#mortal coil spoilers

[nicstylus]

for the dialog thing... mortal coil I think? where skug hugs val after she admits she sealed her name. 'that must have been very hard' or something.

I was actually planning on doing the bit where he was gently insulting her the whole time but maybe some other time :P

[candied-cae]

All I have to say about tonight's episodes is that I deserve a new Frenchie song RIGHT GODDAMN NOW

I have been waiting oh so very long, looking forward to my little guy's delightful little jams, and now that The Revenge isn't just the most depressing boat sailing across the Caribbean, he better put that fucking lute in his hands and get to work.

I need a new sprightly little pirate song to play when I need a dopamine hit. Please, Frenchie, have mercy on me.

Please, David Jenkins and Joel Fry, have mercy on me.

[rijl]

The "Song to the Siren by Tim Buckley is the most perfectly Our Flag Means Death song" thoughts are back with a vengeance after watching the first three eps of season 2!!

The lovelorn nautical content?? The 80s vibe (similar to The Chain and This Woman's Work) of the popular cover by This Mortal Coil??

"Did I dream you dreamed about me?"???

"Now my foolish boat is leaning / Broken lovelorn on your rocks"??

"Should I stand amid the breakers? / Or should I lie with death, my bride?" ?????????

P.S. for a little lol you can sing it "Jeff, my bride"

[percyslist]

GILMORE WITH THE HAMLET REFERENCE OMG

[littlejuicebox]

The wish spell worked.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)

Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth

Word Count: 2.2 K

A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all! I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)

-----

If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay. 

The wish spell worked.

It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality. 

More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully. 

It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.

Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin. 

And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.

While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face. 

After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.

“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”

And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?

Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige. 

As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.

“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance. 

You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”

Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”

You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”

Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”

-----

You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?

As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.

“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.

Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.

Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”

As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”

Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell. 

The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf. 

Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.

“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.

You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”

The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”

“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”

Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.

The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”

Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.

“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”

A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him. 

While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”

Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.

The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring. 

Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last. 

[vxnuslogy]

– a waltz with fate.

pairing: aventurine x gn!reader

premise: the fate of luck never had anything of great value after shedding his mortal shell, until you came to him for help. now, aventurine struggles against destiny to make sure you're not taken away from him for the second time.

– warnings: slight angst if you squint, reader is described as feminine and is called princess a few times but still use "you/they/them" pronouns, slight spoilers for events in once upon a broken heart.

– author's note: this is very once upon a broken hearted inspired so please go give it a read! art credits to @yeurei | ~3.1k words.

aventurine was not obsessed. one more visit didn’t equate to obsession. he simply wanted to make sure you were safe and sound; that you were still alive. yes, aventurine just wanted to double check that you weren’t bleeding on the shoulder like last time. in danger. unhappy. or uncomfortable. you were safe here, because he was watching over you.

a pained sigh left his lips as his hand came to ruffle his already unruly hair. his eyes scanning over your figure who slept soundly in the bed of your temporary room in penacony. aventurine clicked his tongue as he took a good look at the space. muted colors of silver, whites, and blues didn’t suit you. vibrant colors of yellows, pinks, and turquoise suited your rowdy personality better. these colors made you stand out even more, captivating everyone in the room with just a glance. 

“time to wake up now, friend.” he merrily whispered near your ear, so incredibly close it made him feel intimate. it left a painful tearing inside his already broken heart. as expected, you opened your bleary eyes at him. he saw how your lips tried to scream at him for sneaking into your room but it never left your throat as he throwed a dress right at your face. 

“the party is about to start,” he heard you shuffle out of bed and lay out the dress. “it’d be a shame if you were late.” aventurine threw a grin over his shoulder when you rolled your eyes at him. grin growing wider when he realized you planned on wearing the dress he picked out for you despite the irrelevant dress code of only wearing white, black and gold.

“how kind of you, lord aventurine.” there it was. the same playful lilt of your voice. 

you were growing too trustful of him again. aventurine didn’t know if his heart fluttered or broke into a million more pieces.

“well what can i say?” shrugging his shoulders he made his way to your balcony. “i’m feeling generous tonight. maybe i’ll even ask you for a dance tonight!”

another roll of your eyes and you're already waving him goodbye. “oh how marvelous! i’ll be sure to rub it on the poor faces of the ladies that would die to dance with you.”

aventurine let out a hearty laugh as he left your room with a single graceful jump. but his happiness was short lived when he spotted a familiar white snake coiling around the tree branch that was placed coincidentally right in front of your balcony. the man scoffed as the snake slithered down the tree and disappeared into the bushes. no doubt planning on telling its master of what it just saw. 

for the longest time, aventurine never minded the still and quietness of the night. but this time, the night was too cold for his liking. it may have been winter in penacony and the dress shirt he wore was thin and loose, the temperatures never bothered him. another sigh left his lips as he shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking to where this year’s charmony ball will be held. mentally preparing himself for the encounters he may stumble into for the night.

 – –

as expected of the family, the charmony ball looked like a fairytale stolen from a child’s storybook. the ballroom from the ceilings to the floors were covered with iridescent pearls and silver ornaments with touches of  gold here and there. some royals from all over the land were already on the dance floor, happily dancing to the beat of the music that played from the second floor. cheers and laughter echoed throughout the entire room, enchanting everyone inside.

“well don’t you look charming, lord aventurine.” 

aventurine pressed his lips into a firm line, his grip tightening on the golden goblet that his hand held. he needn't look to his side to know who had approached. her intimidating presence and captivating voice gave it all away. “as do you, lady bonajade. but you always look dazzling no matter what.”

jade chuckled and stood beside aventurine, much to his dismay. the older woman wore a dark blue daring off shoulder dress that showed off her skin with the slit reaching her upper thigh. it would be considered scandalous if any other woman were to wear it. the white ruffled sleeves only reaching her elbows complimented the dark glove she wore on her left hand. as always, her wrists were decorated with shining gold bracelets and her signature jade ring that rested on her ungloved finger.

