#the colors are so beautiful and the LINES

[djotime-allthetime]

Freaky Redheads

synopsis: interactions between you and fred hechinger at a red carpet event for gladiator ii.

wc: 2.5+

rpf!!! don't like, don't read!!!

a/n: i love that soft, sweet, adorable man with all of my heart. my inspiration is how fred talks about sherry. the monkey. i'm down bad bro.

italics are supposed to be comments under tiktok clips of these interviews. i definitely have more in mind for these two, but we'll see how this goes. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

The flashing cameras and yelling reporters have started to become the new normal, which was so not normal for you. You couldn't believe how far you'd come.

Granted, your role in the movie was definitely more in the supporting cast territory, but you couldn't deny how massive the production was. But even as a supporting actress, you still had quite a bit of screen time as the unnamed favorite concubine to Emperor Caracalla.

The fans who knew you called out your name from behind the velvet ropes and you smiled and waved as you walked by.

"y/n! y/n! Over here!" A reporter called out. You nodded and smiled as you approached, indicating your acceptance of the carpet-side interview. Your agent had warned you that not every journalist might want to speak with you and that you should accept any interview you came by. Thankfully, as the start of your night would show, that wasn't the case.

"Hello!" You beamed, coming to a stop in front of the camera. The reporter greeted you back and handed you a microphone glued to a mini Romanesque column. "Oh, wow. I love the microphone!"

"Thank you," She smiled. With a quick glance at her blouse, you saw a name tag that said 'MTV UK: Claire'. "It was my idea, actually."

"Incredibly creative! They should give you a raise, Claire."

"If you wouldn't mind saying that directly into the camera..." Claire trailed off with a chuckle and a mischievous glint to her eye.

You shot the camera as serious a look as you could muster. "MTV, if you do not give this woman a raise, I will riot in the streets."

"Alright alright, enough of that." Claire laughed out loud with a few shakes of her head. "You look absolutely stunning!"

"Oh, this old thing?" You smiled bashfully, grabbing at your skirt to twirl it around. The styling department had made sure that all the gowns worn during press had some Roman inspiration behind them. The piece you were wearing was off white in color, representing your character's position in society. Even with your character in mind, your dress was still breathtaking. The gown was composed of yards and yards of fabric, giving it this dreamy, flowy silhouette. The neckline was so beautiful, in the cowl style and draped ever so slightly off your shoulders. To say that you loved it would be an understatement. "Thank you very much, you look amazing yourself."

"But you are on a different level!" Claire gasped, no doubt to return the topic to you. Just like you were media trained, the reporters were too. "What was the thought process behind your look tonight?"

Your eyes lit up as this was something you had wanted to talk about. "Well, the styling department and I actually workshopped this look together. Of course we wanted it to be glamorous, this is the red carpet after all. But we also wanted to show the character through the outfits, you know?" She nodded along.

"Right, your character was quite impactful even with the few lines you had." Claire added, and you smiled in thanks.

"Yeah, thank you." You felt your face heat up at the compliment. "We wanted to still be true to her, under all the glitz and glamour. So that's why we went with the understated color, to not only show her position in society but also her demeanor throughout the film."

"But your jewellery is anything but understated." She laughed.

"Yeah, I couldn't help myself." You laughed with her.

"Give us a quick tour."

You were almost dripping in gold, from your head to your toes. "We've got the hair piece." You brought a hand up to show the gold pins connected with chains littering your up-do. "Earrings upon earrings, all hoops." You pulled a strand back to show off your right ear clearly. Some were clip on earrings as you didn't have quite enough piercings to get them all. "The necklaces, of course. Some bracelets, some rings. But I think this cuff on my upper arm is my favorite."

"And these are all borrowed pieces from different brands?"

"Most of them are, yes." You confirmed with a nod. "But some are from my private collection. And some I might steal." You joked, getting a laugh out of Claire.

"Well, you really knocked it out of the park." Claire smiled, a tone of finality in her voice that showed you the interview was coming to a close. "And before we let you go, we've got one question we're asking everyone tonight. I think we can all agree that the cast of this movie is full of beautiful men." You giggled, a bit surprised at the turn in topic. "But people on the internet have separated them into two categories."

"Oh, have they now?" You asked, unaware of what she was talking about.

"Yes, they have. Gen Z has divided them into the brooding brunets and the freaky redheads." She explained, pulling up two little hand held signs. One with Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, the brooding brunets, and the other with Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger, the freaky redheads.

You couldn't contain the surprised laugh that escaped you at the sight of their little printed faces. "Oh my goodness!"

"So, as the resident Gen Z-er on the cast, who is your pick?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm the only representation of Gen Z here." You mused as you grabbed both the signs from Claire. You lifted up the 'freaky redheads' sign and pointed to Fred. "My friend is right there with me in the Gen Z territory."

"Alright, as the representation of Gen Z women, which team is more your style?" Claire asked as you studied the signs. "People are saying they went into the movie for the brunets and came out converted to team redheads."

"That's actually really funny," You chuckled as you looked down at both signs. "This is hard." You mumbled. A small smirk found itself on your lips as you thought of Fred seeing this clip later. Someone no doubt showing it to him, as he wouldn't find it on his own. "I feel like- yeah." You nodded with determination. "I'm gonna have to go with Fred- I'm going with team freaky redheads." You nodded. "I think it would be treacherous otherwise."

"Good choice. You'd break Emperor Caracalla's heart."

"And then he'd have my head." You laughed, stepping back. "Thank you for your great questions."

"Thank you for your time." Claire waved as you walked away. "We're gonna have a tally going throughout the night, and we'll see who wins. Team brooding brunets, or team freaky redheads." You heard her say to the camera as you moved further down the carpet.

'She looks so pretty!!'

'i love the thought process behind the outfit, you can tell she really loved her character'

'the reporter asked y/n if she prefers lucius and acacius or geta and caracalla and this girl really said FRED 💀'

'i love seeing new faces in hollywood, give young new actors a chance!!' ↳ 'right?? im so sick of them recycling the same actors for every big budget movie'

'she mentioned fred, not caracalla, twice, unprompted. i see you, y/n. you're just like us.' ↳ 'have you seen his interviews? he's literally the cutest i cant blame her 🥺'

A few steps down, another reporter flagged you down. This time, the questions were more centered around the acting itself.

"And was it difficult? In a previous interview, you've said that your character's growth was significant, but she had almost no lines in the movie."

"Yeah, I think in the final cut she only has... three lines?" You winced, looking upwards as you tried to recall what was and wasn't cut. "Though I'm not sure."

"So there were scenes where she could've said more?"

"Oh yeah, for sure! There was a lot of experimentation with my character throughout filming. Ridley's a genius and he was kind enough to truly take in my suggestions. There were times where I felt like she would actually stay quiet during a scene, whereas other times I felt like she would speak up. But yeah," You breathed in and furrowed your brows in thought as you tried to focus your answer back to the original question. "It was definitely a challenge. I had to really work on my micro-expressions. Lots of research, lots of practice. And lots of trust, too. With a character like mine, I really relied on Fr- on my fellow actors in those scenes. So yeah, definitely challenging. But who doesn’t love a good challenge?"

"And did you take any inspiration from other people's work? Any source material that helped you out as you built your character?"

"Of course!" You smiled, a hint of humor in your tone as you thought of your response. "Yeah, I did. Actually, one of the biggest inspirations for my role, believe it or not, was Ferb. From 'Phineas and Ferb'."

"The- The children's show?" The interviewer questioned with a grin.

"Yeah, Ridley thought it was brilliant!" You laughed. "We watched compilations of Ferb scenes on youtube together. And I know that Fred- Fred Hechinger, who plays Emperor Caracalla-, he also brought up Sid Vicious with Ridley, as well as other sources like that. Sir Ridley Scott has great taste, there's no denying that."

'ferb as inspiration for a movie like this,,, gen z in the film industry really are the gift that keeps on giving'

'im just imagining y/n and ridley scott curled up on the couch watching phineas and ferb reruns. that man is 86 years old. this is brilliant.'

'bro didn't even have to say anything and y/n still brought up fred 💀'

'the gen z cast members making ridley scott watch cartoons is sending me'

'not her pretending she didn't mean to say fred when she talked about trust, we all heard you y/n'

Unbeknownst to you, Fred's interviews were going much like yours, only a few feet behind you on the carpet.

"You look amazing today!" Claire, the same reporter you spoke to, told Fred during his first interview on the carpet.

"Thank you, thank you." He replied bashfully as he tried to subtly look around for you, but he couldn't see you just yet. "Everyone looks so great, everyone."

She asked him a few questions and then came time for her ending segment.

"Alright, to close off, we've got a little game here."

"A game?" Fred smiled with raised brows. "I love games." He said softly, not realizing that the microphone would pick it up.

"Yes, a quick one. You just have to choose between team brooding brunets and team freaky redheads. We've asking everyone to join."

"Woah!" Fred exclaimed as he received the signs. "That's me." He pointed out his own face in the picture of him and Joseph. "What are we basing our choice on here?"

"Well, the internet is battling on who is more attractive."

"Oh my god." Fred chortled, not expecting that answer. "Who's played the game?" He asked, still examining the hand held signs.

"As of now, we've spoken to Joseph Quinn, Connie Nielsen, and y/n l/n." Claire recounted.

Fred's eyes lit up and his cheeks reddened at the mention of your name. "And what's the- what's the consensus so far?"

"It's two to one. Can you guess who's in the lead?" Claire asked.

"Let me think... Well, Joseph -my brother-, he definitely voted for us." He pondered aloud as he counted the votes off on his fingers. "Connie... I think Connie went for team brunets. I mean, it's her husband. She's gotta." He grinned when it came to you. "y/n chose me, right? We're in the lead?"

"Yeah, you're right on all counts! You really know your cast members." Claire laughed. "y/n didn't want to anger Emperor Caracalla."

"Oh, she couldn't. I’ve got too much of a soft spot for her." Fred shook his head emphatically.

"So, are you keeping team redheads in the lead? Or will you give us a tie?"

"No, I'm going team redheads!" Fred exclaimed. "I'm not helping out my competition, no way!"

'this man has bewitched me with his beautiful eyes and calming demeanor'

'he always calls joe his brother im CRYINGGG'

'did you see his face when they mention y/n, this man can't hide his crush for the life of him 🥺' ↳ 'neither can she lol'

'what do yall know about fred hechinger 🗣️🗣️🗣️'

'fred immediately knowing that y/n chose him, kill me right now.' ↳ 'mind you the choice was caracalla. she still said 'fred' and he said 'me'. can they be more obvious?'

'the way this man said 'i love games' protect him at all costs'

‘he said ‘i’ve got a soft spot for her’ is this the year of men yearning?’ ↳ ‘it’s just the paul mescal effect’

It was during his next interview that he saw you. He was talking about his experience building the character of Emperor Caracalla with Sir Ridley Scott as well as Joseph Quinn when he finally caught sight of you. You had spent a bit longer with a specific reporter down the carpet, causing Fred to catch up to you. 

“Of course, y/n was a great help as well.” He smiled, reaching over to brush against your elbow to catch your attention. At the perfect time, too, because you had just finished talking to the reporter in front of you.

“Oh, Fred!” You beamed, coming over to give him a hug. 

“Look at you.” Fred spoke against your shoulder. He pulled away from the hug and brought you into his side in front of the camera, almost like he was showing you off. “Look at her, isn’t she stunning.”

“Stop it,” you rolled your eyes as you tried your best not to show how his compliment affected you. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I just had to say hello.”

“No worries,” the reporter reassured you. “Fred was actually saying how you helped with the building of his character.”

“Yeah, we worked really closely during pre-production actually.” You nodded, acutely aware of Fred’s hands on you. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket while his other arm draped across your waist, his hand resting against your hip. “My character was almost like Caracalla’s sidekick, so the motives for all her actions are really based around him.”

“I’d argue that she was more of a mirror, actually.” You turned to look at Fred, never passing up an opportunity to hear his view on these things. “She’s the complete opposite of Caracalla, but in a way she represents who he truly is under all the pressure of being in Geta’s shadow.”

“And under all the syphilis, of course.” You added, causing Fred to giggle.

“Yeah, and under the syphilis.”

‘he seems like such a sweet guy 🥺’

‘did you see his face when he saw her???  😫😫😫 theyre in love, your honor’

‘him showing her off like that is peak soft boyfriend behavior’

‘they just called me single in seven different languages’

‘his laugh is actually so cute, who is this man and why am i in love with him? 😍’ ↳ 'get in line' ↳'behind y/n, you mean?'

‘the way he’s touching her???? im just gonna go take a nap in front of an oncoming train’

‘im calling it, new hollywood it couple’

‘look at how he looks at her!!! may this love find me 🙏’

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 // 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

Series Synopsis: You were once a spoiled duchess-to-be, set to inherit a city on the brink of a war you knew nothing about — that is, until the war came to your doorstep and the aftermath of a brutal accident bound your fate to Seishiro Nagi’s forever.

Chapter Synopsis: Nagi comes bearing news. // Your father makes an announcement about the new family in Maradine.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Yukimiya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warnings: death, killing, ptsd, reader is not a good person, actually nobody really is??, they all make mistakes as is to be expected, war is mentioned and the build-up/aftermath is discussed heavily but the actual conflict not so much, non-linear narrative, like HEAVILY non-linear there are two timelines for each chapter (pre and post war), probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame sorry y’all, alternate universe (early 1900s-ish vibe but not in our world because f historical accuracy), original characters (probably…idrk yet but it’s me so)

A/N: hey guys…so here i am…with the prologue to a new story instead of an update to anything i already have out BYE I’M FLEEING FROM SHAME i’ve been wanting to do something a bit more serious for a while though so i’m excited to give this a try!! some more elaboration on the tags/summary: this is like vaguely historical-ish but not completely, and it’s kind of like two stories being told concurrently?? one being reader’s life as an adult post war and the other her life as a child/teen pre war. every time there’s a ‘break’ in the chapter that indicates a timeline switch!! hopefully it’s kinda obvious which is which especially as we go along…anyways hope you all enjoy

“Kenyu Yukimiya is dead,” Nagi said. Medals sparkled against his breast, the gold a harsh contrast to the dark wool of his coat, and his arms were folded behind his back, which he kept ramrod straight, so unlike the slouch you once associated with him. “They thought it would be best if I were the one to inform you.”

