#it's been a long time traveling : visage

[silkjade]

SPARKS AMIDST THE SNOW

scaramouche x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, second chance romance ⤀ synopsis: he meets you again for the first time since erasing himself from irminsul, and new hope flickers in the barren cold. ⤀ notes: for the best reading experience, pls think of the outro to all too well (10 min version) while u read this !

When Scaramouche inevitably accompanies the golden haired traveller on their journey to Snezhnaya, the last thing he expected was a pit stop in your little village on the outskirts of the capital. and although his puppet body does not shrink in the face of this nation's biting cold, his skin burns under the curious, yet cautious, gaze of those once familiar to him.

He keeps his head down, dipping his hat so that its large brim might hide his visage, eager to avoid any unwarranted attention. Still, his eyes cannot help but wander and his heart, imaginary as it may be, cannot help but wonder.

Were you well? The last he'd seen of you, he had promised to return a god — one who would whisk you away from the barren cold of Snezhnaya to live out your days in glory as his mortal consort. But for all that had transpired, and then that fateful traipse beneath the Irminsul, he's now no more than just another stranger passing through — fleeting as the falling snow, just another memory to be buried in the desolate stillness of winter.

He cares not for the stars in the sky, yet somehow they still dictate that his traveling companions would task him with purchasing commodities, of course from your family's stall. He's long grown out of his naivety; knows that in this infinite realm of possibilities, there’d always be the chance of meeting you again, slim as it may be. If it really came to, he had been prepared to let you live your life, free of him this time around, but it seems this world has its own twisted sense of humor, for he cannot tear his eyes from the ring that sits upon your finger.

"That ring. Where did you get it?" He's never been one for small talk, but the biting curiosity rivals that of the wind, as it chips away at his exterior. He keeps his tone even, ignoring the multitude of emotions whirring in his head, though irritation clearly seems to buzz the loudest.

It should have been impossible that a ring he'd forged with his own hands should still exist, but as the fate of this world has yet to reflect that… if he hadn't given you the ring, then how? Or perhaps even who... the cold, gunmetal glint laughs in his face as your swift fingers wrap up his purchase.

The stranger's question takes you by surprise, and you look up, taken aback by the intensity of his indigo gaze — beautiful, and bitter, and so blatantly familiar, yet you cannot quite figure out why.

Your village is nowhere near the main road, so it isn't often that you'd host any foreign guests; even if you did, you're sure you'd remember if someone like that were to ever have passed through. Nevertheless, you flex your fingers, pulled out of your thoughts by his impatient sigh.

"I'm not sure. I've had it ever since I could remember."

You're the same as he remembers, he thinks. A rose amidst the snow, with frost resting in your hair and on the curls of your lashes. Out of habit, he takes your hand, inspecting the ring at a closer proximity.

'How rude,' you think. and yet your hand in his, feels comfortable, and warm, and right. Like an electric charge drawing two magnets home to the other. It’d be blasphemy to pull away, but you manage to do so anyway, furrowing your brows at his boldness, the frown on your lips more so a reflection of your confusion, rather than displeasure.

“If you wanted to look, you could’ve just asked,” you mumble, as you slip the ring off your finger, offering it to him in the palm of your hand.

The detailed metalwork, the particular branding imprinted in the iron… there’s no denying the influence of the raiden gokaden, though it was perhaps, a subconscious decision made from muscle memory. In hindsight, he thinks that, in the moment, he must have felt—still feels—that same overwhelming affection that came as second nature to kabukimono. after all, it was forged as a promise of his love, and there’s no question about it when, hidden beneath his clothes, its pair hangs on a chain around his neck.

"It’s made with excellent craftsmanship," he boasts, "any merchant worth their weight, would give you a good price for it." He figures you might as well get something out of it, and a piece like this, though meaningless now, is still sure to last you until at least the next winter.

But a stubborn pout is painted across your snow-kissed features. "Absolutely not! it’s actually quite dear to me, you know..."

Scaramouche scoffs at the irony. ‘Why?’ he wants to ask. He is not foolish enough to believe himself an exception from the rules of this world; not when he's already convinced himself to give up on chasing the impossible. Still, here you are, turning destiny on its head — his heart, right within reach.

“It can’t be that dear, if you’d so willingly hand it off to a stranger.” his face reveals nothing, though he cannot say the same for the bile that rises in his throat. He crosses his arms, a brow raised in skepticism. "How do you know I won't run off with it right now?"

“I don’t,” you start, “so I suppose you could call it a leap of faith.”

“Or a doomed attempt at flight,” he counters. “You’d leave something so precious up to fate?”

You ponder for a moment as to why you feel so drawn to this stranger, why this back and forth comes so easily, why you seem to somehow just trust him.

"We don’t get many visitors here,” you start, “and as fate should have it, the day we do, it happens to be someone as interesting as you. that must count for something, no?”

The realist he’s learned to embody rolls his eyes at such ridiculous notions: your blind optimism… putting such faith in these false stars…. but the tenderness he had buried begs to differ, planting roots between the cavities of his chest, sprouting until it breaks through the surface.

He takes a further study of the intricate details, the careful inazuman script engraved on its body. ‘My heart,’ he had wrote.

Scaramouche dips his head as his fingers close a fist around the piece, the large brim of his hat hiding the fondness glimmering in his eyes, and the ghostly smile settling on his lips. He does not cringe as he recalls the lingering remnants of Kabukimono's innocence: stubbornly deluding himself to believe that his hollowed chest was naught for his natural lack of a heart, but because fate had dictated you to be its keeper.

Perhaps the warmth of sumeru had indeed rubbed off on him — melted the frost that crawled upon and tore his skin, whilst teaching him to hope again, not for anyone else’s sake, but for his own. What was that Vahumana saying? It’s difficult for people to truly understand themselves — and as much as he’d like to disagree, judging by his current predicament, he knows he cannot.

“Have you ever considered that this ring might be one half of a pair?” he tosses it in the air, nonchalantly, as if he were merely flipping a coin, catching it mid-way before you have the chance to swipe it back.

“What do you suppose fate would have to say about that?”

It’s almost impossible to tell whether he’s truly genuine in his queries, but the mischievous gleam in his bright eyes, and the smug look on his face, seem to nullify any regards you may have had. Your brows twitch in vexation. was he not just here to buy provisions? And yet he toys with you so…

“Well if that were the case, then it would be between me and whoever owns the other half,” you huff, reaching over once again in an attempt to snatch back your belonging, only to miss by mere seconds thanks to a quick slight of his hand.

Breathing out something between a chuckle and a scoff, Scaramouche tugs at the thin chain around his neck, hard enough for it to snap right off, and toss in your direction.

"A leap of faith," he says plainly. it lands in the palms of your hands: a ring, near identical. 'My soul' it reads. If he lacked a heart, then it could only have been forged from his soul.

A flurry of questions swarm in your head, as you stare at his ring. you want to ask him why and how, but he's already pivoted away, the tassels of his hat barely missing you by inches, as he quickly grabs his purchase.

“Who are you,” you manage to blurt out, calling out to him, and asking him to wait, so he might answer these questions he’s planted in your heart, but he only bids you farewell with a lazy wave of his hand.

Though there's nothing he'd like more than to hear the sweet song of his name falling from your lips, he's learned it best to leave the past where it belongs. once he's settled his scores... Then he'll get his second chance with you—he'll make sure of it, vowing to come back for you, not as Kunikuzushi who you had once known him, but he hopes you might one day be able to love him as he is, as well.

‘My soul’ your new ring reads. You shake your head, pursing your lips at the mysterious wanderer, wondering if you’d ever see him again, but a gust of wind blows your way — not a prickling cold as you’re used to, but a warm summer breeze that seems to caress your cheeks so sweetly.

Perhaps it's only in your head, but you swear the wind seems to carry the whisper of a name in its flurry. 'And don't you forget it,' it seems to say.

notes2: pleaseeee associate this with the outro of all too well (10 min version) like imagine the camera slow panning out amidst the falling snow, to the hopes of another chance together (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) anyways, tysm for reading, reblogs/feedback vry much appreciated ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[moondance-r]

SAGAU-adjacent not-Creator Creator 1

Summary: You knew, viscerally down to your bones, that you did not create this world; Teyvat had no grand creator, no single hand designing its wonders. It did, however, have something of a catalytic agent, without which it would not exist.

You.

[Masterlist] [Next]

Godhood got boring after a while, so you wandered. You peeked into worlds and travelled from star to star -- one, dying and desperate, called out to you. 

It might have been beautiful, once. You could see patches of greenery and remnants of grand structures littering the landscape, could sense life lingering on its surface and stubbornly refusing to fade. This was a world on the verge of destruction, you knew, and not just because of what its creatures did or didn’t do. No, this was something far grander than anything mortals -- or pseudo-immortals -- could ever achieve.

Its core was decaying inexorably, not on a time scale noticeable to any of its inhabitants but destined for demise nonetheless. You... pitied it, perhaps. You had no reason to -- you had watched countless worlds perish and this one should have been no different -- and yet you dove close and settled into the core of this world that called itself Teyvat.

You slept.

And Teyvat grew itself around you.

You awoke to darkness. This was strange because you had no physical form and should not have registered the lack of light as anything that would impact your senses. And yet it was dark and you could not see.

(With physical eyes, a corner of your mind whispered. How novel!)

Since you had eyes, you must have a body. You tried to move a limb; nothing happened, except for a brief sense of pressure. Then you heard -- with ears! -- muffled rumbling before light pierced the darkness as soil peeled itself back from where it buried you beneath the earth. You sat up. You were in a divot someone might call a grave, if not for it having no markers or headstones.

You didn’t know how long you sat there appreciating the dawn before a metaphysical humming caught your attention, and you turned to see some stone steps leading up to a circular portal. That, you knew instinctively, was a passage leading to the roots of this world where you had slumbered for the past... how long?

You didn’t know. You wanted to find out.

The first order of business: getting off this island. Unfortunately, it seemed as if you were stuck in your fleshy body, which didn’t even have the decency to transform into something capable of flight when it refused to allow you to revert into your nebulous spirit form. You considered just walking into the sea, but you only had this one body on hand and did not want to test its lung capacity for so little reward. Life was so fragile already.

Well, this may be a problem, you thought to yourself. Not even a single local solar cycle and your journey had already stopped in its tracks.

So you sat. And thought. And thought some more.

Before you could petrify into a statue, something big flew overhead, handily startling you out of contemplation. You rose to your feet as a winged four-legged creature covered in teal fur landed heavily in front of you and bowed. You assumed it bowed, anyway -- such gestures weren’t easy to do when one was a quadruped, but the way it drew back a foreleg and lowered its head was definitely deliberate.

You blinked at it, nonplussed. You’d barely taken more than a hundred steps on this land, there was no way you had done anything to deserve this bowing and scraping.

“Mine Guiding Wind,” the dragon said in a deep, echoing voice, “it gladdens me to see thine holy visage. It would be of utmost honour if mine unworthy body might bear thy divine form through the skies.”

“...You can speak to me casually,” you said instead of getting into all of that. You wanted to be off this island before digging into the dragon’s delusions. “And yes, a ride would be appreciated.”

The dragon seemed to faintly shiver in delight. As you approached, they obligingly shuffled around and offered a foreleg so that you could climb onto their back. You forced your new limbs to cooperate as you clambered up and over to settle in front of their first pair of wings and gripped their ruff.

With a great beat of the dragon’s six wings, you ascended into the air. Despite your muffled senses, you could detect this world’s wind element assist in the dragon’s rise. Anemo, you remembered from the last time you were awake, one of this world’s seven elements. All worlds worked differently and this one fell on the more magical side of the scale. You wondered how Teyvat had changed since its near destruction -- if new civilisations had risen to replace the old, if these new peoples remembered old lessons. If they would be as welcoming as their world had been.

At least the last was promising if the dragon’s greeting was anything to go by, though who knew if that would persist once they realised you weren’t whoever they thought you were.

“What’s your name?” you called down to the dragon, trusting that Anemo would carry your voice.

Sure enough, the dragon replied, “I am Dvalin of Mondstadt, Sweeping Gale.”

“And is that our destination? Mondstadt?”

“It is, yes... unless You would prefer somewhere else?” Dvalin asked, suddenly hesitant.

You hummed thoughtfully. “No, Mondstadt is fine,” you said as you rolled the name around in your mind. You didn’t know enough about this world to have an opinion, though you wondered if this ‘Mondstadt’ was a city? A country? A continent? Or maybe it was merely a wild region uninhabited save for a territorial dragon. That would be interesting, you thought, though probably quite boring.

