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sansaorgana · 1 month ago

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— THE SERPENT QUEEN

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — The Queen of The Southlands is Adar's prisoner in Mordor but her husband comes back to set her free. At least that is what they want other people to believe. In fact, they seek their revenge on the Lord Father of the Uruks and they certainly are up to no good.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The idea for this story started quite simple – Halbrand looks so hot in this episode that while rewatching I thought... what if he was like "set my wife free" instead of "let my people go"...? 🥵 And in the end the story grew much bigger plot-wise and it's quite long but I didn't want to split it in two parts because I feel like more interesting things are happening later in the story. 🙈🤣 The Reader is a Maia and she changes her forms but I did not describe how any of them look like except for a little detail that is a scar and I needed it for the plot. She is also a shape-shifter like her husband but she is known for being a serpent and she is referred to as (Y/N), which is her "Maia name" but I also gave her three other names, which are for her disguises and their meanings are explained in the fic. BTW there might be a second part to my Chrysalis fanfic! But I wanted to write something else first! 🦋

WARNINGS — Reader is not a good person, mentions of Morgoth's past abuse (towards her, Mairon and Adar), Reader is being beaten by the Orcs as their prisoner (she is a Maia, though, so it doesn't really damage her or anything... but still!), brief mentions of other prisoners dying (including children), Reader has a scar on her chest/breast, shape-shifting into a snake (can it be a tw?)

WORD COUNT — 8,500 (🙈)

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE SERPENT QUEEN

“Where did Halbrand’s wife ever learn how to use a sword?” Galadriel wondered after watching your little performance to show her that you indeed could pick the freshly forged weapon up and wield it.

You panicked at first, not knowing what to say, therefore you laid your eyes on your husband who was leaning on the wall with a smirk as he watched you. His tanned muscles, dirty from the forge’s grease, flexed in a very appealing manner as he smirked. After all, he was the master of deception, therefore you hoped he would come up with a good lie.

“That is how I fell in love with her, don’t you know?” He chuckled and shook his head, winking at you. “I started a tavern brawl once and there she was, showed up out of nowhere and pressed a knife to my throat, telling me to get out of her father’s tavern. She kicked my arse although I admit, I let her,” he added and you rolled your eyes.

“Bollocks,” you snorted at that. “Keep lying to yourself, Hal.”

Galadriel smiled at the story, however she remained vigilant.

“That does not answer my question,” she pointed out but you already felt more comfortable with lying since your husband had prepared the soil for it.

“My grandfather was a knight,” you told her. “A poor one that had been given some of his own land but he lost nearly all of his humble fortune because of gambling. He kept his sword, though, and I was his only grandchild. My old man never learnt how to wield it nor was interested in it but I picked it up quite fast. My grandfather was hesitant at first since I was a girl but he eventually gave in and taught me,” you added to make the story more believable. Galadriel, however, looked a little stunned while you grew frustrated. “Listen here, Elf, human women are stronger and more independent than you think. In the village not so far away from ours, there is this woman… Annie’s her name, am I right, Hal?” You looked at your husband with another made up lie.

“Aye, hard–headed Annie,” he nodded and Galadriel raised an eyebrow.

“She is a carpenter’s widow and when ol’ John died, Annie was left with nothing. She learnt the craft in a year and re-opened the workshop,” you told her and Galadriel seemed to be a little surprised but did not comment any further.

“Well, alright then, knight’s granddaughter,” she challenged you as she raised her own sword slightly to point its sharp tip at you. “Show me how you fight now. Holding the sword and waving it around is one thing but dueling with me is another,” she walked out of your house and you swallowed thickly, squeezing the sword’s hilt.

“Don’t overdo it,” Mairon squeezed your arm when you were on your way out. He leaned in to hiss it into your ear as he shot you a warning glance. “(Y/N), I mean it. Let her win in the end.”

You looked deep into his eyes without hiding your frustration and anger.

“Oh? You think I would defeat her? Have you forgotten already?!” You snapped at him, lowering aggressively your white blouse from underneath your corset with your free hand to show him a scar on your breast.

The scar Lady Galadriel had left there the very last time you had duelled with her back in the First Age during the battle where she had known you under a different name and profession, which was one of Morgoth’s Lieutenants. The wound had been inflicted with a steel from Valinor and its pure light had damaged your physical form forever – no matter what shape you took, your form always had a scar in the very same spot.

Your husband looked at the scar and chuckled at the sight of it, which annoyed you further.

“Just go and do your thing but don’t make her suspicious,” he said and you fixed your blouse before following Galadriel outside but not without giving him a scolding look.

Mairon walked out of the building as well and leaned on another wall now but this time in the shadow of the building’s roof where he was able to watch your duel with the Lady of Light.

“Do not fret, it is but a friendly sparring,” she smiled at you.

“I don’t fret,” you emphasised and charged at her.

You were trying to keep your rage at bay and despite the centuries since your previous fight, you quickly found your rhythm again that resembled a gracious dance of two fierce ladies. Feeling your husband’s gaze upon you, not without feeling frustrated and humiliated, you stumbled a few times and let out a few groans of effort to look more human and less experienced than you truly were, hesitating here and there before making the next move even though it had been calculated and planned already.

The Númenorian commoners living on the same street as you and your husband these days froze in the middle of the pavement and abandoned their daily errands to watch the sparring between two foreigner women and what fascinated them the most was how this extraordinary duel was between a human and an Elf. But what they did not know was the fact that the fight in front of their eyes was even more special than they realised.

It was a fight between two old enemies and none of them was mortal. A duel between the Lady of Light, Commander of the Northern Armies of High King Gil-Galad and the Serpent Queen – the only female Lieutenant of Morgoth and then Sauron’s right hand and wife. You had been enemies with her for long centuries now and even in the songs and legends you had always been put against one another. However, that was something even she did not know of at the moment.

You finally landed on the ground, your shoulder blades hitting the pavement as you dropped your sword. She would probably win either way, which was something you had to admit to your own self bitterly, however this time you allowed it to happen much quicker than usual. The way you fell down on the ground hurt your human flesh, therefore you let out a whine and Galadriel’s eyes widened slightly. She visibly felt bad about the fierceness in which she had defeated you despite assuring you of the friendly nature of this sparring.

But throughout the fight you could feel her frustration growing when she had realised you were better than she had been expecting.

“Are you quite alright?” She asked, reaching out towards you with his hand. “You fought well. Your style reminds me of someone very powerful I had once known… Your grandfather must have been a grand knight.”

“I am fine,” you drawled out through your gritted teeth and grabbed her hand, allowing her to help you stand up while you picked up the sword from the ground. The people watching on the pavement were slowly going back to running their daily errands. “Do you think my skills are enough to fight the Orcs?” You asked, innocently.

“Yes, I think so,” Galadriel nodded with a furrowed brow and looked behind you to meet your husband’s gaze. “If your husband allows it, that is.”

“I don’t need his permission for anything,” you shrugged your arms.

“Of course,” Galadriel smiled softly. “But I’m sure Halbrand here would not want to lose you, Maira.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he approached you two and stood behind you before wrapping his strong arm around your waist. “She’s invincible, that woman,” he leaned in to kiss your cheek and you giggled. “My woman,” he added and you patted his arm playfully.

Galadriel kept smiling gently at the two of you. She was very glad her plan was working out and of course you had been making sure it would. Your husband had been playing the role of a man who wanted to have nothing to do with his heritage and you played the role of an insisting wife, motivating her man to do the right thing. A classic, old tale.

“The Southlands will prosper under your rule, of that I am sure,” Galadriel whispered with hope in her voice. “King Halbrand and Queen Maira. Your bloodline will be the bloodline of the great and righteous kings.”

“And queens,” you winked at her with a chuckle.

About that one thing you agreed with her, actually – The Southlands would prosper under your rule.

You would heal it, after all. And then you would be moving along to heal more realms and lands. Until all of Middle-earth would be nothing but perfect.

You were not sure if the volcano exploding was part of your husband’s plan. It probably was but as usual he had not told you everything and it frustrated you greatly. Either way, you had no time to discuss it with him as the dust and fire began to cause chaos and destruction. As the (self-proclaimed) Queen of The Southlands, you busied yourself with pretending to be a protector of your subjects, helping women and children to seek shelter.

The darkness and disarray made it possible for all the Orcs to break free and begin their slaughter as well. And somewhere amongst the messy battle, you were suddenly thrown on the ground with all force and attacked by the filthy creatures you had once led to the battlefield yourself.

Therefore, you knew perfectly well everything about how they were fighting and how they were thinking. Surrounded by darkness and chaos you could show the true potential of your abilities since Galadriel could not see you and find them suspicious. This way, you slayed quite a few Orcs but there were too many of them charging at you and, eventually, they kicked the sword out of your hand and held you by your hair, throwing your head back to expose your neck for the dirty blade of the biggest one amongst them.

“Mairon,” you called for him with your mind. You needed a rescue – you did not want to lose this flesh, which would separate you from your husband for another few centuries.

You had been patiently waiting for his return, hiding away from the Valar who wanted to find and judge you. If you lost your flesh now like he had once lost his, you would have to be away from him for a few more centuries. What a cruel fate it would be but perhaps that was the way for the gods to punish you from afar.

And how ironic it would be if you lost your wife because of the Orcs like your husband had once lost his as well.

“Mairon!” You called for him again when the Orc’s blade moved closer to your neck.

Your husband, however, was busy fighting and perhaps he didn’t even sense your calling. There was only one thing you could do to save your flesh now, although it risked losing your disguise.

The human colour of your eyes subdued slowly and you allowed your pupils to narrow unnaturally as if you were a snake while one side of your human face swelled with thick, black blood flowing in your veins. The Orcs took a step back and looked at each other, confused. You quickly went back to your ordinary and innocent look, though, making them believe they had just experienced some sort of mirage.

They were only descendants of the ones who had been fighting by your side all the centuries ago before your army had turned their backs on you, leaving you in the middle of the battlefield to die from the wound Galadriel had inflicted upon you. Therefore, they could not remember you.

But, perhaps, the legend of the Serpent Queen was still being told between a father and a son amongst the Orcs. Amongst the Elves you were known as Lókë, too, just like your husband was known as Sauron. The Serpent and The Abhorred.

“I am Maira, Queen of The Southlands,” you breathed out the name of your human disguise to the Orcs, pretending to be as desperate as proud. “I am more valuable to you alive,” you added.

They were grunting between each other some things in the Black Speech, which you could understand perfectly but you pretended you could not. Finally, they agreed to let Adar decide your fate and you clenched your jaw at the mention of his name.

The one who had betrayed you and your husband. The one who had ordered the Orcs to leave you out to die in the battlefield where you had been fighting at the same time Mairon had been coronating himself. The war with the Elves had kept you apart on the day so important but you had been trying to remain hopeful – to win him a battle as his coronation gift and get your own coronation ceremony shortly after.

In fact, your husband had promised you that yours would be much grander and more beautiful if you had to have two separate ones. His had been supposed to be a humble one but yours would be the most breathtaking and splendid.

And after nearly coughing your lungs out after being wounded and naively left alone to die as if you were an ordinary mortal, you had crawled out of the battlefield, leaving a bloody trail behind you. And when you had arrived at your fortress, all you had found was Mairon’s dead body.

Knowing he would eventually come back to you, you focused on healing yourself and hiding from the outside world since now you had no army and no husband by your side, meanwhile the Valar had been searching for you. And all this time, you had been tempted to find Adar and seek your revenge but you knew your husband would not be happy that you had taken this from him. He had been the one personally slain by Adar, therefore the vengeance was his to take.

The Orcs put the shackles around your wrists and dragged you behind them to some shed where you were supposed to wait. And while you were on your way there, you finally heard him.

“(Y/N)?” You sensed a panic in his tone. “We are leaving, I am faking an injury. Where are you?”

“Go, Mairon,” you answered. “I am their prisoner and I am sure you can make an advantage of it,” you assured your husband with your mind. He was not replying for a while as if he was thinking about a new scheme.

“I will be back,” he only assured you after a while and you smirked to yourself.

“I know.”

Beaten and bruised, hair full of mud and dried out blood, you were dragged in shackles alongside other human prisoners and you were given no special treatment due to your status. Of course, despite the unpleasant experience of your human form, none of that could truly affect you because you were not bound to your flesh.

If you truly were who you were claiming to be – a human common woman Maira – you would be long dead now, of that you were sure. In fact, you could see some of the humans dying out of exhaustion or injuries and they were mostly women and children.

Each time they were feeling worse, like the true Queen of The Southlands, you were begging for mercy and for help. And each time you were punished for that but of course nothing could damage your flesh permanently – except for pure Elven steel that represented the light of Valinor… but the Orcs did not possess such weapons, naturally.

They worked on some sort of a primitive settlement for themselves and the humans were required to help them. As a woman you were given a bit lighter jobs around and you were performing them although you wondered when would Adar finally grace you with an audience as you were gritting your teeth and wondering where your husband was and what was he doing.

And, finally, one day, while working alongside others, you spotted Lord Father taking a walk around the camp. He was talking to a few Orcs and nodding his head at their reports.

You lifted your head up and Adar turned around this very moment as if he felt some sort of a connection between you two. Your eyes met and he tilted his head slightly when you were giving him a hateful look before going back to work.

After a short while, you were being beckoned over by the Orcs to approach them and Adar.

“You!” One of them called in his filthy, raspy voice. “Queen of The Southlands,” he addressed you with irony. “Come ‘ere, Your Majesty,” he emphasised the title as the rest laughed.

