in his hand. “What happened in Natlan that made you return empty-handed?”

From the other side of your office, Rosalyne is watching your reflection in the mirror. For as long as Thrain knew her, she was always a fan of gossip. Something like this definitely caught her eye, and despite it not being an official discussion meant for her to hear, you indulge her in it. Something tells Thrain that you pity the woman. Something, if true, won’t surprise him one bit. Considering she became what she is now as a direct cause of Teyvat’s meddling with Khaenri’ahn practices long abandoned even by those strong enough to withstand them, you must feel responsible for her in a way. Which always spells trouble.

If you aren’t careful, your soft spot for humanity might just be the end of you. It was once. It will happen again.

As if proving his point, you give Thrain a pointed look. “We are better than those who took our home away from us.”

Or what would have been a pointed look if he could actually see your face at all. No diamonds or tulles, just ancient moon's remnants and the divine nail rabble melted together into a mask you almost never take off. Not that Thrain himself is any different. Ronova’s wrath latched onto the two of you for reasons he can never dare bring up. What is the point of rubbing salt on the wounds most tender?

“I am well aware.” The words come out a little more deadpan than he intended, you pretend like you don’t notice. “That doesn’t explain your oppressive melancholy.” Rosalyne’s skeptical brow is hard to miss, but she cannot see you the way Thrain does. And it’s only natural for humanity to question what they don’t understand. “Does her way of dealing with this hinder your plans?”

You sigh, a little hopelessness lingering in your breath. “She is a good woman, Thrain.”

Despite it being your words, Thrain doubts the validity of such claims, even if he never truly met the Lady of Fire. He, however, witnessed the scorched inteyvat fields and the utter devastation of Natlan’s terrain, completely abandoned by its human god in favor of committing pointless act of genocide. A good soldier should never question orders, a better one would never lift a weapon against those who cannot protect themselves. All in the matter of perspective, yet you never truly tried to convince each other to change your mind.

“Your unconditional love for humanity utterly blinds you.” Thrain indulges in a bad habit of reminding you of your flaws. Things that pose a clear distinction between the divine weapon you wish to be and the stubborn human that you are. It’s just as entertaining as it is necessary, and if nobody else wishes to extend such kindness, then Thrain shall be the first to do so. “Not that you can see much as is.”

You huff, half annoyed and half amused, “I liked you more when you remained tongue-tied and lost around me.”

“You mustn’t lie.” He chastises you. “Peruere might think it’s okay to be dishonest.” At the mention of her name the girl – long abandoned the flowers in favor of the terrarium full of poisonous spiders – lifts her head to look over her shoulder at you.

“She already does.” You counter with a light smile tugging on the corners of your lips. “Let that child breathe.”

“Will you answer me, or should I pry it out of you again?” The scandalized expression on usually stony face of Rosalyne is almost as delightful as the day you received those from the royal maids in the palace. If only it were that simple even now.

A tired shake of your head and strain to your jaw, you finally speak, “Their ley lines are in a terrible shape, way worse than we initially thought.”

Not seeing anything of worth to observe, Peruere returns to her spiders. With no more gossip for her to feed on, Rosalyne resumes her task. Thrain knows better than to remain on the surface level. You must have found no alternatives to whatever it was you were looking in the ley lines, and with his own journeys proving fruitless, you have finally exhausted your options. You never grieve that which you do not hold close to your heart. Yet somehow it doesn’t pacify his worries. How heart-wrenching it must be, discarding such a burdensome task on someone else’s shoulders just to give everything up to a gamble with fate in the process.

“This makes them easy to access, although there is no way for an ordinary human to restore them naturally unless a divine miracle occurs...” The directions are clear, and the confirmation is there even when it is not. The game ends with a checkmate. Your obsidian king cornered with no way of recovering, just like you planned it to. Natlan must be truly following Khaenri’ah into abyss. “Not that we need to worry about it right now.” The pieces rearrange themselves; the game begins anew. “There are more pressing matters on our board, my dear friend.”