Sea eventually gave way to land beneath you, which quickly turned into soft rolling hills. People walked on clearly marked paths, and you watched a few turn and look up as you passed.

“It’s surprisingly peaceful,” you commented, thinking back to the scorched earth that had greeted you. “I’m glad.”

Dvalin vibrated beneath you, which you realised was a purr. “It has been many an age since you last descended, Pathfinder; that Mond may receive your praise for our efforts is the greatest reward of all,” they said.

Dvalin landed at the foot of a giant tree, in front of which was a stone statue of an androgynous figure that glowed brightly to your senses. Halfway in a daze, you slipped to the ground and stumbled to the statue, missing the way Dvalin lowered themselves in preparation to catch you should you fall. But even if you noticed you wouldn’t have cared, because the statue called to you like a beacon.

The instant you lay a hand on it, you could feel the world breathe a sigh as a portion of your power returned to you. A rush of air tinged with Anemo buffeted you and the tree joyously, and you chuckled and smiled into the wind.

“I’m back.”

“Your Grace!” A person dressed in fancy green and white clothes seemed to appear out of thin air from the speed he flew over, beaming all the while. “Your Grace, You’re finally here! The festival is all set up, we’re just missing You, O Holy Breeze!”

This person... You squinted slightly. There were remnants of your power within him, though less than the statue. Just what had Teyvat been up to while you were sleeping?

You raised your hands as if to fend him away. “Slow down, who exactly do you think I am?”

“Your Grace?” he asked in bewilderment.

“Answer me first.”

After a brief hesitation, he twirled and bowed with a flourish. “You are the First Breath, the Guiding Wind who accompanies all, the Creator of Teyvat and its every marvel! Every pebble, tree, and shrub was nourished under Your loving hands. You are the one worshipped above all, and we have been waiting most anxiously for Your return.”

What the hell, you thought pointedly at Teyvat.

In response, the wind whispered to you, Barbatos, wind sprite, Anemo Archon, a void where there was once god-heart-gnosis.

Putting aside how the world itself was being suspiciously helpful, you were now face to face with the dragon’s delusions which seemed to not be limited to the dragon. No, if you were understanding things correctly, this was something shared by large swathes of the population. Only one problem: you were not a Creator or creator, of Teyvat or otherwise. To give life was far beyond your abilities. No deity you knew of could do it either.

You could sort of understand how such a belief might have come to be, if you turned around and looked at it sideways. The process of saving this world from its slow march toward destruction had necessitated merging yourself with Teyvat to share your life force, and this had won you major brownie points with it. If an abstract version of that event was somehow passed down, then your power was extracted to fill things like the statue and this young man... If they could feel you as distinct from Teyvat itself, which you were, then you supposed that it wasn’t impossible for them to assume that you had more agency in their fate than you did. Still ridiculous, though.

This is the problem with magical worlds, you thought despairingly, cults everywhere.

“I didn’t create Teyvat,” you tried to explain, but Barbatos only tilted his head questioningly.

“What are you talking about, First Breath? If it is rejection You fear, please do not, for there is no need. Your return will only bring joy,” he said.

You gave up. This level of conviction wasn’t something that could be shaken in a single conversation. “Alright, fine,” you sighed, “let’s... let’s go to Mondstadt, then.”

“Oh You’ll love it, Your Eminence!” Barbatos chirped, bouncing on his toes with a grin. It appeared as if gravity had no hold on him. “The Church has covered the streets with flowers, flags, and everything they can get their hands on! The Knights of Favonius have set up stalls and shows and even a parade, while the noble families are also planning something, though they’re being quite secretive about it. And the wine! I’ve heard Master Diluc -- he’s the owner of Mondstadt’s biggest winery -- is going to break open his best vintage of dandelion wine, I’m looking forward to it...”

You let Barbatos’ chatter wash over you as the two of you walked northwest. Mondstadt the nation was a land of gentle breezes and temperate climate now, but you could see hints of a violent past in the landscape. Here, a dip between hills that was once a crater. There, a cliff face eroded until it was a shadow of its jagged former self. You wondered how many wars this world had suffered.

You wondered if Barbatos won his seat through conflict, as you did your godhood. You had been mortal once too, maybe a human, maybe some other creature, before you achieved great feats during a war and ascended beyond mortality. That was perhaps why you felt kinship at the sight of Teyvat’s ruin, despite the aeons you lived that left only faint impressions of your origin.

Did you have family that you left behind in your homeworld, or friends? Comrades? Almost certainly; it was a war, after all. You pushed the thought away.

[Masterlist] [Next]

[sarahsartistportfolio]

Some MORE sagau since my last post did some numbers and its given me confidence which feels nice.😌

This is completely self indulgence. And because it is the "you" referred to here is female. Slight yandere vibes but my intention was not cult au.

Albedo is the first to notice the unusual amount of shooting stars in the sky. There's never been this many meteorites in such a short span of time. Especially in Mondstadt. As Albedo observes another cluster of stars through his telescope, he notices this time the stars aren't all a bright white but of many different colors. Purple, gold, green and blue. Albedo notes how the sky melts and bends into these different colors too. Its all so strange but fascinating to him. He keeps his eye on the horizon, takes notes, but holds onto hope none of this spills any bad news.

Its Venti who catches you falling from the sky. Of course its him. It has to be him, at least he tells himself this. Its Venti who lays your head in his lap as anxiety and confusion reflects on his face. He gently runs his fingers over your forehead, brushing your hair out of the way. Only to see the sallow cut on your head leaking glittering golden blood. His hand flinches back as he thinks "They've arrived." He delicately holds you in his arms, as his thoughts race through taking you to the seven, which he assumed is the safest option. When you open your eyes. Your brain is fuzzy and your eyes are heavy but you can still make out Venti's visage. "Venti?" Your horse and rough voice manages, but you speak his name in more so disbelief. You let this stranger hold you as your arms are far too weak to push him away. And its Venti whose heart races as he realizes hes the first person you see. The first name you ever speak in Teyvat. His grip tightens as he swears to himself to keep you safe, to watch over you until your full power returns. "You...you really smell like apples." You smile weakly at him, body leaning into his embrace, closing your eyes enjoying the warmth he radiates. "You really do smell like apples." you repeat and Venti. is. beaming.

Venti becomes your comfort in this new world you've been thrust into. You find yourself hiding behind him when you're introduced to new people, holding his hand whenever you're anxious. Venti becomes quite proud that you seek out his presence so much. When you do start to become more brave, venturing out of Mondstadt, spending more time with Zhongli, Ei and Nahida. Venti finds himself becoming uncharacteristically jealous. His grip on you is never tight but it shows through his "You'll leaving already?" and "There's no reason to travel to Liyue/Inazuma/Sumeru ect you can do that here in Mondstadt." He treasures wearing the title of your first and closest friend and doesn't want anyone to replace him. And as you sit with him in the tavern again, making sure he fulfills his promise of writing a song for you, he finds himself getting terribly distracted by your eyes. Hoping he could become more than your dearest friend.

Venti's worship is friendly, playful, almost suffocating but in a good way.

Its Zhongli who becomes your second shadow. As soon as the overexcited bard announces your arrival to the present archons his heart skips a beat. Century after century he has heard stories of your power, your beauty, your grace. And some how he has lived long enough to see you in the flesh. His heart is racing as he waits for you to enter the room. And when you do, your hand in Venti's as he cheerfully introduces you to the geo archon. Zhongli's eyes widen for just a split second before he calmly attempts to regain his composure. He bows low, elegantly, although his knees threaten to give way. "Welcome back your grace." Your presence is otherworldly, ethereal. Your eyes bleed into the ever changing colors of the sky. And while maybe for a short time in the beginning Zhongli questioned himself, why you would return in such a small weak form. But that thought quickly left him, the longer he heard the unwavering kindness in your voice and the warmth of your smile. He was convinced he saw celestia its self within you.

Any and every time you step into Liyue, Zhongli is by your side. Even when your not in his country Zhongli still makes his presence known. Ever so observant and thoughtful. Helps you learn the names of people and places. Patiently tells you stories of the past over a hot cup of tea. Ever so patient Zhongli. When you playfully, nervously, confess you're a little intimidated by him. He waits. As long as you need. For you to initiate conversation, for you to stand closer to him, for you hold his arm as you take a walk through the city. And even as you continue to favor that childish drunken bard, Zhongli knows you would choose him. Maybe not today, but he will keep trying. Patiently demonstrating the upmost consideration so when the time comes for you to choose a spouse you will choose him. Zhongli convinces himself that out of the seven its him who deserves to be by your side. The patiently, gentleman Zhongli, will capture your heart, because who else deserves to spend eternity by your side.

Zhongli's worship is attentive, respectful, quietly fiercely loyal.

When Childe overhears the other fatui members whispering "There are rumors the god of Teyvat has arrived in Mondstadt. Taking on the form of a beautiful young woman." he stops dead in his tracks, eyes widening. He stops the informant demanding more details. Its Childe who has to show the most restraint in his entire life when the you agree to meet with the fatui harbingers. Your expression cold as you greet each member, your voice curt and short not entertaining a longer conversation. Childe has to fight back a grin when he first sees you and hears your voice. The sound immediately familiar to him. His heart racing, fingers twitch to touch you, hold you, to thank you over and over again. When your eyes finally land on him your expression quickly changes. You smile brightly, "Childe" you call his name is such an affection manner it makes his knees weak. The sweet sound throwing his mind back to when your warmth surrounded him in that dark pit. He finds himself dropping to knees before he even thinks, his head low and gaze to the floor to hide the tears threatening to slip. "The Fatui await your every command your grace."

Childe becomes your friend, easily, naturally. Even if you can not remember comforting him in the abyss. The other harbingers are completely dumbfounded why out of all of them you choose to spend all your time with Childe. And Childe is so prideful about it. He becomes infatuated with you. Learns every little thing about you. Falls in love with you. His world seems lighter, brighter whenever he speaks with you. He becomes addicted to your laughter. Wants it all to himself. Starts to imagine what it be like to be yours, your only. And when you return his feelings, he's elated. And Childe doesn't believe he'll ever let you go, he cant, not when he finally has you in the flesh. No he can't see his life without you in it and he'll keep it that way. No matter what or who threatens his happiness.

Childe's worship is possessive, selfish, brazen, bloodthirsty and warm like a fire comforting you on a cold winter's night.

One more below!

SIKE but no keep reading please

I'm currently in the middle of making some genshin related art and if that interests you maybe you can take a look at my instagram 👉👈

I'm also going write a NSFW sagau piece next. Which will include Xiao(and Venti again, really suddenly have fallen hard for him)🥰 this is my first time dipping my toes into writing characters that are not OCs so I'm trying🙇‍♀️

[moronkombat]

Idk if you’ve done this before but can you do nsfw alphabet for Kenshi?🙏

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very affectionate, tender and caring with his partner after sex. Toned arms will wrap around you, holding you close while he kisses the top of your head. Once he has a comforting hold over you, do not expect to be getting up any time soon. Kenshi's aftercare is a very cuddly experience

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kenshi favorite part of himself are his hand. Fingers are slender and long. Ink patterns cover the entirety of it making it feel leathery but smooth. Though the tattoos were gained during his time with the Yakuza, he still marvels at just how delicate his hands look. They do not look like the hands of a killer or someone seeking vengeance. His hands are that of a pianist or someone who plays the violin. Perhaps in another lifetime he would be such an artist

With his sight lost to him, he mourns the entire visage of you. He uses his hands to feel you and etch out your features. His favorite place to trace is your face. The curve of you nose, the dip of your cheek, he loves being able to trace them over your skin

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Has no strong preference in terms of where he finishes. If he's looking for a mess then he'll cum on your stomach or ass. If he's wanting to be more romantic then he'll cum inside you

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kenshi's dirty secret is he almost wishes you'd tie him up or bind him to the bed. Typically you're the one tied up but he's always been curious how to feels but has not yet brought that up to you. He wants you to play with him, tease and taunt him so that he can break free of those bindings and punish you

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Kenshi had experience under his belt and knows what he is doing. He's had relationships in the past, both casual and long term so he knows his way around the bedroom. If he had a partner who wasn't experienced he would guide them

