#it looks SO GOOD in eternal weaving too

[monochromatiica]

hehehehehehehehehehhe

[flowersforjude]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Azriel x Fem Archeron!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | After surviving the Cauldron’s brutal transformation, you struggle to reconcile the person you once were, all while grappling with an unexplainable pull toward Azriel.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6,813

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Nightmares, Emotional hurt/comfort, Training, Angsty mating bond things, Unhealthy sister dynamics, Protective sisters Nesta and Feyre, Good friend Rhys, Kisses. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Here’s the promised part two of To Keep You From Breaking. It is a long one so grab a snack and buckle up!

masterlist | part one

The water was everywhere.

It filled your lungs, choking you as cold, unrelenting talons dragged you beneath the surface. You thrashed and kicked, but it didn’t matter. Your limbs were useless against the force pulling you deeper and deeper and deeper. The water seemed to whisper to you, taunt you with your weakness, curling around your ears like a lover’s breath, soft and cruel. 

You tried to scream, but the sound drowned in the inky black water. Your body burned; you could feel everything changing, shifting despite your inner pleas for it to stop. Bones stretched, skin seared, and something inside you broke, cracking like fragile glass. 

I never wanted this!

Your thoughts spiraled, desperate and wild, even as the Cauldron’s magic seeped through your veins. It poured into the hollow spaces of your mortal heart, reshaping you into something else—something eternal.

You were sinking.

Down, down, down—until the surface above was gone. Nothing but shadow.

And then you saw it. 

A clawed hand, pale as snow, reaching its talons from the depths, curling towards your ankle—

You shot up in bed, gasping down greedy breaths of air. The room was quiet; too quiet, you could hear your heart beating against your ribs. Your hands trembled as you wiped the sweat from your brow. Your chest rising and falling in rapid, dizzying bursts.

The embers in the hearth glowed just faintly, not enough to warm your frigid skin. Stiff fingers fisted the blanket in your lap, gripping it tightly as you tried to shake the remnants of your nightmare. 

The Cauldron’s water still seemed to surround you. Flowing up through your nose each time you took in a shaky breath. Trying to dispel the leaden water from your lungs was almost always impossible. 

Almost impossible if it weren't for—

A soft knock sliced through the silence.

You couldn’t help it as you flinched at the sound, turning towards the door. You already knew who it was. Seconds after your mind had conjured the thought of him…you knew. 

“Azriel?” Your voice wavered even with your attempt to mask the anxiety in it.

The door creaked open, and there he stood on the threshold. Shadowed and still, large wings looming behind him. He looked so familiar standing in your doorway. Like he belonged here, anywhere you were really. Ever since the moment you shared with him in this very space when he offered you the first solid comfort you experienced since…everything. 

He didn’t speak right away. His eyes scanned the room like he could feel the traces of terror from your nightmare. One of his shadows slipped around his shoulder, darting forward.

It brushed along your cheek in a soothing manner that made you want to lean into it. You could see Azriel’s readiness to call it back if you so wished, could see his hope that you wouldn’t just as well. You wouldn’t, and he knew that, but in the weeks of your growing friendship, he had promised to uphold all limits you set forth. 

Truthfully though, it was rather hard to keep his shadows at bay around you. Their odd behavior had coaxed many laughs from you in the last few weeks. The Shadowsinger had become increasingly more irritated with his sentient companions. It was almost as if he thought they were doing it on purpose. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” You spoke the apology as the shadow weaved itself between each of your fingers. 

“You didn’t.” Azriel said, his voice rich and seeping with warmth. “They did.” He gestured to his shadows as he stepped inside the room. The door whispered shut behind him, as soft as his voice. 

“They felt your fear.” He explained upon seeing your confused expression. The way he spoke the words sounded so natural, so right. As if the pieces of himself—his shadows, his quiet presence—belonged to you as much as they did to him.

You didn’t know how to respond to that yet. This odd pull between you and Azriel was something you still couldn’t wrap your head around. And he offered no explanation to any of the strangeness. 

He crossed the room with the same silent grace he always carried. His shadows didn’t hover close to him. Instead they lingered at the edge of the bed, rolling over the mattress, like mist reaching for the sun. He knelt by the bed rather than sit on it, his wings folded at his back. A few wisps of shadows curled up your arm, gentle and slow as they offered their comfort. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Azriel asked, his voice sonorous, but hesitant.

Your throat tightened at the softness in his tone. He wasn’t pressing, never. He would leave if you asked him. If you insisted you were fine. 

But you weren’t. 

And he knew that.

“Yes…” The word felt as fragile as you did. 

It took him a single heartbeat, and then he stood. Settling himself beside you in the bed as you moved over an inch or so. His back rested against the headboard, and his wings shifted, dark and broad, as he curved them slightly around you both. 

His shadows trailed lazily along the bed, blanketing the mattress as they floated towards you. As if craving the closeness. Azriel didn’t call them back either. As if he wanted to siphon off some of the proximity to you for himself. The thought filled your mind with a fuzzy, silly notion.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The quietness wasn’t unbearable with him. You both often sat in silence with each other, content enough to just have one another for a moment. But blame it on your nightmare; something about it tonight left you restless. You shifted a bit, your hand brushing his for a split second. 

You froze when he whipped his head to face you. His fingers grabbed hold of yours. It was the most forward he had been with you so far.

“Mother! Your skin is like ice.” He exclaimed, thumb ghosting over the back of your hand. “Is it always like this for you?” Something in his voice had shifted, taking on a more rougher tone.

You swallowed, willing your hand not to tremble in his grasp. “I–I guess.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment, some emotions he wouldn’t let you see long enough to decipher, stirring faintly in his expression. 

“Come here.” He murmured at last, the words soft but edged with steady resolve. “Please.”

You hesitated, but whether it was his plea or his hand already curling tighter around yours, you allowed him to pull you to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you to lean into him until your head rested lightly against his chest. His wings curved slightly, draping like a shield against the cold air.

Everything felt so right. Correct in a way that you didn’t know existed. His warmth bleeds into you, slow and all-consuming. Azriel’s hand slid over your arm, careful as his thumb brushed absently against your skin—soft, reassuring, as if grounding you to this moment. 

As your breathing evened out, and the claws of your nightmare drifted, you felt that all too familiar tugging upon your heart. Something picked at the thread in your chest, making you shudder. The ache that always followed its arrival settled, causing you to question once more what it was that hummed between you.

—

“What are you doing?”

The deep male voice behind you sent a jolt of surprise through your body. You gasped, stepping back slightly, placing a hand to your heart in an attempt to steady it as you spun around—only to find Azriel standing there.

You were momentarily surprised that you hadn’t heard him approach or that his shadows hadn’t raced away from him to greet you first like they often did. 

Azriel’s lips parted slightly, his hazel eyes flickering with a small amount of amusement. “I’m sorry,” he said after a pause. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright,” you murmured, forcing a small, sheepish smile.

You turned away from him, shifting your focus back to the training yard below. Feyre and Cassian moved in fluid, practiced strikes, their sparring a dance of strength and precision. It was mesmerizing—the way your sister met Cassian’s blows with calculated ease, her newfound power woven into every step, every block. 

Your sister was back from the Spring Court, having dismantled it from the inside, exposing Tamlin’s allegiance to Hybern for the betrayal it was. It was good to see her again, truly. You think you would have been used to Feyre leaving and coming back by now. But you found yourself still missing her each time. Her stay in the faerie lands the first time around had left you missing her, even when Nesta told you not to because she wasn’t coming back. And now, even with you all back together again, she was still High Lady, still someone with a world on her shoulders.

You had missed her.

You missed all of them even if Nesta and Elain were still in the same house as you. 

You really did love your sisters, all three of them, even if it didn’t come across that way sometimes. Things between the four of you had been…tense to say the least. Even before everything had changed. Nesta and Elain, like you, were still coming to terms with what had happened to you all. And Feyre playing her role as High Lady of the Night Court left her with a never-ending list of duties.

Even with your sisters always surrounding you, you felt alone so often. Alone and weak. It had been months since the Cauldron remade you, but there were still days, too many days, when you felt like you were dying and being reborn all over again. Still days when you looked at your hands and barely recognized them, when your own body felt like something borrowed rather than something yours.

It was pathetic.

Nesta had her anger and icy resolve to help her through. Elain had her quiet grace and subtle strength. And Feyre had…well Feyre seemed like she had everything. You were happy for her; she deserved nothing less than the happiness she found here in the Night Court.

But you…you had nothing it seemed. 

A booming laugh sounded from below as Cassian guffawed at Feyre managing to sweep his feet out from under him. Graceful and quick and powerful. 

Your fingers curled over the balcony railing. You wanted that. The skill, the confidence, the ability to protect yourself. You didn’t want to fight, just to know how if you ever found yourself in the position of having to defend yourself or your sisters again.

Azriel’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You want to train.” It wasn’t a question. It was a knowing statement, one spoken as if he had reached inside you and plucked the truth from your mind.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the yard below. “Yes,” you relented. “But I don’t ever want to have to fight someone…hurt them. So it would be useless for me to learn.”

He was silent for a long moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze settle over you like a second skin. His shadows curled at the edges of your vision, shifting restlessly, as if they had something to say on the matter. Finally, he spoke. “Knowing how to protect yourself isn’t the same as wanting to fight.”

You glanced at him, at the way the wind tousled strands of his dark hair, at the flickering torchlight casting golden glows against the sharp angles of his face. His expression was leading, like he was coaxing you to the decision he knew you wanted to make. And his voice—his voice—was nothing but gentleness and patience. 

“I know,” you admitted, looking away. “I just…I've already changed so much.”

Azriel exhaled softly, the sound barely audible over the howl of wind and the distant grunts below. He came to stand beside you, close enough that his wings brushed your shoulders and his warmth seeped into you as his scent of night-chilled wind and cedar wrapped around you. 

“I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through,” he said quietly. “But we are likely going to war soon.” His wings shifted slightly, a sure sign of some internal debate, and his fingers flexed against the stone railing. Then, carefully—hesitantly—he spoke. “I would feel better if you at least learned the basics of defense.”

Your breath caught slightly.

When he looked at you, there was something attentive in his eyes. Measured, as if he was weighing every word as he said them. There was no demand or expectation in his voice. Just gentle concern, wrapped in a layer of caution, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d take it. 

You paused, not because you disagreed, but because the idea of it—the idea of war, of needing to know how to fight—made your stomach tighten.

“I don’t know if I can,” you confessed, voice softer now. “I—I don’t want to hurt anyone, Azriel.”

His expression shifted, not to pity like you would expect from anyone else, but to a kind of hushed anguish. Like he was pained by the thought of you being forced into yet another thing you didn’t want. 

“You won’t,” he said, and though his voice was still careful, there was something firm beneath it. “It’s just to be sure no one can hurt you.” He went silent again, only for a single beat this time, before something resolute took root in his eyes. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose you before you ever get the chance to see how strong you really are.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, you could do nothing but look at him. 

Azriel, who barely knew you, not really, not yet. Azriel, who kept his distance unless you gave him explicit permission to come closer, who treaded so lightly around you like he was afraid of pushing too hard. Azriel, who had just admitted—however indirectly—that the thought of something happening to you was something he thought about.

You swallowed thickly, glancing away. Grimacing as that pull in your chest flared again. If his words hadn’t stolen your breath away, the tugging around your heart would have. 

“Okay,” you whispered at last. “You’ll be training me, though, right?

His shoulders seemed to relax. He allowed his lips to turn up just a bit at the corners in a ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to teach you,” he said. “We’ll start tomorrow.” And even though his voice was as steady as ever, you could hear something else beneath it.

Relief.

—

You weren’t sure what to expect the next morning when you met Azriel in the training yard. He was already there when you arrived, the sky just barely touched with the first hints of the sunrise. He stood at the center of the ring, wings tucked in but still imposing in the most alluring way, his cobalt siphons catching the pale morning light. He didn’t say anything as you approached, but his shadows stretched out towards you in greeting.

“To start, I need to see what you’re capable of.” He was all business today, apparently. His voice held an air of detachment in it that you hadn’t heard from him yet. But there was something about the way he watched you, the way his shoulders remained a little too stiff. His shadows curling more instinctively around your wrists, your ankles—like they weren’t entirely convinced this was a good idea.

Both them and their master seemed…nervous.

Azriel started towards you, closing the distance between you to catch your wrist in his tight grip. “Lesson one,” he murmured. “Try to pull away.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept your face neutral, your heart hammering as you looked up at him. His eyes were unreadable, but the warmth of his skin, even through his fingerless leather gloves, was startling against your own.

“Try to pull away,” he demanded again. 

You jerked your arm back, not surprised when nothing happened. He didn’t tighten his hold, he didn’t need to—he simply absorbed the force like you weighed nothing.

You huffed in mild frustration. This was going to be a long morning. 

Azriel’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “Again.”

You did as he instructed, yanking, pulling, and jerkering against his grip on your wrist. It did nothing. After your fourth failed attempt, you scowled. “This seems unfair.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t let you go, didn’t even loosen his hold. “Most things in a fight are.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting on your feet. You hated feeling weak. Hated how easy it was for him to hold you in place, to remind you just how little control you had over your own body.

He must have sensed your frustration because his voice softened slightly. “You’re thinking about it the wrong way. Strength alone won’t get you out of this.”

You glanced up at him. “Then what will?”

He finally let go, stepping back just enough to give you space to breathe. “Leverage.” He reached for your wrist again, this time slower, and you let him take it.

He guided your free hand up to press against his own, showing you where to aim. “If someone grabs you like this, don’t pull back. Use their grip against them.” He tightened his hold slightly. “Step in, twist your arm—like this—and push against the thumb.”

You hesitated but followed his instructions, stepping into his space and twisting just as he’d shown you. To your shock, his grip broke. You stumbled back a step, blinking. “I—”

He nodded in approval. “Again.”

You swallowed and let him take your wrist once more, forcing yourself to ignore how effortlessly he handled you. This time, you moved faster, following his guidance until you wrenched free in a smooth motion.

A slow smile—real this time—curled at the edge of his lips. “Good.”

Something warm flickered in your chest. 

He stepped back and lifted a hand. “Now, try to hit me.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel’s expression remained calm, but there was something knowing in his eyes. “You won’t hurt me.” That wasn’t what you were worried about.

You hesitated, flexing your fingers. “I’ve never hit anyone before.” You paused. “Well, unless I could count that time when I was ten and I punched a boy for picking on Elain.”

His brows arched in barely concealed amusement. “Did it work?”

You scrunch your nose in distaste. “Not really. I mean, he cried, but Nesta had to handle the rest.”

His lips twitched again, but he didn’t let the moment linger for too long. He lifted his hands, palms open in a silent invitation. “Consider this your first fight then.”

Your stomach twisted, but despite that, you lifted your hands in an awkward stance.

Azriel studied you, his gaze flicking over your posture, assessing. You braced yourself for some harsh critique, for him to tell you that you weren’t ready, that you weren’t strong enough—

But he only nodded. “Relax your shoulders. Keep your weight balanced.”

You did as he said, exhaling slowly as you adjusted your footing.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now, hit me.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “You want me to punch you?”

A glimmer of challenge crossed his features. “I want to see what you’re capable of.”

You scowled, but before you could talk yourself out of it, you threw a punch. He dodged it effortlessly.

Your fist cut through the empty space where he had been a heartbeat ago, and then—before you could react—his hand caught your wrist and twisted gently behind your back, guiding you into a hold you had no hope of escaping.

Your breath caught as his chest brushed against your shoulder, his wings shifting behind you. He didn’t press too hard, didn’t restrain you in a way that felt overwhelming, but—Mother above, he was close.

“Too slow,” he whispered against your ear, his voice a low rasp.

You barely heard him over the roaring in your own head. The same warmth that always flickered to life when you were with him—the same inexplicable pull—tightened in your chest like a thread being wound too taut. And he tensed behind you just for a moment, but it was there you were sure of it. Like he felt it as well. 

You felt like you were overheating. Wherever his body pressed against yours was blazing like a wildfire, even with the thick leathers separating you both. You couldn’t speak, but it wasn’t like the way your throat closed up when the Cauldron’s waters drowned you over and over again. It was because your very soul seemed to thrill at his touch, and if one word was spoken, it would shatter this marvelous moment.

The only thing you could think was yes! This is right. You and him. This close…sharing the same breath. 

“What is going on?” Nesta’s sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

Azriel had moved before you could even register the sound of your sister’s voice. One second, his warmth was pressed against your back, his breath feathering against your ear, his hands carefully but firmly locking you in place. The next there was nothing.

A rush of cool air filled the space he had occupied, and you barely had time to blink before you turned and found him standing a few paces away, his expression once again unreadable, his shadows curling tightly around his shoulders as if he’d reined them in at the last second.

Nesta’s piercing gaze swept between the two of you, her arms crossed, suspicion and scrutiny written all over her face. “I thought you said he was training you,” she drawled, arching a brow.

You swallowed, willing your pulse to slow as you turned to face her fully. “He is.”

“And that is what training looks like to you?” She snapped, her voice like a whip. Her eyes went to Azriel, hard as tempered steel. “I suppose you told her it was all alright.”

Your face flamed, but before you could say anything, Azriel spoke up. “Nothing untoward was happening.”

Nesta scoffed, taking a step closer, her expression twisting. “Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure you painted a grand picture of bravery and glory all so you could sink your hooks into her,” she hissed. “You fae males are all the same. You think I don’t see the way you follow her around with that love sick puppy routine, how your shadows are always twisting and curling around her. She doesn’t need to train like some warrior; she needs you to leave her be!”

“Stop it!” You shouted, unable to bear hearing her further degrade Azriel and his intentions. “Azriel told me I could train, yes, but I asked him to be the one to do it.” You took a deep breath as Nesta surprisingly kept silent. “And he’s been a wonderful teacher so far,” you continued. “I want to do this, Nes. I have to, for myself most of all. I cannot feel weak anymore; I won’t.”

Your sister simply blinked at you, her eyes showing no recognition or understanding of your emotions. “You’re throwing yourself into something you don’t understand.” Without another glance at either of you, she left. 