“Which is?” A foolish question. One that can move mountains in its wake.

“We are about to enter the era of change.” You smile, replacing the bishop to king’s left with a shining golden piece. “In ten years’ time, the fourth descender will awaken.”

A divine miracle indeed. Yet not the one you are looking for.

[Name] Einherjar is the embodiment of humanity’s will to transcend the limits of this world.

You are not a particularly sociable person but when it’s beneficial for you, you have a way of making people trust you. Thrain doesn’t know much about your history with Haborym, but she seems to believe that you will help her out free of charge. Something that is simply impossible. Being born into a thousand-year-old deception made a liar out of you, Thrain needs to accept it eventually. And he did so a long time ago, only hoping you haven’t been too dishonest with him. Not everyone has as much insight on the inner workings of your mind however, so they tend to trust your lies as if they were the only truth they’ve ever known.

“I don’t usually question your decisions, especially considering stuff like this, but we do not have much time.” Xilonen’s ears twitch, tail swaying impatiently behind her. “She won’t be quick enough to install the barrier. Even with the Waypoints it takes ages, Mavuika.” Albeit not to such a dire extent, she too, just like you, is distrustful of everything. In a way it’s a good thing, especially for the people of Natlan. Right now, however, there is simply no time for doubt.

Opposite of her companion, Mavuika believes you a little bit too much, “Trust her.”

Once again, a frown crosses Xilonen’s face, “You can’t blame me for being apprehensive. She’s a fatua–”

Mavuika interrupts her before Xilonen can finish her sentence, “Do you trust me?”

With a heavy sigh of defeat, Xilonen gives up her pointless fight, “Yes, Mavuika. I do.”

The Lady of Fire sees it too, somehow pleased to win this stubbornness contest, “Then continue with your tasks as planned.”

Despite it being a proper waste of time and breath, this conversation served as a good distraction from the fact that Xilonen’s doubts, in fact, had merit. Thrain trusts you because he knows you and what you are capable of. Mavuika’s convictions stand on shaky ground at best, yet even with sky corrupted by the tumor of abyss, she still believes you will carry out your self-imposed task as planned.

“It is never a matter of time but of human will.” Thrain reminds it to himself more than he intends to explain it to the rest of the group. “We shall aid you as promised but you must trust her.”

Xilonen’s frown deepens even more, a little sliver of disgust clinging to the corners of her mouth, “I never asked for your opinion, Harbinger. You–” her rant is put on hold by another earthquake, and she lifts her head to the sky where the swirling depth of abyss is looming over the horizon. Only Xilonen doesn’t find what she expects to, “What in Xbalanque’s name is she doing?!”

The ground trembles with each step you take closer to Gosoythoth, until you stand face to face with the imposing abyssal eye. As if imagined the quaking stops, you look over your shoulder and though Thrain knows you cannot see them from all the way up, it still seems like you do. Or at the very least you can hear him.

“Don’t worry about me.” Your voice is a distant echo that only those under your protection can hear. Then you turn away, outstretched hand itching closer to the tumor until almost all of your arm is swallowed by the dark blue matter. “Carry on as planned.”

Despite his better judgment and more out of habit than necessity, Thrain nods, and goes on to relay the message, “She said to proceed.” As skeptical as always, Xilonen purses her lips in contemplation. “I shall depart at once. Lady Brighella should be at her assigned location already. Despite what you think of us Fatui, we do not wish ill upon you. At the very least not us. I cannot speak for the likes of the Doctor.”

Leaving no room for arguments, Thrain leaves to continue the fight that does not belong to him but to those who he’s carrying in his heart. Not long after, the sun of Mavuika’s doing lights up the sky and casts a blinding glow upon the people with a promise of protection. You stand, still and unwavering, even when the abyssal corruption starts to slowly creep up your arm and latch itself into the rest of your body. Whatever you want to do, Thrain doesn’t know. Sometimes even he is left in the dark about your schemes.