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

There many different positions Kenshi is partial too but he has two favorites. When you ride him and taking you from behind. Your hips grind and swirl against him and he groans. The sense of touch so heightened that he feels this ecstasy within his bones. Moaning whispers travel straight through his ears and to Kenshi your breathless wisp a booming thunder

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It can be a mix during sex. He can be very serious and concentrated. However, he also likes seeing your face twist and squirm when he plays a bit too much. Your reactions make him want to play with you more and more

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Kenshi is groomed but not shaven. He prefers it neat and tidy and will frequently trim it to keep it at an acceptable. Also has a bit of chest hair that he forgets to shave at times

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy and romance are one in the same for Kenshi. He expresses his love for you not only verbally but with his action. Really enjoys taking you out to eat somewhere nice and bringing you to impressive sights even if he cannot experience them to the fullest. Spending time with you is very important

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does but it's not as enjoyable as having sex with you. Therefore, he does it rarely, maybe every other week or so. Will typically masturbate to thoughts and pictures of his partner when he is away from them

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bondage and Restraints- Kenshi enjoys bondage because he loves your reactions . You make such pitiful whining noises when his hands roam you but you unable to touch him. You shutter under him as his tongue travels down your naval and you begin to writhe so beautifully. You are so exposed to him and he will consume all of you

Biting and Scratching- This is something he likes both ways. He likes when you dig your nails into his back. It truly makes him feel alive. At the same time he also loves leaving little love bites as small reminders of your bedroom tango

Discipline and Punishment- Just the idea of this is pure sex to Kenshi. He likes when you're naughty and misbehave so he can punish you. He's never too intense with it and doesn't leave bruises. His punishment is more teasing you for awhile, leaving you wanting him to touch you more but denying you this

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Prefers the bedroom because it feels much more private. He'll also light candles or dim the lights to create a more sensual feel

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He is turned on by your body and your words of affection. Simon is motivated by your words and affection. He also quite likes when you misbehave. He acts annoyed by it but he loves it. He loves when you're a bit mischievous with him so that way he can make it up to you later

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

While he enjoys your teasing, he does not like when it is constant or when his partner is unaffectionate. He likes a partner who can be lighthearted and funny but also caring and sensitive to his softer side

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Kenshi rather likes receiving oral over giving it. Not to say he won't, he will. But there is just something so devious with her head between his legs, mouth so stuffed full that Kenshi simply cannot go without

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He knows how to be slowly sensual and rough as an animal. The choice is heavily what his partner is seeking. His preference is a mix between the two. Something that can be ruthless one moment and then tender the next. Best of both worlds according to him

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Kenshi is a fan of quickies. He sees it as an exciting addition to sex and a way of letting off steam quickly. He doesn't engage in them frequently but will do so spontaneously to spice things up

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Definitely willing to experiment because he likes when it's fresh and exciting. Won't do anything that will cause himself or his partner too much pain and discomfort as that is something he is not interested in

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Typically can go for about 2-3 rounds. He doesn't necessarily become exhausted but prefers to engage in some tender aftercare with his partner instead of continuing to go multiple rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has them and will use them on his partner if he finds himself in the mood for it. He'll typically have a few on standby and prepared for his partner

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Incredibly unfair and teasing. He will take his time tormenting you and sending so close to the edge of oblivion. He will let you finish eventually but not after having his fill of you

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

All of his senses much more reactive so what may seem so simple to someone else, can be earth shattering to Kenshi. This often leads him being very vocal in bed. He will try to keep them at bay but his partner feels too excellent around him. He'll moan and whimper, often right into your ear as he pulls you close to him. Kenshi, when in the right moment, finds dirty talk rather appealing. There's just something about taking you from behind that makes his mind twist. He'll call you names, vile and wretched names that have your gut coiling and flexing within itself

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Something he would like to try in the bedroom is some role play. Nothing too intense but something light and fun to change things up a bit

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Kenshi is a grower and has more length then he does width. Exceptionally sensitive when touched and caressed, especially the underside

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Above average sex drive. Nothing too demanding but enjoys the company of his partner multiple times throughout the week

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

While he isn't tired, he does enjoy cuddling with his partner after sex and falling asleep with them. He holds his partner tight and tells them sweet words before falling asleep

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Lights Go Out I Wake Up

König is my sweet little baby and I love him dearly. Enjoy some more Phantom of the Opera!König as he watches reader. He's a bit creepy, but he's also my little creepy baby. Also, this story has a very different interpretation of Carlotta. I thought it might be nice to have women supporting women this time. Or well, one woman being a support. Anna, who you have yet to meet, is not so nice at all.

Also, König learns he has competition! He's not too happy about that.

Anyways,

No Content Warnings

Wordcount: 2.4k

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

Lights Go Out I Wake Up

You looked up in the balconies of the opera house expectantly. You tried to see if he was there. Maybe, if you were lucky, you might see a flap of his cape or a glimpse of the crimson ribbons of his mask. You desperately searched but, as always, it was to no avail.

You turned back to the stage where the primadonna was on center stage. She flicked her long blond tresses over her shoulder as she reached out to the audience, serenading them with her warbling soprano voice. You were drawn into the siren’s song, listening to each staccato note followed by a sweeping drop, each rise and fall of her tone as she sang out the tune to The Magic Flute. She attacked, she defended, she swooped and she swelled with the song as she traversed across the stage.

You smiled softly. You would never be like Carlotta, not in a thousand years. She was leagues above anyone in the house, hands down. Men traveled halfway across the world to bear witness to her voice and her visage. By the final notes of the song, the stage had been outlined with a row of roses, each bouquet from a different suitor fighting for her hand. Carlotta’s voice masterfully lulled each one of them into an enchanted hypnotic state. You followed her movements, trying your best to memorize each and every single flick of her fingers or swoop of her wine red dress as she sang out to the crowds. In that moment, Carlotta had placed the dagger in your hands and sang to you of rage, hatred, scorn. You, Pamina, watched as your mother told you her plans and urged you to slay the sorcerer. You watched her, her passion and beauty overwhelming as she came to a crescendo of the song, the make-or-break of the piece, the part that broke many a singer’s voice before.

Carlotta’s face was clear and relaxed as she hit the high notes, a beautiful crystal clear attack, receding briefly only to sharply hit it again and again before swaying onwards. One of the most brilliantly technical pieces of opera written for a soprano, and yet Carlotta seemed to be floating as she swept across the stage. She was above it all as she magically twisted the song to her delight.

As always, you were floored.

Carlotta was the greatest opera singer to ever come from the British Isles. At least, that was your opinion. The true beauty of Carlotta though was not her voice, nor was it her impeccable diamond-cut beauty. The beauty of Carlotta was her loving eye. She looked into the crowd and you could see her love for them in every smile she gave them. She was the queen of the stage and you would never dare to steal her title. As always, she looked at home here, presented for thousands to admire. She was the songbird of the Vienna State Opera, but this building was her cage.

When she had finished, she left the stage with tears in her eyes. You immediately took her in her arms and hushed her.

“I don’t want it to be over,” she sniffed as she held you tight.

“We’ll still keep in touch,” you assorted her.

“We both know it’s not the same,” she held you tightly, then released you back to the darkness of the workshop.

“We can message each other online,” you tried to explain but she wasn’t having it.

“I won’t be able to teach you anymore,” she bemoaned, “and then you won’t have anyone to help you with Anna.”

“I don’t need help with Anna,” you huffed.

Carlotta gave you a look, “Darling, we both know that’s a lie.”

You frowned, but followed her back to the dressing rooms. You flipped on a single light, keeping the room only barely lit enough to be able to see yourself in the mirror. Meanwhile, Carlotta sat at her vanity and flicked on the lights to get a better look at her own beauty. You watched her slowly wipe off the theater makeup while she sat at her vanity. She drummed her fingers on her cheeks in a light massage as she cooled down from the performance.

“So, do you know what you’ll do when you get home?” you leaned on the wall beside the vanity.

“Go to my parents probably,” Carlotta said as she put a dab of skin lotion on her fingers, “they’ve missed me. I’ve missed this little cafe in London that makes the best butter tarts. I hope they’re still open…”

“If they make the best butter tarts, why wouldn’t they be?” you asked.

“Everything goes too fast in London. One day you see a new hat shop, the next day it’s a tourist trap. There’s never a dry day in London!” Carlotta gave you a quick grin before dabbing at her temples again, “and I miss it. Vienna is nice, but it’s not home.”

“I thought you said Madrid was your home,” you pointed out.

“I was born in Madrid but I was raised in London,” Carlotta explained, “I moved there when I was eight. I only visited Spain when going to see my family, but other than that I was at home in London.”

“You know, you’re the only english woman I’ve ever heard be nostalgic about London,” you mused, “everybody else calls it a tar pit.”

“Oh it’s a tar pit alright,” Carlotta laughed, “but it’s my tar pit.”

You smiled as she went through the rest of her routine, unwinding her hair from its high knot and gently sloughing the great billowing red dress to change into a sleek pair of leggings and a turtleneck. She tossed her blond hair over her shoulders, casting you a sad look as she watched you take off your own clothes.

“I don’t have much longer to teach you,” she sighed.

“Well, it’s not like I need the teaching,” you pointed out, “I’m not your protege. I’m just a backup singer.”

“But you have the voice for a lead,” Carlotta countered, “you have it! Oh stop laughing, I’m serious! You can do it! Anna can do it, but she’s not a natural. You are.”

“I can’t handle that much pressure,” you sighed.

“But you can!” Carlotta sighed, “I just… I wish I could take you home with me. I could train you, give you a position at the RBO, we could do it! You could be a star!”

You shook your head sadly, “I’m not a star though. I’m lucky I even got my parts here.”

Carlotta clenched her lily-white fists in her lap. Her big wide eyes narrowed into feline slits. She looked angry, frustrated, but most of all, disappointed as she whispered, “You don’t know what you’re throwing away, do you?”

“I just know that it's best if I stick to my own lanes,” you grumbled.

Carlotta’s eyes never left you as she pursed her cherry red lips. In the dim light, she looked like a perfect angel, much like the ones painted above. She clenched her hands together, then let them relax with a sigh.

“You’ll keep up your lessons with me?” she asked hopefully.

You nodded and sat on a nearby stool, “Of course. I love your lessons.”

Carlotta smiled thinly, “I love them too.”

You watched as she slipped her necklace back over her swan neck. The bright glint of ruby reminded you of the stage curtains she wrapped herself in. You couldn’t imagine Carlotta as anything other than a singer. She was born for the stage, after all. Her entire childhood had been preparing her for the opera house, following in the footsteps of her mother and her mother before her.

How you wished you could follow in her footsteps.

“I’m gonna miss you, you know,” you sighed.

“I’m going to miss my best student,” Carlotta gave you a somber smile.

“We’ll keep in touch, right?”

Carlotta flashed her award-winning smile, “I have all your socials; I’m not letting you get away from me that easily!”

You chuckled as you walked around the room, searching for a small brown box.

Carlotta got up to peek over your shoulder to admire the empty wrappers tucked under your shawl.

“Well,” she crowed, “looks like tubby got his treat after all!”

“Tubby?” you scoffed, “the phantom isn’t fat!”

“Well that’s what everybody else says,” Carlotta pointed out,” and if he’s eating candies and chocolates all day long then he’s bound to be… Well, you know… Tubby.”

“I’m telling you,” you rolled your eyes, “when I saw him he was skinny as a rake.”

“As a rake?” Carlotta raised a perfect eyebrow, “not a tractor mower?”

“No he’s skinny! Honestly, I should probably put out something a bit more substantial for him…” you muttered.

“Oh you’re going to go and make the phantom home cooked meals now, are you?” Carlotta smirked.

You huffed as a blush crossed your cheeks, “Well, maybe it would be nice.”

Carlotta hummed as she watched you go dispose of the wrappers. When you sat back down, Carlotta gave you a sagely nod.

“Well, if you get this phantom on a diet maybe he won’t be so afraid to show himself,” Carlotta shrugged, “who knows, maybe you could introduce us. You do seem to be his favorite.”

“Me?” you twittered awkwardly, “I don’t know about that…”

“Oh I know!” Carlotta laughed, “whenever you’re on stage the reviews are all five stars! I think the reason you’re being cast so often is that the managers are noticing how well we do when you’re on stage!”

You huffed, “You’re saying it’s not my skills as a performer drawing in the reviews?”

