#tao ti

[itsalrightmeow]

So what if Hu Tao didn't come back from Lantern Rite totally fine?

[starry-bi-sky]

pouring one out for luo binghe in my disciple SQQ fic, poor guy has taken a backseat here. we're nearly 30k words deep and he hasn't even shown his face once. it'll be much longer before he even actually talks to Shen Qingqiu.

(i say im pouring one out but in reality im sitting in my director's chair chewing on a cigar and wearing a beret as he tearily and unsuccessfully pleads with me for more scenes with Shen Qingqiu)

[scrion7]

seriously though. when I first saw Sparkle in the trailer I gasped, pointed at her, and asked "Space Tao??" out loud

[utopianparadoxist]

June Egbert, The Tao of Pranksterism, and Maid Roleplay

So we've got our first glimpse of June Egbert, shining like a star on the horizon, as of the latest upd8!

With the Warhammer of Zillyhoo at her side and the general harlequin energy of her silhouette, many are drawing comparisons to Trickster Mode, or to Nannasprite. Both of these, notably, are heavily linked to Jane.

And I'm interested in June's relationship to Jane's legacy as her ancestor, because this feels similar to ideas of classpect roleplay I've described for years. so I want to talk about it here and speculate a bit about what kind of worldview change a roleplay reading suggests might accompany June's gender transformation.

A quick bit of background for those who don't know what Class roleplay is-- It's basically the idea that a player of any class might end up roleplaying as a different class, to various degrees of success or failure, and that in Homestuck characters do so in particular when they are actively striving to live up to the legacy left by their Ancestors.

Vriska is the clearest example to argue. Early in her arc with Tavros she is actively trying to fit both him and herself into narrative roles left behind in Mindfang's journal, and in the process strives to make Tavros stronger much as Kanaya does for Eridan by giving him the wand, or Aranea herself later does to Jake.

The way she conceptualizes the endeavor emphasizes the verb "MAKE", a close synonym to the most commonly accepted Maid/Sylph verb, "Create". She kisses Tavros while wearing a fairy dress-the word Sylph originally referring to a kind of fairy. And of course she gets the dress from Kanaya, a Sylph herself.

And of course, her attempt to woo Tavros in this way is a disastrous failure. Later, when she tries to make Tavros kill her instead of kiss her--again evoking Mindfang and the Summoner's relationships--she again fails soundly, Tavros rejecting her mind suggestions and leaving her to bleed slowly to death by herself.

The reason Vriska is failing in these situations is at least partly that she is obsessively trying to be Mindfang instead of honestly coming to grip with who she really is as her own person. The way the narratives you build up in your head about who you WANT to be like distort your own self of self and lead to self-sabotage and toxic relationships is a running theme in Homestuck, and Roleplay mechanics helpfully signpost this on a mechanical Sburb Class level.

Later Aranea makes the exact same mistake as Vriska in emulating Mindfang, but fails at least partly because, as Vriska lays out, she just doesn't have enough experience doing "ruthless pirate shit"--in other words, behaving like a Thief.

But the Marquise herself poses an interesting possibility, because she seems to succeed at performing both the roles of the Thief and the Sylph. And Vriska attributes this to the fact that the Marquise is an adult, who learned to perform a role that didn't initially come naturally to her through a slow accumulation of experience.

In this way, Vriska suggests a way out of hard Classpect determinism. It *is* possible to act outside of your native Class, even to successfully incorporate the strengths and abilities of a different class entirely, but this is part of a nuanced and complicated process of personal growth and a gaining of increased complexity of perspective, experience and ability as you grow through life.

Now lets bring this focus to John. John and Jane's mutual ancestorism is explicitly tied to their shared interest in jokes and pranks. Dirk likens this to Zen, or the Tao, meaning it reflects something about their fundamental relationship to the world and approach to dealing with it and its challenges.

John invokes this connection again as he carries out the retcon, the absolute height of his impact on the plot and narrative in og Homestuck, with the retcon being literally just being a series of pranks. They're also a series of pranks he has a lot of fun with!

Even while everyone is dead and everything is completely cosmically screwed, John is able to enjoy himself as he carries on and keeps striving to Make a better future. He indulges the Zen of pranksterism in this moment, using it as a way to cope with and transcend the horrors of Paradox Space.

He's also, on a mechanical level, roleplaying a Maid.

The Maid class, like the Sylph, is associated with healing and improbable ressurection. Aradia is able to transcend her own death and act in the world as a ghost even before she God Tiers through the use of her Time-coded ghost powers. Kanaya is lethally shot and revives inexplicably as an immortal Rainbow Drinker, the only character to be immortal without even being God Tier.

This is more true of Jane than anyone, who's Maid of Life powers allow her to Make Life for herself in such a way that even after being beheaded in what should inarguably be a Just death, Jane can overpower the conditional immortality of God Tiers completely and just walk and talk around as a decapitated body and her severed head. She is Making Life for her own benefit, and quite definitely no one elses.

Jane's other major power is to offer people free resurrections, like she does in Collide. And what does John's retcon accomplish? Give Vriska a free resurrection, effectively taking a more circuitous path to achieving the same end result that comes to a Maid naturally. It's for Vriska's benefit for sure though. John is still natively a passive Heir class, and this moment represents a blurring of the lines between the roles of Heir and Maid, a moment where John's impact is not narrowly defined by just one Sburb assigned Class but is shaped complexly by his unique context and nature as John Egbert.

That said, after the Retcon, something really interesting happens.

John stops pranking.

For the rest of Homestuck and through the Epilogues, we basically never see John indulging pranksterism again. At the same time, he eschews using his Retcon powers almost entirely, seeming almost scared of the responsibility and level of power they represent unless he's directly told to use them, like Rose does in Meat. This coincides with his prolonged period of aimless, directionless depression.

Who does this parallel?

Jane, who has similarly given up "frivolous" or "childish" concerns like pranksterism and jokes in favor of deeply serious matters like Pursuing The Presidency and Representing The Gods As Respectable People To Earth C. And like John, Jane is all the more miserable for it. What that might mean for either of her iteration's arcs is a topic for another day though, this ain't about her.

While his desire to kill Dirk is honestly misguided and ridiculous, this update's shift in John's psychology does point to a kind of positive progress in his psychology that takes him closer to the ideal of June he's glimpsed in his own future. He's Making Breath--direction, purpose, momentum-- for his own benefit, nobody else's.

Which is important to do, because right now all the work John needs to do is internal. The thing about John sometimes evoking his Maid heritage is that so far he hasn't been doing it consciously or consistently. He barely knows anything about who he is or what he wants, and so he's not in a position to be good to or try to help anybody.

It's a step closer to embracing Maid as an alternate/complementary identity, along with the gendered implications that the female-specific (so far) class implies.

A fully formed June Egbert will likely take this even further, realizing the potential of and fully embracing the possibility of Making Breath herself, for her own benefit, Breath in this case being simple fun. Frivolity. Jokes. Pranks! Detachment from the pain and suffering from the world by enjoying the fun that comes with existing, even in the midst of the chaos.

She will likely be a June who fully recognizes the reality that Life is a Game to be played and enjoyed--which is why the Game of Life board from Problem Sleuth shows up in the vision of June that John experiences while witnessing the Light of Vriska's ascension.

Hence the association with Nannasprite and the design's evocation of Harlequins. Harlequins and clowns are performers on the stage, and a June who recognizes that all of life is a stage would be in a position to be a playful and self-aware performer herself--even moreso if she becomes June by going through Helltier or ascending to Ultimate herself, thereby gaining the same metatextual knowledge Dirk, Al and Vriska possess.

And if such an ascension brings her back in touch with the power of Retcon, an Ultimate/Helltier June Egbert unafraid to use her power for whatever she wants would be the ultimate wildcard. She could issue free revives to all the dead trolls. She could bring back her Dad and Rose's Mom and Dirk's Alpha Bro.

Those are just random Maidy examples tied to resurrection I'm coming up with off the top of my head that could make her happy and/or severely emotionally fuck with Rosebot and Dirk, but really, she could and likely will do way more imaginative and interesting shit than that. She'd certainly prove a lethal danger to Dirk, which could likely put her in conflict with Rosebot, Vriska, Davebot, Jake and Roxy, none of whom seem likely to want to see Dirk dead.

She's a complete chaos element! And she's already here.

I can't wait to see what pranks she's gonna play.

[shizuturnspages]

Hiii! Omg I really loved the Khaenri'ah child!!! Would you be willing to write platonic archons with a child who is the daughter or niece of the Heavenly Principels?🙏

Heaven’s Little Star

Synopsis: The Archons find themselves faced with an unusual charge: a child born of Celestia’s will, the daughter (or niece) of the Heavenly Principles. Despite their vastly different personalities and histories with the gods above, they each develop a unique bond with the child, treating them as a precious yet mysterious presence in their lives. Whether out of genuine affection, curiosity, or cautious reverence, the Archons all find themselves drawn to this little celestial being. Pairings: Venti, Zhongli, Raiden Ei, Nahida, Furina, Mavuika x Celestial Child

Venti - The Carefree Guardian

Venti is the first to disregard whatever divine implications surround you. To him, you are not "Celestia’s child" but simply a child who deserves joy and freedom. He takes you on wild adventures across Mondstadt, letting you dance with the wind and sing along to his songs.

However, beneath the lightheartedness, there's a wariness he doesn't speak of. He avoids the subject of Celestia like a plague, but every time you mention your origins, a fleeting look of contemplation crosses his face. He doesn’t see you as a threat, but the history between him and Celestia is complicated.

He spoils you endlessly—dandelion wine is off-limits, of course, but fresh apple cider? Only the best for you. If you ever get upset, he’ll strum his lyre, voice soft as he hums a tune just for you. And if you ever feel trapped by divine expectations? He’ll take you somewhere the stars feel close enough to touch, whispering that no fate is unchangeable.

But even through his mischief, Venti knows what you are. If Celestia ever comes to retrieve you, he’ll be ready to play the trickster, to steal you away like a breeze that refuses to be caught.

“Don’t let them take you back up there, little breeze. The sky is beautiful, but you belong where you can laugh freely.”

Zhongli - The Wise Protector

Zhongli treats you with a mix of reverence and warmth. He is perhaps the only one who truly understands the gravity of your existence. Unlike Venti, he does not ignore your origins—he acknowledges them and prepares accordingly.

“Even the oldest of gods must respect the unknown,” he murmurs when Hu Tao asks why he is so careful with you.

Despite his caution, he ensures you are taught the ways of Liyue’s traditions, history, and philosophy, determined to give you an identity outside your celestial ties. Should you ever express sadness over your connection to the Heavenly Principles, he will kneel before you, placing a steady hand on your shoulder.

“You are not your lineage alone. You are who you choose to become.”

He also spoils you in a different way—gifts of fine tea, calligraphy sets, and jade trinkets are common. He takes you on strolls through Liyue Harbor, explaining the significance of each structure and telling you stories of the past. If you have any celestial abilities, he teaches you how to use them wisely, warning you of their consequences.

Should anyone dare to harm you, the old instincts of the Geo Archon resurface. He may have retired his godhood, but for you, he would summon stone and spear once more.

There is an underlying protectiveness in the way he acts. He never mentions Celestia openly, but there’s a glint in his golden eyes that speaks of caution.

“You must understand,” he murmurs one evening as you sip tea beside him, “power is a responsibility, not a right. No matter where you come from, the choices you make will define you.”

Ei - The Silent Guardian

Ei is distant at first. She does not know how to handle children, much less one tied to Celestia. She watches you carefully, as if expecting divine judgment to be passed at any moment.

But over time, her wariness fades. She begins to teach you the way of the sword, explaining the importance of discipline and strength. If you show an interest in the arts, she encourages it—perhaps as a way to make up for the time she lost with Makoto.

