#teasing sun about the fantasy itself

[wyervan]

I feel like slasher sun is a maladaptive daydreamer

(Totally not biased cuz im also a maladaptive daydreamer😨😨)

So I didn’t fully know what this term meant and had to do a little research. Read some very interesting stories!

So I don’t think he would be the type to spend hours doing nothing but daydreaming (he feels like he always needs to be doing something and I think he would chastise himself). Buuuut I could definitely see him getting lost in escapist fantasies while he’s tidying or his hands are otherwise occupied.

One thing he definitely has done is project an idealized version of people from his fantasies onto them in real life.

Like, hmm how do put this… if Sun liked someone, wanted to be their friend or boyfriend, especially a someone he doesn’t actually know well, Sun might put them up on a pedestal. They’re perfect, they could do no wrong. He starts making judgements about what they like or how they’d react to something not based on the person’s actual behavior and interests, but rather this imagined version of the person in Sun’s Hallmark fantasies. Entire saccharine scenarios would play out in his head featuring himself and his infatuation as the main characters.

I think this was more of an issue for Sun when he was younger. He’s been burned quite a few times at this point when people don’t match the idealized persona in Sun’s head. He’s a bit more jaded now.

But Sun does still daydream of a green-grass-picket-fence reality wherein he has many neighborhood friends and a loving family… and yes, of course, 😌 Moon is there too because Sun can’t imagine a reality without him… tho i think even in fantasy, Moon gives Sun a hard time 😝

[vieoeil-riae]

must be dreamin'

steb/fem!reader

warnings: missionary sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, soft/vanilla sex, sexual fantasies, coming inside, minor cockwarming (kinda just mentioned), steb has frills on his cock, 18+ MDNI, 3.6k words

synopsis: despite having a strong sense of duty, steb is still as easily distracted by you as he was years ago

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It was your day off, one you preserved for yourself when you hurried around the house last night ticking mundane chores off of your list. That meant that come morning, you could laze in bed watching your beautiful boyfriend pad about your shared bedroom as he got ready for the day.

Even now, as the evening set in, casting long shadows of your blinds over you and your bed, you could clearly remember the sight. Familiar, yes, but no less enticing was his lean body; firm, flexing muscles and a softness that was present even when the low light of dawn left his skin. You had no shame ogling Steb, or throwing salacious compliments his way as he tugged on his civvies.

You’d giggled at the sight of his fluttering face-frills and flushed cheeks, though. Years deep into your relationship and you still got a high from flirting with one another.

Still, the alluring sight of Steb’s partially dressed figure had stuck with you all day — remaining with you as a simmering heat between your legs. It bothered you mildly, but you were engrossed enough in your book that you could push the need aside and settle in for a long day of laying in bed.

Out in Piltover, combing through the streets with a, currently crafted, impartial stare — a similar feeling stuck with your boyfriend.

It wasn’t his fault you looked like temptation itself that morning; sleep-ruffled hair; a thin shirt that liked to ride up; how inviting you looked, tangled in the bedsheets you shared. All the comments, teases and flirts you’d thrown his way that morning had seriously tested his self-control.

Making you moan softly into the morning air, warm with sleep and sex; watching the way you unravelled at his touch; feeling you consume him completely, a much preferable alternative to clocking in at half past six in the morning.

What-ifs and vivid flashes of him pulling your shirt off and burying his face in your chest made work even more intolerable, stoking a less familiar, antsy feeling deep in his chest that found itself as a low buzzing in his hands. It was an itch to call in sick and go home early, to drown in you until the sun went down and came back up again.

No celestial decided to answer Steb’s silent prayers for a quick, easy day. In fact, they seemed to do the opposite; throwing every conceivable minor and major inconvenience at him.

There was a robbery; a carriage accident; several fights he had to break up; and worst of all, having to deal with mouthy, uncooperative people as politely as he was legally obliged to the entire time. The thought of your pliant body and the way you worked with him in understanding started to feel like the promise of water in a desert, and lord was he parched.

The reprieve of paperwork, various forms and reports written in near excruciating detail, had lasted not even five minutes before visions of your soft curves and the way you’d writhe and ruck-up the sheets under his touch infiltrated his train of thought again.

Steb’s ears were pinned back by now, he could just tell, and he sorely hoped no one noticed the flush on his cheeks or the tent in his pants. He could only thank the stars that his coworkers had long since figured out he never talked more than necessary for his job, he was already biting the inside of his lips with a near bruising force.

After hours of sitting with his legs crossed, his problem had nowhere near abated. Chewing his cheek, he shuffled to the locker room once his shift was up.

Opening his locker, Steb eyed the small duffle bag inside; his regular clothes and the remains of a lunch kindly packed by you. Your hands, the image struck him with immense clarity — a slew of imaginings poured behind his eyes. Your hands on him, running over his stomach; carding through his hair; your pretty fingers down his throat. It was almost enough to draw a whimper from him.

He stripped his out layers quickly. One hand almost slipped under the hem of his pants, but out of a lewd sense of shame it was pulled quickly away. You’d do that for him, slip your hands in and fondle his heavy cock, and you’d do it with that loving, knowing smile of yours.

In half-blues, no impulse control to keep himself around long enough to change clothes properly, Steb snuck out the back door. There was a thrill in the minor infraction against the force’s policy, as well as his duty-born sense of guilt that made his neediness feel stickier.

Speed-walking through twisting side streets and alleys in an attempt to get to you, your warmth — hot, wet warmth (he stumbled on a cobblestone) — just a few moments quicker.

He saw you last night, domestic and homey as you flitted around clearing up what would get in the way of your day off, and he’d stared for a long time before you noticed he was there. Steb was lost in the image of you in his home again, something that struck him every now and again but always left him breathless, not dressed up; comfortably un-put-together.

It was an image that sparked a fire in his gut every time he saw it. Maybe getting so turned on by the thought of you sharing the rest of your life together like that was odd but, to Steb who had always been a fan of the simpler joys in life, it meant the world.

You’d probably stayed in bed today, a thought that made him purr inside, the thought of you feeling so at home in the space you shared. The image of you half covered in sheets, bare breasts exposed; nipples pebbled at the peak of your supple skin waiting to be touched, invaded the space behind his eyes and he was forced to blink it away.

God, his limbs felt heavy. Want and need pooled together with the leaden aftermath of a busy day. Climbing into bed with you would save him.

One thought kept Steb in motion however; you splayed out on the bed, legs spread as your fingers plunged into your cunt, mewling under your own touch as your hips bucked up to take your fingers deeper. A blaze took over his chest, maybe you’d be moaning his name. A shiver rolled through his shoulders, his name always sounded so much better on your lips.

Steb dropped the bag the second he shut the door, his breathing laboured as he gulped in the scented air from the humidifier in the entranceway. It had been the same scent as your shampoo since the week he met you. It only served to make his need worse.

You were sprawled out, half tangled in sheets and the same pesky, night shirt as this morning — in the dusk light you looked to be glowing. You noticed him quickly, taking in his tired eyes and flushed cheeks as well as the fact he hadn’t abandoned either of his jacket or shoes by the door.

“Hey, what’s up?” You questioned sweetly, pulling yourself up to sit. The drag of the bedsheets across you, the tantalising curl of them around your legs, made your boyfriend swallow hard.

With shaky fingers, Steb’s jacket was discarded on the bedroom floor followed by his shirt. You bit your lip at the flex of his stomach muscles and the now-ruffled look of his hair. Your eyebrows pinched at the heavy way he sat on the edge of the bed, fumbling with the clasps of his boots.

Slipping off the bed, you knelt down before him, undoing the (rather complicated) fastenings with steadier hands. You looked up through your lashes at him, eyes widening a fraction at the almost hungry look in his eyes. The usual cool, observant look in his eyes was still there but felt entirely underpinned by something hotter. The frills on his cheekbones shivered out of time, though.

You slid one boot off, cupping just above his ankle with care. Treating Steb gently was a reward in and of itself. In your peripherals, you saw his fingers dig into the edge of the mattress. The other boot was removed similarly, all under a smoldering gaze.

The second you were finished, one of his hands darted to your chin, forcing you to look in his eyes. You searched them, feeling more and more confident you understood what he was wanting. You cocked your head, a small smile gracing your lips, letting your tired boyfriend do as he pleased.

You were pulled up and onto the bed, tangling with Steb as he buried his face in the crook of your neck — pushing you back towards the centre where you were laying minutes ago. You scrambled to move against his built body, falling into the pillows you’d messed up for the sake of a better reading perch.

Lifting the bottom hem of your shirt, Steb stuffed his head up it, nuzzling his face into the valley between your tits. The arm free to move slipped under your shirt too, sliding up your back to grip at your shoulder. Only mildly surprised, you brought your hand to his hair, running your fingers through it gently — nails pleasantly scraping at his scalp.

You saw the shiver that ran through him at that, felt the hot puff of breath against your skin. Steb wedged a leg between your thighs, knocking against the place you’ve been wanting him all day. He placed a kiss on your breast bone, before his lips began to travel your curves — the feeling of the outline of his lips, so recognisably his in the way his bottom lip felt plumper than his top.

You sucked in a harsh breath as Steb’s lips found your nipple, kissing it fondly before taking it in his mouth. His teeth found it soon after, lightly worrying it enough for you to arch into his thigh with a breathy sigh. 

Soft and needy and wanting, he makes out with your chest — tongue dragging over each arch and dip with goading care. You grind against his thigh, pressing his face into your chest as your swollen cunt, covered only by panties rubs against the thick material of Steb’s uniform. 

He bites the flesh of your other tit, licking fat stripes up the soft mound, relishing your nipple in a way that makes you gasp. His hand, once holding onto your shoulder slithers down your back to trace up the sensitive skin over your ribs, cupping your neglected tits gently before palming it in earnest — fat molding itself to the shape of his large palm.

Your head lolled back, leaving your collarbones open. Steb couldn’t reach them, however, as the loose neckline of your shirt didn’t allow him the room to pepper kisses there.

Shuffling out of your shirt that now felt a little emptier without him in it, his hot breath was replaced by his fixated eyes and warm palms feeling up your sides. Dragging them sensually down, his fingers toyed at the hem of your shirt.

You rolled onto your back and he followed, eager hands still attached to your shirt. You stared into his eyes, undeniably warm with adoration and pure need. He motioned for you to lift your arms up, and you did with a helping arch of your back. You heard a choked whine in his throat when your breasts spilled out into the warm light of the room as he pulled the fabric from your body.

Leaning down, he captured your lips in a kiss, slow and lusty, hoisting your leg by your knee to hook around his hip. Steb let his whole body relax into yours, trapping you between the soft bed and his warm body. You felt his hard cock rub against your thigh, and heard his soft panting in your ear.

“You gonna take those off, or are you happy to ruin your work clothes?” You teased, a sultry tone seeping into your words through the kiss. You smiled greedily at the furious blush that overcame him, feeling the heat on your own cheeks before he pulled away to strip himself of the garment.

You eyed his deft hands undo his belt buckle, dexterous fingers you knew felt orgasmic inside of you. He was left in underwear, a wet patch forming where his hard cock strained at the fabric, the last of his uniform discarded as your lover met your lips again.

Steb’s fingers skimmed down your front, caressing your skin with all the romance in his soul. They dipped into the waistband of your panties, parting your lips to gather your wetness, gathering your slick before coming to lazily circle your clit. You whined at the feeling, his rougher fingertips creating delicious friction over your sensitive nerves.

Smoothing the heel of his palm against you, his fingers sank into your wet pussy. You moaned at the stretch, Steb was a tall man with fingers proportional to that — two fingers curling inside you felt like more than it sounded, still overwhelmingly pleasurable.

His tired mind was enraptured with the way you squirmed beneath him, with the way your tits moved with your sharp gasps when his long fingers pressed into the right spot, with the flutter of your eyelashes when your face fell with pleasure. His cock twitched with each lewd squelch of his fingers, and he shivered with a low groan when he felt you clench around his digits.

Medically trained hands, strong and precise, brought you to a tumbling orgasm. You arched hard into Steb’s hand, humping it as you rode out your high. Sex-dazed, you couldn’t look away from him.

“I want you.” You whispered into the space between you, being quiet was never an issue around Steb. His other hand, that had ended up pressed into the mattress by your head, brushed away stray hairs from your face. His eyes darkened, yet the blue of his eyes seemed to shine brighter at the same time.

You flicked the band of his underwear, giggling softly when his trance was partially broken. Steb huffed a quiet laugh with you, brushing your hand with his own as he reached to pull the briefs down. 

You eyed the way his cock sprung from the fabric, and not for the first time do you admire it. Long, bent slightly to the left, decorated with frills similar to his face but shorter and less delicate. Drool-worthy, in your opinion, but maybe you're biased from experience.

Cheekily, he returned the favour; pinching at the most sensitive fat of your thigh, right by the junction of your leg and torso. You squirmed at the feeling, gasping half-playfully and half-honestly. Still, Steb slid your panties off with care, thumbs brushing your hip bones as you arched upwards to help him remove them.

He leaned in close to your face, lips ghosting over yours in a brush of a kiss, lining his throbbing cock with your weepy cunt. The head of his cock brushed down your wet slit, drawing a whine from deep in your throat — no matter how many times you moan, it’s a sound Steb can’t find himself any less addicted to.

His cockhead presses against your entrance, pushing in at a slow, relishing pace. You let obscene noises fall from your lips as he inches his cock into you, his head buried in the junction of your neck — fluttering face frills tickling the skin there — where you could hear all the little noises he made much better.

You spread your legs further apart, inviting him further in as you watched his body curl over yours. Knowing the feel of his dick only made the satisfaction of your expectation taste sweeter, familiar veins and ridges and frills scratching the itch inside you just how you liked.

Steb groaned into your ear when you enveloped him to the base, the barest whispers of incoherent words floating to your ears. Having you around his cock was sweet relief all by itself.

You took a moment to bathe in the closeness between you, his cock nestled deep in your gummy walls, before he gave a shallow thrust — rutting into you. You mewled at the sensation, enough to make your body sing with heat but not enough to build your orgasm.

His hips twitched at the sound, rutting into you again but harder, a groan of his own sinking into the skin of your neck. Slowly, enticingly, Steb thrusted into your cunt harder, letting you greedily suck him back in with every motion of pulling out. 

You slung your other leg over his hip, winding your legs around him to bring him closer, deeper. Your arms reached for his shoulders, nails bluntly teasing at the skin, scratching enough to feel but not enough to hurt and he shivered under your touch. Steb pulled back to watch your face.

You looked so lovingly ruined beneath him, an expression of utter bliss stretching across your face, the smell of your sweat so close to his nose. Your face twisted in pleasure as he thrusted ever so slightly faster, your head falling to one side as you arched against his cock. 

He took full advantage of it, pressing soft kisses down your neck, interrupting them with an occasional nip — soothed with a practiced tongue. Your skin tasted like devotion under his tongue, the frills on his face fluttered happily at the eagerness with which you took him. 

Your hand tangled through Steb’s hair, running across his scalp until it met with the delicate shell of his ear. He whimpered against your skin, a sloppy, tongue heavy kiss licked against the column of your throat.

Needily, he picked up the pace of his thrusts, whispering the most mesmeric words of adoration against you like prayers. You responded to them in kind, loving affirmations spoken with truth through a haze of desire, fucking back onto his cock hungrily.

The feeling of the frills on his cock dragging against your walls made you keen, digging your nails into his shoulder as you hissed in pleasure, whining as Steb slowed down for you to feel every single ridge. You protested the change of pace, bucking up into him, muttering ‘please’s making his ears twitch against your gentle fingers.

His hips met yours, you clenched around him but didn’t peak, a sound of abject need slipping through your lips. You took your hand from his shoulder and found his forearm pressed into the mattress above your head, you caressed down the strained muscles towards his hand. He let you trail his hand down your body, shifting to accommodate his weight above you — though if you were being honest, being completely trapped under him sounded wonderful.

You brought Steb’s hand to your aching clit, letting him feel how wet the sensitive nub had become, moaning at his light touch. Chasing his own high, flushed with your pleasure, he rutted into your cunt faster, fingers diligently working at your clit in tight circles. 

You writhed against him, moaning and whining and clenching around his cock in a way that never failed to stroke his much hidden ego. It shot a bolt of white-hot pleasure up his spine, to see you come apart from his touch.

“Steb…” You moaned, a drunk slur in your tone that made his hips jerk harshly into your plush cunt. The begging tone wiping reason from his head, he fucked you harder, watching your tits bounce with each thrust. His dick twitched inside of you, sending him back to meshing his lips with yours.

Your cock-drunk obscenities were swallowed by the enveloping kiss Steb had you in, drinking up the noises of your fast approaching peak. The noise and feel of you winded up the coil in his own gut, the world falling away from him completely, lost in you.

“Steb!” You came hard around his cock, a strangled cry of his name clawing out of your throat. Your body shook with satisfaction, mesmerising your lover with the way you twitched and whined in overstimulation as he fucked you through your orgasm — legs locked tightly around his waist.

The flutter of your walls around him had him grinding against your cunt, lost in the soaking, post-orgasm feel of you — desperate in the rut of hips that smacked against yours.

“Inside.” You mumbled breathlessly through the overstimulation. “Want you… inside.”

He groaned against your neck, taking a shuddering breath as your words took him over the edge — fucking his cum into you with jerking hips. 

Coming down from the bliss, he peppered all the skin he could find with sweet kisses, before trying to pull out from you. Your legs wound around his waist, not allowing Steb to do anything but sink fully into your warm, soft body with his whole weight.

The leaden feeling sunk into his limbs again, keeping him trapped against you like a pillow. It felt like all the mounting pressure in his body had dissipated into thin air and he huffed against your skin, satisfied.

“I love you.” You murmured into his ear through a smile, hands carding through his now very messy hair. You craned your neck to kiss his temple, basking in the satisfied, contented feeling of having Steb bare in your arms.

You felt his lips trace the same words into your skin, the slight nuzzle he gave you, and the way his arms snaked around you to hold you. You shut your eyes in delight, letting the rest of the world fall away until it was just you and Steb. He squeezed you tighter in his arms.

A/N: thank you to everyone who's dropped their thoughts into my inbox!!! I'm so happy about that 😭😭 u guys wanna interact ilysm 💕💕 I'll get to you when I can, but even if it takes a moment know I haven't forgotten!

banner cr: @/cafekitsune

[wintrwinchestr]

obedience | part 2

summary: a week ago, you and joel had experimented with a new kink, and it’s been on your mind ever since. you had been too shy to ask to try it out again, but joel always knows exactly what you need.

warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, pet play (egregious use of “puppy”, joel teaches you dog commands and refers to your hand as your paw, among other things), d/s and ddlg relationship dynamics, praise kink, degradation/dumbification kink, cockwarming, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampie, pet names (baby, babygirl, sweetheart, etc), talk of reader wearing a collar, joel giving reader a bath/washing her hair, hella aftercare, reader has hair and can be carried by joel, implied age gap but reader is an adult, let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 5.7k

a/n: literally nobody look at me please. this the most self indulgent self insert shit i’ve ever written in my life and if you get it you get it idk what else to say!!! anyway thank you for being patient with me and reading what i write, my big girl job takes it out of me sometimes but that’s what i write this type of shit to deal with <3 nice comments and reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed or if this awakened something in you :)

(read part 1 here if you missed it)

dividers by @saradika

“You want Daddy to train you, babygirl, you wanna be his pretty lil’ pet?”

