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most-creature-vibe-tournament · 10 months ago

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FINALS!!!

Propaganda:

Taylor Hebert (Worm (webserial by Wildbow))

Human girl who has superpowers that let her control bugs. She shunts all emotions off into her swarm of bugs, leaving her totally blank and stoic. She outsources sensory-input to her bugs, so she never looks or reacts to anything. In a fight, she reacts to opponents there is no possible way she could see, because she sensed them with her bugs. Overall has virtually no facial tells and moves in a way that makes her seem like she isn't a person. very creature <3 she is just a bug girl

shes such a FREAK. shes completely human (tho with an eldritch alien creature extradimensionally attached to her mind) but God does she not act like it sometimes. she has the superpower to control bugs and uses it to become the worlds most terrifying hero slash villain slash warlord slash apocalyptic threat. she has her bugs crawling all over her all the time. she uses a swarm of flies to scout out areas and then leaves flies in everybodys hair so she can keep track of where they are. she practiced having her bugs make noises until she figured out how to combine their noises into human speech so now she can talk through her swarm. she makes decoys of herself out of large pillars of bugs. once she was concussed and in the hospital and subconsciously calling her bugs to her so she was just covered in insects while the doctor tried to help her. then there was ANOTHER time she was hospitalized and got bored so she made a bunch of bugs so a little dance on her chest. whenever she's in costume and talking she has her bugs make noises to distort her voice and make her sound more scary and she doesnt even realize shes doing it anymore. she surrounds herself in a swarm to disorient her enemies. she doesn't even notice when her hair covers her eyes or anything like that because shes scouting out the area using her bugs so she doesnt have to see. she once used a tide of bugs to clean herself off and dust off her dress after having sex.

#she views herself as more of a swarm of bugs with a girl-shaped computer to control them than a girl herself#her body is just an extension of her bugs which is large and inconvenient but ultimately part of the weapon

#taylor “dissociates into bugs” hebert#taylor “keeps bugs in her hair” hebert#taylor “choke them with bugs” hebert#taylor “no one could ever love me” hebert#taylor “violence is always the answer” hebert

#normally i would want a worm character to win#but#bdubs is a strange little man. he's unusual.#Taylor's just got the 'tism.

she literally is a walking superorganism comprised of one human and a lot more bugs to the point where she frequently moves her head as if she can see through walls (with her bugs, she can), talks through her bugs, has been described like a corpse whose ghost is living on in her swarm, keeps functioning thru her bugs even when her human body is out for the count, et cetera. no disrespect intended but genuinely what in the world are you talking about. She cleans her pussy off with bugs after fucking. Her pussy. With bugs. And she thinks it's normal. Because the bugs are part of her. Is this thing on. I reiterate that she literally requires an emotional support cloak of bugs. She is so dissociated from being an actual person that she treats her human body like an inconvenience and her bugs like the primary operators. Is This Thing On.

#now i told myself i wouldnt comment anything on the rb... but#“She cleans her pussy off with bugs after fucking. Her pussy. With bugs.” CHAT IS THAT FUCKIN REAL??? IS THAT CANON???#cause if thats just a hc thats wild and i dont know if its better or worse if its canon#propaganda

this is indeed canon! there is a scene where, after fucking her boyfriend in an abandoned building, she stands up and cleans dust/etc off her naked ass body by having her bugs run across her and clean her, which presumably translates to "they are eating the dirt/sweat/etc off her." her boyfriend smiles affectionately at this, because he also has something wrong with him. she also does things like use bugs and spider silk to deliver her toothbrush straight to her hand in the morning while monologuing about "checking in on her hive" (her hive is the people in her villain territory.) she is a walking panopticon. her friends sometimes talk to bugs under the assumption it's taylor watching them and they're always right. at one point she confusedly asks someone if he's arachnophobic because he doesn't want her 10k black widow spiders to live in his apartment with him. she is basically like if a cockroach was a girl. I would never lie to you about Taylor Hebert, Unsung Champion of Polls About Weird Characters.

#taylor ofc#wait hey those are my tags as propaganda!! cool!#i stand by it#anyways yeah one of her main character traits when looked at by an outside perspective is just how WEIRD she is#everyone thinks she's a freak#even when you're reading her POV you sometimes have to stop and be like 'hey girl what the fuck'#one time she put bugs on her boyfriend's dick

She also turns into a bug monster at one point. Not all on her own, but she very much turns into a bug monster. Literally And Physically.

And she uses this to survive like a cockroach, she had Just Been Ripped In Fucking Half and thrown in the ocean to die and BOOM. bug monster transformation (with a little help) climb out and keep fighting, against an opponent so vast and powerful a human couldn't even comprehend his true form (not eldritch cognitohazard, just planet-sized + multidimensional), who could kill her in an instant. She's always surviving against the odds she's so cockroach coded (affectionate!) #@ pollrunner if you're still accepting propaganda please take the 'turns into a bug monster' as propaganda#the rest can be ignored or trimmed to 'she's always surviving she's so cockroach coded' but pleamse. the Time she Became A Bug

#she's such a freak!!!#she kills like it's the only thing she was built how to do#she kills people and things like it's chess and she's a grandmaster#as soon as the violence is off she's just a fucked up offputting little one woman panopticon

One of my favourite descriptions of Taylor from someone else's POV, from Interlude 14.

“The disconcerting part was the girl’s face, or lack thereof. Her expression was masked behind a shifting mass of bugs that moved in and out of her hairline. Sierra couldn’t even tell where the bugs ended and the scalp began, as the small black bodies crawled into and onto the black curls. There was a hint of something like glass where Skitter’s eyes were, but the bugs ventured far enough over her eyelids and around the frames that nothing was visible in the way of goggles, glasses or skin.”

“Skitter hadn’t made a sound as she entered. She hadn’t spoken, and her footsteps had been quiet.”

#taylor “driving while blind wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be” hebert#taylor “hangs out in superpowered darkness for a long time without being at all worried” hebert#taylor “fools a near-perfect lie detecting hero by offloading her emotions on her bugs” hebert#taylor “figures out how to communicate with the Dog Autism girl like right away” hebert

#taylor hebert kill them with your self-sustained insectoid dehumanity!

Jonny d’Ville (The Mechanisms)

Since we’re not technically human

He’s so feral hes canonically committed every single crime theres a name for i think he deserves to have a tail that flicks around when hes being mischevous. perhaps some horns or fangs as well. as a treat

Idk why but he's a feral creature

Have you seen the man? Especially in that one picture where he is fully on the wall.

absolutely no canon implications that he isn't human, but that man* absolutely has a tail. and sharp teeth. and creature ears. he purrs but he pretends he doesn't and if you bring it up he'll bite you. he's had rabies more times than you can count.

#Just sayin#Johnny eats people and says it's not cannibalism if you aren't human

#DID LYF SING THE PART IN SLEEPING BEAUTY? NO. VOTE JONNY

#Jonny’s a creature#vote Jonny

#sorry for that Hermitfans but my boy Jonny is feral and i think he is a creature

#chat vote jonny#HES LITERALLY JUST A LITTLE CRITTER PLEASE

#look at that face#he’s a creacher

#it's jonny d'ville i don't have any more to say

All crimes but sex crimes, because Jonny isn’t a MONSTER

#JONNY#i'm so sorry pearl you are too well adjusted for this#he's got devil in his name#(that he gave himself because he's a huge fucking nerd)

#LITERALLY LOOK AT HIM THE GREMLIN ENERGY IS OFF THE CHARTS

#voted jonny for the rabies

also. hold up. the pearl propaganda is saying to vote for her because she's an alien and a bloodthirsty fighter? BOY DO I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU ABOUT JONNY FUCKING D'VILLE

five am pearl this five am pearl that, jonny's just like that all the time

#please vote jonny. i know we're pitting two bad bitches against each other but jonny has tried to eat a guitar

#CMON GUYS VOTE JONNY D’VILLE HES SUCH A CREATURE#HAVE YOU SEEN HIM??? HAVE YOU HEARD HIM TALK ABOUT THE OCTOKITTENS???#VOTE JONNY

#Jonny is such a creature

#jonny is literally THE creature

#come on vote Jonny that thing is creachur incarnate#and he can sing#his fave food is human flesh and more violence

Jonny man entire existence is teeth claws belts and trauma

#that guy is so feral#just vote jonny#also there was this one time where he found a half dead dude on the moon and brang it home to show to his gay pirate friends#just sayin#and also this harmonica solo over his father's dead body in one eyed jacks#iconic#anyway vote jonny

#literally jonny bites people and eats them regularly

#taylor hebert #worm web serial #jonny d'ville #the mechanisms #final round #tumblr polls #polls #creatures fight!

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elbiotipo · 9 months ago

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Beaver-folk as ruthless empire-builders. They sail, or simply swim, up-river and build dams and crannogs from where they rule rivers, lakes and wetlands for miles into the interior. Their mass use of wood, both for construction and food, often devastates forests (especially in places where the forests are not evolved to deal with beaver habits, with slow-growing trees or those that die after barking) and they shape the course of rivers at their discretion, flooding entire areas if needed. The chiefdoms of the beaver-folk often use their dams and water supply to exhert control over the populations they rule over as tributaries, especially as they are very skilled with iron weapons; what serves for woodworking also serves as a weapon. As they eat mostly wood and hardy plants, they don't have agriculture as such, though they do cultivate gardens on their dams for several delicacies. However, they know that inlanders need water for irrigation, and as they hold whole rivers as lordships, they have power over them, extracting tribute that the most powerful clans display proudly on their crannogs. While not all beaver-folk clans are this aggressive and indeed many live in small crannogs over carefully tended wetlands, when people see countless barked trees dying and smoke rising from the river, they know things are about to change in their side of the woods.

(yes, this is partly inspired on the beavers on Tierra del Fuego)

#cosas mias #worldbuilding #biotipo worldbuilding

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radio-fmm · 9 months ago

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The sparrow and the hunter

Zoro x fem!reader

Warnings: pure fluff, mentions of daggers, zoro making fun of gods as he does, fem reader can transform into an animal idk thought you should know

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: In which Zoro falls hard for you and he struggles with it

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

When you first joined the crew, Zoro was very skeptical about what you actually would bring to the table, since your abilities were… unique to say the least, but you had helped them giving useful information and advise when in a very tight situation, and who was he to doubt his captains decisions.

“A BIRD?” Luffy exclaimed almost jumping out of his seat. Yes, you could turn into a bird

“Yep, that’s why I am a good informant! People don’t suspect of a tiny sparrow flying around” you explained followed by a wink

“But… how?!” The navigator asked still confused

You turned around tugging your shirt slightly down and removing your hair form your back to reveal a tattoo “This is an ancient mark that was bestowed upon me by my people, the mark of a god called Quetzalcoatl, also known as the feathered snake. It carries the power that allows me to transform”

This only made Zoro grow even more doubtful about you, a god? It sounded like a fairytale to him. But as it turned out, you were also a fearless fighter, extremely skillful with daggers and combined with your special ability it made you fierce, which earned you his respect quickly after having fought beside him and the strawhats.

As you slowly went from the quiet reserved new crewmate to show your real colors of a confident caring bright and easygoing individual, the swordsman didn’t mind sharing with you the ‘training zone’ which was just a section of the going merry Nami had assigned to such activities to prevent accidents. Most if not all of the time you would train separately since you only did cardio and battle training and Zoro was more of a heavy lifting kind of guy. Both seemed to enjoy the silence of each other’s company and only exchanging few hellos and goodbyes.

But of course that slowly began to change when Zoro became curious on your fighting tactics

“Where did you get that dagger?” He asked from the other side of the ‘gym’ after staring at you training from a while, you turned to him a little taken aback, he wasn’t the one to talk let alone start a conversation

“I made it myself when I was 12” you answered as you slowly walked to where the stoic swordsman was standing.

Zoro had noticed how this dagger was different from the others you kept on your belt, not only was the shape and overall hold and design different, you kept it in a cover around your thigh at all times, so it peeked his interest

You presented the dagger, making slow steady movements that made it shine in the afternoon sun, it indeed looked more homemade, and the sharp edge was of a black shiny material he had never seen before.

“My father was a hunter, he showed me how to build this type of daggers to protect myself since we lived in the mountains… and for artistic purposes” Zoro’s eyes examined every detail of the weapon, and in further examination he noticed how indeed everything about it was really you, your essence was plastered all over it

“Interesting” he said still fixated on the dagger “You can hold it”

Zoro looked at you now closer and speaking almost in a whisper, you handed him your beloved weapon and he took it slowly. It was lighter than he expected it to be, he made an aggressive strong move as if he was cutting something and you giggled which made him embarrassed and a little insecure

“What?” He blurted out in defense

“You don’t use it like that, it’s meant for self defense or close targets. You have to move fast and steady” you took his hand in yours and demonstrated how to attack with it cornering your own throat between the dagger

“Always strike with purpose”

The swordsman felt his heart rate accelerate and a pink blush creeping from his neck, his gaze fixated in yours and his mind racing. You offered a sweet smile before removing yourself from the hold, Zoro returned the dagger to you shyly “Nice uhm… technique… and beautiful dagger” he immediately turned around to resume his workout, still flushed and with nervous hands.

The green haired pirate felt his head spinning not believing how you, a freshly arrived new strawhat, had not only allowed him to hold something you treasured and valued so much, but also had pointed it to your neck with his hands while being a man that doubled you in size and strength. His head couldn’t stop thinking about the intimacy of it all, it had left him breathless. You trusted him

But really it was just the beginning of the end for this poor man. Zoro had found himself trying to have more of you, like you had casted a spell, craving for your attention and essence.

He now looked for you when he entered any room, always wanting to be in your presence even while you just were enjoying your hobbies or any mundane task, he was eager to learn things about you and oh what a wonderful person you were to chat to, always keeping the conversation fun and interesting, listening attentively when it was his turn to talk, always sharing a piece of your soul.