In a way, it’s better for you to be up there than on the ground. The battle is too reminiscent of the fall. Thoughts clouded, spirit restless, there is way more at stake right now than when it was just the two of you and your almost failed trick to turn the tables on divinity. Now it’s countless souls in his heart and the lives lost before his eyes; the past not lived, and the future not yet dreamt. The mark of the sun brightens; for the first time in a long while Thrain catches himself on the thought of treacherous doubt. The favor of your will may be unmoving yet purifying abyssal corruption has always weakened you more than you dare admit. This loss might spell the end of all things as he knew them.

“[Name], you must get down at once.” A whisper that may be lost along the wind, but it is enough for you to hear. The battle seems to put itself on hold for a moment. Even the creatures of abyssal mimicry freeze in place, watching the sky as it readies itself for the third death of the white comet.

“Just a little more.” Desperation never truly suited you, but Thrain knew more of you than to think of you as anything other than shamelessly desperate. “Just a second more.” Even Mavuika’s warnings of an upcoming attack on Gosoythoth are lost on you as well. “This body matters not, so fire at will.”

Traveler – the descender you have waited so long for, is searching for a way to change your mind. There is none. Not when it’s your whose will they’re trying to shake. Your voice is deafening in the silence brought by death. It’s clearer than it has ever been, even back home where you were the strongest. So much so, that even those who cannot possibly hear you cover their ears.

Mavuika must have heard you too, as the glow of fire blinds his vision. Her trust in you to survive this is misplaced, Thrain decides then. He is not the one to doubt your ambition, but Thrain is sure to question Ronova’s hatred. What is stopping her from tricking you into complacency just to remove you from the equation? Not much, yet your love for humanity is not a learned trait but the one you inherited with your mother’s blood. So should he trust the one who cursed you all to care?

“With my own two hands I shall carve the new dawn of humanity…” Your breath stutters as the sky cracks open. “And let your light awaken the destiny of your own forging…”

It’s quiet as the flames slowly die out, only to reveal the shattered plates of the fake sky. You are nowhere in sight; the only visible thing is the corpse of the moon scattered around behind the firmament. To his relief, your blessing is still hanging over his head, so Thrain dares not lose hope.

White noise in his ears, your heavy breathing is rippling at the edges of his mind with the drums of someone’s erratic heartbeat. Mavuika is hesitant to descend from her spot, the residue flames flickering as she carefully approaches the breach to glance inside the vastness of that which is forbidden. She never gets a chance to gaze upon the darkness beyond the false sky, the glow of starlight almost blinding her completely. Thrain watches the woman turn away suddenly, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow until the radiance subsides enough to not burn her eyes.

“To transcend the limits and descend upon this world with the power of my own will…” Everywhere, all at once, your voice is the sea engulfing the manmade cities of days long gone. “Mo–”

Shaken, the Lady of Fire extends her hand for you to take, you never get the chance to do so. The crown above your head is flickering in and out of existence; a small step in her direction, you fail to find the foothold in thin air. Something dimly glowing all around you, you tumble to the ground with the trail of shimmering ice following your descent. Without hesitation, Haborym abandons everything to catch you.

Whatever happens next is undetermined. But against all odds, the white comet was reborn once more.

His dear friend drowns in guilt like in the sea of stars.

Drop by drop, it sinks you deeper to the bottom. Yet with lungs full of shimmering moonlight water, you stand your ground. Ronova doesn’t appear to appreciate your efforts. She didn’t enjoy your wits 500 years ago and she definitely doesn’t enjoy the irony right now as well. It must sting, the idea of being outsmarted by someone so insignificant. So much so, in fact, that she casts her gaze at you the moment she finds nothing else to say to refuse Yohualtecuhtin’s decision to continue serving humanity even in the wake of destruction.

“The wayward daughter of flowers, what have you schemed this time?” Her fury quakes the ruins of Ochkanatlan, the descender’s worried eyes never leaving you all the while.