It had been a week now since Joel had punished you, denied you for acting out over the phone, for disobeying him and sending him lewd photos of yourself when he had explicitly told you to stop. But you hadn’t listened, he wasn’t having it, and when he had returned home from work late that night, he had called you by a new name. Puppy, he had spat at you several times as he made you chase a ruined orgasm on his steel-toed work boot. 

The pet name hadn’t left your mind since then, repeating itself over and over, along with his question of if you wanted to be trained, if you wanted to be his pet. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself becoming desperate for it. Each day in the office was a struggle to stay focused on even the simplest of tasks, your thoughts overrun with fantasies of Joel getting you on all fours for him, giving you commands and praising you for following them, tugging you towards him by a finger hooked into a collar to tell you what a pretty puppy, what a good girl you’re being for him.

You’d left work every evening for the past several days with a damp spot in the seat of your panties, feeling ashamed by how depraved and inappropriate almost every one of your waking thoughts had become. When you would greet Joel at the door all needy and wanting, he would tease you with a “What’s gotten into you, lately, hm?”, but never push for more than you were willing to reveal to him, though he thought he might have had an idea. He would take you to the bedroom and have his way with you the way you liked, the way you had usually craved, before he had turned your world upside down by deciding on a whim to try somethin’ new that fateful night. 

Joel would be more than willing to try it again, to follow through with that question he’d asked you, but he decided he was content with waiting for you to come to him, for you to decide when you were ready for him to make you his good puppy once more.

–

The weekend begins just like any other. Joel’s internal clock wakes him up no later than seven in the morning, the sun just barely streaming in through the blinds in your shared bedroom. He tries to keep his creaks and groans to a minimum as he rolls out of bed, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before quietly padding his way into the kitchen to get a sizable pot of coffee brewing. He lets you sleep for another couple of hours, knowing full and well at this point in your relationship that he has the wrath of your grumpy morning attitude to face if he doesn’t. He does think it’s cute, though, how your face twists up into a pout but your eyes stay scrunched closed if he wakes you up at a time you deem too early.

When Joel does decide it’s a sensible time for the two of you to get a proper start on your generous two days off from the slog of your weekday jobs, he cracks the bedroom door open gently, making his way over to your still-sleeping form. He softly brushes some of your knotted hair out of your face as he places your mug of coffee on the nightstand beside your head, prepared just the way you like it. Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned cream and sugar? Or just plain black, for that matter? Can’t believe you like it with all this cinnamon vanilla whatever you have me dump in it, he had teased, not long after you had first started sleeping over at his place. Can’t believe you drink it without anything in it. It needs at least a lil’ somethin’ sweet in it, you had bantered back to him, to which he was quick to reply with Got my somethin’ sweet right here, don’t I? before pulling you into his lap and kissing you hard until both of your cups ran cold.

You smile at the memory in your half-sleepy state, slowly blinking your eyes open to see Joel’s warm and familiar smile. “Mornin’, sweet girl,” he says, his grin only growing wider when you greet him back with the cute little squeal that comes out when you stretch your arms over your head instead of an actually intelligible word. “Got some emails and borin’ stuff to catch up on this mornin’, why don’t you just stay comfy and sip on your coffee while you wake up for a bit, hm? Probably be done in time to get lunch together somewhere, how’s that sound?”

“Okay, Daddy,” you reply softly, real words this time, as you push yourself up to sitting while Joel props your pillows up behind you for your back to rest against. You don’t put up much of a fight against the yawn that stretches your jaw, rubbing your blurry eyes as it does.

“Alright, gimme a kiss, sleepy girl. Enjoy your creamer with a splash o’ coffee,'' Joel taunts through a chuckle. He presses his lips to yours, and his coarse beard tickles the skin around your mouth, making you giggle. The smile hasn’t completely faded from your face by the time he slips out of the bedroom to head into his office, shutting the door gently behind him.

Extending a hand down to your nightstand, you hook your fingers through the mug’s handle and slowly bring it up to your face, careful not to spill any. He’d chosen your favorite Daddy’s Girl mug, the phrase written in bold pink text curved over a little illustration of two blue daisies. You always thought your coffee tasted a little better from this mug, somehow. Taking your first sugary sweet sip, you think the sentiment is as true this morning as it’s always been.

–

A little while later, when you feel somewhat more awake thanks to plenty of caffeine and sugar working its way through your body, you finally force yourself into comfortable clothes different from the ones you slept in. With your hair sufficiently tamed, face washed, and teeth brushed, you decide now’s as good of a time as any to try and act on the plan you’d been concocting over the past couple of days, waiting for a moment just like this to pounce on.

You still felt too shy to bring it up to Joel, to tell him how badly you’ve been wanting him to treat you like his little pet, and go even further with it this time. You know he’d never judge you for it, and he had seemed to like the experiment just as much as you did. But something about your little fantasy still felt taboo and shameful, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to use your big girl words and ask for it.

Though, you had finally realized, maybe you didn’t have to ask for it. Maybe you could quietly tip toe into his office one lazy Saturday morning and sit at his feet, nuzzle into his thigh until he brings a hand down from his keyboard to scratch behind your ear, asking you What’re you up to down there, babygirl?

And that’s exactly where you’ve found yourself now, answering his question with a dreamy whimper, leaning into his touch as the feeling of his fingers on your skin makes you smile so blissfully, wiggling on your knees.

“What’s got you feelin’ so snuggly this mornin’, hm? Just need some lovin’ from your Daddy?” he asks in his still-rough morning voice, gazing down at you affectionately.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his calf and rubbing your cheek against the soft leg of his sweatpants.

“Alright, lil’ thing. Just got a couple more emails to take care of and then I’m all yours, promise.” He removes his hand from your scalp to start typing again, and you pout in protest. 

Joel shoots a stern look down to you. “Poutin’ don’t typically get us what we want, now does it? Be patient, sweetheart, just a few more minutes.”

You release another upset noise, louder this time, and then he’s pushing his rolling chair back, your grasp around his leg coming apart as he does.

“Came in here actin’ so good and sweet, where’d this bratty girl come from, hm? If there’s somethin’ you want, gotta use your big girl words and ask for it, you know that,” he scolds, his expression becoming more serious.

You hadn’t meant to elicit this reaction from him at all, and it causes your eyes to well up as you stare at the carpet, avoiding his gaze. Opting to answer him with just a shrug, you fidget with your fingers in your lap to distract yourself from the sting behind your eyes. You do attempt to open your mouth and make your desires known to him, but think better of it, and any big girl words you did have swirling around in your brain are replaced by yet another half-hearted little whine.

A whine that sounds… a little familiar to him. 

“Oh, I see…” Joel muses, a little less authority in his voice as he assumes a more relaxed position in his desk chair. “I think I know what’s goin’ on here.”

You look up to meet his eyes, tilting your head in confusion. The action prompts his lips to tug into a knowing smile, and he leans forward in his seat, making a beckoning motion with his hand. “C’mere, baby. Between my legs.”

You obey immediately, crawling towards him to close the small distance between you, settling in a kneeling position between his spread thighs. “Good girl,” he praises, and the words make you beam as he cups your chin, the moisture that had been blooming along your water lines now forgotten.

“Think I know why my sweet girl ain’t usin’ her words with me this mornin’...” Joel says, scratching at the soft skin under your chin with his fingertips. You can’t help but lean into his touch, lashes fluttering, and it’s enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Reckon it’s because puppies don’t know to, hm? They just whimper and whine for attention from their Daddies cause they don’t know how to talk, ain’t that right?”

You let out a pathetic little noise when he finally says the word, the one that’s been dampening every pair of panties you own for the past week, but that you’d been too scared to ask to hear again. But you were right after all, you didn’t have to ask for it, because Joel always knows just what you need, somehow.

He uses his grip on your chin to nod your head up and down for you, and continues talking down to you in that gravelly tone of voice that makes you feel like you’re about to melt straight through the floor. “Yeah… ‘F you wanna be Daddy’s lil’ puppy this mornin’, tha’s alright with him. Figured you oughta be missin’ it by now, seein’ as how you liked it so much the first time around…”

You’re barely processing what he’s saying, your lips slack and eyes unblinking as your cunt releases little pulses of slick into your panties. Something about Joel seeing through you so clearly, calling you out on your newly discovered kink and using it to pull you hard and fast into this familiar saccharine headspace, has your whole body burning hot with arousal. 

“And if I know one thing about puppies, it’s that they need some trainin’, don’t they? ‘Specially impatient ones like the pretty thing I’ve got sittin’ at my feet. Don’t you agree? Don’t speak, just nod, babygirl.”

It’s unusual for him to request a nonverbal response, as opposed to a Yes, Daddy, but you’re grateful for the change as you allow yourself to fall deeper into your role. You give him what he asks for, a couple of eager nods in quick succession, even though you aren’t quite sure where he’s going with this yet.

“Asked you twice to be good and patient for Daddy, and all I got was poutin’ and whinin’ instead, didn’t I? Think my lil’ pet oughta learn her first command today: Wait. Because good puppies know how to wait for their treats, don’t they, sweet girl? Again, just nod for me.”

And you do, slower and with a little more guilt in your expression this time. But despite him making you admit to your disobedience, you’re not sure you’ve ever been more fucking soaked than you are right now. You’re throbbing, aching, shifting on your knees in an effort to get even the smallest bit of relief. You think you might be releasing little whimpers, but you can’t be sure, already feeling so floaty and far away from just his words alone.

Joel spots your desperate movements, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts in his chair, adjusting for his own arousal, and gets an idea.

“On second thought… Got another command I might like to teach you first. Somethin’ a lil easier for that dumb puppy brain of yours to understand, hm?” He tilts his head at you, lips curved into a mocking pout.

Your eyes flutter and roll to the back of your head involuntarily, his degradation prompting the instinctual response from you. Another syrupy slow nod lets him know you’re ready to learn, to obey to the best of your ability.

“Alright, sweet thing. When I say paw, want you to put your hand right on my knee here, ‘kay?” Joel explains, patting his muscled leg for clarity. “Paw, baby, gimme paw,” he coos at you, his tone not dissimilar to the one he uses to speak to actual dogs. 

Forcing your brain to work through the dense cloud of submission that shrouds it, you lift your hand and place it on his knee, just like he had demonstrated. His enthusiastic reaction to your obedience startles you at first, but you break into a beaming grin when you see the proud expression he wears.

“Good girl, tha’s a good girl,” he praises, scratching at the top of your head and ruffling your hair. Using his touch as a distraction, Joel places your paw over his hardening bulge with his unoccupied hand, the thick shape of him prominent through his thin sweatpants. He tightens his hand on top of yours, prompting your fingers to squeeze him. He guides your hand into massaging him for a second or two more, long enough for your melted puddle of a brain to connect with the nerve endings in your fingers. Your breath hitches when you realize what it is you’re feeling, your blissed-out expression morphing into a more desperate, wide-eyed one as you focus your attention to the movement of your hands.

“Yeah, feel that, sweet girl? Feel what you do to Daddy by bein’ so good for him?” He prompts, and your thighs squeeze together as you grope him. You can’t help but draw your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on it to stifle the needy whimper that threatens to escape.

“You wanna sit on it, pup? Hm? Wanna keep Daddy’s cock nice ‘n warm while he finishes up his work?”

Your aching cunt squeezes around nothing at the premise, and you nod so hard it makes you dizzy. You move to push yourself off the floor and stand up, but a firm hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Ah ah, gotta use your words this time. Speak, baby,” Joel commands, and it takes you a second of searching to find the ability to do so again.

“Y-yes, Daddy, wanna s-sit on it…” you answer softly, and you’ve never heard your own voice sound so wanton. It comes out in a pitch that you almost don’t recognize as your own, featherlight and dreamy and desperate all at once. The need in your voice alone is enough to satisfy him.

“Good girl, just learnin’ all kinds o’ tricks today, aren’t we? Trainin’ you so well… C’mon up here, babygirl,” he permits, and uses his big hands and sturdy forearms to assist you in your awkward and eager climb into his lap. “Take it out, baby, get your treat.”

You whine as you situate yourself atop his thighs, tossing your head back with a dramatic flair, overwhelmed and frustrated by all he’s been asking of you. You just wanted him to turn your brain off, to praise you, to not have to think while he plays with you however he wants, and instead all he’s been doing is asking you to listen, sit, speak, obey. But of course, you should know better by now, that Joel likes making you work for it, to wait for it.

“Hey,” he scolds, grabbing your face and pulling your head forward from where it had flopped between your shoulder blades. “You were doin’ so well, bein’ such a good, obedient girl. Don’t start actin’ up on me now. Could always change my mind, not let you have your treat after all. You want that?”

 “No, Daddy…” you admit, your words distorted through the way your cheeks are squished together. He’s not using much force, just enough to keep your focus on him. 

“‘S what I thought… Go on then, pup,” Joel commands, and you make quick but clumsy work of freeing his already leaking cock from the loose confines of his sweatpants and briefs. He lets go of your face in favor of placing both of his hands on your hips, lifting you up while you pull your loose shorts and panties to the side, maneuvering his length to just barely prod at your wet little entrance. You flit your eyes from where the two of you meet back up to meet his gaze, hesitating while you look to confirm your permission one last time.

“Sit, puppy,” he says through a smirk, and you release a sharp whimper as you sink down onto his cock. 

On instinct, you bury your face in the warm expanse of skin between Joel’s neck and shoulder, rolling your hips back in preparation for a satisfying buck forward. His grip on your skin turns iron, holding you in place and preventing you from chasing after your pleasure.

He cuts off your pout with a strict, “I say you could move?”

“Mmph– No, Daddy,” you mumble into his firm muscle.

He huffs a mocking breath through his nose. “Really are jus’ a dumb lil’ thing for me, ain’t you? You already forget what you’re ‘sposed to be learnin’?” “‘M sorry, Daddy–” the embarrassment from his demeaning words makes you squirm, and his grip on you becomes bruising.

“Don’t need you to be sorry. Jus’ need you to listen. You’re gonna wait like a good girl ‘til I say you can start grindin’ that messy lil’ puppy cunt on me. We clear?” he orders, his deep baritone traveling straight from your ear to your needy core, the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock already damp as a result.

You hug yourself closer to him, little fingers clawing at his t-shirt in an attempt to ground yourself, and nod meekly.

“Speak,” he spits again.

“Y-yes, Daddy, clear…”, you whine, managing to lift your head up just enough for your voice to come out a little more coherently.

“If I let go so I can finish up my work, you gonna behave and hold still for me?�� 

You don’t seem to have a choice, but you agree, anyway. “Mhm, yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Now wait,” Joel instructs.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, the incessant clicks and clacks of Joel’s keyboard and mouse becoming more and more irritating with each passing second. Those sharp mechanical sounds, the vibration of his chest against yours whenever he clears his throat, the feeling of his pulsing cock as it splits you in two, it’s all so fucking much. You can’t help but release little whimpers and whines, pathetic pleases and Daddys that he either shushes or chooses to ignore. Any slight movement you make in an attempt to relieve some of the ache, he just responds to with a coo of wait, pup, and the tone of his commands as you twitching, clenching around him, soaking his cock more and more. It has to have been at least fifteen or twenty minutes by now, and at this point you’re sure he must be clicking around his desktop aimlessly just to drag out your training a bit longer.

Eventually, the noises stop, and Joel breathes a sigh as he replaces his large hands on your hips, their touch much more gentle this time. You lift your head from his shoulder to face him, wide and watery doe eyes frantically searching his face for a sign that the wait is over, that you’ve finally earned your treat. 

He grants you a soft smile, lifting a hand and using it to just barely grasp your chin, tilting your head side to side as he admires you.

“Got such a sweet girl in my lap, don’t I? Knew she could be good, just needed a lil trainin’ hm?”

You nod, already feeling so overwhelmed that your mind has started to drift elsewhere, to the relief you’ll hopefully be feeling in just a few minutes, after he’s finished toying with you.

He releases your chin, ghosting his hand downwards along the column of your throat, stopping when his thumb and fingers are resting on the tops of your collarbones. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just admires the placement of his hand for a moment, then hums.

“Neck would look so pretty with a collar wrapped around it, don’t you think, pup? With a lil’ heart-shaped tag danglin’ from it, engraved with my name so everyone knows that you belong to me? That you’re my puppy, hm?”

Fuck.

The sentiment alone, the domination and ownership of it all, has you crying out your most pathetic noise so far this morning, eyebrows peaked with need as you bite down on your lip so hard you think you might’ve drawn blood. Joel predicts your reaction, clamping down on your hip with his other hand to stop you from moving before he’s decided you’re allowed to.

Again, you nod, willing to agree to anything and everything he wants from you if it means you’re getting closer to getting what you want from him, what you need.

“Say it, baby,” Joel demands of you, his voice calm but commanding.

You tilt your head at him, humming a confused little noise, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Say it, c’mon,” he repeats. Your foggy brain is on a second or two delay, but it catches up eventually, and you realize what he wants to hear.

“I’m y-your… ‘m your puppy,” you say, softly, your voice tinted with embarrassment. 

“Wha’s that, sweetheart? Didn’t quite hear you. One more time for Daddy.”

You swallow hard, inhaling a shuddering breath before repeating the phrase a little louder, with a little less control. “I’m your p-puppy, Daddy. I’m your puppy, ‘m Daddy’s–”

“Yeah, y’ are, fuck.”

He moves his hand from the base of your neck back to your hip, and uses his strong grip to hold you still while he begins a series of sharp but rewarding thrusts in and out of your swollen cunt, each one seeming to hit deeper and deeper inside you. Falling against him once more, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face into him while you let him fuck into you like a doll. His movements are quick and desperate as he growls an incoherent string of filthy praises in your ear, his words accompanied by the sloppy wet sounds of skin on skin.

“Perfect girl, Christ, tight lil’ puppy pussy feels so fuckin’ good, always feels so fuckin’ good. Such a good girl, such a good goddamn girl for Daddy.”

The harsh bounce of your body in his lap jostles every last one of your thoughts from your brain, and he relishes in the animalistic cries and yelps you mumble into the flesh of your upper arm, now damp with your drool. He must feel the moisture as it pools underneath your face and wets the thin fabric of his t-shirt, because then he’s laughing at you, spewing more obscene words at you as he spears you up and down on his cock.

“Shit, are you fuckin’ droolin’ on me, sweetheart? Got this messy cunt and that pretty mouth both soakin’ me, Christ. This cock make you that dumb, hm? You Daddy’s dumb puppy?”

You are, you both fucking know you are, so you agree and repeat it back to him to the best of your fucked-out ability because you know it’s what he wants to hear. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to hear it too, the self-degradation lighting your whole body on fire as some of that heat forms itself into a tight ball in your tummy. 

Joel’s hips begin to stutter, his hold on you starting to falter, complete sentences turning into sharply whispered expletives as he nears his orgasm. He can feel you squeezing around him, notices the telltale sign of your muscles tightening and your breathing coming out in short bursts, and uses that four letter word against you one last time.

“Not yet, babygirl, don’t you fuckin’ come for me, not ‘til I say. Wait,” he spits through gritted teeth.

You were so ready, just teetering on the edge of your orgasm, all you needed was a few more jackhammering thrusts and you’d be careening down the steep cliff of it. It takes everything in you to hold it in, to not let go. But you’ve been so good for him, and Joel doesn’t have it in him to torture you much longer, and he permits you to finish just a few minutes later.

