#sea breeze dried herring

[revasserium]

Pining Zoro and blind-to-it Reader?

un-certainly

opla!zoro; 3,422 words; fluff fluff fluff so much fluff, straw hat!reader, fem!reader, (seeminlgy) clueless!reader, lots of pining, banter, teasing, smitten!zoro, the whole nine yards

summary: in which everyone knows zoro's got it bad for you, except for you, of course.

one.

“so… i should just… talk to her.” zoro says uncomprehendingly, blinking at an exasperated nami, who has to take a long, steadying breath to keep from shoving him overboard. the waves beneath them are calm, the day above them, a gorgeous, endless stretch of blue so brilliant it almost pains the eyes to stare.

nami resists the urge to pinch her nose bridge as a dull ringing starts to echo in her ears.

“yes. sweet god — just go up to her and say ‘hey, i think i might like you’ and i guarantee you, things will go from there.”

zoro shifts his tightly knitted arms, squinting at her as if she might be lying or purposefully luring him into a trap, “go? so there’s a chance it could go badly.”

this time, nami really does drop her face into her hands, groaning loudly.

“well there’s always a chance it could go badly —”

“sounds like a bad idea to me.” zoro looks away, eyes still narrowed as the light sea breeze ruffles his hair, a colony of news coo squawking loudly overhead, one of them dropping down to careen towards the going merry, landing on the thick white railings next to them, ruffling it’s feathers as nami pushes off to dig in her pocket for some berry.

“oh! newspapers here!” your voice makes both zoro and nami jump, and a second later you’re bounding up the stairs to the forecastle deck and stuffing some berry into the news coo’s bag. your arm brushes by zoro’s as you lean over to offer the news coo a piece of dried shrimp, which it considers for a second before leaning forward and gobbling up.

nami gives zoro a soft shove from his other side, leveling him with a meaningful look before turning and making a show of going to check on her tangerine grove.

zoro doesn’t have time to glare before the news coo takes off with a pat-pat-pat of wings, leaving you and him very much alone on the sunny fore-deck. he purses his lips, casting about for something to say even as you hum happily to yourself, your arm still painfully close to his as you unroll the newspaper and flip though, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil of the man standing next to you.

“uh — anything interesting?” zoro asks, desperate for something, anything to fill the silence.

you shrug, “nope… just the usual — uptick in piracy along the coast, tightening of marine patrols…” you turn and cast him a grin that makes his stomach twist inside him like a contortionist from buggy’s freakshow.

zoro clears his throat, thumbing absently at the hilt of his swords before taking a deep breath.

“hey — uh…”

“hm?” you turn towards him, with your wide attentive eyes and your stomach-curling smile.

zoro blinks, his gaze flickering from your soft button nose to the way the wind twines its fingers in the loose strands of your hair. two twin pearls glitter from the lobes of your ears and he feels the tension melt from him as he sucks in another breath.

just say it, nami had said, just tell her.

really, how hard could it be?

“i uh — there’s something i wanna talk —”

“wait, hold still,” you say, your eyes going wide as you lean forward suddenly and zoro’s visions tunnels in around him — you’re close, closer, too close/too close/too close!

your fingers card through his hair and he has to bite back the shiver that rockets down his spine as you pull your hand back with a black-tipped feather.

“the news coo left you a present,” you say, laughing as you offer him the feather.

zoro considers it for a second before taking it from you.

“it could’ve left worse,” he says, recalling the few times that he’d gotten bird shit in his hair.

you giggle; the sound makes him want to scream but instead, he settles for clearing his throat again.

“now, you make a wish,” you say, nodding towards the feather in his hand.

“never heard of that before,” he frowns slightly, “thought you could only wish on dandelion seeds and…” he waves at the endless stretch of sky above you, “shooting stars and stuff.”

your smile is so wide that zoro thinks his cheeks might start to hurt for you.

“haven’t you heard that rules are meant to be broken?” you ask, offering him the feather again. he looks at you, then at the feather, and the back at you.

“okay — i wish —”

you squawk flapping your hand, “no! you can’t tell me what the wish is! otherwise, it won’t come true!”

zoro smirks, cocking an eyebrow, “i thought rules were meant to be broken?”

you blush the most darling shade of red and he decides to take it easy on you (and, honestly, himself). so, he plucks the feather from your hand and closes his eyes, making a soft, silent wish. a wish that, in truth, he’d been making since the moment he met you.

when he opens his eyes, it’s to find you staring.

“kay. now what?” he asks, rolling the feather between his thumb and forefinger.

“now…” you gently tug the feather from him before opening your palm and letting the wind whisk it away, “you let the sea take your wish. and if you’re worthy, it’ll grant the wish for you!”

zoro lets out a breathy laugh, “if i’m worthy? and how’s it supposed to know that?”

you lean in, and if it were anyone else, he might’ve been annoyed, but with you, somehow, he finds himself charmed.

your voice is conspiratorial as you whisper, “because… the ocean knows all the secrets the sky can’t keep.”

two.

at dinner, with you by his side, usopp detailing some imaginary adventure, nami laughing, sanji blowing smoke rings towards the middle of the fire-lit deck. your cheeks are pink from the wine everyone is passing around and for a second, you bump into him and turn — he turns towards you too —

your eyes catch like unsuspecting fish to a bobbing hook and zoro feels his stomach tug as you grin up at him, the night sky caught in the flutter of your lashes.

he can’t help the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, and then back up again.

“feel like sharing?” you ask, nodding towards his half-finished bottle.

wordlessly, he hands the bottle to you and watches as you bring the mouth to your lips and take a long drink. he tracks the soft bobbing of your moon-lit throat and feels his own mouth go dry at the sight.

across the fire, sanji watches with a growing smile and nami rolls her eyes.

“oi, moss-head — mind if i take a swig too?” sanji asks as you hand back the bottle, dragging the back of your hand across your lips, and zoro turns to pin sanji with a glare.

“get your own,” he says, before polishing off the rest with a few hard sips and tossing the bottle into a rapidly growing pile.

zoro licks his lips and tries not to think about the way your lips had fit around the bottle just right; he tries not to wonder if you’d taste like wine. or, if he’d even have the mind to think that far if you were to let him kiss you.

three.

“… and then, you pull it through… like this?” you slowly bring your arm through a swiping movement, your hands clutched around the hilt of a wooden training sword. zoro sighs, shaking his head.

“uh — not quite — here,” he pushes off from the barrel he’s sitting on to circle around behind you, wrapping one hand around both of yours, the other palm curling around your middle to press against your stomach, “you’re breaking in your waist again — keep your core tight and —” he helps you swing the sword through in a swift arc.

“oh.”

it takes him a second to realize how close you are, how he can feel your entire back pressed against his entire front, how perfectly you fit into his arms, how easy it’d be to hold you to him and never let go.

“so just… practice that a few hundred times,” he says, stumbling back as his cheeks go hot and he feels the inexplicable urge to toss himself into the calm, saltine waves below, if only to cool down just a bit.

“will you practice with me?” you ask, your smile wider than the sky is wide — zoro is sure.

he blinks at you for a second before making a show of sighing and rolling his eyes.

“ah… i guess i could use a bit of practice too.”

he pulls out the wadou ichimonji and takes his stance next to you.

“ready?” he asks.

you nod, glancing over and adjusting your posture.

“okay, how many are we doing?”

zoro casts around for a number, “a thousand.”

“zoro!”

“five… hundred?”

you cast him a look that makes his stomach flip inside him.

“how about we start with a hundred, and then i’ll see how i feel from there?”

zoro clicks his tongue, smirking, “i could do a hundred in my sleep.”

you make a show of rolling your eyes, “fine then — go take a nap!”

zoro huffs as he clears his throat, “right then — let’s start — one, two —”

you squeak as you hurry to catch up, jumping as he reaches out a hand to correct your posture.

up on the foredeck, luffy watches with usopp by his side.

“hey! i wonder if zoro would teach me sword tricks if i asked!”

usopp sighs, clapping luffy on the back even as he shakes his head.

“uh — not that i think he wouldn’t but … maybe you should just… let them do their thing, yeah?”

four.

“i think you really should tell her,” luffy says, slapping zoro on the shoulder, a bit harder than he’d intended. zoro winces, pressing a palm to his chest — still sore from their recent raid.

“i don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

luffy laughs, leaning forward against the railing, “nami said you’d say that.”

zoro fights the urge to scowl as he sighs, his eyes narrowed at the damnably calm horizon. at least if the weather weren’t so nice, he could make up an excuse to leave but —

“really, what’s the worse that could happen?” luffy asks.

zoro grunts, shooting luffy a sidelong look, “oh i don’t know, she doesn’t feel the same and shit gets awkward and —” he waves a hand at the going merry, “the crew falls apart.”

thankfully, luffy doesn’t pause to call him out on for once not denying it.

instead, he lets out a contemplative hum, “hm… yeah, that could happen. but… i don’t think it will.”

inside his chest, zoro’s heart clunks, strange and uncoordinated.

“why? she say something to you?” he can’t keep the curiosity from his voice, the stomach-squeezing anticipation he’d only ever associated with the heat of battle and a really good fight. but now, he feels it whenever you get too close, and he wonders if he can go insane like this — if one day his heart might just give out.

“nope!” luffy’s voice is too bright, too cheerful, and zoro feels himself rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, “i’ve just got a feeling!”

“a feeling.”

“yeah! and — have a little faith! the straw hat crew isn’t that fragile.”

with that, and another hearty clap to the shoulder that leaves zoro hissing in pain, luffy clomps off towards the kitchens, where sanji is already doing dinner prep. zoro lets out another sigh as he straightens, carefully stretching his arms to test the range of motion.

above him, a flock of migratory geese fly southward in a soft, arrowhead formation. zoro holds up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he watches them pass overhead.

a single feather flutters down towards him and he finds himself reaching out to catch in the palm of his hand.

a wish, huh, he thinks, twirling the feather between two fingers before casting around to make sure no one else can see him. satisfied that everyone else is either too far away or below decks, zoro closes his eyes and makes a wish —

alright roronoa, please. don’t fuck this up.

five.

“ahem.” zoro clears his throat after dinner, making a point to down a couple more drinks than usual. he’s never been one to believe in liquid courage, but… it couldn’t hurt, right?

“can we, uh, talk?”

you smile a smile that threatens to crack his chest wide open, nodding.

“sure! what’s up?”

across the room, sanji visibly stills but nami catches his eye and shakes her head ever so slightly.

“c’mon… not in here,” zoro says, jerking his head towards the hallway that leads to the decks above.

“what’s got you so secretive all of a sudden?” you ask as he leads you all the way up to the crows nest, reaching down to help tug you up, letting his hand linger in yours as you grin up at him.

“i’m allowed to have secrets,” he says, turning to stare out at the darkened sea, the summer moon hanging low and full-bellied over the glittering waters, the stars winking like so many all-seeing eyes.

“we all are, but… i thought we’d gotten all your big ones after that one night the whiskey bar —”

zoro coughs, “alright, alright — don’t need to bring that up again.”

you laugh, leaning forward to pillow your cheek against your crossed arms, propped up along the edge of the crows nest.

“so? what’s this new secret, then?”

zoro swallows, “uh — wouldn’t exactly call it new.”

“alright then, an old secret.”

“not super old, either —”

you turn to look at him, half-exasperated, half-amused, but when you catch sight of his expression, you still, pressing your lips.

“zoro? is… everything okay?”

he ticks his tongue against his teeth and lets out a long breath, as if bracing himself for something before he says —

“yeah. i think —” he clears his throat again, trying to recall what nami had said about just saying it and he tries again.

“i think i might like you.”

the coil in his chest feels tight enough to snap, but you’re quiet as he turns to steal a glance at you.

“oh,” you say, you expression curiously contemplative as you look out over the darkened seascape.

zoro has to physically stop himself from shaking you by the shoulders — say something, goddamnit! say anything!

“so…” he says, knitting his arms across his chest instead.

you turn towards him, your eyes bright as twin stars.

“you think you might like me, right?” you ask, and for a second, zoro can only blink down at you, completely thrown by your lack of reaction. of all the things he’d imagined you doing — everything from getting angry to apologizing to throwing yourself at him with an impassioned speech about how you’d felt the same since the beginning — this was not one of them.

“uh… yeah, pretty sure that’s what i said.”

you cock your head, a quick, bird-like gesture that makes zoro’s heart skitter inside his chest, threatening to leap from his mouth as you continue to stare up at him, completely unabashed.

“ah… so what do you think we should do then?”

zoro stares, “… do?”

“yeah, because if you’re not sure if you like me… we should do something to make sure, right?”

and it’s then that he sees the soft, playful uptick of your lips, the glittering darkness behind your eyes. the tension in his chest seems to loosen even as he lets out a breath, chuckling before quirking an eyebrow and taking a step towards you, caging you in against the crows nest’s edge.

“mm. you’re right — i can think of a few things we could try, though.”

“yeah?” you voice is little more than an exhale on the wind, but it’s the last thing zoro tastes before he finds his lips on yours.

as far as kisses go, zoro would later think back, it was a pretty damn good one.

it started as a slow kind of kiss, a soft, unfurling of breath on breath, and then lips on lips. the ghost-friction of promises made and kept and unbroken, the first spark to a fire that had been threatening to consume him since the moment he’d heard you laugh.

and then — just like that, he’s kissing you. and you’re kissing him back, the gravity and inevitability of it making his head spin even as he presses in closer. it is sweet and warm and trembling — soft and hard and deepening. he runs his tongue along the seam of your mouth and savors the way you gasp open for him.

just him.

he swallows it like he wants to swallow you, reaching up to sink his fingers into the silk and gossamer of your hair, pulling you so close he can feel your heartbeat thrumming against his chest, your nails as they curl into the linen of his shirt.

it takes everything inside him to pull back, and everything else left not to dive right back in again. you’re both panting, a little breathless, and zoro — a lot relieved.

“so…” you say, your tongue flickering out to lave across your bottom lip.

zoro doesn’t try to stop his eyes as he tracks the spine-tingling motion.

“so?”

you grin, biting back the shiver that chases through you at the deep, base rumble of his voice, echoing from his body to yours.

“what’s the verdict? have you decided if you like me yet?” you ask, batting your lashes even as he watches your own eyes drop down to his lips. a dark, warm, purring satisfaction curls inside his chest at the way your pupils dilate, black as the night, bright as all her favorite stars.

“hm,” zoro hums, leaning down to skim a knuckle along your jaw, slowly guiding your face towards his again, “dunno… jury’s still out… might have to try it a few more times. y’know… just to be sure.”

“mm…” you sigh as he leans down to graze his teeth along your pulse point, fingers tightening around your waist as he feels you tremble in his arms, “y-yeah… wouldn’t want you to be —” you hiccup as he sinks a soft bite into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “uncertain.”

“no…” and his voice is all groan and gravel as he lets himself breathe you in, “we certainly wouldn’t want that.”

bonus.

far below, beneath the decks of the going merry, sanji takes a long pull from a post-dinner cigarette, his lips twisting into a concerned sort of frown.

“it’s been a while since they’ve been up there. think we should go check on them?”

luffy shugs, still happily picking at the remains of the turkey carcass sitting in the middle of an oblong plate.

“they should be okay — i mean, they say that no news is good news, right?”

“uh, not sure that applies to this kinda thing,” usopp says as he makes to peak out of the nearest window.

nami swirls her drink, “i think they’re fine. and we’d hear if zoro threw himself off the crows nest, right?”

across the table, sanji blinks and luffy pauses in his munching.

“whoa, you think he’d really do that if she rejects him?” usopp asks, his face going a little pale.

nami rolls here eyes, “no.” and then a moment later, “but really, we’d hear him if he jumped, right?”

luffy licks his lips, shrugging, “dunno, probably though. he’s pretty heavy so he’ll make a pretty big splash.”

sanji taps a bit of ash into his empty bowl and lets out a long suffering breath.

“yeah, y’know really, no news is good news.”

[natalievoncatte]

“Kara?”

She doesn’t answer. Lena’s presence doesn’t surprise her; Kara Danvers always knows where Lena Luthor is, at least as long as there’s a way for the sound of her heart to find Kara’s ears, no matter how soft or faint it might be. In her ruminations Kara thinks on that before she speaks. Even when they were at their worst, when they were hurting each other in every way that mattered, Kara would stop and listen.

It was a secret and sacred thing, a transgression that she would never admit. She would confess to scoping Lena out with her x-ray vision first. She’d never actually done that, but she’d pretend-admit before confessing that, sometimes, she’d listen to Lena’s heart as she slept and drift off to its slow and steady beat.

They’re by the sea, at the Danvers family home. It’s been a year since Alex and Kelly married and a small, core group have gathered here in this house by the waves to celebrate the anniversary. It’s just Alex and Kelly of course and Esme, and Lena and Kara. And Eliza.

She lives here, after all.

Nia and Brainy are in town in an AirBnB, and they’ve been by the house but are mostly doing their own thing. They’ll marry soon, Kara thinks. They have that air about them, the way that Alex and Kelly did before the proposal.

There is a sense of finality to it all that has fallen over Kara like the shadow of a passing storefront, and she sits where she can watch the ocean waves roll in, chin propped on arms resting on knees, curled up and watching the waves reach the high water mark and roll back.

Lena stands beside her now, seemingly unconcerned that Kara hasn’t answered her. This happens a lot now. There are companionable silences. Lena spends half her days in Kara’s home, working from a laptop on Kara’s kitchen counter while Kara writes at the kitchen table.

A lot has happened. Cat Grant offered her the role of EIC at CatCo; Kara rejected it. She’d mad furtive plans to reveal her identity, then canceled them. She’d told Cat but asked that it end there and Cat had respected it, then gone on an esoteric retreat at an eel farm or… something. Kara still submitted articles to CatCo but on a freelance basis, and she was submitting more articles elsewhere lately.

Actually, very little had happened. Kara had more time to really write, now. She put on her suit and flew out the window less and less, being less needed.

Lena sits down next to her and assumes a similar pose. Kara can’t help but look at her; she has never been able to resist looking at Lena Luthor. That too has changed. She doesn’t steal a glance this time, she studies, lets her gaze linger. She looks at the way the light of the golden hour plays with Lena’s soft, easy beauty. Her sort-of-roommate skipped putting on makeup this morning and her hair is down in a mop of air-dried dark curls, some of them lazily riding the breeze around her head. Some of it falls across her face and Kara fights the urge to sweep it back with a soft brush of her fingers.

Lena is beautiful. The warm light makes her pale skin glow, brings out the sparkle in her blue-green eyes, as deep as the sea they watch. There is a soft playful hint of a smile on her lips, but her brows are furrowed.

Kara thinks back to the last time she spoke to J’onn. She told the man, the closest thing she had left to a father in the world, about how she was wearing the cape less and working more, about Lena, about how Alex and Kelly seemed to be moving on, both of them now retired from the insanity of her lives and Alex actually planning to practice medicine.

“That’s what happens,” J’onn told her. “Things pass. Stories end. The great deeds are done, the archenemies vanquished, the miracles all performed. After that is just life.”

Kara wasn’t sure what that meant. In her life -almost sixty years, that she’d experienced as less than thirty- she’d packed in the experiences of a hundred lifetimes. She’d watched her world die, found her family, lost them, made a new one. She’d loved and lost and she’d even died- twice. She’d spent two eternities in her own personal hell.

Kara lets out a slow sigh. She’s still looking at Lena.

They have to have this conversation. Kara just doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. The problem is obvious. Lena and Kara had arrived this morning a few hours after Kelly and Alex, and found that Eliza had, as to be expected, already planned out who was bunking where.

“Alex and Kelly have Alex’s old room,” Eliza had told them, after hugging Lena. “Esme has Kara’s old room, and you and Lena can take the guest bedroom.”

When the words left her foster mother’s mouth, Kara’s heart raced. If Lena thought anything of it, she gave no sign. Kara was on the verge of panic.

Eliza had given the two of them a room with one bed. A small room, a shared room that would give two people no privacy.

Does she think we’re…?

Kara had considered the possibility before. She wasn’t blind or oblivious to a fluttering heart beat or lip bites or long stares, but…

“I’m scared,” Kara says, and she looks away.

She can feel Lena looking at her, gaze unwavering.

“What about?”

Kara swallows hard. She doesn’t know if Lena realizes what Eliza has assumed yet, if she’s put it together. She must have, because she came out here looking for Kara. Kara hadn’t run away exactly, but she had fled. She needed to think.

“One thing I’ve learned,” Kara says, “is that once you say something, you can’t un-say it. You can’t change the truth once it’s been told.”

Lena nods softly. She knows. They learned the same lesson from the same cruel trick.

“Do you know why I held on to my secret for so long?”

“You always said it was to protect me, and I didn’t accept that. Then when…” Lena pauses heavily, “when we moved on, I never really asked again.”

Kara swallows. “I lied. I did it for me.”

Lena says nothing.

“I was scared. I was afraid that once I told you, it would be the same with you as it was with everyone else. Once people know Kara is Supergirl, then Kara stops being Kara. Kara is just Supergirl’s real name.”

Kara’s breath hitches. She glances at Lena, who watches intently.

“I was wrong. I should have known better. I should have trusted you.”

“Yes,” said Lena. “You should have. I should have tried to understand you. To understand why instead of projecting my own insecurities onto your choice. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I forgave you.”

Waves crash in the silence.

“I would forgive you anything.”

“Even beating the last potsticker?”

“I’m serious, Lena.”

Lena sighs. “Are we going to talk about it?”

“You saw the room.”

Lena nods.

“Your mom seems to be assuming that we share a bed,” Lena says.

Kara swallows hard.

“The last time I was with Nia, she asked when I’m selling the penthouse, because she assumed I’ve been planning to move into your loft.”

Kara groped her knees because her hands are shaking. She grips her knees to stop them but it makes her legs shake instead.

Lena shifts closer, scooting across the grass. She’s not touching Kara but it feels like she is. Her touch becomes and threatens. They share space, the sea breeze passing over them as one. Lena looks at her through a tangle of inky curls and her eyes are infinite, searching Kara for something.

“I have deemed a dream,” Kara whispers. “I fear if I dream it too deeply I’ll suddenly wake, and when I wake it’ll be gone the way dreams always are, and it will fade as fast as any dream. The thought of losing it hurts so bad it makes it feel like my chest is caving in.”

Kara looks at Lena now. She looks so young, she is young. Her power suits and makeup and air of command and defiance all make her seem almost matronly but here with Kara that mask is gone and beneath it is her true self, her secret self that not even their friends see, a young girl who’s never been young.

Just like Kara.

“What if you woke up and the dream came true?”

“Sometimes,” Kara admits, “I wonder if you’re real. I used to dream of things when I floated in my pod and they seemed so real…”

“It’s real, Kara,” Lena whispers, soft and breathy. “It’s real and I’m not going anywhere. Nothing has to change. It’s just going to evolve. I know what you want to say and I’ve been scared of it too. What you’re saying, I can feel it in my soul… when the Luthors took me in, I used to dream that my mom was alive. I’d wake up smelling breakfast and hearing her sing and when I realized it was just a dream it was like she died again every morning.”

“I love you.”

Lena stares at her. Kara hears Lena’s steady pulse flutter and begins to stammer.

“I know I’ve said it before. I mean I’m in love with-“

Lena presses a finger to her lips.

“I know. Stop telling me and show me.”

Kara freezes, not sure what she meant. Lena twisted languidly and leaned towards her. Kara freezes briefly and then just lets go, moving on instinct. Using a little strength she pulls Lena into her lap, gently touches her chin, and tilts her back a touch, to kiss her.

It is at once tentative and soft and absolutely explosive. Kara forces back tears, as Lena embraces her with all her strength, molding herself to Kara as if she means to climb inside her. For all her urgency, her kiss is just as delicate, just as tender and exploratory.

It is as it has always been. They compliment each other perfectly, moving together without a word needed, Kara breaks the kiss because Lena needs air and lowers her to the grass, fully on top of her now, brushing lose strands of hair back from her face to kiss her again and again and again, each kiss ah apology, each brushing of lips a lament for time lost.

They could have been doing this for years.

Lena arches under her, grinding hungrily, kissing her furiously. She moans softly as Kara’s hands find bare skin and Kara murmurs a Kryptonian prayer against her lips, and her thighs rise to bracket Kara’s hips.

Kara feels it all. The desire, the lust, the need, and above all the unbridled joy. This is no dream. It’s real. It’s happening. It’s…

“Eww,” Alex says.

Kara snaps up, acutely aware that her hand is halfway up Lena’s now-askew top, and that Lena has leg-locked them together. Lena lets her head fall back and peers up at Alex.

“Eliza sent me to find you two. Dinner is ready,” Alex sighs, then turns, muttering,

“Get a room. Sheesh.”

Lena cracks first, unleashing a gale of laughter.

“Let me go,” she protests.

Kara lets her…. briefly. Play-wrestling ensues, and Lena just know that Kara is letting her win as they roll in the grass, but it no longer matters. Lena is flushed and grass-stained and joy burns her in her eyes and-

“Come on!” Alex bellows.

Kara helps her up, and they head for the house.

[shotmrmiller]

y'all know davy jones who can only step on land once every decade?

right, make that Simon, but he's something else.

He shows up hours before someone's passing. An inky nondescript shadow that blends into the background, unnoticed by most. But to those whose final specks of sand trickle through their hourglass?

They see him.

An entity condemned to a lifetime of servitude. A wretched, pitiful existence. Something that saps the life out of everything it touches. Something that can't feel the warm rays of the sun seep into his skin, can't smell petrichor in the dewy morning, when the world begins to wake.

He lives yet he doesn't. An eternity of suffering, of wishing he never begged for a way out of the braided strands of hemp that had tightened around his neck for his crimes so long ago.

His freedom forfeit the moment he pleaded for it.

With a lantern that glows an eerie green, he leads deceased souls to their final destination, even the ones who resist, who cling futilely to life, to what is no longer theirs.

Some might call him death, others Hermes. The only name he's ever cared for is his own, the one that his mother had given him back when men still sailed the seas in search of treasure, when men and women alike were hung at the gallows.

But now he is a nameless servant of the natural order that guides them all.

However, he was also given a boon. One single day, out of every ten years, the tight collar around his neck comes off, and he turns human.

A man of flesh and blood.

His lungs fill with the crisp, biting air that he never feels. Cheeks sting from the cold. Fingertips numb without gloves.

For one blessed night, the heart in his chest beats. For one blessed night, his body is warm, flush with life.

And it's been this way for as long as he can remember. He would roam the docks of back then, the briny air stinging his nose, the dulled thumping of hooves resounding in his ears. The chants of drunken men coming from inside lit taverns.

He roamed when cars began to be a form of transportation, when children, boys, began marching to war.

He had been so busy, then.

And he roams now, in the modern age, where medicine forestalls the inescapable.

But then, you. Blood rushes to his face the moment he lays eyes on you. His throat dries, turns to the paper that's used to strip paint.