You straightened your back and walked up to them as much as the collar around your neck attached to a chain allowed you to. It was not enough, so Adar took a few steps ahead to stand closer to you and examine your face. You could feel your hatred for him growing and making your fists clench around nothing.

“What do they call you, Your Majesty? I believe your name has escaped me,” he started.

“Maira, my Lord,” you remained polite to pose as a person full of dignity no matter what circumstances were.

“Maira…” Adar hummed to himself and furrowed his brows. “The name sounds oddly familiar to me.”

Of course it did, what an idiot, you thought. You named your human disguise after your husband’s true name. And perhaps it had been a mistake, you had just realised.

“Named after my great-grandmother, I was,” you nodded at him. “I wanted to talk to you for a while now, actually. About the way you treat my people here. They need more food and water, better shelters at night, especially children,” you continued your play-pretend. “But I don’t think you want to talk to me about that, am I right?” You sighed.

“My children work as hard as your people. We all start with nothing here,” Adar pointed out and you clenched your jaw at his words.

“Yet your children walk freely and we have collars around our necks,” you told him.

“There is a price one must pay for being defeated,” he pointed out and lowered his gaze at the place where your blouse was torn, revealing a small part of your scar.

Adar furrowed his brows and lowered your blouse down with his cold finger as a shiver travelled down your spine and your heart began to pounder.

“My husband would kill you for that, my Lord,” you threatened but he ignored you.

“Where did you get a scar like this? I’ve seen you back there on the battlefield and you fought well, my Queen,” he addressed you with sarcasm, of course, “and you seemed to be experienced in combat.”

“The scar is not from any combat and I’ve been taught how to fight by my grandfather, he was a knight,” you answered his question but he kept staring at your scar and tilting his head. Was it possible that he could sense the source of the old wound? He was an Elf after all and what had poisoned you forever now was made out of Valinor’s light. “Aye, my Lord, the scar is from my past when I was a very young maiden and didn’t listen to my mama as I wandered around the woods on my own. Don’t worry, I defended myself and you should see the other guy,” you chuckled nervously and Adar finally raised his eyes to meet your gaze but he still looked unconvinced.

One of the Orcs approached him as he kept staring at you suspiciously. He whispered something into Adar’s ear and you could hear the word serpent as you realised that the same Orc had been one of those who had captured you before.

Adar nodded at him and laid his eyes upon you once more, this time even more intrigued than a moment earlier.

“My children claim you pulled a magic trick on them,” he pointed out and you had a feeling that denying it would only make it look worse for you, so you came up with another excuse.

Actually, you realised that lying was not such a difficult craft. So far, you had been mostly relying on your husband to prepare the soil for your deceptions but now, when he was not around to help, you found out it was not that hard to do it on your own.

“My grandmother was a witch, they say,” you remarked.

“You seem to be coming from a very interesting bloodline,” Adar smirked and you sighed.

“You want to talk about my ancestors, my Lord? Sure, why not. I feel myself invited for dinner then, but is it not rude to keep your guests in shackles?” You raised an eyebrow and his facial expression hardened immediately.

“Where is your husband, I wanted to ask?” He finally inquired what he had called you for in the first place.

“The hell would I know?” You shrugged your arms. “What do you need him for?”

“To send him a message that I have you,” Adar explained. “What other use are you to me if not a bargaining chip?” He pointed out. “If he doesn’t come for you, I can kill you easily and get rid of the burden.”

“He will come back,” you assured him with a head nod as your eyes became serious in an instant. “I don’t know where he is but he will not forsake me. You can expect him any day,” you added. “Not only I was left behind, my Lord, but his subjects, too.”

Adar nodded at you and dismissed you before walking away. You, however, stood still and kept staring at his back with nothing but pure hatred.

“What are you staring at?!” One of the Orcs barked at you. “Go back to work, whore!”

“You have no idea who you have just called a whore,” you only told him before turning around and going back to other prisoners. The Orc laughed at you. “Scum,” you muttered under your breath.

The day was windy and dark – like all days nowadays in the land that Adar had renamed to be Mordor. Mairon quite liked the sound of it and he thought he would not change it. Unless his wife would insist, of course. You hated everything that came from Adar, therefore you could want to change the name and he would not blame you.

If you two did not need the army of the Orcs so badly, you would probably insist on getting rid of them, too. That was how much you hated Adar and his children.

A few weeks you had suffered at the Orcs’ camp while your husband worked in Eregion with Lord Celebrimbor – pretending to be worried and heartbroken about his wife’s imprisonment, of course – but now he was finally back to free you and to continue his plan.

He had not been actually heartbroken – he knew his Serpent Queen was strong and truly invincible but he had been worried indeed. Worried that your impulsive nature had given your disguise away somehow during that time.

After turning himself in he was led in chains, with a collar around his neck, to see Adar alongside other humans captured on the way. He witnessed some people being killed for refusing to kneel in front of their new Lord and some being marked with burning iron for choosing to follow the new leader. As a man posing to be their King and protector, Mairon had to pretend to be sympathetic towards their fate.

“The King of The Southlands turned himself in, Lord Father,” one of the Orcs pushed him to stand closer to Adar who had been squinting his eyes at the man in front of him. “Says he wants to negotiate.”

“Is she alive?” Mairon asked as his voice broke a little although he knew perfectly well that you were – his sweet (Y/N), he could sense your presence from miles away now.

Adar hesitated before giving him an answer, visibly debating with himself inside of his mind.

“Worried about the witch, are you?” Adar finally asked and Mairon gritted his teeth.

What looked like him being angry at Adar for calling his wife a witch, was nothing but his anger towards you for being impulsive enough to earn such a title amongst them now.

“What are you talking about?” Mairon asked.

“Nothing,” Adar shook his head and chuckled. “She is alive and a burden to us all. Her wicked tongue and her big mouth surely are. If you want to take her, I am not going to ask for much in return. I will gladly get rid of your Queen,” Adar remarked and the Orcs laughed.

Mairon moved uncomfortably. It was all a game, of course, but he felt real rage now at the disrespect these filthy creatures were showing to their rightful Queen.

“That is good to hear but I am here not only as her husband. I am here as the King of my people, too,” Mairon pointed out. “Let them go.”

The Orcs laughed again, which was something he had been expecting. Adar remained serious, though, and so did Mairon.

“...or yours will die,” he threatened, although as a human he was posing to be he could not do anything, of course.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be so angry with you for making too many hints about your real nature because he was giving in to the temptation himself now. It was simply impossible for creatures as proud as you two not to hint at your real greatness when you were forced to be humiliated by the circumstances.

Adar finally shook his head and snorted at Mairon’s threat.

“My people defeated the Men of these lands,” he said. “We defeated the Elves who came to their aid. We even defeated the allies, the Men from beyond the sea,” he stood up from his throne to walk up to Mairon. “There is no one left for us to fear.”

“There is one,” Mairon said to that, pretending to look hopeless and defeated. “Since Galadriel’s defeat, she sought out new allies,” he continued as Adar kept staring at him angrily but not without a hint of fear on his scarred face. “An ancient sorcerer and a Lady of Darkness, to instruct the Elves in forging a new weapon.”

The Orcs were visibly upset about the news as they looked at each other, worried.

“One you first told her about,” Mairon kept teasing to plant an idea inside Adar’s mind that he could be a source of his children’s demise. “A power over flesh,” he explained. “Do you remember those words? A power that will allow them to use your children as slaves in their army once more,” he finished his teasing. “I fled from them after finding out with whom the Elves wanted to forge an alliance,” he continued with the lie.

“Galadriel would never have anything to do with them. She spent long centuries fighting them and their evil,” Adar shook his head.

“Nothing brings people together as much as a common enemy. Perhaps she hates your children more than she hates them,” Mairon answered.

“Besides, they are both slain,” Adar chuckled nervously, trying to convince others as much as himself, therefore Mairon ignored that accusation.

“Set my wife free, let my people go, and I will tell you where they can be found, so you can destroy them and rid us both of their endless evil,” he made sure to sound a little frightened as well.

“No, Your Majesty,” Adar addressed him with irony as he moved even closer. “You will tell me everything you think you know of this sorcerer and his serpent whore now. Or I will spill the words from your throat.”

“If I die, all that I know dies with me,” Mairon pointed out. “You can’t kill me.”

“We’ll see for how long you keep that attitude,” Adar smirked before looking at one of the Orcs. “Bring her.”

You knew that your husband was back already, you could sense him for long hours now. However, you kept working as usual and pretending that you could not sense anything. The Orcs were already calling you a witch and you wanted them to think of you as an innocent village folk healer instead of a real sorceress with any grand powers because that would be too suspicious.

“You,” you felt a dirty hand grabbing you and turning you around as you nearly bumped into an Orc standing there.

“What is it?” You furrowed your brows, expecting him to inform you that you were free to go after your husband’s negotiations.

This, however, did not happen. Of course. Life would be too beautiful then.

You were dragged by the chain towards one of the wooden huts and thrown inside on the hard floor. You scratched your hands when you landed on it with your arms extended to avoid bumping your head.

“She is no part of this,” you heard a familiar voice and you raised your head as your eyes sparkled and a smile appeared on your face at the sight of your husband.

He had a collar around his neck as well and he was as dirty and bruised as you were, chained to a wooden pillar. You wanted to run up to him but the chain around your neck was too short to be able to reach him as the Orcs laughed and they chained you to another pillar. This way you could face your husband but you could not touch him and what a great torment it truly was.

It was surely a torment much greater than the physical pain they were inflicting upon you to make him talk. And while they kicked and punched you, you dissociated – staring blankly at the wall and being grateful for the fact you were a creature powerful enough to be able to mentally leave your body like this.

“Stop it!” Mairon begged in a raspy voice as one of the Orcs kept his head still, forcing him to watch. When you laid your eyes on him once, you swore, he even faked a tear streaming down his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you heard his voice inside your head and it made you realise that the tear was not a play-pretend. Watching you being in pain was not something he enjoyed unless it was in your intimate moments – something rooted in love and mutual consent.

“I can handle that,” you answered. “What is your plan?”

“I will tell you when we are left alone by them. Can you endure a bit more, my love?” He asked, worryingly.

“I would endure centuries of that for you, Mairon,” you assured him. “I will, however, lose consciousness now,” you warned him so he would not be scared before you pulled the trick on the Orcs and forced your flesh to shut down, pretending to faint out of pain.

Enduring the pain they were causing you was easy. Watching them hurt your husband was worse even though you knew that his case was exactly like yours and none of the damage could truly take him down or become too unbearable. Watching his pain was still making your heart ache as you sobbed and begged them to stop while your head was being kept still and forced to observe like his head had been held earlier by them as well.

The Orcs were taking turns in tormenting you both and you already knew all of Mairon’s plan, which he had revealed to you when they had left you for the night, thinking you would sleep the injuries off, not knowing that rest was not something any of you needed.

One evening the Orcs brought a growling and snarling warg with a collar around his neck like yours and chained him to yet another pillar. He could not hurt any of you because of the length of his chain but they assumed his presence would make you more scared as they walked out laughing and wishing you a good night ironically.

“Aww, poor baby,” you sighed and leaned your head back on the wooden pillar behind you. “Look, my love, they keep him on such a short chain. It should be a crime,” you pointed out. “Shh, shh, sweetheart, it’s fine now,” you cooed to the warg and he barked at you angrily. “Oh, don’t be cross with me, it was not me putting you here!” You chuckled at him and took a look at your husband from the corner of your eye.

He was sitting up as well, leaning on his pillar and staring at you lovingly from between his ruffled brown hair with a soft smile.

“You’ve always liked them,” he whispered.

“What is there not to like about those big, hairy beasts that tend to bite?” You teased him with a wicked smile and he chuckled while shaking his head.

“Do you remember witnessing me like that for the first time?” He asked and you smiled at the memory.

“You stepped on me, my love,” you said and he laughed, therefore you pouted, “and I do not find it funny!”

“You were easy to overlook, my darling. You were a snake then,” he reminded you

“First of all, I was the most beautiful snake in the woods, so you should have spotted me immediately,” you teased. “Second of all, I was terrified, remember? It was the first time I transformed and I could not repeat it. I truly thought I would never go back into my old shape…”

“But then, a big werewolf stepped on you and you suddenly changed into the fair maiden that you are to scold him,” he finished the story. “My wife.”

“Your wife,” you nodded with a smile. “I recognised you immediately, my husband. I recognised you by your eyes alone even though they were yellow orbs of the beast but something about them told me it was my Mairon.”

“And you hopped on me and I took you back to the fortress and our master laughed at that, remember? He called me your dog then,” he chuckled as he shook his head but you frowned at the mention of Morgoth.

“I never liked how he would humiliate you,” you admitted.

“This humiliation I did not mind,” he said.

“This whole thing,” you looked around, “reminds me of the past. Adar treats us like our master once did – making me watch you being hurt and forcing you to witness my torment. Do you think he is inspired by what our master was doing to us? And now he is inflicting it upon… well, us?” You chuckled sadly.

“I… don’t want to remember that,” your husband winced as he leaned his head back on the pillar behind him.

“Forgive me,” you looked down.

“Do you know what pains me the most?” He asked and you raised an eyebrow at him. “That we will forever be known and remembered as his subjects. His followers and his successors. His shadows.”

“There is nothing else we can do. In Valinor we are no longer welcome,” you shrugged your arms, however the old scar nearby your heart burnt at the mention of your home where, deep down, you longed to come back.

But not without Mairon.