“Alright, come, puppy, come for Daddy,” he orders, and you spasm in his lap with a debauched cry, that ball of heat in your tummy dispersing through your bloodstream, igniting every one of your nerves and sending sparks flying behind your eyelids. He reaches his high at the same time, spilling his release inside of you the way you both like.

It takes a few moments for the both of you to come back into yourselves, heaving chests eventually matching each other in a more relaxed rhythm. Joel softly scratches at the back of your head while you place delicate kisses mindlessly along his neck and up behind his ear.

“You were so good, sweetheart. Always take everything I give you so well,” Joel quietly praises next to your ear. He touches his lips to the side of your head, then your temple, then gently maneuvers your face so that he can press a final kiss to your forehead. Your eyelids flutter open in response, and your lips tug into a sleepy grin as you focus on his face. “There she is, my beautiful girl.” He sweeps a few tangled locks of hair away from your face, and even though you know you must look like a mess, you let him admire you anyway.

“Still up to go out for some lunch? After we get ourselves cleaned up ‘n all,” Joel asks, shifting his gaze down to where his spend leaks from you, staining both of your clothes a darker color and dripping onto the fabric of his desk chair.

You pause, chewing on the inside of your cheek for a bit before shaking your head.

“No? Tha’s alright, sweet girl, don’t blame you one bit. You’ll still let Daddy get you cleaned up though, won’t you sweetheart? How’s about I run you a bath with some o’ that new flowery bubble bath you just got, hm?”

You light up at the premise, nodding eagerly, and Joel flashes his handsome smile at you in return. “Alright, hang onto me, baby,” he says, and you wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders as he scoops you up and carries you to the bedroom, his softening cock still nestled inside you. The two of you detach when he sets you down on the small, handmade wooden bench adjacent to the tub, and leaves only for a moment to retrieve your favorite pink blanket from the living room. He wraps it around your shoulders when he returns, and starts the bath for you. He makes sure to squeeze a generous amount of the bubble bath into the roaring stream of water, ensuring that the bath is sufficiently fragrant and relaxing.

When the tub is full, with mounds of white soap bubbles threatening to spill over the smooth porcelain walls, he helps you strip out of your clothes, tugging your bottoms down your legs as you remove your own top over your head. Joel offers you one of his hands to steady yourself with as you step into the bath and lower yourself into the steaming water. It feels perfect, because just like he knows exactly how you take your coffee, how you want to be fucked without you having to ask, he also knows the almost-too-hot temperature of bathwater you prefer. 

He allows you to wash your own body, while he uses the cup you keep by the tub to douse your hair with water, using his rough fingertips to massage your favorite coconut shampoo into your scalp. You’re almost done scrubbing yourself by the time he’s raking conditioner through your damp ringlets, and then he’s rinsing you clean, the humid air in the room now smelling like a dozen different flowers and fruits, all of them mixing together to smell definitively like you. It’s his favorite scent in the whole world.

You don’t exchange many words during your bath, mostly enjoying the intimacy of the activity in silence. The action alone is enough to let you know how deeply the two of you care for each other, how much you trust and love each other.

When the water eventually runs cool, Joel helps you out of the slippery tub, and wraps you in one of your plush bath towels, a lighter shade of pink than your blanket, but just as soft.

“I’ll let you finish up in here, and I’ll see about orderin’ us some delivery, hm? I’ll get you whatever you want, and we can throw on a movie to watch while we eat, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds good, Daddy,” you reply, the bath leaving you feeling refreshed and more like yourself, able to find your voice again.

You settle on ordering your favorite fast food, and it arrives shortly before you tiptoe your way into the living room, your wet hair now pulled up into a clip while the rest of you is dry and comfortable, wrapped in a soft lounge set and your cozy blanket.

“There she is, the Poky Lil’ Puppy,” Joel teases, removing your containers of chicken tenders and fries from the plastic bag they arrived in, setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You giggle at his quip, settling down on the cushion next to him. “I’m not… poky, or whatever,” you reply, in a tone of voice that isn’t sure if you’re supposed to feel complimented or offended.

He looks at you in minor disbelief for a second, then moves his head and brows in a gesture that suggests something like touché. “It’s the name of a kids’ book. Written a lil’ before your time, I guess.”

“Oh… I’ll take it, then.” You settle against Joel’s warm, sturdy form as you munch on a fry, watching the TV screen as he flips through the most promising of the half dozen streaming services he’s subscribed to. “You know…” you start, but let the rest of your sentence drift away, not sure if you want to continue.

“Yeah, babygirl?” he replies, and it encourages you to finish your thought.

“I really liked, um… what we did today. Earlier,” you continue, doing your best to push through your shyness in an effort to get better at communicating your desires with him.

Joel pauses his browsing, putting the TV remote on the table so he can meet your eyes. “In my office, you mean?”

You can’t help but smile cheekily at the memory. “Yeah… I really like being called… that, I think. And if you don’t think it’s too weird–”

“Course I don’t, sweetheart. Would never judge you for likin’ what you like. If it makes you happy, makes you feel good, if it ain’t hurtin’ anyone, then there’s nothin’ wrong with it, baby.” Joel’s turned his upper body to face you now, to make sure you understand the sincerity of his words.

You smile, and his reassurance gives you the confidence to continue. “I really like that… collar idea,” you admit softly. “Maybe we can try that next time.”

He tucks his tongue into the pocket of his cheek, his face forming into a satisfied expression. “Thought you might. Keep bein’ Daddy’s good girl, he just might get you one. Maybe a matchin’ leash, too, somethin’ to tug on when I need you to listen.”

Your eyelids perform their involuntary flutter, a quiet whimper escaping your lungs at the thought. 

“Alright, settle down now, baby,” Joel says through a chuckle, shaking his head before kissing the top of your head affectionately. “Got all the time in the world to try whatever we want. Just focus on eatin’ your lunch for now, sweetheart.”

You snuggle up close to him after he starts the movie you both decided on, happily eating your salty and savory meal as you watch. For the rest of the afternoon, you feel warm and satisfied for a few different reasons, the most important one due to how grateful you are to have Joel.

He takes care of you, understands you, and loves you like nobody else ever could. And it’s mornings like these that make you especially aware of that fact. You’ll be his good girl for as long as he wants you to be–forever, hopefully–and he’ll always give you exactly what you need in exchange for it. 

Even if that something might be a collar with his name on it, fit for his perfect little puppy.

tag list (no pressure if this one isn't your thing!!) @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw (if your name is crossed out it won't let me tag you!!)

[leirastar]

new world | chapter 6

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.2k | 10 minutes A/n: SOOO...a TMI! I am actually a pretty chill person. but when it comes to work and writing i need at least 5 chapter planned before uploading a chapter. That is why i currently have about chapter 11 drafted already. Also this is quite amusing but I LIKE WORKING. It gives me a sense of purpose hihi, sometimes its stressful but it gives me joy. Anyways, i hope you enjoy this! Warning: JUST YUNHO AND MC BEING CUTE BYE.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like the last rays of the sun clinging to the earth. The sincerity in his tone left no room for teasing or denial—just the quiet truth of what he’d said.

He looked ahead again, his expression gentler than before, as if he was choosing every word carefully.

“I just… hope you’ll always come back to me.”

The words were quiet but unwavering, heavy with an honesty that made your chest tighten. Yunho wasn’t a man prone to insecurity or doubt. It wasn’t possessiveness in his voice—there was only sincerity, a calm and unshakable certainty that you had come to associate with him.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight. “Where else would I go?”

“You could go anywhere,” Yunho replied softly, his gaze flickering toward you once more. “You could leave the outskirts for Caius’s capital, where they’d call you a healer fit for kings. Or maybe even Reed, where your name would carry across the mountains.” He paused then, his voice dropping lower. “And yet, here you are.”

Your lips parted, but for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. Yunho had a way of saying things—of weaving meaning into the quiet spaces between sentences—that left you feeling caught in something deeper than you had realized.

“I like it here,” you said softly, finally. “The quiet. The fields. I don’t need more than that.”

His gaze lingered on you, soft and unspoken thoughts swirling in the gold of his eyes. “Good,” he murmured, his voice a touch quieter. “Because I’ll keep coming back, as long as you’ll have me.”

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped, something warm curling in your chest. “And where else would you go, Yunho?”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

The wind picked up, carrying a chill, but you hardly noticed. The rest of the ride passed in silence, but this time, it wasn’t heavy—it was warm, lingering like the last rays of sunlight stretching across the hills. Every time Yunho’s gaze flickered toward you, lingering just a moment too long, your heart stumbled over itself, and the world felt quieter—easier—because he was there. When you finally spoke, your voice was softer than before. “You don’t need to worry about them.” Yunho exhaled quietly, as though those words had loosened some invisible knot within him. “Good”

The rest of the ride unfolded in silence, but it was a different kind of quiet now—warm, lingering, and filled with all the things neither of you had said. The golden light softened as the sun melted into the horizon, casting long shadows across the hills, and you couldn’t help but feel that Yunho’s words, too, would linger well after the light had faded.

Yunho suddenly pulled his horse to a stop, the movement so abrupt it startled you. You turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning its slow descent. “Let’s enjoy the sunset together,” he said softly, his voice carrying an almost wistful note. His gaze flicked to the saddlebag. “I have blankets—and a some bread the hospital gave us.”

You blinked in surprise, but a smile crept onto your face before you could stop it. “You planned this?”

“Not entirely.” He shrugged, dismounting with ease before turning to help you down. “I’m just good at making use of what’s given to me.”

The teasing tone in his voice brought a laugh to your lips, and you allowed him to lift you gently off your horse. Together, you walked a short distance to a familiar hilltop where the world seemed to open up before you.

The sky was painted in hues of gold, violet, and deepening blue, the light spilling like liquid fire across the valley below. It was beautiful, the kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones, where even the soft rustling of the wind felt reverent.

Yunho laid out the blanket as you unpacked the bread and a small cloth-wrapped bundle of fruit. The hospital nurses had been generous, as if they’d known you’d need this moment.

You sat down beside Yunho, the edges of the blanket soft beneath your fingers as the cool evening air brushed against your cheeks. He sat close, one knee bent, his long frame relaxed though his expression remained contemplative. The silence stretched comfortably between you until he broke it, his voice soft.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, the words quiet but certain.

You turned to him, brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For not coming as often.” Yunho’s gaze remained on the horizon, where the last edge of the sun kissed the earth. “Things in Hala are… complicated. Someone is stirring trouble.”

Your smile faded. “And you’re involved in it?”

He exhaled quietly, his shoulders shifting. “I’m trying not to be,” he said. “But it’s hard to avoid.”

you had to ask him.

You turned toward him then, your voice soft but deliberate. “Would you answer me the truth, my lord?”

Yunho’s gaze flickered to you, his brows lifting faintly at the sudden question. “What is it you wish to know?”

You hesitated, watching him closely. “I couldn’t help but pry after your injury…” You exhaled carefully, choosing your words. “Are you really just a messenger, Yunho?”

At that, his face shifted, his expression turning carefully stoic—too still, too composed. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice steady, though the edge of it sounded practiced.

But you weren’t convinced.

“You’re certain?” you pressed, narrowing your eyes slightly. “Because if you were just a mere messenger, my lord…” You paused, holding his gaze. “Dare I ask why you would be struck by a Goretherion bloom?”

For the faintest moment, something flickered across Yunho’s features—an emotion too quick to catch before it disappeared behind his mask of calm. He looked ahead then, his jaw tight.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied quietly, though there was tension in the words. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Difficult?” you repeated, leaning toward him slightly. “You speak in riddles, my lord.”

Yunho’s gaze snapped back to you, sharp yet softened by the way the gold in his eyes seemed to melt under the twilight. For a beat, he said nothing. Then, with a slowness that made your heart stutter, his hand came to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. The all familiar sparks seem to sweep through your skin like ice.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, as if trying to anchor the moment between you. “I’ll keep you safe. You have my word.”

The weight of his touch, the quiet resolve in his voice—it stilled you completely. You stared at him, searching his expression, but Yunho’s gaze held yours without wavering. There was something unshakable about him in that moment, something that felt like both a shield and a promise.

“But Yunho…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Trust me,” he said softly, cutting you off before you could question further. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer, warm and sure, before he let it fall back to his side.

You exhaled slowly, the air heavy between you, full of things unsaid and unanswered. The Goretherion bloom—the trouble in Hala—none of it made sense, and yet, when Yunho looked at you like that, it was impossible not to believe him.

You murmured at last, your voice just above a whisper.

“I trust you.”

Yunho nodded as he teared his gaze from you. He turned to you then, his expression softening. Reaching into his muted gray cloak, he withdrew a small, velvet-wrapped box.

“What’s this?” you asked, blinking in surprise.

Yunho’s expression remained unreadable as he said simply, “Take it.”

The weight of his words made you pause before you carefully reached out, fingers brushing against the fine box. The bundle was small, its weight firm but reassuring, and when you pulled back the edges, the world seemed to slow.

Resting inside was an ornate pendant—elegant and intricate. Its delicate gold framework curved in swirling, nature-inspired motifs, adorned with clusters of sparkling diamonds that caught the light like scattered stardust. Suspended at the center of the design sat a striking blue sapphire, deep and mesmerizing, its facets gleaming like the heart of a midnight sea. Below, a teardrop-shaped sapphire hung gracefully, encased in a halo of smaller diamonds, its rich indigo hue streaked with faint glimmers of lighter blue, as though it held the reflection of a tranquil night sky.

Your breath caught, the beauty of it leaving you momentarily speechless. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the stone.

But even as you admired it, something stirred in the back of your mind—a quiet, undeniable realization. You knew what this meant. In Reed, courtships were steeped in tradition, subtle but significant gestures woven into every action. Gifting family jewels was one of the most profound gestures of all, especially when the jewels were as rare as this. A pendant like this, one polished to perfection and set with a stone this flawless, was not something given lightly.

You glanced up at Yunho, the weight of the pendant suddenly far heavier in your palm. “This looks…” You paused, searching for the right word.

Personal.

Yunho tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It caught my eye in the capital.”

A beat of silence. You heard the lie in his voice as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud—the softness of his tone, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long.

Carefully, you reached out, taking the pendant fully into your hands. It was cool to the touch, the weight of it pressing gently against your skin, but its significance—what it represented—settled even deeper.

You looked up at him, your voice quiet but certain. “You’re lying.”

Yunho’s brows lifted in faint surprise, but the teasing smirk you had come to know so well returned, soft and unreadable. “Lying?”

“Yes.” You turned the pendant carefully, letting the fading light catch on its surface. “This isn’t just something you found in the capital.”

Yunho’s smirk faded slightly, though his pride held steady in the stubborn line of his jaw. He looked at the pendant, then back at you, his voice quieter this time. “It belonged to my mother.”

Your fingers stilled against the stone, your chest tightening as the words registered. “Your mother?”

Yunho nodded, his expression calm but his eyes betraying something deeper—something unspoken. “It was hers. She kept it close. And now I want you to have it.”

You stared at him, stunned, the air between you suddenly too heavy with meaning. You knew what this pendant symbolized. It wasn’t just a trinket or a gesture—it was a promise, a silent question that waited patiently for an answer.

“I can’t accept this,” you said softly, though your voice wavered with uncertainty.

“You can, please” Yunho countered firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

He stepped closer then, the space between you shrinking, his presence both grounding and overwhelming. Yunho held the pendant between his fingers, his touch brushing against yours as he took it, lingering just long enough to send heat curling through you.

“May I?” His voice was low, a quiet murmur that hung in the air, reverent and steady.

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. “Yes,” you breathed, the word slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Yunho moved behind you, each step deliberate, as though afraid the moment might break. You sat perfectly still, breath caught in your chest, your entire body attuned to the faint rustle of his cloak and the warmth radiating off him.

Gently, his hands swept your hair to the side, calloused fingertips brushing against the bare skin at the nape of your neck. The touch was fleeting—innocent, almost—but it was enough to make you shiver. And then you felt it: his breath.

Warm and soft, it ghosted across your skin as he lingered, clasping the chain with steady hands. It sent a ripple of shivers coursing through you, pooling at the base of your spine as your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Yunho was quiet, focused, but the closeness—the deliberate slowness of his movements—was impossibly intimate. The pendant’s chain was cool where it brushed against your collarbone, a contrast to the heat rising up your neck and settling in your cheeks.

You inhaled shakily, the sound embarrassingly loud in the silence, just as his knuckles grazed your neck again—soft and unintentional, yet devastating all the same.

The click of the clasp finally broke the stillness, but Yunho lingered for a moment longer, his breath still there, stirring goosebumps across your skin. When he pulled back, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Yunho returned to his seat, his golden-brown gaze lingering on you as the pendant settled against your chest. His voice was low, the words soft but steady.

“It suits you.”

Your fingers brushed against the pendant again, the smooth surface cool against your skin. But before you could respond, Yunho's voice broke through the quiet once more, softer this time, as though he were speaking a truth he’d kept hidden.

“With this,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering,

“I’ll always come back. No matter where I am, no matter what happens… I will find my way back to you. And I will always protect you.”

Masterlist

five | seven

Taglist (CLOSED):

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[kirain]

Part one of my appreciation project.

@bankabb A fic based in their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The library was small but inviting, a cozy space tucked away from the world outside. A silent refuge. Shelves lined the walls, filled with well-worn books and trinkets that evinced a lifetime of study. The room was usually dim, the windows shut tight, protecting the leather spines from harsh light or the threat of humidity, but today the curtains had been drawn, allowing the pale evening sun to spill across the floor.

A long table shimmered under the amber rays, the surface cramped with half-drunk cups of tea—and a few indulgent mugs of coffee that, in all honesty, shouldn't have been there. But Dahlia couldn't resist. She sat across a wide linen couch, her short frame propped against a pillow, her knees slightly elevated as she took another sip of the sweet-bitter liquid. She had convinced herself she needed it, the book in her lap demanding attention no book ever had.

With idle patience, she turned a leaf, her lips curving faintly—not in reaction to the content, which was dry as parchment, but because she was reading it for him, her fingertips fondly tracing the margin of the page. Emmrich. It was his work, his world. If she wished to understand him beyond shameless flirting and the necromancy she'd already perfected, she had to meet him in the places where his mind dwelled, even if it meant enduring the dull intricacies of subjects she refused to touch even as an initiate.

Normally, she loved to learn, revelling in the opportunity, but this was a difficult read, even for one as intelligent as her. Yet, it didn't frustrate her, it made her admire him more. Emmrich was a man of great renown among the Mourn Watchers for a reason—brilliant, unwavering, and passionate about everything he pursued.

"...can you read?" a quiet voice broke out.

Dahlia's head snapped up, her violet eyes narrowing. Emmrich stood in the doorway, dapper as ever, a slow smile stretching across his face.

"Oh, very funny," she huffed, snatching up an aptly named throw pillow and flinging it at him, playfully.

"What?" Emmrich laughed as he caught it with ease. "What did I say?"

"You mocked me," she giggled, taking no offense. "You asked if I could read!"

Emmrich's smile faltered before a wholesome chuckle escaped his throat. "Darling, I said, 'Is it a good read?'"

A shy blush spread across her cheeks. "Oh. I thought—" She pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing at the tension. "I'm sorry, I must have been lost in thought."