Unlike the others, she does not shower you with affection, but her actions speak louder than words. She ensures you have the best food, the best training, and the best security. If you ever fall asleep in the Tenshukaku, she will sit beside you in silence, keeping watch.

She does not see you as an extension of Celestia, but as an individual. And for that, she is willing to protect you with everything she has.

“If they ever try to take you away,” she says, eyes sharp as lightning, “I will be the storm that tears them apart.”

Nahida – The Understanding Guide

Unlike the others, Nahida understands what it means to be born into something greater than yourself. She sees the loneliness behind your celestial ties, the quiet yearning for normalcy. And so, she does not treat you as a divine being, nor as an anomaly. She treats you as you.

With her, you are allowed to be a child. To learn, to stumble, to grow. She introduces you to Sumeru’s people, lets you play in its forests with the Aranara, and gives you books filled with stories to dream about.

She teaches you dreams and stories, whispering truths and fables alike into your mind as she tucks you in at night. She tells you, “The world is vast, and even the gods do not know everything. If you ever wish to leave the shadow of the heavens, I will help you carve your own path.”

More than anything, she wants you to have the freedom she once lacked. And if Celestia ever tries to take that from you, she will use every ounce of her wisdom to keep you safe.

“No matter what they say you are, you are still you. And that is enough.”

Furina - The Dramatic Older Sister

Furina treats you like a beloved younger sibling—one she absolutely must spoil rotten. You are not just a child in her eyes; you are an audience, a confidant, and a co-star in whatever dramatic performance she has planned for the day.

She insists on dressing you in the finest Fontaine fashion, taking you to grandiose operas and teaching you how to deliver the most elegant of courtly speeches. She showers you with extravagant gifts, sometimes unnecessary, but always dazzling.

But beneath her theatricality, she is aware of the weight of your origins. There is a quiet protectiveness beneath the glitz and glamour. If anyone dares to treat you differently because of your divine bloodline, she will tear them apart with sharp words and sharper wit.

“You may be of Celestia,” she declares grandly, pulling you into an over-the-top hug, “but you are also of Fontaine! And as its beloved citizen, you deserve nothing less than the best!”

She treats you with indulgence, giving you gifts, lavishing you with admiration, yet there is always an underlying tension. She fears the day you might outgrow her influence, or worse—the day you might be taken away.

And if it ever comes to that, Furina, despite all her fears, would stand atop the Opera Epiclese and demand a trial against the gods themselves.

Mavuika - The Fiery Mentor

Mavuika is fascinated by you. She does not fear you, nor does she treat you with excessive reverence. Instead, she welcomes you with open arms, inviting you to Natlan’s grand festivals and teaching you the ways of her people.

She trains you to be strong, to carve your own path despite the divine blood in your veins. If you struggle, she does not coddle you—she pushes you forward, making sure you learn through experience.

But she is not unkind. When the weight of your origins becomes too much, she lets you rest against her, patting your back with a warm, steady hand.

“Celestia may have given you life,” she says with a grin, “but the world is yours to shape. Don’t let them decide who you are.”

[lovehypegirl]

CHILD OF REX

(Reader is a child dragon adeptus and this takes place after Archon War)

Zhongli had taken you in after you were abandoned by your birth parents as they feared you as a child dragon adeptus

Originally, he didn't know what to do with little you so he brought you to Cloud Retainer who suggested that he raise you

(She was feeling a little proud of herself after seeing how Shenhe and Ganyu turned out)

At first he was awkward since he didn't know how to raise a child but after reading every child-raising manual Teyvat he began to get the hang of it

He would take you out on walks and point to different statues and landmarks and explain how the God of Geo sculpted them

Of course at one point he would reveal his true identity to you but only when you're older

He get's all your clothes custom made and they match his with the brown and gold color scheme and the dragon scale decal in certain spots (guys Zhongli is not broke he just forgets to carry his wallet)

He brings you to the Lantern Rite and releases a lantern with you or he helped you make a kite that resembled his little meteor or a dragon that resembled him

He also gets you a plush that looks like little dragon Zhongli

When your horns are growing in and it becomes painful, Zhongli soothes you with old folktales, songs and medicine from Bubu pharmacy

Ties Qingxin and Glaze Lilies into your hair around your horns to make you feel less insecure about them

Cloud Retainer favors you and shows you all her new mechanics

Sometimes you go off to work with Zhongli and Hu Tao shows you how the funeral home works (much to his dismay)

When you have trouble sleeping Zhongli shifts into his dragon form and lets you lay with him hugging his fluffy tail knowing it brings you great comfort

© 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙃𝙔𝙋𝙀𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 | modification and translation of my works on any platforms are strictly prohibited

[letsgobarbs]

A Groom On A Bride Train: Chapter 1

INDEX

If that perra pinches her nose one more time, he’s going to bite it clean off her face. He knew he smelled bad— he could smell it himself. But it was not that she smelled like an angel’s rosy fart. They had all travelled from distant lands without a proper bed or a wash for who knows how long, simply covering the last stretch of this journey together to the same town. To get married.

His jaw ticked to the side before he clenched his teeth. The skin of his lips burned with the cold. He fisted his aching fingers to preserve some warmth in the wooden digits. He hated the cold— for many reasons— he hated it most because of how silent it was. The snow had been falling over them like a fresh, white shroud of anxious silence as all the women agonised over their fate.

And breaking this silence was the jarring clatter of this closed wagon— with bars over its windows, no doubt used to transport prisoners. Tovar tried not to look closely at the scratch marks on the wood as if some wild animal had been tied inside once— he steered clear of anything with claws after the Tao Tei, preferring to deal with human opponents only.

His thick, matted beard covered the snarl curling his lip as he felt another stare at the side of his face before the woman heaved a giant, weary, woebegone sigh— he was surprised her soul didn’t fly out of her nose. For the last few weeks, these mujeres had stared at him in open curiosity, fear and even pity before they had all decided that their circumstances were far worse. And they might be right.

Only the truly desperate women chose to place themselves at the mercy of a strange man— ones who had no one to protect them from the monsters they were running from. He, on the other hand, was the idiota who thought he would be answering an advertisement for a servant’s job in some Lord’s castle when he saw the announcement on the tavern wall. They were looking for someone who could cook, clean and maintain a household— how was he to know that was a posting for a wife? Who even advertises for a wife?

Lords and Kings never hired sell-swords during the winter unless strictly required— they were just more mouths to feed. And there had been suspiciously no wars or conflict in the neighbouring nations where he could find work. As the winter set in, the lack of coin made him desperate to seek out alternate employment.

He hadn’t realised that the alternate employment would lead him to a brothel where he would be knocked over and bundled into a cart for some mysterious town. All things considered, it was not a bad arrangement for him— a roof over his head and food in his belly in exchange for lying with a man. He was not unfamiliar with it, when the attentions of his own hand grew tedious and there was no spare coin for a whore, men often made do with each other in the armies.

Come spring, he would be on his merry way again. And if the man he was with dared intimidate or take what he was not willing to give, then he would lose his life under his blade. Even then, there were worse prospects, he reminded himself. Moreover, there was still a chance that this was all for naught— maybe no man in town was willing to take another man for a partner and he would be able to find other work there.

He scowled at the pouch of coin each of the women was given, “Why don’t I get one?”

“You don’t look like a helpless lady to me, amigo.” Tovar raised a curious brow at the man, a fellow countryman? Not that he had any loyalties to a country.

They had descended from the wagon to a completely different world— an unrealistic and stupid one at that. A sweet young boy had chivalrously assisted the women off the wagon and then baulked at the sight of his lumbering figure climbing down. The Spaniard, Silva, handed a purse full of money to the women. Apparently, they were free to leave should they wish to.

He wasn’t the only one who looked dubious at the offer. There were no free things in this world— especially not money. If used prudently, it looked enough to last them a month. And they were assured the wagon would take them back to the city before nightfall. The raven-haired woman who had been entirely silent on their journey disbelievingly scoffed at the offer.

Not everybody would be getting married— only the ones chosen by the men of their community would have to leave with their partner. The rest of the women would be given a room in the local boarding house and they could work for their food. But they would only be welcome until spring— unless their circumstances change as they court and decide to marry one of the townsfolk.

The women who were chosen were expected to stay with their prospective husbands. However, if they decided not to marry, they were welcome to lodge with the other women. Even without the coins, there was hope for him yet since the same accommodation and arrangements extended to him as well. He would stay, but the other women had to make their choice now for the pass through the valley closed during the heavy winters and they would not be able to leave until spring.

Tovar levelled a mutinously apathetic stare at Silva when the man had glanced a second longer at him as he warned of legal repercussions should any of them commit a crime in this town. He couldn’t help but mock the man— for all his talk of being supportive and good to the women, the fact was they were trapped in a holding cell with no choice but to trust the men imprisoning them. He studied the men that steadily filled in with a derisive glower.

Much like those animales salvajes, men too had ways of arranging themselves. There would be the loudest, strongest men— often the bullies— flanked by their stooges who benefit from the connection, tailed by the men you had to keep an eye on. Those were the men who were scheming, skilled and the most dangerous, especially if they were alienated even by the men around them.

A few men were standing impatiently at the very front while the others retreated against the walls— seemingly uninvolved but not uninterested. Not the usual arrangement but not unfamiliar.

“That one is mine.” A deep voice rumbled from the biggest man. His eyes were trained on the butter-blonde. Tovar sneered at the man, of course that mountain of a man would choose someone so small. He waited for Silva to correct him, but the man only gave an exasperated sigh.

Butter-blonde whimpered in fear as the man advanced.

“How do we know you will not harm her?” He interjected, cursing himself as soon as the words had left his mouth. It had been the wrong thing to say. The man bristled with rage while several others breathed an affronted huff. He shivered with disgust, William had rubbed off on him. The strong take what they want, he reminded himself.

“Listen you—”

“Easy now, he is not one of us. He does not understand our ways,” Silva defused. Tovar wanted to cackle, he understood the ways of men just fine.

“I’ll take him.” A low voice called out. Every head swivelled to see the figure materialising out of the shadows of the wall. It took him too long to realise that the stranger meant him.

“He stinks—”

“Perhaps pick one of the women—”

“Reconsider, this one is troublesome—”

Many voices interjected and dissuaded at once. But the man only stayed them all with a raised hand, “No, him. I’ll take him.”

The stranger glided forward. Tovar could not see the man’s face, the lower half was covered by a cloth and the upper half was concealed by the hood of his fur-lined cloak. It did not seem like the cloaked figure would be able to overpower him. He procured a small, ornate dagger— the blade reminded him of his own curved sword.

“Use this when you are in danger. Just stick the pointy end anywhere you please,” He advised while offering the leather-wrapped hilt of the dagger to Butter-blonde.

“She’ll keep this dagger, understand?” He warned over his shoulder at the bigger man who nodded in agreement.

“She can sleep with it under her pillow if it makes her feel safe,” he assured.

The hooded figure receded into the shadows once more where Silva no doubt attempted to persuade him to choose anyone but him. Tovar scowled at their sneaky glances, he agreed the man should pick someone else. Cacao-brown, Raven-hair, Tight-curls, Braids, and Straight-black were already chosen by other men. But Hay-blonde and Acorn-brown were pretty enough women— unless the man did not prefer women at all.

Even so, he did not cut the most attractive figure at present. His hair was long and matted with sweat and muck— he could feel the bristles of his moustache dip inside his mouth if he opened it. He had not washed, his skin was covered in grime. He reeked sour and ripe. He was built like any other soldier, which appealed to some— women enjoyed being taken roughly by some brute. But his physique was hidden under the loose cape he wore over his armour.

If that man thought he would submit to him, then he can keep dreaming. Tovar had been very young when he had learned that men do not often work open the hole before they take their pleasure. However, if the man needed someone to ride him, then he would do so without any qualms— but of course he would be a considerate lover.

