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syneilesis · 5 months

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[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lad rafayel #lad qi yu #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace qi yu #fic #my fic #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #lad rafayel x reader #lad qi yu x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace spoilers #it's near midnight again i shall now sleep

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a-998h · 3 months

Text

Each nations festivals for the Creator.

Mondstadt

It is known as The Ventus Dies Natalis (Latin: The Winds Birthday Festival).

Time of year: Spring

How long it lasts: weeks/ 14 days

Origins: The people of old Mondstadt wanted to honor the creation of the winds. Do to this they planned a festival that at first was a serious religious affair that lasted for a week, before it became a 2 week festival.

Traditions week by week

Week 1

Day 1: The people go to the cathedral plaza or inside the cathedral for prayer and to present offerings of Calla Lillies, Snapdragons, Dandelion Wine,and Fruits of the Festival, Mint Jelly, Moon Pie, and Northern Apple Stew.

Day 2: A tournament between the kinghts is held from sunrise untill noon. Once the final round has ended, the winner is given a crown of Calla Lillies, Snapdragons, and being honored with the title of Ventus Fortitudinis (Latin: Wind of Strength). The winner is beilved to be blessed with good fortune for as long as they retain the title, the current title holder is Bennett for two years in a row.

Day 3: A tournament is held between Mondstadt's archers from noon to sunset. The winner gains the title of Sagittarius Ventus (Latin: Archer of the wind) along with a Calla Lilly and Sanpdragon flower crown. The winner is beilved to be blessed with good fortune for as long as they retain the title, the current title holder is Amber for four years in a row.

Day 4: From sunset to midnight a contest for bards is held and the winner gains the title of Vates Ventus (Latin: Bard of the wind). The winner is beilved to be blessed with good fortune for as long as they retain the title, the current title holder is Venti for six years.

Day 5: The three winners throw a ball, similar to the Ludi Harpastum games, but these balls have two flower crowns on each ball. The three winners throw the balls and those who cath any of the balls and gain one of the six flowers crowns is believed to share in the original winners good fortune. After this the people good to play games, eat, and drink.

Day 6: This day is most for prayers to local shrines or at the cathedral.

Day 7: People go and either, buy of pick Calla Lillies and Snapdragons and spend time making flower crowns for their friends, fammily, or lovers. A large feast is had and people gift the flower crowns they made to each other.

Week 2

Day 1: People return to the Cathedral area for another prayer and this time no offerings are put at the statue offering table.

Day 2: Those who are willing with travel out to the separate shrine near the Thousand Winds Temple in order to deliver written prayers of the people.

Day 3: In cetian locations in the more rual areas will have games set up, like wind glider races.

Day 4: This is a day with many bards who share their poems, song, and stories with people in the plaza during one act performances that last from noon until sunset. Once the sun sets, people will spend their night drinking and eating.

Day 5: This is another rest day.

Day 6: drunken partying with lots of food.

Day 7: people gather around campfires or fire places and tell stories.

Week 3

Day 1: The church choir sing a few songs to start off the final festival week.

Day 2: The petals of Snapdragons and Calla Lillies are picked from the flower and case to the wind carrying prayers, often down by those who do not wish to write their prayers.

Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6: drinking, feasting and games.

Day 7: The people all blow on dandelions, making wishes as the fluff blows in the wind. A large feast like at the beginning of the festival is held in oder to cap off the festival itself.

Liyue

The Creator has been celebrated on Lantern Rite on few occasions.

The Creator has a festival of their own called Lóngfèng jié (Chinese: Dragon and phoenix festival).

Time of year: Spring

How long it lasts: 15 days/ 1 week and a day

Origins: When the adepti roamed the land along side humans, they saw how the humans would worship the Creator on the same days of worship for Rex Lapis. Once he was told, Rex Lapis said that the people shall have a festival for only the Creator every spring for 10 days before it became strethed to 15 days over the centuries. The times during Lantern Rite where the Creator was worshipped, happened during times where the spring was to rainy and dark for the typical festival.

