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the-tarot-witch22 · 1 month

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Physical Appearance of your future spouse! - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2/ Pile 3

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Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Pile 1 :

(Knight of pentacles, the moon, 3 of wands and 5 of pentacles)

Okay so the very first thing i felt from this card you future spouse seems very masculine like their features and overall vibe of their look seems so manly, or it can be you who prefers very masculine man, this pile's energy seems so mysterious and private, your future seems like someone who is quite private or mysterious when it comes to their personal relationships or affairs they are not very open with every people they meet, their gaze seems so sharp like if he looks at you for more than few seconds you will just look away, the dressing sense could be like comfortable wear or formal wear, like oversized hoodie or sweater or under a shirt, trousers below, i see lots of brown and colors that are quiet darker in shade, with contrasting white or off white, their eye colors could be (blue/green/brown), eyes could be foxy or smaller in shape, there could also be a dimple and it could be you guys too, he might like to wear rings, their hands seems veiny and bigger in size , long fingers, height is above than 5'10, they might also keep a beard, skin color could dark tan to fair/ pale, they seems foreign than you or could unusual type, as might their eyes are intense it also seems that there is some vulnerability inside them. Their build seems toned or athletic but not many abs, they could also have muscles, his biceps would be big, lol they seems to tell me just to say that, for some of you i see lean physique for your future spouse, they might also like to go to gym. Or keep their health in check. They might also exclude that rich vibe, their perfume could also be very unique! Their hairs could be black/brownish shade but wavy! Their lips seems fuller.

Okay that was all for pile 1! Your fs seems to be very attractive honestly, good for you guys!

Pile 2 :

(The hierophant, page of pentacles, ace of swords and the magician)

Okay so the very first thing i feel for you guys that your future spouse seems like a nerd hehe, like with glasses and who seems to have knowledge of everything and definitely do, they might wear glasses too, they could also be a gamer or like to play games in their free time, their face is structured not that defined jawline but definitely there, their hair seems thick and luscious, and big almond eyes, with long eye lashes, their could be thin or medium pouty, heart shaped lips ifykwim, their eye color could be hazel, brown, black, or bluish/green, they might like blue color a lot because i see lots of blue color, prominent chin and nose, long nose, but won't look weird, it matches with their face structure, the hair length could be long and they might wear it in bun or medium length, their build seems big i am channeling the song "big boy by sza", they seems to like a smarty pants, they might even be in touch with their feminine side, for some of you, your fs seems soft, their is something soft about them , like baby features could look younger then they are, their teeth are definitely very white, their voice seems to be deep or very unique, for some of you it seems like a high pitched voice too, or it could be you, they seem to be quiet spiritual or religious, i also feel they might like to go to church or believe in god or upper power? but anyways, height is average to tall 5'9"-5'12". They seem to have a unique charm about their appearance. Their face could be oval or square too. For some of you your fs could have a athletic or sleeper build. They or you might have had self image issues in past, or some of you still feel that, but i feel you and your fs is working on that part. I feel there might have been someone in your life that has made them feel like that or you. (this may or may not resonate with you) , this message wasn't for everybody but i wrote what i channeled. Their skin could be brown/white/dark. They are attractive in their own way.

Okay that's all for pile 2! They seems quite cute yet smart~ love that for you guys! and remember you guys are beauiful!

Pile 3:

(king of wands, the lovers, 8 of wands, 8 of cups, and the devil)

Okay so the very first thing i hear for you guys is your future spouse is very sexually appealing and attractive, and they know they are sexy, when they walk in a room you can feel their presence, the aura is very confident, they seem to be very confident in themselves, very good looking honestly, their eyes are intense and beautiful, like someone could lose themselves in their eyes, they even might seem intimidating to you because of their physical appearance, their dressing sense is also very good, they seem very fashionable or has unique taste, they also seems to turn heads while they walk in a certain room, or people talk about their good looks, their masculine and feminine energy is very balanced, they are tall possibly 5'11"-6'0" or could also be above, if not i feel 5'8 or 5'9 their height that is, they might also seem like a Greek god or that type of attractiveness, their jaw is structured or has and defined jawline, they keep their hairs short and styled in a slick style for some of them they might also use gel, their face is very proportionate, very sharp nose or straight nose, could wear glasses or watches, for some of you your future spouse could have curly hairs, skin could be pale/dark/tan possibly olive. They workout a lot, could have a dad bod with muscles too, but nevertheless very attractive, they also seem quite dominating, their eyes color seems to be blue/black and brown or unique color of sort, they might take care of their self quite good. They might like to wear sport shoes a lot. They really look like a model honestly.

That's all pile 3! Your fs is very attractive inside and out, love that for you guys~

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

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trensu · 1 year

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Steve had always wanted to be a skilled fighter. The schools that churned out the best fighters all happened to be schools for holy warriors. It was possible that Steve maybe sort of lied a little (with the help of his friends Robin and Dustin) to get into this school by claiming he was full to the brim of religious fervor but hadn’t decided who to pledge his sword to yet. It shouldn’t have worked, if he were honest with himself, but by some stroke of luck it did, and he finished his training as one of the top combatants.

The issue now was that he had to pick a god whose crest to carry. There were all sorts of gods. Gods of water, gods of air, gods of agriculture, war gods, cat gods, plant gods...the list was endless. And while Steve was one of the best fighters around, he was most definitely not one of the best researchers. Thankfully Dustin and Robin were very clever and knew where to find details about the many gods in existence.

“So what kind of god do you want to follow? Maybe we can start there,” Robin asked.

“Uh…a good one?”

“You’re no help at all, you know that?” Dustin grumbled.

They suggested a local god known as Carver who stood for righteousness, but Steve turned that down. It didn't feel like a good fit. They suggested a love god by the name of Chrissy, who valued love of all kinds, romantic, platonic, familial...Steve had been tempted, very tempted, because Steve had always carried an excess of love in his heart. Robin had vetoed that one stating that Steve was already too reckless with his love and she wouldn't stand by and watch him break his own heart over and over again.

Dustin suggested a god of knowledge, Clarke, who blessed and guided those with curiosity, imagination, and a knack for invention. Steve shot that one down immediately. He was never one to be overly imaginative or curious; he preferred to deal with concrete things. Out of their quickly dwindling list, Robin reluctantly suggested Hargrove, a war god favored by a nearby kingdom, but if Carver was ill-fitting, then Hargrove was outright repellent to Steve.

"C'mon, Steve, you gotta pick someone!" Dustin huffed in frustration.

Robin thunked her head against the table in the library where they were looking up deities. She was obviously at her wit's end too. Steve, however, just dug his heels in with a particularly stubborn scowl.

"I can't just pick anyone!" Steve said. "If I'm going to pledge my sword to someone, it has to be someone...someone good. Someone that, I don't know, someone I can believe in, even when--no especially when things go wrong. That’s the whole point!"

"Yeah, I get that," Robin sighed, a mix of fond and annoyed, "but this is the eighth book we've gone through and the only one left here is called the King of Darkness which is hardly going to--huh."

Robin paused mid-rant to look at the page more closely. Steve and Dustin both huddled around her to peek into the book as well. Dustin also made a sound of curiosity.

"That's weird," Dustin said.

"Right?" Robin asked enthusiastically.

"What? What's weird?" Steve didn't get what caught their attention.

"This god only has a couple of sentences," Dustin explained, "And they don't really make sense. Something about dark creatures and the undeserving? The grammar and structure is all weird though."

"It looks like a half-assed translation," Robin added with a nod. "We should find the original text."

"Yeah! And if we can make a better translation, we could get it added to the next edition and they'd have to put our names on the book," Dustin said excitedly. Robin's eyes lit up at the thought and they both rushed off to the stacks to track down any original sources.

"Guys! Guys, what about my..."

The librarian hushed Steve, irritated. Steve groaned in defeat.

"...godly choices. Yeah, fine," Steve slumped back on his seat. "I need to find non-nerd friends."

Two days later, Robin and Dustin finished translating a slim, dusty book. They were nearly vibrating in their seats as Steve reviewed their notes on what they found. Dustin gripped his arm and gave him a shake.

"So? What do you think?" he asked excitedly.

Robin slung her arm across Steve's shoulders. With more tenderness than Steve expected, she said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, he doesn't really fit with your whole style, but it could work."

"Yeah," Steve said with a hopeful smile. "Yeah, this feels right."

It took longer than Steve would've liked, but eventually he managed to track down a small, crumbling shrine. It was an alcove carved near the entrance--no more than a crack in the stone really--of a cave at the edge of a lush forest. He almost missed it, it was so drowned in overgrown crawling vines and weeds. It bore a modest statue, no bigger than Steve, standing atop an equally modest plinth. There was a spot that obviously held a plaque once, but it must’ve been dug out by thieves at some point.

The sight of it made something in Steve's chest twinge; a strange pang of melancholy at seeing a god so forgotten and abandoned. It surprised him as he had never been particularly religious, but there was just something about this one that drew him in.

It was the middle of the day, so Steve quickly made camp and took advantage of the light to begin clearing the shrine. He started where the plaque had been, scrubbing off the dirt and moss that had filled the indentation. He knew a good smith; he could commission a new plaque to be made. After that, he weeded the immediate area around the plinth where worshipers would typically lay their offerings and pray.

By the time he finished that, it was late afternoon and he decided that was good enough for today. He had to eat and get a few hours of sleep so he could be alert once night fell. When he curled up on his bedroll, he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face. He was going to offer himself to his god tonight, and with any luck, his god would accept him.

He woke to a multitude of high pitched squeaks and the sound of many, many flapping wings. The sun had just fully set, and the stars that could be seen through the canopy burned brightly. Steve took his time to fasten on his armor and scabbard properly, and fixed his hair so not a strand was out of place. He took a few deep breaths to calm an unexpected bout of nerves before going to the shrine and kneeling.