Several other men were oddly solicitous of the man, they whispered to him in low, hushed tones— probably instructing him to call on them should his chosen husband ever pose a threat. He rolled his eyes when Silva helped the man onto the driver’s seat before loading a covered basket and Tovar’s travel bag in the cart. He wondered if the man was very young— but that was still no excuse to coddle the boy like this, he would have to learn how to be strong.

He made a great show of checking his belongings, his pointed glare promising vengeance if anything had been stolen from his pack. His weapons were all accounted for— from his axe and swords down to the smallest knife, except for the blades he was hiding on his body. His bedroll was damp. A few meagre coins clinked at the bottom, not even enough to buy him a meal— aptly chastising and reminding him why he was here in the first place. He looked at his horse with a wistful sigh, the poor beast followed them with his reins tied to the rickety cart.

“You know you should have confiscated my weapons. What if I chose to attack you?” He pointed out to his betrothed. No, too romantic.

The man must have given a contemplative hum, “But why would you do that?” Tovar could not discern an accent in the broken words. The man straightened his back, as if to appear taller, before urging his horses to draw the cart. Was he trying to seem older?

Tovar suspiciously observed the man, he had no taste for a boy. “Why did you choose me out of everyone?” He pried.

“Because you’ve got something they don’t.” The words seemed mumbled, it was as if the wind carried them to his ears.

“A cock?” He guessed. Rich, warm laughter was lost to the falling snow.

You had never lit a fire before. It was such an odd thing, everyone could do it. You had seen other people do it— but you had never done it yourself. Previously, you lived at the boarding house with a spare few others until they had needed to make place for the new women. There, the fire was always lit and maintained by the sweet boy who cleaned the rooms. And before that… well, that had been a different life.

You don’t even know why you offered. You had most certainly never cooked before. You took your meals at the inn, and had planned to continue to do so— before you found yourself a husband that is. Well, he wasn’t your husband yet and judging by his surly scowl, he did not seem to be amenable. But would he still expect you to cook for him, you wondered with growing dissatisfaction.

You weren’t dissatisfied with the stranger, only at yourself for being so incompetent. You had never learned the most basic skills. You hadn’t had the forethought to buy some fruit preserves, cold meats, cheeses and bread from the townsfolk. Then again, you had not expected a guest. If it was just you, you could have staved off the hunger until breakfast tomorrow morning. But you could not very well starve a guest— and he did look starved, amongst other things.

His stomach had loudly rumbled when both of you were brushing down your horses in the barn. And you had stupidly suggested a welcome meal along with a humiliating attempt at levity in response to which his lips had curled into a disdainful snarl. You tried not to think about how plush those lips were. Maybe you weren’t cut out for this, tomorrow morning you would ask Silva to take him to the boarding house along with the others.

You had paid Edna to clean up the place today, and she had been kind enough to heat up some water for you to wash. But he had needed that much more than you— desperately so. You took a deep fortifying breath. There were still some red-hot embers in the hearth so the water would be simmering upon your return. All was not lost, at least you did not have to figure your way around a flint and steel.

You scrounged about until you found the box that was filled with straw and moss and you threw some of the tinder over the embers and watched the encouraging wisps of smoke rise. Only, they shortly died. You grasped at your memory, there was something you were missing. Aah!

You crouched before the fire, gently blowing through your mouth until a flurry of sparks danced in the air and caught onto the dry kindling. You suppressed a giddy smile at the small flames lapping onto the straw and moss. There was a cold draft that threatened the fledgling fire and your hopes along with it. Wood— you needed the sticks and split logs from the wood pile.

You hurried to the shed just through the back door in the kitchen, mentally thanking Logan and a few other friends for stockpiling the wood. You would have to send them a little gift for their help. There was a nervous excitement in your rushed steps as you returned to find the small flames still merrily crackling in your absence. You sat before the fire place and held the smallest stick aloft until the fire accepted your prayers and offering.

It was a task well done! You had managed that brilliantly, and without harming or burning yourself. You turned your attentions to the vegetables, giving them a rinse before you started to peel and cut them. The progress was painfully slow. It was as if the potatoes had a mind of their own, they would stubbornly dance along with the knife as you sawed on them. You smacked them on the table with the knife buried half way. It split into two, one of the pieces flinging itself across the room in protest.

But it was the carrots that posed the most danger. You had lovingly cradled them in your hand, and with a burst of confidence had thought to pare them. The knife struggled against the skin before abruptly sliding straight to your thumb, cutting off a chink in your nail and slicing the skin. You sucked on your thumb to ease the pain and bleeding. Defeat clogged your throat, but you blamed the tears on the wily onions.

Those onions took years off your life, you decided to peel them— the single layers were easier to cut than the whole bulb albeit tedious. You threw the hacked vegetables in a pot full of water, adding a bit of salt. Your palate was unaccustomed to under seasoned food, you would have to search for the herbs stored in the cabinets. You heaved the pot on the hook and slid it so it hung above the fire. Now, the fish.

You grimly faced the basket. It was so kind of Silva to share his catch, it must have been difficult to find something in this snow— he’d said something about it being rare this time of the year. You grimaced at the thought of having to butcher the fish. You would have to behead it, clean it, gut it and then cut it. Was that the correct order?

Firmly, you shook the sight of protruding fish eyes, tiny pointed teeth and— did fishes have a tongue? You tried not to think about it as you gently eased the lid of the basket off. Then quickly covered it again. That was no fish… Your fingers twitched the lid aside, forming a small crack for you to peak through. It was a thick, black eel. And it was alive.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. Through the nausea gathering at the base of your throat, you silently bolstered yourself. You were strong. You were independent. You were capable of fending for yourself. You would not be defeated by some slimy creature. There was a tired, weary guest in your house who you will feed. You will do your duty as a gracious host.

You sniffed as you took a long, deep breath, blinking away the tears stinging your eyes— silently warring with the loneliness that poured forth in a deluge and painfully flooded your heart with thick misery and anguish. It was so foolish to feel lonely over some silly fish. For a brief moment, you considered waiting for the stranger in the bathroom to ask him to deal with the eel before banishing that thought. He hated you already.

You were brave. Resolutely, you lifted the cover of the basket again.

Tovar scratched the scruff on his jaw, deciding his arms hurt from holding themselves up as he cut and sheared his hair and beard. This would have to do. He searched through his pack and retrieved a shirt and braies— they were not clean but at least they were dry and did not stink foul like the ones he was wearing. Goose bumps broke out on his cold legs, the trousers only fell to his calves and he did not have any socks or stockings to cover his feet.

There was a large crash followed by a terrified screech.

He gripped his sword, a hand on the latch of the bathroom as he listened for more sounds. There was only a muffled sob and a strangled shout. Strangely, there was only one pair of footsteps in the scuffle. He wrenched the door open, blade ready to strike an intruder— only to be caught by some wet, writhing, slippery thing on his face. He viciously pinned it to the ground, his sword sticking out of… an eel. It flapped and twitched around his ankles. Tovar turned his sword and cleaved its head clean off.

The kitchen was a mess. There was water splashed across the floor over lumps of straw, moss and logs of wood. There were vegetable peelings strewn over the kitchen table and floor. The kitchen table was also cluttered with every pot, pan and utensil the boy seemed to own. There was an acrid stench of something burning from the smoking pot over the fire.

He bit his tongue, trying not to unleash his anger on the boy standing in the mess sheepishly twiddling his fucking thumbs— he seemed close to tears as is with the hitched and stuttered breaths. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” he asked.

A small, stubborn moment of silence before a brief shake of his head. Tovar threw a broom at him, beckoning the man to sweep the floors as he cleaned and prepared the eel. The concoction in the pot was not salvageable, it looked like a bucketful of something that could have dribbled out of a toddler’s nose but it was also charred black at the bottom somehow.

Despite the frustration simmering under his skin and the irritation burning through his veins, there was a fresh, bubbling pot of stew over the fire. He had found some dried herbs like rosemary, thyme, sage and parsley in one of the kitchen cabinets. He had also discovered a few cloves, nutmeg and cinnamon. But spices were expensive and he did not want to offend his host.

His stomach grumbled in protest at the wait. The boy cleaned the table and floors by the time Tovar placed the pottage between them. However, it was only after he was halfway through the second bowl of his dinner that he realised his companion had not even touched the food. He pursed his lips, biting the inside of his mouth to hold his tongue as he glared at the boy through his lashes while his face was still buried in his bowl of soup.

“Are you going to eat that?” He asked into the silence and watched as the boy’s fingers curled over the bowl before loosening again. He did not wait for a response and dragged the bowl towards him. He finished that portion as well under tentative, watchful eyes. If he didn’t want to eat what he had made, then he could go hungry.

Tovar didn’t know why he felt so caustic— it was not like him at all… sometimes. But there was no need for unnecessary disrespect when civility and understanding can work just as well. The boy was probably not disrespectful so much as standoffish. It was odd that he had covered himself so entirely inside his own home— as if he didn’t trust to have him inside. If that was the case, he should have never picked him.

He could understand being nervous, Tovar knew he cut an intimidating figure. However, the man had the audacity to refuse his extended olive branch and show of goodwill by rejecting the meal he had prepared. He hated those who wasted food, there were enough people who would fight for the scraps off the table of a boy like him. He was probably some lordling fallen on hard times. Judging by the mess in the kitchen, he has never had to fend for himself before— hence, the need for a wife who could cook, clean and maintain a household as the advert was seeking. But then why choose him?

He scoffed as Silva patted the boy’s head— it was disgusting to see him preen under the older man’s gaze. He came every day, just as he must visit all the other women, sometimes with one of the unpaired women riding with him. He would never come inside, the boy would go out to meet him, where Silva probably asked about the boy’s well being— clearly not trusting Tovar— while levelling his beady gaze over the Host’s shoulders at him in a silent warning.

Never once, in all the weeks he has been here has he gone out to greet Silva. There were silent lines drawn between the two. He had never even disliked an enemy on the opposite side of the battlefield as he disliked this man. He struggled to find a reason for his distaste and aversion. He had been looked down upon many times in life, it was not entirely new. Tovar would think less of Silva if the man easily trusted him. Was it envy then?

He easily dismissed that notion. Tovar had nothing to feel jealous of. But it irked him that the Host had neither deigned to speak to him, nor so much as looked at him for the past few weeks. He didn’t even know the boy’s name. He was just a rich, spoilt child who put on the airs of a superior— just like those kings and lords who employed men like him to fight their wars but never stepped into the battle themselves. There were things he had seen that would make a boy like him wet his soft, luxurious bed— not that he had seen his Host’s bed.

Silva frowned at him, he wondered if the boy was badmouthing him. There was a contemplative look on his face as he absently smiled at his Host. Tovar sneered as the man huddled closer to the boy and affectionately comforted him. He was not some monster that they were acting as if the boy was wronged to have him in his home when it was the boy who had chosen him as his husband.

He had not even seen a single hair on the boy’s head let alone hurt him. His Host always remained cloaked, with his face covered at all times. The only time Tovar saw him was in the morning when he moved from his bedroom to another room and then in the evening when he moved from that room back to his bedroom.

At least he took to eating the meals that he had prepared. But never at the same table. That ghoulish boy would emerge from his caves when Tovar worked outside to pilfer the food from the pots and would return the dishes in the dead of the night as he slept.

Moreover, his Host was squeamish. He cleaned himself incessantly— his Highness required a sponge bath every day along with a basin of water to wash his hands before every meal. And every few days he would take a longer bath in a tub. Tovar would not have entertained him if the boy had asked him to fill his baths for him. But his Host was so determined to avoid him that he bathed at night. It would only make him cold and sick.

So, Tovar took to spending more time in the barn as he fed the animals hoping the boy would bathe during the day. He didn't do it out of the kindness of his bleeding heart, of course, he just didn't want to cater to someone on their sick bed. But maybe that would finally offer him a glimpse of his face.