"A scholar after my own heart," he teased. "What are you reading, anyhow?"

Before she could answer, the tall, striking man ambled towards her, his expression keen and curious, his accessories gleaming in her spectacles. Suddenly, a flicker of embarrassment stirred in the pit of her stomach, her knees clenching to cover the book. She didn't want him to know she'd sought out his writings not to study the Fade, but to study him.

Then, it struck her like lightning to a spire—perhaps the text itself wasn't difficult. Perhaps the real reason she struggled, the reason she kept flipping back and rereading the same lines over and over, was because her fantasies ran rampant: imagining the way he must have looked hunched over his desk, eyes sharp with focus, his slender hand flexing along the pages as he obsessed over every word, every stroke of his quill.

"Oh, it's... well—" she stammered, but it was too late.

The couch dipped beneath Emmrich's weight as he settled by her feet and, without preamble, gently grasped her leg, shifting it just enough to see the title. Veilbound: A Treatise on the Fade and the Nature of Transcendence by Professor Emmrich Volkarin. He paused, and for the briefest moment, Dahlia could have sworn she saw his cheeks flush—just before he smoothed it away, hiding any trace of humility behind a sly grin.

"You poor thing," he quipped, leaning closer. "Must be boring you to tears. Some of my closest colleagues haven't been able to get through it."

Not for the same reasons, she hoped.

"I admit, it's not the most thrilling read," she jested.

"How dare you," he laughed, his grip on her leg tightening in all the right places, his thumb stroking her sensitive calf.

She looked away, flustered by the affection. "But I... I'm reading it for you."

The words left her mouth before she could consider them, and Emmrich stilled, something unspoken passing through his gaze. This beautiful, bright, compassionate young woman—even after that night in the Necropolis, even after she bared her soul—he still couldn't believe she wanted him.

And he wanted her. Carnally.

"Is that so?"

With one swift motion, he pulled her legs out from under her, guiding them around his waist. The force of it, harmless as it was, earned a startled gasp as Dahlia slid down into the cushions, the book tumbling from her grasp. Her glasses slipped up to her forehead, her vision blurring before she hastily adjusted them. When her sight cleared, her pulse thrummed in her pointed ears.

Emmrich was on top of her, one hand warm and firm against her thigh, the other bracing himself beside her. His face hovered only a hairsbreadth above hers, his hazel eyes heavy with desire.

"If you wish to know me better," he purred, his voice a shade lower, richer, "all you have to do is ask. I'll share my expertise with you for hours."

Dahlia swallowed, her blush deepening, but she soon gave him a daring smirk. "Anatomy," she challenged.

"Ah, my favourite subject," he grinned. "Though perhaps a bit redundant for an accomplished healer?"

His sharp wit, his effortless denial of her relief—it was enough to drive her mad.

"Maybe I'm testing you," she teased, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her, her defiance cracking under his relentless charm. "Y-your job is teaching. Mine is doing. And you know what they say—those who can't do, tea—"

His lips crashed into hers far too quickly, thrusting the air from her lungs. The kiss was deep, consuming, his tongue tracing along the seam of her lips before delving inside. He tasted her, savoured her, worshipped her with every slow, intoxicating stroke, coaxing a soft, muffled moan from her core.

"Mmph..."

She melted beneath him, her fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his waistcoat, helpless and hungry. When he shuffled closer, pushing into her crux, she shivered, his heat setting every nerve ablaze with longing and desperation.

And he didn't stop.

Dahlia's toes curled, anticipation flooding her senses as his hand traced a slow path up her thigh—up places that made her squirm—before sliding to the back of her head. With the extra leverage, he pushed their lips harder together, the pressure teetering on the edge of pain. Yet, somehow, he knew exactly where to hold the point of ecstasy, as if he knew her body better than she did.

"Darling..." he rasped, parting from her only a moment before devouring her lips once more.

Time ceased to be, the world fading from memory as their mouths danced in a rhythm of wet, eager sucks and slurps, a symphony of need and devotion.

A guarantee of pleasure to come.

When Emmrich finally pulled away, a thin strand of saliva following his lips, Dahlia was left breathless, her chest heaving in rapid succession. She didn't speak; she couldn't, but her eyes locked onto his—lidded, wanting, and silently begging for more.

He obliged, reaching for the hem of her trousers.

"I think you're ready," he whispered, his voice thick with promise, "to learn exactly what I can do."

[artists-who-rarely-draws]

hi!!! what about laurance and/or garroth where the reader gets injured in a fight(whether it was because they took a hit for them or they failed to protect the reader)? how would they react? what would they do? thank you thank you! :D

☆°•Hunt down the good in me☆°•

Warnings : Gore, nothing horrific, but the reader gets wounded, and I tell you where and how bad lol. Accidentally focused more on the hurt than comfort. I'm so sorry lolol, you can totally feel free to request a follow-up for the recovery process if you want to focus more on that aspect lolol.

So it turns out this got kinda long- and if laurance is ANYWHERE near this length, then it's probably best to split them lmfaoo. But! I hope you enjoy, I'm gonna set up the masterlist then get working on the next part!

Again hope you enjoy, I haven't written in a few years so sorry if it's a liiittle off I'm gonna write and write till I got it lol.

And with that said, requests are still open!! Ah!! Please feel free to send one :D

GN reader, that will just be my default unless otherwise specified. Reader is wearing a corset of some kind but, there are plenty of Masc and GN medival fantasy outfits featuring corsets I don't think it should be a problem.

Anywho! Enjoy my drabble!

Garroth:

You don't even realize it immediately, your mind went blank and you could hear nothing but your own heartbeat. Time slows as you take in the shock and horror on your companions blue eyes and his mouth open in a shout that vaugley appears like your name.

What led you here? Oh, yes, that's right, you and Garroth were on a supply run for Pheonix Drop. He had taken the heavier of the two crates without a word about it before you both headed back down the trail. You remember it was a goregous day... warm and sunny shining through to the forest floor through the thick roof of leaves.

You were teasing him. You can't remember what for anymore... you're falling over. You had been mid-turn to face him big cheeky smile just in time for a bolt to fly through your upper arm clearly whoever shot you wasn't expecting the turn with their aim, you were mid turning feet unsteady but the force of the bolt going through your arm, knocks you down fully.

Your senses rush back to you when your knee hit the ground, suddenly deeply, agonizingly aware of the hole in your arm as pain shoots down it. Searing fire permiating deep into the tissue and muscle of your arm. The crate falls to the ground next to you. A pained Gasp rips itself from your lungs, and the sound of the forest comes rushing over you like a wave.

Your on your knees crumpled over on yourself shoulder and forehead pressed to the path dirt, you feel clammy and cold, but your arm is so incredibly hot.

" Y/N! " Garroths voice rings out along with the twang of a bolt hitting his shield and the loud thunks of armored boots running towards you but you can hardly register it, your mouth is dry and your nerves are screaming. Garroth slides to a stop and drops to his knees besides you moving one hand to turn you off your side and onto your back.

"GAH! Ah ah-" Another searing wave of pain through your injuried arm as it touches the ground tearing the shout from you, all your muscles involuntarily tense, other hand shooting to the wound feeling boiling hot thick blood covering your hand, the metallic smell acrid and overwhelming almost making the back of your throat feel sticky.

*Thunk* as another bolt hits Garroths shield, and the sun is hidden from your view as it raises to protect you as he asses your damage, eyes wide and frantic.

"No no no, don't do that" he says reaching for your hand to remove it from the wound, he's trying to sound put together for your sake but his voice is trembling.

"Ow ow ow fuck-" you gasp out as your hand is removed, your wrist held gently with his one free hand. You're bleeding a lot, but not enough for him to be worried that it tore a major vessel but far far too much for him to feel comfortable leaving you to take care of the assailant before doing... something ANYTHING to slow it, but he will need both hands to tie a tourniquet but if he puts the shield down he opens you both up to fire.

*Thunk* He growls under his breath at the impact against his shield, looking back at the bolt that spins and lands to the ground, feeling a curse bubble in the back of his throat The Quarrel is straight and smooth with no other points. Good news for you means the puncture should be clean, but those are the heads most adept for piercing through steel as if it's leather. Under normal circumstances, he would gladly take the bolts anywhere to protect you, but your dominant arm is currently out of use, so he can't afford not to kill who is attacking you.

His thoughts rush through him, acting fast he uses one hand to rip his cape off, lay it under your arm, shushing you gently as you groan in pain. He knows he can only do a very very temporary fix, folding it in half over the puncture, grabbing the excess and twisting it *as if* it was a tourniquet as tightly as he possibly can with just fabric alone around his fist. You breathe in sharply through your teeth as your arm is a strange mix of burning and numb pausing only to adjust his shield to block bolts.

"I know, just a few more moments" he whispers finishing tightening the fabric then balling up the excess the pressing it down hard on the top of the wound, your legs jerk harshly as you bite back a scream at the pressure.

"Listen to me very closely Lord Y/N" he speaks again voice firm determination blazing in Garroths mind as he firmly enters 'Guard mode' pushing aside his personal dread at the moment, knowing it will prevent him from doing this with the upmost efficiency.

"Your to use your uninjured arm to hold this ball as *tight* as you physically can right where I have it until I return to treat you. It is absolutely *imperative* that you follow my instructions exactly. It is the only thing keeping you from bleeding out. Move your hand on top of mine so you can press down the moment I leave" he instructs very very firmly, similarly to when he gives orders to his fellow guards. So with shaking hand you move your clammy hand and place it on top of his over the bundle of fabric and you feel his fingers twitch, as his heart lurches nearly losing his composure, sliding his hand away turning and sprinting in the direction of the bolts terrifyingly instead of a white hot rage he feels.. *nothing* devoid of the feeling for the life he's about to take, he's past the point of the hottest anger that could be.

This man is going to die, that is a simple reality. And it will be by Garroths hand.

Such is the fate of anyone who dares cause harm to his lord, his love.

He returns not long after, sheathing his sword and tossing his shield to the side as he runs to your side blood splattered across his face and armour he drops to his knees quickly again with both hands free now to fully pay attention to you, murderous haze melts away as he devolves into frantic movements, that your to lightheaded to really process them. The arm is full of very vital heavy bleeding arteries .

He asses the situation, unwrapping his cape from your arm to determine the state of the wound, cursing his own shaking hands as he tries to focus on his medical training and not the fact that it's you below him, your blood coating his fingers, and face drained of color. He notices instead of gushing the blood was a light dribble which is both... good and bad, your defiantly in shock so your body has severely lowered blood flow to your extremities so, your chances of bleeding out has severely lowered. Shock was something he could treat out here with the help of potions which he knew one of these crates held, they were for the Village but that didn't matter to him now.

"Good, good you did so well m'lord" he whispers taking a discarded bolt to make a more proper tourniquet, putting it in the ball of his cloak and using it to tighten the fabric even further around the wound easily cutting off the blood flow and securing it tightly. Moving a hand to just very slightly raise your back off the ground, second one moving to loosen the laces of your corset to allow for easier air flow as your breathing was turning shallow. He pulls your crate over to be just by your legs, raising up your feet and placing them on top of the crate to improve the blood flow. Before looking down at your hazy eyes.

"Stay with me Y/N. Stay with me, you are going to be just fine, you *have* to be just fine. Think of Levin and Malachi what they would do without you, what *i* would do" his thumb brushes over your cheek leaning down for just a moment to press his forehead to yours, a weak whine escaping you in responce as he shoots up sprinting to the crate he had dropped when he saw the bolt enter your arm. He had heard a smashing sound when it hit the ground and now was PRAYING to any of the divine that would listen that even one of these bottles where in a decent condition, grabbing a bolt that had bounced off his shield once more, he shoves it into the top half way before pressing hard on it until the crack of the crate giving can be heard and he prys it the rest of the way with his bare hands.

Tearing through the contents of the barrel until he finds at the very bottom a second much smaller crate but the lid wasn't nailed onto this one. He pulls it off tossing it away to reveal mostly shattered glass and soaking wet padding, but dizzying relief fills him when he finds 2 bottles that survived; Quickly snatching away one of them and running back to you using his teeth to pull out the cork as he was making his way.

"Good, good, you're doing so good." He continues shakily "your going to be just fine. All you need is to drink this, and you will be just fine. That's all you need." He says quickly, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than you, taking your injured arm and placing it over his shoulder partially to elevate it, heart cracking at the hiss of pain, but mostly to put his arm under your back so he could prop you up to drink from the glass bottle. Whispering words of encouragement and praise as he rubs the skin of your back with a thumb through your blood soaked shirt.

The potion works quickly, veins and nerves rebinding, and skin knitting back together as the thick bitter liquid slides down your throat, gagging in the first moment as your body tries to reject any more negative sensory. But Garroths head against your head gently shushing and still whispering to you gives you enough clarity to keep drinking. Until the cold bottle is taken away. And you feel the rush of blood entering your arm as the cloth on your arm falls away. The physical injury wiped away.. but the brain is not so easily healed, still in shock.

Now that the immeadite danger is gone. All of the emotions Garroth was hiding away to prioritize his duty slams into him like a blow to the gut, trembling sorrow, guilt, relief, and fear running through him as he harshly blinks away the tears burning his eyes. You can't see him cry like this not now. He needs to get you home.

"Hold onto me as tightly as you can" he mummers hating the trembling in his tone as he reaches down gathering you in his arms, one hand pressing your head the the juncture between his neck and shoulder, the other underneath your bottom, moving your legs to hook over his hips. Squeezing you rightly to himself for a moment once he has you situated, one arm may still need time to move bit you cling to him with the other his warmth and the familiar smell of Rosewood that clung to him still under the metallic tang of blood. He inhales deeply through his nose before giving a heavy exhale from his mouth, holding you as closely to him as he possibly can.

He Abandons the crates, and scraps of his cape to start walking to Pheonix drop holding you to him. Keeping the hand holding you to his neck gentle but firm, so you can't see the tears slowly falling down his cheeks.

He had failed you, not only as your guard.. your HEAD guard, but as a lover. And he would never do it again. He carries you home, whispering his love and apologizing over and over and over the whole way.

[innocentlymacabre]

DUE NORTH: VIGNETTES / 10

A cozy urban fantasy about two best friends who move to the pocket of eccentricity and magic that is Due North

Bella would have perhaps been less focused on teasing Berto if they had sat inside. For all the attention they spent on the bookshop itself, they had completely neglected the patrons, a mere glance at whom would have proved to be a rather useful introduction for the oncoming evening.

Dotted across the tables and mingling amongst the books were people of all sorts. Faries, harpies, and other small, winged creatures were either sat at tiny tables hanging from the ceiling, enjoying appropriately sized coffees and breads, or zipped around through the shop, their own light mixing comfortably with Deluca’s’ ambiance.

At a table on the ground, sat an elf and a dwarf dressed for two completely different occasions. The elf was clad in colourless clothes, black from the top to bottom, save for a red and white striped scarf. The dwarf, on the other hand, looked like he would be right at home amongst the stars of Milan’s fashion week (if, you know, they allowed people standing at half the average human height). A white shirt was tucked into burgundy trousers with a chequered blue jacket buttoned up on top. He completed the ensemble with a small yellow scarf tied around his neck, half tucked into his shirt, half falling out gracefully on top of it. Their coffees had gotten cold and were instead signing rapidly at each other and pointing to places on maps strewn across the table, apparently amid a high-stakes discussion.

Another was occupied by a donsy of gnomes, chattering across enough servings of biscuits and cups of tea to go around two per gnome and still have more to spare. They were a little lounder than Alia would have liked for a bookshop crowd, but they ate a lot and tipped heartily so she didn’t mind them all too much.

Cats floated around the books section of the store, merrily browsing Alia’s collection. Only their heads were visible at any one point, the rest of their limbs operating invisibly, and even they puffed in and out of visibility. Contrary to what one would have thought, the cats had exemplary hygiene standards: these cats didn’t shed nor drool and if they happened to somehow make a mess of things, they could magic it away along with themselves. Of course, their little disappearing act gave their kind the ability to be very, very good thieves (Alia had even met a few, thankfully not at her own place though) but the clowder that frequented Deluca’s spent a small fortune every month on books and then spent hours talking to her about them – they were her favourite customers.

Berto and Bella would have met all these people and more, if only they had sat inside, and would maybe even have been advised not to cross a minotaur’s territory, even by accident. Instead, all they saw were the fish, scales gleaming in the sun as they dipped in and out of the water, swimming merrily along the canal.

Support the author: free stories | ko-fi 💜 | paid fiction

taglist in the replies. ask to be added/removed!

[aralezinspace]

Summer Knight Part 1

When Crown Prince Morpheus is summoned to his father's court for the summer, he expects it to be just as tedious and aggravating as any other season spent in the Dreaming's capitol. What he doesn't expect is an attempted kidnapping, a successful kidnapping, uncovering designs on the Dreaming's throne, and a handsome esquire he really isn't supposed to fall in love with. How can he not, when Hob Gadling sees him for who he is, and not just his station? How can he not, when Hob is willing to burn down the world for him? Or: Prince!Morpheus/Commoner!Hob Gadling medieval/fantasy AU

~~Masterlist~~

After three months (probably more tbh) here it is! My contribution to the Centennial Husbands Big Bang.

This would not have been possible without the support of the entire Sadman server, for which I am endlessly (haha) thankful. @delta-pavonis and @signiorbenedickofpadua, I wouldn’t have been able to finish this without your eyes and encouragement. Thank you for letting me scream about these boys at/with you, for ideas when I got stuck, for helping me tease out the snags. Y’all are fantastic. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE

This beautiful incredible art by @wolf-and-raven-dreaming / @ambarden I’m just blown away. Thank you so much for bringing such a beautiful moment to life, especially one that I didn’t get to give as much detail in this fic. I’m obsessed with it, prob gonna make it my phone background 💖

If this story inspires you to create something of your own, please share with me so I can keysmash and gush over what you make!

Divider by @cafekitsune

Prologue

Once, in a time out of thought and memory, there was a realm called the Dreaming- so named because a place so magical and splendid could only possibly exist in one’s most vivid imaginings. The weather was always as it should or needed to be, the land lush and bountiful, even in the harshest climates. The people of the land were, on the whole, prosperous and contented. The Dreaming was not without its troubles and hardships and tragedies- no land is, no matter how prosperous-  and for some, life was rather hard, but never unbearable.

Like any kingdom in a faerie story, the Dreaming was ruled by a king, a queen, and their children. This story, however, only concerns one, the third son, Prince Morpheus Aeterna. Morpheus and his six siblings each ruled a shire within the Dreaming, with the capital city of Istoria on the eastern coast, the lands of the Dreaming appearing to fan out from the city like rays of the rising sun. 

Morpheus was lord of one of the Dreaming’s most important and vital border shires- after all, that’s what you did with a third child, a second son, with a great aptitude for ruling. One who also happened to be heir to the throne, the next in line to be called Dream King. His shire was called Fiddler’s Green- the land was varied, a little corner of everything: snow capped mountains, lush fields of vibrant grass and wildflowers, bountiful forests, a beach of black sand bordering a navy inland sea. 

Morpheus’ kingdom shared a border with the realm of Fawney Rigg, a land of dense thickets and haunting mists and old, angry trees. It was ruled by King Roderick Burgess, a ruthless and bitter old man who should have had many happy years yet before him. But, his greed and jealousy were near endless; he had already conquered several other realms by war, subterfuge, or a combination of both. In the twilight of his life, he set his sights on the Dreaming, and it is here our story begins.