His god had no official prayers. Or rather, the prayers for his god were forgotten. Robin and Dustin did their best to find anything prayer-like but it had been in vain. They suspected that most of the god's holy items and lore were purposely lost. Lacking that, Steve decided it was best that he introduce himself.

"Um, hi," he started and immediately winced. "Sorry. I'm not used to...this. I couldn't find any of your…holy words? Prayers? The right ways to speak to you, I guess.

"I'm Steve. Steve Harrington. I'm a fighter. I finished my training a few weeks back. I was the top of my cohort when it came to combat. I'm good with my sword and I know how to take a hit. I can turn just about anything into a weapon if it's needed."

Here Steve paused for a moment, straining to hear but there was nothing other than the typical sounds of a night out in the woods. Steve took a breath and plowed forward.

"I want to be more than a fighter, though. I don't want to just wave a sword around for nothing. I want it to...to matter. So I spent a lot of time trying to decide who to wield my sword for. It took me a while, but I found you. I want to be your shield and sword, if you'll have me."

Steve stopped again to listen. Nothing. Robin warned him this might happen. Gods didn't always accept warriors who offered themselves to them, and forgotten gods weren't always reachable. It was fine, though; he’d try again tomorrow night. Steve turned in just before dawn, eager for night again.

Steve worked on clearing the vines tangled around the statue's legs and feet. He yanked out the thick, scraggly vines, and carefully picked apart the prickling thorny ones. There was a particular gnarl of vines that didn't seem like they had a stranglehold on his god's statue. They were healthy and strong, and the way they curled and grew looked more like a caress than an invasion. He decided to leave those on, though he gently rearranged them while removing the more invasive vines so they looked more decorative.

When night arrived with the sound of squeaks and wings, Steve went to kneel at the shrine. He introduced himself again, gave the same spiel as the night before. Still he heard nothing. He scratched the back of his neck in mild insecurity.

“I guess I should tell you I didn’t find you on my own. My friends Robin and Dustin helped me. They’re way smarter than me, you know? Total nerds. I can swing a sword like nothing, but books and research? Yeah, that never works out for me, so they helped me look up all sorts of gods.

“There’s a lot of them. Way more than I thought. Dustin and Robin both recommended me ones or vetoed others. They were getting frustrated with me because I kept rejecting the ones they gave me.

“Then Robin found you. Kind of by accident, to be honest. But she did her research thing and I knew that I wanted to carry your symbol. It took me forever to find this shrine. Robin said this was probably the only shrine you had left, so I had to find it.

“Dustin kept saying it was on the other side of the forest, but obviously he was wrong. Not that he’ll ever admit it, the little shit, but whatever. I’m sorry your shrine was abandoned like this, but I promise I’ll fix it up. I’m good with my hands, I can do it.”

There was no response to his admittedly disorganized ramble. It was fine, he told himself. He needed to be patient. He’d come back the next night.

–

Around the statue’s waist there was another tangled mess of vines, except these vines had died and rotted to dark sludge. There was fungus growing on it, and it reeked. It was gross. Steve scrubbed at it for hours because the rot had stained the stone. He was able to get rid of the rot and most of the stains before going to catch a few hours of sleep in the afternoon.

Night fell and Steve was kneeling for the third time. He repeated most of what he said the previous two nights. There was still no response. He thought maybe he was pushing too hard. He’d never been the super talkative type anyway. He could share the quiet night with his god, if that was what his god wanted.

A few hours passed when he was startled out of his near meditative state by the sound of snapping twigs. He leapt to his feet, hand on his scabbard. Someone–a man by the look of it–stumbled out of the woods. He was pale and dark haired, dressed in ragged clothes that were probably awful even when they were new. He looked like a vagabond.

Steve stepped in front of the shrine, protectively. The stranger grinned at him and Steve could already tell he was not going to enjoy the conversation that was about to happen.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Steve asked firmly, cutting the man off before he could speak. The smile only grew wider.

“I could ask you the same thing, sir,” the man said, adopting the annoyed huff of a wealthy lord. Steve scowled.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second!”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” Steve responded, somewhat smug. The man paused and then snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Steve repeated shortly. The teasing grin was back, and Steve felt his scowl deepen.

“Nothing and no one, m’lord,” the man bows mockingly.

“I’m not a lord.”

“Huh. Could’ve fooled me. You’re certainly as demanding as any lord I’ve ever met.”

“Oh fuck you,” Steve snapped. “I’m a holy warrior.”

The man laughed at him outright.

“Well that doesn’t sound very holy warrior-ish. Are your type allowed to swear?”

Steve grinded his teeth and decided it was not worth it to continue this conversation for much longer.

“Look, if you’re here to steal, I’ve got nothing on me.”

“That’s exactly what someone with something to steal would say.”

“Well, I don’t! I’m on a pilgrimage and I don’t want to spill blood on holy ground. So.” Steve wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Leave. Please.”

“Holy ground? Here?” the man barks out a laugh. “Don’t you know what this place is?”

“Yes,” Steve says shortly, placing himself more firmly between the shrine and the man. “Please leave. There shouldn’t be violence done here.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that. This place used to belong to the King of Darkness. It’s said he was so evil that nothing grew here until he was run out and defeated by the god of righteousness. You know the one. Really plays up the holier than thou thing by making his hair all gold and glowy? Gotta say, you could give him a run for his money though.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No really! Your hair is great. Way better than Carver, even with the glowy thing.”

“Not that!” Steve said in frustration. This guy really liked the sound of his own voice and Steve was starting to get a headache. It was near dawn and all he wanted was to spend the last hour or so in the quiet night with his god.

“So you agree your hair is better than a god’s?” The man tsks at him. “That’s pretty blasphemous. Are you sure you’re a holy warrior?”

“No! I mean, yes. Wait,” Steve growls at his own bumbling. “No, I’m not better than any god. But I am a holy warrior. Kind of.”

“Kind of.”

“Look, I’m working on it so I need you to leave. You’ve insulted him enough already.”

“Your god is the King of Dark–”

“Call him that again, and I will draw my sword,” Steve said, voice steely. “He’s the Lord of Night, and I won’t let you insult him at his own shrine.”

The man goes quiet for the first time since he showed up. He looked almost surprised, his mocking grin gone. His eyes flicked over to the dilapidated statue and then back at Steve.

“Lord of Night doesn’t sound much different than what I called him,” the man said lightly.

“Well, it is,” Steve told him. “Now, will you please leave?”

The man stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, alright.” And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived.

The tension that had built up in Steve’s shoulders drained away. He went back to kneel in front of the shrine again when he noticed the barest hint of sunrise on the horizon. He cursed under his breath then was hit with a wave of embarrassment at cursing in front of the shrine and the whole situation that had transpired.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve said, abashed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

–

It happened again.

now with an additional snippet here and here

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you'd like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

#trensu tells stories #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eddie munson #i don't even know what to call this #it's an idea i'm playing with but i don't know how well it works #if you're curious about the setting so am i!#if you figure it out do me a favor and tell me what it is #i have more written but it's not done #i'm hoping to post it as a oneshot on ao3 when i finish it #IF i finish it #we'll see i guess #ETA #came up with a title/tag for this #stasis in darkness

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legy · 7 months

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i gotta tell you what ive read two hours of wholesome monster girl academia and

1. its fucking boring. but

2. its like completely uncritically set in a monstergirl residential school. the protagonist thinks about how monsters are better off at private catholic academies instead of public school. its established in the loredump at the beginning of the game that monsters were uncontacted peoples discovered via the first uses of satellite photography. they were genocided by most of human society but for whatever reason the pope declared that all are equal under the eyes of god and is stated to have allowed interspecies marriages well before it was legal. none of the monsters you get to know ever express anything regarding having a culture outside of catholicism, including one (a daywalker, the child of a human and vampire) who is actively repulsed by his vampire lineage and verbatim says that "vampires are 100% evil." crazy subtext in this thing

2.5 sorry i cannot get over that monsterfucker marriages were officiated by catholic churches, IN TEXT, before interracial or gay marriages were

3. there are many weird details that (speaking as someone who was raised catholic and went to sunday school) immediately scream that the author is either not catholic or an adult convert. which makes the choice to commit to this bit so intensely just baffling to me. like they have mass on wednesday which is (to my knowledge) exclusively a protestant practice. all the spaces you inhabit (particularly the religious ones) are not nearly as ostentatious as you would expect from a catholic church. like their chapel is more spartan than the one attached to the sunday school i went to. they wont even involve the more interesting/iconic catholic rituals like lent because its set in OCTOBER. where are my fish feast fridays.

4. the fucking vampires dont even drink blood so we dont even get the awesome lore possibility that the eucharist is filling to them because its literally the body and blood of christ

#wholesome monster girl academia

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chococolte · 2 years

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☼ — osculatus solem

my take on sagau/cult au zhongli, reactions to first meeting you/as a worshiper + reactions to being your lover

word count. 4.2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationship, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au shit, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im sorry if tense is weird im kinda dumb lol

Zhongli has waited for you for six-thousand years.

It wasn’t until he was faced with you that he realized how cruel the wait was. Six-thousand years of patiently waiting had never felt like grueling punishment until he realized what he was deprived of. Like a man starved, he had grown used to the numbness of constant hunger— he found it almost comforting, as he had lived his entire life malnourished. He lived unaware of what it was like to have a full stomach.

Your presence is primeval. It emanates, and it overwhelms all else. When Zhongli looked into your eyes for the first time, he finally felt complete. He was finally where he was meant to be. Finally with who he was meant to be with.

The scripture had described you in detail, but there were only so many words, so many different ways to speak of you. None of them could compare to how you looked in person, standing in front of him.

Your eyes hold all the knowledge in the world. Constellations and stars shine within them, a myriad of stellar tapestries formed within the small reflective surface of your eyes. Past, present, and future dance inside, moving according to your design. You see all. You are all. Everything that is, and everything that will be, is you. Every burgeoning bud, blooming flower, roaring wave, and colossal beast; you are every death, there in every mournful cry and scornful glare; you are every mortal life and every god.