“flattery won’t get you anywhere, child.” taking a goblet from the wandering server, she took a tentative sip before sloshing the drink around. 

aventurine didn’t care for what others thought of him, but it was different when the woman beside him did it. he suddenly felt insecure about the white dress shirt he wore. wondering if it was obvious that the piece of clothing was too big for him with the way it sagged around his shoulders. the black vest that was more akin to a coat with its train felt too suffocating now. he suddenly had the urge to readjust the collar of his shirt and take off the dark blue gem pin on the center of his neck. he didn’t look like the playful and reckless lord aventurine he worked so hard to build up whenever jade was around. and he hated it.

an evil chuckle escaped jade’s lips. “you look better in turquoise, my dear.”

he scoffed, voice laced with the same poison he used to scare off any predators. “this was not my first choice either, madam. if i had known this ball was limited to only whites, golds, and blues then i would’ve brought my own clothing.”

aventurine felt the woman’s lips brush his ear as she whispered. “don’t use that tone with me, child. you still owe me a big debt after saving your little princess.”

jade must have noticed his tense posture when she mentioned you. cursing himself under his breath for showing weakness but he couldn’t calm his beating heart as he looked for you inside the ballroom. the older woman gave aventurine another chuckle before leaning away. the snake-like pupils of her silver eyes made aventurine’s skin crawl but he dared to not look away. narrowing down his own eyes at the woman who had given him everything but took it all away with the snap of a finger.

“will my life suffice then?” aventurine was losing his composure when the woman grinned like a vulture. the room was suddenly stilled and small. all he could see was jade baring her fangs at him like a wild animal on a hunt.

“you’ve already given me your life the first time around,” she moved her gaze away from him and instead looked towards you. aventurine’s fist behind his back shook in anger. “i’m starting to think you have nothing of value to give me anymore.”

he scoffed. slamming the goblet in his hand on the table with a quiet bang. jade let out an amused chuckle. “how peculiar, you’re normally more composed than this. don’t tell me you’ve grown possessive of that little princess?”

“we’re fates, madam. we’re always possessive.” aventurine argued, eyes never leaving your figure as you danced across the ballroom with a familiar man.

“oh but not in the way that you are now,” an arm slithered around his shoulder as a card appeared in front of him. obscuring his vision of you. “quite interesting, wouldn’t you agree. i’ve tried so hard to keep this card up right but it keeps flipping upside down. you know what this means right, kakavasha?”

aventurine swatted the card away from his face. the piece of paper slipping out of jade’s hand. he relished in her momentary shock before slipping away from her hold. he gave the card one more passing glance before sauntering towards the dance floor in search of you.

“you’ve made a fatal mistake, child.” jade warns. “the cornerstones are not to be used for someone that’s easily disposable.”

“[name] is not disposable.” aventurine turned to the woman as she scoffed. “they will be of more value in due time.”

“you say in due time knowing that they won’t last until next month.” the woman shook her head, the same white snake he saw earlier resting on her shoulders. “tell me, kakavasha, are they truly worth all this effort? you, a fate that i raised, risking it all for a mortal that doesn’t even remember you or your sacrifices. they won’t remember you because you no longer have anything of value to give destiny.”

aventurine tried to argue back but he felt winded. that all the oxygen he didn’t need to live were suddenly taken away the more jade continued. “you are nothing of value now. do you think your little [name] would still care if you’re no use to them? give up child, you are no longer obligated to protect them.”

“i’m the only one that can.” he countered.

“with what power?” jade tilted her head to the side. her light lavender hair swaying with her movement. “fate is no longer on your side, nor is luck. you are as powerful as a mortal now.”

aventurine took a moment to reply. “i’ll think of something. i always have.”

the woman laughed. the laugh that rang like sirens inside his mind, telling him to turn away, run away to a place where she wouldn’t find him. but it was hopeless. jade was like a shadow he could never escape from. she will always have a leash around his throat. pulling him back when she deemed necessary and suffocating him from the harsh reality.

“you better have a plan, child.” the same predatory glint came back to her eyes. “i have no use for children who can’t pull their own weight.”

 – –

your conversation with veritas ratio was cut short when an arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you back. a surprised gasp escaped your lips when you saw aventurine look down on you with that same grin on his face. “i did say i’d dance with you, no?”

“i vividly remember you saying that you’d ask me. not steal me away.” he let out a jovial laugh that involuntarily made your cheeks flush like wine. 

you let out a cough behind your fist as aventurine took hold of your hand and twirled you around to face him. his bare hand coming to rest at your hips as the other held your gloved one. despite the layers of your dress and the corset you wore, you felt aventurine’s warmth seep through.

“now where has my little spitfire gone?” you turn to glare at him. “ah! there you are, i was starting to think you've mellowed down with all these mediocre men.”

you rolled your eyes as he pressed your bodies together even more when other dancers graced the floor. “careful there my lord, you almost sound jealous.”

“i’m a fate, sweetheart, i’m always jealous.” you furrow your brows in confusion at the new pet name. aventurine was never short on nicknames – both good and bad– and him using them on you was never strange. but it didn’t quell that curiosity that led you to him when he used a new one.

he only smiled, and but for a fragile moment, under the chandelier lights that bathed him in gold, the same color of his hair that captivated you when you first met, you understood why so many women would die for him. if aventurine wasn’t so pointed with his words, so greedy with his fortunes, you might have been a little bewitched by him.

but you couldn’t help but feel shy under his gaze and touch. in this moment, with his very being pressed so close to your soul, you can’t help but wish that you were the fortune that he was always greedy for. you wanted to delude yourself that with every twirl, every lift, and every dip of this seemingly never ending dance that felt like it was torn off a fairytale, he wanted you to be his fortune too.