“My lord?”

Morpheus was jolted from his wandering thoughts by Lucienne, his most trusted advisor.

“My lord, a message has arrived from your father the king.”

A frown etched itself onto the Prince’s face as he pushed his breakfast to the side- what an aggravating way to start his morning. He took the tightly rolled scroll of thick, handmade paper and unrolled it with long, bony fingers. His frown grew more pronounced the further he read.

“My lord?” Lucienne was almost hesitant, her fingers tight around the ledger she carried. “What news from his majesty?” Morpheus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he had picked up from his father despite his best intentions.

“It is a summons,” he ground out. “He wishes me to attend him at court for the summer.” 

Lucienne frowned with a pang of sympathy. To say that Morpheus and his father King Chronos Aeterna did not get along was well beyond an understatement. Morpheus was the opposite of everything his father had wanted him to be, showing more interest and aptitude in creative and scholarly pursuits than learning the craft of war, as was expected of a crown prince responsible for strategically valuable border territories.

Spending any amount of time at his father’s court was tedious at best. An entire season was sure to be nigh unbearable. 

He gave a resigned sigh. “Begin making travel arrangements. I will draft a response to my father.” He gave the order with all the flat dread of someone about to face the noose. It was going to be a long summer. 

And so it came to pass that Morpheus began the four day journey, following the border of his land and Fawney Rigg until they reached the Gates of Horn and Ivory, massive gates and walls carved of white stone that spanned the entire border of Istoria. If one walked along the wall from end to end, they would see the entire history of the Dreaming laid out before them, carved into the stone. Morpheus could feel his hackles rise as the gates creaked and groaned open, allowing him and his party into the bustling city. He thought he could feel the mythical creatures carved into the gates frowning at him. Folks going about their business immediately stepped out of the road and bowed, looking up through their lashes, hoping to catch sight of the Prince and not just a flutter of emerald livery in the wind. 

The procession slowly made its way to the palace, where the King, Queen, and their retainers were waiting at the top of the great stone stairs. Marble walls and gates that were miniature recreations of those guarding the city, depicting the history of the Aeterna line, were flung wide open, knights standing at attention. Banners bearing the golden Aeterna crest on deep blue fabric flapped in the breeze.

Morpheus’ first thought was that his mother seemed pale. Queen Nocturna had always been fair- Morpheus owed his complexion to her, along with his bright blue eyes- but under the light of the late afternoon sun she looked frail and sickly in her midnight gown, as if the slightest breeze would scatter her into dust. Her hair had long since faded from inky black to the shining silver of the moon, but it lacked the luster Morpheus remembered. Had it really been that long since he had seen his parents? Had something happened?

Beside her, King Chronos stood as regal and stony as ever. There were a few new lines on his face, and a few more gray hairs in his dark beard, but the frown he had reserved for his third child since Morpheus reached his majority was dour and disapproving as ever.

The Prince was announced as he dismounted and approached the foot of the staircase, a herald bellowing his numerous titles for the assembled. When that list was exhausted, he ascended the stairs until he was two steps below where the King and Queen stood, leaving him shorter than his parents– normally he was of a height with his father, and half a head taller than his mother.

Chronos shook his son’s hand with a stiffness only Morpheus could see. “Be welcome, my son.” The King ground his teeth. “It is good to see you.” 

Morpheus quickly bowed his head with a curt, “Father.”

Once Chronos released his hand, the Queen enfolded Morpheus in her willowy arms. She could feel some of the tension leave his body in the relative safety of her embrace. Her smile was beaming when she pulled away to look at him.

“You look well, Morpheus. I’ve missed you, my dear.” 

Morpheus kissed her cheek in greeting with a tenderly murmured, “Mother.” The Queen had always been a refuge for her son when his father insisted on Morpheus being someone he was not- she encouraged him to pursue his passions, constantly reminding him that there was more than one way to be a strong King. Always out of earshot of Chronos- even to his wife and son, he was their King first, a father and husband second, and his word was law.

“Come,” Chronos said to Morpheus, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You must be weary from your journey. Be welcome and make yourselves comfortable.” He clapped Morpheus on the back and guided him into the palace, followed by his retinue. Once the royals were out of sight, the crowd dispersed, the spectacle now ended. Only one man lingered near the bottom corner of the ancient palace stairs, leaning on a stout quarterstaff.

It is here necessary to briefly introduce Robert Gadling. Orphaned at seven, he was one of a good number of parentless children, now adults, who did odd jobs for the businesses of the city, as well as the government- everything from construction to loading and unloading ships’ cargo, from running messages to protection from overzealous loan collectors if need be. On occasion, a few would be hired by the day to work in the palace, mostly on structural repairs and maintenance.

Robert, or Hob as the townsfolk called him, was a natural born protector. He had never been one to back down from a fight, and, as he planned to live through all his fights, he dedicated much of his time to developing his skills. He would often be seen near the docks or the entrance to the market, talking with foreign merchants and their guards, asking them to teach him what they knew of combat in exchange for a day’s labor. His friends constantly warned him that knowledge wouldn’t buy him food or lodging, but he would just laugh. 

It was in this fashion he honed his skills over the years and taught them to his fellows. He could disarm anyone in a matter of seconds and have a man twice his size on his back in under a minute (so the children said). He had even studied the blade, something his fellow brawlers stayed away from- too much like the royals and knights, they argued, and rolled their eyes when Hob insisted on learning anyway. No one would think it to look at him, that an average sized and modestly handsome day laborer would have such a knack for survival and zest for life. 

Hob’s best friend noted the glazed, entranced look on his face and gave him a teasing shove. “Come on, Hob,” he goaded, “Leave the royals to their tea and cakes, we’ve got work to do.” 

“Piss off, Adrian,” Hob replied as he returned the shove with a brief smile. “Not every day you get to see one roll into town. Besides, I’ve never seen Prince Morpheus before. Heard the rumors, but I had no idea he was so- so…” That glazed look returned as he searched for the right word. 

“Arrogant?” Adrian supplied. “Sour? Pompous?”

“Beautiful.” Hob’s response was barely a whisper, as if the sentiment was something he wanted to keep secret but couldn't stop it from slipping out. 

Adrian rolled his bottle green eyes. This was not the first time Hob had been besotted with someone after a glance, nor was it likely to be the last. The man had so much love in his heart to give, he just also happened to have a bad habit of choosing the worst possible people to bestow that love upon. Adrian could only hope this would be one of his shorter and less depressing devotions. Gods knew Hob had less than a figment of a chance with the Prince.

“Come on, lover boy, Waldren’s waiting for us.”

Adrian wrapped an arm around Hob’s shoulders and turned him away from the palace. Hob went willingly, but not without one last misty-eyed glance over his shoulder, wondering idly what the Prince was doing behind those marble walls. 

Chapter 1

According to Morpheus, attending his father’s court and sitting in on council meetings fit the definition of ‘cruel and unusual punishment’. He rarely had anything to contribute to the other nobles’ gossip- not that he wanted to get involved in the first place- and the council advisors just loved passing off his suggestions as their own. His presence amounted to little more than an interesting trinket brought out at opportune moments to curry favor- or, in some cases, to parade in front of potential spouses. It seemed that this summer would see at least a dozen suitors visiting the palace over the course of the five and a half months Morpheus would be at court.

Finally, one sweltering and humid summer day, the Prince reached his tipping point. He was hot and sticky, aggravated and on edge. This breaking point came around mid morning, when he had had enough of listening to the pompous treasurer drone on and on. Without preamble, he rose from his seat and stomped out of the council hall, ignoring the calls of his father and the advisors. Everyone he passed in the halls jumped out of his way, able to feel the ire rolling off him like the heat rising from the cobblestones.

He needed to get out, away from the palace, and burn off some of this aggravation before he did or said something rash.

His first stop was his chambers, where he changed from the fancier attire expected at court to a loose-fitting gray shirt and black cotton breeches tucked into tall riding boots. Already feeling a little better, he made a beeline for the stables. His piebald mare Jessamy was munching happily in her stall, but perked up when she heard Morpheus’ footsteps. The Prince waved off the anxious stable boy who stumbled over the words, “Should I saddle her sir?” in favor of slipping on the bridle himself and swinging up onto her bare back.

With a few clicks of his tongue and a gentle nudge with his heels, Jessamy gamely trotted out of her stall, past the stable boy, and all the way into the courtyard before tossing her head and cantering out the palace’s southern gate, away from the city. 

The paths through the forest were wide and well kept. Morpheus followed the main road for about a mile before turning onto a trail that was barely visible, unless one knew where to look. He slowed Jessamy to a walk to better navigate the tall grass and rushes that threatened to overtake the narrow trail. This far into the woods, all the Prince could hear was the birds, the wind, and the puffs of his and Jessamy’s breaths. A relieved sigh rattled out of his lungs and he slumped slightly on her back. 

The trail ended at a small lake surrounded by willow trees. The air was cooler here, almost like stepping into another world. Baby shoots of grass were starting to poke through the previous year’s fallen leaves, and twittering birds fluttered between branches. The lake was surrounded by intermittently placed boulders of various sizes, giving it the appearance of a faerie ring, or a window to another world. Some of these boulders were light and bare, others dark with patches of lichen and moss. They all made for excellent perches to sit on and dip one’s feet in the water. 

Tiny fish swam about in their schools, the concaves of their nests visible on the lakebed through the crystal clear water. A frog croaked from somewhere within the leafy plants growing stubbornly between the rocks and into the lake.

Morpheus dismounted with another sigh and loosely tied Jessamy’s reins to a branch. The mare shook her head again and began to delicately nibble on the new spring grass. While she enjoyed her snack, Morpheus sat on one of the flatter boulders at the edge of the lake and tugged his boots off, followed by his socks, then his shirt. 

The moan he let out when his feet slipped into the cold water was almost indecent. He let his eyes flutter shut and his head tilt back as he dug his toes into the soft silt. After a few quiet minutes, he rolled his breeches up to his knees and waded further into the lake, his arms held out slightly for balance as the sand shifted beneath his feet. He waded deeper and deeper, all the way to mid-thigh, not caring in the least that he would be riding back with soaked trousers. Adding one more item to the list of things his father berated him for wouldn’t make a difference. 

Morpheus already felt much better than when he left the palace, but he could still feel his hackles bristling, could still sense the undercurrent of tension and resentment running through his shoulders. The cold water was, apparently, not to be enough to cool him off. 

With an almost aggravated sigh (how could it have come to this?), Morpheus loosened the ties at his waist and reached past his undergarments into his breeches. A rumbling groan slipped past his self control as his fingers wrapped around his cock. His other hand shifted the waistband of his breeches so his cock could spring free, a shiver running down his spine at the contact with the humid air. His toes curled into the lakebed as he moved his hand faster, occasionally running his thumb over the slit. 

He had worked himself to full hardness and was eagerly chasing his high when a branch snapped in the trees behind him. He jumped, startled, and his head swiveled, looking for the source of the sound. The Prince held still, so still that no new ripples formed in the water around his ankles. 

After moments that seemed like years, Morpheus relaxed ever so slightly. It was probably just a deer stepping on a dry twig. His cock throbbed insistently, as if urging him to get back to the task at hand. Morpheus shook his head and turned his focus back to between his legs. 

Another rustle in the bushes, this one closer. Morpheus frowned; he had now been twice interrupted, and the agitation was creeping back into his bones. “Who’s there?” he called, hoping he sounded more angry than anxious. He tucked himself back into his trousers and sloshed out of the lake, muscles coiled in anticipation. 

Out of the trees stepped a man. Clearly a commoner, if his worn shirt and breeches were anything to go by. Dark hair was pulled into a respectably long tail at the nape of his neck, and a neatly trimmed beard of the same dark hair covered the lower half of his face. Morpheus could see a small patch of yet more dark hair peeking out from the low V of the man’s shirt. Earthy eyes sparkled in the patches of sunlight that made their way through the trees, and they were hazily focused on the bulge in the Prince’s trousers. He had clearly been lost in his own thoughts, an apple raised to his lips as if he were about to take a bite. 

Morpheus was still frozen, but for an entirely different reason. For a commoner, this man was exceedingly handsome- had he been born to the nobility, he would have lords and ladies alike falling over themselves to win his favor. 

Hob jumped when his mind registered he was standing before the Prince. For one, he thought that he and some of his friends were the only ones who knew about this little lake in the forest, and, two, holy shit that was Prince Morpheus standing in front of him, barefoot and bare chested, a semi creating a small bulge in the front of his breeches. 

“Oh fuck!” The apple flew out of his hand- he fumbled to catch it, just barely holding on to the fruit as he sank into a low bow, one leg in front of the other, back leg bent, eyes firmly fixed on the ground, arms out to the sides as he had seen the other nobles do. 

Morpheus held up a placating palm as he awkwardly said, “Please rise, there is no need to stand on ceremony,” even though the other couldn’t see the gesture. 

Hob rose out of his bow and placed his hands behind his back so Morpheus wouldn’t see his nervous fidgeting. How was it possible this man was a prince, was incredibly gorgeous, AND had a voice that could lure any sailor to their watery grave? “A-apologies, sir, Highness, I- I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place-” He swallowed hard, trying in vain to control his nervous babble. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I can just-” 

“It’s quite alright.” Morpheus chuckled in spite of himself- it sounded a little strained to his own ears, but maybe that was because the erection that had fled in his momentary fear was starting to make a comeback at the sight of the beautiful man before him. “I wasn’t aware others knew of this spot either.” 

Hob laughed as well, tense and awkward, scratching the back of his head. But oh gods, his smile could light up the darkest of dungeons. Morpheus could feel his heart clench in his chest, already wanting to see that smile again. The Prince asked, “What is your name?”

“Robert,” Hob answered quickly with another little bow. “Robert Gadling. But my friends call me Hob.” He let out a bashfully choked laugh. “I already know who you are, Prince Morpheus. I mean, just about the whole realm knows who you are. Your Highness.” 

Morpheus had taken a breath to respond when there was more rustling in the trees behind Hob, much more than what could be created by a single man or animal. The Prince froze again, lowered into a slight crouch. Hob immediately whirled around and positioned himself protectively between Morpheus and the tree line. His apple lay forgotten on the forest floor as he settled into a ready stance, his hands curled into loose fists, ready to strike or protect his torso. 

Morpheus had always been independent to the point of being described as a loner, therefore the swirling feeling in his gut at the sight of Hob ready to defend him was completely foreign. It curled in his stomach and slithered between his legs, bringing back that inner heat the cold lake water had once absorbed. And if Hob didn’t see him glancing at the curve of his ass every few seconds… Well, that was between Morpheus and the trees. 

The trees and grasses rustled again to reveal two men in dark gray rags, the lower halves of their faces covered with another piece of fabric. Dirt smudged the visible skin around their eyes. They were each carrying a wicked looking dagger, the blades sharp even if the handles were dotted with rust. 

Hob immediately knew these were bandits- highwaymen that lurked in the trees and waited for the opportune moment to pounce. And they had just found quite the prize.

Jessamy snorted and stomped her feet, sensing the imminent danger. The bandits inched closer, step by step, knives held threateningly aloft. Hob glared at them, refusing to back down, hoping they would develop some sense and realize that whatever they had planned was not a good idea. One of them chuckled in eager anticipation.

“Turn around,” Hob ground out softly, eyes darting between the two, “and I won’t have to bash your heads in.” The bandits exchanged a momentary glance, as if debating the merit of Hob’s words. Apparently, they reached the decision that they had none, because they continued to advance, knives gleaming and ready to cut into flesh. 

Morpheus crept back towards the lake, inching toward Jessamy, heart pounding in his throat. He had never encountered bandits before; the closest he had ever come to someone who had broken the law was on formal inspections of rehabilitation facilities where the offenders had been cleaned up and supervised by wardens. Now, he didn’t have wardens or his retinue or even his hunting knife- his only protection from these two bandits was another commoner who could just as easily decide Morpheus was worth the trouble of kidnapping, or killing, or both. 

“Last warning,” Hob growled, the bandits now within striking distance.

The one on the right turned to his companion: “Get him.” 

Hob swore then yelled to Morpheus, “Go! Leave!” as the first bandit came at him with the knife aloft, intending to bring it down into Hob’s shoulder, or wherever he could reach. He sidestepped the blow and redirected the bandit’s momentum so that he went stumbling towards the water. 

The second bandit charged forward, knife point aimed at Hob’s chest. He grabbed the bandit’s wrist with enough force to make him drop the knife and drove his knee into the bandit’s side. The attacker grunted and doubled over, using the forward momentum to drive his shoulder into Hob’s stomach.

It was a lucky shot that knocked the wind out of him. Hob shoved the bandit away from him, hoping to buy a moment to catch his breath. 

The first bandit had recovered his footing and rushed in from behind Hob, wrapping wiry arms around a golden throat. Hob’s eyes went wide as his breath was cut off, the bandit only squeezing harder as he struggled. The two assailants coordinated their next move with eye contact alone, one holding Hob by the throat while the other stepped into striking distance and threw a sloppy but strong punch at Hob’s face.

The bandit’s knuckles hit him square on the cheekbone. Hob cried out as his head snapped to the side. The man’s other fist came up and landed a punch across his mouth, hard enough to make his nose bleed and teeth rattle and split his bottom lip open. 

“Fuck-” The swear was strained and came out with blood and spit. His vision starting to blacken around the edges, Hob reared his arm up and drove his elbow into the soft midsection at his back. Instantly, his windpipe was free as arms released him and the bandit doubled over in pain. Hob took several gasping breaths as he turned to the bandit who had been choking him and drove his fist into his temple, all the force and energy going down, hard enough to knock him out. 

Hob turned his attention to the remaining bandit. The scrawny man was in a ready stance, hands curled into loose fists held up by his face, but clearly hesitant after watching his partner literally get beaten into the ground. Hob grinned, feral and almost cocky as he mimicked the man’s stance- on a closer look, he was barely a man, just an older boy with his first whiskers. Hob didn’t want to hurt the kid, but he may not have a choice.

With unexpected ferocity, the boy lunged closer, fist ready to fly. Hob dodged one punch, then another, the third glancing off his shoulder- poor lad was already panting for breath, sparking just a hint of pity. 

“Come on, lad,” he tried reasoning, “just walk away.”

The young man’s only response was a desperate yell as he charged Hob, going for a grapple. Hob easily deflected him with a step and a twist, sending the bandit falling hard on his back. Hob settled into his stance, and with a well-aimed kick to his temple, he too was dealt with.

Silence suddenly rang in the clearing, broken only by Hob’s slightly panting breaths. His hands were still clenched into ready fists at his sides.

Morpheus had sprinted a quarter of the way around the lake to where he had tethered Jessamy. He had been ready to bolt at Hob’s word, now he soothed the mare with soft words and gentle caresses. It was like he was watching the whole thing through hazy glass, observing and present but removed, just left of in tune with the world. His chest felt tight, his hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to process all that had happened in a few short moments.

Hob moved out of his combative stance to crouch beside one of their would-be assailants. Morpheus quickly retied Jessamy to the branch and walked over to Hob, feeling extremely awkward and somewhat out of his depth. What did one say to the handsome stranger who had undoubtedly saved him from being abducted, if not worse? ‘Thank you’ did not seem to be anywhere near enough, far less than what Hob was owed for his deed. And yet, the words ‘thank you’ seemed to stick in his throat, refusing to come out.