“They wanted to give us a chance,” your husband reminded you in a whisper.

“And you really think they would allow us back in on the same terms? Don’t be foolish,” you snorted. “We would forever be outcasts amongst them and they would never trust us. And we would have to bow our heads for the rest of our lives – bow them lower than others to remain in their good graces. I’d rather be known as our master’s shadow and forever wear the stain of being his property once than to bow down in front of anyone ever again!” You drawled out through gritted teeth with determination and Mairon met your gaze, a little taken aback by your outburst. “You are the only one I can bow my head to.”

“You do not have to bow your head to anyone, my love,” he assured you.

At that very moment you were interrupted by a filthy human working for Adar and the Orcs – he was the worst amongst all of these creatures because he was doing all these things not because he had to or out of his nature but simply because he wanted to remain in their good favours no matter what.

He laughed with contempt at the sight of you and your husband and by the stink alone you recognised that he was carrying food for you.

“Am I interrupting’ somethin’, lovebirds?” He asked, to which you and your husband said nothing. “Come on, Your Majesties,” he teased. “Not even kings and queens can go without food,” he reminded you and he had lots of reasons to because you both had been refusing to eat for days now.

He crouched down next to you, probably too scared to tease your husband or perhaps you were more pleasant for his eye. Either way, you wanted to make him regret that.

You did not enjoy being perceived as weaker than your husband only because you were a woman. One thing you had to admit about your master – he had never treated you any different because of your gender. The pain, the torture, the punishments, the responsibilities – you had been gifted the very same ones as any other.

“Why doesn’t he want to open up?” Waldreg whispered into your ear as you kept staring at your husband only, ignoring him completely. “Mayhaps he doesn’t care about you so much, does he? Mayhaps it doesn’t bother him to see you in pain, Your Majesty.”

You clenched your jaw at his words. He had absolutely no idea how much Mairon cared. How much he had been caring for centuries now. How many times he had taken your master’s anger on himself to protect you.

“Mayhaps he told you what he knew, huh?” Waldreg continued. “I’m sure he did. You tell old Waldreg everything you know about Sauron and Lókë…”

Suddenly, you turned your head around to hiss at him, letting out a sound the very same as any real serpent would. Waldreg got startled and jumped back before stumbling down and falling as you chuckled with contempt.

“Pain must be something you enjoy!” He exclaimed at you and threw the food on the floor as two Orcs hurried to his side to help him stand up.

“Oh, mayhaps I do,” you mocked the word he had been teasing you with before and you gained a kick in the face in return from one of the Orcs. Blood filled your mouth as you laughed and the warg next to you began to snarl.

“After Lord Father releases us, I’m going to kill you,” your husband told Waldreg when you were spitting the blood out of your mouth.

“Adar doesn’t even remember you two are here,” Waldreg laughed.

But you knew it was not true – you would never forget the look in Adar’s eyes at the sight of your scar. You were sure he was intrigued by you and your husband and you even had that unsettling feeling that he simply… knew who you truly were.

The Orc, still standing above you, raised his hand to strike another blow and you tensed your muscles, preparing your flesh to endure it.

“I’ll take it,” Mairon interrupted him. “Leave her, I’ll take it,” he pleaded. “She is my wife and I am responsible for her big mouth and her stunts,” he insisted.

Tears filled your eyes at that because he had begged your master the same way once after the battle you had lost – she is my wife and I am responsible for her failure. I’ll take the punishment, leave her, I beg of you.

The Orc looked at Waldreg, a little confused. But Waldreg shrugged his arms in return because it did not matter to him which one of you would be beaten – he simply enjoyed the act. Therefore, the Orc only growled at you before he approached your husband to beat him instead.

What you did not sense in all that mess was the fact Adar was standing nearby and overhearing the last few sentences, which had reminded him of the twisted couple he had known in time long gone now, yet still fresh in his memory.

Your flesh was of a human, therefore it regenerated quicker when asleep. So, some nights you and your husband allowed yourselves to drift off to the land of dreams. You had done that on the previous evening but you quickly regretted that choice because the dream you had was far from pleasant.

It was not a dream, really. It was more of a memory that you found yourself inside of once more – the long and endless road you had crawled with a bleeding wound in your chest, only to find your husband’s dead body abandoned in the fortress in the puddle of his thick, black blood.

You had sobbed and taken his cold hand into yours as you had laid upon his still chest, burying your face in the red fabric of his robe, stained with his blood now, still sensing his weak presence somewhere around the fortress but it had been ungraspable, therefore hugging his dead flesh had been all you could do. You had brushed his ginger hair one last time with a sad smile and had fallen asleep there, on top of him, sobbing and defeated. Alone.

When you opened your eyes, though, you were back to reality. And there was Adar standing above you, staring intensely. You furrowed your brows at him but he did not say anything and crouched down to remove the collar from your neck and set your hands free from the shackles before standing up again without a word. He walked over you to stand above Mairon now, waiting for him to wake up as well.

You sat up lazily, wondering what would happen now and your husband woke up as well not long after you.

“I was in your place once,” Adar said as you watched, intrigued. Mairon was still laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. “In the eldest of the Elder Days,” Adar continued. “Thirteen of us were chosen to be blessed of Morgoth’s hand with the promise of power,” he crouched down to be closer to your husband’s face.

You looked up to exchange a confused look with Waldreg and one of the Orcs standing by the door to the hut. That small string of connection between the three of you in that moment was nearly funny if the situation was not so serious.

“A new birth. I was led up to a dark and nameless peak. Chained and left with nobody to keep me company except for a vicious serpent coming to visit me sometimes,” Adar confessed and the pain in his voice was raw and authentic.

You saw something glistening in the dim light and, to your surprise, that was your husband’s tear streaming down his cheek. You understood why – the first Uruks had not been the only ones that Morgoth had been torturing. Despite being enemies with Adar, you had a strong connection with him through the suffering you all had endured back in the day from the hands of the one you all had been calling your master.

“And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger…” Adar continued his story. “I saw them. His servants’ faces. Sauron’s face… It was beautiful. And Lókë’s, too, for she followed him everywhere. Her eyes… Those were the very same eyes as of the serpent that had been keeping me company in those endless days and I realised she had been the one to join me in my misery. And until this day I do not know if it was her mercy, her sympathy or her wicked passion for witnessing somebody else’s pain.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat, stopping yourself with every fibre of your being from telling him that it had been sympathy – it had been nothing but pure sympathy and what had been his repayment? Betrayal.

Although some part of you understood his reasons, too. It had all been for his children. Perhaps one day you would understand this kind of love as well but it would require you to forever bind yourself to your physical form and you were not sure if it was a sacrifice you would ever be ready to make.

“Lókë wiped the dirt, sweat and blood off of my face. Sauron offered me wine, red as a blood moon,” Adar went on with his story. “He offered me wine and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all.”

You saw your husband glancing at you with his teary eyes and now your own eyes were wet, too, after being reminded of that day.

“Your wife is no longer in chains. Your people have been set free,” Adar announced. “Now, tell me what you know of Sauron and Lókë,” he demanded and your husband moved his head up slightly as his blood-covered lips curved into a smile.

“Sauron has returned in a new form and his lover forged herself a new flesh as well,” your husband revealed. “I am not yet sure what shape they have taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asked, angrily, while standing up.

“I have something you don’t,” your husband teased him. “The trust of the Elves. Release me, release my wife,” he continued, “and we’ll go to them and I’ll seek Sauron out, so you can marshal your legions to destroy him.”

Long silence occurred, in which you assumed Adar was overthinking the proposition.

“We want the same thing you do, Lord Father,” you whispered, your voice nothing but a shaky breath. Adar turned around to look at you intensely and you pretended to startle a little. “We want Middle-earth to be free of evil.”

It was no lie – you wanted nothing else. You wanted this world to be a good and happy place. Healed.

Adar took a deep breath in and eventually nodded at Waldreg, who walked up to Mairon hesitantly.

“Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks?” He asked, giving you a quick glance before looking back at your husband.

You waited for Mairon’s decision first and you could see how much it costed him to say that word even though it was only a game you two were playing.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes,” you followed.

“Then kneel,” Waldreg ordered. “Both of you,” he turned his head around to look at you.

You moved yourself up on trembling legs, pretending to be moved and scared. Your husband was still in shackles, therefore he struggled to get onto his knees and it pained you to watch him so humiliated. You approached him to help him but Adar extended his hand to stop you from any further movement. You froze and waited for your husband to get on his knees first before you would join him.

And when he was on his knees, you felt Waldreg hitting your back and making you fall down upon yours as well even though it was unnecessary because you planned on doing that anyway. You looked up at him with hatred.

“Now, swear it,” he ordered.

It was all a play-pretend, you had to remind yourself. Being on your knees in front of a man who had betrayed you once was so humiliating, though, that you wanted to cry for real. And something about Adar’s proud and intense gaze was telling you he truly knew who you were.

“I vow–” your husband began.

“With your head at my feet,” Adar interrupted him and you looked up at him with anger before you began to follow his order before your husband even moved, still taken aback by such a request.

“Not you,” Adar stopped you. “Him.”

You swallowed thickly and exchanged a look with your husband before he eventually gave in and laid his face on the ground in front of Adar’s boots.

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor,” your husband whispered. To the end of my days… and his,” he finished.

Adar laid his eyes on you now, still kneeling as your thighs trembled slightly.

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor,” you bowed your head, humbly. “Till death removes me from the responsibility,” you added.

Adar nodded and walked away. Waldreg freed your husband from his collar and his shackles although he did not look happy about it. When Mairon was finally free, you cupped his face and leaned in to press your forehead to his before kissing him briefly with a big smile to be able to hold him again.

You were given one black horse you had to share but you did not mind it at all as you hopped on it to sit behind your husband and wrap your arms around his waist before pressing your cheek to his shoulder blade.

Very slowly he was leading the horse out of the camp and when you were on the hill above it, you heard a scream of pain from the distance. Your husband stopped the horse as you both chuckled because it was the scream of Waldreg being eaten by the warg left behind in the hut. The one you had tamed during your stay there and now you had your revenge on the filthy human.

And soon, on all of them.

“You know,” you mumbled out.

“Hm?”

“I quite enjoy our adventures as Halbrand and Maira,” you admitted and squeezed your husband tighter.

“We have been tortured for weeks now, my love,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I know but apart from that… There is a certain charm to it,” you explained.

“Yes, I am aware,” he admitted with a head nod and ordered the horse to move again. “However, we have a work to finish in Eregion.”

“Do you have a new name already?” You asked him, teasingly.

“Annatar, Lord of Gifts,” your husband answered. “You?”

“Fëanár,” you revealed and waited for his response. “The patron saint of the fire… to spark a brand new inspiration within Lord Celebrimbor’s forge,” you explained your choice.

“Soul of fire,” your husband hummed to himself. “Bold one. I like it,” he admitted and you smiled to yourself, hugging him tighter, proud of yourself.

Proud and happy to be with him. Wherever the road would take you two.

MASTERLIST

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #annatar x reader #lilysfiction

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frostbitten-writer · 14 days ago

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Melancholy

Pairing: Ekko x fem!reader / AU!Ekko x AU!fem!reader

Tags: Heartbreak; R is mentioned to be very similar to Jinx, as in facial looks; weapons like guns and bombs; mention of Shimmer; hallucinations; Arcane season 2 Spoilers; ANGST

Word count: 2,1 k

A/n: Okay, now guys! Enough fluffy fluff, we need some angst as well, can’t live in pure fantasy, right? Can’t stay in shadows for too long, gotta show you the real me. So basicalllyyy there’s this amazing song in my native language that was a big inspiration for this fanfic. Maybe I’ll write a part two later, maybe not, who knows 👍🏼

It wasn’t winter’s fault, nor snowfalls or the frosts.

It was her fault, the girl that I brought roses.

What?

He knew it wasn’t his Zaun. He just knew.

But it was Zaun, was it not?

Maybe it was, but not the one he got used to. It was one where you would still cling to him like you used to back then, at the times when things were just a tad bit easier due to you.

Was it a dirty trick? A way to get him vulnerable?! He was about to shove you away, but he couldn’t. It was like trance itself captured him. You felt so wrong against him, gosh, you felt so right.

Just the way your body was against his, the massive, stupid grin and the healthy look on your face were enough to make his defences against you crumble to the ground. Why was he even putting them up in the first place when he knew they wouldn’t bring him anywhere? This was stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!!! Ekko felt like he was about to cry, his mouth dry and wide open.

But he knew it wasn’t a trick, not when he saw Jinx entering the room, but at the same time it wasn’t Jinx? It was her, but not her.. and it was you but not you. Jinx wasn’t Jinx anymore, she wasn’t the girl with crazy blue hair, but just a decent, beautiful girl with little pigtails.

“Are you two guys ready? We will be late, y’know?!” She called out with a small pout, hands on her hips as she tried to look intimidating.

“We’re going, alright, Pow? Geez, you’re so impatient! Nerves kicking in?” You chided her with an eye roll, your arms still securely wrapped around Ekko’s neck.

Wait, Pow? Like Powder? This was-

“Ready.. for what..?” He stuttered out, fingertips twitching as he still didn’t return the heart aching hug.

“The competition? Hello, Ekko? Don’t tell me you forgot all of the stuff we rehearsed-“ She slammed a hand over her mouth, ready to suffocate him as she trembled with anticipation.

“Powder! Relax! He knows everything, you two did everything you could, now c’mon, let’s be real, you two are the best out there.” You scoffed, resting your head on Ekko’s shoulder, closing his mouth with a hand.

