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merakiui · 10 months ago

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100%

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus

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foldingfittedsheets · 10 months ago

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I’ve never had a particularly strong desire to get high. Altered mind states have always been somewhat unappealing to me. The only drug I’ve ever enjoyed taking was a prescription strength muscle relaxant that loosened all my knots at once and sent me into the boneless slumber of jello. Top marks.

But I have dabbled with pot. As I’m wildly sensitive to smoke my only recourse was to try edibles and anyone could’ve predicted this was a recipe for disaster. So here’s the story of the first time I got high.

Brendan was a major stoner. He was a high energy guy who loved hiking, had his shit together, and absolutely loved getting high and relaxing. One day he decided to make pot brownies. Brendan was an amazing cook in his own right but he came into my life at a time when I was eating mayonnaise sandwiches and started giving me real food so I viewed him as a paragon of cookery. He made amazing desserts. And he didn’t make a batch of no pot brownies.

I’d never had one of Brendan’s brownies, before, but dear god I wanted one when they came out of the oven in a waft of rich chocolatey smells. They were fudgey and perfect and all that I wanted in the world was to eat one. I watched him take a bite, burning with envy and desire.

Being high seemed like a small price to pay if only I could sink my teeth into the warm splendor of brownie. I came up to where he was sitting on the couch, slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hey. I want to try a bite,” I told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I was sure as fuck that I wanted that brownie in my mouth.

Brendan was sat facing the tv and held up his hand without looking so I could take a bite. I am not a creature of modest bites. And I wanted that brownie. I took a huge bite, carving into the interior of the brownie, leaving Brendan with a only a rim.

He pulled his hand back and saw the brownie crime I had committed and gave a resigned chuckle. “Well this is going to be fun.”

On one other occasion in my life I’ve tried an edible and there was a brief relaxed period before things went horribly wrong that made me think, this is probably where most people stop and enjoy themselves.

But on this occasion, the massive bite of brownie didn’t drift me slowly up through layers of being high. It skyrocketed me into high space with great prejudice. I have no memory of a middle point, I wasn’t high and then I was suddenly so high I couldn’t function.

I’ve heard people talk about paranoia. I didn’t have that. Some people mention nervousness, no, none of that for me. My mind was simply gone. A thought would blip to life on one side of my brain and fail to travel through the fog to find its conclusion. I couldn’t think. I wasn’t really experiencing sensation. I was nothing in the void.

When Brendan realized I’d been staring wall eyed at nothing for too long he said, “How are you doing?”

It took a long time to process the words and even longer to slur out, “I can see everything.”

I don’t remember him getting up and leaving, or waiting, or anything really. Thoughts flickered and died in my mindscape, meaningless and alone.

Then Brendan put headphones on me.

I was unable to conceive of anything as wonderful as music surrounding me, and thus began the only nice part of the trip. I might have experienced ego death but at least I had the ethereal sounds of Pure Reason Revolution to wrap myself in.

I’m not sure how long the nice phase lasted. But eventually something started going wrong in my mouth. My throat became uncomfortable enough to pierce the haze I was in. It was almost numb, and impossibly dry. I drank water to no avail. Finally I conceived of the solution. “Ice cream!” I demanded of Brendan.

He went to grab some and I was dismayed that when I took a bite the sensation in my throat intensified. “It made it worse,” I complained.

“Made what worse?” Brendan asked, because of course I hadn’t actually told him why I’d wanted ice cream.

When I told him what was happening he said, “Oh, of course ice cream is going to make cotton mouth worse.”

“Well then why did you give it to me!” I complained. He smiled fondly at my irrational grumping and got me more water.

Finally I’d had enough. Music couldn’t erase my discomfort, I was getting frustrated I couldn’t think but I was still high as balls and I wanted the night to be over. Brendan suggested I go to bed so I climbed up into my bed and lay there, uncomfortably high.

I couldn’t sleep. My throat was so cottony, a side effect I hadn’t known existed and I thoroughly loathed.

Then I thought: I could masturbate! Brendan had talked about enjoying that while high. I’d give it a shot. My body however was wiser than my head and was having none of this plan. It refused to respond, stubbornly insisting that now was not the time.

I doubled down, refusing to give up on this horrible idea and in a bitter struggle, and against my body’s own wishes, I produced an orgasm that rated a 0 on the pleasure scale. Something happened but it was like a resentful flex of muscles that stopped immediately.

Furious with the overall experience of being high I buried my head in pillows and finally slept. I told Brendan the next day about my attempt and he facepalmed so hard. “Why didn’t you just go to sleep! You were way too high to enjoy that.”

I grumbled and agreed that it was very stupid. I tried to weigh the single bite of brownie I had with the absolutely wretched hours of discomfort and while it didn’t quite balance it was still pretty close. It was a really good brownie.

#ramblies #funny #writing #ffs foibles #marijuana #it’s silly now that it’s legal in my state there’s so many ways I could try it now #but I have less than no desire to make another foray #funny story #drugs #Brendan

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crystallinestars · 4 months ago

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Their reactions to your death

As it says on the tin, the HSR boys' reactions to your death. This is pure angst.

WARNING:

Contains descriptions of death (nothing too graphic, though)

Suicidal thoughts in Aventurine's part

Mentions of Aventurine's backstory

No happy endings, this is pure angst

Characters: Argenti, Aventurine, and Jing Yuan

🌹 Argenti

Argenti knew that taking you traveling with him was a dangerous endeavor. You had some combat experience as a Nameless, and he admired your determination to improve your fighting skills by frequently sparring with him. He warned you of the frequent dangers he faced as a Knight of Beauty in his pursuit of THEIR radiance, and despite his common sense telling him to let you go, neither his heart nor you were satisfied to sever the tender bond growing between you. Against his better judgment, Argenti caved to your pleas to join him on his journey.

At first, the days spent journeying with you were some of his happiest. The love blossoming in his chest filled his entire being, and he often swore to you that you must have been blessed by Idrila themselves because when he was with you, the entire universe glowed with radiant beauty. The world was more beautiful with you by his side, for that was how much of an impact your presence had on him.

Argenti soon came to regret his weak will for allowing you to come along on his perilous adventure. You were making a rest stop on a small planet when the Antimatter Legion invaded, set on destruction. Overwhelmed by enemy numbers, Argenti focused on protecting the citizens and trusted you to handle yourself. Though you were not on par with his strength, he saw you improve during your sparring sessions, and he wanted to believe in your capabilities.

When the battle was over and the dust settled, Argenti couldn’t find you. While calling your name, he forced his battered and bloodied body to move as he searched for you among the rubble. He soon found you, collapsed on the ground in a puddle of your own blood. Quickly rushing to your side, Argenti scooped you up into his arms to inspect your injuries. The gashes in your torso were deep—Argenti knew instantly they were fatal. He didn’t want to accept your death, but no matter how much he called your name, hoping you would magically come back to life and open your eyes, you remained still.

Argenti was no stranger to losing friends, as their knightly profession resulted in many of them dying. He still thought about his fallen comrades with an ache in his chest, unable to fully make peace with their passing. However, you were someone he cherished even more than his fallen friends. You were the first person he grew to love from the bottom of his heart, dare he say even more than his beloved Aeon of Beauty. You were the first person to instill such overwhelming joy and adoration in his being with your mere existence.

Gently taking hold of your hand, Argenti brought your palm to his cheek, his heart shattering at how cold your skin was. He remained like this for a long time, hunching over your body and cradling you close while holding your limp hand in his. He wept. Tears streamed down his handsome face, leaving behind wet trails among the dirt and blood smeared on his cheeks as he kissed the back of your hand the way he did so many times before, only this time would be the last. Argenti quietly apologized to you for not being there to protect you, for allowing you to join him on such a dangerous journey and lose your life because he wasn’t strong enough to resist his love for you.

The day you died, the beautiful universe as Argenti knew it, withered like a decaying rose. The things he once found beautiful were now rendered without that same brilliant splendor. Everything appeared bleak and ordinary. No matter how he tried, Argenti found it difficult to summon the love and appreciation he once had. It was as if you had taken that ability with you to the grave.

Worse yet, Argenti found his faith in Idrila shaken, leaving him questioning his devotion to the absent Aeon.

After all, how can beauty exist in a universe without you?

🃏 Aventurine

After he returned from a mission, Aventurine wanted to spend some quality time with you, so he took you to the local mall with the promise of buying you anything your pretty heart desired, no matter the price tag. Walking hand-in-hand, Aventurine and you were discussing which store to visit next when a man emerged from the crowd and stood in front of your pair. The man looked familiar to Aventurine, but before he had time to place the face to a name, the man drew a gun and aimed it right at Aventurine’s heart, screaming that Aventurine ruined his life and he would get revenge on him today.

The ensuing moments happened too quickly for Aventurine to react. The man pulled the trigger and a loud bang resounded through the shopping center, resulting in a cacophony of screams from the nearby crowd of shoppers. The bullet didn’t hit Aventurine, however. As if in slow motion, he watched you shield him from the assailant and intercept the bullet in his place.

His carefully crafted personal of smug confidence crumbled when you fell at his feet, replaced with rarely-seen panic as Aventurine saw red bloom at the center of your chest like an ugly rose. The terror of losing you overrode any other concern in his mind, and Aventurine barely spared a thought to the assassin, too preoccupied with stemming your bleeding with his jacket, not caring if it became ruined with blood. Somewhere in the background, he heard the man’s angry shouts as he was apprehended and carried away by security, but Aventurine couldn’t focus on that. All he had on his mind was ensuring you made it out alive.

He was so focused on stopping your bleeding, that the only thing that snapped him out of his panic was the sensation of your hand resting over his. Lifting his gaze to meet your pained one, Aventurine watched you mouth “I love you” before falling still moments later. Your eyes glazed over, staring through him into the distance, and Aventurine’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

Just five minutes ago he was happily holding hands with you, excited to indulge in a rare day off to spoil you, and how he looked down on your lifeless body cradled in his arms. You were gone and he will never get you back.

The ensuing days were a blur of police interrogations and IPC meetings, but Aventurine was glad to be busy. It was the only thing distracting him from his grief and guilt. It turned out that the assassin was a small company representative he screwed over a while ago for the sake of a mission, and the man wanted to kill Aventurine in revenge. A few of Aventurine’s colleagues said he was lucky to be alive, but that phrase made his stomach churn. Could it be considered luck if he lost you in the end? If so, then he doesn’t want to be lucky anymore.

When your funeral came, Aventurine almost didn’t attend. He couldn’t bear to face you with the knowledge that you gave up your life for his. That he stood here alive and well, while you lay lifeless in the grave because of him. But Topaz and Jade coaxed him out and he went, tuning out the entire procession or risk showing vulnerability.

After the hectic days wound down, the grief came in full force. Once upon a time, Aventurine found solitude as a saving grace after a long day of faking and scheming. Then you came along and wormed your way into his scarred heart, bathing him in a love and gentleness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Sharing his home with you was an unfamiliar yet joyous experience, and he found comfort in knowing that you were waiting for him to return each day. However, now his home felt awfully empty and lonely without you, and the silence sometimes choked him. Your things were still lying where you left them before that horrid day, and Aventurine didn’t have the heart to move them, much less throw them away. After all, they held memories of your happy times together, proof that you once existed.

Insomnia became his companion. The grief and guilt weighed on him like a boulder and kept him awake late into the night, turning over possibilities of what he should have done so you would have survived. When his exhausted brain forced him to sleep, all he saw were nightmares. Some nights he dreamt of his mother and sister, and the fires and bloodshed that tore through their little encampment. Other nights he dreamt of being shackled and watching blood run down his fingers while a lifeless body lay at his feet, beaten beyond recognition. Sometimes, he dreamt about being on a date with you, hearing you say “I love you” and then watching you fall lifeless at his feet with a bullet wound in your chest.

Aventurine woke in a cold sweat every time. Usually, when he had nightmares, you were there to keep him company until he calmed down, but now, there was nothing but empty space where you should have been. He did not fall asleep afterward.

Your death weighed like a heavy boulder, suffocating him. It unearthed painful memories and reopened old wounds that never healed. Aventurine lost so much in his life: his family, people, planet, freedom, and now, the love of his life. Everything he treasured had been brutally taken from him, and the constant beatdown made it difficult to summon the will to go on. He might have pulled on a smile for his colleagues at the IPC, but in the solitude of his home, there were nights when he considered ending it all and joining you and his family in the afterlife. He probably would have gone through with those urges were it not for Topaz and Jade’s timely support. Their genuine concern for his well-being helped steer him away from such thoughts.

Having faced so much loss, Aventurine closed himself off from close relationships. He swore to never take another lover after you—he couldn’t bear to lose someone else again—but he does hold your memory close to his heart, much like he does with his family. He packed your things and stored them safely alongside his mother’s items, cherishing them as a memento of you.

Aventurine knows that one day he will reunite with you and his family. Maybe that day won’t come soon, but he finds comfort in knowing it will happen eventually. In the meantime, he resolved to push on and fulfill his goal of taking revenge against the IPC for the sake of everything they had so cruelly snatched from him. Just wait a little longer for him, alright? He will join you soon enough.

🦁 Jing Yuan

Having lived for several centuries, one would assume Jing Yuan had accumulated precious wisdom over the course of his long life. Though he remained humble, Jing Yuan liked to think so, too. Yet, entering a committed relationship with you, a short-life species, was not a wise decision at all. Compared to his long lifespan, your life was like a sparkler: beautifully bright but short-lived. Jing Yuan was fully aware that it would hurt him when he inevitably lost you, but love made people foolish, and he was no exception.