You are the sun that brings warmth to Teyvat, the moon that caresses its tides, and Zhongli wants nothing more than to worship you for it.

Zhongli was not always your devout worshiper. He was once, like all of his temperament, rebellious and spiteful. He refused to believe that all of his victories in battle had simply been part of your design. Just a single thread in your grand tapestry.

His triumphs were his, and his alone. He won by his own virtue, will, and vigor. He won by his own hand, spear, and stone. You did not aid him in his wars. You did not save anyone worth saving. Zhongli watched his allies die, slip through his fingers like grains of sand— and he would never thank you for what he endured. He promised himself that if ever faced with you and your faux benevolence, he would demand answers from you. You owed him that much. A recompense for all the hardship and injury he had sustained.

Zhongli, in his youthful hubris, did not care who heard his blasphemy, and whether they thought it distasteful or not. He was the god of war, and would allow no being to silence his voice. Zhongli bathed in his rage, wallowed in it; he would not allow himself to believe what others so easily indulged in. Ignorance led way to arrogance.

Guizhong had always been of the opinion that you were a kind, gentle god. She argued that your light could not be quantified, nor labeled; just because you did not act in ways he could see, did not mean you did not act at all. You breathed life into the abandoned, the lost— you embraced those without a home, without purpose. You forgave and you pardoned, and you rained down fury on those wicked and vile.

Zhongli had long grown used to her arguments. Every victory of theirs, despite the tight grip on his weapon and the ichor on his blade, was attributed to you— your grace, your blessings. By your grace you allowed them one more day, by your blessings you allowed them one more triumph. Zhongli thought her pitiful; you had done nothing to deserve her kindness. She worshiped you, and what had you given her in response to her devotion?

Guizhong died in his hands, and he had nothing to show for it. Helplessness ate it's way at him, through his flesh and bone. What was left was nothing more than a husk, a parody of a god. What was once anger at authority transformed into righteous anger at the one who made him. You allowed him his victories, to parade around with pride and vanity; you gave him your blessings, benediction and approval, and yet you let the one who meant the most to him die. The one who worshiped you above all else.

Why did he live over her? He did not appreciate you. He did not worship you. He made no offerings, nor did he pray. He did not believe in your salvation, neither did he ordain your will. But he was the one left behind with the sorrow and the guilt, and Guizhong was the one turned to dust. Why was he chosen?

Zhongli knew that asking questions was meaningless. You would not deign to answer. Maybe it was to be expected. Why would an Almighty God answer to a lower being demanding answers far beyond their comprehension? Why should you have to explain yourself, when you saw all? Zhongli was merely the god of Geo. You could take even that from him.

You were the God of All. The Primordial One. No being had authority over you; not even one of the Seven.

It was only in the light of Guizhong's death that Zhongli had finally begun to understand her perspective. He might’ve been alone, but that did not make you cruel. It did not mean you were unable to be kind, tender and loving. You loved as much as you breathed— the world was showered in your love for it, in the wind that caressed its people and the sea that fed them. Your love was in its bountiful harvests and its gentle rain.

You loved just as any other, but Zhongli had long refused to see it.

He started small. Gestures of devotion hidden underneath many layers of misty glass, only clear to those who looked hard enough. Zhongli had postured to those still with him that he no longer minded if they worshiped you in his presence. If he was feeling particularly daring, he would join in and mutter a small word or two of thanks. Perhaps he thought of it as a way to make up to Guizhong after so many years of his disapproval.

Though he may have found it unbearable at the beginning, he soon began to pray to you in times of need. He looked for you when he found himself in need of counsel, forgoing the people around him. He made offerings in your name when there was a drought or a shortage, praying for your guidance. Even if he did not initially believe that you would truly respond, the comfort it brought outweighed the logistics. If there was no one else he could turn to, he still had you— and you would never forsake him.

Zhongli started to find your answers in the strangest of places. An arrangement of flowers in some botanical garden of some odd scion, the conversation of two orphan boys that shed a new perspective; a tale that seemed almost catered to him told by a storyteller at a tea house. Perhaps he was imagining things— he surely would have thought so a millennium earlier. But were they truly coincidences, if they only happened after he had prayed and offered at his altar for you?

If it was the Zhongli of old, he would have said yes. But the Zhongli of new knew better now: it was you, speaking to him through indirect means. You answered his prayers and accepted his offerings. You forgave him for what he had done and the things he had said in the past.

Liyue was modeled after what Zhongli believed you favored the most. Its jagged cliffs, jeweled karsts, cuihua forests, and vibrant plant life; sculpted and molded to fit your tastes. He sometimes daydreams of showing you his life’s work— would you like it? Would you tell him he’s done a good job, that he had done enough to please you? If you found it distasteful, would you tell him why? Even if it meant tearing the land asunder and usurping the earth that tethers it to its place in the sea, Zhongli would change whatever it is you dislike immediately.

Even if the problem was himself. He would happily bow his head, whisper one last plead for forgiveness, and take his own life. If it was your will, there is nothing he wouldn't do.

When Zhongli meets the Traveler for the first time, he is frozen in place. His heart drops to his stomach as he sees the gleam of your existence in their eyes. It's you. You're here, in front of him— he wants to kneel and worship you the way he's always wanted, but…

Why is it them, and not him?

Zhongli knows he shouldn’t be jealous. It’s a blessing in the first place to meet you like this. It's a blessing to know that you're real. But he can’t stop himself from lying awake at night, thinking of what it would be like if he was the eyes through which you experienced this world.

It’s an ugly feeling. A twisted, nasty feeling. It leaves him feeling bitter in the morning and sick whenever he sees the Traveler walking through Liyue’s streets. He assists them on their quest, because you are there with them— watching him through their eyes. He hopes to leave a good impression, to assure you that there is no problem with him; perhaps, that is why you did not choose him? Because he was faulty in some form?

Hours upon hours of self-reflection spent in dark, locked rooms. Zhongli stays there, looking in mirrors, searching for reasons why. He looks at his mortal form and wonders: is this why? Did you want him to serve you as the Geo Archon for longer? Why not him?

Was he not enough? Was Liyue not enough? You are never wrong, never incorrect— the problem lies with him. But no matter how long he looks, he can't find the reason. He's better in every way. Better in his devotion for you, better in his worship— he would kneel until his knees turned raw and skin gave way to bone, he would pray and sing your praises until his throat bled. He built Liyue with earth and stone, and cracked the land until it was worthy enough of a formation, molding it with his hands to please you. He had changed himself until he was deserving of your forgiveness, until he was worthy enough to worship you.

The voice in the back of his head tells him it was because he once hated you. Once, when he was a fool and a heathen, he spat on your good name, derided it with disgust. Zhongli thought you forgave him for the sins of his past. He thought you still loved him despite it. He thought he had purified himself long ago, but perhaps he still had some rot left to root out. What part of him wasn’t perfect? What part of him wasn’t enough for you?

Zhongli knows he’s only being ungrateful. You’ve done enough for him. Who is he to demand more?

REVERENTIA ; first meeting/as a worshiper

Zhongli did not know what to do with himself when his eyes laid on your figure for the first time.

You were beautiful. Resplendent and illustrious. When you spoke, crying out so timorously, he shuddered involuntarily. He clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to steady his breathing, but your voice was infectious. His heart felt heavy in his chest as you looked at him with wide eyes.

Nothing could compare to your stare, to the life that swirled within your eyes.

Zhongli knelt, then, his head hitting the floor. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and straight, keeping his posture as poised as possible.

His first words to you: "Welcome home."

Whether your reaction was volatile or not, Zhongli is at your beck and call. He waits on you hand and foot, staying by your side and keeping close. He acts as your shadow, following your orders, even simple commands, as if the result of his failure will be death. Zhongli is aware that your current form is weaker, mortal in nature; but when you ascend once more, he wants to be known as the one who never doubted you, never thought of you as lesser because of your current circumstances.

Zhongli, despite his worship of propriety, is still prone to decadence. His hands as he helps you dress linger for far longer than they should, brushing against the soft skin of your shoulders. The tips of his gloves burn from where they've touched you, and you notice him wearing them less and less often, now.

In Zhongli's eyes, you are never wrong. You stand at the pinnacle of righteousness, justice and light; anything you say is gospel. He commits all of your opinions, even of the littlest, pettiest things, to memory. His personal thoughts on the matter are meaningless, now— if you dislike it, then it's bad. Simple as that. If you find something enjoyable, then it's good. If your concept of morality is twisted and murky, then he will morph his own to match it; there is no internal struggle, no hesitation in his thoughts and behavior. Your will is all that matters.

When in your presence, Zhongli is perfect. He is courteous, gentle, and benign. He never does anything without your explicit permission. He brews you tea, and tells you anything you wish to know. He worships you with so much vigor it's hard to deny him.

Outside of it, he is barely hanging on by a thread.

Zhongli doesn't know how he lived without you before. He feels vaguely sick even thinking of going back to when you were not present. Just a moment without you is hellish. Every step away from you is like walking on scorching coal. It is an agonizing pain, one slow and tortuous.

He has never felt such pain before. The mere thought of leaving you by your lonesome sends him into a frenzy powered only by his desire to stay by you. He is willing to tear anyone apart should they stand in between him and his god. He can't leave, not when he isn't worthy of your forgiveness yet, not when you're so fragile in your current form.

Every night he rests only barely. Every morning he rises with relief, knowing that once more he is allowed to bask in your company.

Perhaps he's still driven by his insecurity, by the idea of you thinking him unworthy of you.

Zhongli speaks of your grace and elegance, of the light you inspire; he tells you how long he's worshiped you, how long he's loved you.

He tells you of his devotion, of the offerings he's left at your gilded altars, jewels and the finest riches. Zhongli brings them directly to you, now, with an uncharacteristic bashfulness.

He tells you of the wars he's fought in your name, of the blasphemers he's slaughtered— though, conveniently leaving out that he used to be one. Zhongli hopes you're proud of the things he's done in your name, that you will finally embrace him, utterly and wholly.