“penny for your thoughts, friend?” you felt his finger press and prod at the mark near your pulse point. “it’s quite rude to not look at your dance partner, you know.”

you let out a snort. “you must be quite the rude gentleman. you never once looked at the poor ladies you’ve danced with all night.”

aventurine grinned from ear to ear. “so you were watching me?”

blood rushed to your cheeks as you glared at him. “i was not! i was simply sending silent prayers to the poor girls that would fall for charms.”

“oh so now you think i’m charming,” the playful upswing of his voice and eyes did your hammering heart no good. “don’t look so embarrassed, friend, everyone thinks i’m charming.”

“how dreadful.” you say with a roll of your eyes before a quiet atmosphere laid itself on the both of you. you tried not to pay attention to the way his grip on your hand and hip tightened when the music slowly started to fade away and the other dancers began to dissipate. for another moment, you wished for the dance to never end.

“you look beautiful in turquoise, you should wear it more often.” you snapped out of your daze when aventurine whispered a compliment to your ear. but when you turn to tell him off, he was gone.

there it was again, the bitter feeling welling up inside your chest. the mark on your pulse – a single coin that was slowly fading away, the symbol of your deal almost being over – nearly sent a wave of tears to break out from your eyes. the urgent feeling of you needing to tell him something still weighed at the back of your mind, but you don’t remember what it was that you wished to say to him.

“is something the matter?” a soft voice from behind you spoke.

the man had silver hair and the most beautiful golden eyes you’ve ever seen. a crown lay on his head as a halo was behind him. “prince sunday…” you murmur as the prince smiled.

“that is me, yes,” he offered a gloved hand to you. “would you care to dance? if you aren’t tired, of course.”

your mind was torn. one part of you telling you yes, dance with the prince who had the reputation of never asking any lady to dance. live out your dreams of meeting a prince and falling in love with him. but another part of you told you to chase after aventurine. seek him out like you always do. one last time.

in the end, you took the prince’s hand and danced with him until the night ended.

 – –

aventurine was not jealous.

that’s a lie, he was a fate, he’s always jealous. but not the same jealousy he normally felt when he looked over mortals living out their lives peacefully. that feeling of jealousy was normal for him. this type of jealousy as he watched you dance with the prince felt revolting. like someone had stabbed him in his already hollow chest over and over until he breathed his final breath.

he wanted to steal you away again like how he did when you danced with that vampire scoundrel named ratio. but he couldn’t. aventurine no longer had the right to intervene with your life now that your debt was slowly being paid in full.

fates were dangerous beings of magic. they are all possessive and jealous. mortals pray to him and others but they are no saints nor saviors. aventurine was the rumored fate of luck, madam bonajade’s prized successor. blessing anyone who seeks him out but must pay a hefty toll of something greater than they have received if his tasks and criteria are not met.

aventurine recounts the many scandal sheets that were written about his endeavors, the most famous was titled “A Scandal’s Gambit”. the scandal sheet retold his deal with a poor man wishing to elevate his family’s status from poverty. aventurine gave the man fortune and a simple task: spend the wealth to help his family and to not waste it on useless luxuries. but like the card description from the deck of destiny, the fate of luck’s first task is deceitful and blinded mortals. it wasn’t long before rumors about a mysterious man spending questionable amounts of money

started floating around the city.

people began to point to the man as a thief when a duchess came to him demanding he give back the treasures he stole from her. he quickly went back to aventurine, sitting on a velvet couch and a roulette in front of him. he begged and begged for the fate to help him but he was turned away. aventurine later revealed that his second and final task was to keep his family from dying, but since the man was blinded by greed, his wife and child died from starvation. 

“i simply took back the fortune you stole from me.” was the fate’s famous line. and not long, the man tried to flee but was captured and later died in jail. to pay for his failure, the man’s family was taken from him as punishment and compensation for fate’s lost fortune. but what aventurine didn’t realize was that the man’s child survived, and later came to him.

they asked for the same thing. to elevate their family from poverty, but unlike their father, they succeeded and are now reaping the fruits of their labor.

that was what aventurine wanted to believe as he continued to watch you dance with the prince you’ve always dreamt of marrying. you paid a hefty price for this happily ever after and aventurine was willing to take the fall for you. 

your journey after meeting him was nothing short of a heart attack. every twist and turn had aventurine’s nonexistent heart beating rapidly within the columns of his chest. all the tasks and missions he sent you, the times where you were captured and he had to save. aventurine wanted nothing more than for you to remember that he was your prince, not the man with the halo behind his head.

was it wrong of him to expect some sort of thanks from a person with no memory of him? no recollections of how he carried you through freezing waters, pulled you through hellfire, hauled you from the clutches of war and death. aventurine wanted just one simple thank you for saving you. but he knew it was too much to ask for.

after using the cornerstone of his fellow fates to reverse time after your unfortunate death, he had to painfully relive your first meeting, your trials and adventures, and see you dance with the man you married in your first life.

aventurine no longer had anything valuable to give to destiny so it took your memories instead. he made sure it was your memories and not you entirely. you were the most valuable thing aventurine had, and he’d be damned if you were taken from him too for a second time.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A Departure.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Spoilers For Sumeru's Story Quest, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Physical/Psychological Abuse, Themes of Forced Codependence, and Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms.

You arrived at the door of his shrine with no less than a dozen guards in tow – an even mix of Fatui soldiers and Akademiya matra. The most brazen among them attempted to follow you inside, but you dismissed them with a quick shake of your head, a pointed look to the more senior members of the mismatched legion. This was a well-trodden routine, by now, although one you never dared to come with the same entourage more than once. Your husband’s recent distance had not softened his jealous edge, and although you weren’t fond of those most complicit in the newest stage of your captivity, no mortal crime could be worthy of the wrath of such a violent god.