His long life and the loss of his beloved friends and mentor made him jaded, but being with you gave him that little spark of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt good to come home to find you waiting for him, and it motivated him to finish his paperwork faster so he could hurry back to you. The lazy days of taking naps on your lap, going on strolls through Xianzhou, and drinking tea together were akin to a dream.

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. In what felt like a blink of an eye, you started showing signs of aging. Your skin developed new wrinkles and your vision worsened, but otherwise, you were still perfectly healthy. Nevertheless, the sight settled like a heavy blanket over Jing Yuan. It was a reminder that you were slowly but surely approaching the end of your life span. The realization weighed on his heart, turning his time with you bittersweet, but he resolved to make the most of your remaining time together.

After a few more decades, you developed health problems and were no longer as active as you used to be, so Jing Yuan paid for the best doctors on the Xianzhou to care for you, all with the hope of extending your life by just a few more years. Even one or two more would do.

Over the years, you took many couple photographs to capture the fun times but also to leave something for Jing Yuan to remember you by. He used to look upon them with fondness, but now as he browsed through the photos on his phone, his heart sank as he saw how you progressively aged with each new picture while he remained unchanged. Though he knew it was inevitable for your species, it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

A couple more decades passed by, and your figure changed even more. Your skin was wrinkled and your hair white, your vision was poor, and the aches and pains in your body prevented you from being active. Jing Yuan sometimes caught your melancholic gaze on him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and he knew his youthful appearance bothered you. You must have doubted whether he still loved you now that you lost your youthful beauty, but he did. No matter how much you changed, Jing Yuan’s love for you never waned, and he proved it to you by faithfully remaining by your side, showering you in compliments and affections the same way he did when he first fell in love with you.

Time marched on. Jing Yuan watched you slowly waste away in front of his eyes as you grew feeble with every passing year. Your time would come soon, and he would have to say goodbye to you. He was no stranger to goodbyes. He’s lost dear friends in the past, but the longing for his companions and the good times they shared together never quite left. He knew it would be the same with you because despite the short time you had been together, you had left a big impact on him. Capturing the heart of the Luofu General was no small feat, as he often told you with a playful smile. Rendering him practically kneeling at your bedside and grasping your hand with the fear of today being your last was no small feat either, though Jing Yuan never told you that part.

When your time was almost here, Jing Yuan spent all his free time at your bedside, desperately trying to get a few more moments with you. His laidback smile was ever present as he chatted with you and held your hand, but that mask faded when he felt your hand grow limp in his at long last. Though he was heartbroken to watch you go, he was glad that your death was a peaceful one, at least.

He did not cry for you. He had decades to prepare for your death, but your absence did leave a hole in his heart. He sorely missed the playful banter, cheerful laughter, and comfort you provided. Life returned to the same monotony it used to be prior to meeting you, but it felt incomplete without you. His house felt too silent, his bed was too big for him alone, and he still caught himself brewing an extra mug of tea out of habit.

Falling in love with a short-life species was not a wise decision, but despite the heartache Jing Yuan felt whenever he looked at photos of you, he knew he would make the mistake of loving you all over again if given the chance. It just hurt knowing he could no longer make new memories with you.

Maybe if he’s lucky, the mara won’t get him and he’ll get to keep these cherished memories of you and the High-Cloud Quintet until his last days. At least, he hopes such a small mercy can be granted to him.

#honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr x reader #argenti x reader #aventurine x reader #jing yuan x reader

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shirefantasies · 1 year ago

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How the Fellowship Act Around Their Crush (GN!Reader)

Hello friends! Kicking off my blog with some cute headcanons for my favorite people- hope you enjoy 😄

Aragorn

✧ One of the least obvious for sure 😅 we love a strong silent type but unfortunately that means you’ll have to be reading in on his actions

✧ Checks in on you a lot, just making sure you’re feeling alright and not hiding any burdens because he wants to carry those.

✧ Teaches you all he knows about the world’s botany when he notices your curiosity, pointing out what plants are poisonous, which the elves use for healing, and which can be made into tea. Snags a few to make you said tea at the earliest convenience 😌

✧ Will be the one to drape his cloak over you if you get cold. Not the type to stop others from doing it, but boy will he be the fastest by far!

✧ Has the habit of letting his fingers linger over yours just a bit longer than necessary when he hands things off to you or presses small items into your hands.

✧ Is the best with his words. He’ll reassure you if you feel insecure that you have a strength and beauty you bring to this world that no one else does, that the time you are in does not define you as a whole, that all have roles to play here.

Legolas

✧ Least obvious part 2! Another who is more silent about things…at least at first! If you understand Elvish, you may catch him searching for advice from Aragorn on if he should speak of it or not.

✧ Almost always defers to your word/opinion whether it’s where to stop or simply how you’d like to spend the rest of the evening.

✧ Shows off just a smidge 🤏🏻 when he knows you’re looking, like no, he doesn’t have to impale three orcs with the same arrow three different ways but did you think it was cool? Then yes he did. Still his face colors with surprised, joy, and amusement when you react with awe.

✧ “Wow, beautiful,” you breathe as your eyes scan the stars, glittering constellations and distant galaxies winking above you. “Indeed,” Legolas responds softly, but if you happen to peer at him from the peripheries of your vision at just the right time you’ll see the glance he surreptitiously slides to you.

✧ Holds open every door for you, slides back every chair, serves you at every meal, like this prince is peak gentleman and nothing less!

✧ Whispers joking observations about the rest of the fellowship, especially Gimli, that he usually keeps to himself into your ear as you sit together during mealtimes. This creates a whole slew of inside jokes between you two and much confusion over what you could possibly be laughing at.

Boromir

✧ Not over-the-top, but he figures what’s the point if you never figure anything out? Definitely wants to drop hints for you 😌

✧ Places a kiss to the back of your hand when he first meets you, telling you it is truly an honor.

✧ “Here, allow me,” he’ll say as he gently takes whatever burden you bear whether it’s bundles of firewood or even your bag on a particular rough day of travel.

✧ Happily shares tales of Gondor’s splendor with you and insists he’ll take you there and show you himself someday. Asks in turn for stories of your home and all your favorite things about it. Even if he can never visit, Boromir is determined to find a way to bring a piece of your home to you someday- anything to make you feel like you’re there again.

✧ Offers you his arm when you two walk side-by-side, guiding you with a firm, warm grip that keeps you feeling secure.

✧ Always places himself between you and danger, stepping in front of you with his sword and shield in hands and even shifting you back with a hand upon your waist.

Gimli

✧ You’re going to figure it out pretty quickly. He’e comically vocal as we all know, but also incredibly smooth when he wants to be…and boy does he want to be 👀

✧ Drops a lot of hints about how dwarves are the warmest, heartiest lovers and best providing partners! “We’ve the grandest of halls and sturdiest of bodies, after all!”

✧ Literally always has your back, like he is more aware of any threats to you than you are. It’s nearly impossible to count how many times he’s slashed an orc you hadn’t even seen off your back, giving you a triumphant nod and an “Anytime, Lassie/Laddie!”

✧ Laughs at every single joke you tell so hard you can’t help but puff up in pride at your sense of humor, nudging your shoulder with his.

✧ “Oh, stay still, you’ve got something in your hair…” Proceeds to remove it in the most tender and intimate manner you’ve ever experienced.

✧ Asks you to look him in the eyes before a big fight because, in his words, if that’s the last thing he looks upon before going out it’ll all be worth it.

Frodo

✧ Has no idea what he is doing honestly. Has never felt this way before and wasn’t sure if he ever would, so his demeanor around you suddenly becomes shy, almost withdrawn.

✧ Your self-appointed nurse. Tends your wounds silently but with the most caring, gentle touch and gaze fluttering back and forth between your wound and your expression with those big blue eyes.

✧ Goes on walks every now and again when everybody’s camped. After a while of seeing you watch him off, Frodo plucks up the courage to invite you to join him on one.

✧ Embarrassed as he is at first, he is encouraged by your eager eyes when you ask what he’s reading, shyly admitting it’s some poetry he loves. Ends up reciting you the whole thing, looking into your eyes intently as he wishes to actually be confessing each of those flowery words.

✧ Grabs your hand to lead you places whenever he finds something you just have to see! Blushes about it after the fact but in the moment the excitement just takes over him and he doesn’t even think about it.

✧ Begins sharing concerns and deeper thoughts with you once he trusts you as a sort of sign of that feeling. He hopes you understand that he doesn’t disclose to just anyone.

Sam

✧ He wants to talk to you so bad, but also you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen and how does he do that??? So sweet and attentive with his gaze when you do talk, so that could clue you in.

✧ He definitely gives you the biggest and best of anything he prepares, smiling softly at you as he dishes it up!

✧ Offers to tell you stories of The Shire, especially if you’ve never visited it yourself, and you can see the love for it in his eyes as much as you can hear it in his voice. Shares a few about his old Gaffer, too!

✧ Trips over his words from time to time. He’ll accidentally say the wrong thing and nervously try to laugh it off not realizing how adorable he looks when he blushes ☺️

✧ Sees a pretty flower on the road and immediately thinks of you, plucking it up and twirling it thoughtfully before extending it your way gently, naming his discovery as he does so.

✧ Would give you the shirt off his back if you wanted or needed. Offers you things from his bags a lot ranging from supplies that can ease your passage on this trip to the last of the sweets from The Shire he’d thrown in his pack pockets. Any task you don’t want to do Sam is jumping up to do for you!

Merry

✧ Medium obvious because he makes it his mission to get close to you and hype you up. If you’re oblivious or cynical it could be mistaken as him just being friendly, but it can’t come as a shock the way he’s so eager for your presence!

✧ Acts like you being amazing at things you’ve never even done is a foregone conclusion, like it could be your first time firing with a bow and he’ll be telling everyone what a natural you’ll be, urging you to go on and show them!

✧ Faintly embodies the old adage ‘if they tease you, that means they like you’. He sometimes makes up stories to see if you believe him, chuckling merrily when you do but quickly giving up the ghost again so you don’t have the wrong idea. Others he’ll just poke fun at things you say and egg all of your jokes on, too!

✧ Winks at you on the off time you two make eye contact with each other.

✧ Holds out his hand to you and gives a small bow every time he invites you to dance, asking if he may have it with a devilishly charming grin before he pulls you close.

✧ Whisks you away when he wants you to himself, taking you on a sightseeing adventure or even just foraging. Turns it into an over-the-top skit of him searching and protecting you from the threats of the forest that has you giggling!

Pippin

✧ Oh, you’ll be able to tell! He tries his best to be smooth and is super complimentary and generally wants to be around you 25/8. Even if it comes across goofy, you have to give him props for being forward with his intentions 😌

✧ Practically jumps out of his seat to be the one to help you with anything, whether it’s going fishing, gathering berries or firewood, getting some training in…you name it, he wants to be there for you if you need him!

✧ You may catch him staring at you, whether it’s in awe of your beauty or just straight-up checking you out depends on his mood, but his eyes are almost always flicking back to you in idleness.

✧ Remembers every single detail you share about yourself, like EVERY SINGLE ONE. Knows all your preferences by heart and frequently suggests playing your favorite game or offering to sing your favorite song, likely with an invitation to dance too! Pippin will chime in about your dislikes or allergies before even you can.

✧ Casually begins breaking touch barriers with small gestures like putting a hand on your shoulder during a mock apology for his cousin’s behavior or sitting with your arms brushing. If you don’t seem to mind, he’ll get bolder, slinging an arm over your shoulders during a jolly moment!

✧ Not afraid of compliments, definitely not! Unabashedly (well, mostly anyway, he hides a blush well) tells you that color looks great on you or what a pretty face you’ve got just in casual conversation.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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To Hunt a Silver Stag (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, blood, gore, sword wounds, stitches, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The wedding was fast approaching.

Your nightly conversations had now taken the tone of urgency—a newfound anxiety that perpetuated every inch of the courtyard. Discussion of all manner of flight; boats and horses, magic, and the simple act of dashing away in the small hours. Gaz would not be able to come with you, but he would give you all the time and distraction you would need when the time was right. The best option right now was the horses in the stable—cloak yourself as your knight made a commotion about an intruder on the opposite end of the castle. It was coming together, day after day. Until tonight.

Until you’d been summoned to have supper with the King and his court.

You sit now at the very opposite of the table from your betrothed, many eyes darting from the sides of sockets for even a glance at your face. Your crown is still present, along with your belt; your dress is of your collection, and you had seen the looks of disdain when you proudly wore it in—Gaz trailing behind through the main doors of the dining hall.

No one has called in the food yet. Now is the time for talk.

“I imagine you’ve had time to settle in, My Lady?” The King smiles like a snake, and your silver eyes miss nothing as the lines of his face contort; harsh leather and the dunes of sand. “Has my castle become a home to you?” In the corner of your vision, Gaz stands with his hands behind his back at the side of the room along with many other knights. A show of strength? Maybe.

But you don’t feel nervous about your confidant, though. The time for hesitation between the two of you has passed—it was all or nothing.

You speak slowly and clearly, face the picture of calm.

“It is a great thing to be able to see the works of mortal hands. It is an achievement, to be sure.” Your lashes move in a slow blink. “Yet, nothing can be a home such as the one I came from.”