You had seen through his stoic scary facade and saw what he really was. Everything that Zoro did was driven by love and the deep meaningful connections with the people around him, always remaining loyal and acting as the protector of the crew not because it’s his job but because he cares. He may not be as expressive as Sanji, but you were able to read him.

This scared Zoro immensely, not only cause he started to catch himself feeling annoyed whenever the stupid cook swooned your way or called you sweet names, or cause he couldn’t stop thinking about you even when training or trying to nap, or cause somehow you seemed to enjoy being around him too. No, it scared him because it made him feel like you had a hold on his heart and was afraid of being vulnerable. He felt weak

So when he finally came to the conclusion he was falling for you, and falling hard, instead of talking about his feelings, he opted for actively avoid you but of course you noticed right away. At first you gave him some time pretending you didn’t notice, he probably needed space from you feeling like you were smothering him, but eventually it had started not only to become ridiculous but to hurt you, because at the contrary of Zoros better judgment, you cared.

You excused yourself from dinner way early one evening, making a lame excuse so that you could finally catch Zoro alone on the crows nest on night watch and confront him, tired of his obnoxious behavior. Your stomach stirred in nervousness as you laid down on your hammock trying to distract yourself while crocheting, the door creaked open and you saw Nami menacingly standing in front of the door

“When are you gonna pull Zoro out of his misery?” your brows furrowed and a scoff escaped your lips

“What are you talking about? He’s the one avoiding me” The navigator rolled her eyes and sighed very loudly clearly annoyed

“He’s head over heels for you y/n! But he doesn’t know what to do just spare him”

“That’s not true” you sounded almost sad, Nami slowly came closer to you changing her approach

“You’re kidding right?, I swear he almost got up and ran after you when you stormed out, he’s smitten I had never seen him like this” you didn’t answer, thinking about his change in behavior and Namis thoughts, it seemed like it made sense

“I was planning on talking to him later anyways”

An exited squirm escaped Nami as she aggressively pushed your hammock back and forth shaking you “FINALLY! I swear you both were driving me insane”

As the sun disappeared behind the ocean and the moon greeted you shining through the cloudless sky, you awaited for everyone to retire to their bedrooms to peek your head through the door of the girls quarters, the ship was lulled by the waves and not a sound could be heard, quite rare for the Merry to be this quiet only confirming everyone was fast asleep.

You looked up to see the swordsman’s green hair peeking through the crows nest, only making you more nervous

“I can see you staring you know?” Zoro spoke loud enough so you could hear but not to wake anyone up, a shiver ran down your spine before you cleared your throat approaching the tall nest

“Can we talk? Please?” You didn’t wait for an answer before transforming and flying your way up, feeling shaky as you landed in the edge and morphing back

“I guess” Zoro whispered, arms crossed in front of his chest looking up at the stars twinkling in the night sky

The gentle breeze made your hair dance revealing your glistening eyes and your pinkish cheeks, the moonlight softened you making you look like a fallen angel that had answered to Zoros prayers. Of course he knew what were you doing here, it made his heart quiver in anticipation both of not having a clue of how you may approach the topic and to finally see you up close again after a long time of staring from afar

“Why are you avoiding me?” Oh so we are going straight to it “I gave you space so you would figure things out, but it has gotten stupid what did I do wrong?”

Silence pierced your ears only hearing your heavy breaths both of how nervous you were and how quickly you had morphed to get up there with him, you had never been so blunt in your life but it was Zoro who we are talking about here there was no way around it

“I don’t know” after a while of you staring at him while his gaze shifted from you to literally anything else this was his response? You sighed defeated before getting up

“I won’t get in your way then” it hurt you deeply but what else could you do if you couldn’t reason with the hardheaded swordsman?. Before you could get on the ladder you felt a strong hand reach yours in a hurry

“Wait… stay” there was a shift in his tone, you had never heard Zoro speak like this, it was like soft plead for understanding. You hesitated but sat back down face to face while he kept his grip on your hand

“If you don’t tell me what you’re feeling I can’t understand Zoro” you also changed your tone to a softer one, making him feel secure, encouraging him to speak up.

There was no other way around it, even if he didn’t felt ready to say it out loud the more he did leaps around his feelings the worse it’ll get. Zoro squished your hand as he struggled to find the words

“I’m avoiding you because I can’t handle the way you make me feel” He couldn’t look at you even if he tried but if he did he would be met with a puzzled expression planted all over your face

“I am falling for you and I don’t know what to do”

Zoro looked intensely into your big orbs that shone as bright as the moonlight above both of you, the confusion of your face was washed away immediately, a loving smile now in its place. You giggled which made him back up in embarrassment you did that often

“You love me you big idiot! That’s what you do” you said before leaning in to lock your lips in his.

The pirates eyes widen in surprise but slowly welcomed your action, melting in your touch and positioning a hand in your back to keep you closer while both of your hands hanged from his neck. You tasted sweet like he imagined but way more addictive, he never wanted to part his lips from yours ever again, but breathing was necessary for both of you.

Your smile came back to your mouth as you separated, cupping both of his cheeks so he would keep looking at you

“I love you Zoro”

An unfamiliar warmth settled on his face, but a wonderful feeling captured his heart and then he knew, if he was to ever give his heart to anyone in the world it’ll be you, you’ll take care of it and love it unconditionally

“If I say it back you’ll kiss me again?” your laugh was heard again brightening the dark sea and the pirates soul

“Yes”

“I love you too y/n”

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

Omg I loved doing this oneeee, and ofc had to represent my culture adding an aztec god as reference ☝🏻 if you want a series or a follow up lmk, as always feel free to request and correct me, English is not mu first language

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 11 months ago

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inanimate objects and generic minions -> characters

I was rereading a March 2023 interview where Yana talks about the process of creating for Twisted Wonderland! I believe I previously mentioned how I appreciated the eclectic yet pragmatic design sense of the outfits in TWST; this time, what caught my attention was how Yana came up with characters from what are minor henchmen and inanimate objects associated with notable villains.

She says that it was a challenge to come up with characters based on the card soldiers and the poisoned apple. (It’s very different than basing a character on the Queen of Hearts and the Evil Queen, who are both very iconic women with defined personalities and powers.) Yana put herself in the shoes of those original Disney counterparts and then used those feelings as a basis to work with. It’s really cool to think about how she was able to pull four different perspectives for the card soldiers. There’s Cater the spectator, Trey the reluctant bystander that eventually comes around, Deuce the rebel, and Ace the other rebel instigator.

I’m especially interested in how Yana conceived of a concept for Epel, who is one of the few in the main cast who is twisted from an object rather than a character. She describes the poison apple as being innocent; it was just a normal apple that had no intention of becoming poisonous or being used in the Evil Queen’s nefarious scheme—yet it was forced to become a poisonous apple against its will because this is the form which will be the most advantageous to the Queen. And indeed, that’s pretty much the nature of Vil and Epel’s relationship. Book 5 is about Vil shaping Epel through stringent training (which Epel actively resists) into someone who can weaponize cuteness to take down Neige. The idea made it all the way to the final product—it’s great to see the payoff of the creative process 😌

#twst #twisted wonderland #Epel Felmier #Ace Trappola #Deuce Trappola #Cater Diamond #Trey Clover #Evil Queen #Queen of Hearts #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #Vil Schoenheit #Neige Leblanche

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bestiarium · 11 days ago

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The Weskwekkehs and the Ganiagwaihegowa [Native American mythology; Penobscot and Seneca mythology]

In the traditional belief system of the Native American Penobscot people, it was believed that if a black bear ate human flesh, the animal would undergo a supernatural transformation. It would completely lose its fur, gain supernatural power with which it could magically charm humans, and most importantly, the bear would develop a taste for human flesh. The resulting monster was called a Weskwekkehs, meaning ‘great hairless bear’.

According to one story, a Penobscot hunter ventured too far into the wilds and knew that he would not be able to return home that day. He built a makeshift shelter to spend the night and returned to his hunting camp the following day. But when he arrived, it became clear that something had happened in his absence, for the camp was a mess and his family was nowhere to be seen. He searched every nook and cranny and eventually found his children and wife dead, seemingly trampled by some terrible beast.

The grieving father buried his family and set out to find the killer, and he soon came upon a track of strange footprints. At first glance, they appeared to have been made by a bear, but the shape was somehow different and weird. As he followed the tracks, the hunter came upon a truly colossal tree, which must have been incredibly old. The branches all appeared to be rotting. On top of a large branch close to the very top of the tree, a horrifying monster was resting. It resembled a large, monstrous bear without fur, and the hunter knew at once that this creature must have destroyed his camp and killed his family.

Knowing that he was no match for the monster, he returned to the village and told his story. The men of the village gathered their weapons and hunting equipment and, after a night of rest and preparation, set out to fight the beast.

When they came upon the gigantic tree, the monster descended and howled with a noise that was so terrible, the very ground beneath its feet trembled from its growls. But the men were determined and fierce, and completely riddled their opponent with arrows. In fact, it was said that the bear resembled a porcupine because of all the arrow shafts sticking out of its body. Any natural creature would have died on the spot, but somehow the monster barely seemed to have noticed.

Luckily, the men were accompanied by the village shaman, a wise man who was very knowledgeable about supernatural creatures. He was told by a chickadee that the monster could only be killed by targeting its heel, for that was its only weak spot. He instructed the other men to back away, took aim, and shot an arrow straight into the Weskwekkehs’ heel. Indeed, the monster was now dying. It addressed the shaman and, speaking as if it were human, admitted his defeat. The beast said that the people managed to overpower him, and so he would never bother humans again. The dying Weskwekkehs stumbled into the water and was never seen again.

That is the short version of the Penobscot tale. There are multiple variations of this story, but they all have the same underlying structure. One of these regional variants comes from the Native American Seneca people, and as the folktale goes, the region that is now New York was once haunted by a horrible monster they called Ganiagwaihegowa. People who ventured alone into the woods were devoured by this beast, which resembled a huge, monstrous bear with no fur, and it was known to chase and eat people who had seen its footprints in the ground. The creature could not be defeated by ordinary hunters, for no wound could bring it down. Two local folk heroes, Hadentheni and Hanigongendatha, set out to slay this fiend and consulted a great and benevolent spirit for advice. The spirit told them that the creature had only one weakness: a spot on the soles of its paws.

Still, they knew that they did not stand a chance against the great beast in open combat, so the two heroes devised a plan to trick it. They collected bits of wood and built an effigy shaped like a human, which they erected outside of the monster’s lair. Ganiagwaihegowa, always hungry for human flesh, fell for the bait and walked right into the ambush. In the ensuing battle, the heroes managed to hit the creature’s sole with an arrow. After the great beast died, the two men burned its corpse to make sure it would never return.

There are several other local variations of the story, such as the Katcheetohuskw from the Naskapi people. Given that all of these variations were described as monstrous, hairless bears, I wonder if these stories originated from sightings of bears with mange.

Sources: Siebert, F. T. (1937), Mammoth or “Stiff-legged bear”, American Anthropologist, New Series, 39(4), pp. 721-725. Bane, T. (2016), Encyclopedia of Beasts and Monsters in Myth, Legend and Folklore, McFarland, 423 pp., p.133. (image source 1: Karen Sim) (image source: RPerboni on Deviantart)

#Native American mythology #Penobscot mythology #Seneca mythology #monsters #mythical creatures #mythology #bestiary #folklore

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shady-tavern · 1 year ago

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A Deal of Games

Requested by anonymous, I very much hope this story is what you were hoping for! Small warning ahead for brief, implied murder.

*.*.*

The warning came with an exhausted rider on the back of their sweaty, trembling horse. Bandits were coming over the mountains and not just any rogue group, but an entire, well organized and supplied warband. Armed and armored and trained and two villages were already burning.

"They’re going to be here by tomorrow, they want to challenge the king and queen," the rider rasped, lying in the arms of the local blacksmith. "Run, flee and warn everyone along the way. I just barely made it out alive."

The villagers exchanged fearful, panicked glances and you knew immediately fleeing would be the ruin of many, if not most of the people you knew. Many here were old and while they had rich, fertile land, they had very little coin. Most people you knew could not afford to leave their homes behind.

You could see it in your mind’s eye already, as did the people around you, considering their expressions. All those homes burnt to the ground, warm houses nothing but ash and rubble, cinder for some cruel heart to burn brighter.

Everything around you would be nothing but fuel for the flames of the greed that had driven those bandits to come here and attack everyone.

Already you could see some of the elder folks exchanging grim looks, before peering at their grandchildren, at the worried soon-to-be-parents of their families.

You could see the decisions they came to, silent and heavy, as though they had already kneeled and bared their throats for death’s scythe. Going quietly into the night, holding prayers for the survival of their loved ones in their hearts.

You could see the downright desperate determination of the strong and capable, the young and spry, who did not miss the way their old and sick family members looked.

The way fists balled in helpless anger, teeth grit in bitter fury and eyes grew dark with the fist bloom of heart-rotting, soon-to-be-born hatred. They looked as though they wanted to reach out and grip the strands of fate with all they had and force the weave of the world into submission.

To take those strands and strangle whatever careless, unfeeling god was responsible for the world being just a little cracked. As if someone powerful had shattered a once loving existence and had used cruelty to glue the edges back together.

There were no fighters in the village, only two hunters who were indeed quite skilled, but they would fall swiftly should they even attempt to stop the bandits.

Running into the woods and hiding until the warband was gone was not an option either, not with the creatures that lived there. Not with how deeply everyone would have to go to hide, to not be found.

They’d run from one death to straight into another. One that might end up being even crueler in the end.

But…you turned to look towards the mountains at the back of the village, that last, sharp jutting of stone and rock before the mountain range cut off entirely. If you turned the other way you could see smoke rising in the distance, homes already burnt to the ground.

