#they were not even allowed to associate with each other before this moment. and yet

[daddyduncan69]

something something the first time i truly felt pity for riko was his death and i think that fucking matters something something

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

La Petite Mort

Emmrich Volkarin x Fem!Rook ✦ Rating: M (MDNI!) ✦ 7.8k words

The moment for discomfiture had come to pass. The obligation of responsibility to quell her suffering too great to ignore, he inspected her as a hunter might a downed prey. One his misplaced strike fell short of fatal, she bleated and wriggled much like a wounded animal. She was in pain. She needed him to put her down. "You poor thing. You are struggling, aren't you..." Spoken softly, more so to himself in observation, than acknowledgement of her plight. Wrought with sympathy. "Please." Holding herself propped up by the elbow, her body stretched out languid and malleable before him. Ripe for his indulgence. "It's just been so long, and I've h-had maybe... a bit too much to drink." The admittance airing on sheepish, she then gave her best purr of seduction. "I'm finding myself... distracted." The rich mocha of his eyes glimmered with something wicked. A shift in the gentleman Watcher, something she had yet to witness. "Allow me, then, my darling, to realign your focus."

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Crossposted to AO3!

*pspspsps at the Emmrich brats* come get tamed!

I told myself I wasn't going to write for Emmrich but I guess that was a big fat lie. Ya'll keep saying how he'd talk you through it, writing this filth was the only way I was gonna exorcise that demon. Writing characters OOC is my worst nightmare, I did my best. Let me know your thoughts on whether I was successful or not. Enjoy 😘

Rook floundered as she regarded her circle of companions, struggling to uplift those around her as her spirit was the lowest of them all. To her credit she wore her bravest face, and commended each and every one of them for their displayed strengths in their respective roles. A reluctant heroine who found leadership ill-suited and cumbrous.

Weisshaupt had yet to retract its claws. Emmrich noticed her energy waning, the tension in her thin shoulders festering. Her posture heavy with fatigue.

They were all on edge, but none shouldered a greater burden than her. The wayward little Watcher that held too much regret in the delicate lines of her young face.

Hazarding just a few glances her way during the meeting, each time displayed the same weariness she failed to hide. He wracked his brain for possible solutions to help ease her strain, but he kept falling short.

He would have known just how obvious his course of action should be, if only he knew where to look.

If he had given proper credence to her coy remarks, and coquettish body language. If he accepted that her freely given touch - nimble fingers grazing his elbow, the small of his back - were held longer with him, than the others.

If he hadn't been so consumed by his strict notions of gallantry, in accordance with his branding of her as the proverbial forbidden fruit. Securely out of reach, it was a pedestal he placed her on before he joined The Veilguard. Well before they had even been formally introduced.

Emmrich had suggested, with enough vagueness to spare himself from too much guilt, that he hadn't remembered seeing her before. To his relief, she corroborated his version of their story in kind.

A delicious discrepancy. A secret they each believed they held over the other.

"Have we really never met around the Necropolis before? Even in passing?"

"I don't remember everything from my scholar days."

Not an outright lie; those days were a blur. Rigorous and all-consuming academics with not much time for herself, except of course for the moments she slipped away, or stole. All instances that were still fresh in her history.

When the sun dropped from the sky, and the lights of the city beckoned her with it's promised anonymity, and its proffered escape. Getting herself into the sort of trouble that was otherwise irresistible to a teenager who felt she didn't belong. Who bore the associated pressures and expectations of a path more or less chosen for her.

Trouble that followed her even into young adulthood.

Scrapes and scuffles on the streets of Nevarra that inexorably found it's way back to the ears of her elders. Awaiting her with exasperated spiels, and stern words. And heftier measures of containing her the next time.

Though she had seen him plenty around the Necropolis. She knew who he was. More so than her flippant dismissal let on.

Professor Volkarin; the tall, handsome academician whose lectures she'd made a habit of crashing. Keeping to the back with one of her friends, one who actually held the right to attend, she'd watch him with a covetous gleam to her eye and a withheld breath. A luxury rarely afforded, her heart whirred like a hummingbird in the cage of her ribs whenever she could sneak off to sit in.

Confident, eloquent, experienced. He'd captured the attention of the entire lecture hall with the flourish he wielded in spell-casts, and final preparations alike. He was impassioned about his work. The full-breadth of his proficiency - and kindness - shining through as he expounded on the necessity of ceremonial tradition, and the importance of regarding the dead with the same reverence one would the living.

And Maker, his hands.

They had never been introduced. Not a word, or glance, exchanged between them in all their shared years. She was certain that she could admire from afar. That he hadn't taken stock of the vivacious, diminutive elven interloper that invited herself to his seminars.

Oh how wrong she was.

The professor was more familiar with Ariadne Ingellvar then he'd ever dare confess.

Catching glimpses of her around the halls. The vibrant little mage that radiated the fertile warmth and liveliness of a dawning springtime, with her rosy cheeks and bright shock of blonde hair. She evoked images of fresh bloomed honey-suckle dotting a verdant meadow, a herald of the seasons approach.

Who crept into his audience, and observed from the cover of shadow, as far back as their discretion would extend.

Like a voyeur, he'd sense her presence amongst his fold of usual suspects, making him feel exposed. The lecture hall too public a setting for the sudden feverish indecency that infected an otherwise appropriate, and strictly educational demonstration.

At times she looked out of place against the backdrop of the Necropolis. A beaming smile with a lot of teeth. An infectious cackle of laughter he had come to recognize as hers, as she maneuvered the halls with a gaggle of peers around her. A distinct bouquet of raspberry, gardenia and amber wafting in her wake. Little, pleasant pockets of fragrance left like breadcrumbs to follow her trail, should he ever be so inclined.

Or so bold.

The smells of the Necropolis were dominant, and familiar. Of myrr, clove, and Bitumen. The bitter cold. Her scent somehow refused to be suffocated by her surroundings. Her reputation, that he was only able to gleam fractions at a time, suggested that she refused to blend in. And in that, she was successful.

He was equally familiar with the whispers and disapproving remarks from colleagues over the years. They shadowed all conversations at which her found her at the center. Where she was mentioned, criticism was sure to follow.

Her raising esteem among the ranks made for all the more intriguing a contrast.

She was restless, it seemed. Headstrong. Spirited. But oh, was she alluring. And lovely.

Lovely enough to both coax his gaze, and forbid him from looking any further. Digging any deeper.

Emmrich was both ecstatic - and slightly sick - to see her traipsing up alongside Bellara when they arrived for his recruitment. It had been some time since he had last seen her flitting through the halls of the Necropolis. Though she had been absent from its structure, her memory very much still haunted his musings.

She didn't look much different from how he remembered. She seemed grounded; sated by the experiences she received in her time away from home. And yet, a flicker of despondency remained. Homesickness, perhaps? Dejection at being sent away?

After the meeting had disbanded, she remained in her seat. Eyes cast downward, as she studied her nails, and twisted her fingers. He found himself pausing, with brows lifted in concern.

In a gentle croon, he maintained the safe distance away from behind the other end of the table. "Rook, dear, are you alright?"

Lifting her chin to gaze up at him, he saw the same lost look he sometimes caught sight of around the Necropolis. He now knew it's origin, of course, or at least a likely theory.

During their jaunt at the memorial gardens, Ariadne revealed that she had been the babe that was found abandoned in the crypt. He hadn't been among the Watchers who recovered her, but he had seen her then. All those years ago when he was a much younger man.

Her impossibly tiny body swaddled and cooing from the crook of Myrna's arm. All pink cheeks and bright eyes. With elongated, pointy ears not yet grown into, even with how new to the world she was.

And then there she stood; an accomplished necromancer, and grown woman. Her ears now as proportionate as the rest of her.

The same grown woman who had caught his eye around the Necropolis, much to his dismay. It took everything in him not to react upon that revelation. Maker willing she hadn't noticed the falter of his tight smile, or the twitch in his left eye.

More reason to keep her at arms length.

Yet there he was. Alone with her. Lingering, like a besotted fool.

"Never better." She lied with a sidelong look, casting away the brief flicker of melancholy just as it breached. "I'm tired, but no more so than anyone else."

"Tremendous pressure often leads to tremendous physical stress on the body." His tone erudite, he straightened to a more erect posture. "I fear you're not heeding the tells of your own."

"I'm fine, really." With an exaggerated simper in effort to make it more believable, she rolled her shoulders as if their tension released with that declaration. "Thank you, Emmrich."

Fearful of coming off too strong, he nodded in surrender and cleared his throat. "I'll see you at dinner, then?"

She rose from her seat, smiling at him from across the table. "Yes." She affirmed. "See you then."

During dinner Ariadne was silent. Poignant as it was uncharacteristic, it was an observation that worsened his concern. She no more than picked at her meal like a bird, flashing brief smiles, or nodding only when appropriate. But the fiery Watcher he knew was miles away from the young woman who sat across from him. Her disassociation betrayed by the sad, brown eyes that had dulled from their radiant luster.

He knew she was in there somewhere, and yearned for her return.

With dinners unceremonious conclusion, he watched as she excused herself from the table without a word, and disappeared into the pantry. Returning after a curious length of time, the stem of a goblet was twisted in her fingers. That same small hand also clutched what he assumed to be a wine bottle by it's neck.

Her eyes darted among those closest to her before proceeding, hoping to avoid potential entanglement with someone who might think to join her.

Or worse, notice the specific vintage she was smuggling.

The only others left in the dining hall now were himself, Taash and Davrin. Too engrossed in a debate over whether or not an axe was more effective than a long sword against a Hurlock, to pay any mind to her suspicious behavior.

It only took him a few lengthened strides to catch up to her. Believing herself to be in the clear, Emmrich noticed how tense her back stiffened upon hearing him advance. She halted, before spinning on a heel to face him, brows quirked and her lips pouting in what could only be describe as anxiousness.

"Rook- I do hope I'll receive your pardon if this comes across as overbearing, but I must caution against such a libation on an empty stomach."

Unable to curve his curiosity before it took the lead, his gaze flickered down to the bottles label. A lump formed in his throat as he read it.

Carnal, 8:69 Blessed.

The good professor was well acquainted. It's sultry description reared from the depths of his psyche, and crashed over him like a sheet of glass.

An Orlesian liqueur for the daring, or those who wish to seem so. Said to enhance sensation.

He clasped his hands in front of him with a soft clatter of his bracelets and bangles. Hoping beyond hope he hadn't played his hand. That she didn't notice the climb his brows made to his hairline upon noting her scandalous choice in drink.

If she did catch his prying, she had the decency not to acknowledge it. Her smile was tired, but genuine all the same.

Emmrich felt her palm slip around his elbow. The young mage was most unrestrained with her expressions through physical touch - it was just her way - and at times he fell prey to the rot of wishful thinking that he received more of it than the rest.

"And I hope it's not too much trouble to ask that you call me Ariadne. Or Ari, if you prefer." The fleeting contact pulled back to then give a dismissive wave, she planted a step behind her, poised to take off. It wasn't like her to look to flee his company with such haste, and that appealed to his morbid intrigue. "And trust me when I say, I only want one drink, just to help me sleep." The melody of her voice lilted in amusement. "Though if you do get worried, I think you know where to find me."

Call me Ariadne. His chest pulled in on itself. Pressing his tongue against his clenched teeth, it felt heavy and cotton thick at the mere thought of addressing her as such. Addressing her by name.

Rook was easy, and safe. Rook was a moniker for the explicit use of her associates. Referring to her that way maintained his professionalism, and staved his guilt.

Swallowing with a weak smile, Emmrich offered an acquiescent bow of his head. Neither indulging, nor denying her request.

She peered up at him in thought for but an extra moment, her exhaustion clouded gaze glimmering with contemplation. Abandoning whatever seemed to hold her attention, she gave him a final, small smile, before exiting the dining hall.

Though if you do get worried, I think you know where to find me.

And worry he did.

The hour was late, and the thought of disturbing her nagged with apprehension. Surely she didn't require his company, nor his consolation, when she had such a treasured, sororal bond with Neve. Yet he found himself taking the long walk down the corridor to her quarters nonetheless.

Perhaps reminiscing of home will offer a welcome distraction, if only for a short while. He assured himself. A comfort that I am uniquely disposed to provide.

All thoughts of Neverran eccentricities and their hopeful nostalgia halted as he arrived at her door. It greeted him with an alarming sound.

Though muffled through the thick, ornamented wood, she cried out his name - weak, and panted - as if in great pain. His chest tightened, seized by the gelidity of dread. It trickled down his lofty figure like he had plunged headfirst into a lake on the cusp of winter.

He pictured the worst. The Lighthouse infiltrated by a Venatori assassin, regardless of how improbable. He saw her crumpled on the ground and sticky with her own sanguine as it pooled beneath her. Her beautiful, flaxen locks turned to ink from coagulation.

That swell of panic was all it took.

Forgetting himself, and all prior etiquette he once held steadfast, Emmrich burst into her room.

His ferocity mirroring the pounding of his heart, he conducted a quick sweep of the space from left to right - intent to find the fabricated, surmised assailant. But none was to be found. Her room was blissfully free of the threat of imminent danger.

No Ventaroi. No blood. No need for his chivalry.

That relief was staggering, though short-lived. Emmrich next sought her out, rounding the lounge at the center, knowing there was no where else left in the space for her to be, except for there.

What he found dried his mouth, and spiked his blood to run frigid in suddenly too-tight of veins all the same.

Ariadne was draped prone on the chaise, in naught but her ivory blouse, and half unbuttoned at that. The loose, silken fabric shifted down her blushed shoulder, flashing him a peak of flesh as she writhed and twisted in pleasure.

Flesh pinched rosy and glistening. And far too much of it, more than he least of all had any right to spy.

The senior necromancer simply stood there aghast, gawping like an un-initiated adolescent - of which, he was neither - unable to come to terms with the fact that what he stumbled upon was indeed transpiring.

And she had moaned his name in her throes. Called out for him to come to her aid.

Swirling iridescence filtered through the glass across from where she laid, bathing her in a luminous, surreal glow. The waters reflection streaked her in vivid hues of chartreuse and turquoise that slithered over her flushed, half-naked body. As if guiding his appreciative leer, leading to where he should aim it next.

It drew his eye to the toned length of bare legs, her petite calves flexed and toes curling. The roll of her pelvis against the furious rubbing of her fingers was hypnotic. A faint, lewd squelch echoed her frustrated whimpers.

He watched tormented as her lithe body arched; shapely hips lifting, the base of her spine bowed in a provocative display, pressing her face down into the fabric, muffling her moans. Attacking herself from a deeper angle, the sinuous dip and curve of her silhouette alone was enough to drop him to his knees.

The bottle sat uncorked on the dresser, while her goblet dangled from her finger-tips, precarious as it hadn't been emptied. It impressed him how she managed not to spill as she then ground down. Humping the hand she pinned between her nethers, and the cushion that cradled her.

He had only ever seen her hair combed back and twisted in a bun, but now it was pulled free and hung loose. Glowing almost silver in the shimmer, a veil of ashen blond that streaked messily over her face. So removed from himself as he stared, it hadn't even occured to him that yes, he was still there watching, until her uncovered eye drifted to him at last. Only then had she realized his intrusion.

The soft hazelnut eye was almost eclipsed in full by her pupils dilatation. Glossy with lust, she peered up at him from beneath a heavy lid. Utterly unabashed at his presence.

If she was even a hint mortified to be discovered by him in such a predicament, nothing about her demeanor suggested it.

"Oh! Professor Volkarin... good." Her tone rich with intoxication, it spread a wide, lazy grin against her colored cheeks. "I-I'm in rather... desperate need of your masterful instruction."

As quiet and still as death itself, Emmrich's entire body locked in place, with a stoicism that presented much more severe than he meant. A strangled mewl forced it's way from her throat, one that lured him back out from his inward retreat.

The moment for discomfiture had come to pass. The obligation of responsibility to quell her suffering too great to ignore, he inspected her as a hunter might a downed prey. One his misplaced strike fell short of fatal, she bleated and wriggled much like a wounded animal. She was in pain. She needed him to put her down.

"You poor thing. You are struggling, aren't you..." Spoken softly, more to himself in observation, than acknowledgement of her plight. Wrought with sympathy.

"Please." She whined, having given up on the erected pearl, rubbed raw and twitching. Holding herself propped up by the elbow, her body stretched out languid and malleable before him. Ripe for his indulgence. "It's just been so long, and I've h-had maybe... a bit too much to drink." The admittance airing on sheepish, she then gave her best purr of seduction. "I'm finding myself... distracted."

The rich mocha of his eyes glimmered with something wicked. A shift in the gentleman Watcher, something she had yet to witness.

"Allow me, then, my darling, to realign your focus."

He stepped towards the chaise with a tall posture, and leisured gait, as if he very much believed propriety could be maintained despite the circumstance. She scrambled to allow him space beside her, curling her knees and swaying in place as she watched him sink into the upholstery.

She brought the goblet back to her lips, relying on that sweet bite of liquid, candied peach to fuel her shamelessness. But it stopped just shy of her pout.

Held in place by a firm hand, her glassy eyes floated over the rim to see Emmrich angling a look of disapproval her way. The lines of his handsome, angular face deepened in exasperation, like an austere parent about to reprimand an unruly brat.

"Dear girl, I should think you have had enough."

Her already wild heart-beat took off at a reckless gallop, at how he managed to wrap the rich velvet of his voice around such sharp scolding. Her weakened fingers broke away from the stem of the goblet with laughably pathetic submission, waiting with bated breath as he discarded it to the credenza behind them.

Settling the length of his tapered frame more comfortably against the cushions, he turned to address her once more. Ensnaring her eye-contact, he refused its release while he pat his thigh. Motioning her to him like he would a skittish kitten.

The cut of his jaw lifted, he stared down the bridge of his nose at her as she crawled the rest of the way towards his lap.

"Face away from me, so your back is flush with my front." The weight of her settling over him, the heat radiating from the naked thighs that then straddled him - sensations that were enough to break him on the spot. A reprehensible fantasy that now spilled into his reality.

He failed to swallow a groan as the curve of her bottom slotted against his groin.

"Good. Are we comfortable?"

The little she-devil that she was, her hips gave a playful wriggle against his bulge. She got more than she bargained for, tripping over her tongue in reply at the imposing mass that greeted her. One not yet swelled to full mast. "O-oh, yes."

Emmrich fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and count. She wasn't going to make this easy.

Sinewy, bejeweled hands slid over the tops of her thighs, the metal of his bracelets clinking and cool and against her feverish skin. Stopping at her knees, he slipped his thumbs between them, and peeled them apart unhurried.

"That's it... spread yourself for me, nice and wide." His smooth palms glided back up the inside, feeling how supple the more delicate, inner muscle quivered to his slow exploration. The skin burned beneath his finger-tips, the heat emanating from her grew the closer to her womanhood he traveled.

Deliberate in avoiding that area, he instead drew up to clutch her about the hips, giving them an encouraging squeeze before he stilled. "We'll want as much room as possible, yes?"

When she drew her legs over his knees to dangle alongside the anterior of his own, a rumbling croon of "good girl" ghosted against the shell of her ear. The whimper he earned for it couldn't have been any sweeter.

"I gather you are most receptive to a hands-on approach?" Unable to give him a verbal response, all she could do was squirm in his lap and nod. An unending wealth of smart remarks, he preened at having already rendered her beyond speech. "Very good. You're going to show me how you touch yourself - exactly as you were before my interruption. We'll see if I can't refine your methods."

With a shaky exhale, she leaned back against him, while her fumbling fingers set to work.

She did well at first, all things considered. The young Watcher was reeling from his closeness; his infectious body-heat, the infuriating steadiness of his breaths. The overwhelming aroma of smoked potash, cedar and oakmoss, and an indistinct floral note layered in between.

He kept her anchored to him by her hips, thumb strokes absent-minded and rhythmic, while he observed her performance. Any time she teased herself just so, and gasped out for him, he'd reward her with a throaty; "stunning", "yes, that's a good girl", "you're doing quite well." Incentivizing her to maintain her pace with his praise.

The final nail in her coffin to it all was the strength of alcohol that coursed through her, pumping her blood so hot it made her feel smothered by her own skin, too tight and confining. Weighing down her limbs with rueful sluggishness that fought against her pursuit of release.

Her head swam laps against the lurching of the room, while his hummed approval only heightened her wooziness. All that kept her steady, were the eyes she held shut, and Emmrich's embrace.

He stared down the front of her body with enraptured attention, feeling himself pulse with a lazy heft against her rear. Knowing she could feel him while he stiffened to attention at her little mewls, and stifled rocking. But he couldn't find it within himself to care. His attentiveness a willing prisoner to the sight of her dainty index finger swirling over her clitoris, as her middle digit strained to edge inside herself.

The little elf would get so close to the release that continued to taunt her. It warped the edges of her bleary vision, and shook the sweat-dampened, tensed thighs that his knees held open. He'd feel her body seize, joints lock, and head snapped back, as she arched in prelude.

And then she'd lose it. Slipping from her trembling fingers, the white-hot, coiling tension ebbed in cruel absence. Like trapped steam set free from beneath the lid of a pot as it roiled. A defeated whine bubbled from her throat, and he swept in to console while easing her back to the precipice.

"Oh, my dear girl." He clicked his tongue, ever punctilious. His silken voice dropped an octave from its depth in his chest. "You need only concentrate."

Ariadne lulled her head back against his shoulder with an infantile huff that matched her pout. "I am."

He chuckled low in tantalization. So low she more felt it against her back than heard it, her blood roaring in her ears as loud as it was.

"Then you're still holding on." He kept his admonishing gentle. "And I need you to let go."

He watched as she twerked her wrist, working herself up and down in a blur of erratic, frantic strokes.

"Slow, slower." He instructed. "I can only imagine how you must ache... quiet your mind. Steady your breaths. Follow my voice." Every syllable pronounced in that assertive baritone had her walls spasm against themselves. "I'll help you, darling girl, if you'll listen."

An unintelligible moan was all the response he received.

She switched to tease her weeping entrance with one hand, while the other busied by hopeless strokes at her clit in irregular, clockwise circles. Her shoulder blades dug into his chest, they tingled against his mused susurration as it thrummed through him.

No doubt poised to deliver constructive criticism, he was nothing if not a stickler for proper form.

"You're much too rough with yourself. Too impatient." He tsked, his own hands kept occupied by massaging the firm swell of her glutes. More than a little sure that her piriformis was screaming at the prolonged tension it was suspended in. "Only to give up just as you're right about to crest."

"I'm not giving up," she insisted, her face screwed in aggravation as she brought herself back, only to then lose it again faster than before. To this loss, she growled. "I can't.. I can't-!"

His tone low, and contemplative, he then interjected in a display of his authority. "Hmm, I see now."

Emmrich fished the the end of his crimson binding from around his waist, and tugged the long end to unravel to a more generous length in his palm.

Bringing it between her legs, he began to wipe away the excess wetness. Tending to her with paternal affection, it made for an obscene contrast against his words. "Pardon my crude tongue, but you're much too wet, dearest. You'll not get the necessary friction otherwise."

Her body shuddered at his words, dripping from the tip of his tongue against the shell of her ear like liquid smoke. His chest was warm and sturdy against her back, a broadness to him that his lank mislead. His sheltering firmness curved around her as he continued to guide her with forbearance.

"P-professor please-," she nearly sobbed, hips stuttering up into his fingers as they rubbed her throbbing cunt through the satin. "I need your touch."

He fought the visceral reactions to the way she mewled his title like some revered perversion, for fear that if she realized its effects on him, she'd become merciless in its exploit.

"But of course, my girl." Voice slinking and sultry, he brought his lips closer to her ear. "I've never been known to shun a pupil in need."

His hands slid over the tops of her thighs to find her fluttered heat, and did so with the practiced ease of a body known to him. She shivered at his finesse, at how assured he was in her handling, though it was the first time they were ever intimate.

Velvet smooth and puffy from her abuse, his touch felt like a salve that granted instant relief to her neglect. A loud, shuddering sigh dragged from her by the trace of his finger-tips over her petals. First with his bare hand, the dainty gold chain that connected the ring of his thumb to the bracelet on his wrist dragged against her folds. While he continued, his ornaments played against one another in a dissonant jingle with each and every purposeful manipulation. Just as they did during his casts.

She wondered if she'd ever be able to hear those otherwise mundane sounds again without becoming aroused.