In the dark of the night, when doubt and searing loneliness so clearly bite at his mind, Zhongli walks to your room. He never dares to walk inside, always conscious of your privacy— but he kneels outside your doors with muted footsteps, only the soft echo of ruffling fabric to accompany him.

He mumbles into the gelid floor unintelligible prayers. He listens for your breathing, for assurance you're still within reach. His unrest is barely abated each time.

When he is particularly nervous, he stands by your doors until morning light, shoulders trembling with unease until you rise from your slumber.

Zhongli is fearful. His muscles are tense as he whispers pleadings that you stay, that you at least say goodbye, should you leave again. He fears one day he will awake and you will be gone.

He fears that he will be left alone again, once more without the tenderness of your guidance. Back to when he had thrown you away, when he only knew of bloodshed and the weight on his shoulders.

You freed him from his self-imposed shackles, whether knowingly or not.

Only when he's assured you're safe will he allow himself peace and serenity.

Only then, will he finally rest in the only paradise he wishes for: being by your side for eternity.

VENUSTUS ; as your lover

Zhongli has always loved you. By virtue of your holiness and sacred being, he has always loved you as his god. As his guiding hand and light, sculpting him into the Archon you want him to be; into a believer worthy of worshiping you.

Faced with your luminous presence, finally able to see what he has only imagined before, Zhongli's love for you only grows. It unfurls like a blossoming glaze lily, petals perfect and serene.

He would never dare presume that his feelings are returned. As his God, you are above him in every way— you are above him in every breath, every step you take. In every slight movement of your fingers, you establish the bridge between you. The line he should never cross.

You are above him. He is beneath you.

Whether it is intentional or not, Zhongli knows his place. He is grateful to be where he is, blessed enough to stand beside you in any capacity. To know that you exist would've been enough, but to care for you personally— to be the one with whom you spend the most of your treasured time with; that is an honor worth dying for.

Zhongli has played with the idea of being your consort before. Of being yours, utterly and entirely. He never lets the thought stay for long. Shame begins to eat at him all too quickly, twisting his stomach into knots of guilt and remorse. He's embarrassed more than anything; of having the gall to dare to imagine himself ever being so important to you.

The thought would've never crossed his mind before, the mere idea laughable. You were untouchable. Above even The Seven, above Celestia. You had not shown interest in any individual for a millennium, and it would be no different now.

But Zhongli knows you now. He's felt the brush of your touch, the zephyr of your breath when he leans in too close. He's felt the warmth running through your veins, the warmth that leaves him flustered, even when you've only touched him for a moment.

The thoughts come more often, now. More vivid. More apparent. You cradle him in your arms, whispering soft words of loyalty and love. You hold his hands in your own, intertwining your fingers, and tell him how you have come to love him. He is special. He alone is yours; no one else.

It terrifies him.

Zhongli is nothing more than your worshiper. He is your servant. He may have been a god, but now he is just your tool. He is content with that much. He should be content with that much. But his heart wants more from you, more than you've deigned to give him.

It wants your love. Your attention. His heart yearns to be special to you; to be the sole holder of your affection.

It's a selfish desire. A nasty one. One that he wishes he could remove, exorcise out of him like a spirit. But every attempt to carve it out of him only leaves him bleeding, and it hurts more to pretend like it doesn't exist. It burns him from the inside out, a fiery jealousy that roars whenever he sees you with another.

It should be me, his heart trembles. It should be me, his heart weeps.

Zhongli is terribly flustered when you begin to show signs of reciprocation. Small things like careful touches, honeyed tones, and words of favor. You compliment him more often, go out of your way to do things that please him; brushing and running your fingers through his hair, listening to him spin tales of old. He is aware that you must know everything already, but you look at him with such big eyes of wonder and interest he can’t help but go on.

He’s barely able to speak when you admit to him your feelings. His heart beats fast in his ears like war drums, his heartstrings tightening as if nocked by an arrow.

It's an uncharacteristic moment of timidity for the wise ex-archon. He's stammering over his words, barely able to keep up his façade of calm. Is that something you truly wish to do? With him?

You assure him— I want this, you say— and Zhongli allows himself to believe you. He follows you when you lead him by the hand into the palace of your heart. He cradles it softly in his hands, gentle and delicate. Zhongli swears to never hurt you, to never let another harm you in any way; but he still fears, still doubts you.

It should be expected for you to have multiple consorts. Multiple lovers, all equally vying for your attention. Zhongli should be happy that you have any interest in him at all— but the thought of being second to another in your heart makes him sick.

Venti, the verdant bard, does nothing but drink. He wastes away his woes in bottles of wine and bourbon; surely, you will not choose him over Zhongli? Ei lorded over her people and took their freedom away. Her reasons do not matter. All for an eternity unreachable by mortals and gods, she attempted to trespass upon your domain. Surely, you will not choose her over him?

The thoughts are foolish. Nearly sacrilegious in nature. He has no control over you; no place to demand that you only love him. But Zhongli has spent thousands of years worshiping you— is it wrong of him to believe himself better than the rest? Venti does not worship you in the way he does, with such fervor or zeal. Ei may pray or rest her eyes beneath your statue, but she has not spoken good of your name like he has, hasn’t hunted blasphemers like he has.

She’d rather her servants deal with them, whenever they so rarely come. Zhongli deals with them personally, knuckles clenched around his blade.

In every way that matters, he is better. As such, he shouldn’t fear, shouldn’t worry of when you will inevitably grow bored— he should enjoy the moments he has with you, the brief time when he is all that you have. When he is still all that you want.

Fear still grips his throat with its tiny, intangible hands. Even if he severs its wrists, it continues to thrive; to suffocate him with its pervasive thoughts.

He must prove himself, it echoes. Or else he'll be deserted. Discarded when another proves themselves his better.

Zhongli won't let himself be thrown away. Whatever he must do to please you, he will do.

Until his mortal form wears down to nothing but dust and bone, until his only coherent thought is how wonderful it is to worship you— until you have no need for anyone else.

Whatever your command is, he will follow. As long as he alone stands in your heart, as long as he alone can kiss the dirt off your feet, he will be content.

He only hopes that he can love you as you deserve.

Zhongli’s zealous behavior worsens to an obscene degree. He never falters in his fervent, almost fervorous veneration— it becomes excessive, almost actorly. Though his obsequiousness appears inflated, it is entirely genuine; he fawns a tad more obviously, smiling with dazed eyes when you kiss his cheeks or lips.

This has always been how he feels. He's only unrestrained, now. And even still, he hides the deeper parts of his worship, the servile and fanatic in him that wants to drool at your lap. It's hard to stop himself every time you sit on your throne to immediately drop to his knees.

Zhongli is happy to give and never receive. He is pleased with being yours, though it never clicks in his mind that the same is applicable to you.

You are not his, but he is yours. If you call yourself his, Zhongli melts. His face blossoms red and it permeates his cheeks for hours afterward. His hands slightly shake and he has trouble standing still in the immediate aftermath. All he wants to do is kneel, and say I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

If you'd like it, Zhongli would let you do whatever you want with him. Tear him apart with your bare hands, and shred him of any sense; it matters not as long as it's you.

You are everything, your love is everything. Even the softest of your kisses and touches have him breathless and numb, and anything else only serves to make him fall deeper into you.

Only with you is he easy to fluster. Anyone else, and he'd have punished them long ago, if not tore out their eyes for having seen him in such a state.

But it's you. You could crush his heart in your hands, leave him heartbroken and bitter, and Zhongli still would not find it in himself to hate you.

You are the lifeblood that runs underneath Teyvat’s cracked earth, the soft undercurrent that ties it together— and, if only you'd let him, Zhongli would worship you for it.

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blood-orange-juice · 7 months

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Inspired by a discord discussion.

I keep seeing characters from snowy places portrayed as unbothered by cold or missing it, and every time I remember that it's completely counterintutive if you didn't grow up in freezing temperatures

So I thought I should write this post.

We are very bothered by cold. We are way more bothered by cold than southerners. Being bothered is what keeps you safe. Warmth is a resource.

There are few lucky people who simply never get cold (mostly guys of endomorph body type) but it's not a given and generally northerners start to complain and wear warm coats at the tiniest hint of cold.

Humans can only adjust up to a certain threshold.

For example, Irish and British winters allow you to ignore weather almost completely (you'll be miserable but you'll probably live), so there's a culture of stoicism, not heating your house above 16-18°C (60-65°F), wearing shorts and sandals (and a Very Big Scarf) when it's snowing and all that.

(I quickly got used to leaving the bathroom window open at 4°C when I was living there. who cares really)

So there's a common misconception that you can do the same with even colder weather.

However, once you are past that adjustment threshold (for most people it takes as little as -5..0°C/23..32°F lasting for more than a month per year) there can be no special built-in resistance to that type of cold (unless you are a yogi or a Taoist monk), instead you learn a bunch of behaviours that help you. You start to preserve warmth religiously.

You also start to differentiate between types of being cold and avoid some of them (some build up over time and it wears you down, so it's best to avoid them entirely). Anything that drops your core temperature (this is noticeable long before you start shivering, shivering is the equivalent of fire alarm) is a huge no. Fingers getting a bit numb from building a snow castle is nothing major though.

It can be hard to unlearn that even if you moved to a warmer place years ago.

Stoic northern characters who have moved to a warmer country are very likely to Complain About The Cold.

They'll start wearing coats at higher temperatures than southerners (because, well, the weather might get worse, or you might stay outside longer than you planned, or move less).

They'll get cold hands more often because their body panics at the tiniest signs of cold and diverts blood to the centre (my first impression of the Irish was how warm everyone was when we shook hands. I'm the same now).

Most will heat their houses to the point where it's possible to walk around in a t-shirt no matter how cold it is outside (those who don't will comment "thank gods that people don't do that in your country, I hated it back home").

They'll whine at +5°C (40°F).

Apart from heavier clothes they'll have a bunch of weird habits like Walking Really Fast when the weather is bad (it's for when you don't want to wear heavier clothes).