Your footsteps echoed – clipped and solitary – against the bare walls of the stone chamber. The architects of his divinity have already been sent away for the night, leaving you alone with the half-finished mess of wires and metal that was your husband’s fixation. The Shouki no Kami, you could remember the Doctor calling it during his first visits to your estate. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous machine that would only serve the ego of a ridiculous man. Bile rose into the back of your throat at the sight alone, but you swallowed your anger. He’d never been able to react to your rage with anything but his own.

You paused at the monstrosity’s feet, and his voice came to you – reverberating in the back of your mind like the final tones of a chapel bell. “Beloved,” he whispered in the back of your mind, sending a pang of pure agony through your skull. “You aren’t supposed to—”

“I will not hold a conversation with a mumbling voice.” You cut him off swiftly, teeth grit and eyes narrowed. “Either I will speak to my husband's face or I will not speak to him at all.”

A moment passed without a response. Then, stiltedly, one of his monstrosity’s hands tore free from its scaffolding, lowering itself to the ground beside you. With some reluctance, you stepped into his palm and allowed him to raise you to the frontmost panel of his abomination. You refused to call it a face, because to call it a face would be to admit it was his face, which would be to admit that this strange machine was in any way an extension of him. The metallic panel raised and disappeared into some unseen cavity, revealing the hollow, unit chamber behind it. Revealing your husband.

Or, rather, revealing the mess he’d made of himself.

He had never been the pinnacle of beauty, but his pale skin now seemed bleached and colorless, his lithe form limp and crumpled. Glass tubes filled with a pulsing, violet substance had been drilled into the nape of his neck, the base of his spine, the curves of his shoulder bones, and the smile he paid you as he came into view was labored, a fight against some artificial exhaustion. Before you could think better of it, you stepped out of his palm and into his chamber, falling to your knees beside him and wrapping your arms around his neck. “You are,” You pressed your lips into his temple. “the biggest idiot,” Then again, into his cheek, the curve of his jaw. “I have ever met.”

He let out an airy chuckle, melting into your chest. “It used to take a vat of water and thirty minutes of electrocution to make you kiss me like that.”

You ignored the phantom rope that coiled around your lungs at the reminder of the first decades of your relationship. You tried to think of it as little as you could, but his vision had always been more rose-colored than your own. “Can’t I show my husband affection?” You raked your fingers through his hair, resting your lips against his forehead. “It’s not as if I’ll be able to kiss the metal coffin you’re locking yourself inside.”

Another laugh, this one more labored than the last. “You could, if you wanted to. Just wait until it’s finished. It’ll be more glorious than you could possibly imagine – a vessel befitting of the most powerful archon this wretched world has ever bowed to.” He attempted to straighten, only to collapse under his own weight. “It’ll be an improvement to this form, at least.”

“I quite like your current form. It’s only a shame it has to house such a rotten personality.” You looked outward, to his empty shrine. At the time of your last visit to Inazuma (meaning, at the time of your last successful escape from your husband), his creator had still been locked inside a similar cage, or so another yokai had told you over bottles of sake and a game of cards. That visit had been one of your shortest. He knew you too well, by then, and it’d only taken him a few weeks to realize you’d run where you always would - home. “I suppose I’ll be left in the care of your doctor, when you’re finished.”

His response was immediate, purely reactive; a sudden snarl paired with a flash of bared teeth. “Dottore should be thankful to so much as breathe your air. You’ll be the paramour of a god.”

“I’ll be left alone while you turn yourself into a monster.” Your voice was hollow, distant. Even now, months into his transformation, it was difficult to describe the flavor of your devastation. He’d taken you from the place where you belonged and kept you as a trophy. He’d denied you any companionship aside from himself and cut away parts of your world until it revolved solely around him. He tucked dried flowers into the letters he wrote you near-obsessively whenever he couldn’t be at your side. He carved open your skin then demanded you keep your own mutilation out of his sight. He used to read you myths and fairy tales for hours every night, when human language was still foreign to your tongue. He was the closest thing to a friend you’d ever had.

And he was leaving you.

You wondered, briefly, if this was how he felt whenever you tried to get away from him, but discarded the thought quickly. It was your heart that ached the most in the wake of his betrayal, and your husband never did have one of those.

“I can’t remember the last time I was on my own,” you admitted, a pained smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I won’t ask you to stop. It’s just, when you’re done, I—” The air snagged in your throat. You inhaled sharply, then rested your head on his shoulder. “I’d like your permission to return to Inazuma, my lord.”

Silenced lapse, thick and heavy, between you. He was the closest thing you had to a friend, which meant he knew just how where to plant his knife and, more significantly, just how to twist the blade.

“No.” Stern, stiff, unyielding. Rather than softening over the centuries you’d spent together, he only seemed to grow more callous. “There’s nothing for you, there. You’ll stay here, with me, and I will rule this rotting land with you at my side.”

You opened your mouth, prepared to protest, to argue the way you hadn’t since the first years of your imprisonment, but closed it just as quickly. You buried your face in the crook of your neck, and your husband let you, eager to soak in the touch you so often denied him. Fire, despair, anger bit and thrashed inside of you, but it was all you could do to hold him, to keep him near.

It was all you could do to think of what you would become, after he was taken away from you.

[jenniferstolzer]

So I just finished Mortal Coil again.

“I want to cook you dinner.

… you don’t even have to show up.”

on da

[nicstylus]

You ever wonder if they just sit by the pier and exist sometimes?

[sky-kiss]

Best Served Cold

A/N: I want the record to show that I love Haarlep. Spoilers for Patch 5.0 Epilogue. Using it for evil. Hiding under a gif. Maybe don't read if you don't like. Sex and violence. Short bit of something.