He waited for you to say something, looking much like a mannequin all the while, his pale hair lifeless, his driftwood eyes dull and blank. His careful mouth was pursed into a plain expression which might be considered a frown on another person, but not on him.  Never on him. After all, Nagi did not frown. Nagi did not smile. Nagi did nothing.

“It should’ve been you,” you said.

“Yes,” he said, as prompt and detached as always. “It should’ve.”

Barlezia was a sweeping country, and perhaps you were biased in saying so, but there were none in the world that could claim to be its equal. In the north there were towering mountains which scraped at icy skies, a heavy blue-grey fog settled over their peaks, and to the south there was a vast sea, warm and aquamarine, which led to Drieji in the east and Abraria in the west.

It was on this sea, the Canonora, that the shining city of Maradine was located. Far enough from the northern capital of the nation to have taken on its own character, its own wealth, Maradine was the jewel of Barlezia, a place full of men with horses and women with parasols. Built upon a slate cliff, with houses lining the roads winding down to the pebbly sand, it jutted so far out into the water that some people spent their entire lives on their boats, only venturing onto land for the rare storms that might otherwise drown them.

Near the top of the cliff, where the marble government buildings were sequestered away from the rest of the city, there was a villa. It was the largest of its kind, the walls a deep red terracotta trimmed with white, the floors all glazed porcelain, the many colors and shapes painted onto the tiles making up larger designs of flowers, animals, and other such wonders. The villa overlooked the ocean and a canopy of trees, and it was widely regarded in all of Maradine as the most beautiful in that most beautiful of places, the filigree on an already intricate crown, the diamond in a choker of gold.

This was the villa where you were born, and this was the villa where you would, you presumed, die. Some forefather of yours had constructed it in a time where such art had been celebrated, where Barlezia had ruled the world, and it remained as a remnant of that age, a stronghold against modernity, even though your country had long ago bowed in deference to the ideals and traditions of those in the west.

“Child! Get down from there!” 

The woman that took care of you in lieu of your parents, who were often busy — your father with his politics, your mother with her parties — was slender and frail and too old for keeping up with anyone with any measure of youth. Her hair was entirely grey, and her face was perpetually lined, with sun, with shade, with age and wisdom and worry. You knew her simply as Nanny, and as she was the only one who ever had the courage to chastise you, you found you disliked her very much.

“My tenth birthday is approaching, so you ought not to call me a child any longer,” you said, your legs swinging from your perch in the boughs of a fig tree, the collar of your neatly-pressed dress splotched dark with the juice of the fruit you held in your hands.

“If you continue to behave like this, I certainly will!” she said, her hands on her hips. “Shall I call the manservant?”

The manservant was willful and rough; you doubted he would have any qualms about dragging you to the ground with his bare hands, were he so inclined. Taking one last bite out of the fig, you threw it to the ground, where it burst at Nanny’s feet, and then you clambered out of the tree with as much grace as you could muster.

“You horrid creature,” she hissed at you when you smiled at her, your skirt wrinkled and torn at the hem, your fingers sticky and purple. “How am I to present you to your father and mother in this state?”

“How you always present me, I expect,” you said, batting your eyelashes at her, skipping lightly towards the door. “With more fuss than required.”

She grabbed you by the ear before you could get very far, yanking it sternly, earning a howl out of you. Stomping your foot, you glared at her and waited for her to let go, which she only did when she was assured you would not flee again.

“I will send along a message that you will be late to breakfast. To your room, missy, I won’t have it thought that the young duchess is some mannerless, ill-behaved ruffian,” she said, ushering you towards your quarters as if you were a sordid secret.

“Maybe you need to be better about watching me, and then my manners will improve,” you said, and because you were not doing anything untoward, only saying it, the most she could respond with was an exaggerated sigh.

She bathed you for the second time that morning, quicker than the first, and then she dressed you in something without pattern or finery. Certainly it must’ve pained her, for the ruined dress balled up and thrown into a wastebasket had been much prettier than this one, but there was nothing she could do about it, bar glaring at you as she yanked it over your head.

Nanny wasn’t always so foul-tempered; it was only when you tried her patience, as you did today, that she got to be in such a mood. Else she was a tolerable woman, if not a kind one, and generally softer with her motions. She had mentioned to you a long time ago that she had children of her own, two daughters and a son, the youngest of whom was closer to your mother’s age than your own. You supposed it meant she had some experience with child-rearing, hence why your parents had chosen her amongst the many applicants, and you sometimes wondered if she had treated her own progeny the way she treated you.

Once, you had asked her. She had told you, with a click of her tongue, that she was far stricter with them; however, as you could not fathom anything more chafing than her treatment of you, you found it hard to believe.

Although you were older now — nearly ten years of age, as you liked to remind everyone — you were still not considered enough of an adult to eat with your parents and the rest of adults at meals. Instead you would sit in your room and make faces if the food was not to your liking, discreetly glancing at Nanny out of the corner of your eye and throwing away what you couldn’t stand when you were sure she was not looking. The exception was meals which were meant to be occasions or announcements, wherein your presence was absolutely and unquestionably required.

Today was an announcement, not an occasion, or at least that was what Nanny told you. You did not know the nature of the announcement, only that she was more nervous than usual as the two of you walked to the breakfast room, where your parents would be waiting for you. Up until then, you had been convinced that she had only had two modes of being — fed-up and obedient — so the discovery of this third intrigued you far more than whatever news you might be given.

“Nanny,” your father said. “Y/N. Good morning.”

He did not comment on your tardiness, and neither did he have to; his disapproval was the silent type, which radiated into the air and shimmered like steam, cowing in its intangibility. Your mother offered you a half-smile, as trained and perfect as yours one day would be, and you smiled back at her, your entire focus going into ensuring it was not crooked.

“Good morning, father, mother,” you said, settling into the large chair at your mother’s right, your feet just barely brushing the floor when you were settled with your spine to the cushioned back. “I apologize for the delay.”

“It is inconsequential,” your father said, which was as much of a reprimand as you’d ever get out of him. “We have more important matters to discuss now that you are finally here.”

“There is to be a party,” your mother said. This was nothing out of the ordinary, for your mother, as the Duchess of Maradine, was invited to every party that could be reached from the villa in less than a day. What was strange was that both she and your father thought that you needed to be informed of this occurrence.

“I see,” you said.

“It’s that family from Aprissari,” your father said, sneering at the mention of Barlezia’s capital, the city nestled in the mountains to the north of the country, which may have been the center of your nation’s power but was nowhere near as prosperous as Maradine, never had been and never would be. “The Yukimiyas. The wife is an opera singer and the husband is far more involved in foreign affairs than he has any right to be.”

“And they are rich,” your mother said, patiently and coolly. “Richer than mere commoners. Rich enough to be considered members of the nobility, if we are not careful.”

“We must build proper relations. An alliance, so to speak, but also a reminder that they are no longer in Aprissari,” your father said. “It must be clear to them and to everyone that in Maradine, their money is meaningless if they do not have the approval of the L/N family.”

“Their son is only a little older than you,” your mother continued, perhaps noticing that you no longer held much interest in the conversation, which had diverted to topics of which you had little understanding and even less interest. “The party is being held in honor of his twelfth birthday, and you are to befriend him as best you can.”

“It won’t be difficult,” your father said, and the reluctance of his conviction was the first clue you had that the arrival of these Yukimiyas meant something more to your family than you could possibly know. “You are Y/N L/N; there’s not a child this side of the country that wouldn’t want to be your friend. But you must do it.”

If Nanny or the manservant or anyone else in the L/Ns’ employ told you something so harshly, you would’ve protested or found some way around it, but this was not anyone else. This was your father, Duke L/N himself, and so it was as much a royal command as it was a request from someone who loved you. Perhaps it was even more the former than it was the latter; based on the wideness of your father’s eyes and the lowering of your mother’s lashes, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was the case.

“Yes, father,” you said. “I shall do as you say.”

“Good,” he said. “Finish eating and then attend your lessons as usual. We shall leave once the sun sets.”

You ate at a record pace. Your parents were exchanging looks that said they wanted to speak to one another alone, and it was only your presence which was hindering them, so you endeavored to make yourself scarce as fast as you could without seeming rude. 

Excusing yourself quietly, your head bowed until you left the room, you followed Nanny towards your chambers, deep in thought, turning over the directive your parents had left you with. Befriending the son of the Yukimiyas. For you, who had never had a friend your own age, it was more difficult of a task than your parents must’ve anticipated, so with a tug on the end of Nanny’s apron, you halted in your tracks.

“You heard my father, right, Nanny?” you said. “I have to befriend that boy.”

“That you do,” Nanny said, and then there was a fourth aspect to her which you unlocked: sympathy, glimmering in her irises like a sunrise on the crest of a wave. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” you said. She patted you on the head, brusque and perfunctory, like she was dusting flour off of her hands, yet somehow affectionate, in her way.

“You’ll have to learn, missy,” she said. “Ties with the Yukimiyas may be invaluable in the years to come.”

“Whatever do you mean?” you said. She placed one hand against the wall, her thumb tracing an idle circle over it as she contemplated something or another.

“There are as many ideas of what’ll happen to the continent as there are fish in the Canonora Sea,” she said. “Whether by will or force, Barlezia shall, like every other nation, choose which they back. If they choose wrong, then Maradine will bear the brunt of the consequences. That is all.”

“But what do the Yukimiyas have to do with it?” you insisted.

“Nothing and everything, child! You will understand when you are older. Now hush and go to your lessons,” she said, breaking from her trance and pushing you into your room, where one or another of your tutors would, invariably, be waiting for you.

You wanted to rail at her, to tell her that you weren’t too young, that you deserved to know as well as she did what might yet happen to your own city. Before you could say anything more, however, she shut the door behind you, leaving you standing alone by the wastebasket, where a rusty stain the color of fig juice continued to spread down the sleeve of your crumpled dress.

[slumpsnail]

Viktor is so beautiful throughout the whole show but I gasp every time I see fresh born herald Viktor.

Also lately my color/render was feeling stagnant and I was lazy to do a full line art so I tried using a new brush. I used the flat brush from Jingsketch on top of my usual pencil and gouache brushes. I'm pretty happy with it!

[harzilla]

Y'all. I did this to myself for YEARS to the point I just stopped drawing all together.

I'm unlearning it.

Unlearn that shit. Who cares if your work isn't perfect. Who cares if your lines are messy or your coloring isn't perfect. It doesn't matter because you still created.

You'll find over time things will get easier, your work will improve, and those ideas aren't so intimidating anymore.

Now go create, you beautiful people.

[zvdvdlvr]

Window to the Soul ✰ Silco x Reader

✰. Kind of a character study of Silco? (I guess I shouldn’t say that because I don’t know exactly what a character study is. I just wanted to finally use some of the obscure words on my Notes app.) BOTTOM LINE: straight up waxing poetry about Silco and his eyes and facial expression because I love him your honor!!!

✰. WC: .8k (830words). credits to @strangergraphics for the BEAUTIFUL divider. I love how simple + elegant it is :))

The saying ‘eyes are the window into the soul’- in your opinion- was one of the most truthful statements ever made. At least in regards to Silco.

His beautiful, sharp face paired with his glinting emerald eye and the shocking bright orange in the other eye had you entranced the first time you saw him. He had seen you the very moment you’d looked up- and, surprisingly- Silco had felt a similar jolt in his chest. It was from that moment Silco decided he would be indefatigable in his scheme to earn your heart.

The dance he pulled you into was nothing short of breathtaking: with elegant dips, mesmerizing swirls and twirls, and intoxicating hand placement. But it wasn’t the dance itself you dreamed about during the following nights- it was his eyes.

Silco had held your gaze the entire night, his eyes a perfect blend of vivid green and burning coal of orange. For having only just met, he looked at you like he knew something about you not even you knew. You committed to memory the moment he dipped you for the first time and how his eyebrows relaxed and his pupils widened in his eyes.

He was just as disarming the next time you saw him, those beautiful eyes set between his aquiline nose landing on you once again.

When he took you on a date for the first time, Silco had worn his signature crimson color. It was absolutely stunning and you made sure your accessories matches the color you knew he would wear. He had taken you to a quaint restaurant in Piltover and followed dinner up with the option to stroll along the city street in the crepuscular light or visit the nearby aquarium.

You picked the slow stroll through town, choosing to continue the flowing conversation as much as you would have loved to shower Silco in facts about marine life. Though you took joy in absorbing the sight of all kinds of undulating jellyfish you were more keen on the idea of getting entranced by Silco’s eyes for the numerous time.

Bedroom eyes were a new addition to your list of ways Silco had looked at you. Crude, uncouth, electrifying. Although it was embarrassing to admit, you’d been able to cum just by Silco’s words and eyes. It wasn’t as though he was unaware of your. . . attraction towards him (it was impossible to hide, so sorry to inform you) because he knew the affect he had on you. He didn’t fully understand why you were so attracted to him- his gaze, his face, his soul- but you were. And he knew.

Silco used that to his advantage, consciously communicating with his eyes to you. One such case is the night you were kidnapped. Or rather, when Silco found you and was negotiating with the asinine kidnapper. The only reason he hadn’t immediately commanded his snipers to shoot him was because there was a gun pressed to your temple.

You hadn’t looked away from him when he walked into the warehouse. He captured attention and turned heads with his svelte and dangerous form, but seeing him saunter into the building had pushed oxygen into your lungs and scattered away the fear gripping your body like darkness fled from a flame. He was there. To save you.