However far more mysterious than his face was this town. He had not noticed on his first night, but the were drains running beneath the house that carried of waste and water. There were no signs of a cesspit nearby. It was the sort of plumbing system he had seen in faraway lands. Moreover, there was a tank above the house that collected rainwater. The water was available in the bathroom and kitchen through pipes. The tank also emptied into the well behind the house when it overfilled.

Then there was this boy’s wealth— the house was grand and made according to specific requirements. A greenhouse was built behind the house which was overrun with weeds. His horse was a good-quality steed. There were also spices and expensive wines stored inside the house.

Tovar winced as he poured the gin into a bowl of water and vinegar. It was very good quality gin, and if any other man used it to clean windows, he would have punched a hole through his teeth. But this was another one of his attempts at riling his Host.

He had begun by using the costly and rarer spices in their daily food, but they suited the boy’s tastes and he ate more. He then made spiced wines but the boy remained apathetic to his splurge. There were also the fine linen curtains that he tore up to use as kitchen rags. The Host barely noticed its absence. He did not know whether the boy was so wealthy that he did not think much of these indulgences or if he was too afraid to confront him over them. It was probably the latter.

He dipped a rag in the mixture and cleaned the window, blocking the sight of Silva’s departure as the boy returned inside. Tovar caught his furtive glances from the corner of his eyes, shifting so his host could see the waste of his excellent and costly Gin. The boy paused, and Tovar braced himself for his words. But his host turned to walk away again.

He huffed in exasperation, “It must be difficult to be in love with a man you cannot have.” Perhaps, he should not have used this topic to antagonise him, but the boy needed to let his emotions out so they could clear the air between them. Living under this awkward and tense silence did not suit his constitution. He turned to see his host facing him with a confused tilt to his head.

“Silva. You are in love with him are you not?” He asked. But the slight inflection at the end of his question made it sound like a taunt.

“Silva is married. His husband is the Lord assigned to the Sheriff’s duties of this town.” Although his voice was raised, his host was not as angry as Tovar had thought he would be. If he had bristled at the question, he could not notice it under the mask and hood.

“So you had not hoped to make him jealous by taking another man as your lover?”

It was the only reason he could think of for the boy to have chosen him from all the women. There were enough men in this town for his scheme— far too many even— but he would conveniently be leaving in the spring. He received no response from the host. Tovar watched his shoulders steadily rise with a deep breath and collapse with a sigh before he turned to sequester himself back in the workroom.

Pero Tovar was the oddest man. He was also an unfortunate victim of flighty moods— one moment he had jovially introduced himself and then as soon as you had offered your name he had scowled and huffed. Every time you tried to speak to him, he would give you the cold shoulder. He seemed to hate everything about you, it almost made you wonder if he was prejudiced against you. He carried a crusader’s sword— a few of them you knew could be quite puritanical.

No, Tovar was anything but puritanical. He wielded a scimitar decidedly not European or Christian— you could not tell if his shamshir was Arab, Egyptian or Indian. He enjoyed what could only be considered excess and luxury. But he was adept and efficient at housekeeping. And he was, unfortunately, the most tempting man you had ever seen.

As he had shouldered past the opening of the holding cell, you had briefly reconsidered your decision. He was so large and hulking that he had to stoop and turn to exit through doors. For a moment you had been afraid of his build, the strength of his form— he could easily overpower you, hurt you and you would not be able to fight back.

Silva had repeatedly assured you that he would visit every day to make sure nothing went awry. You had fought the swift refusal that had climbed up your throat by biting your tongue. Nipping at the heels of the fear was an odd swoop low in your belly that you had later identified as arousal. All you could think about was the same bulk of his form dwarfing you under him, with those large, brawny hands tracing your body— holding you down.

The fervour of your own thoughts had surprised you. No man had held your attention this way before. You had been betrothed once but even he had not elicited such passion from you. You weren’t even sure what he was supposed to do after he held you down— the acts of a marriage bed had all sounded rather painful and gory. But you knew you would like the scrape of his beard against your skin.

He had shaved his beard to reveal the most expressive face. It was unfair that he should still look so handsome even with his lips always curled into a mocking, disdainful snarl. Typically, you hated those people who would sneer and bark at others— their faces permanently scrunched in displeasure as if their own moustache stinks. But his smirk only drew your attention to his lush and full lips.

You watched as his lips curled around the canteen to take a drink— his bottom lip enticingly sticking out at the opening of the container. They looked so soft, you wondered what they would feel like between yours. You wanted to bite his lower lip, you realised with startling anxiety. Perhaps you were growing insane— kisses were supposed to be soft, sweet gestures of affection. People didn't bite each other’s mouths.

It was entirely his fault for driving you crazy. You had always hated people chewing too loudly and yet you were drawn to watch as he took his meals at your table, the muscles of his face working and his jaw grinding as he chewed like a barbarian. And strangely the sight had been… fascinating. Had it been anyone else you would've been moved to violence, but with Pero Tovar, you had the most unreasonable urge to domineeringly lift his face by the chin and peck his lips. You wondered what his reaction would be if you took such outrageous liberties with him. Would he be befuddled? Shocked? Most likely, he'd be upset at being taken away from his meal.

You frowned as he briskly turned his head to scan his surroundings. He emptied the flask of water in the bowl before him and quickly guzzled the liquid down. You were engrossed in watching the movement of his throat as he swallowed when you realised he had diluted the vinegar and gin concoction he had used to clean the windows before chugging it. You clamped a palm over your mouth to stave the giggles, but your body still racked with them. The man was disgusting and disgustingly endearing.

He removed his shirt, you got precious little work done when he did so. You liked watching his muscles ripple and bunch under the swathes of tan skin littered with scars and freckles. You could no longer lie to yourself that you only watched him to gauge his size since you had already finished sewing his clothes. Your gaze traced his broad shoulders, the curl of his hair that tapered at his nape. He turned to hiss at your chickens.

Those chickens hated him. They were his only, and very worthy, opponents since he was pecked and defeated by them most days. All your other animals had fallen for the charms of his low, dulcet tones. You unconsciously rubbed the spot above your heart to ease the pang of ache that had settled there. If you weren’t careful, you would end up eating out of the palm of his hands just like those poor beasts— a slave to the dark, honeyed brown of his eyes.

The glint of metal around his neck shimmered under the winter sun. The locket nestled on his chest distracted you from the wisps of coarse, dark hair that grew there as well as his flat nipples that would have you enraptured any other day. It was a reminder of a bygone time— a cruel reminder that a man like Pero Tovar would never want you.

He did not bother with the bread today. He considered throwing in some preserved meat in the vegetable pottage to make it heartier and make up for the lack of bread. The gallinero had taken far more of his time and energy than he had expected. Once he cleared the snow from the top, he realised that the coop had been drooping under the weight of the snow. While it was well-made and new, it had taken time to balance it in the uneven snow.

He had then cleaned it and added extra layer of straw to keep the chickens warm through the snow. Tovar fancied that those little demons even liked him by the end when he had provided some warm water for them to drink and moisten their tiny throats— the same ones he wanted to wring most days. Not that the chickens showed their warming feelings— they were just as high-maintenance and uppity as their owner. Regal and proud too, he conceded for them both.

He startled at the sight of his Host sitting at the dining table. The boy needed to stop moving so quietly and suddenly. He looked uncertain and nervous. Tovar wordlessly poured another bowl of the thick soup before joining him at the table. It seemed his evenings would change from now. It was not that Tovar did not enjoy his peace and privacy, but he had always been a social animal— the last time he ate a meal alone and in silence was in the Chino prison. He appreciated a good song and good company with his meals. However, since His Highness was shy, he would settle for amiable silence this winter.

The pile of clothes on the table made him stop short of his first taste of dinner. His Host slid them closer towards him. There was a deep blue wool tunic and a dark yellow linen tunic— his thumb subconsciously stroked the small, embroidered suns, this was no common fabric weaved at home. It must have been expensive. Even the embroidery was delicate and fine, the reversible kind which would allow him to wear them inside out as well. He had included a long-sleeved and a short-sleeved undershirt in the pile as well.

There were also trousers— long braies that reached his calves as well as short ones that stopped at his thighs. They were paired with socks and chausses that matched the length to cover his legs. The pile included mittens, a scarf and a warm wool hat. But it was the jacket that stood out to him. It was a doublet that seemed as if it was ripped off some royal courtier. It was black and long-sleeved, sumptuously embroidered with thin silk threads of reds, oranges and yellows that glittered and shone cohesively like a flickering flame.

Had it belonged to some other man who had stayed the winter before him? The thought made him sit up straighter. There was no reason to feel affronted, if his Host was offering him fine clothes, he would gladly accept them. But his hands had long stopped stroking the embroidery on the jacket. Wearing such an expensive jacket could leave him robbed and killed in some ditch, he thought with a sneer— no wonder the man before him left it behind.

Tovar had seen enough cold, painful days where even the alms thrown his way were a life-saving grace. He did not have the luxury of turning down a few worn clothes— not many people did. Which only meant it was upsetting to him that somebody had been here before him. All the work he had put into this place had lulled him into a false sense of proprietorship. He needed to remember that he would leave in the spring— as soon as the path opened.

“Thank you,” was all he could manage for a moment. His host nodded at his words but his hands lingered over the edge of his bowl again, they reached for the spoon before hesitating and pulling away.

“Just eat. Why wait until later when it is cooled down?” He encouraged.

The boy eased his mask down his chin, his head turned down towards the table so Tovar could not see his face. He bit back an exasperated sigh, worried that the hood of that cloak might dip into the pottage— he hated doing laundry in the cold. But perhaps ripping that cloak away from him might spur his Host out of his shell, provided he did not own another.

“How did you think a marriage would go without you showing your face? I promise you whatever scars you might have, I have seen worse, amigo.” He was surprised at his own good temper and patience today. Perhaps, his success with the chickens was inspiring him to cajole his taciturn Host.

But his amusement did not last long. The cloak fluttered around the boy’s head, his chin moved as he spoke. Tovar did not hear it. And that awareness settled in his stomach like lead. But it grew and expanded like smoke that slowly clogged his throat and burned his nose. He could not hear.

“Don’t mumble, I can’t hear.” He wanted to take back his words as soon as he had said them. There was no reason to share that with the boy when he hadn’t accepted it himself. He stubbornly shoved a spoon in his mouth, the food tasting like hot ashes that clung to his mouth instead of sliding down his throat. He just needed time to heal…

He could hear the rattling wagon wheels, and the clucking chickens. He could still hear the chorus of a raucous tavern ditty. The softer sounds will come to him eventually. The black powder had exploded too close to his ear when he had crossed the wall to help Will— damn him. His ears just needed time to heal, at least the ringing was not so persistent.

Tovar fumed under the boy’s gaze, rising to deliver another scathing retort. But he pulled the candles on the table closer to himself before fluidly lowering the hood to reveal his face in the candlelight. His Host closed his eyes, tilted his face up towards him and slowly moved his face one way, then another— allowing him to examine the full extent of his damaged face, exchanging one vulnerability for another.

Although, it was not much in terms of vulnerability according to Tovar. The boy was not scarred in some violent tragedy— it must have been an illness, some plague which caused pustules on his face that left behind spotted, mottled skin as he healed. He was mildly impressed when the boy looked at him with a sheepish smile, knowing he could be missish and shy. He had the most remarkably warm and kind eyes.

“I’ve been told my face puts people off their meal.” There was a self-deprecating twist to that smile that he suddenly felt averse to seeing, choosing instead to stare down at the cooling soup in his bowl.

In loud, clear, slow, tones his Host announced his name, “—in case you hadn’t heard it.”

“I knew that.” He hadn’t. “I’m not deaf, just speak up,” He blustered. The boy looked immediately contrite.

“And it’s not so bad”—he ate a spoonful of vegetables—“all that covering up made it seem worse than it actually is.”

He must have huffed, his lips parted before closing again, “You do not need to say perfunctory words.”

They hadn’t been perfunctory. The boy was quite handsome— his features were an enchanting blend of masculine and feminine. Before he was scarred, he must have attracted many appreciative looks which has made him more sensitive to his visage now.