You could only stare after her, her last words ringing through your head. You couldn’t help but feel like she was right in some way. You didn’t understand. Not this new world you had to call home, not this body that didn’t truly feel like yours anymore, and certainly not whatever was between you and Azriel. 

You didn’t understand the way his presence soothed you. Didn’t understand the way his shadows wrapped around you with a possessiveness they didn’t show to others. Didn’t understand why you felt like you needed him close, like your very bones ached in his absence.

And he hadn’t explained it either. Almost like he refused to. 

The silence that lingered after Nesta left was heavier than a thousand bricks, pressing against your ribs, weighing down your breath. Azriel stood beside you, unmoving, his shadows curling at the edges of the ring like they weren’t sure if they should reach for you or retreat entirely. His face was carefully neutral, but there was something dark flickering in his hazel eyes. Something he wasn’t saying. And you had seen that expression of his before.

Your throat tightened. You should have let it go. Should have taken a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and moved on. But you couldn’t.

Not when your sister’s words still rang in your head. Not when doubt curled in your gut like a living thing. Not when that pull—that strange, unrelenting tether between you and him—had been thrumming inside you since the moment his hands had touched you. 

You turned to face him fully, lifting your chin. “Why didn’t you tell her she was wrong?”

Azriel’s gaze flickered, but his expression remained guarded. “Would it have made a difference?”

You clenched your jaw. “That’s not the point.”

His wings shifted. “Then what is the point?”

You exhaled sharply. “That she thinks you have some ulterior motive. That you’re manipulating me into—”

“I’m not,” he cut in, his voice quiet but firm. 

You swallowed, something hot crawling up your throat. “I know that.” But that wasn’t what you were really asking. And from the way his shadows coiled tighter, from the way his gaze searched yours as if trying to decide how much to say—he knew it too. Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to take a step closer. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Everything around you went still. 

You met his eyes, searching his face. “I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, voice bordering on pained. “Why do you feel so… familiar to me? Why is it easier to breathe when you're around? Why are you able to comfort me more than my own sisters?”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t say anything.

“Why?” You cried.

His breath came slow and measured, but you weren’t imagining the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but was forcing himself not to.

You took another step forward, desperate now. “Azriel—”

“I can’t,” he murmured.

The words hit you like a slap as your stomach twisted. “You can’t?” You asked. “You can’t what?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to take the words back. But he didn’t. He only exhaled sharply and took a step away. The space between you was small, but it felt like a chasm. “I need to go,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper of despair. 

Something in your chest cracked. You could feel it opening up like a split in the earth. Before you could say anything, before you could ask, beg, or plead—he was gone, shadows swallowing him whole. And you were left standing there, fists clenched, your heart aching with a truth you couldn’t grapple with.

—

Azriel

The past days had been unbearable. Every hour without you—without your voice, without your presence—felt like something had been carved out of him, leaving only raw, open space where you should be.

And yet, he had stayed away; he had made himself stay away.

Because if he got too close, if he let himself give in to the pull of the bond—the bond you didn’t know about—he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from spilling from his lips. And he had convinced himself that you weren’t ready for that truth. He had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing.

But now, standing in the town house library, facing Rhysand’s scrutinizing stare, Azriel was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, one brow arching in a way that said he had already figured out why Azriel was here before he even opened his mouth. “You look like hell.”

He didn’t bother denying it.

Rhys exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Let me guess—it’s due to you and a certain pretty Archeron sister still avoiding each other? I’m sure it’s been nothing short of agony for you.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not just me.”

Rhys’s expression softened slightly. “I know.”

A shift in the air made Azriel glance toward the doorway—just as Feyre stepped inside, her gaze not unkind but determined. His stomach twisted; of course she was here. You were her sister after all. 

“Feyre, darling.” Rhys cautioned his mate. 

She didn’t spare him a second glance as she settled her gaze on Azriel. “She’s in pain.” She said directly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked down in shame, unable to find the right words to say. 

Feyre sighed, her voice more subdued but no less forceful. "I won’t say anything about it to her, Az. It’s not my place, but she’s my sister, and she’s hurting. You have the power to stop that, so stop it.”

The words hit him like a blade to the chest. Because he knew. He knew you were hurting. Knew you were confused and aching and searching for answers that only he could give you. But still, he waited, shied away from telling you the truth. That you were his mate, the one made for him just as he was made for you. The one who he would move mountains and oceans and cities for.

Rhys watched him carefully, his violet eyes sharp with understanding. “You’re afraid she won’t accept it.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—admit it, but the truth was written all over his face.

Feyre exhaled, shaking her head as she moved closer, her expression shifting from stern to something gentler. “It’s alright to be scared.” She hesitated, then softer, “I know what it’s like to have a bond dropped on you before you’re ready. But she’s already suffering trying to figure out what’s happening between you two. You can’t keep avoiding her.”

Rhys studied him from where he sat, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “You know she’s going to figure it out eventually.”

Azriel nodded along. “She shouldn’t have to figure it out on her own.”

“Then tell her.” His brother said simply.

He turned away, tension rolling off him in waves. “She just got thrown into this world. We’re on the brink of war. She’s still trying to find her footing. How am I supposed to burden her with this?”

Feyre scoffed, exasperation flashing across her face. “Do you hear yourself? The only thing burdening her is not knowing why she feels the way she does around you. I see it, Az. She looks for you everywhere. And when you’re not there, she just looks…lost.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, guilt lancing through his chest like a dagger.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Rhys added.

He turned, frustration sharpening his voice. “What if she doesn’t want it? What if she doesn’t want me?” You were still reeling from everything, from the Cauldron, from the war that loomed over them all. What if adding this to your plate made you resent him for keeping it from you?

Feyre softened slightly. “She already trusts you more than anyone.”

He swallowed hard.

Rhys sighed. “Look, we’re not telling you to confess your undying love for her, but at least tell her what this is. What you are to her. Let her decide what to do with that.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, battling with himself on what he should do.

Rhys leaned back again. “Or, you could keep avoiding her, letting her think she’s losing her mind over something she doesn’t understand.” He arched a brow. “Your choice.”

Azriel glared at him. But he knew the longer he waited, the more he risked losing you. And that thought—losing you before he even had the chance to try—was something he didn’t think he could bear.

—

The window seat in your room seemed to be your favorite place in moments of personal crises. You couldn’t draw yourself away from the pane of glass; there wasn’t even anything interesting to look at out of it. But your body remained rooted in place, your nails picking and pulling at your cuticles on their own accord.

When a knock sounded at the door, you felt a sense of deja vu come over you. But you weren’t foolish enough to believe it was him again. Not when he’d been running away from you so intensely. You had spent the past few days in a haze, going through the motions, trying to shove down the ache that had settled in your chest. The absence of Azriel had been practically unbearable. You hadn't even realized how much of your world he had become until he was gone.

You had searched for him everywhere. Looked for him in the training yard, in the halls of the House of Wind, in the shadows that used to brush against your skin as if they missed you, too. But he had been avoiding you.

And it hurts.

You swallowed, your throat tight as you stared at the door. You didn’t want to get your hopes up that it was him. But maybe…"Come in," you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

The door opened slowly, and your heart felt like it might give out. But then Azriel stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a gentleness that felt deliberate. His wings were tucked in tightly, his shadows curling and shifting at his feet, restless and uneasy. He looked… exhausted. Tiredness lined his hazel eyes, his jaw taut as if he had spent days grinding his teeth.

You sat up a little straighter on the window seat, hands clenched in your lap. Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“You’ve been gone.” You said, hating how fragile your voice sounded. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something pained flashing through his eyes before he schooled his features into neutrality. He stepped further into the room, but not close enough to touch. Not close enough to give you the answers you so desperately wanted. “I thought it was for the best,” he said quietly. 

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “For who?”

He flinched, just barely. You saw it in the way his fingers twitched, in the way his wings tensed ever so slightly. “For you,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Because I—” He exhaled sharply. “Because there’s something I need to tell you, and I didn’t know how.”

Your heart pounded, that strange pull tightening in your chest like an invisible thread being drawn taut. “Tell me now,” you said, the words coming out more like a plea than you intended.

Azriel stared at you, searching your face, his expression unreadable. And then, as if coming to some silent decision, he moved. He crossed the room in two strides, sinking to his knees in front of you. The sight of him like that—kneeling—stole the breath from your lungs. His hand lifted, hovering inches from yours, as if he wanted to take it but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"You've felt it," he murmured. "Haven't you?"

Your breath hitched. Felt what? The way his presence soothed you like no one else could? The way your body seemed to recognize him before your mind even had the chance to? The way your soul ached in his absence? "Azriel," you whispered.

His eyes were burning embers as he finally—finally—took your hand. His thumb brushed along your skin, a barely-there touch that sent shivers up your spine. “There is a bond between us,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “A mating bond.”

The words hit you like a physical force, knocking the air from your lungs. You stared at him, your heart slamming against your ribs, your mind reeling. A mating bond.

You were Azriel’s mate.

The world tilted. Everything—every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every unspoken word—suddenly made sense. You felt like a fool for not putting the pieces together before. “You knew,” you whispered. It wasn’t a question.

Azriel closed his eyes briefly, his grip on your hand tightening. “Yes.”

You inhaled sharply, a storm of emotions swirling inside you. “For how long?”

His throat bobbed. “Since the moment I had to watch them toss you into that cauldron, not being able to stop it.”

You sucked in a breath, your hands trembling in his. A sharp breath rattled out of you, and suddenly, the room felt smaller—too small. The walls pressing in, the air too thick. Memories surged forward, slamming into you with the force of a tidal wave. You had tried so hard to bury them, to pretend they were nothing but fading nightmares, but at his words, the dam broke.

You saw it all.

The dark, swirling water.

Nesta’s screams.

Elain’s hand torn from yours.

The hands shoving you forward, forcing you down, down, down.

But you also remembered through the haze of terror there was him. He’d been lying on the ground; you remembered him crying out in pain. His body and wings were wrecked from whatever injuries had been inflicted upon him. You hadn’t registered it at the time, but now in your memories you swore you’d seen him try to crawl to you. You had been too lost in your own fear, too overwhelmed by what was going on. 

“That long,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

“Yes.” His voice was barely more than a whisper now, filled with something jagged, something broken. "I had to watch them take you, hear you scream, and I didn’t know why it tore me apart. And then I felt the bond snap into place as you were dragged from the waters.”

You sucked in a breath, your hands trembling in his. The thought of him going through that all on his own. Injured, in pain, and then discovering his mate had just been brutalized. You couldn’t imagine how he felt. But still, he kept it from you. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice cracking around the words. “Afraid it would be too much for you. Afraid you wouldn’t want it.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but not from sadness or anger—from the sheer weight of it all. “I thought I was going crazy,” you choked out. “I didn’t understand why I felt this way, why I needed you and hated being away from you. Why I—” You broke off, shaking your head. “You should have told me.”

“I know.” His voice broke. “I know, and I’m so—” He exhaled sharply, looking away. “I thought I was protecting you.”

You swallowed thickly, staring at him—the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court, on his knees before you, looking every bit like the man who had spent centuries breaking and putting himself back together again. And now you understood why it had always felt like you were breaking with him.

Azriel lifted his gaze to yours, and the raw vulnerability in his hazel eyes nearly undid you. “Say something,” he whispered. “Please.”

You could barely breathe, barely think. So instead, you did the only thing that made sense. You surged forward, capturing his face in your hands, and kissed him.

He froze, his body going rigid, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But then he moved, his hands grasping your waist, pulling you against him like he had been starving for this. His lips were soft but urgent, reverent but desperate, and you met him with equal fervor. Because you had been starving. Starving for this, for him, for the truth neither of you had spoken aloud. Azriel made a low sound in the back of his throat, his shadows curling around you both like a cocoon, like they wanted to keep you like this forever. 

The bond between you flared, roared—a golden tether that snapped into place, no longer quiet, no longer hidden. And you felt it. All of it.

Tears burned in your eyes as you parted. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “You’re my mate.”

“And you’re mine.” His voice was raw as his grip on your waist tightened. He kissed you again, again, again—like he needed to memorize every part of you, like he needed to prove to himself that this was actually happening.

Your tears ran down your cheeks, falling to your lips, making the kiss taste salty. But you didn’t care because for the first time since that Cauldron had stolen your mortal life, you didn’t feel lost.

You felt found.

﹙taglist﹚ @daughterofthemoons-stuff @babypeapoddd @shadowdaddysposts @judig92 @thecraziestcrayon

I played with the timeline a bit to draw things out longer, so it doesn't completely line up with the book. But it's so subtle I think it'd be easy to ignore.

I hope you all enjoyed this and it was worth the long wait! <3

[kirain]

Wall of the faithless isn't canon in bg3. They changed alot of things actually. So no Gale isn't "scared" he's just an obsessed asshole who doesn't learn from his mistakes.

Oof...

There's really nothing I can say except: you're wrong. The City of Judgement and the Wall of the Faithless are canon to BG3. If you don't like Gale, that's fine, but you don't have to make things up or completely disregard the lore to do it. Larian Studios literally hired people from Wizards of the Coast—the company responsible for all the canon lore, characters, and campaigns in D&D—to help them with the story. It took them five years, I believe, to fully study and understand the lore. They constantly conferred with the team to double, triple, and quadruple check every slice of content they added to the game, and parts of the game are now considered canon to D&D 5E.

As for Gale "not learning" from his mistakes ... when you first meet him, he literally admits he made a mistake with Mystra. Though personally I don't see it as the "power-hungry" move people seem to think it is. Gale simply wanted to be considered an equal to his partner (really his groomer), which is a perfectly healthy and normal desire for anyone in a relationship. Your partner should treat you like an equal, but Mystra very clearly saw Gale as a pet. A trophy. A worshipper. Subservient. Beneath her. A silly mortal with delusions of grandeur (which she cultivated), which is really rich when you learn she was once mortal herself. Mystra is a hypocrite.

Gale tried to prove himself worthy of equality by trying to bring Mystra what he thought was a piece of her missing Weave. For anyone who doesn't know, the current Mystra was torn to pieces by Cyric and Shar, then put back together by her Chosen. Though back to full power by the events of BG3, she's still technically missing pieces of herself, and Gale mistook the Karsite Weave for one of those pieces. Instead of simply telling Gale it was corrupted Weave, she let him go on believing it was hers. Personally I think that's because she was tired of him (maybe he got too old for her 😒) and was hoping he would do something that, in her mind, would justify abandoning him—but I admit that's full conjecture on my part. What is true is that she knew the orb wasn't hers, but for some reason she let Gale think it was. Even after she abandoned him and left him to die, she never told him. Not until she realised she could use him.

In Act 3, while the argument can certainty be made that he's thirsty for power, Gale ultimately becomes fed up with the gods because, as he knows better than anyone, they treat people like commodities. While I have no intention of ever ascending him myself, it looks like he actually makes good on his word. He doesn't threaten or toy with his followers, he inspires people to walk their own path, he only asks for prayers as payment (as without some form of devotion, gods in D&D cease to be), and if you romance him ... he ascends you into godhood as his equal. Mystra could have done this for him, she just didn't want to. And if you don't want him to ascend, it's genuinely so easy. I don't understand what people are complaining about. It takes one conversation with zero checks to convince him to completely abandon his ambitions. One. If he was truly "power hungry", it wouldn't be that easy.

Again, I would argue that Gale's true goal isn't really power, it's freedom, and divinity gives him that freedom. He has many conversations where he makes it clear he doesn't want to live under the gods' thumbs anymore; which, in a world like Faerûn, is extremely understandable. As I said in my Wall of the Faithless post, he's scared. Eternal torment for a simple mistake, one of which could've been avoided if Mystra told him the truth or treated him like an equal? When your partner is a goddess, how can you not feel inadequate? And if you convince him to give up the crown, he's perfectly content with Mystra's forgiveness. Even in the Early Access, that's all he really wanted.

Gale's far from perfect. He's arrogant and overconfident and insecure and he can be prone to emotional outbursts (most of which he apologises for, however), but he's nowhere near the heartless, power-hungry monster the haters seem to think he is. He is, in fact, one of the most compassionate companions in the entire camp, to the point that he accepts everyone, including Minthara. He votes for Astarion to stay when you find out he's a vampire. He gets mad at you if you surrender him to the Gur. He's one of the only companions who will openly marry/stay with you if you become a mindflayer. He's willing to sacrifice himself to save the world, and willing to damn himself to be with you. He loves every act of kindness, while hating every act of cruelty. I understand that the bugs from launch ruined a lot of people's perception of him ... and unfortunately some of those glitches are still present even now, but he is a good man.

[winxanity-ii]

FOXED IN [1/2]

ship: fem!fennec fox!reader x various!beastar warnings: non-explicit ( maybe cursing/profanity; sorry y'all I gotta loose mouth) word count: 1.7k a/n: heheh, I got back into beastars so idk might dabble with this more in a full fic way, we'll see I got so many running in my head 🤣😩 Part 2

★·.·´🇧‌🇪‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇦‌🇷‌🇸‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The summer sun was hot as it shone down, beating relentlessly on the over-crowded public pool.

You sucked your teeth in annoyance, shifting on the edge of the pool where you'd been perched for what felt like an eternity.

Kids ran wild, yelling and splashing without a care, their tiny feet pounding on the slick concrete, almost slipping every time they turned a corner too sharply.

You couldn't help but flinch each time one of them ran too close, kicking up water that sprayed in your direction.

The constant nudging and the unending splashes were starting to grate on your patience.

You felt droplets of water continuously flicked onto your legs, each one colder than the last, and it took everything in you to not growl under your breath.

You were here because you'd bitten your tongue earlier and agreed to babysit your niece and nephews while your sister went grocery shopping. Free of charge, might you add.

It wasn't even that she asked nicely—it was more like you felt the weight of her tired eyes and the desperation in her voice, and before you knew it, you found yourself nodding and watching her rush out the door.

The one thing that made it bearable was the promise of her buying your little snack list as payment, but the longer you sat there, the more those snacks seemed not worth it.