His gloved hand, equal in dexterity to the one that stroked her bud, joined in to lend additional prowess. Both hands a flurry of expertise betwixt her thighs, Emmrich massaged and rubbed, his glove sticky with her honey as he spread it around her tender lips. Pressing them apart to slot his middle finger between, he began to glide back and forth over her weeping slit with an agonizing pace.

His pressure efficient, yet patient. Only giving her what was needed, refusing to indulge.

Sagging back against his chest, she dared to look down at the sight of his hands splaying her apart, as if in appraisal. She couldn't help but recall one particular demonstration he held for advanced techniques on relieving rigor mortis.

His grace, the fluidity of his manipulation. Long, limber fingers aglow with magic, as they palpated the tissue before him. He narrated his precise movements in the genteel inflection she had come to recognize, and adore.

However as she watched him work, hands gliding over the limbs that melted to desired pliability at the behest of his deft touch, she didn't hear a word of it.

All she could do was stare at those hands, and stew in the blatant envy she felt towards the corpse beneath them.

She was wrenched from the clutches of her reverie by a sharp, yet delicious sting to her cunt.

With his gloved hand and a quick flick of his wrist, Emmrich had demanded her straying attention with slap.

It was solid, but affectionate. No where near harsh enough to be unbearable. Just exacting enough to corral her back in line.

Ariadne yelped, jolting in his grasp as his gloved palm cupped her hurt. Soothing the sting with a gentle pet.

"I'll not tolerate you daydreaming." For all his chiding, it still held the warmth and patience she'd expected from him. "If my instruction is desired in earnest then your complete and undivided attention is expected, Miss Ingellvar."

" 'M sorry! I c-can't help-,"

"You can and you will, young lady." His interjection was laced with amusement despite his steeliness. "Unless of course, you aim to provoke my cruelty."

Professor Emmrich Volkarin cold and cruel. A thought that twisted her insides into a throbbing, tangled mass. Had she not been so helpless to the maddening of an out-of-reach orgasm, one now threatened by his denial, she would have delighted in goading such a side of him.

"I mind you to pay attention. I know you won't take kindly to the consequences if I'm made to repeat myself." The warning dripped from his tongue deliberate and restrained.

A gloved finger turned it's attention to her aching bead, Emmrich worked it in diligent circles. His feathered pressure serving as kindling to the wild fire that raged beneath her skin, the feeling of suffocation returned with a vengeance.

"The tissue here is most sensitive." His explanation cool as it was dignified, his knees continued to hold her legs open as she quivered to his stimulation. "All that's needed is a little leniency, and a light touch."

She could feel the prickling burn simmer at the soles of her feet. The promise of a full-body blaze lapping it's way through her, staring from the bottom, and working it's way up. His index finger continued to circle with rhythmic, borderline merciless insistence.

The more she writhed and arched in his lap, the tighter his circles became. The satin leather pressing down with measured pressure to her swollen sex.

"Do you feel the difference?" He urged, the bridge of his nose brushing at her temple as he nuzzled her, inhaling the combination of her perfume while he had her this close. And the heady musk of her arousal, as it drooled from her to his coaxing. "That pressure in your abdomen, it feels more reliable, does it not?"

He brought her so close, so gloriously close and sooner than she thought possible, given her struggles. Struggles that were worsened by the inebriation she now cursed.

Yet, somewhere through the foggy recesses of her rationale, her core clenched around its emptiness in indignation.

She yearned for his fullness, for the stretch of him to come down around. The raw desperation of her keening plea surprised even her.

"Please, I-I need-,"

"What do you need, my dear?" Emmrich didn't stop nor slow his expert ministrations.

She groaned. "Maker, please! I need you- need you inside me!"

He shut his eyes, drawing a deep, quiet breath to keep himself grounded. The girth in his trousers twitched in compliance, but he ignored it.

"Easy, easy now." He hushed, pushing her slick petals apart with his bare hand to first dip in his gloved middle finger. Almost too long, too much of him to take, and ribbed from his rings. The force in which she clamped around him nearly popped his joint from the socket. A shrill, breathy moan tumbled out of her and into the stifling air.

Allowing her a moment to savor his fullness, he then crooked the slender digit inside her heat, rolling her eyes back, and twitching her ears. "There, does that feel better?"

"Yes, oh yes." She sobbed, the plushness of her sex throbbing around his leather-bound intrusion. "T-thank you, Professor."

"You're most welcome, little darling." Intoned with the same dignified composure as if she were no more than a pupil in his lecture hall, he pumped steadily within her. His free hand toyed with her clit in complimentary persuasion. "Dare I say obedience is rather becoming on you."

The slightest condescension in his praise, it caused the entirety of her body to flush with a heat. Her center tightened in wordless request for more, though he merely chuckled. The deep rumbling brought a vibrant pink to smear the bridge of her nose. The faint striped scar there nearly disappearing in the stain, as it spilled across both cheekbones.

Emmrich had never taken an elven lover before, though he had once come across an excerpt pertaining to a certain weakness of the species. The salacious triviality now at the forefront of his mind.

Ever studious, the professor couldn't resist the temptation of putting the theory to practice.

Dropping his chin, he reached for the blushed tip of her ear with his tongue. Tracing the pink ridge of cartilage, his lips curled in a grin once he had the tine pinched between his teeth in a gentle nip.

A sharp gasp ripped from her as her body rocketed in his lap; tossing her head back hard to his chest while her hips bucked forward. A violence to her fervor, as if her lower half moved independent from the rest of her.

"E-Emmrich!" A hoarse plea, any of the conviction it might have held was stolen along with her breath.

"Miss Ingellvar, am I to assume I've dissolved your decorum, or is that how you address your superiors?"

She couldn't find it within herself to fire back with something witty. Becoming so strict with her in that intimate, hushed crooning had her walls clench against him firmer. A gush of her arousal soaked against his finger, only to leak out over his palm and seep into the cotton of his slacks underneath. A throaty groan sounded from behind her, like the purr of a panther.

"Professor Volkarin," her amendment shaky, she sucked in breath and called on it for strength, "h-how do you expect me to concentrate when you-you-,"

"Are your ears quite sensitive, darling?" His level tone feigned innocence with such a degree of effortless deception that it shocked her. "You'll have to forgive me, I hadn't a clue."

Whether or not that profession was sincere, he swept back in to once more suck the tip between his teeth. Sealing his lips to create suction, he pulled. Harder than her newfound sensitivity could withstand.

Hips stuttering and rutting into his hands like a woman possessed, she felt herself quite literally melt all over him. Painfully aware of just how much of the mess she had made of his groin pinned beneath her splayed legs.

The limber tip of his tongue laved at the point of her ear, growing just as swollen from his attention as the depths of her he continued to penetrate. Offering the gloved heel of his palm so as to not abandon her stinging clit. He seemed unphased by his soiled trouser, his sole attention on drawing out more of her melodic chirps and gasps.

"You're a bastard." For all the strength of such a word, it lacked the necessary bite. More curious still, was the fact that it wasn't spat - but moaned. He tsked through a smirk she couldn't see.

"My my, you've a filthy mouth on you." Her ear released from the heat of his mouth, he pursed his lips to blow against the damp, suckled skin. "Very well. Since there isn't a bar of soap handy, I shall just have to correct your insolence another way."

A shameless giggle bubbled up from her throat and spilled through her lips. Her words tinged with slurring, their softened points still managed to pierce him. "Had they sent me to you for disciplinary action back in those days, I can only imagine how much more insufferable I would have been."

He swallowed a pained groan, furrowing a sharp brow to the sinful, debauched images that notion conjured. "I shudder to think." The hoarseness lurking in his words sparked her to grind back against his roused bulge. "Glutton for punishment, are we?"

She beamed as he choked an another breath at the motion. "Most assuredly for yours, Professor."

His voice plummeted further down to the seat of his chest. His instruction stern, it left no room for negotiation. "Open your mouth."

She did as she was told, only to feel his spidery fingers slip up the velvet flat of her tongue, crowding her small mouth with warm flesh, and the metallic tang of his rings. Able to lift the traces of her own slick against the wet muscle, she curled it around his digits to begin suckling them, his cock perking to her eagerness.

He eased them deeper at a gradual pace, until they were in well over past the first knuckle. A few choked gags had him hushing encouragement into her damp temple.

"Good, very good." His voice then seemed thicker as he intoned. "Breathe through your nose, love. Nice and slow."

Emmrich had only just gotten his hands on her, and she was very nearly reduced to tears. An orgasm still dangled just beyond her reach, the tension coiled to a knot low in her stomach that his thorough, and methodical drilling inside of her only stoked. With two fingers invading her mouth, he thought it only fair to give her swollen sex the same treatment.

Without warning, another of his gloved fingers plunged inside her. Even with her lubrication, her slick walls twitched and stretched to accommodate him. She lifted from his lap as a strangled cry ripped from her, muffled around the fingers that tickled the back of her throat. He locked against the points of his contact and forced her still, hushing against her ear.

"There, there, little one." He regarded her with the utmost patience, and adoration. Crooning into her mussed hair as he dragged them out of her, and then curled them back inside. "You're taking me magnificently, my dear."

She was so desperate to come around them, and give him a show of just how erotic she found those hands of his to be. The smooth, bulbous gems inlaid in his rings added to the stinging pinch of his intrusion, the leather of his glove slick and satiny within her tight confines.

Her arms flew upwards and to wrap around his neck, clumsily clawing at the crisp starch of his collar, knotting at soft hair at his nape. Her feet slid back to hook around his calves. A little slip of a thing captive to violent shimmers, bewitched to the way his expert fingers dissected her need, she coiled around him like a garden snake.

"Relax, darling, don't hold to the tension. It will not serve you now." He purred, feeling her body warring with itself in his lap. Hips stuttering to try and goad him to quicken, while still not yet adjusted to him two-fingers deep inside. "Take a nice, deep breath for me... There you are. Close your eyes. Give yourself to me."

Withdrawing his fingers from her whimpering mouth, slick with saliva, he slipped his hold around her throat. Flexing with benign pressure, he squeezed ever so slightly against her untamed pulse, just beneath her jaw.

Quieting her frenetic mind and choking her to distraction, the act was as tender as it was merciful. He lead her to the edge of consciousness, introducing the intimacy of dipping a toe in each side, just as he began to work his fingers inside her sex. Just as she was about to come for him.

"P-please...Professor Volkarin-," a rasping moan that clued him in to just how close she was indeed. "- let me come."

The insinuation that he, ultimately, controlled her orgasm was not one he took lightly.

"Ariadne." Murmured low in warning, silken and smoky, like vanilla bourbon. Her name on his lips held a slight chastised edge, his habits from being a professor not so easily shirked. The first time he'd ever called her by name.

Every bit as provocative as she'd expected, and even more intimate than she ever could have imagined. "I believe the instruction I provided was quite clear; let go for me."

Her name on his tongue proved to be a trigger, and a powerful one at that. Her walls fluttered in tight pulsations around his digits, sucking them in deeper as a full-body eruption detonated outwards from her molten core.

Tears welling in the corners of her soft, hazelnut eyes, they broke free from the lash lines, and rolled down her flushed cheeks. She rode herself out on the long fingers that continued to knead her plush heat. Soothing her through the wrenching of a long-overdue, and arduous release.

The gradual thrumming outward from the root of his cock ascended to full-fledged throbs, painful in their insistence. He had now familiarized himself with her depths; knew how velvety, and narrow, and oh so very wet.

His heavy sigh fanned against her temple, before he pressed a kiss to the sweat that trickled down the vein.

As he licked his lips, he could then taste the ambrosia that teased him back to his memories of her strutting around the Necropolis, wholly unaware of the older, venerated professor she had beguiled. Frosted berry and white amber. He never wanted to be rid of it.

As if they were amongst of crowd of nobility at a gala, and he was about to impart something truly scandalous meant solely for his lovers ears, he then drawled; "I must express my gratitude for having granted this senior Watcher the pleasure of assisting you in this little death."

His length twitched in retaliation to the confines of his slacks, more than anxious to feel the pinch of her channel as he worked his way inside. To feel those same flutters of release wrapped snug around him, kneading him until he spilled himself inside her.

Yet he possessed more patience than that. She needed time, hit little Watcher.

He had only just begun.

"Now, dear girl, since you're well acquainted with the more... mechanical route, shall I introduce you to my oral technique?"

He shut the door behind him with care, mindful not to jostle the latch. As if trying to keep from waking a babe he had just gotten to sleep.

Creeping back around gave him a start, the color draining from his face.

Davrin, Lucanis, - even Varric, up and out of bed - were gathered just outside her door. The three now looking more startled than he.

Though he had taken the time to right himself before exiting her quarters - leaving her to a much deserved and rigorously earned slumber - the steel locks of his hair, disheveled from their typical neat coif to fall into his eyes, were quick to humble him.

The wild young Watcher hadn't let him slink away from their tryst unscathed.

A beat of awkward silence coalesced between the men. Though coming as a surprise to none, Varric was the first to piece things together, with an amused smirk working it's way crookedly across his face. Emmrich took the initiative to break it, tipping his head in as much politeness as he could muster.

"Gentlemen." The nonchalance of his greeting earned a raised brow and a stifled chortle from Davrin, who otherwise remained quiet.

"We just... heard Rook scream and we...," Lucanis began and then surrendered, clearing his throat.

"Ah, yes..." Emmrich gave a tight-lipped smile, brushing his vest for nonexistent lint, just to busy his hands. The joints now achy and creaking. "Well, there's no need for concern, she's just fine. However I do ask that you leave her undisturbed for the time being, she's... quite spent, you understand."

[shomatoriashi]

10/02/24; 01:06pm

sung jinwoo x fem.reader

anonymous asked: Hi, I have brain rot hours. So, what about Sung Jinwoo who believes that his significant other is his lucky charm? For example, he kisses them every time before he leaves them for a raid, and always comes back with new soldiers, abilities, or something of the sort. Or, in general, comes out with zero injuries. I know he breezes through raids easily, but it's such a cute idea! >w<

ever since sung jinwoo chose to live his life as a hunter, wishing to provide for his family in the wake of his father’s disappearance-

he always knew you were his good luck charm.

even during the times where he was still labeled as the weakest in the world, he felt that your sole presence was enough to ward off the looming threat of death.

you were someone he had known during his high school years, a mere civilian who had normal parents and wished for nothing more than to live a simple life, even with the existence of gates. you stuck by his side, never once minding his average looks or the way he dressed meekly, wearing plain hoodies and ripped jeans.

jinwoo recalls the day he spoke to you about his goals of becoming a hunter; that even though his powers were a bit weaker and below average in comparison to everyone else, he still had to do something to care for his little sister and sickly mother. and yet despite the concerned eyes that look back at him along with your anxieties, you supported him unconditionally.

that was the moment jinwoo knew he had fallen for you, clinging to you while promising you how he would work hard to build a future together with you. your own kind smile was enough to cause a surge of confidence to go through him, giving him the strength to continue on as a hunter.

now, it became a bit of a tradition for him to embrace you tightly while sharing a kiss with you before attending any raids. your words of encouragement would always echo in his mind, giving him the courage he needed to face the dangers of each raid.

from nights spent tending to his every wound to comforting him each time the nightmares became too much to bear-

you were always there for him, even when he was at his worst.

and you sure as hell deserved him now that he was at his best.

following the events of the double dungeon, jinwoo was able to escape death, obtaining a second chance by becoming the sole player for the system. and through a series of well calculated events, he was able to shed his once meek and weak self, becoming stronger than ever.

now known as south korea’s 10th s-rank hunter, jinwoo quickly became a sought after hunter worldwide, with hundreds upon thousands of people wishing to have him join their guilds or attend certain raids with them.

yet even with this drastic change, one thing remained the same-

and that was you.

you were still his good luck charm.

before entering a gate or doing a mission for the association, jinwoo would still embrace you tightly while giving you a searing kiss, stating how it was for good luck, allowing all of his anxieties and fears to melt away as he basks in your loving embrace. after his kiss, you would always reassure him, telling him that you would wait for his homecoming.

despite how silly it felt to be jinwoo’s proclaimed good luck charm, your boyfriend still swears that you give him good fortune. from mining thousands of crystals that could sell for millions, to obtaining a rare key to a mysterious dungeon, and even having a significant increase in shadow soldiers-

every single one of his greatest achievements were linked to you.

and you prayed that you could forever remain as his good luck charm, especially now during his time of need. not long after jinwoo’s mother woke up from her slumber, a powerful gate appeared in the midst of japan, and jinwoo was torn at the thought of leaving you and his family behind to deal with the raid.

you knew that jinwoo said that the gates had nothing to do with him, that he would remain in seoul.

however, you knew him better than that. jinwoo left your place after lunch, wishing to check on his sister and mother while promising to come back home to you after dinner. you simply gave him your usual kiss and tight embrace, allowing him to go back home as you prepared some things for him.

later that night, jinwoo returns home to see various tupperware containers filled with premade meals that should last a few weeks. his grey eyes widen at the sight of it all, mouth parted in a slight gape as he steps into your kitchen.

“these meals are for you and jinho, when you head to japan.” you tell him without looking back at him, already scooping a new batch of rice into fresh containers with some seasoned side dishes placed within it. “i know you well, jinwoo, and there’s no way in hell you would leave innocent people in need.”

jinwoo remains silent for a few more beats before shaking his head, already coming closer to you. with his arms wrapped around your front, jinwoo pulls your back closer to his chest, placing you flushed against him while pressing a kiss against your temple.

“how could i ever live without you?” he asks you with a teasing tone, eyes filled with love for you. you smile and meet his gaze, matching his expression when you frame at his face with your two hands.

“hm, i don’t know…. but you need someone like me to keep you grounded.”

“damn right i do.” he admits to you with a grunt, leaning in to kiss you deeply. with a sigh, you open up to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss and taste you. he acts like today would be his last day on earth, kissing you like his life depended on it all while delving his fingers into your hair.

when you became dizzy, and the need for air became too much, jinwoo pulls away from the kiss first, smiling down at you before pressing a kiss against your forehead.

“a kiss for good luck.”

you giggle and finish with your usual sentence for him, “and i’ll be here, waiting for your safe return.”

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Let Us Help

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You're trying to ignore your symptoms. Remus is having none of it. Warnings: Chronic pain Series Masterlist

You're seated in your wheelchair by the roaring fire, its warmth enveloping you like a blanket. But today, it doesn't seem to penetrate the chill that has settled deep within your bones. Your body feels heavier, each breath more laborious than the last, and there's a constant thrum of pain that courses through your veins—a reminder of the battle you're fighting. Tiredness clings to you, a familiar weight that you've come to associate with these days.

Your feet rest on the footplates, slightly swollen and tingling. Your hands, shaky but stubborn, toy with the edge of a blanket draped over your lap. The fabric is soft against your skin, a small comfort amidst the discomfort.

Remus sits by your side in an armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His posture is relaxed, but there's a keen alertness in his gaze, a readiness to act if needed. A book rests open in one hand, its pages turned gently by his fingertips, but his focus isn't solely on the words before him. Every so often, his other hand strays to your knee, a silent inquiry, a reminder of his presence. He doesn't need to ask how you're feeling—he knows the signs all too well.

Sirius and James are sprawled across your bed, half-entwined in a tangle of laughter and limbs. The sound of their easy banter fills the room, punctuated by the occasional snort or guffaw at some private joke.

"Do you need anything?" Remus's voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, grounding you back in reality. He doesn't look up from his book, but there's a firmness to his tone that belies his calm exterior.

You shrug, the movement barely perceptible beneath the mountain of blankets. "I'm okay."

A low hum of disbelief escapes him, and he closes the book with a soft thud. Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, Remus fixes you with a steady gaze. "Don't give me that," he says quietly, the command leaving no room for argument.

The intensity of his gaze is unsettling, and without intending to, you find yourself confessing the truth. There's no point in hiding it from Remus; he has a way of seeing through lies like they're made of glass, even when you desperately wish they were stone.

"I'm just tired," you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your fingers keep moving, tracing patterns that only deepen the frown on his face. "Hurting a bit more than usual, that's all."

His eyes soften, understanding shining through, but there's something else there too—resolve maybe, or perhaps it's command. He stands then, unfolding himself from the chair with a grace that seems at odds with the seriousness of the situation. He crosses the few steps between you, crouching down so his face is level with yours. His hand moves to cover yours, stilling the restless movement of your fingers.

"Stop pushing through it," he murmurs, his tone firm yet gentle, like the press of his thumb against the back of your hand. "Rest now. Let me help."

You know it's not simply a suggestion when Remus insists on your well-being. There is no command in his words, no sense of pressure—only an unwavering expectation that you will allow him this small act of care because he knows you, perhaps better than you realise.

Before you can protest, Remus leans closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingers just long enough for the tension in your shoulders to ease slightly. His lips are warm, a soft counterpoint to the chill seeping through your bones, and you find your eyes drifting shut, welcoming the intimacy of the moment. It's not just the kiss—it's the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, like you're something precious yet unbroken, deserving of care even when you feel far from it.

"Come on," he murmurs against your skin, pulling back only far enough to meet your gaze with those understanding eyes. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable."

He doesn't wait for your consent or ask if you're okay with it. There's a familiarity to his movements, a sense that he's done this many times before. You let yourself relax into the chair, trusting him fully as he manoeuvres you towards the bed where Sirius and James still sit.

James is up in an instant, shifting aside to make room for you on the mattress. Sirius, meanwhile, slips off the edge of the bed and starts arranging your pillows, fluffing them just the way you like. They both watch you, their expressions softening from earlier jests to something more tender, more protective, as they make space for your arrival.

Remus's movements are all efficiency, a practiced ballet that speaks of experience and deep care. There is an art to it—this act of transferring you from chair to bed—and he performs it with the grace of one who has done so countless times before. His hands, though marked by scars, are gentle, their touch firm but never forceful. You can't help but marvel at his strength.

"Alright," he murmurs, and you feel yourself lifted into his arms. The transition is smooth, almost weightless, as if you're floating for a moment before finding yourself nestled against the soft pillows Sirius has arranged for you. "There we go."

You exhale slowly, your body sinking into the mattress. The pain doesn't vanish, but it recedes, becoming a dull throb instead of the sharp stabs it was moments ago. But Remus doesn't draw away just yet. He adjusts the blanket over you, tucking it in with a precision that borders on meticulous. Then he sits beside you, his knee brushing yours through the covers, his hand coming to rest lightly on your arm.

"Better?" His voice is low, meant only for your ears, the rough edges softened by concern.

You nod, aware of the steady warmth emanating from him, a beacon in the darkness that has consumed your day. "Much better."

Sirius shifts back onto the bed, careful not to jostle you too much. He leans on an elbow, his other hand drawing lazy circles on your arm. His lips press softly against your cheek, the ghost of a kiss that pulls a small smile from you despite the lingering discomfort. "We're not going anywhere, baby. Let us take care of you."

James, ever the nurturer despite his playful exterior, leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. His lips are warm against your cool skin, offering comfort in their simple contact. He settles back down onto the bed, his hand coming to rest on your leg beneath the blanket. "We've got you, sweetheart."

Remus moves closer, the warmth of his body a steady presence at your side. His hands are gentle as they cup your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone with a tenderness that steals your breath away. "Look at me," he murmurs. You do, and find yourself lost in the depths of his amber gaze, flickering with concern and something else—something that tugs at the edges of your awareness, beckoning you closer.

His lips meet yours, and it's not a hurried peck this time but a slow, deliberate exploration—a promise made without words. The world outside recedes, leaving only the two of you, the connection between you anchoring you amidst the storm. The pain dulls, replaced by the thrum of your heartbeat, synchronising with his as if trying to rewrite the rhythm of your existence.

When he pulls back, it's with a reluctance that mirrors your own. His forehead rests against yours, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the softness in his eyes, the curve of his smile. "You're not alone in this," he whispers, brushing another feather-light kiss against your brow. "You've got us. Always."

Contentment washes over you as Sirius and James move closer, their bodies forming a protective barrier around you. Their warmth seeps into you, staving off the chill of the night and the fatigue pulling at your limbs. You lean into it, trusting them to know what you need even when you can't voice it yourself.

Because with them, you don't have to.

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Hello! I was wondering could I get a Male Dornish Reader x Jaime Lannister, like they've been secretly courting each other and then get a stolen moment in the gardens together? Maybe smut with some fluff? Have a great day and ty! <3

They Don't know about Us

Pairing : Jamie Lannister x Dornish Male reader Tags: Secret romance , Fluff Word count : 760 Y/n: Your name  L/n: your last name

The gardens of  Casterly Rock were alive with the vibrant colours of spring, a stark contrast to the chilling politics of the court . The air was thick with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses., but Y/N could hardly notice. His heart raced as he waited, concealed behind a flowering trellis.