With your back turned to him, Thrain cannot tell your expression, yet something in your voice is painting a particularly smug curve of your lips, “Are you telling me all those eyes of yours are for naught?”

The Shade of Death still doesn’t get the humor. “Do not be smart with me, child.” Or maybe she is still coming to terms with the fact that for the third time in her long, pathetically restricted life, she has been outsmarted by a mere human. And two of those are your doing.

“I am always smart, not just when you’re around.” You wave her off in a manner that has Haborym questioning your sanity. Evident by the light flickering in her dull eyes for the first time since she and the Traveler returned from the Night Kingdom. It seems walking out of this with her life intact was not enough to return her will to fight, but your reckless distaste of divinity is just barely enough to ignite a spark. “Your eyesight must truly be losing its sharpness, Ronova.” You point at your mask, the dull thumping of leather against metal resonates through the ruins. “Don’t you remember when I said that with these very hands of mine, I shall forge humanity’s new destiny?”

Your cleverness is lost on the ruler of death, her omniscient gaze seemingly closer than it was before your shameless provocations, “Your will is as weak as that of an ant.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you let out a humorless chuckle, “You underestimate the evolution of human spirit, Shining Shade of Death.”

“Have you any shame, child?” Scandalized sneer may not be visible to the human eye, but even in this form Thrain could clearly picture the appalled expression on Ronova’s face.

“No.” Deadpan and straight to the point, you turn your back on the divine which abandoned you first. “I have no right to interfere with the expression of human will. Especially right now.”

“As defiant as always.” The ground shakes. The crimson skies almost seem like they’re bleeding. “And to think immortality taught you absolutely nothing.”

Ronova acts like that curse she placed upon his people was closer to Celestia’s gracious blessing than the greatest punishment for the betrayal which most were not aware of. Divinity was always a little bit delusional, and despite his disdain for the Shade of Death, Thrain almost pities her entire existence. Immortal and shackled, she is forever forced to watch over the rules of the world she despises.

This freedom to choose your own fate must fill her entire being with envy. And what is the best way to deal with something that you can never possess, if not take it away from those who are lucky enough to have it? And what is a greater punishment than having all the time in the world, yet not being able to do anything with it? Thrain can’t think of any. Neither can Ronova, herself.

“Do what you must, Yohualtecuhtin.” Not quite resigning, Ronova gives up her fight. Cornered with by her own rules and with no loopholes to use against you and him, she must endure yet another triumph of humanity over the laws of the gods. “This world is of no interest to me now.”

She lingers. Looming and unwanted, watching his every move. Even when Thrain gets down on one knee before you, hand over his heart, the feeling of Ronova’s many eyes watching his back never leaves. You are stiff, rigid fingers gripping your own forearms as if you are trying your best to keep yourself anchored in this dream. Even right now, Thrain cannot see your face. It’s truly a shame, he almost forgot what your eyes look like. If only the memories of you and him from 500 years ago were as fresh as the last moments of those who died yesterday.

“May I request to be relieved of my duty, Your Majesty?” It’s simply an obligation. A necessary pleasantry to sell the centuries old lie, yet Thrain is almost taken aback by how his own voice is laced with the bittersweet finality of a last meeting between… whoever the two of you are.

“You may.” You nod, looking straight ahead and never at him. “You’ve done well, Commander. May inteyvat guide you.”

“It has, and it will.” Thrain can admit that you were right, in a sense. Despite never making it easy for you, he sure knew how to complicate things when it mattered the most. “Farewell, my lady.”

You say nothing. Just step away and stare at the void of death while it stares back at you. Until the glaciers cover the ruins and the glow of the stars dies completely, with only the crimson of sin clinging to the tips of your fingers. Until the omnipresent daze of death leaves this doomed world to never witness it go up in flames but to return to its last embers flickering in the dark. Until the one whose will can rival the world grazes your mortal flesh and it falls apart under his careful touch.