“C-competition..?” His voice wavered, putting a light hand on your upper arm.

“Yeah, the competition, but don’t worry.. everything's gonna be good and lovely. You’ll show them everything you got, love..” Your soft voice caused Ekko’s eye to twitch, but gosh how he missed those times. He should be despising you for leaving him, despising for not even knowing why you left. But the next thing he knew was that his bed was cold and Scar was telling him that you joined Jinx, your childhood best friend. It was almost terrifying how similar you looked to Jinx, or Powder. Nose, eye shape, goodness, you looked more like Jinx than Vi herself.

“You’ll ace it, nerd boy..” You giggled, pecking his cheek gently.

His breath was laboured, he didn’t understand. Why was he here? Was this another universe? A universe where you didn’t… leave..?

He put a gentle hand to your cheek, a touch so gentle as if he was holding something precious… But he was indeed holding something fragile, he was holding you. Not the crazy girl that went along with an even crazier one. But one that was gentle as a flower, hair soft and beautiful, a girl that was still his.

All of the talks and conversations went over his head, his focus was only on you. His lips formed an ‘o’ while he listened to you talk, he didn’t even care about what you were talking about, you could be talking crap about him, about his hair and about his whole attire and he’d still be in awe. Claggor, Mylo, Powder, Benzo… could this universe get even better? They were all alive, all sane and healthy… He was waiting for someone to punch him, for you and Jinx to take out a bomb or a gun and say that this was all a prank. Your beautiful lips form into a crooked grin and say that he believed once again.

The time of the competition was coming closer, and the voice of Jinx- Powder was getting louder, her hands gripping your arms as she shook you, yelling that she was nervous and that she forgot everything.

Your hearty laugh was making his head spin, he didn’t deserve this. The other Ekko was supposed to be here, he was supposed to hold you, he was supposed to have you in his arms, but Ekko would never pull away himself, only over his dead body.

His eyesight started to blur though, his blinking getting more rapid as he tried to keep himself sane. Weird noises started to fill his ears, hot pink pictures filling his gaze, wrong images playing in front of him.

Was this the side effect of the universe travelling?

The room started to flash weird lights, making his eyes squint. Your laughter got even louder, but not the sweet and gentle one, but the cursed and psychotic one. He managed to look over to the two of you, clutching his head with a pained and scrunched expression.

You two were still there, but not you. How was he supposed to explain it all? One second he saw two happy girls sitting together, and the next one he saw Jinx and you laughing hysterically with guns in your hands. The switch was getting slower, his eyes widening in horror as he saw you raising your hand, the barrel facing him, your eyes scratched out with a hot pink marker. He wanted to scream, yell, but it all went black as you pulled the trigger.

“Ekko… Ekko…!” You screamed, a hand holding a bottle of cold water. His eyes groggily opened and he was suddenly sprayed with the icy water.

“Oops! Sorry, sorry..” You giggled out, wiping his face with the sleeve of your top.

“What happened..?” He murmured with blurry vision, as he lay on the floor.

“We were sitting and waiting for the competition to start, and then.. you suddenly fell over.. Powder had to do it herself, but everything went good and you guys won! Yaaaay..” You responded, a soft smile on your features as you caressed his cheek.

“My head feels like it’s cracking..” He whispered, leaning his head into your soft touch.

“I know, love.. I know.. let’s go to my place, you’ll stay at my house…” You tugged on his hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to stabilise his weight.

His head didn’t even turn off for a second as he lay in your bed next to you. Your scent was everywhere, the pillows, blankets, room and house filled with the smell of your shampoo and perfume.

You sleeping so soundly was almost painful, he wanted to be here forever, be with you and be the first thing in the morning you’d see when you opened your eyes. He wanted to be there and kiss your neck while you basked in the sunlit room, hearing your laugh as you tried to push him off. But he can’t. It wasn’t where he needed to be, it wasn’t the place where he could stay. Who knew where the other Ekko was? Was he in his universe? Fighting all alone, not knowing what happened overnight and what was up? No, he couldn’t stay, he had to go and help the Firelights, he had to go so that at least your Ekko could bask in your love.

It wasn’t his destiny, not his fate, it was the other one’s.

The rustling sound of the bedsheets moving woke you up, your whiny voice and grumbles filling Ekko’s ears. Damn your hearing for not letting him go discreetly.

“Love..? Where are you going..? Is everything alright..?” You sat up, scooting to him as he sat on the bed edge, your chest resting on his back.

“Yeah, just.. needed to use the bathroom..” He murmured, feeling a small smile creeping on his face as you played with one of his loose dreadlocks.

“Ah, okay. But are you sure you’re alright..? You seemed off the whole day.. I don’t want you fainting again like before the competition…” You whispered, your chin resting comfortably on his shoulder, pressing soft kisses to his neck up to his jawline.

He wanted to stay, he really did. You were the same, the same before you left and let Jinx and Shimmer take you under. Let your mind deceive your heart.

“Yeah, I’m all good. Tough as nails, y’know..” He murmured and let you crawl into his lap, his hands automatically moving to encircle your waist.

“Mhm, tough as nails. Surely..” You teased, a cheeky smile that was illuminated by the moonlight. That cheeky smile that he absolutely adored…

“Hey now, don’t get cheeky…” He uttered, a small smirk forming on his face as he kissed your cheek.

“Cheeky is my middle name, what do you mean?” Your giggling was like a sweet torture, both relaxing and mocking… Reminding him that this was not for him, that he was a traitor, a fraud.

For a second, he just stared at you, drinking in for the last time all of your attention and presence. Oh, your lips, the little curve of a smile they’d do when you found something endearing. Or the look of your eyes.. oh your eyes were the most beautiful and treasured part that he loved. The way they’d stare at him when you were pouty, when you were angry or irritated, when you were just lying around and doing nothing, or the way they’d look at him after a kiss…

“What…?” You asked with a bashful smile, gaze averting for a split second.

“Nothing.. you’re just so precious.. oh how precious you are to me..” He shook his head with a soft smile, his gaze vulnerable and filled with adoration.

“But I need to go…” He whispered. To him it was the last goodbye, the last chance to have you within arm's reach while knowing that you wouldn’t harm him. To you it was just another regular sleepover, the most casual thing and conversation you two would have.

“Alright, don’t get lost, nerdy boy.” You teased with a chuckle, eyes crinkling at the corners as you sat in your place.

“I won’t..” He whispered, his voice pained but you shrugged it off, thinking he’d join you in the bed shortly.

Little did you know that he slowly took his clothes and began to leave, tears rolling down his cheeks silently. How cruel could destiny be? Letting him make this heart wrenching decision of leaving you behind. Was this how it felt for you back then? To leave knowing that the other one will still wait? Waiting for you to come? He didn’t want to know how you did it, and he didn’t want to even imagine the pain you’d feel the next morning…

The sun was rising slowly and the sunlight reached your face, blinding your closed eyes as you whined a bit. You were about to slam a hand over Ekko’s chest, but after you missed several times, you guessed to open your eyes and watch yourself where he lay.

To your surprise, he wasn’t there, nor were his clothes.

Was he in the kitchen? The bathroom? Swinging your legs over the bed edge, you found your slippers and stood up, looking around your apartment for a familiar face.

Looking into every room, you grew restless. Where could he be? This wasn’t what was usual. Usually you both would wake up and have a slow morning, without a care in the world, enjoying breakfast together and maybe sharing a bath. But now he wasn’t there, as if he vanished. Fast walking down the stairs to the kitchen, you started to call him out louder, desperate to find him. As you reached the kitchen, you saw a single rose lying on the table, no note, no nothing.

What was this supposed to mean? Roses aren’t even your favourite flowers, and Ekko knew that…

Or at least your Ekko…

And at least not yours in this universe…

And now when Ekko despised you for leaving him in his reality, he did the same to you in the other…

It wasn’t winter’s fault, nor snowfalls or the frosts.

It was his fault, the boy that brought you roses.

Support banner: @/cafekitsune

#frosty’s works #ekko x y/n #ekko x you #firelight ekko #ekko arcane #ekko x reader #ekko league of legends #ekko #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #arcane x reader #arcane #leauge of legends #ekko angst #angst #arcane season 2 #arcane season two

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most-creature-vibe-tournament · 11 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.

“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.”

#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 · 11 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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bestiarium · 2 months 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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thegreatyin · 2 days ago

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On heartbreak, homunculi, and the small yet very awkward matter of shooting one's girlfriend in the neck over your ex

OR: How The Doomed Scientist has been coping in the aftermath of his ambition (Badly. The answer is very very badly indeed.)

OR: A loosely abridged summary of an RP between myself and @superoffbatter, posted on Tumblr for OC lore purposes.

OR: Major spoilers for the entirety of the Nemesis ambition, as well as minor spoilers for Bag a Legend and a brief spot of blog-typical spoilers for a certain "powerful" ending of Heart's Desire.

OR: What The Plutonian Shadow's deal actually is.

So.

In order to explain this long and complicated tale, we're going to need to set a good bit of groundwork first. For some, this will effectively be a recap. For others, it will be important new lore that will harm us later.

Let's dive right in, shall we?

The Doomed Scientist- also known by his real name, Caeru- has a long and storied history of obsessing over serving others. He's always had this concept in his head that he needs to help, he needs to give himself up for the good of everyone around him, and if he's not doing that then he barely deserves to live at all.

This is the mindset that drove his quest to kill Mr Cups. He wasn't doing it for himself. He was doing it for everyone Cups has hurt, everyone Cups has murdered, every other victim that died so it could fulfill its need for stories of vengeance and misery. During his ambition, he very much saw himself as nothing more than a tool and a weapon to be pointed and used as the dead saw fit.

His own emotions didn't matter. His own grief, all-consuming as it was, didn't matter. Cups needed to die.

Cups- Cups needed to-

Oh, fuck.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't take it. He had an obligation towards those that died, towards his lover, towards everyone who ever wanted the beast dead. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't.

No matter how much he desperately, desperately wanted to.

For the first few weeks after his ambition concluded, Caeru was inconsolable. He was wracked with guilt over ""failing"" to save his former paramour, even more than he was already- for god's sake, the man could've been revived! He could've lived again! He deserved to live again!

And Caeru failed him. He failed to serve him. To be useful. To be good. To be worthy of living.

He... lost it, just a little bit. He became obsessed with fixing this perceived flaw in himself. This perceived flaw in everything. He couldn't sleep yet, he couldn't die yet, not when his love deserved to live.

Deserved to come back.

And. I mean. Well.

How hard could it be, really?

Cups was a Master, yes, and the Masters are lying conniving tyrants- but this was a promise it staked its life upon. A promise it gave on its deathbed. It clearly knew that Caeru could kill it, will kill it, and thus it had no reason to lie-

Cups could have brought his lover back. The Scientist knew that, intimately.

What he didn't know was how. But... well, that's alright, isn't it? He's created life before.

Lenses are arranged, corpses are arranged in a circle, their skin parted carefully with a knife. When the lenses are aligned correctly, the flesh will coalesce into the correct shape.

There are some venge-rats that dedicate themselves to a vengeance so thoroughly that there is nothing left of them but this one desire. When they die, their corpses are saturated with this emotion- but nothing else. When the Academic's machinery leaps to life (more slowly then the one at Station VIII, of course) it drains this, and leaves only withered shells in its wake. Perfect vessels.

Soon, the Knot of Tails reappears in the mirror. In its little coils of many paws, shimmering lights rest- memories. Reflections of rays of light long forgotten by the waking world.

And the false-Noman twists.

It turns.

Second by second, it looks more and more like a person.

When it looks up and smiles a shaky smile, its face is human- and two delicate flowers adorn its hair. The snow lacing its body curls like silk, the nails on its hands delicate and precise and perfect

It doesn't move, for a second. Two. Three.

And then the Rosette Yearner opens her eyes.

All he has to do is perfect the process.

The Yearner reaches a trembling hand up to her head, pursuing her lips in thoughtful silence. She blinks, slowly- once, twice. The silence is finally broken when she speaks, a trembling lilt, her words falling like petals from their stem.

"I'm alive.”

It's cold, unfeeling, distant. Like she's only talking about the weather.

Caeru's first attempt at artificial life, The False Yearner- she who would later be dubbed The Vake Yearner- is a complicated figure. Born out of an insanely long RP exchange with @superoffbatter, she is a ghost in all but name. A failed attempt to replicate a certain Scoundrel's past self, all while her makers were unaware that her and the Scoundrel were one in the same.

Except while the Scoundrel pursued ambitions of power, glory, and transformation, the Yearner ultimately took a different path. A darker path.

The Yearner stumbles over the mirror as they both exit through the window of the Royal Bethlehem. She sighs. "Where to go, now?" she whispers. "I can't stay here. I don't want to stay like this. I want to... do something."

The Silverer shrugs. "It's up to you. I suppose you could hunt the Vake if all else fails?" It's an offhandedly thrown joke, but the Yearner stops moving.

She considers it in her head. She takes a deep breath.

The Vake, huh. The Vake.

She became an avid hunter of the Neath's most infamous monster.

Her relationship with her creator is strained at best. For the most part, they've refused to acknowledge each other- they've hardly even spoken since the incident of her creation, save for a brief yet notable encounter at the Captivating Princess' last masquerade ball.

Someone steps closer to the Scientist, staring him in the eyes. The atmosphere grows colder.