Day 1: The citizens gather at their nearest shrine and present offerings of Snapdragons, Violetgrass, Lotus Flower Crisp, Stir-Fried Shrimp, and Stone Harbor Delicacies. This happens after the people say a prayer for good fortune.

Day 2: a parade is held with a dragon and phoenix being made to look like it is dancing by being controlled by a team of performers.

Day 3: There are kite design contests for both children and adults. Once the designing is done, there is a contest for who's kite can go the highest and farthest.

Day 4: A feast is held to honor the Creator's role in making the Archons.

Day 5: The Liyue Opera puts on a performance of the Creators brith from the stars and Celestia.

Day 6: Bouquets of Violetgrass and Snapdragons are traded between those who are close.

Day 7: People place a Snapdragon or Violetgrass flower into the sea as a prayer for good fortune.

Day 8: The shrines are decorated with Snapdragon Violetgree garland and only drink offerings are placed this day.

Day 9: A feast is held to celebrate the Creator's role of making the adepti.

Day 10: The Liyue Opera puts on a performance about how the Creator made the Archons, adepti, and humanity.

Day 11: Prayers are written onto pieces of paper and are then burned, they believe the smoke carried the prayers upto Celestia for the Creator to grant.

Day 12: A contest is held for who can make the best sculpture of the Creator from sunrise to noon. The winner is given the title of Shítou yìshùjiā (Chinese: Artist of stone) and the current title holder is Madam Ping. From noon till dusk a tournament is held to see who is the strongest fighter, it was used to see who would be a good guardian to the Creator, the winner gets the title of Fènghuáng wèishì (Chinese: Protector of the Phoenix), current title holder is Gaming. From dusk till sunset a contest held to test who would be a good advisor for the Creator, the winning title is Míngxīng gùwèn (Chinese: Advisor of the Stars) current title holder is Xingqiu.

Day 13: People tell smaller stories and myths about the Creators interaction with Liyue's archon and adepti at home or on stage.

Day 14: A final feast is held for the Creator's role in making humanity and everything on the mortal world.

Day 15: The Liyue Opera puts on a performance on the death and rebirth of the Creator. Kites with prayers and wishes written on them will be released as the streets are lit with lanterns.

Inazuma

The festival is called Hana-shin matsuri (Japanese: The flower god festival).

Time of year: Summer

How long it lasts: 10 days

Origins: The yokai started holding a small festival to thank the Creator for giving them life. When yokai and humanity became friends, the yokai shared some of the traditions with humans while making sure they were followed and done properly. Eventually the festival became a common part of life in Inazuma. It became even more important when the arachons of Inazuma were seen in public for the festival.

Day 1: A prayer service is held at Grand Narukami shirne in which special incense are burned and offerings of Dendrobium, Sakura, Sakura Mochi, Sakura Shrimp Crackers, and Tri-colored Dango.

Day 2: Kabuki theaters put on performances that tell important myths about the Creator, similar to the Liyue Opera.

Day 3: Sangonomiya shrine holds a prayer services with the same offerings as the first prayer day.

Day 4: A parade with floats moves through the streets of Inazuma city. Each float follows a set theme for the festival that year.

Day 5: The samurai and Inazuman warriors hold a contest of strength and skill. The winner gets the title of Hoshi no senshi, current title holder is Kujo Sara.

Day 6: Onikabuto trading, collecting and fighting amounts children is seen as a way for them to test their strength, Itto is still trying to win.

Day 7 and Day 8: Are the rest days untill the evening, in which there is a large feast.

Day 9: Sakura and Dendrobium flowers are put floating into the sea and a way of wishing or prayer.

Day 10: Fireworks are fired into the sky as way to end the festival.

Sumeru

This is known as Laghayati Parvan (Sanskrit: Color Festival).

Time of year: Summer

How long it lasts: 7 days

Origins: The people of Sumeru believed that since they were closest to nature, that they were closer to the Creator. They treat this time of year like a 7 day funeral service as it is believed that the Creator drew their last in the Avidya Forest, however it has become more light hearted in the last 20 years.