He stood uncomfortably over Hob, who was pawing through the bandits’ clothes, hoping to find some clue as to their motives, and whether they went beyond simple highway robbery. The Prince had taken a fortifying breath to thank his protector when Hob ground out a curse in another language he had learned from a merchant. In his hand was a worn letter, folded and held together with a black seal. A sigil of stars and other symbols of magick was pressed into the wax.

It was, without a doubt, the seal of Roderick Burgess, King of Fawney Rigg.

“You might want to see this, Highness.” Hob rose to his feet and handed Morpheus the letter. His free hand swiped at his split lip and bloody nose- at least it wasn’t broken, again. He could feel the flesh around his cheekbone swelling painfully. Hob caught the Prince’s sympathetic flinch, small as it was, as he took the paper. Icy eyes quickly scanned its contents, dark brows furrowing closer together the more he read.

“I must return to the palace.” The words tumbled out of him as he refolded the letter and stuffed it in the waistband of his breeches. Moving quickly, Morpheus tugged his shirt back over his head and boots onto his feet as he continued, “My father needs to be made aware of what happened. Burgess sending armed men across our border with orders to watch and intercept me is no idle threat.” 

He unhitched Jessamy and used a fallen log as a mounting block, swinging a lithe leg over her back and expertly gathering the reins. He looked down at Hob as he wheeled her around, holding himself with the distant majesty of a monarch despite his disheveled state. Hob could only stare up in awe, a worshiper at the foot of his god. Dappled beams of sunlight illuminated the Prince like a halo, and Hob was sure in that moment the Prince was indeed fae touched as the rumors went, if not outright divine in his own right. 

“I think it is no exaggeration to say you saved my life,” Morpheus proclaimed, even if the forest and the man before him were the only ones to hear the royal edict. “I am in your debt, Robert Gadling. And I will settle that debt once this threat to the Dreaming is resolved.”

Hob bowed at his words, low and slow and reverent. A few globs of blood dribbled out of his nose and onto the grass. As he rose, he said, “Then at least let me escort you out of the forest and to the main road. I doubt there are any more of these men lurking around, Highness, but I would feel better seeing you to safety.” The last part was true, but Hob figured he probably shouldn’t mention the other reason for his offer: Prince Morpheus had utterly enchanted him, and this was likely to be the last time he’d see the man up close, let alone speak to him one to one, and he wasn’t ready for it to be over.

Pale, elegant fingers twitched briefly around the reins as Morpheus considered his words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for the right response. Finally, he settled on, “I would be glad of your company. Let us go.” 

He clicked his tongue to get Jessamy moving at a walk, Hob keeping pace beside her. They were silent as they picked their way back to the main forest road, but Hob was on high alert. His eyes darted back and forth, fists clenching and releasing in time with his steps. It was relatively easy to ignore the stickiness of drying blood around his mouth and chin when he was so focused on looking for signs of danger. Thankfully, the trip passed without incident. Morpheus pulled Jessamy to a halt once they were inside the city gates.

“My thanks again, Robert Gadling.” Jessamy pawed at the ground as Morpheus spoke, eager to be back in the safety of her stall. “I do not like leaving my debts unpaid.” The unspoken request for Hob to name his price hung in the air like a phantom. Hob merely gave the Prince a gentle smile and bowed again, still formal but relaxed and easy. 

“This time spent with you is payment enough, Highness.” He paused and bit his lip, plucking up his courage with a slight wince of pain. “May I… Could I call on you? If my day’s work brings me to the palace.” 

Morpheus turned the request over in his mind long enough for Jessamy to grow impatient. He soothed her with a few gentle pats on her neck. “You may,” he finally replied. “As long as my duties permit, I will be glad to receive you.” Morpheus had already turned his horse and urged her into a trot before Hob could say a proper farewell. The gentle goodbye hung unspoken on his lips. Finally, he sighed and kicked a stray pebble as he made his way to the boarding house he called home for a bath and some rest.

[mingiatz]

Hana never expected to see Jongho again. Not after he ghosted her years ago, leaving behind only memories of their childhood friendship and an ache she never quite moved past. Now a successful bookstore owner and author, she’s content with her quiet life—until fate (and her friend Emilia) brings Jongho and his group, Ateez, back into her world.

Pairing: Jongho × Hana (OC)

Tropes: Childhood Friends to Lovers /Second Chances

Genre: Romance, Slice of Life, Light Drama

Featuring: Ateez (as Jongho’s supportive but teasing groupmates), Emilia (from the Idol Series Part I), Atiny, OCs

This Series will have multiple Chapters with around 2500 words. I hope you like it. Please be kind this is my first Fanfiction Project and English is not my first language. (I am open for constructive criticism). I will try to upload 3-4 chapters everyday.

Masterlist

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Prologue

The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the small park where two children were immersed in their own world of make-believe.

Jongho, with his wide, trusting eyes and a mischievous grin, held out a crudely made crown of daisies and wildflowers, placing it gently on Hana’s head.

"You’re the queen of the galaxy, and I’m your loyal knight," he declared, puffing his chest out and wielding a stick as if it were the mightiest sword in the cosmos.

Hana, her laughter ringing clear and true, adjusted the floral crown and looked at Jongho with affectionate earnestness. "And you promise to always be by my side?" she asked, her voice a mix of playfulness and a trace of hopeful seriousness that only children could muster.

"Always," Jongho vowed, his young voice firm, filled with the invincible certainty that only youth possessed. "I’ll always be here, Hana. No matter what."

They spent the rest of the evening chasing each other around the park, their laughter mingling with the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant calls of the city beyond their little haven.

Years passed, and the simplicity of childhood promises faded into the complexities of real life. Hana now stood in the quiet solitude of her bookstore, nestled between the bustling streets of a lively city neighborhood. The store was her sanctuary, filled with the scent of old paper and new possibilities, a place that mirrored her growth from a dreamy child into a resilient, self-assured woman.

Her fingers brushed against the spine of a book she had written—a fantasy novel that wove tales of adventure and courage, echoing her own hidden desires for a life beyond the ordinary. It was during these quiet moments, before the customers trickled in and the daily grind began, that her thoughts inevitably drifted back to Jongho.

With a sigh, Hana reached for a small, framed photograph tucked away behind the counter, hidden from the world but never from her sight. It was an old, faded picture of her and Jongho, smiling brightly on the day he had made that innocent, heartfelt promise. A promise broken so casually when the whirlwind of fame and fortune swept him away, leaving her with a void filled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

As she traced the contours of the smiling faces in the photograph, a familiar pang of hurt tightened around her heart. Always, he had said. Yet here she was, standing alone amidst the stories that spoke of endings and beginnings, of battles fought and loves lost, while Jongho…

Hana placed the photograph back in its hidden nook and straightened her back, her expression setting into one of determination.

Today, like all days, she would immerse herself in the world she created, both in her writing and in the shelves of her beloved bookstore. Today, like every day, she would remind herself that promises made under the setting sun could be as fleeting as the day itself.

But as the bell above the door tinkled, heralding the arrival of the day's first customers, Hana couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

Unbeknownst to her, in the heart of the bustling city, a familiar figure watched from a distance, his steps unconsciously leading him back to a past he could no longer ignore.  

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Disclaimer:This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and scenarios in this story are entirely fictional and not intended to reflect the real lives of the members of Ateez or any other individuals. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment purposes.

[mumms-the-word]

The Art of the Night

Day 27 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

Did I already have this scene written? Yes I absolutely did. I like Gale's romance scene but I was so disappointed when the game created a mashup of the Kama Sutra and One Thousand and One Nights and DIDN'T let us read passages from it.

So made up some passages for myself.

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics!

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27. Choose any scene in the game and write it with your headcanon

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How about the perfect night in Waterdeep? Yes…let’s imagine how it would be. The scene is this: you and I stand in the room that is the centre of my universe. The sculptures, the paintings, the walls enlivened by the spines of a thousand books. The grand piano plays the Lliirian Suites all by itself, and as we look out beyond the arches that lead to the terrace, we see the weary sun take its daily dive into the sea.

———

Dani moved to the railing of the terrace, placing her hands on the wood and leaning her weight against it. It felt as real as any she’d touched in Baldur’s Gate, worn smooth by craftsmen, time, and weather. She closed her eyes and soaked in the warmth of the setting sun and the salt of the briny sea air. Just like home…

She knew it was all illusion and fantasy, that the magic was merely tricking her mind into feeling the weight of the wood and smelling the scent of the sea. But for the moment, she wanted to exist in that illusion. After so many days surrounded by decay, the warmth and light of even a setting sun was like a balm to her spirit and body.

She felt Gale join her at the railing and she opened her eyes, turning to look at him. But his gaze was on the horizon, a deeply thoughtful, almost sorrowful expression on his face. Despite the obvious concentration it must take to make and maintain this illusion, his mind was clearly on the future and the choice he felt was all but inevitable. He gazed at the horizon like a man who knew he would never see such a sight again.

She wanted to reach out and caress his cheek, turn his face back to hers, kiss him until he forgot all his worries. But she settled, for now, with taking his hand.

He glanced down, as if surprised, and then met her gaze. He gave her a soft smile. 

“What do you think?” he asked.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I love it. I could spend every evening watching the sunset here, with you.” 

“Could you?” He seemed surprised by her words, lifting his head to gaze out over the ocean again, as if looking at it a little differently than before.

“Once all of this is over, yes. I’m a sucker for a good sunset.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to smile at her little remark, but he was lost in thought once more, his eyes scanning the world around them. Memorizing, she realized, or perfecting the memory. As though this might truly be the last night his eyes beheld the scene.

She couldn’t let him stay lost in his thoughts. She tugged on his hand, leading him back to the cushioned bench that sat off to one side. There, she sat down and patted the space beside her, inviting him to join her. He smiled faintly. 

“My favorite spot,” he said, gesturing toward her. He settled beside her, body close, shoulders brushing. “Many times, evening turned to night and back to daybreak once more while I sat here, lost in words.”

She raised her eyebrows playfully at him. “Oh? Up all night reading? I do love that rebellious streak of yours.”

He gave her a teasing, half-mischievous look. “Allow me to live dangerously while I still can.”

His words, though said with humor, made her smile falter. She didn’t want to think about that now. His possible death. Not while they were, for the moment, surrounded by the comforts of home, his home, far, far away from the Absolute.

“What sorts of books did you read?” she asked. “It can’t have all been spell tomes. At least, I hope not.”

He chuckled. “No, not all spell tomes or magical theory, though there was plenty of that as well. I’d read just about anything I could get my hands on, if it interested me. History, philosophy, literature, poetry…romance…”

He shifted to reveal a book on the side table behind him. “This,” he said, reaching for the book, “might just be all of that wrapped in one.”

Dani glanced at the cover and instantly recognized it. “Is that…?”

“The Art of the Night,” he said, running his hand over the cover. It depicted a man and a woman in sensual embrace, their bodies fluid and ethereal. Around the woman’s head was a round halo of divinity, like a thin crescent moon in the starry sky that surrounded them. “It details the first thousand nights of a newlywed king and queen. They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time-honored and newly acquired.”

His thumb idly traced the halo of divinity around the woman’s head. “The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself.”

“I’m familiar with this story,” Dani said, reaching for the book. He gave it willingly, watching as she traced a finger along the curving lines of the woman’s body.

She recalled what she knew…what she had memorized, back when she’d gotten her hands on a version of the king and queen’s story a couple of years ago. She hadn’t kept it long, because her troupe had to travel light and books were heavy, so she had only memorized a few pages to entertain her fancy when she could no longer read the physical copy. It wasn't much, but what she did remember was that this tale was more than fairy tale. It was sheer, poetic eroticism, beautiful and haunting, alluring and sensual.

She stood and wandered a step or two away, opening the book and flipping through the first few pages, her eyes skimming the text. It wasn’t precisely the same as the tale she’d read. In the margins of the text, on nearly every page, there were magic symbols and words. Each night was embellished with the markings for a spell or a ritual, accompanied by poetic instructions on how to recreate the experiences and lessons the noble couple gained in their first three years of marriage. And, more than occasionally, the pages contained diagrams of the couple in the various ways they experienced their pleasure, drawn in the same fluid, ephemeral style as the cover. 

This copy, this version, wasn’t just the tale itself, she realized. It was both the romantic, erotic tale and a magical Quarta Sune, both poetry and sex manual, mixing in magic and making the hypothetical romance of the king and queen entirely possible, if one knew how to manipulate the spells.

She turned to a passage she knew well, almost by heart. She was quiet a moment, reconnecting with the words, before she began to speak them softly, a note of fondness in her voice.

“‘That night, the king met his beloved once more in their chambers,’” she read. 

“‘Dearest one,’ said he,  ‘Gold I have given thee,  and jewels from my store;  chains for thy neck  and bands for thy wrists;  and still, thine eyes shine more brilliantly  than any treasure in my kingdom. 

‘What gem in all the realms  can be more precious than thy gaze?  What more can I give to you,  my beloved, so that you may know  the ardent depths of my heart?  What more, when thine eyes alone  make all riches seem as dull iron?’

‘Tender-hearted king,’ said the queen,  ‘I need neither gold nor gems;  my love is not so cheaply bought  nor so willingly sold.  And yet, already thou possess  that which I long for most.  Thy steady gaze, my love,  and thy faithful hand are all I ask.’”

Gale stood and joined her, brushing nearly against her back as he looked over her shoulder and spoke the next few lines softly in her ear.

“‘Come, take my hand,  and look beyond this simple visage. I will bare my soul to thee, this night,  and gaze boldly at thine. For more than bone and blood are we, but spirits merely housed in flesh.’”

Dani’s breath caught, her mind distracted by the way his breath stirred her hair, by how close his lips were to her neck. She turned her head slightly and found his dark eyes watching her. He hadn’t been reading the lines, but reciting them from memory.

She was at a loss for words. He was barely touching her and yet she felt like her entire body was slowly kindling aflame, warmth spreading from her core to her toes and the very tips of her horns. She clutched the book a little tighter, casting about for something to say.

“My, um…my copy didn’t have pictures,” she breathed. "Or spells."

He blinked, as if processing her words, and then chuckled, shaking his head. “You were missing out, then. Some of the later diagrams can be quite…fascinating.”

When he looked at her again, his smile was half-apologetic and half-admiring. “You know…I must have read that passage a thousand times, but never have I heard the words expressed so beautifully as you did now. You have a gift, Dani. You are…” 

He trailed off, his gaze slowly taking in the features of her face, lingering a moment on her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You are wonderful,” he breathed. “So wonderful I can scarcely believe any of this to be real.”

Dani didn’t know what to say to that. She felt lost in his brown-eyed gaze, trying to discern shades of deep amber from chestnut and mahogany, enchanted by the flecks of bronze that appeared in the light of the setting sun. She had never considered herself a fawning romantic, but staring into his eyes, she felt she could all too easily become one.

After several heartbeats, Gale dropped his gaze to the book, gently taking it from her hands. “Can I show you?” he asked, turning the pages. “What they mean? To experience love and pleasure in more ways than just the body?”

“You mean…like the gods do,” she said, turning to face him, the book between them. “Like you said before.”

“Precisely.” He smoothed flat the pages of the book, showing her two diagrams of hands, magic symbols and poetry surrounding the sketches. “Why confine ourselves to the pleasures of mortal flesh? It is but one stitch in a vast tapestry. Let me show you more.”

Something about the brightness in his eyes made her hesitate. He would know more than her what pleasures could exist outside the body, she supposed, and she trusted him. And yet…

As if sensing her hesitation, he closed his eyes in concentration. Dani felt herself grow lighter, floating apart from her body. The sky around them darkened and then shone with a million brilliant stars, draped with purple, blue, and red stardust shimmering in clouds and galaxies, appearing both within reach and endlessly far away. The more she turned her head to look, the more the structures and objects of Waterdeep fell away, leaving them in the expanse of beautiful, eternal space. Even their bodies were left behind. They existed now as spirits only, shining and translucent. 

“What do you think?” he asked again. “Beautiful, is it not?”

It was, but already she missed the real Gale. As a spirit, his eyes glowed with magic and she could see the stars through his body. But while the swirling galaxies and glittering stars were stunning, she missed his rich brown eyes. When she reached out to brush his arm, she found his body simultaneously tangible and intangible, as though a mere thought could allow her to phase through him completely. 

She had no doubt that if they stayed like this, Gale would reveal a hundred avenues of pleasure she had never experienced before, but her selfish little heart didn’t want to be impressed by magic. She just wanted the man himself.

“It’s our first night together, Gale,” she said. She could still sense her body, somewhere in the material plane, and focused there, reaching out to it like an anchor. Outside of the galaxy illusion, she placed her hands over his and closed the book. The visions of galaxies melted away, their spectral bodies becoming physical and visible once more, though the illusion of Waterdeep remained. “Shouldn’t we start somewhere closer to the beginning? I want to experience you first. We'll have time to try all the rest later.”

He looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

“Gale,” she whispered softly, pressing her hand to his chest, over his heart. Her touch silenced him in an instant, though he still looked uncertain. “I’ve never been more sure. Tonight isn’t the end for us.”

This was what she wanted, more than the beautiful illusions or spectral experiences. She felt his heart beating beneath her palm, felt the warmth of his body. She wanted more of that. More of the real, touchable Gale, with his soft brown hair and his gentle, dark eyes. She wanted to slip her hands beneath his shirt and touch his skin, feel the way his muscles twitched or tensed when her fingers grazed over them. She longed to taste his lips and feel the weight of him against her and watch his face flush and see how far that flush traveled down his neck and chest.

With her other hand, she gently slipped the book from his grip and set it on the railing. She stepped into the space between them, filling it with her body, pressing her palm more firmly against his chest. “You are what I want, Gale. The real man in front of me. Not the illusion and not the fantasy."

"But—"

"You don’t have to worry about impressing me. I’m no goddess.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, placing his hand over hers. He said it as though it were a fact, irrefutable, and with such warmth that it made her breath hitch. 

She was used to admiration, entertainer that she was. She was used to praise. She was used to flattery. But the deep sincerity of his words and the way he looked at her was new. He spun poetry from mere words without even trying, and she was always caught off balance by the beauty of it.

But then his clever smile was back, and he said, “Trust me, I would know.”

She scoffed and gave him a light shove. He swayed on his heels but didn’t budge, chuckling at her feigned irritation.

“That said…" He kept ahold of her hand, threading his fingers with hers as he lowered them away from his chest. "Will you meet me halfway?”

“Halfway?”

He snapped his fingers and the balcony and sunset shifted, bookshelf-laden walls enclosing around them once more. But rather than his study, this room was a little smaller, a large canopied bed taking up the majority of the space. Stacks of books sat precariously on beside tables and spots on the floor while a fireplace burned cheerfully on one wall, a cushy armchair angled in front of it. Dani half expected to find Tara curled up in the armchair, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what Tara might look like.

“Your bedroom?” she asked, tilting her head. "In Waterdeep?"

“Indulge me,” he said. “Unless you’d like a canopy of stars once more.”

She shook her head. If this was a true, or mostly true, reflection of Gale’s room in Waterdeep, she was in no hurry to leave. She looked around with interest, but some of the details, like the words on the spines of books, shifted and blurred beneath her vision, as though Gale didn’t want her looking too closely. 