The are you hurt, darling? was shown with a barely visible quirking of an eyebrow. When you raised both brows and tilted your chin down in a short nod you saw him relax.

When Silco had you in a tight embrace the very night, he was only mildly surprised at your answer to his statement/question sentance. “Many in your position would have been shaking and crying and begging to go,” he had murmured detachedly. You knew he was blaming himself: Silco being unnecessarily cruel to himself for an unnecessary reason. “Why weren’t you?”

“Your eyes,” you replied, raking your fingers through his hair the way you knew Silco liked. “I can tell how you feel when I look at your eyes, and. . . It’s stupid, but,” you paused to sigh and mentally prepare yourself for the cringe that was to spout from your mouth. “I feel like I know what you’re feeling whenever I look at you.“

Silco’s eyes locked onto yours, eyebrows knitted endearingly. “That’s not stupid.”

You smile. “You’re so expressive, Sil. I see it here,” you trail a fingertip along his brow bone and lightly circle his parted lips. “Here, too.” You stop your finger extremely close to the edge of Silco’s outer eye. “Your eye twitches if you’re mad or stressed enough.”

Silco pulls your hand down and laces his fingers with yours after your coos soften the anger he still held against himself. “You can read me like a book.”

“People don’t say ‘eyes are the window into the soul’ for nothing, my love,” you say sweetly, letting Silco press himself into you and let his tired eyes close.

[blessedbyahuntress]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Eighteen: Nevermind, Curse the Gods for Eurylochus

Prev/Next

Warnings: Like maybe two suggestive lines? Overprotective Eurylochus, fist fight, swearing

Word Count: 1.2k

“What happened?” Eurylochus’s voice was demanding, yet soft at the same time. Polites crashed into you, wrapping his arms around your torso in a hug that nearly strangled you. You patted his back.

“Polites,” you said. “I have to breathe.” 

“Oh!” He stepped back, arms falling back down to his sides. He turned his head to the side sheepishly, revealing the side of his flushed face. “Sorry.”

You chuckled, feeling slightly better about your… discovery; you hadn’t realized how attached you had gotten to Eurylochus and Polites.

“We saw you fall,” the second in command explained, taking a step closer to peer at your face and neck. “How did you even survive?”

You looked to Odysseus who was standing beside you. 

He shrugged.

“Uh…” you muttered, trying to look anywhere but your two friends’ faces as you raked your brain for a lie. You straightened a bit, hand going to rest on the satchel tied around your waist. “That potion Circe gave me. It can mend broken bones and heal wounds beneath the surface.”

“Remarkable,” Polites breathed. 

“But,” you continued hastily. “Uh, I’m still not feeling well, so I’ll just… be below deck.”

Eurylochus opened his mouth, but Odysseus shot him a warning glare. 

“Alright, Y/N.” Your captain gave you a curt nod, gesturing to the stairs. “We’ll see you later.”

You raised your chin, trying to regain the air of confidence you’d once carried as you crossed the deck. It was eerily silent, and you felt many pairs of eyes on you. Your eyes flickered to a man who had just spilt a few boxes of rations all over the deck and weren’t even bending to pick them up- instead staring at you like a gaping fish. 

You sighed and knelt down, grabbing a crate and stacking a few pieces of fruit inside. After repeating the process for a few minutes, you glanced up, annoyance flashing in your eyes. “Stop gawking and help me,” you grumbled.

Instantly, your crewmate dropped to his knees and started helping you. You felt the lingering glances, though, and your frustration was evident in your every move. 

You finished quickly. You shoved the crate back into the man’s arms before storming off.

You weren’t sure why you were mad, but fury swelled inside of you anyway as you stomped down the stairs. 

You’d been given a private room, having insisted that a woman, warrior or not, still did not deserve to bunk with the rest of the crew. Yours was the second door to the left, right beside Eurylochus. Odysseus slept in the room across from you.

You marched in, slamming the door behind you with enough force, it rattled on its hinges. Your room was a comforting sight, something familiar when it seemed as though the rest of the world had been flipped upside down. On one side, there was a table which you used as a desk, but it was much larger than Odysseus’s. Books were piled on top of each other, others scattered across the room. Paper, some blank and some covered in your thoughts, spilled off of the table and onto the dark floorboards. 

Your bed had been shoved to the side for more space to work and pace, the thin sheets made perfectly despite the rest of the rooms’ disarray. 

You hurried to the other side of the room, grabbing a dagger and a hairbrush from the table on your way to your least favorite part of the room: the mirror. 

Stopping in front of the round, shiny piece of metal, you stared at yourself in disbelief. You were… beautiful. 

“No,” you murmured, eyes widening. Why did this goddess thing have to affect your appearance too? You liked yourself just how you were before!

But no, your hair was perfect, every detail of your face prominent and striking. Your eyes seemed to be more noticeable, perhaps bigger. You could see the flecks of other colors swirling around in your iris’s. 

Holding your breath, you stepped back. You were leaner, and- you sighed in relief- your arms were more muscular and toned. “Well, at least it’s not all bad,” you said to yourself.

You had a death grip on the hairbrush as you brought it up to your locks. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tugged the brush in a way that you knew would mess it up. Your old hair would’ve gotten staticy, or at least knotted, but not today. You opened your eyes, and your hair was the exact same, better, even.

You groaned, flopping down on your bed. 

You didn’t even bother changing; you couldn’t find the strength to get up. You didn’t even unbuckle the sword from your hip, nor the satchel that contained the golden liquid Circe gave you.

Above deck, everyone seemed to snap back to reality.

“Whoa,” Eurylochus heard one man murmur to the sailor beside him. “She- I- Did you see?”

“Did I see?” The man answered. “I will see more. Mark my words: I plan on getting into her room pretty soon.”

Eurylochus felt his gaze grow colder by the second. This man would never touch you the way he was suggesting. The second in command would make sure of that.

He started to march over, only to be stopped by a hand to his shoulder. Eurylochus whirled around, fist more than halfway to Odysseus’s stomach before the captain caught it.

Odysseus raised his eyebrows. “Who’s got you on edge this time?”

“All of them,” Eurylochus answered, gesturing to the whole crew. “Y/N shows up with some superhuman beauty, and now they all want her.”

The captain snorted, looking at his friend. “Don’t like the competition?” 

“I hate it,” Eurylochus grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the stiffness. 

And then the same crewmate's voice reached his ears, more suggestive comments getting shot around. Eurylochus’s mouth twisted into a scowl.

“Belerphius,” Odysseus said in disapproval, pointing to the man. He raised an eyebrow at Eurylochus. “If you want to go beat him up… I might turn a blind eye.” 

When the second in command opened his mouth to protest, Odysseus held a finger to his lips.

Another remark drifted into Eurylochus’s ears, this one dirtier. It set him off. 

The captain turned away, acting as if he was about to go below deck. 

Behind him, Eurylochus threw the first punch, fist landing square in the center of Belerphius’s chest. 

The man stumbled back, looking up at the second in command in rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, backing up slowly as Eurylochus took deliberate steps closer to his crewmate. 

Eurylochus grabbed the collar of Belerphius’s shirt, lifting the smaller man off of the ground. 

“Take it back,” Eurylochus said harshly. 

“Get your hand off of me!” Belerphius spat. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Eurylochus threw him to the deck with enough force to shake the floorboards. He planted a foot on Belerphius’s stomach, leaning down with bared teeth. “Someone who knows her better than you do. And she’s not up for grabs.”

Belerphius opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by you.

“Stop! Both of you, just stop!”

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking @m-carriaga2021 @jackintheboxs-world @fallenh34art @itzkingbo @sabrina-senpai @smartiepants217 @doodle-with-rhy @trashcannotbealive

[soldearestsoulmate]

Warnings: Implied nonconsensual acts towards the reader, abuse, abusive relationship, kidnapping, and yandere stuff of nature. Proceed with caution.

Sol x GN!Reader

You hear the sound of the door unlocking to your room...You don't bother to look to see who it is. You know who it is, it's always the same now. It's always him.

Casually he walks in, he sets some things down on the table, checks his phone. A ritual of his now. Then like always, grabs something from the bag, a bouquet of flowers. Bright colors to grace the room, but none compare to your beauty he feels.

He walks over to you, repeats the same questions. Same lines "Have you been good while I was away, pumpkin? Of course you were. I know you were. You're so good, so well behaved. Heh...You're beautiful. I love you so much."

He touches your face, before you used to flinch at his touch, even move or fight away. Now you don't move away from it or even towards it as he wishes and hopes. You just accept it. Let it happen, until its over.

He shows off the flowers he got for you, a gift, then brings them in close for you to smell...Some you instantly recognize...Some are known to help calm one down...Relax them...

He sets them by your bed side, to look at, to let them do their job...As if its even needed now though.

Then he does what he always does...He checks your restraints. Not too tight, not too lose. No signs of tempering, no signs of unlocking. They are perfect. As it should be.

"I was thinking of making something nice again for our special date tonight. I'm sure you'll love what I have planned. A nice dinner, some wine, maybe soothing music..." He goes on about the plan, the fantasy he wants to make reality.

You try to power through it, to not let it bother you, but you know what comes after every special date now...What happens after the meal is finished. There's no romance involved, no love, or what a normal person would call love.

It's just a sick desire, obsession of his put into play...And you're his obsession...His sick twisted desire...

"--you'll love all of that won't you, pumpk--" So stops talking, as he notices the tears falling from your eyes. You haven't moved, haven't spoken, but yet your tears fall. "Oh pumpkin...It's alright. I'm right here now." He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, comforting you. He takes in your scent, your warmth, it drives him crazy but he tries to contain himself, for now... "You're safe now. Your husband is here again to always love and protect you. Now and forever, my love."

You wish this nightmare would stop.

You wish you would wake up already and be free from this all.

But there's no waking up from this nightmare.

No freedom for you now.

This is your home now.

This is your life...

For now and forever, with your beloved husband Sol...

[decoy-sammy]

Mmmmm.... Yummy arttt....

I do not believe I have the words to express my excitement at this, or my english is failing me. Just AHHHHHHHHHH

LIKE. WHA WHAT DO I EVEN SAY HERE?? LOOK AT IT!!!!

THE WAY THE LINE ART GOES OUT OF HIS PLACE, THE WAY THE SHADING AND COLORS ARE DRAWN, *HIS FUCKING FACEEEE* AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

THE REFLECTIONS ON THE METAL AND GLASS IS EATING AT MY BRAIN RIGHT NOW.

THE COLORS- THE COLOORSSS!!!!!!!!! GDRHDJAKKAKWKQKQKQQ

THAT EXPRESSION IS GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME.

PRETTY SURE THIS POST BROKE SOMETHING IN MY BRAIN./POSITIVE -BUT MY EYESIGHT GOT BLURRY ALL DA SUDDEN ALL I CAN SEE IS THE BEAUTY RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME-BEING THIS POST.

JDDHSGSHAJJAKWA STARS SO SHAPED....... MMMMMMMMM

I WILL GET A PRINTER. PRINT THIS PICTURE OUT. AND AFTER STARING AT IT FOR 5 HOURS STRAIGHT. EAT IT.

starry entrance

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXXIV

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Author’s Note:  Thank you for reading <3 I hope you enjoy this next chapter and where the story is going :)

thank you @riorsonxaden for always being my beta <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @positivewitch / @animezinglife / @zenkindoflove / @rosewood-cafe / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @carolynmezzosoprano / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @lalaluch /

Find it all here.

The morning had arrived in a blink and proceeded to be a whirlwind. 

The Forest House was fueled in chaos as final preparations for the Autumnal Equinox ball took place, and the house staff and sentries were coming and going to make everything perfect. 

Eris had never been this on edge in his whole life, and he had survived Under the Mountain. A mix of dread and restrained panic pumped through his veins, but the leash he had on himself was held tight. He and his brothers had one moment this morning—they shared one glance across the room to ensure everything was going accordingly, that Mikel's signal ensured Theo, Cosette, and Helene were fine, and then dispersed to go about getting ready. 

Now, Eris stood in his bedroom, fixing his cufflinks as he glanced at himself in the mirror then smoothed his hair on the side and adjusted his crown. He looked every bit of the favored Prince of the Autumn Court in a fitted dark maroon suit, golden embroidery decorating the sides of his coat. A suit he wore like armor, that told the people of his court that he may follow his father’s every word but he was power. His suit, the crown, and the devilish smile he wore like a mask – one he wore so well to hide the true purpose of this night. A purpose he’d prepared for in three different ways: a bandolier under his jacket, the Made dagger given to him long ago by the Night Court sheathed at his side, and his magic. Did he truly believe he needed weapons when his magic thrummed so violently beneath his skin, itching to be released? No. But when it came to taking down Beron Vanserra every moment, every measure counted.

He made himself take a deep breath. He would dress to impress, regardless of how many people he’d run his blade into tonight. 

“Help me with my dress?”

Eris turned and at the sight of his wife, his head emptied. 

His beautiful, beautiful wife. 

She knocked the wind out of him on any given day but gods fucken damn it, did she look magnificent dressed up. 

Iris stood before him in a beautiful maroon A-line dress. It was lace covered in a mix of sequins and beading with full sheer sleeves and if the cinched waist didn’t do him in, the modest sweetheart neckline giving him a teasing glance at her cleavage certainly would. She smiled at his reaction and Eris took another moment to admire the light makeup dusting her face and the styling of her hair. Her eyes were lined with light kohl, her blush giving her a lovely glow, and the terracotta shade coloring her lips made him want to desperately ruin it. His eyes zeroed in on the delicate necklace of olive branches he had left as a suggestion with her dress and his wretched heart swelled that she had actually worn it. 

Eris was certainly particular about his appearance and his wife matched his vision exactly. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you with your hair up,” he commented quietly. 