“There are uglier people in the world who marry just as same. And you do not need to worry about spending your nights on all fours.” The joke was crass but he hoped it would make the evening more lighthearted. However, the boy just looked confused with his head thoughtfully tilted. What man was so unaware of bedsport?

“When did you fall ill?” He asked. He must have succumbed to illness quite young hence deprived of sexual experience.

“Just a few years ago— what do you mean by all fours?” He leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. He chuckled around the spoon in his mouth, his eyebrows quirked up in humour. Would His Highness be horribly shocked?

“When you have a woman, or yourself—”

“I am a woman.”

Tovar blinked at him— her? No. But the person just stared at him expectantly to continue his words. He flicked a furtive glance lower— at the chest— but women could be flatter there was no real way to tell. He looked away in shock, feeling the heat crawl up the back of his neck.

“You’re a woman?” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

“Yes… are you disappointed?”

He rapidly shook his head in denial, feeling a bit dizzy by the end of it, “But, you’re a woman?”

“Well, yes. But it is better to dress as a man— more comfortable.” she ate her meal serenely, unconcerned with the emotional turmoil she was putting him through.

“How could you be so irresponsible and invite a strange man into your house?” He was belligerent.

She looked up from her bowl at the fury in his words, “I was just as defenceless before when you thought I was a man but—”

“Don't be cheeky—” He thundered.

“—how like you to be so patronising as soon as you find out I am a woman—”

“—and Silva, that man allowed you to take some dangerous man home—”

“—He is not my father, he comes to check everyday to make sure I am well—”

“—a lot of good checking everyday will do, you are far too—”

“—so you are very dangerous, are you?”

“YES,” he yelled. They were both panting, with over-bright eyes glaring at each other.

“You should not just trust anyone. Women do not need to have husbands delivered by some wagon—” He lowered his voice so he was not shouting at her, but there was still a hardened edge lining his words.

She scoffed at him, “I happen to be one of those women who no one will have. You can hardly judge how I source a partner”—she proudly lifted her chin—“it seems we will not suit, sir.”

Stupid, impertinent woman deserved to be turned over his knee. Didn't she know any man would take those words as a challenge?

She's not yours, he reminded himself. She never will be.

“Sit. Eat,” he tersely commanded anyway as she rose out of her seat.

“Why did you choose me? Because I was the only man? You should have tried your luck with the next cart full of people,” he demanded.

“I could have chosen one of the women as well,” she sniped at him before her lips pinched into a prim expression.

“I chose you because you seemed the sort of person who wouldn't really care about the opinions of others… You would not say one thing but mean another. So I would not have to wonder about what you think of me. You're the sort to be brutally honest and quite pitiless about it too,” she bit off, her lips still pursed distastefully.

Her words were a far cry from compliments, but he recognised the underlying current of appreciation in them. And it terrified him. He was not some brutally honest man— lying came as a second nature to Tovar, he did it so often even he could not differentiate it from the truth. William had been the honest, honourable one of the two.

This woman had invited him into her home, believing there was some noble chivalry hiding beneath his veneer of foul temper and scorn that just did not exist. It was no veneer, he was black and rotten to his core. That small woman in the holding cell, he realised with a start. This delusion must have stemmed from him speaking up for that woman. He had not wanted to. And if given another chance, he was unlikely to defend her again.

His eye twitched with premonition even when she obediently went back to finishing her dinner. It was cold now, irritation slithered under his skin— it made his fingers twitch before he tightened them around his spoon. He should have never spoken to her and eaten his warm meal in peace.

“I made the clothes in a rush and had to guess your size, so they might not fit as well. I can alter them for you.” Her words broke the oppressive silence that had descended between them. He glared at her through his lashes before he sighed. He couldn’t hold the heat in his eyes when she looked like that— pouty and hesitant. She had made them herself, for him.

“Thank you,” He muttered again.

She was hovering as he washed the dishes, offering to help several times. He waited for the water to boil so he could shoo her away for her bath. He tried not to think about how foolish it was for her to undress and take a bath when there was another man in the house. He needed to fix the latch on the bathroom door, it easily opened with a strong shove.

He should wash as well today so he does not smell like the pollos. He did not want his bedspread to stink either— it was the best he’s ever had, stuffed with straw and lined with cotton. His back was grateful for his Host’s luxurious offerings. He flicked a gaze to still find her pensive as she sat at the dining table. He would catch her fidgeting in her seat out of the corner of his eyes like she was about to grab his attention before she would think better of it. Or perhaps she did say something, and he did not hear it.

“Do you truly think my face is not so bad?” She broached. He hummed in affirmation.

He had seen scarring like that on many people before. Even soldiers would scar as such after long, hot days under the helmet that caused pimples and acne to smatter their cheeks. He’s had a few before, but Tovar had never checked to see if they had left little divots on his face— it had never occurred to him to be sensitive about them. Hers was slightly worse, the discolouration was severe in her cheeks and her scars were scattered across her forehead and chin as well. But it was not so bad that she would need to hide away behind masks and cloaks. Women had the oddest notions of vanity.

“Then will you try it with me? Marriage, I mean?” Her voice was too high-pitched, it betrayed her nervousness. He chuckled at her question, rinsing the pot he had been scrubbing.

Tovar threw an amused, lopsided smile her way, “And what exactly would this marriage include?” He hoped his voice was light-hearted enough to distract from the fact that he had no idea what any marriage would entail. She looked thoughtful while she considered her words as if she, too, had no idea what was involved in a marriage.

“Supporting each other, taking care of each other, emotional confidences”—he snorted at that one but she continued anyway—“being a family.” Something flickered in her eyes at that last point in her list. Family.

He observed the tense set of her shoulders, her hands fisted on her lap and the false nonchalance in her eyes. This meant something to her.

It was strange to know his words were important— that whatever he would say to her could cause her to deflate and recede into the shells she had crawled out of. Tovar found he did not want that. But he also didn’t know anything about family.

He knew a little about supporting each other and taking care of each other, the battlefield had ways of cultivating friendships and brotherhoods. Both of which he had thrown away in the face of survival. As for sharing emotional confidences, he would only need to listen— something he struggled with at the moment, but he could nod appropriately and sagely as he feigned sympathy.

From aristocrats to peasants, all families and marriages tend to be mercenary at heart— it was the way of the world. She wasn’t asking much of him, and he could provide her this small comfort in exchange for her hospitality. Not much would change, it was just two people playing house as they were currently doing.

He silently acquiesced with a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug. But her joy was palpable. He felt the familiar stirrings of self-disgust at the hope shining in her eyes. He rinsed the pot again, only to distract himself from the sight of her wide, toothy smile. It pricked at his conscious— but it was futile, he had buried that bastard a long time ago. If this woman was fooled by him, then it was entirely her fault. He made no promises of genuineness— or even staying.

“Are you inviting me to your bed too, Princesa?” He teased, needing to see anything other than the sweet triumph on her face. However, instead of being offended or shy, her laughter rang across the room— bright and loud.

She rolled her eyes at him in good humour as if he had shared a distinctly ridiculous joke, “Don’t worry, I would never expect that of you. It is not like you would be overcome by lust with the way I look.”

Tovar believed her parents should be flogged and strung at some square for raising their daughter to be so stupidly sheltered and naive.

“I was offering a trial of some sort— just for this winter,” she explained. Perhaps not as naive as he thought she was.

“We could see if we suit. If we should like to be married then you stay here, with me. But if we do not suit then I will pay you for your services when you leave.” He judged too soon, she was a complete lackwit. Why would she offer him money?

He tried not to let his disbelief show on his face.

“For all the work you’ve been doing around the place”—she waved her hand as an all-encompassing sort of gesture—“Thank you for that, I am terrible at housekeeping. So, you will have to continue undertaking those responsibilities in the future.” Aah, so if they did not wed then he will be considered the servant. Rich and spoilt to boot.

He put away his unexpectedly surly mood. A more honourable man would have refused the money— his good friend William would have explained to her that extra hands were often only paid with food and board for the winter. Unfortunately for her, he was not such a man. Tovar would leave this sleepy little town in spring with his purse of money.

A/N: The kitchen disaster scene is inspired by The Beauty and The Blacksmith a novella by Tessa Dare. I hope you guys are ready for a very domestic Pero, and he will only get more homey from here <3

I am not hard of hearing, hence I will accept any criticism someone might have for the portrayal of Pero and his deafness.

Thank you for reading!!

[impactedfates]

"You were...everything" - Archons + Wanderer x GN! Reader

★ Summary: Your immortal lover was a wonderful experience...and you were everything to them (i.e - immortal characters reaction to you dying)

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Venti, Zhongli, Ei/Raiden Ei, Furina + Scaramouche/Wanderer

★ Genre/Trope: Hurt/No Comfort (I tried anyways)

☆ Warnings: Major Character Death (You)

★ Extra: Some may know the audio, others may not. But I think it's angsty so here you go // Furina might be OOC as I haven't actually done the Fontaine story quest yet

As the anemo archon, Venti cared deeply about freedom. And he also cared deeply about you. He was a great boyfriend and was never that protective of you, he always believed you deserve to have freedom, not to be tied down by any restrictions.

But maybe he should've trusted his gut when you went away on one of your adventures, he always sent the wind to protect you and it would always bring you back into his arms. But when the wind could only return the sound of silence when you were meant to come back. He grew worried.

One day, a knock on his door came and he went to check. Jean stood there and looked at Venti before slightly bowing to him, she didn't need to utter a word. He knew what was going on.

You were gone.

Gone due to an accident. Gone because you wanted to protect others but that only got yourself killed.

After that day, after your funeral not many saw him. For days on end, when he did show his face though. He had a smile, continued on with his life as if nothing happened.

But people around him, even people who didn't know him well enough. Could see with each passing day, that this mask he put on would soon fall. He wouldn't be able to act like he got over your death, he never will.

But at least you had freedom right? Wherever you were. He just wished it was with him.

Zhongli was used to seeing people close to him come and go. He knew eventually you'll leave him too as many others did before. He knew he'd likely outlive you, so he wanted to make sure he spent as much time with you as possible. Telling you he loved you and making sure you felt loved.

He never wanted for you to be stripped away from him, and you promised you wouldn't. You two made a contract. A contract that stated you'll be with him for as long as you could, because even you knew he'd outlive you. A contract where he vowed to protect you.

You two truly loved each other, it's a shame he couldn't save you that day. The day where your contract with him ended. Too soon for the ex-archons' liking. He should've been the one to take the hit, he would've been just fine. But you cared about him too much to even see him hurt.

And all he could do was finish the treasure hoarders off before carrying you and running as fast as he could to a doctor. He wanted to believe you'll be okay, he just needed to get there faster, get your wounds treated.

But he knew deep down that no matter how much he hoped, the feeling of your body growing cold against his arms was enough to tell him he was too late.

He had lost you.

But what did he expect? He knew himself loving a mortal would be dangerous, he knew loving a mortal would mean he would eventually lose them.

Yet when he met you, he couldn't help but fall in love.

He was silent at your funeral, silent after that day. No amount of Hu Taos attempts at lightening his mood would work. Nor would anyone's attempts.

He had lost someone he had sworn to protect, and he couldn't even do that.

Eternity.

That's how long Ei wanted to be with you. For all of eternity, for as long as she's able to hold you in her arms, for as long as your mortal life would let her.

She never wanted to let you go. For you to go. She's already lost so many people she cared about. You couldn't be one of them. She didn't want you too. She did everything in her power to protect you.

But that didn't stop her finding your motionless body on the ground.

She knew she didn't have the best reputation after the Vision Hunt Decree. She knew people would be mad at her. She knew people may want revenge against her.

But why did you have to be the one hurt? You did nothing. You did nothing but love her and help her settle back in the life she once abandoned. You were so dear to her heart, you were so kind to her.

