#they will outlive everyone they meet until one day

[boygirlfag-sael]

@cctv-catgirl

Anne de Marcken, from "It Lasts Forever and Then It's Over," published in 2024

[never-afters]

DEMO. (SOON)

The crowning of a jealous king one century ago spelled the doom of invokers, beings bestowed with the ability to control the essence of the world and manifest it in the surface. Out of envy that he was naught but a normal human, he ordered the capture and execution of invokers, reinforcing his power as a king. He made an enemy out of your people to secure his pride and throne.

A hundred of years passed and the slaughter only continues, a jealous ruler crowned one after another. The land of Zandria is stained with the blood of your ancestors, and it only continues to spill. You, who were once revered, admired, and loved, are now loathed, imprisoned, and executed simply for bearing the ability to manipulate aether, the essence of the land of Aeresia.

You are an invoker. Do you have what it takes to survive the wrath of a land that calls for your death? Or will you, like the ones before you, fall into the abyss?

Abyssal Depths is a dark fantasy set in the fictional world of Aeresia. It is the revamped version of my interactive fiction previously titled Invoker.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ Who are you? Only you have the answer to that question. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Build bonds with the people you meet. Friendship, rivalry, romance — pick your poison. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Disguise yourself as a human, working as a mercenary for the guild Sentinel. Try your best to hide the truth from your guildmates. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Do your job. Who knows? Maybe along the way, you'll find what you're looking for. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Survive. Perhaps you'll live long enough to see all the mysteries unravel.

Elfrid Basset [f] ✦ Your childhood friend and the daughter of the woman who saved you. Elfrid has always had a strong personality, always pushing you out of your comfort zone. Stubborn, impulsive, yet caring to those she cares about, there was never a time where trouble never followed her. She doesn't know your truth, but as people say, there is no secret that lasts forever.

Lucianus le Cordiér [m] ✦ An ex-noble you and Elfrid stumbled upon a year ago one night. Without the riches and reputation his family once had, Lucian brandished his skill as a swordsman and earned himself a spot as a mercenary in the same guild as you. He appears kind, gentle and open, but the air of mystery that surrounds him proves that no one truly knows who he was once.

Alcaeus Vanderbilt [m] ✦ A person from your past that you thought you will never see again. Meeting him may mean good things, but perhaps it also meant that the ghosts from your past are now catching up to you. Smart, skilled, but surrounded by walls he built to protect himself, Alcaeus won't let anyone take away anything from him again.

Amelia Vanderbilt [f] ✦ Someone from your past who lives with the guilt of surviving. Amelia has always been sickly, but despite everything she has outlived everyone else. She's still the timid and soft-spoken girl you barely saw back home, the only thing you can't believe is her unwavering trust that there is still good left in the world you're both living in.

Clair [m] ✦ A traveling bard who decided one day it will be fun to go adventuring with you and your group. He said he wants to turn your exploits into a great story, and no matter how hard you dissuade him, he never relents. Charming and cunning, that's how Clair is, and you never realized how dangerous those two qualities together were until you met him.

Salomé [f] ✦ An eccentric woman you met in the middle of your mission. Boisterous, fun, yet eccentric, it's hard not to notice her with all the rings that adorn her fingers and the scars that she flaunts like trophies. She tries to come off as someone who knows nothing, but you have the feeling that she hides something you need to know. You wonder what it could be.

Kazehara [f/m/nb] ✦ With clothes you've never seen around Zandria, Kazehara stood out like a sore thumb the first time you saw them. Framed for a murder they swear they never did, they join you in an attempt to clear their name. Sarcastic, cynical, and brash, there is never a shortage of insult from Kazehara. However, you know too well that it's merely an image they conjured to protect themselves in a land they know nothing about.

??? [f/m/nb] ✦ A figure in your dreams, blurred and ever changing. A memory of the past, a phantom of your grief, your desire for warmth — you do not know. However, the way they speak, the way they try to meet your eyes behind the fog that keeps them at bay, and the way they try to reach for you make them seem real. They feel familiar, and there exists a tug in your soul that pulls you closer to them.

OTHERS

✦ Ask box is open! Any question is okay but there is no guarantee that your ask will be answered. Anything that are spoilery, disrespectful, and extremely explicit will be deleted. ^^ ✦ The demo for Invoker can still be accessed through google search. However, it hasn't been updated since 2021, and won't be updated anymore. ✦ This project is not my main focus as I'm a full time university student. My goal is to release the demo before 2024 ends, though. ✦ I haven't decided which platform to use for the demo yet, but rest assured that writing is as consistent as it can be despite my busy schedule. I haven't had the chance to learn how to use Twine yet, so I'm either planning to look for a collaborator who can code in Twine or stick with choicescript first until I get to learn how to use Twine. ✦ I will be posting character profiles for the ROs, though there are no set dates yet. This is to give way for a more detailed description for their personality and physical appearance.

[jweekgoji]

Hiii I really like your writings and headcanons, especially the ones with yandere sentinel from TF 1 being a sub and us being a power femdom.id really appreciate it if you could write about yn or us finding sentinel after Megatron kills him and we repair sentinel just for him to be our dedicated servant boy put on a leash his entire life.

If you don't feel comfortable with the request you can ignore it and take your time no pressure! ❤️

Sentinel/Reader [TFO]

tw: dark themes, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, touch starvation/co-dependency, brief description of past trauma, anxiety, mentions of death, injuries, angst, dubcon [at the end], reader gets a little yandere-ish. word count: ~1830. a/n: i like this request so much, hehehe.

When you first saw your leader being ripped apart by one of the iaconian miners, you were devastated and as shocked as everyone else. Waking up early today, getting ready for another, long and tiring day of work only to suddenly learn that the bot you looked up to was lying to everyone for 50 cycles?

It felt so surreal, here you were standing over the Sentinel Prime. Ruler of Iacon City yesterday, and a leftover piece of scrap today. You're still not certain how you feel about him after what happened. Maybe it was a remnant of admiration for him, after all, how much has passed since the fight?

You were probably standing there for a good few minutes, staring down at Sentinel, not a word or a flick of emotion on your face. That was, until you heard heavy footsteps behind you and a large servo placed on your shoulder.

“You don't have to do this, I can take care of him if you want,” Optimus says carefully. For some reason, the young Prime already felt responsible for his people.

There was a brief silence between the two of you before you shook your helm in response. You didn't want to bother Optimus with this, knowing that he had gone through enough for the past few days. This is the least you can do, helping with rebuilding a new Iacon and getting rid of the past.

A soft sigh escapes your lips once Optimus leaves you alone. This wasn't supposed to be so hard, wasn't it? Just pick him up, and then...what else? Does Sentinel, the selfish betrayer of his own kind, deserve some respect even after his death? To bury him might be a too much of a kind gesture from you, considering that he had no kindness for anyone but himself. On the other hand, melting his remnants still doesn't sound right for you.

You would have kept thinking about it for hours, until a brief, almost too light to notice pulsating of a spark under the tips of your digits caught your attention. You pause, in mind an immediate “am I imagining this? was it real?”, it felt like everything just went quiet around you. A soft beat, then another. Despite everything, the spark inside his chamber was still beating.

And so, you decided to take care of him.

It was a miracle that he survived. The impact of his injuries should have left him dead, you swear, no, everyone swear to see the light goes off from his optics. He was dead, there are no possible explanation for him not to stay offline like he supposed to be. Some might consider it a blessing of Primus himself, for you just a pure luck.

Outliving 13 Primes, somehow not getting killed by quintessons during one of the secret meetings, and now you, the bot who decided to let him live, even though ignoring everything might have been the best solution.

After countless days of work, you are finally able to stabilize his systems, fixing up a few dents here and there, probably left after his last fight with the silver bot. For a cogless miner before, that mech was surprisingly strong, you note.

You hold a piece of a small energon cube in the palm of your servo. Was it the right choice? You never tell anyone, not even Optimus about what you have found. You knew Sentinel would be thrown in prison, if lucky, or hunted down by Megatron if the news reached him. No, you already went too far, letting anyone find out about Sentinel would be a huge mistake. That's why you made sure he didn't get to keep his lower half of the body. He should never be able to leave.

When you gently pushed the energon cube into his mouth, letting it slip down his throat, you waited. A second of silence...another few—until his optics begin to shine light blue once again. You open your mouth to start explaining everything, but you are immediately interrupted by a loud “no!” and you have to clamp your servo over his mouth to make him quiet.

The mech in front of you remembers only the last few seconds before he went offline, that burning pain through his whole body is now forever printed in his mind. You can see the genuine fear in his optics, which soon changed into surprise once he processed everything. He wasn't in the center of Iacon. No one, but you were around him.

Only after a good few minutes of soft explaining calmed his raising spark. Sentinel was relieved, after all, there are some loyal worshippers of his who took care of him and repaired him! As you stood in front of the former leader, you made sure to leave no details about everything that happened after. A new Prime was born, and D-16, now well known as Megatron, is one of the future concerns for everyone in Iacon besides quintessons. Even after his «death» Sentinel made sure to leave a huge impact on your lives for cycles and cycles in the future.

“And about...the other part of me?” Sentinel asks, glancing down where his lower half should be before looking back at you.

You go silent for a mere second before a quick “I wasn't able to repair it” excuse slips from your glossa.

Thankfully, he swallows this response rather quickly, and without questioning any further, that smug smirk appears on his face, ready to boss you again. It was amusing at first. In such a position, Sentinel forgets, he's a no Prime anymore, just another cogless bot left at your mercy.

You were merciful enough to let him live in this fantasy, letting him think that he has that control over something, despite how annoying he gets whenever you don't do something immediately. What do you mean you have to leave him? He's Sentinel Prime, you should obey and listen to him!...Please?

Maybe in the back of his mind, he slowly realizes it. He's dependent. He can't live without you, he can't even reach for a cube of an energon for himself without you kindly putting it on the tip of his glossa. If you suddenly decide to leave him, he's all alone. That takes a good sacrifice of his own pride to give you a few signs, angrily growling a “Don't you dare to leave!” or “I am not done with you, come back this instant!”.

When you had to leave today once again, making him suffer in the silence of his own thoughts and a soft humming of mechanisms in this room, he felt insecure. He hates it, waiting and counting the seconds until you finally come back to him. How could you disrespect him like this? Who do you think you are, huh?

“Oh, please, leave then! I don't need you anyway,” Sentinel says proudly, rolling his optics with a slight annoyance hidden in his tone.

He doesn't need your help, if you leave, it would change nothing for him. You're just another nameless bot, the one who supposed to serve and listen to him, after all. If you don't want to do what he says, there will certainly be someone else to replace you. Right?

Then why, why he feels that deep, suffocating feeling every time you leave? When he calls your name over and over again, his tone changes from an authoritative to a weak, pleading one. No, no, no, you wouldn't really leave him, would you? He panics, breathing a little heavy at the realization that there he is, with no one but him in here. He's so, so screwed.

With each passing hour, his anxiety grows even more. From the most ridiculous to the most horrifying scenarios, he can't help but silently plead for your soon return. A constant “come back, please, please come back, you can't just leave me here,” in his thoughts. Sentinel would certainly go insane if it weren't for a soft hiss of an opening door. You were back.

Once you are close to him, he quickly wraps his servos around you, clinging to your frame for a dear life. You can hear him, muttering something under his breath over and over again, and without a need to ask him to repeat his words, you understand everything.

“I would never leave you, Sentinel,” you say softly, placing your servo on the side of his face, only for him to lean into it, as if begging for more.

“Please don't,” he whispers back, his servo moving to the back of your helm, making you lean closer to his height so he could kiss you.

Who would have thought that Sentinel Prime is such a touchstarved mech? Begging someone to notice him? Like you? If only you had known that leaving a poor bot for a good day or two all alone would make him such a sucker for attention, you would have done it much sooner.

And suddenly Sentinel is not that annoying, noisy menace, as you remember. Every soft sound he lets out, every gentle caress and touch of his servos on your frame, feels like a desperate attempt to make you stay. He wants to show you that he's worthy of your time, if only you stay!

Sentinel's hold on you is tight, as he keeps you right next to him, afraid that the moment he lets go, you're going to disappear. Just a mere thought of it makes him whine into the kiss, and he pushes his glossa into your mouth, as if hoping to please you.

The moment you pull away from him, Sentinel grips tighter, mewling a soft “no”, a look of desperation in his optics. You can't help but feel a pang of satisfaction from it. How couldn't you, when you have someone who is always so needy of your attention? Always looking forward to the moment you come back?

At this point, he doesn't care what he has to do to keep you with him for another minute or two. The old, commanding and cruel part of him is so ashamed of what he has become. Any other good day in past, you would already be mining energon and hoping for a better future, and he would be a king, just like he was supposed to.

“Please, use me, however you want just— just don't go,” he pleads once again, his servos tightening around your wrists, wanting and needing you closer.

And how can you really tell him no if he asks you so, so nicely today?