“Ah,” Michael takes it in stride, nodding as the men at the sides of the table glance at one another, sneering. As if saying that you were homesick was a sin of some sort. Brown eyes continue to be locked on your measured body—sitting straight and your hands in your lap. “Yes. I understand. Many have heard of the splendor of your homeland.”

The sconces on the walls flicker. This feels like more of an interrogation than a supper.

“It is a place very few see,” you speak slowly, thinking what this game might entail. “Those that do are left changed. Such is how it has always been.”

“My children will have equal claim, then?” Michael smiles, and the court’s eyes glint. “To the lands?”

Your body stills, gaze unwavering as your piercing orbs level across the table. The very air shifts in an instant.

“Repeat yourself,” you order slowly.

The court blinks quickly, some even straighten in their chairs. Gaz’s feet shift near the window—his lips flattening on his face as he takes a low breath down his nose. Your tone made the hairs on his arms raise by themselves, something primal in the way you articulate.

Yet, the King seems to not know that there’s a line not to be crossed with you. He can’t understand the nearly inextinguishable loyalty to your own—to your people. No rat-like mortal man would ever amount. No kingdom made of stone and iron.

Your fingers tighten under the table, sharpness breeding in your skin.

Any further insinuation on his part was suddenly very detrimental to his survival rate. Your magic flows through you, and the sparse, and nearly dead, potted plants near the corners of the room quiver. Gaz notices immediately, his jaw subtly clenching.

Not here, he wants to tell you, his feet shifting with anticipation. Fucking hell, not here, Stag.

But he served a King that he could never love—you served a kingdom that you would give your immortal life for in an instant.

His Highness tilts his head, eyes glinting as your silver hue sparks up like a candle’s flames.

“It’s an honest question, is it not?” Michael huffs, moving one of his hands to call the servants to bring in supper. Your senses go into overdrive as the large doors open, blinking quickly at the humming in the air that only increases as the staff moves closer.

Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, eyes lightly flinching as a headache begins to form. You can’t even answer the King, and your magic halts itself immediately as your head snaps to the side in horror.

Iron.

You can’t see the King’s slow smirk as the iron platters are carried in, placed on the table in great heaps of glorious spoils. Large pigs and birds stuffed with vegetables—on the very material that makes your hands begin to shake as the tops are taken off with great showmanship. As if this was an achievement.

A platter is dropped ahead of you with a clink of metal to wood, but your eyes only stare at the dead ones that smugly look right back as your heart constricts.

Gaz’s wide expression is frozen on his face, body immobile at the cruel display so openly perpetuated by the court. His hands tighten into fists, eyes darting back and forth from you to the iron and the death on the table. He can see the way your muscles tense, the way your fingers twitch and flinch.

“So,” the King motions again. “I ask, will my Heir have a claim to the Fae thrown?”

“Not in a million years,” you say slowly at first, your mind addled and skin beginning to sweat. The King stills—just like everyone else in the room. A shiver of rage filters behind those rat eyes as you continue. “Not in the seasons of the Mothers, not in an hour of contemplation, a day of rage, or even the seconds it would take for a Basilisk to devour your wretched corpse.”

It was a wonder you kept your composure as your hands rose from under the table—heart palpitating as a low growl raised from the table. Yet, everyone is shocked at what you do next.

Your hands grasp the ironware and Gaz has already set a firm step forward in a mute panic of wide eyes and a sucked-in breath—but he’s too late.

You ignore the burn; the agony that rips through your hands and your bones, killing your soul and making your skin itch like it was on fire. Maybe it was. The iron is heavy in your hands as you glare at the King with every ounce of hate a creature as old as you can hold.

You stab at a piece of food, hold the fork aloft, and hiss on a tight, strained breath.

“Not even if the cold iron in my palm turns to pure gold will I see any child of yours growing in my womb.” Your hand moves forward, and with a slow bite, you take down a piece of the greasy and roasted corpse; holding back a gag as your skin boils and blisters under the iron’s hold.

The food slams into your stomach as if a rock.

It’s a curse you level with no magic besides your hatred, and that in and of itself is far more potent.

The King’s shocked nature turns to confusion, and then to a swift and all-consuming rage.

“Chain her,” he whispers at first, a quiet murmur above the horror of the faces of the court. Then he screams and stands up, slamming his hands to the table with actions half his age. A petulant child. A greedy little boy. “Chain her!”

A hand grasps yours and rips the fork from your grasp, hurling it halfway up the table by the time you can register above your blackening gaze that Gaz is forcing a ripped strip of his cape into the weeping flesh.

“Christ,” he gasps, quickly glancing at your face as your crown dips and moves as your head does. Everything is buzzing—even being close to this much iron leaves you weak.

You suck down large breaths, but there’s no time for this.

“Chain her!” King Michael screeches. “I want her in the dungeons!”

Your arm is taken up, your feet sliding over the floor as Gaz drags you up, shoving you behind him. The sound of a sword being drawn is enough to momentarily snap you out of your agony, your hand shaking violently as you breathe hard and bend your spine forward slightly.

You blink wildly, gasping at the scene ahead of you.

Your knight stands firm ahead of you, his back wide and shielding you from the risen court and the King. The other knights in the room watch with wide eyes, hands on their weapons in utter confusion.

“I’d stay back if you knew what was best for you,” Gaz eases out, casual in his delivery but you can hear the rapid pound of his heart. He’s nervous. Incredibly so—adrenaline striking through his veins just as it does yours.

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t right; he wasn’t supposed to be involved.

“Gaz,” you stutter, so strange to hear yourself in a state of anxiety after so many years of calm and elegance. There’s nothing elegant about you now. “Do not.”

He was throwing away everything he’d worked for.

“Stay behind me,” the knight mutters, his dark eyes searching the room for anyone to move forward and attack—none do. “Don’t move until I tell you to, yeah?” He had a reputation for being a skilled swordsman; no one here would risk rushing without more weapons at the ready.

Gaz’s sword rests easily in his right hand, the left going to unsheathe his dagger and let it rest at his side, fingers twitching around the hilt as he takes a slow breath, eyes traveling the room.

They land on the King, face contorted into the picture of wrath, wrinkled, and old body shaking.

“Step aside, boy,” Michael says lowly. “And I’ll let you walk with your head.”

“Wouldn’t be much good to me if I allowed this to happen, would it,” Gaz tilts his skull, a flicker of a smirk on his lips. Seriousness slips back in on the backs of knife edges. “Cut your losses. Let her leave, she doesn’t want this.”

“I don’t care what this creature wants,” the King shouts, moving out from the table and taking firm steps forward, his knight flanking him as the court goers, back up quickly; panic in their eyes. “It’s going to give me power.”

A greedy gaze finds yours behind the swell of Gaz’s back—hearing your Knight’s growl at the next words to enter the tense dining hall.

“Whether she agrees to it or not.”

Your face twists, a sliver of fear making your legs back up a step. Magic, you needed your magic. But the iron—there’s so much of it here; it’s infecting your mind like a bug in the back of your brain. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.

You shake your head, uninjured hand coming up to dig your fingers into your temple.

Gaz spits, “Not fucking happening, you old bastard.” His silver sword raises, and with a twirl of his wrist, sending the blade in an arch, the tip is leveled into the air. “You’ll have to get through me first, won’t you?”

“I will not—!” The King stumbles for a moment, body shaking and legs loose. One of his hands snaps to his chest and he blinks to himself, cape dragging across the floor. A ragged cough moves out of his mouth.

You move forward sluggishly, hand resting itself on the back of Gaz’s armored spine as he startles and looks over his shoulder at you.

“Stag,” he warns in an accented mutter, but your eyes are not gazing at him. They’re on the King.

On his failing heart and its broken beating.

The man’s breath is in a gasp, his orbs snapping to and fro like a rabbit as he reaches out a hand, a swift cry from the other men making the knights dash. They grab at him just before he slams to the ground, but one of the court’s men shouts out fearfully, “It’s her—she’s done something!”

“Grab her!”

“Cast her into the irons!”

“She’s killing out King!”

Gaz dashes on his heels, hooking an arm around your waist as you pant, unbelieving as to what is happening. Killing? No, you hadn’t even done anything—this wasn’t your fault!

“Run,” the knight barks, shoving you out of the door and into the hallway. “Damnit, Stag, you need to bloody go. Now!” His browns lock with your silver eyes, stiff until they soften at your blatant shocked fear. A beat of nothingness comes back to the both of you—memories of a courtyard and a cape around your shoulders. You stare, fingers shaking and blood pooling into the makeshift bandage of your palm.

“No, no! What about you?” He shakes his head, and in a swift moment, his gaze goes back to the clamor of commotion—of horrible cries of ‘the King is dead! The King is dead!’

A thin smirk makes your face burn with panic.

“I need to give you an exit, remember?” A tiny wink. “Thank me later, Princess, when you’re safe. Go home.”

He nods pushing on your shoulder delicately. Backing up and twirling his sword again as he licks his lips. You watch, crown more heavy than it had ever been before.

Gaz looks at you as if you’re the only person to ever exist—just as he had when you’d restored the courtyard to glory he’d never seen it in before. He glances down your face, down your body, in all of the time those few seconds were before the yells from the other knights start up—angry, furious, from behind.

He calls firmly, bluntly, but the words are more layered than even you can know. Gaz whispers, his eyes so light and open it leaves you breathless like all of the air has turned to water. You’re drowning in it.

“You don’t belong here.”

You try to step forward, desperate in a way you’d never been to grapple for this mortal man, but the door has already shut right in your face with a heavy boom. An iron bolt is locked in place.

—

The trees try to pull their branches aside as you rush through them, but your fast feet are too quick. Sharp wood slaps your cheeks, pulling at the long strands of your dress and the broken straps of your corset.

You run over rocks, and feel the earth guide you along deep in your soul, not once do you stumble, not once do you falter besides once—to turn and glance. To cast your wide eyes on the fading fire-light of the castle; the sounds of bells ringing out.

Gaz.

He was still back there—fighting. When you had to rip yourself away from the door and rush down the stone corridors, you’d heard the clash of iron and silver against one another; shouts. Like battling wolves, all rabid teeth and a flurry of slitted eyes. Such violence here—such baseless malice.

A King was going to put you in chains, and by whatever deity is truly out there, his heart had given out just in time. And your knight. Your sacrificial knight was left behind.

He can take care of himself, you try to ease, bare feet jumping a stream as your injured palm burns with a thousand suns. I have to place my trust in him. I have to.

He had told you to go home—flee. Back to your castle that touches the sky, back to magic and trees older than any man, woman, or child. Sliding along the ground, you halt.

Atop your head, your crown is crooked, and some of the gems have fallen off, glinting behind you in the upturned earth. Panting, you twist on your feet, moving them like a deer and unable to properly think. This had never happened to you before—this…this pain. Not just the one in your hand but the one that emanates from your heart.

Gaz.

In such a short time, day, weeks, he’d grabbed your immortality and made it stop. You had become mortal with him, and a part of you is mortal yet. He’d touched you—he’d grappled into the place between your ribs and made you care about him. His wonder; his awe for no other reason than he was kind. Hand coming up to grasp at your neck, you fight the burn in your eyes, something that had not happened in decades, trying to drag you back into tears.

You cover your mouth, eyes shut tight.

No, no.

“This cannot be happening,” you gasp in a whisper that moves the trees; eyes watch from bushes. “No, no this isn’t true, do not speak of it,” you whimper to the branches, to their hidden words that pierce your heaving lungs. “I need to go home, I must see the ages pass with no bias—I can not grow attached to a knight. Not to one that death can touch so easily! Do you not understand?!”

Shouts ring into the trees, and your head snaps up, face tight.

Why can’t you go any farther? No curse holds you here! No spell, no enchantment! You are a God to them! You make the world grow with only a word, you carry life and death as if it is a suggestion! This is not probable—it isn't logical.

And then you think about the man who had freely given up everything for you in chains, and your sob echoes over the woods like a brand.

Fleeing once more, you go not in the direction of home, a place so very far away, but in the direction of a large mound of stone—speaking to them through bitter tears and making you lick at the sides of your mouth. Torchlight moves through the trunks of silent sentinels as the rock itself splinters and breaks, your body slipping inside a cage of your own making before you collapse.

The stone groans and breaks and it is like you were never there as the ground shifts—moving the tracks you’d left behind in newly tilled earth. Countless horses rush past, their knight riders with iron bindings swinging from their fists, oblivious.

But the stone you panic inside of is no worthy prison. Even you knew: there was no greater cage for a Fae than love.

—

Gaz stumbled through the woods, his right leg dragging behind as he gritted his teeth harder, panting through the drops of blood that slipped over his lips.

“Fuck,” he grunts, collapsing against one of the tree’s trunks and resting the side of his head against it. “Fuck.”

He’d barely made it out.

The castle was overrun with knights, guards, the people, and the court—all of them. The King was dead. Dead, and they were blaming it on you.

“Serves him right,” Gaz pushes on, eyes fluttering shut as blood slides over his armor. He doesn’t know where the wounds start and where they end, but he does know that he has to keep walking. There’s a trail to follow, and the earth is showing it to him.

The man can’t stop until he knows you’re alright.

Panting, the gems on the ground are one by one plucked and pocketed, kept safe in the same pouch that once held his sigil ring; an achievement he’d been proud of himself for.