He had taken to sneaking into the garden at dusk, a sanctuary where the whispers of the world dulled into the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of nightingales. This evening, however, the tension in the air crackled with a different kind of electricity—a thrill he had come to associate with one person and one person alone.

“Y/N, are you hiding from me or the watchful eyes of the court?” came a voice that was both teasing and smooth as silk. Jaime Lannister stepped through the archway, his golden hair catching the last rays of sunlight, casting a halo around him. His emerald cloak fluttered behind him, the Lannister lion emblazoned on its back, a heavy reminder of the family he bore yet often seemed to challenge.

“Perhaps it is both,” Y/N replied with a playful grin, stepping into view. His dark, sun-kissed skin stood in contrast to Jaime’s golden complexion, both men framed beautifully by the foliage. “Though, I fear it is not the court that would be most angry should they discover our meetings.”

Jaime stepped closer, deliberately invading Y/N's personal space, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let them rage, then. If they knew of us, maybe they would finally understand the meaning of true passion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in his throat at the weight of the words. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, bound by the desires that simmered just beneath the surface. “True passion, you say?” he mused, leaning back against a gnarled od, hoping to mask the heat rising in his cheeks. “And what does Lord Lannister know of such things?”

“I know more than you might think,” Jaime replied, amused but earnest. He stepped even closer, their bodies almost touching, the soft rustle of leaves the only sound surrounding them. “I know what it is like to want something forbidden.”

Y/N's heart raced. “Is that what you want? A Dornishman? Do you not fear the judgement of your family, of the realm?”

“Fear? No.” Jaime laughed lightly, a sound that made Y/N’s chest flutter. “I have faced down the Mad King, a thousand soldiers, and the wrath of my father. What can a few whispers do to me now? Besides, my heart is not easily swayed by the opinions of those too blind to see.”

Jaime reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N's forehead with a gentleness that seemed out of place for the mighty knight. That simple touch ignited a fire within Y/N. He swallowed hard, his resolve wavering. “But what of us? We are… we are not free to love as we wish.”

“Let us steal what moments we can.” Jaime’s voice was low, like velvet, pulling Y/N further into the orbit of his allure. “Let the world conspire, we are not subservient to its will.”

Y/N looked into Jaime’s eyes, the depth of emotion stirring something within him, a wild yearning he had tried to deny. “Then tell me, brave knight, what is it you wish to steal?”

With a smirk, Jaime stepped even closer, their mouths mere inches apart as twilight descended around them. “A kiss, perhaps? Just one, before the world wakes to ruin it.”

And in that enchanted moment, with the scent of blooming flowers wrapped around them like a cloak, Y/N allowed himself to surrender to the spark igniting between their lips. He leaned in, capturing Jaime’s mouth with his own, soft yet electric, their kiss a promise of what could be if only for a heartbeat suspended in time.

The kiss deepened, two hearts beating in unison, a secret unspoken yet understood beneath the starlit sky. They could hear the distant sounds of the court’s revelry, a stark reminder of their reality, but here, now, in this haven of stolen moments, they were free.

As they pulled back, the world came rushing back, the urgency of their situation settling upon them with a weighty chill. “We should go before we’re caught,” Y/N said, breathless.

Jaime’s smile was that of a man unwilling to yield, even to reason. “Let them come. I am not done stealing moments with you, Y/N. Not yet.”

[weirdkpopgirl]

To Love | Jaemin Imagine #9

Title: To Love

Genre: Fluff (?)

Warnings: a little suggestive, making out

Word Count: 715

Author's Note: I've never been in love before. But whenever Na Jaemin pops into my head (which is a regular occurrence), I associate him with love. He's so sweet, considerate, and sincere. The list goes on, but I'll stop my fangirling here. I hope you guys like this short story. Thank you for reading ^ ^

𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪

The gentle glow of the lights enhanced the serenity of the room. Seated on the bed, you traced delicate patterns on your boyfriend’s back with your fingertips. Few words were exchanged between the two of you, opting to appreciate the stillness of the moment.

The only discernible sounds were the gentle scratches against the canvas of his exposed back, and occasionally accompanied by sighs of relief from him.

“You’re so tense,” you murmured, as your nails glided over the knots beneath his muscles. Though you couldn’t see his face, the warmth of a small smile resonated in his voice. 

“Thankfully, I have you to take care of me,” he said, earning a chuckle from you.

Despite the lightheartedness in his tone, Jaemin meant what he said. Being a motherly figure in his group, he was accustomed to looking after others. However, only a select few in his life allowed him to be on the receiving end. And you happened to be one of those individuals.

On a day full of long dance practices and recording sessions, your touch was exactly what Jaemin needed. His eyes were closed, and he let out another content sigh, appreciating the luxury of being cared for. In that moment, he could feel the weight of his exhaustion and stress dissipate with each stroke. 

As your nails continued their gentle path along his back, Jaemin found himself swept away by the depth of his emotions for you. As someone who loved passionately, he realized that his fondness for you was immeasurable.

Unable to dwell in his thoughts any longer, Jaemin shifted his focus. You were caught off guard as his warm hand wrapped around your wrist and swiftly pulled you into his lap. His other hand cupped half of your face, and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that spoke volumes.

“I love you,” he whispered in a low, almost husky voice. 

While Jaemin told you those three words daily, tonight they carried a vulnerability that stirred the same swirl of emotions he was feeling within you. You didn’t even need to say it back, the look in your eyes was all he needed for reassurance. The next thing you knew, his lips were meeting yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. The connection between you two was like a magnetic force, drawing you closer to each other. 

Your hands found their way to Jaemin’s shoulders, grasping onto the fabric of his shirt. Simultaneously, he continued to cradle your face, gently lifting your chin at the perfect angle to deepen the kiss. As your lips pressed onto his, a tingling sensation spread through him, the softness of your touch leaving a warmth that permeated every nerve in his body. Emotions surfaced like waves crashing against the shore, adding to the intimacy of the moment.

Every kiss shared with Jaemin held a special place in your heart. Yet, you secretly loved how this particular one seemed to just go on and on. It almost felt as if time had momentarily froze just for the two of you.

If it weren’t for the necessity of breathing, you and Jaemin might never have pulled away. Reluctantly, you placed a hand on his chest, gently breaking the kiss. Both of you were teary-eyed, overwhelmed by the overflowing love you had for one another. The emotion was so intense that it bordered on pain. You hadn't known it was possible to feel this way for a person until now.

Jaemin’s eyes remained locked on yours intently, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek, sending a slight shiver down your spine. He couldn’t resist a playful grin as he joked, “Maybe we should just get married already.”

You would have laughed if you hadn’t caught the hint of sincerity beneath his humor. Moving your arms to wrap around his neck, and softly replied, “Maybe we should.”

Your response caused the smile on his face to widen. Jaemin tightened his embrace, holding you close, as if savoring the moment. Resting his forehead against yours, he pressed another lingering kiss to your lips. The air between you two crackled with a quiet understanding, and a promised future together felt closer than ever. If this is what it meant to love, you fully intended to treasure it forever.

𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪

[loveydoveymonsters]

A Perfect World - Part 1

Werewolf x fem!reader

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

In a perfect world, you would be allowed to be with the ones you love, in a house on a hill far away from the rest of the world. In a perfect world, there wouldn’t be needles stuck in you every day as you stay locked in your tiny cell. In a perfect world, you’d be a regular human that scientists wouldn’t pay any attention to at all.

You were interested in him when you first laid eyes on the large beast that was captured a few months after you. Your fox tail swaying as your ears twitch in curiosity. ‘A friend’ is all you thought when you saw the large raging beastman being manhandled into the cell next to you. You felt sympathy for the large beast but at that point, you wanted to be selfish. You were selfish, focusing on the fact that you have a new friend to talk to rather than the fact that another creature has been kidnapped and forced into this experimentation. Forced into this lab that no one knows the location of, nor does anyone even know it exists. He glared at you, his teeth bared, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, frothing at the mouth, his entire upper body reminded you of a wolf. ‘A werewolf!’

A werewolf, of course, you hadn't ever seen one so close before. You stared at him which just agitated the poor beast even more. You analyzed his features, jumping when he lunged at you, the glass of your cell nearly breaking, you saw the subtle cracks in the glass that his strong claws made. It was fascinating to you so fascinating that you placed your small hand with your equally small claws against the glass. You have more human features than he does. Maybe he has a different form, maybe this wasn't who he truly was, maybe he's domesticated. Those were all thoughts that went through your head as you cut your finger on the crack in the glass. He stared at the small drop of blood that dripped down your finger. Growling in the back of his throat was the first thing you heard before he was pressed against the glass.

“Can you speak?”

You asked him innocently, completely unaware of the thoughts going on in his head. Wanting to taste the blood that had fallen from your finger to the floor. Needing to see more of it, he had been starved for days before he was finally allowed into a cell. He saw you as a meal and yet you were asking him if he could speak, he found you foolish and idiotic for even trying to associate with him. He's a monster, a cruel heartless being that's killed more than he's helped…He has helped though…His fist pounded on the glass when you spoke again punching it with a rage. Why are you speaking to him? Why are you trying to talk to him of all beings? It was annoying, and frustrating…because he couldn't speak. He understood your language, he understood most languages but he could not speak them. Nobody could understand his growls or howls, his whimpers, and whines, he hates that he can't talk. He hates that look of fear in her eyes but there's no other way he can communicate, he doesn't know any other way other than aggression. 

“You have to stop. They'll take you away if you keep misbehaving.”

You knew there had to be a reason why those wretched scientists placed you two in a room together, in thin cells right next to each other. They never did anything without an ulterior motive, maybe they were trying to socialize you, maybe they were trying to mate you two. The thought made you nervous, this aggressive beast who refuses to speak…It's quiet now, you turned your head, facing him, he stopped. He listened. He heard your pleas and stopped. That was the start of it, that was the first moment where your heart had skipped a beat, where you realized that this was going to be the start of something amazing, something terrifying, something utterly passionately heartstopping.

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

It only took a week before he was attached to you. He didn't necessarily like you at that point but when he stared at you he felt calm, he felt like there was nothing to worry about even though he was being poked and prodded every single day by pathetic scientists who wouldn't be able to stop him if he truly wanted to escape. At first, he did, but they tranquilized him before he got the chance to properly try, then he figured that he was getting three meals a day so why should he bother with escaping? Then you became the reason he wanted to stay. Your voice, your laugh, your screwed-up head, your lonely little heart, all of it enamored him. So within a week, he was trying to communicate with you as best he could, he wanted to get to know you more.

A light tap on the glass paired with a whine is what alerted you to his presence against the glass. You had grown used to him being there so you thought nothing of it until he smacked his hand against the glass trying to get you to notice him, to pay attention to him. He growls and whines, there may have even been a bark in there she couldn't tell, she was too fascinated by the fact that he was trying to communicate with her. It was so new, so sudden, an hour ago he was growling at her whenever she got too close to the glass and now here he was letting out a myriad of noises just to see if she could understand him. To a certain extent she could, she was reading his body language as closely as she could making sure she wasn't misunderstanding him and his different noises.

“Are you…saying sorry?”

He nods rapidly, immediately. He was trying to apologize for being so cruel to her the past week. For scaring her all those times she accidentally got too close to the broken glass. He then realized that she could read him, and understand him to a certain extent, which made his ears peel back and pin to the back of his head in joy. Someone was actually trying to listen to him, rather than just seeing him as a rabid beast you were trying to speak to him. He's never really had a conversation before. He doesn't know what to do now. He's staring at her waiting for her to say something else, anything else, not wanting to let the moment end, his friend, his one friend, her only friend as well, he has to keep trying. 

“You can understand me right?”

He nods again, hanging on to her every word, ‘Speak again, talk to me please’. He had no idea how badly he had missed speaking to somebody anybody, nobody had even tried in years. ‘I love your voice, let me hear your voice. Come on I'm going insane speak again’. He couldn't stop those thoughts even if he tried, he had grown to enjoy her voice but then again it was the only sound he'd heard in the past week. The scientists won't talk to either of them, she's it, the only socialization he has. ‘Again, again, again,’.

“Where did they find you?”

He whines in pure joy so thankful and full of relief that you're trying to keep the conversation going just as much as he is. He has to think of a way to respond to her in a way she'll actually understand. He's been patient, he's been waiting for this moment, everyday for a week he's been so focused on her, trying to get her attention but now that he has it he doesn't know how to proceed. So, he draws on the glass, using his sharp claw to draw a mountain or rather a hill, and trees. Once his claw dulls he uses another one, he'll just sharpen them later with his teeth as they grow out. This is more important. 

“A mountain. No? A lake…No…Oh oh a forest!”

He cheers for her, his arms in the air and a loud growl escapes him in glee.

“They took you from a forest, your home?”

He nods solemnly. It was a cool day when they took him. The breeze was nice on his fur, he just wanted to go for a run so he left his den. He lived in the middle of nowhere for a reason. No one would be frightened by his large form, his mix of human and wolf features. No one would hurt him for simply existing. Or so he thought. While he was running he remembers feeling a pain in the back of his neck and then he lost control of his limbs, falling to the ground and panting heavily, his body feeling remarkably heavy. They had tranquilized him, apprehended him, and took him away from his home so quickly he barely even registered it was happening until he was in front of her. 

“I'm so sorry.”

It's like she can read his mind, see what happened, and sympathize with him just from that. He loves it, he loves being able to socialize, to “talk” to have someone anyone try to be kind to him. He stares at her for a long while before he realizes…She was here before him, who knows how long she had been locked in this prison, in this hell. So he points at her as a way of asking her the same question. ‘Where did they find you’ and then he follows it up with drawing a clock, and asking how long she had been there.

“Oh, I've been here for at least a year. It's hard to tell because they don't have clocks in here. They took me from the same place you did, a random forest that wasn't my home but I had just happened to be foraging around.”

He whines in sympathy, his ears pinning to his head as he kneels down and she follows suit sitting on the floor in front of him. He scratches the glass a little more. It's the weakest glass he's ever seen. Honestly, he doesn't know how anyone hasn't escaped yet. He could escape, he's going to escape, but he's not going to leave without her. He refused to leave her behind…For myriad of reasons but mainly because of one, he caught her scent. That sweet scent that drives werewolves insane, the scent of a mate, the scent of someone he needs to protect. He isn't going to leave her behind, not for one second.

She touches the glass right where his hand is, trying to connect with him in some way in this screwed-up place. She doesn't have to do that though, he's already locked in with her. The sole fact that she tried to connect with him on a deeper level just by talking with him is enough to make him fall in love. He cares more than he would like to admit, cares about her treatments, the experiments the scientists are doing on her, and how the side effects are going to affect her in the long term. He cares about all of it. All he needs is a way to ask her. He can basically only answer yes or no questions right now without dulling his claws and it's not like he can properly ask her anything, so he'll wait…Patiently until he can finally be in the same room with her until he can finally touch her, kiss her, be inside her…He wants to do all of it and more. He is far from a patient werewolf though.

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

He lasted one more week before he was asking the scientists to be placed in a room with her. Well, asking is a strong word, he more growled and clawed at them in aggression while pointing at you. Two weeks gone and now he's desperately trying to talk to you more. Frankly, you haven't been in the mood, why should you be, you're stuck in a lab being poked and prodded every single day why would you want to talk to anyone? Well, anyone except him. You feel bad for semi-icing him out but the scientists promised you more food and a healthier diet if you did so. Seeing his dejected face makes your heart hurt though in more ways than one. You can't explain the way you feel about him right now, you've never felt so attached, so close to somebody yet so far. It’s not fair, it's not fair that you can't be around him, that you can't touch him or feel his fur. It’s no fair and you hate it so very much.

A loud snarl and the sound of glass shattering bring you out of your thoughts. You turn your head and find yourself face-to-face with him. The smell of his breath is the first thing you notice. You never thought it would smell good, more of rotting animals or rotting meat. It smelt like coffee as if he had been downing it by the gallon. It was almost too strong. You would have turned your head away if you weren't so enamored with his eyes. Those. piercing eyes that are so much more attractive, so much more bold up close and personal. He was standing over you growling right in front of your face. One sharply clawed hand rested on your shoulder, the other on the ground behind you as you lay there shaking, terrified, and excited.

“How strong.”

That's all she manages to get out before his tongue is down her throat. He’d been craving her for so long that he just had to kiss her. It’s sloppy, passionate, desperate, the most needy kiss she's ever received but she didn't dislike it. Usually, the saliva and germs would turn her away yet this time it lured her in. The sloppiness and desperation of the kiss made her weak. Weak enough to not be able to do anything when the scientists tranquilize him and pull him off of her. Yet there was no urgency behind their movements, it's as if this was routine for them. Perhaps it was, perhaps there are thousands of mutants and monsters in this building and you two are just little blips in their radar. 

He woke up to realize that the scientists didn't fix the glass, he realized they had no intention to. He doesn't question it, he just speeds over to you and tackles you to the floor once again. He doesn't kiss you but he does nuzzle you, sniffing you all over wanting to get your scent imprinted in his brain for as long as he possibly could. He realizes you aren't fighting back which wasn't what he was expecting. Not that he was expecting you to fight him, but he was expecting more of a struggle however you're just patting his head. Scratching behind his ears just how he likes. He's not used to being touched, to being loved on, to being cared about. Your touch fills him with joy, you can tell by the way his tail wags. There's a low rumble in his throat as he licks your palm nuzzling your touch. The scientists have no idea what they've done. Now that he can be this close to you, he's never ever going to let you go. Now he can finally just pick you up and break you out of here with him. All he needs is the perfect moment.

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

[eluxcastar]

As I opened my tumblr, just to check if there is new Arlecchino stuff to swallow... lo and behold, I saw your post with the Arlecchino simp tags. Shot me the moment I stepped into the door right there, hahaha! May I request an Arlecchino x reader, headcanon or anything you're comfortable coming up with. The reader is thousands of years old, who got disowned by the Tsaritsa because they declined their performance in greatness for someone else's benefit and saw no worth in her/them. Could be a sibling or a friend, the betrayal stung like a bee since she/they saw Tsaritsa as a mother figure or could literally be the mother (Got kunikuzushi'd in a way, minus the puppet part). So, here's the main part - How Arlecchino would handle that person, when they meet in hostile terms. An accidental encounter, had banters and fights and eventually found strange subtle solace from each other. Could be romantic, or just obsession on Arlecchino's part because we love deranged women pls step on me with your sharp heels - anyway, since Arlecchino is interpreted as someone who won't hesitant to betray the Fatui. On her own benefit, works with the reader to mess and interrupt Fatui operations. I won't include more or else you'd be dealing a whole thesis of it. Hahahah! Good day to you~!

One of Repetition

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: in a strange decision nobody quite understood but could not contest, you were dismissed from your position by the tsaritsa herself but allowed to live. you wander for some time, lost and confused, and most notably unable to escape the fatui even when you are no longer associated with them, which means an unwanted letter and an even more unwanted visit from the knave.

୨୧﹑genre :: kinda angsty

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader, reader has a pyro vision, arlecchino has a cryo delusion, reader uses a bow, capitano is not human this time, he's just a plot device too, their previous relationship is implied but ambiguous, implied age difference, reader is most often called by the title brighella, writing this spiralled me into insanity, possibly bad writing, not proofread 

୨୧﹑words :: 13.6k

hehe, I know that Arlecchino simps flock to me once they learn my requests are open. I have no idea why. maybe they're just especially desperate for food, but they linger, and I have a little collection of anons.

don't worry about how much it'll take me, I honestly enjoy writing longer works. anyway, I received a request similar to this some time ago (was it you? I have encountered that before) but haven't gotten around to completing it, so I'll be partly combining the two

here's the other request:

it's gonna provide some stuff for me to follow, and I remember exactly when I got it, so I wanted to include it for the dear anon who sent it

why brighella you may ask well that's because brighella has been described before as essentially Arlecchino's smarter and more vindictive brother and they compliment each other well. I think Arlecchino may also work for Brighella in some versions?? either way it felt right even though they're not really based off of the character brighella, they do share a few traits with him but not fully it's just a fun little parallel

I really did not expect this to be so long that it literally lagged the writing program I was using to save it and I have been staring at this for so long I literally have no gauge on the quality anymore just that it's variable because it took me so long someone send help

Her words left you exasperated, literally at a loss for words, and you struggled to comprehend the reason for it. There was nothing you could think of, no instance that struck you as prominent. Yet, somehow as one of the Tsaritsa's children, you had become what any parent might refer to simply as a disappointment, their failure—the problem child who never quite ironed out their issues. You had always been faithful to her, hopelessly devoted to the archon and her will. News such as this came out of nowhere and struck you like a hammer to the chest.

Two of her most mighty children were near and dear to her, and now the other had turned against you as he remains loyal to her. The Jester, who you once held in high regard, has turned against you. It is a bitter pill to swallow, for you must now sever ties with the one man you believed was truly deserving of serving the Tsaritsa. Your mother— your world— turns against you with him, before him, leading the way for him. 

In vain, you draw your bow to strike an arrow between his eyes, prove your strength and power as above your position, above him, but it means nothing. Your strike is blocked, and the Tsarita's Damselette Columbina moves to detain you. You believe she would not be strong enough, but you don't itch to fight ten other Harbingers. You understand that even you have a limit, and fighting what are supposed to be the strongest people in the country is not a part of that. Your honour is on the line, an honour which would tarnish not only Brighella's name but also have a ripple effect on your soldiers, men and women who fought for you and did not deserve a punishment that would result from their actions.

"Think carefully, Brighella." Columbina's warning is not lost on you, "You could remain as a hero or fight, and I will lure the creature you brought from the abyss and gut him before your eyes."

You do not want that. That creature is not yet loyal to the Tsaritsa but to you, and she will convince him he can save you. He will fall into her trap and die.

You bite your lip, trying to think of a way to escape and capture him so that you can run off somewhere. He does not deserve to die, but you can't think of anything. Not when you know how thorough these people are. There is not a will, really. There is only a has. He has fallen into her trap and is at the mercy of the Damselette. "What if I am to obey?" You finally ask the question you did not want to, surrendering in a way, though the bite has not left your words.

"I'll leave him be." Her answer is swift. She expected that you would eventually give in and only needed to wait for it to happen.

You shake your head, dissatisfied with only that as your compensation. "Not enough."

The smile on her face does not waver, thin and deceitful as ever, eyes hidden and closed, unseen behind the band of lace. "Mm. I can't bargain anything else." 

"Have him take my place." You lay your condition out firmly. There is only one to meet, and not a hard one at that. It would be easy to sway him into it, using whatever they plan to do to you as motivation. His loyalty and affection for you would make him accept it.

She ponders the situation and proposal momentarily, powerless to make the executive decision but undoubtedly keen on the thought of it all. "He believes that you are about to fall in battle to a foe and that he is going to save you."

You grit your teeth, knowing that this is her trap. Lure him to a place. It was not what you had expected, but it is no less the Damselette's style of acting. There is always a damsel, but perhaps she recognised that she would not suffice this time. She needed a better damsel for him to save; for that to work, it needed to be you. 

She needs your name, reputation, your relationship with your subordinate, melding together with her lies to make for a tale of tragedy with him as the hero.

The thought of him rushing to his death under the guise of saving you spikes your blood cold, chilling you. You're aware of her cruelty and always have been, but to experience it is different than hearing about it from her perspective. You are experiencing it from the perspective of the victim. 

His death was another factor to hold over your head, your penance, the anchor to force your compliance. Your blood boils with anger, but you cannot fight. Despite your feelings of anger and frustration, you know that lashing out will only cause further harm and pain.

There is only one thing you can do. You know you must. It's simply that you don't want to. 

But...you must. 

You must for him, that poor creature you tried to give a home to and who would never be in such a position if not for you and your ambition. 

"Then I will fall, and you will use the honour I built into him to persuade him." 

It was an honour meant to humanise him in a way, a being only able to imitate humanity. He had a mentor and something to fight for. Now you're imploring that it be used against him to burden him, but he will do well in your position.

Columbina smiles, that thin mocking smile like she knows the secrets of this world and more. "Would he really believe that?"