Where death marched towards your home with steel weapons and muddy boots and hearts that beat like war drums, filling veins and bones with the song of delighted blood thirst and greedy violence.

There was one thing you could do. Attempt to do, even if it was reckless and dangerous and might just cost you everything. But…everything was already lost and you had to try.

You had to try for old Miriam and Jamil, who had taught you the fine art of whittling and woodcraft, helping your hands shape beautiful things out of wood until your art was the envy of many a traveler.

For your elderly parents, your father who had complained about his sore back just this morning and your mother who had sprained her foot chasing the goose out of the house and slipping on a rag. For your friends and their families, who had always welcomed you to warm dinners and laughter around the fireplace.

For the home you loved.

"I’ll go speak with the dragon," you said just as the mayor, a rotund, quick-witted woman who had led the village through many troubling times, was about to speak up.

"We have nothing to offer," the miller cut in, bouncing his toddler on his hip, the little boy looking about ready to bawl at how tense and scared and angry everyone was. "And if you anger him, all of us will be dead before the bandits even arrive."

You knew your neighbor wasn’t wrong, that no one had been able to make a deal with the dragon ever since it had settled down on the mountain. People had tried, but had come back terrified and cowed. So far, as long as no one hunted in the dragon’s territory, he hadn’t shown up to eat your neighbor’s livestock either.

But the dragon was the only creature you could think of to ask for aid. The only one who had shown a clear 'do not bother me and I will not bother you' mentality, whereas the other creatures in the forest had been nothing but tricky and nasty and darkly hungry.

The village had no riches to offer the dragon and it hadn’t been interested in being offered any sacrifices in the past either, neither animal nor human. The dragon wanted nothing the village had, but maybe…maybe you could promise to get the dragon something else.

You’d abandon your life, leave your parents and friends and neighbors and teachers behind to go on long, arduous journeys, if only it meant they all got to live.

So when everyone hurried to pack, calling out to children still playing in the field, whistling for the shepherd who had watched from a distance without leaving her herd, you slipped away.

It was easy enough to grab the plough horse of your parents, a patient mare named Rika who had let you learn riding on her broad, strong back. Nothing had scared her for as long as she had been on the farm and she was always friendly and steadfast, never so much as stumbling over stones or roots.

She was the keeper of many of your secrets and had allowed you to cry into her mane after you had gotten your heart broken last year. She sensed your urgency now and watched closely as you got the saddle and bridle, feeding her a quick treat before you tacked her up.

"Son." Your father’s voice made you flinch in surprise and turn sharply on your heels. He stood in the entrance of the stable, frowning in grim worry. "Please, tell me you won’t do something foolish."

"Of course not," you answered. You had never lied much to your parents, they were always so loving and supportive of you that it simply wasn’t necessary, but in return, they never expected you to lie the few times you did. "I was just getting her ready so we can leave. Mama can’t walk after all."

Your father’s face eased in relief and now he just looked tired and scared. "Thank you, my boy. Go and put her in front of the cart, this way we can take a few more things with us. Maybe a neighbor or two too."

Though even as he said it, his gaze slid away guiltily. There would be few things your parents would be able to take along if they didn’t want to weight their mare down too much. Slow her down too much.

She’d get tired faster and even if she was strong and enduring, none of you knew how long you’d have to run, how far you had to flee, before you were safe again.

Your grip tightened on her reins and you nodded and your father turned around to hurry into the house. For a moment you considered staying where you were, putting Rika in front of the cart and helping your parents escape. If you did end up angering the dragon there was no hope for anyone, this way at least most people of the village would hopefully get to live.

But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that just because other people were stronger, had the training and had the willingness to hurt and kill carved into their hearts, that you and your loved ones had to suffer. No, you wanted to help. You wanted everyone to keep the lives they had.

So you got on Rika’s back, took a deep breath and urged her out of the stable into the farm courtyard. She was smart and obedient and your urgency made her move faster than she usually did. You heard your father shout, but by then you were already galloping down the road and towards the forest.

More people shouted behind you, calling you back, asking where you went, if everything was alright. You didn’t stop for any of them and before you knew it, the shadow of the forest fell over you and you urged your horse to go faster. You had to hurry to reach the dragon, the sooner he might be willing to help, the better.

You were covered in sweat, as was Rika, when at last a rocky animal-trail came into view, leading up the mountains towards a cavern high up. The dragon’s home. It was probably terribly rude to just climb up and brazenly enter his den, but you had no idea if the dragon could hear you if you shouted from down here.

So you urged Rika onward and she climbed as swift and steady as she pulled the plough, her strong body hauling you along as though you might be a mere sack of grain and you held on, making sure to do your best to aid her and watch out for any trouble along the way.

She must’ve smelled the dragon as you neared the cave, for she grew restless and hesitant for the first time. You pressed a hand to her neck, steadying and calming her and she snorted before moving on. Trusting you to guide her, trusting your judgement to keep her safe. You hoped that trust wasn’t misplaced.

At long last you reached the entrance and slid out of the saddle, your legs nearly buckling. You hadn’t ridden that long or that hard in months and you were getting tired, but determination and worry and fear ensured you’d keep going for a while longer.

"Wait here," you whispered, throwing her reins over a rock as she caught her breath from the climb. You touched her nose and her ears perked, focusing on you. "Thank you, so much."

With those words you hurried into the cave, the air immediately growing cool as you left the sunlight and you could see marks of the dragon’s presence everywhere. For one, the walls had gotten worn down to look smooth and pretty lines and swirls and strange marks had been carved along the ceiling. The floor was the only rougher part of the cave, shallow claw marks left in the stone.

At the end of the hallway you could see the glow of light, too steady to be fire, but it couldn’t be sunlight either, not with how deep into the rock the dragon’s home was built.

"Who dares," deep, threatening voice rumbled along the hallway, making all your hair stand on end. "Steps too heavy to belong to a thief, too light for a knight and I can hear your breathing as though you were running, little intruder. Leave, this is your last warning."

"Please," your voice came out stronger than you had thought and you drew to your full height, heart pounding in your chest, hard enough to make you feel its beat in your very bones. "All I ask is that you hear me out."

A long beat of heavy silence, then an equally heavy exhale followed, almost a sigh. "Very well. Make it quick, I don’t have all afternoon."

You had no idea what dragons were up to in their free time, but you weren’t going to risk being rude and ask. You hurried forward and before you knew it you entered the dragon’s home properly. It was, in a way, breathtakingly beautiful.

Large, golden stones glowed along the ceiling and walls, looking as though someone had unearthed them with great care and then polished them to shiny perfection. They were set perfectly into place to illuminate everything, the massive, smoothed down cavern walls and domed ceiling decorated with more carvings, these inlaid with gems and shiny gold and silver.

And most of all, they illuminated the dragon himself. Imposing and impressive and frightening as he was, you still couldn’t help but think that he was beautiful. In the same way a silver-steeled dagger with a jeweled hilt was beautiful, the way a storm was mesmerizing in its wild power.

He was breathtaking in a way you had last felt balancing along the edge of the tallest roof while tipsy, your friends egging you on until you had made a handstand right at the edge, feeling the pull of gravity. That almost-sense of nearly falling but keeping yourself balanced at the last second.

Eyes the color of molten gold were fixed on you and the dragon’s green scales shimmered like layered emerald and jade, veins of gold running through them and reminding you of the way sunlight fell through the canopy and danced along the mossy forest floor.

Gentle heat was emanating from the dragon, turning an otherwise cold cavern into something softly, comfortably warm.

"You are very brave, little one," he rumbled and with a start you remembered why you had come here and what for. The dragon shifted to peer down at you, lips lightly pulled back to reveal sharp teeth, while the tips of his claws lightly scratched across the ground, marking the floor so easily the stone might as well have been made of mud. His tail was lashing behind him in impatience and growing irritation.

"I’m willing to offer anything you want in exchange for your help," you hurried to say, almost stumbling over the words. "Bandits will attack and…and we can’t fight back."

The dragon’s face was unexpectedly expressive, you had to admit, when he exhaled in a near-scoff and leaned back as though the conversation was already over in his mind. "You have nothing of interest you could offer me. Leave."

As he turned, clearly dismissing you, you saw what had been shielded with the bulk of his body. His hoard, but where you had heard stories of massive riches, of enough gold to buy two kingdoms and immortality too if you felt like it, at first all you saw was wood inlaid with polished bits of stone. But, no, that wasn’t just wood, those were board games. Countless ones, ones you were familiar with and many you were not.

They were very carefully placed and clearly not for the dragon to sleep on top of, or everything would have turned to splinters after a single attempt. They weren’t in a pile either, but sorted in a way that actually allowed easy access to each and every one. As though the dragon used them, but as far as you knew, he rarely, if ever, had visitors. To your knowledge, other dragons visited only once every other year and the other monsters in the forest would be more inclined to steal things than sit down a round or two of gameplay.

"I could be your board game partner." The words slipped out without much mind, a last-ditch effort that you were surprised to find you actually meant.

You had a couple of board games at home yourself, but people rarely sat down to play with you, if ever. Your friends lacked the patience or the enthusiasm and preferred to visit the tavern and your parents were usually too busy and tired.

You couldn’t count the amount of times you wished you had had someone to play with, a quiet longing you kept tucked into a lonely corner of your heart. A passion you couldn’t share with anyone but couldn’t give up on either.

The dragon’s head snapped around and his eyes narrowed dangerously and he snarled, "You can take your pity -"

"No one plays with me either," you said, immediately cringing inward when you realized that you had interrupted him. You might not make it down the mountain alive after all. But when the dragon just stared, you found yourself continuing, "My friends don’t have the patience and my parents are too busy most days and, well, playing by myself just…makes me sad."

Your voice had grown soft on the last few words. Sad and lonely. Some days you didn’t even want to look at your games, knowing you’d only get excited about them for no reason. And the following disappointment when everyone told you 'not today, maybe later' when you asked if they wanted to play with you would hit all the harder.

There must’ve been something on your face or in your voice, for the dragon’s tension slowly eased away as he watched you, eyes still narrowed but gaze more contemplative.

"One evening every week," he said and hope crashed into your chest like a thunderstorm, electrifying your veins and stealing your breath away, sweeping you along with a heavy, thrumming relief.

"Make that two," you said, a smile appearing on your face and the dragon threw his head back, laughing in startled surprise. It made the ground rumble and you couldn’t help but feel your smile morph into a grin.

"Deal," he said, easing down a bit to better look at you. He offered a grin of his own, all dagger-sharp teeth and nature-wild danger and the back of his throat faintly glowed with fire. "Where are your bandits?"

You told him and he rumbled, ushering you out of his home and telling you to go back to your village. And if, on the way back, you had to wipe a few tears of relief and gratitude away, there was no one but your patient, steady horse to see it. And she surely wouldn’t tell on you, she’d been keeping all your secrets safe for years after all.

Just as you left the forest to see the entire village in a flurry of panicked packing and tearful arguing, you heard a roar thunder across the sky. Everyone’s heads snapped up, yours included and you saw the dragon rise from his mountain, turning a slow half circle before he seemed to spot something, taking off into the distance.

Your breath shivered out of you in relief and you sagged onto Rika’s neck, briefly pressing your face into her warm mane that smelled like horse and hay.

Your parents were already waiting for you, packed bags and satchels at their feet and they grabbed you as soon as you got out of the saddle, pulling you into tight hugs.

"My brave, impossible boy," your mother whispered, tears in her eyes. "Did the dragon…" At your nod she briefly closed her eyes, relief and worry warring on her face. "What did you offer him?"

"I’ll visit twice a week," you said, gripping their arms reassuringly when worried frowns made their brows furrow. "It’s nothing bad, I promise. It seems I had something to offer after all."

You weren’t going to tell them what, not when it felt like the dragon’s loneliness was a sore spot to him. Not when it touched upon a sore spot of your own, that little corner of lonely sadness when you had no one to truly share your passions with.

Within two hours the dragon returned, roaring once and by evening another rider appeared, sweaty and exhausted but grinning fiercely.

"The bandits are defeated!" they shouted as they rode through the village, only slowing down long enough to deliver the message before moving on to the next place. "The warband is no more!"

The entire village celebrated like never before and you slept like a baby that night.

*.*.*

The first time you showed up at the dragon’s cave, things were a bit stilted and after a game had been chosen, you had almost let the dragon win. Until you remembered how much it sucked to not be taken seriously, to feel like playing games was a chore for the other person. To not be challenged when it was so much fun to not have to hold back.

The dragon was certainly challenge enough for you and with every meeting you noticed him relax more and more. Soon he was talking freely, letting you choose what games you’d like to try and teaching you the ones you had never seen before.

There was no need to bite back your excitement about the games around him, your enthusiasm and your love. If anything, he matched you beat for beat, the two of you getting lost in the shared joy for hours. It grew to the point where Rika had to neighing loudly because she was hungry and wanted to get home to remind you that it was getting late.

"I’ll come by again tomorrow," you said and the dragon blinked in surprise.

"You have already been here twice this week," he reminded you and you couldn’t help but snort.

"As long as I don’t bother you, I’m coming over. I’m having too much fun." Your grin was toothy, your entire being downright lit-up with how much you had enjoyed yourself.

The dragon blinked, head tipping to watch you, then he smiled. "Be welcome, then, whenever you wish."

"You’re going to regret that," you warned him, still grinning and he laughed, a rumbling sound from deep within his chest.

"Oh, I doubt it," he answered and the gold in his eyes seemed to glow brighter. "I highly doubt it."

So you came back the next day and before you knew it, you spent most of your free time with the dragon, your parents sending you off with fond smiles and your friends reminding you to still meet them on the weekend for your usual get-together.

Rika was long since used to the trek up the mountain and she walked swifter and faster with every time, carrying you without complaint.

As summer turned to autumn you realized you had made the most wonderful friend by approaching the dragon. What had started out as a mutually beneficial deal had grown to be so, so much more. You were happy every time you saw him and the dragon understood you on a level that no one else did.