A knight, he’d told his family—his friends. It was a station of the highest honor.

Look what that had gotten him. Serving a bastard who called himself a God. Who pushed judgments and demanded utter loyalty to them.

Gaz would rather hang.

Coughing, blood splatters to the ground, and on the bank of a small river, his dragging feet fail him. Falling forward, the tattered remains of Gaz’s cape fluttered around him as his hands splattered through the water. A chilled breeze rushes through the trees, waking them.

He restrains himself from crying out, eyes clenched shut as his forehead skates the water. The clear liquid goes crimson with every wave, like the remnants of a fresh kill.

Body too weak to move, Gaz growls in defiance, slamming a fist into the mud and shoving forward.

He had to find you. He had to make sure you were making your way back home safely—he…he had to fix the wrongs that he hadn’t even been a part of. Even by association, the knight was layered with a horrible guilt. Gaz can’t forget your eyes—your silver tint and the way your head moved; the way you spoke.

A stag. A deer. A hart. A creature that needed to be set free from the confines of stone and iron. He’d do it all over, but that was just his nature. Gaz was just—he was good. Kind.

Even the trees knew that.

Raising his head, vision blurry, brown eyes lock onto the tiny body of a white dove.

Staring, Gaz’s face slackens, blinking through the water and the blood until the image in front of him becomes clearer.

“L,” he stutters, voice failing before he clears his throat and forces himself further upwards as his arms scream at him. “Lysander?”

The bird has its head cocked to the side, a black obsidian orb stuck on him. It doesn't coo or flap its wings—it watches. Waits. Without anything, it takes to the air and flutters over to a large stump, body hopping until it rests once more with tapping feet.

Again, it stares.

Gaz gapes at it, moonlight over his armor, making it glint and shine even with the dents and long cuts. A flicker of hope beats in his breast, and with a deep breath and a broken groan of pain, his failing body is once more on its two feet.

“Take me to her,” he pleads in a breathy exhale.

Gaz may not be able to stalk like a wolf, or even walk like a human now, but if there was a sliver of a chance that a Fae princess was waiting for him, he’d follow even if he had to drag himself there on busted legs.

Lysander’s beak clicks and the bird flies from one landmark to another, following the trail of gems and leading the broken knight behind him.

On and on Gaz walks, not able to stop for fear he may not be able to get back up again. His pouch becomes heavy, his body likely to give out any second, when Lysander flutters atop a large stone face and finally stops. Collapsing to the ground, the knight coughs up blood to the ground, body a heap on the ground earth as he rests his head and pants like an animal.

“Christ,” he gasps, eyes fluttering as darkness begins to swallow him; a maw of a dragon right over his form, waiting to chomp down. “Where…” Gaz begins to ask, flesh shivering even through all of the layers of sweat he carries.

Where are you?

Brown eyes move from the bird to the trees, through the gaps between the trunks and the spilling moonlight. You were nowhere—nothing to be seen except the eyes of animals and the wind moving the branches of the silent watchers of this place. The trees here move, trying to tell him something. Ever since he’d met you, everything had taken on new meaning.

Gaz tried to focus on breathing, but it was getting harder and harder to keep conscious.

Lysander was doing something at the rock face—tapping his beak against the surface in steady intervals, only pausing to look down at him and tilt his head as if to ask, ‘Still alive down there?”

The knight glares at the bird, body losing strength until his chest connects down to the ground, eyes gazing off into the trees as the wind caresses his cheeks.

It was calm here. Gaz’s ears twitched at the sound of rock and stone, but the rapid hands on his cheeks captured his attention more than anything. His body is forced onto his back, a wide, terrified face blurred in front of him.

But that voice…

“Gaz!”

Oh, he could fall into this abyss happily if the last words he heard were you calling his name.

—

You rip the last of the hem of your dress to use as bandages and see your hands quiver in all of their blood-stained glory. Along the cuts in Gaz’s skin, you had threaded through the gold that had once belonged to your antlered crown—the needle, a fragment of the very same bone you had broken along a rock. You’d raced to the river and asked the water for help, and it had followed swiftly with the help of the wind to clean wounds and aches.

Now, you were wrapping what was left, the night beginning to slink back into the morning as you kept the break in the cliff face open to the air. The grass was awash with blood.

You both can’t stay here if you want to live by tomorrow.

Lysander had brought Gaz to you, and now, he lays on the ground with his cape under his head—your hands healing him the best you can. You poured your magic tirelessly, hour after hour, but you had to focus on the worst wounds first.

The slit on his stomach, namely—from an axe or some larger weapon, you know not, but it had left most of the carnage that needed to be attended to. If you were anything less than Fae, Gaz would be dead.

The thought ravaged your mind like a boar through undergrowth.

“You were not supposed to do that,” you mutter, fingers running the length of his tunic and grasping it, pulling the article down to hide the large scar that now moves up his stomach. Your head is light from the power it took. Plants and animals were so much easier; less to work with than human flesh. “Damn you, Knight. I would damn your name as well if I had the horrific pleasure of knowing it. Damn you.”

Such words were below you, but you can’t help how they come out.

You stare at his face, the light of morning barely giving it illumination. He breathes softly, and it is your only relief to watch his chest rise and fall—broken armor discarded to the side by your panicked fingers. His heartbeat.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Your eyes flutter to it, trying to ease yourself as you take a deep breath and think.

You’re still too close to the castle for your liking. But he’s far too broken to move so soon.

Finger reaching out, your tips trail the raised skin of your glinting stitches, gold stuck between the flesh, peeling it back together along the forearm. All of it will scar. Violently so.

Your chest constricts, and you glare at his face.

“Why would you do that,” you hiss, growling in a tone that is foreign to you even if it still sounds elegant. A Fae’s wrath is one to behold. “Why? You owe me nothing, do you not understand that? You’re supposed to be a beast—a little man who…who…” you trail, teeth snapping as your head raises and whips away, nose to the air.

Yet, your crown had been broken just to save this human’s life. Willingly.

Mortals were supposed to be selfish. They were supposed to be like King Michael—that was what you’d been taught; that was what you knew.

But everything Gaz did was the opposite of that.

Love is a cage, you tell yourself again, and keep your face to the side. Unwilling to look down at the body that had been so eager to defend you.

You don’t like the wild feeling it makes breed like rodents in your heart, little claws moving up your throat and scratching at your teeth.

“...Gonna finish that sentence, Love?”

Your body startles, head snapping down to meet half-closed browns in an instant—you hiss. “Don’t speak, fool.”

“Fool?” A weak chuckle wafts out, a hoarse voice as a head tries to shift on numb bone. “That’s not very nice, then.”

“I should make your lungs turn to dirt,” your sentence makes his brow flinch upwards, amused despite it all. “Change the very fabric of your muscle into oak wood.”

“Moody, are you?”

Your eyes flash, and the grass around you shudders in answer as Lysander cleans his feathers a short distance away. Gaz tries a low smirk, softening his voice as his mind tries to focus above the noise in his head. “Joking.”

Your face is troubled, jaw clenching. You can’t admit to yourself how much at ease his open eyes put you. You sigh, blinking away the sharp edge of your expression—it shifts back to the perfect calm it always wears.

Gaz watches, your clothes torn and your palm still hidden away behind his cape’s cloth. He grunts suddenly, and the pain comes back in sharp pins as his face tightens.

You can only watch, mind trying to come up with a solution that you know you don’t have. Magic can only do so much...but you have to try. He’s earned that much from you, at the very least. Your hand goes and hovers over the man’s cheek, pulling back only once before it captures the swell of it.

Gaz swallows hard, and his eyes shift back through the haze of his shaking agony.

A kiss is leveled on his forehead, and it’s like the wounds cease to exist. He sags back onto the ground after a moment, skin tingling as magic runs its course through him like a stream of fire. It burns away the bad bits—keeping only the sensation of a princess pushing away his ails with a willing gift of her lips.

A small noise is made in the back of his throat before Gaz takes a long and steady breath. His eyelids flutter.

You pull back and place a hand on your head, grunting as the strength drains from you one wisp of magic at a time. Your skull pulses, and you know you’ve reached your limit. There was nothing more you could do.

A calloused hand runs up to grasp at your wrist, and you let Gaz pull it back, his fingers twitching with healing nerves as he takes the limb and levels it at his lips. He holds it there until you open your eyes and look at him, a line of sweat running your temple. The knight watches it fall, skin hot.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your hand, only letting it move away when he knows you understand his words. Gaz whispers even as his eyes fight sleep. “Are you hurt, My Lady?”

“Right now,” your injured hand still burns—it always will. You restrain a flinch because of it. “You must focus on yourself, Knight. Such concerns are not needed. You almost gave your life for me.”

The last sentence is uttered no more than a squeak of a mouse in an open field. The thought…troubles you. It…it makes you want to run.

Gaz smiles slowly, body mostly still.

“Well, I can’t let a beauty like you get hurt now, can I? That would just be bloody wrong of me.” A pause. You don’t seem to find his jokes very funny. Gaz’s heart skips beats when you look at him like that. He softens, and your hand once more runs the length of his bandages, making him shiver. It was addicting: touching him. Feeling the heat of his flesh.

“I’d do it again,” Gaz mutters. “I took an oath.”

“An oath to a King that was worth less than a rock on the bottom of the ocean,” you whisper. “It means nothing now.”

“It was never nothing to me.” Gaz’s eyes don’t leave yours. “Fighting for you will never be nothing.”

You shake slightly, face heating up. All of this is wrong to you—foreign. But why does it make you feel like everything will be okay?

“I didn’t ask for your protection, Gaz,” you try once more. One final attempt to keep your slipping self-control. Weak fingers skate your chin, usually such a high and mighty thing, now stooped low and bent just to gaze upon the feeble body of a broken mortal man.

A man who will die in a blink. A man that should never have made a dent in your unbreakable mind; your knowledge of lives innumerable. A man that you can’t look away from as he smiles at you like that. Softy. Openly.

Kindly.

Love is a cage.

“You never had to ask me, Stag…I would give my name to you, even if it was the last thing I had left of me.”

Your eyes widen; your breath hitches as if you’d been stabbed in the heart. You nearly reel back, horror and something more trapped in every vein in your body. Ludicrous. That…that was absurd. Laughable!

His name? No, no never. That was a lie; a trick. Something so powerful, just to be uttered away like that by a bloodless mind. No.

But not a single part of him is lying. Your jaw is slack in pure wonder. Struck dumb.

He wasn’t lying.

A low breeze goes through the trees—it slips past tattered clothes and the crimson grass. Whispering; talking in tongues you can’t understand at the moment above the noise from Gaz’s eyes. He’s still smiling at you, a knowing glint in his orbs as his fingers squeeze your chin. You catch his hand before it falls, grasping it without looking away. His pulse sings, and his throat releases a hum.

If love is a cage, you’d never wanted to be a prisoner more.

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niqhtlord01 · 1 month ago

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Humans are weird: A thing of beauty

“I now announce that the grand temple of Zavana open!”

The priest nodded to the team of lay brothers behind him and forty Zuthiliuns pushed the massive temple doors open. A joyous chorus of gasps of awe arouse from the gathered followers as they finally laid eyes on the inside of the grand temple for the first time.

Three miles in length with a height of ten stories, the Grand Temple of Nazareim was unlike anything the world had ever seen. Every square inch was a dedication to the story of Nazareim from the holy book from young up bringing to his triumphant slaying of the dark pantheon of old. Row upon row of pews and prayer rugs lined the walkways while intersections were dotted with fountains of holy waters to be anointment in. Yet most impressive of all however was what lay at the center of the temple.

Nestled in the heart of the vast open space was a tree of truly breath taking size. It’s trunk extended high above and it looked as if the branches were holding the roof up through sheer force of will while a the holy tomb of Nazareim themselves lay at the base.

At the sight of such grandeur many of the followers and pilgrims fell to the ground and began praying; the depths of such beauty and majesty overwhelming them that their limbs had been sapped of all their strength.

“Go,” the priest echoed loudly as he stepped aside, “enter your holy ground and walk amongst its splendor.”

Without needing further invitation the thousands of Zuthiliuns began milling into the grand temple. Families and friends of those who had collapsed gently picked them up and carried them inside as they continued to weep tears of joy.

The priest smiled and nodded as the followers passed by. They’d offer a blessing or word of encouragement but did not join the masses as they filed in. Their eyes remained on a lone figure in the crowd who had not joined the flow of followers flocking inside.

Like a stone in a rushing river the lone figure stood stoic before the doors. Their gaze passed along the gathered masses before gazing up at the massive doors as they finally swung fully open. They watched for a long time before dropping their gaze once more to the masses.

For a moment the lone figure’s eyes and the priest’s locked.

The priest’s expression hardened and they tilted their head towards the back of the crowd. Saying nothing, the figure took one last look at the temple before turning back and making their way through the crowds. -------------------

It was many hours later and after several dozen sermons from within the grand temple that the priest found himself wandering the darkened streets of the nearby town at the base of the mountain. Unlike the holiness of the mountain or the temple at its peak, the stench of living sin was palpable here. It was enough to make the priest hack and cough as they made their way through the streets to an otherwise indistinctive bar.

Pushing open the door the priest made their way towards the back of the bar where a lone figure was sitting alone nursing a half-finished drink as they watched the news.

“Busy day?” the figure remarked as the priest sat next to them.