You didn't deserve the fate you received.

She never went to your funeral, only hearing from Yae Miko about how it went. The kitsune saw the look on Ei's face and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"They wouldn't like if you went back into isolation you know"

The archon knew that, and she wouldn't want to make you upset. Even if she couldn't see you, she knew that wherever you were, you wouldn't like it. She even promised to you she wouldn't.

She continued on ruling over Inazuma. Things were at ease, the culprits responsible for your death were punished. People were starting to warm up to her, though her actions were never forgotten.

And just as she wanted to, she'll be with you for all of eternity. Even if that was merely by your grave.

Furina always worried if she was a good archon, if she made her people happy despite how she may act around them. She knew she likely could never fully replace the past archon but she wanted to be liked.

Furina also worried if she was a good partner to you, yet despite how she may act to mask her insecurities. You stayed with her. You made her feel more confident in herself. She's truly so grateful for you. She never wanted you to disappear.

But you did.

The trail had to be rigged. It just had too. You weren't a criminal. But all odds pointed to you. But she knew you weren't the culprit for the crime.

It wasn't like you.

You wouldn't have done that.

You were with her that day.

She wanted to speak out, she had too. But her mouth went dry, no words could come out as you were taken away, to be detained. To be placed somewhere until the set day of your death.

And she could only watch silently as it all happened.

After that day, after the one she loved so dearly, the one who loved her despite her flaws was gone from her life. She was never the same. No one saw her act as she did before. She only sat in her seat silently as trails went on.

People of Fontaine, even the ones who weren't too satisfied with her. Was worried for her, of how she was going to be. If she was going to be okay.

But she won't be.

She had failed her nation. She had failed you.

"Get up!"

"Getupgetupgetup, GET UP."

Those were the only words that Wanderer could think to yell at you. He shook you, pinched you. Anything, just anything to wake you up. You were just asleep right?

Yeah, just asleep. Just taking a peaceful nap. Sure, your eyes showed nothing but it being unfocused.

But you were just daydreaming like you always do right?

Sure your body had become cold.

But that's just how your temperature is right?

You're not dead. You can't be dead. You told him you wouldn't betray him. Then why weren't you waking up? Stop messing with him. It isn't funny. It's not funny.

Please, just let him see your smile again. Just once.

.

.

. Please?

Nahida slowly came behind him and patted his back, trying her best to reassure him. Wanderer could only continue looking into your eyes as they slowly lost their light. His shakes to your body slowed down as he finally and quietly let out a faint sob.

You were the only one able to fully break down his walls, to fully see him for who he is. You didn't mind his words, you loved him. He loved you. People were thankful you two were together as the words that would leave the puppets mouth became much less harsh.

After the day you left him, betrayed him in his eyes. He got back to his usual self before he met you. He became much harsher though, to the point Nahida advised him to take a few days off. Just being alone. Just to cool down. It wouldn't be fair for others to be victim to his harsh words just because of how upset he was with what happened.

He wanted to hate you, he wanted to despise you for breaking your promise about not leaving him, he wanted to ignore you because you betrayed him like many others did before...but he loved you.

But he no longer could have you.

Teehee. I only based Furina on what I think she's like, I gotta stop procrastinating and actually start the quest fweooif (please don't spoil!!)

Also I am aware that archons can exactly die, however I'm pretty sure they can't from old age. So if all goes well, they can live for awhileeee.

Anyways! I hope you liked it :>> I might make a pt 2 with different characters if this gets enough attention.

Thanks for reading!!

[simonisferal]

BED CHEM! (1)

chapter one: the over-dick-around thing

“i swear another bug just went under my sock.” hu tao grumbles as she bends over and reaches to her legs, pulling up her thin white socks. they were already dirty due to the mud and leaves that had stuck themselves to her while walking on the plain’s trail.

xiangling, although having the same problem, laughs. ”sucks to suck.” she retorts right before tripping on a twig, stumbling and almost knocking the random flowers xiao was picking out with his hands. both you and hu tao clasp your hands over your mouths to stop your guaranteed laughter.

he stops abruptly and frowned, looking back. ”hey, quit it before i start beating you three with a stick.”

your jaw drops. with outreached arms, you yell, ”what did i do?!”

xiao, with a small smile on his face, looks back at his flowers. “you’re an idiot.” he tied them with a small blade of grass and places them in his coat pocket. “you’re also not following the dress code. it’s casual, not the Met Gala.”

both hu tao and xiangling looked at you. you were dressed for an interview—which you had later—rather than a hangout. “i’m not gonna have time to go home and change, dude.”

”not my problem. you’re still an idiot.” he shrugs. he and the other two girls continue trenching through the vines and forest’s path, ignoring your face of disbelief.

you growl and mutter underneath your breath, slowly following them. “end yourself.”

- ☆

the plains were a beautiful color of blue and white; the glaze lilies still had dew from the early morning and shone through the tall blades of orange. the mountains were rigid and the invisible snow above the summit made the noonish atmosphere angelic. the wooden bridge that led you to the plains was a bit… terrifying to say the least.

“‘tao..!” your hands were latched to the bridge’s roped rail and your knees buckled underneath you. “i swear on everything i love, if you don’t stop rocking this bitch back and forth, i will throw you off the bridge like in Squid Game!” xiangling and xiao, alongside zhongli who was waiting for a while, were already on the other side of the bridge.

hu tao had her hands on the railing, rocking the bridge’s deck with her feet in an unsteady momentum. the brown haired girl had a mischievous grin on her face as she taunted. “come and get me then!” she chimed and you groaned.

finally, someone sighed. “stop it, hu tao.”

xiao—your lord and savior!

like a switch being flipped, hu tao stopped her psychological assault on you with her frown present like a sad dog’s ears pressed down. her hands undid themselves on the rope and she pouted, “aw man.” she turned to walk away and you let out a sigh of relief.

‘thank god…’

you took slow steps on the bridge. you made sure to maintain eye contact with the girl, observing her and making sure she wouldn’t suddenly go back on the bridge and start toying with you again. she would’ve if zhongli didn’t have a killer grip on her shoulder; sometimes you forget he’s almost twice your age and somehow retired. weird.

xiangling patted your back when you took a step on the grass rather than the wooden deck. “yo, you didn’t die! glassmaker who?” she joked. you would’ve laughed if your heart wasn’t beating so fast.

zhongli let go of hu tao, a simple smile on his face, before turning around and beginning to walk away—probably to the location of the picnic. hu tao eyed him, still, before following him with a skip every now and then. xiangling soon left after and xiao and you treaded on their heels, silent.

“so,” xiao starts. he was fiddling with his hands in his left pant pocket, a habit he has when he’s thinking of something personal. “are you serious about that job?” he sounded authoritative but in reality, he was probably just concerned.

you hum. “yeah!” continuing to walk by him, away from the others (even though they’re like… three meters away from you) and just surrounded by nature, it felt nice. “i need something in my schedule; it’s sad waking up and just seeing nothing on the paper but birthdays.”

“you could just freeload off of me, you know.” he emphasized the ‘could’, like if you could reject him for decades and he’d still let you with a simple ‘please’. both of his hands sink further into his pockets. xiao had a frown plastered on his lips, a thin line that tilted down. “i can…” he shrugs, looking away and a faint color on his ears, “support the both of us.”

you look at him.

huh?

“i’m trying to pay you back too, you know.” you frown.

you definitely didn’t say what he’d think you would—xiao didn’t even think you’d respond. maybe you said the wrong thing because he deflated a bit.

”…great. thanks.”

- ☆

it was already 4:05p.m. when zhongli called it a day, wanting to relax at home with his bearded dragon; xiangling needed xiao to drive her back to work and hu tao… had ‘hu-tao’ things to do.

you five skipped the bridge going back and away from the plains, concerned that a silly prankster would spark up a new (or reoccurring) trick and make someone late. the path was clear but rocky and someone tripped on a pebble every now and then.

you and xaingling played soccer with a blob-looking rock before something dawned on you.

”hey,” you called out to xiao who was on his phone. “what time is it?”

he looks back at you, then his phone, then back at you. “4:07.”

ah shit. you pause in your tracks, your feet ignoring the pass xaingling gave you with the makeshift soccer-rock. you did the math in your head; ‘the bus comes at 4:10, which means you’d have to be at the stop in less than three minutes—you can make it in 136 seconds if you run…’

”it’s 4:08 now.”

yeah, you’re cooked.

- 𓆟

childe, for a moment, almost wanted to go to work. he had a weird sense of exhilaration thinking about it. maybe keqing finally refilled the cereal bar!

he paused, in the middle of the shreet, his finger on his chin as he continued to think. maybe shenhe had put a curse on him. seems more likely.

actually—now that tartaglia thinks about it, ganyu told him that a new model was coming soon.

huh. weird.

he feels… funny.

You're broke. Like really broke. So what better way to earn money at the only place that accepted you in all of Liyue? The interview can't be that bad, even if you bump into some guy on your way there. A modelling agency shouldn't be too hard with your looks. The pay's good and the other staff are lovely (and attractive)--only one teensy, tiny, little problem. So is your manager, Tartaglia.

taglist: @trulyylee, @wateredfay, @sl-vega, @035814, @certaindreampost, @pwushizz, @wraithisd3adinside, @lulumallow, @keikole, @boxdisappeared, @thegalaxyisunfolding, @bunnychiffon

i was trying to make y/n lowkey…. extra! i think i did it idk

the bridge scene is like the one in shrek 😣 hu tao and y/n play around like children but they’re always cool with each other at the end

the hangout wasn’t that important…. so i skipped over it. uhm.

childe lore coming soon 😍

masterlist / prev / next

[rainebowshine]

themes: genshin sagau, cult au, reincarnation, time loops, you use traveler!lumine as your physical vessel but no one knows

warnings: mentions of previous deaths, violence, murder, torture, blood

EMERGENCE OF SEPTIMA - I

6 TIMES.

6 times your life inexplicably was cut short.

6 times you perished at the hands of the very characters you loved.

6 times you lost your life inexplicably for no reason.

The first was out of nowhere, like a thief in the night.

Once, you were Jiayi, an undertaker for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in Liyue. You had a strong relationship with Hu Tao, the director at the time, but your relationship was strictly professional.

Then all of a sudden, you were tied to a burning tree, the flames rising to your knees. You begged and screamed for mercy, but all to no avail. The people called you an 'imposter', a 'fraud', a mere imitation of the Creator they worshipped.

A Creator you never knew existed.

Any prayers you made to the archons were futile. Your sobs for mercy, for any explanation at all, fell on deaf ears. You had no choice, no way out, no hope. All you could do was close your eyes and succumb to your imminent death, for that was all that awaited you after this...

...or so you thought.

-

The second was just plain cruelty.

You were Vivaan, a Melusine, happy and minding your own business in Fontaine. Suddenly, you were scooped up from your home Merusea Village and dragged somewhere unknown.

Somewhere cold.

You had been picked apart and prodded by a man they called The Doctor, your body parts discarded and rearranged like a toy. You didn't understand why he was doing this.

Was this for some grand experiment? Did he have bigger plans for you?

Or was this just some cruel joke, all to torment you for no reason?

You tried to speak, but you lost your tongue. The man was beyond reason. No words would be tolerated, and any attempt at a resistance would be met with even more brutal torture. Any chance of someone finding you sounded as ludicrous as escaping. You would die of the frost that slowly crept its way across your body.

Surely you would die.

-

The third time left no survivors.

You were one of the many Cavalry Captains of the Knights of Favonius. Captain Trinity, they would call you. All of the Knights, especially Master Jean, trusted you fully. You were hardworking, dependable, and still made time for your personal life(something that Jean was particularly envious of).

Your life was perfectly happy in Mondstadt. You were married to Master Diluc and had two wonderful kids. On the day of your birthday, you, Diluc, and your children had a picnic in the Whispering Woods. It seemed that nothing could go wrong, and even if it did, you had enough training to be able to defend yourself and your family.