You only nod gently at his another plead, placing your servo on top of his helm to gently nudge him lower and to position him between your thighs. Sentinel was so great with every word of his speeches that it's no surprise that he certainly knows how to use his own tongue.

[a-sip-of-milo]

Need a reason to live?

Recently, I made four polls with eleven reasons to live in each. Most of those reasons were given to me by people who have also been suicidal in the past, and I decided to compile them into one long list (plus some) for anyone who needs it to come back to when they're out of reasons to keep going.

⚠️ Disclaimer: Please do not turn this into one of those "ALWAYS REBLOG IF YOU SEE" posts. Thank you. ⚠️

Relationships

Your furry companion(s) (this means pets and friends who are furries <3)

Your friends

Your family

Those who look up to you

To reconnect with someone you haven't seen in a while

Your headmates (specific to those who are apart of systems)

There's someone who isn't around anymore who would want you to keep going

To eventually be a mentor to someone

To make sure your animals never have to sleep alone

To fall in love

Your partner

To meet your online friends/mutuals

To tell your mentor/the people who raised you with kindness that you made it

To see someone close to you through their final days

To make it big enough to eventually provide for those you care about

Your FP (personality disorder specific)

Group photos with your (found) family and friends

To help your friends do the same

The friends you've yet to meet

A promise you made to someone special

Acts of kindness

To be there when someone needs you

To see someone smile because of you

To make a stranger's day a little brighter

To hand out compliments to those who need it

To make the world a little bit better before you go

To treat the people around you the way you wish you'd been treated

To be the one person in someone's life who is there unconditionally.

To help someone you love to quit an addiction

To do charitable deeds

Affection

Hugs from someone you trust

Kisses from a partner, close friend or pet

Cuddles when it's cold/lonely

To laugh until your stomach hurts

Forehead touches

To hold someone so tight that they're wheezing

Doting on people when they're feeling down

To make the people around you laugh

Interests

That new game/movie/show/book/album/etc. that you’ve been waiting for

Telling everyone and anyone who will listen about your special interest/hyperfixations

To share creations that aren't appreciated enough

To save up for something that would make life more bearable

To finally complete a collection

Projects would be left unfinished

To travel

To complete a project you've been working on for a long period of time

Projects you've yet to come up with

To start participating in special interests you've had to put on hold

To laugh at the creations you made when you were younger and less experienced

Those who consume your work would never get to see another creation of yours

Spite (because I think spite deserves Its own section:))

To stick it to your abusers

To prove your younger self wrong

To prove the people around you wrong

To prove your younger self right

To prove the people around you right

To spit on the grave of someone who hurt you

As a big 'fuck you' to the world and everyone in it who tried to silence you

To outlive your enemies

To do something that you've never been allowed to do (get a piercing, tattoo, cut or dye your hair, etc.)

To show off your success to the people who doubted you

To make sure whoever hurt you doesn't win

Milestones

You've got a milestone of some kind that you'd like to reach before you go

To see your (future) children reach a milestone of their own

To see a birthday you never thought you'd make it to

To graduate from school

To see your wounds from self-harm heal

To experience old age

To get married

To recover from your eating disorder

To experience independence

To start/complete your transition

To go on your first date

To get your first job

To adopt a child and give them the life that they deserve

To rescue a pet and give them a home

To purchase your first car

To rent/purchase your first house/apartment

To have your first child

To lose your virginity

To experience the joy of knowing you escaped/got through a bad situation

To eventually publish your own book/art piece/etc.

Miscellaneous

To finally get diagnosed with something important

So if nothing else, you can still say you survived

You have a bucket list you'd like to complete

To live because you want to, not because others want you to

Comfort drinks with someone you love

You wrote a letter to yourself that you can't open until a certain date/birthday

Those rare and valuable pieces of media with good representation of a minority/marginalised group.

To read through past conversations with people and cringe/laugh/cry.

All the different foods you've yet to try

To see the world become more accommodating to those who need it

To watch the seasons change

To celebrate the holidays

For those days where you do feel okay, perhaps even good

To eventually replace the stuff in your closet with things that represent who you are now

To read back on journals and diaries you made when you were younger

If you are not in a place where any of these help, that's more than okay as well. It will be here if and when you ever need it. Being suicidal can be extremely lonely and scary and we all deal with it in different ways.

If you have your own reason and you feel comfortable sharing it with me, let me know via asks or DM and it will be added as soon as I can 💞

[shuaraes]

i should’ve never let you go | x.mh

- To him, love can only mean you

oneshot | 2.5k | exes! au | angst | comfort

after laying out his raw heart for you on voicemail, one part of xu minghao never expects to hear from you again. this is until you text him back asking him to meet you for the first time in over a year. with your text, minghao knows he can’t let you slip away the way he did before.

sequel to we shouldn’t have ended like this

~ pairing . xu minghao x gn!reader

~ content . exes to lovers au!, non idol au!, minghao’s a lover boy, quite cheesy at the end, can be read as a standalone fic but some minor references won’t be picked up on

~ tw/cw . suggestive, mentions of alcohol, minghao’s a bit of a dick to everyone but his s/o

~ song rec . blue jeans - lana del rey

~ author’s note . here it is, the much requested pt.2 !! thank you all for loving pt.1 so much ~~

(taglist at the end)

THE PARK BENCH IS ICE AGAINST MINGHAO’S BLUE JEANS.

His hands are tightly clasped around a medium-sized bouquet, a pink bow ribbon tying everything together. Minghao doesn’t know the first thing about flowers, just knows that carnations are your favourites. Even though there’s a slight chill in the air, Minghao is dressed nicely; short-sleeved polo rolled up to show his arms. He thought he might as well make a decent effort: after all, he’s seeing you for the first time in a year.

Soulmates used to be a concept foreign to Minghao, so foreign when his friend Jun often blabbed on about finding his ‘one true love’ - he could only scoff. Then he thought about what love meant to him. Watching all his friends fall in and out of it faster than he could blink, love didn’t mean much. Yes, he had been ‘in love’ but it had never consumed him, never broken him apart to the point he questioned his purpose of living.

Until you whispered those three words into his ear (it was early morning and you were tangled in his sheets, the linen covering your bare upper body, your eyes were barely opened but your smile was so bright, your fingertips and kisses painted his neck like a canvas. He had never seen such an angelic sight) and it all finally clicked. If this was what love felt like, then he had loved you since he first saw you.

Being in love meant loving you. To him, now love can only mean you.

Honestly, Minghao wasn’t expecting a response from you. It was three am when he sent the voicemail and after so long with no contact, you had probably moved on and found someone else. Living your life without thinking about him, is a privilege Minghao could only wish for. You were in his dreams, in his walls, staring at him in his bathroom mirror.

Although he did miss you terribly, a part of him sent a message because he wanted closure. He wanted to know you didn’t want him anymore. Maybe with your deafening silence, he could move on - live a life with you (an empty promise to himself, like a single coin in a fountain). But you didn’t.

A week after that night, Minghao received a text from your number.

It was early afternoon and Minghao was only half occupied with the tasks of the day, his head everywhere but the present. After sending that voicemail, he couldn’t seem to focus. A string of ‘what ifs’ kept constantly replaying in his head like a strip of film. At a point, he even contemplated throwing away your slippers. But as he saw them by the heater neatly lined next up to his - something deep from within him forced his whole body to stop. He couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Throwing away your slippers would mean giving up on you. Quitting had not got Minghao very far in life.

A notification popped up when he was scrolling mindlessly that day - he was about to swipe up. But when he saw your contact name (it’s ‘sweetheart’, he hasn’t changed it since the day he told you he loved you, the contact name even outliving your relationship), his phone almost dropped out of his hand and onto his face.

Sweetheart: How much did you drink?

Minghao’s breath hitched in his throat. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were a drunken mistake. That he wouldn’t have said what he said without the removed inhibitions from several bottles of wine. He meant every single word he said

Minghao: I’ve never been more sober in my life.

His fingers paused at his keyboard, wanting to say so much more. He wanted to tell you once again how he couldn’t live without you, how you were even more important to him than the oxygen that fills his lungs. But he settled with simple formalities instead.

Minghao: How are you?

Sweetheart: Stop pretending that you care.

Minghao could feel his entire heart shatter in his chest, had you not listened to the voicemail or even worse did you not believe him? Did you not believe his love for you? Again, you were slipping away from him right in front of his eyes, he couldn’t let you go.

Minghao: Everything I said in that voicemail was true. I care about you more than I care for myself.

Sweetheart: Meet me in the park at 2pm and prove it then.

That’s how Minghao finds himself in his local park. Coincidentally, where you both had your first date (now several years ago, he placed a pink carnation behind your ear and when he looked into your eyes, he knew you were going to be different from the others). His heart is threatening to fall out of his chest with the way it’s beating so fast. What is he supposed to say to you? What apology on earth can he give you to make up for his past actions?

The past is in the past but Minghao needs you in his future.

As if you were the grand prize in this game we call life, Minghao is a debtor using up his final pennies. He can’t afford to lose you. The universe doesn’t grant second chances easily and Minghao wasn’t a fool to let you go again.

Your relationship was the furthest thing from perfect, but your flaws matched each other in a way Minghao could never fully grasp. End pieces in a jigsaw, rose quartz and serenity in an evening sky, the rays of the sun and the glow of the moon. You were far from perfect but you were more than close enough for Minghao. He was obsessed with you and still is.

He hears the light patter of feet against the cobbled pavement. The sound gets louder and louder until it stops. Minghao looks up from his fiddling fingers, expecting it to be some dog walker whose pet doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. But then he feels a familiar tap on his shoulder, there’s only one person in this world whose touch is as light as a feather.

When he sees you, his whole world ceases to exist. It is only you that remains. For a year he wanted, craved for this moment. You were his messiah, all he wanted to do was worship you until his throat was hoarse and lips parched. He was thirsty, oh so thirsty. Only you could save him, only you could fix him. He quickly stands up to look at you. He thinks if you touch him his legs would give in and he would fall to the floor. Your presence is overwhelming, you’re taking over his sensing and clouding his thoughts.

All of his words are caught in the base of his throat, there is so much he wants to tell you - but as he tries to speak only silence escapes from his parted pink lips.

You look slightly different, something Minghao couldn’t quite put his finger on. In front of him, you are a paradigm of blues, yellows and reds: the centrepiece in an art gallery, Micheal Angelo’s greatest creation.

“These are for me?” You ask cautiously, breaking the seemingly infinite silence.

You were so surprised to hear from him after you had assumed he had fallen out of love with you months ago. You want to make sure, that you haven’t gone mad, that the love of your life is really standing in front of you.

“Of course they are,” He hands you the flowers and watches your face light up when you realise that he remembered.

“You remembered…” You say smiling, looking down and twirling the pink stain ribbon between your fingers. ‘Of course’ Minghao thinks - of course, he’d never forget. He wants to reply but he’s too captivated with your beauty to think straight.

Still lost in thought, you continue, “Where did all the time go… Back then we were so young, so naive, so… So…” You struggle to find the right words to say.

“So stupid.” Minghao’s words are breathless as you meet his ever-so-loving gaze. For the whole of your relationship, Minghao had never been the one to open up to faults - you as well. The feeling of being so naked and vulnerable is foreign to him. But he relishes in the freedom of the truth, his pride no longer holding him down in chains.

He thinks he loves you more than anyone in human history has loved before.

“I meant everything, I said in that voicemail. You were right ‘We shouldn’t have ended like this’, yet I let it happen. I made you doubt my love but to protect my pride, I just stood there, saying nothing. I thought you grew fed up with our relationship, that I wasn't what you wanted. But then I realised you were pushing me away to protect yourself, just like I did.” Minghao pauses getting slightly emotional.

“Nothing I say or do will ever be enough, I can’t turn back time I know that.

But I never stopped loving you.”

And before he can comprehend, you’re in his arms, head against his chest - your home (his heart). You drop the flowers in your right hand and Minghao circles himself around you, engulfing you in his embrace. You don’t say anything, yet a thousand words fall from your parted lips as you stare into his pools of brown (the same pools you could spread hours, days drowning in, as if fresh air didn’t exist). You smell exactly like he remembered, a mix of woods and flora. You feel like a cup of warm tea after a tiresome day, the silver lining he always looks towards. Minghao thinks there’s nothing in the world as beautiful as you.

“I should’ve never let you go…” The words tumbling out of his lips are a waterfall of emotion. Waves of relief rush over him as he feels himself around you. This is where he is supposed to be. Suddenly, everything in his life is going to be okay.

“I should have never tried to push you away in the first place ” Your hands reach up to stroke the back of his hair and he melts into your touch like butter.

This is where he belongs.

Minghao places a small kiss on the mole you have on your collarbone and it’s almost like the past year didn’t happen (you’re on a date in the city, you’re wearing his favourite dress which shows your shoulders and no matter how hard he tries, Minghao can’t keep his hands off you, pecking and nibbling at the soft skin, even if he didn’t say it much, he was enamoured with you). Minghao doesn’t notice the lingering eyes of passers-by, he even fails to realise the passage of time.