For as kind as the people in the village were, for as much as your parents loved you and your friends wanted you around, greeting you with grins and waving you over whenever they saw you, the dragon just…got you.

All the parts of you that had fit kind of awkwardly before, all the little things about you that people had accepted but hadn’t known what to do with, all your secret little hopes and yearnings, everything seemed to have a place here. With him.

You realized you weren’t the only one who felt that way when you arrived at the cavern to see that a makeshift stall for Rika had been built outside, to keep her safe and dry. There was even quite the amount of grass piled up for her to munch on.

And when you stepped inside you saw piles of pillows and blankets on the ground, decadent enough that they should have belonged to an emperor. There was a keg of water as well, a couple of bottles of wine and mead and a new shelf, holding dried meats and cheese wheels and herbs and bread and beside it stood sacks with vegetables and fruits.

"From my sister," the dragon said, rumbling at you in welcome. "She’s happy I found someone like you and when she visited last night she insisted on making you more comfortable."

If his sister had shown up after sundown it explained why no one in the village had noticed another dragon’s presence. She must have left while it had been dark as well and it made you wonder if the dragon had more visitors than expected if most of them visited at night.

"Thank you, that’s very sweet," you said and the dragon grinned, head perking in a pleased manner. "And thank you for caring for my horse as well."

"Of course," the dragon said like it was common sense. "I care about the things you care about."

He told you stories that day while you played. About growing up among his egg siblings and playful parents who had taught them all to defend what was theirs no matter what. Fierce and unapologetic.

He told you about his travels until he had found the perfect spot to settle down in, how his parents had been the ones to gift him his first game when he had shown little interest in the other riches they presented him with.

"It’s customary to help the hatchlings start their own hoard," he explained when you asked, curious about customs among dragons. "How to collect and care for it and develop a fine eye for what is worth keeping."

The way he looked at you when he said that made a giddy warmth rise within your chest. You smiled back at him and found yourself telling stories of your own. Before you knew it, you told the dragon everything, even the things you had only ever told Rika in the past.

He never judged you for anything and laughed at your jokes and always asked how you were doing, what your day had been like. He was so very genuinely interested in you and your life and the things you loved.

And as autumn became winter and the trek up the mountain took longer, he coiled around you to warm you back up every time. You leaned against his scales, swaddled in thick blankets and sitting atop your soft pillows and as you soaked up his heat, you realized that you had fallen in love.

You played together, forgetting the time and when you heard Rika grow restless, thick snowfall had begun to cover the mountain. It was too dangerous to ride back in that weather and it was getting dark too quickly.

"Stay the night," the dragon offered and showed you a spot where you could put Rika, so she’d be dry and warm and comfortable. You handed her an arm full of apples and some of the oats kept in a sack and she nudged your arm before eating.

The dragon seemed excited to have you over, nudging at the pillows and blankets over and over until he seemed satisfied and curled up around them. You had to laugh and sat down with him after grabbing yourself dinner and something to drink.

You talked for hours, until your eyes started to grow heavy and you couldn’t stop yawning.

"Sleep well," the dragon rumbled quietly, curling more around you until you were surrounded by heat and comfort. "I will guard your rest and your dreams."

He was so very, very sweet.

The next morning, while the dragon left to hunt, you put away the board game from last night and that was when you noticed something that had been carefully put away. A broken game. The top of the wooden casing was splintered and a number of the figurines and pieces used for playing were cracked apart inside.

It was such a beautiful game too, the wood painted carefully and the playing board was even inlaid with shining metals and polished marble and some of the game elements were carved out of horn and bone. You would have paid a fortune had you tried to buy that from a trader.

You heard the dragon return and straightened with the broken game in your hands just as he entered, carrying the satisfied air of a successful hunt.

"What happened to this one?" you asked and for the first time, you saw true sadness on his face.

"It was one of my first gifts," he said quietly. "From my grandparents, shortly before they were slain by knights. I was…rather upset. I accidentally destroyed it and I’ve been unable to let go of it."

"It’s beautiful," you said and he hummed, a low, subdued rumble.

"Despite being broken it’s one of my most precious pieces," he added, gently nudging your shoulder. "Come on, put it back and get yourself something to eat, the weather has cleared enough for you to head home."

You set the game down with utmost care and the somber mood was soon replaced with chatter as the dragon asked you about your plans for the day. As you got read to leave, he briefly pressed his forehead to yours.

"Safe travels," he said quietly. "I will await your return."

You reached out to hug him and left with Rika soon after, arriving just in time to get ready for work. But even as the days passed you couldn’t bring yourself to forget about the broken game so loved your dragon couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. You ended up spending the night more often, especially when the weather grew bad or it was too late and you didn’t want to ride home in the dark.

Your parents just laughed and told you to introduce the dragon to them one day if he was growing to be so important to you. Considering the knowing looks they sent you, they had absolutely caught on to your feelings. You waved them off, though you couldn’t help but smile a little, feeling quietly happy and pleased.

And then the winter solstice came around and with it a festival to celebrate the end of long, dark nights. The point where winter would turn towards spring and even if it would snow for some time yet, you knew the weather would grow warm again before long.

It was your woodworking teachers who gave you the idea for a gift for the dragon and you hid your sketchbook in your coat when you visited and stayed the night. You waited until the dragon had fallen asleep before very carefully climbing out of the nest of pillows and blankets and over his tail, tiptoeing over to his hoard.

You sketched and measured everything, handling the broken game with utmost care and once you were done, you hid the sketchbook in your coat again and cuddled up to your dragon, who rumbled in satisfaction in his sleep. So very sweet indeed.

It thankfully wasn’t too hard to get all the necessary materials and while old Miriam and Jamil didn’t lend a hand they gave you a few pointers and tips and you spent hours bent over wood and bone, bugging the blacksmith for his help with metalwork.

And then, on the night of the festival, you celebrated with your friends and family and just after the large fires had been lit, you snuck away, a wrapped parcel in your coat pockets. You had timed things well, arriving just as your dragon had left to hunt.

You pulled out the parcel and the broken game and carefully removed the broken top, replacing it with the one you had made. Afterwards you carefully took out the broken pieces and inserted the new ones you had made. In the end the game looked hale and whole and only if you looked hard enough could you see a difference between old and new parts.

You didn’t throw the old things away, that wasn’t your place. Instead, you left them on a silk cloth and set up the game in your usual playing spot, waiting for the dragon to return.

It didn’t take long and he called out your name in surprised delight before he even entered his cave, his golden eyes bright.

"I did not expect you today," he said with a warm rumble, only to still, those sharp eyes falling to the game set up in front of you. He was so silent you were unsure if he was even breathing at all.

"I, uh, hope I didn’t overstep?" you asked, suddenly feeling a bit unsure. "I just…I can put it back to how it was, don’t worry."

"You did this?" the dragon asked, his voice the quietest you had ever heard it as he slowly stepped forward, green and gold scales shining like a living forest in the glow of his golden stones. "For me?"

You nodded, picking up one of the pieces you had made, holding it out to him. "I know how much this game means to you and I wanted to make you happy."

The dragon eyed the piece in your hand, looking reluctant to reach out and touch it himself. He did at last, carefully turning it over between his claws.

"It looks just like I remember," he said, voice quiet and there was a near purring rumble underlining the words. "It’s beautiful. Who made all this?"

"I did," you answered and his eyes snapped to you, suddenly sharper and brighter and fiercer than ever before. You couldn’t help but smile. "I did tell you I’m a woodworker."

The dragon set the piece down ever so carefully, then leaned close to press his forehead to yours, your arms rising to hug his head as much as possible.

"Please allow me to court you," he said quietly, smelling like the winter winds outside, his heat warming your entire chest as his words made your breath catch. "I’ve been trying hard to hold back how I feel, but after this -"

"Yes," you blurted out, grinning and then laughing, closing your eyes and nuzzling your face against his scales. "Absolutely, yes."

The dragon rumbled, a noise that would have sounded fierce and intimidating hadn’t you known him so well. It was a sound of deep, bottomless joy and he pressed closer, his tail swinging around, the end coiling around your waist.

"Then I will," he said quietly. "I vow to bring you happiness and fulfill as many of your wishes as I possibly can."

You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt and your heart had grown wings of gold and light in your chest, soaring high and strong. "Keep playing games with me," you said quietly. "And hold my heart with care, that’s all I want."

"For all my days," your dragon vowed. "Will you accept mine in return?"

"For all my days," you answered, hugging him fiercer. "For as long as this life lasts."

You had every intention to share as many joys with this dragon, your dragon, as you could. To hold him and be held in return, to love freely and fearlessly and know you and your heart and soul would be held safe and secure. That there was someone who saw you as you were and wanted you exactly like that.

And deep down you knew, this life would be a very long and very happy life indeed.

*.*.*

Yo, want more of my stuff? Want to support my silliness? My nonsense? Please consider checking out my patreon! A new short story gets uploaded every month and every bit helps pay the bills and frees up more time for writing stories for you all =)

#my writing #short story #dragon #dragon x male reader #fantasy #aye you know me this is another long one folks #I very much hope you'll enjoy it!#I very much enjoyed writing it #dragons are always a plus #if I could I would put dragons into every single damn story

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chaewberry · 1 month ago

Text

the art of touching.

diluc x reader. wc; 6k. tags; friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, blood and injury, reconciliation, when your love language is being annoying asf. epilogue; part 1. read on ao3.

Shuffled to one corner, shoulder to shoulder with other young ladies of high society, a teacup balancing on your head, and young impressionable minds being dilated with piths of old literature, the core values and ideals of what governed over man and woman — this is what an etiquette class consisted of.

Art was next; the studying of paintings on textbooks as they’ve been sketched and photographed over the years, their history, the way the marble is cut and shaped, the way the bronze hero was melted to make weapons and coins in times of hardship, the way the stony goddess of love shied away not from the viewer nor from her nudity. Gods old and new, dead or alive. Decarabian and his circular castle, his tomb, the would be tyrannical winds that bend to the whims of no one but the few ticklish chords of a harp. The statue of a lover holding onto masterfully crafted fingers, fingers made to match, yet laying underneath the earth for years on end without his beloved, an old poem, indecipherable still, crafted at the heel of the mourning stone, tears of mud in silent agony. The masked fools of unknown origin, the star shaped sword found deep within a dreary chasm, sharp as celestial rage throughout the aeons.

The old madam teaching art was very old indeed. Her glasses laid dormant on the small stool table next to her, thick white hair braided like a crown atop her wrinkled head. She was recounting the story of the lone girl in the clouds again, word for word, not a syllable set adrift by the roughness of her scratchy voice, uttering each sentence like a musical concord. It was an old story, spun through the years, centuries, this way and that way, fitting whichever era’s moral standard of the time in order to teach impressionable young ladies the do’s and don’ts of society and lull children into sleep – the girls toyed with by mere men even as they sat at the hand of a god, wind shifting their fates at the drop of a ball; a lesson about sacrilege, perhaps, though about what? The fair women, or the carved palms which held them up for all the world to see? If this particular god was real, then the ball would surely float or drop out of bounds. Or, the maiden would go through a metamorphosis and take off into the sky. Maybe the lesson behind the story was to learn from the past and try to be better than the forefathers.

If so, it was proving to be a hard learned lesson.

The old lady at the front of the room cleared her throat, gulped the lukewarm tea from her cup, and entered the last few paragraphs of the story.

She wasn’t from any “elite” family in Mondstadt, but she had taught nearly five generations of young ladies now. Having hailed from Snezhnaya, the old croak was bitterly cold, steely eyes cutting even now as one dropped and the other was half closed, neck adorned by old family jewels and fingers heavy with rings gifted out of gratitude – her stern, stiff demeanour when it came to “breaking” the girls – as well as the young boys, occasionally – was looked upon with much reverence indeed, and though now that crown had lost its lustre, the way she still moved about in her old age inspired both awe and fear. With her cane, she hit any giggling girl and knocked a teacup over the head if she thought the gaggling ladies weren’t walking with the right sway. One word from her and anyone one of you in this room could be confined to a house for a month.

You tried to stifle a yawn for the third time in the span of ten minutes, leaning to the side, behind a girl’s back, to hide it. The old bat was more than half blind, but her ears were as sharp as ever.

Her head swivelled towards where you sat. You feared, for a moment, that the weight of her braided crown would snap her neck.

Such fears were always unfounded, however, for wicked old dogs always die last.

It was Friday. You were tired, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep the rest of the day away or attempt, at first, to take interest in one of the boring books your lady mother had set out for you; even more pamphlets about all the esteeming accomplishments a woman were to have to deserve to be regarded as such — music, dancing, drawing, the occasional child rearing lecture, the knowledge of languages. Surely, she didn’t want you to spend the rest of the rest of your precious weekend in a similar fashion? It was truly impossible, unfathomable even. You could already feel your body, your nerves, thrushing this way and that way to move; the corner of your lips, your eyebrow, a finger or all of them, a change in position, a look in another direction. You longed for this dreary business to end, you yearned for something to wake your sly interests. Anyone and anything would do, as long as this wretched, meaningless class ended this moment and the party proceeded with the usual “walkabout” around town. This activity, one where you’d be forced to walk around with another girl or two for company, dressed in fine silks and linen fabrics, made to socialise with people you wanted nothing to do with, would be an activity most detested by you. This day however, the promise of stretching out your legs seemed like an everlasting winter.

Of course, there were other options besides a promenade, and as long as you could slip away from present company you would be able to fill up your daily quota of bad deeds easily enough. It’d be unfortunate if the day passed without you committing a small sin or another, a miniscule disgraceful act to satisfy you.