They might have a fondness for scarves and good winter shoes (warm shoes and a warm hat are even more important than a warm coat. the lack of hats in fantasy upsets me. scarves are less important but they are pretty).

When locals get surprised they'll reply with "yes, but this is *damp* cold, *dry* cold is different" (it's more complicated than that but this answer usually stops further questions, so we go with that).

It's not like they are actually less cold-resistant, they just take cold more seriously.

At the same time they can be weirdly unbothered by things that freak some of the southerners out because they know how their body deals with low temperatures and which things have no consequences.

(it's not something that you learn from books, it's practical knowledge of what you personally can get away with. for example, I often get completely numb thighs during winter walks, takes an hour to start feeling anything when I get home. but I know it's all right as long as my feet are warm and my core temperature is within normal range)

They also won't suffer consequences when it gets truly cold, while more nonchalant southerners won't notice when they get borderline hypothermic or just cold enough to get sick.

They'll probably consider -30°C (-22°F) exciting. It becomes enjoyable again, because the outside world is now a death zone and there's some macabre fun in resisting it. Oh, and your eyelashes get covered in frost and it looks dope. What's not to like.

Kids will make a point to eat ice cream outside in -30°C (no, they won't get sick from it). I can't explain it, it just works like that.

Generally people from colder countries are not bothered by cold if they can return to a warm place soon enough, it's the prolonged exposure to cold (even mild) they are worried about. Going out for a smoke without a coat is common.

If they are still in a cold country, it's also a bit different from what you expect.

There's a trope of drinking to keep warm. It doesn't work like that. You can drink alcohol to feel warm but not to keep warm and it's an important difference. When it's cold your body's proper response is to constrict blood vessels and to divert blood flow from extremeties to slow down the loss of warmth. Alcohol reverts that.

This means it's perfectly appropriate to drink eggnog or mulled wine at a fair (when you are supposed to get to warmth soon enough, so the illusion of not being cold is not harmful) or hard spirits when you get back from the cold (it will help you warm up faster), but not if you are staying in a cold place. During a hike through winter woods a thermos with sweetened tea and fatty food are your best friends.

Some won't know it and get drunk and frostbitten/hypothermic. People are stupid.

Food gets weird, fats start to seem even tastier than usual. People in Antarctic expeditions are known to crave sticks of butter. In certain weather sandwiches with frozen lard are delicious.

Anything can and will be made into tea.

Some tropes I personally disagree with.

Pain. Pain levels depend on the weather. Cold eases any kind of external pain (cuts or burns) but makes worse anything internal (broken bones, cramps, most headaches).

Hypothermia feels nothing like peacefully falling asleep. It's the most miserable state I've ever experienced, psychological trauma doesn't even come close.

Well, maybe there are people who do fall asleep but other people I've talked to seem to share my experience.

I'm not sure how exactly it works, I think it messes up your self-regulation, since most chemicals in your body require a certain temperature range to work properly. Basically you become Not Yourself. Your emotions go whack (usually it's either extreme self-pity or extreme anger). It feels awful. I hope you never get to experience it.

Most of us don't really miss cold.

Well, some perverts do, but there's a general consensus that cold is awful.

We do miss some things that only happen during cold days though. The stillness and the quiet or how pretty snow looks. How bright the stars are on a clear night. The colour of sunsets and twilight sky when it's freezing.

(in my opinion, the best experience happens around -5°C, it's already pretty but the world is not a death zone yet)

There's also an appreciation of contrast with things that are Not Snow.

Walking from the cold into a greenhouse with orchids.

Watching a blizzard rage outside your window while you sit in warmth with a cup of tea.

Jumping into a lake straight out of a sauna (then going back. do not do that if you have a heart condition).

Fireplaces. Holiday food. Mulled wine. Saffron in pastry.

There's also a lot of beauty in the world that is frozen. I keep stumbling upon the fact no one around me shares these experiences anymore and it saddens me.

The xylophone sound of first ice being broken by a passing boat.

Sea moving under the ice — when it's not too thick it rises and falls like some large animal breathing.

The whale-song-like sounds of ice cracking on large lakes.

There's a very special mood of waiting for first snow. The world is too cold and dark without it and then you wake up one night from the sudden quietness (snow muffles all sounds) and you know it's there even before you look out of the window,

There's the exhiliration of spring. The moment when the wind starts to have a scent — thawing snow smells a bit like watermelons but clearer. Winter smells like nothing at all.

The first tiny yellow flowers in mud. They are our hanami.

(I don't think anyone in Europe truly appreciates spring if they are not from Nordic or Baltic countries)

There's a certain attunement to the scent of ice too.

Like that barely perceptible tingle in the air in late September, long before you can see any ice.

I feel the scent of ice when there's wind from the right part of the Atlantic. No one ever notices but it's there. I love it.

It's nostalgic in a way.

But it's never missing the cold itself for me. For very few people it is, I think.

This is, of course, personal perspective and my experience is not universal. I'm a person from continental climate with harsh winters and hot summers and a city dweller with occasional visit to country houses and a tiny bit of mountaineering experience.

An indigenous person from a place with barely any summer or a character from a fantasy everwinter country will probably differ from me.

There are, after all, simply people who genuinely love cold. A lot of them. It is, however, not the default northerner's experience.

But hey, it's still more complex than it's usually written.

If you want to read something focused on winter descriptions, there's Smilla's Sense of Snow by Peter Høeg.

It's hauntingly beautiful prose and the main character is from Greenland.

‘It’s freezing, an extraordinary -18 °C, and it’s snowing, and in the language which is no longer mine, the snow is qanik – big, almost weightless crystals falling in stacks and covering the ground with a layer of pulverized white frost.’

And then there's Moominland Midwinter. I think it gets better when you read it as an adult and it's probably still the best thing I have ever read about winter solstice.

Anyway.

I think we need more good winter stories.

#'the centre of the universe is always warm' says one of our poets #and I still live by that #writing #snow

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starlightomatic · 4 months

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Saw a post about how the function of private school is to insulate rich people from the conditions that most people experience, and while I'm sure that's largely true, I wanted to surface another piece of it. I didn't want to add it to that post because it would have been an "excuse me, your post didn't account for my specific situation, I am uncomfortable when we are not about me??" addition, so I'm making my own post instead.

I attended private school as a child -- specifically, a Jewish day school. I learned Hebrew, prayers, and Jewish history. I only went through fourth grade but it provided a really solid skill basis that I've been able to build on ever since, and it's a big reason why I can so confidently navigate Jewish spaces as an adult. There's simply so much content to pass down, and twice-weekly supplemental Hebrew school lessons don't really provide enough time to transmit that much of it. I'm not saying this to gatekeep people who didn't have this experience, but rather the opposite; I wish this was available and accessible to all Jewish children.

I digress a little; the point is, while private school in general may be about rich people separating themselves off and giving themselves treatment that their wealth-hoarding denies the rest of us, there are other functions of private school as well, such as a minority group passing on important cultural and religious knowledge to its children.

And to be honest, that doesn't need to happen outside the public school system; there is actually a school in Canada that, by way of being Hebrew-immersion (because language immersion schools are a thing in that municipality), is actually a Jewish school fulfilling that same purpose. But in many places, people object to public school funding being used for religious content (and in the US I'm not even sure it's constitutional), so this model doesn't work everywhere.

Anyway, just wanted to add this piece of context to help round out how folks view private schooling.

(And side note, my private school was not particularly fancier than the public schools; half of it was in the basement of a local community building and the other half was renting space from a local synagogue. My second grade classroom was in an old, weird little outbuilding on the synagogue grounds.)

#jumblr

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beautyofaphrodite · 2 months

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Why I’ve Switched this blog from a Temple to a Shrine

This post is important for context

Temples are a really big responsibility. They require religious leadership and knowledge, and often imply priesthood or other titles that imply leadership.

I am a minor and fairly new at this- first started worshipping 5 years ago but really started offering and regularly worshipping the Gods 2 years ago. I truly don’t want people to think I am an authority on anything. Being thought of as a “religious leader” (I have never said that I am a leader in any way but running a temple implies leadership and knowledge) feels weird and feels like much more of a mature role than I can take.

Also, looking back on it, a minor running a temple or calling themself a “priest” (personally did not) or similar feels kind of icky to me. That’s just me though, I know there’s at least one e-temple on here run by a minor and that’s their decision. I made that decision too, just looking back that’s what I think.

I don’t think it was a mistake to make this blog an E-Temple at first, rather it was a learning experience brought on by Lady Aphrodite Herself. She asked me to “do more” with my worship and so I made this temple with Her permission. Earlier this week I asked if changing the temple to a shrine would be better and it was a very big yes. She wanted me to know how to take small steps and to do things I’m ready for, rather than blindly following instructions. It was a great lesson in boundaries.

What will be different now that this is a shrine rather than a temple?

Things will mostly be the same, this is a shrine for all Aphrodite worshippers, a communal shrine of sorts. My weekly Friday posts and monthly 4th posts will continue, and events and/or festivals will still be held, mostly the label is changing.

Thank you all for understanding 🫶

May Aphrodite bless you with love for yourself and others.

#beautyofaphrodite temple #beautyofaphrodite shrine #aphrodite #hellenic e temples #e temple #e temples #shrine #shrines #e shrines #helpol

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randomlyblues · 9 months

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Yandere!Zane x Librarian!Reader

TW: Kidnapping not beta read

You didn't understand how you ended up in this situation. The High Priest of O'kasis was here at your doorstep demanding information that you don't have.

"I don't take lightly to people who waste my time, so I will ask you again. Where is the information about the Divine Warriors! This can't possibly be all the information that you have!"

"Again Sir, I don't have what you seek! They have burned all the knowledge about them years ago."

You felt a pinch of fear when his eyes widened a little at the tone of your voice that was directed to him. You didn't mean to raise your voice at someone with a high status as you but he was getting on your last nerves not getting the hint that this is all that you can offer him. You have heard stories about how he uses his status of being this 'religious symbol' to cover up his cruel actions and even take part in executing people, if they deserve it or not.