He's never seen something so beautiful. So plump with vitality, life coursing through your veins. A sweet little thing, whose dulcet voice makes his knees weak.

And when you shake hands with him, palm engulfed in his much larger one, as you ask him for his name, his tongue feels as if it's coated with tar, swollen and heavy. But he garbles out his response anyway.

"Simon."

The way you breathe it back, like a sigh from a lover, could still his heart.

Everything else is a blur, his eyes only ever focused on you when he ends up in your arms, in between your spread thighs, inviting him where no creature such as he belongs.

But he's always yearned for what was never his, and so with fervor, he takes. Grabs at soft skin, and whimpers at the fact that you're not dead with his touch. Surrenders himself to you, completely; makes the little dove under him sing until the short arm on the clock gets close to 12.

This is where he departs, with a promise he swears to never break, and wrenches his heart out of his own chest, placing it in your gentle hands.

He swears to come back for it, once every ten years.

Whenever Simon turns back to whatever he's cursed with being, he keeps a keen eye on you. And then the one time he passes by, feeling like nothing but an artic breeze to you, he sees your life is close to an end.

Simon, for once in his pathetic existence, saves a human life. The car that crashes into you at a lethal speed, does nothing but total your vehicle. It is considered an absolute miracle to everyone, except you.

That should've been your demise. That should've been it.

His little dove, too smart for her own good.

The time will soon come again, and when his head rests on your chest, listening to the lulling sounds of your heart beating, will he tell you what he is.

(maybe, or not idk)

"It's a heady tonic. Holding life and death in the palm of your own hand."

[sanemistar]

Gojo x female!reader Gojo being complete in love with reader where everyone but her can see it (they totally end up together)

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 i’m in love with you — satoru gojo

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: gojo x fem!reader ᡣ𐭩 genre: fluff ᡣ𐭩 wc: 1.2k ᡣ𐭩 warnings: quite a lot of fluff lol ᡣ𐭩 a/n: i was listening to i’m in love with you by 1975 (hence the title) but the fic isn’t based on the song ! anyways i hope you enjoy it <33

who would’ve guessed that satoru would find himself falling in love with someone. his whole life he’s been busy achieving one victory after the other, proving himself as the strongest man alive. but even the strongest men are weak against the power of love. he can’t seem to pinpoint what exactly happened that introduced him to such feeling, was it her lovely smile, the way she says his name ever so sweetly, her warmth, or her interesting and cheerful personality. maybe all of these reasons combined, he isn’t really sure. but what he’s sure of is that he’s madly in love with her.

but to satoru’s misfortune the one person he’s very much in love with happens to be an oblivious girl such as yourself. everyone around him wonders how you haven’t noticed him yet and how he’s never tired of waiting for you to finally see his undying feelings for you.

for some reason, you can’t seem to notice the subtle hints he’s been giving you despite knowing each other for quite some time. but one thing you do notice though is how different he treats you from everyone else, how he smiles kindly at you and how his beautiful ocean blue eyes are always on you as if you're the only person in the world. all of these things have eventually made you fall for him, yet you're too scared to say anything so you keep your feelings inside.

then on one hot summer day, when you and satoru are hanging out together as usual on his free time, he asks you to go with him to the beach to cool down a little from the heat. to which you agree, you simply can't say no to going to the beach, especially on summer days.

you and satoru walk side by side along the shore. the cool breezing wind blowing in your direction, your sundress rustling and your beautiful hair swaying gracefully. satoru steals a few glances at you when you're not looking, admiring your beauty under the bright sunlight.

his train of thoughts is cut short when he suddenly feels your hand grabbing his as you drag him into the water and start splashing some water on him.

"take this." satoru playfully announces as he splashes water all over you.

"satoruuu that’s not fair! i’m all wet now.” you pout, water dripping from your hair as you’re almost fully drenched. earning yourself a mischievous grin from him.

some time passed by with you and satoru playing together in the cool water before you start to feel a little worn out from staying under the sun for that long.

"wanna sit down a little? you seem tired." he suggests upon seeing a slight exhausted look on your face. to which you nod as you follow him and sit on one of the big rocks near the sea.

satoru dries up almost completely but notices that you’re still quite drenched, so he wraps his towel around you. you can smell his scent all over it, hugging you like a warm blanket on a cold night. you smile as you hold the towel closer to your body.

the two of you fall silent for the first time since coming to the beach, but you don’t mind it. you never feel awkward when there’s any silence between you two, it’s always rather comfortable. you let yourself focus on the beautiful scenery in front of you, the sky is painted in a beautiful, breathtaking mixture of different shades of red and orange as the sun is about to set. meanwhile, satoru’s gaze is locked onto you, not paying any attention to the scenery. because to him your face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

the atmosphere remains calm for a while, with the two of you enjoying the quiet moment in each other’s presence. until satoru decides to speak up, breaking the silence.

“you see, my friend has a crush on this girl, and he’s been giving her lots of hints, but she’s too oblivious to notice that he likes her. what do you think he should do?” a puzzled expression can be seen on your face, since you’re not used to hearing satoru talk about love and romance. you pause there for a good minute thinking of an answer before you start speaking.

“i think he should just come forward and tell her about his feelings straight up.” you reply. however, there’s no reaction from him, which quite worries you.

after a few moments, he smiles at you and gently holds your hand, treating it as if he’s touching a delicate piece of glass.

“what if i tell you that the friend i mentioned earlier was me and the oblivious girl he likes is actually you. i’m in love with you, y/n.” satoru’s announcement comes off to you as quite the big surprise; gojo satoru, the most exceptional man in the world, likes you? an ordinary girl with average qualities. you couldn’t see that coming, not even in your dreams. his words ring repeatedly in your ears over and over.

you connect the dots and finally everything makes perfect sense, why satoru gives you a special treatment from everyone else, why he never looks down on you no matter how many mistakes you make, why he never turns down a chance to spend time with you. it all becomes crystal clear to you, because he likes you.

you’re still trying to process the news you’ve just received, and he sits there in anticipation, waiting for you to say something back.

rather than saying anything, you simply let the towel slide off your body as it moves on its own and you pull him into a hug, resting your ear against his muscular chest, feeling his heartbeat ringing like a melody.

“i love you too, satoru!” you happily announce, finally telling him the three words he’s been waiting to hear from you since meeting you.

satoru breaks the hug and lifts your chin up with his thumb, your eyes meet his ocean blue ones in a gentle gaze full of love and affection. he leans in closer to you, closing the gap between you two and his lips capture your soft ones in a loving, passionate kiss. you close your eyes shut, savoring the sweet taste of his lips. you wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, your fingers run through the locks of his soft silver hair. his strong arms securely wrapped around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible, leaving no space between you and him.

your lips part ways after a series of long, passionate kisses due to the lack of oxygen. overwhelmed by the sensation, you still feel a bit lightheaded and dizzy as if you’re drunk.

“if only you could see how beautiful you look right now.” you blush like crazy upon hearing his statement, earning yourself a mischievous grin from your now boyfriend, satoru.

the next day satoru walks in with your hands intertwined and proudly announces to everyone that you’re his girlfriend as you and him are now officially a couple, and everyone congratulates you on finally getting together.

[httplilyyy]

𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 || 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐎

pairing: alessia russo x reader

summary: pumpkin picking and carving with your girlfriend

warnings: nothing but fluff

word count: 2.5k

a/n: since my birthday is tomorrow, and despite my hiatus, i thought i’d give you guys a little present from me. happy halloween!

woso masterlist

It’s one of those perfect mid-October afternoons, where the world feels saturated in shades of orange, gold, and muted greens. The air is fresh with a slight bite of chill carried by the autumn breeze. 

Alessia sat in the passenger seat of the car beside you, practically bouncing in her spot as you pulled up to the pumpkin patch. 

When you had suggested this as a date Alessia was quick to agree, planning the whole day in her mind within seconds. 

Finding a space and putting the car in park, you smile at Alessia before getting out and walking to her side, opening the door for her. 

Alessia thanked you as she got out and pressed a gentle kiss against your cheek before heading to the boot of the car to get her coat. Once the two of you were wrapped up warm, you took Alessia by the hand and walked towards the entrance. 

The pumpkin patch stretched out like a golden canvas beneath a pale, overcast sky. Soft, dappled sunlight filtered through the thinning branches of towering trees, casting long shadows on the ground. 

Rows of pumpkins of all sizes dotted the field, their vibrant orange contrasting with the rough brown soil. Some were smooth and perfectly round, while others were lopsided or covered in twisting stems - each one unique in its own way. 

Along the edges of the field, old wooden fences, weathered and grey, line the pumpkin patch, while hay bales were stacked in small clusters, offering spots for families and couples to sit and take photos. 

The ground was strewn with dried leaves that crunch softly underfoot as you walked side by side with Alessia, the wind occasionally lifting a few into the air, sending them swirling in a lazy dance.

Your shoes left firm imprints in the soft dirt as you weave through the patch, the ends of your hair fluttering in the wind. Alessia came to a halt and kneeled to inspect a massive pumpkin, turning it in her hands before lifting it effortlessly. Her smile was infectious, wide and carefree, like the sun breaking through clouds. 

“You like that one?” you questioned, watching as Alessia inspected the pumpkin carefully. 

Alessia nodded, her smile expanding broadly. She looked back down at her pumpkin and made sure she held it tightly. 

“Do you want me to carry it?” you asked with your own smile forming on your face. 

“I’m okay,” Alessia said, appreciating your offer.  

The two of you continue your walk around the pumpkin patch as you desperately try to find the one for you. Alessia pointed out a few but they weren’t what you had in mind. 

Making your way deeper into the pumpkin patch, the rows of pumpkins seemed to stretch in every direction, a sea of orange, yellow and even speckled green. You would stop occasionally, bending down to pick up a pumpkin, feeling its weight, brushing off the bits of soil clinging to its bumpy surface. 

Picking up a particularly small, round pumpkin, you smile and hold it up so Alessia could see. 

“It’s the perfect size,” you teased, securing it in your arms. 

Alessia chuckles and shakes her head, resting her cheek on your shoulder as she looks down at the pumpkin you had chosen. 

“The bigger the better,” Alessia played along, gesturing to her pumpkin. 

“At least mine has character,” you said smugly. 

“Mine is definitely the winner, perfectly round, no weird bumps. I could go on,” Alessia said competitively. 

“That’s the winner?” you scoffed with a grin. “As if.”

“What?” Alessia said, pouting teasingly. “Don’t have an argument to back your pumpkin up?”

“Mine speaks for itself,” you shrug, looking at your pumpkin proudly. 

“It looks like it’s already  been through Halloween and back!” Alessia said, unable to hold in her laugh. “Mine’s classic, sleek - it’s practically a pumpkin model.”

“Yours is too perfect,” you said with mock seriousness “No personality. My pumpkin has stories to tell. This stem alone - look at that! It’s like it’s been through the pumpkin apocalypse.”

“Mmm,” Alessia hummed, tilting her head to examine your pumpkin. “I’ll give you the stem. But mine will have the perfect face for carving. Yours might end up looking like it’s melting.”

“Only because it’ll have the most expressive face!” you grinned. “Yours is too symmetrical - it’s going to be boring.”

Alessia couldn’t contain her laughter any more as she stood beside you. She held up her pumpkin next to yours and compared them.  

“What if we make a deal?” Alessia proposed. “We each carve our pumpkins tonight and we’ll let our dog decide who’s looks best.”

“Deal,” you said, smirking. “But don’t get mad when Bear chooses mine.”

“Please, he’s going straight to mine without second thought,” Alessia said, scoffing. 

The two of you exchange competitive but lighthearted glances, knowing it’s all in good fun before continuing their search through the patch, joking about which pumpkins would make the most ridiculous or impressive carvings.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, amber hue over the pumpkin patch, the two of you made your way to the checkout area with your pumpkins nestled carefully in your arms. 

At the small wooden booth near the entrance, the cashier greets you both with a friendly smile. You let Alessia place her pumpkin down first before you place yours with exaggerated effort. 

“You two have some great picks there,” the cashier said with a smile. “Going to do some carving tonight?”

“Oh, definitely,” Alessia grinned. “We’ve got a competition going - best carved pumpkin wins bragging rights for the whole season.”

“Not that I’ll need the bragging rights, since mine’s obviously going to win,” you said cockily. 

The cashier laughs, handing the receipt to you after a brief exchange of payment. You both thank the cashier, and with pumpkins in hand, head toward their car. 

The gravel crunches underfoot as you approach the car, and after a bit of manoeuvring, you carefully secure your pumpkins in the back. Double checking the seat belt around your pumpkin, you hum happily before sitting in the driver's seat. 

“Is that necessary?” Alessia teased, waiting for you to start the car. 

“Obviously,” you grinned, turning on the ignition. 

Pulling out of the car parking space, you begin to make your way home. Golden fields and trees turning shades of orange and yellow flash past as you drive through the country roads. 

The windows are slightly cracked, letting in the fresh, cool air as a playlist of Alessia’s choice fills the car.

“So, are you ready to lose tonight?” you said, glancing over at Alessia with a smirk. 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Alessia grinned, looking out at the road ahead. “I’ve got the perfect design in mind.”

“Let me guess,” you said teasingly, “something pretty and perfectly symmetrical?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Alessia laughed. “Yours is probably going to end up with mismatched eyes or a crooked smile.”

“It adds personality,” you shrug, glancing over at Alessia again. 

“Yours is going to look like it got hit by a tractor,” Alessia added playfully. 

“Hey!” you said in faux hurt. “You didn’t mean that.”

Alessia laughed once more as you continued to drive. The drive through the countryside was serene, with the orange and red hues of the sunset fading into purples and blues, the soft glow of headlights lighting up the road ahead. 

The car smells faintly of apples, hay, and damp earth, a lingering reminder of their afternoon in the pumpkin patch. Alessia leant her head against the window, watching the landscape blur while you hummed along to a song with your hand resting casually on the wheel. 

The trees along the way seem to catch the last light of day, glowing in rich, warm tones. It’s peaceful, and the teasing back and forth between you two only adds to the cosy, playful atmosphere.

Finally turning onto your road, the lights of nearby houses begin to twinkle on, and you begin to imagine the mess of pumpkin guts and seeds that awaits you both once you start carving. 

The moment Alessia opens the front door, your dog, Bear, bounds over to greet you both. It was clear that he had been waiting eagerly for you two to return, ears perked and nose sniffing curiously at the pumpkins you carried inside.

You bring the pumpkins inside, setting them down on the kitchen table with a thud before going to get a couple of carving tools from a drawer and lay them out neatly on the table.

“Hey, Bear,” you laugh, kneeling down to pet him. “Did you miss us?”

“I think he’s more interested in those pumpkins than us,” Alessia chuckled, leaning against the counter. 

Bear, still wagging his tail, sniffs at the pumpkins eagerly as if trying to figure out what new game you’d brought home for him. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and he nosed at the table as though offering to help.

“You think you can carve, too?” you asked Bear teasingly. “Maybe we should’ve gotten him a mini pumpkin to work on.”

“He would’ve ended up eating it,” Alessia laughed, giving Bear a playful scratch behind the ears. 

A few candles flicker in the background, casting a warm glow around the room. The air smells faintly of cinnamon from a candle burning on the counter, and the windows reveal the darkening evening outside, with the sky now a deep shade of twilight.

Two large bowls sit nearby, one for you and the other for Alessia to put the pumpkin seeds and guts the two of you’ll scoop out.

“Alright, no backing out now,” Alessia teased as she tied her hair back. 

“May the best pumpkin win,” you smile, picking up your knife of choice. 

With a laugh, you both dig in, starting by cutting around the tops of their pumpkins. The scraping sound of knives cutting through thick pumpkin skin fills the air, along with the occasional groan or playful complaint.

After a bit of effort, you both pull off the tops of their pumpkins, revealing the stringy, gooey insides. Alessia scrunches her nose a little but dives in, scooping out handfuls of seeds and pulp, tossing them into the bowl.

“This part is always so gross,” Alessia said, wiping her hands on a tea towel.  

“Forfeiting already?” you asked teasingly. 

“You wish,” Alessia said, going back into her pumpkin. 

Bear watched intently, his head tilted as you and Alessia scooped out the pumpkin guts, clearly interested in the new smells filling the room.

“What do you think, Bear,” you said, pretending to offer him a handful of pumpkin guts. “Want to help us clean up?”

Bear sniffed at the stringy pulp, but quickly backed away, wrinkling his nose in distaste, earning a laugh from you and Alessia.

“I guess that’s a no,” Alessia grinned. 

You both work in relative silence for a bit, the sounds of squishing pumpkin innards and scraping echoing through the room, interspersed with the occasional playful comment.

Once the pumpkins were hollowed out, you moved on to the carving part. The two of you hunched over your respective pumpkins with intense concentration.

Bear settled at your feet, laying down but keeping a close eye on the action. Every so often, he’d lift his head, watching intently as you both carve, especially when pieces of pumpkin hit the floor. You’d toss him small bits to nibble on, but mostly he seemed content just to be part of the fun.

Alessia’s lines were neat and precise as she carved with care, creating a symmetrical, classic jack-o’-lantern face with sharp, triangular eyes and a toothy grin. You, on the other hand, were freehanding your design, occasionally stepping back to check the progress. Your lines were a bit more erratic, but you clearly enjoyed the process.

“Is that supposed to be a smile?” Alessia asked, glancing over at your pumpkin. “It looks more of a grimace.”

“It’s a smile with attitude,” you grin. “Besides, personality wins.”

“Well,” Alessia said with mock seriousness. “Personality isn’t going to save you when mine is clearly superior.”

“We’ll see,” you said, leaning back to admire your work.

After a while, you both finish carving, stepping back to admire your creations. Alessia’s pumpkin is almost picture-perfect with symmetrical, clean lines and an evenly carved smile and eyes. 

Yours is a bit more lopsided, with one eye larger than the other and a mischievous, crooked grin.

“Mine’s definitely the better one,” Alessia said, crossing her arms with a proud grin. 

“Yours is too perfect,” you chuckle. “At least mine has character.” 

“Character my ass,” Alessia grumbled playfully. 

“What was that?” you teased, leaning closer to Alessia. 

“Keep those hands away,” Alessia laughed, dodging your pumpkin gut covered hands with a mock glare. 

Moving towards the drawer, you pull out two tea light candles and hand one to Alessia. Together, you light the small candles and place them inside before turning off the lights. The room was instantly filled with a soft, flickering glow as the candles illuminated their designs.

“Okay, I’ll admit yours looks better in the dark,” Alessia said, gazing at hers with a smile. “But mine still looks the best.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you smile, wrapping your arm around Alessia’s waist. “Mine wins in the dark and everyone knows that’s the true test.”

“Bear still hasn’t decided yet,” Alessia said. resting her cheek on your shoulder. 

“Let’s see shall we?” you smile, taking the candle out of your pumpkin and placing it on the floor whilst Alessia did the same. 

You turn back on the lights and see Bear watching the pumpkins with quiet fascination. You stand beside Alessia and watch Bear quietly as he sniffed the pumpkins curiously. 

He takes a longer sniff at Alessia’s and sits down in front of it, nuzzling his nose through the pumpkins carved out mouth. 

“See,” Alessia said with a triumphant grin. “Bear thinks mine is the best.”

You let out a small huff and hang your head in defeat, accepting your fate before you hear a crunch. Looking back up, Bear seemed to be eating something but it wasn’t a pumpkin. 

Gasping, you turn to Alessia in shock, “You cheat!”

“Hm?” Alessia hummed with a grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You hid a treat inside your pumpkin!” you said, crossing your arms. 

“No,” Alessia drawled teasingly. “I’d never.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you chuckle, pulling her in by that waist and placing a delicate kiss on her lips. 

The two of you part at the sound of Bears whining and you kneel down to give him some kisses too. 

“I love you too, Bear,” you smile. 

Getting back to your feet, you and Alessia head to the living room with Bear hot on your heels. You both settle down on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around you for extra warmth as Bear rested his head on your thigh. 

Alessia turned on the t.v and flicked through Netflix trying to find something to watch before deciding on ‘Beetlejuice’. Pressing play on the movie, the two of you cuddle up together with Alessia resting her head on your shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. 

Feeling left out, Bear pawed at your hand causing you to chuckle softly and begin to stroke through his fur. Letting out a content sigh, Bear watched you and Alessia, clearly satisfied with his role as the evening’s honorary pumpkin-carving companion.

[comfortless]

Everything you write leaves me breathless <333

Sorry in advance for my English

I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)

granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.

The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.

It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.

She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…

There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.

Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.

He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.

The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.

This does not dissuade him from returning.

Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.

He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.

Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.

It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.

The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.

It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.

Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.

“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.

König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.

This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.

He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.

The statue— the goddess moves.

She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.

“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.

König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.

“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.

Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”

All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.

His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.

He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.

She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.

He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.

König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.

Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.

When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.

So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.

He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.

The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.

She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…

She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.

“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.

There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.

She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.

“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”

The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.

“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.

She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.

The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.

The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.

[crguang]

ocean eyes

You’ve never seen the ocean. Kafka introduces you to it.

fluffy as fawk, recycled the idea from that fic but it’d be like a prequel technically, 2.3k words

A/N: couldn’t stop thinking about kafka loving the sea she’s made for me atp. title only makes sense because of the other fic lol

The sea breeze washes over your being, it caresses each strand of hair and softly touches your skin like gentle hands cupping your cheeks. You feel it in your ears, a sound you’re hearing for the first time; its warmth seems to enter your lungs and clear it of past impurities with every inhale, and you wish to take a deep breath to keep it inside your chest forever.

The sensation leaves you immobile. In front of you, the ocean. A myth come true, its beauty rivaling Idrila’s. It’s vast, bigger than your mind can comprehend even after so many years spent traveling the cosmos, and a deeper blue than the sky it’s reflecting. Water has never been so alive, with waves crashing on the shore and currents on the horizon, you are facing an entity larger than life. Its depths create and harbor life that you won’t ever get to see. Your mortal eyes can only perceive a fraction of it, so small and significant. You didn’t think it was possible for water to kiss the sky, having the proof before you fills you with wonderment. Among it, some strange feeling nestles in your throat. You stand as it curls around your vocal cords and leaves you mute. Words are useless in front of something so grand, you realize, they fade away as if they've never existed at all. You lose yourself in cold blues and the occasional whites of flying seagulls, in salty air that quickly becomes your favorite scent, and you can’t speak for a long moment.

Lithe fingers, laced with your calloused ones, tighten their hold on your hand. It takes a couple blinks to tear your eyes away from the boundless sea, and you turn to Kafka’s fond smile. She’s watching you, drinking you in like you’re the precious sight and not the limitless expanse of water on the coast. A thumb swipes over the crease of your eye, lingering at the corner for a second too long, and you realize she’s wiping a tear away.

“Oh,” you exhale softly, bringing your free hand to your face. Your cheeks are wet with silent tears and you sniffle as you wipe them from your skin. “I didn’t even notice.”

“What were you thinking about so intently just now?”

You look back at the sea, an ache in your throat. The sun hides behind thin clouds and paints the world in soft colors.

“I was wondering if my planet was ever this pretty. I wish my mother could have seen it.”

Your home world fell victim to a Stellaron, like plenty throughout the galaxy. It dried most of your rivers and evaporated many of your lakes, transforming seas into lands full of sand. Water was a limited resource and a tedious thing to acquire. You remember stumbling on a picture book with various shades of blue filling some of the pages and asking your mother about it. That evening, she explained the ocean to you; never-ending, deeper than mortals can comprehend and filled with creatures your childish mind could merely compare to alien life. You thought she was making stuff up, maybe embellishing a mundane truth, but she spoke of the sea with the same tenderness she used to tuck you into bed. As you grew, you understood that it was longing in her words, a deep desire for something she would never experience in this lifetime. To you, it felt pointless to yearn for something she didn’t know; your mother was born long after the Stellaron infected your planet and spread its cancer to the roots of your world. You didn’t understand how this desire was born, where it came from. Yet, in her eyes resided a wistfulness that was only extinguished the day she died. She left the waking world longing for the sea, and memories of her constrict your chest as you stand at the edge of it.

Kafka hums, pivoting to face the water. A gentle silence settles between you as you watch the waves rise and fall on the shore. Her bare palm is warm against yours, it grounds you to the sand beneath your feet. Seagulls make a grating sound, you discover, but even their squawking can’t ruin the view before you. You feel a sudden restlessness to touch the water, to have it envelop you entirely until you feel yourself disappear in it as if absorbed.

“Can we go in the water?”

Kafka smiles. “Sure.”

Your hand slips from hers and you step out of your slides, sinking your toes into the hot sand of the beach. Sand is something you’re familiar with, it reminds you of your mom and your broken world. Comfort fills you with every step towards the waves. Kafka follows beside you, used to the sights and the sensations. She comes here every summer, but this is the first time she’s brought you along. You understand why she’d want a place like this all to herself, it brings forth a sense of serenity best enjoyed in solitude. Or, at least it did, before. Before experience brought you closer.

You hesitate somewhat once you reach the water. Your feet are submerged in it and suddenly its vastness becomes a little terrifying. Kafka walks in further until she’s standing waist deep in the water, circling hands creating ripples around her. She turns to face you with a silent question on her stretched lips.

“…I don’t know how to swim,” you confess uselessly, prompting a chuckle out of her. She knows that, obviously, since you’re unfamiliar with large bodies of water.

“We can stay on the shallow end. Don’t want you drowning on my watch, I’d get in a lot of trouble with the others.”

Kafka holds out her hand. You take it with some reticence. She brings you close enough for wet fingers to squeeze your waist affectionately. Her easy expression makes you at ease, she seems different on this planet, more carefree. She’s not wearing her contacts and her ponytail is lower than usual, its tie looser around her long locks of hair. You’re privy to a side of her you had no idea existed and you’re honored by the trust she puts in you.

“Nice, right?”

“It’s cold,” you reply, looking down at your wobbly reflections.

“Mm, I like it.”

You dip your hands beneath the water and turn your palms to the sky. Algae brushes against your calves as you move around. Kafka lets you explore, head tilting back to face the sun. You venture a bit further until your neck is the only thing sticking out of the water. Impulsively, you squeeze your eyes shut, pinch your nose with two fingers and sink into the water. Every sound is muffled in your ears, and in the darkness everything is pointless. This is different from a shower or being caught in the pouring rain, you feel light. weightless, insignificant. You wonder if that’s what your mother longed for, this freedom to be anything and anyone, drifting through the boundless sea. You emerge with a little gasp, rubbing the water out of your eyes before blinking them open.

You’re careful not to stray too far from where Kafka is drinking in the faint sunlight. Her eyes are closed when you glance back at her, chin tilted to the heavens. Her shoulders have turned a rosier color from the sun and her dark, backless bathing suit contrasts beautifully with the clear ocean blue. You walk towards her, flicking your wrist to send water flying her way. Her brows twist for a second before she looks at you with a small smile. Kafka always smiles a lot, more often than not to unsettle her opponent or prey, but there’s a softer edge to the ones she’s had since you arrived on this planet.