The helmet. You should use the helmet to your advantage. Your subordinate's first exposure to humanity, being you, a woman in a metal helmet, seemed to last. He used to think that was what humans looked like, and he admitted as much to you as he had asked you to remove it. Your impression left an indelible mark on him that he treasures to this day. Even if he was to see you in the aftermath, he would not uncover the lie.

"He has never seen my face. He would not recognise me."

Columbina accepts that readily, and her eyes open, pools of black and white visible through the cracks in the lace over her eyes. You've seen them before, inky black sclera and inhuman patterns decorating the borders of her irises, but you can't help the unsettled feeling that makes a home for itself in the pit of your stomach. 

-

By the evening, you are stripped of your honours, titles and coat and dumped to the curb like a bag of rubbish somebody left out. There is no more fight, no more bargaining, no more arguing. Everyone has the things they want, for the most part, so you are all satisfied enough to remain amicable with each other. Without a fight, you allow the Jester to remove the fur-lined overcoat despite the cold that rushes over you once it is gone and discarded in a heap of fur and fabric on the floor with none of its previous value. 

After that comes the slow, deliberate removal of every trinket that denoted you as you. From your delusion, several gifts to your very insignia, the only thing left of you is a lone pyro vision and the clothes on your back. You've never been more thankful to not wear a standard-issue uniform lest you be made to undress and hand that over too.

That was it. Your everything.

With each piece of regalia taken, a part of yourself disappeared until you were left an empty husk of a person, your entire reason for being for hundreds of years snatched out from under you and spat on.

The Harbingers were supposed to be the children of the Tsaritsa, and this was your grand disowning. A show of power and influence over her closest children and, by extension, the ability to bring pain to her less-- to her followers. It was foolish of you to ever think you were special in her eyes for having been by her side since before the Archon War. What did it matter when she left you amongst the rest of them? The years you spent since you had hobbled into her life so tiny and cute were now reduced to a few personal belongings and a set of words that shattered your world to sharp and dangerous pieces that would only hurt you in your haste to reassemble them and string your life back together.

When you were young, your cuteness may have been your best asset: a small body with endearing quirks, the inability to walk long distances without tumbling. In this state, you required her for everything because you would only find danger in the harsh Snezhnayan winters. To even acquire your own food was unthinkable, so you were sheltered and provided with ample treats that you could nibble from the palm of her hand if that were what you wished. Anything to keep you happy and content.

Like a little trinket, she cradled you for as many years as it took you to grow, and once you were at an age you no longer needed to be cradled, she made you her loyal companion, or so you had believed. You thought her affection for you was unwavering. She was the only mother you had ever known; she is the only mother you will remember for all of eternity.

Although it may have been an exaggeration, watching the sun's gradual descent below the horizon, you could almost believe eternity would quickly prove to be a very real concept. You watch the sky darken in silence for a time. You roam aimlessly around the city, your presence still striking unease in the people from the threatening demeanour you learned to conduct yourself with as a Harbinger, even without your official attire. The only remnant of your former self is a helmet you consistently wore during every public appearance. 

You can't help your wandering mind. Did your imitation of the Tsaritsa's actions make you weak? Attempting to nurture someone in the same manner she nurtured you? You are not a god, only the former child of one. Maybe you cannot care for him and maintain your objectivity. It's possible that he has become your Achilles' heel, as you were forewarned when the Tsaritsa less than subtly suggested you eliminate him.

You cannot live like this.

No matter how many suns you watched set, you would never come to terms with it living like this. The world you once knew, which revolved around a singular governing entity and individual, has disappeared without a trace. Without a central axis to anchor it in place, your world spirals chaotically out of control, with each passing second feeling more frenzied than the last. Your head is too muddled, your brain too overwhelmed by your emotions to think objectively of the faults in your time as a Harbinger, years of your life spent that way, burying your thoughts beneath a heavy weight of despair.

You almost want to call them wasted, but that would be wrong. Without the Tsaritsa, you might've— no, would've died during the Archon War. Perhaps another god would take you in, but it is unlikely that they would have exhibited the same level of compassion and generosity as the Tsaritsa. They would not have coddled you into comfort the way she did. Then again, what if that had been your downfall? Did she ever genuinely want you to stay? Based on this...perhaps you took her kindness for granted and overstayed your welcome.

You had no right to make demands of her in your final moments as her child, acting like a spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum. But can you be justified? Can the threat to your subordinate's life negate that? Surely a bit, but not entirely, not if her actions were in response to yours. 

Oh, even if you begged on your knees, she would not take you back now.

Why had you not done that before?

She must be disappointed that your attitude was born from her compassion, the epitome of her failures. You do not deserve to call her your mother. You took her generosity as a guarantee, thought yourself above her other children solely because you were her first, and believed you were her favourite for no reason besides your own arrogance.

You have failed the only being in Teyvat willing to show pity toward you.

-

The deepest heart of Snezhnayan forest welcomes you readily with open arms and the gnashing jaws of monsters starving for food. The forest seems to come alive with a vicious hunger for flesh. You have nothing but your vision and bow left to aid your defence. Your delusion is gone, and your subordinates are nowhere to be found to assist you. Despite this, marking your way with a trail of bodies is easy. It is just an inconvenience to have to always be on guard, but you are strangely used to it. 

The cold is numbing as the air hits your face, your fingers almost wholly without a sensation of touch and even a tingle in your toes.

You spent many missions that way, tensed and expecting violence at any moment, hardly allowing yourself to sleep, let alone relax. It feels like nothing has changed in that respect, but you know everything has. You cannot hear the large crackling bonfire or the pattering of footsteps in the snow as your subordinates come to join you, their laughter and chatter and their whispers to each other.

There is a stark silence that is deafening to your ears.

-

On the seventh night, you pass through a village on the outskirts of Snezhnaya, where you first catch wind of the news you had agreed on. The locals informed you that they had recently halted their work for half a day in your honour, believing that you had passed away. All of them are completely unaware that as they remark on the death of Brighella, they are speaking to the former Harbinger, who asks about the news under the guise of being a curious traveller. They also strongly advised you against venturing into the innermost heart of the nation. If anyone were to notice the helmet carefully secured around your waist, it might bring unwanted attention to your travels.

Though you were stripped of your insignia, you have your armour, which by some grace had been spared from confiscation. Though a seemingly trivial act of kindness, a sense of pride swelled within you as you gazed upon it. You are glad it is still yours. This armour had accompanied you through countless blood-soaked skirmishes, serving as a steadfast shield against all manner of danger. 

It is at that moment you decide to treat it as a trophy. Though there is no truth to it, you take responsibility for the Harbinger's slaying. Now, the armour which once protected you as a Harbinger will stand as a triumphant emblem of your hard-won victory over Brighella and the end of the Harbinger's tyrannical hold over the land. You know that you will keep it close, treasuring it always as a tangible reminder of the sacrifices you made to reach this pivotal moment. You slayed Brighella. You ended the Harbinger's tyranny.

If you didn't know better, you would think you were getting a little too far into it and starting to believe it yourself.

By the eleventh night, you find yourself situated in an inn, and the nights only carry on from there all the way up to the twenty-second night since your abrupt dismissal and, to the rest of the world, your supposed demise. Already, the whispers that once revolved around Brighella's defeat now shifted to speculations regarding her successor. The question was not necessarily who, but who could possibly? Her brutal reign as a Harbinger had instilled fear in the hearts of all who crossed her path and in the minds of the people, no one else could measure up to her sheer terror-inducing presence. Nobody knows what happened once they dared to fight Brighella until now. She was only the Fourth of the Tsaritsa's children, but she was the most combat-heavy, and no one wished to cross her, except for the rumoured contender for her throne, who was spoken of in hushed tones as nobody was eager to have their reverence for whoever was bold enough to reach the wrong ears.

Your achievements find their place amongst the rumours as people say that Brighella's killer stole her armour and wears it as her trophy.

Despite the slew of gossip that its patrons indulge in, you enjoy the quaintness of this bar made and run by travellers who use it like a pitstop to rest and recuperate. It is a home to them, along with adventurers and merchants who benefit from the atmosphere. The people are strangers, often reserved and eager to keep to themselves, but have immeasurable wealths of information that spill with a few drinks and a group of acquaintances who are, for only one night of pleasure and indulgence, their lifelong friends.

Among those friends buried in your own tankard of cheap ale, you laugh along with their jokes and entertain their questions like a test of your ability to lie and improvise in this tale you're making for yourself. If they have names, you don't know them. Brighella's death was a glorious battle but isolated to the hills where you were alone.

"Brighella was alone, and they were weakened by prior injury. I don't know what caused it." You mix a dash of the speculations in, downplaying your strength a tad as you're unwilling to expose too much of it. "I'm not one to miss an opportunity. When would it arise again?"

One of your new acquaintances scoffs, amused but no less aware of the dangers of doing such a thing. "And make an enemy of the Fatui?" He is a new graduate of the Sumeru Akademiya who's come to make his way through Snezhnaya for a job offer. Reminds you of someone else, minus the graduating.

"They will not miss her." You are quick to answer—too quick, arguably—as it draws a sliver of attention before dipping back under the radar as a product of your confidence. "Her 'head' makes too cute a decoration on my side to pass up stealing it."

"I wouldn't dare say such a thing. Fatuus comes here sometimes." They are the words of a Snezhnayan native raised to worship the Fatui, though he is somewhat disillusioned by their crimes and cruelty, as you've learned many are.

"Let them hear it!" Your laughter is boisterous and unabashed. "They'll see the armour anyway. They probably despise her like everyone else."

Another one of your new friends, a travelling merchant from Fontaine, interjects your ravings to add only a passing comment. It was as she had done all evening, her secrets locked up tight. "She did not make herself likeable."

"She was not meant to be likeable but a fearsome warrior." Again, the Snezhnayan man rebuttals the criticism against her as he had been doing all evening again.

"You don't have to get so far up her ass, Brighella's not gonna crawl out of her grave and thank you for it."

"You're so vulgar."

You plant your tankard firmly down on the table between the four of you, leaning over it to close the distance between you and the man. "I'm not meant to be likeable either."

Forget being only a little too into the role. You're revelling in the freedom of this new identity of yours.

Quick to disperse the tension, your graduate friend changes the topic without a hint of hesitance in his voice. "They left an underling people believe will take their place. It's a surprise to think Brighella had someone who followed them with such...devotion."

"It's strange, but not impossible." The merchant from Fontaine again, contributing nothing you weren't all already thinking.

"Could she have had a sentimental side?"

"Who cares if she had a sentimental side?"

"Upset the attention isn't on you anymore?"

Anger crosses your face, but you stifle it just as quickly as it appears. You wish their attention was off of you, really. The former you, maybe, but you nonetheless. You want to know about your subordinate. What happened to your second in command? You don't care to hear their speculation as to whether you were or were not particularly emotional with your underlings. You know the answers to all of those questions and more without their guessing games.

"Regardless of the reason, they say the underlying is much easier to swallow than she is, so maybe the position of Fourth Harbinger will change drastically if he takes it." 

"Would he really change its purpose if he was so loyal?"

"Unintentionally, perhaps."

God, these people are so dull. Just listening to them, you can tell they know nothing of the ways of the Fatui. Harbingers are not individual job positions with specific parameters. Each role is its own, and they are moulded by the person who assumes them like a character in a play, enchanting and unsettling in a horrific mix of theatrics and violence. It is what they stand for. One does not assume the role and become an actor with a script. They must improvise and act on a whim to the beat of the Tsaritsaʼs drum, their life no longer their own.

They are not whatever these ramblings and poor excuses for speculations make them out to be.

"Terribly misinformed, aren't they?" In your ear is the low voice of the Snezhnayan man holding in his laughter at the two as the scholar and the merchant go back and forth. 

You glance to your left, where he has leaned closer to you. "Repulsively," you respond curtly.

He has a faint glint of satisfaction in his eye as you seem to have confirmed something. "I thought you might've been from Snezhnaya." 

"So what if I am?"

"It was only an observation."

In the background, the main conversation continues, just as clumsy as it was before you had tuned it out in favour of drinking some more. "Does this mean he will also be named Brighella?"

Straightening back in his seat, the man swiftly interjected their back-and-forth responses to explain to them. "They receive a unique title upon their promotion, and nobody knows what it is until then." A simple enough concept to understand.

"In other words, anything but Brighella."

"It hasn't been long enough to know yet."

"It's strange. Nobody knows his name even now."

That would probably be because you never gave him one.

You considered it in the years you spent with him but couldn't find one you liked. His name was inhuman, not for your ears and not for your tongue, rendering it useless to you and every human who would hear it. The night you found him was spent crowded around a bonfire listing off every suggestion you and your subordinates could think of to no avail, as he only sat quietly by your side and said little about any of these choices, finding no familiarity in any of them. That's only natural, you suppose. 

You still haven't chosen a name for yourself that isn't Brighella, either. Your old one is well and truly forgotten, with the years eroding your memories. It had been centuries since you had been called anything else. Evidently, picking names is not your forte. 

"As far as I've heard, nobody knows what it is."

You find the mention of your subordinate has completely ruined your mood. You are grateful the creature is alive but worried the knowledge you're snooping around to find out when he will be promoted could land you in trouble. It's troubling enough to wonder if he has heard your tales through the grapevine about how you had supposedly 'killed' Brighella—his mistress and mentor—which he would not be happy about. Though you did not fear the creature before, now that you've personally trained him to understand human combat, you're not so sure you'd want to fight him. It would be a hassle. Unlike many, you do not fear the inhumanity of the Doctor or the stone wall that's called the Jester. Even the cunning Damselette struggles to do more than unsettle you, but you respect that creature's raw strength and understand that no matter what you do, it doesn't matter. You are confined to a human form, and he is not.

You lied when he said he wouldn't recognise you, however. You don't actually know if he would.

You don't know the extent to which his eyes can pick out the details in your appearance that aren't physical. Had he memorised your relative build? Your height? The way you carry yourself and your mannerisms? The thought unnerves you, but so does everything else about him.

"I'm turning in for the night." Without regard for the ongoing conversation, you declare your intentions and abruptly shut down whatever is being said at the time without much care for it. Whatever it is, it isn't important. Your unfinished drink is left behind as you make your way to your quarters.

In retrospect, you understand their eagerness to merely cover up the circumstances of your dismissal. For a Harbinger as feared as Brighella, it is easier to halt work for a mere half-day rather than attempt to contain the resulting fallout of admitting one of their own was inadequate while simultaneously preserving their tenuous hold on power.

-

Months pass before there is talk of the crowning of a new Harbinger, the people abuzz with the news and eager to know all they can, preferably before the aristocrats feel like sharing the night of the event. You considered attending the ceremony but ultimately decided against it. You may have the courage to do so, but you are certainly not stupid enough to wander into the waiting heart of the Fatui's clutches. You have waited patiently for this moment and can easily wait longer to hear the news.

No longer treating the inn like a home, you settled somewhere in the plains of another nation only a few weeks after you had first arrived there, sensing the barkeep was getting sick of you and the attention you were drawing to his otherwise obscure establishment. 

People settled there for a night, saw you were there, and word of mouth as they boasted of their encounters with you lured others who came to see you. While this influx of new customers certainly provided a boost to business, it also had the unintended consequence of driving away those who preferred to keep a low profile and valued its place as being for those 'in the know'. In other words, while you were great for a boom in business, you were bad for long-term business. 

The barkeep pushing the mora you tried to pay him to pay for another night was enough to send the message he wanted you gone, out by morning. The idea you were not to come back for quite some time was clear to you in the look he gave you.  

Liyue, on the other hand, is filled with mountains and teeming with visitors who have come to witness the highly anticipated Rite of Descension. Surprisingly, the influx of tourism only adds to the overall enjoyment of your experience. You would think that tourism would hinder your time there, but completely contrary it makes it better in a way. The locals are expecting an influx of outsiders to come to see the Geo Archon in person, and, as a result, they are not only willing to hire help for the time but also serve later at food stalls, and the place is livelier. 

People notice you less as you blend into a crowd of people who don't belong, and you slip under the radar.

You have no interest in the Rite of Descension nor the Geo Archon, and most of your time is spent outside the Harbour.

Wangshu Inn is still within Liyue but at a considerable distance from the Harbour, a mid-point between there and the border to Mondstadt. It is quieter, which is neither good nor bad, and home to some very understanding owners who ask so few questions it almost alarms you. Nonetheless, you crave respite from the chaos and theatrics you were revelling in as a reprieve from the stress you were under, wondering how you would live your life now. At one point, you relished being hailed as a hero by many, but it soon became overwhelming, and you found yourself trapped in the clutches of Brighella once again.

Whether by design or happenstance, your identity had begun to consume your life again, and if you wanted to have any hope of living outside of Brighella, then that had to stop. And so, you sought out a place to lay down your burdens and unwind, leading you to where you are now.

You arrive your old self, and despite clinging to it since your travels had begun, you remove every piece of your armour for what you intend to be a long time and leave it all neatly arranged for when you eventually return to it. You feel compelled to finally don the fresh outfit you acquired during your journey through Fontaine. Admittedly floor-length dresses and extravagance are not your style after years of being cooped up in a heavy suit of armour, but there's something alluring about trying out a new look, especially when it involves pants that don't weigh more than a third of your body weight. Besides, you always kind of liked them anyway, just...not yet. Now seems like a good time to dip your toes in.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you finally see yourself in the mirror. Perhaps you got too used to seeing a metal helmet staring back at you and a suit of armour for a body, but the fresh air against your skin and lighter clothes feels...good. 

For the first time in a while, you feel free.

The new outfit is making you giddy, too giddy for your taste. You don't recall having such an innate pep in your step, only one that felt deserved, but this different. While you typically associate a sense of satisfaction with having earned it through hard work or perseverance, this newfound exuberance seems to come from just existing in your new clothes. You are happy just because even if there is nothing to feel happy about. It's as if the simple act of wearing them has given you a boost, despite not having accomplished anything significant. It doesn't even seem like you made much progress toward becoming yourself when you lay it all out on paper. You bought clothes and wore them, that's it. 

Something about it feels so much like yourself. The freedom to stray from what you thought you were until now, something you hadn't dared to try before.

One thing you like about Wangshu Inn is how it serves even people who aren't staying there. The ground floor overlooking the water is designated as almost a kind of restaurant. People filter in and out to be served, stay for lunch, meet with friends, and take breaks from their missions. It is meant as a place for travelling merchants, but you find that is not all its patrons see in it.

You are not nearly as sociable as you were in the Snezhnayan bar you were at, but this seems more manageable anyway.

"If you've come looking for work, the Adventurer's Guild may have a place for you." A suggestion from a merchant who struck up an idle conversation with you for some reason sticks with you. You can't say why, but you imagine a product of boredom.

"They accept anyone?" Your surprise is evident in your tone, as you thought they might have tighter restrictions.

Just as in disbelief fact as you are, he shrugs, "As long as you've got enough power to back yourself, a friend of mine said they'll accept anyone."

That sounds far too good to be true, at least for your taste. "And it doesn't matter where you come from or where you go?"

"Adventurers are known to get restless in one place for too long."

"I see, and you can just go up a--"

"Excuse me, miss." You don't remember hearing that voice, but you recognise the attire when you turn your head just enough to be met with the sight of a cicin mage standing before you impatiently awaiting your attention. The top half of her face is concealed, as is customary, but there's no mistaking the unkind smile that tugs at the corners of her lips as you meet her gaze.

Has she come for retribution? 

Despite your fears of having to make a mess, the woman reveals a letter that is sealed with wax and extends it towards you, expecting you to receive it sooner rather than later as she waves it slightly as a form of incentive. "From the Damselette," she adds.

"What could the Damselette want with me?"

"Perhaps a warning." The words slip by, quiet but noticeable, immediately catching your attention. You raise an eyebrow at her. She's slowly unveiling her contempt at your presence; you're very aware of that fact. You are not familiar with her. It is unlikely that she ever worked under your command. However, it is possible that she might've held a certain level of regard, which has since turned to hostility as rumours of her arrogant killer run rampant. "I don't know. I'm not privy to those things."

Your eyes glance over her from head to toe in thought, scrutinising her for any indication of where her animosity came from. However, there is nothing that gives away her motives. You break your gaze away from her and glance down at the letter in your hand. "I suggest you get a better hold of your tongue. They don't like it when you're rude to their guests."

Her smile does not waver. "You are not a guest." She states that fact with glaringly false politeness.

"Everyone who recieves correspondence from a Harbinger is a guest."

You suppose you can't fault her disdain when all is said and done.

From somewhere tucked away in her clothing, she pulls what appears to be a knife from your peripheral vision and points it at you, but you look up to find it is only a blunt letter opener balanced in the palm of her hand, waiting to be picked up.

"I was ordered to stay until you had read the letter to deliver her your response."

Just as she believes you are a murderer, the letter addresses you as such. Your lies have reached her ears. Moreover, she is playing along with them.

You expected threats and unfair deals, but it is only an update on what is happening regarding your position, the reassurance that they have not violated the terms of the agreement made. A half-hearted apology and an excuse. Preparations set them back, supposedly.

While you imagine preparing not only a funeral but a ceremony to announce the next Harbinger does take time, it would not take this much time with how prepared they were to kill you off in the first place. It was a planned betrayal.

It just looks better if they don't appear so prepared.

For whatever reason, perhaps your consolation prize for enduring her shameless lies, she shares a secret with you. As you casually scan the letter with little care for its contents, your attention is immediately drawn to the heart of the matter. It's the very subject on everyone's minds and all that anyone speaks of. 

Il Capitano. His name is Il Capitano.

Personally, you would not have picked it, but that does not mean that you hate the name. Quite the opposite, in fact, as you have to admit that when you envision the name paired with his face, it suits him well. She ends the letter promising that she will 'take good care of him', though you know that your respective ideas of those words do not align or even coexist in the same universe. There is an unmistakable discrepancy between her intentions and your own, and you don't like it.

"Come back to us, Brighella. You can watch everything you wanted in person."

-

You won't go back. It's a trap.

Irritated, you find yourself back in the heart of the country where nobody lurks, haphazard in the way you fire your arrows at every creature that dares to disturb your sense of peace. It's hard to focus, and you don't bother trying. Liyue is not the same as Snezhnaya, with open plains broken up by rocky mountains. The creatures are mostly the same, and all die the same, hilichurls and geovishaps running rampant and shot down into piles of meat and rocks.

It doesn't matter how loudly you shout, as there's nobody around to hear it. You could scream, cry, and throw a tantrum all you want, and it won't matter. Even if you throw yourself at the ground and bang your head into the dirt, nobody will see it.

This is all pointless. You will never escape. It will never matter how far you roam or how fast you run.

Why did you think you could? Had your brain melted from your head?

There is no other side. There is no salvation. You are owned from the day you're brought in until the day you die, but why? Why did they want to bring you back to Snezhnaya? What was the point? You are out of the way now, hardly causing trouble for them. Despite this, everything seems to be running smoothly, even with the liberties you have taken in your new role. Was that it? The reason they wanted you to see?

It must be. There is no other reason to risk exposing the lie otherwise. Unless it was to tarnish the Fatui's reputation.

You refuse to believe it is something as innocent as wanting to see your request honoured. Nothing is innocent within the Fatui, not an action without hidden intentions or motives. Centuries of watching their misdeeds from the inside, which always go unpunished and unchallenged by anyone except the powerless commoners, have taught you that there is always an ulterior motive lurking behind their actions.

Not to mention it came from Columbina.

You must've spent three days out there before finally returning to Wangshu Inn, dirtied by the elements and craving something to eat, like a child's insatiable desire for sweets. The dead of night provides a cover for you to take a dip in the water beside the inn in an attempt to rinse the dirt and sweat off of you. It dawns on you that your new clothes would've been ruined if you hadn't had the foresight to change before venturing out again. In that moment, thoughts of the Fatui and the memories evoked by your armour flooded your mind, and you didn't want the same thing to happen to the clothes that had made you so happy from the moment you put them on.

It feels childish how you cling to these things.

A part of you just can't help it, torn between holding onto the memories that define who you believe yourself to be and starting anew with a clean slate. Neither can win. One is stuck on the past and what little you have of it, and the other wants to abandon all of that and start completely fresh.

The half-compromise you are trying desperately to make work by accepting that what's gone is gone while keeping your armour close to your heart is obviously not working. The thought of discarding it pains you too much to actually do it, plagued by the urge to melt it down to scrap metal while also being overwhelmed by the knowledge you will regret doing that as soon as you see the mess that would be left of it.