“Do you like it?” she asked shyly and Eris’s smile was soft in a way it only was with her, especially when his eyes locked on the tiara he had chosen specifically for her to wear. 

“Oh, I love it,” he replied, his soft smile blooming into his signature smirk. “Dare I say, you look absolutely delicious.”

Iris flushed prettily, lifting her nose in the air. “Only delicious?”

Eris chuckled, a hand reaching out to gently touch a curl framing her face. “You look like a goddess of autumn,” he murmured, his smirk softening again. “And I am but your humble devotee.”  

Iris couldn’t help the rapid beating of her heart at his compliment, her flush deepening. “If you keep being nice to me, I’ll be forced to be polite to you.”

“Heaven forbid you be polite to your mate. How dare I,” he said with a snort and Iris flipped him off, earning her a chuckle. He gestured for her to turn, regretting it almost immediately at the scooped neckline of the back as well, more of her skin on display. Before he could stop himself, Eris traced a hand down the bareness of her back and Iris shuddered beneath his touch, glancing at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing playfully.

“Don’t you start touching. We won’t be able to stop,” she warned and Eris’s grin was full of male smugness.

They had spent last night all over each other and this morning, Eris had awoken to Iris’s hand sliding down his body and they lost another hour exploring each other. 

It had been very hard for them to stop.

And now, like any respectable husband, he couldn’t help but leave a featherlike kiss on her exposed skin before calmly zipping up her dress. 

When she turned back to him, the two stood face to face, taking each other in quietly, and the longer he looked at her, the harder he had to fight the anxious dread wrapping around his chest like barbed wire. Gods, he had so much to lose. 

This day may have been a long time coming for Eris but he had never thought he’d have someone by his side through it all. Someone who was all his. His Iris, who watched him with that knowing look, read into his emotions better than anyone else. 

He never thought he’d be understood. And yet, as Iris stood before him, despite all that would happen today, the tentative smile she gave him soothed his jagged soul. He felt a fluttering of peace in his chest. He felt her. 

This was the closest to heaven Eris knew he’d ever be. 

“You really do look beautiful,” he said softly and the smile bloomed further on her face. “A crown suits you.”

“Thank you. My husband has a good eye,” she said, taking in his suit and how it lined his body so well. She couldn’t help but reach a hand and run it down his arm and somehow, Eris felt his body relax. “You look…”

“Handsome? Dashing?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “If you’d give me a second to compliment you, you’d know,” she said and swatted his chest gently. His answering grin was so boyish, she wanted to kiss him senseless. “But you do look very handsome.”

“And dashing?”

“Very dashing,” she confirmed and let her gaze slide over his body again. “You look so very royal.” 

“I am a Prince, you know,” he said and Iris snorted.

“A prince of being a pain in the ass.” she muttered and his answering smirk made her blood heat.

“Well, we haven’t really had a chance to explore –”

“Do not finish that sentence.” 

Eris couldn’t help his wicked chuckle and Iris shook her head, fighting back a smile. 

The words that had sat on the tip of her tongue for weeks now threatened to burst out of her but Iris held, even as her cheeks flushed lightly. She wasn’t foolish. She’d read stories upon stories of what love felt like. She’d yearned for years. Never truly believing love would find her or something she would experience. 

Yet, Iris knew exactly where her heart stood and despite how their story may have begun, she knew there was no doubt in her mind of what she felt for her husband. Her husband who would be walking into a battlefield at this ball, who could use a moment of peace – a little distraction. 

Eris’s brows furrowed as he looked at her but Iris only leaned up to give him a chaste kiss before pulling away. She couldn’t stop herself from running a hand down his suit again before clearing her throat and giving him a small, shy smile. “I have a gift for you.” 

He blinked in surprise. “A gift?”

“Yes,” she said with a chuckle and turned to walk over to their vanity, pulling out a small box from the top drawer. “It is the Autumn Equinox and regardless of what is happening today, it is a day to celebrate so I wanted you to have a little something.” 

She turned to find his expression carefully blank as color spread across his face and Eris cleared his throat before quietly saying, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know.” she replied then licked her lips before continuing, “But you…you give me so much. I wanted to give you something from me.”

Eris felt his heart nearly crumble. He didn’t know what to do with himself. What to do with his hands. In the middle of all this chaos…she had thought of getting him a gift. Eris had certainly gotten her a gift but hadn’t expected anything from her in return. His windpipes threatened to crash on him.

He glanced at the rectangular box and said so quietly, “I can’t remember the last time I received a gift.”

Her expression softened. “Well, I hope you’ll like this one then,” she said and Eris slowly took the box from her, his eyes never leaving the gift. “I had it custom-made from your mother’s favorite jeweler.” She waved her hand excitedly. “Open it!”

At her tone, he finally looked up from the box she’d given him to catch her wide smile and Eris felt his heart spasm at how beautiful she truly was. Gods…he had to be so pathetically obsessed to feel a little breathless at how her face seemed to brighten when she looked at him. How she kept smiling at him. At him, of all people.

He couldn’t stop his mouth from curling upward as she watched him and Eris took a breath as he slowly, almost reverently, opened his gift and then blinked rapidly before glancing up at his wife.

Iris’s smile turned sheepish. “I know you usually wear your insignia on your armor but I wanted to give you something a little more…subtle to wear for nights like these,” Iris explained, blushing slightly. “A way to keep the pups with you.”

Eris felt the tips of his ears heat as he glanced down at the gold chain lapel brooch. The two pins were adorned with leaves, one engraved with his initials and the other had his insignia of two baying hounds. “Iris…”

She shrugged, her blush deepening. “It’s not easy to get a gift for someone who pretty much has everything but I hope you find it worthy of your fashion sense,” she said and let out a little chuckle but Eris had to swallow hard, emotions bubbling in his chest. 

He was going to vomit.

“Thank you,” he whispered and Iris felt her chest ache.

“You're welcome,” she said with a smile. “Consider it a good luck charm.”

Her tone was as quiet as his own and Eris felt himself drowning. He had woken up overwhelmed – his head had barely been above the water for weeks. The night had barely begun and this unexpected gesture was the one threatening to send him over the edge. 

“I think…” he began then paused. Eris felt his face heating and he had to clear his throat as the words he never thought he’d live long enough to confess to anyone slowly formed in his mouth, “Marrying you seems to be all the good luck I need.” 

Color stained her cheeks as Iris’s heart beat to an erratic rhythm that seemed to match his own. She had been nothing important to anyone. She had lived her whole life as a ghost, alone. 

And now she was supposedly a prince’s good luck. She was the wife and mate of a future High Lord. Iris couldn’t put into words just how much this meant. How it made her swell with pride to be held in such high regard to him. So she gave him a half smile and said, “Even with the constant stabbing threats?” 

His chuckle was breathless, his throat tight. “I think you’ll find I don’t mind a little knife play.” 

“Kinky.” she whispered and the corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile.

He held up his box. “Will you do me the honor of putting it on for me?”�� 

Iris grinned, taking the box from his hand, and gently started pinning it in place. Eris stood still beneath her touch and tried not to be too obvious as he breathed in her scent. Tried to keep his stupid hands from shaking as she focused on pinning the brooch into his lapel. 

It didn’t help that he scented himself all over her. To know how their scents mingled in the one place he didn’t have to glamour them.

He had to breathe deeply to calm his raging heart, to resist the urge to wrap himself around her and not let go. All that was to come…there were so many things that could go wrong. So many ways she could get hurt –

“There. All set.” Iris ran a hand over his jacket and stepped back with a knowing smile.

Eris watched her for a moment and he couldn’t help the heat rising through him, his blood set aflame at her smile. At her thoughtfulness, knowing today would be hard enough as it is. And though she was barely a step away from him, he gestured with a finger for her to come closer, “Come here.” he murmured and the blush in her cheeks deepened as instead, she took a step back.

“I don’t trust that tone.” she said, her eyes narrowed in suspicion and he huffed out a dark chuckle, his gaze turning molten. 

“You don’t trust your husband?” he teased in a low tone that made her pulse race.

“Not when he’s talking to me in a tone that suggests whatever he’s going to do will ruin my hair or makeup.”  

At that, Eris couldn’t help his quiet laugh, making Iris’s lips twitch and it never ceased to amaze him how she could ease him in moments like this; the way she always knew what he needed to calm his raging head and heart. “What if I promise not to ruin either of them?” he asked, his small smirk sending a thrill down her spine.

“You are saying words but the tone of that promise suggests the opposite,” she said and narrowed her eyes again, pointing at him. “You have your lying face on.”

He snorted in disbelief. “My lying face?”

“Yes. It’s when you smirk and look like a posh princess. You’re lying.” she said matter-of-factly. “You will ruin my hair and makeup and I will not stand for it.”

His smirk widened and Iris’s toes curled at the sheer arrogance in his gaze. “Fine,” he said and Eris took that little step closer to her until they shared a breath and Iris had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, her lips twitching. “I will keep my hands and mouth to myself and you can kiss me.”

“Oh? Is that all you were going to do?” she asked a tad breathlessly and the slight roguish smile was like a branding on her skin. Gods, she wanted to tackle him. 

“Of course,” he said and his tone was so sincere, Iris’s lips twitched again. “I only want a kiss for good luck.” 

Iris pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at the devilish look on his face, heat pooling low in her stomach. “Well, how am I supposed to deny you that?”

“The idea here is that you won’t.” 

“Ah, but what if I did – to make you pant a little?” she teased and he made a displeased noise.

“But what if you don’t, and in return I give you the gift I have for you?”

Iris blinked then flushed happily. “You have a gift for me?” she asked in a hushed tone and her fingers went to the necklace at her throat. “I thought the necklace was a gift!”

He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible and without his eyes leaving hers, slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a square velvet box. “Our first Autumn Equinox together and you think I didn’t prepare a gift for you?” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not one to spit on traditions. You just stole my thunder, little gazelle.”

Iris sucked in a breath, her eyes widening, glancing at the box and then back at him. Another beat of silence passed before she whispered, “And what might that be?”

Eris felt the tip of his ears heat again as he swallowed. “You made a comment a few weeks ago about how I never proposed to you,” he said and the corner of his mouth curled up as color stained her cheeks. “Many things about how this marriage began were stolen from us but…I don’t want this to be one of them.” 

And Iris felt herself softening all over again. “Eris…”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You and I have the basic traditional bands but I wanted you to have a ring worthy of your healer hands,” he said and Eris had to work his throat before continuing, “I daresay I think it’ll sparkle nicely as you play the piano too.”

A choked laugh slipped from her lips and she shook her head in disbelief. He hadn’t even opened the box and Iris already knew she’d love whatever kind of ring was in there. 

“We could’ve waited on that,” she said but Eris only hummed. 

He didn’t want to ruin the moment by explaining that he had also wanted to wait on it. His original plan was to propose to her after he became High Lord, starting that new chapter of his life with her the right way. In a way she deserved.

But nothing was guaranteed. And Eris didn’t want to have any regrets when it came to her. 

“Why wait when we already know your answer?” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as Iris huffed out a laugh.

“That is not a proposal.”

He lifted a brow. “And how is this not up to your standard?”

“You holding out the box and telling me you already know the answer is not a proposal, Eris.” she said with a choked laugh. 

“Are you really going to say no?”

“Well, I might now.”

Eris couldn’t help his eye roll despite the twitch of his lips. “Your resistance is pointless. We both know you can’t live without me.”

“Wow,” she said with a hum. “There you go projecting your delusions again.”

Eris was fighting back every instinct in him not to laugh as he cooled his expression, grateful — always grateful for these moments with her. Moments when he could laugh. “If that’s your answer, the ball will be filled with quite a few potential brides I could —”

Her hand flew out to yank him by his lapel and his answering smirk was filled with male satisfaction. “Don’t you dare finish that thought,” she warned. “Continue with your botched proposal before I pull out my knife and stick it somewhere you won’t like.” 

Eris’s eyes lit with delight. “I think I like this color on you, wife.”

Iris shook her head, the beat of her heart as wild as his own and as she shared a breath with her very annoying husband, it struck her that this was exactly the kind of proposal they would have. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be down on one knee?” she asked with a raised brow and Eris’s gaze turned molten.

“You’d like me on my knees, wouldn’t you?”

“Just as I think you like to be there.” 

Eris had to restrain himself from leaping at her for the way she knew exactly how to tease him, how to distract him. Gods, he really was in love with her. 

And so he did something he’d never really imagined himself doing at any point in his life.

Without breaking her gaze, Eris slowly slid to one knee and held up the box. His hand was somehow steady as he opened the lid and relished in Iris’s small gasp. 

“Oh. Oh, wow.” 

The ring was exactly what he had imagined for Iris. It had been custom-made and Eris had nearly sent the jeweler into cardiac arrest with how picky he had been. Given how his wife was staring at it in delight, he knew it had been worth it. 

He wouldn’t have settled for anything less. 

Iris couldn’t help but feel her emotions bubbling inside as she stared at the ring. All at once, she was equal parts thrilled and pained, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to escape. All because this male – this male who she was once so terrified of being in the same room as, had somehow by the fate of the cauldron, become much more. Had remembered a throwaway comment of hers and hadn't hesitated to make it a reality. 

For most of Iris's life, she had been neglected. Never taken seriously, never worth anyone's time, barely thought of. Until Eris. Until this time with him. 

She would never take a moment of this for granted. 

“Well?” he asked her and the look he gave her made Iris’s heart unfurl in a type of joy she had always yearned for. Today would be hard and what came after was unknown. But this, here with him? This would be the constant. Now and forever. 

“I thought you knew my answer.” she said with a small smile that he returned. 

“All that complaining and yet you still won’t actually say yes.” he teased quietly and Iris couldn’t help her soft laugh, brushing her thumb to his cheek. 

“How could I say anything but yes with such a handsome male on his knees for me?”