“What do you usually do here?” You ask, moving closer to her.

“Float. Wanna try?” Kafka holds onto your waist when you’re close enough to reach, pulling you towards her. “I can show you.”

“I don’t want to drown.”

“You’re not going to drown.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Kafka playfully rolls her eyes and takes hold of your chin with a few fingers. Her gaze follows the movement of her thumb across your jaw, then flicks up to meet yours.

“I wouldn’t let you,” she says, leaning in to press her lips on yours in a soft kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as her mouth slowly moves against yours. She pulls away after a moment and looks at you. “Do you trust me?”

“At times.”

“Well, trust me now.”

One of her hands is placed on the small of your back to support you, the other gently guides you onto your back by applying pressure on your chest.

“What if I float away,” you say, a tinge of panic enveloping you, and you grab her wrist to stay upright.

Kafka can’t help the amusement on her face. “To where?”

“Far, I don’t know.”

“Would you miss me?”

You pout. “It’s a valid fear to have.”

“It’s really not.”

“What if I float to the deep end, then it’s too late to come back and I drown because I can’t swim?”

Kafka looks at you for a moment, eyelids lowering and an amused smile on her lips. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like she’s thinking of something funny.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“You killed three flying beasts twice your size at once, last week. You're scared of a little water?”

“Fuck you,” you try pushing her away, but she only presses you further into her with her arms around your waist, a laugh escaping her. “There’s nothing little about the fucking ocean.”

“Relax,” she drawls, “it won’t work if you’re tense.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Kafka curls a hand around the back of your neck and suddenly brings you closer to capture your lips with hers. Her head tilts to kiss you better, and you can’t focus on anything but the sweet kisses she presses against your mouth. Your wet hand trails up her spine, causing droplets of water to slide down her back. Your lips part to deepen the kiss when her tongue swipes over your bottom lip. You forget the argument, your muscles relax as her chest touches yours, and by the time she pulls away with a soft exhale through her nose, you almost forget your surroundings. You chase her lips as she leans back, planting a few more chaste kisses on her mouth. She indulges you for a minute, the fingers on your nape tightening their grip for an instant. You’re breathing heavier when she separates from you for good and smiles.

“Now, let’s try it again, mmh?”

Kafka teaches you how to float in the water with firm hands and occasional teasing jabs to which you would respond if she wasn’t the one standing between you and drowning. In the end, you spend most of the day at sea, learning how to keep water from going up your nose without using your fingers and the basics of swimming. Your fingertips are pruned hours later as you emerge from the water. Kafka’s still under— you bet on who could hold their breath the longest— so you dive back beneath the surface as quietly as you can. She calls you a cheater afterwards, but you distract her with wet, slippery kisses.

You’re drying yourselves on the beach as the sun sets below the horizon. You sit on your towel next to Kafka, who’s reclined on her elbows. Her eyes are closed, not a crease between her brows, and her head is tilted upwards. Before, you thought she was sunbathing, but now the temperature is slightly lower than this afternoon and the sun is no longer visible in the sky. You think perhaps she’s simply enjoying the sound of the waves and the salty air like you did earlier. It’s funny, she hasn’t told you what this place means to her; it clearly holds some sort of significance if she returns to it annually. Her way of revealing herself is unconventional at best and a little clumsy, like a fawn taking its first steps. She presents you the sea, this part of her she keeps hidden from everyone, and says nothing else. You watch the lines of her nose, the curves of her lips and their pretty pink color. Her face is bare from any makeup, her hair loose and her expression so relaxed she might’ve been asleep. She’s beautiful. You’re no longer gazing at the ocean, though you feel a familiar sense of wonder as you observe her. Your heart is light in your chest and you suddenly understand how your mother could yearn for something she’s never experienced before.

Kafka’s eyes slowly blink open. She tilts her head to meet your stare with a smile, and you long to love her like your mother longed for the sea.

“Let’s stay a little longer.”

You nod. Your limbs move before you can stop yourself; you straddle her waist, sitting on her lap and snaking your arms around her back. Kafka lets you bury your nose in the crook of her neck, using a hand in the sand to support the both of you.

“What’s that for?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice as you breathe in the smell of the sea on her skin.

“Nothing,” you lie, pressing a kiss to her skin.

Your mouth trails up her neck to her jaw, tasting salt, and Kafka hums when you kiss her lips. It feels different to kiss her after getting acquainted with the ocean because you finally have something to compare the weightlessness that overwhelms you with each of her fervish kisses. A hand tangles itself in your hair, pulling you closer until she reclines on the ground and your body follows without missing a beat, lips locked.

You pull away to breathe in, only slightly, reveling in the sensation of her hand up your back.

“You’ll get sand in my hair,” Kafka mutters into your mouth.

“I’ll wash it for you.”

On a deserted beach and with the sea as your witness, you kiss her until the moon ascends in the sky and the waves grow stronger behind you.

[shadowdaddies]

Freedom

Helion x Reader fluff

A/N: this is a self-indulgent one-shot; I've been daydreaming about riding a pegasus through the Day Court for awhile

Dried hay crunched underneath your boots, the smell of Helion’s barn - if you could even refer to the palatial home for his pegasi as such - wafting fresh apples and grass through your nose.

Stepping aside as he held the door open for you, you smiled up at the High Lord, blushing under his charming gaze. Following behind you, Helion placed a large hand to the small of your back, guiding you past stalls of pegasi until you reached the end of the walkway.

Stopping in front of a large white mare, you gasped at the beautiful creature, her stark coloring almost iridescent in the daylight. “She is yours,” Helion murmured in your ear, nipping the skin there as his strong arms wrapped around your waist.

“Mine?” you whispered, breathless as you turned to Helion with wide eyes. Full lips spread into a bright smile that sent your heart aflutter, the High Lord nodding in confirmation.

A gleeful laugh escaped your lips, hands sliding up Helion’s muscular frame to pull his lips to yours. Pulling back slightly, you let his forehead rest against your own. In a poor attempt to contain your excitement, you whispered, “can we go for a ride?”

“Of course, Sunshine.”

Letting out a squeal of excitement, you stepped aside to let Helion open the gate, following him into the stall where you greeted the beautiful creature. Reaching out a tentative hand, a surprised laugh escaped you at the eagerness with which the creature nuzzled into your touch.

“She already likes you,” Helion noted with a proud smile, moving around to the animal’s side to secure her saddle.

As you ou ran your hands along her neck and mane, you allowed her to nudge you closer into an embrace, her feathered wings relaxing behind her. 

“We’re ready to go,” Helion announced from where he stood in front of you, bringing you out of the moment with your pegasus. With a last pat on her shoulder, you released the mare and walked toward Helion.

With a gracious smile, the High Lord knelt into the hay, hands knitted together in front of him in a make-shift stepping stool. “Allow me to help you up,” he purred, making you blush furiously as you took a tentative step into his hand, swinging your other leg over the horse as he lifted you.

With seemingly no effort, Helion slid into the saddle behind you. “Are you ready?” he asked, hands winding around your waist to grip the pommel. 

You looked down at the pegasus, noting the lack of reins. As if reading your thoughts Helion patted the mare’s neck, urging her forward. “She doesn’t need me to tell her where to go. There’s a spot I want to show you, that she takes me to.”

You nodded, smiling through the nerves and excitement as you trotted out of the barn and into the green pasture. 

“Let’s go, girl,” Helion murmured, tapping the creature’s hide affectionately. Without warning, the pegasus started running with impressive speed, and you looked up to see you were headed straight for the cliff’s edge.

“Helion,” you muttered, voice trembling as you gripped his arms for any sense of security. You were nearing the sharp drop off that led into the ocean, heart pounding harder than the beast’s hooves against the dirt. “Helion!”

“You are safe with me,” he promised, his warm body enveloping yours as the pegasus dove off the edge of the earth and towards the sea below. Your stomach dropped, a small scream escaping your lips before white wings spread out beneath you, catching the air as you shifted into a glide just above the shimmering surface of the water.

Wind whipped around you, the cool breeze at odds with the warm sun on your skin. It was a feeling unlike anything you’d experienced before, a freedom of losing your tether to the earth. 

You relaxed into Helion’s hold, enjoying how the magnificent creature wove through the skies with ease. She carried you along the cliffs, your reflection bright in the sparkling sea when you approached an inlet. The pegasus shifted, wings tilting to guide you around the corner to reveal a grand waterfall pouring into a small lake.

Large oak trees surrounded the oasis, multi-colored wildflowers blossoming everywhere you turned. You were so distracted by the beauty of it all, you hadn’t recognized the stupor you were in until the pegasus’s landing drew you out of it. 

Helion slid off her back, hands finding purchase on your waist as he helped you down. Words escaped you at the serene setting before you, like something from a masterpiece painting as the pegasus approached the water for a drink.

“This... This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you admitted, awestruck.

“This was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, before I met you,” Helion murmured, stepping around to take your hand, amber eyes focused on you as he pressed his lips to your skin.

He led you to the water’s edge, where each of you slipped off your shoes in favor of dipping your toes into the cool lake. You watched the pegasus as it rested by the waterfall, like something from a dream.

“What is her name?” you asked, nodding at the beautiful animal.

“Her name is Alzena. But I thought you could change it to whatever you please.”

You hummed, recognizing the name. “Alzena. Freedom.” Helion dipped his head, smiling with pride at your acknowledgment. “It’s perfect,” you smiled, thinking not only of the name, but everything about this moment.

Helion’s eyes glowed gold in the sunlight, his breathtaking beauty perfectly at home with this magical land. Flashing him a mischievous grin, you crawled into the High Lord’s lap, straddling his hips as your lips hovered over his own. “Care to go for a swim, my Lord?”

[simone8210]

Please, Change the Prophecy: Celebrimbor x Reader - Part I

Been working on this for the last couple of days. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 15.932, Present time = Normal, Past = Cursive

Please let me know what you think! Enjoy!

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The sea breeze clung to me as I stood at the helm of the ship, eyes fixed on the distant shores of Lindon. Home. We had been away for so long, chasing shadows and searching for Sauron in vain. But now, as the glittering towers of the city emerged from the mist, a hollow ache gnawed at my chest. I should have felt relief, or joy, but all I could feel was the weight of failure. And the silence that came after it. 

I glanced over at Galadriel, her gaze steely and resolute, despite the weariness in her features. The rest of the company had fallen into a quiet murmur, but none dared to meet her eyes after the mutiny. None except me. 

I had stood by her. How could I not? She was right. Sauron was out there, and we hadn’t yet found him. 

When the ship docked, and we disembarked, my feet felt heavy on the wooden pier. It felt odd to be back. I closed my eyes and let the warm sun and breeze try to calm me. I stood there for a moment relishing in the comforts of home. 

“Lady Arínel,” a voice said, breaking the tranquillity. I looked up and saw an Ellon standing there looking apologetic. 

“The High-King request your presence,” he informed. I nodded and moved to follow him before he stopped and offered me another apologetic look. “Perhaps, you might like to bathe and change first.” 

I looked down at myself and saw the grease on my armour. “Perhaps you’re right,” I replied with a small chuckle. 

______________________________________________________________

The warmth of the water cascaded over me, washing away the grime and fatigue from our long journey. I stood under the stream, letting the heat seep into my sore muscles, soothing the deep ache that had settled into my bones. My fingers trembled as I reached up to scrub away the dirt, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t scrub away the weight that clung to my heart. 

It had been months since I’d last felt truly clean, since I’d felt at home. And yet, here I was, standing in my own chambers in Lindon, feeling as though I didn’t belong. 

When I finally emerged from the bath, my skin pink from the heat, I dried myself off and looked at the simple tunic and trousers I had worn for so long. It felt strange to wear something so fine after decades of travelling, but I pulled on the regal gown that had been laid out for me, the deep blue fabric rich and heavy. It clinched at the waist with a delicate silver belt, the kind that matched my station, though I hadn’t felt like it for quite some time. The weight of the silver circlet they had placed beside the gown seemed like an unnecessary burden, but I slid it on anyway, knowing that my brother would expect me to appear formal. 

I looked at myself in the mirror. The contrast was stark. I no longer felt like the princess of the Noldor, though I had been one for centuries. But in that moment, I longed for the simplicity of the journey, the purpose I had clung to while following Galadriel into the unknown. 

But now we were back in Lindon. The search for Sauron had come to an end, though not in the way Galadriel and I, had intended. I couldn’t help but dread a little over the upcoming conversation. The High-King has summoned me. No doubt, he wants to speak about why I had followed Galadriel when he had called us back: Why I had defied his orders. 

I took a deep breath, smoothing down the gown before leaving my chambers and making my way through the familiar halls of the palace. Despite the grandeur, I felt uneasy, a stranger in my own home after so much time away. The weight of what had transpired hung over me as I approached my brother’s study. 

When I reached the door, I hesitated for a moment before knocking softly. 

“Enter,” Gil-Galad’s voice called from the other side, steady and authoritative, as always. 

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The warmth of the fire did little to soothe the flutter of nerves in my chest. The grand doors had closed behind me with a soft thud, leaving me alone with the brother I had not seen in many long years. He was standing by the window, his gaze cast out over the city as the evening light filtered through painting the room in a golden hue.  His regal figure outlined against the light. His presence had always commanded a room, but now, I could see the weight of his burden etched into his features. 

He turned when he heard my footsteps, and for a moment, the stern High-King of the Noldor disappeared. In his place, my older brother stood, the one who had once chased me through the meadows of Aman, laughing, calling me by our childhood names. His sharp gaze softened as he looked at me. 

“Nésa,” he breathed, crossing the room in a few long strides. His was warm, the Elvish term for ‘sister’ slipping from his lips like a cherished memory. His hands found my shoulders, and I saw the tension melt from his face as he took me in. 

I did not realise how much I had missed him until that moment. My throat tightened, and I could only manage a soft, “Toron-nín,” my voice trembling with emotion as I called him ‘my brother’. 

Without another word, Gil-Galad pulled me into his strong arms, holding me close. For a brief moment, the weight of the world felt far away, and I was simply his little sister again, safe in his embrace. I closed my eyes, sinking in the familiarity of it, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he held me tightly. 

“It brings me joy to see you again, and whole.” His voice was softer now, his expression one of relief. I could feel his concern, his worry, woven into words. 

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “And you, Toron,” I replied, my smile tentative, though my heart felt lighter just being in his presence. “I missed you.” 

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of my damp hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. “I missed you too, nethig,” he said, using the Elvish word for ‘little one’, a term of endearment that, despite our ages, he had never stopped using. 

For a moment neither of us spoke. The silence stretched comfortably between us, a welcome contrast to the tension that had weighed down my heart for so long. But then his expression turned more serious, and I saw the flicker of concern return to his eyes. 

“I wanted to commend you,” he began, his voice calm but carrying a hint of concern. “You showed great bravery by standing by Galadriel’s side when the others did not. Even though it went against my orders.” 

His words should have filled me with pride, but instead they made my heart ache. “I couldn’t abandon her,” I said quietly, glancing down at my hands. “Not when she was right.” 

Gil-Galad sighed softly. 

“Why did you go, Arínel? Truly?” His voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking the depth of his question. “When I called you all home…why did you follow Galadriel instead?”

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. I had known this question would come, and yet, I still wasn’t prepared for it. My gaze faltered, drifting toward the fire as I tried to gather my thoughts. 

“I believed in her cause,” I answered, though the words sounded weak, even to my own ears. “I went because I believed in her cause. Because I wanted to protect our people.” 

He sighed, his hand still resting on my shoulder. “I do not doubt your loyalty, nor your bravery. You were always loyal to a fault.” His eyes softened, searching my face. “But there was more to it, wasn’t there?”

I froze. I felt my heart clench. I looked up at him trying to play confused. 

“Is that all?” he asked, his tone gentle but probing. 

I swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. “Of course.” 

He raised an eyebrow, not convinced by my answer. “I’m your brother, Arínel. I know you well enough to know when you’re hiding something.” 

“I know not of what you speak.” I tried to deflect as I tried to get away from him. Away from the situation. But his grip on my shoulder grounded me as his eyes kept trying to search for mine.

The weight of his words pressed down on me, and I felt the familiar sting of regret rise in my chest. “It was nothing,” I muttered, hoping to brush it aside. 

But my brother wasn’t so easily deterred. “Was it…because of a certain Lord of Eregion?”

My breath caught in my throat, and I looked up at him, startled by his question. He watched me closely, his eyes filled with understanding. 

I swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotions from surfacing. “It wasn’t just Galadriel,” he said softly, leaning closer. “It was Celebrimbor.” 

My heart clenched at the sound of his name, and I looked away, ashamed of how transparent my feelings had become. I should have known I couldn’t hide the truth from my brother. Not after all these years. 

“Celebrimbor?” I echoed weakly, my voice barely a whisper. 

Gil-Galad’s expression was gently, yet unrelenting. “He is why you left, isn’t he? Why you followed Galadriel in the first place?” 

I looked away, my heart clenching painfully in my chest. This was the first time I’d heard it spoken aloud, the first time anyone had acknowledged the truth I had tried so hard to bury. 

“He rejected you, didn’t he?” He asked softly. 

The words hit harder than I expected, the truth of them breaking through the fragile walls I had built around my heart. My throat tightened, and for the first time, I allowed myself to fully acknowledge the depth of my own heartache. 

“Yes,” I whispered trembling, my voice barely audible. “He did. I thought… I thought if I left, I could forget.”

Gil-Galad’s brow furrowed, and he cupped my face in his hands, his touch tender and full of understanding. “Amin nethig,” he murmured softly, “Why did you not tell me?”

I couldn’t meet his gaze, not with the shame burning in my chest. “Because it was foolish,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “He…he never felt the same. And I –” I swallowed back a sob, the memory of that moment still raw in my mind. “I told him how I felt, and he… he was kind, but he did not love me. He never can.” 

The memory of Celebrimbor’s gentle rejection came rushing back – his kind eyes filled with regret as he explained that his heart belonged to his work; that he had no room for love. That I was dear to him, but not in the way I had hoped. 

My brother’s arms tightened around me, and he drew me close once more, pressing his forehead to mine in a gesture of comfort. “Lle naa amin mela, Arínel,” he whispered, the words slipping out in our native tongue. Though it was the love of a brother, it was fierce and unwavering. “You are not foolish. You are strong. Stronger than anyone I know.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I allowed myself to lean into his embrace, the pain of Celebrimbor’s rejection mingling with the comfort of my brother’s love.  “You are my beloved too, Toron,” I whispered back, repeating his words. 

“You deserved better,” Gil-Galad continued, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserved someone who could love you the way you loved him.” 

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his words sink in. “But I chose to love him, toron. Even if it was unreturned.” 

He pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes with a sad but understanding smile. “That is the truest kind of love, Arínel. But it does not mean you must suffer because of it.” 

For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to cry, my tears flowing freely as my brother held me close. His presence, his understanding, was enough to begin mending the cracks in my heart. 

______________________________________________________________

The gates of Eregion loomed tall and shining in the midday sun as I rode towards them. The white banners of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain fluttered in the breeze, their silver threads catching the light. My heart raced as the city of the jewel smiths came into view, gleaming and proud against the distant peaks. I had longed to come here – to see with my own eyes the work of the great craftsmen of Eregion, and more importantly, to learn from the master himself: Lord Celebrimbor. 

My arrival was met with honour and grandeur, befitting my station as a princess of the Noldor. Yet, the titles felt foreign to me here. Eregion had its own grandeur, and though I was addressed formally as “Lady Arínel,” I sensed a difference – a warmth that was rare in the courts of Lindon. This place was filled with scholars and creators, not statesmen or soldiers. It was a world of beauty and invention, where the weight of titles seemed less important than the joy of creation.

As I dismounted, one of Celebrimbor’s advisors approached me, bowing respectfully. “Lady Arínel, we are honoured by your visit. Lord Celebrimbor awaits you in the great hall. Will you allow us to escort you?” 

I nodded graciously, though my heart pounded in anticipation. I had heard so much about him – the last heir of Fëanor’s line, a master craftsman, and a leader with a mind that shaped wonders. It had been some time since we had met, only briefly, when he had come to court with my brother Gil-Galad. He had spoken to me little then, but there had been a spark of something in his eyes – kindness, curiosity. It was that spark that had stayed with me all these years. 

The hall of Celebrimbor’s house was vast, filled with light from the tall windows and tapestries woven with silver and gold. When he appeared, walking toward me, his presence commanded the room without effort. He was dressed simply, a smith’s apron still over his fine tunic, but there was an elegance about him. His hazel hair kept shorter than most with curls. His piercing warm eyes that held a wisdom and intensity that left me breathless. 

“Lady Arínel,” he said with a small smile, bowing slightly, though there was a twinkle in his eyes. “It is an honour to have you here in Eregion. I trust your journey was pleasant?” 

“It was,” I replied, my voice steady though my heart skipped a beat. “My brother sends his regards, and I bring tidings from Lindon.” I gestured to the letters I carried, though it felt almost secondary. Celebrimbor’s gaze was so focused, so intent, it was hard to remember the formalities. 

“Come,” he said, gesturing for me to follow. “We have prepared a feast in your honour. "

______________________________________________________________

That evening, a feast was held in the grand dining hall of the city, and I found myself seated near Lord Celebrimbor. As the night wore on, I felt the initial formality melt away. He spoke to me, not as a princess, nor with the distant politeness of a diplomat, but with the warmth of a fellow scholar. He asked me about my studies, my interest in lore, and what had drawn me to Eregion. 

“I have always admired the work of the Mírdain,” I confessed, smiling as I turned to look at him. “But I must admit, it was your work that intrigues me most. The stories of your creations have reached event he halls of Lindon. Your skill with the forge is unmatched.”

Lord Celebrimbor laughed softly, a sound that sent a pleasant warmth through me. “You flatter me, Lady Arínel. Though I must say, the praise means much, coming from one of the High-King’s kin.” 

I felt my cheeks grow warm at his words. There was something in the way he spoke that made me feel seen – not as a princess, but as someone who genuinely appreciated the beauty of the craft. 

As the night wore on, we talked more – about the past, about the nature of creation, about his plans for the future of Eregion. And as the hours passed, my admiration for him deepened. There was a grace in the way he spoke, a passion in his words, and a kindness that I had not expected. He was unlike any other lord I had ever knonw. 

By the end of the feast, my thoughts were consumed with him. 

______________________________________________________________

Eregion was nothing like Lindon. Though both cities thrive with the pulse of elvendom, Eregion’s spirit was tied to craft and creation. The forges burned endlessly, casting a warm glow over the city, while the sounds of hammers and anvils echoed in the air. It was a place of endless potential, and I could feel it in every breath I took as I arrived. 

The first days were filled with introductions and invitations from scholars, eager to share their knowledge with the High-King’s sister. The halls of Eregion were full of brilliance, each comer revealing new ideas, new wonders. It was overwhelming, but I was determined to learn as much as I could. 

One morning, I wandered the library, pouring over scrolls on ancient metallurgy, I heard a familiar voice. 

“Ahh, Lady Arínel, lost in the world of lore, I see.” 

I looked up to find Lord Celebrimbor standing at the entrance of the chamber, his smile gentle but curious. His presence had always carried a quiet power, but here, in his realm, he seemed even more at ease, more confident. 

“I am trying to keep up with the wisdom of Eregion,” I replied, standing to greet him. “Though it seems impossible,” 

He chuckled softly. “Impossible is not a word we use here.” He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over the scrolls I gathered. “But I think we both know that some lessons are not found in books.” 

His eyes met mine with the hint of amusement. “Come, let me show you the heart of Eregion.” 

We left the library, walking through the bustling streets toward the grand forge of the city. The air was thick with heat and the scent of molten metal. As we entered, the artisans and smiths within all nodded their respects to their lord, who led me further inside, where the private forge stood, untouched by anyone but him. 

“This is where true creation happens,” he said, gesturing to the tools and the roaring fire. 

The sight of the forge was mesmerising, and the warmth it exuded wrapped around me. it was a space where raw materials became art, where the impossible was made possible. I stepped closer, drawn to the flams, but Lord Celebrimbor caught my wrist gently, stopping me. 

“Careful,” he warned softly, his voice low. “It is not just the fire that can burn.” 

I looked up at him, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the forge. His hand lingered on my wrist for just a moment longer than necessary, and when he released me, I felt the absence keenly. 

He stepped beside me, picking up a piece of metal from the workbench. “Have you ever crafted before, my lady?” 

“No, I have not,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. “But I would like to learn.” 

He smiled again, the same gentle amusement lighting his eyes. “Then let me teach you.” 

He placed the metal before me and handed me a small hammer. “This is delicate work,” he said, standing closer behind me now. “You must feel the metal, let it speak to you.” 

I could feel his presence keenly – he was close, far too close to what some might deem proper. His breath brushed my ear as he spoke and when his hand covered mine to guide the hammer, I could feel the strength in his touch. My heart raced, though I tried to remain focused on the task before me. 

“Like this,” he murmured, guiding my hand in smooth motion over the heated metal. “It is not just about force – it’s about precision. You must be in tune with the material.” 

I nodded, though the hammer felt light in my hand, and my attention wavered. How could I concentrate when he was so near me, his warmth pressing against me, his voice so low and intimate? 

We worked in silence for a few moments, and soon the piece of metal began to take shape – slender and round, forming the beginnings of a ring. 

“You are a natural,” Lord Celebrimbor said, his voice soft with approval. 

I dared a glance at him, but his expression was focused, his eyes on the ring we were shaping together. There was nothing in his demeanour to suggest he was aware of the storm of emotions raging within me. he was only being kind, as he always was. 

He released my hand and stepped back, allowing me to finish the delicate work on my own. “Now, temper it,” he instructed, pointing to the quenching water nearby. 

I did as he said, though my hands trembled slightly. When the ring was cooled, I held it up for him to see. 

“A fine piece,” he said smiling again. “It is yours, if you wish it.” 

I stared at the ring, surprised. “You made this for me?” 

“No,” he corrected gently, “we made it. It is as much yours as it is mine.”

His words stirred something deep withing me, but before I could respond, he turned to gather more tools. “I’ll have it engraved for you later.” 

The moment passed, and I let out a quiet breath. My heart was still racing, and though he didn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil, I knew it was only a matter of time before my feelings for him would overwhelm me.  

______________________________________________________________

It had been days since Lord Celebrimbor and I had crafted the ring together, and the memory still played over and over in my mind – the way his hands guided mine, the warmth of the forge, and the excitement of creation that filled the air between us. I had spent much of my time since then wandering the halls of Eregion, meeting with scholars and exploring its wonders. 

That evening, I was sitting on the balcony of my chambers, gazing out at the city as the last light of say melted into dusk. The soft murmur of the city below filled the air, and a cool breeze brushed past, carrying the scent of blooming flowers from the gardens. 

A knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts, and I rose quickly, adjusting my gown before answering. To my surprise, it was Lord Celebrimbor, standing in the doorway with a familiar velvet pouch in hand and an easy smile on his face. 