Carlotta bristled, “No I’m not saying that!” she relaxed as she took your hand in hers, “I’m saying that the phantom has a liking for you. I love you, but one particularly good background singer isn’t going to turn the tides of an entire production. You don’t ensure that lights magically keep working. Hell, one lead girl, Hannah I think but you’d have to check with her, her mic went out halfway through a performance. Not a single person noticed until they were doing audio checks after the performance! It was incredible!”

“Wait, you’re talking about the time we did Faust, right?” you asked.

“Yes that’s the one!” Carlotta grinned, “I’m telling you that something’s special about you when you’re on stage. Everybody else says you’re a lucky charm, but I think that a certain someone is watching over you.”

You looked away to try and hide your flushed face, “Well, maybe. But if he really liked me, wouldn’t he maybe introduce himself? I only saw him once…”

“I’m telling you,” Carlotta said primly, “he’s afraid you’ll think he’s fat! Either that or he’s an actual ghost, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I thought Henry was the ghost hunter around here?” you elbowed her lightly.

“What I said stays between us!” Carlotta warned you.

“Sure,” you smirked, “whatever you say.”

“You know, you should show more respect for your teacher,” Carlotta sniffed.

“I thought you were Anna’s teacher?” you pointed out.

Carlotta groaned and rubbed her temples irritably, “Well she’s no star either. If it weren’t part of my contract here I would’ve dropped her ages ago. She’s…”

“She’s something else,” you supplied.

“Oh she sure is…” Carlotta grumbled as she leaned her elbows onto the vanity, “at least I get one decent student out of this contract.”

You smiled, “I try to be.”

Carlotta turned to face you again with a ghost of a smile, “You are.”

You chatted easily in the dressing room, swapping stories of theater hijinks and arguing over the stature of the phantom of the opera late into the night. As you left for the night, you wondered once again if you had actually seen the phantom so long ago. Was it really true? Did you actually see the phantom, or was that just another performer? You suspected you’d never know for sure. You just hoped that you’d actually seen the whole event. You’d started to wonder if you were hallucinating the entire time.

You shut the door and locked it as you left.

Inside the room, König drifted from the corner of the dark room to your vanity. He heard voices coming from the alley behind him. Carefully, he used a nail he’d stolen earlier to tack a small letter to the corner of your mirror before ducking behind a panel in the wall. He noted that the gap was terribly small, far too small for a ‘tubby’ man to fit through. If that Carlotta wasn’t such a good teacher, well… König shook his head of the thoughts. As long as Carlotta was good to you, he’d be sure to watch over her too. His personal offense could wait another day if it meant ensuring you’d be safe in the opera house. He could be the ‘enormously fat rat’ as long as he could continue to watch your performances.

He hid behind the wall as the next group of singers swanned through the door. He listened to them titter about, laughing and giggling after such a successful showing. He heard a small gasp, and listened close.

“Look at that!” a girl said aloud.

“Look at what?” another asked.

“On the Songbird’s vanity! There’s a note!”

“Should we take a look?”

König bristled.

“No, no we shouldn’t. Let’s just ask her about it later.”

“Do you think it’s a lover?”

A scoff.

“I don’t think so. She’s not exactly a lovable sort.”

König rolled his eyes.

“Well, maybe. There’s that one guy who’s always asking about her.”

“Oh, that Makarov guy?”

That got König’s attention.

“Yeah, the russian guy. He’s always watching Songbird, you know? I’ve heard he only gets tickets when Songbird’ll be on stage.”

“You think he got backstage to pin a note for her?”

“Maybe, or he might’ve given it to a stagehand to do it for him. Either way, it’s so romantic!”

“Well, if it’s really Makarov behind that, Songbird’s got another thing coming for her.”

“You think so?”

“Oh I know so! Makarov… Well, he’s not a good man. Let’s just hope it’s anybody but Makarov.”

König glanced around in the dark. Makarov? Who was this Makarov? Why was he interested in his little Songbird?

He didn’t bother to hide his footsteps as he crawled away, too focussed on the new man to notice how the girls went silent as he left.

“Was that the phantom?” someone asked.

“Maybe. What’re your thoughts he wrote the letter?”

“A ghost writing a letter? Now I know you’re making things up.”

“Who knows, maybe he did. Can you imagine it? A phantom falling in love with our little Songbird?”

Someone hummed carefully, “Something tells me that’s not too far off the truth.”

König dump

Alternate Universes

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 20: I speak in tongues

"I'm not like you, I speak in tongues. It's a different language to those of us, who’ve faced the storm against all odds and found the truth inside." -can u see me in the dark? by Halestorm, I Prevail

Regent Masterlist Part 19 AO3 Mundane Macabre (Main)

When Ellie first began traveling, she’d (rightfully) assumed that she would never stop being surprised by humankind. Humans are curious creatures, capable of both kindness and cruelty in equal measure. 

(The Fentons were prime examples of cruelty)

(Cruel towards the living, dead and those who lie in between.) 

(Their children suffered, maybe even more than the ghosts they tried to hunt) 

With time, Ellie had decided to create her alter ego of Wraith, the quiet being of shadows that was just eerie enough to pass as something other regardless of what form she was in. Wraith was Ellie’s favorite mask to slip on, to hide from the living world as she tried to help where she could. 

Ellie Nightingale was a nomadic medium with a preference for punk rock, bleached hair and her leather jacket. 

Wraith was the opposite in ways that mattered, was created to help with the violence the halfa was witness to, fists bruised and weapons bloody. 

Ellie was not. 

Perhaps she’d broken herself into too many pieces, too many identities, for a solid visage to form. Cracked like a mirror, dirty and covered in old marker messages from friends long gone. Messages she’d carry with her no matter what name she went by, or style of hair, leather jacket or denim- halfa or not. 

That’s what made her unique. 

(Clone.) 

(Failure.)

(Danielle.)

(Ellie.) 

(Wraith.) 

Vlad had been her origin story, her beginning, but he was no longer her master. Slave to no one, daughter of nobody. 

But she was a sister to good people. 

Sometimes Ellie caught herself thinking ‘what would Danny do?’ when confronted with an extraordinary problem, trying to channel his brilliance despite their distance. He might not consider himself very intelligent, but Danny was the cleverest (and kindest) person she’d ever met. He loved her, his clone made as a violation of his bodily autonomy and by his fruitloop of a godfather. 

(Superman had not treated his clone the same.) 

(She understood his feelings of violation) 

(Kon was a living being and needed support too.) 

However, Jazz was her idol. 

Many people would’ve written off the woman as a know-it-all golden child, but those in the inner circle knew the truth. Jazz was the first child of the Fentons, who had nobody but herself to teach or to guide her. When Danny was born, Jasmine devoted everything to caring for him, to raising him as their parents should’ve. 

(His first words, his first steps)

Jasmine Fenton was a woman who loved fiercely and so, so very deeply that she’s willing to sacrifice her own wellbeing to ensure the happiness of the ones lucky enough to be given her love. 

With the rise to Regency and the subsequent downfall of her progenitors, Jasmine Fenton was left to rot in the basement with Danny’s grave, just like the yellow flowers she so fondly left in memorial. 

(Ellie would forever grieve the loss of Jasmine Fenton, the mother she so desperately wanted.) 

Yet, the Lady Nightingale arose from the grave, ash and blood staining her name, a ghost in an inhuman shell, ready to remake the world should she have to burn it down. 

(Jazz carried so few regrets, but they weighed her down like anchors.) 

(One day they might drown her in the dark depths.) 

(Her template’s younger visage admist the spectral mist spoke volumes.) 

(Maybe one day the faces of the elder Fentons would fade away.)

(Ellie could only hope.) 

The Regent, despite having staked her territory in the Ridge alongside Phantom, was unofficially claimed as one of the Crime Alley’s own. Defending the working girls, helping kids with homework or getting them away from ner-do-wells, the Regent had not hesitated to reach out a helping hand even after being targeted by those who would break her will. 

Black Mask, for instance, had put a bounty on the woman’s head with an eagerness that disgusted many others. People knew what a man like him would do with powerful woman, what enjoyment he’d receive breaking her. 

It was also no secret how much the Mask wanted to get his hands on the Red Hood. 

The helmeted vigilante had been a frequent pain in the ass ever since his debut some years ago, destroying his black market operations and getting the Big Bat involved. Sionis wanted little more than to rip off the fucker’s head- helmet and all. 

However, Sionis had tried his hand at subtly for once- he’d hired freelance to take out Hood’s second-in-command while the guy had his guard down with his girlfriend, a pretty red-haired civilian Sionis wouldn’t mind a turn with. The idea was to throw Hood’s gang leadership into chaos so Black Mask’s men could sweep in. Jason Todd was high in the ranks that his death would do just that. 

Figures the guy would survive. 

Jason had been seen with his girlfriend in the Ridge only days after the failed assassination attempt, no worse for the wear. Red Hood had come sniffing around his operations, with Regent stalking his men and the Phantom destroying his latest shipment of merchandise. Though, with the under-the-table job he’d hired out for, Hood found nothing linking him to the attempt on his second-in-command. 

It was time to change tactics. 

The Regent was confirmed to be in a romantic relationship with Hood, if the various Gothamite twitter posts and the sub-reddit r/RedHoodRegent dedicated to commemorating their obvious status, was to be believed. 

There wasn’t many problems with targeting the older sword-wielding vigilante; unlike Robin, Regent didn’t have the Big Bat for backup, but did have the Phantom. The ghost-like meta (or actual ghost, Sionis wasn’t sure how much he believed the rumors) was the biggest obstacle between him and Regent. If Mask could distract (or get rid of) Phantom, then his men could sweep in and eliminate Regent when the vigilante inevitably falls to his numbers. Sure, Sionis was sure he would  lose quite a few men, but it's Gotham. The numbers can always be recouped later. 

Perhaps when Red Hood tries to save his girlfriend, Mask could finally get his hands on him. 

Two birds, one stone. 

Oh yes, Sionis liked this plan. 

He had some calls to make.

A/N: I'm back! This was supposed to be posted on my birthday back in August, but I wasn't in the best headspace for writing or even being on any social media. I have several pieces waiting in the wings to be finished and edited, but I'm back and ready to write again! (Famous last words.)

(To those who guessed Black Mask had something to do with the bomb, kudos.)

Also, for those who might be uncomforable with Sionis' thoughts about Jazz, just remember- he's a bad guy, deranged and over all not the kind of morally upstanding person you want in charge of anything. Things get really dark where it concerns Sionis and what he plans for the future. Just a warning, because those who've read my other works know my penchant for angst.

[romance-rambles]

qixi lars | what comes the morning after

The morning after their reunion, Lars wakes up beside his beloved empress. Naturally, he takes the opportunity to admire her before waking her up.

1.1k, post-qixi card story, domestic + possibly toothrotting fluff, reader is mc, series: none

FOR ONCE, IT IS NOT a dream when Lars wakes to the sight of his beloved. And if the warmth of your skin should not be enough to persuade him of such a thing, then his aching arm—burdened with the most important task of all—should suffice instead.

You are, at once, exactly as he imagined you and a fantasy beyond his wildest dreams. The length of your hair falls further than it used to, and there is a scar on the palm of your hand where there was nothing. But the lovely smile you shared with him last night remains the same as ever.

He shifts onto his side, careful to leave the sleeping beauty on his arm undisturbed. His other hand reaches out and carefully brushes through your unkempt bangs, leaving them to lay flat against your forehead.

It is tempting—to poke your forehead as he used to, back on your boat when his world seemed to limit itself to you. But, instead, his hand travels to your cheek, knuckles gently carressing your soft skin.

If yesterday is a day of firsts—the first time he saw you again, the first time he held you again, and the first time you uttered those three words, which, for the longest time, he heard only from the ghost that haunted him—then today, as well, should hold that distinction.

For today is the first day of the rest of their lives as emperor and empress—

And the first time he can appreciate your slumbering visage outside of his nightmares.

The slight furrow of your brows. The faint smile playing on your lips. The way your nose lightly puffs up with every breath you take. And the shadow cast under your eyes by your thick lashes, short though they may be—shorter than his, supposedly.

You measured them both out last night. He sat obediently with his eyes closed, the taste of your lips lingering on his tongue. As the seconds passed by, you grew increasingly miffed. Though you could grasp his lashes, such a fact did not seem to aid you in proving your point.

(You once heard a woman you'd befriended complain that her husband's eyelashes were long and beautiful, and his skin required virtually none of the upkeep hers did. She said she was sometimes jealous that he was more beautiful than she was—but mostly, it was the fact that everyone else knew to appreciate his beauty that drove her.