Eris’s gaze was smoldering as he stood and again, the heat pooling in Iris’s stomach tightened.  They watched each other quietly and despite the feverous energy between them, it always did soften in the silence. Eris could read all the emotions crossing her face and knew his wife’s internal struggle matched his own; it was all too much. There was too much at stake. Too much on the line but this ring…he wanted her to know just how much of a choice she was. And that bridge between them – it had held strong despite how long it had taken them both to find each other. 

It held as they chose each other over and over again. 

Iris held out her hand and slowly, Eris slid the lovely ring on her finger.

Their mating bond seemed to vibrate at their shared smile and Iris couldn’t stop herself from finally leaning in and kissing him quickly, a hand touching his face.

And as it fell silent between them again, her thumb continued caressing his cheek, the words – those feelings that had been haunting Eris for weeks, clogged his throat. He took in her beautiful face and as desperately as he wanted her to know, he wanted to savor it a little longer. For a moment better than this.

But he could hear it in the silence between them. He knew she could too.

Eris glanced down at his hand in hers, the ring gleaming, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “I told you it would suit you,” he said quietly then looked up. “Do you like it?”

“It’s stunning, Eris,” she replied and squeezed his hand. “In fact, it’s almost too nice for me.”

His brows flattened. “And why would you think that?”

“Daughter of a fiend, remember?” she said with a weak chuckle and Eris’s gaze narrowed. 

“You have nothing to do with that fucker anymore,” he said firmly. “You’re my wife. You are mine. And once a Vanserra, always a Vanserra.” 

Iris couldn’t take her eyes off him, his expression so serious and gods, her heart wanted to leap out of her chest at how he claimed her. Someone who cared for her this deeply was all she ever craved, all Iris had ever wanted. And he was standing right in front of her. 

She knew what this gesture meant to him – those words  — that no matter how this night ended, she was his and he would be hers. In actions, in words, and with a bond that wrapped around them as lovingly as the ring on her finger.

“Once a Vanserra, always a Vanserra,” she repeated softly then took a breath, straightening her shoulders. “And as a Vanserra, am I as demure as usual or do we get to be ourselves?”

Eris watched her carefully for a moment then squeezed her hand in his. “If by being yourself you mean tossing a chair at someone, I’d ask you to refrain from that,” he said and Iris swatted his chest gently. Despite the heaviness of what was to come slowly tightening his chest again, he focused on his mate. “But if you mean, we try to enjoy being dressed up and dancing as we execute a murder, then yes – let’s do that.”

Her lips twitched. “So no cowering wife today?”

“Never again,” he promised solemnly. “Today…we ignite.” 

And as they watched each other once more, the silence between them slowly shifted, sobering, as the minutes ticked by. Iris’s expression dimmed and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

She squeezed his hand and Eris glanced down at the ring shining on her finger, working his jaw as he held her hand tightly. “Whatever happens tonight, we will be alright.”

Eris couldn’t help how his expression tightened and without words, Iris knew he was thinking of the exact opposite outcome; it was almost as if he couldn’t help but expect the absolute worst and Iris couldn’t exactly blame him with so much on the line.  

She opened her mouth to ease the tension, to bring back a little of that earlier distraction but Eris rolled his shoulders back, shifting gears.

“Your dagger is with you.”

“Yes.”

“Should anything happen, you use it. This night will be full of snakes. You will not be afraid and you will not hesitate,” he said, his expression darkening. “You will not worry about anybody else. Make anyone in your way bleed and run. I will find you.”

“But –”

“I will find you,” he repeated firmly, and then his tone softened. “I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I need you to take care of yourself too,” she whispered. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll do whatever you can to stay safe.” She gripped his arm, the sight of her pleading gaze a punch to his gut. “Please, Eris.”

His mouth went into a thin line before he sighed, knowing if she hadn’t been holding him, his hands would be trembling. “You know what we’re up against…but I will do my best,” he said quietly and though the answer made her chest feel tight, she nodded.

“That’s all I can ask.”

[kaywritessometimes]

Flowers and Skulls

Ghost x civilian reader one shot (maybe there will be a part 2?)

word count: 1892

Tw: drinking, military, Smoking, I'm pretty sure that's it

This is my first time writing for Call of Duty and Ghost so please if you have any suggestions please let me know. It would be super helpful. Anyway thank you for reading and enjoy<3

The beating of the loud dance music makes your head vibrate as you lean against one of the walls in the nightclub away from all the loud sweaty people crowded together dancing and having a good time. You don't know how your friends managed to get you here dressed in a tight short black dress that you have to pull down every few minutes. There are Waitresses dressed skimpily with glowing trays of drinks or carrying empty bottles and glasses back to the bar. One passes you and you graciously take a tall glass you assume is filled with wine and slip her a 10 dollar bill. This really isn't your scene. The loud music makes your head pound and the flashing lights nearly blind you every few seconds. 

So instead of joining your friends you choose to observe. Watching people has always been interesting to you. Watching people's habits and how they react to things was always intriguing and entertaining. 

Your eyes drift to the bar. There are Bartenders rushing to keep up with orders and handing the beautiful waitresses trays and trays of drinks. Behind the bar there are Bottles of alcohol lining a mirrored wall and bins with lemon and lime wedges, cherries, and other garnishes are filled to the brim. On the bar there were multi Colored straws, empty beer cans and bottles, sprayers and beer taps strewn about.

Eyes drifting to the end of the bar, a row of shot glasses are being filled one by one by a handsome buff bartender in a simple unbuttoned vest showing off a row of abs. You mentally roll your eyes and look at the women drooling over the man once he finishes pouring the row of shots. 

Your eyes moved towards a neon sign that reads RESTROOMS in bright red cursive lettering. Then 100 ft away from that you see the red EXIT sign hanging from the ceiling. You stand up grabbing your small clutch bag and downing your drink you make your way to the door. Pushing past sweaty bodies and drunk men and women. You finally make your way to the hallway that muffled the loud bumping music and strobe lights and exit through the doors. A lineup of club-goers are waiting to get inside and cabs are dropping people off at the curb. You walk down the steps using the railing to stop yourself from falling due to the tall uncomfortable heels that you are wearing. When you make your way to the sidewalk you wave goodbye to the beefy bouncers checking IDs and turning people away and a girl stamping hands with the club logo and collecting the cover charges to let people in. 

You make your way to the end of the building and lean against it grabbing your bag and pulling out a cigarette and lighter. Once you light the cigarette you take a long drag and flick off the ash left at the end. You were taking in the sight of drunken people stumbling into cabs and getting driven away. You take out your phone with the cigarette held between your pink tinted lips. You look at the time. It's almost 2 am. You slip your phone back into the small bag and take another long drag of the cigarette. You lean your head back onto the brick building with your eyes closed. Suddenly you sense a presence looming over you. 

“You got a light?” a deep british voice that is slightly muffled asks you. 

You open your eyes and you are faced with a tall man. You can tell he's ripped just by how tight the hoodie hugs his chest and arms. You look up seeing a masked covered face with a skull on it and meeting his dark eyes that are framed with thick blonde eyelashes. 

“Oh uh yeah sure here.” Quickly grabbing your bag that hangs by your side handing him the engraved zippo lighter you previously used to light your own cigarette.

He takes it and studies it for a second, his eyes crinkle in what you assume is a light smile. “Flowers and Skulls huh?” He laughs lightly before flicking it open and observing the flame and lighting his cigarette and handing the lighter back to you for a second your fingers graze his large calloused hands. 

“Yeah it was a gift.” you say lightly while putting the lighter away. You take the last few drags to your smoke before dropping it to the ground and snuffing it out with your heeled foot. The tall man settles next to you leaning on the building with you.

You glance up at him needing to crane your neck up just to meet his gaze and watch him roll up the mask he is wearing to take a drag of his cigarette. 

“You have a staring problem kid?” he asks sharply, his thick accent tells you he's not from around here. He looks down at you, his dark eyes narrowing at you. 

“No, just observing.” you say quietly keeping his gaze. “military?” you ask, eyes flicking down to his neck.

A quick flash of confusion comes across his eyes before he speaks. “How did you know?” he asks, now facing you, his shoulder leaning on the building.

“One, I saw your dog tags, and two I saw you and your buddies at the bar. The guy with the mohawk is really loud.” You state with a smile. Your voice is low and filled with sarcasm.

“You're a watcher, hm?” he says while tilting his head. 

“Yeah I guess you can say that. People are pretty entertaining when you find the right ones to observe.” You're facing him now, a light smile graces your painted lips. “ What's your name?” you ask head tilted in curiosity. 

He lets out a low hum before another smile is seen through the crinkle in his eyes and the movement in his mask. “You can call me Ghost. You wanna get something to eat?” he asks looking into your eyes. 

You look at him and then to the entrance of the club “ I-I'm not sure. I have friends there. I don't want them worried about where I am-” you stop yourself and look into his eyes seeing a hint of disappointment and shake your head and take out your phone typing quickly then put it away. “You know what, yeah let's go.” you say “I texted them. I’m sure they'll be fine without me.” you look up at him and he knods turning and waiting for you to walk up beside him and you both make your way down the sidewalk. You had told him your name as you both walked. He slowed his strides down some so you could keep up due to his long legs. It's a quiet walk, you both falling into a comfortable silence. Until he breaks it.

“So what do you do? Are you in the military?” he asks, looking down at you with his hands in his pockets. 

“Oh, Me? No, I just work at a small cafe like 4 blocks away from here.” You say pointing down a street at the corner you both stand on while waiting for a car to drive by. 

He chuckles lightly looking down at you again “Wow you could have fooled me.” He says making sure he is on the outside of the sidewalk near the road. 

You rub the back of your neck slightly “Yeah- Wait where are we going?” you finally realise you hadn't asked where you were going and looked up at him while he speaks.

He laughs and nods his head towards a small restaurant that looks italian. “Right here it's small and quiet.” He grabs your hand as you cross the street. You weren't expecting it. Blush spreads across your cheeks as you look at his hand that holds yours. His hoodie sleeve is pulled up slightly and you see the dark tattoos that grace his skin. Once you both cross the street he opens the door a small bell dings as you both enter. He guides you towards a small table in the corner of the small building. He takes the seat facing the door while you sit right across from him. 

You look around at the place, it's quaint but has a certain charm about it. 

“So what brings you to the city? As far as I know there's not a base near here.” you ask. Your hands are neatly tucked into your lap as you look at him, your wide eyes filled with curiosity. 

He looks at you and sighs “Just finished a mission and everyone is celebrating. My team dragged me out here. What's someone like you out at the club? You get dragged out here too?” he asks, his voice filled with amusement. His hands clasped together and forearms set on the table. 

You laugh rolling your eyes. “Oh really how did you know,” you laugh resting your elbow on the table and hand resting under your chin. “Yeah the club really isn't my thing. My work friends said I needed to get out more and dragged me out here.” 

He laughs with you. Your eyes look down to his hands again looking at the tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. A smile graces your face as you lightly grab his hand and trace what is visible of his tattoo and as you look closer you see several scars that are painted across his skin. You chose not to mention the scars. 

“I like your tattoos, they are pretty.” you say still tracing the tattoo. He looks up at you, you caught him off guard. He quickly recovers and pulls up his sleeve to reveal his whole forearm covered in dark ink that is intricately carved into his skin. 

“Yeah do you have any?” He asks, looking at your face studying it. 

“Yeah only one.” you say still mesmerized by his tattoos. “It's a flower.” you say a light smile on your face. He could have guessed that you seem like that type. He thinks it's adorable but didn't say it out loud. 

Quickly you pull away. “Oh crap wait what time is it” you say as you pull your phone out of your bag. Shit its 3am. “Dammit, I need to get home. I'm so sorry. Here wait.” you grab a pen and napkin and write your number on it. “Call me and we can pick this up another time I promise.” you say looking at his eyes and handing him your number. He grabs it and looks at you.

“Okay make sure you get home safe i'll text you.” he says before you give him a smile and a wave before fast walking out of the restaurant. 

He is left there lost in his thoughts. He already missed your touch which was crazy. He had just met you but you seemed so pure and genuine which was rare to come by nowadays. He wasn't acting like himself and he knew it. when checking his phone. He saw 6 missed calls from his team. “Christ I really am going to need another drink.” he mumbles under his breath before looking at the napkin in his hand and putting the number in his phone and walking out of the quaint little restaurant. 

[headfullarcanedisorder]

Okay. I can't Not talk about the Heavy is the Crown scene.

Because I'm going Insane over Caitlyn's presentation.

As a Chronic Strategist (Hard Headed Autistic), my Specialty is doing things to place myself in a functional position where I basically Can't be told "Fuck off." And I can See when other people do this as well.

And Caitlyn pulls it off in Flying Colors.

She barged into the underground council meeting with 0 delay and taking No Shit. It's almost cocky, until the entire scene plays out and you realize it's not Arrogance, she's reassured and Refuses to Waste Time.

The council is full of fear. The attack of the city, the chaos ensuing, the damage. Everyone in power is afraid and everyone is More than willing to push war and go All In on Zaun.

Cue Caitlyn.

"3 objectives. Locate Jinx. Dismantle Shimmer. Neutralize any agents loyal to silco."

The council is suddenly full of question and you can Feel it.

"Who is she??" "What's she even doing here?" "A strike team?? Who???" "What makes you think we'll fair any better than our forces today?"

And in a single display of men and power, Caitlyn places herself in a position where she has checkmate.

She displays a bright, shiny, seemingly functional Hextech Sniper. She loads it with the stone in full view and every council member gets to watch this beautiful gun activate. A compact. Concealable. Hex Sniper. In the hands of a Decorated Officer and House Leader.

If that wasn't reassuring alone, they enter the taskforce. Small but efficient.

A hulk of a man towing a hextech shield, a perfect block.

The fresh soldier from the live scenes equipped with a hextech gun so simple it looks like a 15 year old could shoot it with the efficiency of a veteran.