Sadly the world can’t stop for him, no matter how much it feels like it does.

With a loud honk from a car speeding down the other side of the road resonating through his eardrums, Minghao is brought back to reality. Suddenly the light weight in the back of his jeans pocket feels all too heavy and he starts to panic, pushing you away gently. You pout, feeling like you have the wrong idea and Minghao’s expression is immediately sympathetic.

“No baby, don’t worry you did nothing wrong.” He coos in a tone that had almost become foreign to him.

Never, has he used this tone with any of his hookups, even when they begged to be called sweet names, he couldn’t (looking back on this Minghao feels guilty, but those people weren’t you, they couldn’t ever be you). He’s surprised at how easily those words drift off his tongue after so long. He guesses everything just comes easier with you.

“Remember how I said, we’ll listen to your favourite jazz album while drunk on wine.” He scratches his neck bashfully as you look up to him with wide eyes.

“I may or may not have booked us two tickets to their live show in the area, I just wanted to do something again to show that I care. I know it wouldn’t make up for-"

You silence him with a kiss, and Minghao forgets where he is, what he had just said, the colour of the sky and the feeling of the ground below his feet. hell if you didn't whisper ‘It’s okay Minghao' against his lips, he would have forgotten his own name.

For Minghao, it’s you. It has always been you and it will continue to be you. Maybe until the day he dies, he thinks. But knowing himself, he would probably find a way to love you in the afterlife as well.

You drag Minghao by his arm into his dimly lit flat, lips still perfectly intertwined together like a lock and key. If your kisses are knife wounds, Minghao wouldn’t mind bleeding to death. He can taste the tart fermented grapes on your tongue. The feeling of his bare skin against yours is more intoxicating than the bottle of wine you shared. You mewl pitifully into his mouth, clutching his clothes like a beggar desperate for cash. The sight of you begging for him was probably on par with the sex itself.

The night wasn’t supposed to end like this. Minghao had planned it out perfectly: you were supposed to visit a jazz show featuring your favourite ensemble, then you’d have dinner at a place he’d been meaning to take you for months, then maybe after a glass of red (or two) a taxi would drop you off at your complex where he would kiss you on the check and tell you to sleep well.

You both barely made it to step two.

Minghao pulls you flush against his chest breaking the kiss for air - you don’t seem to care as you turn your attention to his neck. In the morning, Minghao expects to see dots of red-purple bruises lined across the pale skin of his neck like patches of watercolour. The night wasn’t supposed to end like this, but Minghao doesn’t have the strength in him to tell you to stop.

“I wanted to be a gentleman.” He manages to whisper out, his eyes squeezing shut as you move your hands and kisses downwards, “I don’t want you just for your body, you know.”

“I know. I just missed you so much it was driving me crazy.” You say and drag him by the collar. You’re not looking where you’re going, but Minghao trusts you know his place better than you know your own.

Before he can respond, he feels you jerk slightly, almost tripping over your feet. He looks down to watch what caused it and he feels his face light up like a pink neon sign downtown.

“You still have my slippers here.” You say, not like you’re inquiring, but more like a statement. The smile on your face is miles wide when you look up at him. Minghao knows exactly what you’re thinking and because of it, he’s the happiest man who has ever lived.

“I didn’t have the heart to get rid of them, I never wanted to let you go in the first place."

taglist - @minhui896 @luvhuihui @porridgesblog @bangantokchy @haocovr @icyminghao

[heliads]

HEY HEY HEY!! can u make a the darkling x reader soulmate au?? one where reader is a powerful grisha and has lived nearly as long as he has? they walked the earth and met each other a few times, not knowing they were the same people. sometimes, a romance almost happened, but because they knew they would outlive them, it never happened. How about aleks meets reader by chance in a village near fjerda and they recognize each other for the first time and realize they are each other's soulmate? ♡ U!!

HEY HEY HEY!! your au is that your scars stay on your soulmate's skin.

masterlist

You would think that the centuries would go by faster once you’d experienced enough of them. When you grow up, it’s like the years pass with greater and greater speed, but there must be a leveling point to that mad exponential curve, because you reached it a long time ago. The decades don’t fly by anymore, they drag like the heels of your boots in the soft mud connecting the Wandering Isle to Novyi Zem.

That particular sinking earth is gone, much like most of the places from your memory. The land bridge between the two nations, which was already tentative at best back when you were born, has long been pulled under the current of the True Sea. Now, the recollections of old work boots falling into dirt have just as much hold as the place itself. Everything you knew is gone, constantly replaced by newer, flashier people and cities.

It haunts you sometimes, more often than not. You lie awake at night with a melody stuck in your head, one you haven’t heard in over two hundred years. There’s no chance that anyone remembers it except you, so you hum it to yourself, wondering if the ghosts of friends past can hear you or if they, too, are just ash and dust by now. Supposedly, they would have been folded into the welcoming arms of the Making at the Heart of the World, but you still harbor a hope that they’re still looking out for you.

Hope is all you have. As if it doesn’t mess with your head to trust your footsteps through a Ravkan town you’d lived in for decades, only to find that it’s doubled in size and population since you were last there. Or, when you finally remember that you owe a neighbor a favor, only to recall that their great-great grandchildren died out a century past. Nothing in this world is yours, not in the way that it was at the start. You can keep reinventing yourself, but it’ll never make anything stick.

All that musing over places long gone, and you still can’t convince the hours of the clock to turn by any faster. You’d like nothing more than for the years to skip by, to finally bring about your end of days or at least a change in them, because if you have more centuries under your belt, it’ll mean you’ll have searched all of the lands as many times as you can, and maybe then, you just might be able to meet your soulmate.

That, of all things, might calm your restless spirit. If it were not enough to have far more centuries in which to live out your life than the rest of the Grisha, you have to do it alone, too, knowing that most everyone you pass has someone out there built for them, someone to keep them company in a way you will never understand, no matter how many generations you live.

You often wonder if your soulmate might be out there somewhere. It’s an easy matter to spiral over. They could have been alive at the very start of your life, and died centuries before you could even meet them. Maybe there were only a few days in which your lives overlapped, or maybe you were born on the exact same day and never knew it until they died and you stayed, relentlessly, alive.

Or, worst of all, they could still be out there now, forever condemned to orbit the land at the other side of you, forever crossing paths but never meeting, always one step behind or hours ahead of schedule. There is, hypothetically, a way of telling if the person before you is your soulmate, but it only works if you have the fellow in front of you and the certainty only mad love can bring you.

In this world, in a world full of pain and pleasure, power and pride, the only way that you know for certain that you are connected with your soulmate are your injuries. They’ll show up on your soulmate’s skin, exactly at the same time and the same places as you receive them. They won’t feel the sensation of hurt as you do, and the bruises and cuts will fade as yours do, but in the minutes and hours in which you are bloody and damaged, they will be, too.

Scars last. That’s how most people know. When you see a childhood injury reflected on someone else’s knee or arm, you can tell it’s them. It’s as if a hook has been pulled through both of you, tying you together in a celebration of glitter and gore. It’s horrific, and it’s love, and no one has dared to mess with the process for the millennia in which soulmates have been around.

Least of all your soulmate. They marked you a long time ago, and although you weren’t there to see it happen, you can’t help but wonder at their rationale now. A scar curls around your left hand ring finger. It looks like a burn, and it must have been a serious one too, judging by the fact that it’s lasted this long. 

You can imagine your soulmate somewhere out there, forcing a white-hot band of metal around their finger and keeping it on despite the unendurable pain until they knew the scar would last forever. Imagine what that must mean to them, to you. There is a message that they’re trying to send to you, patterned in the syllables of their scorched flesh:  I love you to the point of agony, and past it. What a terrible sort of devotion for a soulmate. What a devastating burden of love for you to bear.

It makes you sick to your stomach, at times, and other days, it just makes you numb. Perhaps this is what you get, the Saints’ way of evening the scales. Everyone knows that the greed of a Grisha never goes unchecked, and maybe this is your diving retribution at last. You strove for too much too quickly, and now you have an excess of time in which you can ponder your failings, all alone for all eternity. It would make a sad sort of joke were it not at your expense.

After all, you should have died a long time ago, soulmate be damned. You started out life as a Heartrender, although you left the typical roles of that particular type of Corporalki behind long ago. At first, you merely shattered bone and spilt blood, but then you learned how to do more. Why kill one man when you can end dozens of lives with just as much force? Then, why kill when you can turn your attention towards yourself, healing not just surface wounds but deeper things, erasing the signs of age and wear until you were just as strong as you were at your prime?

Some would call it immortality. Others would curse it as witchcraft. You don’t need anyone’s misguided explanations anymore, though, your power will long outlive both them and their whisperings. It is power, plain and simple, and it is yours. You don’t just transmutate flesh and bone anymore, you shape life itself. Your life. Your life, extended forever, waiting for a soulmate who can keep up with you or die trying.

At times, you hate it, this prolonged life that you’ve given yourself. At the same time, the thought of dying without accomplishing all that you could is terrifying. The easiest thing to do is to keep living, keep drawing breath and wondering when things will change. If they don’t, well, at least you were here to see it. 

After all, have you ever been satisfied with your lot in life? You send a silent plea to any Saints up there, if they're still listening at all or merely content to keep pulling their strings and directing you down darker, rougher roads. Let me rest. Please. They send only one word back, after everything:  No.

So you continue your journey. Ravka needs your attention for a time, then you cross the True Sea to Kerch and Novyi Zem, and another century has passed by the time you think about returning to the eastern shores. The Shadow Fold makes things more difficult, certainly, but death is no enemy of yours, so you find ways of crossing, even if they take a while.

This time, you decide to cut through Fjerda on your various journeys. The wintry landscapes take your breath away, as they always do, but it’s a little difficult to marvel at the wonders of the country when they’re so fiercely dedicated to exterminating your fellow Grisha. You take it upon yourself to take out a few branches of the witch hunters, those treacherous drüskelle, and so you have a purpose for at least a little longer.

You get to take action upon this initiative while stopping in a small town close to the Fjerdan border for the night. While attempting to book a room in a local inn, you can’t help but pick up on the uncanny sensation of racing hearts somewhere closeby. You step away from the inn, distracted, and chase the sound of blood pounding through veins until it takes you into the surrounding woods.

There, you stumble upon what had been causing you such an uncanny sensation. A young woman, a Grisha Tidemaker by the looks of it, is attempting to evade capture by two upstart drüskelle captains. She hasn’t yet mastered her gift, and they’re well armed, so the situation is not good, to say the least.

Grisha are your people, even if you’ve become somehow separated from them by your many years. You fling out an arm and the two drüskelle go flying into the distance, clutching at their hearts as they burst in their chests. One more witch hunter materializes out of the gloom, but before he can fire off a round at you, a wave of shadow cuts off his breath and he falls to the ground, choking into stillness. The Tidemaker runs off the second the coast is clear, leaving you alone with this new stranger.

You turn around slowly, but the man emerging from the woods doesn’t seem to be a threat. He’s some kind of Etherealnik, but you’ve only heard of so many Shadow Summoners in your time. Perhaps there’s another one again.

“I came out to help,” he says, voice relaxed despite your hands raised at him in anticipation of a strike, “It appears that you didn’t need it, though.”

He doesn’t seem inclined to attack you, but you don’t trust the way he’s still hanging back in the shadows. You can’t see much of his face, nor his demeanor. “I’m no stranger to the drüskelle. They’ve always been the same sort of fools.”

“Always?” The stranger asks, allowing a note of humor to enter his words, “Have you been around long enough to judge them, then?”

You sigh. “Longer than you’d think.”

Instead of being put off by this, the stranger just grins, moonlight flashing on his teeth. “You’d be surprised what I think. I’m older than I seem.”

You look curiously at him. The man steps out of the shadows and into a patch of moonlight. Your breath catches in your throat. “No. That’s impossible.”

He’s not lying when he talks about being older than his appearance. You’ve seen this face before. Several times, if you’re not mistaken. A rebel against the Ravkan king a few centuries ago. A scholar of the Saints. A son trying to care for his mother. He’s been here whenever you passed through Ravka, but you never dared to assume that he could be anything but a familiar face passed down through the generations.

For some reason, on this night, you stop letting yourself doubt. This is a man who has been alive quite as long as you have, if not longer. Perhaps it’s the unearthly shine of the moonlight on the Fjerdan snow, transfiguring this scene into one of your memories, or perhaps it’s the fact that he’s taken his gloves off so he could summon his shadows, and you can see the imprint of a burn around the ring finger of his left hand.

No. It couldn’t be. After all this time, your soulmate cannot be the same young man you’ve crossed paths with half a dozen times before. What a cruel joke to play.

“Y/N?” He asks slowly, eyes as wide as yours.

You told him your name in one of your lives. He trusted you enough to say his back to you. “Aleksander?”

“Show me your hand,” he tells you, voice as steady as it’s always been.

When you hesitate, he crosses the clearing in a flash, standing in front of you. One of his hands curls around your wrist, holding it still, while the other holds up your fingers to the moonlight. He looks at the burn there, his burn, and at last, he smiles. It’s a proud look, almost vicious.