“Good evening, my lady. I do hope I’m not interrupting,” he greeted. “May I join you?” he asked, his voice soft but warm. 

“Good evening, my lord,” I greeted. “No not at all. Of course, do come in” I continued, stepping aside to let him in. 

He entered the room with the same quiet grace he always carried, and as he crossed the threshold, I couldn’t help but feel a sudden flutter in my chest. The connection we had shared in the forge was still fresh, and seeing him now, so close again, sent a thrill through me. 

“I brought something for you to see,” he said, holding up the small pouch. 

Curious, I took it from him and carefully opened the pouch. Inside was the ring we had crafted together, but it had been transformed. The band was now engraved with delicate, swirling patterns, and in its centre, a sparkling gem had been set – a deep, rich blue that seemed to glow in the fading light. 

“You finished it,” I breathed, tracing the engravings with my fingertips. “It’s beautiful” I gasped. 

Lord Celebrimbor smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. “I thought it deserved a little more attention. I hope you like the additions. I thought the blue would match your eyes.” 

“I love it,” I saift softly, feeling a warmth spread through me. He nodded at me with a smile before meeting my gaze. 

He gestured toward the balcony. “Shall we sit? I brought some wine.” 

I nodded, leading him outside where the night air was cooler, the stars beginning to dot the sky above. We sat side by side on the stone bench, and Lord Celebrimbor poured us both a glass of wine from a flask he had brought. 

“To Eregion,” he said with a grin, raising his glass. 

“To Eregion,” I echoed, tapping my glass lightly against his. 

We sipped in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the city below as torches were lit and the night began to settle in. the soft hum of the city and the distant sounds of laughter filled the air, creating a peaceful atmosphere around us. 

“How have you been spending your time?” Celebrimbor asked, breaking the quiet. 

“Oh, you know,” I replied with a smile, “exploring, studying, meeting your scholars. Eregion is… remarkable. I find something new every day.” 

His eyes lit up at my words. “I’m glad you think so. It’s my hope that Eregion can become a beacon of knowledge and creation – where people come not just to learn, but to share in the joy of crafting something new.” 

“And you’ve certainly succeeded,” I said earnestly. “it’s unlike any place I’ve ever been.” 

Celebrimbor leaned back slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “It’s not just the city or the forges that make it special, you know. It’s the people – the connections we make. Without that, Eregion would be just a place, like any other.” 

I nodded, understanding his meaning. “It’s true. I feel… I feel more connected here than I’ve ever felt anywhere else. Like I belong. In Lindon, my brother’s shadow can be quite big that it overshadows.” 

He looked at me then, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I am glad that you find yourself at home in my city. That means I have somewhat achieved the goal I had set out.” 

The moment stretched between us, and I felt my heart skip a beat. there was something unspoken in the air, something that I didn’t’ quite know how to put into words. I took another sip of wine, hoping to calm the sudden rush of emotion that had filled me. 

“I didn’t come just to show you the labour of our craft. I came to gift it to you.” He said after a moment, breaking the tension. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pouch and took the ring we had crafted together, holding it out towards me. 

“As I stated earlier, I’ve made a few more changes,” he explained, turning it over in his hands. “It is not just a ring anymore. It holds… power. A small amount, meagre even, but enough to show what we’re capable of. I wanted you to have it.” 

I stared at the ring, my breath catching in my throat. “You…you want me to have it?”

He smiled softly, nodding. “Yes. it’s a reminder of what we created together. I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving.” 

Emotion welled up in me, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. My hand trembled slightly as I reached out to take the ring from him, and as our fingers brushed a spark of something passed between us. My skin tingled where he touched me, and for a fleeting second, I thought I saw something in his eyes – something more than just friendship. 

“Hannon le.” I whispered, unable to say more. 

“It was my pleasure, my lady,” he replied, his voice equally soft. 

We sat there in silence again, the weight of the moment settling between us. I wanted to say something, to express the feelings that had been building inside me for so long, but the words wouldn’t come. My heart raced, and I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, hoping he would say something, anything, to break the spell. Thank the Valar, for they listened. 

There was a sudden knock at the door. 

“My lord,” a guard’s voice called from inside. “Forgive the interruption, but there is a matter that requires your attention.” 

Lord Celebrimbor sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Of course,” he muttered, standing up from the bench. 

He turned to me, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, my lady. Duty calls.” 

I forced a smile, though my heart sank. “It’s alright. I understand.” 

He hesitated for a moment, then gave me a small reassuring smile. “I’ll see you again soon.” 

I rose and followed him inside. Celebrimbor opened the door, spoke a few words to the waiting guard, and then with one last lingering glance in my direction, he stepped out into the hall. The door closed softly behind him, and I was left alone, the ring still clutched in my hand. I stared down at it, feeling both elated and admired its beauty.

I went back out on the balcony and sat down slowly, my heart still racing from the moments we shared. The warmth of our laughter, his gentle compliments, and the intensity of our conversation still lingered in the air, wrapping around me like a comforting cloak. But now, without his presence, the night suddenly felt too quiet, the space between us too wide. 

I stared out at the city below, trying to let the beauty of the starlit sky distract me. But my mind kept drifting back to him – how close we had been, how his eyes had held mine so intensely, how his voice had softened when he spoke of things that truly mattered to him. 

I sighed, taking another sip of wine, trying to settle my thoughts. I had to accept that he would not return tonight. He was the Lord of Eregion, after all. There were always matters to attend to, responsibilities that took precedence. It was foolish of me to hope otherwise. 

I stood, moving to the edge of the balcony to lean against the stone railing, feeling the cool night air on my face. It was peaceful here, and I tried to focus on that – to enjoy the quiet solitude and let the evening end gracefully. 

And yet, just as I was about to turn back to my chambers, I heard the soft creak of the door opening behind me. 

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as I turned slowly. 

There he was, standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the soft light from within. His eyes met mine, and he smiled – a slow, almost teasing smile that sent my heart racing all over again. 

“You didn’t think I’d leave you waiting, did you?” he said, his voice low and warm. 

I blinked, too surprised to answer right away. “I…I thought you had more pressing matters,” I managed to say, my voice betraying the shock I felt. 

He stepped forward, closing the door softly behind him, his gaze never leaving mine. “Nothing pressing enough to keep me away from your delightful company for long,” he said, moving back to the bench where we had been sitting before. He gestured for me to join him, and I followed, my heart pounding in my chest. 

“You know,” he began slowly, “I didn’t come here just to deliver the ring. I was hoping we could talk a little longer.” His gaze flickered to the darkening sky, and he smiled. “The evening is still young, after all.” 

I couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in my chest at his words. “I’d like that,” I replied softly. 

Celebrimbor sat down beside me again, settling back into a comfortable posture, his arm resting casually on the bench. The tension of the previous moment dissolved, replaced by something easier, more familiar. 

He handed me my wine again, and I took a small sip, glancing at him over the rim of my glass. His face was half in shadow, but his eyes still gleamed with that particular intensity I had come to recognise. 

I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a mixture of relief and joy flood through me. “I admit, I wasn’t’ expecting you to come back.” 

“Ah,” he said, leaning back comfortably, “then I am glad to have surprised you.” 

He poured me some more wine, and I took a small sip, once again glancing at him over the rim of my glass. 

“Now, what were we talking about before we were so rudely interrupted?” he asked, a teasing smile on his lips. 

I chuckled. “I believe we were discussing your ring-making prowess,” I said, holding up the newly finished piece between us. 

He laughed – a genuine, warm sound that sent shivers through me. “Ah, yes. My prowess. How could I forget?” 

“You did say  Eregion was about more than the physical craft,” I teased, “But you never said what else it was about for you.” 

Celebrimbor’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something more contemplative. He reached out gently and took the ring from my hands. He turned the ring in his hands watching as the starlight caught on its gem. “It’s about the pursuit of something higher,” he said slowly. “Crafting is important, yes – more than just a trade. It’s… creation. The act of making something that never existed before, something that can endure long after we’re gone. It’s about beauty. And light.” 

His voice grew quieter, as if the weight of his thoughts was pulling him inward. “But it’s also about what we leave behind. The knowledge we pass on, the wisdom we share. What’s the point of creating if there’s no one to understand it’s significance? That’s what I live about this place – the scholars, the people who come here. They do not just want to make things. They want to learn, to grow, to understand the deeper meaning of it all.” 

I watched him as he spoke, feeling my heart sweel. His passion was palpable, his words laced with a profound belief that touched something inside me. 

“You have a remarkable mind, my lord,” I said quietly. “To see beyond what others might. To recognise that true power is not just the things we create, but the knowledge we leave behind.” 

He glanced at me, something unreadable flicking in his eyes before his smile returned. “And you, my lady, are full of surprises yourself.” 

I blinked, taken aback by his sudden shift in tone. “Surprises?” 

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward a little, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You may be a scholar, a princess even,” he teased, making me scoff good-naturedly. “But you have the wisdom of someone who’s lived through much. I’m not sure I’ve met many with your depth of thought. How is it that someone so young – relatively speaking – can already know so much?” 

His compliment caught me off guard, and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “I suppose… I’ve always been a curious soul,” I said, trying to play off my embarrassment. “I find the world fascinating. There is much to learn, so many mysteries to uncover. And I’ve had a lot of good teachers.” 

“Like your brother, I assume?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“Yes,” I admitted, smiling fondly. “Gil-Galad was always the one to encourage me to think for myself, to challenge what I believed and seek my own answers.” 

Celebrimbor nodded thoughtfully. “He’s a wise king. I see now where you get your strength.” 

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Strength? I think you might be giving me too much credit.” 

“No, truly,” he said, leaning in slightly, his tone sincere. “I can see it in you – the way you carry yourself, the way you approach things with patience and a quiet resolve. It’s rare to find that in someone who hasn’t let the weight of the world bear them down.” 

I looked away, not sure how to respond. His words struck a chord within me, stirring something deep that I had not realised I’d been holding back. I took another sip of my wine, trying to steady myself. If I kept up like this, I might be drunk before morning arrives.

“I’m not sure if I’m as strong as you say,” I murmured. “But thank you. It means a lot coming from you.” 

Celebrimbor laughed again, though this time it was softer, almost fond. “I think you underestimate yourself, my lady.” 

I smiled, though I didn’t quite know how to respond. The conversation had taken a more serious turn than I’d expected, and I felt both grateful and overwhelmed by his kind words. It wasn’t often that people took time to compliment me as they would always compliment my brother to me instead. 

In an effort to lighten the mood, Celebrimbor leaned back and sighed dramatically. “Enough philosophy for one evening, though. Let’s talk about something less heavy, shall we?” 

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you suggest, my lord?”

“How about this,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Did you know that when I was younger, I once accidently set the entire forge on fire?” 

I nearly choked on my wine. “What?”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Oh yes, I thought I could speed up the melting process by adding a little extra heat. I ended up creating a blaze that nearly took the whole workshop down. Needless to say, that wasn’t the best day on the job. My master was furious.” 

I could not help but burst into laughter at the image of a younger Celebrimbor, wide-eyed and covered in soot, trying to salvage the disaster he had created. 

“I cannot believe it,” I said, still laughing. “You, the master craftsman, nearly burning down your own forge? That is priceless.” 

“Oh, I’ve made plenty of mistakes,” he said, chuckling along with me. “But that one’s always stood out.” 

We continued talking like that for a while, sharing stories from our pasts, laughing at the ridiculousness of youth and the things we had learned along the way. I found myself opening up to him in ways I hadn’t expected, telling stories of my childhood, of the mischief of my brother and I would get into. He listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine, and every now and then, he’d made a joke or witty remark that had me laughing all over again. 

At one point, I realised how late it had gotten. The stars were bright in the sky, and the torches in the city below were mere flickers of light. But I didn’t want the night to end. I didn’t want to leave this moment – sitting here with him, talking, laughing, feeling closer to him than I ever had before. 

Celebrimbor looked out at the sky, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he began after a long pause, “I’ve found that the quiet moments like these are far more important than most of the responsibilities we bear.” He turned to me, his eyes soft. “Moments like this – where we can simply be.” 

I felt my breath caught at his words, the sincerity in his voice tugging at something deep within me. I couldn’t look away from him, not when he spoke like that – so open, so unguarded. 

“You’re right,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “These moments are rare.” 

He smiled, his gaze never leaving mine. “That’s why I came back. I wasn’t quite ready to let the night end just yet.” 

I felt my heart skip a beat, and before I could think twice, I found myself speaking the words that had been lingering on my tongue all evening. “Neither was I.” 

For a long moment, we simply sat there, the space between us filled with a quiet understanding, 

Celebrimbor leaned back a little further, looking up at the stars again. “Tell me more about yourself, my lady. We’ve talked about so many things, but I still feel like there’s so much I don’t know.” 

I hesitated, feeling suddenly shy under his gaze. “What do you want to know?” 

He shrugged, a playful grin crossing his lips. “Anything. Everything. Your favourite memories, the things that make you laugh. I want to know more about the elleth behind the title.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his curiosity settled around me. “Well,” I began, glancing up at the stars as I gathered my thoughts. “I suppose one of my fondest memories is when my brother and I used to sneak away from our lessons to explore the forest surrounding the Havens of the Falas. Trying to evade Master Círdan. We would pretend to be great warriors, like our father, on some grand quest, and we would spend hours wandering, completely lost in our imaginations.” 

Celebrimbor chuckled softly. “I can picture that. You, a fierce warrior, leading your brother into battle.” 

I laughed. “Oh, it was mostly him leading me. but I liked to think I was the brave one.” 

“You still are,” he said, his voice gentle. 

We continued talking, sharing stories of our pasts, both light and serious. Celebrimbor, as it turned out, had a knack for humour, and he made me laugh more than once with his witty remarks and stories of mischief in his youth. 

At one point, he glanced at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You have a wonderful laugh, you know.” 

I blushed, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thank you,” I said quietly, not quite sure how to respond. 

Celebrimbor smiled, a soft knowing smile that made me feel as though he could see right through my defences. “And you have a depth of wisdom that most could only hope to have,” he added, his tone more serious now. “It’s rare to find someone who thinks as deeply as you do.” 

I looked away, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. “I don’t know about that.” 

He tilted his head, studying me for a moment. “I do,” he said simply. 

The night wore on, and as we continued to talk, I realised that the bond between us had deepened in ways I hadn’t expected. 

______________________________________________________________

The sky above Eregion was a deep blue, fading into twilight as the last remnants of the sun dipped below the distant peaks. The stars began to appear, shimmering faintly in the velvet sky, as I stood outside the great hall, waiting for Lord Celebrimbor.

It was my last night here before returning to Lindon, and though I had known this day would come, I found myself reluctant – almost desperate – to leave. My heart had been growing heavier with each passing hour, weighed down by a sense of unfinished business. There were words unspoken, feelings unconfessed, and I feared I would never have the courage to speak them. 

Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching, and I turned to see Lord Celebrimbor walking toward me. He smiled warmly, and my heart skipped a beat as it always did when I saw him. 

“Good evening,” he greeted me with a slight bow, his eyes twinkling in the starlight. 

I smiled back, though it was bittersweet. “Lord Celebrimbor.” 

He chuckled softly and shook his head. “I think we know each other well enough by now, don’t you?” His voice was light, but there was something sincere in his gaze as he added, “If the Lady permits, I would ask that we dispense with titles for tonight?” 

I blinked, surprised but delighted by his suggestion. “I…I think I can manage that,” I said softly, my smile growing wider. 

“Good,” he replied, offering me his arm. “Shall we walk?”

I hesitated only for a moment before slipping my arm through his, my heart racing. His touch was warm and steady, and the simple gesture filled me with a happiness I could barely contain. This – walking beside him, sharing a quiet evening – was more than I had dared to hope for. and yet, here we were, alone under the stars. 

We strolled through the gardens of Eregion, the air fragrant with the scent of night-blooming flowers. The soft murmur of a nearby stream and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze provided a peaceful backdrop to our conversation. We spoke of many things – his latest work with the Mírdain, the beauty of the city he had built, the stars above us. it was a light, easy conversation, but each word felt precious to me, as If I were storing these moments away to remember when I returned to Lindon.  

“Do you miss Lindon?” Celebrimbor asked, glancing at me.

I shook my head slowly. “Not as much as I thought I would,” I admitted. “Eregion has a… certain charm to it.” 

He smiled at that. “I am glad to hear it. You have been a welcome guest here, Arínel. Your presence has brightened these halls.” 

But the weight of my impending departure hung over me, unspoken but present. 

“I’m going to miss this,” I said quietly, glancing down at the ring he had given me. “Miss Eregion. Miss… you.” 

Celebrimbor looked at me, his expression softening. “Eregion will always welcome you, Arínel. And so will I.”

My heart swelled at his words, and I fought the urge to say what I truly felt – that my time here had been more than just pleasant, that it had changed me, that he had changed me. 

But as I opened my mouth to speak, to finally confess what had been weighing on me for so. Long, a guard appeared from the shadows, bowing respectfully to both of us before addressing Celebrimbor. 

“My lord,” he said, casting a brief glance in my direction before continuing, “there is a matter that requires your attention.” 

Celebrimbor sighed softly, his expression shifting from the warmth of our conversation to something more serious. “Very well,” he said, turning to me with an apologetic smile. “I am afraid duty calls and reprieves me of your delightful company.” 

I nodded, forcing a smile of my own though my heart sank. The moment was lost. 

“Of course,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I understand.” 

“Thank you, Arínel,” he said warmly, and with that, he gave me a small bow before following the guard, disappearing into the night. 

I watched him go, my chest tight with unspoken words, with feelings that had no outlet. The realisation that I had missed my chance left me standing alone in the quiet garden, the weight of my unspoken love pressing down on me like a heavy cloak. On the morrow, I would leave Eregion. I would return to Lindon, and Celebrimbor would remain here, as oblivious as ever to the affection I held for him. 

______________________________________________________________

The sun had just begun to rise when I stood in the courtyard, my horse already saddled and ready for the journey ahead. My departure had come too quickly, and though I had spent the night restless and awake, the morning had arrived far sooner than I wished. 

Celebrimbor approached with his usual calm grace, though there was a hint of something softer in his expression. Perhaps it was the farewell itself, or perhaps it was simply that he had enjoyed our time together as much as I had. I couldn’t be sure, and the uncertainty gnawed at me. 

“Arínel,” he said as he reached me, his voice warm. “I hope your journey to Lindon is safe. You’ll always be welcome at my city. Give your brother, our High-King, my regards.” 

I smiled weakly, trying to push down the ache in my chest. “I will.” 

There was a pause, a moment where the air seemed to thicken with all the things left unsaid. I wanted to tell him everything – that my heart had been his for longer than I cared to admit, that leaving Eregion felt like leaving a piece of myself behind. But the words would not come. 

Celebrimbor, ever the kind and thoughtful lord, placed a hand on my arm. His touch was gentle but steady, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to lean into him, not to let myself hope for something more. 

“You have been a wonderful guest, Arínel,” he said softly, his eyes sincere. “I will miss your presence here and our conversations.” 

My heart clenched, yet again, at his words, and for a moment I allowed myself to imagine that he meant something more by them – that he, too, had felt the connection between us. But I knew better. He was simply being kind. 

“I’ll miss them too and Eregion,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. 

Another pause, another moment where I felt the weight of my unspoken feelings pressing down on me. But once again, before I could gather the courage to speak, Celebrimbor stepped back, offering me a small, almost wistful smile. 

“Namárië, Arínel.” He said softly 

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, mounting my horse and giving him one last, lingering look. 

“Namárië, Celebrimbor,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow compared to what I truly wanted to say. 

And with that, I turned my horse toward the road that would take me back to Lindon, leaving behind the city and the lord – that had captured my heart. 

______________________________________________________________

Months later, when I returned to Lindon, I found myself constantly thinking of Lord Celebrimbor. My mind wandered back to the nights we spent discussing lore and language, the way his eyes would light up when he spoke of his creations. It was during those long days of travel that I began to realise the truth – I was in love with him. 

The revelation hit me like a wave, both exhilarating and terrifying. How could I have let myself fall for him? He was so dedicated to his work, so focused on his craft. He could never love me, not in the way I loved him. 

I told myself It was foolish. He was a great lord, an unrivalled craftsman. And I… I was just his guest, a fleeting presence in his world. But the more I tried to push the thoughts aside, the more they consumed me. 

When I arrived back in Lindon, I threw myself into my duties, trying to forget. 

Returning to Lindon felt like stepping into a dream – familiar, safe, but somehow distant. After the vibrancy of Eregion, with its endless forges, scholars, and discoveries, Lindon seemed quieter, almost subdued. It was good to be home, but my thoughts lingered on the time I had spent there, especially on the one person I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. 

Days after my return, a young half-even arrived at court – Elrond, who had only recently begun his training as a herald. He had been sent to serve as Gil-Galad’s court, and his sharp mind and kind demeanour quickly won the favour of those around him, myself included.

I met him on a bright afternoon while taking a walk in the gardens, my mind wandering back to memories of Eregion, He had been sitting on a stone bench, deep in study, and our conversation flowed. 

“So, you’re the one who’s to be trained by my brother,” I remarked playfully when we were introduced. “I hope you’re prepared for endless debates about policy and diplomacy.”

“My lady,” he greeted, before continuing. “I’ve been warned,” he said with a grin, “but I’m hoping there’s more to life here than politics.” 

I smiled at that. “I suppose I could show you the finer sides of Lindon. It’s not all councils and decrees, you know.” 

From that day on, we spent much of our free time together – walking through the gardens, talking about histories, or sharing stories from our pasts. Elrond was kind, and his passion for learning was contagious. He reminded me a little of myself when I was younger. 

One afternoon, as we sat beneath the shade of an old oak, Elrond looked at me thoughtfully. “You seem distracted, mellon-nin. Is something troubling you?”

I shook my head, trying to smile through the ache in my chest. “No, nothing of consequence,” I said, though my thoughts kept circling back to Celebrimbor. 

Elrond didn’t press any further, for which I was grateful, and we continued to pass the time in comfortable conversation. But the weight of the unspoken feelings hung over me, and no matter how I tried to push them away, they always returned with a quiet persistence, 

Then, came the council.

____________________________________________________________

Lindon bustled with activity as prominent elves arrived from across the land – Old master Círdan from the Havens, Galadriel from her endless travels and searches for Sauron, and many others. My brother called the gathering, and with it came a sense of importance, of urgency. I wasn’t high enough in rank or age to attend the council itself, but I knew it was significant. My place, for now, was to wait. 

Fortunately, I had a constant companion in Elrond, who also wasn’t permitted to attend the council. 

The feast that followed was grand, the hall filled with music of harps and the hum of voices. As Elrond and I entered together I felt a surge of both excitement and trepidation. I knew he would be here – Celebrimbor. The thought of seeing him again after all this time sent a thrill through me, though I fought to maintain my composure. 

As I stepped into the grand hall of Lindon, the soft murmur of conversation and laughter enveloped me like a warm embrace. The air was filed with the fragrant scent of fresh flowers and polished wood, and the light of the candles cast a golden glow over the scene. My gown, carefully chosen for this evening, swished softly around me, trailing behind as I made my entrance. 

I had barely taken two steps inside when a familiar, strong voice called out, “Nésa.” 

I turned and saw my brother coming towards me. Gil-Galad, standing tall and regal, with the same dark hair as me framing his face, and his blue eyes softened with warmth. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. 

“Toron,” I greeted, moving toward him. He stepped forward, embracing me softly, and closed my eyes for a moment, grateful for the simple comfort of family. 

“You look radiant tonight, sister.” He said as he pulled back, his gaze sweeping over me with approval. “

“hannon lle,” I replied with a smile. He smiled back, before offering me his arm. I linked my arm with his and allowed him to introduce me to several lords and important elves I had only heard about not met before. They bowed their heads in greeting, offering polite words of welcome, and I responded in kind, though my mind wandered. I was nervous, and a certain ellon was to blame. 

My brother’s hand remained on my arm as we moved through the hall, and though he introduced me to more lords and ladies, I could see him mind was occupied elsewhere. He gave me a knowing glance that made my heart race. What had he noticed? 

Before I could ask him anything, the crowd parted and there she was. 

“Arínel,” came Galadriel’s voice, warm and full of affection. She swept towards me with that unmistakeable grace she carried, her golden hair flowing behind her, a vision of strength and beauty.

“Galadriel,” I breathed, stepping forward to meet her. I was swept into an immediate embrace by Galadriel. Her presence, as always, was a force of nature.

 “It is good to see you again. You bring light to this hall.”  She whispered, her voice softer now, holding me at arm’s length, so she could look me over. 

“And you bring strength,” I replied, smiling. “It’s been too long, Galadriel. My heart sings to see thee” I replied truthfully. 

“And mine sings to see you, as well.” She replied as she brushed her hand against my cheek,  “Eregion has treated you well.” 

I smiled, though I couldn’t help the rush of emotions that swirled inside me. “It has, but there is no place like Lindon It is good to be home.” 

She tilted her head, as though she could sense the weight in my words. “I trust you have many tales to tell of your time there.” 

“Some,” I replied lightly, though I knew she sensed there was more I was not sharing. 

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she smiled and took my arm, walking with me further into the hall. “Come, there are others who will be eager to see you.” 

“And you must tell me all about your travels and search for Sauron.” I replied as we walked together. 

As we moved through the gathered elves, I could hear snippets of conversation, murmurs of excitement about the council convening, the return of the warriors from the borders, and a feeling of something was stirring – something yet unnamed. The night was filled with anticipation, and I could sense the weight of it in the air, even as I tried to push it aside. 

Galadriel told me about her travels and her search for Sauron, until she led me over to where Master Círdan stood. His eyes twinkled as he saw me approach, and he opened his arms wide in welcome. “Ah, penneth! It is good to see you again.” 

“And you, Círdan,” I said bowing my head slightly as he embraced me. 

He chuckled, the sound deep and comforting. “How long has it been since we last spoke? I can still remember you running around creating trouble and evading your tutors.” 

I laughed at the memory. “Too long, my lord. I was but a child, though I think I caused more mischief than I care to admit.” 

Círdan’s eyes twinkled as he smiled fondly. “You’ve grown into quite the lady, my dear. You carry your brother’s strength with you, Arínel. You do your family proud. I am proud.” 

His words brought warmth to my heart, and I felt my shoulders relax in his presence. We spoke for some time, reminiscing about days long past, and I felt at ease once more in the company of those I loved. But even as the conversation flowed, a small part of me remained restless, as though something – or someone – was missing. 

And then, as if on cue, I felt it. A subtle shift in the air, a presence I had not felt since my departure from Eregion. I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat. 

There, standing at the far side of the hall, was Lord Celebrimbor. His presence commanding attention without effort. He looked the same as the last time she saw him. His hair, a soft chestnut brown shot through with silver strands, caught the light of the chandeliers, reflecting the warm glow that filled the room. It was neatly swept back from his face, his pale blue eyes – kind eyes that gleamed with wisdom and a gentle kindness. 