The brightest morning star calls out to you in the most tender of ways. Hand on your shoulder, he is ignored in lieu of your unwavering devotion to the void. The long-lived shaman, Citlali, shakes her head in some sort of almost-disappointment and insists on leaving you be. It’s for the better if they do, yet Traveler’s hesitation to abandon you in the height of your most bitter loneliness makes him unwilling to walk away. Ororon, always the outsider even in his own domain, advises Traveler to listen in his usual politely shameless fashion; yet when his words change nothing, the young man hastily hides behind Citlali, his hood tugged over his eyes.

It’s admirable in a way, Traveler’s devotion to those he deems his friends. Yet sometimes the worst thing one can do is to meddle with matters they cannot resolve. Even Mavuika sees it, tugging the golden-haired heir away from you. He is almost ready to give up when you finally break your silence. All eyes on you, you finally abandon the void to let it fester on its own.

“Have I ever told you how much I love humanity?” You ask.

“500 years ago. You did.” Mavuika’s brows furrow, wandering gaze searching for something she will never find. “What is this about?”

“Our will to strive forward in this never-ending dream is truly the most precious thing.” You continue, disregarding her question. Human or not, you never planned on answering any, and thus you are not about to start. Be it Furina, or Mavuika, or even Bronya herself who questions you. “That’s why I admire you, Mavuika. The power of human will is shining especially bright in you.” The Lady of Fire doesn’t get it, even from his temporary realm of the evernight, Thrain still understands you more than most. “That being said, even if life slumbers peacefully with the knowledge that it will eventually wake up and face reality, some get complacent. You, too, are not exempt from delusions of grandeur. I guess it just proves how human you truly are. Makes it all the harder for me to stay rational.”

“What are you talking about?” A careful step back. A guarded one as well, Mavuika may not truly comprehend it, but her body reacts to danger before she can even force it to. “[Name]?”

You move forwards, the crimson pools under your feet in the shade of alchemical Rubedo. The one which served the heavens yet the one which was never truly the final stage of the magnum opus Khaenri’ah was always striving for. Discarded for the golden glow of Citrinitas, Rhinedottir tried to replicate the power of the unrivaled will, yet even with half of your soul ripped away from your body and forced upon Thrain’s unsuspecting heart, she still failed to do so, leaving only mayhem of stardust in her wake.

And now that the omniscient is finally blinded by its own prison of light; now that the Blade of Fólkvangr can never cut through time and space ever again; now that you’ve given it all up for Thrain to return it to the ley lines, weakened enough to be successfully tempered with; now that everything of true value is guarded by Thrain’s own ambition and Yohualtecuhtin’s devotion to serving humanity, nothing that remains in this world can stop the crimson moon from engulfing your body in all-corrupting flame. And so, your flesh is forever swallowed by the eclipse’s shade, awaiting the day the white comet dies for the fourth time.

“Haborym.” The pleasantries are no more. Humanity is done negotiating with the gods, and no compromise can be accomplished. “It was truly a miracle that you walked out of this with your life intact. Yet while you get to save your life and your people future, I have lost one of my most trusted men.”

You’ve lost way more than just one man. The freezing cold of the glowing stars abandoned you once and for all; there is no way for you to return to how things used to be. From this moment onwards the Plane of Fólkvangr can never exist again. All of homeland’s memory is gone, sacrificed for the dream of the future that is yet to be dreamt and what is left of it in Thrain’s heart must find solace in the afterlife of the foreign land. Mavuika does not know this, she can never know this. And this alone makes the exchange as unfair as the contract between mortals and the divine.

“The exchange is nowhere near being fair,” Despite your efforts with Gosoythoth proving fruitful, you cannot hear him now that Thrain abandoned his eternal life in a pursuit of the favor of the dead, but it still feels like you do. “And no good deed ever goes unpunished.”