Zane was quite impressed with you. He's lucky that his mask is hiding the grin that was starting to form on his face.

He originally wanted to come to the village library hoping to bump into you. The first time he took notice of you was when he had to wed a pathetic couple. They wanted him to take a days trip just to get them married at a village with the name 'Phoenix Drop', making him stop with is work. That is when he saw you in the crowd speaking with an excuse of a Lord that they call Aphmau. The conversation was lighthearted but nothing worthy for him to pay any mind until you started to mention Lady Irene and how his name was in the mix of the conversation. The way you said his name made him feel a sort of way. Zane found himself wanting to hear it again. He kept a note to himself that you may be valuable to him, drowning the weird feeling he got from his name being spoken.

Later in the evening he caught notice of your snappy attitude and how you tend to be more to yourself yet also spare a kind smile to people. Zane doesn't understand why you have caught his attention, he found himself tracking everything you did. To him you were just a normal pathetic thing with knowledge he can use, yet here he was admiring the power he can see that you hold. He just wants to break it. No not break it. Absorb it. Make it his. Make you his. He wants not only the power of your knowledge but you. So here he was, after the celebration had ended, in your little library admiring the audacity you had to talk to a high being in such a way.

" Of course, my apologies for speaking to a lady in such a rude manner," he bowed to you. You raised your eyebrow at his apologies, you didn't take him as a man that would do that.

"It's nothing," you brushed it off not noticing the way he looked at you as you begin to look for a girdle it can be easier for the man to carry them.

" I am guessing that you will be purchasing instead of returning since you have such a ways trip?"

"Can't spare to give them for free?"

"Will you have my head if I don't?" You said ,not meaning for it to sound appalled by his playful tone. Zane started to laugh at your statement causing you to tense up. Oh this beating heart of his is making you less and less annoying than other people. Oh is he going to have fun with you.

"Why would I do such a thing? That is a sin in the eyes of our dear Matron." You took notice at how his smile reached his eyes when the whole night that never seemed to be the case when other people approached him. Maybe the stories about him aren't true.

"Yeah you're right that was stupid of me to even say"

"Don't worry about it, it was a nice joke. What is your name?" It was a useless question to even ask since he already got his guards to find out for him a few minutes prior in order to find this place. You tell him your name.

" That is such a lovely name."

" Why thank you High Priest," you bow. Oh did he enjoy that. A weak thing like you bowing to him and looking at him like that. What he would do is just for you to look at him with those eyes for all eternity. Yet the way you say his status instead of his actual name caused him to make an unsatisfied face.

"Would you like to accompany me to my ship to help me?"

You took a moment to think about it. It wasn't an unusual request from people so you didn't know why you were so hesitant. It was probably just the tales about him that have stopped you or maybe the fact he has guards that could do that for him. Realizing you have taken a while to reply you tell him yes and follow.

After helping him with the books you tell him about his payment.

"Oh yes of course."

Before you knew it, you were knocked out quickly. Zane looked down at your unconscious state. Oh how pathetic and vulnerable you were, don't worry he would take care of you.

Part 2

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #male yandere #zane ro'meave #minecraft diaries #aphmau minecraft diaries #aphmau mcd #aphblr #aphverse #zane aphmau #zane is such an ahole but a good one we just ignore the murder

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seabirdtxt · 1 year

Text

Vocem Dei

The Shouki no Kami was built to be the closest thing to an artificial god that humanity could create.

Just how close to divinity does the god-machine get? [p1 - you are here!] [p2] [p3]

Notes: Genshin SAGAU, cult AU, vaguely religious themes. pre-3.2!

WC. 1.5k

----- ⚘ -----

The Shouki no Kami was built to be the closest thing to an artificial god that humanity could create.

Infused with dozens of Divine Knowledge capsules, and powered by liquid energy inspired by the Lord Balladeer’s own divine puppet blood, the machine god had capabilities beyond even Dottore’s own comprehension.

And the good Doctor was oh so eager to find out what would happen if a person were to be plugged into the mainframe.

Nevermind that every scholar who’d tried to use Divine Knowledge capsules lost their minds in the process.

Scaramouche grunts softly with every tube that locks into its socket on his back, the sensation of the machine’s lifeblood beginning to flow through him causing his body’s equivalent of a brain, his databank, to spark painfully. He pushes through it, determined to grasp divinity with both of his unworthy hands even if it’s the last thing he does.

The moment he feels the last tube socket in, an all-encompassing buzzing sensation floods his body, causing him to jolt and spasm uncontrollably. He snarls and grits his teeth, distantly hearing Dottore rattle off some statistics.

The feeling is reminiscent of his birth, when he knew the embrace of the electro gnosis, but amplified by hundreds.

An inhuman scream leaves him, electro bolts coursing across his body and the machine’s as he bows backward, curved over the shimmering tubes and feeling their hotcoldsmoothsharp liquid pulsing through him. He opens his eyes, not aware of when he’d closed them.

Above him, reflected in the ceiling Shouki no Kami’s metal cockpit, Scaramouche can see his own eyes glow so brightly with electro energy that his pupils become white. Purple sparks emit from the corners of his eyes, like tears of pure energy that tumble down the sides of his face contorted in rage and agony. In his mouth, parted in a scream that’s now beyond human hearing, small bolts of lighting sew his teeth together.

Through sheer force of his own will, the face of Shouki no Kami’s cockpit begins to slide closed, just as he hears Dottore announce 100% compatibility.

As the face plates slam shut, the overwhelming sensation of raw power suddenly cuts out and Scaramouche slumps over, held up only by his connection to the tubes in his back. His face nearly collided with the doors in front of him but he stops his descent with his hands, and the sockets in his back pull ominously.

The blessed silence lasts for exactly a minute before being replaced by a strange mechanical sound, almost like a bell ringing.

He lifts his head weakly, turning from side to side to find the source, until he realizes it’s coming from inside his head.

“Wh-” he begins, but is cut off as a clicking noise interrupts him, replacing the ringing with a cordial-sounding voice.

“Hello, who’s speaking?”

“H- hey! Who the hell are you?! I demand to know how you’re speaking to me right now!”

There’s silence for a moment before the voice responds.

“Uh, well, you called me, dude. And I asked first.”

A million thoughts run through Scaramouche’s head as he braces his hands against the face plates of the cockpit, pushing himself back upright with a noise of frustration.

“Do you even know who I am? When I find out who you are I will put an end to your insignificant insect life- wait, what do you mean I called you?”

“... You… You called me, and I answered…” The voice says hesitantly, a tone of amusement filtering into their words. “That’s how calling usually works, right?”

Scaramouche rubs his temples, shaking his head. “I… called you? I don't even know who you are. How did you get in my head?”

“... in your- you know what? This is weird, dude. I’m gonna hang up now.”

“Wait!” Scaramouche blurts out before he can even realize he’s done it. “Don’t… don’t go! At least tell me who you are?”

The silence is deafening, and for a moment Scaramouche is sure he’s been left alone, and then the voice returns…

… Saying the name of Teyvat’s overarching deity. Greater than the Archons. Greater than Celestia. Greater than even the Traveller, who originated from beyond this world.

Incredulous, Scaramouche repeats after you, following up with: “Is- is that right? That’s your name?”

“... Yes? Should it not be?”

Scaramouche lets out a peal of elated laughter, the tubes in his back rattling with the movement. Unbelievable. He did it! He attained godhood beyond even the power of the Archons; he made direct contact with the Divine Creator themself!

“Your Grace! I can’t believe it. It’s me! It’s Scaramouche, the Balladeer, Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui! I can’t even begin to fathom that you deigned answer to my call!”

“Scaramouche? Like from the game?” the voice asks. “Is this some kind of prank?”

“Wait, no, please! No, I swear this isn’t a joke, please believe me! I’ve worked so hard to get to this point, I deserve your recognition!” A hint of desperation bleeds into his voice, and his fists clench where they’re pressed into the walls of the Shouki no Kami’s cockpit. A second passes with no response and a pathetic cry escapes his lips. “Please… not you, too…”

His shoulders and the tubes shake with the force of his muffled sobs, air he doesn’t truly need catching in his throat. He lets his head fall forward, colliding with the metal panels with a dull noise.

“Listen, I’m not sure I believe you,” the voice returns. “But you sound really bad, man. Please don’t cry or anything, okay? I’m kinda in the middle of something right now but I’ll call you back in a bit. If this is some kind of RP thing or whatever, I swear…”

Scaramouche feels it, the second communication is cut. It leaves a void in his skull, right behind his ears, and the silence that once filled the cockpit is replaced with the mechanical whir of the Shouki no Kami, and the metallic sound of hammering.

He swallows and rubs his eyes roughly, scrubbing any trace of tears and briefly thanking the powers that be for having made him a puppet, to exist without the embarrassing functions of blushing or having bloodshot eyes.

He grumbles and looks down at the heel of his palms, noticing that he’d wiped some blood as well. He checks his nose, finding it to be the source, and messily wipes it clean before willing the cockpit’s face plates to open.

Outside, a frantic team of Fatui engineers cheer and hastily pull the doors open, and Dottore pokes his head into the space, seemingly both relieved and intrigued at Scaramouche’s state.

“Well well, my little friend,” Dottore drawls, a shark-like smile spreading across his face. “The god machine, as well as you, has been unresponsive for just under twenty-four hours. We’d nearly feared that we lost you.”

Scaramouche glares at him with a sneer. “You seem so terribly broken up about it. I’m touched by your show of concern."

Dottore doesn’t reply, only acquiescing with a hum. Around him, the engineers are taking stock of the robot’s state and functions, jotting down notes and observing the puddle of Scaramouche’s blood, the evidence of which is still drying on his face.

“Tell me, was the synchronization a success?” the Doctor finally asks, barely holding back a flinch when Scaramouche’s head flies up to face him with a feral grin.