Haarlep/Durge (GN), Raphael/Durge GN: Best Served Cold (18+)

Oh, the spoils of war are ever so sweet. 

The thought flits through Haarlep’s head, a disconnected spark lost amidst a sea of pleasure. The incubus grips their lover’s hips tighter, fucking up into them as if it’s their last night in Hell. Raphael’s treasured pet comes to take their pleasure from the cambion’s form one last time. Torrid, debauched, and so blessedly delicious. 

I wondered when you’d visit me, my godling, breathed into the hollow of their throat. They’d shivered, eyes widening in wonder and lust—Haarlep’s favorite combination. The incubus bathes themselves in the bhaalspawn’s hunger. You seemed so fond of my little brat. 

“Oh, look at you.” Haarlep breathes. Raphael’s voice, dark and heady, fills the chamber. The bhaalspawn shivers. “Made for his cock, weren’t you? More’s the pity: you were never disappointed by the real thing.” 

They ride him harder, snarling into the frozen air. Haarlep laughs, shifting their touch inward, fingers splayed low on their belly. He likes the contrast of their skin, devil-red against mortal flesh. Haarlep licks their lower lip and thrusts his hips up. There is something so debauched about the way the godling takes him. Furious, punishing, oh, it’s good. Nails bite into his shoulder. The bhaalspawn dips their head, licking the hollow of their throat.

Teeth graze over their pulse. 

And then they bite. 

Haarlep groans, a rush of blood and heat as they break the skin. The bhaalspawn turns their head to the side, hissing into the ruined flesh. There’s pain, but they’ve had far worse during their tenure in Cania. And they still clench around him, move. 

“Mmm, hungry for him, were you?” 

The godling laughs, nosing the underside of his jaw. “No. No, sweetling, that was just for you.” 

They purr, “I’m flattered, pet.” 

“Dreamed of it.” They groan, pushing up and impaling themselves on his cock. Haarlep spreads their legs wider. They want to watch. “Dreamed of this.” 

The incubus chuckles, rocking. “And is it everything you desire?”

“Almost.” They tip their head back, mouth falling open in rapture. “Raphael!” 

Haarlep hisses, pushing up under them. “No. No, pet, you call my name.” 

The godling laughs, rolling their hips. “Raphael.” 

Any response dies on the incubus' tongue. The voice is as familiar as breathing, so much a part of them after centuries of life. Haarlep’s blood runs cold. “You called, little mouse?” 

Haarlep thrashes, suddenly needing to get free, get out. Raphael is there. A mangled reflection of himself, but still alive. His left eye is milky, flesh badly burned and scarred. The right corner of his mouth curls up in a sneer. The godling clenches around them, moaning.

“Oh, Haarlep. Whatever’s the matter? You were so keen on using my form before.” 

The bhaalspawn’s grip is more sure than death itself, tearing through the flesh, leaving long stripes of blood across his pecs. Haarlep hisses, pitches, gets no further. They try to speak, but the damned creature kisses them, swallowing the words along with their air. Raphael closes the distance between them, hands clasped at the small of his back. Dispassionate. The once prince strokes a hand down the godling’s back. 

Fear settles low in the incubus’ belly, coiling alongside the rush of pleasure. So close to the end. A feverish weight at the base of their spine. 

Raphael strokes Haarlep's cheek. His one good eye narrows. 

“Once upon a time, you left me to our little beast…” the bhaalspawn groans, reaching out to fist a hand in Raphael’s robe. “...and I am a cyclical creature. An eye for an eye, hmm? Only fair I return the favor.” 

“Raphael…” They choke out his name, vision blurring. The godling’s teeth are back at their throat, biting, tearing. Haarlep tries to catch their hands, but they are brutally strong. 

Their little brat chuckles, bending and pressing a chaste kiss to their mouth. “Adieu, darling. It’s been…unforgettable.” 

And Haarlep screams. 

[asheepinthenight]

Remedy (Talon's End Extra April 2024)

Some short fluff for this month's extra! MC comes down with a bad cold, and Hawk doesn't know what to do about it. Contains mild spoilers for post-game Hawk/MC relationship. Mostly written for the romantic version of their relationship but could also be queerplatonic (maybe even platonic, depending on how you feel about cuddling and forehead kisses) if you ignore a couple lines near the end.

You sneeze for what feels like the hundredth time in the last hour, and Hawk's head immediately snaps up to look at you. They put their book aside and lean over to put their hand to your forehead. The difference in temperature between their cold skin and your feverish body makes you shiver. They tuck the covers around you more tightly and look down at you as if, should they blink, you will come untethered from this mortal coil.

"It's just a bad cold, Hawk."

They narrow their eyes at you. "Many animals feign wellbeing in their final days. Self-preservation instinct to avoid predators' attention."

"I don't think I'm feigning 'wellbeing' very well."

Hawk gives you a rueful smile. "No. You're not."

You reach over to pat Hawk's hand where they're unthinkingly pulling a loose thread from the edge of the blanket. "I'll be well in a few days."

"That's what you said yesterday."

"And it's still true—it's only been one day so far."

Hawk scowls at the accuracy of your statement, and your laugh initiates another round of coughing. Once it passes, you look up to see the same look of deep alarm that you've seen in Hawk's golden eyes too many times since yous tarted falling ill. "You're sure this is normal?" they ask

"Very sure."

Hawk manages to sustain a few seconds of anxious silence before resuming their questioning. "And you don't need a healer...?"

You shake your head. "Just rest. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I want to. If you want me to."

You nod, and they reach out to take your hand in theirs. Though Hawk's body isn't warm, it's not unlike a blanket: once it takes on enough of your own body heat, it holds it there, insulating you from the cold outside the bed. As you close your eyes and try to relax, you can feel the anxious static of Hawk's energy fade toward their usual calm.