It's a woman in a large fur-trimmed overcoat, with thick gloves and a staggeringly realistically furred marsh-wolf mask. The cosmogone shade of her eyes reveals her identity- the False Yearner- or, as some have taken to call her, the Vake-Yearner. The mask, now that the Scientist gives it a better look, is very obviously made from a real marsh-wolf, but the expert skill behind it... it's Snuffer-made.

The Yearner got a Snuffer to pull off a wolf's face for her. How curious.

"My other self's fiancé." she says, in a monotone. "And their pet Drownie. How curious. How droll."

The Scientist's face may be hidden behind a mask, but nothing could ever hope to conceal his alarmed blanch, the widening of his eyes, the shift of his stance- distinctly defensive, like a prey animal ready to flee at any moment.

"Yearner." his tone is one of forced detachment. "I never took you as someone who'd.. enjoy this sort of thing."

A glance to the side, where violant eyes (albeit from a distance) still gleam amidst the other invitees. Their mask is smiling, even if their lips are pulled into a wickedly fanged frown.

His mask tips downward. He doesn't retract this statement.

It ended... well. Shall we say. Poorly.

He is allowed in the scene- and witnesses the frozen corpses.

Dead, for sure, though how permanent it will be is yet to be tested. A thin layer of frost clings to their skin, and the scene is obviously filled with signs of struggle. Eight bodies, all trying to leave the room as they were cut down- all trying to escape.

Signs of a blunt instrument. Some of them were smashed against the walls, against the ground- one had both arms torn off. Frozen splatters of blood cover the walls.

The Yearner is nowhere to be seen.

The Yearner, after all, is what can best be described as an immortal and unmelting Noman, sustaining herself off of nothing but sorrow and human hearts. Her very existence is built upon blood and misery. She thrives off it. Needs it to survive, to live, to flourish.

Nobody deserves that kind of existence. Not even the Scoundrel's very own doppelganger.

But she's alive. And she did come back from some sort of death, hellish and ironic and false as it may be. It can be done.

The Scientist has done it before.

He can do it again.

He will do it again.

And so Caeru works. And works. And works.

To serve. To fix. To help. Finally, he's going to rectify his mistake, going to make everything better, going to give his lover the life he knows they deserve. This is a noble service. A noble obligation. The last attempt may have failed, but this- this cannot fail- he will not let himself fail, not again, not ever.

And nothing can stand in his way. Nothing except-

"Caeru?" a voice can be heard, knocking on the door to the Scientist's laboratory. "Are you there?"

Were one to look through the one-way glass window, they would see the Silverer, looking worried. "Where were you?" she says. "I haven't seen you all week. What has got you locked in there?" she taps again, more hurried-

-His current paramour, The Snowswept Silverer.

A loud crash echoes at the Silverer's sixth knock. Someone curses. The door slams open harsh enough to send her flinching back, the Scientist standing in the doorway with a look of pure vitriol- then, far slower than his typical reaction speed, his fury ebbs.

"Louise." his voice is gratingly hoarse, his hair tied in a half-hazard bun via a thoroughly exhausted ribbon struggling to keep the strands together (it would be a cute look, if not for the blue hue in his cheeks and the blood and dirt caking his arms). His laboratory is- cold. Blisteringly cold. He's barely even shivering, but- surely it can't be healthy, staying in there for so long-?

"I'm... working." he stresses the word as though it's an obvious and irrefutable explanation. "Can we talk in-" he looks back, "A month?" he has the audacity to pause thoughtfully. "Two?"

And thus the preamble concludes, and the pieces and players of our play all finally fall into place.

"...Caeru, I’m not stupid." Louise replies, giving him a throughly unimpressed look. "Is this yet another Yearner situation?"

The accompanying dumbfounded expression that her paramour produces would cause her some amount of delight, were this any other situation. As it is, she is simply more worried- and a fair bit annoyed, as well. "Yes, I know you were involved with her creation, somehow. You and the Academic were rather obvious about it. Whatever you've been doing inside this laboratory, Caeru, it's not nearly as discreet as you think it is. You have a budget, and whenever you ask for it to be extended or spend carelessly on a new batch of supplies, people see it happen-”

Her paramour squirms uncomfortably. She continues her rant unabated.

“-The GHR is in fact a major supplier of experimental materials for the University. As long as it's an import from the Hinterlands, I know what comes in here and what comes out. And I know for sure a certain Yearner has also been looking around your laboratory. I would have left you to your devices, but this will lead to a disaster if I don't interfere."

Her hand- which he notices is clawed- is putting quite a lot of pressure on his shoulder. "Tell me, Caeru. What have you been doing?"

He gulps. The look in her eyes is... serpentine in its wrath, even. Like a Knot who's just caught a scout from the Court of Cats intruding into its home. It's a look that demands an account.

His expression twists- regret, guilt, frustration, desperation. "Louise," he says softly, "Please, just- just give me more time. A week or two more, and- and this will all be done and over with. You'll never have to hear about it again. Please."

He tries to shy away from her hand and take a step back- it's not exactly successful, given his strength relative to hers. His hands tremble. His arms are slick and ruby red- weeping scars, never bandaged-

"I don't want to fight you." a rustle, as one hand drifts down to his pocket, so quiet as to be barely noticeable. "Please." he begs again. "Please don't make me fight you. It's not like the Yearner, it's- it's important, I can't just- please don't make me. Please."

Needless to say, things quickly go from bad to worse.

"Go ahead. Fight her." another voice, intensely recognizable, echoes through the corridor. The Scoundrel's voice- but colder. Less shrill. Less amused. "She won't leave you alone, and neither will I."

The Yearner stands there. Her feathery black dress is covered in blood- fresh. Going by the faint gurgling sounds, someone tried to block her way- and she reacted as she often does.

"I could feel something happening down here. I didn't know what it was, but it felt... important. Thank you for the confirmation that it was very important indeed." she steps forward. In her hand is a large spike of ice, the size of a sword. "Will you let me see it, Caeru? Or shall I tell your husband of what you’ve done? Of how I came to be? I still have that to hold over you, at least. I wonder if they would like to know what happened to that cufflink." the word is hissed, and she smiles in delight at the way he flinches.

(It's... so recognizable, Caeru realizes, and yet so twisted. They sound completely identical. If one were to ignore the face made of ice, they would even be able to identify the similarities- and the sharp differences. It's a little bit disquieting, to see her face. The Scoundrel does... does not make this kind of expression, even at their worst. The only kind of person who does is a certain Mr Veils. It's the sort of look only someone who delights in misery shows.)

He has no other options. No other way out.

He will not fail again. He will never let himself fail again.

A thousand possibilities run through his mind, all at once, before he can even so much as blink. The window- no. The door- terrifyingly fragile. The mirrors- if they weren't already swarming with serpents, he'd be shocked. No solution comes without violence, without- he can't lose again, he can't leave again, he-

The Scientist draws fast as a lightning bolt and shoots his paramour square in the chest, flipping the pistol and shooting a second time for good measure. The desperate scream of his apology can barely be heard over the slam of the door, the clicking of several dozen locks, the mad dash to retrieve something before what little safety he has inevitably gives way.

His prize is bundled in rags, apocyan soaking through the white cloth, pieces of shattered diamond and wood clippings scattered half-hazardly all over the floor-

Run. Run.

Thus the infamous girlfriend shooting incident. Don't worry, she gets better. For the most part.

Everyone else, well... they get substantially worse.

The Scientist acts on instinct, cradling his experiment against his chest. Not again. Never again. He turns when the door inevitably gives way and fires again, futile as it may be.

The bullet does not do much- not when the door is promptly kicked off its hinges, the locks snapping and shattering as the sheer force of the Yearner's kick propels it forward. In that moment, Caeru realizes that while the door was very secure, the frame is nothing but a few planks of wood. It wouldn't hold.

On the floor, bleeding profusely through the wound in her neck (though the ambery growths around it show it will be closing soon, whether it wants to or not), is the Silverer- who stares at the Yearner in horror. "This was not our deal." she hisses.

The Yearner shrugs. "I don't care."

And then she lunges for her prize like a woman possessed. Her eyes gleam, staring fixedly at the bundle in the Scientist's arms. "Either you tell me what that bundle is and why I feel so intensely that I need to see it, or I'll make you tell me." she purrs. "Make the choice, my dear creator.”

He desperately curls around the bundle, hugging it close enough for it to nearly bend under his grip- nearly. Whatever it is, it's sturdier than it looks.

"You can't take him." he gasps without thinking. "You can't- you can't take him, you can't hurt him, you can't-" he backs up against the wall and trembles. The weight makes him stagger with every step. When the Yearner approaches, he flinches. "You can't hurt him."

A delirious sob. The room is freezing. His skin is tinted such a vibrant shade of blue. It's a miracle he isn't already dead from hypothermia. Slowly, carefully, still keeping his gun aimed at the Yearner, his other hand pulls back part of the cloth- and the hand that dangles free is clawed and formed almost entirely from lacre.

Just like her.

"He's mine." Caeru whispers, pressing his head to the apocyan stains with equal parts guilt and adoration. "He's mine. And nobody will ever take him again."

The Silverer stumbles into the room, a gun in hand. The Yearner waves dismissively- and fractal spikes of ice erupt from the ground to block her advance. From the mirrors in the room, Fingerkings hiss and spit in fury- the Yearner should probably stay away from Parabola for a few weeks. She turns to look at the Scientist in disdain.

"Bringing back the dead." she spits. "Once again. You should know it gets you nowhere. Look at what you did before. You tried to return me to the world, when I wasn't ever real at all!" she yells. "An illusion. A dream! Delusions of high society and bohemian dreams of a waif that was never anything but a facade!" she roars, coming closer. "Who was it this time?! Tell me! Who was-”

She pauses, before smiling. It is not a nice smile. "Your lover, wasn't it? The seventh victim. Did you realize that killing Mr Cups would never return what you lost!?"

The words sting. They sting, because she doesn't know, how could she know. Her eyes are wild and mad. "Drop it. Let it go. You don't deserve to have them back.”

The Scientist chokes on a sob. He doesn't deny a word. His knees buckle- he slides down to the floor, holding the bundle like a lifeline and a precious piece of treasure, all rolled into one. "I know." his voice is calm, even with the tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't deserve him."

He's- the Silverer recognizes the look in his eyes. He's never been more confident about anything else in the world.

"I'm not doing this for myself," the words ring slightly hollow when he's clinging to his creation on the floor, "I'm doing it for him. When Cups died, it-" his tone wavers. Caeru swallows. The despair and guilt in his voice is intoxicating, especially to a Noman standing so very close indeed.

"It begged for its life. It gave me an offer. It could bring him back, if I spared it." he looks beyond the Yearner- staring intently at a shadow on the wall, as though somehow it could stare back. "I couldn't- I couldn't, for everyone else it murdered, I couldn't-" he chokes. "I failed him. I failed him. He deserved to live, he deserved to come back- and I failed, and-"

He kicks at a spare diamond on the floor, watching it twist and freeze into place within moments of making contact with the Yearner. "I'm fixing it. I'm fixing him."

A kiss to his prize. To his magnum opus. His eyes stay fixed on it- nothing matters so long as it is in his arms. "I'm serving him. I'm fixing him."

🐈💙🐺

"No." the Yearner snarls. "No, you're not fixing him. I'll be the one doing that. Give him to me!"

She moves before he can say a word. Only a Licenciate's instincts save his head from being separated from its shoulders by a sharpened spike of ice. He dives out of the way of a furious flurry of stabs, and stumbles to keep hold of his prize- only to see the Yearner tear off her dress in front of him.

He blinks in disbelief before seeing it- connected to her body are numerous pulsating hearts. The blood vessels tear holes in the thin shirt she wore underneath, and wet the fabric in frozen blood. Nourishing her as they draw ever closer to death. How many people have been killed- perhaps permanently- to sustain her existence?

She grins wickedly, cosmogone eyes shining with Parabolan light. "You won't bring him back. Cups wouldn't have done it either, I'm sure. The Masters have experience with bringing the dead back- done it five times now. But it never works, not really, does it?" she spits out the words. "You don't know what it's like. To live knowing you are a failure. A failed attempt to bring someone ELSE back!? Do you want him to live like this, you bastard?! Give him to me. I'll give him life- his own life! He doesn't deserve to be the monument to your vanity!”

🐈💙🐺 🔫⛄

“You barely know how-" the Scientist curses and ducks around another flurry, flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his 'lover' close. He ducks and weaves around the room with expert precision- but his movements are more than slightly hindered by the weight of a corpse larger than he is tall. That... no, that can't be right-

"He won't be a failure." Caeru spits back, pressed against the spikes still binding the Silverer- can't she hear, some part of his mind wonders? What does she think of him? Of what he's done?

He gasps for air that comes stiff and frozen solid. His pistol is long-since discarded- useless, now, but he can't help looking at it and swallowing down his guilt. All the more reason to throw himself down the nearest well, really. At least it's worth it. At least he's worth it. At least it'll all be over soon.

"He's not finished, he's not fixed yet-" he dives away from yet another attempt to spear him in the head. "Do you really think I'd attempt the same experiment twice without learning from my mistakes?! He'll be better. He'll be- he'll be different. He'll be everything." he sounds utterly delirious. "He'll be everything you were meant to be."

The Yearner hisses- and her blade moves for the Scientist's neck with unbelievable speed. There will be no dodging this one. Encumbered as he is, he has to drop the bundle if he wants to dodge- and that he will never do. He closes his eyes-

And only opens them a second later, after the sound of flesh being cleaved resounds. He is- he is not on the slow boat. He sees the Silverer before him, blocking the Yearner's blade with her own arm. A steady trickle of blood is falling from the grievous-looking wound- the cut was such that it exposed the bone.