“More than a success,” he raves, his hand coming up to touch the side of his head. “With just a bit more practice, I will ascend higher than even Celestia itself!”

Dottore hides his uncertainty well, but Scaramouche’s eyes are sharper than they were before, and his grin widens at the sight of the Doctor’s expression.

“Very well, let us conclude the test now, then.” Dottore announces, motioning for the technicians around him to disconnect Scaramouche from the machine.

“No.” Scaramouche says, maintaining eye contact with Dottore and remaining stock still as he sends a pulse of electro running down his body, giving a violent shock to any of the technicians who’d been unfortunately too close.

“... No?” Dottore asks with a stiff smile.

“I want to stay connected with the machine,” Scaramouche declares. “Isn’t this the goal? Shouldn’t I spend as much time attuning to the divine energy, so that I may become the perfect god? This is what you designed it for, after all, right?"

Dottore remains silent, with that same plastic smile on his face.

“Very well,” he says curtly. “The Lord Balladeer may remain inside the god-machine. Resume monitoring and record signs of changes.”

The Doctor turns on his heel and steps lightly out of the room before Scaramouche could annoy him further. That suits Scaramouche just fine, as well. He settles back into the cockpit, willing the face plates closed until he’s in solitude once more. He stares at the small puddle of his own blood on the floor; his normal reddish oil-blood mixing with vibrant, glowing purple.

He leans back into the mess of tubes, and smirks.

He’ll eagerly await your next contact.

#genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware au #genshin isekai #sagau cult au #genshin scaramouche #sagau scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #sagau x reader #seabird.txt #aka shouki no kami is a giant god walkietalkie au #Voice of God AU

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crystalandbow · 5 months

Text

PAC; BEST MANIFESTATION TIPS 🪞🕯️☀️🐚

HIII! Today we will dive into how you can manifest anything, whats the technique for you, what can you do to accelerate the process, etc. SOOO.... lets begin!

note: paid subliminal requests/ custom subliminals are available. and also paid tarot readings are open, for more details dm!

FREE TAROT

PAID TAROT

pick a barbie character 👇🏻

PILE 1

if you're wondering how you can manifest things super quick & easily, you are at the right place!

the answer is: simply by asking and letting go. some methods i'd recommend are the love letter method, or any letter / paper method (specifically anything that has to do with folding paper) for that matter. the 17 second methods and the surrender method.( you can either ask me doubts/questions about this in the comments or search them up on yt)

you are the people that think of the first case scenarios first. y'all overthink sm, which is obv not good. and i'd say that you shouldn't supress those negative thoughts but rather face them. 2 major things for you guys is facing your fears and doubts, 2- letting go and trusting the universe/spirit/god (whatever you believe in) also you guys could resonate with the little mermaid's story.

SURRENDER and LET GO!

ask and surrender. believe in the universe (444) and you've LITERALLY got this.

PILE 2:

Okie so if you're wondering how you can manifest things super quick & easily, you are at the right place!

the angel numbers that you see are not just co incidences, no, nope. they mean something. they are a reminder! they are a sign!!

the way that you guys manifest is through emotions my dear empaths. like even before i started your readings that is something i picked up upon, and if you want to know a litlle more scientific stuff about it then do check out barbara fredrickson's broaden and build theory. that will help you know what i mean. . whatever you feel within is what you attract, so think of good stuff, happiness, celebrate small victories.

some manifestation methods i'd recommend are gratitude, crystal work, green witch kinda stuff? water manifestation (especially sun water) , fake it till you make it, journaling & shadow work.

PILE 3:

hello! if you're wondering how you can manifest things super quick & easily, you are at the right place!

you are my prayer peeps, doesn't have to be very religious but you do believe in the power of prayers or asking the universe.

right off the bat you guys are my socially? "weird" people. the kids that are creative and different. yall are ENTHUSIAISTIC fssss. sm energy,sm passion ong. and the way you can manifest is through directing that energy into the right place. yall seem mis-directed in some way. another way you can manifest is through talking and connecting? writing? something around those llines like sharing your work/thoughts in some way.

i think you guys should read about ancient greek wisdom.

old literature and ancient knowledge will guide you towards an entire new perspective/world.

also calm tf down, like yeah we get it you want to have that thing rn/in a week but calm down my friend, ground yourself. also y'all need to relax & guide your mind it seems veryyy excited. its good but NOOO (its not helping atm)

basically redirection,taking steps, community, sharing knowledge & gaining knowledge, anient related stuff, prayers and staying happy/motivated, being free spirited, working with animals?.

some manifestation methods i'd recommend are vision boards, prayers, ancient manifestation tricks/methods? connecting with people/ sharing your knowledge., having a white pet could be lucky for you. or white is your lucky color and color magick too and taking actual actions/steps!!.

i think that you guys are pretty good at manifesting already, its more like a confirmation? (okay i fucking just realised y'all chose the weird barbie, its so reallll)

lmk your thoughts!!!

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innocent-cat · 6 months

Note

Hello darling! Is it okay to request a Vax x F!Reader x Percy (love triangle) one-shot? Where the reader is a human sorcereress from a noble family and somehow ends up with Vox Machina, only for Percy and Vax to develop feelings for her (or them, if you are more comfortable) a year later and become rivals and try to impress her.

I hope this isn't too weird! And it's fine if you don't want to do it! Have a wonderful day/night! Stay safe! 🤗💖

OH MY GOD YESSSSSSSSS i actually love this idea so much

Sorceress and noble????? OF COURSE SHE HAS TIESSS WITH THE DE ROLOSSS AND THATS WHY SHE JOINSNSMNNSNS

It's awesome you clarified gender! i only do non-b pronouns when someone doesn't specify the gender. Otherwise I am happy to write for male or female!

sorry im getting excited

Vax'ildan x Reader x Percival

Warnings - idk probably gonna lean towards my bbg percy, not so obvious love triangle, swearing, im literally gonna be using f/n and shit, I'm literally rewatching to remember how to write them as I write this so good luck reading my poor memory of characters, I will use she/her, FUCK I HAD TO USE [name] IM SO SORRY, timeskip because oh my god this is so long,

"Vox Machina's (least) favorite Sorcerer.", Vax x Reader x Percy

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻

[F/N] - Family Name

Lady Mystra - Goddess of magic/The weave

[Name] - I was too embarrassed to use y/n

Envonium - The name of the city you are a noble to (Sorry, couldn’t avoid it)

Twinned spell - A sorcery thing that allows a sorcerer to make one spell turn into two to attack two targets, never the same one twice in a row.

You come from a very rich cultured, religious, well mannered, prestigious and otherwise very dependent on magic kingdom. It only makes sense for such a huge part of the culture surrounding the beautiful city known as "The city of the weave", purely for its well known prestigious academies of magic, to have a generally magical culture. Many everyday tasks require magic, or it is commonly frowned upon to do some actions without it.

As a noble sorcerer yourself, your parents couldn't help themselves but give you the education you needed to become stronger as a magic wielder. They began your education at a young age, which proved a struggle for you to connect with companions and school partners who surrounded you. You were always disconnected from the reality of the lives of non-nobles. Other students seemed to feel the same way, and instead of adapting for you or explaining culture to you, they excluded you, making you an outcast in your own kingdom.

Lucky for you, your parents had many allies and peace treaties with those they were more powerful than or equal to, which happened to include the de Rolos. Once they learned of their children, one of which happened to be your age, Percy, they urged them to allow you, their only daughter, to meet Percival and his siblings.

Sadly, your exclusion in school made you awkward around him, and the two of you had trouble holding conversation for a very long time during your visit to Whitestone. It wasn't until your parents mentioned to Lady and Lord de Rolo the education they put you through so you could become a stronger sorcerer, that Percy warmed up to you and began to ramble about sorcery and wizardry, of which you knew much of both.

His curious personality led to conversations that lasted hours only asking the weave, which was tiring. When you began asking him questions back, he could not help himself but go on rants about science, history, and anything he remembered learning, which was a lot. The two of you had a rivaled education.

"That's... not really how the weave works. Where did you even hear that? That's absurd." You'd quip back at his stupid questions(At least, to you, they were stupid.), that you assumed were common knowledge.

"Well- in this book- it speaks of manipulating and changing the weave to cast spells." He was always defensive, quoting books directly and going as far as showing you the page.

With a sigh, "That book is decades old. You don't manipulate the weave, you pull it. Not even pull! It is a very delicate process." You knew it would be hard to explain, because you didn't quite understand it yourself yet.

Every summer, you would visit Whitestone until they suddenly stopped responding to letters, in which your parents cautiously chose to cut ties with the kingdom, without telling you. Whenever you'd ask about it, they'd hush you or change the topic. It confused you, but deep down, you knew they knew something about it.

Of course, this lets you down. You had begun to develop feelings for the boy who showed you kindness and bonded with you over something you were very prideful in. However, you eventually had to give up asking your parents questions about this, and continued your education in the weave.

Of course, your demanding parents practically begged you to practice your magic in real world experiences so you could be truly prepared. When you showed hesitation in doing such a thing, they only pushed harder- in fact, they packed your bags for you. They gave you a lot of gold for the road, a magic bag to hold everything needed, a change of clothes, food for a few days(Bread, cheese, water.), and a map. Not much, but they knew you were more than capable of making due.

Obviously, being a noble of the [F/N] family gave you a target on your back, but it wasn't much of a problem. It seems people underestimate you because you aren't armed with anything but a quarterstaff, but it takes no less than a chromatic orb or a fireball to kill them within seconds.

With background check over, you sit in a tavern.. :3

A group of loud, drunken, lowly mercenaries are shouting across the bar and asking for trouble with several strong looking city dwellers. You can tell they have no real experience in fighting other than bullying people for their money based on their muscles and lack of scars.

You try to ignore the banter, trying to get lost in a pint of beer as you sip on it, the woozy drunk feeling freeing you from an emotional state you get late into the night when left alone to think of your family, your people, and more importantly, all the books you had to leave behind to come here.