Somehow, when a brief awkwardness descended after that first kiss, that was the first thought your mind offered you.)

When he opened his eyes, you were as close as you had been at the start of it all. Close enough to hold, closer still to kiss. His lips had flattened; his smile, behind which he was attempting to smother his laughter, deepened.

Amusement glinted in his blue eyes—as it does now, in the present—and he asked:

"So, have you found your proof yet?"

The word no never left your lips. With the way a scowl crept up onto your face, it wasn't necessary. That was when he laughed, and his shoulders felt so light. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way—but he figured it must've before that fateful night, when they hadn't even said goodbye.

Before his smile could fade, ever so slight, you were already holding his face. And with that came another kiss—this time, from you to him.

Spurred by the memory, Lars leans down and kisses your forehead. Your eyes are still closed, but your hand manages to capture his own. Your once faint smile has grown uncontrollably, its soft edges cutting into your flushed cheeks.

"Good morning, my empress," he whispers softly into your ear, and watches you bite your lip.

(The truth is, you've been awake for a while now.

Or, perhaps, it's more accurate to say that you never slept at all. How Lars managed to fall asleep with the many thoughts that must've been running through his head is a question for the ages.

But if you'd been sleepy at all, then his little stunt certainly woke you up.)

It's only when he pulls away that you deign to crack one eye open. Squeezing his hand gently, you bury your head into his chest with a groan, any thoughts of waking up seemingly forgotten. He chuckles warmly and squeezes your hand in return.

Outside, the sun has already risen. Gentle winds carry birdsong to every corner of the empire as his stomach—and, undoubtedly, your as well—reminds him of its hunger.

In the previous days, Lars would've already been up by now, a quill in hand while he poured over documents in his office. Even in the short time he lived with you, he was always waking up first. You hadn't been joking when you appointed him as your personal chef, after all.

And even if you had been, Lars finds your smile—and your snack stash—to have been payment worthy of an emperor playing fisherman. There are few things a man wouldn't do a for beautiful woman he was beginning to fall in love with.

So, with great reluctance towards disturbing your peaceful countenance, he attempts to wake you up in the only foolproof way he knows how.

"How does some grilled fish sound for breakfast?" Lars asks.

You pull away, lifting your head off his arm just enough that he could easily slip it away. Propping himself up by his elbow, he watches you quietly contemplate your options. Eventually, you sit up, legs folded and bent to the side.

(You would never turn down food when it's offered to you.

And you would certainly never turn down food made for you by the man you love—who also happens to have proved his skills in the kitchen. Naturally, there's only one choice you can make.)

"Good—" A yawn breaks up your words; you cover your mouth with your other hand. "—morning. Fish sounds good."

And his hand remains still in your grasp. Only that, instead of clutching it against your cheek, you have it resting atop your calf. He can't help but think back to the days when even something as simple and domestic as this seemed to be out of reach—that is to say, up until last night.

"Some grilled fish worthy of an empress, coming right up."

Intertwining their fingers together, Lars smiles softly. You don't fight him when he draws your hand closer—and for his efforts in kissing the back of your hand, you reward him with flushed cheeks and a distracted smile.

(It truly is unfair how beautiful he is, you think, and it is perhaps the only part of your thoughts that happens to be coherent. The rest of it comes in the form of visions—of things one would normally expect to happen the night before.

It's hardly the first time you've thought such things, but it is most certainly the first time it's happened in front of the man himself. You suspect this won't be last time either.)

— happy birthday to @sparklesfromtheashes!!

[amethysts-tavern]

Airports, am I right? Great places to write. Here’s a short one. Fairly autobiographical as I’m returning from a short trip to see my long distance boyfriend. I hope you enjoy.

No more goodbyes

Your bags are packed and at your feet. Your cloak folded over your arm. “Is it time already?” Gale asks quietly. The normally boisterous wizard tends to get sullen toward the end of your visits.

“I’m afraid so,” you reply. You’d been traveling back and forth between your home in Baldur’s Gate and Gale’s tower in Waterdeep for about 6 months now.

He grabs his cloak from the peg by the door and ushers you out. He always walks you to the marina where you catch the boat back to Baldur’s Gate. The walk is short, but every step you take feels like a mile.

“I’ll be back in two weeks,” you say as you take his hand.

“I know,” he replies.

“I hope Tara doesn’t mind that I didn’t say goodbye to her before we left.”

“She’ll be fine,” the Wizard dismisses your concern.

“What about you? Will you be fine while I’m away?” you stop and face Gale.

“It gets harder every time,” he replies. “I don’t like the days you’re not here with me.”

“I don’t either,” you say, looking at your feet. While you know exactly where you want to be, you have made a commitment to the people of Baldur’s Gate to return it to a stable city. “You know, as soon as Wyll is ready to take leadership of the city, I’ll be here with you permanently.” You pause for a quick calculation. “By my estimates, 5 or 6 weeks max. I’ll be here for the holidays. And then there will be no more goodbyes.”

That makes Gale’s melancholy visage brighten a bit. “I can not wait for that day to arrive, my beautiful wife.”

“Wife?!” the term hits you in the face. There had been no proposal, no engagement, no ceremony.

“I know it’s not official, but that’s how I see you - as my wife. I hope that you can see me as your husband,” Gale flusters a bit.

You turn the thought over in your brain for a moment and realize that he’s right. You do think of Gale as your husband, official or not, and you want nothing more than to be with him for the rest of your life.

“Of course, husband. You have my entire heart,” you smile at Gale and take his hand again as you complete your walk to your boat.

[littlejuicebox]

Midnight Chimes 3 / Luck

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 1,910

Summary/Setting: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Preview:

The vampire couldn’t remember anything about you, at first. It was as if the parasite had unlocked the recollection, delving into some subconscious vault of memories Astarion could not access himself. He hadn’t remembered you, prior to the parasite’s assistance, but had held onto pieces of information he'd learned from the conversation. The prickled texture of the grass underneath his palm distracts Astarion as he vaguely listens to his two human traveling companions discuss healing potions – you needed to find a cauldron and distillery set to start concocting things for the journey ahead.  As his two campmates chat, Astarion has more flashes from the conversation he'd had with you in the Drunken Dragon. Everything about that night returns to him in a hazy film, almost like recalling bits of a dream.

Warnings: eventual smut and gore 18+ / in game spoilers / angst, trauma, fluff / GUYS THIS CHAPTER HAS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF ABUSE AND S-CIDE IDEATION DO NOT READ IF IT'S TRIGGERING TO YOU OR YOU ARE NOT IN THE RIGHT HEADSPACE

Notes: This chapter was hard for me to write; I teared up and had to take a break for a few days because I am quite sensitive. If you are sensitive like me, please proceed with caution.

“You are late, Astarion.”

“Master, I’m sorry, I—“

“I do not have time, nor patience for your excuses, boy!” Cazador hisses, snatching the younger vampire up by his flounced collar.

Astarion hears the fabric of his shirt tear as his master shakes him repeatedly. Cazador is shouting; from this proximity, Astarion can smell the rotten blood on his breath. The Vampire Lord is berating him ferociously, causing sprays of putrid spittle to hit the spawn’s face with every word.

But Astarion isn’t there anymore. He’s retreated into the confines of his own mind. He’s replaying the conversation he’d had with you, before the bell tower chimed midnight and he’d fled from the Drunken Dragon.

“DO YOU HEAR ME, BOY?!” Cazador is roaring now, lifting Astarion up to the tips of his toes with unhinged fury. The gap in the spawn’s shirt rips open further. 

He’s a ragdoll in his master’s grip, flopping about almost lifelessly with deadened eyes and a blank visage. The pale elf learned long ago that expending his energy fighting, begging, or crying always lead to the same result. It was useless.

So why bother with it at all? It was easier to retreat within himself, hide, and hope he wouldn’t remember most of his encounters with Cazador, in the end.

The lack of response from Astarion enrages Cazador further, and in one swift motion he hurls the silver-haired elf onto the floor. The younger vampire lands with a resounding crack of bone – something inside the elf, apart from his spirit, has broken. Astarion would wince or cry, if he’d noticed it at all.

The vial and business card combination from earlier this evening tumbled out of the pale elf’s pocket during the commotion. Cazador snatches the small token up immediately; nothing that came home with the spawn had ever been allowed to stay with them.

Everything they found while outside of the palace became his; Cazador claimed this was his right as their master. The spawn did not even have rights to the clothes on their back. Astarion’s shirt had been torn by his master, restitched by his own hands, and then torn yet again more times than he could be bothered to count.

The Vampire Lord doesn’t bother to read the card; he simply crushes the vial in his hand and throws the resulting shards of glass at Astarion. The card is thrown into the flames of the fireplace without a thought.

Cazador is bellowing insults again, but the silver-haired elf barely acknowledges the venom spewing from the Vampire Lord’s mouth. He’s focusing on the perfumed residue that’s been scattered across his face along with tiny shards of glass, which have now embedded themselves in his cheeks and forehead.

The fragrance is positively ambrosial, and Astarion just now realizes that you had been wearing this very scent in the tavern. It was what had caught his attention in the first place. The smell proved to be an almost irresistible combination; he’d never smelt anything else quite like it.

The spawn thinks his face is bleeding, and glass might have gotten in his eye. Every time he blinks, there is a sharp, grating feeling, and so eventually he stops blinking altogether. He doesn’t need to, anyway. Instead, his visage turns into a thousand-yard stare.

Bergamot, rosemary… and what else? Astarion can’t place it.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Cut. Slice. Stab. Whip. Blood. Bile. Scream.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Cut. Slice. Stab. Whip. Blood. Bile. Scream.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Astarion jerks awake, shocked by the sharp, resounding clang of metal upon metal. He’s shirtless, it’s freezing. The pale elf soon realizes he’s in the kennels, lying on the cold, damp cobblestone. The rough, slimy rock is poking into his torn back at all angles. Rats chitter about in the walls, causing his skin to crawl in revulsion. 

He hates those disgusting vermin.

It was always cold and wet down here in the kennels. The stone would often sweat from humidity. As it did, it released the rotten scent caused by hundreds of years of torture performed on all Cazador’s spawn.

Piss, shit, bile, and blood.

A disgusting bouquet of misery. 

The kennels always reeked of vile filth, but the silver-haired elf swore he’d caught a whiff of something simultaneously citrusy and earthy, accompanied by the tinkling sound of a woman’s laughter just before he woke.

Bergamot and rosemary? 

But there’s no one else here. Just Astarion and the skeletal form of Godey, currently preoccupied with clanking metal and grumbling to himself.

By the time the vampire spawn fully returns his consciousness to his mind and body, he’s too late to avoid the rough metal chain swinging to smack his head. Astarion grunts at the impact and instinctively clutches his face with his now-freed hand. So that was the metal clanging… Godey was releasing him from his chains today.

His throat is absolutely raw. His mouth is dry. Every swallow sends sharp, stabbing pains through his nerves. 

Had he been screaming?

He can tell he is starving, but that isn’t exactly new… that particular ache was always present.

Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? Astarion couldn’t be sure. There are hundreds of slashes of varying sizes and depths across his body; he reeks of blood, bile, and dried sweat. What he can see of his arms, in the parts not entirely caked in grime and congealed blood, looks to be a strange blend of purple and green. 

“Are you dumb and deaf, spawn?! Out with you, boy!” Godey shrieks, ripping open the cell door and flailing the chain threateningly, “Lord Cazador says you are to get ready for the Greengrass Gala! All spawn are to attend!”

Greengrass? Hadn’t it been a few weeks past Midwinter when he was thrown down here?

He’d been left there and sliced to ribbons by Godey for months.

Why had he been locked in the kennels in the first place? He couldn’t remember. All he could remember was the smell of bergamot and rosemary and blurred bits of conversation in a tavern. He could almost recall that scent combination now. 

Had he been trancing or sleeping? Was that a memory or a dream?

Godey is shouting, rushing Astarion out of the kennel with another haphazardly placed whip of metal, singeing the spawn’s already shredded back. He’s sent to see Dalyria for mending; she begs him to just behave himself next time.

But what had he done, besides nothing at all?

Astarion enters the dormitory to prepare for the Gala. By the looks of his forearms, Dalyria has already done all the hard work. His bruises and cuts are almost gone, and he is certain the rest will disappear prior to the party.

He thinks it’s strange how he can be torn to shreds and restored a thousand times over; an unwilling phoenix risen from the ashes. How much easier it would be to simply crumble and fall with one step into the sun or one vial of positoxin. 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 

If only he could be that lucky.