Not matter. She wasn’t here to read anyway.

“I’m sure you’ll find the bed more than comfortable,” he said. “And, should I soon find myself a little too distracted to maintain the rest of the illusion, the bed will remain. For a few hours, at least.”

She arched an eyebrow at him and he shrugged, offering no further comment. She grinned and hopped onto the bed, flopping back with her arms spread. He was right. It was solid beneath her, not at all an illusion, and it was certainly comfortable. Better than the bedrolls on hard ground that she’d been sleeping on this past month or so.

“Oh, I could get use to this,” she said, settling right in. “You’ll have to teach me this little spell.” She lifted a hand and gestured like she was revealing words on a banner. “Conjure Bed. School of…er…”

“Conjuration,” he finished, the humor obvious in his voice. “As the name implies.”

“Right, I could have guessed that.” She propped herself up on one elbow to find him watching her again, that same fond, enchanted look he’d worn the last few days, especially tonight. She held out her hand to him, an open invitation for him to join her. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

He opened his mouth as though to answer, paused, and then shook his head fondly. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He reached out and took her hand, climbing onto the bed with her. She lay back, cradling his face in her hands as he rested part of his weight against her, gazing down at her with a look so filled with love she could only smile and stare. 

There they were, those dark eyes she loved so much. There, too, was the oddly pleasant scratch of his beard against her palms, the softness of his hair as her fingertips sank into it, the heat and weight of his body as it pressed her into the downy mattress. Exactly as she wanted it.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His smile was gentle and loving, reflecting her words before he even spoke them. “I love you, too, Meridan Zavrai.”

He bent his head to kiss her and she let the world around her fade into a hazy blur, until at last the only thing she could see, the only thing she could hear, the only thing she could touch, was Gale himself.

[final-fantasy-as-literature]

I haven't had energy for a longer post lately, but I feel like Stamp in Final Fantasy VII Rebirth and Remake is pretty easily a symbol for what Cloud himself symbolizes while taking a Bloomian reading to them with Wu Cheng’en's Xiyouji as precursor. This post will not be diving into the six revisionary ratios because it is off-hand, and even Bloom gave those up over time.

Minor spoilers for Final Fantasy VII Remake below the split.

The first and easiest draw is that the name given to the Monkey by Patriarch Subodhi is Sun Wukong (孫悟空). The Sun (孫) itself comes from husun (猢猻), a word for a kind of monkey whose name comes from a noun for a foreign group. If you remove the animal radical, or dog radical, from 'sun' (猻), the monkey, you get 'Sun' (孫), the Monkey's surname. In this reading, the dog simply acts as a reference to one of the Monkey's names that wasn't drawn upon to give meaning in the 1997 release. The literal monkey is gone, but the dog has returned with all the meaning it gives. The Monkey has historically been used as both a symbol representative of the state's interests and a countercultural symbol of rebellion against that state in much of East Asia, and has even represented the interests of states in opposition.

Evidence towards this would be other occasions in which Cloud is now referred to with names, teases, and insults that call upon the Monkey's names and their meanings. Foremost that comes to mind would be Barret asking about Cloud's age and joking about Cloud being a one year old. Patriarch Subodhi gives Monkey the name "Sun" on page 115 of Volume 1 of Anthony C Yu's Revised Edition of Journey to the West, explaining,

If I drop the animal radical from this word, what we have left is the compound of zi and xi. Zi means a boy and xi means a baby, and that name exactly accords with the fundamental Doctrine of the Baby Boy. So your surname will be 'Sun.'

Hongmei Sun points out the importance of the "Doctrine of the Baby Boy" to Monkey's "multivalent" and "ambivalent" identity when she explains a reading of one of Monkey's most common self-referential titles on page 20 of her Transforming Monkey: Adaptation and Representation of a Chinese Epic:

The translation “Old Monkey” is a choice made based on the sacrifice of the other meanings of both sun and lao, and understandably so, owing to the lack of corresponding expressions in English. But without the meaning of “venerable” and “baby,” the nature of the oxymoron in the name is lost. “Old Monkey” can also mean “Old Baby” or “Venerable Monkey,” which reveal more of the ambivalent nature of the Monkey King.

Tying these readings together in Final Fantasy VII Remake and Rebirth is as simple as noting that Cloud is referred to and compared to in-text with "Stamp." "Stamp" is actually the fourth observational title given to Cloud by the members of Avalanche, with the first being "merc," the second being "real joy to look at," and the third being "true believer." This is excluding both his name, Cloud, and his status in SOLDIER, as those are a "true" name and status rather than merely observational. Barret directly addresses Cloud as Stamp when he asks Cloud, "Stamp scared to bite the hand that fed him? Or is he a loyal little doggy?"

Something I believe many readings of Final Fantasy VII Remake miss is this exact moment, forgetting that this isn't a coincidence - the text itself was created, not a coincidence being observed. Barret isn't just making a metaphor within the text that can be understood by its characters, but a metaphor that can be understood by the readers of the text. That this metaphor of a dog as the ambivalent symbol of both a bureaucracy and its people is addressed to a blonde protagonist bound by piercing headaches and undergoing an arc of rebellion against a corrupt bureaucracy ought to be compared to the context of precursors in East Asia. Within this context, it isn't hard to find a precursor-text that offers easy comparison and enhanced meaning: Wu Cheng’en's Xiyouji, the story of Sun Wukong, the rebellious and loyal monkey, the reluctantly true believer, pressed and willing bodyguard, and handsome and horrific figure.

Cloud shares the multivalence of Monkey in a way that defies singular interpretation, which is why I believe the best isolated interpretation is to "reduce" the text to a precursor poem. This opens the door to more focused interpretation through lenses that already exist, such as the "multivalence" of Monkey and Cloud. This, even more, demystifies elements of the text for which little progress has been made in accepted fan-interpretation, such as in the "parallel worlds" (as some fans have called them) easily being expression of common folk beliefs within Buddhism. This also allows the reader to bring mechanical elements into cohesion with their reading, such as with the materia being akin to sarira as displayed in the text.

[bardic-tales]

Title: Monster Made From Memories

Pairing: Bianca / Sephiroth

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2948

Fandom: Final Fantasy 7

Warnings: abandonment, abuse, body horror, demonic imagery, emotional breakdown, emotional manipulation, existential dread, gaslighting, graphic violence, hallucinations, intense sorrow, loss of agency, mind control, psychological trauma, religious references, supernatural elements, trauma flashbacks, unrequited love, vivid depictions of fire, vivid descriptions of injury. Whump focused

Summary: In a dream-scape, the One-winged Angeal torments and gaslights by changing the dream-scape to the Nibelheim Incident. Bianca confronts Sephiroth and takes back control, attempting to reach the man she once loved despite his transformation into the One-Winged Angel.

tagging: @megandaisy9 @asirensrage @arrthurpendragon @themaradwrites @prehistoric-creatures

@creativechaosqueen

1.

“The only ramen I had was from those from the grocery store.” As Bianca Moore sat across from Sephiroth, the sun beat down upon her and warmed her bare shoulders. The wind swayed the crimson ruffles of her bandeau bikini top, flipping the ruffles up and down as the red and white fabric of their picnic table umbrella fluttered. She swept an unruly lock of her wavy, jet-black hair behind her right ear.

The piercing cry of the gulls echoed overhead, and Bianca and Sephiroth watched the birds dive bombed each other for a stray fry or two. The food tumbled across the boardwalk as another seagull landed on the wooden boards and pecked at it. Occasionally, a bird flew off and landed on the edge of a roof of a quaint beach-side cafe, screaming at the sun-kissed beachgoers who walked by.

Bianca leaned back in her chair and placed her hands behind her head, threading her fingers through her hair again. Her black, see-through sarong parted at her hip. The soft fabric separated over the curve of her hip, exposing her right knee and calf that was crossed over her left leg.

“You really never had authentic ramen?” Sephiroth scoffed. His husky voice softened more at the word ramen, causing a small twitch within Bianca’s core. A coy smirk pulled on the left corner of his lips, brightened his face, as she knew he could feel the erotic sensation through their psychic bond. His cyan, feline-like eyes sparkled in the sunlight. The corners of his eyes wrinkled in amusement while his hip-length silver hair danced on the sudden breeze. “That’s blasphemy, my dear angel. I can’t have you only experiencing ramen through those instant noodles and that little silver package of seasoning. Real ramen is more rich.”

As she opened her mouth to speak, she noticed a sole black feather fall from the heavens. It floated down to her, dancing from side to side, as if it were a leaf upon a dead wind: the last defense of a colorful autumn turning into the frigid winter. She reached for the familiar but unknown plumage and picked it up, examining it, but it was her surroundings that gave her pause.

While these plumes usually gave her joy, there was something about this one. The feathers radiated an aura that caused Bianca to drop it. It burst into a wispy, black smoke and disappeared.

Everything around her froze, as if they were in a status field. The seagulls hovered in the sky above Bianca. Their wings suspended in mid flight as if time itself had stopped. As she looked towards the side, she noticed that even the waiter pouring drinks froze with a perpetual grin crossing his angular face. The coffee tumbled out of the carafe. The dark liquid froze like a waterfall amid a deep freeze.

“What’s going on, Sephiroth?” She returned her attention to her companion, but he didn’t respond. Like everyone who surrounded her, Sephiroth remained still. His mouth hung opened as he was amid a quip. Most likely, he was going to tease her more about her ramen preferences or lack thereof.

As she looked at Sephiroth, he didn’t move. He looked blankly forward with his eyes unfocused. The wind that had been blowing their hair around stilled, and Sephiroth’s long, gray hair lay limply over his shoulders and cascaded down his back to the seat of his chair.

What the hell is happening? Bianca thought. She continued to look around. It was as if she were the only person alive in the world: the only one who could move around freely.

She felt the soft touch on her right shoulder; the leather creaked as his gloved-clad fingers curled over her bare shoulder. As she jumped, her heart thumped wildly in her chest. So, she wasn’t the only one who could move. The leather felt cool to her skin. Strands of long silver hair flowed over her shoulder and mixed with her dark locks. As she looked down, her heart raced, threatening to beat out of her chest. Her eyes widened. Bianca didn’t move.

“Oh, what fun we had here, my angel.” The words were mocking: cruel whispers masquerading as affection while he leaned forward behind her. He leaned forward behind her, his breath caressing the shell of her ear. She trembled beneath his touch, reminding herself that the scene that was laid out before her had happened in the past and in another timeline. “All these emotions that we pretended to feel for each other here.

“But it’s time to stop pretending, dear Bia,” He continued. “I died at the reactor and you didn’t even shed a tear. Why is that? Why didn’t my death affect you?”

The cruelty in his voice cut through her. She turned her head slowly to look at him. She couldn’t breathe, as her breath seemed to be stolen from her now.

“Why?” Bianca closed her eyes, clenching them tightly shut. Her fingers clutched at the tablecloth. Her body shook. This man was part of her being — her other half — and here he was, staring at her with such madness within his eyes, such malice in his gaze.

But she remembered everything: every kiss, every embrace, and every heartfelt declaration. That was the price of being a temporal being. Every outcome shimmered before her mind’s eye, as if she were looking at it on the mortal plane.

“Is it not enough that you took everything from me?” Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Her breath now came out quicker in small, quick bursts: almost as if she were a dog stuck outside in the middle of a heatwave. Sweat dripped off of her chin face and down her chin onto the table that she had previously sat at. “Why show me the moments when I was so sure that we were in love?”

His cold eyes fixated on Bianca. Spreading across his flawless countenance, a smirk played upon his lips as he observed her. Her entire body pleaded for him to leave her and return her to the dreams’ illusions, as that was better than opposed to going about her life without him.

The cool seaside resort shifted instantly. Wooden buildings with pointed arches and mahogany framing greeted her, replacing the soft sound of waves lapping the shoreline and the women in tiny bikinis and men in board shorts. Each home’s alabaster plaster glimmered in the moonlight flowing down upon their bodies as the beam of light broke through the clouds high in the heavens above them.

Her eyes widened as their surrounding leapt in flames, the surrounding fires burnt brightly: the Nibelheim Incident. It painfully reminded her of her final experience with genuine love before everything was destroyed.

Her breath came in pants now, as she could not focus on him. The acrid smell of the wood burning saturated her surroundings. The burning scent of bodies overwhelmed her, as she felt as if she were going to be sick. Bile filled with her throat, threatening to burst out like a geyser. Despite the burning sensation, she swallowed it back. Her breath kept slamming within her throat, coming faster and faster as the flames circled around her and her surroundings burnt.

“Love, you say?” He spoke in a tone heavy with his enjoyment of her pain and suffering. “Such a pathetic sentiment. A concept you never truly understand, little angel.

“You think you loved this man?” As he leaned closer, his hair on her shoulder brushed against her cheek. “This hollow form of myself? You were a fool to believe that I ever loved you back.”

Their bodies glistened in the blazing light of the shared memories. With a relentless fury, the flames crept along the windows’ sills and frames, before suddenly springing to life on the roofs of the cottages.

As her body shook, the past consumed her. She could vividly remember the suffocating hopelessness she felt during that day, the profound failure of not being able to protect the townspeople from his rampage, and the excruciating grief that washed over her when he jumped from the reactor platform into the mako tanks.

“But it is amusing to watch how you flail about with your pathetic love.” Even though he crouched down to her level, he still towered over her.

Pathetic love? Something within Bianca snapped. She pushed down the sheer terror and misery that Sephiroth evoked in this moment. She stared at him, gazing deep into his feline-like eyes. A flutter raced in her chest: hope. It was tiny, but it was still there. She could feel Sephiroth beneath all the layers of corruption, influence, and madness.

2.

“That’s not true. We loved each other before you b-before you set our world aflame.” Bianca turned towards him now and cupped his cheek. Her demonic blood roared to life and fought his control over her. As she stared into his cyan eyes, she could still sense him — the man behind the One-Winged Angel and Son of Jenova—within their bond.

“You’re still in there.” Her hand still stroked his face, as she could feel the confusion seeping in through their bond. “I can feel you. Beneath the pain. Beneath the madness. Beneath the chaos. Like you, I too have a calling and destiny that I will answer it. I will free you from yourself and your mother.

Sephiroth took a step back and narrowed his brow at the feisty angel before him. Both of them knew that her demonic blood often dominated his and Jenova’s control, since her father was one of the original primordial demons, but he couldn’t comprehend the source of her immense power.

“It is true,” Bianca continued. “You may have changed, but in doing so, so have I. Our souls mirror each other. If there’s anyone who can save you from the chaos, it’s me: your angel.”

With a firm grip on his suspenders, she forcefully pulled him towards her, their lips meeting in a rebellious display of passion. Their kiss was a delicate balance of vulnerability and resistance, as their lips moved in a slow, tender dance.

The fires raged on around them, but her gentle touch on his cheek provided her a moment of solace. As the weight of the heat bore down on her skin, she found herself even more resolved in the conviction that she had to save him.

Her heartache lingered deep within, like a thick coating of molasses, but she refused to let it consume her, knowing that her mission to save Sephiroth required her full resolve. Yet, her heart clenched every time she laid eyes on him, making it nearly impossible to offer any help. He would have denied it, anyway. In death, he relentlessly refused to find rest or to join with the Planet. His anger and madness refused to let him rest.

“I cannot be killed,” she said, emphasizing her heritage as the daughter of Asmodeus and Seraphine. Strands of her saliva still clung to his lips, making them shimmer in the firelight. She stood. “And when you remain after the Meteor falls, I too will persist. I will spend eternity freeing you from your madness, if I must.”

Bianca now stalked towards him. She stared intensely into his eyes as her hips swayed as she walked deliberately while the flames of the fire flickered around them, making her seem as if she were a demon exiting hell.

With her head tilted up and her wings spread wide, she finally stood before him, exuding confidence and grace. Amidst the dying flames of Nibelheim, her feathers, a mix of purple and black, gleamed with an otherworldly beauty. As she emerged from the flames, she masked her true feelings, burying them deep inside. She concealed her pain of losing him five years ago beneath a stoic expression, making it invisible to his eyes. As she wrested her dream-scape from him, her eyes glinted with determination, and a powerful sense of empowerment overcame her.

Once more, the landscape shifted, revealing a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills and vibrant wildflowers. Behind the evergreen forest, a majestic mountain rose behind them, casting a shadow that made her feel small. This was the original home to the Biblical Nephilim: a race of ice giants that lived beyond the mountain range. In the forest, the sound of the cherubs’ fluttering wings accompanied the mesmerizing sight of their iridescent light, as Bianca stood firmly planted her feet.

Sephiroth’s eyes widened further as the fiery hell-scape of the Nibelheim Incident faded away, promptly replaced by the ethereal beauty of the Celestial Realm. His feet remained planted, but a deep frown creased his forehead. Their shared soul-bond revealed a cacophony of thoughts: a blend of bewilderment, rebellion, and, above all, seething rage.

“You are right, Sephiroth, though,” Bianca declared, quietly. Her voice may have been soft and husky, but there was a power to it. “You love to say how this and the Reunion are homecomings. It right here and now is. It’s your homecoming. While my concern for humanity and the Planet is significant, it is the harm done to your soul that weighs heavily on my mind. But fear not.

“I will save you, the Chosen One, the Son of Jenova,” Bianca’s voice resonated with conviction as she made her declaration. Her hand pressed firmly against her chest, feeling the rapid thumping of her heart, as it still clenched from sorrow.

How could she promise to save him? Five years prior, she had experienced failure. He had chosen Jenova, forsaking their love in favor of fulfilling his destiny. She couldn’t let him see the vulnerability that lingered in her eyes, a result of the impact his choice had on her. With a burst of black and purple smoke, Sephiroth vanished, leaving behind an eerie silence. Despite the immense sorrow of her soul, she found herself in a quiet recreation of her homeland. The night air was cool and crisp, providing a much-needed respite from the fiery and acrid atmosphere that lingered after the hell-scape he had conjured of the Nibelheim Incident.

The occasional hoot of an owl and the gentle rustling of leaves filled with a serene silence, interrupted only the dream-scape.

The last black feather gently descended from the Heavens, and Bianca sank to her knees, feeling the coolness of the moss and grass beneath her. Her hands trembling, she gently pressed them against her cheeks, muffling the sound of her sobs. With her palms pressed against the moss, grass, and feather, she hunched over and wept in silence. Every inch of her body shuddered and trembled, as if she had reached the brink of despair, but a glimmer of hope pulsed in her heart, as if it was her only chance to rescue him. His scent and feather provided her with a fleeting sense of comfort, although she remained unaware of the unfamiliar presence.

3.

With the world holding its breath, the air stood completely still as his black feather gracefully descended to the ground, resting on the cool moss beside her. But there, beneath the silence, a faint whisper lingered, barely audible, like a gentle breeze. A flicker of emotion crossed her face - a mix of regret, pain, and something unspoken.

Only a being as divine as her and Bianca herself could hear the ethereal whispers that resonated deep within her soul. In a spectral manifestation, Sephiroth materialized, his figure ghostly and translucent, extending his hand to gently wipe away a stray tear from her cheek. As she looked into his eyes, she was struck by the profound warmth that radiated from them, a stark contrast to Sephiroth’s previously menacing gaze. The moment he got close, she realized something was off. The aroma coming from him was completely unlike the Sephiroth who had just left her, but it matched the scent of the man who had fallen into the mako and left her in deep sorrow, confirming that he was not Sephiroth — or the Sephiroth that had fallen to Jenova and madness.