Out of nowhere, several Abyss Mages surrounded you--ten Hydro, seven Cryo. You and Diluc immediately got to your feet, grabbed your greatswords, and immediately fought off the intruders. Diluc absolutely annihilated the Cryo Mages with his Pyro Vision, while you obliterated the Hydro Mages with your Dendro Vision.

While you were busy fighting, an Electro Abyss Mage came up behind you and Diluc, as did a Pyro Mage. Both were aiming not at Diluc or even at you--they were headed straight for your children.

Your instincts kicked in and you immediately jumped into action against the Mages, fiercely fighting them off. At this point, however, you were exhausted from the absolute army you were fighting earlier, so your moves were less strategic and more desperate. Diluc realized this and attempted to help you but suddenly the Electro Mage striked. BOOM!

The Electro from the Abyss Mage and the Pyro energy from Diluc's infused attacks caused an Overload, killing not only the both of you, but your kids as well.

Or maybe they were the only ones to truly die.

-

The fourth time was gradual, slowly eating at you before it finally killed you.

You were known as Caturi, a well known and respected woman in Sumeru. You also just so happened to be the Light of Kshahrewar's daughter. You inherited his temper, his passionate demeanor, but also inherited your other father(the Acting Grand Sage)'s introverted personality and disinterest in hanging out with other people. Or maybe you inherited that from your Uncle Tighnari?

Your family life wasn't necessarily bad at all--to be fair, you seldom saw your dads, so you didn't really have one at all. And besides, you were too busy training to be a Forest Watcher under your uncle's teachings.

Everything was going fine until you were on patrol in an area of Sumeru that, unbeknownst to you, was riddled with Abyssal corruption. You didn't know this, however, so you went back to your uncle's room that evening to tell him that nothing was amiss. Nothing seemed to be wrong until a week later, you started coughing. Your uncle gave you some medicine, but it did little, if anything at all, to help.

Your condition only worsened as the weeks went by. Your poor parents began to worry about your health, especially your dad. You tried all you could to comfort them...

...but how could you when you were essentially "dying" right before their eyes?

2 whole months passed and your prognosis was grim. You were bound to "die". You were no longer conscious. You were hardly even breathing anymore. You heard your dad sob hysterically as you succumbed to your "death". Your father tried to comfort him, but it was no use.

"You" would come back, but he would never know, and "you" would never be able to tell him.

-

The fifth time was betrayal.

The people called you Akila, a kindhearted young girl in Natlan who was part of the Flower-Feather Clan and someone who wished to be strong like her mentor, Chasca. Your mother had died and your father disappeared, leaving your elder brother to take care of you. You trusted him more than anything. He would protect you from just about everything, he spent all the time with you, and when he couldn't, he'd write letters to you to check on you. Life wasn't perfect, but it was okay.

Then the Night Wars happened. Your brother had taken you from your home and took you to the cliffside where you two would usually watch the stars. But there were no stars; in fact, you could hardly see the sky at all from the clouds surrounding the city. You look to him in confusion. Why did my big brother take me here? you asked yourself. You dared not look down, as you were terrified of heights. You looked in confusion to your big brother, not understanding a thing. But he didn't meet your gaze. In fact, when you looked to your left, he was no longer there. Suddenly, two large hands grabbed your shoulders and shoved you off the cliff. You had no time to react because you immediately hit the ground. Your body fell loosely into the bushes nearby, but alas, you didn't survive.

or maybe you did. either way, it's irrelevant.

-

The sixth time was the same as the first.

You, now known as Marie Ange Morozova, lived as a Fontainian noble who had recently escaped from Snezhnaya. You were considered "blessed by the Hydro Archon", for you had heterochromia that oddly resembled Lady Furina's eyes. You had no interest in all the worship and compliments.

They were fake, just like everything else in Fontaine.

-.-- --- ..- / …. .- …- . / -. --- / .-. . -.-. --- .-.. .-.. . -.-. - .. --- -. / --- ..-. / - …. .. … / .-.. .. ..-. . / .-- …. .- - … --- . …- . .-. .-.-.- / .- -. -.-- / .- - - . -- .--. - … / - --- / -.. .. --. / .. - / --- ..- - / --- ..-. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / -- . -- --- .-. -.-- / .- .-. . / ..-. ..- - .. .-.. . / .- -. -.. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / --- -. .-.. -.-- / .-. . … ..- .-.. - / .. -. / .--. .- .. -. .-.-.- / .. --. -. --- .-. . / - …. . / -.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. .----. … / -.-. .-. .. . … .-.-.- / -.. --- / -. --- - / … . .- .-. -.-. …. / ..-. --- .-. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / …. ..- … -… .- -. -.. .-.-.- / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. - / .- .-.. .-.. .-.-.- / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. .

Just ignore it.

-

I wonder how your seventh life will begin.

You have taken the form of a seemingly young woman with short blonde hair and amber eyes. From the looks of it, you seem to have taken Lumine, the traveler, as your vessel.

With this power, will you manage to change your fate, now knowing your previous lives?

Or will you be doomed to die by "their" hands again?

Oh well, we'll never know until later.

For now, it's time for you to awaken...

Septima.

[mayomio]

‎ “ porque te sigo queriendo? ya no puedo más ”

‎ ‎‎under the weather ;; kinich x fem!reader * social media au

synopsis she’d describe him as the most genuine soul she had ever come across in her entirety of walking earth, how she craved to be cuddled into his arms just to feel that warmth she once felt, even if it was just for a few seconds. that constant sick feeling of being without the person that completes you was like a disease to her, and she only wanted to get rid of it, but if it was only that easy. 

genre modern/college au, social media au, angst, crack-ish, fluff but not rlly like until the end or halfway, lovers to exes to lovers again, right person right time but uhmm . . .

warnings english is not my first language, I use (name) instead of y/n I just prefer it more, there will be some spanish used in the chapters (it will be translated dw), kinich is mexican!! (and implied hispanic/mexican reader but anyone is welcome to read it), writing from a beginner, heavy cursing, kys/kms used as a joke, sexual content (smut mayb..idk most likely not but just in case 😭) < by a minor btw..

status started 03.14.25

tag list currently open (click here to be added)

‎‎‎‎ ‎‎" shes under the weather, or whatever " || profiles (2)

mayo enjoyers — (name), xilonen, heizou, lumine, hu tao, kokomi

hw hq — kinich, mualani, xilonen, chasca, citlali, aether

‎ ❀ for chapters with written fic

o. prologue (❀)

i. under the weather (❀)

ii. class with the blue hair girl (❀)

iii. tus ojos (❀)

iv. cheater cheater pumpkin eater

v. estas loca??

vi. gng i’m failing this

vii. my brother’s on the wrong side

viii. parking lot date (interrupted) (❀)

ix. new number who’s this

x. la noche tan fria

TAGLIST @keiiqq, @liyahbug, @wraithisd3adinside, @anqelkoz, @inelinastyle, @liimcrencx, @jiminscarmex, @mplesyrup, @animelover100, @fandomfan-102, @yuyawanz, @hydration-is-for-weenies, @ashyiiy, @melancholiaav

[tinesleftnipple]

JITD Episode 16 (non-final) script synopsis

Episode 9-10

Episode 11-12

Episode 13

Episode 14

Episode 15

In the hospital room. On TV, documentary style filming of very delicious food and commentary. On the bed, Pei su is wrapped up like a mummy. He looks over at LWZ. LWZ is slurping rib soup his mom made and complaining about it. LWZ closes the door and tells Pei su they are going to break the rules. He takes out a jar of honey, puts a few drops on the lid with some water, and dips in a q-tip. LWZ presses the q-tip carefully on Pei su's lips. LWZ, ranting gently: why did you have to cover me? You would only suffer minor injuries if you stayed back. I thought you were a psychopath, did you switch careers?

Pei su observes LWZ - he seems thinner. The wounds on his arms now a faint scar. Pei su smiles lightly. LWZ gently taps his forehead. Pei su rolls his eyes at him, and LWZ sees young Pei su glaring at him. They look at each other for a while, and Pei su is the first one to crack open a smile. LWZ, seeing him, also smiles.

Tao ze calls and almost reveals LWZ cried that day before LWZ interrupts to talk about Serious Stuff: a dead man was found in a rental apartment, with documents and a photo of Dong xiaoqing with "$120k" written beside it. The dead man is an escaped convict. Zheng kaifeng's fingerprint was found in the apartment.

LWZ hangs up and asks Pei su about the Reciter. LWZ: I know you hid a lot of stuff in Wuthering Heights. Pei su shivers, and LWZ gently places a hand on his eyes, telling him to sleep.

On the news: the secrets of the Zhou family revealed

Flashback: on the day Dong xiaoqing killed ZHX, someone stole her phone and texted for Xiao hanyang to meet up.

ZHJ visits Pei su in the hospital. Pei su thinks the tragedy of the Zhou family all ties back to ZHJ believing he's not Zhou junmao's biological son. Zheng kaifeng also doesn't seem to be the type of person who would bomb himself. And what does Zheng kaifeng see in Yang bo to bring him everywhere? What if Zheng kaifeng is just a chess piece part of a bigger scheme? Pei su asks ZHJ to revisit his mother's safe - there must be more than just heart medication.

Pei su on a wheelchair returning to his room. Mu xiaoqing is at Pei su's door with food and flowers. She tells Pei su she's LWZ's neighbour and starts asking around. Mu xiaoqing: you can treat LWZ as your family. Pei su senses something is off and texts LWZ to ask who she is. LWZ replies: my mom. Triple zoom in. Pei su slowly lifts his head, and we can almost hear his neck creaking.

After Mu xiaoqing leaves, Pei su calls LWZ. Pei su: nothing, I just wanted to tell you, you are the person I want to hang on to too. LWZ walks straight into the water dispenser. Pei su, hearing the ruckus on the other side, smiles.

One month later. It's almost winter. LWZ driving, Pei su napping on the passenger seat. They turn into a neighborhood and LWZ pats Pei su's shoulder. Pei su slowly opens his eyes and realizes this is an unfamiliar neighborhood, a bit old. His eyes widen. Flashback: 7 years ago, the first time Pei su came to LWZ's place was also early winter. He sits in the back of the car, looking out at children playing outside, experiencing happiness that he has never felt

LWZ: we're home, zip your coat up, don't get sick. Pei su turns to look at him, and LWZ stares forward expressionless. LWZ: I've prepared all the necessities. You can write me a list of what else you need. Pei su stares at him a while, and smiles, silently agreeing to this arrangement.

They go inside. Food is on the stove. Yiguo scratches from behind a closed door. It feels like home. LWZ lets yiguo out and yiguo and Pei su stare at each other from across the couch. LWZ nags at them to get along with each other, and makes Pei su feed him and shovel his litterbox. While yiguo eats, Pei su tentatively reaches out to try to touch him. Flashback: young Pei su runs up the stairs, hands shaking as he tries to unlock the door. It finally opens and he runs into LWZ's house. He carefully opens the shoebox he was holding. Inside is a kitten. Pei su reaches a hand out to feed him, but the kitten is shaking. He retracts his hand and instead leans in to listen to yiguo's heartbeat. LWZ comes home, and Pei su turns to look at him. LWZ voiceover: Pei su, time to eat

LWZ nagging like a mother, getting the bed ready for Pei su to sleep in. LWZ: you sleep here for the time being. I got a bed set up in the study, I'll sleep with yiguo. The bed might be a bit hard, you might not be used to it. If not let's buy a new mattress tomorrow Pei su, suddenly: shixiong, are you keeping me here to keep a watch on me? LWZ: are you going to sleep with your hair wet?

LWZ drying Pei su's hair in the living room. Pei su has his face full of hair. Pei su: shixiong, why do I feel like there's fur going down my neck? LWZ: I usually use this hairdryer on yiguo.

LWZ gets up to go to sleep. Pei su: shixiong, don't you have anything to ask me?