Your new clothes make you happy, so you need more new things to make you even happier, right? If new means you glean happiness, then more new is what will help you move past all of this deliberation in your head.

Clothes were a given, and...maybe a haircut? Yeah. You should try cutting your hair and decide on a name for yourself that isn't Brighella. Something you want, a name you like, that you can look at yourself and see that person reflected in a mirror. The person you think you are supposed to be when you look past the expectation that has been instilled in you.

That merchant you spoke to mentioned the Adventurer's Guild might have a place for you. What if you should be helping people instead of hurting them? What if you only did that to please the Tsaritsa?

In the background of your thoughts, you walk yourself back to your room at the Wangshu Inn and collapse onto your bed, thinking. Though you are exhausted, you cannot bring yourself to sleep for one reason or another. You make excuses for yourself just to ignore the glaring root of the problem you know is there but refuse to acknowledge. The problem isn't really how hot or cold the room is or the texture of your blankets and how much you dislike the humidity in the air. Something else entirely is keeping you from rest.

Your hair isn't the problem either, or your clothes. Even your lack of a proper name really doesn't bother you. They're only the illusion of change you're using to cover up how truly lost you have become now that you have to think for yourself.

How long have you been alive now? Centuries at least. You can't even live independently after that long? No. No, you can't.

You are so lonely, you are lost, you are confused. You need company, you need guidance, and you need purpose. How are you supposed to live? Where is the person who will tell you what to do every day? 

You have to make that choice yourself? You can't do that. You've never done that. 

The thought of even something so basic scaring you so severely brings you to a weakness you never realised you even possessed. Fear surges through the very depths of your being, an unfamiliar sensation that you find unsettling. You don't like it, but it's an impossible feeling to push down and ignore. Over the years, you had quietly collected your shortcomings into a neat little jar and pushed it aside, out of sight, away from your conscious thought, as if pretending you were invincible. 

What would you have done if you had gotten to Capitano? Make him decide?

He can't. He's not human. He doesn't know enough to decide. You've only made him just like you, a fearsome man until he's abandoned and vulnerable like you have become, and then he'll be pathetic and helpless too.

Nothing came out of any of your efforts, did it? It couldn't have possibly. Even with every attempt you made, it was always doomed to fail.

-

It turns out that the Adventurer's Guild was more than happy to take you in, in a way. They put you right to work. It helps to take your mind off of things if nothing else. It's mindless work, able to tune out everything in your brain and run on auto-pilot. You take to this life so well it scares you, completing your tasks with so little trouble you wonder how this isn't more popular, even if some are arguably unnecessary. If only you were good at proper cooking, you might get rich from the tens of requests for certain dishes. 

You're irresistibly drawn to the combat, right back to the heat of battle where you feel truly alive. In all you've had to question, your love for the thrill of fighting has never been up for debate. You're unsure whether it's the adrenaline or something else, but you don't care to know, either. You don't concern yourself with such questions. It's not important to you why, so long as you find comfort in it. It's the one thing you cannot be robbed of. 

A hard day's work is always rewarding.

"Make sure you be careful today." A fellow adventurer is quick to catch you before you can wander off for your next quest, smiling and unbothered despite his words. You've never met him, but he speaks as if you have.

Something about the bond of adventurers is so reminiscent of the Fatui.

You turn back to place your full attention on him rather than the grilled tiger fish you had acquired out of curiosity about the taste. "Why's that?" You're not too bothered, expecting him to tell you that it's dangerous out there, the Abyss Order existing and all.

"The Fatui are restless."

His words catch you off-guard, light in tone as they are. In outward appearances, he's mostly unbothered, while the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You try to grasp your bearings just enough to speak. "They don't do that for fun." Something about it is just as shaky as you expected, unable to fully mask it, but you figure he'll blame it on nerves.

"Harbinger, apparently." He doesn't draw attention to your demeanour, so neither do you.

"Which one?"

"Dunno."

It's probably Columbina. Maybe you pissed her off when you shot the messenger. Yeah, she probably wouldn't appreciate that. When you did it in a fit of anger, you expected her to find it funny after coming to your senses.

"Hey. Something wrong?"

You startle as you realise he had been speaking that whole time, and you just weren't listening.

"Sorry?"

"I said it's weird that they'd be up and about so soon after the newest was officially promoted."

You deadpan a little, realising it wasn't something of actual value, just a misconception that the greatest powers that be in Snezhnaya aren't spiteful enough to hate each other just as much as they hate everyone else. "Not really. They're not particularly sentimental."

"They don't even care to go out drinking for their own?"

"They hardly know how to tolerate each other." You realise your slip of the tongue too late, seeming too familiar. That's a problem. He barely draws attention to it, only making a strange face.

"Well, whatever the reason, work doesn't stop for them."

In silence, you agree and continue your day as if you really believe that.

-

As you wrap up your work for the day, you feel a sense of pleasant exhaustion wash over you. It struck you as strange that nobody was out in the wild, even the usual fatuus you avoid. Something about it was uniquely eerie. It dawns on you why he came to the conclusion that the Fatui were 'restless'. They must have retreated into the city to prepare for the impending arrival of the Harbinger destined to disrupt the small peace you had found. The sudden influx of fatuus in Liyue would make it seem like they are increasing in numbers nationwide when in reality, they are just moving.

You're not going to let it bother you for now.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you have promised yourself that repeatedly and have found it to be a lie, but you mean it this time. You're familiar enough with the workings of the Fatui to know that they don't like to leave sectors alone for too long, and Liyue had spent a fair time before your dismissal unchecked. 

Even at night, you remain unbothered when you wander Liyue for a time, looking for something to do and notice what he was talking about.

Many of them are fussing more than usual, meaning that chances are it's too late to inhibit the process of this Harbinger arriving. You could turn tail and run, scurry off to the other side of Teyvat and settle in Fontaine or even Natlan, but you like it here.

You sit in the heart of Liyue, listening to a speaker tell his stories. You know you shouldn't linger, but you tell yourself you can for just a little while longer. It reminds you of the past, filled with Liyue legends you remember hearing about as news at the time they took place. The fact these tales are now old enough to be suitable for a speaker's recitation as 'legends' is a grim reminder that maybe you're older than you realised. Your early life is now from the time of legends. You can push that feeling aside to focus on the nostalgia of hearing these stories.

Beside you, you hear the chair move but don't budge from looking to see who it is, assuming that all other chairs are taken or that it's an adventurer who got curious, possibly even the man you had spoken to earlier about all of the Fatui--

“Reminiscing, Brighella?”

You recognise both that voice and that name and go stiff, eyes finding her before your head can even turn in her direction.

In front of you—or rather, across from you—the Knave sits upon the other chair at your table as if she was always supposed to be there, seemingly at ease, but you know better than to assume her guard is down. Arlecchino has always had an icy composure, though she can be hot-headed at times and can lose her temper when provoked. It's not surprising that she was able to track you down, even without knowing what your face looks like.

She turns to you leisurely, unhurried. "I came to look for you since you missed the ceremony." It sounds like a greeting the way she speaks those words. You suppose it is one, really.

Ah, maybe you should've been worried after all.

You try to play off your emotions as if you're completely unfazed by her presence. It's the only way to maintain some semblance of control. "Did Columbina not like my gift?"

"Oh, she rather enjoyed it." Arlecchino maintains a similar composure, knowing approaching you in public means employing subtlety as much as it means she's less likely to be attacked. "She felt it was just the kind of gift you would give."

"I try my best not to disappoint." Your response is less enthusiastic than you might like, a hint of nervousness infesting your brain and refusing to budge.

Despite this, she doesn't notice, not outwardly. Really, that means nothing, as you are very aware of how good her poker face is. "Il Capitano hasn't stopped speaking about how much he'd like to kill you. You don't want to disappoint, do you?" When you were waiting for her to speak, those weren't the words you expected to hear, but somehow you're not fully surprised either.

"I see, so my lies reached even his ears." 

You thought as much.

"I think you'll be quite surprised when you see him." Her reply is so cocky that you almost scoff at her.

"Who said I would be seeing him?" You try to match the audacity she had to make such a remark.

She turns to you rather casually for the words she speaks, an odd tone you can't quite place, lacing her words half like mockery. "You miss him, don't you?"

It's that question that makes you snort and turn away as you realise that her negotiation and persuasion skills are abysmal for such a cunning and intelligent woman. "Not enough to become foolish enough to trust someone whose title denotes them as dishonest and untrustworthy." You always wondered about that, really. "A name like 'the Knave' really isn't subtle."

"Funny." She doesn't laugh or even smile. "I believe yours was something close to 'bother'."

You lean back in your chair, testing it slightly as you push the front legs off the floor as a means of entertaining yourself through this frankly dull conversation. "Then I suppose we're both living up to our names."

She remains silent for several seconds, pondering her next words. You can see her fingers rub against the wood of the chair as a distraction. 

"The others told me it was pointless to try to bring you back."

"They were right."

"You won't come back for any reason?"

"I know a trap when I see one."

"Of course."

Silence, again. You don't care to break it, either. You came to hear the stories, and you really would like to continue that rather than listening to her voice, but she's not making it easy.

"Is that all now?" Your voice shows your impatience more than you might like, but you realise it may work in your favour if she senses she's annoying you.

For the first time in a while, she smiles faintly to herself. "For now. Your answer is abundantly clear." She appears to concede, if only for a little while

You let the chair land back on all of its legs and lean your elbow on the table. 

"Are you going to get out of that chair?"

"No."

"And why is that?"

"It's comfortable."

The urge to roll your eyes brims in your mind, but you stop yourself. You don't want to give the Knave the satisfaction of knowing something she is already well aware of. Besides that, you don't want her to know that you really don't want her here in any capacity. Arlecchino's presence is never a good thing.

You let out a tentative breath as you consider your next words quite carefully. The wrong thing might have Arlecchino never leaving you, and the right one might drive her back to Snezhnaya if you're lucky. You shift your whole body to face her. "You just arrived from Snezhnaya, I take it. What do you want to eat?"

She eyes you suspiciously, scrutinising you for any sign of trying to fool her into consuming poison or making herself sick. "You're feeding me now?"

You pretend you don't notice her intensity. "Well, you're not leaving. It would look strange for me to order food for myself."

Again she smiles to herself, a light mockery that's cautious and testing, easing herself into accepting your offer. "I wasn't aware you cared so much."

"You could starve if you'd prefer." You turn away as you speak and don't look back, shifting yourself back in your seat to be front-facing.

There's a quietness between the two of you, both waiting for the answer to your proposal. You have an inkling Arlecchino will accept, but you don't know with her. She never seemed especially pleased by the times the Jester would convene you all over meals and such, ending up in fights and bickering. She never fought with you, however, so perhaps it's different. 

"Order whatever you like."

You find yourself looking intently at a list of the options on the menu. It's quite a lengthy list. "Mm..." Even though it's just a false invitation and you're doing it to be courteous, you can't say you aren't enjoying the thought of picking out a meal and sharing it with her. Despite your removal from the Fatui's affairs for some time, you'd be lying if you thought you weren't at least a little curious. "Jade Parcels...and maybe Jade Fruit Soup? But Dragon Beard Noodles sound good too..."

Becoming slightly irritated by your indecision, Arlecchino looks across the table to where you are sitting deep in thought. "Is it that complicated of a decision?"

You spare her only a glance before returning to looking for something she would enjoy. "I have to pick something you'll like, don't I?"

Soup is more challenging to share than noodles are.

With that, your decision is made, and you settle. Despite yourself, you are somewhat restless in thought. Arlecchino's lack of contribution is slightly frustrating, but it sounds like she'd be content with anything. You're not sure if your choice is the correct one, but you believe you picked something to the best of your abilities that is easy, even to a foreign tongue. As far as you know, Arlecchino is from Fontaine. You've never eaten like this with Arlecchino to know her tastes or dietary restrictions.

"Jade Parcels and Dragon Beard Noodles. Sound good?"

"It'll do."

"Good. I'll go order it, then."

Arlecchino must be surprised that you returned, as she doesn't seem too thrilled. She never really does, but there was a disappointed glint in her eye right up until you walked in front of her to get to your chair. 

It continues until you get the food, and Arlecchino finally stares at it with an overwhelming sense of dread, left with an intense feeling of apprehension regarding whether. You appear not to hesitate, though this arrangement isn't quite what she had expected. Arlecchino had thought you would order enough dishes that you wouldn't have to share, but you seemed to understand it in a way that meant you would be eating from the same bowl.

You notice her hesitation almost immediately, yet your vexation with her arrival makes you unwilling to acknowledge that you know the reason, a deliberate miscommunication on your part. "Mm. I didn't think this through." Your words seem to make her perk up as if you will free her from her awkwardness by asking for another bowl. "You probably aren't used to using chopsticks, are you? Not many dishes that need those back home."

She knows you're toying with her, that sweet smile from across the table hardly hiding your true intentions. Arlecchino waits, watching to see what you will do next, as she looks back at you with a scowl. 

Her eyes do not leave you as you wordlessly collect a Jade Parcel and present it to her like you are patronising her with this action. Your feigned kindness, this supposed benevolence of you offering to feed her like a child, no doubt hoping she'll back down and excuse herself completely. 

She won't let you do that and have the satisfaction of seeing her back down. She won't allow you to break her facade of acceptance.

Though you circle the food in front of her slowly, only a motion with your fingers trying to convince her or make her as uncomfortable as possible, Arlecchino continues to stare for several more moments. Eventually, she musters the courage to relinquish some of her pride.

Arlecchino leans in slightly, just enough to open her mouth and take a bite from the food you hold out for her. Despite the circumstances that led to this moment, she can't help but acknowledge your good taste. Arlecchino couldn't possibly eat another bite that way, though. Not being fed by the woman who is now her adversary just to avoid her 'winning' in the situation, but admitting she is willing to let you get under her skin is not an option either.

She must treat this situation differently, as if you are merely feeding her out of obligation to her rather than because you have your own motives.

It hardly stops her from enjoying her portion of the meal from the chopsticks you share with her. At some point, it finally occurs to her that you only hold one pair, leaving her set untouched despite feeding her. You had been feeding her with the same set you ate with the entire time, and while you were well aware of that, it hardly seemed to alarm you as much as it alarmed her.

Your biggest disappointment was being unable to get rid of her that whole time, watching her readily accept whatever you tried to use against her. Watching a Harbinger practically bow their head and obey you, however, fuels your consciousness. It's like eye candy to think back and realise you did that.

It's another one of your quiet defiances against the Tsaritsa. You wonder how far you can take it.

As you stand from your seat, you stretch your arms above your head until you hear a faint pop as all the tension in your back relaxes. "I don't imagine you'll be leaving anytime soon."

"No. I have plenty of business outside of you." It's not a lie. She's got a lot to do in Liyue even without your presence, but you're a priority. 

You lean back over your chair, a mischievous little look on your face. "Do tell."

"You know that I can't do that." She's not amused by the attempt, either.

You straighten back to your usual height and brush it off in moments. "Unfun. I thought your loyalty to the Tsaritsa could be won over easily." 

She scowls. "Not by you."

"I see. You have standards after all."

She chooses to ignore your comment. Up until now, you have had quick-fire conversations, sometimes interrupted by a silence that drags on. This is no exception.

"Capitano truly believes you are dead." Arlecchino realises when she has caught your attention, and that time is now. She notices how your head tilts towards her ever so slightly, and your head raises. "For a time, he grieved, but it didn't last long. He has become fixated on the idea of revenge ever since he heard that Brighella's killer was running around boasting about their achievements with the authentic armour to support their claims."

Suddenly it makes some small amount of sense in your mind why they would want you to come back exactly. Capitano won't stay put forever. If he's stuck on vengeance, he won't rest until he exacts it. You weren't thinking about how much your stories would piss him off at the time.

When you spend an extended period of time silent and seemingly disinclined to answer, Arlecchino continues. "I want to show you to him."

You have subjected him to human emotions he's not equipped to deal with. Rightfully, you feel horrible like more of your failures are being wrenched from your corner and dumped out into the open for all to see. It doesn't matter that you're in Liyue, where nobody knows the two of you. You don't want them to see either. 

"He wouldn't want to see me." You don't think she really wanted to hear those words when you finally speak. Her expression gives it away. "He should enjoy his position without my interference. I've ruined his life enough."

"You've given him power and status, he should be grateful for that--"

"No. He shouldn't." You don't even wait for her to finish. She hasn't even realised it yet. Not the way you've been forced to. That power is a detriment, not a blessing. Why should he want that? "I thought that way as well, but now I…I don't think my choice was the correct one."

Arlecchino was not expecting to evoke your vulnerability, shallow as it may be for now. "What choice?"

"To bring him back from the abyss." 

From a purely objective perspective, taking in Capitano was the cause of everything. Arlecchino presumably thinks of it in the way you don't want her to, that you regret taking him in because he ultimately ruined everything for you, causing your world to fall apart. You don't. You wish you hadn't dragged him down with you.

Now Capitano still dealing with the consequences of your choices. He was perfectly satisfied where he was and would've remained that way had he not been caught up in your plans. It was your arrogance that made you think Capitano would prefer to come with you. At no point in your first interaction had he indicated he was displeased in his circumstances, only hostile because humans were so close to him. It is an understandable thing, considering that humans were a foreign concept to him and potentially posed a threat.

"Because he overtook you?" 

There it is.

Despite her words, she appears to have dropped her irritated expression and the impatience in her words and actions. You are finally speaking, and she won't lose that opportunity to an avoidable break in her temper.

"No. No, nothing like that." You try to find the words to explain it, even knowing she likely wouldn't understand it in her current position. You doubt she could ever comprehend it with how she treats her loyalty. "It's more like… Off the record, though I was cherished for many years, even I eventually became disposable. I have left Capitano in the hands of the person who caused that, and now I have damned him to the same fate."

Arlecchino is silent in thought, mulling over your words with great care. The tone of the conversation shifted right under your noses, and with it, so did her demeanour. She became relaxed in a way, though you imagine no less guarded than she always is. "I fail to see how your performance declined. In fact, you are more necessary now than you have ever been."

"I see." In your head, that means she's on your side to a degree. "So you believe that my termination was a mistake?"

"A grave error at best." Her words only confirm the way you thought of it. "Even if you had declined in performance, the people have begun to question more than ever, which sabotages the political landscape of Snezhnaya for those who care about it, the same people who stood idly by while you were ousted. Those who oppose the Fatui are pushing the notion that we must be weaker than we appear, because if even Brighella could die, then what does that say for the rest of us."

Though you wish you could say that concept was inconceivable, the idea that those fighting for reform would seize upon your demise as a means to spur change. It's not shocking that everyone else has been called into question, either. Though it is easy to push the role of frontrunner onto the Director, his duty is mainly administrative, as is the case with many high-ranking positions. His wrath is quick and brutal, and sparse. Dottore is too busy with his disgusting hobbies, and Columbina must remain in the light as a figure they can cling to. That leaves the position of Fourth as the one who is publicly the most violent and ruthless, which used to fall to you.

"I see. Is that why they want me to come back?" You don't expect an honest answer as you ask that question, half anticipating another play at your heartstrings.

"No." 

Frustratingly, she doesn't elaborate.

"I'll only agree to return if Capitano is free to do as he wishes."

She scoffs, somewhat returning to her brash attitude. "Even if I could make that decision, we're well past the point where that's a possibility."

You know that she's correct in that.

Still, you can't stop the sight you let out. You knew the request was wonderful in theory but inconceivable in practice, but asking never hurt anyone. "Then what do you want from me? I take it that though I'm only a stagehand, my part in the theatre is not yet over."

"Is that how you see it?"

"Answer my question."

"Execution."

You pause at her answer.

"Execution?"

You're not even sure you heard her correctly. The execution of who? Brighella has already been put to death, and Capitano has barely warmed his seat among the Harbingers. Nobody left in this is worth killing, given the precarious nature of the Fatui's support in the aftermath of Brighella's murder. It was already unstable, and now things are just worse, with no better word to describe.

You doubt they made the decision lightly.

"Execution. Your execution for the murder of Brighella and crimes against the state."

Your nerves instantly spike again, and your guard is higher than ever. At any moment, you could need to draw your bow and fight her because even though you're unsure of how to treat this life, you're not ready to give it up. No foe has scared you before, and neither will the prospect of rebuilding from square one.

"I see, so you've come to extradite me."

"You read my intentions horribly. I'm impressed you managed to make it so far like that."

You furrow your brows in annoyance. "Then what?"

"The values of the Fatui no longer align with mine." The assertion draws your attention more than anything else. You have always been aware that she is unconcerned with the ideas of loyalty and honour, which you can't fault her for. Abiding by the code of honour the Tsaritsa instilled in you left you here.

You may be completely wrong, but she was so vague and doesn't seem to be waiting to say anything else. "Is this your way of telling me you're deserting the Fatui?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"You so happen to be someone I like." 

You're startled by that as well. As far as you were aware, the decision to do nothing in the face of your dismissal was unanimous. You thought Capitano was your only remaining ally. Even if she's the lowest ranking, that is not indicative of power in an objective sense but of authority. In a sense, she is the new 'you' of the Harbingers, as she always was to a degree. 

Blame for the disorder is shifting in your absence to her.

"Because I cleaned the messes you now manage?"

"Because you aren't cowardly and fixated on politics but inhibited by them. You are a model of what is right." You can't say you follow what she's saying but allow her to continue. "Pulcinella and even Pierro refuse to travel abroad, always making excuses to shirk their jobs when faced with danger in order to comfortably remain in luxury. From the day I joined, you stood out to me in that way."

You raise an eyebrow at her, unimpressed by whatever she's trying to do right now. "Are you trying to flatter me into coming back?"

"I was telling the truth." She doesn't look impressed, either.

You feel a little embarrassed by that, suddenly feeling as though you really had responded quite rudely to an innocent statement. "Hearing a person idolise me is strange," you admit.

"It's not idolising." Her correction is sharp.

"Sounded close enough."

Silence again, as with the pauses scattered around the rest of your conversation. You aren't catapulting the topic into something of great interest or progressing, and neither is Arlecchino. Her lips press into a thin line trying to hide any cracks and stifle any emotion that slips through.

"I admire you."

You did not realise such a thing was possible, really.

"I thought you may have remembered the times we shared and think fondly of it, but perhaps not. We fought once- maybe twice- before. We drank together. Nothing else."

To end that statement with 'nothing else' as if to reduce every conversation, interaction, hour and experience to ashes is thoughtless at best. You didn't remember either instance in which Arlecchino believes you fought and still don't, though you try to now that you have come to find it apparently happened. If it did, the chances of you actually remembering is slim to none with how your memory is. It's not that you forget things quickly, but that minor events slip through the cracks in your frankly chock-full memory.

"I don't remember them, I'm sorry."

"I didn't expect you to."

Despite her words, there is a faint bittersweetness to it, the realisation you are insignificant to the person you aspire toward being like. Somewhere, even if she is aware it was always not only a possibility but highly likely, it still feels like a letdown, the fragile hope you might remember her strength. You only remember her drunken and all too enamoured by you to think properly. It is foolish of her to feel that way because you have battled many foes, and expecting you to remember all of them, let alone your underling, is unreasonable.

"You still haven't answered my question." Changing the topic, you take the opportunity to try to direct her back to what you asked in the first place. "Why are you really here?"

"The Jester gave me permission to pursue you, believing I would attempt to convince you to return to Snezhnaya after Columbina failed." As Arlecchino begins to explain, it slowly begins to make sense as the pieces fall neatly into place. "However, I have no interest in appeasing the wants of dignitaries who care only for their comfort."

You don't want that either. It's just a repeat of Capitano. "Do you understand how dangerous what you're doing is?" It's an attempt to remind her, but Arlecchino's unwavering expression tells you that reminders are unnecessary and unwanted.

"Yes, you were removed for less." She only confirms it for you. "Dottore is of the opinion that you will be forgotten, as are several others-" you imagine singling him out has something to do with them fighting all the time- "but that is simply impossible."

"Times change. You would be surprised how many things we thought would never be forgotten that humans have completely lost all knowledge of."

To her, that concept may be harder to swallow. Arlecchino has never seen the centuries roll by as you have and isn't as familiar with what does and does not remain. Even the greatest gods fell in the Archon War, and most humans cannot name any but the seven Archons. It is natural to forget and progress. The past is meant to become speculation and theory.

"I won't allow that." Abruptly she stops, though her sudden words startle you somewhat with how intense they are. That kind of illogical thought process is natural, maybe. You can't really say. "They could remember."