“You know,” he says slowly, “I always thought I’d marry you. I was a child then, and foolish, but I find I don’t mind the idea much anymore.”

He cocks his head to the side, staring openly at the scar he’d bound to both of you. You had wondered if you would fear your soulmate when you first met him, but instead, you just feel whole. A broken half has finally been reunited with its other part.

“Do you remember when we were both in Kribirsk together?” You ask slowly, haltingly, “I got a house right by the Unsea so I could study it. I think you were there for the same reason. We were the only two people in that whole town who weren’t afraid of it.”

He nods, eyes white with moonlight. “You fascinated me even then. When you left, I didn’t know how to live with myself. I started a whole new life just so the old one wouldn’t have to figure it out.”

You’d done the same thing. It took every bit of strength in you to go. You hadn’t wanted to leave the little house with the captivating man next door, but the other townspeople were starting to ask why you hadn’t aged since you’d shown up there decades ago, and the questions are only ever the start of your downfall. You’d cursed his name and yours in turn for the next few years until the heartbreak subsided.

“Before I left, though. We were alright.” You whisper.

He takes your other hand. “We’ll be alright again. It’s us now. Just us.”

“Just us,” you repeat, and for once, you let yourself believe it. You have it, your soulmate, him.

And at last, after centuries of wandering the land and sea alone, of second-guessing every shadow, of wondering what you did to deserve so much time by yourself without love, you realize that it has come to an end. All of it. There is no more solitude for you. Here by your side stands your soulmate. The long day has passed, and the rest of a quiet night shadows your threshold. It’s time to go home, so you think, but you’re already there.

requested by @cassiecrown, i hope you enjoy!

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy

[nemeliis]

Cursed!Lord Oyster AU

Spoilers for all chapter's of A Mermaid's Tale!

In this AU, Lord Oyster accidentally absorbs White Pearl's curse (NOT her power's, JUST her curse)— instead due to him clutching her pearl so dearly—because of this, when he returns from his voyage, seemingly unscathed despite the raw reckage and death of Abalone Cookie along with his entire crew, with a very odd smile on his face: almost like he knows something we don't, something has to be up. And because the curse seems to be fueled by rage, or the fact that it's supposed to be a Mermaids curse rather than a Cookies, his body takes the toll and he gets a serpent/mermaid half.

Which he hides via magic he also acquired during his curse. All of the rage he's been suppressing for decades comes broiling over in the worst way, and the leader of House Urchin has to deal with it before he's next on the chopping block. From a reclused, soft spoken Cookie with a humble heart—to a sadistic, conniving and unfeeling one filled with blinding rage overnight, Roasted Urchin isn't sure about the rumor's: or if he wants to believe them. The disappointment of House Oyster would never do something so vile as eradicating the entire Abalone House in cold jam in less than a day...right...?

___________________________

Here's some fun facts about him!

In Lord Oysters original concept, before he was even drawn or sketched out—he was going to be a harpy-like creature with wing's and a tail. But that was scrapped because I can't draw wing's to save my life, and it wouldn't make since considering he's from the land. I was supposed to represent how deep his curse went, but I opted for color pallette changes instead.

Though Lord Oyster can hide his serpentine lower half, he can't hide his hair changes or eye color. If you're wondering why no one questions it (except for Roasted Urchin Cookie)—it's because there too focused on the Abalone House's demise to realize what's going on.

He likes terrorizing House Urchin in his spare time—particularly Roasted Cookie, like little kid and his uncle fights but actually dangerous and sadistic.

He has a HUGE form, similar to Black Pearl! But he prefers to keep in his smaller one unless prompted.

Fiercely protective over House Oyster, and got more fortune than in the original timeline due to some.. interesting scheme's (killing other house's to get to the top faster so he could feed his family). He really does justify that one in his head.

When a family member of House Oyster reaches there 10th birthday, Lord Oyster meets them on the sea side and blesses them with his protection —this is why Oyster Cookie always had nannies up until that age, it's protocol. It's a family secret, and everyone see's Lord Oyster differently. But one thing that stays true: you can have faith in him, for if you have a pure heart, someone shall watch over you.

A “pure heart” just means like. An okay person since Lord Oyster brushes Oyster Cookies political game's off.

Lord Oyster gained the following power's from his curse:

Super strength (like. Throwing around ship's type strength)

Night vision

Sharp teeth...(not even a superpower but..teeth,,,)

Enhanced senses

Weapon summoning/water control

Immortality, can only die from unnatural causes. (He outlived his entire family ☹️..)

[rockrosethistle]

Miss Holloway sat in the booth across from him, her eyes narrowed in thought.

They were the last two in the diner, and they had been for well over an hour. Duke took a sip from his lukewarm mug of coffee before trying to start a conversation one last time.

"I like your earrings. Those new?"

Without a word, Miss Holloway unhooked the hoops from her ears. She placed the cold silver into his hand.

"For your wife," she murmured when he gave her a strange look.

Then she went back to not talking.

It had been like this the whole night. When Duke showed up to the diner, he'd expected to find the Miss Holloway he knew and loved, bubbly and witty and full of life.

Instead, she'd been quiet, answering his questions with a single sentence. He'd spent most of the night listening to the maddening tick of the clock on the wall.

Duke let another minute go by before saying anything.

"Why did you ask me to meet you here?"

It was at that Miss Holloway finally smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I just wanted to catch up."

"It's been a while," Duke agreed. The last time he saw her, she'd been off on the ferry to perform shows across the country. That must've been months ago.

"I'm leaving soon."

Duke leaned forward. "Like, on tour?"

"Something like that."

"But you just got back."

Miss Holloway met his eyes quite suddenly. "I said something like that."

It had been too long since she made the deal. People were starting to notice how she hadn't aged. And despite knowing what she was getting into, Miss Holloway was scared. Of being mourned, lamented, and eventually, forgotten.

She had a good life. Good friends. Fame, money.

And yet, there were things that were more important. Things that had to be dealt with. That would be her job from now on.

"Is everything okay?" Duke lowered his voice, though no one was around to hear. "Are you planning on doing something?"

"What makes you say that, Sherrif?"

"I have some friends at the law office, telling me about how you changed your will. Made Cher and I your beneficiaries..."

"Is Cheryl doing okay? How's the baby?"

"Due any day now, but Holly..." Duke softened. "What aren't you telling me?"

I'm so scared. I'm so scared.

"I'm getting popular, Duke. Anything could happen. I just want to make sure my money goes to the right people." She smiled. "We'd all be better off having more Duke Keanes in the world."

Duke wasn't entirely convinced, but he didn't want to let it ruin his night. "Funny you say that. That's the name we settled on for our boy."

"Is that right?"

Duke shrugged. "My father was a Douglas, and his father and so on."

"I like it. Continuing the tradition."

"Well, that's how you keep the memory."

Miss Holloway rested her chin in her palm. "You know, I really like that."

"Well, that's what everyone wants, right? To be remembered."

Some more than others.

"Then let's make a pact." Miss Holloway held out her hand. "I promise to always remember you, Douglas Keane."

Tentatively, he placed his hand in hers. Her skin was warm and soft, just like her. "I couldn't forget you if I tried."

Miss Holloway smiled one last time, a little sadly. It might've been her first time resetting a memory, but she knew what to do.

For a moment, she wondered just how many times she'd have to do this. If she would outlive her oldest friend, Duke, outlive his son. If she would keep repeating this same song and dance until the world ended, for better or for worse.

She had to start somewhere.

Duke blinked, and he was alone.

Alone?

What was he doing in the diner, by himself? He was here by himself.

He was here by himself.

And for some reason, he must've ordered two cups of coffee.

[radiance1]

Danny has found himself stuck in an animal plush.

Well, it's more like his heart and core was fused into said plush, don't ask him how he literally cannot tell you. All he can tell you, however, is that it had to do with a wish and a crazy wizard.

Somehow, he still has blood and ectoplasm running through his... fluff? Cotton? Probably cotton, and he found that he can, in fact, bleed, but he doesn't have any other organs underneath his cloth, nor is it wet with his blood, so he guesses he'll count his blessings where he can?

Speaking of cloth, it is a bitch trying to replace it whenever he got 'injured' so to speak, not to mention goddamn messy. He never seemed to run out of blood, so whenever he, say, loses an arm it's just a never-ending flow of red and green.

He's so glad he outlived everyone he knew before being turned into a toy; it would be so awkward otherwise.

He can stop it, of course, if he actively thinks to do so but most of the time he just, doesn't, because he honestly could not give less of a fuck to be honest. Blood loss doesn't affect him anymore, nor does he actually feel pain since, you know, no more nerves and all that.

Only time he actually does so is when he wants to repair himself.

Which is a BITCH and a half now that he says it, he never really got into sewing when he younger, more of Jazz and Tucker's thing when they started putting on the years. But it was even worse when he had to sew up his own 'wounds' with literal plush hands and no opposable thumbs, but he managed.

He had too, since bleeding everywhere he went got old real fast.

Honestly, living life as a plush toy wasn't that bad, if he was being honest. He didn't need to breath, use the bathroom, nor eat though he is capable of it so it's just an option now, nor does he feel any sort of pain. So really, he's just been having some slow days now that Amity doesn't need him anymore, keeping himself locked away inside his observatory in the ghost zone proved to something of the best for him if he was being honest.

Though, as the ghost prince he is required to leave every so often. Infinite Realm matters or a meeting with the Observants and what-not. There is also the occasional request from the Master of time to fix a fissure in time, but those are very rare nowadays, now that he settled down with the ghost king on a farm in some dimension, he doesn't know the exact whereabouts of.

Overall, his life was relatively peaceful nowadays.

Well, it was until he got a sticky note from Clockwork, asking him to fix a fissure within time in the dimension he currently resides in at the behest of another Master of Time.

Which, he didn't know there was more than one but it kinda makes sense if he thinks about the infinite dimensions and all that.

So he left his observatory, found the exact dimension Clockwork resided in and got to work with the permission of the other Master of Time. It was a relatively easy fix, if he was going to be honest, he just had to beat some overconfident wizard who wanted to change the past into the ground, for what reason he didn't really know- or care-, but he took care of him.

The only problem was that he lost an arm and had multiple magic-caused tears. So after that, he was just popped out into the present time in some random area, thankfully it was an alleyway instead of anywhere else, and got to fixing himself, with a sewing kit he carried around everywhere, which proved rather difficult with his loss of arm and all that.

During said repairs, however, some man landed in his specific alleyway, got hit by thunder, and transformed into a child. A child, who, having landed in a relatively secluded alleyway, saw the massive amount of blood currently on the ground, leaking from him, and his body in disrepair.

So of course, the first thing he asked of the kid was to hand him some cloth and an extra arm from the giant sewing kit near the wall over there.

(Edit: That sewing or repair kit he carries around has some spatial properties. As in it can resize itself at Danny's will and hold way more than it should, it's also giant because it's taller than Danny is lol.)

[xxsycamore]

A Soulmate That Wasn’t Meant to Be

╰┈➤ 🩷 While rare, there are some instances of a soulmate clock appearing to be broken, showing a negative countdown or one that you cannot outlive. Or both. You were just born under an unlucky star. One that destined you to not only fail to experience such a major event of your life as knowing when you've met your soulmate, but also for Arthur Conan Doyle to find out about it when you've successfully kept it a secret from almost everyone so far.

Arthur Conan Doyle x Gender Neutral Reader • rating: G • tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Alternate Universe - College/University; Alternate Universe - Reincarnation; Alternate Universe - Soulmates; Soulmate-Identifying Timers; Denial of Feelings; Feelings Realization; Fake/Pretend Relationship; Pet Names; Drinking; Time Travel; First Kiss • wordcount: 2,641 • masterlist

a/n: This is my gift for @oigimi, for the Secret Santa event hosted by @lemeowade ! I saw your preferences for AUs and I couldn't help myself searching for a connection...then I remembered soulmate clock AU is a thing, and then I remembered ikevamp deals with timetravel and I went "hmmm this can turn into something interesting!" and it spiraled out of control after that point 😭 i sincerely hope this isn't too big of a mess and that it's your type of fic! Hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun!! 🥺🥺❤❤ Namesake song by Jess Benko. Take a look at the end notes for clarification on some parts of this fic!

"Remind me again why do I have to spend the whole day being your pretend partner. The party doesn't start until 10PM tonight!"

"Here you go, luv. Be careful, it's hot!" Arthur hands the freshly baked pastry to you, resuming your slow stroll in Jardin du Carrousel, the garden of the Louvre museum. You hurriedly take it from his hands if that would make him finally pay attention to your question. Of course it would be hot, he doesn't need to remind you - it only annoys you further, as he so obviously does it to look like a good boyfriend more than anything.

"Do you want to taste mine? I can taste yours too."

"No thank you."