His robes were a deep green, richly embroidered with intricate patterns of silver and gold, flowing elegantly with every step he took. The fabric shimmered as he moved, catching the light in a way that made it appear almost ethereal, like the fine handiwork of an Elven craftsman. His posture was straight, proud, and yet there was something humble in the way he carried himself – an innate dignity that never bordered on arrogance. 

I found myself transfixed as he approached, his movements precise yet unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. His build was slender, but strong, and though not towering in stature, there was an undeniable sense of power in the way he moved – controlled, deliberate, every gesture calm and measured. 

He came to a halt before our small group, offering a polite nod first to Círdan and then to Galadriel, the faintest smile touching his lips. 

“Lord Círdan,” he greeted in his soft, smooth tone, which carried the richness of experience. “It has been too long.” 

Círdan smiled, returning the nod. “It has indeed. Eregion thrives under your careful hand, I hear.” 

Celebrimbor inclined his head slightly, his eyes twinkling in the light. “It is thanks to the many hands that help me, not mine alone.” 

Turning to Galadriel, he offered the same nod of respect, though there was a warmth in his eyes as they met hers. “My dear lady Galadriel, it is always a pleasure.” 

“Cousin,” she responded, her voice light with affection, though her gaze flickered to me for a moment before returning to him. “It is good to see you again.” 

And then his gaze finally fell upon me, and my breath caught in my throat. His pale blue eyes softened just slightly, a brief glimmer of recognition in their depths, though his expression remained as composed as ever. 

“Lady Aríel,” he said, his voice gentler now, though still formal. “It is good to see you again.” 

For a moment, I was unsure how to respond, my mind whirling with memories of our time in Eregion. I managed to incline my head, offering a smile that felt a little too eager. “Lord Celebrimbor, the pleasure is mine.” 

There was a brief pause, the air between us thick with unspoken words, before Celebrimbor turned his attention back to the others, engaging in conversation with the same measured politeness he always carried. My heart, however, refused to settle, still fluttering at the sight of him. 

As the feast was announced and we made our way to the long table, I found myself seated beside my brother, and Galadriel, and as fate would have it, Celebrimbor sat directly across from me. My brother sat at the head of the grand table, his regal posture commanding the attention of all around him. I sat by his side, Galadriel to my right, and across from me, directly within my line of sight, sat Lord Celebrimbor. His presence lingered in the corner of my vision, a steady reminder of the feelings I tried too hard to bury. Yet every stolen glance in his direction only served to rekindle those quiet, longing thoughts. 

The evening unfolded in a blur of greetings and toasts. Galadriel, ever graceful, spoke to me of her journeys across Middle-earth in search for Morgoth’s servant – Sauron. She talked of the distant lands she had seen, and the ancient forests where hear heart felt most at ease. I listened, though my attention often wavered, drawn inexorably toward the elf lord who sat across from me. His presence was undeniable – quiet but magnetic. Every glance in his direction only deepened my curiosity, and though he spoke little, his eyes seemed to follow the flow of every conversation. 

As the servers laid out platters of fresh fruits, cheeses, and delicate elven breads, Galadriel leaned closer, her voice low and full of warmth. “It is good to have you back with us, Arínel. You’ve been missed.” 

I smiled, my heart lightened at her words. “It is good to be back, my lady. Though, I confess, there are parts of Eregion that have claimed my heart.” 

Galadriel’s gaze shifted briefly to Celebrimbor before returning to me, her smile soft and knowing. “Eregion does tend to inspire loyalty. And perhaps more.” 

Before I could respond, Celebrimbor’s steady voice reached across the table. “It seems Eregion has left a lasting impression on you, Lady Arínel.” 

I looked up, meeting his hazel eyes – calm yet intense, like the sky on a winter morning. His expression was as it always was: reserved, thoughtful, and yet there was something beneath the surface, something that stirred in me every time I looked at him 

“It has,” I replied, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. “The work you’ve done there, the city you’ve built… it’s magnificent. I found it difficult to leave.” 

His lips quirked into a faint smile. “It is not often that one hears such high praise. You honour me, my lady.” 

The words were simple, but there was a sincerity in his tone that made my heart skip a beat. we exchanged no further words in that moment, but the connection between us lingered, unspoken yet undeniable. 

As the evening wore on, the conversations shifted. My brother, spoke of the affairs of Lindon, of the peace and prosperity that had reigned for centuries, while Círdan and Galadriel occasionally chimed in with their own insights. But no where the conversation drifted, I found myself constantly aware of Celebrimbor’s presence. His pale auburn-golden hair, combed back neatly, caught the light of the candles, and his angular features seemed softened by the warmth of the evening. 

At one point, as I engaged with Galadriel about a recent expedition she had taken, Lord Celebrimbor leaned forward slightly, drawing my attention. “I remember you spent time in our libraries recently, and your fondness for our great lore of old, Lady Arínel.” He began with a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Perhaps we could compare our findings sometime. I’ve been delving into the ancient texts myself as of late, though more for the advancement of my craft than scholarly pursuit.” 

The offer was unexpected, but not unwelcome. My heart quickened at the thought of spending more time with him. “I would be honoured, my lord,” I replied, a soft smile on my lips. 

From beside me, I could feel my brother’s gaze flickering between us, his expression unreadable. His silence, however, spoke volumes, as did the subtle glance he exchanged with Galadriel.

“Do not let me distract you too much from your studies, my lady,” Celebrimbor added, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I have been known to occupy too much of one’s time.” 

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his attention, though my heart whispered doubts. Was he merely being courteous, or was there something more beneath his reserved exterior? I couldn’t tell, and the uncertainty gnawed at me. 

As the feast continued, more wine was poured, and the atmosphere lightened with laughter and the sharing of stories. Galadriel leaned closer, whispering to me of her past travels, her voice filled with both fondness and melancholy of memories of our youth. Meanwhile, my brother engaged in a lively discussion with Círdan about the sea routes of the west, their deep voices carrying across the table. 

It was only when the main course was served that I noticed how oftens Celebrimbor’s gaze drifted towards me. He was subtle, of course, as he always was. His hazel eyes – thoughtful, serene – would meet mine for just a breath longer than expected, before he returned his attention to the others.  Each time, my pulse quickened, but I reminded myself that I was likely reading too much into it. He had always been polite and kind, but never more than that. 

Yet, as the meal progressed, I couldn’t help but wonder. Could there actually be more to it? 

At one paint, as we were finishing our courses, Lord Celebrimbor addressed me again. “Do you still practice the art of the sword, Lady Arínel?” he asked, his tone casual yet curious. “I recall you were once known for your skill.” 

I met his gaze, surprised he would remember. “I do, though not as often as I should. Time in Lindon has made me… softer, perhaps.” 

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “I doubt that.” 

The words sent a thrill through me, though I tried not to show it. Instead, I smiled, mu mind racing with possibilities. Had he truly noticed me, all this time or was I merely seeing what I wished to see? 

Beside me, my brother leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you?” 

I stiffened slightly but kept my expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm yet teasing. “You’ve barely taken your eyes off him all evening, and I can see why. But be careful, Nésa.” 

I frowned, my heart sinking at his words. “Careful of what?” 

His eyes, dark and serious now, met mine. “Of hoping too much. He is not easily swayed.” 

My gaze flickered back to Celebrimbor, who was now engaged in conversation with Círdan, his expression as composed as ever. My heart twisted at my brother’s warning, but I pushed the feeling down. I would let doubt cloud my heart tonight. 

For now, I would simply be content to sit across from him, our words lingering in the air between us, and hope that, in time, there would be more. 

______________________________________________________________

The night air in Lindon was cool and crisp, a gentle breeze weaving through the golden trees, causing their leaves to shimmer in the moonlight. After the feast had concluded, the halls warmth and laughter had given way to the quiet solitude of the gardens. I had excused myself after my conversation with my brother, needing time to reflect and breathe in the stillness. 

I wandered through the gardens, my feet instinctively finding the path u sued to walk in my younger days. The familiar scent of the sea lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of flowers that only bloomed at night. The moon, pale and luminous, cast long shadows along the winding pathways, its light illuminating the delicate blossoms that lined the garden. 

I found a secluded corner near a low fountain, its soft trickling water providing a comforting backdrop to my thoughts. The stars twinkled brightly above, and I allowed myself to lose track of time, my thoughts wandering to the evening’s events, and more specifically, to the conversation that I had shared with Lord Celebrimbor. His quiet confidence, his understated charm – they lingered in my mind like the sweet aftertaste of the wine from the feast. 

I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn’t notice the sound of footsteps approaching. My hand instinctively reached for the hilt of the blade I always kept at my side, but I relaxed when I saw the familiar silhouette of the one who had occupied mu mind all night. 

Celebrimbor 

“Lady Arínel,” he greeted, his voice soft yet clear as he came into view. The moonlight caught his features – his hazel eyes reflecting the light as they met mine. He wore the same calm, reserved expression as always, but there was something warmer in his gaze tonight. Something more. 

“My lord,” I replied, offering a small smile. “I did not expect to see anyone else in the gardens at this hour.”

He returned the smile, though his was more reserved. “Nor did I. it seems we both seek solitude this night.” 

“And please, if memory serves me correct, I think we established there is no need for titles when we’re alone.” He teased with a smirk.

“Of course, my…Celebrimbor.” I replied, catching myself, which made him chuckle. 

He stepped closer, his eyes studying the garden around us. “Lindon’s gardens are unlike any other in Middle-earth,” he mused, his voice low. “The stillness here… is rare.” 

I nodded, understanding the sentiment. “There is a peace here that I have not found elsewhere. Perhaps it’s the nearness of the sea, or the long-standing tranquillity of the land. Or the great trees.” 

Celebrimbor’s gaze returned to me, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was not awkward, but rather comfortable, like the quiet understanding of two souls who had long shared unspoken thoughts. 

“I noticed you left the feast early,” he said after a pause, his tone gentle, almost concerned. 

“I needed time to think,” I admitted, glancing up at the stars. “And to breathe. There are times when the bustle of the court is overwhelming.” 

He nodded in agreement. “It can be…heavy, even in celebration. The weight of expectation often lingers, even in moments of joy.” 

I looked at him then, studying his features more closely than I had been able to during the feast. The moonlight softened the sharp lines of his face, highlighting the quiet wisdom in his expression. I wondered how many such moments he had sought for himself, away from the duties of leadership and the pressures of crafting, and if he too felt the weight of it all as I did. 

“You carry it well,” I said, my words slipping out before I could stop them. 

He blinked, surprised by my statement. “What do you mean?”

“The expectations,” I clarified, my voice quiet. “You bear them with grace. Not many can do that.” 

He seemed to contemplate my words for a moment before a faint smile touched his lips. “I thank you for that, though I suspect you see more than there is, my lady. Expectations are easier to carry when one is skilled at masking their weight.” 

There was a brief pause, and then, with a lightness I had not expected, he added, “You, too, carry the weight of expectation well, though you may not realise it.” 

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “I think you overestimate me, my lord. I’ve spent much of my time in the shadows of those greater than i.” 

His eyes softened at my response, and he took a step closer, his voice lowering slightly. “Greatness is not always about standing in the light, Arínel. It is how we endure, how we quietly shape the world around us.” 

His words struck something deep within me, and I found myself looking at him in a new light. He had always been a master of subtlety, of creating beauty in silence, and in that moment, I felt as though I was seeing him not just as the great Celebrimbor, the greatest of Elven-smiths, but as a man with burdens and doubts of his own. 

“Is that what you do?” I asked softly. “Shape the world in silence?” 

A slight smile tugged at his lips, and for the briefest of moments, I thought I saw something vulnerable in his eyes. “I try. But the world is not always so easily shaped.” 

We stood in silence for a while after that, the soft murmurs of the fountain filling the space between us. the night felt timeless, and for once, I wasn’t weighed down by my usual doubts and uncertainties. Being in his presence felt natural, as if we had always known each other, and yet I longed to know more. 

“Tell me,” I began, breaking the quiet, “do you ever tire of it all?” 

He looked at me curiously. “Of what?”

“Of the responsibilities,” I clarified. “The duties, the expectations…the constant strive for perfection.” 

Celebrimbor hesitated, his expression thoughtful. “There are days when the burden is heavier than others,” he admitted quietly. “But I do not tire of it. The work – whether it is leading my people or crafting something with my hands – gives me purpose. It reminds me of why I continue.” 

He paused, then added softly, “And perhaps, it is in those rare moments of quiet, like this one, where I find the strength to carry on.” 

His words touched me deeply, and for a moment, I found myself at a loss for how to respond. I had never seen him speak so openly, so honestly, besides that night on the balcony. It was as though, here in the stillness of the gardens, away from the eyes of the court and the weight of expectation, he allowed himself to be simply himself. 

“I am glad,” I finally said, “that you find such moments of peace.” 

He smiled, a warmth in his gaze that made my heart flutter. “As am I, Arínel. And I find, this night, that your company brings a certain… comfort.”

My breath caught at his words, but before I could respond, he stepped back, his expression softening. “I shall leave you to your thoughts, Arínel,” he said, his voice gentle. “But I hope we might continue our conversation in the future.” 

I nodded, “I would like that very much.” 

He bowed his head slightly, a graceful farewell, and then, with one last lingering look, he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the garden, leaving me alone with the quiet of the night and the warmth of his presence still lingering in the air. 

______________________________________________________________

The morning sun cast a warm glow over Lindon’s terraces, bathing the city in a golden light. Arínel sat with Galadriel at a small stone table, the remnant soft their morning meal before them. She picked at her bread absentmindedly, listening to Galadriel’s calm voice as they spoke of old memories and the ever-present challenge of their age. 

“Do you remember how we used to spar in the fields of Dorthonion?” Galadriel asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips. 

I nodded, returning her smile with a fond one of my own. “I remember you always winning,” I teased lightly, though there was truth in my words. Galadriel’s skill with a blade had been unmatched even then. 

Galadriel’s smile widened, and a glint of mischief flickered in her eyes. “Only because you held back. Perhaps today, you’ll give me a real challenge?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, my lady? Or rather should I say commander?” I teased back. 

“Indeed,” Galadriel replied, rising from the table with a graceful motion, her long golden hair flowing behind her. “Let us see if time has dulled your sword arm.” 

I chuckled softly, pushing myself up to follow. “Very well, commander. Let us train like old times.” 

We made our way to the training grounds, an open space nestled in a quiet corner of Lindon, surrounded by the tall silver and golden trees. I noticed a few soldiers practiced nearby but kept their distance, which made me chuckle. No doubt they knew of the prowess of the great commander of the northern armies. I would have to do my best to ensure I wasn’t humiliated in front of everyone. 

We both went over to the weapons rack and picked up a sword, the familiar weight of it resting in my hands bringing back a flood of memories. 

“I will not go easy on you,” Galadriel warned with a grin, her stance ready and light as she faced me. 

“I would expect nothing less,” I replied, falling into a stance of my own. 

We began slowly, testing each other’s movements, light taps of swords echoing through the air. As always, Galadriel was quick, precise, her blade darting in and out with the precision of a master. I parried easily, though my focus wavered for a moment when I caught sight of figures approaching from the terrace above. 

My brother and a certain Lord of Eregion. 

They stood side by side, watching the sparring session with great interest. I felt my heart quicken, my eyes flickering to Celebrimbor for just a moment too long. His expression was calm, but there was a subtle fleam of curiosity in his eyes as he observed our training.

Focus, Arínel! I yelled at myself internally. I forced myself to return to the present, meeting Galadriel’s next strike with a powerful block. The ring of our swords echoed through the training grounds, and the nearby soldiers paused to watch, caught by the rare sight of two of the finest elves in Middle-earth locked in a sparring match.  

Galadriel’s strikes became faster, more aggressive, as if sensing the distraction in my movements. The sound of steel against steel filled the air as I kept parrying, twisting my body to avoid ta well-aimed thrust. I could feel Celebrimbor’s eyes on me, and my determination flared. I would not be bested so easily, not while he watched. 

With a burst of energy, I pressed my attack, my strikes faster now, more precise, matching Galadriel’s tempo blow for blow. I feinted to the left, the spun quickly, my blade narrowly missing Galadriel’s shoulder as my old friend sidestepped with practiced ease. 

“You’re holding back again,” Galadriel, said a teasing edge in her voice, though her eyes flashed with pride. 

I gritted my teeth, refusing to let the distraction of our audience sway my focus any longer. I lunged forward with a quick succession of strikes, each one forcing Galadriel to move back. My sword sliced through the air, my movements fluid and graceful, and for a moment, I could feel my old self returning – the warrior of old who had fought alongside heroes of legend. 

With one final push, I closed the distance between us, my blade aimed for Galadriel’s side. Galadriel countered, but I was ready. I spun low, my sword sweeping toward Galadriel’s legs – until suddenly, with a swift twist of her wrist, Galadriel’s blade was at my throat. 

I froze, the cool edge of Galadriel’s sword pressing lightly my skin. For a heartbeat, I thought I had lost. But then I noticed the tip of my own blade resting lightly against Galadriel’s neck. 

We had struck at the same time. 

A soft laugh escaped Galadriel as he pulled her sword back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “It seems we have both improved,” she said, lowering her weapon and stepping back with a graceful bow of her head. 

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I had been holding and straightened, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Or perhaps we are both growing old and slow.” 

Galadriel chuckled softly. “I would never admit such a thing.” 

Our duel had ended in a draw, but as I returned the sword to the training rack, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory, especially with the way Celebrimbor’s gaze lingered on me. When I glanced up at the terrace, his expression had softened, a small smile touching his lips as our eyes met. 

My brother clapped his hands from where he stood, a broad grin on his face. “Well done, both of you! A duel worth watching.” 

Celebrimbor said nothing, but his eyes held something unspoken, something warm that sent a flutter through my chest. 

I turned to Galadriel, who was watching me with a knowing look, a subtle smile on her lips. “Perhaps we should spar more often,” Galadriel suggested, though there was a light teasing tone in her voice that made me blush. 

“Perhaps,” I agreed, unable to hide the smile growing on my face. 

______________________________________________________________

As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across Lindon’s trees, Galadriel and I found ourselves walking side by side through the gardens, our footsteps quiet upon the soft grass. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, yet there was a weight hanging between us, one that I had felt for some time now but had not dared to address. 

Galadriel, as ever, moved with a quiet grace, her eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for something just out of sight. There was a tension in her, an unrelenting energy beneath her calm exterior, and I knew what caused it. 

The hunt. The search. The darkness that still lingered. 

We walked in silence for a few moments longer before I spoke, my voice soft but deliberate. “You’ve been restless, Mellon-nin. I can see it in your eyes.” 

Galadriel’s gaze shifted to me, the ethereal light in her blue eyes dimming just slightly. She let out a soft breath, though she did not respond immediately. Instead, she slowed her pace, as if weighing her words before speaking. “I have been restless, yes. More than I care to admit.” 

I studied my old friend, noting the way Galadriel’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, a sign of her inner turmoil. 

“It is him, isn’t it? Sauron. You still believe he’s out there.” 

Galadriel stopped walking, turning to face me fully. For a moment, the air between us seemed heavier, filled with an unspoken tension. Then, finally, Galadriel nodded, her expression hardening. “I know he’s out there,” she said quietly, her voice edged with steel and resolve. “He may be hiding, but he has not vanished from this world. Not yet.” 

I frowned, feeling a chill creeping up my spine at the mention of Sauron’s name. “It’s been years, Galadriel. Decades. No one has seen him or heard any whisper of him since Morgoth fell. Even my brother—” 

“The High-King thinks he is gone,” Galadriel interrupted, her tone sharp. “They all do. They believe that because Morgoth is no more, Sauron has simply vanished, faded into the shadows.” She paused her eyes flashing with fierce determination that I had always admired, yet sometimes feared. “But I know him. I have felt his presence, even now. The shadows have not lifted, Arínel. They have only shifted.” 

I felt my chest tighten at her words. I had heard the stories, of course, of her unyielding search, of the warnings she had given to the High-King and others. I knew of her deep hatred of Sauron. 

“And if he’s out there,” I asked gently, “what do you intend to do? You’ve been searching for him for years, yet not sign has surfaced.” 

Galadriel’s jaw tightened, her gaze turning toward the distant sea, as if the waves beyond Lindon could offer her the answers she sought. “He is biding his time,” she said softly. “Waiting for us to grow complacent. That is his nature, to deceive, to lie in wait until we lower our guard.” 

I stepped closer, placing a hand on Galadriel’s arm. “You cannot carry this burden alone, Mellon-nin. You’ve given everything to this search. But perhaps it’s time to let go – just for a while. Rest, be with friends. Trust that my brother will not allow any shadow to take root here.” 

Galadriel turned her gaze back to me, her expression softening for just a moment. There was a deep weariness in her eyes, one that spoke of centuries of struggle and loss. “I appreciate your concern, mellon-nin. But you know as well as I do that I cannot rest. Not while he is out there.” She hesitated, as if considering how much to reveal, then added in a whisper, “He took too much from me…from all of us.” 

My heart ached at the weight of her words. I knew well the toll that loss had taken on Galadriel – her dear brother Finrod, slaughtered and marked by Sauron. The darkness that had consumed so much of Middle-earth, even after Morgoth’s defeat, still lingered in the deepest corners of her heart. 

But I also knew that the constant search, the endless pursuit of an enemy that may never reveal himself, was wearing Galadriel down. “I do understand,” I said quietly. “But there is more to life than this hunt. You need to remember who you are, what you still have.” I paused, my voice softening further. “You are not alone in this fight.” 

Galadriel’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile. “And yet, I am the only one who stills fight it.”

I shook my head. “You fight it because you believe in what is right. But you are not alone. I will help you, Galadriel. If Sauron is truly out there, we will find him. But do not let this search consume you. There is still light in this world, mellon. Still hope.” 

For a long moment, Galadriel said nothing, her gaze locked with mine, as if weighing the truth of my words. Finally, she let out a slow breath and nodded, though the fire in her eyes remained. “I will try to rest, for your sake.” She said with a fondness in her eyes. I squeezed her arm gently, offering a reassuring smile. “Hannon ll.” I whispered back as we clasped hands and continued our walk. 

______________________________________________________________

The evening air in Lindon was cool against my skin, but the chill did little to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in my head. My conversation with Galadriel had rested with me. What if she was right? What if Sauron was out there waiting in our moments of complacency? It terrified me. 

I sat by the open window of my chamber, staring blankly out in the fading light, the soft murmur of the sea drifting in from the distance. I should have felt peace here, but instead, there was an ache in my chest I couldn’t shake – Besides my growing troubeling thoughts of Sauron there was another gnawing uncertainty that had followed me for days. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about him – Celebrimbor. 

Every interaction over the last few days and my time in Eregion had left me reeling, questioning what I had seen in his gaze, what I had heard in the warmth of his voice. There was something, wasn’t there? Or was it just my own heart playing tricks on me, seeing affection where there was only friendship? 

A knock at the door startled me out of my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat, and I turned, suddenly nervous, as if I’d been caught thinking too loudly. “Come in,” I called out. Thankfully there was no nervousness to spot in my voice. 

The door creaked open, and there he was – Celebrimbor, standing in the doorway, bathed in the soft light from the corridor. He smiled, that familiar gentle smile that always seemed to reach his eyes. “Good evening, Arínel,” he said, his voice a low hum, soothing yet stirring the anxious flutter in my chest. “I was wondering… would you care for a walk?” 

A walk. Alone. With him. 

I nodded before I even realised what I was doing. “Yes, I’d like that.” He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling. 

I grabbed a light shawl, though the evening air hardly called for it, and followed him out into the quiet gardens. We walked side by side, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound between us at first. But the silence, wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with the kind of ease that only comes with familiarity. 

After a while, he spoke. “Did you enjoy the feast?”

I glanced at him, catching the playful glint in his eyes. “I did. Though, I think my brother enjoyed it more. He loves boasting about our family’s skill with the blade. And don’t even get me started on his fondness of his spear.” I smiled, trying to keep the conversation light.

Celebrimbor chuckled, the sound warm and deep. “I noticed. But he was not the only one impressed.” He gave me a sideways look. “You more than held you own against Galadriel. That’s not small feat.” 

I felt my cheeks heat slightly. “I only survived as I long as I did because she was going easy on me.” 

“Nonsense,” he replied, his smile widening. “Your blade was at her throat, was it not? I’d call that a draw, at the very least.” 

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Perhaps you’re just being kind.” 

“I never lie about swordplay;” he said, his voice teasing, but there was a sincerity in his eyes that made my heart skip again. 

We continued talking, our conversation flowing easily from there, filled with light-hearted banter and teasing remarks. He had such a way with words – so quick, so sharp, yet never cruel. Every quip brought a laughter from me, and I found myself forgetting the doubts and troubles that weighed me down earlier. For a time, it was just the two of us, enjoying the evening and each other’s company. 

But then, as we turned down a more secluded path, the conversation lulled, and the weight of the unspoken feelings settled between us. The silence grew heavier, charged with something deeper, something I could no longer ignore. 

I stole a glance at him, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it. I had to say something. I couldn’t keep holding it all in. the feelings that had been building for so long were threatening to spill over, and if I didn’t speak now, I might never have the courage to. 

“Celebrimbor,” I began, my voice quieter than I intended. 

He stopped walking and turned to me, his expression soft but attentive, sensing the shift. “What is it, my dear?” he asked gently, his gaze fixed in mine. 

I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts, my courage. “I…I have to tell you something. Something I’ve been feeling for some time now.” 

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t speak. He waited, patient, giving me space to continue. 

I too a breath, my heart racing. “I’ve grown fond of you, Celebrimbor. More than fond. I’ve tried to ignore it, tried to convince myself it was nothing, but it’s not nothing. These past days and my days in Eregion, spending time with you, I…”  I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. “I think I might care for you. Deeply. I think I might love you.” 

The silence that followed felt deafening. 

He blinked, his expression still, unreadable for a moment. And then, slowly, he looked down, his brow creased as if struggling with something. 

My heart sank. 

“Arínel,” he said softly, his voice full of something I couldn’t quite place – regret, perhaps? “I…I don’t know what to say.” 

That wasn’t what I had expected. Not what I had hoped. 

He took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to mine again, and in them, I saw the answer before he spoke. “You mean a great deal to me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You are one of the most remarkable elleths I’ve ever known. But I…I cannot give you what you seek.”

 I stood frozen, my heart shattering with each word. 

“I care for you deeply,” he continued, his gaze never leaving mine, “but my heart…it is not free. It belongs to my work, to Eregion, to the responsibilities I carry. There is no room left for anything else.” 

I couldn’t speak. The pain of his words, though spoken with such kindness, was unbearable. 

“I wish things were different,” he added softly. “You deserve someone who can give you all that you are asking for. But I… I’m not that person.” 