But luck hadn’t been in his favor for over two hundred years, and he was certain it would never be on his side again. He’d prayed to Tymora, the goddess of luck, and every other god and goddess he could remember while locked in that tomb all those years ago. He’d promised to pledge his undead life to their service, if only one of the beings would answer him. Tymora had ignored him then, like all the others.

They were surely ignoring him now.

Astarion doesn’t know why, but he bathes himself in a combination of bergamot and rosemary oils while he prepares for the Greengrass Gala. He doesn’t know why, but something about the smell tricks him into feeling comfort… if only for a moment.

-----

After 200 years of misery, the tides of luck may have finally turned for the vampire.

Astarion is basking in the warmth of a campfire, out in the wilds, breathing in the freshness of the countryside.

It’s the first night in camp. Every sensation out here is new. The breeze dances across his skin, causing the curls around his ears to tickle the sensitive flesh around his pinna. He shudders at the sensation and shifts closer to the fire. Warmth is almost entirely foreign to him; all he truly knows is cold kennels and the iciness of his own skin.

He doesn’t remember if he’s been outside of Baldur’s Gate before; he can’t recall a single moment prior to Cazador. Astarion's undead existence had been filled with the scents of decay and despair, found all over the city and especially inside the palace.

Until now.

The vampire couldn’t remember anything about you, at first. It was as if the parasite had unlocked the recollection, delving into some subconscious vault of memories Astarion could not access himself. He hadn’t remembered you, prior to the parasite’s assistance, but had held onto pieces of information he'd learned from the conversation.

The prickled texture of the grass underneath his palm distracts Astarion as he vaguely listens to his two human traveling companions discuss healing potions. You needed to find a cauldron and distillery set to start concocting things for the journey ahead. The wizard was wondering where something like that would be found out here in the wilds.

As his two campmates chat, Astarion sees more flashes from the conversation he'd had with you in the Drunken Dragon. Everything about that night returns to him in a hazy film, almost like recalling bits of a dream.

Until today, the pale elf believed the concept of positoxins was something he'd always known somehow. In the same way he knew his own name or understood Elvish. But he'd learned that from you. You were an apothecary. You'd given him a business card. You'd asked him to write, and the business card had a vial attached to it, which contained a sample of…

Shit.

Bergamot and rosemary.

Astarion stiffens, and his head jerks to take in your profile. Inky black hair falling just past narrow shoulders in soft waves; warm, olive skin, and purple irises. He crinkles his brow, thinking the eye color is a bit unusual for a human and trying to recall what you looked like in his memory.

Surely, he would have remembered an attractive human woman with purple eyes, wouldn't he? Had you changed, somehow? Is that why he didn't remember you at all?

Though, he did see a lot of faces. And intentionally chose to forget almost all of them. He didn't want to remember the faces of his victims, didn’t want to know their names, didn’t want to remember the way they screamed in agony after he lured them to their deaths.

You don't notice him staring; in truth, you had practically been ignoring him all this time and only focusing your attention on Gale. 

The fragrance you'd given him had wormed its way so deeply into his subconscious that he’d been borderline obsessed with it. He’d tried his best to recreate the scent with what was offered at the palace, but of course it paled in comparison to the one held within his mind.

You had somehow escaped being his victim. Luck may never have been on his side, but it apparently had been on yours.

Why, then, had he forgotten everything else about that interaction? Forgotten you? 

The pale elf doesn’t understand that his own mind had chosen to hide the memory of that night in the tavern. It was a protective measure, constructed by his own shattered psyche. The memory had to be concealed because it held the subtle sensation of hope. Hope was a dangerous thing for him to have. Misery was familiar. 

Hope would convince him to take risks that he couldn’t afford.

[th3b4dk1dzz]

Darkest Hour Map/Song Analysis and speculation

Let me preface that while I would have loved Sweet Dreams in the game, I absolutely respect the hell out of the monumental task this song would have been to create. To write a song for a preexisting dance has never been done before, so to make it sync with the scene transitions and the routine, capture the right energy, tell the story effectively, be the right time length exactly and to sound different enough from the original song, that sounds like an impossible task for anyone to complete, so full credit where credit is due.

What I will say is, what we do get in Darkest Hour that we didn't get in Sweet Dreams is a lot more specificity to the lyrics, which might enlighten us to what really happened to Leda. I want to pick certain moments and go into what the implications for what they might mean.

Spoilers Ahead

And keep in mind this will be a Long Post.

"I would play the game, Every hour through the night"

Now we know Leda is from our world. We know, like Sara, Just Dance is a game that became real to her. However, unlike Sara, she chose to stay there at the end of MOTD, so suddenly, she's in the game every hour through the night. It couldn't have been good for her in the long run. I think this twisted up her perception and clarity, making her more vulnerable to whatever happened to her.

What's interesting is that before the faces in the background take on Leda's visage, they are constructed using machinery and polygonal, much like how video games are a mix of machinery and coding, which shift to resemble her more.

"In the dark flow shadows, the mirror lies to me"

The mirror lying to her might allude to the large holographic versions of her own face, harmonising with her or this giant visage of herself as the perfect ballerina. These being potentially the siren whispers she mentioned, luring her to ruin. However, it could also refer to her illusory powers, most likely granted to her from the dark flow. Using this power to first, trick Wanderlust at the end of Canned Heat and then to trick Sara in YSMIAC.

But if we want to look at specific instances of mirrors lying, then look no further than Jack's maps. First in LOOH, we see these mirrors showing Night Swan, instead of himself reflected back in the verses. Then, in Treasure, we see these versions of Jack as the perfect performer (much like Leda saw of herself) coming out of the mirrors. It should be worth mentioning that Treasure itself takes place in a reflection cast into a pool of water.

"I Traded in my Dreams"

Now, this is interesting. This means being Night Swan wasn't Leda's Dream at all. We've been led to believe that she wanted to be Night Swan, that's what she wants to be. But everything in this map suggests she is not in control and was corrupted much like the coaches under her control.

In the section where the smoke see Leda clutching her head, much like Sara does in YSMIAC while she is fighting off the thrall of the Dark Flow. Much like Night Sara was able to corrupt the other Just Dancers with her own newfound dark flow in Swan Lake, while being corrupted herself.

Maybe Leda was corrupted and used that to corruption on her minions in herself. Almost as if this Dark Flow is spreading, adapting, and evolving throughout the Danceverses, and Leda was just patient 0.

As we see in the first verse for Treasure it looks like the mirror room is in some kind of guilded cage, and the pool which the Ilusion is cast into turns gold. As we zoom out of her eye at the end of the map, it turns gold. Is Leda in a guilded cage of her own, inside her own mind?

So, who corrupted Leda?

Someone acting on The Traveller's Interests/Public Image

I don't think The Traveller would have actively harmed Leda. Also, if you want to keep a past relationship a secret, turning her into an evil magic warlord is certainly not the most discreet cover up.

We know that from when Night Swan took over the JD Twitter account in the run up to JD24, Wanderlust is referred to the 'the son of gods'. Note the plural 'Gods', not just one. So The Traveller is a God confirmed. And if there's one thing I 've gathered about the structure of Deities within the Danceverses is they have a lot of stupid rules that don't help anyone.

I could go into a deep tangent on how the political system for the Deitys seems like a hot mess. And one day, I will (believe me, I will).

So The Traveller becomes a God, and someone else essentially decides to clean up his image, including getting rid of a mortal he brought through, who won't leave. Again, I think creating an evil witch trying to take over the Danceverses isn't the best way to sweep someone under the rug, I think, maybe, someone led her to the scariest, most abandoned part of Cygnus to scare her away and try to make her go home. What happened next was not what the Gods intended.

So, which Deity would be high ranking enough enact a cleanup act of another Deity's reputation and has an association, with mirrors and reflections? Belacus, P2 from Woman.

Her headdress has a large disc that looks a lot like a mirror, much like P3 Derkes, is a fire goddess, Belacus has a lot of motifs associated with water, the fishscale teardrop in the middle of her torso, the wave-like tattoos on her chest and water can be attributed Night Swan (The pool of water in Treasure, Swan Lake, Night Swan taking to the boat at the end of DWTS). And working directly under Selios, perhaps the most powerful Deity we know of to date, she would definitely want the rest of the pantheon to her personal standards. Also, Belacus wears a lot of blue, which is also the Traveller's signature colour.

Another Villain from Eternyx

Leda says in Darkest Hour that she was haunted by the dream. Which villain do we know ca haunt dreams and is associated with Eternyx? Cthylla! We see her haunting Scotty's dream in Cradles, and also her Avatar quote, "When you sleep, I'll be there in your dreams"

The map for Darkest Hour is also filled with this pink smoke, which looks to be the same shade of pink that Cthylla is. Again, tying it to the water motif, We see her emerging from the water in the teaser for BS&V (and the real Lovecraftian mythos Cthylla, who the game version is based on, was a water dwelling deity). Also, when do most people dream? At Night.

What do we see in the sky in both Treasure and Cradles has pink clouds in the distance, while in the last chorus of Treasure, there is a large image of perfect Jack in the centre, not on the screens, but transparent like the image of Ballerina Leda when she's on the rooftops.

Also, the second verse and bridge of Treasure seems to take place in some kind of industrial part of Eternyx. Maybe the abandoned factory?

TL:DR: Leda was tricked by Belacus, working on Selios' behalf, into entering the 'abandoned' factory in Darkest Hour with the intent of scaring her into going back to Earth. However, while there, she was corrupted by Cthylla, her warped perception of reality, making her easy to control. Now possessed by the Dark Flow, she can corrupt others by proxy.

Sorry this was so long, and if it doesn't make any sense,but I thought it was interesting, That this map left so many unanswered questions, about what really went down.

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

Kiss from a Rose_Part 3

A.N: A three part series featuring Neuvillette x Reader! 

Genshin Impact MasterList

------

When you woke up the next morning, you did what you always did since Neuvillette turned into an otter, you headed to the bathroom to check on him….

….to find the tub empty. 

The last visage of sleepiness faded away as you stared at the tub, completely empty of water. 

And the last thread that you had trying to hold everything together in such a tumultuous time, snapped.  A sense of panic overcame you. You twisted quite violently, intending on calling for Neuvillette when you bump into something. 

Hard…

You were dimly aware of the soft yet sturdy hands grasping your shoulders. It took you a moment to realize someone was speaking. You blinked dumbly as you looked up, to see your husband Neuvillette gazing down at you, his eyebrows pinched slightly. 

“Y/N, please calm yourself. Breathe, my love. Everything is alright. I am here.” Neuvillette murmured, reaching down to bring your hand up to rest over his heart. 

Neuvillette had been quite surprised when he woke up back in his human form. The water was stone-cold, not exactly ideal, so he stood gracefully, easing the creaks from his newly reformed body before turning and letting the water out. 

As he waited for the water to drain, he eased the door open. He knew you were long since asleep. He should have time to get a shower and dress before you awoke. But he didn’t want to go too far, nor did he want to disturb your rest. However, despite his good intentions, you still managed to start descending into panic anyway. As such, he only managed to slip into his pants before you woke up. 

It took a moment, as you stared at Neuvillette. Then: “Neuvillette?” 

“I’m right here.” 

Your gaze dropped to your hand over his chest. You curled your hand slightly as if you could cup his heart. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, proof that he was okay.  Then you looked back up and with trembling fingers reached up to cup his face. His lavender eyes gazed steadily down at you. 

“Are you…really okay?” You gave him a once over glance before returning back to his face. 

A small quirk tugged at his lips, “Indeed. I am well.” 

“H-h-how?” 

“Perhaps Mr. Lyney wasn’t far off the mark yesterday.” 

You stared a moment before furrowing your eyebrows, “I always kissed your head every night since you've become an otter. I highly doubt that was it.” 

Neuvillette raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Then perhaps it was time gated the entire time? Either way, your guess is as good as mine. I’m only thankful at this point in time, but we have other matters to attend to. Forgive me, Y/N. I know this is moving entirely too fast.” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You dropped your hands from his face, “The pressing matter is reintroducing you back into society with a story they’ll believe and looking into what turned you into an otter in the first place.” 

“Thank you for caring for the Melsuines while I was…shall we say, incapacitated.” 

You looked at him sharply, “You weren’t dead, Hydro Dragon. You were just an otter. But no gratitude is necessary. I think of the Melsuines as my own as well.” 