“Are you a dream? A vision of the past?” As she looked up, her eyes widened in recognition and joy when she saw her SOLDIER, a familiar smile on his face. Although he appeared identical to moments ago, a subtle radiance emanated from his eyes and his demeanor exuded an air of lightness. He existed in a liminal space between the detached SOLDIER and the sinister One-Winged Angel, an enigma that became intertwined with her soul.

As he bent down and brushed her cheek, she shivered from the warm connection: his touch was divine. Tears still coursed down her face, dripping off of her chin as she held onto the One-Winged Angel’s black feather.

“I am a fragment of a memory,” Sephiroth whispered to her. “A whisper of a soul. A fate that was once promised, but was cruelly snatched away.”

Her eyes, full of emotion, remained fixed on him as she continued to watch. Sephiroth’s ethereal form gracefully knelt before her, his long silver hair cascading down his shoulders and back. As she looked into his cyan eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of gentleness and sadness emanating from them. Once again, he tenderly brushed his fingers against her cheek, feeling the wet trails of tears on her skin, as if he wanted to remember every contour.

“But I am what was meant to be.” He continued to brush the tears away. “And yet, not what I am. I am a shadow of the man you once loved, but I am still him. And I will always come for you when you need me.”

[one-winged-dreams]

Lux

ship: (Lux Astrum x Gladiolus Amicitia) source: Final Fantasy XV word count: 1401 cw: implications of physical parental abuse

I'm so fucking SGKJHSELGKJ over Lux and Gladio being childhood friends to lovers, and Gladio being there for the start of Lux's transition. Also gay gay homosexual gay.

very quick for indulgence purposes no proof reading we post like men

tag list: @dearly-beeloved @kylars-princess @adoredbyalatus @dorothys-wife @the-sleeping-city

@dear-gambler @sunstar-of-the-north @mahitosoulmate @goldenworldsabound

"Things still rough at home?"

The question was enough to get Lumine to open her eyes. She liked it here, in the Amicitia's backyard, her favorite respite from her family and life in general. There was no shouting or senseless conflict. Just the soft feeling of sun-warmed grass beneath her.

"... Yeah," she answered Gladio with a sigh, bringing her arm up to drape over her forehead. 

"... I see," came Gladio's reply, accompanied by a huff through his nose. "Not sure why I asked..."

There was a mostly comfortable silence after that, only mostly considering the awkwardness of the subject that had been breached. 

"Was it... always like that?" Gladio gambled against the odds of making the conversation MORE awkward, deciding to go ahead with what he wanted to ask.

"... Not sure," Lumine ultimately answered. "My grandparents were never like this, to my knowledge. It'd be a disgrace if my whole lineage was..." 

A sigh left her lips as she trailed off, her forearm coming down to cover her eyes.

"If anyone deserves to serve the King... My parents aren't it."

Gladio merely nodded his head, a thoughtful gesture of contemplation. 

"Do you think you are? I mean, as the oldest, how do you even feel about taking up that mantle? I don't see you as the family type," he tried to make a lighthearted comment, rolling his head to the side to fix Lumine with a teasing eyebrow arch.

Lumine snorted, a good sign.

"What, are you saying you wouldn't start a family with me?" she teased back before returning to her melancholy expression.

"That'd be something, though, wouldn't it? Astrum and Amicitia..." Another inhale through her nose. "If it came down to it, I'd DEFINITELY take your family over mine. I don't have any real attachment to mine, if they want someone to continue the lineage they've got my sister."

Gladio's turned his head to look back up at the sky.

"Man. All daughters. That's a load of responsibility."

Lumine didn't say anything for a second, taking a few beats until she gave her reply.

"Yeah... Daughters..." 

It was quiet again. This time there was a palpable tension, one that had Gladio sitting up a bit, turning on his side and supporting himself with his elbow.

"What's up with you, Lumine?"

Blinking, Lumine turned her head to look at him.

"I mean, like... A lot, but what are you asking specifically?" 

Gladio's expression was a bit more serious than she was comfortable with.

"How would I know? You're not exactly an open book these days."

This had Lumine's brow furrowing, a little offended by the comment. Gladio didn't mince words, it was something she loved about him, but this was hitting a little too close for comfort. 

"Yeah, well. Maybe I've just had some stuff on my mind."

"Anything you wanna share with the class?"

"Not really..."

"Then what about with your boyfriend?"

Lumine winced. Godsdammit, that was a sore spot. She never wanted to be distant, never wanted to be the way her parents were. With herself, with each other. Whatever she had with Gladio, she swore it would never end up like that.

But this was... Different. 

A lump in her throat made itself known, and she struggled to swallow it.

"It's... I'm..." She took a deep, shuddering breath. 

"I want to tell you, but... I'm scared."

Gladio's brow furrowed this time.

"You? Scared?"

Lumine's eyes clenched shut, her eyelids trembling in a way that made it known she wasn't exaggerating.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice cracking, "... scared."

"Lumine," Gladio sighed and she winced. "Don't give me that crap. You don't scare easy, so just... Out with it. Rip off the bandaid." 

Lumine's eyes opened and she looked at him. Her eyes were wide, vulnerable and wet and foreign in a way that Gladio wasn't used to seeing. 

"But I'm scared if I do... You won't... Know me anymore..." Her voice came out in a near whisper. 

"Is that so bad? You've stuck with me this long, Lumine. And I've stuck with you. Whatever it is, I already know I'm still gonna like whoever you are. Even if it means I have to help you bury someone here in the yard. So just say it," Gladio's attempt at light-heartedness was a bit of a failure in that his conviction to get Lumine to open up was a bit intense. 

It seemed to do the trick though, as Lumine gulped again, staring at him with an expression that trembled along the ledge of vulnerability. 

"I don't think... I don't think there IS a Lumine," she spoke softly, breathily. 

"Well then, who is there?"

The question was abrupt, blunt, and perfect for breaking down the final wall that stood between Gladio and true openness. Tears welled up in Lumine's eyes, and she didn't even try to keep them from falling.

"Well... It's... Lux." 

"Tell me about Lux," Gladio continued his trend of unwavering support, which only made the tears stream even quicker. 

"Lux is... What Lumine would be like if she wasn't so sad all the time. Lux can stand up for... for himself."

There was a silence that was so tense that Lumine winced, keeping her eyes clenched shut. The silence was so deafening she wanted to reach up and cover her ears. But more than that, she was even more afraid of what would break that silence.

"I see. Well... does Lux still want to be my boyfriend?"

In an utterly appropriate metaphor, Lux's eyes snapped open in a manner that was like he was seeing the light for the first time. Here in Gladio's backyard, where the sun always felt brightest and warmest. 

He took a quick inhale.

"He would... He really would..."

More silence followed, less tense but still ringing with questions neither of them wanted to breach yet.

"But... Are you even...?" Lux managed to bring himself to grasp the most important one.

Whatever he feared, he wouldn't find it, as Gladio let out a snort.

"Lux... I don't even like girls."

"THEN WHY-"

"Guess I was just ahead of the game, huh? I thought it was weird too, but I guess I'm just more in tune to you than YOU were. Face it, you're oblivious," Gladio snickered, reaching over to pull Lux's headband off and ruffle his hair.

"Hey!" Lux protested with a whine, making an even whinier sound as Gladio tossed the accessory across the yard.

"Come on, is Lux still gonna let his parents decide what he wears? I've always hated that thing on you. You should get a more badass accessory," Gladio sat up fully, crossing his legs.

"Like what? A piercing or something?" Lux followed suit, arching a brow in contemplation.

"That's even more badass than what I was considering, you should do it," Gladio responded by giving Lux's shoulder a playful shove. "You said Lux stands up for himself. Maybe it's time that he started now."

Lux stared at him for a good moment before slowly nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," he said thoughtfully, partially to himself.

"You're gonna be 16 this year, that's old enough. How about when your birthday rolls around we take you down to get one?" Gladio's arm came to wrap around Lux's shoulders now, giving him a little shake accompanied by an enabling smirk.

"You paying for it?" Lux snorted, unable to keep from cracking a smile. "What kind do you think would be best for a first one? Something that'll piss off my parents, they're gonna kick my ass no matter what I get."

The comment was played off casually, both of them were used to darker quips about Lux's home predicament. And so they thought for a moment.

Eventually, Lux turned to point to the area between his eyes.

"Okay, bridge?" 

And then one of his hands moved down to his nose.

"Or nostril?"

Gladio seemed to think for a moment, rubbing his chin.

"How about... BOTH nostrils. Sounds like a good middle ground."

"Oh, good idea. Anyway..." Lux trailed off, inciting a head tilt from Gladio.

"Come on, you're not about to clam up NOW are you?"

"No! No. I just..." Lux sighed before leaning into him and closing his eyes.

"Thanks... For still loving Lux."

Gladio's arm tightened around his shoulders.

"No problem... But I don't have to talk about having an ex-girlfriend do I?"

"NO!"

[ratsoh-writes]

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet the outerswap siblings, Helios and Artemis!!

Here’s a little bit about the skeletons:

Helios (outerswap sans):

He’s obviously the older sibling, at 45 years old. He stands at 5 feet even and is rather petite and elfish looking. Don’t let that fool you though, he’s a powerhouse.

Helios has a soft orange magic and is covered in a dusting of freckles.

Most of the time he is very cheerful, friendly and competitive. Helios isn’t the most playful and takes his jobs very seriously. When he’s pushed too far, he has a rather fiery explosive temper though. Luckily he doesn’t hold grudges. While he’s normally rough with those around him, he has a gentle side that only seems to come out for his little sister and any small kids. He’s not the most flirtatious monster and doesn’t have any interest in relationships right now.

For work, he’s a professional fighter! He’s won plenty of magical combat competitions and also knows several physical fighting styles. Unfortunately he doesn’t have the money to do this full time, so on the side he works in the minds of the underground’s when it’s off season for the fights.

Things he loves: his sister, heavy metal music, dragon ball Z, weapon summoning, kickboxing, sparring, bonfires, small children (he thinks they’re adorable and fun to tease), the color blue, the moon, stargazing, mood boards, snails

His special ability is flame body: his bones and ecto burst into flames when he’s angered. Or at will. They luckily don’t burn through anything unless he concentrates on making them do SOs

His magic weapon of choice is a large battle hammer with spikes on both hammer ends. The hammer itself is nearly half his body size and is a blood orange color.

Artemis (outerswap papyrus):

She’s the younger sibling at 40 years old. She stands at 6 feet even and has very pale translucent ecto due to being born with the disease dimming. She has a very soft feminine voice.

Artemis has sky blue magic and a smattering of freckles all over her bones.

Artemis is an observant and down to earth character. She has a strong sense of fairness and compassion that no one really seems to know where it came from. She’s touch and affection starved and very friendly to every one around her despite being anxious. She’s slowly recovering from near death due to her disease and has a lot of side effects from it, making her tire out pretty easily. She’s a people pleaser and very curious about the world around her. Her curiosity usually overrides her anxiety but it also makes her agree easily to things that can get her in trouble. She can be too trusting.

She gets a disability fund from the government which covers her healthcare and some other stuff, but to help her brother with the bills she breeds and sells snails on the side. The apartment building they live in has a small greenhouse that their landlord generously lets them use as long as they keep it clean.

Things she loves: her brother and the fighters he hangs out with, watching the combat matches and games in person, heavy metal music, fantasy novels: especially reincarnation ones, snails, the sun, sunsets and sunrises, natural medicine, indoor plants.

Her special ability is lighter fingers. She can make a small blue flame appear on her finger tips at will. The flame does not burn and gives a small amount of light

Due to being born with dimming, Artemis was never able to complete her schooling and has never summoned a full magic weapon before.

Here’s a little backstory on the two!

Helios and Artemis were born to pretty wealthy parents. Helios however was shunted to the side after his little sister was born due to her being diagnosed with the ecto disease, dimming.

Helios grew up at first resenting his little sister who took up all of his once loving parents time. She could do no wrong, and he always seemed to be blamed for anything bad around the house.

However Artemis adored her brother, the only one around her who didn’t treat her like some piece of glass. She would try to defend him against their parents when she became old enough to understand their situation, and would even cover for him so he could leave and train for the royal guard, something his parents didn’t want him in. By the time Helios was an adult, the two had an unbreakable bond

After the crash, Artemis’ health took a turn for the worse. She was given months to live and their parents kept her in a tightly locked community in hopes that she’ll pull through. Artemis was done, managed to get in touch with her brother who had moved away on his own and begged him to “kidnap” her so she could actually see the surface before she died.

Of course Helios does steal her away and they go traveling across ebott to dodge their parents while Artemis gets to spend her last days actually seeing the world around her.

Spoiler alert: she doesn’t die. The freedom actually seems to improve her health and she’s actually getting better every day. Helios and Artemis wind up getting disowned by their parents and he gets a job in the underground’s mines to make ends meet.

Now for side characters:

Saturn: outerswap toriel, the sister of Mars and the ruler for outerswap. She’s a rather loud and demanding ruler but very good at her job: law and order. She’s a judge in ebott and takes her job very seriously

Mars: the younger brother of Saturn, he was invited to the board of royals after the crash. He handles the detention centers and some jails for ebott. He’s practical, demanding but gentler than Saturn.

Selene: a deep blue flame elemental and the mother of Helios and Artemis. Selene is a flighty monster, always looking for something shiny and new to keep herself occupied. She is not in contact with her kids and is secretly glad she isn’t responsible for them anymore.

Ares: (outerswap gaster) a strong and proud skeleton monster, and head of a medicine company. He misses his kids and has some regrets on how he raised them, but is too proud to apologize. He is not in contact with them.

[birrdies]

📓?

(the ask)

There are so many (too many) unwritten fics that live in the hollow cavern that is my brain, so it was hard to choose. But I was reminded of an older one last night…

Wither and Decay — a fantasy ethubs AU loosely based on Disney’s Tangled

The secret of the sunchild is the worst kept secret in the country.

Bdubs, an eccentric recluse who has spent more time with trees than he has people, has always known he was blessed by the sun. With its rays brimming under his skin, pouring out from between his clasped hands, he’s always known he was chosen for something— that he was special. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t let every single person know it.

The curse of the wither is the deadliest one in the world.

Etho, a young man born from a small northern village, never expected the turns his life would take. Pricked by the thorn of a wither rose in his youth, he’s destined to hide his hands behind thick gloves, his arms beneath long, dark sleeves. With the power of rot flowering in his veins, those who are unfortunate to touch him are cursed to wither away like a flower without water. He never expected to be special, especially in this way. And he’ll do anything it takes to not let a soul know.

Once Etho, who’s been cursed to harm whoever touches his skin, catches wind of an old witch with the potential knowledge to purge the curse of the wither rose from his veins, he’s willing to do anything to try to curse himself.

Even if it means a sacrifice. Even if that means traveling far south and finding an old, desolate cabin in the woods where a hermit who calls himself the Sunchild lives. Even if it means befriending said sunchild and leading him across the country. Even if it means potentially sacrificing him.

—

I’ve just been plagued by imagining Etho, covered head to toe, having not been touched by a loving hand since he was a baby, befriending loud, boisterous loving Bdubs, made of nothing but sunlight. He first tricks Bdubs into coming with him as a ploy, nothing more than an effort to help rid himself of his curse. But along the journey he finds Bdubs’ warmth contagious, and by the time it comes to turning Bdubs over, he finds it far more difficult than he cares to admit.

Bdubs always teasing Etho, stressing him out by grabbing his hand and peeking at the exposed skin of his neck where his turtleneck doesn’t quite reach. He doesn’t get what Etho’s so worked up about— he’s a tough guy, he’s practically made up or the sun itself.

Etho knows better, though. He’s seen it happen, his mother’s unsuspecting hand laid upon his head only to have it start to crack and wither away. No one dared to go near him after that, let alone go touch him. He’s seen the destruction something as simple as a touch can cause. He’s not willing to risk Bdubs for it.

Really just touch-starved Etho being tempted by the single person capable of temping him; maybe for some self indulgence I’d include Bdubs’ magic being the reason he’d be one of the Only people who can touch Etho without getting hurt. Or maybe it’s true and his magic can somehow be used to reverse Etho’s curse. And even if it means potentially sacrificing himself, Bdubs is willing to do it. Because this is what he was made for.

[littleeyesofpallas]

Trying (and failing) to brainstorm this samurai RPG campaign and I distracted myself reminiscing over this old ass campaign I ran in college in what was supposed to be my original fantasy western dust bowl setting that I never really got to build out nearly as much as I had wanted. The party consisted of

a young "samurai" fleeing a civilwar in his homeland, having lost his lands and title without ever properly come of age, he'd never seen war and was helpless to defend his lands from the peasant revolts that uprooted his family and their retainers and scattered them to the wind. He was technically also sort of a confederate soldier analog, to play into the wild west theme. He was very Katsushiro (Seven Samurai). A high pretense of valour and propriety with very little practical experience to back it up.

A potbellied cardshark, multiclassed artificer/rogue. Very much a Charlie Daniels Midnight Train grifter crossed with countless other wild west goons, with a little bit of Han Solo for good measure. He was constantly at odds with the not-samurai over ethical matters.

A menopausal emptynester tabaxi ranger Having lost her husband and seen all her children to adulthood, she was embracing a kind of second wind at having nothing left to hold her down to see the world. One part awkward tourist wine aunt, and one part rustic skilled hunter/tracker turned bounty hunter. She was also a little flirty and a tease, especially with younger men, so a bit of a cougar.(pun fully intended)

A mysterious dysphoric and amnesiac princess who insisted she was trapped in an unfamiliar warforged body. She was frequently embarrassed by her appearance and lack of coordination. She was a weird sort of bootstrapped mix of the NPC pseudo-class of Noble and Monk/Fighter that the player and I whipped together to account for her mental/social skills being different from her physical skills and capabilities. She and the not-samurai took to ballroom dancing together in their spare time, as it reminded them both of their last lives, and helped the princess hone some of her coordination in her robot body.

Oh and an insane gnomish prospector warlock guided by the literal spirit of gold itself to wander into the wilds of this lawless dust bowl to find treasure. I honestly sort of forgot about him...

There was also my DMPC lizardman paladin who'd been imprisoned by the magic school that had monopolized magic in the region and also was basically just a pyramid scheme. Theyd promise to teach people magic if they could pay their dues and enforce the school's monopoly on magic by apprehending/disposing of/recruiting unaffiliated magic users. He used his own broken slave chains as versatile flails/gauntlets.

And along with a small crew of largely nondescript NPCs that I never got to flesh out, they lived on a steamboat chugging along the lone river cutting thru the region. Due to the presence of a giant magical sandstorm all semblance of law and order had been lost in the region and so the party had been deputized by an eccentric philanthropist trying to remap and govern the territories lost to the storm.

Due to the magnetic particles of the storm as well as it's latent magical properties and just the sheer magnitude of the storm as a sand storm, compasses no longer worked, magic of all forms had become wild, the steampunk machinery with it's primitive and exposed mechanisms were prone to jamming, and the landscape itself was prone to change as landmarks and whole manmade settlements were buried overnight by the storm.

Oh and roving gangs of vampires began "riding" the storm, hiding themselves in the shadow of the storm where the sun couldn't penetrate to roll from settlement to settlement.

I miss that party