You drift in and out of sleep, the fever and cough keeping you from resting deeply. After some time, you wake up sweating and kick all the blankets off, only to later wake again shivering. You sit up to hazily claw the blankets back over yourself, but you feel yourself being pulled into Hawk's arms as they lie down next to you, sweeping the blankets up over you both.

"Ridiculous," Hawk says as you bury your face against their chest. "Just rest."

"I'm trying," you say through chattering teeth.

Hawk sighs. "I don't know anything about... any of this. I don't think I'm helping."

"You are." You hold onto Hawk tightly as they rub your back, the warmth slowly returning to you.

"There are times I've wished I were born mortal, but I don't want this part."

You laugh—carefully, so you don't start coughing again—and pull away just enough to look at Hawk. "You'll have to leave the bed when I get too warm again."

"The human body makes no sense."

"Did you just realize that?"

Hawk scoffs and kisses your forehead. "Hardly, but I'll endure the whims of your fever and leave when you ask."

"You'll stay nearby, though?"

"Of course. As long as you want me to."

"Forever, then?"

Hawk chuckles. "You don't need to waste energy courting me; I'm already yours. So yes." They press their lips to the top of your head. "Forever."

[tongues-and-teeth-and-reblogs]

No because imagine you’re a 14 year old boy- with two friends around the same age- getting sent on life threatening missions by this guy for a few years consistently. This guy, despite being old enough to have an ancient kingdom and at least one country developed in his life AND has been remarked to have been notably hard to kill through traditional methods… was sending a gaggle of pre/early-pubescent teens to do things he absolutely could’ve done himself but also with relative ease.

THEN, this guy gets you literally hung by his evil shadow self with promises of beheading and instead of like. Giving you any say in the matter, just being quiet and letting three other people (who were probably going to let you go) decide, or even advocating for all of your releases, he asks the three other people to KILL ALL FOUR OF YOU???

To make matters WORSE he never even addresses it, much less apologizes. And like? If that was JUST his life on the line, okay whatever. But it’s you and your friends (young teenagers with their whole lives ahead of them) ALSO??? Gingerbrave is a better man than I am because if that was me I’d never forgive that hetero bitch. He wouldn’t even make it off Beast-Yeast, I’d doxx him to Dark Enchantress Cookie. I’m petty and that man would NOT survive the night.

Will elaborate later, but if I was Gingerbrave and Pure Vanilla said this he would be sleeping with the fishes INSTANTLY.

[severalowls]

Hi I played myhouse.wad here is my thoughts on a narrative thing people seem intent on brushing off in favour of tired tropes.

Spoilers for myhouse.wad do not read this if you havent played it go and play it blind thx

So Thomas and Steven are heavily heavily implied to be husbands. The use of Intensely, Notably impersonal language in the journals is a whole other point to analyse irt its authorship but I digress, my (first) point is: Thomas is also Probably trans.

So in the airport you go into the womens bathroom and theres a pill bottle on the way in that says "needs a refill..." and then you do a little loop around the mirror and theres blood in the mirror then blood all over the place and blooddemons spawn in all around you... then you leave and there's a full pill bottle that says something like "such a relief" and when you come out the bathroom signs have switched and the bathroom you came out of is now the mens room.

Now the Le Reddit/gamer dood prevailing interpretation is apparently that this is... a coincidence? That the meticulous insane modder(s) who created this entire mindbending feat of technology Simply Forgot and its a total coincidence. Fuck off.

Now the prevailing theory also seems to be that the airport bloodbath is actually Thomas's father, evidenced by the same empty pill bottle being in the hospital room with the dead man. Nah, that's because they're both Thomas's fuckin pills and that's Thomas.

Steven (the PoV character as it were) is in the same hospital because this is a representation of the critical inciting event of the entire meta narrative: both of them having died, together, at home (probably in a house fire).

Everything we see in the mod represents scenes and events in their lives, and this is the point where Steven departs from the mortal coil and goes to join his husband Thomas, who is flatlining but nonetheless sat bolt upright, locking eyes with Steven who, in the context of the wider story is putting his affairs in order through the medium of Doom. CRUCIALLY this one hospital scene, where the video game gameplay rules of Doom (you die, you reload a save) are defied and we pass into a (god damn it) liminal space between the abstraction of the game and Death, is the only point where they are reunited.

Which then suggests to me that all the "Liminal Space" stuff and Backrooms references aren't just Fun References, but the Thematic Core of the piece, the passing between worlds. Hell, even the narrative being split between docs and the mod. It being a mod for a game at all.

Anyway I'll save this going on 10000 words because I could probably write interpretation for hours but... Myhouse.wad good.

Edit the following morning: There are hints to an "Anna" which the average Gamer assumes is some sadface ex-wife, but the main points where this is referenced are the airport scene and "S+A" in the bonfire/beach endings. Steven and Thomas are described as having reconnected with high school crushes/'friends'. The main time in your life where you're likely to carve your crush in a tree is when you're a teenager.

Steven had a crush on "Anna", reconnected decades later once he'd transitioned, the scenes of the game represent primarily parts of their life together, and in the final moments of the game (bonfire/beach endings) he's reflecting on when they met as kids.

Airport scene, besides the symbolism of journeys and beginnings, could also reference a miscarriage Thomas had at some point, possibly pre-transition since its where "Anna" comes up? (Stillborn baby is referenced a couple of times in the journal + baby bottle item ingame)

Anyway, myhouse.wad good.

[whimsylueur]

SPOILERS FOR SKULDUGGERY PLEASANT (EVERY BOOK)

Since I have caught up with the entire series thus far I would like to provide some commentary in the form of incorrect quotes.

Skulduggery Pleasant Books 1-16, basically:

SP 1- Sceptre of the Ancients

Skulduggery:

Stephanie: You son of a bitch, I’m in

SP 2- Playing with Fire

Skulduggery to Derek: I’ve seen enough, give her Billy-Ray Sanguine.