At this, Neuvillette gave a fond, soft smile. You were a little taken aback. It’s been a minute since you seen his face, much less when he decided to emote. You cleared your throat and turned away from him. More for his sake than yours. If you had your way, you would be selfish enough to keep Neuvillette to yourself until tomorrow as the latest. But others has been kept in suspense long enough. 

“I’ll tell Traveler and Navia to come over. Between the four of us, we can come up with something. You can finish getting dressed.” 

Before you could step away, two arms wrapped around you from behind.

“I promise. We’ll have time to ourselves soon enough, my love. We deserve that after all this unnecessary drama.” 

“Hm.” You nodded once. 

Instead of letting go, Neuvillette’s hug became a little firmer as he dropped is head to the crook of your shoulder.  He really wanted to forsake the world, if only to prolong this for a moment longer.

Would another day really hurt?

Yet, he had a duty to the people of Fontaine. The ludex of Fontaine going missing was too big of a headline to ignore. But he also had a duty as a husband. He wanted nothing more than to take you further into his arms. Both duties conflicted with one another. 

You reached up with both hands to grasp his arm as you spoke quietly, “Keep this up, and you’ll tempt me.” 

Neuvillette rose his head, “You are mistaken, Y/N. You are the temptation. One that I wish nothing more right now to drown in.” 

“Neuvillette please….” 

He reached over with one hand and tilted your chin. His lavender eyes were smoldering, “I’m at your mercy. Please be kind to me.” 

You snatched away from him with a laugh, “Neuvillette, please! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you need to control yourself. Now, I won’t tell you again! Get dressed!” 

You all but ran out of the room. You needed to keep it together for a while longer. First, let’s alert the Traveler and Navia. 

Yes, let’s do that. 

—

If the absence of the ludex of Fontaine was a spectacle, the return was nothing less than a circus. At this point, you were happy to let the others do clean-up work, you didn’t really care much for the finer points. You were just satisfied to have Neuvillette back. You knew that Neuvillette and the Traveler had looked into what turned him into an otter, but there wasn’t much to go on.

Strangely, he didn’t really remember how it happened, other than it was in that area. He seemed to remember smelling something weird but nothing else. Traveler did a thorough inspection but found nothing as well. 

It seemed it would remain a mystery to all… 

The first day back, Neuvillette went back to Mersua Village and you went with him. You laughed as the younger Melsuines all crawled over Neuvillette. It was a wonder he wasn’t sitting in a flood of tears. 

Neuvillette took it in stride, perfectly composed as he gave his assurances and hugged and kissed as many wanted it. It was hours before the village could begin to return to some semblance of normal. That was the last time you would see Neuvillette for a long period of time. 

For the next three weeks, Neuvillette had paperwork and trials that had been put on hold, backed up, that he needed to catch up on. You insisted on bringing him lunch and dinner and ate with him, to have a little bit of time together. He even slept in his office to make up for lost time. He was always apologetic, but you should just shook your head with a warm smile. You wanted to make his life as painless as possible. 

Now that Neuvillette was back to normal, you could return to your work at a flower shop. The work kept your mind occupied as the days passed. 

Then one day, just as you were finishing the preparations for dinner, the door open. You furrowed your eyebrows. Who the-?

You peeked out of the kitchen, suspicious, only to be dumbfounded. “Neuvillette?”

“I hope I’m not too late for dinner?” 

“Uh, I was just going to start making my way there.” You had already put everything in their proper containers for the would have been on the go meal. 

Neuvillette gave a small bow, “Forgive me. I would have sent word, but I wanted it to be a surprised, and truly I didn’t know until almost the last minute. Would it be troubling to change the to-go order?” 

“Uh, no problem. No problem at all!” You stated before pulling back into the kitchen to plate everything. 

Neuvillette had disappeared into the bathroom to freshen up before returning, just as you placed the plate of steaming hot food on the table. 

“I managed to get the rest of the evening off. I had hoped to spend the evening with my wife.” 

“You caught up to everything?” You asked as you sat down with your own plate. 

“Define caught up? There is always trials and paperwork I could be doing, but me and my capable staff has managed to get it back to a semblance of normal. Besides, the Melsuines have been antsy….” 

“Oh, what for? Are they alright?” you asked as you both tucked into your food. 

“Oh, yes, they are well. Sedene and the others are concerned that I have been neglecting you. Sedene all but pushed me out the door.”

You laughed once, “Hardly. I understand your work. This was an unfortunately unseen incident that needed to be addressed.” 

“While that was true, it is no longer. The incident has been contained, and we have since come through on the other side. There is time for….other things.” 

You choked and coughed once. 

Neuvillette reached out and touched his hand over yours, “You alright?” 

“Yes, I’m fine. Wrong pipe.” 

“Hm…” 

Comfortable silence lingered as you ate the rest of your food. Once you were almost done, you asked, “I take it you aren’t due back until tomorrow morning?” 

“Tomorrow afternoon. After lunch, actually.” 

“Really?” 

“Hm. Sedene put her hands on her hips and said if she saw me before then, bad things would happen.” 

“Bad things?” 

“I suppose that was her way of trying to coerce me not to show up before the appropriate time.” 

You chuckled. It was a cute rendition of trying to be a threat. “I suppose we don’t want a Melusine revolt.” 

“Indeed not. I shall endeavor to heed her wish…this time.” 

“A good deal.” You stated as you stood and collected the plates before walking over to the washer. You were going to absently start cleaning up with two arms wrapped around you. 

“Those can keep until tomorrow.” 

“Says the one that doesn’t have to do it.” You murmured, but you leaned back into his chest anyway. It didn’t seem like you needed much convincing. 

Neuvillette wordlessly turned you around before grasping your hand. You followed him to the couch before sitting down. He sat only after you did. 

Then he raised his hand and cupped your cheek, “I hadn’t the time to properly thank you for your assistance during this incident. You did admirable to keep everything together and keep it moving. Even in these last three weeks, I hadn’t heard a word of complaint. I know all of this has been hard on you. Please don’t lock yourself away anymore. I’m here now.” 

You shook your head as you lowered your gaze. You blinked. Ahh, now your eyes were becoming wet. You absently shook your head to clear it away. 

Neuvillette lifted your chin, “Cry if you want to cry. I’ve finished my duty to Fontaine for the moment. Now I must see to my duty to my wife.” 

You gave a breathless sob coupled with a laugh, “I don’t…” 

“Hush. You don’t have to keep it together anymore. Not right now.” He leaned his forehead on yours, “I’m here to catch you, my love.” 

Then you were sobbing. All the stress since the start of this incident pouring out. Neuvillette gathered you in his arms, holding you close. One hand stroked your back soothingly while the other held the back of your head. He could feel you shudder in his arms, as you held tight onto him. He wouldn’t dare let go before you did. 

When your sobs died down, you rested in his arms, head on his shoulder. One hand reached up and began playing with his hair. Now you were feeling tired. You hummed as you felt him kiss your forehead. 

“Thank you…” you finally murmured. 

“Such a thing is unnecessary.” Neuvillette returned, using the hand of the arm wrapped around you to tilt your chin. With his other hand, he began to carefully wipe away the tears. He was being so gentle, it made you want to cry all over again. 

“Take as much as you need, hm?” Neuvillette murmured, “As long as you don’t hide yourself. We are on your time now.” 

You couldn’t seem to check your emotions, even though it was clear you didn't’ not have to. You duck your head into Neuvillette’s shoulder, hiding your face from him. Did he know what you felt when he looked at you like that? 

“Perhaps…there is something you want?” Neuvillette asked. 

You shook your head, “I’m just grateful for your return.” 

“Yes, something else, perhaps?” 

“Your good health.” 

“Hm. And?” 

“Your happiness?” 

“Just I want your happiness as well, but right now, if you excuse my being presumptuous, I think there is something else you want above all of that. And lest you are mistaken, it is something I’d want just as well.” 

“Oh?” This time, a smile teased as your lips as you let out a giggle. 

“Hm.” 

Neuvillette tilted your head once again, forcing you to meet his gaze. His lavender eyes had gotten a shade deeper, and your breath caught. You couldn’t break away from his gaze, even if you wanted to. His leaned forward, the mere inch that separated you, lips hovering over yours. Your eyes fluttered. It felt you had kept your emotions in check for so long, that even now you feared letting go. 

“My love, let you catch you.” 

At his whisper, you closed the space, surging forward to capture his lips. 

FIN.

[sunnyy3d]

Forever Yours|

Thomas Thorne x Reader

A/N:Wow, pure fluff?? I know it’s amazing. Requests open!!

This is a picture perfect moment. Thomas and I cuddled outside, watching the beautiful sunrise. His arm is wrapped around me and my head is on his shoulder. We left the tent that everyone is staying in not too long ago, instead opting for some private relaxation with each other.

We do not even have to speak, our love being conveyed through the way we hold each other. I feel Thomas shift as he gives me a kiss on the top of my head. I smile and look up at him, returning his gesture with a quick kiss.

“What are you guys up to over here?” Alison asks, approaching the spot where we are sitting.

“We are watching the sunrise. Would you like to join us? It is particularly gorgeous today,” I offer. Alison hums as she sits down next to me and we sit in silence for a moment.

I glance at Thomas, noticing his contemplative face. “What are you thinking about, my love?”

Thomas looks at me, “I was just thinking it ought to be dull and commonplace. The same sunrise, over the same house, in the same tiny piece of England. Everyday, for over two hundred years. But it is beautiful. I traveled miles and was unchanged when I could have been here and transported. It is no fault of the sun if the eye sees not its beauty.” My smile widens as I listen to Thomas’ speech. I love it when he is poetic.

“Wow, Thomas… That’s very poetic,” Alison says, thinking the same as me. Immediately, Thomas’ face brightens. He is always smitten to a compliment, but one from Alison can mean a lot, due to the fact that she has always doubted his skill.

“You really think so?” Thomas asks enthusiastically. Alison smiles as she gives him a small ‘yeah.’

“Of course it is Thomas! You are a great poet,” I express.

“That means the world coming from you, dear.” I smile at him. He is so cute when he brings out the puppy dog eyes and broad smile. I have always loved how vehement he is. He never does anything halfway, or at least tries his best at all times.

“And if I may,” Thomas starts. “Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate-“ Alison quickly leaves with a roll of her eyes and an ‘oh my god’ as Thomas starts reciting Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 18.”

I could only giggle at Thomas he turns to face me and grabs my shoulders. Through my laughter, he continued to passionately recite the poem to me, never breaking eye contact.

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this and gives life to thee,” he finishes.

“Thank you, Thomas. How can you even remember that?”

“With you around, I can do anything. Your love gives me extraordinary powers.”

“Does it now? What kind of powers?”

“Oh, I would love to show you, but I am afraid that I need a recharge.”

I scrunch my eyebrows, confused on where he is going with the bit. “A recharge? How would you do that?”

Thomas slowly grins, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. “Why, with a kiss of course!” I can only roll my eyes playfully.

Seeing this, Thomas continues. “What? I am telling the truth! Without a kiss from the most alluring and heavenly woman, I cannot save the world with my poetry.” He manages to keep a completely serious face, like this kiss is of the utmost importance.

Deciding to play along, I lean forward with a visage of worry. “But, Thomas, who is this woman? We must find her so that you can get your kiss!”

Thomas’ eyes briefly shoot down to my lips before returning to my eyes. “This exquisite woman is you,” he says softly. With the tone he used, I cannot help the butterflies in my stomach.

Thomas puts his hands on my jawline, cradling my face. He tilts his head and his eyes flutter close as he leans in. Our lips fleetingly brush together before going in for a firmer kiss. I throw my arms around his neck, tangling my hands in his hair.

His lips are soft, like they always are, and he kisses me delicately but lustfully. His unadulterated love being showed by the gentle way he caresses my face. My stomach flutters at the thought that I am his and he is mine.

We finally pull back, breathing heavily, and I gently run my hands through his curls. I give him one last peck on the edge of his smile. We come to a silent agreement that this will have to wait because everyone would likely start to file out of the tent.

We turn back to our previous position; with my head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around me, tracing patterns on my arm. The smell of old ink and parchment on him provides a calming affect. I take a deep breath, relishing in the scent of him. I could sit here all day with him, just us holding each other.

Thomas is the first to break the silence, “I love you. I need you to know that I am forever yours.”

I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, “I love you too.”