You suppose it's partly your own fault finding yourself in your current situation, considering the recent events. In a world where everyone is busy chasing after time, enjoying the dating scene before their soulmate countdown turns to zero, or trying to rush in and see the countdown speeding up as they try to play with fate and meet with their designated soulmate faster, you're an outcast. An outcast with a broken soulmate clock on your wrist, condemning you to a lifetime of long sleeves and wide bracelets and false modesty to trick people's curiosity. You should be used to them by now, their comments about you not being interested in relationships. And even though you do feel fed up with it, the thought of lying about dating someone just so they can shut up never crossed your mind.

But it crossed that of Arthur Conan Doyle. The college's infamous frivolous playboy, a firm believer of the 'hook up as much as you can before you find your soulmate!' ideology. Now, you didn't want to have anything to do with a guy like him, but on one of those college parties you were dragged to, he decided to pick you for the lead role in his biggest, stupidest drunken decision yet. And you were equally as drunk to play along with it, nodding in the face of his ex-girlfriend as she looked at the both of you in disbelief. For a playboy like Arthur, you thought he was managing to control his dating life better than this. But you guess he just got bored of being surrounded by love.

Straightening the lapels of his grey coat, Arthur fetches the brochure handed earlier to him out of his inner pocket and takes a quick look at it to make sure you checked out everything of interest in the area before entering the museum itself.

The guy has a whole checklist of activities for the day. You've seen it. He purposely taped another page underneath just to scare you with its sheer length, but you're seeing right through his tricks, the page is full of gibberish written just to take space. You've got your best frown on to keep the illusion of ignorance, hoping that you'd get bonus points for agreeing to go through the full contents of the list, both the real and the fake ones.

But is it really an act? The occasional tidbits of satisfaction coming from beating Arthur's brilliant mind - not that you'd ever give him the credit for it - are hardly enough to keep you entertained throughout the day. When the activities you take on today are meant to be just that, entertaining. And romantic too.

Now, were you a normal couple, a true couple, then maybe you'd be having fun now.

"Arthur, I think partners are supposed to listen to each other and answer each other's questions. At the very least."

"But you see, dear…" Arthur wraps his arm over your shoulder, gently nudging you into taking a turn away from the crowded path ahead and into a more secluded walk. "By asking that question out loud with people around us, you've already answered yourself. We clearly have more training to do, or we won't appear as a genuine couple."

Ah. He's right, damn it.

"I only lowered my guard because these people don't know us, stupid… Let's get inside already!"

Getting ahead of him, you think that as long as you appear excited to see the exponates, you can get away with keeping a few steps distance from Arthur. Hearing his low, annoying chuckle triggers the sensory neurons in your brain until a neat little image of his smirk is produced with near-perfect accuracy. Have you simply seen it too many times? There's no escape even when you turn your back to him, great.

The Louvre is magnificent to explore with the many pieces of art it houses, instantly changing your infatuation with the slow passage of time into wishes it would stop altogether. There's so much to see that you'd frankly not mind getting lost in here just to have an excuse to spend more time surrounded by art.

You have to admit, Arthur chose the perfect dating spot. You're not sure if it was based on your own preferences - surely not - but you find yourself not minding it suddenly.

"Picture!"

Hearing the signal, you instantly turn in the direction of the raised-up phone, smiling for the camera as Arthur presses his face closer to yours.

"Oh, this is a good one, I'm definitely posting it. You look so inlove."

"I'm in love with Da Vinci's work, that's it."

"Uh-uh. That works for me too." Arthur replies while his fingers dance across the screen, likely typing some cheesy caption for the picture. A second later your own phone vibrates in your pocket, signaling that he posted the picture and tagged you in it, and you don't even bother looking.

"At least you're a natural, Arthur."

"What, in masking an expression? How are you so sure?"

You blink, meeting his gaze as some child holding a balloon separates the two of you for a mere second. Instinctively, you shorten the distance so you don't lose Arthur, looking for his hand to take hold of. You've already been through that today, linking hands in the crowds. And while there was no real need to do that right now, you just did that…

To the question in your eyes evoked from his last words, he smirks and adds, "There are pieces of art here that I look at with fondness just like you do."

Your heart sinks for a moment, only to create palpitations that mess with your head. You have no idea where they came from or what evoked this feeling in your chest, but while looking anywhere but at Arthur, your gaze falls on other couples passing by. It's because you were instructed to watch them if you're having trouble recreating the subtle romantic gestures that indicate dating. An advice from a writer no doubt, one that you wish you could forget because it's too late telling your brain to forget what it's been taught. But the question is, why the sudden turning of stomach at the sight of them?

While failing to watch your step, you lose your balance and stumble on your own feet, meeting the hard ground hands-first. You feel eyes on you for a short moment; just a mere second any stranger might spare to witness the unfortunate event before moving on with their tour.

That's it, except for Arthur - who is there to pull you up in a manner of utmost care, dusting off your clothes, taking you to a more secluded area with benches to rest on and asking you at least three times if you're alright before you can snap out of your surprised state and let out a murmur of affirmation.

In the whirlwind of emotions rushing through your slightly clouded mind, you put the embarrassment of your fall aside and realize you still feel hot. As Arthur turns your hand around to inspect it, you realize that no amount of hand-holding numbed your reaction to the touch of his warm hands.

And no amount of his exaggerated lovey-dovey gestures of affection could prepare you for the look of genuine worry over something so insignificant on his face.

"You fell on your hands, they must be scrapped… let's get them under cold water, it would wash away the dirt too."

"Wait, don't look!-"

With the distraction slowing down your reactions, you fail to stop Arthur on time before he can roll up your sleeve.

Your soulmate clock instantly makes him adopt an expression of perplexion, as the quick look he gave it was enough for him to notice the bizarre sight of one too many numbers aligned on the width of your wrist.

-46 750 days, 9 hours, 17 minutes, 35 seconds

"Your countdown is…"

"Screwed up. I'm one of those people."

While rare, there are some instances of a soulmate clock appearing to be broken, showing a negative countdown or one that you cannot outlive. Or both. You were just born under an unlucky star.

One that destined you to not only fail to experience such a major event of your life as knowing when you've met your soulmate, but also for Arthur Conan Doyle to find out about it when you've successfully kept it a secret from almost everyone so far.

It has to be some kind of irony, being here with him today for these reasons. He who made up this whole plan because he needs an escape from love, while you on the other hand-

"Now that I've seen yours, it would only be fair I showed you mine."

"It's nothing, you really don't have to-"

You try to avert your gaze as Arthur extends his hand and rolls up his sleeve, turning it so you can see the inside of his wrist.

-12 616 days, 9 hours, 16 minutes, 51 seconds

"Huh…" You freeze for a moment, not believing your eyes. The guy you secretly envied for having the privilege of being sure about meeting true love to the point he'd chase ephemeral trysts just to kill time. Turns out he also won't be able to…

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't think I'm all that sad, luv. I was never destined to have a soulmate, but that's fine by me. Maybe that's what I deserve."

Your head spins with emotion once more, and this time it's guilt. And it weighs down on you heavier than all else there is, and you suddenly want to disappear.

It's probably not wise to turn your back on Arthur without saying a word, but you'll be regretting this later. You start running, and he calls out your name but it never approaches you. He's not even chasing after you, but you're glad - you've already started thinking of the apology you're going to drop in his direct messages before blocking his number.

Just as you halt your step and check behind your back, you spot his tall frame amidst the crowd, trying to push his way toward you. Without much time to think, you open the nearest door and pray that he'll lose you from his sight and continue ahead on the corridor.

This section of the museum appears different somehow, ontop of being strangely devoid of visitors, with the exponates carrying an air of extra antiquity to them. The path ahead is quite narrower in contrast to the other hallways too, the lightning more sparse, and the feeling of unease tells you to wait out Arthur's chase attempt and then go back where you came from.

Except, he finds you.

You hate it that he read your mind about entering that door, and you hate that you're now practically given the privacy to talk. Not wanting to face him now, you simply continue ahead, hoping to blend with the crowd at the other side of that corridor and escape him then.

Arthur follows behind you, continuing to call out your name, and your mind becomes dizzy out of a sudden. You're ready to blame it on one too many things and you don't pay much attention, until something odd happens. A blinding light flashes before you, making you unable to advance further. Arthur catches up with you just in time to put his hand on your arm.

The light is gone in the next moment, and you slowly open your eyes to find yourself in a different hallway, together with Arthur.

Sinking to your knees, you try to make something out of the bizarre situation, and Arthur follows you on the ground to soothingly massage your back, simultaneously checking for injury. A tiny part of you remains sane and warm, and it's glad that he's here.

"A-Arthur! Look at my-"

Moving his gaze from your shocked expression to your outstretched hand, he gasps as he sees your soulmate clock suddenly speed up, losing years upon years, seemingly not planning on stopping anytime soon. Another portion of shock hits you as you notice his own clock doing the same, and you drag up his hand to get his attention to it.

At a pace slower than yours, Arthur's clock reduces its countdown. The two of you can only watch in alert silence, everything else becoming irrelevant in the face of the miracle happening to those who accepted their deprived-of-love fate long, long ago. In the lone hallway, two sets of eyes search for a third person who does not exist, as one might do when that moment approaches.

The days on the counters reduce to what at most adds up to a few years, then a few months, then finally they turn to zero; followed by the minutes, and at last, followed by the seconds as well.

The rows of zeros align on both of your wrists, signaling that…

"My soulmate is…"

"It's been you the whole time?"

***

After being found by the residents of what you came to know is the mansion of Comte de Saint-German, you were introduced to the lord of the house himself. His explanation eased some of your concerns while still being bizarre enough to be hardly believable.

Being trapped here for a month surely sounds like you'll have enough time on your hands to unpack everything that happened today. But you're glad you're not going through this on your own.

Once you find yourself alone in the company of Arthur again, the butterflies in your belly are revived, stubbornly refusing to let anything overshadow the realization you came to just awhile ago.

Arthur seems to be able to tell what's on your mind. His deep sea-blue eyes lock into yours, and you don't know what to say. Luckily, he takes the initiative.

"We traveled back in time. The clocks were never broken… we were meant to meet here."

An echo of his words reverberates in your head as you try and let them sink in, absurd as they sound…there's no other explanation.

He starts laughing, much to your dismay.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, just…" He casually puts his hands in his pockets, admiring a painting hanging on the hallway's wall as he picks his words. "Seeing as we won't be showing up to that party… I guess we don't need the pretend couple lessons anymore."

It's a laugh you didn't know you needed. You aren't sure what is it about human nature that nudges you to seek the solace of a smile no matter how sobering and hostile a situation is, such as finding yourself in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar age. But you're thankful.

"It's a shame." Arthur turns to you. "I was looking forward to kissing you as our grand final lesson."

Your eyes widen, and Arthur has that stupid smirk plastered on his face. Without taking his hands out of his pockets, he leans into your frame and shortens the distance.

"It's a shame indeed…" is all you can muster before sealing those damned alluring smiling lips of Arthur with your own.

a/n: The soulmate clock AU normally uses the countdown for the couple's meeting but here they've clearly met before, so I wondered if I could instead make it count down to their first meeting in the place they're destined to fall in love at, Comte's mansion in 19th century Paris.

Arthur's countdown differs from that of the reader because his clock is synced with the timeline of his previous life - practically, he was born in 1859, lived through the year 1895 when they were destined to meet with the reader - but because it wasn't the right timeline, his clock began to run backwards. Arthur then dies in 1930 and gets reborn into 21st century Arthur, with a clock that still counts down to the year 1895, but the countdown picks up from the moment he died in his previous life - july 7th 1930 (his death day). This is why his and the reader's clocks aren't synced and they can't see it coming that they're each other's soulmate LMAO get doomed by the narrative

"mo are you alright why is this a 4 different AUs at once, 2600 word fic without any planned squeals" yes I think it's perfect as it and I had fun!

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[taki-yaki]

Prompt: Tav that's somehow acquainted with Drizzt. I don't know where his situation fits in the BG3 timeline, so I don't know if Tav being Drizzt's daughter's friend or classmate would make sense. Maybe a neighbor, or the apprentice of one of his party members? I honestly just want to see Astarion fangirl over meeting someone who has close ties to Drizzt Do'Urden.

Briennelle Zaharina (Drizzt’s daughter) would be around the age of 4 during the events of Baldurs gate 3. But an apprentice adventurer who teamed with Drizzt would work.

Astarion x Drizzt Apprentice Tav

As an Elf, you were aware of how long your kind lived for, even outliving many other races in kind. Instead of being stuck inside the walls of Evereska, you longed to venture beyond them. Travelling from town to city, helping with any problems that plague the area. Until you arrive at Baldur’s Gate meeting the famous Drizzt the drow, offering to become his apprentice just for the time he is within the city on his quest. 

Although he was hesitant at first to accept, he agreed after seeing your innate magic abilities in combat. 

Despite your time as his temporary pupil only being short through the eyes of normal elves, the experience to you felt as if it was a main part of your long life.

After your encounter with the famous drow, you would continue your travels across the sword's coast, always returning to the gate to reminisce upon the skills that your mentor taught you. However, during one of these trips to the city, you were abducted by the mind flayers, soon having a tadpole forced inside your head.