A strong, loyal piltovian enforcer we've seen time and time again behind the ranks, equipped in his beret, implying seasoned veteran.

This small efficient group is the council's savior and we watch as every council members face contorts in awe. It's a sealed deal, but what SENDS me, is the presence of Vi.

She's saved for last and Caitlyn intentionally does this I am Sure of it.

Because the council has Met Vi before.

Officially.

In season one Caitlyn took to a legal stand, Vi's hand tight in hers so to speak. It ended with Vi spitting Venom and running out of the room. For all intents and purposes, the council might've been afraid of Vi. Sure Caitlyn talked her up, but all Vi's been Doing has been drinking and boxing. Not very reputable.

But. Not when she's presented the way she is.

Caitlyn flashing her fresh on the scene hex weaponry. The strong and determined police force backing her. The simplified "3 step plan" lead by one of the smartest sharp shooter detectives in all of piltover?

And then the Zaunite.

But wait! It's a Zaunite in enforcerwear?

But wait!! It's Vi!

Decorated in clothing she would Never otherwise wear, walking in slow and silent, sitting quiet and in line just like all the pilties of the task force.

Suddenly. She's not an armed criminal they're bound to remember.

She's the converted. She's "a good one". She's playing nice. Everyone in the city, above or below, has heard tale of Vi's fire. Her Disgust over "a lack of justice".

And here she stands. In uniform, head down, silent, and powerful. The council sees her as leashed. And in doing so, allows the council to see Every Benefit to Vi as An Individual. Because she's on Their side now.

Caitlyn places herself in a position where the council would Never. Say. No.

She had it Locked Down. And I LOVE that for her.

[kisskissbanggang]

All Through the House

[5k Words/20 Min. Read - Husband!Chris x Housewife!Reader - NSFW/Smut - 1960s AU, Safe Space to Exercise Housewife Fantasies, Christmas Decor, New Cars, Homeowner Woes, Breaking Dry Spells, Arbitrary Beef with the Neighbors, Workplace Drama, Unfounded Financial Stress, Surprising Amounts of Holiday Spirit, Being Ridiculously in Love With Your Husband, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Light Bondage, Cowgirl, Strategically Withholding Sex, We Stan Service Top! Chan in This House]

[a/n: okay, now Christmas can be over]

[Masterlist | Feedback]

If you had to look at Katie Lee’s gorgeous house one more time, you were going to break something.

The wine glass you were scrubbing squeaked in concern within your grip. At first you thought it was your rubber cleaning gloves sliding disconcertingly over the crystal, and the subsequent realization tempered your burst of emotions. You knew Katie Lee wasn’t to blame, obviously, but the momentary contempt was at least safe inside your own head. Maybe you were just upset that the damn dishwasher wasn’t working. Then again, if the only thing wrong was that you had to wash the dishes by hand, maybe you wouldn’t be so on edge in the first place. The fact of the matter was that Katie’s husband, Minho, took incredibly good care of her. His job afforded her their gorgeous home, with its picture windows and sharp silhouette, and she obviously was able to conduct her home with auspicious jurisdiction. And it wasn’t like Chris didn’t take care of you, either. Your home was just as beautiful. Chris fought you on its modern design, its chic lines making it almost futuristic and fashionable, but you’d won out in the end. No, you had a beautiful home and were cared for decently enough.

But Katie Lee had a working dishwasher.

And worse yet, Katie Lee had just finished decorating for Christmas.

You were on the verge of snapping.

It was perfect, to put it lightly. There was still a whole month until Christmas was upon you, Thanksgiving barely passed, and her house already looked stunning. Strings of multi-colored lights wove around the trunks of the trees in the yard, and perfectly criss-crossed over Katie Lee’s immaculately trimmed hedges. Shining aluminum tinsel outlined those smudgeless portrait windows, reflecting the twinkling lights that were also strung along the sleek roof. Rows of little silver stars penned in the pristine concrete driveway. You’d never seen a house done up like hers. The last straw was the damn Christmas tree. Katie Lee hired a couple local boys to deliver her a picture perfect Douglas Fir from only-god-knows-where, and you steamed in your kitchen while you watched her hang pretty glass baubles and gilded tinsel all over it. The damn shrub made her house look like it was plucked straight out of a Redbook advertisement.

It was at that moment the garage creaked open, right when you considered calming down. Chris was home.

If anyone asked you, you would swear up and down that you loved your husband.

He was just… you know… going through something. Chris was afflicted with some unsaid condition, you could generously say. Your friends had once warned you that many young husbands hit some sort of speed bump when they reached a certain peak in their professional lives, and maybe this was that. Maybe he was worried about money. Maybe there was another woman.

No, you decided, it wasn’t that. Chris simply didn’t have the stones.

Regardless.

Whatever it was, it was driving you mad.

Chris didn’t even greet you when he grumbled through the doorway; he hung up his coat and stowed his briefcase by the entry table before simply walking back to your bedroom. He didn’t so much as look at you. The fragile stem of the wine glass you’d absently been scrubbing for the past five minutes finally snapped in your hand, much to your utter mortification. This wouldn’t have happened if Chris would let you call the damn repairman. You were convinced of it.

Only twenty minutes later did Chris finally see you in the kitchen, finishing the dishes. He’d slipped off his suit jacket in lieu of his favorite sweater. Setting his newspaper on the countertop beside you, he poured himself a glass of iced tea.

“I see Katie Lee’s been busy, judging by the lights,” he absently noted. His attention tipped in the direction of the sink, likely drawn by the bright color of your rubber gloves. “I wish I could feel that festive. Goodness, darling, you’re still washing by hand?”

You stared at him, agog. “Why are you surprised? You won’t let me call the repairman, dear.”

The tips of Chris’ ears blushed. “I won’t?... Well, I suppose that makes sense; we can hardly afford it.”

Your poor husband backed up a step with how abruptly you turned to face him. “Hardly afford it?” you repeated. “What on earth makes you think we can’t afford to fix the dishwasher?”

Chris babbled, silently gesturing as he tried to force out some reasonable defense. There was none, you both knew. You were in a far better place financially than you were when you first moved into the house. “Look, our nest egg–”

“Our nest egg,” you firmly echoed, “is fine, Chan.”

Your husband’s statuesque nose wrinkled. “You know better than to call me that. It’s Chris in this house, at my office, and everywhere else.”

The tension was heating up the whole kitchen. This normally wasn’t an issue, and it never had been, not since Chris first made the change. All you knew was you were sore as hell with your husband, and you wanted your words to cut him deep. “Minho didn’t change his name for the office,” you shrugged.

Chris’ eyes lit aflare and he audibly scoffed before snatching his newspaper off of the counter. “What the hell has gotten into you?! All this over the damn dishwasher?”

Something inside of you finally snapped, just like that wine glass earlier. Your short high heels clicked on the kitchen floor as you stepped right into Chris’ face and slipped your rubber gloves off. “The dishwasher and so much more, dear. Maybe you’d feel festive with some electric lights on the house but I’m sure we can’t even get any if my husband is too concerned with finances that he supposedly trusts me with to even pay for the goddamn dishwasher to get repaired.”

Your husband gazed deep into you, like he was trying to suss out just where you got off talking to him like this. Admittedly, it’d never even crossed your mind before…

But it felt good.

And you had Chris’ enraptured, uninterrupted attention.

This was the longest you two had been this close in months.

Chris’ brow furrowed, trying to decipher you before you decided to become more forward yourself. You took another step forward, making breathing room in between you impossible and causing him to back up against the kitchen counter. His eyes flicked to the side where you reached and your rubber gloves could be heard slapping down onto the counter. Next, his gaze widened when he found himself chest to chest with you. Brazenly, forwardly, and almost nervously, you reached one hand up to cup his cheek. The other, however, first rested on his chest… before caressing lower… and lower… Chris swallowed a breath when your hand closed over the firmness in his trousers.

“Darling…”

Half-excited, halfway warning, his voice was barely above a murmur.

“Don’t darling me,” you admonished. Your voice was polished sterling, smooth and sharp. The zipper on his trousers was relatively loud given the stark silence in the kitchen. “I think we need to re-establish the little pecking order that exists in our home for a reason.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Chris was trying his best to look aloof but was failing spectacularly, considering his hands gripping the kitchen counter on either side of him while you slowly began to stroke his length.

You nodded demurely in response, contrasting with your quickening pace. “I think you forget how this works. You make all the money. I manage the house. When I say that the dishwasher is broken, I expect that you’ll let me call a goddamn repairman to get it fixed. Just as well, when you lament that you’d like to feel a little more festive for the holidays, I start making a list of decorations to buy.”

Chris shuddered, suffering from the dry spell that preceded this. “I think–oh god–I understand what you’re getting at. If I keep you happy–”

“Then I’ll keep you happy, dear.” You grinned, almost condescendingly, and let your husband climax into your hand. Breathless and blindsided from the whole encounter, Chris practically collapsed against the counter while you nonchalantly stepped over to the sink, using cold water to get the mess off your fingers before using warm water and soap.

Your husband didn’t thank you, he didn’t kiss you; he simply zipped up, grabbed his newspaper, and stormed off into his study. This wasn’t offensive, of course–you understood that Chris simply hated being bested. An excited giggle almost escaped you when you heard him talking to the repairman on the telephone down the hallway. It seemed you’d succeeded.

🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

A small but noticeable change came about almost instantly. Something unlocked in your husband, something that’d been missing for some time. First there was the flowers he brought you the next day, but then there was also the way that Chris came home shortly after the repairman finished with the dishwasher on Friday. You’d been beside yourself, almost seething as the repairman began adding on cost after cost to the bill. Chris had come home, staunchly shooed him out of the house, and valiantly haggled with him in the driveway until you were writing a check for precisely the amount he’d originally been quoted. Sure enough, your husband was mindfully picking up after himself, helping you wash up after dinner, and even spending time with you.

However, you couldn’t deny that he still seemed down about something.

You observed him on Sunday, precariously perched on a ladder while he hung the new Christmas lights along the eaves of the roof while you sat out on the porch, paging through a magazine. Every so often, Chris glanced across the street to where Minho was washing the Studebaker. Eventually, Mr. Lee offered a wave, which Chris easily returned, but he put his head back down in his work instead of going over there and saying hello as was expected. Even when Chris rejoined you in the living room after a hot shower, he wasn’t reading his newspaper. He was just quietly looking across the street at the damn car.

This had been something you’d been aware of for some time now, obviously. Chris adored his Chevy, but it was currently surviving more than thriving. He’d worked on it and worked on it, but it was never the same since he had to replace a couple of the pistons. And that was to say nothing for the humble convertible you still ran errands in. It was still pretty, sure, but it was on its last legs. Chris was so quietly embarrassed by it that he politely refused to even let you park it outside. Myriad thoughts rushed through your head, trying to make sense of what could be going on. Although you had to admit, you were a bit turned off by the idea of reliving the mess of bringing the whole dishwasher issue to a head with Chris. You weren’t interested in talking things out and growing frustrated. If you wanted to cut right to a resolution, you had to be a little more creative.

It took a bit for your plan to fully coalesce in your mind, but once it did, you were quietly confident that this would help. Chris stood out in the living room after work on Tuesday, his daily paper tucked under his arm while he sipped on a cup of coffee. He was gazing at the damn Studebaker across the street once again, but you knew this would be likely and–if you were being honest–betting on it. You were quiet in your approach, softly walking up behind him. Chris tensed, the muscles in his back and shoulders firming up, but he seemed curious. You were gentle, perhaps a little sensual when your lips brushed his ear. Your lipstick left a faint smudge, almost getting a giggle out of you. Still, you remained focused.

“Sure is a pretty Christmas tree in the Lee house,” you lilted.

Chris’ broad shoulders rounded, a sigh slipping out of him. “Right. The tree. Yeah, it’s really grand.”

You coolly stepped around to his front, your chests pressing together. Chris raised an eyebrow at you, trying to predict what was coming. This felt familiar, but he couldn’t place why just yet.

“Feeling festive yet, dear?” you sweetly implored him. “The lights you hung up are swell.”

“Hmm?” Chris hummed, his mind absent. “The lights turned out terrific, yeah. I suppose I could feel a little more festive, though.”

“I could pick out a tree, maybe,” you suggested. “The gal at the flower shop told me she knew someone that’d give me a great price.”

“A Christmas tree?” parroted your husband. “I suppose you could, darling, but how on earth would you get it home? I’m no betting man, but I’d pay good money to see someone try to lash a whole pine tree to the soft-top.”

“Maybe it’s time for a new car, then,” you shrugged.

Chris nearly imploded, but you knew he would. He stopped himself the moment he realized your hands were on his belt. Now there were far more pressing issues to deal with, as you smoothly slid down to your knees on the living room rug. His zipper was down before he could even process what was happening.

“Darling!” he babbled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Right in front of the window–”

“The hedges are in the way, dear,” you placated. Your eyes met, your lipstick leaving a dot of crimson on the soft tip of his rigid member. Chris exhaled hard, his gaze darting to the cup of coffee quivering in his hand. His grip forcibly steadied while he swallowed a breath.

“What’s this nonsense about a car? The convertible–”

“Is a disaster,” you interrupted. Chris shuddered the first time you fully teased him with your lips. “Besides, I have my eyes on a certain… Chevy.”

“You’re not insinuating…” your husband gawked. “A new car for me? No way. We absolutely can not afford–”

“There you go again,” you rolled your eyes after you released him from your mouth. “The man who doesn’t touch the checkbook thinks he knows what we can afford.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chris groaned when you pulled his length back between your lips, massaging it with your tongue. “First the dishwasher, now a goddamn car–”

“Such a colorful vocabulary,” you smirked. “You kiss your wife with that mouth?”

“You suck cock with yours,” he grumbled under his breath. “Besides. Excuse me for being concerned that something might go wrong someday–”

“Wrong? With what, your job? That you’ve worked for five years already?”