I felt as though I were drowning, unable to breathe, unable to find my voice. I hadn’t expected this – not the pity in his eyes, not the gentle way he was rejecting me. it hurt more than I thought possible. 

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out as if to comfort me, but I pulled back, shaking my head. “No,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please… don’t.” 

“Arínel,” he said again, softer now, his expression filled with sorrow. “I’m so sorry,” 

The pity in his voice twisted the knife in my chest, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to get away. 

But before I could say anything, we were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Another ellon approached from the far side of the garden, his formal tone breaking the fragile moment. “My lord,” he said, bowing slightly. “You are needed…” 

Celebrimbor’s jaw tightened, but when he turned back to, I had already started walking away. 

“Arínel, wait—” he called after me, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not while my heart was breaking. 

(Stay tuned for part II)

[kykyonthemoon]

Oasis Tale

After the events in Sea of Golden Sands, Rafayel rewrites his story on a secluded oasis.

ಇ. Rafayel x MC (Female Reader) - written in his pov.

ಇ. Tags: oneshot, fluff with light angst, secret wedding, inspired by Arabian/Middle East wedding cultures, Rafayel's pov, mentioned of his myths (Sea of Golden Sand), Talia.

ಇ. Word count: ~1k2

ಇ. Requested by Na Sa

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

The entrance of the great tent opened, allowing a gentle breeze from the lake in the distance within. I sat on the edge of the bed strewn with red flower petals, gazing at Talia, who had just arrived.

“What is it that you want to tell me?” I inquired after considering that Talia's eyes seemed to convey countless unspoken thoughts. 

“What else can I say? You have already made your decision.” 

Talia responded with a sigh. I beckoned her over and said, “Then come and give me your blessing.”

Talia was my sole remaining family in the world. If it were not for her, I certainly would not be here, at this moment. I bowed my head, receiving Talia's blessing as the representative of my ancestors. She departed soon after, with a reminder:

"One night. You two only have one night.”

I nodded slightly. One night was enough.

Once Talia's footprints were covered by the wind and sand, I stepped out of the tent. The sunset covered the cool water in the middle of the oasis, a magnificent crimson as I stepped down. I waited. I waited for the moment when the bell-like sound of the jewelry adorning that one young maiden rang out. Then I turned around. 

She stood in all of the colors that I appreciated of this world. A fiery dress with gold and pearl jewelry - those had belonged to her for a long time, then given to her once more on this special day. Her bare feet glided across the verdancy of the oasis. Her face was obscured by a thin layer of cloth the same color as her dress, which fluttered in the breeze with every step she took.

She stopped at the edge of the lake, seemingly wondering about something. I reached out a hand and she took it. The water hugged her legs, rising gradually to her exposed waist. Her body was painted with traditional Lemurian insignia, precisely like mine. They were an indication that she was my bride.

I had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Since the ocean had not yet dried.

My trembling hands, with all clumsiness, grasped her veil and removed it. Her rosy cheeks emerged. These eyes penetrated my soul. Akin to when we had first exchanged our vows.

She did not recall. How wrenching it was! Only I, doomed to live without a heart, must remember all. She once kissed me; she once pierced through my heart. I wanted her to remember, yet hoped she would forever not. Love was a misfortune to any Lemurian foolish enough. And I was such Lemurian, the one who gave his heart to her.

Countless lives had passed, I had lived without a true heart. I had waited until the day I saw her again. I had waited until the day she called my name once more. 

“Rafayel.”

From the moment her lips uttered my name, I deliberately bound myself to her for eternity.

I smiled at her, addressing her in Lemurian. “My bride.”

The wheel of fate spun again, and the threads of our destiny were intertwined once more. I saw her again. She found me. I could not stop the torrent in my heart when I stood in front of her; was it hatred or was it love? I only knew one thing, that my heart was throbbing in her chest. She was my heart, my life.

Yet, I was no longer the God of the Sea, and she was no longer a Princess. Even when she reincarnated, even when I erased her memories of us in this life, she still found me.

Then, we were in the midst of an oasis, bathing in pristine water and reciting our vows. This sacred ceremony involved only the two of us. Sparkling drops fell through her fingers, down on my hair. Then it was my turn to catch the water and soak her hair. She trembled slightly. 

“Rafayel,” every time she called my name, my hollow chest seemed to retrieve its rhythm. “Why are you crying?”

Only then did I realize the pearls were falling from the corners of my eyes. Her delicate hands reached out to catch them. She let them float in the water and then caressed my cheek.

"Have I forgotten something, about you, about us?"

I grabbed her wrist, buried my face in her palm, and pulled her a little closer. Her body carried a distinct flowery aroma that I always recalled.

"Nothing. You did not forget anything significant." I responded. I did not wish her to remember the tragedies of the life we ​​had gone through. Yet, in the end, those memories were gradually finding their way back to her.

She spoke again:

“Perhaps I have not recalled all the things we went through together yet. But what I know is that you are in front of me at this moment.”

I gazed at her for a while. Her scent, her breath, her every touch were so real. She was real. Her hand on my face shifted gently. She grasped my hand and placed it on her chest.

“If I ever forget you again, even just seeing you, I shall give my heart to you once more. I know I will always do the same thing.”

Her heart was beating consistently, full of vitality and unending fire. It once belonged to me, now it was hers, forever. I knew the Lemurians out there were awaiting me to seize that heart out of her body. I knew I must sacrifice the person I loved the most in exchange for the restoration of a golden Lemuria. Yet I knew that I would not accept such a fate. Being here with her was proof that we were already writing a different story, forging a different path.

I was not certain how long she and I could go on this path. But I must try. I lifted her hand and placed a kiss on it. I whispered to her:

"Do not say that. Do not claim you will surrender your heart to me anymore. I merely wish it to stay with you.”

The sound of her laughter reverberated in my ears. She responded:

“You once said, Lemurians must rewrite their own stories, with their own hands. I believe in you.” 

She lifted my hands and clasped them together. 

“This time, let me rewrite it with you.”

Her hands entwined with mine. She moved forward and sealed her eyes. Her lips parted. The sun had completely set and the lanterns floating on the lake lit up by my power. The two of us were basking in a pond of stars. 

The tip of my nose met hers. In my mind, a storm was brewing; the burden of lost Lemuria on my shoulders, the happiness of a lifetime that she was willing to offer me. Yet I feared no longer. For as my lips found her kiss, I knew our tale had been rewritten, beginning with that night.

-The end-

[heich0e]

THE WITCH'S SONG - part two knight!osamu/witch!reader tags: fem!reader, royalty!au, supernatural!au, witchcraft, enemies to lovers, mentions of violence/illness/death, persecution and oppression, tw blood/gore, please read the tags on each chapter as updated and minors do not interact. crossposted to ao3 MASTERLIST

For as long as you can remember, you have always risen with the sun.

It’s a habit so deeply constitutional that you've never bothered to question that part of your own nature—the breaking light cresting over the horizon each day, perfectly in time with the first flutter of your eyelids.

Your bedsheets are gentle against your skin as you rouse from your slumber. They're buttery soft, perfectly worn-in from the many nights of rest you’ve found under their cover, and the scent of fresh air still clings to them from an afternoon spent hanging on your clothesline a few days prior. You nestle your cheek into the downy embrace of your pillow, breathing in deeply to savour those lingering notes of summer breeze. You let the breath fill every corner of your chest as you inhale, feeling the way your ribs rise to make room for it, and then you let it out again in a warm rush. You repeat the cycle a few times more, and slowly take in the first moments of your day as your eyes adjust to the early morning light.

With your your arm crooked at your elbow, your hand sweeps lazily around beneath your pillow. You search blindly for a moment, unhurried but sure, and then your fingers brush against something solid and cool hidden away under the feathery mass. You wrap your fingers around the object and draw it out, holding it up above your face to appraise it.

It’s a pair of silver scissors, with a sprig of dried lavender fastened to them beneath a thrice-knotted length of thin white twine.

Outside your window, the milky indigo sky provides very little light. The distant sun is still only a sliver of light peeking out over the eastward sea, but what little glow the new dawn provides catches in the scissors's polished silver surface. You see the distorted image of your own eye, just a glimpse reflected along the narrow blade, staring back.

Sleep does not come to you peacefully, and it hasn’t for a long time. It seems to fight you, tooth and nail, each night, but the battle is ever-changing. Sometimes sleep evades you completely, leaving you to toss and turn restlessly until the moon disappears and the day starts anew. Other nights, slumber overtakes you quickly, but its true violence strikes when you’re left at your most vulnerable—nightmares whose claws sink themselves so deep into you, you can still feel their phantom pain long after you tear yourself awake in a cold, trembling sweat.

Your fingers tighten around the scissors in your grip—still cool to the touch, as though your body heat cannot warm them.

The scissors are a simple charm to keep away terrors that might creep in while you sleep. Just like them, the collection of carefully crafted and curated trinkets that surround your room—dried flowers, jagged crystals, hand drawn sigils inked upon slips of silk and parchment—are all kept in an effort to rest peacefully. To ward away anything that may prevent it.

You didn’t always have so many.

You didn’t always need them.

These items are tacked to your walls, line your windowsills, and hang from the tall posters of your bed—each and every one a remedy originating from a carefully documented entry in your mother’s grimoire. The massive tome rests presently at the foot of your bed, tangled in your quilt. You often fall asleep—as you had the night prior—poring over the parchment pages, bound in strong leather tanned a deep midnight blue, filled with a familiar sloping script that makes your heart ache. Her life’s work and story, her own magic and every piece of knowledge ever shared with her, is contained within those precious pages.

It’s one of the last parts of her that remains.

Thankfully your mother's charms served you well throughout the night, as you feel relatively well rested as you rise from your bed—pulling a housecoat on atop your poplin nightdress and stretching your arms up over your head to welcome the day. You tug your quilt up to meet your pillows, tucking it in neatly at the corners, and then you close the heavy cover of the grimoire that rests at the mattress’s edge. You let your fingers trace lightly over the embossing on the cover as you appreciate it, and then you slip it safely into the trunk at the end of your bed where it belongs.

You’re a little surprised that your visitor from the night before hadn’t caused more of a disturbance to your sleep, already so capricious, particularly given the terrible sense of foreboding that had been hanging over your cottage in the days leading up to his arrival—like a heavy, briny fog rolls in from the sea. You choose not to question good fortune, at least not so early in the day—shaking your head as if willing the unwelcome thought away—and you set about your usual morning routine as though nothing in the width of the world is different than it has been any day prior.

You wash, prepare a light meal, and dress yourself in simple attire suitable for a day’s labour, all before the sun has fully risen from the cradle of the horizon. You plan to work in the garden again today, tending to your plants with the meticulous care they require. You aim to start early in hopes of completing the task before the hottest part of the day makes the work less pleasant—the air at dusk the night before had smelled so sweet, a faithful harbinger of a sunny day ahead.

The grass still glimmers with dew as you step outside your cottage, breathing in the clean, crisp air. Across your property, the sun is just about to creep up over the sea, though there’s a lilac brume that cloaks it—a gentle shroud that lets you see her shape without straining your eyes. You keep your feet bare as you tread towards the garden, listening to distant birdsong, and the blades of dew-damp grass kiss against your soles with every step.

You pause at the break in the wall that surrounds your cottage, the threshold between your garden and your home, and take a deep breath in. The wind kisses your cheek as a breeze rushes past, and the plants rustle around you as if bidding you good morning. On your exhale, you breathe the greeting back.

The light continues to rise in the sky as you labour, soon burning off the gossamer mist that tends to linger early in the morning until the day is bright and warm and fully underway. You shuck the knitted sweater you’d worn out at dawn as the temperature climbs with the sun, and eventually cuff your trousers at the ankles too, but you pay little attention to the heat of the day as you go about making sure your plants are watered, pruned, and any that require special attention are given what they need.

You sing softly while you work.

Witches have long sung songs while they toiled, or gathered together, or just as a means to pass the time. It's a cherished tradition among your kind, and you were taught when you were very young that a witch’s song is a sacred, honoured thing—her voice a gift and a powerful tool.

You don’t sing as much as you ought to, nor as loudly. Perhaps, not least of all, because there’s no one there for you to sing to save for your budding rows of plants. Some of y our earliest memories, the ones hazy at the edges as they’ve been eaten away by time, are of your mother singing in her own garden at the house that you were born in.

Why do you sing to them, mother?

On the edge of a northern breeze, you can hear your own voice—higher, lighter, happier than what it grew to be. You squint up into the midday sun as you reflect.

So they can remember us, Button.

Button.

She called you that because you were always losing yours when you were young; returning to the little cabin you called home at the end of the day with dirty knees, pockets full of shiny rocks, a handful of berries to share with her before dinner, and with one less button on your dress than you’d set off into the woods with that morning.

You remember her impossibly soft hands patting over your head, your arms, your legs, as she appraised you for any bumps or bruises. You remember her breathy laugh as you told her your scrapes and nettle stings didn’t even hurt. You remember her gentle eyes, always sparkling like she was telling you a secret.

Don’t you like when I sing to you? Doesn’t it make you happy?

Your little ribbon-haired head couldn’t have been quicker to nod if you’d tried—your answer to her question came immediate and fervent. Your mother's voice was your most favourite thing.

Well, it makes the plants happy, too—and that happiness will help them grow. Their roots will dig down deep into the earth, and they’ll take all our stories that I sing to them there, too.

You recall the childhood fantasy of each word of your mother’s song spelled out in sprawling, knobbly roots, hidden underground, being kept safe by the earth.

Your eyes flutter shut, blocking out the sun and trapping in the fleeting memory.

The songs she sang to you, the stories that she told, the grimoire in the truck at the end of your bed. Those are all that you have left of her now. You keep them safe just like the soil covered up the roots.

Since time immemorial, song has been used to pass tradition from one generation of witches to the next—the legends of your people, the same ones you recite now as you snip the reedy leaves away from your precious plants, were all taught to you in verse and chorus.

Men flock to the melody of the witch’s song like moth to flame. To hear it is to be bewitched by it. Your mother warned you of such a thing, in the same way all young witches are, and of what might happen should your song be overheard.

The history of man calls the witches temptresses, because of their own weakness to their song. Sirens. Man-eaters. That’s how they choose to remember it in their own egocentric folklore; the witch's song is a weapon used to ensnare them, and nothing more. They hide their own antecedent failings by laying blame, and burning any testament that remembers it otherwise.

You've known one truth as long as you've known anything: men are gluttonous, self-serving beasts. They see the world solely as it relates to themselves. They'll take anything in which they see beauty. And they'll immortalize their story, inked in your kind's blood, only as seen through their own eyes.

But the witch’s song was never meant for man.

You pause, your eyes still tightly closed, with your face turned up towards the sun.

Miya Osamu is standing at the forest’s edge.

You know he’s there even without opening your eyes, but when you eventually do, your sight immediately catches on the glint of the polished sword hilt at his waist.

He’s come armed today.

It’s noon on the day following his unceremonious arrival—the one where you had warned him, at risk of his own life, not ever to return. You know it’s noon, or very near to it, because the sun sits at its highest point in the clear midday sky as he emerges from the thicket of the wild, towering woods at the edge of your property.

For a moment upon seeing him, you wonder if you ought to flee—if you should seek shelter on the other side of the little rock wall you know he cannot cross. Instead, you hold your ground, still resting in the dirt of your garden—the knees of your twill pants stained with grass and soil, with grime caked beneath your fingernails.

You will not run from him.

He approaches you slowly, with careful steps as not to tread upon any one of your still-budding plants. You don’t bother watching him draw nearer.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to come back.” You sink your spade into the earth at the base of a plant that’s showing signs of rot. Its your final task in the garden for the day: you plan to cut it out at the root, take it back into the greenhouse, and try and salvage at least a few slips for propagation.

Your only hope now is that any affliction hasn’t spread beneath the soil.

“I’m not here to prove my nerve,” he says to you, pausing a few paces away between a patch of rosemary and another of oregano. His voice is clear and sure like the blue sky overhead. “I’m here to help Atsumu.”

You place the uprooted plant into a small tin pail beside you, prodding into the soft edges of the hole you’ve dug to excavate it for any signs of further blight. You see none, thankfully.

But rot’s a tricky thing. Sometimes it's in plain sight, and others it hides where the light can't reach it.

“I don’t care why you’re here,” you tell him, setting aside your spade and meeting his eyes as you drag the back of your wrist against your perspiring brow. “And I don’t care about your brother.”

The knight looks worse than he had the day before when he showed up in your workshed, but you’re not surprised by that fact. He spent the night in the woods, that much you’re certain of—not least of all because the nearest village is too far for him to have travelled their and back by midday. His hair is unkempt, his clothing rumpled like it’s been slept in, and the shadows under his eyes are darker, more severe than they had been the night prior—though perhaps their stark contrast is just more evident in the light of day.

At his waist, Osamu’s hand rests lightly upon on the hilt of his sword, but it seems more instinctive than threatening given the way his fingers are slack. There’s a frustrated furrow in his brow that deepens in the wake of your words, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Yer the only one who can help him.”

“No, I’m the only witch your king hasn’t culled,” you parry. “There’s a difference.”

Osamu’s lips pull into a thin line. “So you admit it.”

You blink.

You suppose this is the first time you’ve confirmed his accusation. The first time you’ve admitted to your truth. It wasn't so much a slip of the tongue as it was an inevitability.

“It does me little good to say anything otherwise,” you respond, unshaken by his observation. “You need me to be a witch. As you’ve made clear: your brother’s fate relies on it. The help you hope for me to provide to you is all that’s keeping that sword in its sheath.”

The knight’s fingers curl loosely around the hilt of his weapon at your mention of it, as though becoming conscious for the first time of its weight against his hip.

But it’s not strictly true, what you’ve said, and you both know it.

There’s one other option Osamu has available to him—one other cure to heal what ails his beloved brother—and it very much requires the use of his sword.

Witches have been driven to near extinction now—every coven you’ve ever known to inhabit this kingdom wiped out in their entirety—with little more to prove they ever existed but your own fleeting memory of them.

The only pieces of them worth saving were their hearts.

There’s a reason why witches have forever been hunted for them—a reason why the king’s knights would cleave them out before their bodies were burned. The hearts of your kind have long been coveted by men for the residual magic that they hold. Even when a witch dies, her heart will keep beating, though only for a short while, and to possess a witch’s heart while it still beats—however faintly—will bring luck to the one who possesses it. It can cure any ailment, or end any drought, or even turn the tides of a battle.

Those hearts and the promises that they assured were worth more to glory hungry men than the lives of the witches they rightfully belonged to.

You feel a white hot flash of anger roll through the pit of your stomach like a violent tide at the thought of it, digging your fingers deep into the soil below you to find comfort. You stare up at the man above you, no different from any of the rest of them, and your eyes narrow resentfully. You clutch dirt by the fistful.

“All the hearts the crown has ripped from witches over the past two hundred odd years, and to what end?” you ask him, disdain dripping thick and venomous from every word. “The fortune of a trophied heart is fleeting, their power fades with every passing beat until eventually the pulse stops altogether. Your king knew that, and he chose to pillage them regardless. That old bastard was born with the world in his hand, yet he hoarded those spoils for himself—wasted them—only to die, like all mortal men do, and leave the rest of you behind to suffer for it.”

“Hold yer tongue,” Osamu warns you sharply, his lip curling in time with his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword in a white-knuckled grip. “How dare ya speak ill of the late king.”

“Why defend a man who left his country in ruins?” you goad him further, twisting the knife you’ve managed to wedge between the plates of his composure’s already straining armour. “A man who stripped his kingdom of its greatest resource—of the lives dedicated to the keeping of this land—and left his infant son to take a throne he drove into the ground with his greed. A son I’m sure has grown into just as pitiful a ruler as his father.”

The knight’s sword glints in the sunlight as it’s quickly drawn. The sound of the finely honed blade scraping against the sheath is almost pleasant; surprisingly delicate in its own way, even in its violence.

You kneel beneath Osamu in the glare of the all-seeing sun, the point of his blade held level at your throat.

“Don’t say another word against King Shinsuke,” the man hisses, and much like the first time you mentioned his brother by name, it seems you’ve struck a tender nerve.

You don’t flinch, but your eyes do flicker down towards the garden beds.

A tense moment passes with his steady sword resting just beneath your chin.

“You’re stepping on my spearmint.”

Osamu’s gaze follows yours down to his feet in surprise, to where his left boot treads upon a small mint plant. He inches his foot back slightly, almost without thinking, after you point it out. Some of the outer leaves are bruised, but you’re fairly certain the plant will still survive.

A breeze rolls in from the east, rushing through the blades of grass and rows of plants until it lifts the sleeve of your shirt as it passes like a kiss from the sea. You find it comforting. Reassuring.

Osamu speaks again.

“I could just take it, y’know.”

You don’t need him to clarify what it he speaks of.

What’s strange to you isn't the threat he utters, but rather that the words were spoken so quietly they were very nearly lost in the passing breeze. Part of you can’t help but wonder if he knows he uttered them aloud at all, or if they were merely one final fervent encouragement to steel his own resolve. You look up at him, and see his eyes are burning with insistence—wild in their hopelessness.

His expression is grave, remorseful almost. “I’ve got no other choice.”

Ah.

The final fraying morality of a desperate man.

“Good luck,” you say to him. You still meet his gaze without flinching. His sword is still pointed at your throat. “You’ll have to find it first.”

Confusion flashes behind those frantic grey eyes, and then creeps in the horrified realization.

At the tree line in the distance, a raven takes off from the highest bough of an old oak tree with a piercing caw.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, but his voice is tight and unconvincing—almost like you can hear the bile creeping up his throat. You wonder if he’s saying it in hopes of persuading you or himself.

You lift your shoulders in a dispassionate shrug, reaching up towards the neckline of your blouse. “Would you like to check?”

It’s quiet for a moment as you wait for a reply you know will never come.

Behind the knight’s own rigid shoulders, the soaring raven swoops down into the treetops out of sight.

“You cut it out yourself,” he finally breathes, your finger pausing where it’s looped underneath your collar. His expression clearly conveys the disgust he feels at the very premise.

You drop your hand, swiping your dirty fingers on the thighs of your trousers in a lazy attempt to clean them.

“I thought I ought to beat a man like you to it.”

The knight before you looks like he might be physically ill, a sallow hue overtaking his skin that wasn’t there a moment prior. You’re not sure you entirely blame him for the revulsion, considering what he must be thinking—considering the vile things he must be picturing in his mind. The image of you harvesting your heart from the cavern of your chest; the idea of you holding it—beating and bloody and hot to the touch—in your own hand.

Your gaze hardens with renewed contempt.

“I watched my people be massacred for their hearts," you tell him. "I watched knights just like you drag them in front of crowds, tie them onto stakes, and burn them for a spectacle. An immolation that the king—the one whose precious memory you stand here and defend with that sword—presided over like a jubilee,” your voice threatens to waver, but you keep it even as you stand. Osamu’s blade follows you as you lift yourself up to your feet—but his wrist is limper now than it was when he first drew it. Weakened. You swallow back the bitter taste creeping up your throat. “If not for my mother, I would undoubtedly have been among those lost, and I swore to myself that if it was the last thing I did—the only thing I ever did—I would never let my own heart suffer the same fate.”

Osamu lowers his arm to his side, his blade withdrawn.

You meet each other, eye to eye, but there’s no doubt now who stands as victor.

“Kill me if you want to,—” you tell him, your tone indifferent to the very challenge you make on your own life.

From deep in the forest, you hear the raven’s caw once more—the shrill cry of a predator catching its prey. The knight’s head turns slightly towards the sound, just the subtlest tilt of his face in the direction, but yours doesn't.

Your eyes don’t leave his.

“—What’s one more dead witch atop the grave of hundreds?”

He considers you for a moment in silence, and then slowly he sheaths his lowered weapon.

He turns his back to you, and your eyes trace the broad lines of his shoulders as he retreats in the direction of the forest from whence he’d appeared.

“I will not help you, no matter how many times you seek me here. If your brother's days are numbered as you say, save your efforts and return to him.”

Osamu pauses, a few furrows away from you in the lush green of your garden.

He's unnervingly still for a moment, still facing towards the forest, but then he turns to you once more.

His eyes are supplicating—no trace of the anger or the malice they’d held moments before. His voice is soft when he speaks again.

“I’ll give ya anythin’ you ask in exchange for yer help. Anythin’.”

You laugh, but the sound is acerbic like the taste clinging to your tongue. The chill in your voice stands in stark juxtaposition to the gentle warmth of the early summer day surrounding you.

“There’s nothing on earth that you could give me that could ever make up for the things your kingdom took away.”

Osamu’s face falls, but he nods almost imperceptibly. It catches you by surprise, that seeming resignation—acceptance—to the only answer you offer him.

Wordlessly, the knight turns and continues towards the trees.

He doesn’t tread on any of your sprouting crops as he departs.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Cabin 10: rose scented lace, seafoam perfume and pink pearls

Headcanons of being a child of Aphrodite

These might not be canon at all and mostly personal headcanons but who cares!