The priest said nothing in reply. Removing a satchel from their back they tossed it to the table with a heavy thud. A portion of the top opened and several silver credit chips fell out and slid across the table to the figure.

“Your payment,” the priest spoke harshly, “and for your silence.”

The figure turned their attention away from the news and picked up one of the spilled credit chips. With a flick of his fingers the coin flipped itself between his knuckles one at a time before spinning out back into the bag.

“As we agreed upon.” The figure replied.

Without saying another word the priest turned to leave but was stopped by the figure as they began collecting the spilled credit chips.

“Tell me priest,” the figure spoke, “does it bother you?”

The priest and turned back to the figure.

“Does what bother me?” they asked as the figure removed their hood to reveal a frail human.

“That for all your pontificating you men of faith turned to a nonbeliever to forge your house of worship?”

The human figure saw the priest’s hands clench into fists in frustration before relaxing.

“You are but an instrument for our lord to speak to us, nothing more.”

The human laughed. “I am that.” The human agreed, much to the priest’s surprise. “But I should warn you that I heard no voice of the supposed divine as I drew my plans; and if I did the bastard should learn to speak louder.”

The table shook as the priest spun around and brought their hands down hard against the table.

“Do not dare to mock our lord!” the priest demanded. “You were of use and I tolerated your blatant blasphemies, but now that use has come to an end.”

“I bet it burns you.” The human countered unmoved by the priest’s threat. “That for all your prayer and claims of being the voice of a god you could not think of anything as grand for a place of worship than a box with a door.”

The priest let out a hearty laugh. ‘Is that not what you have done?” To his surprise the human’s grin grew wider.

“I never cared for your god. I only took this job so that my name and legacy will live on long after I am gone. People will travel from across the quadrant to look upon my works and weep from its beauty, while my name becomes renowned.” They leaned in close to the priest and whispered “Can you claim the same after your followers leave you?”

#humans are weird #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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the-s1lly-corner · 11 months ago

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What its like kissing the creepypasta characters

excluding the characters that im not comfy writing romantic for, for obvious reasons similar to the hugging post this is more so a rating thing instead of actual scenarios! honestly in love with these kinds of posts so im formally asking you guys to give me ideas in this vein because i love making hcs in this format/for general stuff eheheheh

SLENDERMAN:

if youve been on this blog for a while, you would know that i love when characters who dont have mouths/have nontraditional mouths nuzzle and press their face into yours. and i still love the idea, especially with slenderman ! the first time he 'kisses' you its probably the first time hes kissed ANYONE so the movement itself is probably a little... clunky... doesnt press too hard, actually i think he would struggle with the opposite. theyre gentle and fleeting, almost as if his inhuman strength and size would crush you if he let himself truly lean into it. i mean think about it, he hardly ever interacts with humans and when he does its for 'food', he has always only seen them as vulnerable and fragile. and whether malicious or not, he treats you as if youre made of glass. likes kissing the back of your hands too. 7/10, he gets bonus points since hes my fav + its the thought that counts

SPLENDORMAN:

very eager about showing you any level of affection, probably early in the relationship that he gets bold enough to kiss you. first kiss is probably more of a "in the moment" thing than "i planned this out and im going to ask" thing if that makes sense... similar to slenderman in regards that he presses his mouth to you, as i personally headcannon that his smile isnt exactly.. a real mouth, more so a false one. think like a layer of 'skin' covering his real one that he can rip out at any moment (same case for slenderman btw. same also apply to splendors eyes, more so markings than actual eyes). going back to his energy, hes very eager about it, might even lightly push you back with how much hes putting into it; he doesnt mean to, hes just so excited! likes cheek kisses and nuzzling your noses together 8/10

EYELESS JACK:

very wary about kissing you outside of those little pecks, for multiple factors. for one, his teeth. sharp teeth, he can accidentally cut you. other reason thats much darker, given that admin personally hcs that he goes into "frenzies" when hes hungry and reacts to blood like the sharks in finding nemo, if he accidentally cuts you when hes not.. well fed.. for lack of a better term... theres a risk there. REFUSES to kiss when he needs to go 'hunt' soon, not because he doesnt want you or your affection, but he doesnt want to take any risks. outside of that, he doesnt often seek out affection, so youre probably going to have to initiate it, unless hes feeling particularly clingy that day or jealous... hes very cold, please cup your hands on his face and warm him up. likes kissing your lips 6/10

LAUGHING JACK:

has to lean in at an angle in order to not poke you with his nose. has probably accidentally lightly scratched you with it when he got too excited. likes giving you forehead kisses for this reason because you can just angle your head down and he can go to town like that... sometimes leave lipstick marks on you.. if you personally hc that he can take off his makeup then please offer to fix it! hes going to be absolutely over the moon! likes wrapping his arms around you when he kisses you. does lots of kisses in quick succession rather than singular longer ones. probably wakes you up with kisses and greets you with kisses when you come home 8/10 i love him

MASKY/TIM:

nope, sorry. for masky hes not going to be taking off the mask around you at all. so if you want a kiss youre going to have to kiss the mask. though on rare occasions when youre alseep/half awake he will lift up his mask just enough to reveal his mouth and give you a kiss on your face. no particular place that he prefers to kiss you. though as said, its rare when he does this. in fact its not common for masky to seek out affection unless he feels more possessive of you than usual, be it because hes jealous or you are stress or you were just in a dangerous situation. 5/10, not much action but there is still care behind it

now as for tim... i think he would be more willing to give you kisses. probably gives you a quick one before you leave for work or something else, and greets you with one when you return home. thats a sweet thought, i think. more likely to give kisses during cuddle session, tends to kiss your cheek and neck (non sexually) while hes holding you to his chest. ponders. will give you a look if you mess with his sideburns and start giggling 6.5/10 love this man

HOODIE/BRIAN:

hoodie is a little more willing to lift up his mask around you, but only really up to the bottom of his nose. also has no preferred place to kiss you, but he seems to kiss your lips more than the other parts of you. sometimes his facial hair scratches against your skin and tickles. between him and brian i think hoodie is a little more blunt and serious about kissing. not to say hes not a little playful, love me some vaguely playful s/o hoodie hcs. probably picks you up off the ground too to 'trap' you, especially if youre fairly shorter than him (personally hc brian/hoodie is 6'') 7/10 love him

very similar to hoodie but i think he would be even more playful when it comes to you. leans into it when his facial hair starts tickling you, in fact i think it would devolve into him just tickling your sides. funny man. put him in the corner/j. like lj, he likes wrapping his arms around you when kissing you, this man is very into physical touch. will touch you any chance he gets; hand holding, cuddling, hugs, ect ect ect... sometimes starts smiling when you guys kiss so you have to give him a minute because he just has this huge grin on his face 8/10

PUPPETEER:

so you know how i said in the hugging post hes kind of a little shit? you know, literally basking in the fact that youre giving your time and self to him? i think that still applies here, maybe even more so since this is explicitly romantic. likes teasing you if you get flustered during your make out sessions, sometimes bombards you with kisses just to see your face redden... has probably leaned down and tapped his cheek as a silent yet teasing gesture, as if taunting you, letting you be the one to kiss him this once. also very cold, like physically. what being a spirit does to a mf. VERY tall, can easily evade any retaliation you throw his way (ie returning the favor of bombarding him with kisses), though im not sure how long he'd be able to resist.. 6/10

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #slenderman x reader #slenderman x you #splendorman x reader #splendorman x you #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack x you #masky x reader #masky x you #hoodie x reader #hoodie x you #puppeteer x reader #puppeteer x you

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malleleothreesome · 11 months ago

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Dancing with Malleus

✨ summary: Malleus invites you to the Briar Valley ball ༶༶༶ ✨ warnings: gender neutral reader, immortal Malleus, romance, SFW, I ain't gonna spoil this one for ya ༶༶༶ ✨ word count: 2.9k words ༶༶༶ ✨ song: Once Upon A Dream - Lana Del Rey "You'll love me at once... the way you did once upon a dream"

The castle's ballroom is exquisite and grand, with high arched windows that open out into a massive and impressive courtyard. Inundated with golden light, the whole room is sparking in ethereal shimmer and the aroma of crisp floral accents fill the room. From the high vaulted ceilings, chandeliers the size of trees glitter with a plethora of colorful gems, catching the light of magical, flickering flames like stardust. Couples twirl and weave around each other in fluid steps, like a choreographed waltz of swaying and swirling movements. An orchestra of beautiful instruments blend together in a soaring melody as the dancing continues in harmonious orchestration. A faint mist seems to cover the floor, glittering opalescent in the fading daylight, which gives the scene the surreal quality of a dream or fairytale. The ball is attended only by the most exotic mystical creatures and beings of magic, clad in jewels and other luxury wares. Fae of varying shapes, colors, and sizes, waltz together and converse in tight circles, but you couldn't possibly hope to learn their language or names, nor are you important enough to be greeted. You don't belong here amongst the unparalleled beauty of the resplendent folk who grace these halls—celestially carved beings whose mere existence was meant to mesmerize you and your fellow humans, yet Malleus had insisted that you become his plus-one. Despite your fears that you might embarrass yourself due to your utter inexperience at anything remotely resembling courtly dancing, you're inexplicably enamored by his stubborn determination to allow no argument or negotiation on the matter. So now, you find yourself clad in flowing silk that glows like it was created by stars themselves and bejeweled with all manners of beautiful and precious accouterments. With such extravagant adornments and attire, no one would be able to tell you are not of royal blood. Before you become completely subsumed in the buzzing magnificence of the ball, the finest details of your elegant surroundings become blurry.

Suddenly, there is only him.

Your eyes cannot help but alight upon his noble beauty, and for a moment, the entire crowd parts. The Prince of the Valley of Thorns floats through the room, the air around him parting. As his silky hair streams behind him like water, his beauty causes the room to gasp audibly, yet he hardly notices. Only focused on his true intentions, Malleus seems to drift effortlessly through his own subjects, his sharp features devoid of their normal grim severity, eyes sparkling with tender warmth as he fixates solely on you. Every step he takes exudes power and confidence, yet remains graceful and smooth, as he saunters his way to where you stand and outstretches his gloved hand. In an instant, a murmur arises among the guests—every single one of them captivated by the effortless charm and debonair allure the future King possesses. Seeing your bashfulness, he delicately pulls your smaller hand into his before brushing your knuckles with a sweet kiss, a broad, fangy smile illuminating his entire visage.

"Do not be nervous," he soothes you. His slender fingertips gingerly grip yours, raising your entangled palms to rest shoulder-height, and placing his other hand on your lower back, right at the junction of your waist—so carefully, it makes your heart beat a little faster. Despite his inhuman strength, Malleus holds onto you gently, not wanting to bruise you from his crushing grasp. And then, the room around you suddenly fades away—the hundreds of pairs of eyes on you fade to black, the delicate melodies fade to white, the sheer magnitude of magic and splendor falls away and you see only the verdant of his irises, glittering emeralds as bright and eternal as the crystals sparkling around you. The corners of his eyes crinkle just a bit, betraying an emotion he's rarely so candid with outside the sanctum of your relationship. His next words, a dreamy whisper of reassurance, cause butterflies to flutter through your stomach and the hot flush of your cheeks to flood over you.

"Just let me lead and I will bring you to paradise."

Those are his only words as the slow waltz of the orchestra starts, beginning the dance that will set you two into a careful and synchronous flow with each other. Your feet move effortlessly with him, never straying even as he picks up the pace, the momentum between the two of you increasing. You feel him cradle the curve of your body close to him, holding you in the nook of his arm as he deftly twirls you through the night's revels. Malleus expertly keeps pace with the orchestra, all while also maintaining the beat of his heart, which matches the rhythm of his footsteps. As he glides with a masterful ease around the room, every movement controlled and precise, the image you two paint in motion together is nothing short of flawless. There isn't a hitch or misstep in your movement, the two of you completely in sync with the beat, every turn and twist of the music matching each step of your waltz, as he leads you in complete command. His eyes never leave yours, only looking away to catch the flash of one of his deft maneuvers of your body. Time slows and you find yourself completely lost in the wonder as you gaze lovingly into the brilliant, viridescent pools of his irises—his gaze penetrates and drowns you in a wash of endearment, drinking in your visage with unrestrained emotion. It's intoxicating and dizzying, yet you're powerless to break away. As far as you're concerned, the other couples have completely disappeared, lost to the blur of the distance, and it is as though you're dancing to music that exists in a realm outside of the material world. Everything else pales in comparison to this ethereal fairytale—Malleus looks handsome beyond reason in his opulent uniform. The cut of the dark fabric seems to enhance the elegant definition of his strong shoulders and the perfect symmetry of his regal face, yet the lush tailoring highlights his muscular physique and the toned strength that hides under the gorgeous facade. His very essence, the ambiance he exudes, the captivating aura—it all acts as an enchantment of pure spellbound desire, beckoning for you to cast yourself into its endless depth, surrendering yourself entirely to him.