You're brought out of your thoughts as a table goes flying over your head, followed by a mug that hits your head, wetting you with the remaining alcoholic liquid left in the cup.

You quickly snap around, rubbing your now pounding head. You ready yourself to cast a spell strong enough to rival the sun against the dirty drunken party, but you realize it was one of the burly men who like to pretend to be tough who threw the table at you. You quickly change the direction of your twinned spell, making quick work of both of them as they fall stunned to the floor. The bar fight ensues as you knock the two of them out, an elf with dark and long hair defends you as another drunken man swings at you with a makeshift weapon. It seemed like it was a leg to a chair, but you couldn't tell in the blur of the quick paced fighting.

Once the quick turned fight ends, a female ranger announces to the barkeeper that 'Vox Machina' will pay back their tab in due time. You roll your eyes, and with a groan, you begrudgingly hand up a small bag of gold to cover their tab and look at the elven woman with an extremely annoyed face. She looks back, surprised you paid their tab, and even more so surprised you have the audacity to look at her with such a face.

A white haired, taller man looks at you with extreme shock. His face is familiar, but you know better than to stare, something he must have forgotten. Your face shifts into a less disgruntled face as the barkeeper speaks to you, thanking you for kindly paying the group's tab.

With the showy smile you were taught, you give him a soft and polite 'You're very welcome. Thank you for your hospitality.'

Your conversation with the barkeeper is cut short when the brunette, elven woman loudly asks you "And who the fuck are you?"

It sounded much more like actual curiosity than impoliteness, so you choose to not respond with the same tone, instead introducing yourself.

"[Name] [F/N]." (Guys im actually so sorry for having to do that, it feels taboo bc no one likes it) One side of you hoped they knew your family name for the sake of fear or authority, but the other hoped they didn't for the sake of having new beginnings.

Their gnome cleric seemed to be working your name out, familiarity reading on her face. You can tell it clicks when she looks up at you thinking of what to say, but she instead introduces herself and the rest of the party.

"Hi.. I'm Pike, this is Grog, the two similar looking elves are twins, Vex and Vax. The druid is Keyleth, and.. Scanlan is the guy pissing on the sign right now." As she speaks you can hear the encouraging smile on her face in her voice, her friendly introduction and personality persuading you to not judge or speak ill of Vox Machina.

You smile at all of them as she introduces them, except for Scanlan, your face rests in disgust watching the half nude gnome piss on a sign, then accidentally piss on a guard of the kingdom.

You turn expectantly to the one Pike seemingly forgot to introduce, the look of disgust still on your face. He seems startled you gave him the sour face, and you quickly fix it. You wave a beckoning motion at him to introduce himself.

"My name is Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III'' You finally realize who he is, and your face contorts to curiosity, but there's a small amount of disgust evident in it as well.

You have no clue what his family might have done to your’s for them to cut ties with his, but it couldn't have been good. Your mother always fought your father to keep as many allies as possible, and it was very rare for them to both agree on cutting ties.

Rolling your eyes at his long introduction, you cross your arms. The wisp of cold night wind swishes through your hair, as you feel it on your neck. You look up at him like scum under your foot, standing a distance of around 4 feet away from him.

"Do.. you guys know each other?" Pike asks you awkwardly, the rest of the party staring at the two of you awkwardly as well, noticing your repulsed face and Percy's face of surprise.

You scoff. "Know each other? No no.. we're only childhood best friends of neighboring kingdoms." Your voice seethes in sarcasm, your gaze not leaving Percy.

A new voice enters the awkward situation, the elven rogue, Vax, who protected you earlier.

"Yeah, you two really seem to be bonded to the core." His sarcasm matches your's, and you laugh softly, finally turning away from the silent Percy.

Walking towards him to converse, your face changes to a more smug than angry expression, your eyebrows still turned downward. The two of you banter for a moment before Scanlan awkwardly reveals a request for mercenaries.

"You guys wouldn't mind if I joined you, right? It's been a long while since I've been part of a party, and even longer since I’ve seen Percy." You ask Pike, who you assume is the leader of the party as she seems most responsible.

"It never hurts to have a few extra hands!" You can tell she's still dwelling on your interaction with Percy, as her tone is sensitive and her words practically dance around what just happened.

(Timeskip because theres literally a gap in writing in the show BECAUSE I DONT FUKCING KNOW WHAT TO DO HELP)

Waking up in the morning and climbing the stairs up to the ruler of Emon was a struggle, and you couldn't help but cast an ice spell to soothe the headache you currently had. Percy had tried to talk to you a few times, but you had shrugged him off at every opportunity. He opted to walk in the front of the group, conversing lightly with Vex and Keyleth.

It was nice talking to Vax so casually, as it wasn't an opportunity given to you often to speak informally. He gave you a few confused glances whenever you slipped up and started speaking formally, and you'd let out an awkward laugh and wave your hand in front of your face to try and get him to ignore it.

"So- what brings you to Emon?"

"My mother and father pushed me out of the kingg..domm.. I just want to practice my sorcery. I haven't really used it outside of learning it in practice." You trail off, when he gives you a weird look after mentioning your home.

"Oh. Really? That sounds.. wonderful. You seem a truly powerful sorcerer." He replies to you with an awkward smile on his face, trying to keep the conversation flowing with you as best as possible.

Once the party reaches the doors, Trinket, Vex's pet bear, stays on the outside of the doors with the guards. The party all make an awkward introduction, and you attempt to quip that you aren’t part of Vox Machina perse, but Scanlan quickly spoke over you in song, and went over you quite quickly, introducing you as “The sorcerer princess of the city of the weave!” And honestly? You had to admit it was better than anything you were expecting him to say about you, even if he had gotten some facts wrong.

A ‘punch in the gut’ feeling washed over you as you remember that you are a high status noble walking among a group of barfing, hungover mercenaries, and you look just as hungover as the rest of them. You quickly straighten yourself out and push around Vax with a soft ‘Sorry..’ and stand next to Percy, hoping to look better next to him, another noble. He seems surprised but ignores it, letting Scanlan bullshit you guys through the ‘meeting’ you had interrupted by walking in. Eventually, Emon’s ruler and a few advisers approve of your group saving the kingdom, in exchange for a very large box presumably full of gold coins.

You all quickly board the boat like aircraft, shuffling to stand near the railing, you find yourself standing next to Percy after not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on between Vex and Vax, opting to not seem rude or nosy. You of course, keep your space between you and him, and lean on the rail, debating on starting the conversation.

And you do.

“So.. what could the de Rolos have done to have angered the [F/N]s?” You ask, sarcastically, but genuinely curious.

Percy turns and looks at you with a face of bewilderment. “What did we do? What are you talking about?” Percy’s voice has anger lacing through it, and he wasn’t trying to hide it, but it’s not like he was trying to show it either.

“I mean, what did you guys do? Lord de Rolo stopped responding to my mother’s letters, and one day both mother and father refused to speak of Whitestone. It was like you guys did some horrible offense against lady Mystra, or, I don’t know, maybe betrayed one of our stronger alliances?” You dig deeper under his skin unknowingly, your face only showing confusion.

Percy’s stance changed, and he turned his body to face you. “My father stopped responding to your mother’s letters because he was murdered. They.. were all murdered. I ran from my kingdom, barely escaping my attackers, and I assumed you did your’s?”

Your mouth drops ever so slightly in shock, but you quickly close it. “I’m so sorry, Percy. I had no clue. I wish I could have convinced my parents to do something.. And no, I didn’t run from Evonium. My parents sent me away to become stronger.. I finally graduated from my academy.” Your eyes are glossy, as if hurt for Percy for what happened to his family. Your expression was soft, and pitiful. It almost completely contrasted the look you gave him at the bar, if it weren’t for that same pitiful look that knitted in your eyebrows as the wind blew against your face.

He turns away, unwilling to think about the look you had given him. He sighs. “It’s quite alright. I don’t blame you for assuming our families crossed one another. If I was in your position I would have done the same.”

You scoot closer to him, but leave room to breathe. You felt selfish for wanting to heal your relationship so fast, so you would let him choose when the wound was closed.

You felt eyes burning into the back of your head, but you tried ignoring it. Unaware it was Vax, you choose not to turn, and hope it was nothing. It seems he doesn’t want the wound to close at all, and he has a face that reads jealousy. He turns back to Vex, continuing their conversation and trying to shake off the feeling he had about you and Percy.

The ship shakes, and quickly levitates to the ground, a small wooden town ahead of you. The tents were torn, and burns were evident in the wood that kept the cloth up. It didn’t look like the work of a reckless wizard or sorcerer, and it seemed like it came haphazardly from above. You slowly walk down the aircraft beside Percy in silence. Scanlan makes some kind of sexual comment to the woman who brought us here, to which she ignores and promptly leaves without a word. You can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

You and Percy walk awkwardly behind everyone else, as Vax walks beside Keyleth, Pike next to Grog, and Vex next to Scanlan, which she was visibly upset about. However, she didn’t seem too upset as the two bantered sarcastically back and forth. The trail to the tents begins to go down hill, the path muddy and slippery. You try to hold onto Percy’s shoulder as you walk down, in which he drapes an arm around your waist in response to, trying to help support you, but it only brings you flashes of your childhood crush on him, and you fail to pay attention to the floor, despite having a staring contest with it.

You slip, falling backwards for only moments before Percy’s hand grips your hip, his arm already behind your back to support you, and pulls you back up. It was a pull with quick strength that was more of a reflex than an action, and it pulls you nearly face to face. You blush, and mutter a quick ‘Thanks, Percy.’, and he looks away with a quickly spoken, flustered, “Yeah! Yes. Of course.” as if he was trying to pull himself together. You pull away, but keep your hand on Percy’s shoulder until fully down the slope.

Vax turns around to look at the commotion, and he catches a glimpse of you blushing at Percy. He can’t help but scoff at it, and turns back around to talk to Keyleth, only really half talking to her, and her only really half talking to him.

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