The sound of another big splash brought you back to the present, a wave of water washing up over your legs, some of it splattering onto your shorts.

You sucked your teeth again, this time louder, and decided you'd had enough.

"Yup, I'm about to dip," you muttered to yourself, pushing off the pool's edge.

You weaved your way toward the crowded pool chairs, squeezing through the narrow paths between towels and bags until you made it to your family's little space.

Your aunt was watching from under an oversized sun hat, and one of your nieces sat beside her, eyes glued to your phone screen as some YouTube video blared.

"Hey, sweetheart, can you hand Tee-Tee her phone real quick?" you called out, trying to keep your voice as gentle as possible despite your growing irritation.

The little girl looked up, blinking at you, and then obediently handed the phone over.

You smiled at her, genuinely happy she listened.

She was one of the good ones, you thought sourly, the kind of kid that didn't make you want to rip your hair out. If it had been any of the others, they probably would've thrown the phone into the pool in a fit of rage.

With the phone in hand, you quickly shot off a message to your sister:

𝐋𝐈𝐋 𝐒𝐈𝐒 Sorry, too many kids around, my ass is starting to itch. Deuces.

You didn't even bother waiting to see if she'd read it. Whatever she had to say, it could wait until you were far, far away from the chlorine and chaos.

Pocketing your phone, you told your aunt and niece bye, promising you'd see them tomorrow for family dinner.

Your aunt waved you off absentmindedly, ogling at some shiftless, buff lifeguard on duty through her binoculars; from where she got them, you had no fucking clue.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your stuff, and began making your way out.

A moment later, you were nudged by a running kid, and you nearly fell into the pool but caught yourself just in time.

You called after the child, "Slow the hell down, you fucking crotch goblin!" huffing before turning back to leave, only to slip on someone's wet croc and fall backward into the pool.

The cold water hit you like a slap. For a second, everything was a blur of chlorine and light refracting through the surface.

But what should have been a normal kick and push back up to the surface was delayed, not only by the overcrowded surface but by your waterlogged bag tugging you down, dragging you deeper.

You opened your eyes underwater, the sharp sting of chlorine burning them instantly. Panic set in as you struggled to pull off your bag, your arms flailing in the heavy water.

Your lungs burned, screaming for air, and you kicked harder, almost breaking the surface, almost tasting the chlorine-soaked air.

But the chaos above—the kicking legs, the waves—pushed you back down, the pressure growing in your chest.

The muffled shouts and splashes from above seemed distant, distorted by the water, like you were in some other dimension entirely.

The pressure on your chest grew, the heavy weight of your bag pulling you deeper, and you kicked harder, desperate to reach the surface.

But no matter how hard you fought, the surface seemed just out of reach—so close, yet the world above felt like it was slipping away.

The chlorine-soaked water filled your senses, sharp and chemically, burning the back of your throat as panic set in. You thrashed, trying to tear off your bag, your arms sluggish and heavy.

And just when your vision began to blur with darkness, something changed.

The water's cold grip vanished.

Your lungs didn't burn. The pressure in your chest evaporated.

You blinked...

... and opened your eyes.

The light came back.

The sound, taste, smell, and touch—it all came back.

The sound hit you first—not muffled and distorted anymore, but sharp and loud. The blare of honking horns, the distant buzz of conversations, the whoosh of a passing bus.

Your eyes adjusted to a new scene, sunlight flickering through tall buildings instead of the pool's glistening surface.

You were on the curb, your body pressed against warm pavement that was a far cry from the frigid pool water.

The smell of chlorine had been replaced with something foreign—a mix of gasoline, hot asphalt, and street food.

Your damp skin clung uncomfortably to the fabric of your clothes, but it wasn't the soggy, heavy sensation of being underwater.

It was just... hot. Sweaty. Real.

You blinked again, trying to take everything in—the movement, the noise, the overwhelming presence of this place.

A yellow cab zipped by, honking loudly at a pedestrian. Your head jerked back, face scrunching up in confusion.

A cab?

The air here was different too—thick with city smells, far from the sharp, sterile bite of chlorine.

The ground beneath you wasn't cool and slick like the pool's edge; it was rough, heated by the sun, and every nerve in your body screamed that something was wrong.

Your eyes scanned the scene around you. The towering buildings, the bustling people, the blur of colors as everyone moved with purpose.

Okay... this is definitely not the pool.

A strange sinking feeling began settling in your stomach.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you like that, didn't see you there, haha!" a voice cut through your thoughts.

You looked up, your eyes focusing on the person in front of you—a blond boy, maybe in his late teens. He had warm, honey-brown eyes that seemed to glint playfully in the sunlight, and honestly, he was kind of cute.

The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled made him look approachable, even charming.

But what made you falter were the two fluffy ears on top of his head—golden Labrador ears.

He was dressed in casual clothing and spoke with a friendly smile, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to understand what you were seeing.

At first, your instinct was to put as much distance between you and the strange hybrid Labrador in front of you as quickly as possible. But you hesitated, not wanting to make a scene.

Your mind raced, trying to calculate if you could get away without drawing attention—maybe find the nearest phone booth and dial up the US' Area 51 unit or something.

Instead, you gave—what you hoped—was a sweet smile, saying, "No worries, I'm fine." All those years laboring away as a server had finally paid off in moments like this.

It seemed to work because the Labrador's tail began wagging happily from side to side, his whole demeanor brightening. "Oh man, I'm so glad you're okay! You really took quite the tumble there," he said with a nervous chuckle. "Here, let me help you up," he added, reaching out a hand.

Before you could even decline, the dog-boy easily picked you up, cradling you in one arm like you weighed nothing.

Wait...

Horror struck you as you realized just how small you were compared to the hybrid-man.

You were nearly three times smaller than him. His arm felt like a steel beam against your back, and his strength was undeniable, his tail wagging all the while.

The man's golden Labrador ears fell slightly, his tail going still as he noticed your horrified expression at being picked up.

He hastily apologized, setting you down as gently as possible, his face flushed. "Oh geez, I'm really sorry about that. It's just—second nature, you know? My roommate's a fennec fox, and he's always needing a hand," he rambled, clearly nervous.

His words were abruptly cut off when you heard someone call out, "____!"

Your ears twitched, and your head swiveled towards the sound. The voice was a bit deep, carrying a warmth.

Before you knew it, a small tan figure dashed over and crashed into you in a tight hug. The impact almost knocked the breath out of you, but the boy's jolly laughter softened the surprise.

"I missed you so much, cuz! I can't believe you finally transferred to Cherryton!" he exclaimed, excitement radiating off of him.

When he pulled back, you took in the sight of a cute, tan boy. He had dark, curly hair, and his crooked teeth were visible as he smiled broadly. On top of his head were two large light brown ears, twitching slightly.

You blinked, staring at him, unsure how to react.

Then, your gaze drifted over his shoulder, taking in the numerous human-animal hybrids walking around as if everything was normal.

Slowly, your eyes lowered to your own figure, and you finally noticed—felt—a small, rhythmic thump against the back of your upper thighs.

Turning your head slightly, you saw a small black tail.

What the fuck...

[chuubian]

Good luck, babe!

Tags Arlecchino x fem reader, cheating (on a man not each other), angst, degradation, praise kink needy Arlecchino, wedding, strap on sex, strap sucking MDNI

Summary Love was not something you had ever felt for that man. That seemed okay for a while, at least, until Arlecchino came into your life and changed it forever.

A/N This was supposed to come out before Christmas, but I was in the hospital so its late. I'm sorry if the eggnog feels too seasonal.

The fatui always goes full out with their celebrations. A full-sized orchestra is playing passionately in the reception hall, classical music echoing through Zapolyarny palace. Beautiful lanterns hang from the ceiling and pillars, keeping the party warm from the eternal winter raving outside. Slumped against the cold metal chair, your eyes dart around the room restlessly— looking for a familiar head of white and black hair. It proves nearly impossible with the large hoard of people in your way.

Standing upright, you twist uncomfortably— the iron beams had dug into your back and arms. A dull throb ripples through your flesh. Does the Tsaritsa have something against keeping people cozy? Pushing the pain aside, you weave through the crowd. You find yourself in front of the main table— overflowing with delectable food and sugary drinks, ready for anyone to stuff themselves until their heart stops. Plucking a small plastic cup from the surface of the counter, you fill it to the brim with eggnog.

The drink is sickeningly sweet and thick, like pure honey is being poured directly into your throat. Warmth spreads throughout your throat and chest, cascading down and pooling in your stomach. A choker is wrapped around the circumference of your neck, pressing against your jugular, chafing your sensitive skin. The heat seems to get stuck in your esophagus— trapped by the little strap of leather looped around your throat. You can't wait for this to be over.

Fingers tapping the cup impatiently, your eyes are focused on the swarm of people in front of you, Dancing happily as you stand to the side. Obsidian black fingers yank the eggnog away from you— lifting the drink to bright red lips. Arlecchino gulps down the entire thing, unbothered by the alcohol. The rim of the cup is left stained with her cherry red lipstick. A small part of you aches to press your own lips against it, to get even a bit of herself on you. But not here.

“Bored?”

Nodding, you look up at her— towering over you with her impossibly high heels. The red-eyed woman reaches over, running a sharp nail over your choker.

“You look nice. Did he get that for you?”

“Yeah… He insisted I wear it tonight.”

Her slender fingers slide under the thick fabric, tugging lightly. Leaning down, her breath brushes against your skin delicately— sending shivers down your spine.

“I could have gotten you something way better you know…”

“Don't be like that, it's nice.”

Scoffing, she stands back up normally, letting go of the choker.

“Could've been better.”

You roll your eyes, glancing down. Sometimes, it’s difficult to look her in the eyes. Her stare is far too intense. Like it’s burning into your soul. Piercing straight through you, shooting a flaming thrill through your veins, lighting your nerve ending on fire. A large hand snakes under your chin— forcing you to look up. You swear you can see embers blazing behind her X-shaped pupils.

“Look at me.”

Pushing her hand away, you scan your surroundings nervously. Thank God no one is looking in your direction.

“Arle… you can’t act like that here…”

“Oh please, who would say anything? I'm a harbinger.”

Her voice is condescending, as if chastising you for ever thinking less of her position. It's true. People are much too terrified of her to dare make up rumors. Unfortunate souls in the past had spread gossip about the fourth harbinger—stories about her tearing families apart and stealing the children, thrusting them into a life as heartless soldiers. It did not take long for the men who started the scandal to be found dead. Alone in their homes, with seemingly no signs of a break in. Their bodies were completely untouched and clean, except for the eyes that were— almost surgically— plucked out, and the large holes left in their chest. Their hearts somehow went missing. No blood stained their shirts, or the ground beneath them. It was never confirmed, but everyone knows.

“Still… he's already suspicious.”

“So? Let his mind wander. He won't do anything anyways. He's weak.”

Clicking your tongue, you push her hand away, glaring at her.

“He is not.”

Arlecchino's fierce eyes narrow.

“He is.”

Ignoring her, you adjust your choker. Suddenly, it's far too warm inside here. Isn't this Snezhnaya? Why is it so hot?

“Whatever. Let's not talk about him, yeah? Let's go somewhere private.”

You knew what that meant. It's expected at this point. It's really the only reason you didn't decide to stay home. Even the Tsaritsa herself could not have made you attend this party if Arlecchino was not here.

“I'll join you in a few minutes…”

Her icy hand comes up to pat you on the cheek.

“Alright then. I’ll see you later.”

The harbinger doesn't wait for an answer before sauntering away, taking all the heat with her, leaving you isolated and numb— like an iceberg, sailing across a frigid bottomless sea. For a few minutes, you stay put. Watching the people laughing and having fun around you. The glow on their faces makes you aware of the hollow rift widening in your chest. It’s as if your heart and lungs are carved out, leaving nothing but suffocating solitude. They're so happy.

Maybe the choker is just too tight.

Definitely too tight.

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, you make your way towards the main doors. Your shoes clack against the hard, frosty concrete floors. A brisk gust of wind breezes past you as you step into the hallway. Faint shudders follow— crisp surges of chilling unease and dread pour over your head, trailing down and assembling at the bottoms of your feet. Each step towards that one room, the one you're so familiar with, is agonizing.

Stopping in front of large wooden double doors, the air almost seems like it's stolen from your lungs. This is it. The eggnog you had drunk earlier is sinking to the bottom of your stomach, swirling and leaving you nauseous. Heavy doors push back against you, refusing to move as you force your way through. Loud creaking echoes through the barren hallways— almost masking the sound of loud classical music that somehow still reaches you here deep in Zapolyarny palace.

“Finally.”

A cold hand quickly entangles itself in your hair, dragging you closer until her lips crash against yours. Flames feel as if they've engulfed you— scorching desire completely numbing the tips of your fingers, mouth going dry. Her tongue drags against your bottom lip, requesting access. Your mind is foggy, struggling to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of her soft lips on yours. The fingers in your hair tighten, pulling gently and creating gentle tingles all over your scalp. The man waiting for you at home is not even a concern anymore, all that matters is this. Her.

Dull surprised groans are swallowed and muffled between you. Strong arms shove you onto the bed in the back of the room. It's soft and fluffy. She clearly made sure to prepare everything for your clandestine meeting. Your lips are freed from hers, swollen and stained with scarlet lipstick. Arlecchino’s expert hands make quick work of the leather strap wrapped around your throat— unbuckling the metal smoothly. Relief floods over you. It's like you can finally breathe properly, without the stupid choker restricting you.

“It has been far too long.”

Her voice is darkened, deep and overladen with desire.

“I missed this…”

“Are you sure it's not me you missed?”

She teases, slowly climbing on top of you. Her hands plant themselves on the mattress beside your head. From down here, she looks heavenly. It couldn't be farther from reality. She is evil incarnate. Sin and temptation in a human form. There's no other reason you fell under her spell- into her bed— so easily.

“That's basically the same thing, Arle.”

Her knees gently push your legs apart, settling between them. As she leans down, her smooth hair grazes against your skin— tickling your face. Warm puffs of air sweep over the side of your neck. The closeness is causing your head to spin. You're left paralyzed— unsure of what to do or say next. This does not go unnoticed by Arlecchino's sharp eyes.

She smiles. For the first time that night. The pressure of her body weighs pushes you down, further into the bed. It’s hot. Despite the heaviness against your chest, you can feel the soft flesh of her waist and chest. Nothing has ever felt better than this, Part of you wishes this is how you would die, underneath her. Those men got off lucky being murdered by her. Her alluring voice was the last thing they heard.

“It's really not. Just admit you missed me.”

Her red-stained lips brush against your jugular. Your hands itch to touch her, to take any part of her you can't— but they are too busy being held down by her strong grip. Sharp pain shoots up your spine as her pointy teeth nip at the thin skin of your throat. The words are stuck in your esophagus, unable to get out. And although the choker is gone, the suffocating sensation has not gone away.

Bony, deft hands hurriedly undo the buttons of your shirt, pushing it open. Her pointed nails scratch down your chest and tummy. It feels like you're being cut open— with her making an incision right over your heart and carving it out. Knowing her, she has every intention to.

A trail of spit and lipstick are evidence of the harbinger’s messy kisses on your skin. A quick shower could remove the makeup stains left behind, but by tomorrow your stomach will be adorned with deep red and purple bruises- intensifying and darkening as the days go on. Any crouching or bending afterwards will probably sting and ache.

Intense, x pupil eyes rove over your body hungrily. Your half-stripped body is feverish despite the frigid blizzard raging just outside the window behind you. Unsteadily, your arms wrap around Arlecchino’s shoulders— wishing that she would hurry up. Sooner than you can complain, she interjects.

“I know, I'll give you what you want soon.”

“You always say that, and it always takes forever.”

She rolls her eyes, playing with the waistband of your pants.

“There is nothing wrong with enjoying my food.”

A light sting makes your hairs stand on end as the black- and white-haired woman presses her nail into your flesh harshly and traces the hem of your waistband.

“Ow!! I’m not one of your victims; you have to treat me with care!”

“Oh please, you like it when I'm mean.”

Taking matters into your own hands, you find the edge of her jacket and push it open. The fabric resists when going over her shoulders, and she does not assist even a little bit. After watching you struggle for a few seconds, she smirks— tenderly shoving your wrist away.

“You need help there?”

Provocatively, Arlecchino shrugs off her jacket and easily removes the shirt underneath. Your mouth waters at the sight of her bare chest. It's like seeing the full divinity of an archon for the first time. If she had asked you to denounce your loyalty to the Tsaritsa at this moment, you'd do it without hesitation. Your greedy hands grope and grab at the tent in her pants.

“Already…? Were you that excited to see me?”

“Did you want me to be unprepared?”

Thumbing at the button on her pants, you watch as more of her pale skin is uncovered. Only you get to see her like this. The leather of the harness digs into her hips and the small bit of fat around her tummy swells over the material. Eyes wide, you look up at her, running your finger over the edge of the strap.

“What are you waiting for?”

She sits up, pushing your head towards her pelvis.

“Get to work.”

Tentatively, you shove her pants down until they’re caught around her knees. The bright red silicone springs up— almost hitting you in the face. Crouching over, your hand wraps around the base as you glance up at her. It is unfair how heavenly she looks even at this angle. Your lips wrap around the thick head. It stretches your jaw unpleasantly.

“Mmmm.”

She grunts impatiently.

“Come on, I know you can take it.”

The harbinger’s large hand descends down to rest on the back of your head— encouraging you to take her deeper. Your eyebrows furrow. It's a struggle to take everything at once. Tears spring up as the hard silicone nudges at the back of your throat. A low growl vibrates in her esophagus as her fingers curl in the threads of your hair, pushing you down further.

Coughing and gagging from the sudden force, you swallow around the intrusion. Just the thought of her feeling your mouth working for and pleasing her through the strap makes your stomach do little flips. You press your thighs together— It's nearly unbearable to have to hold back.

“Taking me so well, such a good girl.”

Her voice is rough, tinged with pleasure. Nasty squelching fills the room as you’re choked on her cock. Saliva coats your lips and chin, dripping down the base. Blood rushes to your face, overheating and setting your nerves alight.