SP 3- The Faceless Ones

Solomon to Valkyrie: I may have an idea to help you get Skulduggery back, all I want-

Valkyrie, already shaking his hand: Anything.

SP 4- Dark Days

Valkyrie, holding Skulduggery’s skull towards him: Need head?

(🚨🚨THIS IS A JOKE🚨🚨)

SP 5- Mortal Coil

Skulduggery, after Valkyrie spills the beans about Darquesse: (Quietly) Look at us, just two murderous peas in a pod.

Valkyrie: What was that?

Skulduggery: Huh?

SP 6- Death Bringer

Skulduggery to Lord Vile about Darquesse: Oh deuce, the silly goose is loose

SP 7- Kingdom of the Wicked

Kitana to Valkyrie: 6 feet of dirt would look good on you <3

SP 8- Last stand of Dead Men

Billy-Ray to Ghastly about Tanith: If she’s your girlfriend, why is she playing with my mullet?

SP 9- The Dying of the Light

Valkyrie to Skulduggery: I literally love you, you’re everything to me. Don’t do this

Skulduggery, after the most devious prank of the decade: Oh cheer up

SP 10- Resurrection

Valkyrie: It’s so over bros

SP 11- Midnight

Valkyrie: The dog in me has been euthanised

SP 12- Bedlam

Valkyrie: My favourite thing about me is my girlfriend

SP 13- Seasons of War

Valkyrie: WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK

SP 14- Dead or Alive

Valkyrie: Uh

Cadaver, hugging her tightly: Shhhh, I need this

SP 15- Until the End

Darquesse: Today, I’m a serious goose. (Revamps the entire fucking universe)

SP 16- A Mind Full of Murder

Skulduggery to Valkyrie: You mean the world to me. I love you, you make me strong.

Valkyrie: Cornyyyyy

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Fill the void

!!Contains mild spoilers from TGCF Book 6!!

Warnings: some gory descriptions as metaphors, yearning, pining and suffering

Summary: Xie Lian's sad evil girl arc ft Wu Ming and stargazing

Let me know what you think! <3

---

It’s strange – everything is, of course, the world turned upside down, tilted wrong on its axis like it has fallen off its rhythm, spinning aimlessly into a dark abyss – but this is a different kind of strange, darker, desperate and demanding. Xie Lian feels it like a restless, hungry snake coiling angrily against the walls of the too small enclosure of his ribcage, attacking aimlessly with the purpose of tearing its cage apart.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, how to quench it enough so it’s bearable – so he tries to suppress it, to starve it for attention enough for it to wither away, to cram it into the darkest corners of his heart and seal it away like an unwanted creature.

He cannot. Not when the feeling electrifies inside him like lightning every time he lays his eyes upon this impossibly devoted, loyal man that’s attached himself to Xie Lian for reasons only he knows the depth of.

Xie Lian hates this, the feeling in his chest, writhing around his heart like it’s trying to squeeze it until it breaks into a mess of blood and pulsing veins – he hates it, he doesn’t want it, doesn’t understand it, doesn’t need it, not right now, not like this, not ever-

He’s become angrier, it’s made him more irritable, quicker to bloodshed and yet less satisfied with it. No matter what he does, the feeling inside of him will not accept it. There is no loophole this time, nothing that will work except the one thing Xie Lian has decided he will always deny himself.

Lust.

Love.

The night sky glitters impassively above them, endless, an expanse of darkness dotted with flickering lights, the faded image of the Milky Way stretching like a band of jewels against black velvet.

Xie Lian stares up at it, as if trying to peer behind it, into the heavens, past the glamor that hides the heavenly capital from the mortal realm. He knows they’re there, all of them impassive to the happenings of the world below, gathering merits for the lowest of favors granted in return, unwilling to leave their glittering palaces and expensive layers of silk to walk the cursed earth that rose them to the skies.

Not that Xie Lian has much mercy left for this plane either. He can still feel the phantom of a sword – of a hundred swords – digging into his innards sometimes, cruel, relentless, unforgiving, tearing into soft tissue and a loving heart.

His body has healed, as it has always done. But nothing was left of the kindness, the paroxysmal selflessness and need to help the powerless. All Xie Lian feels instead is at best apathy, at worst rage. Most days, he’s consumed with the need for revenge and most nights he fights that unnamed feeling gnawing at his chest.

He doesn’t remember the last time he slept, or ate, or drank anything – yet he doesn’t feel tired, famished or thirsty, walking the planes of existence much like a restless ghost, haunting and wrathful.

He rests against the large trunk of an old tree, time and the beasts of the forest having dug a sizeable caving in the wood. It feels almost like a little nest, tucked away from the world, with only moonlight to shroud it in a delicate veil of light.

His fingers grasp at his mask and he finally removes  it, the cool night air a benediction to his sunken features. Lately, he has not been able to be without his mask, as if ashamed to show himself, warring with his past and the present, his features reminding him too much of how he used to be for it not to feel revulsive.

But now, here, in this hidden abode, with only the moon and the dark silhouettes of olden trees, he allows himself some freedom. It feels more stifling than freeing, and he nearly reaches for the mask again when he hears the rustle of leaves and footsteps.

But he knows who it is – and for some reason, he decides he won’t hide right now.

Wu Ming stands a little a-ways, as he always does, close enough to be at Xie Lians disposal but not to the point he’s intrusive. Keeping a respectful distance, a guard standing watch for his prince, a servant ready to attend to his master’s orders.

Somehow, this is not what Xie Lian wants tonight.

“Come here.” He says, not bothering to look towards the other or to check whether he heard those two words, spoken in a quiet, monotone voice against the low hum of the forest. He always does what he’s told, loyal to a fault, and Xie Lian does not need confirmation for anything he asks Wu Ming to do. It is comforting as much as it unsettles the nameless thing curling insistently in Xie Lian’s chest.