Day 1: People clean their homes and the nearest shrine before leaving offerings of Sumeru Rose, Mourning Flower, Padisarah Pudding and Baklava along with prayers.

Day 2: People get markings on their body in symbolic patterns using an ink made with Henna berries.

Day 3: The people lights bonfires to tell stories about the Creator and Greater Lord Rukkhadevata. People in Sumeru ship them.

Day 4: People adorn their homes and local shrines with flower garlands and lanterns.

Day 5: People throw colored powder made with Henna berries at each other and decorate their homes and shrines with it.

Day 6: The colored Henna Berry powder is thrown as a welcoming gesture for the Creator.

Day 7: A clean up of all the colorful powder from the streets and buildings.

Fontaine

This is the Dieu créateur Carnival. (Fench: Creator gods carnival.)

Time of year: Late winter/early spring

How long it lasts: 7 days

Origins: It started as a way for devoted worshipers of the Creator to mark the end of their fasting period. Fontaine kept it like this for the whole time untill Furina became archon. Furina thought the Creator deserved a more fun and colorful celebration.

Day 1: Rainbow Roses and Romartime bouquets are gifted to shrines as offerings along with Fruity Trio and Fontaine Aspic.

Day 2: An 18 float parade goes through the streets lead by the king, queen, and carnivalon on floats. These floats are offer followed with performers from all nations.

Day 3: Another parade during those in costume on the floats throw up to 10,000 flowers into the crowd. During this time boquets of Rainbow Roses and Romartimes are exchanged between lovers, it is believed to bless the relationship with years of good luck so long as the partners are together. This parade is called the défilé de fleurs (French: flower parade).

Day 4: This is a repeat of the parade on day 2 expect the floats are decorated with lights of various colors. Known as Défilé de lumières (French: Parade of lights).

Day 5: On this night, people par take in games and drunken fun while dressed in costumes and masks.

Day 6: This is a day full of performances all having a common theme of myths about the Creator.

Day 7: The days in which people clean up from the weeks events of chaos and fun.

Currently all nations are either starting or preparing a festival to welcome the Creator back to Teyvat. I will explore these a bit more in the main plot line.

#genshin fanfic #cult au #sagau #creator!reader #sagau lore #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #this took sooooo long #I did research on irl festivals for this

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aaknopf · 1 month

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A poem of girlhood and after by Indigenous New Zealander Tayi Tibble, whose second collection, Rangikura, comes out in America today. In the dictionary of Māori language, hōmiromiro is defined as “a white-breasted North Island tomtit…a little black-and-white bird with a large head and short tail.” It is often used to refer to someone with a tomtit’s keen vision—that is, a sharp eye for detail.

Hōmiromiro

I used to dream about a two-headed goldfish. I took it for an omen. I smashed a milk bottle open

on a boiling road and watched a three-legged dog lick it up and in the process I became not myself but a single shard of glass and thought finally

I had starved myself skinny enough to slip into the splits of the universe but once I did I realised that the universe was no place for a young thing to be and there is always a lot more starving to be had.

When I was a girl I thought

I was Daisy Buchanan. I read on the train. I made voluminous eyes.

Once I walked in front of a bus and it exploded into a million monarch butterflies then I was ecstatic!

As a girl, I could only fathom

time as rose petals falling down my oesophagus. It tickled and it frightened me. I ran around choking for attention.

I had projections of myself at 100 my neck weathered and adorned like the boards of a home being eaten by the earth.

When I was a girl I would lie

on the side of that road in the last lick of sun and wait for the rabbits to come saluting the sky of orange dust

and then I would shoot them into outer space.

For many years I watched them bouncing on the moon. But then I stopped caring and so I stopped looking.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Rangikura by Tayi Tibble.

Browse other books by Tayi Tibble and follow her on Instagram @paniaofthekeef.