Every step, every sway, every twirl of your dance together is more surreal than the last. This fairy tale is unfolding right before your eyes and all you can do is feel your soul resonate with him. It's in the way your arms circle his body; it's in the way your breathing begins to match pace with his; it's in the way he sets your head spinning and fills your heart with an aching need to be closer. In a secluded corner of the dance floor, away from all the curious eyes, the waltz continues—a beautiful duet of your hearts connecting deeper with every step and spin, as if the magic is attempting to wrench your souls together, desperate to mingle them until they're indistinguishable. He cradles you in his embrace, holding your body against his. From the elegant swoop of his scale-covered forehead, to the sharp, sexy slope of his jawline, his handsome profile is aglow with radiant adoration as he stares down at you with half-lidded, smitten eyes, his cheekbones shadowed perfectly under the romantic light of the ballroom, giving him an ineffable mystique. You stare back at him, searching deep into the blackness of his slitted pupils until your heart aches as your mind rushes with so many unspeakable emotions that threaten to make tears well in the corner of your eyes. In that moment, your love for him burns brighter than the sun and is more potent than anything you have ever known. At last, he closes his eyes in contentment and sweeps you away, a dreamlike smile upon his lips as he spins you across the smooth ballroom floors, grasping onto you as though you are his only lifeline in the universe. Malleus moves as though in a dream, never faltering as he leads your soul into a euphoria you never thought possible, a state where words hold little meaning but the act of dancing could express everything. As he moves the two of you elegantly across the expansive floor, the ephemerality of your mortal existence burns starkly clear in your mind, while his ancient heart thrums within his chest—countless years of melancholy and loneliness he endured seem to give weight to every ponderous beat of his heart, resonating through his chest, enveloping you and shrouding you in the desperate urgency of his adoration for you. Even without uttering any confessions, his heart speaks them to you fluently—you and him are tied so intimately together, an unbreakable knot that holds the threads of your destinies and fate together in a weave too precious and fine to be cut or broken. His fingertips ghost along your neck, the gentle sensation setting your soul on fire, sending electric currents down to the very tips of your fingers and toes, as a powerful shudder rips through your body.

"Wherever I am, you belong by my side," Malleus tells you. His tone is soft, but filled with enough reverence to make your breath catch. He peers at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability, the mere existence of it is practically intoxicating, and he watches your reactions to him with wide and captivating eyes that give off the intensity of a solar eclipse.

"It was fated by the heavens. Our paths were always intertwined," his voice is just a tad unsteady, yet it resonates with his entire being.

For a moment, all the whispers that echo from the watching crowd silence—the buzz, the snippets of gossip about your relationship with the notorious prince—is as quiet and as inconsequential as a background tune to your dance. All those things were meaningless—their cruel whispers and jealous words, their apprehension and disapproval meant absolutely nothing. That momentary stillness grants you both a moment of solace; the very few seconds your lives needed for him to offer himself to you. A confession so pure it lifts the hair on the back of your neck: "I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on you. No one could possibly make my heart beat so wildly or ignite such fierce emotions as you do."

His words are just like the tempo of the violins that fill the chamber. Infinite. Mesmerizing. Their echoing sound lengthens into infinity, in their beautiful patterns, the bow caresses the strings and produces such an achingly sublime melody. They pierce through all the tension in the air and carry a stirring urgency along with them as they flow seamlessly with your bodies in sync. Every note perfectly transitions into the next, and the song swells to a climatic, fervid harmony that cannot be resisted. You want him with all the burning hunger and depth of a cosmic soul—for every molecule that composes you calls out to him and wants to interweave his being with your own, so that neither one can ever exist without the other. His form is graceful as you two blend into each other and the song in a divine synergy. Time stretches as the rapturous intensity of his longing is displayed on his face. As you look into his eyes, the entire expanse of his vast, magnificent soul is bared to you. No mortal has ever had the privilege to see him so honestly and fully exposed, yet Malleus gives you his everything—he's always been his whole self in your embrace. He holds you close, cradling your frame to him protectively, and the faint tremble of his grip reveals the depths of his emotional fragility as the passion of his love overwhelms him and renders him helplessly bare before you, like a servant devoted to the altar of an awe-inspiring, glorious God.

Suddenly, all those intense sensations coalesce into the single most beautiful sentiment of all, as the sum of these wonderful emotions create a glorious aria that rouses all the seraphic adoration and longing, and an emotional overdrive within him. With the sum of his desires and emotions pouring out of him in waves, Malleus opens his lips to pour forth his most secret and profound wish and what comes out next, the words barely a hushed murmur above the swelling musical climax, is an admission of raw love. "I wish to spend my eternal lifetime with you by my side. I long to spend it loving only you and I want us to grow together through the centuries as partners." His words, sincere, sentimental, and laced with the faintest traces of tears, are raw in their unapologetic declaration, and they contain within them a depth of devotion you didn't think possible for a soul to ever harbor.

His lip quivers, his eyes begin to shine, and he squeezes them shut just as the first tears begin to flow, spilling over the waterline of his closed eyelids and dripping down his high cheekbones. Tapered fingers firmly intertwine yours and he desperately gazes at Lilia, whose red eyes sparkle in a proud mist as he looks on, giving Malleus an encouraging nod. Finally, the dam is broken—the smile that cracks at the corners of Malleus' mouth blooms, causing his already dazzling complexion to gleam and become impossibly more breathtaking as a sweet, ecstatic sob bubbles out of his lungs. Tears of joy roll down his cheeks as a wide grin takes up half his face, the verdant color of his irises shimmering brilliantly through a crystalline veil of sparkling tears. Thanks to the confidence and encouragement Lilia—his Father—has instilled in him, he finally feels ready to face his destiny, and take you alongside him as an equal. He clears his throat.

"I understand you are a human of little power, a short-lived creature whose days will fleet and wane like that of a candle before a blizzard," his voice is somewhat hesitant, faltering a tad as his anxieties manifest, his vocal chords shivering as he stumbles over his own emotion. His free hand finds its way to clutch the front of his attire, as though the mere mention of you near death makes his heart seize in his chest. His lips form a pout, brow creasing deeply as his breath shakes while you clutch his cheek, a thumb smoothing over his cheekbone, collecting his tears. Then, Malleus steels his features as he delivers his ultimatum. When his beautiful, soulful gaze finds you, there's an immovable determination and steadfastness that betray the fact that he's already made the choice, and your presence at his side is inevitable. "Therefore, in order to make our union possible and feasible, I spent countless hours researching every ancient text and scroll to seek a loophole, to bend the fates and twist their strings around my fingers." His lips curl to the side and his eyebrows raise ever so subtly, an adorable hint of pride shining in the smile he wears. "At last, my labor produced a solution. It is possible through an ancient rite to bind my soul to a chosen mortal partner."

Your heart speeds as a burst of joy courses through your veins like fire. The crescendo of the orchestra and his musical words are building to a harmonious convergence, a swelling refrain of the melodies both your lives have played, culminating in a resplendent final verse, a foreordained tune of two halves at last being joined. It's almost too much for you to take; the very walls of this beautiful, mystical room threaten to melt away and fade from your awareness, and all you can comprehend is his stunning, baritone voice. "If you accept my blessing, your lifespan will be linked to mine for as long as I walk the realm of the living.” Malleus tells you, a tad smug at the work he has done on your behalf. “All I ask in return for giving you eternal beauty, granting you my protection, and offering you my whole life is that we come to be as one. Two souls permanently linked and intertwined for the eternity of our existence together. You will forever share my immortality and accompany me as we walk among the stars until they eventually go out. And even in the wake of that devastating eventuality, I promise to care for you, tend to you, and love you for however many eras remain. Please be my betrothed, my beloved child of man, for I cannot bear to let you go and there is no force that can tear me away from you."

He squeezes your hand before dropping to one knee. In the center of the expansive room, surrounded by hundreds of guests, his emerald orbs peer up at you through heavy lashes as his lips begin to part, finally ready to ask the one question that may finally put an end to the solitude he has endured since he first came into existence. He pulls a ring box from the interior of his tailcoat, his shaky hands slowly flipping open the box to reveal a platinum band in the shape of a dragon encasing a deep viridian gem, forged from the magical energies of his Draconia ancestors. The ring was last worn by his Mother before her untimely demise, and his Grandmother was insistent that Malleus should one day gift his betrothed this one piece of family history. As the ballroom goes completely silent and the eyes of his subjects rest on the two of you with rapt, nervous attention, Malleus draws in a wavering inhale to steady his quivering voice as he fights the fear of rejection, before allowing the soft and tender question to slip past the careful line of his lips, "Will you marry me?"

Do y'all want part 2? Am I cruel for leaving it off there? In "x Reader" fics, I like to limit putting words in the reader's mouth or feelings in reader's head so that I can let you decide for yourselves how you wish to experience my stories. I am happy to pick back up where I left off if there is demand for it. Otherwise, I hope you continue weaving this tale in your own daydreams and fantasies. Thank you for reading and for your support of my writing! 💚 Erica Malleleothreesome P.S. I'm SORRY my paragraphs are so long I truly DO NOT UNDERSTAND when to break paragraphs, I hope it doesn't ruin your experience!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus x reader #malleyuu #twst imagines #my writing

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rastronomicals · 5 days ago

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1:08 PM EST November 10, 2024:

Calla - "Sleep In Splendor" From the album Strength In Numbers (February 2007)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Lo-Fi

#Calla #Strength In Numbers #Sleep In Splendor

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 2 years ago

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Honor and Majesty

Honour and glory are before him: strength and joy are in his holy place. — 1 Chronicles 16:27 | Bible in Basic English (BBE) The Bible in Basic English is in the public domain Cross References: 1 Chronicles 16:26; 1 Chronicles 16:28

#splendor #majesty #strength #joy #dwelling place #God #holy #1 Chronicles 16:27 #Book of First Chronicles #Old Testament #BBE #Bible in Basic English

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novaursa · 7 days ago

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Legacy (golden roses)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: alliances

- Next part: bloodlines

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The courtyard of the Red Keep was alive with the hustle of the Tyrells' arrival, banners of gold roses fluttering in the breeze alongside the proud crimson of House Lannister. Courtiers and knights lined the pathway, their gazes expectant as the great doors opened to reveal the noble house of Highgarden entering in all their splendor.

You stood dutifully beside Tywin, your arm linked with his, feeling the weight of the moment as much as the eyes of the court upon you. The Tyrells had arrived not just as allies but as future family—ties carefully woven by marriage, ambition, and politics. Tywin stood with the silent authority he was known for, and though he offered no smile, there was a look of satisfaction on his face as he watched the procession.

Beside you, Cersei’s face was set in a tight, forced smile, her eyes hard as she focused on Margaery Tyrell, who walked beside her father, Lord Mace. The young Tyrell lady was as radiant as the tales told—her dress a flowing green that shimmered with gold embroidery, a crown of roses nestled in her hair. She met Joffrey’s gaze with a soft, deferential smile, her demeanor both charming and composed, a true lady of her house.

But more than once, you felt the lingering stares of the Tyrells drifting your way, assessing you, this unexpected Targaryen figure who now stood in Lannister red, her arm linked with the Hand of the King. The glances held curiosity, perhaps even intrigue—a dragon among lions, standing at Tywin’s side as his dutiful wife. You could feel the weight of their silent questions: Was your presence a calculated move? A symbol of Lannister dominance? Or perhaps a reminder that, in King’s Landing, alliances shifted as quickly as the winds.

As the Tyrells approached, Margaery stepped forward, her gaze drifting toward you before she greeted Joffrey with a graceful curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice soft yet clear, each word measured. “It is an honor to finally be here, standing before the crown.”

Joffrey looked down at her, a smirk playing on his lips, clearly pleased with the attention. “Lady Margaery,” he replied, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “The honor is ours, I assure you. The realm has awaited your arrival with eager anticipation.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened, but she kept her silence, her gaze drifting toward Margaery with a thinly veiled disdain. You could feel the animosity rolling off her in waves, her displeasure at this new contender for influence beside her son far greater than any resentment she might hold toward you. She cast you a glance, and for a fleeting moment, there was almost a shared understanding between you—both of you had places in Joffrey’s court, yet the power each held was very different.

Lord Mace Tyrell, standing beside his daughter, offered a jovial smile to Tywin. “Lord Tywin,” he greeted, inclining his head. “It brings me great pride to see our houses joined in strength.”

Tywin gave a curt nod, his tone brisk and commanding. “Lord Mace,” he replied. “We are pleased to welcome House Tyrell to King’s Landing. Your support is invaluable to the realm.”

Mace’s gaze flickered toward you, his curiosity clear despite his polite smile. “And, of course, Lady Y/N,” he added, his tone carefully respectful. “It is a rare honor to see a Targaryen within these walls again, though under new colors.”

You returned his gaze evenly, meeting his curiosity with a practiced, serene smile. “The honor is mine, Lord Tyrell. House Lannister’s strength is renowned, and together with Highgarden, I believe the realm will know a time of prosperity it has not seen in years.”

Margaery’s gaze shifted toward you, her expression warm yet watchful. “Lady Y/N,” she said softly, her tone as pleasant as it was probing. “I’ve heard much of your grace and strength. It is heartening to see that the court of King’s Landing has such a presence.”

You inclined your head graciously, noting the calculation behind her polite words. “Thank you, Lady Margaery,” you replied, choosing each word with care. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the Rose of Highgarden, whose charm and beauty are known throughout the realm.”

She smiled, though her eyes held an unspoken challenge, a silent acknowledgment of the power struggles that permeated every corner of the court. In this subtle exchange, you understood that Margaery was more than a pretty face—she was a strategist in her own right, a lady prepared to wield influence where it mattered.

Tywin’s voice cut through the exchange, his tone brooking no delay. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward the entrance. “We have arranged accommodations for your family, Lord Mace. The feast in honor of our alliance will be held tonight.”