 It is moments later that Wu Ming sits next to him, the opening in the tree trunk enough for both of them. Neither say anything for a while, staring up at the sky, eyes fighting against the brightness of moonlight to look at the distant stars in the background.

Xie Lian feels strangely…comfortable is too much to say, but the feeling is similar to that, a placid, uncharged atmosphere. If he were to compare it to something, it would have to be the undisturbed surface of a lake reflecting the sky like a mirror.

The dark canvas of the night moves imperceptibly with the rotation of the planet as both Xie Lian and Wu Ming stare at it. Like the blade of a precise spiritual sword, a shooting star draws a momentary linbe of bright white against the muted colors of the distant stars.

Something soft, mournful almost, passes over Xie Lian’s features, the mask of neutral indifference giving way to melancholy.

“Have you ever looked up at the expanse of the stars and wondered how many of them are dead?”

The words hang heavily into the air, the soft tone in Xie Lian’s voice almost foreign to his own ears. He sounds… vulnerable, almost. It grates his ears, that raw, unfiltered emotion etched into every syllable – but he’s said it already and so he can now do nothing but await an answer. Though he would be strangely alright with none at all as well. Companionship is enough for him right now, even if it is silent.

“Most of them probably are.” Wu Ming replies at last, “By the time their light reaches us, so far away into the distance, perhaps their source has already extinguished.”

It is a heavy piece of knowledge to the unexpectedly fragile state Xie Lian finds himself in this night. To think even the stars above are little more than ghosts, impressions of themselves trapped onto a canvas like a child’s fingerprints in ink on a funerary portrait.

“You’re right…” he murmurs quietly, a long pause following. “But there is a part of me that wants to think that some of them are still alive. I want to be selfish and hope that a few – even one, hasn’t died yet. Just one.”

Though Xie Lian cannot properly see it, he could swear he saw a smile pull at his face, the visible side of it rippling slightly where his mouth is.

“Which one should it be?” he asks, his voice just a tiny bit lighter, almost playful as he points towards a bright, shining star above their heads. “That one?”

Xie Lian looks at it, a brightly visible dot that stands out almost too much against the night sky. He frowns slightly – no, that one cannot be alive, not with how powerfully it shines, it must have burnt out by now. The most beautiful, the brightest of stars fade the quickest, leaving behind dying embers. Xie Lian knows best.

“No, not that one.” He replies, with a hint of sadness in his voice despite the small smile on his lips.

Wu Ming nods imperceptibly and points towards another star, smaller than the first but nonetheless bright, surrounded by a cluster of other little ones, like followers swarming to their favorite god.

“No, not that one either.”

Wu Ming stares up at the night sky for a longer time after that, searching. Xie Lian finds his little game rather cute, the way he’s taking it so seriously though it is so silly. He knows this is just Wu Ming trying to give him some hope, the way he does with every one of those white flowers Xie Lian always refuses.

Eventually, Wu Ming points to another star, so small and faded Xie Lian must narrow his eyes in concentration to see it. Its light flickers like a candle fighting against a powerful wind, surrounded by darkness – but it appears to be fighting against the void, refusing to be swallowed, wanting to be seen with every pulse of light it emits. It has not been granted brightness like the others, instead it must work hard to be noticed, to fulfill its purpose.

“How about that one?”

A small, soft smile pulls at Xie Lian’s lips, this time not shadowed by sorrow or bitterness – instead, it seems nearly hopeful.

“Yes, that one… that one’s perfect.”

“Then may that one be alive, wherever it may be in the heavens.”

He sighs wistfully, looking at the small, struggling dot in the sky. Hope feels strange as well, most of everything does these days, but this is not the kind of discomfort that Xie Lian finds unpleasant.

The silence returns between the wo figures sat in the hollow of that tree trunk as their gazes return to the infinite canvas of the night sky.

Xie Lian finds himself drawn to that star no matter how far his gaze wanders.

--

“Do you believe in wishes, Wu Ming?”

The reply comes after a few beats of silence. “I do, yes.”

Xie Lian looks at him, for a moment wishes he could see him, without the mask, without any barriers. It is an invasive, selfish thought and Xie Lian is quick to admonish himself for it. It is not his place, nor is it his business.

He yearns for it still, though.

He’s quiet for a moment more, before he asks, “If you cold have any wish granted to you right now, what would you ask for?”

This time, he is quite sure Wu Ming is smiling beneath his mask as he talks, his voice so much softer than usual. “I would wish to be allowed to always be by my beloved’s side.”

The answer is simple and straightforward in the same way that it is both complex and elusive. For a split second, Xie Lian feels that unnamed thing inside his chest tighten unpleasantly, like it has been angered. The thought of Wu Ming standing by another’s side makes that feeling swirl like poison in Xie Lian’s mouth.

He doesn’t want to confront that feeling, not even acknowledge, let alone understand what it is.

“A good wish…” he replies distantly, his voice again monotone.

“What about you, your highness? What would you wish for if you knew it would not be denied?”

Xie Lian pauses at that, as he has always done whenever asked about what he wanted. What did he want? He used to think he knew. The first thing that pops into his brain is revenge. For himself, for his family, for his people, for his kingdom. For all the pain endured, for all the losses and the despair, for the lost grace and the rotting carcass of the person he used to be.

The second thing, he cannot say it. His body fills with a sense of shame so great it is nearly overwhelming, so he refuses to so much as think it a second time.

“I do not believe in wishes.” Xie Lian replies instead. “There is nobody to grant them.”

[c-duceusclay]

(the blue flower from Shrek)

blue flowers as a motif in this campaign

the chromatic rose in the tree

these 6-petaled healing flowers

(dorian storm)