“Fuck... You love this don't you? You like being under me, serving me.”

Nodding, wet salty tears trickle down your cheeks. It's arduous work to get proper air into your lungs. They simmer and throb from the lack of oxygen, but the burn is thrilling. Finally, she lets up. Her hands let your head snap back up.

Gasping for air, you can feel the blood rushing back into your fingertips and your face finally returning back to a normal temperature. A thick glob of drool still connects your shiny abused lips to the strap hanging from Arlecchino's hips. Your hands feebly grip onto her thighs for purchase. A cold, delicate thumb ghosts over your jaw— compelling you to look at her in her crazed red eyes. They're glowing, charged.

“You don’t think you're done yet, do you?”

It's not a question. It's a command to keep going. Your mouth opens up, accepting the dull head of silicone in. There's an ache in your cheeks and lips that draws a shaky sigh from your gut. She tsks softly, thumb massaging your jaw.

“I thought you were better than this. We worked so hard to get you to this point and you can't do it for more than a few minutes?”

Her claws hook into the flesh of your cheeks, squishing them together and forcing you further down. Viscous spit does little to lubricate properly— the friction inflames your throat, but Arlecchino still demands more. Her hips jut forward, pushing onward. You bob your head— observing every jerk of her hips and the way her abs tense with effort.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the edges of the leather, hooking around the material, and dragging her closer. She didn't slow down even for a second, thrusting into you brutally. Your head is rocking back and forth frantically. The violent movement is making your brain spin. Her ragged breathing and the lightheaded trance you've been put in motivates you to push past the cramp in your jaw.

Just when you're sure your lungs will collapse— when your vision starts to cross, and your legs are beginning to tingle from inadequate blood circulation— Arlecchino tenderly draws you off the strap. Relief washes over you. Sweat is dripping down your forehead, spit coats your lips and chin. Your lungs greedily wheeze and seek out fresh oxygen, laboriously expanding and filling with air after being compressed for so long.

She chuckles evilly.

“Too much?”

You shake your head.

“I can handle it.”

Your voice is rough and shaky— completely ruined by her forceful thrusts. Her rough fingers wipe away your tears.

“Well, you did wonderfully.”

The praise cascaded over you like boiling hot springs. Your skin was blistering and tender— unused to her sweltering warmth. Arlecchino was never one for kind words of approval. It's nearly too much. The comforter is hot, and the room is too stuffy, and you can't think straight even when you close your eyes. You swallow hard, fingers roughly burrowing into the sheets.

“Come on...”

Her frigid hands lightly push you onto your back, putting a pillow underneath your hips. Savagely, she rips your pants and underwear off— like a beast craving its next meal. Jagged nails dig into the meat of your inner thighs, easing them apart, your legs wrap around her hips. She reaches across from you, grabbing a tiny bottle filled with cherry-scented oil.

Arlecchino pours the light pink liquid onto her hand, working it over the spit-slicked toy and moving closer, intertwining your hands together and planting them beside your head.

“Are you ready?”

Her face is so close that you can feel her excited breaths grazing your neck. You nod. It's a good thing you're not standing because your legs feel so weak you would have collapsed by now. There's a small ripple of anxiety in your stomach growing bigger and bigger the more she waits to push in.

“Good, good. Stay relaxed for me.”

A loud whine builds in your throat, difficult to stifle, as Arlecchino pushes in— punching the air out of your lungs. Your body easily accepts the intrusion, but it burns. Her pelvis is pressed against the flesh of your ass, completely sheathed inside you, waiting for you to adjust. Your eyes shut tight while Arlecchino started pressing soft tender kisses down your sternum, her coarse tongue laps at your nipples.

“Agh f-fuck-”

“Relax, baby. Relax.”

Her nails bite into your flesh painfully—- scratches and blemishes are sure to dye your thighs in dark purples and reds. Your head feels like it's swimming, drowning underneath the thick layer of shame and arousal. Arlecchino's hips pull back and snap back towards your warm cunt. She sets a brutal pace, spearing you open on her cock, pounding against your sweet spot.

“So good for me... That's it, just take it.”

Electric sparks scatter at the base of your spine. You choke on your own spit as she drives herself back in savagely, dragging against your sensitive, pliant walls. Your toes curl, hips rolling back against her, letting out a string of garbled wails and whimpers. She captures one of your nipples between her sharpened teeth, clamping down.

The bed frame bangs against the cold stone wall loudly. It's a wonder people haven't found the two of you yet. Her hand comes up to thumb at your other nipple. She knows it's impossible, but she swears she can feel you pulsing around the silicone cock— pulling her in.

“God Arle… you feel-”

“You just can't stay away huh?”

Admiring the view beneath her, Arlecchino hikes one of your legs up and to the side, until your knee is practically touching your shoulder. Your thighs shake with effort. Even after so many nights spent with her, this is never something you fully got used to. Your mind struggles to think straight, movements are slowed and dulled— the sensation of your precious lover is making you more drunk than the eggnog ever would have.

“Please!”

“Fuck… you have no idea how you look right now.”

Your fingers claw and cling onto her shoulders, slipping with the sweat pouring between your bodies. Arlecchino seems feral. Her eyes glow bright red and your head lolls back. Your eyes are filled with overwhelmed tears as a lump forms in your throat. A knot forms in the pit of your tummy, straining and tensing. She carves a space for herself inside you— pelvis whacking against the supple flesh of your ass.

“Are you feeling full, baby?”

Back arching, you desperately try to get closer somehow, but you just barely lift off the bed. All the blood rushes to your head, your body is overwhelmed by the sensation of her— by the heat searing your skin. Her mouth sucks at the junction of your throat. Slick drips down onto the bed, leaving an embarrassing wet spot in the freshly cleaned sheets.

“You're getting there huh? Come for me”

Pitchy mewls get caught in the base of your throat. Your hips twitch— overextended. The knot bursts open and ardent fire burns through your veins. The heat is all-consuming. You gurgle and spasm as wave after wave of white-hot pleasure wracks your body. She works you through your orgasm, thrusting gently a few more times before stilling.

As your bodies cool down, Arlecchino peels herself from you, thumb tracing circles on your waist as she checks on your condition. She pulls out slowly, making sure to not hurt you. A loud grumble bubbles up your throat.

“Yeah, yeah I know, stop bitching at me.”

Time drips by slowly. Your mind is barely awake— held together by her affectionate kisses and gentle massages. Her cold thumbs press into your muscles, trying to get ahead of the inevitable soreness that will veil your entire body. Sweet mango slices are pressed against your lips. It's hard to chew thoroughly, it's exhausting.

“Tired?”

You nod.

“I'll be out of your hair soon, just eat a little more for me.”

She kisses your forehead softly. Soon, the bowl of mango slices is completely gone, and Arlecchino lays you down on your side, climbing into the bed with you. When did she get cleaned up and in her sleepwear? Were you really so far gone that you didn't notice before?

Of course, you were left undressed.

At her mercy.

The rest of the night and early morning is spent sleeping. You wake up with her warm arms wrapped around you— tightened like vines trying to cage you in. Breaking free is impossible. Any movement just makes her pull you in harder. The heat radiating off her skin is starting to get excruciatingly uncomfortable. In a fit of anxiety, you finally manage to shake her off you.

Despite being a light sleeper, Arlecchino still hasn't stirred from her deep slumber. You try to get dressed quietly— It's the least you could do. She definitely deserves more sleep. Your nose scrunches as you're forced to wear what you brought. Putting on day-old panties is not exactly ideal.

“You're leaving already?”

The rough voice startles you. Head snapping up, you make eye contact with her. A shiver runs down your spine at the look in her scrutinizing stare.

“Yeah, it's like 6 am… He was expecting me to come back hours ago. He'll worry.”

“Who cares? You don't even like him. I want you here.”

You're stunned. Arlecchino had never talked like this before, it's not in her nature to show affection— let alone imply that she wants you with her.

“First of all, I never said i didn't like him-”

“I can tell.”

“... Well, I have to go, I don't have time to talk about this.”

“Not going to lie and say you like him?”

You quickly gather your shirt and pants, throwing them on as fast as possible. It doesn't matter if she hears you anymore. She's already awake anyway. Grabbing a tissue, you try to wipe off the red stains Arlecchino left on your neck.

“I'm not talking about this anymore.”

“Why, because you know I'm right? You shouldn't even be with him. He doesn't please you like I do. He doesn't care about you.”

Irritation welled up in your chest. Why the hell is this even a discussion?? Not only is she pestering you about something irrelevant, but the stupid lipstick marks she left on your chest and neck are visible above the collar of your shirt— she just had to use makeup that was practically impossible to remove.

Rubbing it only made it worse.

“Did you use paint?? This won't come off!”

“Don't change the subject.”

“I’m not, I need this off.”

Arlecchino throws the blankets off, stomping over you and ripping your weaker hand away from your neck.

“You don't like him. What is the point of going back to him exactly? So he can mold you into the perfect wife that you'll never be?”

“Maybe I want to be the perfect wife. Did you ever think of that? Just because you're miserable in your love life, doesn't mean that the rest of us are.”

“You cheat on him regularly. You're not fooling anyone but yourself”

There's no way you're staying here any longer. The room seems smaller, and the air is so thick you can barely breathe. Neither of you speak for a few moments. Her eyes burn so brightly you think you may just catch on fire.

“It's not cheating. My heart is still with him, this is just… casual fun.”

Arlecchino's face twists. Her grip on your wrist tightens. It's like you're ensnared in a hunter's trap, destined to be prey.

“And that's how you really feel?”

Her voice is strangely calm— all the cold tension in her body melts away.

“Yes.”

You watch silently as she lets go of your wrist, makes her way back to bed calmly, and sits down.

“Okay.”

“...What?”

She shrugs, leaning back.

“If that's how you feel, I think our… affiliation has come to an end.”

“You're breaking up with me?”

“Like you said, this isn't anything serious right? It's casual fun, I would hardly call it ‘breaking up’.”

Blood bubbled and seethed through your arteries— Your veins are pulsing underneath your skin. Without another word, you stomp through the room and gather your things. Leaving for good.

In a corner of Zapolyarny palace, away from prying eyes, you managed to scrub every last visible trace of that woman's lipstick off. Your throat aches and the skin feels as though it's about to rip from the incessant, aggressive rubbing. You slip on the collar your boyfriend brought you, which only made things worse. Now, not only is it constantly chafing against your neck, but it's also practically strangling you.

The blizzard raging outside the safe haven of the castle sends a chill through your bones as you step outside. It's a long, isolated walk back home. Wind whips around you so furiously that, for a second, you think it may just carry you off with it. Honestly, it would be preferable to living the life you've been leading.

Arriving back at your house is no easier. As soon as the door is unlocked, you're bombarded with questions regarding your whereabouts. You don't answer. Locking yourself in the room, you ignore the knocking and constant pestering from your boyfriend through the next week. Eventually he drops it. You suspect he already knows anyway, but he didn't confront you directly.

There's not a complete lack of contact with Arlecchino, however it's not the same. As a lower ranking fatui officer, you had to work with the harbinger to a certain degree. Her eyes always lingered on you more than others, but there was no more warmth in her gaze, only freezing apathy. Is it possible for her to have moved on so fast? It shouldn't be. After all those rushed meetings throughout the years, after what she said about wanting you to stay, was it a lie? It wasn't meant to be more than casual fun.

Deep down something in you wishes it was more.

—

It's supposed to be the best day of your life. Every little girl's dream.

Why doesn't it feel that way?

Nothing about this feels right. Millions of mora spent did not make you any more excited to put on the dress or see the venue. He insisted you wear the wretched piece of leather he bought for you months ago, and he didn't seem to like the way you did your makeup during the trial. The lack of lipstick felt too boring for him. Maybe going against his wishes will finally make him leave.

All of the harbingers and the Tsaritsa herself were invited, but none of them decided to attend. Deep down, you wish Arlecchino would come. But she would never do that, you knew better than to get your hopes up.

It feels like a death sentence walking down the aisle. Like a lonely sailor stuck in the arctic sea, waiting for the unstoppable enormous wave to take over and drown you. Falling into the hands of a man you feel, at most, ambivalent about. The music is beautiful— it somehow sounds like the lively orchestra from the party on that one fateful night. At the altar, he grabs your trembling hands.

Your mind wanders as the officiant blabbers on and on about the beauty of matrimony— would Arlecchino be the one standing in front of you if the fight had not happened?

Most nights, you can't help but think of what could've been. You never took her for someone to be committed but that day she seemed almost… vulnerable.

You feel a tap, as people wait for your response. Looking at the man in front of you, expectant with his mouth popped open, you realize what's happening. The choker around your neck tightens, seemingly attempting to kill you on the spot. You wish it would.

“...I do.”

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

You're pulled into a breathtaking kiss, and a curious nauseating feeling develops in your stomach. it's just not right.

[vorecaptions]

A Father Tradition - pt 1

(dedicated to @conchoronzon)

“You’re perfect,” John murmured, his voice low and impossibly smooth as he ran his fingers over the taut, rippling muscles of his son’s chest. “Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve molded you into… it’s all here. In you.”

Ethan, broad-shouldered and chiseled, his body a testament to years of rigorous training, looked up at his father with a mixture of pride and unease. John’s touch was warm, almost possessive, and it sent a shiver down Ethan’s spine. “Thanks, Dad,” he said, flexing unconsciously under his father’s scrutiny. “I’ve been pushing hard. The new routine… it’s working.”

“It’s more than working,” John replied, his lips curling into a sharp, predatory grin. “You’re a god among men, Ethan. And soon… soon… all of this will be eternal.” His hand lingered on Ethan’s chest, his fingers pressing just a little too hard, as if he were testing the firmness of the flesh beneath.

Ethan frowned, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean, eternal?”

John’s grin widened, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You’ll see.”

---

John sat in his bedroom. The walls were lined with photographs—his sons, all of them. Ethan, muscular and confident, Brad, agressive and dominant, Lucas, lean but defined, his body honed to perfection. And then there were the others, their faces frozen in time, their bodies now a part of him. He traced a finger over the frame of a photo, his mind drifting back to the deal he’d made centuries ago.

The devil had been… persuasive. The promise of eternal youth, of power beyond measure, had been too tempting to resist. And so, John had become a pred, a man with the ability to consume others and absorb their strength, their vitality, their very essence. It was a gift, he told himself. A blessing. The key to perfection.

But perfection required sacrifice.

John leaned back, his gaze falling to the mirror on the wall. Even now, centuries later, he was handsome. Middle-aged, with a jawline that could cut glass and a body that rivaled the best of them. But time was a cruel mistress, and even the devil’s bargain had its limits. He could feel it—the faintest whisper of age creeping in, the subtle ache in his joints, the first signs of wrinkles around his eyes.

He needed to feed.

And Ethan… Ethan was ready.

---

John had always been a manipulator. It was his gift, his art. He could weave words like silk, wrapping them around his sons until they were bound to him, willing to do anything for his approval. Ethan had been no different. From the moment he was born, John had molded him, shaping him into the perfect vessel. The perfect meal.

It had started innocently enough—encouragement to lift weights, to eat right, to push himself beyond his limits. But it hadn’t taken long for John to introduce supplements, then steroids, always with the promise of greatness. And Ethan, eager to please, had followed without question.

Now, as John watched his son flex in the mirror, he felt a pang of pride. Ethan was everything he’d hoped for—strong, virile, with a body that radiated power. But beneath that pride was something darker, something hungry.

“Why don’t we take this to the next level?” John had said one evening, his tone casual, as if he were suggesting a new workout routine. “You’ve already surpassed your brothers in every way. But there’s a final step… a way to make all of this permanent.”

Ethan had hesitated, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

John had smiled then, his eyes gleaming. “Trust me, son. By the time we’re done, you’ll be everything I’ve ever wanted.”

---

Now, here they were.

John leaned in closer, his breath warm against Ethan’s skin. “You’ve always trusted me, haven’t you?”

Ethan nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of course, Dad.”

“Good.” John’s hand moved to the back of Ethan’s neck, his grip firm but not painful. “Because this… this is where you become more than just my son. This is where you become me.”

Ethan’s eyes widened, confusion and fear flickering in their depths. “What are you—”

But before he could finish, John’s mouth opened impossibly wide, his jaw unhinging like a snake’s. Ethan staggered back, his muscles tensing as he tried to pull away, but John’s grip was like iron. With a speed that belied his age, John surged forward, his mouth engulfing Ethan’s head in a single, fluid motion.

Ethan’s scream was muffled, his body convulsing as John’s throat expanded, swallowing him whole. Muscle by muscle, inch by inch, John devoured his son, his body swelling with each gulp. The room was filled with the sound of wet, rhythmic swallowing, the air thick with the scent of sweat and fear.

And then… it was over. John took hours to finish consuming Ethan, and the process was always a delicious agony. He could feel Ethan inside him, screaming to be free, fear and adrenaline flooding his veins, now John's bloodstream as well. When he finally finished he flexed his abds tight, they became sheredded as Ethan's were.

The muscles being redistributed to his own older frame, remaking him, rejuvenating his flesh. He could feel his face changing, being more handsome by taking Ethan traits for himself. And that wasnt the best part, the boy had a good 8 inches of man meat, that mass was added to his own schlong as well, enlarging, swelling his virility further, now shy of 11 inches of superior white cock. And his testicles, the literal family jewels that made all this possible to continue, the fille themselves with the essence, the potential Ethan had as a male, he was so fucking fertile, but now it was taken, harvested into his father's large balls, making them even more potent. John looked in pride of how much he got, the next woman he'd breed should make an even more perfect male, possibly many, his seed became so concentrated he was sure he could make as many boys as he could get his cock into pussy. And that was a lot.

John stood tall, his body rippling with new power. His muscles were thicker, more defined, his skin taut and smooth. He ran a hand over his chest, a low, satisfied groan escaping his lips.

Perfect.

He glanced at the mirror, his reflection staring back at him with a smug, self-satisfied grin. “Forever young,” he murmured, his voice deeper, richer than before. “Forever perfect.”