As he spoke, Tywin’s hand rested lightly over yours, a possessive gesture that subtly reinforced his claim on you—a reminder to everyone present that you, Targaryen princess, now bore the name Lannister.

Margaery’s gaze lingered on your joined hands, a glint of curiosity and perhaps even admiration flashing in her eyes before she turned her attention back to Joffrey, who was watching her with a mixture of infatuation and arrogance. You could almost sense Cersei’s irritation growing with every passing moment, her forced smile barely concealing her resentment as she watched Margaery skillfully manage Joffrey’s attention.

The procession moved forward, and as you walked beside Tywin, the weight of the Tyrells’ scrutiny followed. They assessed you with every glance, silently acknowledging the depth of your role here—a Targaryen who, though removed from her throne, had found a new seat of influence at Tywin Lannister’s side.

The murmur of noble voices filled the grand hall as lords and ladies from every corner of the realm mingled with the newly arrived Tyrells. You stayed close to Tywin, his hand resting lightly on yours, a subtle but unmistakable sign of your new life. The weight of his touch reminded the court, and perhaps yourself, of the role you now held beside him.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed two figures weaving through the crowd with purpose: Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, and his grandmother, Lady Olenna, the indomitable Queen of Thorns. They moved with a confident grace, both observing everything around them with a sharp, assessing gaze.

Loras reached you first, bowing respectfully to Tywin before straightening with a courteous nod in your direction. "Lord Tywin, Lady Y/N," he greeted, his voice polished and respectful. "I wanted to personally offer my greetings on behalf of House Tyrell. We are honored to join forces with such… formidable allies."

Tywin inclined his head, his gaze steady. “Ser Loras, it is we who are pleased. Your family’s strength and influence have been indispensable to the realm.”

Loras's eyes shifted to you, a flicker of interest visible beneath his calm exterior. “Lady Y/N, it’s rare to see a Targaryen gracing the court of the Iron Throne once more.” He smiled, a faint note of admiration in his tone. “I’ve heard tales of your poise and strength.”

You met his gaze with a composed smile, acknowledging his compliment gracefully. “Thank you, Ser Loras. House Tyrell’s reputation precedes it, and I am honored to stand with allies of such renown and nobility.”

Before Loras could respond, Lady Olenna stepped forward, her sharp eyes fixed intently on you as though you were a particularly interesting puzzle she intended to solve. She was smaller than her grandson, but her presence seemed to command the space around her, and she offered Tywin a curt nod before shifting her attention to you.

“Well, well,” Olenna said, her voice wry and tinged with amusement. “So this is the Targaryen girl Tywin’s gone and married. I must say, seeing a dragon in Lannister colors is quite the spectacle. Tell me, dear, how does it feel?”

Her directness startled some of the nearby courtiers, but you managed to maintain your composure, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “It feels… different,” you replied with quiet honesty, choosing your words carefully. “But House Lannister has proven to be a house of strength, and I am honored to be a part of it.”

Olenna’s sharp gaze flickered to Tywin, her expression skeptical. “Strength, indeed. Lord Tywin has built his reputation on it, after all.” She glanced back at you, her gaze softening just slightly. “But I wonder, dear… do you find such strength comforting? Or is it simply another cage?”

You felt the weight of her words, the quiet insinuation lingering in the air. But Tywin’s hand tightened ever so slightly over yours, a silent reminder that you were no pawn, at least not in the way others might think. You turned to Olenna, your eyes steady. “Strength is a complex thing, Lady Olenna. It can be a shield or a cage, depending on how one wields it. I choose to see it as an opportunity.”

Olenna’s eyes gleamed with something resembling approval. “Well said,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of admiration. “Perhaps there’s more to you than meets the eye, Lady Y/N. Though I suspect that with Tywin as your husband, there would have to be.”

Tywin inclined his head, his gaze cool but respectful. “Lady Olenna, I assure you, my wife is as capable as she is perceptive.”

Olenna’s sharp eyes twinkled with mischief, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Oh, I never doubted that for a moment, Lord Tywin.” She looked between the two of you, her gaze lingering on the way he held you close, as though assessing every nuance of your relationship. “You’ve chosen well, I’ll grant you that. But know this,” she added, her voice lowering, “if there’s anything Lady Y/N requires, anything at all, House Tyrell is more than willing to oblige.”

Tywin’s gaze turned steely, though his tone remained polite. “I appreciate your… concern, Lady Olenna. But I assure you, my wife’s needs are well looked after.”

Olenna raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk on her face as she met his gaze unflinchingly. “Of course, Lord Tywin. But you’ll forgive me if I remain… attentive to matters that interest me.”

With that, she gave a final nod, her expression a mixture of amusement and satisfaction as she turned to leave, Loras following her with a slight, apologetic glance in your direction.

As the Tyrells walked away, Tywin’s grip on your hand relaxed slightly, though he remained silent, his gaze following them as they disappeared into the crowd.

You took a breath, glancing up at him with a hint of amusement. “They’re… certainly a force to be reckoned with,” you murmured.

Tywin looked down at you, his expression firm but softened by a glint of approval. “Yes, but they are also valuable allies. And they see that value in you as well.” He straightened, his gaze sharpening. “Lady Olenna may be testing us, but she won’t find us lacking.”

The following day dawned bright and clear, the air in the gardens of the Red Keep fragrant with blooming roses and jasmine. You walked alongside Sansa, who stayed close to your side, her arm linked with yours as you made your way toward the shaded pavilion where Margaery Tyrell and her handmaidens waited. It was a rare invitation, one that you knew held subtle significance, for Margaery to host a tea with you and Sansa—a gesture that, on the surface, seemed friendly but was undoubtedly layered with deeper intentions.

As you approached, Margaery rose with a warm smile, her eyes bright with a welcoming light. She was dressed in soft greens and golds once more, her hair woven with small flowers that added to her natural beauty. Her handmaidens stood nearby, their gazes lowering in respect as you and Sansa joined them.

"Lady Y/N, Lady Sansa," Margaery greeted, her tone cheerful as she gestured to the table set with delicate porcelain cups, small pastries, and a steaming teapot. "Thank you for joining me. I thought it might be pleasant to enjoy this beautiful morning together."

Sansa offered a polite smile, her hand still resting on your arm. "Thank you for the invitation, Lady Margaery. It’s… lovely out here.”

You inclined your head with a warm smile. “The pleasure is ours, Lady Margaery. The gardens are beautiful, and I see they’re tended with great care.”

Margaery’s smile widened as she gestured for you and Sansa to sit. "I do love the gardens," she admitted as you took your seats. "They remind me of Highgarden, though, of course, there’s nothing quite like the Reach. But it is lovely to find a bit of home, even here."

She poured tea into each of your cups, her movements graceful and assured, a picture of composed charm. Once the cups were filled, she settled back, her gaze drifting between you and Sansa with a spark of curiosity.

“Lady Y/N,” she began, a hint of admiration in her tone. “I must say, it’s a thrill to meet someone of Targaryen blood. I don’t think any of us ever expected to see a Targaryen here in King’s Landing again, especially not as Lady of House Lannister.”

Her words were carefully chosen, and you could feel the curiosity of her handmaidens lingering on you as well. You offered a small, thoughtful smile, acknowledging her interest. “Life is full of surprises, Lady Margaery,” you replied smoothly. “I never anticipated being here myself. But as Tywin’s wife, I find myself in a unique position, one that I am learning to navigate.”

Margaery leaned forward slightly, her expression one of open fascination. “It must be… quite an adjustment,” she said gently. “House Lannister is known for its strength, but I imagine that joining such a family as a Targaryen must come with its own challenges. And yet, you carry yourself with such grace. I imagine you bring a sense of… balance.”

Sansa glanced at you, her admiration clear as she listened, finding comfort in your calm presence. You reached over, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before answering Margaery.

“Strength takes many forms, Lady Margaery,” you replied with a smile. “House Targaryen was known for its fire, but House Lannister commands respect with a different kind of power. I’ve come to understand that strength and unity are what truly bind people together. Tywin and I understand that, and it guides our actions.”

Margaery’s eyes sparkled with interest, though her expression was carefully neutral. “Wise words, my lady,” she murmured, her gaze thoughtful. “It must be quite… exhilarating, to share such influence with Lord Tywin. A man of his reputation and power is certainly not someone one meets every day.”

You met her gaze, your smile softening as you replied, “Exhilarating, perhaps, though it also carries responsibility. Tywin expects much from those close to him. But he has been… respectful.”

Margaery inclined her head, as if pondering your answer. “Of course. Respect is a valuable thing in a marriage, especially one so… strategically placed.” She turned to Sansa, her tone shifting slightly to a more familiar warmth. “And you, Lady Sansa—how are you finding King’s Landing? It must be quite different from Winterfell.”

Sansa’s face paled slightly, but she managed a polite smile, glancing at you for reassurance. “It’s… different,” she murmured, her voice carefully measured. “I miss the North, of course. King’s Landing can be… overwhelming at times.”

Margaery nodded understandingly, her gaze softening. “I can imagine. But you have found yourself in good company.” She gave Sansa an encouraging smile before delicately adding, “And I hear that you and King Joffrey have grown close. How… wonderful it must be to know the king so well.”

Sansa’s expression grew strained, and you felt her hand tense beneath yours. She opened her mouth as though to respond, but her voice faltered, a flicker of fear flashing across her face. You sensed her discomfort and stepped in, your voice smooth and gentle.

“King Joffrey is an… interesting young man,” you said diplomatically, watching Margaery’s reaction carefully. “I’m sure Sansa has learned much from her time here, though I imagine she still holds Winterfell dear.”

Margaery’s eyes flicked between you and Sansa, her own polite mask slipping just enough to reveal a glimmer of understanding—and perhaps even sympathy. “Of course,” she said, her voice softening. “Home is a difficult thing to leave behind. But rest assured, Lady Sansa, I am certain you will always be cherished here.”

Sansa managed a small, grateful smile, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Lady Margaery.”

Margaery’s expression warmed, and she turned her gaze back to you, her tone light yet probing. “And as for you, Lady Y/N… it must be quite a shift from the North to King’s Landing, let alone into the heart of Lannister power. Yet you seem to have found your place here, a Targaryen among lions.”

You smiled, noting the intent behind her words. “I find that adaptability is essential. The North taught me resilience, and here I am learning to use it.”

Margaery’s smile widened, her admiration for you clear. “Wise advice,” she murmured, as if storing away your words for future use. She lifted her teacup, a silent toast to the women gathered here, each maneuvering their own way through the treacherous waters of court.

You returned the gesture, meeting Margaery’s gaze with an understanding that spoke volumes. In that moment, you sensed that she was not merely a rival or an ally; she was a woman navigating a path as perilous as your own, with ambitions that ran as deep as her charm.

And for now, you both understood that sometimes, strength lay in the quiet alliances formed over tea, beneath the watchful eyes of a dangerous court.

The solar was bathed in warm light as Lady Olenna Tyrell sat with a serene air, her sharp eyes flicking over the gathered Lannisters: Tywin at the head, ever the embodiment of control; Cersei seated stiffly with a forced smile; and Tyrion, leaning back with an expression of quiet amusement, savoring every barb that passed Olenna’s lips. The preparations for Margaery’s upcoming wedding to Joffrey had brought them together, and the subtle tension between them charged the room.

Olenna adjusted her lace cap, her gaze sweeping over the parchment before her, filled with lists of arrangements and extravagances. “So,” she began, her tone light but edged with that familiar Tyrell wit. “We’ve settled the colors, the flower arrangements, and the musicians, yet I see here that Lord Tywin has removed the incense. Are we truly to omit something as small as that for a royal wedding?”

Tywin didn’t look up from his own notes, his response curt. “I find it unnecessary. We’ve made enough provisions for spectacle.”

Cersei’s face tightened slightly, her eyes flicking to her father with a hint of frustration. “It’s traditional, Father. Incense at weddings is meant to bless the union,” she said, her tone strained. “Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to include it.”

But Tywin’s gaze remained unyielding. “Lady Y/N can’t stand the smell. It’s unnecessary and will only be an irritation.” His voice carried a finality that silenced any further protest.

Olenna’s eyebrow arched, and a smirk played on her lips. “How very considerate of you, Lord Tywin,” she remarked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I hadn’t realized your marriage was such a… tender arrangement.” She leaned in slightly, her gaze flicking between Tywin and Cersei with relish. “I must say, it’s quite charming to see you attending to her preferences so closely.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive, though a muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The wedding is a union of two houses, Lady Olenna, not a festival. We do not need indulgences that serve no purpose other than spectacle.”

Tyrion, barely concealing his grin, raised his goblet in a mock toast. “Here’s to restraint, then,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “One would think, however, that we could indulge in a small detail or two, for the sake of our honored guests from the Reach.”

Cersei’s lips pursed, her fingers drumming against the table with barely contained annoyance. “I see no reason why Lady Y/N’s preferences should affect the rest of the arrangements. We’re planning a royal wedding, not a dinner party,” she said, her tone laced with irritation. “And frankly, I find the absence of incense a… peculiar omission, considering the grandeur we’re aiming for.”

Olenna chuckled, turning her gaze to Cersei with a conspiratorial air. “Oh, dear Cersei, perhaps we should be grateful. It’s rather refreshing, don’t you think, to see a Lannister so attentive to his lady wife’s needs? A rare quality indeed.” She gave Tywin a mockingly approving nod. “I must say, Lord Tywin, you do surprise me.”