This goes out to all the cabin 10 girls and guys who need more attention. Honestly the Aphrodite cabin in my opinion is one of the most undervalued and underrated

To be a child of Aphrodite is to be loved from the minute your born

Aphrodite quite literally is the part of embodiment of love itself

Her gentle touch lingering in the way she shaped your cheeks and jaw

A wistful sigh as she wraps you in silken cloth and kisses your nose when she sends you off to your human home

Growing up you’ll hear stories of her from your parent, the way that effortlessly beautiful woman appeared one day

Glimmering eyes and a sea tinted perfume lingering wherever she went

They say you inherited her eyes, ones that sparkle like gemstones and the natural beauty of someone wholly ireplaceable

It’s because of this and many other reason that your told your unique

You have something that makes you different from most children that you can’t know about yet

It’s confusing but as you navigate school and life as a kid you see things that others can’t

For some reason you can tell when someone has crush on someone else

When your hair is out of place a gentle breeze fixes it

Chocolate of a expensive kind placed in your bag without any clue to as who put it there on your bad days

A single beautiful rose placed on your windowsill each birthday

It’s odd but at some point you stop questioning it

Accepting it as it is and placing the long lasting roses in a special vase, the dried petals still somehow keeping their hue

You’ll notice how people gaze at you with awe

Some are vocal in their praise and others are silent in their admiration

None dare to cross the line though of ever making you uncomfortable

If they do an untold bout of bad luck seem to occur to them

Along with this sometimes you can seemingly charm people into doing what you want

A simple shifting of tone accented with a simple please and fluttering of your eyes can make even the most stubborn of mule back down to your whim

You can’t explain it like the many other facets of your life

So you once more ignore it

Same as the times you’ll ignore the feeling of home in a woman who’ll never quite look the same but you know is at heart

She’ll appear to you different each time

Sometimes she’s a woman in an expertly tailored suit, her hair is tucked into a bun and her hands have a French tip. She looks at you from beneath the rims of Prada glasses with a soft and gentle look of longing before flashing a smile

Other times she appears as a woman in showy clothes that others look at in disdain. Despite how others discourage you about what she wears you think she’s the most prettiest person you’ve ever seen, her red tinted lips quirk up as you keep sending shy glances her way

Each and every time she appears she feels familiar and acts as a sort of inspiration to you

Whether that be finding your personal style or becoming more confident in your own skin

The woman who is never quite the same yet you somehow know is guiding you gently

Nudging you towards your path in life and letting you walk the rest of the way

Her gentle hands try and push you away from ever realizing what exactly you are but it’s only inevitable

like all half-bloods the realization of your part divinity comes quick and hits hard

Like a gunshot ringing into the night as the smoke chokes your mind

No matter how you end up at camp everyone seems to immediately know without a doubt what cabin you belong to

As do your siblings who swarm you, dragging you to your new home as they begin to look you over for injuries

You’ll find that your siblings are from all walks of life, all beautiful in different ways wether that be conventional or something unique

One of your brothers comes from a single mom who runs a bakery and he’s as sweet as cake

A sister of yours is as muscular as a ares kid and grew up in the wilderness

Another is the daughter of a up and coming designer

They all welcome you with open arms, showing you to your already made bed

A chest is in front of it, your name written in cursive and embellished with your favourite flowers, a quote, the scent of your favourite perfume

You don’t know how anyone of your siblings would know this about you

You say so aloud and get a coy smile from one of them along with

“She’s the goddess of love, but love isn’t just romantic it can also be motherly”

It takes awhile to get used to camp, but your siblings are there for every step of the way

They show you the ropes as the camp activities become something you need to get used too

Your older sisters and brothers find out your strengths, showing you the social structure of the camp and the rivalries between certain cabins

To say there’s some petty shit happening within the camp is an understatement

Ares and Athena kids are at each others necks, Hermes’ cabin is perpetually filled to the bring with unclaimed, children of minor gods and the actual children of Hermes, ect ect

Meanwhile your cabin is given the jurisdiction of “shallow” “bitchy” and essentially the stereotype of “dumb blond/bimbo”

It doesn’t surprise you but it isn’t a nice feeling knowing what other kids assume because of who your parent is

The way Athena kids scoff when your sisters paints your nails or helps style your hair

When Demeter kids scoff at the flowers in your arm given by an admirer

How Apollo kids admire you for your beauty but just that

It’s hard and it’s sad

But quickly the older of the cabin show you the upside to this

Your underestimated which makes you much more dangerous

Sometimes you don’t even need to use charmtalk to get what you want

Just act dumb and slide up beside a blushing boy to ask a question

The Athena kids don’t know how their capture the flag plans were leaked to the ares kids

But they sure as hell don’t suspect the “ditzy” cabin 10

Speaking of which both Ares and the Aphrodite cabin get along well despite the major differences between the two

And it’s not just because both ares and Aphrodite have a thing going on either

Both in the camp are underestimated and not well liked

Sure, there are reasons at to why that is but the fact still boils down to parentage

Ares is seen as just a violent brute and Aphrodite a shallow bimbo

Thus their kids are typically just boiled down to just that

Which in turn leads to both cabins relating to being seen as nothing more

Whilst Ares kids focus on the violent aspects of war that isn’t to say their just as strategic as Athena kids

Spartans were violent warriors but they were still smart

And it’s the same way for Ares’s children

In similar fashion as to how Aphrodite children see them the Ares kids also see cabin 10’s strengths

Beauty and love are such a fickle concept that causes so much destruction

Paris’s love for Helen cause the Trojan war and Odysseus’s love for his wife kept him determined to return home after 20 years

Love and beauty are dangerous concepts and it’s why love and war go together so well

Love is its own type of battlefield

It can ripe and tear you apart better than any sword or battle strategy

It’s something that even the gods fight over

It’s an unseen terrifying force that’s usually aquatinted to as something pure and beautiful

That’s not to say love isn’t beautiful

But even the prettiest flowers can be poisonous

Gemstones are still sharp

Thorns are still on roses

Love can be something all consuming and corrosive

The border between love and obsession can be a fine line that once crossed leads to disaster and ruin worse than war

And they see that

They see it better than anyone else in camp besides Chiron and Dionysus

Both of which have either seen it first hand or how truly powerful your mother is at pulling heartstrings to her hearts content

She is both Kind and can be exceedingly cruel and petty if your on her bad side

Something of which you’ll never experience because first and foremost Aphrodite is a loving mother

It’s seen in myths like Eros and Psyche

In how she curses with those who slight her babies

Her love is not physically seen but it’s through actions and gifts

Sometimes you’ll find things when you wake up that you know are from her

There’s a reason all of cabin 10 is rocked out in designer clothes

Most attribute it to being kids of rich human parents but that’s usually far from the truth

In reality It’s all from her

You’ll awake to it in the morning, a box with a ribbon tied in a bow on the chest engraved with your name

Sometimes the lingering scent of perfume and the warmth of a mothers kiss on your forehead

Pears or flowers woven into your hair

The clothes are always the ones you’ve looked at in advertisements or magazines

Hoping and wishing that one day you would have it

What’s more touching though is that some of these items modified for you

In your favourite colour, a shade that matches your eyes or even having your name on it with a small heart which is either stitched or engraved

Some of these items you’ll get date back to before you were sent to camp

The times as a kid you’d skim through a catalog in some random magazine and suddenly stop on something that caught your eyes

A thing you knew your human parent could never afford on your birthday so you kept it in the corner of your mind and memory

Along with this you’ll get small letters or notes

Some complimenting your look today

How your eyes were made by her to glimmer like the biggest of sapphires

The message of how much she loves you no matter what

And perhaps that is something other cabins are jealous of

“If you ever doubt yourself know your siblings love you.I love you.”

Even if your powers aren’t helpful in the way of battling one another just know your always safe under her watchful eye

remember hell hath no fury as a woman scorned, let alone a goddess and a mother

People tend to forget that Aphrodite as a goddess of love also has domain over motherly love

And you are no exception to that

From the moment you were born you have been loved

And you will continue to be loved

[yaostars]

𝖫𝖮𝖲𝖳 𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖱𝖣𝖲 ౨ৎ : vlog one

about: lost records of the past and even past friendships lie between small little films from a certain camera. 2006 was a year of laughs, smiles and even more that turned most of them over. who knew going back into the past would help cause a bit of deja vu but also some memories that shouldn't of been shown. note: this is taken during 2006 where everyone gets ptsd lolz!!! but the point of you is basically yk watching the film. reader pronouns are she/her and is a female reader!! the readers personality maybe a little different to yours (sorry) i wrote this all in one go so tell me if theres any spelling mistakes

"nobara we shouldnt be doing this..!!" the pink head nervously fidgeted infront of the tv. "its fine its not like anyone will know if we put it back in the same spot!" she claimed smiling.

opening the small box of tapes with names on the side such as 'beach day ♡' or 'vlog with toru' and other ones with colourful dried out gel pen writing. itadori grabbed one from the box with the name 'vlog one yay ★'.

a certain sea urchin haired walked in with a towel around his neck pausing seeing the familiar pinkish box gojo kept in his wardrobe. "why are you looking through that?" he walked over seeing all the little nick nacks laid out. megumi hadnt seen any of it ever since he was younger when she was around. crouching down and grabbing the tape out of itadoris hands while placing it into the dvd player.

all three of them sat in front of the tv waiting for the tape to work. little speckles were on the screen before showing gojo in the distant talking to someone. they could hear laughter and it was like deja vu all over again for a certain one.

"stop tryna flirt with n/n shes not gonna answer" a tall guy stood next to the white haired one. the camera then turned to a 180 degree angle focusing on a h/c girl with her knees tucked to her chest smiling at the guys away from them. the breeze gently waving there way through her hair with a little smile adoring her plumped lips. she looked to the camera smiling and waving. "do i need to say anything to this vlog?" she rested her head on the top of her knees staring. "just say your name, age, and whatever you want" from the camera person who was oodly familiar.

"uhm! well my name is y/n, im 15 turning 16 in a few days and well i want to help people" smiling at the camera before turning her head to the guys after hearing them quiet down. the camera turned to where she was staring seeing the albino haired man stare back at her before turning away. the other male had bursted out laughing at him before jogging to the camera. "oi geto do an intro to the camera" the camera person claimed at the male who looked confused but grabbed the camera so it was facing him.

"the names geto suguru, im 16 and i love watching gojo fail at confessing and also i really like kfc so if you have it hit me up babygirl" he chuckled before flipping the camera to the two girl showing a brown haired girl. "now you shoko" he claimed while hearing a bunch of footsteps in the background.

"shoko leri, 16 and i hate everyone here except n/n" she smirked before lighting her ciggarette while you could see y/n scrunch up her nose before turning away from the puff of smoke. "bleh" she exclaimed while resting her head on the albino who randomly sat next to her. "well satoru its time for you to do an intro to the camera" geto had placed the camera in his hands before sitting in front of all three of them.

"UHM what do i say n/n?" he turned to her who she was already looking at the camera with curiosity. "just say your name, age and idk a comment..?" she sweat-dropped at the question before grabbing a few daises from the ground making a bracelet.

"well so my name is gojo satoru and im 16 and uh and uh really hate kfc and thats directed at someone here" he looked around for an answer to pop up. it had taken him that long to think until feeling a small amount of weight on top of his head. softly tapping his white locks feeling flowers realising y/n had made a flower crown which could be seen on the camera while she had one of her own. "you like?" she rested her head back on his shoulder staring at the camera dozing off. "of course i do if its from you" he wiggled his eyebrows at her while geto was choking from laughing.

"okay thats enough of flirting on this vlog so say bye" shoko exclaimed grabbing the camera back facing it towards the two males and girl. they looked to the camera and waved.

"geto is a bum-"

the tape had finished and pop out from the dvd player. a cough rang out the dorm seeing the albino male standing there with a small smile leaning against the door frame. "we are so sorry sensei we didnt mean to go through your stuff!! we were just confused why you have a pink flowery box!!" itadori kept bowing up and down praying.

megumi looked away showing small amount of guilt but completely out of it. he missed the sound of one of the girls voice and seeing her again.

nobara just sat still staring at her sensei before getting up while grabbing the box to give back. "were sorry .. it was my idea i was just curious" she bowed while having the box in the air infront of the male.

gojo only chuckled at them before standing back while sighing. "its fine tell me when you watch the second one.. i havent had the time to watch them" he rubbed the back of his neck while keeping eyes on the sea urchin.

"who was the woman that you sat next to gojo?" itadori asked the taller one without a filter. "her name was y/n and she went here" megumi said before gojo knowing he would blurt something out.

"she was so pretty can we meet her one day" nobara and itadori asked gojo with imaginary tails like little golden retrievers. gojo smiled and turned around keeping his back away from them. "yeah i'll take you sometime soon" he walked off making the first years confused.

[astralnymphh]

god knows she tried.

ellie williams⊱.

“the monster inside her was baying for blood, it had to come out some day.”

⤹𓍢ִ໋listening to; lacrimosa and sour

𖤐.an; I present to you, my proudest piece. wowowoww I really enjoyed writing an emotional piece like this. I hope it suffices and gets enough recognition cause this surely won't be my last angst piece!! inspired by lacy, oh lacy by @coeurify

𓍢ִ໋-cw; ellie pov focus leaning, large analysis of ellie throughout tlou2, loser-esque jackson ellie, angst, heavy feelings, depictions of death + wanting death + blood + guts + sharp objects + nausea/vomit + self hatred + jealousy + starvation, mild glimpses of happiness, reader replaces dina, reader isn't pregnant, poetic writing

⋆.ೃ;wc; 5k+

masterlist ୨୧

the sun was shrouded in gloom. the water did not glisten, but her tears did. droplets of gray guilt pour in slow motion down her bloodied cheeks. tears glistening with hurt.

washed up like a sea carcass, phantom fingers pounding in pain. made into a husk by her own self-corrosion. her mind would have been bare, except, you're there. a figment of time, standing there, suffocating in your blank stare. why are you staring like that? it's not even you. ellie can't grasp that truth. it's only her subconscious. projecting an apparition of your mortal flesh and briny blood. salty like the sea she's sitting in.

would you echo that figment in real time?

the past figments she saw had character. one shaking their head, one like a beacon of comfort caressing her shoulder, and never dead. you're not dead, why is she crying?

she cries for everything.

her limbs calcified of stone. nothings' moving. lungs that felt dried up from all the tears leaving her eyes. a throat that strains and tugs with each dense swallow, reminding her of the atmosphere that appeared so devoid of air, thinking, how could she breathe right now? the insoluble pain of self-destruction. the hunger for revenge, snuffed like a breeze to flames. it was all in her head. the choking. her lungs begged for air, and she could not breathe it.

ellie cusps the hand that gushes with beady red blood that drips into the dark murky water, pressurizing the exposed throbbing knuckle. it hurt like hell, an unlivable hell. yet, not a wail is heard by the ocean. only the whimpers and sniffles graze the ears of her highness, the sea, the only one physically there to listen.

behind her, feet are hung at head-level. wooden pillars that scarcely mimicked crucifixion. this place was dark, in all dimensions.

just minutes ago, her skin was forming bruises and jaw nearly caved in from the force of abby's struggled hits. knuckles praying to live. not even the mass of a gun tucked in her jeans had her awareness. no, she didn't use it. she wanted to feel abby fucking dying in her hands. her hands that have siphoned the lives of many before. but, when she realized someone was actually dying in her hands, when she could feel that through her skin, it was over. the flashes of joel in her head beckoned her to stop, without uttering any words. the same mental imagery that motioned her to break skin in the first place.

joel was always there.

soaping up the harshly served reality that projected on the foggy thalassic horizon and toxified the surrounding waters, her mind sails to different times. supposed simplistic times that, by fate, turned rotten.

the day you two met. a mere four years ago. the town was a busy winterscape. you both were the golden age of sixteen, well, not that golden admist the post-apocalypse. steady clanking hoofsteps that striked the concrete track streaming into jackson, mounted on your midnight coat steed that trailed behind tommy's. heads turned at the sounds of large rusty hinges twisting, including hers, watching from beyond the stable's fencing.

goddess above and below, you're were so stunning.

she remembers she was gearing up for group patrol that day when you arrived, the saddles' horn nearly slipping from her bay leather grasp. thoughts of interest and curiosity had slowly piled up from that point. her pupils picking up on each hoofprint left as you pass the open paddock and stroll into the connecting stable. her browlines furrowed, wondering if you we're some backpacker hauled over for a spell, or a new resident.

she's lucky it would be the latter.

the veil of frigid air that seeped her skin and snapped her focus out of a daydream by the echo of dina's voice, calling her,

"earth to ellie?"

and it tethers her back on earth, turning her face to dina. she thought back to how her gloved fingers snapped in her face, asking for her focus, there and then.

"sor- um, what were you saying?" her speech was floaty, stacking on each other as she stuttered.

why was her focus glued to you at that moment? you had literally just entered. fucking hell, must have been something intruding the air. it's unlike herself to be so.. enraptured.

and later that evening, after a session of controlled gunshots mowing down the rigid fungoid heads that dared to disrupt their supply run, she was tired. plain tired.

as it turns out, a sturdy bench baring wooden boards as seats was enough comfort after all that shit. legs beat down to drooping over the woods edge, feeling like jelly. her hair bathed in the dining hall's incandescent lights, rendering a mellow orange halo. lips in pure quietude, she sat as a stranger to the conversation had between joel, jesse and dina.

ellie pondered the expedition for guitar strings that happened weeks ago, still processing what joel had told her. 'there was, no cure.' was it fabrication? what really took place in her state of unconsciousness? this was the beginning of a lurk. an unabating, rough gloom that presides under and through the chamber of her stomach, telling her something wasn't right. a thing she can't exactly point a finger to. a gut hunch that anchors her heart tightly. all is not true. she must seek.

blanked inside the home of her mind, only to be yanked by the wisping holler that ran over her head.

"hey! over here!" it was dina, ushering you over with the jerks of her wrist.

you passioned your way through the meal lines, appearing before her. she recalls how you looked, you were perfect. you wore the same ebony winter jacket that gathered dust on the wall-mounted rack of your farmhouse bedroom. it had its wears and tears and excerpts of journies to tell, but it was perfect on you. it's just a plain jacket. but for her, it was the jacket.

"the house up to yer' standards?" joel asked you, the usual mug of piping hot joe whaffed a steam around the aged and cracked skin of his face. tender in the light.

your voice rang through, "yeah, nothing I could ever bargain." and it cleared a trench between her temples. that rough gloom took a rain check instantly.

a fuzzy feeling that fords neither love or hate embraced the nape of her back. she didn't realize it just then, but, between the vault of aching uncertainty in her gut and the day to day neutrality she feels, a blossoming delight would come from your arrival at jackson, should she consume its goodness.

she didn't remember much of that conversation until the spotlight beamed towards her.

"this is ellie, she jus' came back from patrol. she'll show ya how we handle things 'round here." joel had gestured your sights over to her, to consume her first impression, with a smile that would become signature.

her ears tuned to you.

"hi!" you greeted with the softest wisping of your lips. oh, it made her evening that much more animated.

from that day onward, it was like a sweet lullaby of love. waving from across the horizon for weeks, your hand splayed out flat in the air, and hers curled up a bit. another week passes, and she's inviting you to the tipsy bison on her own accord. months pass, and she's constantly slumbering on your sofa over long nights, preferring it over being alone in her garage home. at this position in your shared timeline, ellie has grown distant from joel. you swore she forgot that old mans' bowed and bearded face sometimes.

it stung to relive the memory of pushing joel away. outside that damned hospital. saint marys' piece of shit. yelling, "don't you fucking, touch me!"

the tears were scorching. they were brought up to be. and they burned. the inside of her throat felt sliced up, chewed up, and ran through with barbed wire. swallowing was too much to bear, just how it is now, sitting on that dark beach.

that same day, she returned to find you waiting at her doorstep, box in hand. worry-struck. ellie took off out of the void, it made sense you were distraught. she felt mutually the same, her wrenching heart suffering the aftermath. the dawn of day she assumed would be spent alone, was sat atop her bed. losing herself in the video game you brought in that box, laying on you while she flicks the joysticks and taps the bumpers. it was a sunny yellow haven. a light she found in the darkness, that was you.

a tightly braided friendship.

and her mind lingers on something you once uttered at the crux of night during a sleepover, entailing the words;

"i like moths now, because of you."

that made her flustered across the span of a whole week, even joel questioned why she was blanking out during patrol training.

she was your moon. someone to subdue the spines that pricked your skin every day. sharp edges that tell you, happiness wasn't meant to stay. battle it all you wanted. moons eventually dim and embellish darkness.

two years pass, and she's being led to the center of an ornamental string-lit dance floor during another peak of winter, by none other than dina.

not you. if only it had been you. or else she wouldn't have felt that specter of gloom wrench her gut in disgusting ways later at dusk.

at least her gut didn't feel as it does now. torn open for this sorrowful sea to behold, exposed to a retch colored with regret. ill aversion.

her hands guided to the small of dina's back, draping like a silk curtain. missing a flinch when her arms huddled ellie's shoulders. not a flinch. ellie didn't love dina, but they were close. pinkies-tied close. it's just dina being dina, right?

"every guy in this room is staring at you right now.." her voice croaked in a demure whisper. the blood cells in her being were fluttering, the weight of her position then and there, made her feel lit up inside a dark room. backed into a corner. she was the spotlight once more.

"maybe they're staring at you.."

they would soon.

you never resented ellie for that night. you liked her, yeah, but it wasn't her fault. it only felt like you'd gulped a clump of metal bolts, weighing like a sick burden inside you. cold and rustic. your will of steel didn't let that shatter you completely, though. bottled it up and bluffed your feelings. it was never her fault. sucked down that bitter shot and let it ferment in your sickly gut packed with a stir. a stir of pungent nausea jabbing thorns in your esophagus. it delivers a nasty taste. but you swore, you wouldn't resent ellie.

ellie was unaware of your shared adoration. what seemed like a one-sided crush, was not. nights left off with a friendly hug could have been so much more divinely satiating. she wishes her body wasn't bound to the now, wishing she could back to then. the past, and express her affection. tell you everything.

a wish brewn too late. a drunken kiss to her buds out of wills' reach binds a woolly, empty headed fizzing to her ears. tossed into a stupor. all she could do was stand still like a willow tree in the windless plains. lips unable to jerk away. then it sunk hard. you're there. you're watching. people are peering. you saw.

"fuck." was emphasized in her toneless breath, narrowly letting loose another swear in the flavor of a loud scream.

in that gloomy darkness, she saw you. illuminated like a beacon too. your face plasters an unbothered exterior, but the eyes, the eyes are a glass screen. you can understand the essence fueling a person's emotion with one meager glimpse. a new gag clots her gullet. she can't show it, but she for heaven above and hell below, could fucking feel it.

you virtually felt a crack in your heart. cracks in a porcelain antique. you're sure the two looked similar.

strung between multiple conclusions, you pondered. if ellie liked dina, you'd have to woefully accept it. and if she didn't, then she didn't. what more could you have proposed at that time. life is life.

your feet carried you with a saunter, skirting the doors brinking you from the ghostly streets of a slumbering town of jackson. a jarring contrast from the lively party howling behind you. even for someone who's experiencing confusion, you walked with a gentle gait.

pausing under the descending pearls of frozen water, casting your eyes heavenward into the starry globe above you. the stars twinkled so perfectly on such a gut-wrenching night as this one. it dawns on you. how the celestial bodies of space feel no pain, no heartbreak. how their life is lived without the mortal trials you face. it must be so easy up there, suspended in space, feeling nothing.

as the snow nestled in the beds of your hair, melting on your blue hot face, you claimed a sense of emptiness in your head amidst the vomit begging to unfurl from your throttle. please, let it be a dream.

piercing isolation.

ended suddenly.

the swinging of a door wooshes through your ears, and capers your sights to its source. and there she was. joining you in the twilight snow-shower. ellie.

she trotted up to you, lone in the wintry streets, and harvested the same pellets of opalite snow that decorated the strands of your hair like constellations hovering above. her head, too, snowflakes cling to her russet bang and lashes, framing her eyes so damn right.

oh, snowy fern eyes. the most serenic evergreen rings encapsulated behind gloss. dewey eyes sitting atop red sweltered cheeks. her lids fluttered back the tears, the tears that might wither the snow, and surely wither her soundness of mind. a quiver of the lip, bent over her teeth. frozen fucking wind that chars the lining of her lungs with ice. every single thing fucking wounded her.

you gazed into one another, emotions roaring loud. she could peer right through you. through the glass windows of your eyes. things were felt and not shown, it was evident in your expression. no words were uttered in those seconds before. before the infamous words you spoke. words that forced everything to the shore.

"do you love dina?"

fucking gag. another smother of disgust gurgling in her gut. the sheer assumption that you believed her heart to be penchant for dina, and not you, drowned her guts. a quick spurt of unease penetrates her whole esse.

here went nothing.

"I love you."

whorled away from your envy like whiplash. it added up by that point. she appeared like a puppet to that kiss on the dance floor. you recalled it then. ellie's teeth were never bared in a smile, more so, it was the true one-sided love. now, she is standing in front of you. physical, mortal, and all. retching out that confession like it was stifled beneath a tombstone.

to ellie, that tombstone represented everything she expected to fail. to be dead. a wish foreseen as ash, fled to the gales of something more worthy.

that wish sailed the breeze, and landed at your feet.

you reached that shore too.

"I love you too, ellie."

her name levitating off your tongue with a tone so soothing felt affirming. grounding. this is not a dream.

her eyes transmutated, eclipsed by a sun. what was once dewey, red and puffy, then softened to a set of almonds brazed in sweet syrup. calmer tears that were golden. joyous. lids relax and anchor her brows, straightening out like rows of a poem. after straying so long beneath the falling snow, her nose suffused a red-orangey tint, nostrils even redder.

love passioned its way through the gelid space, accompanied by the humid huffs of your breath. but nothing was as warm, not even a star, as what brought your bodies a few measly steps closer.

a kiss.

huddled in the somber streets was an effigy of igniting amour. two souls stuck together. her arms wrapped around your back like you were the only life she could clutch. reddened knuckles crumpling up the same ebony jacket you attired in the winter, holding you dear. your arms found a natural embrace, cusping her shoulders and marrying fingertips into her coppery mane that tied into her bun.

nothing beats the way you two rolled lips, tasting the skin and smacking slowly. her peachy buds that fit the open groove of your mouth so easily. her lips were formed for you. cells that build her body, are building for you. she existed solely for you. graciously drinking up the kiss like a fucking sweet milkshake.

a taste so addictive, you could die on it.

shit, she's smirking into your lips. ellie, you blasted dork. even the dimples denting her cheeks could poke you back. that's how wide her smile travels from ear to ear, even her cheeks fattened up, creasing those beautiful crinkles at the edges of her eyelines. a true smile.

and once that kiss severed, you saw those bloated, ruddy cheeks plucking the corners of her lips. too fucking adorable.

"well, there's that smile. lost her a while ago, els?" the teaser you were, and the loser she was.

her lips refine into the same toothy, adorable beam. she nearly cringed at your observation. the way you kept notation of how often her midface perks up, it was cute. her flesh bites the bitter cold, and blood that heaped her cheeks burnt so vibrant for you.

she couldn't believe you were true.

"i think you're the only person that makes me smile," she recalled this vividly, trying her darndest to uplift every waking thought about you through a cold shell she fabricated, "fuck, i'm so bad at this.." laugh it off past ellie, laugh it off.

if she pinpoints it correctly, you had said the words "i like bad." jokingly. fashioning the most proud smirk ever. pfft, she giggles every time her brain resurfaces that memory of your snowy brimmed confessions.

"tsskk- u're weird."

"you're a big dork."

"shut up.." her ardent palms pancaked against both of your cheeks, passionately pulling you in for another tangerine sweet kiss.

the ivory supermoon set on a blissful night, luckily enough. ellie ended up fleeing that street, hand in hand mingled with you, towards her home. fuck that dance. fuck those feelings flush of guilt that died right there on that street. being tangled in the sheets with you snuggled in her arms was enough. enough to submerge what galloped through her head.

"i don't need your fucking help joel."

shit.

gods above and below.

what did daylight bring?

bloodshed. blood stains her eyes to this day. she was there. she saw. the blood spilt and it splashed towards her. if joel couldn't reach his torn, bashed and narrowly mutilated hand out to her, his lifeline would. the plasma pumping his heart to sustain life, hurling out like a ribbon of crimson. a downright disrespectful invitation of rememberance abby had chucked to her fucking face.

this memory. this disease, an immoral plague. who the fuck up there in the pristine realms of divinity decides a mortal punishment like this?

that memory, lives on. it weakens the marrow in her bones. turns the tides in her head. she wanted to rip her skin off. her skin that gets to survive. disgust. again. the muscles attached to bone, felt like they didn't belong.

she stopped genuinely breathing after that day.

you saw the will to breathe drain from her eyes. etching into that lodges' oak floors. the first grave she ever dug.