“Darling, wait, why’d you stop–”

It was true. You’d stopped fully, simply enjoying Chris’ squirming. “You want me to start again? You want me to keep you happy?”

Chris bit at his lip as he gazed down at you. His erection was blushing underneath the smudges of your lipstick. There was truly conflict occurring inside him, enough that you could see it. You’d confirmed the fallacy: as long as he let you control the finances, he could blissfully insist that the two of you were still on the doorstep of the poorhouse.

“... Fine,” your husband relented. He nearly cursed out loud when you began working him over again. “But I need a budget.”

“No you don’t,” you casually rebuked. “Because you’re too stubborn to want anything actually extravagant.”

The scowl on Chris’ face was audible. “Fine,” he repeated. “We’ll get the fucking car. We’ll get the fucking tree. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

“Bed?” you grinned mischievously. “I thought we’d take it all the way to the end right here.”

“But we didn’t get to last time!” he whined. “And besides, you never–”

“Never? Well, maybe now I do.”

Chris’ eyes widened for a moment before squeezing shut while you worked him over with a fervor. He teetered on his heels, trying to remain steady as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. You cheekily took the cup of coffee out of his hand and set it on the side table before he could drop it. Above you, you could hear your husband’s breathing growing more ragged, his gentle grip on your shoulder becoming more desperate. Finally yet suddenly, almost surprising both of you, Chris’ hips seized once he reached his climax. He collapsed into his easy chair shortly after, boneless and breathless while you chipperly blotted the edges of your lips clean and refreshed his coffee.

🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

Across the street, Katie Lee waved at you as she flipped through a magazine on her porch. Proudly, you waved back before setting the star on top of your beautiful Noble Fir. Chris’ new Buick pulled into the driveway shortly after Minho’s Stubebaker also parked across the street. Your husband came in, set his suitcase by the door, and kissed you on the cheek. He offered a nice, passing compliment on the Christmas tree, and set down a box of pastries for you from your favorite bakery.

But then he blithely skulked down the hall to his study. No questions about your day. No report on the minutiae going on at the office. No polite requests for dinner.

This was a concerning new pattern. Although Chris had been becoming more affectionate and doting, and even seemed to perk up more generally, he was still a sullen mess following his return from the office each day. The silver lining seemed to be, however, that you might not have figured out that specific element if you hadn’t made so much progress otherwise. You flipped through possible causes for Chris’ malaise like a Rolodex, before you finally came to the worst–but most prudent–solution. With a parting glance at Chris’ study door, you scooped up the box of pastries and headed out the front door to cross the street.

Katie Lee beamed at the sight of you trotting over to her porch with your offering of baked goods, and she promptly stood up after she set down her magazine.

“Sweetheart,” she gushed. “It’s been forever. Do come in, I have a fresh pitcher of iced tea.”

You tried not to ogle the decorations inside Katie Lee’s house, but this was a difficult task. For all the impressive opulence of the Christmas decorations outside, the interior was somehow even more so. Your neighbor waltzed into her gorgeous kitchen and produced a glass of iced tea for you with an impressive swiftness.

“Minho is tending to the gardenias in the backyard,” she explained whilst inspecting the box of pastries you brought. She took a bite of a madeline and swooned. “He’s seemed so stressed since the department learned about the promotion. I suppose Chris is feeling it as well?”

Promotion?! The overwhelming urge to interrogate Katie Lee right then and there was going to kill you. Instead, you did your best to swallow down your stunned expression.

“Promotion?” you demurely wondered. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie Lee blushed while trying to remain nonchalant. “I figured you, if anyone, would know! Apparently, the boys are all bickering and sprucing up their portfolios to become assistant director for the whole department. I’m shocked, seeing as Minho tells me that Chris is the one everyone’s terrified of.”

You felt as though you could explode, truth be told. There was some fancy promotion at work, one that would make Chris not worry about money for the rest of his life, and instead he was sulking at home?!

Your visit with Katie Lee was much shorter than expected, but only because your plotting resumed with a quiet ferocity.

It wasn’t until Friday afternoon that you felt that the pieces were in place to finally spring on your husband. The front door opened and closed, announcing his arrival home from the office, but you knew that next would come the momentary confusion that you were nowhere to be seen. Doors could be heard opening and closing, signaling that Chris was checking the backyard, your room, the bathrooms, the garage… until he finally opened his study.

You were tiptoeing on a stepladder, serenely hanging some colorful Christmas lights over his desk. The glittering string of electric decorations pooled haphazardly around your high heels.

Chris looked you up and down, trying to figure out what the hell you were up to. “... Darling?”

You smiled warmly. “I figured you could use some more holiday spirit.”

“Oh,” he blushed. “Thank you; I didn’t realize I seem so glum.”

“Incredibly glum,” you nodded in agreement. Chris came nearer and held your leg steady while he unwound the string of lights from your ankles. You couldn’t help but let a small smile pull at the corner of your mouth; Chris was always so protective of you. His hand was warm on your calf. Once you were free, you stepped down onto the hardwood. “Chris,” you pouted. “Let’s cheer you up. I bet we could throw a magnificent Christmas party.”

“A Christmas party?” he repeated. You cutely took the string of Christmas lights out of his hands and draped them around his shoulders.

“Yes,” you nodded, playfully wrapping him up with another round of lights. “We could invite the neighbors, all our friends, the boys at the office… your boss.”

“Wait,” Chris halted, staunchly pausing you. He was effectively trussed up in blinking Christmas lights. “My boss? Why my boss?”

“Be-cause,” you answered, sing-song. When you stepped forward, he took a step back. “It might help you get that promotion.”

The way you crooned the word brought out a sparkle in Chris’ eye, not helped by the twinkling of the lights strung around him. He was terrified, affronted, and intrigued, all at once. “Darling… Who told you about that?”

He took a step back, so you took another step closer. Chris stumbled back against his desk. “So you were keeping it from me?” you scoffed. His ears burned red.

“No, I–”

“Chris,” you softly scolded. He shut up right away. “All this about the dishwasher and the car… Despairing that something could go wrong some day? You’re melancholic whenever you come in through that front door. What on earth is going on at that office that’s got you so stressed?”

Chris refused to meet your eye. “Look, that’s enough. I'm the man in this house–”

With a twitch of your wrist, you pulled taut the lights strung around his chest. Your husband gasped; you’d earned his full attention. He understood he was grasping at any control he had left. Never in your whole relationship had he pulled any of that macho nonsense on you, so it clearly never held any jurisdiction over his values. You had him on the ropes and he didn’t want to admit it.

“The man in this house?” you sardonically repeated. “Well, I'm the woman of this house. Last I checked, that might even hold some weight.”

Chris’ Adam’s Apple bobbed when you pulled at his belt. You paused then, more than enough time for him to signal if he was distressed about your advances, and he seemed to anticipate more when you guided him to lay back on the sturdy desk.

“I just don’t think I have what they’re looking for, darling,” he said. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Like hell I do,” you stubbornly shook your head. “You're reliable, you’re a self-starter, and you’re a natural leader. What wouldn’t you have?”

“Well, you see–I mean, what I would–I mean, what I wouldn’t have–” Chris was a mess already. You’d apparently snubbed him twice by now, considering what he said during the last encounter. He gawked at you when you climbed onto the desk yourself. When you lifted the hem of your dress, your petticoat underneath raised just enough for him to confirm that you weren’t wearing any panties, something heretofore entirely out of character for you. “I just don’t think I have what they’re looking for…”

“You said that already, dear,” you sighed, clucking your tongue at him in mock admonishment. “And like I already said, I think you’re more than capable.”

“Well I’m glad you think so,” your husband rasped, “but you’re not the one in that office every business day. It’s not like inviting my boss will help. The pressure is–”

“I’m sure that pressure is big,” you grinned, and caressed his abdomen before you unclasped his belt. Chris stared as you busied yourself with slowly exposing his handsome erection.

A sharp gasp coincided with his head helplessly thunking back on the desk. “Oh god, finally… Wait, wait, what’re you waiting for?”

Another astute observation. Chris weakly lifted his head, only to see you brazenly, nearly sitting astride his hips, his painfully hard member just barely brushing against your entrance. “So we agree,” you teased. “We’re throwing a Christmas party.”

Chris initially responded with a subtle thrust of his hips, trying to get as much of you as he could. “Yes, you witch, whatever you want!”

“And you’ll invite your boss?” you purred, dipping him inside you for a single second. Chris winced with the pleasure, but also the sudden loss of it.

“Yes!” he croaked. “I’ll invite my boss!”

“Glad to hear it,” you giggled. “You can do it after you tell him you’re interested in the promotion.”

“I told you,” Chris wheezed, “I’m not going to bother, because I’m not going to get it–oh fuck!”

Your husband’s stiff curse was appropriate, given that you took him fully inside you, finally and suddenly, at that exact moment. However, you just as quickly lifted off of his lap. Chris fought at his impromptu restraints, the Christmas lights preventing him from grabbing onto you whatsoever. “I like to think, dear,” you pretended to frown, “that I have some standards.”

“You do!” he easily agreed.

“Then I’m puzzled as to why you think I suddenly allow myself to fuck men who are willing to settle.”

“Don’t play games with me,” he growled. “You know fully well that–hey!” Chris jolted when you started to torturously stroke him.

“You want me to stop?” you teased.

Your husband’s eyes bore into you, wild with arousal. “I want you to finally fuck me.”

Seeing you shrug nearly sent him into a frenzy. “Simple,” you said. “Say you’ll go for the promotion. Admit you’re worth it and can get it.”

The two of you stubbornly stared each other down. Somewhere deep inside you, buried under all that frustration and adrenaline, you were a little sentimental. This was a part of your dynamic you sorely missed.

“You brat!” Chris spat, his head falling back onto the desk, “you always get what you want. Fine.”

“Say it,” you taunted. Between your legs, your husband’s length pulsed in your grip.

“I’ll go for the goddamn promotion,” he panted. A proud smile spread across your lips.

“The boys are going to be so sore with me,” Chris added under his breath.

“And why’s that?” you implored.

“Because I’m gonna be the one that gets the goddamn offer letter. I’ve put in the time and I’ve had it coming.”

“Good. Let ‘em be sore. They’ll get over it.”

Chris very clearly had another retort in the chamber, but he didn’t have a chance to say it, not when you began to ride him. The string of Christmas lights were clenched in your hand like a set of reins. Instead of anything coherent, Chris was a babbling mess of groaned curses and swears. His brow was furrowed cutely, concentrating on the pleasure coursing through him. The tempo was so frantic, you rolling your hips against his and him thrusting up into you, that the desk rocked and creaked under you both. At the rate you were going, you were liable to climax at any second, your dry spell quickly coming to an abrupt end.

“Oh god,” your husband keened, his breath ragged. His hands uselessly scrambled and settled to simply clutch at the desk under him. “Darling,” he weakly pleaded, “you got me too worked up, I don’t know how long I can hold out!”

You did your best to mask the fact that you were right there with him. “That doesn’t sound very fair, now does it?” you giggled. “I’ve been so patient and you haven’t even gotten me there. You don’t think I’m frigid, do you?”

“No, not at all!” he blustered. “Come on, baby, please, get there with me–”

You grinned, benevolent. “You want me to get there with you?”

“Yes!” he ranted. “Yes, please, darling, baby, what happened to that pecking order?! To keeping each other happy–”

Good god, this really was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

“Fine,” you simpered. “Push me right over the edge, Chris.”

With a tight breath sucked between his teeth, your husband hissed out another string of swears as his hips canted right up into your spot, sending you both over the precipice. Your peak zipped up into you straight from your hips. It flooded your vision with spots of sheer bliss, getting you heady and reeling. Chris wasn’t better off, that vein in his neck pulsing from the way he clenched his jaw. His bucking hips toppled you over, punching a groan out of him when you collapsed into his firm chest.

Slowly, warmly, the two of you melted into each other, coalescing in a heap on his desk in the study. You breathed him in, the faint smell of perspiration outlining his cologne.

“We’ll need a caterer for the Christmas party,” Chris murmured against you. He seemed content to still be strung up in the length of Christmas lights, at least as long as you wanted him to be.

“A caterer?” you scoffed in disbelief. “Luxurious. You sure you don't mean a potluck with the gals?”

“What? No,” your husband argued. “The Lees would hire a caterer. We’re hiring a caterer.”

You both caught your breath as you helped Chris to sit upright and finally unwrap him from his unorthodox binds. “Chris Bang,” you laughed, “insisting on a caterer. What’s gotten into you?”

“I suppose it’s a Christmas miracle, Mrs. Bang,” he said with a humble shrug. However, he waited a beat and winked at you. “Got some sense knocked into me,” he explained. “I’ve got to keep you happy, after all.”

[fortheloveofarchons]

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(Part 3)

A chapter where the wedding between you and Lord Capitano finally happen! Full chapter on the ao3 link down below!

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Your fingers clench onto the stems of the bouquet as your eyes stare at the large, wooden doors. The entrance to your new life. You then gaze down to your bouquet, which is filled with chamomiles and white roses.

How beautiful, you thought, trying to bring a smile to your face. I thought they’ll use dry flowers as bouquets.

There was some fanfare outside of this church, some cheers and words spoken from the crowd of Snezhnayas’ citizens– personal, lively, interested. There were even a lot of journalists outside, taking bright shots when you stepped down from the carriage and walked to the church, the veil covering your head. 

“Lady Selvadurai! What’s your opinion of being married to the First Fatui Harbinger?” 

“Do you have any plans to stay here after the ceremony? Or are you going to go back to Sumeru?” 

“Tell us! Was it a genuine or an arranged marriage between you two?” 

“Why isn’t your family attending this wedding? Did you forbid them to come?” 

The Fatui’s guards quickly usher you in the church while the journalists’ voices all drown your thoughts. Good thing the church’s door is soundproof. 