During one of these first few nights with your new companions, Wyll was exchanging stories around the campfire of his travels as the blade of Avernus, he would bid you to tell tales of your travels throughout the sword coast, with nearly everyone's eyes on you, except for a pale elf who was pretending to read a book to act disinterested, despite his ears seemingly twitching whenever someone blabbed about others.

As you told your tale of your ventures in Baldur’s Gate, you offhandedly mentioned how you met the notorious drow when you noticed Astarion fully snapping his attention towards you, seemly engrossed for a moment of the comment you made before swaying his eyes towards the book once again.

The next few nights would consist of you telling a story or two about Drizzt casually to Karlach or Wyll with Astarion occasionally dismissing some of your tales seeing them as nothing but farfetched stories at first, “Yes darling, and I’m a princess of house Nightstar and married to a tarrasque named Johnathan, anything else you have to say?”.

However as the tales would start to sound more believable, he would start to inquire into them, asking questions such as what was Drizzt’s eye colour and other minutiae details, which would quickly devolve into an argument at camp about whether the drow’s eye colour was a lavender hue or aquamarine or other minor details.

During another late-night argument once again about Drizzt, Karlach spoke aloud “Fangs if I didn’t know any better I’d say that you’re a fan of Drizzt”, his mouth quickly shut upon hearing Karlachs words, “As if I would fawn over such a thing, dear that is for children, I’m only correcting your ‘mistakes is all”, before he attempted to smoothly retreat towards his tent for the night.

The next night, the arguments between you seemed to have ceased, with you both only acknowledging each other through silent glances across the camp. It isn’t until you confront him, once everyone else has gone to sleep for the night, that he attempts to withdraw to his tent once again, apologising for arguing over such trivial things, but it isn’t until he interrupts you with a soft sigh before stating 

“I- I never said I disliked your fables, my dear”

“When I was trapped under Cazadors thumb, I would daydream of the drow one day coming to save me from his hell, a revolution of sorts against him.” turning to avoid your line of sight, uttering in a hushed whisper “But that never happened”.

“You know, I’m not your exact ‘Drizzt’ type, but I promise, I’ll kill your vile master, I’m certain Drizzt wouldn’t have stood for such a thing as do I.”

As he looks down upon you, in silence, he lets out a little chuckle, before offering an outstretched hand towards you.

“You know, It would be nice not to have to rely on you as my great protector, but... well, I do appreciate the thought.”

Raising your head to meet him face to face, reaching out to clasp his hand softly. 

Throughout the rest of that night, the two of you spend the rest of the night in long discussions about your fondness for the legendary drow.

It isn’t until you arrive at the city that the two of you discuss Drizzt's latest adventures that were published within the new books. Reading the book together, actively discussing each tale that was told and just for a moment, true peace was found between you both, despite all the horrors you’ve been through with the absolute.

[youssefguedira]

the rest of this won't be finished for a while so here's the intro to lucia fic 2. or something

“I want to go home,” Nicolò says one night, twenty-three years into their immortality. Yusuf is halfway asleep, lulled by the gentle tapping of the rain on the window of their room and Nicolò’s fingers lightly skimming the skin of his shoulder, up and down, but when he speaks Yusuf is suddenly decidedly awake.

He is a little surprised, if only because Nicolò has never really spoken about his family before, and certainly never brought up the idea of going back. It’s not as if they haven’t talked about it before. They’d spent a long time in Mahdia, with Yusuf’s family, until the whispers about Yusuf’s apparent lack of aging had grown inescapable. It has been a while since they had to leave, but Yusuf still dreams about his father’s face the day they left.

Perhaps that is why Nicolò waits to mention it. Perhaps he, too, is thinking about the fact that they will likely outlive everyone else they know.

“My mother and father are almost certainly dead,” Nicolò continues, almost conversationally. “But my sister – she would be almost seventy, if I have calculated correctly.”

Yusuf turns his head to look up at him, but Nicolò doesn’t meet his eyes. He has mentioned his sister before, but, like the rest of his family, he hasn’t talked about her often.

“She may have passed already,” Nicolò says. “But if – if there is a chance, and I do not at least try to see her again – I do not know if I will ever be able to forgive myself.”

“We can go,” Yusuf offers. “Whenever you want.” There’s nothing really keeping them here – they’d only ended up in Valletta after a job protecting a merchant ship had carried them to the island, and they’d liked it enough that neither of them wanted to leave right away. Yusuf could see himself growing to love this place, with time; maybe they will return someday.

Nicolò hums.

“Tell me about her?” Yusuf asks. He knows only her name, from the earliest days of their acquaintance. Lucia.

Nicolò sighs. For a while, he is silent.

“Lucia travelled three days to try and convince me to stay, when I told her I was going to Jerusalem,” he says. “My father had sent me away, because I had embarrassed him, and he wanted me far enough away that people would forget. She didn’t know how to read, but when I wrote to her anyway, she learned. And then she learned to write, so she could reply.” Nicolò looks up at the ceiling. Yusuf knows parts of this story already, but not the full thing.

“I should have written, or – or something,” Nicolò says. “She must think I died in Jerusalem.”

Yusuf does not know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Finally, Nicolò looks at him, and Yusuf kisses his shoulder.

“We can leave in the morning,” Yusuf says, quiet. Genoa isn't too far, by boat – he's sure they'll be able to find passage somehow, even if it's just to the mainland.

Nicolò nods. And so it is decided: they leave Malta the next day.

[bonefall]

I am FASCINATED by the Frostfour's dynamic in this rewrite- what's everyone's feelings on each other? (Cannot imagine that they're a big fan of Thornclaw)

CINDERPELT

Adores her siblings and remains close to them for her entire life... she didn't live long enough to watch Thornclaw's descent into the Dark Forest. There's a feeling that when she died, the family began to fall apart.

Have I mentioned how Brightheart is a Cleric helper? It's not an official role or anything, she just knows some basic herbs, and often accompanies the Clerics as backup muscle. In BB, that's because of Cinderpelt.

And it's funny, Cinderpelt is the older sister, but she's much smaller than Brightheart.

She feels more "on the same level" as Bracken, since they're both the older siblings. They can also remember their dad Lionheart, which Thorn and Bright can't.

BRACKENFUR

I feel that Frostfur was often trusting him with stuff at a young age, since she was so overwhelmed. "Bracken watch your little-mates for a second. Bracken hold this. Bracken could you fetch a mouse from the pile?"

He really misses his dad, and felt like he needed to be that for Bright and Thorn even though he was only a few moons older. I think Brightheart actually takes after him, she has his bad habit of overextending and is even worse at asking for help.

He's shocked and disappointed by Thornclaw. He can't believe that his brother has gone so far. Brackenfur is eventually one of the cats who comes down from StarClan in the BOTTE (battle of the true eclipse) to fight for the Clans, and part of that is that he needs to confront Thornclaw one last time.

THORNCLAW

Growing up, he was very close to Grandma Speckletail. Over time, his siblings started noticing he was picking up some pretty nasty old ideas from her. Especially Brackenfur; he was a faithful deputy of Firestar, moving the Clans towards a new era of peace and cooperation, and Thornclaw sounded just like a bigoted grandma.

The drift was mutual. After the Too Mixed Meeting stunt, Firestar started looking over Thornclaw for promotions and apprentices, and Thornclaw blamed Brackenfur for not making him reconsider. Meanwhile, Brightheart was growing increasingly uncomfortable with Thornclaw's beliefs, having Cloudtail as a husband.

In the Dark Forest, I think Thornclaw does regret it all. He misses them, and wonders if they miss him too... but he's too proud to go begging for forgiveness. He has made his nest, and he has the honor to lay in it.

BRIGHTHEART

Outlived all of her siblings. She misses them so, so much.

Specifically, she misses the days just before the bulldozer came, back when Whitewing was little. How Brackenfur took a shine to her right away, and the love in Speckletail's eyes for how much she reminded her of Snowkit. Cinderpelt being a proud auntie, boasting to Thornclaw with his tiny smile.

She wishes she knew that it would be the last great peace with all of her family in one place, but you never really know how special moment is until long after it's over.

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLI

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Rated Mature. Rating subject to change. Mind the tags. On AO3 here.

Zandik adjusted the veil one more time despite the fabric covering exactly what it needed to, his fingers lingering on the edge of the fabric.  A piece of absolute ingenuity, it did nothing to hinder your vision whatsoever, as if you were wearing tinted glasses in the sun; the fabric was entirely solid from the other side and hid your appearance.  

“The Tsaritsa will likely ask to see your face; other than myself, moya Tsaritsa is the only one entitled to such knowledge,” he said softly.  “No one else.  Not at present, at any rate.”

The passing touch slipped away, as it always did, and you found yourself longing for that stolen moment weeks ago.  He held himself back still.  Only this time, the distance felt like a chasm.  Emotional limitations reared their heads, familiar only in the vague sensation that reminded you of a darkened auditorium and a gaze across a library.

As soon as Omega’s hand fell from yours weeks prior, Zandik always seemed just out of reach.

You expected the trip to Snezhnaya to be similar to the one you made to the foot of the mountain that felt like a lifetime ago.  He’d since explained that leyline travel was the compression of time and space, using the world’s veins to connect one memory or sensation with oneself in order to do so.  You half-hoped that you would pack your things and the two of you would fall and arrive right where you needed to.

But his mind was elsewhere after he ripped a red star-like device from behind a false mask and a bundle of wires.  His gaze had lingered on the purple and green chess pieces in your hands and wordlessly, you held them out to him.  If Omega had them, and was passing them along, they had to be important.

Zandik took them from you and you saw them again only once, when the two of you were alone in the captain’s quarters and he called each one a Gnosis.  The ideas he posed to you were nothing new, merely offshoots of similar discussions you shared in the past about the stars and fate and what laid beyond them.  As the ship rocked on a particularly tumultuous night, you could only think of a diagram drawn in the dirt and discussions of pruning to perfect fate, perfect humanity .  

Everything felt like an echo of itself.

And now you stood in a parlor next to Zandik waiting for the Tsaritsa to call on you both, your hands aching from lack of stretching and the frozen air.  He played with the Gnoses idly, their inner power shimmering.  You had only ever met the Dendro Archon our of necessity and now here you were, about to meet the Archon known best for her ruthlessness and lack of heart.  It was easy to take comfort in the way he held his shoulders, the certainty and dash of arrogance that came from him in waves that made everyone else shift their weight and avert their eyes, all the while whispering about the success of Sumeru at every turn.

You wished you weren’t keenly aware of the handmaiden’s eyes on you as she finally escorted the two of you into the Tsaritsa’s private study.  Plenty of the whispers circulating around the Palace were about you and it had taken you several moments to process the title of ‘Lord Harbinger Dottore’ that accompanied them.  Mere glances turned into stares as if people were dissecting you; audiences of massive proportions were never a problem but you were one in a crowd back then, just another face.  

Not known to be the soulmate of a high-ranking Fatui Harbinger.

The Tsaritsa’s study was, structurally, like the rest of the Palace: crystalline, clean, opulent.  Bookshelves lined the pathway that opened up to a raised area with a large desk, a sparkling skylight above, and wide windows with a pristine view of the jagged mountains and swirling snow outside.  Off to one side, the room stretched a little to accompany a sitting area by a fireplace.  Despite the kind smile and warmth in the soft blue eyes watching you approach, it was difficult to imagine the woman standing before you ever taking comfort in the fire.

Platinum hair fell in waves, curling softly as it went from white to icy blue.  She wore, not a gown, but a beautifully pressed white dress uniform one might have reserved for court rather than a battlefield.  Epaulets of gold framed her shoulders and a red sash cut a clean line across her torso from her left shoulder to her right hip, a shining crystalline star pinned where one might consider her heart to be.

The Tsaritsa looked as if she might have been carved from the very permafrost of her kingdom and yet her expression seemed capable of melting even the most stubborn ice.

“It is good to finally see you in good company after all these years, Doctor,” she said.  “Two Gnoses and a soulmate?  Quite an unparalleled success.”

You bowed as Zandik had told you to, right hand over your heart.  With the large cloak around you, the gesture didn’t come off as polite as you preferred but the smile on the Archon’s face didn’t fade.  

And neither did your confusion.  The Dendro Archon had known about the connection between you and Zandik but it had been a matter of circumstance.  Not to mention said circumstances were tied deeply with Omega’s entire plan.  The Cryo Archon laughed softly as you turned your head to look between them for a moment.  It was not your turn to speak and you were not on familiar terms with the Tsaritsa; it would be impolite to interrupt.

Cold hands, the fingertips as blue as morning snow, lifted the veil over your eyes and tucked it back to keep it in place.  Her eyes scrutinized every part of your visage, drinking you in the way a shore pulled a tide but her kind smile never wavered.

“I do govern matters of the heart, my dear,” the Tsaritsa said, cupping your face for a moment.  “We Archons may not choose Vision bearers or fated bonds but we can identify their qualities.  It has been a long while since I last had the pleasure of such a union.  I hope you find my land to your liking.”