But as he turned away from the mirror, a flicker of something passed through his eyes—something dark, something hungry. There were still sons to mold, still sacrifices to make. And he… he would never stop. Not until he was everything. Not until he was God.

“Who’s next?”

[mareastrorum]

Hello! I’ve been looking at your blog after Critical Role episodes for a couple of weeks now and I have to agree with you wholeheartedly about pretty much all of it. I wanted to ask you your opinion on the idea that a majority of us are calling Bells Hells the bad guys because all they’re doing is ‘wanting to dismantle the oppressive force that aims to destroy an entire established society of innocent people’. I’m having trouble understanding what oppressive force that is?

Thanks for the ask! There's two parts to this, so I'm going to address them separately.

First, there is no "oppressive force that aims to destroy an entire established society of innocent people." Like, the only group that came close to that in this campaign was the Weave Mind and the Imperium, which intended to take over Exandria in its entirety and subject the entire population to hivemind slavery--but Bell's Hells did little to oppose them. Vox Machina (backed up by an army) demolished the Imperium's main forces at the Exandrian base of the bloody bridge. The Mighty Nein killed the Weave Mind and then started mopping up their allies that remained on Ruidus. Bell's Hells did nothing to support that rebellion other than assist on a scouting/sabotage mission and then flee.

Otherwise, there is no force aiming to destroy society. Ludinus wanted Predathos out so it could eat the gods, and there was no intent about anything other than that. He did not care one way or the other about collateral damage. Predathos doesn't either, but it wants to eat, and we do not know what level of divinity is too small for it to prioritize. And let's be serious, unless a god flees and lures it away, there's no reason for Predathos not to look at a planet full of life and think, "Hmmm, it might not taste good, but I am so fucking hungry."

A good while ago, when the Hells had initially reached Vasselheim, I saw discussion of whether Vasselheim and other Exandrian forces intended to wipe out all Reilorans and other Ruidus-based species. I think Evoroa's plea and assistance made directly to the leadership of Vasselheim has already prevented that potential result. Of course, the Exandrians are working together as a collective of dozens of factions, and each of those has untold numbers of individuals working for them. It's possible some of them will insist on war anyway, but given the actions of the three campaign parties, I don't see that happening on an organized scale. Regardless, Bell's Hells aren't focusing on that right now, and nothing they could/would do with Predathos would affect that either.

The only other faction that comes close to that idea is the Betrayer Gods, but they don't care about society. They want genocide. They want to murder every single mortal in existence, and then torment their immortal souls for all eternity. I literally cannot overstate the disdain the Betrayers have for mortals. They are Exandrians' ultimate enemy. The Divine Gate is the only thing protecting mortals from the Betrayers, and it requires every god to unanimously agree to drop it. That is phenomenal protection. There's been no serious threat to it since its creation.

In particular, I want to highlight that "the gods" as a category of entity are not a united faction. The gods don't rule anything on Exandria--not even Vasselheim. That's a purely mortal project! Mortals decided to build a city dedicated to the gods, and given that it's filled with their followers, the gods have historically spent particular attention to protecting it. That makes perfect sense, and it doesn't mean the gods are in charge of it.

Obviously, there will be other factions across Exandria that could fit that bill, but Bell's Hells hasn't had to deal with them in this campaign. Like, chaotic evil factions exist, they're just not in this story right now.

Next, whether Bell's Hells are villains, bad guys, etc.

I've written up how I assess villains in my pinned post. That's my general approach to any type of story, whether it's interactive, written, oral, etc. It's a very broad overview of when is a villain an effective narrative device? I am rather harsh in my criticism of villains: if they didn't improve the story, they should not have been included at all.

We could cherrypick through the various episodes to come up with an argument that Bell's Hells are the bad guys, but my problem with them is that they aren't effective villains. A villain's primary purpose is to highlight a theme in the negative: what is the wrong thing to do in these circumstances, and why is that? The reason they aren't effective is that they don't have a motivating purpose.

Bell's Hells are a chaotic faction that consistently deviates from whatever is requested of them. They claim to be for the people, then denigrate and oppose every faction they've encountered. They claim to have changed their minds about some of the gods (the Matron and the Arch Heart in particular), then repeatedly ignore or contradict the plain statements told to them, but they still seek out the gods' instructions regardless. This carelessness or apathy makes it impossible to map a philosophy onto the PCs other than "I felt like doing it in the moment."

None of them have been able to articulate a reason that they chose this path. Maybe the players will come up with some hamfisted excuse next episode, but it's still going to be unsatisfying from a narrative viewpoint. This stream had hundreds of hours to show that and instead needs someone to say it in the last episode. It's terrible storytelling, and none of them could claim that it was impossible to see this confrontation coming. We've known it was coming since Ludinus successfully bridged Exandria and Ruidus. There was time, and it was not spent wisely.

Going beyond dialogue, there's no consistency to Bell's Hells's actions except the desire to kill Ludinus. That muddled any potential message that could be conveyed about them as villains in a story except "kill Ludinus in particular." We can't even say they oppose any existing hegemony because none has been established in Exandria. There's no racial, economic, social, religious, etc. group dominating the world. Again, as said above, the gods don't rule anything, and they're stuck behind the gate.

Any potential to build Bell's Hells into worthwhile villains was squandered. Everyone but Orym had an explicit, tailor-made opportunity to lean into their darker personality traits, and every one of them chickened out--except Ashton, who gave into his desire to be special and have power to lash out at people standing over him. Unfortunately, Ashton's attempt to absorb another shard of a primordial would have also broken the game on a D&D level, so that got reversed and reworked into a character moment that also had no lasting impact on his character arc. Ashton hasn't bothered exploring it since. That's really the core problem: every time the PCs had the option to pursue a villainous path, they ran the fuck in the opposite direction, then dithered about what to do.

Without conviction, villains are merely bullies. They're just here to be mean, stop other people from getting what they want, and jeer at others when they get their way. We saw that in this latest episode. There's nothing Bell's Hells wants. They don't even want to be involved. They're just doing it because they can't even commit to going home--because they're player characters in a D&D game, and the players didn't want to switch to new characters.

That makes for a terrible villain story. Like, once we see the final episode and all the PCs have had an opportunity to take action and speak on their own behalf, we'd be able to revisit this with more definitive statements. Unfortunately, I can't think of a single way this could go that would correct the flaws I've already listed. It's far too late to correct the characters' lack of direction to develop a coherent villain arc for any of Bell's Hells.

[dekariosclan]

Attention Galemancers: Gale thinks you are wonderful

In celebration of Galemancer week, this post is dedicated to all my fellow wizard-lovers 💜

We’ve talked plenty about how much we love Gale—but in this post I want to talk about how Gale Dekarios loves us, too. Very, very much.

From Astarion-to-Gale pipeliners, to the gamers who played BG3 not intending to romance anyone, to players who thought they’d just play the game casually and mayyybe smooch the hunky Druid elf guy or hot fiery lady, we all played BG3 thinking we had a pretty clear idea of how it was going to go—only to find ourselves rizzed by the wizard.

But we didn’t just choose Gale—Gale chose us.

Remember, Tav does not initiate the romance; Gale has to choose to start the weave scene. So if you’re reading this and you’re a Galemancer, it’s because Gale wanted you to be one.

That’s right Galemancers: Your Pixel Husband©️ took one look at you/your Tav, liked you immediately, and told the other romanceable companions, ‘I beg your pardon, this one is mine.’ The rest is history.

Gale loves us just as much as we love him—and this goes for ALL GALEMANCERS, no matter how your romance went:

Did you go into the game already liking Gale and actively wanting your Tav to romance him? Then Gale applauds your excellent taste. It’s one of the many reasons he chose you! To like so many things about him, and right from the start…he thinks your generosity is quite wonderful.

Did your Tav choose another companion first, and only romance Gale later on/during a second play through? No matter. He knew that you would come to your senses eventually! (just like he’s sure Minthara will appreciate him at some point…) He just had to be patient. It’s fine; you were worth the wait, after all.

Did you get Sneaky God Gale and have to re-do your run/start a new one to get your human proposal ending? Gale knew from the start that you were special—and that you would love him enough to replay the game and fix any bad outcomes. He knew you would do whatever was necessary to correct his path so he could marry you! Seeing you do all that for him…well…it only makes him want you more.

Did you encourage Gale to become a God & have him ascend your Tav, too? Then GodGale is beyond thrilled he chose you. Like he says in the human epilogue: ‘I could spend an eternity in your company.’ Now he can finally do that! (One small request—please keep his ambition in check, but do allow him to continue to troll Raphael as often as he likes.)

Did you romance Gale, but have your Tav go to Avernus with Karlach to help her? Gale always knew you had a heart of gold, and that’s one of the reasons he chose you. A little distance & time won’t hurt a bond like yours—and he’ll have his hearth & home waiting for your return.

Did you read online guides to do Gale’s & Tav’s romance correctly and get the ending you wanted from the start? What divine calculus plucked you from the heavens and thrust you into Gale’s arms? He knew you were studious and detail-oriented from the moment he met you, which is why he chose you! To know you studied so hard in order to get a good ending for him…none have loved him so purely before.

— — —

In short: Gale Dekarios doesn’t toss the ‘L’ word around lightly. He only picks someone to be a Galemancer if he truly thinks they are wonderful—and that’s not just anyone.

In conclusion: Galemancers, you are wonderful!

Now go enjoy the rest of this week with your well-earned and well-deserved pixel wizard—who chose you 💜

[evendimmer]

Anticipation

Pairings: Actress!Agatha x Reader Summary: Agatha gets ready for an event and you have to wait. Word count: 877 Warnings: Small mentions of mommy kink. Brainless fluff? Implications of smut? A/N: I went absolutely nuts after seeing this short. For my gals @etherealvampyre and @kukikatt 🫶

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The waiting is always the worst.

You don't mind waiting for a long period of time, no, it has never been about the time. You are perfectly fine with getting stuck in traffic, waiting in line or even being put hold on phone for at least an hour. It has never been about the time.

What you absolutely cannot stand though, is waiting for your wife to get ready.

The anticipation kills you.

Agatha has never let you join her when she gets ready for an event, big or small. Not even date nights when she does her own makeup and picks her outfit. She would always usher you out the room with a cheery, "see you later love!" leaving you stomping your feet in mock frustration at the closed door.

But you both know deep down, it is all worth the wait especially with how much you enjoy the revel. There is not one time you have not pull her into a seperate room just to show her how much you appreciate her look of the day, and you're sure she definitely enjoys your reactions too.

Maybe a bit too much.

Back to the now, you have almost lost track of time. How long has it been? Half an hour? Forty five minutes? An hour or two? You don't know. Any minute longer feels like an eternity to you.

Much to your relief, you hear the door to your bedroom bursts open and Agatha's voice calling out your name.

You have never sprinted faster up a flight of stairs in your whole entire life.

Agatha's styling team is just leaving as you reach your room but you don't find your wife with them. Her makeup artist, Wanda sees you and winks, tilting her head towards the bedroom, "She's inside. We have about 20 minutes before we have to go."

You feel your cheeks flush up so you mutter a small "thanks guys" as you weave between them, and finally spotting Agatha in the middle of the room.

Agatha stands up from the chair and places her arm on her waist for a pose before tilting her head to look at you, "So?"

The first thing that catches your eyes is her dress. Formfitting and elegant black dress, layered with sequins that shimmers like stars under the afternoon sun. Her hair, soft and velvety as always, is kept simple today flowing freely behind her back.

But it is her eye makeup that does it for you. A smudge of pink by the corner of her eyes, so vibrant and compliments her skin so well. For some reason it reminds you of a kitsune, like the trickster fox she is. How very fitting.

"I- I love it," you manage to blurt out, eyes wide in awe.

Agatha beams, warm and stretches so wide that it winkles her eyes and your brain shortciruits right there and then. You feel yourself reaching out and the next second Agatha is pinned to the wall with you on top, crashing your lips on hers for a searing kiss. When you pull back for a breath you are both painting, Agatha eyes widened and her lipstick slightly smeared.

“God, you’re so beautiful," you say between gritted teeth, shaking your head, "But you know that already, right?”

Agatha throws her head back and laughs and it is music to your ears. She looks back at you, her smile turned into a smirk and a cheeky glint in her eyes, “Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me more.”

You look at her, mouth slightly agape and all thoughts suddenly left your head. Where do you even start complimenting her? You don't know. You love everything, just everything about her. She is the most perfect woman, and you are never good with words to begin with. So you lower your head to rest on her shoulder and let out a small chuckle.

“What?” she asks with a shudder. Your breath must have tickled her neck.

“Nothing. You—you're so perfect that I'm all out of words,” You say softly, pulling back to trail your eyes up and down her face, finally settling on her eyes again, "But this eyeshadow...”

You reach out to cup her face, running a thumb over her cheekbones and very carefully brush a finger right beneath the vibrant pink by the corner of her eye, "... is definitely doing something to me."

Agatha's smile fades, she doesn't say anything. Her gaze never falters though for a second you wonder if you’ve said something wrong. To your surprise, she reaches up to clasps her hand on yours and turn to plant a slow kiss in your palm, eyes steadily holding yours.

You can feel your heart hammering mad inside your chest.

And if that isn’t enough to give you a heart attack right there, she gives you another wide beam and this time, bites on to her lower lip in a slow, agonizing manner.

“Well," she rasps, planting her lips on the shell of your ear, voice low and soft, "Mama’s very happy to know that.”

It is a miracle that you both manage to show up just in time to leave and without ruining too much of her makeup or hair.

[shizuturnspages]

Yandere Zhongli x gn!reader

❥ Zhongli's a man of contracts, and you'd better believe that as a yandere, he'll make sure you're fucking bound to him in every way possible. He'll find ways to tie you to him, whether it's through promises, obligations, or literal contracts that you can't break. You'll feel like you owe him everything, and he'll remind you constantly that you're under his care, his protection—his control. 

❥ Zhongli's lived for centuries, so when it comes to obsession, he's patient as fuck. He won't rush things—oh no, he'll take his time, slowly weaving his influence into every aspect of your life. Before you even realise it, he's completely fucking consumed you, like the slow erosion of rock. And once you're fully under his control? You won't even remember a time when you weren't his. Time is on his side, and he'll use every second to his advantage. 

❥ Zhongli's authoritative as hell, and he won't hesitate to use that power over you. His voice alone will make you feel like you've got no choice but to obey. If you ever try to defy him? Oh, he won't shout, won't rage. No, he'll simply remind you, in the calmest tone, of his strength and the consequences of breaking his trust. And you'll know deep down that trying to escape him is like trying to outrun a fucking mountain— impossible. 

❥ Zhongli's protective to the point of suffocation. He'll shield you from every danger, but that protection comes at the cost of your freedom. He'll say it's for your own good, that the world is too dangerous for you to face alone. And with his power, his knowledge, how the fuck are you gonna argue with him? You'll feel like you need him to survive, even though it's his obsession that's the real danger. 

❥ Once Zhongli's decided you're his, there's no fucking going back. His obsession is as solid as the stone he commands. You're not just someone he cares about—you're a part of his fucking legacy. He'll carve his presence into your life like an eternal monument, and even in his rare moments of affection, you'll feel the weight of his possessiveness. To him, you're his greatest treasure, and he'll guard you like a dragon with its hoard. 

You never thought this was how things would end up. When you first met Zhongli, he was calm, collected, wise—everything about him spoke of stability. A man of few words but with a presence that filled every room, like a mountain casting a shadow over the land. You were drawn to him almost immediately, but you didn't realise that the pull you felt was a trap. A gentle hand guiding you into his carefully laid snare.

It started slowly. He never demanded anything, never outright stated his intentions, but there was something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, that made it clear. You were his. Not in words, not in action—at least, not at first—but in the way he was always there. Like a pillar of stone, unyielding, watching over you.

You thought you were just growing closer to a friend. After all, Zhongli had always been so composed, so polite. How could someone like him have ulterior motives? But that's exactly what made him dangerous.

He didn't have to rush.

He had time.

You remember the first time you felt it—the weight of his control. You had wanted to go somewhere—just a short trip, a brief escape from the quiet routine that had begun to creep into your life. But when you told him, his calm facade didn't waver, but there was a subtle shift in his eyes. Amber, golden, burning with something cold and ancient.

"I see," he said, his voice steady. "And you intend to go alone?"

There was no threat, no anger, but the way he phrased it made your heart race with unease. You hesitated, sensing the underlying tension in his question. When you explained that it was just a harmless trip, something to clear your head, he nodded. Always calm. Always understanding.

"I understand your need for space," he said, that deep voice of his soothing. "But the world is dangerous, especially for someone like you."

You frowned. "Someone like me?"

His eyes held yours, unblinking, calculating. "You are important to me. I cannot allow anything to happen to you."

It should have been sweet, right? A man caring about your safety, wanting to protect you. But there was something in the way he said it, something in the depth of his gaze that made you feel like you weren't being protected—you were being kept.

Still, you went on the trip. It wasn't far, just to the outskirts of Liyue, but that's when you realized the truth. No matter how far you tried to go, the wind would always blow in Zhongli's favor. You were barely out of the harbor when a storm hit—something that wasn't in the forecast, something that didn't belong in the season. You had to turn back. And there he was, waiting for you with a soft smile and an outstretched hand.

"You see," he said, his tone dripping with something that felt too much like triumph, "the world is unpredictable. It's much safer to stay close."

From then on, the leash tightened.

Zhongli didn't need to control you through harsh words or violence. His control was much more subtle, much more terrifying. He'd always make suggestions that sounded so reasonable, so logical.

"You shouldn't go there," he'd say, placing a hand on your shoulder. "It's dangerous."

"You don't need to worry about those things anymore," he'd murmur, his voice gentle as he took care of every little detail in your life. Bills, errands, even your fucking social life—Zhongli had woven himself into every part of it, all under the guise of making things easier for you.

At first, you were grateful. Who wouldn't want someone as reliable as Zhongli helping them out? But then, as time passed, you started to realise that it wasn't just help. He was taking control of your life, piece by piece, until there was nothing left that wasn't touched by his influence.