You shake your head in response, a firm denial before she's even begun to try and sell you on the idea. "There's no need for them to remember."

"There is every need."

"People don't glean the same admiration you do for someone they see as a tyrant."

"Then evoke fear!"

"Enough." You did not expect to have to put your foot down so harshly but do not hesitate to. "I won't entertain this."

Arlecchino grits her teeth at how easily you let go. Even though you are obviously not acclimated to civilian life, you refuse her offer that would allow you to return to Snezhnaya in a potential position of power. It is yet another failed step in the many she expected to have to take to convince you.

"Then let me hide you until some time passes."

"I'm not a precious treasure." She ignores how you roll your eyes at her, completely withdrawing how emotionally available you had managed to be. She can't let her anger take control of her again. "I can handle myself thank you very much." 

You sense she will not be giving up easily.

Even if you could convince her to leave you to your devices and that you would be fine, you doubt she would accept that. However, you have a feeling she knows you intend to disappear after this conversation. You have no idea why else she would pour her heart out in an attempt to make you easier to keep hold of. If you leave, you hold the advantage.

"I cannot continue to defend your honour while you stand by and allow them to do as they please with your name."

That doesn't worry you too much when you've been contributing to it since leaving. "Then give up. Let my name be tarnished."

Arlecchno's anger finally begins to boil over despite her efforts to contain it, rage spilling from the cracks in her composure. "You cannot have forgotten everything we did together."

"Of course I have not forgotten that." Your words are more fuel than suffocation to the growing fire.

"Then accept my help and stop being so stubborn."

"There's no need to."

She grabs you by your arm before you can step away, and you can feel a chill in her hand seep into your skin, likely a byproduct of her delusion. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't match well with how warm you are most of the time. "You would be willing to pretend you don't wish for normalcy to avoid confronting the Tsaritsa?"

"If I return to Snezhnaya, I will die." You lay it out as directly as possible, without an if, but or and. There's no room to debate this because the outcome will not change. Even if the two of you decide you're best friends, nobody else will see things that way, so it's pointless to pretend you don't see it as it has to be.

Arlecchino finally appears to consider your words more carefully, remaining silent again, but you do not interrupt her this time. You shift your focus to the icy hand still touching you and begin to channel what little you can of your vision without drawing your bow to warm her. You hope she doesn't notice it, not wanting her to find an ulterior motive in it.

"Then it is unavoidable."

You don't quite understand what she is saying until she removes her hand from you to place something on the table you shared.

Suspiciously, you eye the item as you wonder about the significance of abandoning it beyond the obvious, but you don't want to acknowledge that option. "You'll need your insignia if you wish to return." You needn't remind her of that, but it is a prompting statement.

Arlecchino shocks you with her next words.

"I'm remaining with you."

You stand in stunned silence for several seconds, replaying them over in your head. Remaining with you. She doesn't mean that, does she? This is another of her persuasion tactics, right? She cannot actually go through with this. "You're what?"

"I'm not going back to Snezhnaya."

That only confirms your fear, the chill of it rushing to the core of your being and lighting your nerves up with an icy cold. Maybe that's just the hand touching your cheek.

"You can't. You shouldn't. You should stay there."

She makes an odd face at you, half understanding of your plight and the other confused about why you care so much about what she does with her job. "In that place you curse yourself for leaving Capitano?"

"It's a comfortable position." You try to reason that way with her, pointing out the inarguable benefit.

"I don't care for comfort."

You scramble to find another reason, something else to make her give in and pick it back up. You have not gotten anything you attempted to get this night. Arlecchino didn't leave and is, in fact, intent on leaving the Fatui to continue that.

"I don't care to waste my time pandering to people who do not value what I provide for them, all the while relying on it."

That's not a reason you wish to say, but it is. It is a very real reason. You can see it in how the Fatui regards your circumstances that they have never found enough value in the mountain of work you took on. If they had, you wouldn't be having this conversation. She's right, you realise, she realised what you could not.

"Even if you do not allow it, I would be able to follow you." It's a strange thing to say, but maybe she was trying to convince you. Her arm falls back to her side.

You shake your head. "Humans tire."

"I won't be too slow."

It's different for her. Arlecchino doesn't hulk around a bulky suit of armour and a helmet to conceal her face. It is open and well-known. There will be places she can't ever travel to again. Her life will be this and nothing else, while yours will eventually become something else, as it was always supposed to. Even if you don't want to now, you will move on and find a new sense of self. She may never.

"There are grave consequences."

"I know."

"You may never know peace."

"I can live with that."

"You--" 

--will question everything you have ever known. That was what you were about to say. You again come to a realisation that clears things for you. It's different. Arlecchino has not spent her whole life dedicated to serving the Tsaritsa, only a few years at best. You spent centuries. It is no wonder that she could give it all up so easily. Arlecchino only had one foot in the door in the first place.

The realisation dawning on you this way is daunting.

"...Fine. I will accept that." Though you thought you would struggle more, you also understand that it is useless to do so.

"A good choice."

The act of conceding can bring about a sense of relief and comfort. Conceding feels nice, in a way. It is a respite from constantly controlling everything to be exactly as you wish. It allows you the freedom of simply acknowledging the reality of a situation and accept that it may not align with your ideals, even if you don't necessarily like it.

You don't want Arlecchino to accompany you for her sake, but accepting that she will not share your fate of being humiliated can bring about a sense of peace. She will live however she pleases, and that means she may not want for the same future you received. Having a free will allows her to leave.

Slowly, you try to recover from the shock of the situation. As you take in a deep, quivering breath, you begin to steady yourself and attemt to process all that is unfolding.

A single question comes to your mind, a relatively simple one but significant enough to matter greatly.

"What is your name?"

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter ii

that fateful first day at the galeries gourmet, and a little bit after, told from the vantage point of the fickelgruber balcony.

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.9k

fair warning, i am a MASSIVE shakespeare nerd. but, if the 70s movie is anything to go by, so is wonka. so it's fine.

florence, however, as we've established, is Very Much Not Fine.

enjoy!!

(part one) (fic masterlist) (part three)

The outside air was refreshing, almost as refreshing as the young woman’s realization that not a single eye was on her.

That honor and worry went to the newcomer that was becoming ever curiouser to behold.

“Now, who wants to try one?”

The crowd around him clamored for a chance at his flying chocolates, and Florence’s spirit nearly lifted into their twittering flush, only to fall again when-

“I will.”

The buzz of the crowd fell silent at Slugworth’s words, and Florence frowned as the Chocolate Cartel stepped forward with intent to embarrass the young dreamer beyond repair. The boy, though, looked between the three as if this were suddenly the most exciting day of his life. He greeted them, utterly starstruck, but was caught off guard when Slugworth crushed him in a handshake, and Florence winced. She’d seen near-countless hopefuls come to the Galeries filled with entrepreneurial spirit and be driven away by the trio within minutes, but this one seemed…different somehow.

It’s as if he has nothing without this dream, and somehow that gives him more to lose.

She blinked, wondering how such a specific thought could come to her when she’d only just learned this man existed. But her view from the balcony allowed her to study his face, which she did with fascination and a slight speck of shame.

The Cartel each tried one of the chocolates the newcomer had brought, and now they were the ones she watched closely.

Yes, something was different this time.

Because Florence Fickelgruber knew her husband, and despite his attempt to hide his reactions at this moment, the chocolatier had a very expressive face.

He liked that chocolate. He loved it. Even more surprising, so did the others.

They listed off the ingredients they tasted, trying to keep the wonder from their voices, and the younger man responded to each with a fascinatingly short anecdote telling where he’d gotten it.

How could he be so well-traveled, yet so naive? How could-

She realized then that she was smiling, blushing even, feeling as light as if she’d had one of those weightless chocolates herself. It was silly, she knew, to hope for real change simply because of one charming new arrival, but that hope bubbled up regardless as she watched the Cartel exchange eye contact which was far more frazzled than the cool assurance she’d seen earlier.

Slugworth then began his typical long preface to his judgment, the telltale sign that he was about to demolish the young man’s hopes, and Florence from her balcony was the only one who knew.

Should I say something?

Before she could, the “absolute, one hundred percent, worst” came crashing down.

Not hearing the end, the boy-Wonka, as he was apparently called-whooped into another call to the crowd, his smile wide and infectious as-

Then it hit him.

“Wait, the worst?”

“We three are the fiercest of rivals, but we agree on one thing,” Slugworth declared, and Florence rolled her eyes-she’d always been frustrated at never being told much about the inner workings of the Chocolate Cartel, knowing just enough to be sure it was corrupt but not enough to bring the truth to light and be believed, but she was certain that the three were anything but rivals-“A good chocolate should be simple. Plain. Uncomplicated.”

“Whereas this,” her husband said, dripping in condescension and pronouncing each W with a drawl of air, “with all its bells and whistles, well, it’s just…”

“Weird,” Prodnose finished, and the younger man’s gaze fell.

Guilt by association had become a familiar friend of Florence’s over the past two years, but it pricked at her even more intensely now.

“That’s a shame,” Wonka said, so quietly that she had to lean over the balcony to catch it. “If you thought the chocolate was weird…”

Florence leaned forward further, eyes widening as the young man looked up at the Cartel from under the brim of his top hat, his expression having taken on an almost darker confidence.

“You’re going to hate what happens next.”

And with that, Mr. Slugworth was floating.

The crowd gasped, and Florence gasped right along with them, especially when the other two soon joined him. Felix’s face twisted almost comically when he rose to the point of seeing his wife on his balcony, and he tried with little success to swim through the air towards her. They reached for each other again and again, futile attempt after knowingly futile attempt, accompanied by the crowd’s delight, Wonka’s shouts of a satisfied salesman, and the frantic bickering of the Cartel.

“Have a nice flight, darling!” she couldn’t help calling out as Felix continued to rise helplessly past his office and toward the high ceiling of the Galeries. With no one watching her anymore, Florence was free to fall into pealing laughter.

Well, one person was watching.

Wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, she realized she’d caught the glance of Mr. Wonka, who looked up at her with a glint of recognition and a more genuine smile than she’d ever seen in her life.

Huh.

He tipped his hat to her, then turned back to his crowd of customers, who each dropped one single sovereign in his jar before relishing the candy. What’s more, his eyes spent much more time on the people’s happy faces than on the jar to make sure they were paying. This man was in this business for the love of it.

She could have ran down and kissed him right then.

…Aaaaaaaand that was not something she was going to think about right now.

Because apparently this day is so unusual that she’s now thinking in third person.

Get a hold of yourself, Wren.

She watched as customer after customer was lifted into the air, as her husband-your husband, till death do you part-and his Cartel floundered on the ceiling, as Wonka beamed at a little girl he saw near the Galerie’s entrance, as-

As the police came through that very entrance.

She should have known.

She’d tried many times to gain information from her husband by casually bringing up related subjects, because she had a feeling his group had something to do with the local police department being far less just than advertised. But Felix was perfectly tight-lipped, always flipping her words around themselves until he’d turned the conversation as if she hadn’t asked a thing at all.

…How did I ever think…

Never mind.

So they’d initially planned to humiliate the boy and then place him under the law’s eye, even if he hadn’t proved a threat, which he most certainly had.

She sighed, watching as the officers pulled people down from the air. It took them quite a while to figure out a way to retrieve the Chocolate Cartel from the ceiling, but retrieve them they did. Upon reuniting with solid ground, Felix cast his wife a wide-eyed, exasperated look, which she returned with an equally dazed shrug. He rolled his shoulders back, adjusted the cuffs of his suit, and turned smartly on his heel to follow his colleagues out of the Galeries, presumably on their way to regroup.

Shortly after they’d reached the outdoors, the Cartel learned that being temporarily grounded wouldn’t stop the bugs that still resided in them from flying, and they involuntarily took off once again, shouts and curses echoing.

Oh, God.

Well, he said it only lasted twenty minutes.

…They’ll be fine.

Florence grinned and looked down toward Mr. Wonka, hoping despite herself for another glance, but he was in conversation with the one officer that she still trusted. Affable seemed to take pity on the boy, reaching into his pocket and handing him a sovereign of his own.

He wouldn’t have done that if he knew I was watching.

That idea that anyone would think she was against that act of kindness was a twisting thorn in her heart, and she internally vowed to make it as clear as possible that her morals were nowhere near lined up to her husband’s.

As clear as possible to everyone except said husband.

And anyone else that would put my family in danger of losing anything, if he finds out I’m not truly aligned with the brand that’s currently allowing them to survive.

He’d give her jewels, and she’d wear them for a while until he forgot about them, at which point she’d mail them home-under a secret name, her old name, her real name-to be bartered for food and board. What with Felix’s decidedly obvious aversion to anything resembling charity, it was the only thing she could think to do.

“So full of artless jealousy is guilt, it spills itself in fearing to be spilt.”

Huh.

The police and customers had all left by now, and the young man was left standing there, staring at the mark of compassion that had been pressed into his hand by the officer.

The feel of the Galeries had become quiet after the chaos of all that had happened only moments before.

Florence had suddenly found herself nervous.

“Mr. Wonka.”

He startled at the sound, apparently having believed she’d left, but then smiled, pocketing the sovereign as he looked up.

“You’re the actress, the musician! You’re Mrs. Fickelgruber!”

“I am,” she said, lighting up a bit upon being noticed first for her art and only second for her marriage.

“So,” Wonka said with an ever-so-slightly deflated flourish of the hand, “what do you think? Of…all of this?”

“I,” she began, then paused, then cautiously smiled, “do not share my husband’s opinion.”

“Good.”

His eyes were hazel, like hers, and they sparked with an energy so striking that it seemed to travel all the way up to her slightly lofted position.

“Don’t tell him I said this,” she said, looking around to ensure their secrecy and feeling quite like a teenager, “but you’ve really got something. No crowd I’ve seen has ever taken to a newcomer quite like they have to you, so don’t worry about the others’ scare tactics. There hasn’t been anyone here lately with a passion, talent, earnestness like yours-”

I’m rambling I’m rambling STOP RAMBLING you are MARRIED you are a RESPECTABLE WOMAN you are being TOO SINCERE you NEED TO STOP TALKING.

“Just…don’t give up.”

“Thank you,” Wonka said, after a moment, and just as sincerely.

Everything about him is sincere.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he continued. “Giving up, I mean.”

“Good,” she echoed, and he smiled. “I have a feeling the world would be far worse for it if you did.”

He shook his head as he looked at her, seeming rather unsure of what to think beyond a strangely certain trust.

Well, that makes two of us.

“Really, thank you,” he said. "That means a lot, especially…well, especially coming from you.”

She glanced down for a moment at the swirling wrought-iron balcony beneath her hands, and laughed a little at the sudden realization of their position.

“Tis but thy name that is my enemy.”

He blinked, stunned by the reference, and continued it.

“I take thee at thy word.”

A nearly disbelieving smile broke across her face, then his, and the clock then rang out before she could say anything truly stupid.

“Well. Good day, Mr. Wonka.”

He nodded, considered her for a moment, then slung his cane over his shoulder.

“Call me Willy,” he said with another tip of his hat, then turned to leave. “Glad to have met you, Mrs. Fickelgruber.”

A beat, and then, without thinking, before she lost her courage-

“Call me Wren.”

The clock’s final chime of half past ten echoed and faded, and the young chocolatier smiled once more.

“Good day, Wren.”

[finniestoncrane]

A Desperate Bid

Scarecrow x Riddler, word count: 1.4k to celebrate our server's birthday we did a little gift exchange, and i got to write for precious @yourewellandtrulyfucked so here's a little scriddler for them!! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: sex, introspection, boys learning that they might like each other

Jonathan ran his hands up Edward’s forearms, ragged nails scratching against his skin as he followed up to his wrists. Clutching tight, he pinned them above Edward’s head, allowing himself a wry smile as he listened to Eddie’s breath hitch on the inhale, excitement overcoming him. 

“Have you ever considered confronting this need for control and dominance, Jonathan? Isn’t that exactly the kind of thing you psychologists enjoy?”

Edward gasped, a smug sneer covering his face as Jonathan lifted his wrists and pushed them back down again. With his fellow inmate, or colleague, he supposed, straddling him, it was all Ed could do not to lose himself then and there.

“Perhaps you would like to discuss how easy you’re making it for me to be in control?”

“Look at me, Jonathan. What about this lithe, brain strong body makes you think I could overpower anyone, even your ragged figure?”

He leaned up, taking Jonathan by a surprise as he placed a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Besides, I enjoy letting someone else do all of the work.”

With that invitation, Jonathan lunged, dropping his head to Edward’s neck and ravishing him with kisses that were interspersed with nipping bites. He’d hate to admit it, but Ed tasted just as he imagined. And he had spent quite a lot of his periods of solitary confinement imagining just that. 

He couldn’t admit it though, not now, this was a bold enough move for Jonathan. He stuck to the shadows. He remained invisible until he needed to be seen. Unfortunately, his desire to experience the pleasures of the flesh that lay within his associate had indeed become a definitive need. 

Laying on the standard mattress, worn down by years of other inmates who inhabited the cell before them, Edward looked up into Jonathan’s eyes, searching for the answer to a question he hadn’t really constructed yet. It was a hunt for meaning, understanding. He didn’t want to verbalise it, as it suggested an interest, or a deeper one, and a weakness, a vulnerability that Jonathan may choose to exploit. But Edward was curious as to why he had been chosen as the object of Jonathan’s affections, or at the very least, his carnal desires. They didn’t always see eye to eye, and more often than not, Ed was certain that he provided a sense of perpetual irritation in Jonathan’s life. Perhaps, he pondered, this was an exercise in rage letting. That would explain the dominance. But it didn’t explain the way that Jonathan looked down at him, when their eyes met and their breathing synced. It didn’t explain the soft touch, the way that, when he wasn’t being ravished by bites and kisses, Jonathan was gentle, careful. 

A caress so soft wasn’t born of hate. There was obviously something more there. Edward could wait though. He wasn’t willing to risk this moment of bliss, of sheer joy and unseemly pleasure. Besides, with both of them in the same cell, naked and cold, they had to be quick to beat the temperature and the wandering eyes of other inmates, or the guards. So, not wanting to waste any moments on idle speculation or intimate tension building, Eddie reached up and planted his lips against Jonathan’s. 

The kiss was long, deeply passionate, and led to Edward’s arms being thrown around Jonathan’s neck, keeping him there in the embrace as long as he could. And while Edward stroked the hair at the nape of Jonathan’s slender neck, Jonathan himself was working his coarse palms up the front of Ed’s torso. The slender, but still more muscular than Jonathan’s own, build of the body below him sent him diving back in for another session of playful bites, this time trailing over Edward’s collar bone, turning to kisses as they reach his chest. And when he reached Ed’s nipples, hardened in arousal and from the cold of the room, he let his tongue flit out over them, producing the most delicate whine from Edward’s gaping mouth. In response, Jonathan felt his cock twitch. The anticipation was killing him, he needed Edward, needed the warmth of his body. Now. 

With his fingers clutching into the skin around Edward’s hips and ass, Jonathan cupped his hands around his body and shifted him, unexpectedly, closer, Ed’s legs bent at the knee so he was curled into Jonathan’s body, vulnerable, surrounded. With a smirk, and receiving one as a sign of consent to the deed he was beginning to partake in, Jonathan tugged down the orange, prison issue sweatpants and freed Edward’s already fully erect cock. As it bobbed, resting against his abdomen, Jonathan felt his own arousal surging, another twitch within his own pants urging him to hurry up and get on with it. 

Slipping his slender fingers below the waistband, he gripped his cock at the base, flinching at the sudden touch. Taking a deep, slow breath, he pumped at the contraband lotion Edward had somehow obtained and ran his hand along the length, coating himself. With a tentative finger, he pressed against Edward’s entrance, easing it into his asshole, watching it disappear up to the first knuckle, then the second, and watching in curious delight as Edward’s body trembled. Crooking it up, he pressed into the exact spot that he knew would elicit the reaction he hoped for, smiling in self-satisfaction as Ed whimpered, biting his lip, cheeks flushing as his smile pushed up into them. 

“Do you think you’re ready for this?”

The question was tinted with concern, though it was obvious to Edward that Jonathan had tried to make it sound like a seductive taunt. 

“I can handle you, Crane. Don’t flatter yourself.”

His mischievous grin pulled a growl from Jonathan’s throat, an animalistic sound that was less aggressive and more like a satisfied and curious purr. How much could he take, exactly? Always keen to experiment, Jonathan pulled Edward’s body to the edge of the bed, his cheeks coming into blunt contact with his throbbing cock before they were separated, Jonathan’s glistening head disappearing between them.

“Ah… ah… aaaaaah.”

Edward’s body relaxed into the pleasure, tension dissipating as he succumbed to the power Jonathan held over him in that moment, with each inch of the Scarecrow’s cock slowly being buried within him. 

Jonathan shuddered at the warmth, the tight caress of Edward’s body around him. It felt like being held in such an intimate way, There was a sweetness to it, a shared vulnerability that he wouldn’t have thought of before. Even in this role of dominance, exerting complete power of Edward, he knew his own vulnerability was on display. Without thinking, and only adding to the odd romanticism of this carnal act, Jonathan’s hand found Edward’s, fingers entwined together. And as he pumped himself in, deeper, harder, he kept clinging to Edward, holding his hand, letting the strength of Edward’s grip let him know when to ease up or to push further. 

Strange, how they had worked together for so long, Jonathan considered, and yet now he felt like he knew the man below him. He was grateful for that, in a way he hadn’t expected. And Edward, laying back, opening himself up literally and metaphorically, to Jonathan’s strength, and softness, felt similar. Whether this was an expression of something deeper, or of primal burgers only, it didn’t really matter. They had both found something more than a quick fuck to release some tension in the other man. 

When Jonathan felt himself losing control, his body pulsing with the looming threat of orgasm, he brought his free hand to Edward’s cock which bounced with every thrust against his abdomen. With his hand curled around it, Jonathan stroked in rhythm, watching Edward, bound by pleasure, muscles rigid as they tensed in preparation for his own release. And as he spilled himself over Jonathan’s fist, short spurts landing on his own chest and abdomen, he was rendered silent from his own gasps as he felt Jonathan flood him with his seed. 

There was a brief moment where they smiled together, an unspoken connection, a silent commitment to allow this to happen again. But as they pulled themselves apart, tainted with the others’ intimacy, the moment faded slightly, camouflaged in the backdrop of their circumstances. Any romantic notion hindered by the damp, dark confinement of their lives at Arkham. It only served to strengthen their desire for more.

[sevensees7]

i need to yap about scylla and why it's the best song in all of epic the musical for a moment. i'm not knowledgable with music theory nor am i a lyricist, i know absolutely nothing about music other than 'it sounds good,' so sorry if i use the wrong music terms here!

not lyric related like the rest of this post, but can we just appreciate how the song tries to lull you into a sense of security with the light instrumental and vocals at the beginning, yet the synth adds a strange sense that something's not quite right? no? just me?

what's so awesome is that every. single. lyric. in this song is negative. not a single thing is positive.

SO STARTING FROM THE BEGINNING:

"the lair of scylla" we tend to associate lair with villain, aka a dangerous thing/place, so just from that word you know something is wrong.

"this is our only way home" implies that this path they must go through is dangerous, something bad is gonna happen

"you're quiet today" "not much to say" trying to be kind and bring up the mood -> immediately shot down. OR being passive aggressive -> mood is down from the start. depends on how you interpret it honestly.

"you hide a reason for shame" you're ashamed by your secret and the way eurylocus immediately says "i have a secret i can no longer keep" (which is also implied to be negative based on the increasingly desperate tone) proves that.

"you know that we are the same" you + implied monster = same, probably not great.

even if you hadn't listened to any other song, due to the 'drop' and "i am so sorry," you know that eurylocus opening the wind bag was a massive mistake in some way.

"leaving them feeling betrayed, breaking the bonds that you've made, there is no price we won't pay, we both know what it takes to survive" = you betrayed and deeply hurt those around you for your own survival, selfish motivations.

"forgive me" no response, again no positivity allowed, despite how much eury tries!