Tywin’s voice was cool, dismissive. “I care only for efficiency, Lady Olenna. A wedding’s success is not measured by the scent in the air.”

But Olenna, clearly enjoying herself, wasn’t about to let the matter rest. “Oh, nonsense. These little details are the very things that people remember. A feast for the senses, after all. And we Tyrells are rather fond of ensuring that our guests are… satisfied.” She gave Tyrion a sidelong glance, her smile widening as she noted his amusement.

Tyrion took the opportunity to interject, his voice laced with mischief. “I must say, I rather agree with Lady Olenna. It’s the smaller, more… memorable details that leave a lasting impression, wouldn’t you say, Father?”

Tywin shot Tyrion a sharp look, his patience clearly wearing thin. “My decision stands. The matter is closed.”

Olenna raised her hands in mock surrender, her expression delightfully unperturbed. “Very well, very well. I suppose the Lannisters’ preference for austerity wins this time. Though I do hope your guests won’t find the occasion… lacking.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, her displeasure at both Olenna and her father’s favoritism plain. “I don’t see why we’re indulging every whim of hers,” she muttered, just loud enough for the room to hear.

Olenna raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze fixed on Cersei. “Oh, Cersei, dear,” she said, her tone deceptively sweet. “I should think you’d appreciate a man who considers his wife’s comfort. We wouldn’t want poor Lady Y/N to suffer through something so… trivial, would we?”

Tyrion bit back a laugh, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, and leaned back, his voice teasing. “You do have to admire Father’s commitment. He’s always been… thorough in his approach to family.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, but he ignored Tyrion’s jab, his tone cutting as he addressed Olenna. “House Lannister is mindful of efficiency, Lady Olenna. We need not resort to theatrics to secure our position.”

Olenna gave him a sly smile, her amusement unmistakable. “Of course, Lord Tywin. But as you’ll come to see, a little… fragrance can go a long way.” She cast a final look at Cersei and Tyrion, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Now, if there are no further changes, I believe we can proceed with the rest of the arrangements.”

The soft afternoon light came through the tall windows of the room as you lounged comfortably on a chaise, a rare moment of quiet in the midst of the chaotic life of King’s Landing. Across from you, Ser Barristan Selmy sat, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, ever the dutiful guardian. You’d come to appreciate these brief respites in his company, his presence a steady reminder of the loyalty and honor you had once known in your family’s court.

“Does the Red Keep feel familiar to you, my lady?” Barristan asked, his voice gentle, carrying a note of nostalgia. “I remember you here, a child running through these halls. It’s strange how much changes and yet stays the same.”

You gave him a soft, wistful smile. “It’s strange indeed, Ser Barristan. It’s a comfort, at times, to have someone like you nearby—a reminder of what once was.” You paused, feeling the weight of memories, both bittersweet and painful. “But familiarity and comfort are two very different things here.”

Before Barristan could reply, the doors swung open with a sharp creak, breaking the tranquility of the room. Joffrey strode in, flanked by the Hound and Ser Meryn Trant, his expression one of calculated mischief, clearly seeking an opportunity to provoke. His gaze landed on you, a smirk twisting his lips as he looked between you and Barristan.

“Well, well,” Joffrey drawled, his voice carrying an edge of mockery. “Look at you, lounging in the very halls where your family met its end. How ironic.” His gaze flicked to Barristan, his smirk deepening. “And you, old man, lingering like some sad relic. I’m surprised you haven’t faded away with the rest of them.”

Barristan’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent, his gaze fixed firmly on the young king, his jaw set in restrained anger. You felt his tension, a reflection of your own, but you managed to keep your composure, meeting Joffrey’s gaze steadily.

“Your Grace,” you replied, your tone even but unyielding. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Joffrey’s eyes glittered with sadistic delight as he approached, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture that of a child attempting to play at being a king. “I was simply curious,” he began, his tone feigned innocence. “How it must feel for you, being here, where your family died… where your brother Rhaegar’s children were slaughtered.” He tilted his head, watching for your reaction. “Do you ever wonder if their ghosts still haunt these halls?”

The words hit with a cold clarity, a reminder of the brutality that had unfolded within these very walls. But you held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even as the memories stirred an ache in your heart.

“Children deserve innocence, Your Grace,” you replied, your voice firm but sorrowful. “It is a tragedy that they suffered because of choices they never made.”

Joffrey scoffed, his smirk turning into a sneer. “Innocence,” he repeated mockingly. “Innocence belongs to the weak, like your precious little nephew, Aegon. Or was it… his sister?” He grinned, reveling in the cruelty of his words. “They weren’t very strong, were they? They couldn’t even fight for their lives.”

You felt Barristan shift beside you, his jaw clenched, his shoulders squared in barely restrained anger. His hand drifted instinctively toward the hilt of his sword, his gaze locked on Joffrey with a cold intensity that made the air between them crackle.

Joffrey’s gaze shifted to Barristan, a scowl darkening his expression. “And you, Ser Barristan, stepping in like a loyal hound.” His voice turned sharp, filled with disdain. “Isn’t it ironic that you’re guarding the last Targaryen here, in the very place where you once swore loyalty to her father, the Mad King?”

Without hesitation, Barristan stepped forward, placing himself firmly between you and Joffrey, his expression steely. “My duty is to protect Lady Y/N, Your Grace. That has not changed, nor will it ever,” he said, his voice like tempered steel.

Joffrey’s eyes narrowed, clearly irked by Barristan’s defiance. “Watch yourself, old man. I am your king. Or has loyalty to the throne vanished with your better years?”

Barristan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Loyalty, Your Grace, is earned by deeds, not by titles alone. I have served many kings, but respect must be given, even by a king.”

Joffrey’s face flushed, his hand twitching as if tempted to lash out. He glanced at the Hound and Ser Meryn, his mouth twisting with irritation. “You think yourself wise, don’t you, Barristan?” he sneered, his voice growing venomous. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten who I am, the power I hold. And that includes control over what happens to… traitors.”

You felt your pulse quicken, but before you could respond, Joffrey’s lips curled into a smug smile. “And to think you’re alone here. My uncle, Ser Jaime, was sent away to ensure the Stark boy didn’t overstep his bounds. It’s a shame, really,” he added, his tone laced with mock sympathy, “that you won’t have the pleasure of his company. It must be so… unbearable to reside here with the man who killed your father and is now your stepson.”

The cruelty of his words lingered in the air, a calculated jab that struck at the deepest wounds. You took a steadying breath, letting the silence speak of the depth of your resilience. Barristan remained between you and Joffrey, his stance unwavering, and the sight of his loyalty only strengthened your resolve.

“Your Grace,” you said softly, your tone carrying a steel edge beneath the calm. “It seems that you delight in disturbing the peace of others. But remember that, even as king, respect is not a gift—it is earned. And history has shown us that titles can be fleeting, while loyalty endures.”

Joffrey’s eyes blazed with anger, his face twisting in frustration at your unshaken demeanor. For a moment, he seemed on the edge of a retort, but then he straightened, masking his irritation with a forced smirk.

“Enjoy your peace while it lasts,” he sneered. “We hold the throne now, not the Targaryens. You’d do well to remember that, Lady Y/N.”

He turned on his heel, signaling for the Hound and Ser Meryn to follow. The Hound cast you a lingering glance, his expression unreadable, before falling into step behind Joffrey, leaving you and Barristan in the stillness of the room.

Barristan turned to you, his face softened with concern. “My lady,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of regret. “I apologize for his disrespect. It pains me that you must endure such… cruelty.”

You managed a small, grateful smile, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Thank you, Ser Barristan. Your loyalty is a balm against such bitterness. I am grateful to have you by my side.”

He inclined his head, his expression solemn. “My loyalty to you is unwavering, my lady. As long as I draw breath, you will not face this alone.”

In that quiet moment, you felt the warmth of his support surround you, a reminder that, even in a court as treacherous as this one, loyalty still held meaning.

In the privacy of her chambers within the Red Keep, Margaery Tyrell sat with her father, Lord Mace Tyrell, and her grandmother, Lady Olenna. The evening air drifted in through the open window, carrying with it the faint sounds of the bustling capital below. They had gathered to discuss the shifting landscape of King’s Landing, one that now included Lady Y/N Lannister—a Targaryen by blood, yet bound to Tywin by marriage.

Olenna sat comfortably in her chair, her sharp eyes reflecting a keen curiosity. Margaery leaned forward, eager but measured, while Mace looked rather pleased, though it was clear he hadn’t fully grasped the complexities of the situation.

“An intriguing development, wouldn’t you say?” Olenna began, her voice smooth but laced with a touch of sarcasm. “Tywin Lannister, of all people, choosing to wed a Targaryen. I must admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

Margaery nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It certainly adds a… unique dimension to their alliance. A Targaryen standing at the side of the Hand of the King. She carries both the mystique of her bloodline and the strength of her new position.”

Mace chuckled, his tone jovial. “Well, I say good for Tywin! He’s secured quite the prize, hasn’t he? A Targaryen—no one would have thought it possible after Robert’s rebellion.” He leaned back, looking rather pleased with his own assessment. “Our families are stronger together, and that means the realm is safer.”

Olenna rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand at her son. “Oh, Mace, honestly. You and your simple notions of safety and unity. We’re not here to pat Lord Tywin on the back for his marriage.” She turned to Margaery, her gaze calculating. “This Targaryen woman may hold more sway than we realize. She’s no fool, that much is clear.”

Margaery nodded, a faint smile playing at her lips. “She has a quiet strength about her, something that commands respect. Even Joffrey seems to view her a treat, which is no small feat. And Tywin… he’s attentive to her. More so than I would have expected.”

Olenna smirked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Yes, I noticed that as well. The mighty Tywin, bending ever so slightly to the preferences of his Targaryen bride. He dismissed the incense for the wedding preparations simply because she dislikes it. And did you notice how he keeps her close, almost as if he were… guarding her position?”

Mace chuckled again, shaking his head. “Tywin, sentimental? I doubt it. He’s probably just ensuring she plays her role as he sees fit. He’s a practical man, after all.”

Olenna shot him a look that silenced his amusement. “Practical, yes, but he’s no stranger to ambition. This marriage is no simple alliance. Tywin may see her as a symbol of power, a way to consolidate influence even further. A Targaryen in his house strengthens his legacy, gives him claim to a bloodline once thought lost.”

Margaery leaned forward, her gaze thoughtful. “But does she know, do you think, how significant she is to him? She’s composed, polite… but there’s a fire in her eyes, a reminder of her heritage. She’s more than a trophy, and she seems to know it.”

Olenna nodded approvingly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Indeed. She carries herself with dignity, which is rare enough here. I imagine she has her own plans, her own desires. A Targaryen’s ambition never truly fades, after all. And with Tywin by her side, well… let’s just say it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s thinking beyond mere appearances.”

Mace looked between them, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “So… what does that mean for us? She’s just one woman. We have the Reach behind us; we don’t need to be worried about one Targaryen lady.”

Olenna sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, Mace, you are as blind as you are cheerful.” She turned to Margaery, her eyes sharp. “This isn’t about a single woman. It’s about understanding who holds the power, who commands respect in this city. If Tywin values her opinion, even in small matters, then she holds sway over him, which in turn affects us all.”

Margaery’s gaze was steady, a glint of ambition in her eyes. “And if she’s a woman of influence, then it’s to our advantage to find a way to… understand her better. She’s married into the Lannisters, but I wonder if her loyalties might not still lie with her family’s legacy, with her own history.”

Olenna’s smile deepened. “Precisely, my dear. It’s essential to know her motives, to see if there’s a potential… alignment of interests. She’s clever, certainly, and she values loyalty—she keeps that Stark girl close, after all. That’s a woman who doesn’t sever ties easily.”

Margaery’s eyes brightened at the mention of Sansa. “Sansa does trust her. I could perhaps use that trust to get closer to her. Lady Y/N may be reserved, but she doesn’t seem unreachable.”

Olenna nodded approvingly. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Find a way to befriend her, learn her intentions. She may be our ally yet, or at the very least, a useful source of insight into Tywin’s plans.”

Mace looked somewhat confused, though he managed to nod along. “So… we make friends with her, then? Is that it?”

Olenna rolled her eyes but patted his arm with a resigned smile. “Yes, Mace. We make friends, or at least appear to. Let her believe she has allies here in the Reach. Tywin may hold her in check for now, but who’s to say what she might become in time?”

Margaery took a deep breath, her determination clear. “Then I’ll see to it. A friendship built on trust and understanding… as far as she’s concerned, at least. It would be wise to understand her intentions. And if she truly holds sway with Tywin, then perhaps we’ll find an ally rather than a threat.”

Olenna leaned back, a glint of approval in her eyes. “That’s my girl. Remember, Margaery, knowledge is power, and alliances are forged in places most would overlook.” She tapped her fingers together thoughtfully. “Let the Targaryen think herself welcome. Let her think herself understood.”

The three sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their strategy settling over them, each understanding that in the shifting sands of King’s Landing, even the smallest connection could prove vital. Lady Y/N might be a Targaryen in Lannister red, but her blood carried the fire and ambition that no amount of alliance could truly suppress. And for the Tyrells, that fire was something to observe—and perhaps even harness.

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