Hear Tayi Tibble and Harryette Mullen read from their new poetry collections at Beyond Baroque in Los Angeles, CA on April 10 at 8:00 PM. Tayi Tibble will be joined by Sasha LaPointe in Washington for a series of readings and conversations at Elliot Bay Book Company in Seattle on April 13 at 7:00 PM, at King's Books in Tacoma on April 14 at 1:00 PM, at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art in Bainbridge on April 15 at 7:00 PM, and at Third Place Books in Seattle, Lake Forest Park, on April 16 at 7:00 PM. Tayi and Sasha will also be at Broadway Books in Portland, OR, on April 17 at 6:00 PM. Tayi will be at the LA Times Book Festival signing books at the ALTA booth (Booth 111) on April 20 at 11:00 AM.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

#TibbleAudio #poetry #knopf #poem-a-day #knopf poetry #national poetry month #poetry month #knopfpoetry #poem #tayi tibble #rangikura #homirmiro

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sorceresssundries · 2 months

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Masterlist

Hey all! I'm Jourdane and here is my writing! It's mainly a collection of poetry from Gale's little journal. He has a lot of feelings. Poor guy.

I take BG3 related poetry requests! You guys have some lovely ideas, and i'm really enjoying creating things for you. Feel free to ask anonymously if that's easier.

Full list below, as there's quite a collection now!

Find my fics on AO3!

I've also recently set up a ko-fi. It's very new! At the moment I offer poetry commissions for any reason/occasion. I'll just leave it here... Ko-fi.com/jourdane

The Tressym A Rough Tempest The Night of the Tiefling Party A Practiced Tongue A Dragonfly Dances Mystra's Vow Dear Goddess Death's Door Hope Astarion's Contribution Specific Requests

For Elerra For Jared For Athena A Sonnet for the Bard Wedding Day For Auroria Submissions Tav's Note - By @mumms-the-word

Other Writing

Poem for my OC - The Dance of the Moon and the Spider

Fics

Downpour - A Pride and Prejudice inspired, smutty, romantic one-shot.

Heatwave - Regency AU - It is the final social event of the summer season, and Tav has dressed poorly for a festival in the midst of a heatwave. Smutty One-shot.

A Battle of Wits - A short adventure where an arrogant wizard and a jaded cleric set off to find a suitable campsite, before running into trouble. SFW

Shades of Green - This is inspired by Atonement, and contains elements of the book/film but with a different plot and in a different universe. Smutty One-shot

A Scandal in Sorcery - This work is a multi-chapter regency era/Baldur’s Gate crossover. Set in an Alternate Universe, containing familiar faces and key events in new light.

Revivify - A multi-chapter love story centred around the main plot of Baldur’s Gate 3, with an additional storyline for our female druid, Tav.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 writing #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav

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davidluongart · 16 days

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Aphrodite and Adonis in their older Mesopotamian forms; Inanna-Ishtar, the warlike goddess of beauty, fertility, and love and Dumuzi, her husband and the shepherd king of ageless Uruk.🦁🐏

Here are the poem snippet that I used as the main inspo, written by Enhueduanna, high priestess of the moon god Nanna/Sin and daughter of King Sargon & Queen Tashlultum of Akkad. As she became a devotee of Inanna and composed various exaltation hymns to the goddess, she also composed 42 hymns addressed to many temples and sanctuaries across the land of Sumer and Akkad, the so-called Temple Hymns; which makes her become the earliest known named author in world history.

The ziggurat temple background was based on the Eanna temple (”House” of Inanna) in Uruk, which was built during the 3rd dynasty of Ur (21st cent BC) and had been mentioned throughout in the Epic of Gilgamesh; while their clothing was from later recent Assyrian & Babylonian era. All of the offerings were based on the depictions on the Warka vase from the National Museum of Iraq - an agricultural festival that seemed to be connected with the rituals involved with the goddess.