You tried to pull away, to assert your independence. You told him you needed space, that you wanted to do things on your own. But Zhongli? He didn't get angry. He didn't raise his voice. Instead, he nodded, looking at you with those calm, calculating eyes.

"If that is what you desire," he said, his voice steady. "But understand that I only wish to keep you safe."

Those words. Keep you safe. It was always about safety with him. But the way he said it, the way he watched you—it didn't feel like safety. It felt like a fucking cage.

And it wasn't just his words. It was the way things would always seem to go wrong when you tried to break free. The weather would turn. Friends would cancel plans. Shops would close just as you arrived. At first, you thought it was just bad luck, but the more it happened, the more you started to suspect the truth.

Zhongli was controlling everything.

He had eyes and ears everywhere—his power, his connections, his age. He wasn't just some ordinary man; he was the fucking Geo Archon. He had influence over the city, over the land, and over you. And the worst part? He never acted like he was doing anything wrong.

One night, you confronted him.

"Zhongli," you said, your voice trembling with frustration and fear. "Why are you doing this? Why won't you let me live my life?"

He looked at you, calm as ever, as if your words were nothing more than the wind blowing through the trees.

"I'm only protecting you," he said softly, his voice like a lullaby meant to soothe. "The world is filled with dangers you cannot comprehend. It's my duty to keep you safe."

You shook your head, trying to make him understand. "But I'm not free! You're suffocating me, Zhongli!"

His eyes darkened, just for a moment, and you saw the flash of something deeper, something ancient and terrifying beneath the calm surface. "Freedom is a fragile thing, one that is easily lost to chaos. I offer you stability, safety—a life without fear."

He stepped closer, towering over you, his presence as unyielding as the mountains themselves. His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a way that would have been comforting if it weren't for the suffocating weight of his obsession.

"You don't understand now," he whispered, his voice low and deep, like the rumble of distant thunder. "But you will. In time, you'll see that I am the only one who can truly protect you. No one else can offer what I can."

You felt your knees weaken under the intensity of his gaze. His touch, though gentle, felt like a shackle—an invisible chain binding you to him. And deep down, you knew there was no escape. Not from Zhongli. Not from the Geo Archon.

He had time, and he would wait as long as it took for you to accept it.

The days that followed were worse. Every attempt you made to break free, to reclaim some semblance of your old life, was met with quiet resistance. Friends you reached out to stopped replying. Places you went for solace became inaccessible. Even your thoughts seemed clouded, as if Zhongli's presence had seeped into every corner of your mind.

He never raised his voice. He never lost control. But every time you defied him, you felt the subtle shift in his demeanor—the quiet authority, the unspoken reminder that he was in control. That no matter how hard you fought, you were already his.

One evening, after another failed attempt to escape his grasp, you returned home to find him waiting for you. His eyes were as calm as ever, but there was an edge to his voice, a weight that made your heart race with fear.

"You're exhausted," he said, stepping forward with that unnerving grace. "You've been fighting against something that cannot be fought."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm, and you felt the warmth of his touch—the heat of the earth beneath your feet, the crushing pressure of a mountain's weight.

"You belong to me," he said softly, his voice laced with finality. "I've waited long enough for you to understand. It's time for you to stop resisting."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if the very ground beneath you was conspiring with him. His hand slid up to your chin, tilting your face to meet his gaze, and you saw it—an unbreakable resolve, a fucking ancient force that would not be denied.

"I have made a contract," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "A contract to protect you, to keep you safe. And I will not allow you to break it."

His lips brushed against your forehead, a gesture so tender it sent chills down your spine. But it wasn't love. It wasn't affection. It was possession. Pure, unyielding possession.

"You are mine," he said, his voice steady and unshakable. "And nothing will ever change that."

As Zhongli's fingers trailed down your face, his voice dropped even lower, his breath hot against your ear.

"But don't worry," he whispered, his tone dark, seductive, and irresistible. "I will take care of you, forever. I will cherish you, protect you, worship you like the treasure you are... because you are mine."

His lips hovered just above your skin, and you felt the weight of his words sink deep into your bones, binding you to him.

"And I never let go of what's mine."

[muddyorbsblr]

mercy upon ourselves

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Your multiversal duty of punishing perpetrators of infidelity in their afterlife takes an interesting turn when you see that the betrayed party is one of your variants | loose 'sequel' to 'all will be alright in time'

Pairing: Loki (God of Stories/Time) x Reader; Will Ransome x Reader (different Reader)

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ | talks of infidelity; steamy moments at the end; (technically) mass murder; Cora Seaborne (yeah she's a warning); Will Ransome (in this case he needs to be a warning, too) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: this loosely takes place in the RTC 'multiverse', but no prior reading of the series is required; Reader is the goddess of fidelity

Dick-tionary: steamy moments (but not outright smut) starts at "Loki let out a low chuckle"

Your duty as goddess of fidelity, in theory, was simple enough. Upon the death of a betrayer, you were to choose their punishment in their eternal afterlife. After your first few thousand cases, they all began to meld into the same old tale, often feeling as if they all even wore the same face.

That was until this particular story. Where the face of the deceased and betrayed wife held…your own.

Before you could even call out to him, Loki was by your side in a heartbeat, laying his hands gently on your shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. "I can sense your unease, little Princess. What troubles you?"

Together you looked through the glowing branches that surrounded you, each telling the story of a different timeline, a different universe. Until you finally found the one which held the case you needed to review. The universe where your echo had died of a broken heart upon learning that your husband, Loki's echo in the form of a Reverend William Ransome, betrayed you to have an entanglement with a newcomer in your quaint village of Aldwinter.

"This is no variant of mine," your husband seethed. "I could never belittle our love like this, the thought alone pains me."

You took his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I know, husband. This timeline is simply…a fluke. Our echoes, our variants? They are not reflections of ourselves. His flaws and failures are not your burden to bear."

"Failure," he repeated, his top lip curling up in a sneer as he looked upon the faces of his variant and his mistress, living together under the same roof, sleeping in the very bed that your variant breathed her last. "That is precisely what this branch is. Perhaps it should just drift away…to wither and rot."

"Loki we should not punish an entire universe for the mistake of one man. There are still countless lives within this branch--"

"And your variant is no longer one of them because of the mistake of his one man. He deserves to suffer."

"And he will," you reassured him. "His suffering falls within my purview. It is my Norns-given duty to see to it. And while I know we both would relish in watching as this pathetic coward of a man sees the end of days upon him, I cannot in good conscience have it be at the cost of an entire universe. But perhaps the village that was complicit…the village that stayed silent to protect their precious reverend's reputation."

"What do you have in mind, my love?" He pulled you close to him, embracing you from behind, hands caressing your sides. Soothing himself from the unease of seeing how his variant dared take you for granted.

I was made to be yours. Words that resonated so deeply into both your souls. Words he used when he first confessed his love to you. The same words you yourself uttered when your memory spell had broken and you found him that fateful day eons ago.

The same words you both used within your new vows when he returned to you. And used ever since.

And somehow this insipid trifling man thought himself above those words? Dare even spit them back in the face of the same entities that weaved your two souls together so intricately that it bled through every timeline and universe known to him?

All the suffering in the Nine Realms would not be enough for this William Ransome as far as he was concerned.

"Well, husband, we are in a rather…unique circumstance," you mused aloud, a little sound of contentment slipping from your lips when he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I bear the same face as this Y/N Ransome…and they reside in a town that is riddled with a rather superstitious lot. And my variant…she deserves her revenge, does she not?"

Had it not been for the gloomier and grayer than usual state of the sky, it seemed a typical day in Aldwinter. It had been years since the spectacle that was your passing occurred, and the townsfolk had finally began to warm to the presence of Cora Seaborne. Sure, she and William would still get looks out of the corners of their eyes, especially when she would emerge from the house in a dress that people could have sworn was yours, but other than that, no one made any trouble for them.

Not to their face. Not anymore.

The cold heaviness of regret had made itself at home in the pit of your widower's stomach ever since that day, the day that he betrayed you. No amount of rationalizing could have him absolve himself of his sin. Any which way he went with his internal arguments, they would all land in the same place.

The blame fell entirely on him. And he would have to live with the consequences of what he'd done for the rest of his days.

In the form of the tombstone that would steadily erode with the passing of time.

And in the form of the new family he was all but strong armed into taking on, if only to spare himself more scandal and ridicule. He'd already lost the respect of a good number of the congregation, this would smite the number down to a paltry handful if he turned his back on his then pregnant mistress.

Though despite all their efforts at maintaining what they thought they'd found with each other, they had lost the babe. Twice. As if God Himself willed it so that no child would ever result from their treachery. A fitting punishment, as far as Will was concerned.

Love may not have been a weakness, but lust most definitely was. Lust was what drove him to commit the treachery that led to the loss of love.

He should have resisted. Walked away. Ran, even.

Perhaps if he had, you would still be here, serving as a bright ray of sunlight even in the dark gray overcast over your little town. Perhaps your children wouldn't have turned their backs on him and he would be allowed the privilege of getting to see them build their own families, lead their own lives.

Instead all he had was darkness and silence. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"William!" Cora's shriek traveled across the marshes.

Moments like these, he preferred the darkness and silence.

He tried to take in a breath before turning to face her, the picture of a doting partner. "What is it, Cora?"

"The look--the looking glass, I saw--"

Her stammering was cut short by the sound of Matthew frantically ringing the alarm bell. "TIDE INCOMING! EVERYONE GO INSIDE! GET TO SAFETY!"

One of the fishermen in the approaching boats stumbled forward until he fell limp in the reverend's arms. "The waves, they be the size of mountains. Bigger even. God is angry with us."

"No," Matthew wheezed, coughing out sea water. "That wasn't God, out there in the waters. Not our God. That was some sorceress, some witch. Demoness. We must find safety." He began to usher every villager he could find into the church. "She don't look like the type that shows mercy."

"She?" Cora spoke, pointing a shaky finger at the curate. "You…saw her face? Tell me does she look like--"

"Enough talk about the evil looming in on us, Mrs Seaborne!" he snapped, pointing his finger at the Ransome house. "Go home. May this evil, whoever and whatever she may be, have mercy on us all."

"What was that, Cora?" Will hissed as they made their way home. "You look completely beside yourself."

"I could have sworn I saw Y/N's face in the looking glass," she said shakily, gulping for breath, shuddering when she said your name aloud once more. "Will, she looked angry. Vengeful."

"You're not making any sense, Y/N is gone," he said tersely, a familiar lump forming at the back of his throat as he forced himself to acknowledge your absence from his life. He ushered her along, trying to ensure that she at least would not stumble too harshly. "I laid her into the ground myself, gave her eulogy."

"I know," she huffed. "But I also know what I saw, that was no hallucination, Will--"

"I've read texts that there are some pregnancies that alter with the minds, the perception of the expectant mother. Perhaps this is simply one of those cases," he waved off. "Look, Cora we're almost home. We can wait out the storm and then when this is all over you can rest. We all can."

She simply nodded and they cross the marshes back to their home, only to find Francis, pale as freshly pressed cardstock, awaiting them by the door. "Mother, F-Father, there's a woman--" he sputtered out, pointing at the open door.

And then you stepped out. "There you are. Cowards."

William's heart stopped in his chest watching you walk out of your old home, what seemed to be billowing fabric drenched and clinging to your skin, hugging every curve that his hands had longed for since your passing. Even soaking wet, your dress proudly gleamed a brilliant emerald green, and there was a glow that seemed to radiate from underneath your skin.

You were no longer of this earth. You were something…more. Something above them all. And it showed in the way you held yourself, in your gaze as you looked upon the marshes that held your former home. As you looked upon the husband that survived you, your upper lip curling in derision as you saw the bump protruding from Cora's stomach.

"Y/N…" he whispered your name, your sheer presence bringing him to his knees. "Sweet wife, you have returned--"

"Hold that rancid thought," you silenced him, raising your hand in the air as if grasping for something. In an instant, his words ceased, feeling as if his tongue had swollen and became as heavy as lead in his mouth. "You do not get to call me your wife, Reverend Ransome. Not since you sullied your vows and laid with this London whore."

Cora took a step toward you, opening her mouth as if to defend herself, or perhaps her lover. But you put a stop to that as well, raising your other hand in her direction, and suddenly she was forced to sink to her knees as well. "Please, Y/N," she pleaded with you. "Let us take this inside there is a tide coming--"

"Do you mean this tide, friend?" you spat the last word out, as if it tasted bitter on your tongue. Suddenly the tide was steadily approaching the shore, rising to a height that would completely engulf and decimate Aldwinter once it bore down on them. And you rose from the ground, floating well above the roof of the Ransome home, the reverend, along with his lover and her son, looking up at you in sheer horror.

"What do you want from us?!" Francis yelled into the sky, reminding you of how mortal worshippers would look to the sky and beg the gods for explanations. For miracles.

"I do not wish for you to give me anything, young Mr Seaborne. In fact, I wish to offer you all…a choice." You turned your gaze to the kneeling couple. "Get in the water. And perhaps I shall spare this town."

"Y/N please, this town is full of innocent lives, no matter what has happened to you I know in my heart that you would never wreak this kind of devastation upon--"

"What has happened to me?!" you repeated, your shrieking tone piercing even through the deafening sound of the tidal wave still standing tall, waiting to descend. "Your lustful indiscretion cost an innocent life, William Ransome. There is no innocent life in this town. Not anymore. The people here chose to stay silent, to keep your affair a secret for the sake of preventing a scandal. Though that didn't seem to work out the way you'd hoped, did it?" You motioned toward the wave with a jerk of your head again. "Get in the water."

The wave grew even more violent, already taking in the fishing boats and pulling it into its dark abyss.

They both stubbornly stayed still, still kneeling on the muddy marsh ground staying silent. The tramp's hand twitched toward the vicar's, but his moved upward, as if wishing to reach for you.

It was always you, she realized bitterly. She may have him now, but only as a result of his momentary lapse in good judgment where his body chose another's. But his heart…his heart would always choose you.

When presented with any semblance of a choice, Will Ransome would crawl back to you on his hands and knees in a heartbeat. And now she must lie on the bed she made. The bed they both made.

Only when you pointed toward her son, her dear Francis, and he was lifted up from the ground, kicking and struggling in mid-air, did both of them make a noise. Calling out to you, pleading for you to put him down and stop the madness. "This is the last time I will repeat myself, adulterers. Get in the water. Or your boy here suffers first."

"Y/N, stop this," Cora spoke, rising to her feet. "Are you not tired? It has been so long, years, even. Francis was still just a little boy when you last saw him. He is a grown man now, how long will you let anger consume you?"

Even from this distance, you could see the ire in Will's features, clearly ticked off with the words that came out of his lover's mouth. "My darling, please. What must I do to atone for my transgressions towards you? I will promise you anything, do anything. Whatever you wish for, it's yours, please can we just go home?"

You lowered both Francis Seaborne and yourself down to the ground, the young man running immediately to his mother, quivering like a leaf in the wind. The disgraced vicar reached his arms out toward you, every muscle tensing and freezing in place when you rose your hand into the air again. "It is the actions of philanderers like you that make the mortals look down on me, consider me a lesser god."

"God?" Cora repeated in a sharp exhale. "Don't be ridiculous, Y/N--"

"Fools like you don't realize what awaits you on the other side of your mortality, where the fate of your eternal afterlife…falls to me," you cut her off, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Adulterers doomed to suffer an endless loop of the consequences of their actions."

"My wife--"

"Is dead, Mister Ransome," you bellowed. From the corner of your eye you could see villagers gathering at their windows, the horror in their expressions as they began to speculate on what exactly had come to terrorize their quaint little town. "You killed her, there is no use in denying it. Your foolish, licentious choices brought her to her grave. For that alone, you will suffer once your feeble human life reaches its conclusion."

"If you are not Y/N Ransome, then who are you?" Francis asked, voice shaking as he held on to his mother. "Why have you come to wreak havoc in our lives?"

You walked toward the town's vicar, tears in his eyes as he watched you move closer. He reached for your hands, looking like a wounded pup when you swatted him away. "I am the goddess of fidelity," you answered simply. "When betrayers like you and your mistress cease your time on this mortal plane, you and everyone complicit in your torrid affair will be at my mercy."

The tide rose even higher, looming menacingly over the town in a dangerous arch, blocking out what little light they once had from the sun beyond the clouds. You grasped William's chin harshly, fear evident in his eyes, heart thundering against his chest.

"But your actions, your infidelity in particular…upset my husband," you spoke, holding his gaze as you  hissed the words inches from his face. "And for that, I am willing to bend the rules and begin your suffering ahead of time. Put forth the events that will thrust your pathetic souls upon my doorstep."

You rose from the ground again, rage for your fallen variant coursing through you as you heard them plead for forgiveness. For mercy.

"P-Please Y/N…" Cora sputtered out. "I will leave the town and no one will ever hear from me again, just please let me leave with my boy."

"No," you droned. "You have asked what you can do to atone, I presented you with a choice. Now I know how capable you both are of making choices, you've made several together, some of them even on the very ground you stand on. Which leads me to believe…you have made your choice. Stubbornly bargaining your way out of my wrath, out of your suffering. At the cost of this town you call home."

"You truly aren't Y/N Ransome, are you?" she spat out, a look of entitled indignance on her face. "The Y/N I knew wouldn't be this ruthless. She would have shown mercy--"

"Oh but I am showing mercy, you unworthy tart," you spat back. "For ruthlessness is mercy. Upon ourselves." With a flick of your wrist, the tidal wave was finally let loose.

And the little town of Aldwinter sunk into the water.

Before the tsunami crashed down and took you with it, Loki conjured a portal and pulled you back to safety, a bit of water splashing into your bedchambers before it closed. With a wave of his magic the water evaporated into the air, and your soaked dress was dried.

"Husband…" you spoke, a wide smile gracing your features when your eyes met his. You both were on the floor, the god cradling you in his arms as he pushed your hair away from your face.

"My darling wife," he breathed out, his own smile mirroring yours as he picked you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed. "Your flair for the dramatic has you reckless as ever."

He sat you on the edge of the bed, handing you a goblet of wine that did a quick job of warming you and canceling out the effects of the damp cold of Aldwinter.