[mercy-love-joy]

In the Tower of Knowledge, There Lies a Tomb of Truth

Long after the Fall of the Golden Era, after the renunciation of the Calamities, and Era of Tranquility fell upon the world. In a tower, in the far lands where the old Blueberry Academy sat, a spire sits innocently at the center. A tower of Knowledge for only one cookie.

He travels up this tower. Passing the portraits of his time and of his kin now, but he has one spot in mind. To visit someone old.

The tower is illuminated in the flames of azul and sapphire, steps creaking with hesitation, and a chest constricting so painfully. The former Beast of Deceit feels great agony the closer he steps. Finding a door that opens to a corridor to a tomb only six people know.

The tomb carries a visage of an old king who was taken from his throne, forced in jaspers and yellow jewels and befalling to a raging fever that would lead to his demise. A king who was supposed to marry the Golden Empress became a domino effect to her downfall spiral into power and madness. Luckily, her "son" ended her life before she broke the foundations between Life and Death.

The King's true body is buried beneath the Kingdom of Soft Gold Rays, next to his beloved "lovers" had he been married to the Empress if he survived the fever. But alas, he did not get to marry any of his comrades. The embodiment of a Virtue stands before a mock tomb, staring at the glass coffin and looking up to the glass-stained window. A testament to him, the counterpart to this halo of an angel.

The former Beast knows that the two of them could have gotten along. The flames kiss his vision as he stares at the peaceful expression of the glass window. And although the eyes are closed, they impossibly open with a blinding light.

The sapphire cookie does not flinch.

He stares up, holding his head high then lowering it to bow. His frown unfurrows as he smiles softly, feeling the soul of the old Vanilla King appear like the glow of a halo behind him.

"Hello again... Pure Vanilla Cookie."

[stardust-for-your-soul]

how beautiful did he look, as he sat amidst the lilies, maidens bedecked in gold bathing him in milk and rose petals as he accepted them graciously. lashes fluttered shut with golden orbs hiding behind serenity bathed eyes, calm despite the repetitive chant of his noble name.

'long live deus auri!'

priests chanted the holy name of the mighty god whose blessing seemed to have livened the nation with plenty joy, smiles rising on the face of every citizen. the city was bathed in lights and lamps bright as every gust of wind sang melody of the ardour.

music and incense had filled every nook and cranny, and travellers had gathered from the corners of the world to behold witness to the occasion; and to have their own hands filled with the generous king's gold—who was as gleeful as a father could be at the occasion of his eldest son's coronation.

he stands once the ceremony is completed, long brown hair open as they fall over his defined shoulders. to call him beautiful would've been both accurate and laughable, for he was more aptly compared with the sun than any petty word that could be used for anything else. the priests gather around him as he bows, a graciously swift movement as they slip the silks on his chest and the gold jewellery fitting of a crowned prince—enhancing his beauty a million times.

and had you blinked for even a moment, you would have missed the way his gaze fluttered ever so softly in your direction, atop the balcony which provided a view to the multitude of princesses who had been invited to the ceremony, as the garland of lotuses was slipped on him—the most silent gesture that very loudly said one thing—he would look forward to the day he can do that to you, and claim you his.

he turns back though, as quickly as he had looked, and then greets all with the most pleasant of smiles. all cheered loudly, but none's heart would've known the turmoil of anticipation that yours did. you understood very well the undertones of this coronation—it was his request from the king, who had been more than happy to oblige, so that he would have the right to ask your hand from your father who would only be willing to hand over his daughter to the noblest of men.

you have to prevent even a slip in gesture or airs to make for the sudden attention that you garner then, and your father smiles in the distance, old eyes gleaming with great understanding of his loveliest daughter's visage.

its a lovely affair then—the crowned prince and you sitting together near the lake of lotuses as he smiles at you with the smallest of desire in his gaze, as though trying not to let his composure slip—

'tell me, lotus-eyed, would your father allow me to take your hand in mine now?'

but your father knows the answer as he listens vaguely from near the rose bushes, even more than both of you who remain oblivious to his watchful gaze as he secretively smiles.

all that awaited now was the marriage ceremony and the rituals that follow with it—the best man wins the hand of his divine daughter. he knows he won't have to be partial, though. quite vain then would be his long wait of four years; looking for the valiant man who could dare to woo his daughter, the lady known for her very beauty and immaculate character in the land of wealth and trade.

he takes no worries when he smiles gleefully though, allowing the love birds to engage in peaceful conversation, fully trusting that his daughter would never do anything to make him bow his head low in shame. his eyes gleam in joy as he internally rejoices.

deus auri is the most competent of all in the seven continents, after all.

header credits: @cafekitsune !

[freezingmcxn]

Do you have any more to share about your Slender Man and Zalgo?? It’s very interesting to read :o) Also, good to be back Moon 🤍

SLENDERMAN IN MY AU

Absolutely! I’ll give you the run down of slenderman. Im so sorry your ask is so late, I’m horrible at keeping my motivation up D:

I have a whole time line explaining the situation with Zalgo that I’m working on so I won’t talk about him right now if that’s okay.

Slenderman is not the main focus of my AU. It’s more so about the creeps and the cult that caused the forest to be the way it is ;)

Au post

Physical Appearance

He is still a tall, gaunt figure with unnaturally long limbs and an eerie, faceless visage.

However.. the only difference is he doesn’t have his iconic tentacles or suit.

He is quite literally just an extremely tall, pale and faceless entity.

He is a silent, motionless figure who needs no words nor movement..he is something watching, always watching.

Origins and Purpose

Slenderman's origins are shrouded in mystery, but he is believed to be as old as the forest itself.

As you already know: he awakens every five years for a duration of one year.

He seeks to harvest as much fear as possible and come the closest he can to civilisation within that year before he is compelled to return to his slumber.

When he awakens, the forest itself seems to react, growing darker and more foreboding, as if aware of the evil stirring within.

During his year of wakefulness, Slenderman is feeding off victims brought by his proxies, these victims are Wanderers and random strangers who got lost on hiking trails.

As the year progresses and his time grows short, Slenderman’s activities become more frantic and desperate (meaning people usually go missing during the autumn/winter months).

At the end of the year, Slenderman retreats back into the depths of the forest, his resting place. The woods gradually return to their “natural state”, and the sense of dread lifts.

Prey and Proxies

He preys on those who venture too far into his territory, purposely or not.

So.. like I mentioned, Hikers, campers, and the curious who stray from the path as well as Wanderers.

Proxies are essentially Wanderers (dead) bodies that ended up getting possessed by him, they carry out his will and bring victims to him in Zones 3 and 2 of the forest.

They are extensions of his power and have no further reason in life other than to assist him, they are rotting corpses who are nothing but puppets of Slenderman.

Proxies do things such as stalk, kidnap, or even harm victims just to instill fear for Slender Man to feed off.

They do these acts in either Zone 3 or Zone 2 of the forest (depending on how far Slenderman has been able to travel).

The fear generated by these actions empowers Slender Man, enabling him to maintain his influence and grow stronger.

Attacking

When proxies are not available he attacks on his own.

Slenderman’s approach is slow and methodical compared to the violent and brutal nature of the proxies.

He does not attack directly but instead instills fear through subtle and relentless psychological torment.

His victims experience hallucinations, hear whispers in the wind, and feel an unshakable sense of being watched.

As their fear intensifies, Slenderman grows stronger, feeding off their terror until they ultimately die.

That’s all for now!

My asks are open, I am busy working on some but don’t hesitate to send in anymore. Thank you for all the endless support, I’m glad I have people finding me again :)

I love you all lots look after yourselves :)

[m1d-45]

(what about me?)

summary: even gods get lonely, it just takes them a bit longer than most. but when it hits, it hurts, and hard.

word count: 1.1k

-> warnings: major spoilers for mondstat archon quest, mentions of wine, little guy is sad and alone about it :(

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

starsnatch cliff is empty more times than it isn’t.

it was a common destination for couples, the silence a welcome break from the bustle of the city of freedom. the stars up above were unblocked, bright, the full rotation of constellations visible by just tilting one’s head to the sky. two majors, twin sets of stars, the three minors orbiting, staring down, watching. the same form, night after night, a bard in green driving away the aspiring couples often enough they learnt to stop trying. a body is there, physically occupying the space, but with how little is being done, the cliff still feels empty. the stars watch, seeing all, as the same body comes and sits, as the same eyes turn to the sky, vacant with memory.

venti didn’t know which constellations were in rotation—he did, that was a lie, he knew every single one and their owners—nor how long they’d be up—liar, liar, liar—but he watched the sky anyway, spinning a cecelia in his hand. the stem was worn, some of the juice clinging to his fingers, but he didn’t set it down. to the left, to the right, the six petals twisting outside of his field of view.

the god of freedom found himself coming back to the same cliff every night, sometimes leaving the angels share earlier to get there quicker. he walked, picking a cecelia as he did, and sat in the same spot at the peak of the cliff.

was he truly free, he wondered, if the stars kept calling him back?

(he knew he was. it was his choice to return, his choice to stay until the sun rose, to take naps in the afternoon to make up for the sleep before coming back, back, back, night after day after night)

the galaxy streaking its way across the sky, blue and purple and greens mixing and blurring, broken only by the bright shine of stars. planets, all locked in their own orbit, worlds he’d never be able to see, all within his sight yet all out of his grasp.

his eyes fell on a star at random.

who lived there, he wondered? what was beyond the atmosphere he knew? how far was the next planet? was there even intelligent life? surely, there must be—you wouldn’t create only one planet with life on it, right? you’d create many races, aliens he couldn’t imagine, all created to thrive on their world and serve under you.

(were they treating you better? had you exited your resting world already, and found another planet to keep you occupied? was teyvat not enough for you? you… you’d tell them if they weren’t doing enough, right? you’d say? you wouldn’t just leave them in the dark, right?)

he wondered how far away you’d gone. he remembered you—of course he did, your visage was engraved in his mind, miles deep and never to erode—and your last moments on teyvat, how you’d promised the archons that you would return soon. that you wouldn’t be far.

of course, ‘far’ was relative. and what was time to a god? how long was ‘soon’ for you? how long would it be until he could be blessed with your presence again? the little of your aura that bled through your vessels wasn’t enough- it wasn’t, and he was horribly selfish for thinking so, but it wasn’t. not when he’d been able to lay his eyes upon your true form, not when he’d felt your skin beneath his as he led you through mondstat for the first time. the small glimpse of you that seeped into the air around your vessels may be enough to rest weary souls, but for a god?

you were the shining light of teyvat, always everywhere. traveling from nation to nation, occasionally visiting off-world but never for long, never, he never had to go without you for more than a year or two at a time, he never had to feel erosion start to sap at his life-

the stars grew blurry, and venti hastily wiped the tears away, continuing to search the sky.

he knew he was eroding. every god was. memories, resilience, patience, all of it fading. mortals (part of his mind flinched, but he was right, he was mortal, he could die) weren’t meant for the power of the divine, the gnoses grating against the walls of their soul. it was never a problem before, not when they had you, you to temper the flame of creation, you to brush your hand over a wayward god and breathe life back into their heart, you with your endless compassion, to accept what felt like overwhelming and discard it as trivial.

barbatos was eroding without you. every god was. the ley lines were acting up, the abyss growing stronger, the eons without your presence turning teyvat into a hollow husk. and yet, the pathetic little he discarded from your vessels had begun to heal it anyway.

why did you use vessels? you had to know it was easier to descend yourself, right? to let flowers bloom in your wake and the breeze brush grass from your clothes, to tuck ei’s hair behind her ear and let empathy back into her mind. your vessels did a lot, but they could not manage all- murata, focalors, the tsaritsa and her wretched fatui- you could fix it all, all with a blink and a smile, a gentle hand across the earth to sew it at the seams.

he was being idealistic. he knew he was. and yet, he could not help but to wish—wish, he wanted to laugh at the irony—that your return ‘soon’ would be within his lifetime.

he wanted to see you again. he wanted the scars across his soul to heal, for his empty, cracked cup to be filled with you. he wanted to go back to how it was, when ei could smile freely and the tsaritsa wasn’t so cold, when the wind blew softly, carrying the sound of laughter. time only turned one way, yet he wanted to reverse it, to force the universe in rewind, to when his greatest worry was which song to play you at lunch. he wanted to bring a bottle of dandelion wine and watch as morax insisted upon osmanthus, as rukkhadevata rolled her eyes with a smile and suggested how about tea instead, it’s barely noon.

he was selfish. every god was, to an extent, but he…

as venti looked up at the stars, he couldn’t help but pray that one of them was you.