"i'm so sorry, ellie."

was the first swan song she ever heard.

now that rough gloom, plummeted and shapeshifted into a dark cavern of misery. starless, desolate gloom. her room turnt cavernous too. blocking all rays of bright luminosity from injecting a disturbance in her seclusion. era of mental death.

you had been visiting her daily in her time of barren sensitivity, at the least, visiting her door. you uneasily sat on the exterior end of her door. poised aside and smushing your ear into it's solid strength. praying that you might hear any peep of life on the other side, you wait. you miss her bloodcurtiling sobs reserved for nighttime, sowing the conclusion that she, inside, was empty. a husk.

if death is so morbid, why did graves look so peaceful? so prettied up. why are the baby blue hydrangeas sitting atop his freshly cold grave, soft in their glory, delivering such a potent posion. they plant their own seed. clotting ellie's throat with a nest of hydrangeas she'll carry with her forever. roots latched to a deep spring in her spirit that navigates every little emotion. the flowers bulge from her esophagus and cough up in petals of regret, forgiveness, and rejection.

she can't accept that.

she didn't.

she heard the rainy forest calling for her.

seattle is here. seattle is waiting. the old flame lights the new wick, and so it ignites, her immortal foe. revenge.

and she brought you along.

ellie respires every soul set free from mangled bodies she creates. her hands a syphon, the weapon her postman. delivering screaming letters of justice with every pull of her finger on the trigger.

a once starless gloom was snapped in half by her own drive with spheres of guttural fire baying for blood. she wakes up a blood-gutter every sunrise. her face just might fossilize and cherish this total takeover. she was someone new. angled fuming brows, irritable red nostrils flared more than ever, and an awful intensity in her eyes. it made them scintillating, more so, grossly gleaming. irises fern green to hazardous toxin in just a few months.

enemies could read ellie's aura nimbly, if their visions should even grasp it faster than their machetes and hammers meeting a clenched palm. she wasn't just a girl. she was a threat.

miles of blood patterned in her path, splotching the diamond modeled bottoms of her converse like abstract art. she was lost in her own world. driven straight to the goal.

you promised you'd be there every damn sliced throat of the way, no matter what. but this scares you. slowly, the fire burning in her eyes had charred her up till she could barely give anything more.

the fire had only engulfed her when she appeared at the theater's lobby doors, banging the margin of her balled fist on the wood. the fist gloved in crescent scars, peeled cuticles, and raised callouses. when the doors waved open to you, gliding up to her and weaving yourself with her body in a relieved hug, she couldn't do it. it was too much. the torture lingering in her muscle memory stung, frozen hands jittering above the small of your back momentarily.

ellie was enervated.

it took her a second to even hug you back. that was, too kind of you. to embrace her body slathered in the lifeline of someone else. why would you even do that, she thought.

her mind looped on a cycle, processing that damned notion as you pleat the soiled shirt off her back. she couldn't even feel the salient tear in her back, the brutally severed dermis throbbing red, not a whimper soars her gullet when you tend to it. numbness riddled her. stitch her up, and she won't flinch.

then ellie croaked,

"i made her talk."

she was revolted. how could she touch you so tenderly after whacking a metal rod into a beating body 'till they coughed up the words. knackered them up for eternal sleep. the face she just wiped from this earth, blurred. does she even remember what she looked like?

it was your own arm, meshing around her blistered collarbone that prompted her to gauge the value of her life, even just for an iota of solace time.

problem being, she couldn't remain enlightened of her value- without you.

"i don't wanna lose you."

your lips kissed her pain away, pitter by patter along the scruff of her neck to her seared shoulder. every peck embedded with a melodic note that forges a song saying, 'i am here, you won't lose me' without even brushing that past your satiny lips.

won't you seal my hardships with your lips of silk? taint my lips of leather and gums of thorns with your soothing buds?

"you wont."

then that day arrived, when she almost did. a scene depicted by the ten of swords. a major disaster indicated. as the arrow speared the air suddenly, and in no time you could count, it had already paved through the plate of your shoulder and strung out blood to the planks before you. rendering you unconscious.

"please stop!" ellie pleaded, just like she did before. god forbid if she had to witness another loved one being lacerated from life. her limp body prays, prays for your safe survival, and not your safe passage. she wonders if god is even real, if any god is real. do they hear her now? we're they aware when she shrilled for mercy at every red ribbon lashed out from his body? did they welcome him, home?

and right before that cold steel nearly divided your skin, a voice erupted.

"abby!"

thank fuck you hadn't ended up a resemblance of the 'ten of swords' illustration. thank the sun gods that you were able to bask and tan under the light that fondled the rustic farmhouse with her. ellie is so lucky, for someone who doesn't believe in it.

"don't ever let me see you again."

you then retired to that old, rustic farmhouse. aging under the continuous moon phases for two years straight.

it was a strenuous journey getting to where she was supposed to be the happiest. despite all the treasures she owned on that farm property, the lagoon of corn fields and hills of verdancy that sung in spring, mighty splendors anyone might wish for, ellie still lived with a loom. ellie bore tantrums inside the confined loneliness of the farm's supply room, kicking the hilt of a rake as it clatters to the stony ground, yelling, "fuck!" when it startled her badly enough, or when it enraged her ptsd well enough.

reminiscence is woven into the scar risen on your shoulder. it reminds her. every. damn. glance.

every approaching dream was daunting to ellie. she'd wake up. cold beady sweat. go back to sleep, suffocate in her subconscious again, and surface them in a panic once more. not even braving the night with a stroll around the perimeter helped. it only sunk everything deeper.

if she was drunken in her sorrows, would you carry her?

the daylight spent with you was her only source of felicity. the mundane made it feel much more liveable. a day spent baking together, flour dappled on each other's noses, roused as she pushed up behind, and swayed you to the cordial and funky beats thrumming from the viynl player. that day, that simple day made her want to live fully for you. she wanted to be tied to your pinkie with the lusty filaments of love.

and in that humble kitchen laid a promise;

"so- this means you'll marry me?" a stupid smirk muffled ellie's voice out huskily, flowing against the shoreline of your ear.

"can't we just announce ourselves married already?"

"baabeee.." that freckled idiot whined.

"eelllssss.." you rung back.

her arms fastened you tighter, pout puffing on your shoulder, "i wann' make it feel real.." she intoned, inclining up and stuffing her nose into your neck. pretty sure she rubbed all the flour onto you, being the bear hugger she is.

no answer parts your lips.

"babe?"

ellie felt you twirl in her caging arms, perking up to even up with your gaze in curiosity. her brows fumble and arc inwards to visibly show her interest for your next words.

"we're real, els. i don't need a ring or declaration to show that.." your tone caters to her love of soothing sounds, as she breaks into an even toothier smile that trails your words.

"you don't?"

you had leaned in, devoid of words. a quiet kiss to her brows, said so much more than she expected. that inner-loser knocked on the door of her mind and took control. blasted blush coating her cheeks. you really knew how to woo her, cradling her head in your tender cusp.

"i just need you."

"don't go."

the grounding touch of her cheeks held between your hands was not enough. the blank, void, and unnerving night was not enough. nothing was enough to keep her waiting.

what kind of songs do you play when dwindling into internal madness?

her own screams battle the wood boards of that farm too often. her screams synchronize with joels, replaying in her head. scared and unable to hold onto anything. thoughts running amok. she fucking needs you more than she thought.

"ellie- ellie.. I'm here. it's okay."

it's not okay.

it's not okay for her to play pretend and cast an ocean over those feelings 'when she can'. you told her, it's okay. to be broken. but her heart anchors towards an obligation to be picture perfect for you, for anyone. every positive cover-up felt like posion pooling from her mouth. lying til she couldn't feel her lips.

she lied to you once. for someone who despises lies and has been lied to, she lied. that fucking lie hurt. but it was too loud. the gloom that stuck with her for so long has grown into a pounding, jarring sound similar to intense whirring, but echoed. nothing had color at that point. everything was a null void, and every sound was a silence too loud.

a sentence meant to be; "i'm going to find abby." sounded a lot more like,

"i'm so tired, baby." murmured ellie, collapsed flat on the plateau of your chest and drained of energy.

you assumed it was just physical fatigue.

"it's fine, go t'sleep, we can talk later."

ellie's eyes looked so dull, so scarce of humanity. she was tired. each passing day had been vampirically sucking the motivation from her veins. some days, she didn't even catch you calling her name from the farmhouse. earth to ellie, are you still in there?

"I have to finish it." ellie's forehead bent to yours, felt so wrong.

"why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't." her voice nearly shattered into a waterfall of sobbing.

your voice cracked, however, "bullshit, els."

that was the drawing line. she finally breaks and is consumed by that hovering gloom. she lost herself.

ellie dashed every chance of losing you, and yet took it upon herself to leave you, instead.

that fucking thing that leeched off her for so many years is finally getting what it yearns for. greed of revenge to feed the darkness. starving herself as it ingests every fiber barely holding her together.

you spun away with leisure, breaching your hands from her, "I am - not, doing this again."

you couldn't save this. she was leaving. nothing blocks her way.

heart-wrenching silence dawns.

"that's up to you."

her heels unhurriedly turned in an instant, abandoning you, and her dreams born of soft blue dasies. her omens of happiness and trust, becoming a fatuous foreground. the door waving shut behind her would soon come to bite her in the heart.

now she sits. almost dying in that water. the water was her gloom all along. she was the vessel, she paid the price, it's free. now she bleeds into it. red rivers dance and make a mockery of her weeping body.

she tried.

it won.

she tried for the false clone of you haunting her mind. it's the only thing she had left of you.

she tried so hard to be strong. only she and the gods above know that.

you wouldn't though.

coming home to jackson a walking carcass, pinning her hopes on you being there. it was obvious you moved from the farmhouse. why would you live there alone?

so, she stands. inside your old jackson home, to divulge its absence of you. no, you weren't there. you weren't in jackson. all that remains are old memories crammed into boxes. motionless without a requiem.

ellie closes in on one of these.

and what she finds is painful.

that winter jacket.

she clutches it tight to her barren eyes, burrowing the trench of her nose with your lingering scent. the scenes trance her mind. visions of you tackling her in the thick mud puddle on your farm's acres, an enchanting laugh wheezing in your throat. visions of holding your stomach while you scrubbed fine china of its grub and stains, wishing you two had a real family, a child, by some miracle. recollections of you, legs sitting pretty across her lap as she thrashed a controller, casting her evil curse whenever the game ticked her off just enough and how you giggled at her. the everlasting evocation of you two, kissing under that snow-ether night, vowing a love to extend across times bounds.

the jacket smells so fucking good.

"please.." whispered ellie, with a taut countenance, "where are you.."

not a clue of where you went is in those walls.

are you dead? nobody knows.

where she left the farmhouse, you left her entirely. unknowing if it stems from love, hate, or neutrality. the guilt felt disgusting, once more. the pain stung in her lung far harsher. the air siphoning out.

in a room so devoid of air, and you, how could she breathe?

you can't pay in blood and sacrifice. ellie has learned that. she paid in loss of something that didn't have to go.

love was understanding each other's limits, and so was losing each other. she just never realized you had limits plummeting down on you, until the new moon phase had begun, and it was too late.

that figment of you is all she has left.

𓍢ִ໋-likes and reblogs appreciated, bright blessings!

[watercolorfreckles]

hi, thank you so much for your wonderful writing :))

I've especially loved reading Deep Blue and I was wondering if you...do continuations? if not that's totally okay, just thought I'd ask :)

have some ice cream :) 🍦

Thank you, thank you! Sorry for taking so long to get to this request. Hope you like it!

Deep Blue - Pt. 4

siren x pirate

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

When his eyelids parted again, the midday sun split the room, haloing the sleeping siren in a honey blaze. Her hair pooled around her head in golden spires where she'd sunken against the cotton pillow during the night.

Her shoulders swam beneath the gauzy knit of the pirate's shirt, pearl-pink skin peeking free. She smelled of the ocean, all salted breezes and chalky sands.

She seemed peaceful, chest swelling with even breaths. An outsider may have labeled her harmless.

The pirate knew better.

His fingers itched to caress the delicate curls framing the siren's forehead all the same. The supernatural charm of a siren, he told himself. He caught his hand when it twitched halfway to action.

He stood up, tearing himself away from the magnetic pull of her. He turned around, shaking out the clumped waves of his hair. His clothes, too, were scratchy with the crust of dried salt. The folds of fabric creased like paper.

He stepped outside and cranked out several pumps of water from the rusted spigot, scrubbing it over his face and hair. The cool droplets streamed fissures down his neck and chest. He pumped fresh palm-fulls to spread over the rest of his exposed skin.

"If you're trying to drown yourself, I can do a much better job of it."

The pirate startled, straightening. "Golden. You're...- How are you feeling?"

Clinging to the open door, the siren stood awkwardly on foreign limbs. The hem of his shirt hung a few inches above her knees; a curtain brushing against his clumsy first aid.

Though her posture painted her a wounded damsel, her eyes were predator-sharp. It set his teeth on edge and sent something primal in his instincts jangling.

The siren's nose crinkled, scanning their surroundings. He tracked her gaze as it roamed over every rock and tree and bump of the earth. "What is that smell?"

The cabin boy snorted, cranking fresh water into his hands to dump over his head. "Dirt."

"Repugnant.”

"Yeah, well... As much as I love it, the smell of salt water and fish can get old as well."

When he glanced up again, he studied the siren more closely. Instead of itchy, irritated skin--sun-dried and chapped--she was glowing as ever. Her golden hair hung in silken waves hardly so much as mussed by his rough sheets, not gritty and salt-riddled as his own locks had been. Her skin faintly shimmered in the daylight.

The only thing about her that wasn't perfect was the red stain weeping through the muddied fabric of her bandage.

Her eyes followed the drip drops puddling beneath the spigot. She wet her lips.

The cabin boy watched her. "Are you thirsty?"

As he'd learned from his hours of curious reading, most sea creatures didn't drink water. They gained their hydration through the food they ate, or their bodies were designed to filter out the harmful sully of salt from the seas they swam in.

Though, his siren was a sea creature no more.

Her feet twitched, seemingly with the urge to take a step, but she hesitated, toeing the wooden step's treacherous edge without letting go of the door.

A small smile cracked the pirate's lips. This creature who had held his life in her hands mere hours prior, capable of capsizing ships and carving out the hearts of men, was afraid to walk. Afraid to fall.

Gravity did have an unforgiving vice above water that it didn't below, weightless and languid in all its honeyed drifting.

He found himself standing in front of her. Ever drawn to her as a moth to its fiery death.

She hissed at him when he offered his hands toward her, sounding like a startled housecat. Jerking back, her heels snagged the rim of the top stair and she fell with a yelp. "Don't touch me!"

Though the cabin boy held up his palms in surrender, the mermaid swiped at him with dull, paddy fingers for good measure.

"Easy," he said, "I was only going to help you."

"Why?"

His brow creased. "...Why?"

"Why are you trying to help me at all?" she demanded.

"You saved my life."

"I tried to drown you! You should have left me there, I would have been better off! Your 'help' is a scourge, a curse!" She pushed herself up onto wobbly feet, smacking his hand away when the pirate reached out again, reflexively, to assist her.

He heaved a sigh, stepping back. “You would have bled to death.”

“It would have been better!” There was something terribly broken in her voice. A windchime once ringing melodic lullabies now cracked and shrieking. She staggered down the remaining two steps, swaying unsteadily on her heels. Her voice softened. “It would have been better than this.”

Guilt twisted the cabin boy’s stomach. “Golden…”

“No. I am now a prisoner in this…weak, defiled body. I have been stripped of every last thread of my identity. My tail, my strength– The ocean has disowned me, I am cursed to die a fumbling human. There is no greater disgrace! I want nothing more from you.” She shoved past him, limping and teetering as she went.

“Where are you going? You’re injured, hungry, and wearing nothing more than my shirt,” the pirate protested, following after her. “You can’t venture into town like that. Many men would take that as an invitation–”

The siren rounded on him, promptly stumbling and catching herself against his shoulders. Her eyes were alight like an August day.

“I know perfectly well what your kind feels entitled to when they come upon a beautiful woman. That is the very foundation of why you are so easily captured under our sway,” she spat. “Your desires overwhelm you, and our songs coax you to believe you can have all you want if only you surrender to us. I cannot make you believe what you do not already want to. You invade our home and hunt us in our own waters, you take and take and take, then call us monsters when we do not let you have us too. As if we are sunken treasure for you to pluck from the seafloor and sell to the next hungry pirate.”

Any response he had readied died behind the cabin boy’s teeth. He wanted to protest that they ‘weren’t all like that.’ That some pirates led with honor, and that many men were decent. He was decent, wasn’t he?

And yet… He still felt homesick for his captain, his crew, his ship. The very ones who cast him to his death for the mutinous act of having a heart.

He swallowed. “I freed you.”

“And for that alone, I spared you. Yet you damned me. Spare me further humiliation and leave me alone.” The siren gave his shoulders a sharp squeeze before letting go, limping away again in the direction she had chosen.

His eyes followed her, clumsy and graceless, all the way to the start of the dirt road that led into the village.

She would certainly be a spectacle there. With shimmery skin and perfect hair of spun gold, eyes like winter fire and only half dressed, she would steal the attention of every human she passed.

She might be found out for what she was. She might be overpowered and hurt, or taken advantage of.

The possibilities burned through him.

She’d begged him to stay away…

The siren’s bare feet kicked up dust along the path that sent her coughing, batting at the air with the same fury she’d faced him with moments prior.

The sight coaxed a tentative smile from the pirate’s mouth. Cursing the sky, the earth, the gods of sea and shore and everything else, he followed after the grounded mermaid.

He would not be responsible for any more of her misfortune. Even if it cemented his own.

He’d always thought the ocean to be fair, even in all its cruelty. It did not shrink itself for the convenience of others. Its crashing swells that swallowed ships whole did not ask for any less from the creatures within it.

He had to believe that there was hope for her, his siren, creature of water and night and song. She would be whole again. He had to try.

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[comfortless]

for your consideration, dearest syl: hybrid Flemish giant rabbit!König 🐇💭

flemish giant rabbit hybrid! König x fem, coyote hybrid! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. hybrids: König is (mostly) human! he just has bunny ears and a cute lil tail & the same goes for reader!, kind of dark- mentions of what is essentially cannibalism, violence, scent & breeding kink, dubious consent to everything. please heed the warnings!

hello lil wisp! sorry!! this veered off a bit from what i usually write. there is still some fluff and sweetness here if you squint real hard…

Winter is setting in.

You could feel it on your bare skin, the chill that sweeps past the trees like breath from a ghoul’s rotting throat: something dead and wretched, so cold it steals your breath and halts the blood in your veins. If you weren’t careful, staying ahead of yourself and the rest of the things lurking in the woods, that ivory death would creep up, grab you by the neck and drown you out in the snow.

With the season comes the need to feed. You don’t have the luxury of hibernation settled into the primitive roots of your brain. While everyone else tucks themselves into dens carved out from mountains or beneath the earth, settled in with the roots of vast trees, you’re still left in smothering snow, heavy as the weight of the hunger.

You were born for this, the hunt: to feel your fingernails dig into the fallen leaves and forest debris, curl in carving your name into the earth, bite and rip and tear. “Little coyote,” the birds would call, seated up on tree limbs so, so far above that the sunlight would burn your eyes if you dare to look at them, “let us watch.”

You always put on the show, always stage the fight with grace. A lost, blubbering sheep one day; the wool ‘round her ears dried your throat, her mournful bleating only died down when your teeth found her throat. The canopy above echoed your pride, they were always grateful to have something to scavenge later, whether it be finger or eye or ear; your hunger wasn’t the only that raged out here in the forest.

This winter would have to be your last alone. You could feel the way a life of roaming without pack or anything to settle with had eaten away at not just your body, but that little illusion of a soul somewhere tucked a long way down inside of you.

It would be a simple one, too— drag some creature to your den to keep your flesh warmed and your stomach full, survive this loathsome season and flourish with the spring. When the leaves returned and the lakes thawed, you could settle into some foreign pack. Flash your neck, hide your teeth and hope they wouldn’t rip you apart as you have so many others.

You think to yourself that a deer would do, some meek little doe that would bat her eyelashes and plead that you only wait the winter out with her, curling against you to keep you warm as you keep her safe until finally…

You didn’t like to think about it too much.

As much as the chase and the thrill had a hold on you, thinking about the loss of life, the ghosts that cling to your shoulders and wail, waiting for your turn to join them was far different. You couldn’t fight your nature, but you knew well enough you could never entirely swallow down the guilt that came with it, either.

There was a pain in your legs as you walked, exhaustion that would go unsatisfied until your plan had been laid out proper. It begins to feel dismal when you realize you have not seen another creature in miles, no prints, either. The only thing that brings you any companionship are the first flakes of snow, sifting down from far above, the great bone white and gray of an falsified sea.

You crouch and wait, curling your arms around your midsection as you shiver. Time passes, but you can’t be certain of just how much… mere seconds, maybe hours. The sky gives nothing away.

Now, there’s a rabbit.

You catch the scent of it on the breeze, musky and floral. Poor thing has probably only basked beneath evergreens, lived in sprawling gardens its entire life, kissed the sun and held flaking petals in its hands. So very unlike you who only knows the shade, the blood, and the hunt.

Your charge is determined, the soles of your feet torn and bloodied from angry thorns springing up from the crushed leaves on the cold soil; teeth bared as you hurtle through the brush of dying plant life. Its so close, so terribly close you can already feel the way your teeth will rend its flesh, feel saliva pooling up on the back of your tongue.

Reaching the forest’s edge you spot… him.

The rabbit is huge, stood in the midst of the deadened field with his back turned to you. The tall, decaying grass just barely brushes against the backs of his knees, low hanging fog veiling his face. If not for the puffy, fawn-colored tail situated just past the expanse of the pale, toned back, you would have assumed you were faced with some sort of bear.

This is not your usual prey.

No matter the sharpness of your claws or the ferocity of your bite, you know well enough that someone like this could never be brought down by yourself alone. It’s too risky, even as your belly aches and you itch to be back in the warmth of your den, surrounded by the pelts of the four-legged imitations and the fire roaring in its pit…

Rabbits were simple, at least. You press your face against them and cuddle, whisper sweet things in their ears and they melt, begging to be swallowed whole without any idea that you’ve only ever meant it literally.

You approach him with cautious, gentle steps, allowing your body language to remain open and friendly as you present him with the view of you bare, claws turned inward into your own palms and teeth hidden away by soft, warm lips. Your ears lie back to rest against your head, tail tucked between your thighs: all a display of utter submission, and a trickery that has worked time and time again.

“It’s getting cold..,” you murmur, voice low and as pitiful as it can get. “Will you keep me warm?”

Your rabbit cocks his head at you, one flopped ear lifting in curiosity. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t startle… The poor, stupid thing remains in place as his stare drinks you in, almost adoringly as you pad right up to him. There’s no hope of your faces being level, you merely use that to your advantage, putting on a cute pout and placing your palms flat against his bare chest.

“Ja,” he murmurs, gently coaxing your chin up to look him properly in the eye. Cute prey was easy, but never… never in your life had you found your prey to be handsome. Even with those silly ears bouncing with each cloudy puff of breath he takes, his face is still something of a myth. The old humans would have made statues in his honor from his build alone, but that face would have given him the look of a warrior of myth— brutish, yet charming with the wide grin he gives you when you meet the sea holly color of his irises. “Come here.”

He lifts you into his arms with ease and your shivering immediately ceases, he’s warm like the summer sun.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers into one of your triangular ears, causing it to involuntarily flick from the rush of his breath and press tighter to your skull.

Your intent was to take him to your own den, but as he begins to move it winds up being the opposite; there are mountains, an ice covered stream all laid out before you as he huffs more sweet words in a foreign tongue against your temple. It takes some time to understand that what you had intended to do and what he intends are entirely different. The mouth of a vast cave comes into view right as he dips his head, huffs several breaths against you, panting like a dog.

You’re only dropped when he kneels down to enter the den— his, ripe with the scent of sweat and musk and something floral. The rabbit has supplies stowed away for the winter, an array of preserved food, ample pelts likely stolen away from some other poor creature. He has weapons scattered about, stolen away from what remained of the old humans and their buildings, some sharper and more deadly than even the claws that crest the peeks of your hands. Your heart only plummets… you’re not in the presence of some stupid bunny, but a behemoth.

You begin your protests in a hiss, only to have your lips met with dried fruit, something sweet and red laid out on your tongue that tastes of sugar. He pulls you up and over his lap as he fits you both into the bed of animal skins and feeds you by gently guiding the food to your lips. The only think still spitting and crackling is a fire pit at the center as you allow yourself to somewhat settle.

The rabbit man only hums his contentment against your throat as your back presses to the expanse of chest behind you, and his hands trail away from your mouth, down further until they’re spreading your legs for him. Your pulse races as your eyes map the daggers across the floor down to the fur he’s seated you with him upon.

There’s only a hiss of breath that leaves your lips when his already leaking cock does press against the heat of your core. You don’t fuck prey— that would only spoil it, and you suppose that you are satisfied in knowing that he has no intention of harming you, only filling you with his seed, perhaps even his kits…

As his tip snags at your entrance, he purrs finding you already wet, bared open for him with his hand still steadying your thigh.

“Coyotes mate for life, hm?,” he rasps against the back of your neck, his own thigh trembling with the sheer excitement of the prospect of breeding you, tethering you to him for not only the rest of this winter.

You can hardly bite back the moan as he pushes through your folds again, nudging your bud as he spreads your arousal over the girth of him.

“Answer,” he commands in a sharp whisper, using his free hand to guide your chin up again. And you do, only in a weak nod.

He stuffs you full then, leaves you a panting heap as he repositions you onto your knees and covers you in himself. The furs smell of him, not the animals they’ve come from. Just the scent of lonely nights and a bitter, masculine stench that you whine and whimper into; all while he grunts his approval and praises about your tightness, your warmth, how you look somehow prettier now, capsized in his bed. Even has the audacity to whisper how long he’s watched you dart through the forest and waited for you to come to him as you sink your claws into hay and fur to steady yourself from the punishing pace he sets.

He only seems more fervent and adoring when he brings you to a rapturous bliss, keening whines and and tight praises pulled free from your throat as your cunt drools around him.

“You want kits?,” he purrs behind you, around you, everywhere as his voice lowers to an almost growl with each word spoken. In your trembling state, addled by sheer bliss as his cock soars into you to grind against your deepest places, you’ve barely the mind to refuse him anything. You merely mumble into the fur, something akin to a yes that has him grasping at your hips as though you’re his last tether to life itself.

When he’s finished, your stomach full of fruit and cunt full of him, he whispers into your ear about how the old humans believed in fate. His hands trail over your back, your waist, every curve only to rise and cup your cheek. His ears raise when he kisses you then, tender, as if trying to push his faith that you belong here right past your teeth.