#ancient greek #aphrodite #adonis #tammuz #ancient near east #mesopotamia #Inanna-ishtar

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lavaflowe · 8 months

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JTTW BOOK CLUB

CHPT 7-9

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

Chpt 7

•”All this was probably refined in his stomach by the Samadhi fire to form a single solid mass” I know other deities can use the fire but I’m wracking my brain for when it used before(this point) specifically- My understanding was the furnace refined the immortal elixirs and fruit- I’m going to assume Laozi is just theorizing and doesn’t know what actually happened

•Diamond body….👀

•Erlang gets absolutely DRIPPED out, he earned it FR

•eyes permanently irritated by the smoke churned up the the Xun trigram, someone get this man some eye drops

•he is extra pissed

•HE JUST BODIES LAOZI IM YELLING😂

•”this cosmic being fully fused with nature’s gifts passes with ease through 10,000 toils and tests”

•Big war form out to beat serious ass, he’s not jokin bitch

•” bright and luminous; ….illustrious pearl of mani he is indeed” MMMMM comparing him to a mani- a flaming (wish granting) jewel is hilarious 💀

•Tathagata bringing in the big guns (himself)

•”how tf do you know The Way and not know who I am?? And you’re so….violent” I can sense the side eye

•I wonder if Wukong has previous incarnations?? Buddha says he just reached human form this incarnation but if his rock was there at the beginning of creation, wouldn’t his soul be ‘baking’ (for lack of a better term) the whole time until he hatched?

•” and with a total lack of respect he left a bubbling pool of monkey urine” Iconic moment LMAOOOO

•smart for Wukong to leave a momento- too bad it didn’t matter lol

•ah so he was jumping to visit the pillars again, not run away(supposedly)- he’d rather prove he’s right than escape💀 that checks out

•monkey has been squished, it is now party o’clock

•are you allowed to give the Buddha drugs if it’s an offering? Like wine??🤔 “wtf is this allowed? Wtf”

•”Wukong is wiggling out”

“Dw, take this”

*slaps tag on the mountain like flex tape*

•enough room to breathe and move his hands- I would lose my mind

•Molten copper & iron pellets mimic punishments in hell (just learned this🙏), shedding the Karma like water -I feel like 500 years is pretty good tbh considering everything

Woe molten metal and iron upon ye

Chpt 8 + 9 under cut:

Chpt 8:

•lots of lovely poems in this chapter

•a paragraph recap of the past 7 chapters

•wonder what Feast of the Ullambana Bowl is? (the notes say it’s a mass for the dead and is also know as the Ghost festival, practiced by Taoists and Buddhists)

•”the Chan mind shines bright like a thousand rivers’ moon; true nature’s pure and great as an unclouded sky.”

Lovely poem, and I’m beginning to realize this book is very heavily focused on the Chan school, which I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on sooner? White-Robed Guan Yin is a Chan specific form, usually depicted in their bamboo grove

•Tathagata reveals his 3 baskets of scripture after everyone is done presenting their poems, feels almost like he suggested the celebration to announce these

•Each basket corresponds to scriptures of Heaven, Earth, and the Damned- a total of 15,144 FUCKING SCROLLS

•oooo Guanyin poem!! “ a golden body filled with wisdom, fringes of dangling pearls and jade, …dark hair piled smartly in a coiled-dragon bun. With brows of new moon shape and eyes like two bright stars, her jadelike face beams natural joy. …Her orchid heart delights in green bamboos; her chaste nature loves the wisteria. The living Guanyin from the Cave of Tidal Sound.”

•5 Talismans: Embroidered Cassock that will protect him from falling back into the Wheel of Transmigration, a 9 ring priestly staff that will protect him from poison or harm, 3 tightening fillets- the Golden, the Constructive, and the Prohibitive Spell.

•Guanyin thinks this will take about 2 to 3 years💀 hooooo boy….

•FLOWING SAND RIVER!!! MY 2ND FAV BOY!!!