"You should rest, my love," he said softly, moving to position himself behind you to undo the braids in your hair, carefully working his fingers through the wet strands. "This is the first time you wielded your newfound powers as a goddess, I can imagine your body feels overworked…and famished."

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, causing your husband to chuckle and press a tender kiss to your cheek. "How did you know when to pull me back?"

"To start, I must admit that I was watching the spectacular show you put on, avenging your variant with such vigor," he whispered into your skin. His hands found their way to your shoulders, working away at the knots. "And our souls' threads are intertwined, little Princess. I can always feel when you need me. I was made to be yours."

"And I yours," you sighed contendedly, leaning against him when he wrapped his arms around you. When he cupped the side of your face, holding you as he pressed his lips to yours, you all but melted into his embrace. "I love you," you mumbled against his lips.

"And I love you," he murmured, continuing to kiss your lips as he maneuvered you to lie down on the bed. With a wave of his hand, the fabric that covered your skin changed to something much lighter, more sheer. One of your sleeping gowns, you surmised. "Rest, dear heart. I shall arrange for food to be brought to us for when you wake."

Your body was all too eager to obey the softly spoken command. The rest of you, however…well, after the ordeal in that despondent village on Midgard, the rest of you ached for your husband's touch. To wash away the muck of the marshes.

Loki let out a low chuckle, kissing along your clavicle as his hand roamed the side of your body. "I can always feel when you need me," he repeated, his tone holding a much more lustful intent than moments earlier. "And much as I want nothing more than to indulge in making love to my beautiful wife, I cannot, should not, be so selfish and ignore her body's need for rest." He made his way to your lips, allowing himself the tiniest sliver of decadence as he licked into your mouth. "You'll need your strength for what I intend to do to you later tonight."

Your breath hitched as images flashed in your mind of your husband teasing and pleasuring you, claiming your body repeatedly well until after the sun rose the next morning. In multiple places throughout your marital chambers. Constantly finding or making the time to bring you to orgasm in the midst of pampering you.

Suddenly it made sense why he would choose to deny you now…in exchange for a much more delicious reward just a few short hours away.

"Would you stay regardless, husband?" you asked weakly, already feeling yourself succumbing to the exhaustion and the slumber that your plush sheets promised. "Hold me?"

You weren't able to see the loving smile that graced your husband's face from your request. You only felt the soft kiss on your forehead before he positioned you to lay in his arms. "Gladly, my darling." He conjured a book into his free hand, ready to begin reading to you when a stray question entered his mind. "What of their souls, Y/N? What hellscape did you design for them?"

"I gave them what they deserve," you grumbled, shifting your position to hold him closer, your arm draping over his stomach as you laid your head on his chest. "Each other. They are doomed to spend their afterlife together, with Cora knowing that his heart longs for his late wife. And William having to watch from the sidelines as my variant finds new love. You have a stray echo that never found his fated, by the name of Pine. I presume by now they've found each other, starting a story of their own."

A/N: Hang on what's this…? Did I tease a future story at the end there? 😳 Why yes…yes I did 🤭 Ngl this year felt like I didn't get a whole lotta stories done especially in the latter half, but hopefully with everything finding a bit of balance, 2025 will look a bit different and I can set aside more time for story writing 💖

Ooh, and also I def got the idea to make this because of the "Get in the Water" song

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

hey! I saw your writing for Miles earth 42. I was wondering if you could write what it would be like dating miles earth 42. Like some headcannons. Thank you!!

(hello! Sure I can and here ya go! Enjoy!)

Dating Earth 42 Miles Morales

I not gonna lie, he can be an ass at times

Especially when mad or annoyed or in arguments

Tries not to but is late or sometimes can't make it to daes and feels so bad

Tries to make it up to you the best he can

But other than that, he's probably the best boyfriend to have

Obviously before he was the prowler and before his canon event, he was just our Miles

After the canon, that changed but with you sometimes old peeks of that Miles bubbles up

He's protective

But in no way is possessive

You could do whatever you want and he would let you

Nobody is willing to mess with him or you because as you're doing your thing, he's nearby and watching you

If anyone looks at him and then to you, they can tell you're together

He's willing to fight if someone ever talks shit about you or makes you uncomfortable

Let's you braid his hair as long as you don't mess it up or pull on his hair too hard

He likes the feeling of sitting between your legs, his head like resting on your thigh as he just feels your hands making their way around his hair

It's a very comforting feeling and don't be surprised if he puts little pecks onto your thighs

Will not let you feel insecure, especially in like revealing or tight clothing because you just look so good

A sorta deep and sorta rough kisser at times, especially in the moment but in more soft and intimate times a slow and passionate kisser

Likes having his hands on your waist and sorta leaning you down as he kisses you, your arms around his neck and shit

Favorite place to kiss gotta be your neck and your jaw, he just has too

A hand always in your hip or on your back

Arm around your waist or around your shoulder

If you steal his clothes and he sees you for the first time in them he's gonna stare for a moment

Then just watch the smirk form as he comes up to you, kisses you and oh my Lord

Or he's hugging you from behind

Likes having his hands like roam your sides

Slips his hand onto your neck or weaves his hand into your hair, pulling you closer when you guys kiss

You can kiss him for an eternity and then some

Kissing you is like addicting to him

He always wants to make sure you're safe, and can handle yourself so he likes you to carry like a pocket knife or he taught you some shit

And if you get into fights he's obviously proud of you because you bet your ass you won

Makeouts are actually pretty common as he makes up kisses he missed

he either is hovering above you while you're on your back and kissing you

Or you're straddling him and kissing him, his lips slip down to your neck or your collar bone mind you

Or you're against a wall or he is against a wall

He likes flirting and making you flustered

He's an asshole with that shit

Calls you nicknames in Spanish or says stuff in Spanish, if you don't understand he does it even more

I feel after his dad he was more closed off, a wreck inside but wanted to be strong for his mom and you

You need to help with that and you di, you're practically his rock now who he goes to for anything, even when he doesn't want to talk

Just being around you helps him

He likes laying his head in your lap

It's just so nice and comforting to him, kiss his knuckles or play with his hands

"I love you, you know that, right?" Or "Don't worry, you got me." Is stuff he says on the daily

Hold his hand and run your hands over his knuckles and feel how relaxed he gets

He can hug you from behind, put his head on your shoulder and just stay there for god knows how long

He buys you a lot of shit to make up for what he cannot say as sometimes he can't say how much he loves and appreciates you

So he does stuff to show it

If you like cuddling he likes either having you by his side, arm wrapped around you with your head on his chest or him laying on your chest

Spoon him from behind, he loves it but will deny it entirely

Make him flustered, he'll be frozen for a minute before a real smile comes onto his face

On days where some shit is hard, either by being the Prowler he likes laying on top of you as you whisper shit into his ear

He needs stuff like that

If you got on with his mama he is not letting you go

Especially if his mom liked you because that shit is rare

Let's you steal his clothes on the daily

He sees you eyeing something when out with him, or he sees you about to buy something or have a new interest?

He's buying you it and buying you whatever you need

Go nuts, baby, he loves seeing the smile on your face

Play fights with you, likes pinning you down and just kissing you or tickling your side

He loves hearing your laugh and seeing your smile as they just calm him at the worse times

Likes sneaking away with you from anything possible

Little compliments mean so much from him, makes you feel good about yourself too

Arguments don't happen often but he doesn't yell at you when they do

He raises his voice but never yells at you

Some shit may slip, inconsiderate shit that makes him an asshole but he knows that immediately

Not the best at apologizing so give him time when he does come to apologize

Make him grovel ISTG

Nicknames from him are just so smooth and so- oh my god

Head on your boob and hand on your ass

I say no more

Will not let harm to you come no matter what as long as he breathes

He didn't plan on telling you he was the prowler for a long time

You had to find out yourself and he thought the relationship was over

He was saying over and over it was okay, he does it to protect his family and you, that he wouldn't hurt you and so on

You may need time but he understands

Always is sneaking in through your window also

If you have siblings and they meet him prepare because they now love him more than you

Babysits them with you and is now their partner in crime against you

He's so husband

[fatuismooches]

Currently in my human anatomy class and I need to get these brain worms out to focus on my notes 😭

Thinking about playing with the Harbinger’s hair/just hair related activities with them. I love having people play with my hair and playing with other’s hair, my love language is so very physical touch and I need to cling to the harbingers like a koala 🫶🫶

Braiding Capitano’s hair to keep it off his neck, weaving it in pretty patterns. It’s amusing to see such an intimidating man with pretty braids falling over his back.

Helping Columbina style her hair in the morning, brushing it out as she quietly hums a tune.

I imagine Pantalone would have some crazy fancy hair routine that he’d end up having you take part in. I like to think he curls his hair, so helping Pantalone take his curlers out and gently tousling it to loosen the curls. I bet his hair would be soooo soft!!

Sandrone doesn’t have very long hair, but I imagine she would allocate much time to care for it. Having to sit behind her as she works to brush her hair or just run your fingers through to get any tangles out, fussing over her to care for it.

I imagine Dottore would be a similar case. He’d never take the time to get a very good hair routine and probably even has you trim it when it gets too long. I love the idea of Dottore having long hair and imagine at least one of his segments would. You’d have to carry hair ties around for the segment/Dottore to tie his hair back.

Arlecchino doesn’t have long hair, but I imagine it gets in her face a lot because of how light and short it is. Carefully reaching out and tucking some strands behind her hair or holding it back when you can. Though, you get very good at cutting and styling hair from your time with the kids in the House of Hearth, helping keeping their hair in good condition.

Tartaglia is the same boat as Arle. His hair isn’t very long, but I’m sure his little sisters adore having you brush their hair and braid it for them. They’ll cling to you whenever you visit and beg you to play with their hair as Tartaglia chuckles at the side.

I JUST REALIZED I FOROGT PERRIO… i need to do my note work now… hoghhh.. ill be back, maybe,, [📺]

Poor Capitano gets so stiff at first when you try combing through his hair, he's so unused to being touched after being alone for so long, but you just want to introduce him to the softer aspects of life, away from his eternal war. He may have his mission to attend to but that doesn't mean he can't relax every once in a while! He's silent through the whole thing but trust me, he enjoys his braid very much.

Columbina refuses to get up and go about her day unless you promise to brush her hair and get all the knots out. Yeah, she could do it herself, but you always do it so much better! Still, that forever :) of hers makes you unable to say no to her, as Bina admires your handiwork in the mirror.

Pantalone's hair routine makes you admire the amount of patience he has because you could never (until he drags you into helping him of course, like he does with every other of his routines.) However, you understand why he's so finicky about his appearance, stemming from his childhood insecurity. Regardless, he very much appreciates it when you help him rather than his maids. Pantalone secretly adores how the mere act of touching his hair can suddenly become so personal when you're the one doing it.

Sandrone's hair is barely shoulder length, save for the two long locks that hang down to her chest, but she always makes sure it's as fluffy and silky as it could be. She's contemplated making Automatons to take care of it for her, considering the robots she has hands are too big to do such a thing. However, Sandrone determined there was no need to waste materials when she had you. The difficult part is that you have to work on it while she's still working, and she will send you a peeved look if you happen to pull a bit too hard.

Although Dottore takes care of basic hygiene and all he never cared all that much about his appearance, and you seem to like him no matter how he presents so it's not that big of a deal. Still, there are times he gets grumpy because his hair gets too long and keeps falling in his face when he's trying to experiment so you just take care of it for him. (I always HC Boattore to have long hair, it just feels right to me. He very soft and gentle when you play with it......)

(I think you may have forgotten Arlie has a whole ponytail at the back-) But regardless, I think the locks near her face would bother her more than the tail. She's considered cutting some of it off more than once but you love all the fluff so much she keeps putting it off for a later date. Father's also more than capable of taking care of herself but she definitely doesn't mind you playing with her hair when she's not busy. You are also the House's unofficial barber because you're much less scary than the other agents (to the little kids at least).

Childe takes care of his hair as the average person would do. He's actually considered growing it out a bit (mostly due to the curiosity of his siblings) but decided against it for now in case it gets in the way of battles. Still, he's more than capable of it considering how he grew up taking care of his sisters' hair, and them putting pretty pink bows in his. Nothing warms his heart more than to see them do the same to you!

[f1daydreamer]

Under the Spanish Sun

A/N: couldn't think of a better title😓

Genre: Slow-Burn Romance, Fluff

Warnings: None (pure fluff)

Plot: On a rare weekend off, Carlos invites you to his family home in Madrid. Amid sunny afternoons, home-cooked meals, and stolen glances, the two of you begin to realize there’s more between you than friendship.

---

The Madrid sun was relentless, but the gentle breeze weaving through the olive trees made the heat bearable. Carlos had invited you to spend the weekend at his family home, insisting that you needed a break from the chaos of your own life. At first, you’d hesitated—staying in his home, meeting his family, felt like stepping into uncharted territory. But Carlos had a way of convincing you, his warm smile and boyish charm impossible to resist.

Now, here you were, sitting in the shade of a sprawling oak tree while Carlos tossed a tennis ball to Piñón, his golden retriever, who bounded back and forth with unrestrained joy.

“You know,” Carlos said, turning to you with a lopsided grin, “you could help out instead of just watching.”

“I’m on vacation,” you teased, stretching your legs out in front of you. “This is peak relaxation—watching you and Piñón bond.”

Carlos shook his head, laughing softly, before calling Piñón over and plopping down beside you. The sun caught in his hair, turning it into a halo of gold. He leaned back on his hands, the sleeves of his white linen shirt rolled up, revealing his tanned arms.

“It’s good to have you here,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. “Feels...different.”

“Different how?” you asked, turning to look at him.

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to you briefly before settling on the horizon. “I don’t know. Usually, I’m here with family or alone. Having you here...it makes it feel more like home.”

Your heart gave a little flutter, and you quickly looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the grove of olive trees in the distance. You and Carlos had been friends for years—close enough that moments like this shouldn’t feel so charged. And yet, there it was, an undeniable tension humming in the air between you.

“Your family’s been really welcoming,” you said, desperate to fill the silence. “Your mom’s cooking is incredible.”

Carlos smiled, his eyes softening. “She loves you already, you know. Kept asking me why I didn’t bring you here sooner.”

“Oh, really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And what did you say?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I told her you were too busy. It’s a good excuse, no?”

“Convenient,” you replied, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

The afternoon slipped into evening, and soon you found yourself seated at a long wooden table in the garden, surrounded by Carlos’ family. Laughter and conversation flowed as effortlessly as the wine, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging.

Carlos sat beside you, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair. Every so often, his fingers would brush against your shoulder, sending little sparks of warmth through you.

After dinner, as the others wandered back inside, Carlos lingered. “Come with me,” he said, nodding toward the garden path.

Curiosity piqued, you followed him. The path wound through the trees, the soft glow of fairy lights strung between them casting everything in a warm, golden light.

“I used to come here all the time as a kid,” Carlos said, his voice soft. “Whenever I needed to think or just...breathe.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, looking around.

He stopped suddenly, turning to face you. The intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, stepping closer.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited, every second stretching into an eternity.

“I don’t know when it started,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my friend.”

The world seemed to pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you.

“I know it’s a lot to put out there,” he added quickly, running a hand through his hair. “And I get it if you don’t feel the same, but I—”

“I do,” you interrupted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. “I do feel the same.”

Relief washed over his face, and he let out a soft laugh, his shoulders relaxing. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that.”

Before you could respond, he stepped even closer, his hand reaching up to cup your face gently. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and for a moment, he just looked at you, as if memorizing every detail.

Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and perfect.

Under the Spanish sun, surrounded by the scent of olive trees and the faint hum of crickets, everything else faded away. It was just you and Carlos, and the beginning of something neither of you could deny any longer.

---

A/N

This is your reminder that love often blooms in the quiet, unassuming moments—over shared meals, laughter, and simple walks under the stars. Sometimes, it’s already there, waiting for the right time to be spoken. So, take a chance. You never know what’s waiting on the other side.

[acupofinkedblood]

Firebrand x siren sovereign reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Inpherno has been quite an enigma for naked eyes of those who walks around this world as mortals despite how much they claim to be set with a certain collection of knowledge that seems to be somewhat enough to satisfy their own curiosity. Yet said demons can’t just know everything about this world with how their eyes have been set to the wrong direction from the start. Myths and legends come from if not the same source of their fragments of imagination, for those who are interested in such aspect, maybe they shall seek their answers soon if they didn’t just deem it as unreasonable fairytale weaved by bored geezers

• Sure, Inpherno has now changed rapidly with innovation which has set this territory into the future ahead. Technology has invaded almost everywhere in all regions, modernization has done their kins a great favor of exploring the possibilities of what originally appeared to be rather impossible. Good for them, at least for now. But then with how much demon has been so independent on their own, they don’t even need the deities like how they used to anymore. If that’s the case for the all mighty SFOTH deities, then what are the odds to such mythological creatures such as siren or centaur, correct?

• Sometimes you do find yourself in such absurd positions among your peers. You, the noble one of the aquatic world, hidden away from the light of unnecessary civilization to remain still underwater as its ruler. Who could have predicted that demons would no longer be interested in your kins — not as much as before at least, those time when they just went out all of their ways to capture your sirens was definitely unpleasant, to say at least — and leave your people alone like that? It’s definitely a pleasant surprise, though it can be a tad bit boring. But it’s for the best after all

• You, the siren sovereign who has the ultimate duty of ensuring the safety of your kingdom from decades ago. Your mission of becoming the righteous ruler has been decided since birth. Just that typical royal trivia. You’re the heir after all, so chin up. It’s not like you just got crowned yesterday, you have been doing this for who knows how long! So pray tell, what’s that grimace on your face when you’re alone, looking into nowhere with the memories replaying in your mind like a camera film of the mortal’s world? Does the distinguished highness have something in mind?