THEN, THEN THE FUCKING FULL SPEED AHEAD PART

in full speed ahead, it's hopeful and happy! "ithacas waiting, my kingdom is waiting, penelopes waiting for me so full speed ahead!" = i wanna see my people, and most importantly my loved ones, as soon as i can so row fast! everyone is desperate to get to ithaca and you can hear it in their voices, ody almost sounds like he's tearing up at the idea. the last big full speed ahead, it's all coordinated, all the crew members are harmonizing, they wanna get the island over and done with so they can get home and see their own loved ones too, just like ody!

but in scylla, at first they try to harmonize again like before, but they mess up, they've gone through so much that they're hearts just arent in it as much as they used to be. they're tired, they want to get home, it's just that now that wish seems so far away. they stumble and say "full speed ahead" over each other to show how uncoordinated they are, HOW DISTRUSTFUL THEY ARE OF NOT ONLY ODY BUT QUITE POSSIBLY THE OTHER CREW MEMBERS! cause who knows what they were thinking when eurylocus confessed he opened the bag! did they know he opened it and were upset the truth finally came to light by the man himself? were they unaware and thus surprised at the confession, adding even more chaos to their attempted harmony? both??

"deep down, we only care for ourselves" speaking to both ody and eury, we're all selfish inside. we care only for our survival at the end of the day. ody will do whatever it takes to get himself home, foreshadowing later events, while eurylocus was deeply selfish in wanting to know what was in the bag (and possibly hinting toward mutiny?)

"eurylocus, light up six torches" despite being said in a somewhat ominous tone, you can't really dechipher the intentions behind this order. it's mysterious with said with no emotion, like ody is already disassociating and running on autopilot. he's making himself as emotionless as possible as to not feel guilty of his actions. he needs to do this, he can't regret it for even a second, he can't second guess himself and wonder if this is the right option, he just needs to do it.

"deep down, we're lonely demons from hell" i don't think i really need to explain this. we're selfish, we're cruel, and we're lonely, especially the crew on the ship - they've been away from their families for a decade, trust in their captain is getting weaker, and they don't realize scylla is warning the crew of both her and odysseus' intentions. they haven't accepted themselves to be monsters, they're oblivious to her words, hence why they only sing "deep down." she is telling everyone that he's selfish and will betray them if it benefits him.

scylla and ody have accepted they're monsters, they're one in the same. he's gonna sacrifice six of his crew so he can get home, and she's gonna accept those sacrifices, both doing so for their own personal, selfish desire to survive.

"captain, something approaches" very...neutral, but based on everything so far, you know it can't be good. interesting note: something approaches, not someone approaches. you're never told what scylla looks like, all you know is that she doesn't appear human enough to warrant a someone. i adore the immediate contrast between her polite "hello" and the imposing instrumentals that follow, like something terrible, whatever just greeted us, is revealing itself. her voice isn't as human as it was previously, but she's still somewhat kind. perhaps she has some humanity still in her, but scylla, like odysseus, has let her monsterous side practically consume her. once more, they're the same - they don't want to do this, but will anyway. OR she's mocking them, saying "hello" as a way to show she's intelligent, a cunning monster just like ody is.

the fact that we're never given a hint as to what this monster looks like other than she's an intelligent and can growl is perfect horror, there's nothing more terrifying to a human than the unknown. "row for your lives!" two directions could be taken with this line: either ody is genuinely scared or simply pretending. either way, i think that in this moment, odysseus is trying to get the ship out of there so no more lives are taken then necessary. if it's the first option, he didn't know more about scylla other than a cost needed to be made so actually seeing her made him forget his goal and focus on the survival of him and his crew for a moment. if not, then this line may have also been him being selfish, you row for your lives so i can get home. fully up to interpretation! one more thing with this, i find it interesting how odysseus doesn't say full speed ahead? now this could absolutely be a stretch, but i think there's a reason he doesn't; he is so disconnected from his crew, so set on a selfish goal that him never saying "full speed ahead" (like that section tries to set up) is a betrayal in and of itself. his goals aren't aligned with the crews anymore - "i want to get home" vs "we want to get home." NOW WE GET TO SCYLLAS PART - credits to a comment i read in the song's comment section (written by thomasdeclerc18310) cause i would have never realized this if not for that. screenshot of that comment is below the cut! in her first verse, she's talking to the crew:

"drown in your sorrow and fears" they feel sorrow as their own captain willingly, unbeknownst to them, sacrifices them. they feel fear when being attacked by a nightmarish monster. "choke on your blood and your tears" exactly what it sounds like, they're crying from the betrayal as she kills them.

"bleed 'till you run out of years" they die, maybe even bleeding out on the ship or in her stomach as we aren't told what's happening. we can hear the screams of the crew, we know she's attacking, but the how is a complete mystery. "we must do what it takes to survive" scylla is selfish, she must do what it takes to survive. she's speaking for all monsters here, as well as her other heads (though if you know nothing about her, you wouldn't know this).

in the second verse? now she's talking to odysseus:

"give up your honor and faith" ody is officially letting go of his morals both as a king and a captain when he sacrifices them, he loses his personal honor and faith in himself, as does the crew. "live up your live as a wraith" ody will live the rest of his life crushed by guilt and regret. he will be a ghost of his former self when he returns to ithaca.

"die in the blood where you bathe" odysseus is portrayed to be bathing in the blood of all the dead men he's gotten killed. as well, she could be speaking to the dying crew and eurylocus, as the latter's actions got 557 men killed by poseidon. "we must do what it takes to survive" both odysseus and scylla.

then as the last man is murdered, the intrumentals relax. we think we're finally safe until we hear scylla one last time: "we are the same you and i." once more, she's repeating that she and odysseus are the same. and he agrees, he synchronizes with her, admitting he is a monster... but not completely, all he says is "i." despite his insistence that he is like her, he still can't quite say it. they're both monsters, but maybe ody hasn't accepted it as much as we're led to believe.

i am convinced that scylla is the PEAK of epic the musical, and nothing will ever come close. from the extremely thought out lyrics to the absolutely incredible instrumental, this song deserves it's own tier ngl. yes, other songs sound good and have clever lyrics and such, but scylla is just everything great about the musical shoved into one song. every lyric has a meaning, a double meaning in some cases. the intrumentals tell a story of their own, trying to lead you into a false sense of security. the vocal performances are some of the best in the musical. i adore this song, and hopefully this makes you appreciate it too :D

anyway, thanks for reading all my autistic yapping if you made it this far.

here's that original comment:

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 29. You make me feel like dancing

Previous chapter

Masterlist

This is a little treat xx

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: Sweet Pietro, flirty flirty bants, Pietro and Nadia being Pietro and Nadia, PTSD, Nadia be remembering

The cool surface beneath my palms allowed me to remain present in this moment, that and the sound of Anna guiding me.

“Alright, now turn around and walk toward me.”

I took a deep breath, pushing off the wall and ignoring my aching muscles as I walked feeling the smooth floorboard beneath my feet, creaks echoing through the room on certain steps.

It was February, that, I knew, things had been getting better recently. I’d been more conscious than previous and even able to force myself out of bed. The memories would sometimes come over me like a tidal wave, rendering me powerless to their fervor, though most of the time I could surface on the other side of them mostly unscathed. Dr. Norris had been monitoring me closely, alternating now between showing me the ballerinas and images that he expected might trigger a response. I had learned that his expertise was dismantling the conditioning done to sleeper agents, hence, why Ross had selected him for me.

He wasn’t cruel like I’d expected and most of the time he seemed almost displeased at the toll remembering had on me.

I took the stairs slowly, reveling in the sunshine that warmed my skin and the cool breeze tousling my hair. The doctor was seated at the small table before me, skimming the pages of his notebook. When he noticed my presence, he gestured to me to take the seat before him. “How are you feeling, Nadia?”

I shrugged slightly. “Better than before.”

He nodded, making a note of something. “You’re making good progress. From what I can tell it seems your memories are becoming clearer, more linear as well.” Norris tapped his pen against the paper, glancing over at me. “I’d like to try and delve deeper into the memories you see most often, flesh out more details. The plan I’ve drawn up is to categorize each memory to a room, then perhaps recognizing the room with trigger more associated recollections.” I nodded, glancing down at my hands. “How do you feel about that?”

“Does it matter?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, this will work a lot better if you’re a willing participant.”

“Sure. Categorizing my past into rooms, why not.”

“You appear tense.”

I swallowed heavily, taking a deep breath to settle myself. “Just going a little stir-crazy. Your plan makes sense, I want to try it.”

Dr Norris nodded slowly, placing a small device onto the table between us. When he pressed the button on the side music began playing from it, a tune very familiar to me. I closed my eyes as it filled my ears.

“I want you to focus on the sound of the music, and let your mind go back to the memory.” I did as he said, recalling the room, the record player, the dancing. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t recognize this place.”

The faint sound of a pen scribbling on paper filled my ears. “What does the room look like?”

With a heavy exhale I let the music wash over me fully, focusing on the memories that flooded my mind, holding onto them tightly. “It’s dark.”

“What is making it dark? Are the lights out? Curtains drawn?”

“No…” I hesitated. “I don’t know, it’s nighttime I think.”

‘You’ve got a cute way of talking

You got the better of me

Just snap your fingers and I’m walking…

Like a dog hangin’ on a leash’

I pushed two large wooden doors open to enter a room that was warm, dimly lit, and most notably, silent. The record player sat in the corner beside a stack of old vinyls that were kept in perfect condition. I ran my fingers across the plastic pockets, skimming the labels to find one I wanted to listen to.

Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, the doors, I sat the discarded records beside myself carefully, sitting cross-legged on the dark grey rug. I hummed as I continued to search, not quite sure if I knew what I was looking for or not. Yet I paused the moment I reached the last album in the stack, bright blue with clouds on it and a man jumping. I felt a giddiness in my chest that suggested perhaps I had known this album was there all along. Moving to kneel beside the record player I ever so carefully slipped the vinyl onto the deck and maneuvered the needle to where I wanted it; Side A, track 2.

The hum of music filled the room, a bouncy and vibrant song, one that I knew. I swayed as I moved to my feet, tapping my feet to the beat that echoed into the room. When I turned around, I spotted the yellow glow of flames, a fireplace. The warmth pressed into my skin, the main source of light in the room. I smiled as I danced, but it all changed when the crashing came, a culmination of sounds, the shattering of glass the most prevalent.

I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t, it was as if I was no longer holding onto the memory, but it was holding onto me.

The music was drowned out by voices, all fighting for dominance in my psyche.

“I’m going now!”

“You’re a child.”

Then the door was thrown open and light blinded me, but this time I fought to see. I paid attention as I ran, I saw photo-lined walls and décor scattered around the rooms. When the hands grabbed me, I kicked and threw my body around to slip from their hold, my foot caught the glass vase of carnations and roses. I managed to get away only to trip on something that I’d knocked down in my fervor.

I never saw their faces but there were two men.

Anna looked tired when I saw her, dark circles pressed into the flesh beneath her eyes. Though for the first time in weeks, I saw more than just exhaustion and remorse, now there was something like hope reflected in them.

Dr Norris told me that the hard part was over, that we’d made it past the block that was in my mind and now it would be much easier to sort through my memories, not completely frictionless but less taxing overall.

“Try to picture the men in your mind.”

“I didn’t see them.”

The music was still echoing through my mind. “You must have seen something, hair color? Scars?”

I’d fought like hell. Even though they were bigger than me, even though I was a child I used every fiber of strength in my body to resist. I reached behind myself to push at the man who attempted to pin me to the hardwood floor, presumably to better his grip and restrain my wriggling limbs. I hit and pushed at any part of him I could reach but it was futile as he wrenched my arm down to hold it at my side. Everything was blurry and my face was against the floor. I never saw anything notable about the man behind me, but then the second one approached, it was his boots I saw first, black and scuffed but clean, nonetheless. They were professionals, never giving me the chance to catch a glimpse of their faces, though in their rushed movements, they missed something, I could see it clearly now the tattoo on his forearm as he shoved a black bag over my head. Within moments a sharp stinging sensation pricked my neck and everything slow and groggy.

My mind was whirring as the tattoo flashed in my mind, distinct, thick black lines. A mark I’d seen before, more than once. The skull and tentacles. The mark of Hydra.

I decided against mentioning that to Norris.

I’d be able to bear it; remembering. Most importantly, I’d be able to function without losing it. This was the basis of the contract I’d signed had Ross’ name on it, though I was certain it had taken a copious amount of convincing. It detailed the conditions of my return to the compound. Dr Norris would sign off on my reinstatement with the expectation that, upon my return, I do not lead any assignments nor participate solo until it was agreed by both Ross and Norris that I was fit, after an evaluation that I suspected would be grueling. Dr Norris would also be continuing his work with me to fix my mind back at the compound. There would be an extensive amount of supervision from Steve to ensure I was both following these rules and not reverting.

I re-read the paper again and again, almost unconvinced that this was really happening, the thought of being so close to freedom, or a semblance of it, was almost unimaginable.

The documents were given to me on the first day of March, 2 weeks later I was staring at the doors that I’d snuck out of 3 months ago. Anna stood a few paces behind me talking to someone on the phone. Norris was finalizing his reports for Ross, he’d arrive at the compound 2 days from now. I was sure Anna had already told the others that I was coming back, the same way I was sure they were attempting to give me some space to breathe. My hands were unsteady, I realized as I reached for the door handle.

“What are you nervous about?” Anna asked, shoving her phone into her pocket and coming to stand beside me.

I shrugged, swallowing over the lump in my throat. “I-It’s just weird, I guess. Being back here.”

She nodded slowly. “It would be, but you should feel proud of yourself, you did what you had to do, you got through it and you’re doing much better.”

“Am I?” She was silenced by my question. I turned my head to look at her then. I thought of the days, weeks when I was barely conscious, barely even there. The suffocating heat, the sweat that clung to me like a second skin, the phantom pains that were only just beginning to fade. “I don’t ever want to go through that again.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment, shoulders sagging slightly. “You won’t.” She spoke with conviction. “I know it was awful, but you came out the other side of it, you always do. You won’t have to do that again, no matter what. We’ll figure it out.” I stared at her, unmoving and completely silent at her words. “Nadia.” She urged me.

I nodded then, looking back toward the door. She stepped behind me, pulling the hair back off my shoulders before placing her hands there and ever so gently nudging me toward the door. “Oh, for fucks sake.” I pulled the door open and forced myself to walk over the threshold in one fluid motion.

“That’s my girl.” I heard Anna murmur, encouragingly. She parted from me returning to typing on her phone. The shattering of glass filled my ears as I stepped into the kitchen. Natasha looked between the broken glass and me, panic evident in her gaze. A combination of shock at seeing me back and on some level concern that the noise might trigger me into an episode. I clenched my hands into fists at my side, part of me felt sickened by the thought, the other part was just as worried that my mind would betray me again. My body stiffened, every muscle strung tightly as I looked at the puddle of water on the floor, when the moment passed and nothing happened, I let my eyes move up to hers, before noting Steve, Sam and Wanda all looking at me from their seats at the table. I let my fists loosen and exhaled a shaky breath.

“That was exactly the warm welcome I was hoping for.” A teasing lilt was evident in my voice. When the corners of Nat’s lips curved upward the tension in my shoulders eased slightly.

“Nads.” She breathed, relieved. She walked toward me but stopped short clasping her hands together as if to control herself. There was a strange moment of silence before she spoke. “Can I hug you?”

I bit back a smile, pretending to think about it. “If you must.” The words were barely out of my mouth before she was yanking me into her arms. Embracing me tightly. I let her hold onto me for dear life, even wrapping my arms around her in response. When she pulled away, I saw the others smiling up at me. I rolled my eyes at them all. “Don’t think that means it’s a free-for-all all now.”

Steve stood, a gentle smile on his lips. “It’s good to have you back, Nads.”

I nodded, looking at my feet momentarily. “It’s good to be back, Cap.”

“Thank god, Pietro was seriously driving me up the wall.” Sam groaned walking by me with a teasing grin, but I could see his sincerity beneath the taunts. Anna gave me a knowing look then.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find someone to put up with you one day, Samuel.” A familiar voice spoke from behind me. The rest of the tension in my shoulders fizzled out as the voice washed over me. I waited a few beats before turning back to look at him, as if steadying myself for the feeling of getting to be with him again, while fully conscious this time. The look on his face almost knocked me over, just as I’d suspected it would. It was tender, almost a smile but there were so many other emotions present in his expression at the same time. He had on a baggy dark green T-shirt with light grey sweatpants and his hair was a little messy, I thought maybe he’d been in the training room. “You look… better.”

Wanda’s snicker echoed behind me. “How romantic.”

Pietro sent a glacial look to his twin sister, groaning in pure frustration, the last thing I heard before I was enveloped in a blur of silver and green. When the world slowed down Pietro was shutting the door of his bedroom and turning to face me. “I feel better.” I finally answered.

“Really?” He sounded so genuinely relieved at my words that I almost didn’t have the heart to tell him that there was more to it than that. However, not talking had never worked out very well for me before so I tried something new.

I shrugged slightly. “Mostly, better.” His eyes seemed to glitter as he watched me, nodding gently as I spoke. “It’s hard… I’m really tired and the things I’m remembering…” I swallowed heavily for what felt like the millionth time. Sitting down on the edge of his bed. “It changes so many things for me and that is really terrifying.”

He moved to stand before me, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear and tilting my face up to look at him. “Thank you for telling me.”

I nodded, staying where I was and just gazing up at him for a long while. There was nothing more I wanted than to just stay here in this moment. It had been over 2 months of round the clock torment and complete powerlessness and I was utterly drained. For the first time in my life, I was willing to admit that I just wanted to be reassured by someone else that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to be reassured by him but by some stroke of luck, I didn’t need to ask him to do anything. He just knew. Today seemed to be a day of acting uncharacteristically I thought as I stood before him and threw my arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. His arms wrapped around me instantly, as if it was a thoughtless act to him, I realized then that I envied his ability to give affection so freely. I took a deep breath and held onto him tighter, feeling the stinging begin to form in my eyes. If I were a different person, and if I were more like him maybe I would be able to say back to him what he had told me when he came to see me in January. Those words I was barely conscious to hear, that I couldn’t be certain he’d really said.

But I was me, so I didn’t. Instead, I let the embrace linger. I stayed like that because this, now, is what I could give him.

“I just want you to be okay.” He murmured against the flesh of my neck.

“I will be.”

Sleeping at the compound, in my bed with Pietro’s deep, calm breathing beside me was the most at ease I had been in months. When I slept that night, it was a restorative sleep, one that allowed me to actually begin to work away the weary exhaustion that had made its home within me.

…

It was a week before they let me begin training again and I was itching to use my muscles. I had attempted to contain my excitement, but I’d just about raced Natasha to the training room. Exhilaration shot through my veins as I stretched on the mat. I sat down with one leg extended outward and the other folded in toward my body, turning to crack my back before reaching for my pointed foot and bending my upper body over the limb. I repeated this on both sides before moving to extend both legs in a wide ‘v’ shape and laying my elbows on the floor to fold my body over.

“I’m just not sure how good of an idea it is to go full throttle into training after such a long break.”

I shook my head. “That break is exactly why I need to train again, Natasha.”

“These last few months couldn’t have been easy on you, Nads. Maybe we should take a beat.”

“They weren’t easy. It was two and a half months of barely being conscious, barely being alive. I was confined to the walls of a tiny little cabin in the middle of the forest and not allowed to do anything other than remember.” Her eyes softened as she regarded me. “I am going to lose my mind if I have to be idle for much longer.”

Natasha let out a dramatic exhale that had a smile breaking out across my face because I knew I’d convinced her. I adjusted my ponytail waiting for her to say the magic words. “You are such a pain in the ass, seriously.” She groaned, tossing the roll of hand wrap at me whilst she stretched.

I snorted, wrapping my hands in record time before hopping back and forth between my feet, shaking my jittery anticipation out. “You’re going soft.” I taunted bringing my fists up in a defensive motion.

She sparred with me, as agreed. However, her jabs were weak, and she barely fended off any of my attacks. It was evident that she was coddling me, and it was driving me mad. I pulled back from her, dragging a hand over my face with a frustrated exhale. Steve’s voice calling out to her cut me off before I had the chance to question her. I rolled my eyes as she shrugged at me with feigned innocence.

I tilted my head back, rolling my neck on my shoulders.

“You know I’m a little offended.” Pietro’s voice had my eyes popping open again, I felt warmth radiate from him as he moved behind me.

I sent him a glance over my shoulder, a little smile playing at my lips. “Pray tell?”

He circled me, coming to stand only a few paces from me. “You didn’t ask me to train with you. I thought you were supposed to be my sparring partner.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, lips curving up at his words, and feigned look of hurt. My hands fell to my hips, his eyes following the movement. “No, because you would’ve gone too easy on me.”

“You’ve been out of action for over 2 months, there’s no reason to rush back into training.”

I rolled my eyes heavily at that. “Jesus, what, did you and Natasha rehearse that?”

Pietro flashed me an amused grin. “We didn’t need to because it’s the truth.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t ask you to spar with me.”

In an instant he was directly before me, so close his chest would likely graze mine if I inhaled deeply enough. “I still would have sparred with you, Prinţesă.” He caressed my cheek with an affection so intense it had my cheeks heating slightly. “I just would have been gentle.”

“Pietro, will you please spar with me?” I spoke with a teasing tone, though, there was sincerity beneath my words that I knew he heard.

“I’d love nothing more, Nadia.”

His chest brushed mine as he moved to stand behind me causing a little smile to spread across my lips. I turned to face him, swiftly jabbing with my left hand but he dodged it smoothly, blocking the next hit just as easily. He attempted to circle me, but I stepped out of it, elbowing him in the back as I went. He groaned but a little smirk played at his lips.

“Are you going to do something or just keep standing around?”

Amusement seemed his only reaction to my playful quip. “What would you like me to do?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Surprise me.”

Within an instant he had me, dropping down and grabbing around the backs of my thighs before pivoting to throw off my balance and take me down to the mat. I awaited the impact but all that came was the gentle cradling of arms lowering me to the ground. Pietro half-heartedly pinned me down, smiling sweetly above me when I opened my eyes. “Stop being so gentle, fight me properly.”

“But I much prefer doing other things with you.” His eyes danced across my face as he spoke, mapping an invisible path between my eyes and then each freckle. I shoved him slightly with my hand that he’d barely been restraining.

“You are so annoying.”

His smile only widened at my harsh words. “Did you like my move?”

As hard as I tried, I could not fully fight the smile fighting to make a home on my lips. I hummed. “I didn’t teach you that.”

“You didn’t.” He bumped his nose with mine. “You wanted me to surprise you, so...” His lips descended onto mine, but the moment was short-lived before I turned my face away causing him to kiss the flesh of my cheek instead. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“I’ll kiss you when you spar properly.”

The way his lips curved at my words was nothing if not utterly tempting.

“You’re very cruel.” He pressed another kiss to my cheek before moving down to my jaw. I held my breath in order to focus my mind which was quickly descending into the haze of his cologne and the feeling on his lips on me.

“Not cruel, just a quid pro quo,” I responded amusement no doubt shining in my gaze. He huffed at me as I turned my face from him again when he attempted to steal another kiss.

“Fine. I’ll spar you with you properly… If, and only if, you promise to take a break when you need it and not force yourself to keep going.”

I nodded up at him, struck by the startling beauty of his face from this position. It was peculiar and a little silly to me that even after seeing it so many times I’d still be so taken aback by his bright blue gaze and heavy, dark eyelashes. I could always throw our deal out the window and just kiss him, but then again, I was far too competitive for that and anyway he’d already agreed.

I hummed, moving swiftly to lock my leg around his hip and throw him off of me. Pietro laughed breathily and he returned to his feet at lightning speed. It was a relief to my body to be moving again, using the muscle memory I’d spent my life perfecting. The warmth of my limbs as I ducked and weaved was a strange comfort to me and it had the added benefit of allowing me to clear my head completely for the first time in months. Pietro was still being extra gentle but at least he was actually giving me a little more to work with now.

I swept Pietro’s leg from beneath him, pulling him to the ground and pinning him with a light-hearted laugh. The smile that spread over my lips had my cheeks pinching from its fervor. We both breathed heavily as we momentarily rested. Pietro watched me intently, a soft smile tugging at his expression, eyes just a little brighter than normal. He leaned up on his elbows and I let him, moving back slightly to straddle lower on his waist. I planted my hand on the mat beneath us, now only a breath away from him. His eyes danced between my own and my lips. I leaned down a little further, before diverting and moving to whisper in his ear. “Break time is over.” With that, I moved from him swiftly. He dropped down to lay flat on his back, groaning dramatically.

“This is some bullshit.” I turned to him with a hand on my hip, eyebrow raised. “He didn’t back down, lifting himself to sit upright and face me. “I held up my end of the deal.”