•Green and Black complexion, Gleaming eyes like the lights beneath a stove, forked mouth with teeth like knives and swords, and disheveled red hair

•like that Wujing is using a priest staff he def took from one of the monks he ate lol

•Wujing fighting Moksa for his life only to drop everything to apologize and talk to Guanyin LMAO

•MOKSA PICKS HIM UP BY THE COLLAR AKFKAKDJDJ

•ah, so Wujing didn’t reincarnate, he was changed, STABBED OVER 100 TIMES EVERY 7 DAYS AND FORCED TO COMMIT CANNABILSM SO HE DOESNT STARVE AS PUNISHMENT- THATS JUST LOVELY😭

•I like the interpretation that he could have been trying to signal a coup by breaking the crystal cup

•Guanyin hearing about Wujing’s string of skulls: it’s a surprise tool that will help us later

•BAJIE TIME

•this idiot bro “HOW DARE YOU TRY TO GET FLOWER PETALS IN MY EYES!!” “IDIOT THAT WAS GUANYIN” “…Guanyin is here??” “LOOK UP”

•Wuneng is reincarnated, he got beat to death in Heaven for hitting on Chang’e LMAOOOOO GET REKT

•ah yes, casually mentions killing his pig family and then his life of eating humans. Lovely.

•AO LIE TIME

•I committed a little accidental arson, please bail me out

•Damn, he got a really short intro

•interesting that Guanyin id’s the Peach Banquet as Wukongs fall from grace. I would def agree with this- eating the peaches like he did was extremely reckless and the beginning of the end imo

•”who tf is talking shit up there”

•No one has ever visited Wukong, I’m guessing the Guards were horrible company

•I like how both Guanyin and Sanzang try to give Wukong a religious name- Guanyin is very happy to hear he has the Wu- prefix as well lol

•arrived in Chang’an, let the hunt begin

Chpt 9:

•Chang’an bb, all blooming flowers surrounded by 8 rivers (DAMN, that’s a lot of water)

•Guangrui got first place in the examination, good for him UwU

•SURPRISE WIFE

•”gave the girl to Guangrui as his bride” UM I THINK SHES THE ONE WHO GRABBED HIM LMAO

•Guangrui has some fated beef with these two random boatmen, Liu Hong and Li Biao- states that he was destined in a previous incarnation to be enemies with them, is this a result of bad karma?

•NOOOOOO MY GUY GUANGRUI

•Liu Hong reminds me of Liu’er Mi-*gunshot*

•since they’re at the bottom of the Hong river, which Dragon King is this?

•Golden Carp coming in clutch, nice

•LADY YIN IS SO METAL LETS GO “she hated the bandit so bitterly that she wished she could devour his flesh and sleep on his skin” DO IT GURL, KILL HIM

•damn, too bad she’s pregnant with Sanzang….dw Girl I know you would kick his ass otherwise…

•there goes his toe…

•get named River Float idiot

•damn bro chill, that wasn’t very monk-like of you

•homie got called an orphan and cried JAKDJSJFJ I FEEL BAD

•she didn’t even check the toe I THOUGHT SHE DID- WHAT WAS THE POINT LMAO

•nvmnd

•I guess licking the eyes is better than spitting on them…sigh…

•GODDAMN THEY RIPPED LIU HONG AND LI BAIO APART….good for them, deserved in fact

•Lady Yin committing suicide even after she was reunited with her husband makes sense, as there was a trend where wives whose husbands died or they were assaulted, killed themselves. This was show loyalty to their husbands and add weight to their claim of SA- Lady Yin’s husband coming back does not change the fact that everyone knows she was forcefully married :((

(I use the term ‘trend’ only as a way to describe the rise and fall in wife suicides tied to either a husbands death or as a response to SA)

#FINALLY CAUGHT UP YIPPEE #I CAN… I CAN DRAW MKRE FOR THESE #<- I say this but I intentionally didn’t post last Sunday so I could make that animation for chapter 7 LMAO #…I have my priorities straight #tho the animation prevented me from doing anything for Sanzang’s chapter RIP #I would have done Lady Yin Justice I swear- she deserves soemthing nice #jttw #jttw book club #<- still not sure about that tag LMAO #Journey to the west #I’ll probably slap all my doodles in one post at some point…#Sun Wukong #tang sanzang #my art #jttw meme #tw: sui mention

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inmoonlightpoetry · 8 months

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中秋节: The Mid-Autumn Festival

Ever wanted to learn more about the Mid-Autumn Festival (September 29th of 2023)? Here are some tales surrounding the holiday, as well as famous poems made with the holiday feeling in mind.