• The answer is obvious, isn’t it? No one can really hide that much of a thought under your clearly disturbed eyes, your majesty. Pray tell, is it all about that beautiful little love story you had millennia ago? Well, millennia might be an exaggeration at some point, but with your kins, time is barely a swift of wind passing through. You might not inherit the divine immortality of a deity since you aren’t technically too invincible, but at some point you do stand among the demi-deity, no? That’s enough to ensure your eternal existence on the long run. Well, at least it was more than plenty of time for that little relationship with you and lord Firebrand

• Alright, that’s enough for storytelling, wouldn’t want the customers to grow bored of all this nonsense now, wouldn’t you? Let’s just cut to the chase at this point. The love story between one of the SFOTH deities and a royal siren of the depth, how amusing

• Here lays the ultimate question: How did you and him even meet? You belong in the water, while he literally has the ‘fire’ right there in his name. To be graced with the presence of a deity back then is rather a nuisance for even their followers, let alone someone like you. Yet by some magical miracle of which one fail to grasp — whether it’s just fate’s doing or a pure coincidence — you manage to see Firebrand in flesh with your own eyes. Back when technology hasn’t become that big of the deal, Inphernals still rely on traditional methods of communication instead of just sending a text right away, you probably met him while he was personally involved in an expedition or just royalty’s matter in general on the sea

• Firebrand sees those below him with a fascinating awe. Especially towards the Inphernals under his rule, which is similar to how mortals treat their own pets. He has only come into contact with either mortals or his fellow siblings, maybe a few encounters with extraordinary creatures of the unknown but most of them aren’t too fond about the heat of lava anyway. Plus, they barely want to hold a conversation with him more than a few minutes. That’s just how quirky those little beasts are, he doesn’t really blame them. But you on the other hand, you managed to capture his attention almost instantly in a heartbeat

• It’s not everyday that you see a blue blooded siren in the flesh. And once you do, you can only pray that you won’t die too soon after having the blessing to witness the miracle that occurs once in a blue moon. That’s what the majority tales of mortal’s words, and about Firebrand? He is pretty certain that his heart has leapt out from his chest to run toward you in that time. The deity himself was too stunned because of your appearance before he could even comprehend the fact that you already dived into the depth of the water. That’s just how siren does. They act in the fog to lure sailors in, but then escape when one has stared at them for too long. How quirky, maybe it’s the same thing for you

• As for you, what did you originally first think of him? That is a question that only you should be able to answer. But knowing how you usually peek up from the water to see if he was there or not might be enough of an answer already. You observe the deity from afar with mixed feelings, and maybe you do notice just how he looks at you in pure interest steaming from curiosity. Keeping an eye on him despite not understanding how is he like, maybe you do have the same problem with prying around like him. After who knows how long of keeping things in a certain distance through expeditions or any trips that require a ship, it’s Firebrand who has the idea of encountering you properly first

• Let’s just say that it doesn’t go too smoothly at first, because it’s either him accidentally scare you or you accidentally shoo him away due to the mutual bewilderment between you two when the other makes the first step of contact out of nowhere. Despite the similar royalty status, there are certain differences between those on land and those in the deep water, so confusion is pretty much understandable for the both of you. Heck, the first actual contact you made with him was just standing in a certain distance on the rock while he floated on the air looking down on you. It was pretty comical, but not too unexpected

• Firebrand is pretty insistent on getting to know you better without pushing you off your comfort zone. In which before he finally has the chance to interact with you, he relies on old research of siren from ages ago as a slight chance to understand you and your behavior. You will be stunned when knowing just how much he had done his research on the siren kin — the blue blooded one like you, to be specific — to the point that Umbrella was this close to throw Firebrand into the water to get over with this entire thing about you if they were at his equal. Most of the knowledge he has about you is pretty accurate, aside from a certain things which you already clear up for him. Maybe it’s how you manage to bound with him after the slightly embarrassing first meet between you and him

• Gradually, you and Firebrand develop quite the bound together. You start to become more open about this new idea of being friends with someone like him, which Firebrand is rather pleased with the current situation. At some point, you aren’t too different from the Inphernals he has been looking out for aside from the obvious siren’s features of your appearance. But even with that, you aren’t that much of an oddity in Firebrand’s eyes. And he meant that in a most positive sense as he could even word it. Unlike others who might treat you like an exotic creature on display, Firebrand sees you in the adoration similar to how one first saw a rainbow after a storm

• That oh so sweet bound starts to become something more intimate. It’s just the amount of time before Firebrand admits that he is in love with you from the start. It starts at curiosity, then admiration, and then adoration in a romantic sense. Perhaps you do feel the same. If not, why would you even bother to swim near the shore whenever you have the chance to wait for him there? It’s quite the risky move, and you know what the elders will say — probably stuff like a crowned heir shouldn’t do something so outrageous, especially with a ‘dangerous’ kin like those deities — but then you just follow your heart to come back to him. And as if Firebrand is any different. He is the type to both fell first and fell harder the more he learned about you. This man is a lover at heart after all

• Firebrand is reluctant about touching you considering the circumstances of his hands. Lava runs deep in his blood, heating his skin to the point that burning something down if he holds it in his hands. The last thing Firebrand wants is to hurt those he holds dear in his heart — his family, his grandchildren, and you. He wishes to hold you, to caress your cheek gently while cooing sweet nothings in your ears and to keep you safe in his embrace all secured so that no harm shall come to you. But he also wishes for your safety. Despite yearning for physical affection, Firebrand puts your wellbeing at top priority. You are aware of this, but then an idea pops up into your mind. When you tell him to get in the water, Firebrand is a bit uncertain at first because he does remember accidentally burning the water in the surface which causes it to evaporate into nowhere, but that’s just a small amount of water! Surely the sea will do its trick on him, no?

• And you have never been more than correct. When Firebrand finally listens to you — since it does worth a try anyway, he isn’t made of entirely fire, it’s not like he will just evaporate into thin air when he gets down — he reluctantly gets into the water. As his hands make contact with the water, it immediately begins to steam like crazy. The both of you wait for a while to see how things will turn out, and to your surprise, his once burning hand has turned into obsidian after who knows how long of staying underwater. He does a bit of experimenting with it, and knows that when he gets out of the cold water, the obsidian covered with hand will just crack then burn away, leaving his hand completely normal as ever. That’s more than enough for him to realize that he can be physically close to you without hurting you, as long as he keeps his hands in the water! And you already knows the drill, he will keep you near him as close as possible at this point

• On the note of physical intimacy underwater, sometimes you will wrap your tail around Firebrand as a sign of affection. Sure, your upper body is more than capable of doing anything you wish to him when it comes to affection. But there’s this particular thing about merfolk is that their tails are more than just important to them. A gentle nudge from your tail to his side will be the start of it which indicates just how much you trust him. Even when swimming together — whether he can swim or not is debatable, but one thing for sure is that he can’t drown — you often entwine your body around him, letting your tail slightly swirl around his body before guiding him back to the shore. When you finally decide to get closer, Firebrand literally has to hold his breath during the first few time to make sure that he doesn’t screw it up. His reaction is rather cute though

• Firebrand can spend eternity listening to your alluring voice if his duties don’t drag him back to Crossroads. You’re such a miracle, so breathtaking and full of surprises. Tales from the sailors who have encountered your kins are definitely realistic at how they swear those sirens can guide them to the fantasy full of sweet dreams, only to be drown and devoured in the midst of daydreaming. And you are even more powerful than the said sirens in the tales. But does that make Firebrand see you differently? Of course not! He loves your voice, he loves your beauty, he loves your personality, and to top it all - he loves you. Hell, he will gladly be an audience for your songs as long as you wish. Sometimes you even sing about him, how can he stay calm in such moments?

• If Umbrella is so done with Firebrand’s constant ramblings about you, and you know your servants’ ears are suffering the same fate. Be it your maids or your pets, they will have to stay there and listen to you going on and on about this man that you love so much. Oh the little thing you admire of this man, you can list it out forever if you’re able to, no matter how tired your servants have been due to the constant mention of this Firebrand. And you make sure to make them swear on their soul to never tell any of the others about this, or else you will make sure that the consequences won’t be gentle

• You gifted him a piece of your scales for a keepsake. It’s somewhat normal for your scales to accidentally fall out when you’re cleaning your tails. It doesn’t hurt when falling off naturally, don’t worry too much. Normal siren’s scale is already valuable, but one coming from a royal siren? It will cost a massive fortune to even have their hand on it. The scale illuminates under the light like a magical solidified night sky, a captivating hue that one fail to look away from. You decide to let your lover keep one of it as a sign of trust. And Firebrand treasures the shiny gift as if his life depends on it. Hell, he will probably put it inside his locket necklace which he keeps a photo of his grandchildren in then brings it everywhere he goes. That’s how he quietly show how you have become someone important in his life

• Firebrand loves you with all of his burning heart and soul. Most of the gifts he gets for you is based on the myths he has heard from other folks about sirens. Don’t get me wrong, he still pays attention to what you actually like, but this was before you opened up completely to him about your interests. He will spend a great amount of time trying to find the most suitable high quality jewelry for you, all in pink diamonds and pearls because apparently he has read somewhere that those are the things your kins like. Then proceed to bring you the finest antiques he comes across with that somehow reminds him of you. He also hears it from someone that the best gift for a siren is a mirror, and so he obliges

• He will sing for you, or more like serenade you with his voice. That’s also a thing he knows about merfolks when doing his research, mind you. Although his voice isn’t a match for your powerful vocals which can lure people to their demise, but it feels so heartwarming when hearing him sings like that. Firebrand can just hum and you will be certain of the fact that your heart will be swooned all over again. His singing voice is rather low, more suitable for classic love songs from the old times if you know what I mean. A duet with your beloved under the moonlight suddenly doesn’t seem so bad now, no?

• It feels like a fairytale, how loving he has been towards you despite the bumpy start at the beginning. This was a secret between the two of you, mostly because he doesn’t want your family to be a nuisance to you about the whole trivia of how dangerous it was to be in such intimate relationship with a deity that belongs on the land. Especially with how you’re literally an upcoming. Just the typical stereotype of those elders, as you claimed. The day of your official coronation, Firebrand even secretly sets sail to congratulate you personally after you manage to sneak away. A bit of firecracker to light up the mood doesn’t seem so bad, it is rather sweet of him

• One day, Firebrand makes an appearance at the usual meeting spot of yours. When you rises up from the water, you have noticed the obvious change of your lover’s expression. He looks rather stressed, even when he tries to shrug it off and reassure you that nothing is wrong. He simply says that he might have to leave for a little while because of some important matter. He promises that once everything is dealt with, he will come back to your embrace soundly. Just so you wait, Firebrand has made himself clear that everything will be going smoothly

• But things aren’t going too well like he has promised. Firebrand has been M.I.A for quite the long time, to the point that people start to question what on Inpherno is happening within the royalty of Crossroad. And the same goes for you. To say you’re worried about Friebrand is an understatement. If only you weren’t bound to the deep sea, you would have tried to find him on land already. Yet all you can do at this moment is just waiting and waiting over decades. You miss him, miss that bright smile and gentle demeanor. All you can do at this point is just to wish that he would return safely to you again. But then how long would you have to wait? So here’s the question for you: Where is your beloved now, o siren sovereign of the depth?

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: Since the SFOTH QnA has failed me with my expectations for Firebrand, I shall continue to be at ease with my own creativity to serve my original purpose once again (ᓀ◡ᓂ) Even when I’d admit that this isn’t my best work so far- There’s too few information about him

Note 2: I’m so sorry that this takes hella long- My schedule will be so sporadic from now on ( T^T)

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Just thought of this idea just now.

Can you do a smut with a yandere greek god of war x water nymph reader, with the nymph being chased by the god until he caught up with her and takes her to his bedroom, and the whole love making thing is more consensual?

Sure!

A/N: Also, sorry I'm answering this late again. Hurricane Helene came over my state so I was literally(and still am) preparing for the worst.

You were a water nymph. A lonely one at that. Also, a confused one, because you grew up alone with only water and the sealife to keep you company. You didn't even know what type of water nymph you were, all you knew was that both of your parents didn't want you. And so, here you are, living your life on the shore of some tourist beach.

"Do you always sit there?" A man with brown skin, red hair, and purplish-blue eyes asks, sitting next to you.

"Yeah, pretty much. I don't exactly have anywhere else to go," You respond, enjoying the feeling of the waves touching your feet. "What about you? Do you have anywhere to go?"

"Of course, I do. I go to lots of places," The man answers, blushing a little. "Say, what's your name, cutie?"

"Aqua...Aquata. Or at least that's the name others have given me But I prefer Y/N." You answer, getting up.

"Y/N, where are you going?" The man asks, seeing you walk into the ocean. "Y/N? Y/N!"

And with that, you're in the sea filled with inspiration. If he could travel everywhere, then you can too. Your first stop was the island that the sailors call Sirenum Scopuli. It was flowery and pretty, and the women were welcoming. For some reason, they said you smelled familiar to them.

Your next stop was the island of Thrinacia, where you found a crying cyclops.

"Excuse me, if I may ask, why are you crying?" You ask, standing in front of the cyclops.

"He took stabbed me in the eye! I'm blinded! I'm blinded! I can never see my beloved sheep again!" The cyclops cried, making you feel pity for the poor creature.

"Oh, I can fix it if you want. I've healed many eye injuries before," You say, getting an idea.

"Really, you'll fix my eye? I'm in your debt for eternity," The cyclops exclaims, a smile on his face.

"Yep!" You say, diving back into the water, and returning with the eye of a giant sea squid. "I've performed this plenty of times on animals. Hold on, I need to get the eye out."

You pull the cyclop's eye out and put the squid's eye in its place. You work your magic on the eye and use the liquid inside it to weave your magic through his nervous system.

"Ok, try blinking. Do you see anything?" You ask, standing back.

"YAY! I CAN SEE AGAIN!" The cyclops yells, jumping around and clapping. "THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!"

"Don't mention it, big guy," You exclaim, kissing his cheek.

"Here, take sheep's wool. It can be used to warm you up during the cold," The cyclops replies, giving you a cloak.

You accept the gift and continue on your way. As you travel through the ocean, an arrow strikes your arm. You scream in pain, your blood dying the water around you red. You hear men screaming above and force yourself to see the same red-haired man from the beach.

"YOU FOOLS! HOW DARE YOU HURT MY GODDESS?!" The man screams, letting his wrath decimate the soldiers above him. "My goddess, are you ok?"

"You? What are you doing here?" You ask, gripping the wool cloak.

"My dove, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Good."

He kisses your lips, and a wave of memories comes flooding back. You haven't been back on that beach in years. You've been living with him, your dear husband, Ares. One day you got into a fight with him, ran away, and had been aimlessly wandering through the human world until you eventually pushed everything concerning Ares and your life with him to the back of your mind.

"Ares?" You gasp, feeling his hands cupping your cheeks.

"The third. Ares the third," Ares says, looking into your eyes. "I had been looking for you for five long years. Do you know how much it hurt me to see you not recognize me on that beach?"

"Ares, listen, I...what were we even fighting about?" You ask, straddling your husband.

"I...we were arguing about your family-our family-both. Your family wanted to reach out to you, I was talking about wanting a baby, it all piled up and we had a really bad fight, and no words could describe how sorry I am. I should've let you reach out to your family, and I shouldn't have tried making a family of our own as if it was an acceptable replacement for your family."

"Oh...Ares. I-Is my family ok?"

"Yes. They've been living at my castle since you disappeared. They'd love to meet you."

"I'd love to meet them too."

~~~~~~~~~

"Welcome home, my goddess," Ares says, removing his hands from your eyes.

"Mom? Dad?" You say, seeing a siren and Triton.

"Hi, sweetie. We've got a lot to explain, but I think your husband really wants to talk to you. We'll be waiting at the dinner table," Your mom says, nudging your dad to say hi.

"Don't worry, I will return your daughter to you in a walkable manner," Ares says, guiding you to his bedroom.

The door shuts, and Ares is already kissing your body.

"Do you know how long I've missed you, missed your body?" Ares murmurs, kissing your neck as he slips his dress off your shoulders. "Please tell me you remember my touch?"

"I'm sorry..." You say, guiltily looking at Ares.

"Don't worry about it. I'll make you remember again," Ares whispers, feeling you up.

"A-Ares!" You moan as your husband kisses your breasts.

Ares sucks on your breasts as he pushes your dress off your ass. The two of you fall on the bed, and Ares grasps your hands. You see his toned chest peak through his white v-neck blouse and stare at it.

"Oh, you want my clothes off too?" Ares asks, holding back a smirk as he looks at your cute face.

"Yes, please. Take it off. Take it all off," You plead, rubbing your leg against his crotch.

Ares does as you say and you gawk at his glorious body and skin.

"What? Never seen a god before?" Ares mocks, stroking his 7 1/2-inch cock.

"Wow..." You gasp, closing your legs as Ares crawls towards you in all his glory.

"Don't worry, babe. I won't make a mess out of you," Ares responds, kissing your pussy and lining himself up at your entrance. "I'm going in."

"Mm!" You moan, your husband not moving to let you adjust.

"You're ok, you're doing good. I know it's been a while since you've had me inside you," Ares moans, resisting the urge to thrust. "Are you ready, my goddess?"

You nod your head and he begins to thrust. You gasp as a wave of pleasure washes over you, your hands gripping the sheets. Ares grabs your hands, guiding them so they're gently around his waist.

"You look so amazing!" Ares moans, speeding up. "I love you. I love you so much! I love you so much, I'll be with you even after the mortals move on to the next set of gods. I love you so much I'd kill the entire world and the pantheon for you."

"I love you too, Ares!" You moan, making your husband tear up.

He orgasms inside of you and kisses your sweet lips. His tears fall on your cheeks, and you look at your husband with pity. The genuine love for you flowing through his tears, send you over the edge, and you cum on his cock.

"Aw, honey, don't cry. I'm sorry I forgot about you," You apologize, kissing your husband's head.

"I've seen the bloodiest of slaughter and entire people wiped out from genocide, but you're the one thing I could never forget," Ares cries, laying his head onto your boobs. "Please don't leave me like that again."

You start to cry and wipe your husband's tears away. You kiss him, feeling his heartbeat calm down.

"It's ok, I won't leave you again," You say, touching your forehead with his.