The heavens seemed to have smiled upon you then — the old croak cleared her throat, again, and tapped the gilded end of her blackwood pipe at the edge of the round table where a couple of books and her tea, which by now must’ve grown cold, sat. “That is all for today, young ladies,” she dismissed promptly, taking the time to filter through the faces amongst her crowd. As the ice of her gaze drew near you you made sure to straighten up your posture, keep your face as tightly still as possible, imagining your skin stretching over too much bone, hands folded neatly on top of your lap. If you could will your eyes to shine as brightly as the stars in the sky you would. Alas, whatever dullness she found in them either did not raise her particular concern (the seven forbid if your mother and father received from her another letter depicting the crime of the mediocrity of your interest in her and her words) or perhaps you did willfully enlightened your eyes through the mere thought.

In any case, you wasted no time after that in jumping up from your seat, grabbing the book you’ve been handed, a theological monstrosity wrapped around a predictable love story written before your grandmother was even born.

You could never understand the thought what lurking danger could be behind a kiss on the cheek by a ‘fair maiden’, and yet this book certainly vexed you enough by the mortification such an innocent touch brought to the literary masses dubbed with ink in those pages as to think that yes, perhaps a simple kiss was a cursed thing to give to a lover if it were going to enrage the masses, so much so, in fact, that they’d resort to stoning you or burn you alive as a witch, or accuse you of such ridiculous crimes that brought you the urgent want to use the pages of the book as a fire starter. The meaning behind the story, you thought, was so painstakingly clear that the old hag herself would have grown bored of it by now. Perhaps, if she lived for another half a decade, she could request a more salacious book, one where a woman and a man held hands even, and shared a kiss under a cherry tree, or in between the bushes, or wherever else a lover’s kiss could be freely given to the beloved.

“Miss Wolfram,” a most inconvenient companion called out to you, going as far as to even link arms with you. “Walk with us?”

Drat.

You smiled. “Of course. Where to?” you asked, trying to show the proper enthusiasm as you curled your elbow around hers.

She giggled, her other friend following suit at her other elbow. “By the training grounds - there is more eventful game to be found there, no?”

“How shameless, Anna.”

There was no bite behind your words, of course, and she knew it — hence the reason she continued to smirk, even as her shy friend at the other side started growing red with realisation. “Perhaps,” Anna hummed, blonde curls shining beautifully under the sun. “But I would like to think that the satisfaction of ocular senses is much more elegant than those of the more depraved ones. A sweet tongue like yours, Wolf, would be much better suited to remain sharp rather than bland.”

Ah.

“If so, then I pity old lady Klavdiya. You clearly don’t know the dangers a passing look could hide. Just read the book, it should tell you all about it.”

“Mm, if we were still in the old ages then perhaps I would’ve been more shy. As it is now I am more than certain that passing looks can be fruitful for one’s constitution, isn’t that right, Maria?”

The shy brunette nodded, growing even more red. You couldn’t resist poking fun at her. “I see. They say it’s always the quiet ones.”

Anna laughed. “Something like that, I suppose.”

By now you had arrived at the fountain. There was a kid in it, trying to give a bath to a fluffy, plumpy looking house cat who had its claws hooked to the kid’s sleeves and meowing like all frightened house cats did. Its bushy tail was curled between its hind legs, and no matter how many promises of tasty and sweet scented fish the kid gave, the feline persisted against the ill advised idea. Anna went on then, as you three walked towards the stairs leading up to the Knights headquarters, how amusing it was to keep pets at one’s house, commenting on how to tend to them, their fur, their fussy attitudes when it was time yet again to cut their nails. Maria agreed heartedly with her friend and appeared to gather some confidence in her shoulders as she marched on.

You stayed silent for the most part, simply humming along in agreement - what did you know of pets, anyway - all the while thinking of all the dangers walking by a dozen or so young boys and men, all of whom were, surely under this scorching sun, in some state of undress, and the fits of blood breaking in the face if that outcome shall come to pass. Perhaps Anna had some vested interest in the flowers wilting under the sun, though in your humble opinion, none of those flowers would ever grace your window, none of them, even in their throes of blossoming beauty, could ever tempt you to dirty the hems of your skirts, to bow down and pick one up, indulge in their colours and smells.

On your way up you met the old man Alchemist. He was holding on to his cane and trying, with his arthritis riddled bones and nerves, to gather a soil sample for some reason or another. Anna stopped, while still gripping your elbow around hers she suggested Maria help the poor man with his work. “Once you’re finished, we can meet up in the plaza?” she asked in a way that was too soft, too mellow. If honey could rot, resting upon that tongue would be one way to do it.

Despite the scowls but still polite spoken refusals from the old Alchemist - he was old and thus equipped with little patience about the vices of a rich girl such as Anna Lionheart - Maria, partly due to mortification at the clear dismissal from her more influential friend, and also probably due to her good nature (and this you firmly believed, for never had you seen her committing a grave sin which would befoul her honour and title as a lady, always cradling the broken boned bird in her soft, petite hands, and because people have always confused kind, nice gestures with stupidity), made quick work of soiling the fabric around her knees by kneeling down on the dirt since the old Alchemist couldn’t. Admittingly, his old and wrinkled complexion took a hit, for he seemed now more appalled at the notion of not only receiving help with his soon-to-be-over-indefinitely work, but to also receive said help from a girl who would gladly “debase” herself enough to dirty herself.

Whereas Anna Lionheart’s family was in the same circle as yours was, merchants which had the means to sell products to half of Teyvat and more, Maria’s family was a family of only old money and not much power. They owned part of a field the town used for agriculture, getting some pretty coin every harvest, but no more than that. Your family and Anna’s the Leonhearts and the Wolframs, had the means to apply pressure where pressure needed to be applied if given reason, had the power (which consisted of mostly gall and putting up airs, you were of the belief) to block this vote on such matter or another, to push for that vote in this discussion or another and even introduce one.

Of course, the Knights of Favonius were no fools.

Varka was an especially devious one; a remark which your father had groaned and whined about for no more than at least two dozen times the past year for some reason. Whatever governing power he held out in front of the faces of the elite class, he did so with his various degrees of amusement and mischief, and only allowed them to smell the intricacies of said power before he pocketed it away. When it came to social power — well, the public wasn’t especially gracious in their behaviour towards any of them, sneering or side eyeing them with no small degree of scrutiny. This abuse (and you used this word lightly) was a smudge in an otherwise unbroken, white paged book which the Ragnvindrs didn’t have to suffer; always the darlings of this free city since ancient times, with beautiful daughters and equally handsome sons, all the exemplary manners and everyday etiquette, painstakingly unblemished morals, and the annoying habit of being genuine believers of the god Barbatos.

Now, if only your brother managed to win the favour of Varka as well as that one of the good and young Captain then perhaps your family too will be able to taste the saccharine treat of being a societal ‘darling’ in this city.

(he was doomed to fail, of course — your belief in the existence of Barbatos was begrudgingly one towards acceptance, if only to prove that the family’s sins of the past had cost you now, in the present time, your future. As it were, the impression of a family curse being laid upon the bones of your forefathers and now upon yours as well had not made its existence known, even of your father’s eyes were always lurking here and there for a speck of it, and your mother’s Sumerian blood chuckled at the ridiculous notion of it.)

Why, one of those priceless sweethearts was but a few mere steps away, instructing his knights to run this way or the other, to drop down and give him their laboured breaths, their sweats and tears.

“Oh my,” Anna hummed, flicking her fan open and hiding her smiling nose and nose behind it, “aren’t we in luck? Look, Wolf, starlings, so many starlings.” She admired and mocked in the same breath, a prominent characteristic from which she derived love and, thus, hate. “Don’t you want to bite some?”

Ah, the shortening of your surname to its basic animalistic meaning seemed to amuse her as well, for some obscure reason or another, but of course, this was a test, you surmised with surety, for the lion and the wolf were both dangerous, and if the brave one wanted to tease, the cunning one need only play along and wait.

“I am afraid I’d starve,” you went along with her metaphor, because of course you’d be forced to be reduced to such driveling cliches. You'd roll your head straight out of your skull if it weren't considered rude.

She hummed. “You’re right. Your teeth are much too sharp for those little bones, but you must indulge me just this once. Today was dreadfully dull.”

By now, the presence of two ladies standing next to the training grounds garnered some attention from the knights. A few of the other ones, presumably recognizing when they were being sized up for a particular kind of slaughter, suddenly seemed as spry as spring. Someone blushed, someone coughed scandalously while scrambling to wear one of the piled up, discarded shirts (clearly, someone needed to hold a seminar about proper hygiene), while others started picking up speed, making a show of flexing whatever attributes they thought were their best possessions. It was no secret that a lot of young ladies seemed to have a particular interest in frequently adding the Ordo Favonious headquarters in their daily walks, especially at times such as these, when October sun was beginning to dip underneath the earth sooner and sooner.

It would be unfair, however, to include the ladies and not the gentlemen which too came to ogle, either at their closest male companions and friends - the seven knew if undressing your closest friend was considered pure platonic comradery or a sign if true friendship - or to enchant the female knights with their usual smiles or annoy them with their scepticism. Case in point; a raven haired knight wedged her axe over her head and brought it down on the wooden dummy with adequate ferocity, all the while glaring at your direction. You ignored the poor display of intimidation, but was greatly surprised when Anna winked at the woman, who then proceeded to miss her next swing and end up almost embedding the axe into her own foot as she sputtered and blushed.

You smiled, said nothing for a moment.

The captain himself was now throwing you a calculating look as he gave instruction on the next set of exercises.

“Fine,” you conceded. “Should I go first?”

“Before you do, you must tell me what your appetite consists of.”

“Oh dear,” you fanned your face, full of faux modesty, “you can’t possibly expect me to admit to that.”

“I surely can - I must know if we are eyeing the same man.”

“Well, I am certainly eyeing a man.”

The grip she had on your elbow loosened. Turning her head to you now, she said, “go on, then.”

Out of all the knights here you were sure that more than half of them had warm, strong hands, charming air that could make you think twice as hard about the words you spoke, the way you acted, and maybe even all of them had been blessed with the good looks of mediocrity and beyond that. More than half of them had sense and the taste for responsibility a woman - or a man too - would look for, especially if one shared the same lazy characteristic as you. Why do anything when you had a strong presence next to you, kindled by the flames of duty and sensibility, kindness (even if that kindness was shown in a way that passed as roughness) and delicate sensibilities for you to grab on and twist?

Many of these knights held such esteemed characteristic traits, indeed, but you only had the need for the one.

You dislodged yourself from the lion and walked forward, ignoring all the puzzling, vexed looks thrown in your way. Your target was familiar with you, your antics, and some of the things you got up with his other familial relation — which was why you excused the frazzled, yet still polite, gaze he threw at you, arms coming to rest at his side, exactly as he was taught.

A proper gentleman, this city’s darling and your current target upon whom you’d inflict your half hearted villainy.

You stopped in front of him, smiling as brightly as you could, and said, “Captain.”

“Miss Wolfram.”

Despite the fact that the good and honourable Captain was but seventeen years of age his voice sounded out firm and sure, without any of the teenage awkwardness and cracking quality it held only three years prior in his birthday party. Back then you had been just an inch taller than him and took indeed great pleasure in torturing him in that regard, taking his hand and leading him into the middle of the ballroom for the purpose of granting him his first dance that day, all the while berating yourself silently in a vain attempt to stop your face from cracking in two as the boy squawked and sputtered with non of his current grace. Oh, you had twirled him this way and that, dipped him low on the floor and gifted him a glass of orange juice and a kiss to the knuckles that left them red in the end.

Your mother had berated you the next day, your father had stayed ever so blessedly silent and shut himself into his office while your brother had adopted such a wonderful shade of fury you could still remember its taste it left on your satisfied, thrilled younger self — and when Kaeya invited you over to the Ragnvindr manor the next week for a history studying session (a session which you spend playing cards and fooling around the house if you remembered correctly), you had the personal pleasure of seeing the young heir stomp past you with little to zero grace, all pouty lips and affronted brows. You and Kaeya giggled, and his father was thankfully a forgiving man with a sense of humour, much to Diluc’s dismay.

Unfortunately, that would be the first and last time you’d tease him so, for in the next six months or so he sprouted up like a Sumerian fungus and you could no longer drag him at will to here and there.

“I am in need of your assistance,” you said, inching closer to him still, “and there are important matters I wish to discuss with you, seeing as you’re a knight, and so the only one who can help me shade some light into this particularly questionable choice of literature.”

The Captain, holding true and steadfast to his training, didn’t diminish your rather childish whims, evident as they were in the tone of your voice, in the way your eyes squinted as you smiled and blinked, but he did, however, chose to put them aside for the time being. “I am quite busy,” he said with a tone so mellow it rivalled the warmest of spring days — but did not satiate your desire for his attention at the present moment.

From the corner of your eyes you saw the beats that dogged your steps open her frilly umbrella. It was much harder to ascertain if her eyes were trained on you or away from you. Still, that mattered little. You didn’t want to spend the rest of your free day entertaining Anna Lionheart.

It was with one particular goal in mind that you decided to refuse his refusal on attending to your problem -- your intolerance to his intolerance when it came to you did nothing but egg you on, swell your cheeks with giggles and teasing remarks. It was one thing to fluster a much younger Diluc, as fun as it was, but it another matter entirely to cause him to fluster in front of his brave knights.

“I insist.” You looked back towards the sun beaten knights. “I doubt a break will do your hounds any harm.”

He frowned. “Don’t call them that.”

“Mutts, then,” you compromised.

His crown of red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail as it usually were, but some strands had managed to escape their hold, framing the youthful yet stern face of the Captain. His bangs look dishevelled, sticking to the left and to the right, forming a part in the middle. His eyes, of course, seem content in harvesting the sun’s rays into them, which only seemed to serve in making the Captain look even more a twinkle eyed than usual, and though the usual scowl hanged from his face - no doubt brought on by the insult against his knights - his face remained a smooth marbled testament to how truly young Diluc was.

“You betray your origin,” he simply said.