“Fatui always collect their debts.” Mavuika agrees solemnly, yet she’s quick to refuse you, “I’m sorry, unless you wish to duel me in the arena, I don't think I can give you what you wish for.”

“I fear you are mistaken, Kiongozi Mavuika.” Names have power. Titles mean nothing except the ink spilled carelessly over the parchment. The crimson seeps from your tear ducts, running down your cheeks in such potency it almost seems black. It drips on the white silks of your blouse, soaking in and spreading all over the fabric like blood stains. “I don't blame you. Being a human occupying a heavenly throne, you forget where you stand. Yohualtecuhtin did not lie. God or not, your life is meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It is not with your own efforts that you won, but with the unshakable will standing by your side.”

Betrayal flickers in Mavuika’s eyes. History tends to run in cycles, and it is only natural for the betrayed to deceive the one who trusts them the most, “After all we’ve been through together, you're threatening me?”

“Just because my subordinate is a righteous person, it does not make me one.” You state, the crimson smeared over your skin seems to spread all around you like a contagious disease.

All unyielding flames, the Lady of Fire steels her resolve, “If we were to fight, you would lose your life.”

“Ego the size of the sun. It suits you, Haborym.” One step forward, two steps back. Traveler, apprehensive and cautious, reaches for his blade. Old and weathered, that thing is still sharp only due to his will. Hesitant to use it against you, Traveler is still weighing all his possibilities. The choice, however, has never been his even when he makes up his mind to interfere. Firm grip on Traveler’s cape, Ororon tugs him back to where Citlali is waiting. The woman, disheartened and oddly silent, simply shakes her head.

Mavuika, for all of her talk, still refuses to draw her weapon against you. Crimson is the stone all around you, crimson is the sky above your heads, bleeding is the heart that cannot ever find peace. Your feet never truly touch the ground when you move, and when you stop at the precipice, the crimson slates pave you a path right into the void. The fall is inevitable, but so is the descent.

You ask, the crimson pathway under the two of you shifts and morphs into a staircase. Finally, eye to eye with your first betrayal, you remove the mask from your face. It slips from your grasp, and you let it fall to the ground, to remain forever lost in the city which became its own grave. Mavuika’s face contorts into a pained expression yet never once does she divert her gaze. Deluded and delusional, she remains a faithful friend even in the wake of a collapsing world.

With the only truth you are willing to grant Mavuika no longer being yours alone, you lean down to whisper in her ear, “What can a human god do against a divine weapon?”

You move away before she can do it for you, although her hand catches yours before you can put any more distance between the two of you. “I truly pity you, [Name].”

“You shouldn't waste your sorrows on the likes of me.” You mutter, letting her intertwine your fingers together. A second, maybe more. When Mavuika lets you go, you are uncharacteristically hesitant to walk away. “Thank you. And please don't hold it against him and do not condemn yourself for your weakness. You are only human, and he knew nothing of my schemes. It would have been too exhausting to explain a plan dating 500 years back.”

Held up in the air only by your own will, the Lady of Fire lifts her head to the sky, “Ronova, she called you–” A stutter to her breath, you do not let her ask any questions. The crimson of Khaenri’ahn sins stains the golden brown of Mavuika’s skin. You wipe it carefully with your own sleeve until it’s gone as if it never existed.

“Natlan will be safer without it, Mavuika.” Your hands drop limply by your sides; the crimson morphs once more and you leave her standing there alone amidst the bloodied sea of wilted inteyvat flowers. “Besides, I am not the only one pulling strings from the shadows. Right, Aether?”

At the mention of his true name, the golden-haired traveler almost falls over the edge. Whoever you are talking about, he most likely understands it very well but all his desire to know more is cut at the root by a steady hand on his shoulder. Mavuika, casting one final glance your way, heads for the stairs that will take her down and away from the ruins of Ochkanatlan. With no choice but to follow, Traveler decides to ask you about it another time, not knowing that there won’t ever be one.