I snorted. “Barely.”

He rolled his eyes at my words, putting his hands behind his to lean back a little with an exceptionally glum look. “I don’t want you to overexert yourself, is that so wrong of me?” I crossed my arms over my chest, biting back a smile at his theatrics over being denied one kiss. “Is this really what I get for being a caring boyfriend?”

I laughed heartily, shaking my head in disbelief. “You are such a drama queen.” I grabbed ahold of his hand, helping him up. When he was on his feet, I placed both of my hands over his cheeks, tugging him downwards to plant a kiss on his lips. He made a slight sound of surprise, but I felt him smiling against me.

“You are so soft for me.” He mumbled when I pulled away. It was my turn to huff, shoving him away before gesturing for him to get back into a defensive position. I turned away from him momentarily to tug the hooded sweatshirt from my body as I felt sweat a thin layer of sweat begin to form over my flesh. When I met his eyes again his eyebrows were knitted together, and he’d crossed his arms over his chest.

“What?” I asked, confusion evident in my tone.

“Are you being serious?” He nodded toward the dark blue sports bra that covered my chest. I looked between his and my top, still baffled by what he’d gotten his back up about. “You are not really acting like that’s a coincidence.”

I let out a quiet laugh, narrowing my eyes at him. “Pietro, I have no idea what the hell you are talking about?”

“This is very distracting!” He gestured at my body, before throwing his hands up.

Silence sat heavy in the air for a long few moments, it was me who broke it when I burst out into a fit of laughter. Complete shock was running through my body at the realization of what he was referring to. The man before me did not look amused in the slightest. “You are being completely ridiculous.” I managed through my laughter.

He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Okay, Nadia.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s spar.” He took a step toward me, pausing for a moment to grab the back of his shirt and yank it over his head, tossing it aside. I snorted at his antics. “What? It’s hot.” His tone nearly sent me into another fit of laughter, but I swallowed it down, moving to circle him for a second. I jabbed at him, but he dodged effectively. His swift movements on the mat nearly tripped me but even in this new state of hyper-awareness that he was demonstrating, I still had the skill advantage, having had much longer to hone my abilities. I ducked beneath his arm when it shot toward me slipping beneath and attempting to strike from behind but in a blur of silver, he’d caught my wrist and moved to face me. I yanked backwards to free myself, but he tightened his grasp, twirling my arm over my head and pulling back in one exceedingly fast maneuver, my back colliding with his chest. I could feel his breath hitting my ear, making my heart thud harder against my chest.

“What have I told you about relying on your enhancement.” I breathed out, words far harder to spit out than I’d expected. His bare skin was warm against mine.

“Not relying, just utilizing.” His words were a murmur in my ear, tone low, challenging.

I felt the corner of my lip curve upward at his snark. His nose grazed the skin of my neck, lips following shortly after. It wasn’t a kiss; he just wanted me to know he was there. He thought he was winning and maybe he was, my eyes fluttered for just a second but then who would I be if I allowed him to win so easily? I let my body lean back into his, letting him think he was melting me. One of his hands still held mine behind my back, the other moved to squeeze my hip slightly. I leaned my head back onto his shoulder, meeting his eyes, nose bumping his. In his belief that he was in control, he loosened his grip on me, chasing my lips just slightly. With practiced precision I side-stepped and yanked my hand from his grip, ducking his attempt to grab me once more and instead grabbing ahold of his upper body and pulling him backward to trip him over my leg. When he looked at me with disbelief I only smiled. “I thought I taught you better than that.” I rolled my shoulders, watching his puff on his back.

When his eyes met mine and they had a softness to them that was almost indescribable I felt something deep within my chest that was unfamiliar and a little concerning. He held his hand toward me, pouting like a wounded animal and there was no part of me that wanted to leave him there and that was the moment I officially realized that I had absolutely gone soft for him. Shit.

I extended my arm to him to help him up, however, the second he’d locked on I noticed that familiar glint in his eye, but he was yanking me down to the floor with him before I had time to properly register it. He caught me in his arms easily, grinning cheekily in the face of my feigned glare.

[whatavery]

Malibu (Comm)

Stepping out of the car gave Mordecai a sense of relief he hadn't felt in months. The California heat was bad enough in itself, but it was like torture inside the car, even with the windows opened. Mordecai's driver didn’t seem to mind, but he was also dressed considerably lighter than he was. Despite the heat, Mordecai still dressed like a civilized man, though he had decided to opt out of wearing his jacket.

The car had come to stop by a strip next to a rocky mountainside, many cars parked all around them. Looking to the right of the road, Mordecai could see the ocean, hear the distant swooshing of the waves crashing up on the shore. The white beach was a nothing like the banks of the Mississippi River, the sky was more blue than he had ever recalled seeing it at home. People were walking on the beach, some were swimming, others were enjoying assorted frivolous activities on the sand.

Mordecai had rolled his sleeves up for his own comfort before he retrieved his suitcases from the back of the car and paid his driver. He turned the other way, gazing up at the hotel that was built into the mountainside. It was architecture like he'd never seen it before, which he found both strange and yet intriguing.

Once he'd crossed the road, Mordecai ascended the upwards sloping path leading up to the hotel where a sign with the hotel’s name greeted him – the Mariel Hotel. How wonderfully ironic. Perhaps it was Delilah's idea of a joke…. The hotel’s facade had the same color as the sands of the beach below. It wasn't a very tall building, and it was a far cry from the Maribel Hotel. Mordecai could hardly complain about that, given the feelings he'd come to associate with that place.

Each step up the path made Mordecai's heart beat faster; not from exhaustion, but from knowing he was being brought closer to her.

Once he'd asked at the front desk, Mordecai made his way to where her room would be – room 212. He climbed the steps to the second floor with bated breath. The building was nice, clean, and well maintained, the open windows allowed a lovely draft could keep it cool. Suitcases in hand, Mordecai's green eyes traced over the doors on the left side of the hallway.

202… 204… 206… He counted in his head, and by the time he stood in front of her door, his heart was racing. Mordecai hesitated for only a moment before knocking.

“COME IN, IT’S OPEN!” Mordecai gave a start, his fur standing on end when he heard Delilah shouting at the top of her lungs from within. Looking scandalized, Mordecai opened the door and stepped into her room. It was a quaint little space, though Delilah had left it in quite a state. Every chair there had a dress or other article of clothing draped over it. Did the idea of folding and storing her clothes elsewhere never occur to her?

“Mordecai?” he heard her voice from the closed door that no doubt led to the bathroom, accompanied by splashing.

“Yes, it’s me,” he responded as he put his suitcases down by the front door. He looked around her messy room.

“You’re here a whole two minutes after you said you'd be here – you’re startin’ to get sloppy,” he heard her calling in a playful voice as he set about tidying up. The wardrobe near the windows overlooking the mountainside would hold her dresses as he put them on hangers. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Actually, I arrived at the hotel before then,” Mordecai noted calmly. He still remembered being able to call her for the first time shortly after arriving in California. Hearing her voice then had been like a reunion in itself. Hearing it now through her bathroom door, as odd as it was, made Mordecai feel infinitely more relaxed.

“How was the journey?” Mordecai had settled near the window by the time Delilah made an appearance. The tuxedo cat turned and gave a start, immediately averting his gaze as she wore nothing but a towel around her body. He heard her chuckling as she went to get dressed. “What was it like to fly?”

“Long, tiring, horrendously unpleasant for the most part, actually… Especially flying…” he replied in his driest of tones, trying to purge the mental image of the lovely Siamese like that. Granted, he had seen her in rather… bold dresses before. He sighed and felt the corners of his mouth tug themselves upwards, despite himself. His heart skipped a beat as he almost gasped, “But it was worth it.”

---

Mordecai… did not like this. Sure, having Delilah by his side was nice, even if he wouldn't normally enjoy someone holding onto his arm this way. That wasn't even the worst part – the worst part was walking through the sand barefooted. He didn’t like the way the sand scorched the soles of his feet or the way the tiny grains got between his toes and stuck in his fur.

But for her, he'd put up with it.

Seagulls were sailing over the blue waves on thermal winds, and they had passed several people. The bright sand reflected the sunlight so much that Mordecai found himself squinting. Delilah had taken to wearing sunglasses along with a thin, red beach dress. It had a golden pattern on the front that reminded Mordecai of the details one might see on a circus ringmaster’s attire. He supposed it was fitting for her as a performer. A large, flowing sunhat rested upon her curly, red locks, whereas Mordecai hadn't changed attire, save for removing his shoes and socks at her behest.

“Is it always this hot out?” Mordecai asked as they passed another couple, who was playing around in the surf. Despite the cool ocean breeze, the sun’s merciless warmth was quite unbearable, given that there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Malibu truly was beautiful, even if he wasn't so sure he preferred it over St. Louis. He was no stranger to the sea, having lived on the East Coast, but beaches like this were new to him.

“It is on most days. I like it, though,” Delilah said, giving his arm a squeeze. Looking her over, Mordecai had to admit, she seemed to have adjusted quite nicely to the West Coast life. He supposed a southern girl would. She looked more at home here than in St. Louis. She seemed happier than he remembered her…

“And you’re staying in this hotel?” Mordecai cast a glance over his shoulder towards the Mariel Hotel in the distance. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of Delilah here all by her lonesome. He knew she could take care of herself, but a hotel hardly seemed like the most stable living conditions.

“Oh, it’s only temporary,” she reassured him, before guiding him along. “I’m saving up for something more permanent. I only do big shows now, Mordecai – not singing in hotels like I used to, or…”

“The other stuff…” They had never actually talked about that much, but Mordecai had known about her side business, thanks to her former boss. He didn’t like thinking about that more than he had to, but he just nodded. “Do you ever…?”

“No.”

“Oh. Good…” Delilah gave Mordecai a funny look when he responded. He felt his cheeks flushing under his fur, but he chalked that up to the heat all around. If he were actually blushing in this heat, surely he'd have a heatstroke… Despite himself, Mordecai gently relinquished his arm and instead took her by the hand. “You deserve better…”

Hand in hand, they continued down the beach, though Mordecai nearly dropped his shoes in surprise when the surf touched their feet. The sudden coolness of the water certainly made him jump, and gave Delilah a good laugh.

By the time they returned to the hotel, the sun had started to set finally. Walking up the beach with Delilah, Mordecai could swear the sun’s last rays seemed to make the red tones of her fur and her hair stand out all the more, like she was glowing.

Waking up beside Delilah was… a strange feeling. Though they simply slept, it was a feeling Mordecai didn’t think he'd ever get used to. He knew their time together was fleeting, but he tried to make the most of the few days they had together. The second day flew by, however. They drove into town together and spent the entire day there.

Over dinner at a restaurant, Mordecai realized that spending time with Delilah again was simultaneously the best and the worst thing he could think of. While he enjoyed their time together, just walking and talking, the knowledge that he would be leaving again soon…

Mordecai tried his best to push those thoughts from his mind. It wasn't until they went to bed that night that the thoughts came back to him again.

“Delilah?” he asked the darkness as he listened to the distant sound of the waves crashing up on the beach. It was faint, much like the sound of Delilah's breathing, but he could hear it clearly through the open windows.

“Mordecai?” she asked playfully. He could hear her turning on the mattress they shared. He turned to look at her in the dark, barely able to see her outline, hear her breathing, feel her gaze upon his own silhouette.

“What if… How would you feel about if I stayed for another few days?” When Mordecai didn’t get an answer, he felt himself panicking slightly. “I could just stay in town. I don’t mean to impede on your work, or get in the way, but…”

He stopped when he felt Delilah's kiss on his cheek, felt her barely clad form wrapped in the thin blanket press up against him. Words failed him as she took his hand in the dark. She said nothing, but he knew what that meant.

Mordecai didn’t fall asleep immediately, he stayed up, thinking. What if he did do it? What if he just stayed here and didn’t go back to St. Louis? Could they make that work? He could get a job here, surely… something more stable and proper than the work he did for Marigold, surely. But would she even want that? Did Delilah want him to throw everything he had away for her?

When they walked along the beach the next day, Mordecai grasped her hand so tightly he had to keep himself from accidentally hurting her. He felt like a young man again, a runaway on a train, trying to frantically put his mind at ease while sensing danger behind every turn. Today, he wasn't running from a person, but from time itself.

Whenever Mordecai gazed upon Delilah, he was both reminded of why he had come here, and why he didn’t want to leave. Traveling back and forth was a Herculean task that Mordecai wasn't sure he cared to repeat too frequently, though getting to see Delilah was more than enough to make up for it… but was it sustainable?

They didn’t walk far along the beach today. Mordecai guided Delilah to the water’s edge where the waves caressed their feet, the damp sand feeling considerably more pleasant than the warmer sand further up the beach.

When Mordecai finally found himself in the car, he felt as though no time had passed at all. He felt as though he had just arrived in Malibu minutes ago and was already leaving. Mordecai wished he had it in him to make a decision and tell her that he was staying whether she liked it or not. But who was he to say that? He had his own job, his own responsibilities… This had been but a small respite from all of that.

“Wait…” Mordecai told the driver, before he stepped out. Delilah hadn't gone anywhere, thankfully. He moved to her and embraced her, despite himself. Every instinct in his body was fighting him, but he wanted to show her this last act of warmth, before he left.

He knew this was the last chance he would ever get to say anything, but as he pulled back and looked at her, Mordecai noticed how shiny her eyes were. She was even trembling slightly in his arms, despite the warmth.

Mordecai couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He realized that saying nothing was showing her mercy; he didn’t want to make this harder than it already was for her. But even as he stared into those watery, blue eyes, he knew there was no need.

They both knew, even if neither of them had ever spoken those three words to the other.

[elianaroselight]

Was inspired by @winterpower98 's post here. Specially the picture of Macaque with a young Yue Shi in his arms. So now you get a surprise fic. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Macaque smiles softly as he rubs his son's back gently, holding the boy close to himself as he rocked. The shadow demon never expected he would be in this situation. Especially not when he was the same age as the twins. But here he was, holding Yue Shi and rocking him to sleep as his twin sister looked on with a watchful eye. How did this all start, you may wonder?

Well, it began after the twins had moved into their own room in the hut. Macaque noticed over time that they still seemed to be tired, even after he thought they had settled in. It was almost like they were having trouble sleeping. But they were safe. They had their own space that neither him nor his mate encroached into without permission. They had settled down and had made improvements in many ways. So the still tired cubs were a concern to him. It had taken about two months before Yue Shi finally told him what was going on. Though they felt safer, they were still taking shifts during the night: where one slept, the other was awake before switching halfway through the night. Macaque was concerned and as he put Zan to bed one night, he came up with an idea.

He was grateful the twins were willing to try it and it became a nighttime routine for them. A small moment between him and his cubs. He always started with Yue Shi, who knew he was allowed to tap him to be put down. He would purr and rock the boy while holding him to his chest like a small child. Some nights, the lunar twin would even allow the other to rub his back or hum softly. When he could tell the cub was getting close, he would lay him down on his side of the bed and watched as the solar twin would tuck her brother in and make sure the massive bear Wukong had made for the twins was tucked in against the boy. Only when Ri Shi felt her brother was securely in bed and ready to rest, was when she would allow Macaque to go through the process with her.

The need to watch and make sure her twin was safe was not lost on the shadow demon. Especially now that he understood what he had seen them go through. He understood well and knew how it was. She would not rest until she knew her brother was safe and resting, but that also meant she would not let Macaque help her either. Seeing the lunar cub go through the process first was an important step for her brain to associate the routine as safe and okay to allow. It usually took her longer to relax either way, so it was a good way to help her learn how to relax herself also.

As Macaque thought through the process and the strides his cubs were making, he could hear his daughter's breathing begin to shift a bit. She was getting sleepy. She wasn't as comfortable with him rubbing her back yet, but he was willing to take it slow. It was already a lot for her to let herself get into such a vulnerable position in the first place. He began to sing softly instead. As he did, he felt her body shift, becoming heavier but also more relaxed. A sign she was almost ready to be laid down. Before long, her breathing changed again as she let out soft purrs and her eyes fluttered closed. He waited a minute longer, trying to enjoy the moment. Especially since this was the first time in months of doing this that his little girl started to purr during the routine. He wanted to just hold her close and listen.

Before it became too long, he gently laid her down in her spot on the other side of the bear and tucked her in. He made sure she was facing Yue Shi so the slightly awake cub could see his sister was safe and asleep, allowing his mind to fully drift off into dreamland. Macaque kissed their heads softly and took a moment to soak in the sweet forms of his sleeping kids, snuggled up to their favorite teddy bear with tails wrapped around each other. Slowly, Macaque backed out of the room, gaze not leaving his sleeping cubs until it was cut off by the door gently being shut.

[spectralarchers]

2 soap/ghost

“If I ever see you anywhere near her/him, you’ll have to deal with me.”

//

(ghost is a boxer, soap is an artist for quick AU context + under a read more, because this took off, lol)

The gym is quiet - well not in the natural sense of the word, because Ghost's phone is blasting a generated playlist on the gym's loudspeakers, but there are no other people in at the moment. They've all left.

Last training session started at 1900, lasted for an hour, and everyone has cleaned up, washed up and gone to each their own and gone home. That was three hours ago. Ghost has been closing up shop, sweeping the floor, cleaning the bags and disinfecting the gym's gloves which have been borrowed tonight.

It's hard work, but it's good work - the tight schedule allows him to keep his daily life together and composed. It's not the same as the military, but it is something close enough. Some of the kids that come in are just like recruits, punks who need some sense of dignity and some routine knocked into him. They like him as a coach because he's rough on them. He usually gets the kids who no other sports association wants because they're too rowdy and too loud or too agitated.

With the right focus, they tend to change and grow more responsible. Some of them who were on their way down the path of the streets change their trajectory and remain here. Gaz had been one of those, and he'd send him forward to Price, who had helped him enlist. Something about potential.

One song merges into the other, and Ghost is putting the last cleaning supplies away when the door suddenly bursts open. "We're closed, sorry," he says absently, loudly enough to break over the music.

He hears footsteps and turns around, dropping the bucket on the ground with a sigh. "I said we're- oh."

His walking goes to a slight jog as he reaches the shaking body of the young man he keeps bumping into in the mornings at the coffee shop on the other side of the road. He's bloodied, his left eye has been busted open, and he looks like he's been in a scuffle.

"What the hell happened?" he growls, helping the man on his feet - he only knows him as Soap, as that's what the barista writes on the man's cup when he orders to go. He's cute, blue eyes that would knock anyone off their feet.

The doors swing open again and four men walk in, lead by a sandy blonde haired man whose face is twisted in a grin. "Give him to us, we're not done with him yet," the man says, and Ghost frowns.

"Don't- don't-" Soap says, as he moves backwards on his elbows, dragging himself back, further away from the intruders.

"The gym is closed, gentlemen, you'll have to come back during opening hours if you want to do business here," Ghost says, loud enough to cover the sound of the music still blasting. The three men standing behind the first one - probably the leader of this pathetic posse - snicker.

One of them even calls at him with a, "Yeah, what are you going to do about it?"

Ghost rolls his eyes. Thankfully, he's warmed up from all the scrubbing and cleaning he's been doing for the past hour, so this will probably be easier than he thought.

"We're closed. Get out."

"Doesn't that count for him too?" the blond man asks, and Ghost lets his arms fall to his sides.

"Get out," he says, dryly. He knows they're going to start swinging soon, if they're not going to pull a firearm out from somewhere, or worse, a knife. Thankfully, he's used to all three.

The leader snickers again. "Saw your sketchbook, by the way," he says, to Soap, who's still on his ass, bleeding from his eyebrow, "I don't think he's aware of what you draw-"

"Shut up," Ghost interrupts. "Get out. I won't say it again."

The next couple of seconds pass by fast enough to remind Ghost of hand to hand combat in the field - one of the three stooges lunges at him with a knife, manages to catch his bicep with the blade before he knocks him out with an uppercut. The second one lunges at his knee, trying to get him off his footing, but quick footwork allows him to dismiss the first stooge, then to drop an elbow and a headbutt to the second one. The third one runs past him and his two friends at Soap, but when Ghost has dismissed the two first stooges, he turns around, pulls the knife from the hand of the first one and throws it at the third one's calf, knocking him off his feet.

"Get out."

The three men are moaning, now the owners of broken noses, a bleeding thigh and a broken clavicle.

"See, that wasn't so smart," the leader says, his eyes now dark like those of a snake. "Do you know who we are?"

"Don't care," Ghost mutters, wiping his mouth.

"We're the Shadows, we own this street, hell, this whole neighborhood. We know you been taking some of our young boys under your wing, right out of our grip. That's not too smart, now, is it?"

Ghost's fists close, and he feels his knuckles grind. God, he wants the man to shut up.

"You really sure you want to risk your business and the safe place of your kids for this-"

"Don't finish that sentence-"

"Or what? You're going to make me?"

The leader and Ghost meet each other face to face, having both crossed the little distance between each other, their foreheads almost knocking against each other - Ghost towers over him, but that doesn't seem to deter this snake.

“If I ever see you anywhere near him, you’ll have to deal with me,” Ghost growls, under his breath. The man smiles.

"I'll see you soon, then, Riley. Boys, let's go. Let these two lovebirds figure shit out," he says, whistling his stooges back on their feet. They groan as they do, and when they've made it out of the front door, the leader turns on his heels to look at Ghost, still standing there.

"Hope you've got insurance on this pretty gym of yours. Would be a shame if something happened to it."

send me a character & a prompt

[sweetestpopcorn]

Hi! I know it was mentioned in the show (I don’t take anything there as canon.) but I read in Fire and Blood that when Maegor and Visenya were about to burn Oldtown the Hightower Beacon shone green. Do you think this could have possibly influenced Alicent’s choice of favoring the color green in her wardrobe and naming her party The Greens. I can see no other reason why she would do this. Rhaenyra favoring black was obvious since it was the main color of the Targaryen sigil. But the Hightower banner was grey and white. Unless she had green eyes or simply liked the color I don’t see any other reason why she chose green. Also I think she is type to make a subtle statement and would it also show her true nature during the earlier days. What do you think about this?

Hi there and also sorry about this delay (this is a common theme in my asks in case you have not noticed XD).

I will admit I actually did not even remember this detail but yes it is accurate and I have seen the relevant book passages confirming it. However, there is no indication whatsoever that this was the reason why Alicent chose to wear Green. Several reasons that I will now list below.

This detail came out only with Fire and Blood in 2018 while the Princess and the Queen and The World of Ice and Fire where the character of Alicent Hightower and her feud with Rhaenyra was first introduced came out in 2013. I find it extremely unlikely that this was something George already knew/planned yet kept hidden for all these years, especially since in The World of Ice and Fire the entire history of House Targaryen is told so this detail could have easily been included. And for those of you wondering, no, George had not planned about 95% of the Dance in advance. He wrote most of it for The World of Ice and Fire. Indeed, over the years he changed a lot and until 2012 for instance, Rhaenyra's husband was Lyonel Strong, before that it had been a Lannister, and the character of Daemon did not exist, nor Alicent, nor most others.

2. The tourney in which Alicent wears green and Rhaenyra wears black and red was never presented as an Alicent moment. It was a Rhaenyra moment where she proudly wore the colours of her House in a time in which Alicent and House Hightower had been conspiring against her and Alicent herself was already casting seeds to create whispers around Rhaenyra's reputation - i.e., when she famously asked who protected Rhaenyra from Criston.

3. If indeed that was the reason for the Green dress, and ignoring my last two points, why wasn't it ever said? There was plenty of opportunity yet that motive was never presented.

What I think is much more likely is that the green is either simply symbolising the Reach - where Alient comes from from - much like Black and Red are symbolising Rhaenyra's House and who she is and/or it is also a symbol for who Alicent is used by the narrative.

Green is both a colour associated with greed but also with envy materialism and judgment, all characteristics we know canon Alicent to have and what her actions demonstrate. Green also symbolises growth, and indeed Alicent's influence had been growing a lot in court, as we know that the court was divided between the party of the Queen - the Greens - and the party of the Princess - the Blacks. At the same time green and black also clash in a sense and contrast with each other.

Personally this explanation makes a lot more sense to me as the green dress would serve as a very effective yet fast way to characterise the character of Alicent, and illustrate the mood at court.

And to end this allow me to share the brilliant illustration that @lovelyonism made of this iconic moment between the Princess and the Queen.

PS: All of this is only about the ASOIAF books and has no relation whatsoever with the redacted lizard show.