They sit at the dinner table. Pei su explains that everything happened so fast, that he had no time but to subconsciously push LWZ away. Pei su: you shouldn't sacrifice your life for something like this. LWZ: and neither should you? LWZ asks what Pei su is investigating that is worth putting his own life on the line. Pei su answers that he instinctively knows his mother's death is related to Pei chengyu. This instinct must be related to a subconscious memory.

Pei su tells LWZ about the basement, the Binhai project, and the Guangyao fund. Before Pei chengyu's car accident, Pei corp stopped funding Guangyao. Pei su suspects these two things are related. LWZ asks about the picture album project. Pei su asks him if this is his third and last question. LWZ changes his question and instead asks: that year, why did you suddenly stop coming over to my house? Pei su doesn't answer, but his gaze lands on yiguo. Pei su stands up, back to LWZ: i cannot answer this question. LWZ: I think we should both be more honest. Tell me when you're ready

Morning. LWZ left breakfast for Pei su. Pei su walks into the study and sees a picture of LWZ, Tao ze, and Yang. Flashback to Pei su's conversation about the picture album project with Du ju. As he leaves the office, Pei su notices the picture of the 4 police and someone else who's cut out from the picture. Flashback to Pei su looking up professor Pan and finding his wife, Doctor Bai the psychologist. End of flashback. Pei su stands by the window and calls Du jia, to find out who was cut from the picture. Camera pans to the covered whiteboard. One corner is lifted, revealing the character "Pei"

[journeytothewestresearch]

An influence on Sun Wukong's medical knowledge

As I write in this article, Sun Wukong showcases his medical knowledge in chapter 69 when he analyzes an ailing king’s pulse from afar using three magic hairs-turned-golden threads. This is no doubt based on the story of the “Grand Emperor of Protecting Life” (Baosheng dadi, 保生大帝), the Daoist and folk religion god of medicine, curing an empress using the same method:

During the reign of Chengzu (1403-21), the Empress Wen suffered from an inflamed breast. A Taoist priest offered his skills, but the Emperor tested him by having him take her pulse with a string held on the other side of her bedroom wall. First the Emperor attached it to a cat. The Taoist said, “Not a bear, no not bear, it’s a cat.” Then the Emperor tied the string to a doorknob. The Taoist said that it was something of metal and wood, and not a human pulse. Finally, the Emperor tied the string to the woman’s breast and the Taoist said that the liver pulse was inflamed and the blood clotted, and that this indicated a breast infection which had to be treated by moxibustion. He offered to perform the operation by dangling a cord over the wall. He cured the ailment and vanished, refusing a reward of gold and office. In He Qiaoyuan’s version, the Emperor inquired about his name and discovered that he was the long-deceased Divine Doctor Wu Tao. In gratitude, the Emperor enfeoffed the god as Wanshou wuji baosheng dadi (Emperor Who Protects Life of Limitless Longevity) (Dean, 2014, p. 74).

What’s interesting is that this legend carried over into religious practices. A reader who contacted me in 2022 explains:

I observed a practice at [Sidian Xingji Temple (祀典興濟宮)] in Tainan where an individual would let the god Baosheng dadi check their pulse by resting three sticks of incense on their forearm. The temple brochure also mentions this procedure.

A detail from the aforementioned temple brochure showing the three incense sticks resting on a member’s wrist. Photo by Richard Malabarista.

[stephanie-strange]

It’s a quiet day when suddenly a blue portal opens at the sanctum. Something red is launched out of it crashing into a bookshelf as it closed. “Ow…” Someone says from the pile.

@armored-punning-genius

Stephanie blinks. Before summoning two tao mandelas.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask that you aren’t hostile huh?” She asks tiredly.

“Havent even had a coffee today…”

She’s not even in her normal robes yet. Just a dressing gown. Her hair is at least tied back in a braid.

[hyunjungjae]

Se tornando um só. — Na Jaemin

avisos: f!reader x jaemin (são casados já), meio pwp, sexo sem proteção, uso do apelido ‘amor’, menção a size kink, um sexo mais calminho…mais vanilla pq eu ultimamente to querendo ser amada e cuidada😞, o final é bem diabetes de tao doce

Sua cintura era levantada por duas mãos grandes que quase circulavam ela inteira, a testa de Jaemin já estava brilhante pelo suor, a cabeça jogada para trás, o peitoral brilhando, tudo, absolutamente tudo nele naquele exato momento exalava luxúria.

O pau do Na entrava e saia incansavelmente de dentro de ti. Te puxava com força pela cintura, os teus seios pulavam…ele estava encantado, ‘como poderia a mulher dele ficar apenas mais linda quando é fodida por ele?’ ele se perguntava. Os dois almejavam desesperadamente por um prazer próximo, suas mãos sentiam a cabeceira acolchoada da cama, e sua cabeça quase batia nela de tanto que era jogada para cima.

Seus gemidos eram tão sensuais ao ouvido do Na que nem ao menos os sons eróticos de peles se chocando ele ouvia, estava hipnotizado pelo som que você soltava a cada vez que ele ia mais fundo.

Suas pernas já não tocavam mais a cama, como uma pena Jaemin te levanta quase que totalmente da cama.

“Porra…se continuar assim jaja eu boto um filho dentro de você” diz ofegante, e quando olha nos teus olhos sorri sacana, “Faz isso…coloca um filho em mim…” diz também ofegante, “Caralho…” olhava para baixo e arqueia as costas ao sentir o quão fundo ele foi agora, ao ver que cada mísero átomo do homem estava fundo em você.

Uma mão tua que estava na cabeceira da cama vai até o abdômen do Na, como um aviso que estava prestes a chegar em teu ápice, mas ele não percebe, sua mão era algo tão insignificante perto do prazer que sentia, que ele não tinha como, mas continuar a fodendo até que chegasse em seu próprio ápice, até que estivesse fundo dentro de ti, enchendo-a com o filho de vocês.

Você chega em seu tão desejado ápice, suas paredes internas o apertam tanto ao ponto que sufoca-o ali dentro, forçando todo o líquido do homem para dentro de si.

Antes ainda que se derramasse dentro de você, se mantém fundo solta tua cintura, caindo por cima de ti junto com teu corpo, deixando o próprio rosto pertinho do teu. O antebraço apoia o peso do corpo ao lado de sua cabeça e você se sente minúscula, já que muito provavelmente se alguém os visse agora não a enxergaria totalmente escondida debaixo daquelas costas largas do Na, se não fosse pelas pernas arreganhadas ao redor dele e as mãozinhas espalmadas nas costas dele.

Os dois chegam nos desejados ápices olhando no olho um do outro, Jaemin gosta de ver a agonia de tanto prazer nos teus olhos. Sorrindo encosta testa com testa e sem palavras, apenas sentimentos a flor da pele.

Sem uma palavra, apenas se beijam como se aquilo dependesse da vida de vocês. Não precisavam dizer algo, estava estampado na testa dos dois que se amavam.

Se separam e a primeira coisa dita após esse momento, é o Jaemin que diz “Você está excepcionalmente linda essa noite, meu amor…” olha cada mínimo detalhe de seu rosto, fascinado como que poderia ter feito a melhor escolha da vida dele quando disse ‘sim’ naquele altar, coloca uma mecha de cabelo atrás de sua orelha “Acho que finalmente consegui fazer você ficar 9 meses sem menstruar.” sorri, fazendo-a sorrir também com a piadinha, e planta um selinho em seus lábios.

“É uma honra poder carregar filhos de um marido extraordinário como você, tenho certeza que será o melhor pai que nossos filhos poderão ter.” os narizes se tocam, as respirações fazendo leves cócegas, sorriem demonstrando a mais pura e verdadeira felicidade que sentiam.

“Eu te amo.” Na Jaemin te ama. É isso.

Antes mesmo que pudesse responder, é calada com um beijo. Na Jaemin te ama, te disse logo após de ter te engravidado…se pedisse por mais alguma coisa, estaria sendo egoísta de roubar toda felicidade do mundo pra si.

bem curtinho, me perdoem😭, to alimentando vocês com migalhas, minha rotina ta uma loucura, mas espero que quando normalizar um pouco eu possa trazer algo maiorzinho…😞

[thelonelyarchon]

📮RETURN TO SENDER ᯓᡣ𐭩

014 - his love letter

warning/s: alhaitham's actions being questionable, fluff? (his letter), grammatical errors

As you hit the “tweet now” button, you wait for the floodgates of questions and shocked replies to fill your notification bar. A chuckle escaped your lips as you twirled the letter by holding its ribbon.

You knew they were hungry for your reply. You could technically smell the desperation and eagerness of the people following you both, and you were glad to see that your instincts were right because after a few moments the comments on your last post had filled up with people oogling and frothing at the mouth.

“ALHAITHAM!?”

“THAT’S ALHAITHAM’S SIGNATURE!”

“So it’s true that Alhaitham sent her a letter!? HOW ROMANTIC!”

"I never thought that cold hearted model would like someone like her."

You let out a melodic laugh in response to their shocked reactions. You shake your head, your mind still hazy and your heart still pounding in your chest.

It’s been forty minutes since Alhaitham dropped you off your dorm and Hu Tao was there to greet you. She didn’t pry when she saw how your face was practically a shade darker with how flushed it was or how you were practically bouncing as you walked towards the mail box.

As soon as you arrived, you dove into the pile of letters on your desk. Most of them were from universities around Teyvat, but your eyes were locked on finding one.

Alhaitham’s letter.

“Aha!” You exclaimed as you found the elegantly wrapped letter. It even has a seal on it! He didn’t have to be so extra with it, but it made your heart swell. As a fan of love letters, his thoughtfulness and careful planning made it obvious that he valued this particular letter and your hands were itching to read it.

But you reminded yourself to remain calm. Carefully peeling off the seal and unraveling the ribbon that tied the envelope, you read his letter with a bated breath.

Dear [Name],

I am ashamed to write this letter for a reason which may come as a surprise to you. Before you begin to assume that I wrote this letter because I felt the need to write back to you after the one you gave me, I would gladly say it is not as I have already given you my reply to that particular letter. For this letter… I have written on my own accord to inform you of my intentions.

Truthfully, I do not know how to write a proper love letter. As you can see, my words are rather… stiff and too formal, is it not? I tried following your videos to see if it could help soften my tone when writing to you, but as you can see it hasn’t and you may have to deal with this hahaha.

I have written too much already. So I’ll make this quick.

[Name], admittingly I read your letter and replied to it without giving it a proper thought and I am well aware that I have hurt you unintentionally. Back then, I know you. But now that I have gotten a glimpse of you back at the show last spring, in the spirit of “first love’s” and whatnot, I decided to give you and I a decent shot.

I asked myself, “what am I afraid of trying?” I know that love isn’t my strongest pursuit, but with you, if you allow, I may understand myself a bit further and I may learn to give you that kind of love which you yearn from me.

Though I have to warn you… with the way that I am, whatever relationship we may create may be short lasting. However short lasting it may be though, rest assured that it will be worth your time. So please… I hope you consider this.

May I court you, [Name]? I would like to get to know you better.

Sincerely,

Alhaitham

P.s. Do you like my letter? I re-wrote this three times and asked Kaveh to help me. I hope you don’t mind that he knew of its content first before you. Also… I realized after writing this letter that I do not despise writing love letters. I simply did not have a chance to write one. I find that it’s my favorite way of correspondence. I do not mind receiving more of it, especially if it’s from you.

The edges of the paper have began to fray a little as your clammy hand held it as you read through its contents over and over again. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to sleep after this.

But one thing’s for sure is that Alhaitham has a way with words. Though he may seem too formal and stiff to your liking, there is beauty and eloquence beneath it that draws you in and makes your heart flutter.

You resigned to your doomed fate as you dramatically sigh and laid down on the couch. You were sure that the feelings you’ve long buried for Alhaitham have resurfaced once again.

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