The crimson turns to stone, it cracks and breaks, and the harsh winds carry the dust away from the Throne of the Primal Fire. The silks are still soaked, and your cheeks are still wet when you drop yourself on the top of the stairs, right next to the throne which will serve as Thrain’s temporary resting place. His mind and soul may be disconnected from the mortal flesh, yet the phantom bite of chill grazes him still when you lean your head against his knee.

“I wonder if you still think me human even now, or have you given up on me at last…” Your whisper should be lost in the void, yet it still reaches its destination.

Cradled in the palm of your hand is the pyro gnosis. The corpse sizzles, glowing and warm, awaiting with bated breath the moment you deliver it to Bronya’s chess board where it finally reunites with the rest of its body. Only Thrain knows better than to believe it will ever leave your possession.

[Name] Einherjar trusts no one, not even herself. So when the other six parts of the corpse appear from the thin air, circling your palm with a magnetic pull that forces the pieces apart, Thrain is not even a bit shaken. You drop them to the ground too carelessly for something you so painstakingly hunted all this time, mismatched eyes forever scarred by abyss refusing to look at the remains any more than necessary.

“If I were a better person, I would’ve found another solution. I am not, so here we are.” Voice strained with emotion, your lashes drip with starlight. You do not weep for that which you do not yearn for, yet with the way tears dilute the crimson staining the skin of your face, it is hard for a heart to not ache in return. “But aren’t you proud of me, Thrain? For finally relying on someone else? It only took me 500 or so odd years…”

Swallowing harshly, you wipe your face clean with the same sleeve you cleansed the baleful blood from Mavuika and dart to your feet. Knee perched on the throne and one hand on his shoulder, you lift the helmet and place it carefully next to your feet. Then you lean down impossibly close. So close, one would be able to feel the warmth of breath on their skin. Neither of you is truly breathing, however, so the only thing that retains any warmth is the palm of your hand in which you held the pyro gnosis.

“You’ve waited a long while for me, so take your time. All the time you need. It’s my turn to wait.” Ear pressed right over his heart, you hear nothing. No heartbeat and no echoes, the void is the only thing that remains constant. “And when it’s over, I will welcome you back into the remnants of the old world with open arms.” Somehow the knowledge of this being just a beginning does not quench your misery, in turn, your tears grow only stronger. “But I am sure you know that already. You were always good at seeing me…”

The wind picks up again. The ashes and dust floating in the air serve as a reminder that the Thousand Winds of Time follow your every endeavor with a blessing which Death would never grant you. You shiver, the stained fabric of your glove slides off your hand with ease. Winds pick it up and carry it somewhere far away and you will never go searching for it. Your fingers swipe along the surface of your bottom lip, and then you do the same for him, fleeting touch yearning to linger for more than allowed. The phantom cold has never felt more like home than in that moment.

You distance yourself with a bitter chuckle, stained sleeve covering your face from the world, “How scandalous, some court ladies would have been devastated…”

Thrain is sure it would have been the case, yet there is no way of proving you right by causing outrage in the royal court of your memories. Fate was cruel, and it continues to prove to be the worst kind of tyrant even when you rebel against it.

“I’ve always–” You interrupt yourself, shaking your head to remove whatever improper thoughts crossed your mind. As if it could get any more inappropriate. “Never mind. It can wait for when I see you again.” Then you place the helmet back and gather the scattered gnoses, hiding them back in the Blade of Fólkvangr for safekeeping. “Till we meet again under the kinder moon, my heart and I.”

Thrain is aware this is your final farewell. You turn around and vanish to never come back to him despite your tear-stricken promise. His beloved is a distrustful liar, and when he sees you at last, you are a white comet descending upon the flaming remains of this old world. Burning bright to unite humanity in hatred just to die by the Holy Blade through your chest and the nails through your limbs.

This new world better be worth living with your blood staining his hands.

Thrain will decide when he gets there. For now, the white comet smiles just as beautifully as the day he lost her.

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #capitano x reader #capitano x you

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