She took your hands in hers, finding your calluses with ease, your fingers stiff.

“You will have to play for me, sometime.  If you’re skilled with a piano, there is one in a salon that’s never seen much use.  It is yours should you ever wish to play it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you replied when she folded your hands together and let go.

“Now, Doctor, the matter of the Gnoses…”

You kept the veil lifted as you watched Zandik hand over the two chess pieces, Omega’s apology changing hands once more.

When the Segment handed them to you, forced your fingers around the powerful beacons, you wished you’d known how imperative they were then and there.  If you had understood then what you did now, after several seasick days and discussions about the divine, you would have at least had the nerve to speak.  Not that Omega deserved anything after the mess he made of your memories and your fated bond.  

Most of the conversation passed in a mix of words you understood and names you had no reference for.  Something about Fontaine, about Natlan, and two more Gnoses left.

“We shall speak of this another time, then,” the Tsaritsa concluded.  “You have…quite a workload waiting for you, according to Lord Pantalone.”

Zandik said nothing, only bowing in a similar fashion as he did upon greeting the Tsaritsa.  You followed suit, wondering all the while what kind of god the Tsaritsa was to earn the respect of a heretic like your soulmate.

The laboratories were far into the depths of the Palace.  You had known the stairs of opera houses and theatres, of grand mansions and more, but nothing quite compared to the endless flights between the heart of the Palace and the underground facilities.  More than once, you had to stop, even going so far as to return the cloak to Zandik before you grew too overheated.  He draped it over his shoulders, unbothered by the extra layer.

“Please tell me elevators travel this far down, Zandik.”

“They do.”

“Then why—”

His fingers pushed the edge of the veil up, tangled in your hair, and his other hand reached up to remove his own mask.  He wasn’t one for sleep, not consistently, something you’d known for years due to the strange schedule your dreams followed.  Whatever Omega had done, however, had taken its toll; his eyes were strained, the bruises beneath them darker than the last time you saw his face, and the usual spark behind them was dim, just like his earring.  Not unlike a candle burning the last of its wick.

Moments like this made you question the existence of the chasm you swore you felt.  He gave in, only when he was certain you were hidden from others.  For all but a few minutes, you felt closer to him again.  Another moment, stolen in the mere minutes you were given as of late.

Zandik inhaled deeply, slowly, your heart racing of its own accord at his proximity as the cloak fell around both of you.  If anyone were to see you, they might have the very wrong idea of what was transpiring, which certainly didn’t help .  You brought a hand to his cheek and rested the other on his neck, dipping a finger beneath the leather choker to pull him back ever so slightly so you could look him in the eye again.

“Zandik…”

The hand in your hair tugged a little before loosened its grip, as if he was catching himself.  Whenever he touched you, it wasn’t for long as of late.

If Omega managed to mess up your memories, you could only imagine what he must have done to Zandik’s own consciousness in his last few moments.

You blinked away a memory of Omega, face streaked with oil, struggling to close the necessary distance.

Zandik released a breath through his teeth, his eyes tracing the wall behind you before he settled his gaze on you again.

“It would be best if you took up the Tsaritsa’s offer,” he whispered, his fingers in your hair tense again before they pulled away to fix the stray pieces.  “There are several plans that need my attention; you will need to occupy yourself and I will not keep you as...”

“As Omega did,” you finished for him.

“Precisely.  I will not deny that a part of me would prefer to keep you to myself but that would be a disservice to you.”

He leaned into your touch ever so slightly and closed his eyes.  For a moment, he looked at peace, and your chest ached at the way minute parts of him relaxed against you.  He was, genuinely, trying; there was no impression he was doing anything to the contrary, not during the ship ride over, and certainly not now.

“I sent a letter ahead of us when we docked,” Zandik said, standing straight again.  “Of all of the other Harbingers, Pantalone is…a colleague I’ve come to a mutual understanding with.  He will likely already be down in the lab or arrive soon enough.”

“Pantalone?”

The Tsaritsa mentioned someone by that name, you recalled.  Another Harbinger, from the sound of it.  

“He’s polite enough, as only a banker can be,” he continued.  “Perceptive, of course.”

Your lips pulled into a thoughtful frown.  You would, inevitably, run into people who put pieces together as easily as if they were doing a jigsaw puzzle.  After all, you were a foreigner and there were only so many purposes for someone in your position.

In the distance, you felt the rumble of a boiler kicking on, and you counted the beats between valve openings for a moment before you spoke.

“Is there a point to hiding my face, then?  Doesn’t this,” you gestured to your veil, “draw more attention to me?”

“The attention of a new presence is quick to pass.  Not hiding your face would be indicative of not being my equal, which would put you at a disadvantage; you were quite clear that, if you came with me, it would not be with the intention of being anything less than what you are to me and I have no desire to put you in such a position.  Those with public facing roles, and lesser ranks, must show their face and their identities are masks in and of themselves.  Pantalone is the head of Northland Bank in its entirety, for example, but he is also the Ninth Harbinger.  Such identities feed one another but conversely they are precisely what hold him back.”

You let your hands drift from his face and his neck to his chest, pulling them back in the heat of the cloak.

“We will deal with the hypotheticals of any problems as they become reality,” Zandik concluded.

He sounded as if he was speaking more to himself than to you but you nodded in agreement nonetheless.  He replaced his mask and you straightened the eye veil again before continuing down the stairway.

When you passed through a set of grandiose doors and stepped into the large workspace, you were greeted by the sight of a man with black hair waving away a gurney.  He looked every bit a businessman in his sleek attire (Liyue-inspired, you guessed), dressed in black with hints of purple and a set of spectacles perched on his nose.  You saw a hint of gold behind his glasses as he looked Zandik over, as if taking inventory of a shelf, but he closed them again as he smiled and folded his hands.  

“You certainly took your time,” the stranger said.  “I have other appointments to keep, Doctor.”

Zandik scoffed.  “Like what, Regrator, cutting yourself?  How do you manage to slice your hand when all you do is accounting?”

The man before you was entirely unfazed by the jab; in fact, you swore his smile grew wider.

“The same way you manage to simultaneously collapse in at least ten different places at the same time,” he replied.

You schooled your lips, reminding yourself that your mouth was still visible.  So he, too, knew about the Segmentation?  How many more knew about them?  Or was it an open secret that Zandik had kept branches of himself and used them for all sorts of purposes?

“Better than collapsing only once and dealing with it in intervals.  Get it all out of the way, you know?  Wouldn’t you call that economical , Regrator?”

Judging by the tilt of the other man’s head and his tight smile, you gathered he could think of a million things to call the phenomena and not a single one of them was economical.  

“It’s quite rude not to shed some light on your…endeavors, Doctor.  No word, no warning, reports of you collapsing everywhere and no one having a plan.  Not to mention your…intriguing companion.”

He turned his attention to you and your blood iced over as his eyes opened and focused on you.  That shade of gold was only rivaled by mora itself, you thought, but mora at least retained some sort of warmth.

“I am Pantalone, Ninth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers.  It is rare to see our Doctor in the company of others.  Whom do I have the grace of meeting?”

You gave your name, along with the gesture of respect you gave the Tsaritsa.  When you looked up again, no smile graced Pantalone’s lips.  In fact, you speaking seemed to have his mood worse somehow.

“You are from Fontaine, mademoiselle?”

“Yes.”

“And yet the ship you were on came straight from Sumeru—”

“Are you done, Regrator?  I believe there are more important matters to address than the company I keep.”

A sharpness in the air hung high, like the guillotine that the Hydro Archon loved to make use of.  Unspoken questions that would be asked when you weren’t there.  Pantalone’s gaze shifted from you to Zandik, staring for a moment, before he spoke again.

“I was only ensuring that she was given the respect of an introduction, Doctor.  But yes, if you would allow me to explain what, precisely , has been done in your absence regarding the…prostheses.”

You made to follow Zandik (after all, why would you not go with him, after what you’d witnessed?) only to see Zandik shake his head.  His hair curled around the crystal earring, the jewel dull and lifeless, like a man at the gallows.

“I will be back shortly.  There’s little reason for you to accompany me.”

With Pantalone lingering in the background, you were in no position to barter and argue against him.  It was one thing when you were alone; it was another to have a lower rank Harbinger witness the Second bicker with who was, effectively, a stranger.  On the journey over, you were reminded that a Harbinger’s rank was not just a social one but a military one as well.  Authority could not, should not, be usurped.  The consequences were not just social embarrassment.

You gave a small nod and you watched the two men cross the threshold into another room, the chilled air spilling out and curling like a cat by a fire.  The heavy door closed behind them and you were left alone in the large space.  

The stone walls were illuminated at intervals just large enough to keep the shadows at bay but when you looked up, the ceiling was swallowed by darkness.  It was too large to be a workshop in and of itself but you caught piles of parts off to one side, organized by part and then by size, and in a corner you caught a smaller version of the machine you saw in the mountains, partially dismantled.  

The flagstones beneath your first were not without questionable stains and you tried not to think too hard about their source.  You hummed a few bars of notes quietly as you inspected the rest of the open space; down a corridor, you found a well-stocked and sizeable library, and then an office, shelves cluttered with more books, along with jars of what must have been specimens, and various trinkets and mechanical pieces.  

You picked up a mask, different than the one Zandik wore now, with only the eyes and a corner of the mouth cut out.  A black and white pattern, with the sigil of the Fatui, decorated the surface, and you tried to imagine how he might look in it, red eyes shining.  It wouldn’t have looked right on Zandik now, not with the way his hair was.  But a younger version of him, the false memory of a student of the Akademiya who shared a picnic at sunset with you, came to mind instead.

Putting it down, you continued humming, trying to commit the notes and patterns to memory to write them down later as you returned to the large open area.  Zandik and Pantalone were already finished, it appeared, and as you drew closer, you heard parts of the conversation.

“Don’t tell me you actually have a soulmate, Doctor.”

You tried not to think about the way Pantalone said the word, as if it were acid to be spit.

“You’re the last person to ever consider any kind of action by the Heavenly Principles to be worth the trouble.  How do you know she isn’t lying?”

“The prostheses weren’t the only things Omega saw fit to take matters into his own hands with, Regrator.”

The command in his voice said everything words didn’t: drop the matter at once.

You caught a flash of anger across Pantalone’s face that vanished as soon as both men saw you approach.  Pantalone closed his eyes as he smiled this time before he spoke.

“Be careful in your wanderings, mademoiselle; you never know what you’ll find in the depths of the Palace.  The Doctor has spent many a decade creating all sorts of monstrous fiends and mechanical deathtraps.”

“I’ll keep that in that mind, Lord Pantalone,” you replied evenly, bowing slightly out of deference.

You hated how easily your muscles remembered certain things; tones to use, gestures to exhibit submission and respect.  The culture was different but the ego of a man with a lot of money and power and every desire to gain more of it was universal.  Your skin crawled at the memories that swam to the surface and you swore you felt old bruises blossom across your flesh in an instant.

“I appreciate your thorough work as always, Pantalone,” Zandik said.  “I’ll take it from here.”

“Excellent.  I tire of seeing your face anyway.”

With a polite bow to you and a murmuring of titles, the large doors to the facility slammed shut and you were finally left alone with Zandik again.

“He seems…delightful,” you said after a beat.  “And he’s the only colleague of the Harbingers you get along with?”

Zandik’s jaw clenched and then unclenched as he kept his gaze on the doors for a full beat longer than necessary.

“I would consider him…not unlike those you spent your time with in your orchestra.  Tolerable at best but the options to pick from are…subpar.”

He held out a hand towards you and you closed the distance to take it, allowing yourself to be enveloped by the cloak again.  You wanted to ask about the conversation you overheard but the heavy sigh that escaped Zandik shoved that thought aside.  The room, no doubt, held something related to what had happened over the last few weeks, and only seemed to have taken a heavier toll on him.

“You would prefer to go straight to work,” you stated.

“There is too much to be done and I am without the means to delegate my workload,” Zandik replied tersely.  “I must.”

“Tomorrow.”

He scoffed and you turned to face him entirely.

“One day of rest won’t kill you.  Overworking yourself might.”

“And one day of rest won’t be enough to repair—”

You reached up and took his mask off carefully, as he had shown you how to, disregarding the door nearby.

“You can have tomorrow, Zandik.  Everything will be here tomorrow, too.”

Weary eyes looked at you.  His mouth was partially open in further protest until he exhaled and looked away.  He might work through it anyway, you knew well enough, but you wouldn’t be able to rest yourself if you didn’t try.

“As you wish.  But don’t anticipate subliminal results.  I’ve never been one to be idle.”

The sitting room looked exactly as it did in the first dream you saw it in.  Directly across from you was a series of windows nestled among stone light enough to reflect daylight when it was present.  The ceiling was still covered in geometric patterns that, if you looked at them too long, you would be lost in their designs; a mimicry of the plush area rugs in various shades of blue.  