For a moment, you were too stunned by the thinly veiled insult to react, but then you laughed behind your closed fan. “ Ah, no, it’s merely my family name.”

He was too familiar with you to act like a proper gentleman, and yet foreign enough to not speak the harsher words brewing around that mind of his. In return, however, your answer only made him look that much more upset, or perhaps ashamed due to his words, or maybe yours. It wasn’t good etiquette to insult someone so bare-faced, even if the words spoken rang true.You couldn’t resist teasing him then. “I assure you Master Diluc, the view from down below is quite lovely. Never has the sky looked so regal, so perennial.”

“I said your origin, not your family name.”

You remembered, if only for a second, why you hated the man - the boy - standing right in front of you. “You can be so naive sometimes, Diluc. I am my family’s name.”

You were anxious, for a moment, that he was going to reject you again altogether and you’d be forced to stand under the lion’s vindictiveness.

The Captain only stayed silent for a mere minute, sighing before turning to his knights to dismiss them. A weak chorus of happiness rang out into the courtyard and you had to press your lips together to beat back a smile as Diluc’s face spasmed. One by one, the knights emptied out of the courtyard. When you turned around you found Anna nowhere near the vicinity. You’d be annoyed at having been given the slip, especially since she was the one to drag you all the way here in the first place, but you were most eager to leave now. Today Kaeya was working at the tavern. If you were lucky enough, he’d be able to slip you a cool glass of cherry liqueur before you had to head back home. After all, shouldn’t you indulge in the freedom Barbatos himself toiled so hard to earn for his people?

“Okay,” Diluc said, grabbing his winter coat and seething his standard Favonius sword away before passing it off to a knight. “I presume you’ll be wanting to go to the tavern then?” he asked, slipping in his coat, “and what is this about questionable literature?”

He made to take a step forward but stopped when you slapped his bicep with your closed fan. Dumbfounded, he looked down at the offending item in your hand. “What?”

“Is this how you treat a lady such as me? A simple let’s go ?” you huffed. “If I had been informed of your caveman like manners I would’ve abandoned you post haste young master Diluc - or is the gentlemanly air of appearances you go on about with just a game for appearance’s sake?”

A muscle in his cheek jumped -- and you knew which prize you desired most.

“If anyone here is playing a game I’d rather think it would be you.”

Nevertheless, he offered you his arm, like any gentleman would. “You are right, of course, so play along!” You curled your elbow around his. “Whatever little standing I may have in your eyes, whisk it away for today and play this game of pretence with me.”

Wisely - or perhaps more foolishly - Diluc didn’t react much to your jib, only managing to glow a faint red which could be attributed, surely, to the effect your irritating wiles had on him. Having gathered his wits, he turned to you swiftly. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

You opened your fan, hiding the lower part of your face lest he saw the way your lips quirked. “Let us examine that statement for a moment, shall we?”

“Let’s not.”

“Who was it that refused to help me , an unchaperoned lady, when she asked the first time, and had to thus resort to insisting a second time?”

Incredulous now, Diluc opened his mouth to speak — you pressed your fan against his lips to shut him up, ignoring the flare of his vision hanging from his hip between you. “And who was it, once again, that rather rudely stated that I was betraying my origin? What other origin could you possibly mean but me ? You are, now, indicating that not only do you know my person but that I have also significantly lowered my position in your eyes with nothing more than a benign comment,” - as if calling his knights mutts warranted such treatment, ha! - “and now, lastly, you see fit to presume my destination which, for me, an unchaperoned lady of seemingly high status would bring nothing but shame and horror to my family name if I were ever to be found out in those kinds of establishments.”

The young Captain was, once again, foolishly staying quiet, all suffering.

“Where does that particular presumption lead, if not to belittle me and debase me as an everyday street wench who loves sweet wine and has naught opportunities to write red letters?”

Finally, the young Captain’s face crumpled and the corners of his eyes creased with laughter. Taking a hold of her wrist, he lowered the hand that was holding the fan up to his face. Why, he was smiling truly now. “The airs of rich innocence don’t suit you.”

“Perhaps,” you admitted. “ Perhaps. Yet, I have not failed to notice the lack of rebuttals regarding my apt observations.”

He stayed silent, urging you instead to start walking towards the plaza with the little fountain and the myriad of aroma’s coming from the food stalls.

The month of February was in reality no less harsher than that of January, and even as early in the day as it was, the sun was beginning to sink beneath mountains and rivers, painting white clouds with the first droplets of pink — always a sight, those pink clouds, and then after the fiery orange spreading over the celestial sky, breaking out in stark white stars.

In truth, you’ve wasted so much time with Lionheart and her friend, and now with Diluc too, that taking a short trip to the tavern was near impossible if you wanted to make it home before dark. You could only hope that the footman waiting by the family carriage hadn’t been carried off by his wiles yet again, lest you find the fool decorating the bushes outside the Ragnvindr’s Tavern once more with his foul stomach content.

The long, white-grey coat was whipping around your legs, Diluc’s dark one doing the same; dancing in the winds, slapping against each other and against the windas you walked on, the whipping cold numbing your unprotected nose. You had refused to wear a hat, however, even in this weather, for it would ruin the perfect head of hair you had toiled over, and although the air current was certainly doing the same, you preferred whipped like hair instead of the frizzy monstrosity the hat would have introduced.

The heat emanating from Diluc’s vision was nearly leaving steam as it drove away the cold, allowing a mellow warmth, liquid, as it set into your bones. There were days where nothing in the world could warm you after succumbing to a cold, no matter how close to the fireplace you lay, in your own room, entombed with your own will and touch. Your fingers would grow stiff from the cold, leaving you thus unable to write with comfort and fluidity — and you so hated scratchy letters, unmoving and petrified down onto the page, nothing you hated more than the pain on your back as your muscles locked into themselves as you shivered.

Winter was most foul. Beautiful in its own unique way, yet foul nevertheless.

You could offer a complaint to the man - boy - next to you, but sort of lighting himself on fire there was nothing to be done. Besides, the last dying embers of the sun would be able to sustain the sound mobility of your fingers until you arrived home.

And while you were buried under the nonsensical musing of cold and winter, of hot soups and fire whiskeys hidden in your father’s library, Diluc stopped, abruptly, at the top of the staircase leading down to the plaza.

“Do you really believe that?” he asked, staring into your eyes in a way that made you squirm.

“What?”

“Do you really believe I hold naught respect for you?”

You narrowed your gaze. “Who said anything about respect?”

Affronted, he repeated your own words back to you. “I have not failed to notice the lack of rebuttals regarding my apt observations.”

“Ah, that.” You waved him off. “That was me simply teasing you; you know it to be my favourite pastime.

“Good,” he said, resolutely, and so began your descent down the stairs. “As annoying as you are sometimes -” excuse me!? “- you must know I hold you in the highest regard.”

The words flowed so easily out of his mouth it nearly made you stumble and for laughter to burst out of your mouth. The tight knot in the pit of your stomach whipped itself around your lower ribs. “Such words should be given a bit of thought before given so freely - like I said, dear Captain, you are still somewhat naive.”

For a moment he regarded you with absolute earnesty (because the boy had always worn his heart on his sleeve), and you considered tripping him down the stairs.

“Maybe I am,” Diluc said. “But I am not prepared to give up my position in this matter.”

“I see.” you hummed, certain you were delirious. “Very well then. You must promise me, however, that when and if you’re ever proven wrong in that regard that you won’t reproach me; after all, I have clearly stated your faults in your opinions of others, and so I have washed my hands of consequence when it comes to your person.”

He sighed, a glimmer of his childhood self shining through with the pout that followed. “You are needlessly dramatic.”

“I am not,” you rebuked, and then, because the rope around your intestines felt as if it had wrapped its rough, itchy limbs around your fragile ribs, you demanded, “say it again.”

“Say what again.”

“What you just said.”

“Needlessly dramatic?”

“ No. Before that.”

He flushed, and the dark pink colour in his cheeks was beautiful against the harshness of winter. “Why must I say it again?”

“Do you need a reason to pay a compliment to a lady such as myself?”

“A debt I've already paid off.”

“Kaeya would do my bidding,” you changed tactics, knowing full well that the other Ragnvindr brother would absolutely not do such a thing - he’d be more prone to cooking a fish on your lips than doing what he was told.

You felt lightheaded at the prospect of Diluc doing the same.

“He would not !” the redhead almost stomped, looking down on you with mounting vexation. The blood red of his eyes blended with his whipping hair, black eyelashes long enough for the first flakes of snow to clutch onto.

“He would, ” you kept on, stubborn in your lies. “Kaeya is a good boy who knows that all good things must be said thrice.”

That was the reason he lied so much, after all.

Diluc was a portrait of scandalization. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Only if you say please three times in a row.”

#diluc x reader #genshin impact #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc #genshin impact x reader #ao3 #posting fics on tumblr is kinda embarassing for me omg #i hope my 44 followers like this slop

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redladydeath · 8 months ago

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One last thought about the mindbreak AU before bed:

It's a normal day in Vee Tower. Velvette's in her quarters, trying to livestream, when Valentino bursts in, bitching that he can't find Vox and that he's not answering his calls. Velvette pauses the stream to yell at Val for interrupting her work with something so petty— Vox is probably ignoring him on purpose because of shit like this. They go on like that for a bit until suddenly, the tower experiences a brownout. Velvette's laptop starts glitching out— not only is the internet down, but the computer itself seems to be corrupting. This is all highly unusual; the tower never loses power since they're the ones producing most of the damn stuff. And then Alastor's voice starts emanating from every speaker in the building.

He welcomes everyone back to his show, saying that tonight's broadcast will be a very special one– a throwback to his older work. This week's guest is an overlord from the entertainment district and one-time close personal friend of his: Vox, the Media Demon! Vox's voice is heard, cursing at Alastor in response, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Don't touch that dial, Al says, for tonight's show will be very entertaining, indeed.

Valentino and Velvette are frozen for a moment, rooted to the spot in terror. Then, before Velvette can even process what's happening, Val tears off down the hallway to his quarters, scrambling for every gun and angelic weapon he owns. Velvette goes after him, yelling to slow down, that this might be a trap and that there are ways to fake someone's voice. And then the screaming starts. Velvette may not have ever experienced one of Alastor's broadcasts before, but she can tell on an instinctual, animal level that the sounds coming out of the tower's speakers are not AI.

Val tears off to the roof, barely able to contain his demonic form as Velvette runs after him. He almost takes off without her, but grabs her at the last moment when she screams to take her with him. In his full demon form, Val makes a beeline for Alastor's radio tower, with Velvette dangling off of him. She tries to make calls and check social media for more information, but her phone is completely non-functional, along with every other piece of modern technology in Pentagram City. The only things that seem to be working are the speakers, all of which are playing Alastor's broadcast, city-wide.

When they reach Alastor's tower, Val immediately starts tearing through everything he can. But to Velvette's horror, no matter how much of the tower they search, they don't find anyone: Alastor and Vox aren't there. Vox's screams are echoing throughout the city and Val is yelling and crying and smashing things in vain and she's just stuck there, useless, unable to do anything about it.

Eventually, the broadcast comes to an end. Alastor thanks Vox and the audience for a delightful show and signs off. The power and cell service suddenly come back on. Val and Velvette only have a few moments to try and wrap their minds around at the fact that they didn't make it in time before Velvette's phone starts blowing up. She gets a call from her secretary: Alastor just dumped Vox's mangled body in the middle of the lobby before vanishing into thin air. The two of them race back to the tower.

Everyone is astounded to learn that, when they scan his systems, Vox is still alive, although completely non-functional at the moment. VoxTek employees scramble to repair his mutilated body, all while Val screams at them to work faster, to fix him! Velvette is approached by one of her employees; they've looked over the security footage and it turns out that Vox and Alastor were actually in the basement of the tower, in one of Val's studios no less. They don't have footage of the actual event, but they do have the aftermath, with Alastor (in pretty rough shape himself) dragging Vox's body back upstairs. Velvette goes numb at the news. They were in the same building the whole time. All she can manage to get out to the employee is to not, under any circumstances, tell Valentino.

#dfghjhgfdfgh words #randomly accessed memories (RAM)#redlady speaks #hazbin hotel #hazbin posting #vox #valentino #velvette #alastor #the vees #staticmoth #voxvel #kind of

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blueikeproductions · 2 months ago

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Alchemist Prime has an interesting conceptual history.

He’s one of the oldest early Prime concepts, dating back to Marvel UK, where Maccadam’s Old Oil House originated from.

The bartender was rumored to be one of the original Transformers; it was never confirmed at the time, but it means this guy was retroactively Alchemist Prime though.

Apparently not satisfied with this generic design, designers for Aligned opted for this guy.

With Cyberverse reworking the design into Strong-Fat Rung.

The current design in TFONE seems to be a hybrid of his Aligned and CV looks, but returning to the skinnier generic from Marvel G1. And he is indeed generic, he’s pry the most vanilla of the TFONE Prime designs, with his colors and shape also reminding me of IDW Geomotus.

What Alchemist-Maccadam turns into isn’t clear. His G1 design suggests a car, and his CV design suggests a truck, but CV instead implies he doesn’t have a traditional alternate mode, since we never directly see it and it’s horrifying to other Transformers who witness it.