"Oh, hello. Does it hurt?" the Yearner remarks.

"Not... at all." the Silverer scoffs.

"What if I do this?"

The Noman wriggles her arm and the blade twitches on the spot it's stuck on. The Silverer yelps and wrenches herself free, before falling. There are holes torn all over her legs- even the Shapeling Arts couldn't hold back the blood loss indefinitely. She collapses, overwhelmed by pain. The sound that emerges from the Scientist's throat is one of near-inhuman agony.

For no reason in particular: Did you know Caeru's biggest fear is watching his loved ones die in front of him (especially while he's unable to save them?)

The Yearner laughs. "Guess it's just the two of us again. Now, hand it over. Or I'll tear your arms off.”

Caeru drops the bundle without thinking, kneeling over the Silverer and cradling her in his arms, barely acknowledging the Yearner's presence. Louise's name is all but chanted under his breath- he struggles to breathe. Blood soaks through his coat. Her head is held close against his heart. His hands scramble to stop the bleeding, to fix her, to save her, to- to-

His head darts up as the Yearner takes a step towards the bundle. His eyes are wide. An utterly distraught sob. He doesn't stop her. He only turns back to his (still living) paramour and desperately tries to keep her that way.

"Idiot." he mumbles into the Silverer's hair, still on the verge of delirium. "You didn't need to- you didn't-"

And thus, the Yearner wins this round. But the story isn't over quite yet.

He looks back just long enough to glare up at the Yearner. He spits. "I should've fed you to the Knot of Tails when I had the chance."

"You should have." the Yearner nods. "I agree on that, now."

She kicks the Scientist square in the jaw. Her delicate shoe goes flying off into the distance, and she leaps for the bundle. Before the Scientist can recover from his daze, she rips the cloth around it, and then her arm moves for one of the hearts in her chest- tearing it off in one clean motion. Blood- deathly cold- sprays everywhere. She shoves the heart into the chest of the Scientist's project, and it- horror of horrors- twitches. It opens its eyes, and gasps- before once again falling into utter silence.

"It worked." she grins. "That's what it needs, right? Life. You've been working with mountain-sherds, trying to breathe life into it- but you don't know anything. You don't know what you are doing, you've been getting nowhere. Your love needs life to come back. Life has to come from somewhere."

The many hearts on her body twitch and wriggle as she turns to leave, the body still in her hands, bathing her in apocyan light. "Don't worry. I have a lot of life to give."

She runs off, and Caeru can see-

The body is half-lacre, half-skeletal, and all mannequin. A horror of sable wood casings enveloping the lacre beneath like a shield, virtually impossible to separate without ripping it all apart. His chest is exposed just enough to betray the underlying array of cracked ribs, and inside lays a diamond shining brilliant apocyan. The light floods his body and leaks freely out of an exposed, half-finished eyesocket.

He's sturdier than the Yearner, clearly. Built to last. Built to survive. Not an accident, like she was, but something else entirely. He shudders, white hair flowing in waves down to her feet- his hands dig into her shoulders on instinct.

He meets Caeru’s eyes. He doesn't say a word.

Caeru watches them go, and tries not to scream. He fails spectacularly.

He stumbles to his feet, still cradling his paramour- he takes one step after them, then sobs. The Silverer twitches in his arms. His mind races.

If he leaves her, if he fails again, if he-

He turns tail and shoves coils of hissing Fingerkings aside, ducking into Parabola as the Yearner escapes. He'll regroup, he swears, he'll come back, he'll fix this, he'll fix everything, he'll-

He sets his paramour down and frantically sets about bandaging her wounds. The past can wait. He only has one Louise.

"I love you." he whispers uselessly. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry-"

The Scientist's involvement in this tale ends here- left with many regrets, many things to answer for, and many wounds to try and heal.

Some, he succeeds at. Others, he does not.

But this was never about him in particular.

Far away is the Yearner, retreating to a lair in the swamps. A knock on the door, two knocks- and the Scarred Naturalist looks at her in disbelief. "What on earth is that?"

She enters, and places the body on the dining table without a word, knocking wooden plates and silverware (a strange contrast, indeed) aside. The body twitches, the sole heart connected to its chest pulsating madly as it slowly but surely withers into nothing. Her hand hovers over a cracked rib.

"We'll have to find replacements." she whispers.

The Naturalist shrugs. He doesn't know what this is all about, but he supports her interests, as always. He finds the Yearner is a surprisingly good influence on his master. Why, the master of silks has been startingly cheery since they've started their rivalry. "The swamp will provide," he notes. "Plenty of bodies around.

The Yearner nods. "Tell Veils I'm calling in that favour, too. It can provide far better materials than that fool of a scientist could. Ask it for wood- sturdy. Elder Continent- something that soaks in the light of the Mountain." she pauses. "Keep him safe. The box of hearts is under my bed- feed one to him every hour. I'll be leaving. I believe Fires had a shipment of apocyan lanterns sent over to Varchas? Surely nobody will notice if I take one..”

She takes a heavy coat, and steps out of the shack. She has a mission.

The body does not move for... quite some time. It merely stares up at the ceiling in idle bafflement, digging its claws into the table. It opens its mouth. All that emerges is a sickening click-

He closes his mouth. The heart shudders, and he goes with it. He rolls to his left and spends minutes on end staring at his hands in open fascination- another click.

He twists the joints on his fingers. He lifts his head, and while he may not have proper eyes- the empty stare of his eyesocket and the sickening glow of the apocyan leaking from his face is nothing short of disturbing.

He watches at the Naturalist for a long moment. Another click, as he opens his mouth, and then closes it. A claw unwisely pokes around the heart on his chest, another hand gesturing vaguely to the house around it. Finally, it manages to croak in a low rumble, like an oncoming storm- "Where?"

The Naturalist raises an eyebrow. "Bugsby's Marshes." at the confused look he gets back, he raises it further. "Watchmaker's Hill?" a pause. "The Fifth City, Fallen London? The Neath?" he chuckles. "My my. You're quite uninformed. I suppose it's just fair..."

He walks over to a cabinet, and takes out- is that skin? Human skin. A face. "You've just been born, haven't you?" He offers the face. It's fair-skinned and pudgy. He grins devilishly. "Perhaps a trip to the city would alert your senses."

(The Yearner didn't say he had to stay in the cabin. Just that he had to be kept safe- and that he needed the hearts.)

The Naturalist looks at the homunculus in front of him expectantly, and smiles again. It's not a nice smile.

The body's own face is carved from wood, and thus, cannot blanch- but its face certainly does scrunch up in noticeable revulsion. "No thank you." he says quickly, practically shoving it away. "I'm," he pauses, "Not, hungry?"

He reaches up- the heart beats faster. His finger dips into his eye. He could swallow, if he knew how. He sits up and stares down at his own body in obvious bafflement.

London. He's in London. In... what was it? Bugsby's Hill? This must be a dream.

He slides off the table, trips over his own hair, and falls facefirst onto the ground with a loud thud. A very strange dream indeed.

"...a trip would be appreciated, thank you..." oddly polite, for a newborn homunculus. If a bit laughable.

"My, you're clearly not fine." the Naturalist says. "And you can't go out like this, either way. I'll find you a suit. I have... one." the fact it belonged to someone the Yearner had hunted and killed probably doesn't matter. "Hm. But it's not your size. Maybe..."

He leaves the room to fetch something while the homunculus twitches on the ground. The body practically claws his way up to the wall as he tries once more to get his footing. 'Practically', of course, meaning 'leaves stark grooves in the wallpaper as though he was a particularly rambunctious kitten'.

Finally, the Naturalist returns with a cloak- torn in several places and repaired with careful carelessness. A trophy of war, a legendarily expensive article of clothing torn from the body of a Master and carefully, extensively defaced. Reworked and remade. He offers it.

"Thank you." a stiff sigh as he wraps the cloak around himself, tugging the hood over his head without a second thought. The illusion of anonymity is only slightly marred by the apocyan glow and uncomfortable resemblance to a Master of the Bazaar.

One hesitant step, then another. One more, for good measure. The homunculus looms above the Naturalist, voice rattling like gravel. "Who did you say you were..?" he looks at the door. "You and that- ah. Ice...? Ice. Woman. With the. Eyes." his tone reeks of disbelief.

"Quite tall..." the Scarred Naturalist mutters. "Ah, well. I am a Scarred Naturalist, just a humble scholar living here after my... let us call it an involuntary exile from academia. Unfortunately, prejudice tends to get in the way of scientific advancement... no matter." he coughs. "My associate is the Yearner, a hunter living on the marshes in search of a particularly elusive beast. She brought you here. Given by your state you must have been in quite a situation! Do you remember anything in particular? Have you an address to return to, perhaps?"

The body tilts his head roughly 45 degrees and ponders for a moment. "I run an inn," he looks up, vain as it may be, "Quite far from here. My, ahem, business partner- last I recall, I was bidding him farewell for the morning..."

He trails off and stares into space, not lost in any specific memory, but simply caught in a wave of utter bafflement at the holes in his own mind. "Next I remember, I was carried here by the Yearner. And now I look like-"

He stops, and raises a hand once again. The lacre coats his palms- fresh, vulnerable spots where his mannequin-like casing has not yet been applied. The apocyan dims. "-Like, this." he stands in silence for a long minute. His gaze, though unreadable, is inevitably drawn back to the face- the. Face.

He takes a step back. "Well! Now that I think about it! I really must be going!" he spins on his feet and twists the doorknob with forced cheer, barely able to keep the tremors out of his voice. "It was lovely meeting you, I'm quite grateful for your assistance, tell your associate she's a delight, but if you can just direct me to the nearest path back upwards-?"

He smiles. His mouth is full of uneven, half-formed teeth. "I'd hate to take up too much of your time. I'm sure you're busy doing... busy marsh things."

"Upwards...?" the Naturalist mutters. There's a grudge here. "Never been upwards." he says, too low for the homunculus to hear at all. "Not like they'd take us. The sun hates us more then Stone does. No, no path upwards for me…”

He composes himself, and gives his conversation partner an amused look. "I am loath to inform you, but there is no path upwards. Have you seen yourself, young man? The sun would scour you utterly. To ashes. It does not take kindly to Neathy things- and perhaps you should take a look at yourself? Thoroughly Neathy, that body of yours."

He reveals a mirror, and on it, the cloaked shadow can finally see his face. He tugs down his hood and stares. He's quiet for a time. A trembling hand caresses his cheek (hollow and wooden and false), then scratches at his beard (snow-white and soft as silk), then traces along his scars (carved deliberately and carefully into his face, as though replicating something that was already there).

The Naturalist continues, regardless of his guest's confusion. He sounds quite amused by the whole affair. "Do not worry. I am sure my roommate could not let you go without a shelter for the night- and when you wake up, Penstock's Land Agency will be ready and waiting. We could find you a home here- and perhaps arrange for mail to the Cumaean Canal? I'm sure that ‘business partner’ of yours might have explanations for what happened- and for these apparent gaps in your memory."

A soft sound escapes the body's mouth, indecipherable. He brings a hand up to the apocyan-lit hole in his left eye- and flinches on instinct when his claws dip into it with ease. "Thoroughly..."

There's awe, yes. Horror, most certainly. A hint of amazement. Most of all, complete and utter bafflement.

"But- I have people to get back to, I can't just-" he blinks. "Mail... that. Would be appreciated, yes. Thank you kindly." he looks back at the door. Without speaking, he steps outside- and stops, staring up at the false stars in open awe.

One tentative step, then another. He marvels at the world like a newborn babe.

"What is this?" he doesn't particularly expect an answer. "What... am I?"

The city is alive. Even at this hour, Watchmaker's Hill bustles with activity.

The Starved Embassy's ambered glow and the visitors from the Roof who walk the streets, the Clay Men who pass in stoic silence- the hawkers, the conmen offering rostygold for whoever beats them at arm-wrestling (hiding brass tacks between their fingers as they brag about their prowess), the marksmanship competitions for prizes of jade! The scholars debating the nature of the stars, taking blind steps towards the observatories. The criers announce Feducci's fighting rings, the chittering of surprisingly articulate insects and the growling of the marsh-beasts.

Fallen London stands before the Shadow in all its glory, this strange and wild city of a thousand stories. It gazes at him with mirth.

The Shadow gazes back.

He tugs up his hood and strolls along in absolute wonder- his hand dwarfs a wrestler's own as he pins their arm with ease, barely noticing tacks against wooden 'skin'. His voice is eager and enthralled as astronomers entertain each and every one of his questions about the 'stars' in the 'sky'. A sorrow spider creeps up his elbow- he plucks it by the leg and dangles it in front of his eyes. A half-hearted smile. It disappears into his cloak, and does not return.

Everyone gives him a wide berth, but if this bothers him, he doesn't voice it. This must be a dream- it is a dream, surely, but even so, there's no harm in enjoying it while it lasts.

He'll wake up eventually. He'll see his partner eventually.

Anxiety dies as he stops on the edge of a hill and gazes up at the firmament. London's invitation is easy to accept- after all, in a city of a thousand stories, surely an explanation lies within one.

Barely glancing at the Naturalist behind him, he wanders off into London's heart. Lacre trails in his wake.

It's a beautiful day to be alive.