For whom do we eat mooncakes? Why is it that on every 15th day of the 8th month of the lunar calendar, many cultures across Asia reunite with their families to sit out and admire the moon? Why should the moon be admired, and how did this come to be in the first place?Chinese tales hold many beliefs about the holiday’s origins, and a quick look into history provides an added layer of understanding…

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infin1ty-garden · 8 months

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VALENTINE'S DAY

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ✦ summary: headcanons of the shadow & bone characters on valentine's day ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ✦ character(s): nikolai lantsov, tamar kit-bataar, tolya yul-bataar, genya safin and zoya nazyalensky ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ✦ warnings: none ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ✦ word count: 752 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ✦ author note: NOT A MODERN AU! sorry some are a bit shorter

masterlist.

NIKOLAI LANTSOV

✦ He would overplan and over think every detail, he's worse than Genya

✦ Thoughts like "Which gift would you like better?" "An outdoor or indoor date?" "Maybe a date at the theatre?"

✦ He'd spent nights planning but nothing seemed right, Zoya knocked some sense into him. "I think they wouldn't mind all this expensive stuff, but you being there is enough"

✦ Would end up going simple, inviting you to dine with him

✦ The food would be some of the best you'd ever tasted

✦ After the dinner you would walk the gardens together, enjoying the fresh air when with his luck, he's being called back to the palace

✦ "May I have this dance," Nikolai intrigued by what your doing, takes you up on the offer

✦ The two of us danced until the meeting was on the back of his mind but eventually he had to leave but not without a kiss

TAMAR YUL BATAAR

✦ Tamar's mentality is more of "let's see what the day brings" but she does have some stuff planed

✦ The ship had docked in Novy Zem, a festival taking place near the docks. Tamar remembered you wanting to visit it

✦ The festival had carts lining the street with all kinds of delicacies from every corner of the world. Streets booming with colours. It was a beautiful site

✦ Tamar and you spent the day trying all kinds of food and just being around each other. She didn't mind spending all her money just for you to keep that lovely smile

✦ Then the both of you found yourselves in a local bar, singing songs you'd only learned the words to an hour ago

✦The day ended in a cot, somehow two people fitting in such a small space. You laying completely on her, sound asleep

TOLYA YUL BATAAR

✦ Tolya is the romantic out of the twins

✦ Still he would go simple being apart of Nikolai's crew means travelling a lot and that leaves out, a typical dinner date

✦ Living on a ship as well doesn't help. There aren't many places for a quite talk, let alone a date

✦ Instead he turns to what he knows best, poetry. He would spend days looking for the perfect book and then weeks annotating it. Underlining verses that reminds him of you or moments shared together

✦ He would invite you to the deck and by the time he did most of the crew were asleep. You thought he'd forgotten the holiday all together, you were wrong. He gave you a box of sweets he'd bought at the port in Novy Zem, along with the book

✦ You'd spent the rest of the night sharing the sweets and just enjoying each other's company

✦ When you finally had the chance to read the book, some of the poems described the stars lost in the night's sky, a sea of darkness, finding their true purpose upon the arrival of the moon. "You're my moon, the only purpose I need" (sorry it's cheesy)

GENYA SAFIN

✦ Genya would go above and beyond to make the perfect valentine's day date

✦ A picnic date if the weather calls for it with both of your favourite snacks, foods and deserts

✦ If it does end up raining a nice date indoors would be something she prefers over, a fancy dinner

✦ She doesn't mind dining in a expensive restaurant, but she thinks a more personal dinner at home, is better