Alchemist Prime’s main role was in Cyberverse, as the eccentric, slightly nonsensical Maccadam who kept his bar open to all Transformers, though he doesn’t tolerate trouble makers and won’t hesitate to show Megatron the door if he starts something. In the ancient past, he served on the War Titan Iaconus during the Age of Expansion, which resulted in the war mongering Iaconus being put into stasis lock after he began killing his own crew and attacking Cybertron. Despite this pretty clear treason, Mac kept tabs on Iaconus, his inert city mode becoming Iacon and the Oil House, as Mac felt Iaconus would be needed again. The time came when the dimensional alien versions of the Quintessons attacked Cybertron, with Mac helping the Autobots reactivate Iaconus, to mostly disastrous results. Iaconus started attacking Cybertron again and killed Maccadam, but was also killed very easily by the Quintessons, dissolving his head with Unspace antimatter. Maccadam’s spirit would appear once more though, instructing Optimus to destroy Megatron X’s alternate Matrix. Cyberverse is the only time they gave Alchemist a personality, and while he’s one of only good characters in Cyberverse, he’s also kinda the dumbest, since his efforts to safeguard Iaconus didn’t pay off at all, he knew full well the Titan was deranged, and worst of all, Max let himself die in the dumbest way possible.

IDW gives him a minor role, though he’s mostly depicted as being sloshed, leaning towards Barney Gumble more than a wise Shepard of the Transformer race.

Seemingly ONE Alchemist never becomes Mac, or has any involvement in the Oil House, as he exists to die at Sentinel’s treachery.

While modern depictions of Mac give him standard magical powers befitting of an alchemist, and special Lenses that allow him some limited form of future sight, but apparently not Sight Beyond Sight, he usually isn’t depicted with a weapon.

Cyberverse meanwhile gives him some kinda hammer thingy, and similar weapons are given to his old crew.

The hammer thingy was carried over to TFONE it seems, but not like it did him any favors against the Quints or Sentinel…

#blueike productions #blueike #transformers #maccadam #transformers one #transformers one spoilers #alchemist prime

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simlit · 8 months ago

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Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // forty-five

| @catamano

next / previous / beginning

ELION: Not at all. I’m simply accustomed to powerful women. Indeed, hierarchal structure is one of the few things in this world I enjoy. I can respect authority spoken by someone who knows firmly what they want; A commander that isn’t afraid to give commands. EIRA: But you don’t respect mine. ELION: That’s hardly the case. I respect you a great deal. But I also enjoy you greatly in other ways, so I’m inclined not to listen. It’s quite the paradox. A part of me does feel quite poorly. I’m just being ripped apart on the inside by my own internal dilemma— EIRA: Can’t you take anything seriously?! ELION: Yes. Yes I can. And I do. I’d like to get to know you. EIRA: Why? ELION: You ask me to be serious, then I will give you a very serious answer. I once loved a woman like you. You remind me of her in the most achingly beautiful way. It’s painful. And I want to feel it more. EIRA: …So it is a kink. ELION: Only partially. EIRA: laughs Ridiculous. Did she love you back? ELION: For a while. EIRA: Shocking. Let me guess, you drove her away? ELION: Not at all. I lost her. EIRA: Oh. She… I’m… sorry. ELION: She didn’t die, if that’s what you think. At least, not in that way. No, I imagine she lives, still. But the woman she once was… Death is simple, you see. We grieve in the face of it. And grief has a name and a shape. It’s understood. There are far worse things than dying. To carry on when there’s nothing left of us… That is suffering of another sort, entirely. EIRA: And I remind you of this? Shouldn’t you resent me? ELION: Not at all. I’m reminded of the fondest memories. You see, like you, she hailed from the mountain regions; One of the snow-touched elves of the north. I wondered if you might have had elvenblood yourself. That striking color of your hair… EIRA: I’m no elf. Just unlucky. ELION: Unlucky? EIRA: My parents were perfectly plain and human, in a village of other perfectly plain humans. I imagine that’s why they threw me out when I was barely strong enough to open my eyes. I’ve been putting people off since I was an infant. So forgive me if your advances don’t exactly stir my pot. ELION: Then, my apologies. I should not have expected you to respond the same. She was, I suppose, a particular case. EIRA: How did you… meet? ELION: Very accidentally. We met during one of my assignments long ago. She was no stranger to battle; A ranger, and better with a blade than I. They say poison is a maiden’s murder weapon, but she preferred a more direct approach, and I’d never been beaten so badly. EIRA: You were sent to kill her? ELION: No, I was sent to kill her client. And I did kill him, but she certainly didn’t make it easy for me. EIRA: Well, that’s a story if I’ve ever heard one. ELION: I have many. I expect you do, too. We could exchange them sometime. I can be quite civil when I need to. Dinner, drinks, I’ll even wear my hair up. EIRA: Tch. Do I look like the type to be wined and dined? ELION: I hoped not. EIRA: Then you weren’t wrong. But I’m no one’s replacement. ELION: I would never think to replace her. But then, seeing you, I considered maybe I ought to finally move on. EIRA: Find someone else. ELION: Ah, well. Suppose I should. I’m happy to accept when I’m defeated. But you must at least give me credit for trying. For what it’s worth, I was sincere. EIRA: … ELION: About what I said before… the trials… do be careful and look after yourself. EIRA: I— ELION: Yes, I know. You’re strong. And more formidable people than you have been ground to dust in those games. Even if you do survive… I hope that when you come out on the other side, you’ll still remember just how strong you were.

#ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 story #ts4 bachelor challenge #chosen of the sun #cc: eira #oc: elion maharis #text readers: text is cut in half. it was much too long

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magicalrocketships · 1 year ago

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knock knock who's there it's me 🥺🥺🥺 politely asking for an update on de-aged max?

WHO'S THERE, oh yes, more de-aged Max.

(this link shows the stuff I’ve already posted in chronological order if the tag isn't working. But anyway, this bit follows directly on from this part.)

The package with the new nightlights in arrives after lunch, and Max pads silently around Daniel's apartment after him, watching him set them up. The Jimmy or Sassy cats come too, of course, winding their troublesome selves around Daniel's feet and the trailing wires. They are an accident waiting to happen, so Daniel tries to make Max giggle by doing a silly dance to step around the cats, but Max is quiet today, like Daniel's little shadow, and just hooks his little fingers through Daniel's belt loop.

There's a cat shaped light for the hall outside their bedrooms, and Daniel has to position it on a little stool because there's not a useful surface near the plug. It has a selection of settings, from a changing wave of colours to single colours at various brightnesses. Max carefully touches the cat's head, in between its ears, to get it to change colours, before settling on a soft blue glow. The one for the bathroom is shaped like an otter, and Daniel has to move some of their shit out of the way to find space for it on the counter. There's a new package of Pokemon-themed face cloths and towels and a matching toothbrush that he hasn't sprung on Max yet because he's waiting for bath time, a routine Max still does not approve of and Daniel hasn't figured out how to make fun yet. Max could go back to being big at any moment, but until he wakes up his normal size again, Daniel is committed to ensuring that Max is clean and fed and safe and warm for the duration, even if Max seems to believe that baths are a very bad thing indeed, and bath time in general is exhausting for them both.

Even given that Max does not approve of bath time, and he keeps wetting the bed and Daniel hasn't slept through the night since that brave little knock on his door last week, getting to spend all of this time with Max like this is great. He wouldn't change it for anything. He's sort of dreading the moment it all comes to an end and Max wakes up normal-aged again, if he's honest.

It doesn't make it any better, however, when it all goes wrong when Daniel tries to set up the night light he'd got for Max's bedroom.

"No," Max says, little arms folded, bottom lip jutting out, cheeks red.

"No?" Daniel asks, after he's tried to put the animal themed night light on the drawers by the bed more than once, and Max has pushed it away.

"No," Max says again, stamping his foot.

"Don't you like it?"

"I'm not scared," Max says. "Take it away."

Daniel hadn't been entirely certain if Max was afraid of the dark before he'd ordered the nightlights. It was another weapon in the online parenting websites' arsenal of tools to combat bedwetting, something he thought he might try, but one look at Max's bright, scared eyes as he mutinously maintains he doesn't need it, and Daniel is convinced he's terrified.

Which is— well.

"Okay," Daniel says. "That's okay, Maxy-Max. Can I tell you a secret?"

Max still looks mutinous. He hasn't unfolded his arms, his little bottom lip sticking out. He's frowning. It would be cute if Daniel wasn't secretly so worried.

"I'm scared of the dark," Daniel says in a whisper. "But I didn't want anyone to know, so I never had a light. But if you don't need this one, then maybe I can have it in my room, so I won't be scared any more. Do you think that might be okay?"

Max's expression does something complicated. His eyes have gone very wide. He's looking up at Daniel like he's one of those monkeys with the huge eyes. "You are not scared of the dark, Daniel," he says, after a moment of staring, unblinking, up at Daniel like a very worried little alien.

"I am," Daniel says. He lets that settle for a bit. Max looks worried, but he's also thinking. Daniel's learned to recognise that thinking face.

"But you're a grown up," Max whispers. He twists his fingers into Daniel's t-shirt, just above the waist, like he can keep hold of Daniel if Daniel tried to leave him behind. Daniel's not leaving him anywhere.

"Grown ups can be scared of things," Daniel says, in as gentle a voice as he can manage. "Big Daniels are scared of lots of things." Max looks amazed, and more than a little bit worried, which Daniel does not like. "I told you I was scared of the dark," Daniel says. "I don't like it in the middle of the night when I wake up and it's all dark. I don't like it when you go swimming in the sea and there are fish and they swim up to you. Sharks are scary too." He does a pretend full body shiver, to make Max laugh, but Max isn't laughing. He sits down on Max's bed, and pats the mattress next to him. Max obediently clambers up next to him, tucking himself into Daniel's side. "And can I tell you another secret?"

Max nods uncertainly. His fingers are pulling on Daniel's t-shirt, holding on tight.

"Charmander scares me," Daniel tells him, "because his tail's on fire."

Max's eyes go even wider. He blinks up at Daniel, then buries his face in Daniel's t-shirt, mumbling something that Daniel can't make out.

"What did you say, Maxy-Max?"

"You'll get in trouble," Max whispers, without unhiding himself from Daniel's shirt.

Oh, Daniel thinks, and does not cry. Instead, he wraps an arm around Max's shoulders. "It's okay to be scared of things," he says, without much hope that Max is able to listen and understand. "Nobody gets in trouble here for being scared of things. Everyone is scared of something."

Max shakes his head, face still buried in Daniel's side.

"Do you think you can help me set up my new nightlight in my bedroom?" Daniel says. "That way, tonight I won't have to be scared any more. And I was thinking that we could put the light on in the bathroom, and the one in the hall, and I'll keep my bedroom door open too, and then it'll be light if I wake up in the middle of the night. Is that okay, Max?"

Max tucks his hand into Daniel's, but won't let go of him.

"Do you want to sit here for a bit? We could look at your flag book for a bit, if you'd like. Have a cuddle."

Max shifts a little, face tucked into Daniel's side. "I know about your flags," he says, because they've been reading about Australia, and about Italy.

"You do," Daniel agrees, reaching for the flag book on the drawers by Max's bed. "Do you want to pick a page?"

Max flicks through his book for a while, before coming back to Daniel with the book open to the chapter on South America. If there's ever a point where Daniel is racing again, and there's a geography Grill the Grid, he's going to smash it. Race Max to the winning place. But not yet. Not just yet. Daniel leans down and kisses the top of Max's head.

Max looks up at him with a worried little smile.

"Do you know who my favourite little boy is?" Daniel asks.

Max's brow furrows. He shakes his head.

Daniel leans in and blows a little raspberry into Max's ear so that he giggles and squeezes Daniel's hand. "You, Maxy-Max. You're my favourite."

Max is quiet today. That's okay. His hand's tucked into Daniel's. One of the Jimmy or Sassy cats comes and sits on the other side of him, and Max strokes their little fluffy head. Daniel reads him the flag facts about Brazil, about Argentina, about Uruguay. Later, he can set up the nightlight in his bedroom, on the drawers by the door so it'll light up the hallway. He'll leave all the doors open so that the light will bleed into Max's room, and hopefully it'll help. Hopefully he'll let Daniel buy him his own nightlight. Maybe one day soon he can say that he's scared and not worry about getting into trouble for it.

Until then: this. He's okay.

Thank you to @flawlessassholes for reading this over! And the other lovely people who listen to me go on and on about small Max.

#my fic #de-aged maxiel #baby max #fic that I wrote

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most-creature-vibe-tournament · 10 months ago

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Semifinal 1

Propaganda:

Taylor Hebert (Worm (webserial by Wildbow))

#normally i would want a worm character to win#but#bdubs is a strange little man. he's unusual.#Taylor's just got the 'tism.

She also turns into a bug monster at one point. Not all on her own, but she very much turns into a bug monster. Literally And Physically.

• And she uses this to survive like a cockroach, she had Just Been Ripped In Fucking Half and thrown in the ocean to die and BOOM. bug monster transformation (with a little help) climb out and keep fighting, against an opponent so vast and powerful a human couldn't even comprehend his true form (not eldritch cognitohazard, just planet-sized + multidimensional), who could kill her in an instant. She's always surviving against the odds she's so cockroach coded (affectionate!) #@ pollrunner if you're still accepting propaganda please take the 'turns into a bug monster' as propaganda#the rest can be ignored or trimmed to 'she's always surviving she's so cockroach coded' but pleamse. the Time she Became A Bug • #she's such a freak!!!#she kills like it's the only thing she was built how to do#she kills people and things like it's chess and she's a grandmaster#as soon as the violence is off she's just a fucked up offputting little one woman panopticon • One of my favourite descriptions of Taylor from someone else's POV, from Interlude 14.

“A figure stood behind Yan. Her costume was barely recognizable—She wore a short cape of tattered black cloth over her body armor, a skintight black suit beneath that, and there were folds of black cloth draped around her legs like a dress or a robe. The entire fabric seemed to ripple and move. It took Sierra a second to realize it was crawling with a carpet of insects.” “The disconcerting part was the girl’s face, or lack thereof. Her expression was masked behind a shifting mass of bugs that moved in and out of her hairline. Sierra couldn’t even tell where the bugs ended and the scalp began, as the small black bodies crawled into and onto the black curls. There was a hint of something like glass where Skitter’s eyes were, but the bugs ventured far enough over her eyelids and around the frames that nothing was visible in the way of goggles, glasses or skin.” “Skitter hadn’t made a sound as she entered. She hadn’t spoken, and her footsteps had been quiet.”