#FINALLY. THE BACKSTORY POST. FINALLY REALIZED!#aka a caeru callout post with extra steps. everyone who's ever said he's more normal than the scoundrel: you owe me money #yin-thoughts #fallen london #fallen london spoilers #nemesis spoilers #yes this is all one elaborate backdrop to explain the existence of my bag a legend character. ur all welcome #you have no idea how many posts ive been sitting on just bc this information wasnt public yet #i was gonna write a proper fic about it but the writing Could Not Get Into Gear so this outcome happened instead. im fine with it tbh #the shadow being the yearner's new weird fucked up bestie is the funniest outcome ever #i might still finish and post that extended fic someday. it'll just be retroactive lore lmao #also for those new here: the small + indented text format is how i differentiate quoted rp stuff from normal typing #everything in that format is quoted from Insane OC Roleplay Lore. ur all welcome #scoundrel rp shenanigans #........now not featuring the scoundrel even remotely. she doesn't even go here. it's kinda funny ngl #this whole thing is happening and meanwhile he's Literally Just Chillin #scoundrelventures

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radio-fmm · 11 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 · 1 year 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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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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mischiefmaker615 · 14 days ago

Note

A song to inspire for Loki oneshot:

Villain - Song by Bella Poarch

Song Request/Inspiration: "Villain" by Bella Poarch

Rating: *WARNING* this may or may not be the darkest i've written ever, or in awhile. the demon has stolen my pen. please do not read if you are triggered because it is *grape* themed if you know what i mean.

Summary: "I'll be the villain tonight" inspired. Loki misses his old self and Y/N just so happens to be the very one to inspire him.. unintendedly.

The door made a quiet click, raising a brow from Y/N yet she still didn’t bother to turn around, holding the same disinterested expression as usual. It was probably yet another interrogator set to try to gain answers she still didn’t intend to give out- thus sending away anther failed agent back to the TVA.

This has been perhaps the fifth attempt now, some sessions lengthy, some short- but each agent that came in normally always left disappointed, or disappointed and bleeding. Which is why it didn’t take many sessions before the decision was made to keep her hands cuffed behind her while she sat in her chair. the table had to be removed as well, which had been made into a make-shift weapon with a simple kick.

It’s been nearly two weeks before the TVA finally got to the point where they had to bring in their newest expert, whom stayed by the door just behind her with his eyes practically burning a hole through her head.

‘’you’re not fooling anyone.’’ Her words came out calmly, not even bothering to turn around to face him with her eyes settled on the wall across from her.

Loki could be heard holding in a chuckle, his fingers laced behind his back while he continued to take in her form from what he could see. ‘’and why exactly do you feel like I am trying to fool you when we haven’t even started yet?” he challenged.

His eyes seemed to fall down, taking in the length and texture of her beautiful, loose hair. Her shoulders were tense and back, her pride and dignity definitely showing through her body language. The chair was thin, not so much comfortable and left a good view of her hips and hints of the shape of her ass even through her TVA jumpsuit. Somehow even that seemed to show off her shape in which he didn’t dare move in front of her yet.

These things took delicate time.

‘’it’s your vibe. Your energy is trying to make yourself scary, in charge, intimidating, but it’s just making you look far more like a..’’ she finally glanced over her shoulder, her eyes piercing his own but with the look of amusement and being totally unintimidated. ‘’pussycat.’’

Loki’s face had changed as quickly as he could to be unreadable, but he was sure she had already caught a glimpse of his admiring expression as she had glanced over at him. her vibrant e/c eyes almost had him captivated, hating how quickly she had turned back around before he could really get the urge to get lost in them.

‘’..so you used to work for them.’’ He said in a statement but it still sounded more like a question while he noted her term Mobius had called him once or twice before. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

‘’indeed, files and all. you were quite the popular case at one point around here until you lost New York.’’ She failed hiding a smirk, glancing over her shoulder again but found he was already passing her side in a slow walk, his eyes trained on her while she followed his. ‘’I had high hopes for you, I truly did.’’

She was even more beautiful up close, her words of reminiscing intriguing him and succeeded in bringing back memories of that time where he had quite indeed brought a piece of Midgard to its knees at one point.. even if it was brief. Did she approve of it? She didn’t necessarily seem to scold him- not that it would have any effect on him.. that wasn’t like him anymore to care.. he wasn’t that god from before..

‘’you praise that version of me?’’ he couldn’t help but ask, curiosity quite quickly winning over his professionalism to stay on track and be the one to ask questions instead.

Not one person had willingly followed him, on his quest for New York. Why did she seem to be? No.. this had to be one of her tricks before she would strike. Most agents came out bruised or bleeding, there was no way he was going to fall for any of her.. female powers she may try, even if she had won him over the moment he had taken in her scent once the door had clicked shut.

Still, he did remember those days. How fun it had been.. to let loose, to act upon instinct and have his own control. Everything had been his, everyone had been listening, seeing, doing.. blood.. so much blood.. it was all necessary to get where he needed to be and having gotten to where he wanted to be had been.. exhilarating..

‘’it was the thought that counted. You hoped to help a failing race, you did it- briefly, or some part of it. And you knew how.’’ She told him carefully, her expression having changed to unreadable as his once he was fully standing before her, just a few steps away from each other. Her legs were spread, taking advantage of the outfit benefits of comfort if she had to be wearing it and he didn’t mind whats so ever.

It hugged her body perfectly where his eyes dared to dip down past her neck briefly before flicking back up as if she hadn’t noticed. She did. He didn’t necessarily care either, most of his gentleman ways warned him that he needed to stick to the job, and being presented a female, he had to abide by the delicate rules and be chivalrous. He was a prince after all, and strived in the ways he had treated many flowers in his lifetime with respect and gentlemanly care.. but something else in him had been reminded of his old ways..

The ways back in New York.. the part of him that was in control.. full control.. he could do whatever he wanted, control and take whatever he wanted.. how easy it could be for him to just do..

‘’aggression.’’

The word had her brow raised, having taken on a small glare after apparently noticing his wondering eyes and now labeled him as like one of the rest. ‘’excuse me?” she asked with halfhearted interest.

‘’you said I knew how, and I’m telling you.’’ He told her simply before his lips tugged up into a smirk. ‘’aggression.’’ He told her, his voice having dropped a bit lower and it would seem his expression had changed as well. ‘’humans end to only listen to harsher actions. It starts off as children- spare the rod, spare the lesson, as they are told. Then it follows them to when they are adults, words do count. Harshness gains attention, forms character and can be used to hold attention and order. My methods only followed your own, you people just tended to become.. sensitive over the past decades.’’

His skin tingled, almost like some buzz and adrenaline had entered his body while his fingers tightened in their hold behind his back. His long, brown jacket suddenly felt a bit tight while he mildly rotated his shoulders to release some of the tension. ‘’while we are on the subject darling, I do believe we have strayed away from the point.’’ He mockingly tsked, her body noticeably tensing while she sensed his vibes again.

This time it was different. She could feel the energy in the room getting thicker, darker almost where she felt her back pressing more into the chair- almost subconsciously trying to create distance from him. her eyes were careful while she watched him, face strained a bit while she pushed down any emotional indication while he stared down his nose at her. almost like they already had a conversation without words, she leaned forward carefully with the most serious expression she could muster.

‘’..I’m not telling you anything.’’

‘’as you’ve quite established with your own vibes, darling.’’ he smirked, having leaned down a bit to almost be nose to nose with her as she had challenged him.

What was happening.. he felt new.. fresh, like some part of him had come back alive after having been buried deep down once he had chosen this life in the TVA. Almost as if he was.. back in New York.. she, on the other hand, had quickly changed her demeanor- as much as she tried to hide it. It was almost as if she had sensed his change, how his old self seemed to have come back alive compared to the Loki version she had seen just a moment ago. Her tough exterior was not one to match someone who was serious enough to kill to gain property.

‘’but I’m sure there are several ways to get you to give me what I need, I’m sure the others haven’t thought of yet.’’ He smirked, his body having relaxed and clearly was in no hurry while he straightened to his full height.

There was a delicate green hue that had flashed within his eyes, raising suspicion in her own before she followed his gaze and glanced behind her. the single, small window that remained in the center of the door had a green glaze over it, the same color as the one that had been Loki’s eyes a moment ago and she knew by his awaiting smirk, he had something to do with it.

‘’blocking the view of the window won’t scare me variant. Unless you are trying to hide your own embarrassment from being another failed agent trying to get something out of me-‘’

‘’oh no darling, you are going to try to get something out of me.’’ He smirked, his voice having gotten darker and lust seemed to have taken over his gaze while he moved his hands forward to shed the jacket off his shoulders and placed it aside on the floor. The buttons of his shirt seemed to strain with the white shirt’s fabric with his movements, his toned muscles clearly being the culprit.

‘’what are you talking about?” she asked with a glare, her voice matching her expression while she subconsciously closed her legs with her eyes flashing at his muscles forearms while he rolled up his sleeves.

‘’you ask many questions for one who plans on not telling me anything.’’ He smirked. ‘’perhaps we’ve gotten to the good start sooner than I had thought.’’ He mocked before he straightened, hands in front of him clasped while he looked down his nose at her barely a foot away.

Her eyes rose, already leaning back in the chair where she couldn’t much accommodate without having to lean to the side a bit. Her body reminded her that getting up and away was an option, perhaps shooting a punch forward into his crotch was necessary, but her brain reminded her that if she failed to injure the god- who could take far more than the mortals she had been dealing with, the consequences could be serious.

It may have seemed that he could read her thoughts, because in the next moment, his hand shot out to her forehead, pressing his palm flat against her smooth skin before a zap seemed to have shot at her, throwing her head back in a mild whip lash while Loki raised his palm in almost a surrender position. ‘’I wouldn’t plan to hurt me if I were you.’’

Y/N’s moved her body to lean forward, almost looking ready to shoot out of the chair while the cuffs cut mildly into her skin with her fast movement ‘’what the fuck was-‘’

‘’a simple spell, the buzz and tingle will fade in a moment. Its for prevention, encase you try to do something stupid.’’

‘’so you’re afraid.’’ She sent him a small smirk, the only thing she could really do to try to gain her demeanor while she looked up at him. a protection spell.. she didn’t call any bluffs, she knew if he was willing to get to this point, than what he just did had to be real. If she tried to bite, kick, punch- cause any type of harm towards him, than there was no doubt the spell would inflict her pain beyond imaginable. That fear alone, was enough to block out any thoughts of attempts.

‘’no, but it’s usually best to rid of the nuisance if it can be.’’ He smirked before he kicked the chair out from under her, causing her to fall on her side, a yelp leaving her lips with the awkward position she was in with her hands cuffed.

‘’are you going to ask me a question or are you just going to be a dick?” she snapped, rolling to get on her knees with a wince and her eyes glared daggers up at him.

‘’would you be willing to answer the question darling or shall we continue with what I have planned?” he smirked, knowing she wasn’t going to dare ask but saw the curiosity and hesitation in her eyes while his eyes seemed to glow green again.

‘’ask.’’ She snapped, rolling her shoulders a little from the soreness while she sat on her heels.

‘’what is the location of Agent 615?” he asked carefully, narrowing his eyes while his hands rested at his knees, leaning down nose to nose with her as if speaking with a child.

‘’go fuck yourself.’’ She snapped, her own amused look flashing in her eyes where she eternally cursed herself for being stubborn. She couldn’t betray her commander, but she knew her answers could be adjusted to affect her punishment.. it was just difficult when she felt fear to whatever had overcome Loki. It would seem he was.. enjoying this.. so it seemed like, even if he didn’t necessarily show it on his face.

‘’I always could,’’ he shrugged, his voice calm while he stood up to his full height and raised a hand before waving it once in a shooing position.

The feeling of two slender hands on her shoulders with a firm grip was enough to make her jump, the being keeping her in her kneeling position before she quickly looked up. Looking down at her with the same smirk on his face, was an identical Loki- same clothes and everything as the one that stood before her. his grip told her she wasn’t going to move from this position and her body finally began struggling to get him off while her eyes moved towards the first one.

‘’what the hell kind of tactic is this- your trying to scare me into it?? This is against the TV-‘’

‘’what makes you so concerned with the TVA’s rules when you’ve broken and ditched them yourselves? Any tactic should be fair game since you are the one who supports such behavior.’’ Loki smirked, taking a small step towards her while she continued to struggle to stand.

‘’I don’t support this-‘’

‘’you support the old me, my darling. the one who demanded control, aggression, power, and order for this realm. Used all of them to gain it. Yet when it becomes quite personal, it is wrong? I don’t believe you have officially picked your side love. You need to be on one side with no foot in the other door. Now, I will give you a chance to tell me where agent 615 is, once you have given me the correct answer, my methods shall stop. Are we clear?”

‘’your sick-‘’ she spat, not exactly sure what tactics we was referring to before she saw his hands move down to the zipper of his pants.

‘’I feel more like myself than I ever have darling, and it is all thanks to you.’’ He sighed with the grin on his face, the other Loki moving a hand to grip the area between her neck and shoulder, keeping her down in a bruising grip while the other hand moved around to cup her jaw from under, raising her chin up with his thumb and pointing finger adding pressure to open her mouth.

‘’wait- I can be reasonable.. there’s a branch- one the TVA hasn’t-‘’

‘’remember darling, give me the location and my methods shall stop.’’ Loki reminded almost to calmly, his heart racing in acceleration while his eyes looked down at her through half lids with lust.

‘’the branch is- mmph!’’ her words were muffled when he slowly slid his cock into her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat before he paused, not wanting to block her airway while half her mind tried to fathom how impossibly large he was and how all of this could be happening to her.