You grit your teeth, trying to keep calm as the fear in the pit of your belly became tense, your hands gripping the bouquet so tight that you could feel the stems breaking. You knew there was nothing you could do, but that didn’t stop your eyes from straying over the hallways, searching for any potential exits. 

Before you could take a step back, the echoing sound of the tall, wooden doors slowly opened, which revealed the inside of the church– the altar to your wedding. 

Upon entering, the cool, fragrant air greets you, mingling with the faint scent of polished oak wood and blooming flowers. The aisle stretches forward, lined with delicate arrangements of what seems to be blue and white flowers tied with dark blue satin ribbons. Candles flicker gently in tall, wrought-iron holders, casting warm, golden light over the polished pews.

You look up, gazing and admiring the vaulted ceiling that’s adorned with painted frescoes of what looks to be angels and serene blue skies. The walls are lined with stained-glass windows, each in different poses of Her Royal Highness of the nation Snezhnaya. The dim sunlight streaming through these windows creates colorful patterns that dance on the floors, adding to the ethereal atmosphere of your wedding. 

The choirs of the local children sang in a harmonious choir next to the pews, and you notice that the pews are not even fully filled. Small floral arrangements and ribbons are tied to the ends of each row, adding a touch of elegance for today’s occasion. At most, probably half of each side of the pews are filled. To you left, it’s mostly filled with some of the butlers and maids, most of which you could recognise since they all came from The Captain’s estate. You can’t help but chuckle from seeing them being involved with the wedding too. 

Meanwhile, to your right, it was mostly occupied with some fatui soldiers, politicians, nobles, and– ALL OF THE FATUI HARBINGERS?!?! 

You knew they would be here because, well– this is yours and Lord Capitano’s wedding, after all. But that doesn’t stop your hands from almost slipping your bouquet to the ground from seeing their presence.

You stumble slightly, your white high heels stepping against the red carpet. Try as you may to stare at the ground, but you can’t help but stare at the sight of the rest of the Fatui Harbingers. 

La Signora, a tall woman with porcelain-like skin and high cheekbones, regards you with a cold smirk as her crimson eyes pierces through your soul, puffing up her last smoke from her cigarette holder. Even with her glare, you can’t help but stare at her long, platinum hair and how her light red dress is covered with a long, flowing coat, all donned with glittering jewelry and diamonds. 

She definitely takes on both fights. Your face reveals a tinge of blush underneath your veil.

Next to her, is The Knave, who is literally the opposite of La Signora’s feminine beauty. When your hazel eyes lock with her reddish-criss cross eyes, she gives you a slow, subtle nod of acknowledgement. She wears what looked to be a suit, donned in black and red, and adorned with intricate silver accents and what looks to be Fatui insignias. 

…This one definitely takes on both fights, again. You can’t help but wonder if she was your betrothed instead, but you quickly shake that thought away. 

Begone, fowl thoughts, we are in a church after all. What would The Captain think? 

So far, from what you can see from the women of the Fatui Harbingers, they all look dignified, yet dangerous. 

Beautiful, yet unapproachable. 

That is to say that you haven’t seen Columbina and Sandrone, but because they are much further away from the pews, you could only keep walking forward, and your gaze lands on some of the men of the Fatui Harbingers. 

Lord Childe, a man with the most youthful charm coming from the rest, is the only one that gives what seems to be a confident smile and playful wave towards you. Yet, when he opens his eyes, it immediately makes your smile freeze, as his deep-set, sharp blue eyes are like an endless ocean. You quickly remember that he’s one of the Fatui Harbingers as well, and you immediately avert his gaze. 

Lord Childe’s reddish-orange bangs fall on his eyesight as he watches you from behind. 

Sitting in front of Lord Childe is The Regrator, also known as Lord Pantalone. A man donned with a tailored coat of deep, luxurious hues of black, accented with intricate gold embroidery that traces elegant, swirling patterns along the fabric. It seems that he has never opened his eyes and– Wait, is he blind? Or does he just… not open them? Either way, you can’t help but admire his long, elegant lashes that’s framed behind his pair of gold-rimmed glasses, and his hair is sleek and dark, truly dignified as a Harbinger should. 

Lastly, right next to Lord Pantalone, which is at the front of the pews, is the Director of the Fatui Harbingers, Lord Pierro. 

…Oh sweet archons, what the hell? 

His long silver hair, his well-kept beard, his expression is like a seasoned leader, and his only star-eyed pupil locks with your eyes. Like Lord Arlecchino, he gives you a subtle nod. At this point, is this a nod of preparation? A nod of respect? Or a nod of subtle foreshadowing?  

You internally bite the inside of your cheeks because what in the sweet lands of archons– Why are they all so beautiful and handsome?!?! Ohhh… to be like them, so untouchable and unstoppable. You wish you were them, but you know that you can never be them. There can only be one. And. You. Are. Not. One. Of. Them. 

Your eyes then widen in surprise when you come face to face with… The Captain, Il Capitano. 

Your groom. Your betrothed. Your husband.

“Wow…” You can’t help but whisper it out of your lips, as you take in his appearance. 

While his headgear is still the same shape and colour, his attire consists of an armour that’s crafted from white, matte metal, and a white bodysuit with golden chains and accessories on his chest plate. Although his hair remains untied and unbraided, his black shiny hair remains as silky as always, glistening under the lights from the stained glasses. 

You gaze at him, and notice that what’s draped over his broad shoulders is a long, flowing white cape that pools down onto the floor, lined with golden intricacies that seem to be fatui insignias. 

Before you could continue to gaze at him, a voice echoes through the altar...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60714016/chapters/158486338

Edit: Not sure why but I can't put the link as always from my previous post, will try to fix this issue but for now the fanfic title is just above this post! Sorry for the inconvenience!!

[aneeqa123]

Sukuna & Geto - One Last Time

Inspired by Ariana Grande's One Last Time

I Know I Should Have Fought It, But At Least I'm Being Honest

The air hung thick with the scent of rain and regret. Y/n stared at her reflection in the rain-streaked window, the city lights blurring into indistinct streaks of color. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a counterpoint to the steady drumming of the rain. She’d done it. She’d crossed a line she’d sworn she’d never cross. She’d cheated on Sukuna.

Sukuna. The name itself tasted like ash and bitter almonds in her mouth. He was everything – powerful, captivating, terrifyingly beautiful. He was a force of nature, a storm that both exhilarated and terrified her. And she, she was the foolish moth drawn to his incandescent flame.

Their relationship had been a whirlwind, a tempestuous dance between adoration and fear. He was possessive, yes, fiercely so, but his possessiveness was laced with a devotion that bordered on obsession. He’d swept her off her feet, a king claiming his queen, and she’d willingly surrendered to his power. But beneath the surface of their passionate entanglement, a seed of doubt had taken root, growing slowly, silently, until it blossomed into a poisonous flower of discontent.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Sukuna. She did, fiercely, desperately. But his intensity, his overwhelming presence, was suffocating. He demanded everything, leaving no room for her own desires, her own aspirations. He was a consuming fire, and she felt herself slowly being reduced to ashes.

Then she met Geto.

Geto was… different.  Not the antithesis of Sukuna, exactly.  He wasn't sunshine to Sukuna's storm; he was a different kind of storm altogether – a quiet, brooding tempest, a simmering volcano rather than a raging inferno.  He possessed a quiet intensity, a thoughtful consideration that Sukuna lacked.  He listened, truly listened, not just to her words, but to the unspoken anxieties that simmered beneath the surface. He saw the weariness behind her smile, the fear hidden beneath her bravado. He understood the suffocating weight of Sukuna's possessiveness.

Their connection wasn't immediate, explosive like her relationship with Sukuna. It was a slow burn, a gradual understanding that deepened with each shared conversation, each thoughtful glance.  It was a dangerous intimacy, built on shared secrets and unspoken desires.  He understood the complexities of her feelings for Sukuna, the love tangled with fear and resentment.  He didn't judge; he simply offered solace, understanding, and a quiet strength that resonated deep within her soul.

The first transgression wasn't a stolen kiss in a dimly lit bar. It was a shared look across a crowded room, a lingering touch that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.  It was a slow erosion of boundaries, a gradual surrender to a different kind of intimacy, one built on mutual understanding and a shared sense of unease.  The betrayal was less a physical act and more a slow, agonizing unraveling of loyalty.

The guilt, however, was a constant companion. It clung to her like a shadow, whispering insidious doubts and fears into her ear. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus on anything but the impending storm that she knew was coming.  She knew the consequences of her actions could be catastrophic, but the allure of Geto's quiet understanding, his acceptance of her complexities, was too strong to resist.

One moonless night, Sukuna found them.  Not in a passionate embrace, but in a quiet conversation, their hands brushing accidentally, their gazes locked in a silent understanding. The air crackled with tension, the silence heavy with unspoken accusations. Sukuna's eyes, usually blazing with intensity, were now cold, glacial, filled with a chilling fury that sent shivers down her spine.

He didn’t scream, didn’t rage.  He simply stood there, his silence more terrifying than any outburst. His gaze, cold and calculating, swept over her, over Geto, assessing, judging. The silence stretched, an eternity of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dangerously calm. “So, this is it, then?” His words were a question, but they held the weight of an accusation.

Y/n looked at him, at the raw pain and betrayal etched on his face, and the dam broke. Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of guilt and regret. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I know I shouldn’t have… I know I should have fought it, but at least I’m being honest.”

The honesty, however, didn’t absolve her.  Sukuna’s response was a chilling silence, broken only by the sound of his retreating footsteps.  He left her standing there, alone in the wreckage of her own making, the weight of her betrayal pressing down on her like a physical burden.  The relationship with Sukuna was irrevocably shattered.  The relationship with Geto, born in shared secrets and unspoken understanding, was now burdened by the weight of Sukuna's silent fury and the crushing weight of her own guilt.  Y/n was left to confront the consequences of her choices, to live with the knowledge that she had destroyed something precious, something irreplaceable, all in pursuit of a quiet understanding that ultimately offered no solace.  The rain continued to fall, a relentless reminder of the storm she had unleashed, a storm that would forever rage within her heart.

This version replaces Itadori with Geto, changing the nature of the affair.  Instead of a stark contrast to Sukuna, Geto provides a different kind of danger – a quiet, insidious unraveling rather than a blatant betrayal. The focus shifts from a stolen kiss to a more subtle, emotionally charged connection, highlighting the complexities of Y/n's choices and the devastating consequences. The ending remains similarly ambiguous, emphasizing the lasting impact of Y/n's actions.

The aftermath of the confession hung heavy in the air, a suffocating silence punctuated only by the rhythmic drumming of rain against the windowpane. Y/n braced herself for an explosion, for the terrifying fury she knew Sukuna was capable of. Instead, a low chuckle rumbled from his chest, a sound that sent shivers down her spine, not from fear this time, but from a strange mixture of relief and apprehension.

He turned, his crimson eyes, usually blazing with intensity, now shadowed with a weariness that surprised her. He walked towards her, his movements deliberate, controlled, the aura of simmering power still palpable, but softened somehow, tempered by something akin to… vulnerability?

He stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of his unique, intoxicating perfume.  He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, his touch surprisingly tender.  The cold fury she’d braced herself for was absent, replaced by something else entirely – a raw, aching vulnerability that laid bare the depth of his feelings.

"You… you really messed up," he said, his voice a low growl, but devoid of the usual menace.  "You really, really screwed up."  The words were laced with pain, with a hurt that resonated deep within her.

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.  She didn't need to apologize again; the weight of her actions was already crushing her.

He sighed, a long, drawn-out breath that seemed to carry the weight of the world.  "I… I don't understand it," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.  "I gave you everything.  Everything I had.  And you… you threw it away."

"I know," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.  "I'm so sorry."

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze intense, searching.  Then, something shifted in his eyes, a flicker of something akin to understanding, maybe even… forgiveness?  He pulled her close, his embrace both possessive and surprisingly gentle.  He held her tightly, as if afraid she might disappear.

"But stay with me a minute," he murmured, his voice muffled against her hair.  "I swear to make it worth it, cause I don't wanna be without ya."

His words were a lifeline, a promise whispered in the midst of the storm.  It wasn't a dismissal of her betrayal, not an excuse for her actions, but an acknowledgment of his own flaws, his own contribution to the rift that had opened between them.  It was a plea, a desperate attempt to salvage what remained of their shattered bond.

The conversation that followed was long and difficult.  They talked about their fears, their insecurities, their unspoken needs.  He admitted his possessiveness, his suffocating need for control.  She confessed her own vulnerabilities, her own yearning for independence.  It was a painful process, a peeling back of layers of hurt and misunderstanding, but it was also a beginning, a tentative step towards healing.

He didn't demand explanations, didn't press her for details.  He listened, truly listened, absorbing her words with a patience she hadn't expected.  He acknowledged her pain, her regret, her fear.  He didn't forgive her lightly; forgiveness, he made clear, would be a process, a journey they would have to undertake together.

The road ahead wouldn't be easy.  Trust, once broken, wouldn't be easily restored.  The scars of betrayal would remain, a constant reminder of their mistakes.  But in that small, rain-soaked room, amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship, a fragile hope began to bloom.  A hope born not of denial or excuse, but of a shared willingness to confront their flaws, to rebuild their bond, brick by painful brick.  The storm had raged, but in the aftermath, a tentative calm had settled, promising a future, however uncertain, together.  The rain continued to fall, but now, it felt less like a relentless assault and more like a cleansing balm, washing away the debris of their past, leaving them space to build something new, something stronger, from the ashes of their shattered love.

- aneeqa

[sharkaroni]

HELP I'm freaking out!!!!!!! this is so incredible!!! the robes look absolutely unbelievable and reigen's office shoes im cryingg. seriously im BLOWN AWAY by this and by you and I want to eat!! this!!!!

fanart for the plum calendar by @sharkaroni which is the best!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! READ IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[commsroom]

sweetheart, baby, darlin', and so on. 💞 (by @jamisonrivv)