Familiar chairs and sofas, a coffee table marked at the exact spot used to rest metal boot heels, sat in the center of the room.  Bookshelves covered the walls, an unlit fireplace sat right where you recalled it being.

The rest of the suite wasn’t much better.  Objects and furniture you expected to be in one area were in another, some rooms didn’t exist, and when you asked about direct access to the labs, Zandik chuckled.

“As if I would risk any back entry to my private rooms to be exploited,” he said.

He’d meant it teasingly.

It didn’t stop the hair on the back of your neck and arms from standing up.  Even as you picked from a tray brought up to the room, washed up, dug through your belongings, you felt off-kilter.  It was impossible to shake the sensation both that you were being watched and that you were utterly alone.

Déjà vu felt like too weak of an experience.

Not helped, of course, by Zandik picking through correspondence and moving about the rooms on autopilot.  He was no doubt trying to ground himself while trying to relax per your ask, at least to the best of his abilities.

He wasn’t one for compliance; others complied with him, not the other way around.

The bed (hardly used, Zandik admitted), was far more welcoming than you anticipated.  Smooth sheets, warm blankets, supportive without being too firm.  Falling asleep was easy; your body was exhausted and your mind only had so much bandwidth before it, too, gave in.

Staying asleep was another matter.

By the time you realized you were dreaming, it was impossible to stop.  Omega, pulling you away from your work, crowding you, invading you.  Hands on your face, your neck, as the smile above you faltered and twitched, barely choking out final words you wished you could forget.  Blue liquid ran from unsee eyes and the weight above you went slack.  

You struggled against the pressure on top of you only to feel your arms restrained and hear your name called as if you were deep underwater.  Gasp after gasp never felt like enough and when you came face to face with wide red eyes with even darker circles beneath them, you could only let out a silent scream as your vision blurred.

“You’re awake, you’re safe,” you heard, Zandik’s voice gravelly with sleep.  “Breathe.”

Your lungs didn’t want to work but you did as he said, inhaling and exhaling as he counted.  Just as you focused on the rhythm of a metronome, you let the cadence and beat of Zandik’s counting guide you until the noose around your lungs loosened.  Absently, your fingers twitched, desiring nothing more than to hear and feel the vibration of strings beneath them, through your very being.

Zandik only left long enough to retrieve a glass of water.  You suppressed a chill as the cold liquid ran down into the empty pit of your stomach.  

“Tell me what happened,” he said at last.

“The room,” you whispered when you found your voice again.  “The layout is different enough but Omega used much of it in the dreamscape.”

You took another sip, all the while feeling tired but determined eyes on you, observing everything.  On Omega, the sensation had been unsettling; on Zandik, it felt just like it did in every dream, even if you never actually saw his face.  Not unlike when he’d watched you summon energy from your Vision all those weeks ago.

“I dreamed but you weren’t there.  Omega was.  Started out as if the…experiment never stopped.  Only it turned into the Sanctuary and instead of him falling before me, he fell on top of me and—and you’re right here and instead of you, I get—”

Your words died as your throat and lungs tightened again, your mind seeing the image all too clear.

Hands pried yours off of the water glass, took it away, and then smoothed your hair out of your face.  

“It was only a nightmare,” Zandik said steadily.  “No one else is here.  Just me.”

In the waking world, your mind understood it so easily; without the dreams and in a different location, you were under the assumption your subconscious knew the difference too.

Arms reached around you, awkward in their embrace but no less well-intended.  You thought of a flower, crystalized in Cryo nestled safely in your bag.  Lips found your hairline, your forehead, your temple, each brush a promise.  

“Time is required,” he whispered.  “Such a situation cannot be handled without a great deal of research and observation first.  It is not my usual approach but I am beginning to find you are the exception in most things.  And therefore I must accommodate you accordingly.”

You leaned into him, hands reaching for the soft material of his sleep shirt as you closed your eyes and breathed in his scent.  You didn’t remember falling asleep again but the next time you opened your eyes, it was to find the room bathed in crisp morning light, the sky outside streaked with pink and orange.  

Beside you, the bed was empty, cold.

The only indication that last night’s moment wasn’t a dream in itself were the rumpled sheets and pillow, long since abandoned in favor of work.  A sentiment you could understand as you dressed, longing to put the notes in your mind to paper, to hear them properly.  A need that, if denied for too long, would rupture rather than blossom.

Perhaps you would take up the Tsaritsa’s offer after all.

[lullaebies]

Have you ever written an AU where Aegon II survives longer after the dance, or do you consider writing one? (Obviously it's fine if you aren't interested, I hope you don't feel uncomfortable by me asking)

I think the idea is interesting because he would have had to remarry and start a "new" family to have more heirs... like his father did.

Aegon is Viserys's mirror. Both became king because most of Westeros supports male primogeniture, both outlived their dragons, both are broken physically, both only had one female surviving child from their first marriage to their relative who they married very young

As heartbreaking as it is to say this, I think if Aegon had remarried like his father did, he would have treated the children from his second marriage the same way Viserys treated him & his siblings because he's just like his father and Helaena was his Aemma

Obviously he'd name whatever future eldest living son he had heir but in all other ways Jaehaera would have been his Rhaenyra

...and the emotional neglect would all be the same. The shadows of Jaehaerys & Maelor would have hung over those kids the way Baelon hung over his.

Jaehaera definitely wouldn't have grown up to be another Rhaenyra because natural difference in personality + different traumatic childhood experiences + not being raised "thee heir" but I can see their father's treating them the same. Never the most important until their mothers and brothers are dead and suddenly their everything because they're all Aegon & Viserys had left from "the good part of their lives".

The cycle of abuse/neglect in this family is tragic, and everything we know about Aegon, both from his personality and experiences, tells me he wouldn't have been able to break it.

To start with the question - first of all don't worry it's not uncomfortable at all! but I haven't, and I would probably not write it myself as in the long run it wouldn't really cater to me as a writer (as I ship helaegon pretty exclusively with one another and while I love, love the angst, an AU like that would require much care put into it that I don't have the time or will to provide). That being said, you put it in SUCH a fantastic way, and I think we have the same mind, because yep, lmao. I am obsessed with Aegon II and Viserys parallelism, tbh, the tragedy of it is so raw. I have gone on record talking about drunk-on-poppy-milk Aegon thinking he's going to see Helaena when people tell him about him going to meet his (new) wife. The level of guilt he could have from knowing that this all stemmed from his taking of the crown (or maybe, it was always meant to be, considering the circumstances with TB - but either way, he doomed his sister-wife and his kids just by being him and that is SUCH a blow). Everything you put down on, I agree with 100%. Whether you see Helaegon as romantic or platonic or whatnot, the days he was married to Helaena and had his kids with her was the era of his life that was quiet and he was more free. And now he's traumatized to think of all the loss he has suffered, not as able-bodied by any means, and suffering long term guilt. You can just see him on his dying breathes thinking he's seeing Helaena in the light - and perhaps everyone else he has failed, too. Aegon II and Viserys I parallelism always, always FUCKS. The generational trauma will never stop hurting those who weren't well-adjusted enough to bear it in the first place. Amazing angst take anon, I love.

[beloveddawn-blog]

"... And he insisted I was losing rhythm during the drum solo so I told him to put his mana orbs where his mouth is and brought my drum set to the creek with me. Then Iris showed up with a violin she's been working on, and Vaan brought his flute, and anyway, long story short I woke up to an official noise complaint from Wesley. I paid everyone's fines because I started it, but I think I'm just gonna lay low until he calms down a bit."

Nathanial laughed so hard he almost cried listening to his wife talk about why she was currently avoiding Nel'Vari. One day, when she had defeated Dynus and Sun Haven was out of danger, he would go with her and see it, but for now he was content to visit it vicariously through her stories. Vaan came by the farm not infrequently, waving from his cloud as he soared on by. Iris had been lured away with the promise of a festival the first year Teleri had lived here and came to every special event now. Nathanial had even had the dubious pleasure of meeting Wesley last Halloween, and had found him just as awkward and uncertain as he had expected with the other man so wildly outside of his comfort zone. But there was one person Teleri always talked about that he hadn't met yet, and he had heard some interesting things recently.

He had never been one for subtlety, so he just dove right in. "Vaan told me something interesting the other day. Something about your friend Lucius."

Teleri snuggled up on his shoulder, her own animated tale obviously done with, and grinned up at him. "Ooh, gossip? Did Vaan come to visit? Or is this from the Lantern Festival and you've been holding out on me for two full weeks?"

He laughed again, charmed as always by his beloved. "The Lantern Festival, but in my defense I was waiting for you to hear about it organically. I thought you might have." She shook her head, and he continued. "Vaan said that Luke was teasing Lucius about only ever talking to you and Opal, but instead of his usual line about the Moon being all he needs in life, he replied that anyone with the good fortune to know you would understand why you were an exception. Apparently you even asked about becoming a Moon Attendant yourself, except it's another eighty nine years until they recruit. Luke was talking about it in a 'she's as crazy as he is' sort of way, but Vaan knows you both better."

Teleri was quiet for a moment, and Nathaniel let her be. She was very serious about all of her relationships, in her own way, and learning that a treasured friendship was edging towards more would throw most people off. Eventually she grinned and tucked her face back into Nathaniel's shoulder.“I would be a poor Moon Attendant, probably, since I do not do well at sitting still. Perhaps it is a skill I will need to learn. Or perhaps I shall just have Lucius cover for me when she asks around, like a child sneaking out of lessons. He is quite fond of me, and a millenia or more spent with him would be no hardship.” Her smile turned a bit softer then, and it was impossible for Nathaniel to ever feel jealous of Teleri’s ability to love when it made her this happy. Then she smirked, still pressed against his muscles. “I must admit, I have a definite preference for a strong set of shoulders. And he favours as much skin available for the Moon's glow as possible. It's nice. It's a very nice welcome to the city." 

Nathaniel couldn't help it; he burst out laughing again. "That's what catches your eye, is it? I have my uniform to thank for getting your attention? And when they bow it'll be on to the next set?" He truly, *truly* meant it as only a joke, they understood each other very well and he had been aware since they had begun dating that she would outlive him by ages. Teleri, though, for the first time ever, did not take it as the joke it was.

"I will *never* abandon you." She swore fervently. "Never. We will travel the path of a soldier's life together until the day we break free to explore Mother Ocean. Even as your shoulders bow and your hands shake I will never stop showing you all the wonders this world has to give. But eventually even my skills and magic will not be enough to keep you with me, and at that point I will consign your beloved shell to the rest you have asked for it, and then I will return to land."

"Beloved," he began, knowing this was a whole lot bigger than just the issue at hand. "What is bothering you? You know I don't mind that you will outlive me, nor that you will love others. Not even that you will likely marry again. I've always thought that was what you wanted. Am I mistaken?"

She burrowed deeper into his shoulder at first, then shot up to sitting. She curled her knees to her chest and stretched her arms to her feet, allowing her hair to drape over her face and obscure her. It was both indescribably vulnerable and heart-wrenchingly defensive, and he ached to see his most treasured person so distraught. He joined her in sitting, then wrapped his arm around her and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When she finally did speak, it was so soft he almost didn’t catch it.

“Do you think that if I am a Moon Attendant, the Moon Goddess might keep my soul?”

Nathaniel blinked.That was not at all what he had expected to hear, and he wasn’t certain where to even begin to approach this. No tactical or leadership training could ever be enough for this. “Is… possession of your soul something you worry about?” He asked, not even sure if it was something she wanted or not.

Teleri gave a shuddering sigh, and Nathaniel tightened his arm.

“I am truly immortal, in some ways, but I can die. You know this. I do not age, but I can be killed. We talked about this long ago.”

“You are one of Mother Ocean’s earthborn children.” He replied. “A facet as much as an individual, and as much your own fiercely independent self as you are a part of a greater whole. I remember.”

She flexed her toes, a nervous gesture that sent chills down Nathaniel’s back. Teleri was never still, it was not in her nature to be so, but she wasn’t really a fidgeter either. It just underscored how truly out of their elements both of them were. “Well… I don’t want to be.”

And then she burst into tears.

Nathaniel attempted for a moment to gather her up, but Teleri wasn’t budging. Eventually he settled on rubbing her shoulders and making soft cooing noises at her. Her sobs subsided as quickly as they arrived, and she stilled as she buried her face even deeper into her knees.

“I don’t want to become part of Mother Ocean’s whole again.” She admitted, surer this time. “If I wanted to be pure element living with other elementals I would be doing it. I want to be an individual. I want to have adventures. I want to explore all that life can offer with those that I love beside me. The Moon Goddess understands that. She is a mortal goddess, for all she is truly immortal herself. She protects and keeps and is worshiped by mortals. She loves them for their flaws as much as for their hearts. She gathers her departed souls to her for solace as they leave, but gives grace on those that are not ready to take that step yet. Given all of that, I wonder if she might give that grace to me, when bad luck finally strikes me down. Because it will eventually happen, and when it does…” She turned her face out of her knees then and gave him the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile he had ever seen before. “I would like to see you again on the other side of it all.”