‘’gods- you feel divine..’’ he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed while he raised his head to fall back, his hand moving to the top of her head to keep her still. Her muffles merely just sending vibrations against him, triggering him to rock his hips back and forth while his body shuddered with pleasure ‘’darling if you keep trying to speak, your only going to turn me on more..’’ he chuckled while he looked down at her with her glare and tear pricked eyes.

‘’are you ready to tell me darling?” he asked calmly though his body was screaming with pleasure and he’s hardly even moved yet. Still, she nodded which only opted to brush her tongue up against him and tighten his fingers in her hair.

‘’I am going to need a verbal confirmation darling, these government things are very specific.’’ It was almost as if his voice was trying to hold back a laugh, seeing the slight widening of her eyes while she made the attempt to speak, squeezing her eyes shut as he tightened her hold in her hair to prevent her from pulling back and doing so.

Her muffles may have sounded like she was giving him the actual answer, perhaps she was, the relief on her face seemed to confirm like she had and he sensed no lies within her. ‘’I do not believe I caught that darling, you are going to have to speak up.’’

There was a very mild pressure in her jaw, one where it would be easy to miss while her eyes nearly spoke for her. she was trying to bite him, her jaw aching with the attempts to try to fight the mere burning sensation in her jaw that prevented her from going through with it until she had to stop. It hurt so bad, her eyes squeezing shut to try to block out the pain that merely seemed to have her temporarily forget that Loki was face fucking her until she reopened her eyes while she felt a hand on her cheek.

He smirked down at her, as if knowing what she had been trying to do and the smugness of her failure while his hand stroked her tear-stained cheek. ‘’such fire and fieriness darling, I hope you still have it when I’m through with you..’’

He then suddenly removed himself from her mouth, granting her deep breaths of air while he took a step away and sat himself down in the chair that he must have magically called to be right behind him. she hunched over, ignoring the cuffs that bit her skin while she panted, feeling how the other Loki kneeled down behind her to gently run a hand in circles against her back, as if trying to sooth her growing hatred while she glared forward at the original.

‘’why?” she whispered, voice hoarse from what had happened while Loki smirked down at her in his manspread position, arms crossed and cock begging for release.

‘’you’ve made me realize just how much I’ve missed control. If I cannot have your world, perhaps I can settle for something else.. or someone.’’ His face then slowly faded to look at her seriously, leaning forward so his forearms rested at his knees while he almost seemed to look sickenly lovingly at her. ‘’you’ve made me realize it, and I have to thank you. You should be honored for the privilege, not many of my toys get to leave unbroken but I cannot control what happens to your spirt. I do believe, however, you are strong enough to last.’’

There was a relief suddenly at her wrists before a clink could be heard behind her. her hands instantly moved to in front of her where she rubbed the mild cuts now that the cuffs were off. Her eyes almost showed some sort of relief that it was over, that she’d be let go. That’s why the cuffs were off, wasn’t it? Loki seemed to recognize that look and merely chuckled.

‘’don’t get to excited darling, it’s merely a reward for your attempt to tell me what I need. But it’s still not properly given.’’ He reminded, sitting back in his chair while her eyes widened.

He needed the location still, and she knew he was serious enough where her mouth began to open in a mere mild panic to get the answer out.

‘’okay okay- he’s- mmph!’’ a hand was quick to clasp around her mouth, the other Loki pulling her back against him while they both remained on their knees, his body up against hers from behind.

‘’ah ah ah darling, I do cherish your willingness, but I don’t exactly feel like giving you up just yet.’’ Loki tsked while he raised a hand and seemed to wave it once in a ‘shooing’ motion before she felt a force engulf her body, dragging her forward towards him before her hands planted against his thighs, cock waiting just before her lips while her body tensed to stop from moving any more forward against him.

‘’p-please.. I didn’t mean-‘’

‘’didn’t mean to wish for the old me? But darling, if you didn’t, than why are you so wet?” Loki chuckled while her eyes widened, looking up at him while his eyes moved forward to cup her face and use his thumbs to stroke at the tears that began running down her cheeks.

‘’I’m not-‘’

‘’lying to the god of mischief won’t grant you any favors darling, if anything, honesty might make this a bit more enjoyable for you.’’ He warned, a hand moving up to plant itself on top of her head before he began pushing down, his other hand moving to cup her jaw. ‘’now open up.’’

Her eyes looked at him with everything she had to beg and plead, not darling to say it herself to grant him an open mouth but the pressure at her jaw was more than enough to force it open anyway. She felt his tip on her tongue, the butterfly jump feeling coming to the pit on her stomach while her nails dug into his thighs. ‘’I’ll t-tell you the location-‘’ she mumbled, words fumbling while inch by inch he added himself, the force in his hand never ceasing until he had reached the back of her throat and stilled.

‘’I am grateful for that darling, all in due time.’’ He smiled, his hand curling into her hair now while two slender hands came to hips.

Her body began to struggle, the burning sensation eternally thankfully not returning because it wasn’t an attempt to hurt him personally while her eyes squeezed shut. ‘’please-‘’ she mumbled, mouth full where it was barely audible.

‘’we do not talk with out mouth full darling, but I shall allow your moans while it benefits us both.’’ Loki tsked, his hand in her hair pulling her up slightly before pushing her down, keeping a slow rhythm while the other Loki moved a hand in front of her to gently start rubbing between her thighs against the fabric.

Her legs began to shake, the sick realization to find out how wet she actually was while her throat took him easier the more and more he pushed her down. ‘’that’s it darling, rock your hips…’’ he whispered, his head having fallen back again with sweet words like she was into this.

The gaslighting fact was that she found herself indeed rocking her hips against the duplicates hand that rubbed her while the other hand held her hip, making thorough strokes with his fingers and palm against her sex. He brushed against her clit just right, following by brushing against her entrance while her jumpsuit seemed to feel like it was getting thinner and thinner the faster his movements got.

‘’gods you feel divine..’’ he breathed, leaning forward where his hand left her cheek, the other remaining in her hair. His free hand gripped the clone’s hair, the tight grip earning a growl from him but still, he remained silent while Loki pulled his head forward. His chest pressed against the back of her head, barely making her able to lift it up from Loki’s cock while the sound of wet mouths could be heard above her.

Loki’s hand continued to stroke at your groin, bringing your horrifyingly closer to your climax while he remained practically draped over you, making out passionately with Loki whom held his mouth firm to his while his tongue dominated his double, keeping his hand tight at the back of his head while the other kept her bobbing hers on his cock.

It was deeply erotic with emotions that could barely be able to be put into words until she finally felt her walls clench around nothing by the constant stimulation. She moaned around his cock, a rather involuntary action while her orgasm washed over her body, her eyes fluttering and her hands grasping at Loki desperately whom seemed to moan into his double’s mouth by the knowing knowledge of her climax.

Merley a moment later she could feel his hips rocking up quickly, his hand pushing her down with her eyes wide before he climaxed down her throat. It all went down directly into her stomach, her tongue hardly tasting anything by how far he was down her.

By the time his moans and pants subsided, her vision began to dance with the lack of oxygen and she began to squirm with no movement with being held in place. Loki’s hand between her legs had vanished, his body slowly lifting before she had a weird sense that his presence had disappeared, like his clone had vanished. The original’s grip was gentle, having untightened and now having a slowly stroke to her locks while she dared look up at his face.

His eyes were closed, a small smile at the corner of his mouth while his face was slightly pointed up towards the ceiling. With a small movement, she began raising her head, feeling his cock slowly slide from her throat and no movement from him to try to stop her. taking advantage of this, she straightened more on her knees and his cock left her mouth, leaving her falling back on her ass finally with deep breaths and a hand at her sore throat.

She didn’t know what to say.. she didn’t know what to do.. her eyes watched him carefully while he drew in a breath and opened his eyes, a soft smile on his lips while he leaned once again on his forearms against his knees. Her skin tingled while she to was coming off her high, sensitivity pulsing in her cunt while her hands shook and felt herself scooting back slowly away from his watchful eyes.

‘’do.. do you still need the location?” she whispered, not sure if he’ll stop her this time but was more than willing to give it while she watched his eyes slowly fill with that familiar green glow.

‘’we’ll try again tomorrow darling, you won’t remember this anyway.’’

Note: Another related one shot(s) like this is called "Heads Will Roll" and "Take Two" if you wanna check it out here. please DM a song for your own Musical Mischief One Shot :D

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing

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majesty0h · 2 months ago

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The virgin whore, the Imperfect God, Satoru Gojo. A character study.

From birth, Gojo was never allowed to be simply a person. Born into the esteemed Gojo clan as the first in generations to inherit both the Limitless Cursed Technique and the Six Eyes, he was not raised so much as he was cultivated. The clan's expectations—and indeed, the expectations of the entire sorcery world—shaped him into a weapon. He was trained to embody perfection, the Honored One who would bring balance to the world of jujutsu sorcery, both protector and executioner.

The Gojo clan's elders saw him not as a child but as a tool, a force of nature to wield against their enemies and a symbol of their dominance. Gojo’s identity was never his own; it was defined by those who sought to control him, though they could only do so at a distance. His upbringing denied him the vulnerability and connections that form the core of humanity. This isolation created a paradox: he was destined to stand apart, yet his immense power was meant to serve the collective.

Gojo’s unparalleled strength isolates him further with every loss, and his tragedies compound the burden of his existence. The deaths of Riko Amanai and Suguru Geto, his closest friend, left profound scars. Riko’s death, in particular, was a formative moment—his failure to protect her highlighted the limits of his strength at a time when he still believed he could protect everyone.

Geto’s fall from grace, however, shattered Gojo in a different way. Their bond was one of equals, the rare connection where Gojo felt understood. Geto’s defection and eventual death represented not only the loss of a friend but the loss of someone who could truly see and comprehend him as a person, not a deity. For someone who views the world from a vantage point far above it, the departure of his equal was akin to the severing of a lifeline.

Even the trauma of almost being killed by Toji Fushiguro—the first and perhaps only time Gojo tasted true vulnerability—left an indelible mark. It wasn’t just the physical threat but the shattering realization that even a god can bleed. Yet, Gojo emerged stronger, the experience reinforcing his belief that he could not afford weakness. He had to become untouchable, both physically and emotionally, to prevent such a near-death experience from ever happening again.

Gojo’s playful, irreverent demeanor is a carefully constructed mask. It allows him to navigate a world where people either revere or fear him while concealing the depth of his loneliness and internal struggle. His cockiness and penchant for flaunting his power are less about arrogance and more about finding fleeting joy in a life that offers little else. He chases highs—be it in battle, rebellion against authority, or pushing boundaries—not out of recklessness but as a way to feel something in a world where most experiences are dull compared to his overwhelming strength.

Gojo’s power places him on a plane of existence where interpersonal relationships are inherently imbalanced. He can sympathize and even empathize with others, but true connection eludes him. How can he relate to people when his perception of reality—amplified by the Six Eyes—operates on a different level entirely? His relationships, even with those closest to him, are tinged with an underlying distance.

This distance mirrors the plight of Dr. Manhattan from Watchmen, another being too powerful and too detached to fully engage with humanity. Like Manhattan, Gojo is everything and nothing: a god capable of infinite destruction or salvation, yet fundamentally alone in his existence. Both are slaves to their identities, unable to escape the expectations and responsibilities their power entails.

Gojo’s capacity for love is limited by the very nature of his power. Love requires vulnerability, an exchange between equals, and Gojo has neither. He can care deeply for his students, protect them, and guide them, but it’s a one-sided relationship. He sees their potential and acts as a shepherd, yet he cannot allow himself to rely on them or show weakness in return. This dynamic reflects his mentorship of Megumi Fushiguro. While Gojo trains Megumi to be strong enough to surpass him—perhaps even to end him one day—it’s unclear whether this stems from genuine belief in Megumi’s potential or a subconscious desire to escape the loneliness of his existence through his own destruction.

Do I think he loved Geto? Maybe. Do I think they were intimate? Maybe. As nothing more than a pantomime. He would give that to Suguru to make him happy, not for himself. That's what humans do, isn't it? They fuck, they whisper sweet promises under the moon. But it's just acting. Think again to Janie and Dr. Manhattan.

In romantic or deeply personal relationships, the imbalance is even more pronounced. How can a god love an ant? And how can an ant love a god? While Gojo possesses empathy and the ability to care, he struggles to bridge the gap between his divine existence and the human emotions of those around him. This inability to connect fully leaves him stranded, yearning for something he cannot quite grasp.

Despite his freedom to defy the higher-ups of the jujutsu world, Gojo is ultimately a slave to his role as the strongest. He cannot afford to mourn, to hesitate, or to show weakness. The world demands that he remain invincible, and he complies, suppressing his grief and humanity in the process. He cannot even die on his own terms, as his existence is too intertwined with the survival of the sorcery world.

This paradox defines Gojo’s life: he is a protector who cannot be protected, a god who cannot transcend his humanity. His strength is both his salvation and his curse, ensuring that he will remain alone until the end. In a world that demands his divinity, he is denied the freedom to be human.

youtube

#jjk #roleplay #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #character study #i can go on for hours #he deserved so much more #he knew he was going to die by Megumi's body and he welcomed it #tojigo #toji fushiguro #this is why i can't see him with anyone but Toji because that's the closest to someone on his level he'll ever find #i know he buried toji on Gojo clan property so he can keep him close forever #i can talk about this for hours #satosugu denier #Youtube

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chaewberry · 3 months ago

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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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