Goodtimeswithscar (Hermitcraft / life series)

Scared for life

I must say that scar, who is a vex and an elf, wins this one.

He was also a witch, but was so busy building an airplane he didn't even notice it. Probably because he is so used to shape changing, having also been a pirate, wizard, trader, superhero, and imagineer.

There were also some rumors about him being a mattress store but those have been debunked.

#taylor hebert #worm web serial #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft #life series #semifinals #tumblr polls #polls #creatures fight!

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tiramissyoucake · 1 year ago

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Payback For A Damaged Doll

Sae itoshi X reader, royalty X commoner au this is kinda part 2 cuz established relationship/marriage, characters are 18+, Sae is borderline yandere but not fully, Rin cameo, approx 2.8k words

CW: NSFW, injury (ankle sprain), some dirty talk, oral f!Receiving, very minor violence like just 2 slaps, reader’s footsies hurt :((, no proof reading

Note: TYSM for the love on the prince Sae fic here is another part but this time make it horny, im gonna go to sleep and play games now

Sae prided himself on the quality he saw in things, weapons, items, artifacts and even people. He could tell a great deal just from one glance at the person’s stance, eyes and small movements.

When he married you he knew you were resilient and had a high tolerance for pain as you carried yourself with grace even as a corset crushed your ribs into a fitted shape. As a commoner you couldn’t have been used to these expensive corsets or high heels and yet you still held out in the painful ways of royal fashion all for the sake of presenting yourself in your best image and by extension, him as well.

Yet today, he saw you break

Sae had been leading you to the family archives for the sake of brushing up on your knowledge for a meeting later; this was just to be sure you’d understand the topic of discussion. The peaceful chirping of birds outside the windows as he passed them with you following behind him layered by the sound of footsteps echoing in the halls put his mind at ease, until he heard you let out a surprised noise, he would have thought you had tumbled down to the ground due to just a simple misstep had he not heard the familiar popping sound of a sprain.

His beautiful doll, struggling to stand properly as passing attendants and servants scrambled to help you stand back up, the sight agonized him.

Sae shooed the servants as they tried to help you stand and he opted to picking you up by hooking his arm under your knees and pulling your torso up to his chest; a bridal carry.

“Bring a doctor to our quarters, now.”

“Yes, your highness!” One of the servants spoke and they all rushed off to either continue their work or attend to his order, he hurriedly walked back to your shared room- the only thing he heard from your soft lips were promised that you were fine that were immediately betrayed by a hiss of pain. He shushed you as you tried to complain again, knowing you were too stubborn to accept his help.

“Be quiet-“

“I promise I’m okay! It was just an accident! I can walk just- ah..! Fine..!” Sae felt his chest tighten, both at your bold-faced lie and the pain you felt.

“I’ve sparred enough with my brother to know what a sprain sounds like, you are hurt and I won’t stand to let you push through it.” His insistence silenced you, he was just as stubborn it seemed.

After he had settled you on your shared bed he moved down to check your feet seeing that a swelling was indeed forming around your ankle, he hurriedly loosened your clothes and pulled off whatever accessories or garments that would be a hassle for you however his movements were interrupted by your hand over his.

He couldn’t help but notice the way you flinched when his hands went to fix your legs and brushed over the heel of your feet.

“Sae- please, calm down for a moment, look at me..” you sat up a bit, not moving your ankle as he listened to your command staying in his place as your hand caressed his cheek.

“I’m alright, this will heal and I will be back to walking in no time! You said it was a sprain? I’ve had plenty of those growing up—“

“You don’t understand-“ Sae interrupted you and then himself as he let out a shaky sigh, pulling your hand closer to his cheek and kissing your palm “it.. something or someone caused this, I’m sure of it..”

His affections and theories intrigued you so much you couldn’t help but smile “and what are your speculations, my king?” You coaxed him to continue and he did so.

“… since you have been brought to the palace for me, to marry me, you’ve been so resilient…” he emphasized his words with a soft kiss to your wrist, his actions tugged at your heartstrings.

“Your stubbornness to surrender to the difficulties this shift has thrown at you amazes me, (Name). In all of your time here I have never heard a complaint from you, only questions on how to work around this life.” The way he says your name, as if he could taste sweetness on his tongue whenever he uttered it.

Sae’s hold on your hand tightened as he caressed your skin, he remained alert of his strength so he wouldn’t hurt you. “Which is why I believe.. you got hurt now because you have been neglecting to tell me of your pain, I do not wish to label you a liar but… can you tell me the truth, love?”

You felt guilt pool in your chest and spread like an unwelcome weed “… I assure you, I’m okay dear—“

“No- no, you are not! You’re!!…” he stopped himself from continuing as his frustration grew, he loved you and sometimes your dishonesty for the sake of not letting him worry only makes him want to shake you by your shoulders and demand you to be more selfish in your needs and wants, to recognize your position as his queen.

He stopped as a servant knocked, he granted them permission and they opened the door guiding the doctor inside, as the prince explained what happened the doctor confirmed that it could indeed be a sprain and explained a simple treatment.

The prince stepped out the room, unable to face his lover after making such an accusation towards you, he could feel you stare longingly at his back as the doctor began using a compressive cloth on your ankle. Sae decided it would be best to let you rest as he walked to calm his mind before talking to you again, he didn’t want his anger to get the best of him.

“All this for a sprained ankle?” A familiar voice spoke from behind Sae, he turned and found his younger brother Rin, hand resting his sword’s hilt indicating he is either returning or going to train in the courtyard.

“Leave me be, I have work to do”

“You mean digging into your conspiracy theory about how your wife sprained her ankle? That should be an easy solve.”

Sae immediately deduced he already has the answer, turning to him Rin would have grown concerned at his brother’s expression if he didn’t overhear your conversation.

“Speak, or I will make you.” Sae spoke through gritted teeth, he knew his suspicions were correct; something triggered this domino effect. You had always been strong in the face of this life so for you to suddenly get hurt like this was no coincidence of a ‘misstep’.

Rin was tempted to keep silent just to spite his egotistical older brother, but he only decided to tell him because he was actually fond of you, you weren’t an uninteresting snob of a royal and it would be his fault if something happened to you again.

“Well.. are you familiar with her dance instructor?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Rage, nothing but unbridled rage filled Sae’s mind and soul as a violent urge tingled at his finger tips.

‘I passed by the dance instructor’s ballroom lessons with her a multitude of times.. I assumed you knew of how harsh he was at scolding her or overworking her feet.’ His brother had reported to him the day prior, how has he never heard of this?

That rotten excuse of a dance instructor probably faked being polite and understanding to you whenever he would overlook your lessons just to stay on his good side, Sae mentally berated himself for never picking up on this.

Sae announced to you that you were excused from your duties to rest including from your classes, you wanted to argue as he moved about the room and wore his lavish clothes. He approached you and sat on the edge of the bad tipping your head up by your chin to face him properly, he couldn’t help but smile

“How are you this morning, my love?”

“My ankle is still in pain but.. I’m happy to see you have calmed yourself after yesterday.” He didn’t miss your guilty tone, concern riddled his features.

“I apologize for raising my voice at you yesterday, I grew scared and restless and took it out on you and for that I give my deepest apologies— you have every right to hate me for it…” he emphasized his apologetic regret by kissing the top of your hand longingly.

“No— it’s alright love, I understand, I would feel the same god forbid anything happens to you..” his heart twisted in his chest, even like this you would love him? He doesn’t deserve you.

“I have to go deal with a few errands, I will come check on you in the afternoon. I love you.” Sae settled a kiss to your forehead, getting up and bidding you farewell

“I love you as well!”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“… your highness?” The dance instructor was surprised to find the prince in the ballroom during your class time, the prince got up from his chair throwing aside his book.

“You’re late.” The prince simply noted, the instructor spoke again.

“Forgive me, sir- I had a problem this morning—“

“Did I say you could speak?” Sae immediately interrupted and circled the instructor slowly, hands clenched at his side as he watched the puny man as if sizing him up to eat- but he wouldn’t do that, vermin is too disgusting to digest.

The instructor grew silent and Sae stood infront of him, he wore an indiscernible expression that teetered on bored or disappointed.

“How is my wife’s ballroom dance technique, instructor?”

Silence, Sae grew irritated.

“Do you need to be told when to speak, like a child?” The instructor flinched at this and stuttered, debating on what to say

“W-well She is.. ah, a wonderful student!”

Sae approached the instructor as he spoke, he squawked random assessments for the sake of satisfying the prince and he could feel his stomach churn in disgust at this pathetic attempt to satisfy him.

The instructor was interrupted by a back-handed strike to the face that left his ear ringing and his cheek reddening.

“Do not lie to satisfy my suspicions, you buffoon.” Sae began “I know what you’ve been doing, I know my wife’s feet are in pain because of you, she fell and sprained her ankle.”

The instructor suddenly found his tongue heavy in his mouth “with all due respect- I don’t understand how I’m at fault, sir..?!”

SMACK! Another strike, Sae was tempted to begin punching the daylights out of him.

“You dare speak back to your king, pleb?”

Nothing the instructor could say would put Sae at ease, there is no doubt, this slime had the gall to overwork his dear wife and act as if he was doing a favor.

“The woman I love, the woman I married- your QUEEN has sprained her ankle as a result of your foolishness, I should have you hanged for treason.” Sae’s tone was dangerously low as he stared down the shivering instructor, every fiber of his being was screaming for him to break this man’s legs just like how he’s exhausted yours.

For a moment, his humanity came back to him as he remembered you lying in your bed waiting for him to return; what would you say if you knew he killed a man over you? He wanted this fool dead yet he knew his actions would transform into guilt and it would weigh down your beautiful soul. Sae can’t let himself do that, not to you.

“Leave this kingdom, and never return.” The instructor kept his head down as the prince chose the merciful route, so you won’t feel a splatter of blood on your loving hands.

A rational part of him wanted to tell him this was all immoral and illogical, but how would morality and logic serve him if you’d gotten a worse injury? It was a sprain now, what if it had been a broken bone or something more severe? What then? No, he had to nip the problem in the bud, all for the sake of his queen’s safety.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You received news of your dance lessons being postponed indefinitely due to your instructor having to move away for familial reasons. A replacement instructor will be provided soon, you were happy with this news, the old dance instructor was so cruel to you and you were tempted to tell your husband but you didn’t want to act like a spoiled brat, not after everything he’s given you.

The door creaked open, your husband returned to visit you right as the first hour of the afternoon began, punctual as always. He approached you with a small smile and kissed you briefly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “How is your ankle, my love?”

“The pain is still there but it’s more of a dull ache, thank you for asking..” you set down the book you’d been reading after setting in the bookmark, he offered you his hand and you accepted.

“I’m glad, I only hope the pain subsides faster…” Sae squeezed your hand gently, his gaze slowly shifting from the intense stare he maintained in his everyday life to a soft look he would only look at you with.

“My dear.. you know I love you, correct?” Sae asked and you nodded, smiling with those tempting lips of yours.

“Is there something wrong, Sae?” He held back a shake that wracked his body from a shiver, the way you said his name made him want to thank his parents for giving him that name, he shook his head.

“It’s nothing love, I just… I worry for you.. and I miss you..” he finished his sentence as he leaned forward and captured your lips with his, kissing you so tenderly as if you were a brittle rose. One kiss turned into two, two turned to three, now he had you laying on your back as he kissed your neck softly, one of his hands intertwining his fingers with yours and the other hiking up your nightdress.

“You’re divine, my love…” he whispered to you as he bit at the flesh of your neck, causing you to let out a sharp gasp that fueled his desire for you. He kissed at your neck and went down to your collarbone, stopping at the very top of your breasts and looking up at you with a desperate stare.

“May I taste you? It’s been so long, need to taste you..” had he been sobered up from the Lust he would have cringed at himself for this desperation but right now he didn’t care, he wanted your approval which you granted with a shy ‘yes, darling’ that melted his heart.

Sae was careful not to go near your ankle as he settled himself between your legs, licking his lips and moving your nightdress out of the way. He mentally thanked whichever servant helped dress you for leaving you without undergarments, holding your thighs apart as his hair tickled your inner thigh.

He licked a long stripe covering your entire slit in his spit, he repeated the action to ensure soaking you before beginning to suck and lick at your cunt like a man starved. Happy grunts from him and overwhelmed moans from you filled the room as your husband fucked you with his tongue.

“Louder, my love..” he mumbled between slurps, now targeting your clit and sucking to ensure your pleasure “I want the entire palace to hear you coming undone on my tongue…” he demanded and who were you to deny your king?

You ran one hand through his hair as he continued licking up your juices, desperate for more of you, your heart pounded in your chest as a familiar feeling bundled inside you. Sae could feel it, he could hear it in your beautiful moans, he shoved his face deeper between your legs licking and sucking with more vigor now.

“Sae— oh... Sae! Haa.. my king..! I love you..!” He could die between your legs as he heard your declarations of love, he tightened his hold on your thighs fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and licked at your clit rapidly, switching between licking and sucking just so he could have you drench his face.

He could tell you were close when your hold on his hair tightened, this was his signal for him to move his mouth faster and encourage you “mmmpf- yes, yes, cum on my tongue love, cum on your king’s tongue..” His words were layered with the wetness of his spit and your slick colliding with his tongue.

You stilled as pleasure washed over you in waves as your husband brought you over the edge, moving your hips as he let you use his tongue to ride out your orgasm he couldn’t help but smile, sitting up and making sure you were decent before crawling next to you.

Sae licked his lips to clean any residue left behind, sighing in satisfaction “Sweeter than the finest ambrosia~” he cooed and you couldn’t help but smile at his sweet words, tugging him down to kiss him.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x you #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi imagines #itoshi sae imagines #blue lock x female reader

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