✦ Genya would plan everything down to the last minute especially if it's your first valentine's day together

✦ She ended up getting her picnic date

✦ All kinds of foods were lined up in front of you as you enjoyed the sunny day and spending time with Genya

ZOYA NAZYALENSKY

✦ You would be the one planning the date and Zoya would act as if the holiday has little significance to her. You'd decided a date at a fancy restaurant was the way to go

✦ She'd loved it, the one you chose wasn't too crowded and the food was delicious. You'd talked about your future plans with one another, how your day had gone and so on

✦ After leaving the restaurant, the two of you headed somewhere a bit more reclusive to watch the fireworks

✦ Zoya too busy staring at the fireworks, didn't notice your hands putting something around her neck. Once she tore her eyes from the literal explosions of colour, she spotted a beautiful necklace. "Happy Valentine's day."

Thank you for reading!

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house-strong · 2 years

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— DRAGONS BANE, chapter five ʾ ⋆

CHAPTER FIVE — light side of the moon.

index ; chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. chapter six. chapter seven. chapter eight. chapter nine.

summary ; spending days away from you presence after your squabble, aemond is contemplating on the task his mother had set for him. you, on the other hand, were doing your duty as a servant to the crown. you accompany helaena on all her adventures. today, whilst remembering your home castle, helaena talks about a festival within the city walls. you're tempted to go, but have no willing chaperone. rules are broken and there's a new light shining from above.

pairings ; aemond targaryen x reader , platonic!helaena targaryen x reader , jacaerys velaryon x reader (mentioned)

notes / warnings ; omg this is nearly 5k words LMFAO,, more bonding 🧡 uhh slight mention of a man being gross but it isn't explicitly stated. aemond is still an ass and you and helaena share a tender moment. aemond also talks about losing his eye,, DEVELOPMENT !

taglist ; @gloryekaterina @andysnewgroove @mitsuyaws @vikingsisthenewsexy @signyvenetia @tina-theslytherin @thegreat-annamaria @sana-within-you @averageperhaps @ephemeralninon @sanguinalia @merakiaes @fancylisoo @miaowchan17 @thesnugglingduck @mistalli @rosedovve @itisjustwhatitis @fandoms8 @lizajane2 @sunscreenfeverdream @witchymermaid12 @marytvirgin @s0ph-3 @starddustt @redridingpants @aaleksmorozova @riddlerloveb0t @bcon24 @queenofshinigamis @myspy @ilovepornstaches-69 @woodandwaxwings @muddleofnervouswords @kittykat5742 @moonstruckbucky @tomshollandz @myspotofcraziness @jenoix @bluecatton @ashloonie @zanmorgan @preciouslosers @kirithewitch @m00n5t0n3 @heykathchuu @fulviaflaccaisbae @anapnovo-blog @matilda97 @nighttwingg

want to join my taglist? click me.

“do you ever miss home?”

helaena’s voice is sweet to your ear. the question is honest and sentimental, her gaze soft as she eyes you. though, you can’t help but feel that the question is a taunt, but you know better than that. you wonder why she was suddenly curious about your home – perhaps it was the poem that made her question you about your feelings on yours. you think about it for a moment, tongue licking your teeth.

you play with the ends of your hair, looking up at her through your lashes, “i do, princess. but, my place is here with you now.”

helaena’s fingers fiddle with the papers of the poetry book. she rolls the paper back and forth, deciding to crease the corner to serve as a temporary bookmark. you grimace at the action but say nothing.

“what’s highgarden like? is it different from kings landing?” she probes, her head tilting slightly as she shuts the book that was in her lap. instead, she rests her elbows on the hard cover, leaning forward as if you were sharing interesting gossip.

“it’s beautiful,” your words are laced with a forlorn sentiment, one that softly tugs at your heart. even though it’s barely been half a year serving as helaena’s handmaiden, you’ve already forgotten what home was. it was easy to take every spectacle for granted since you once saw them every day. but now, without the constant reminder of flower walls, perfectly rounded shrubbery, and the marble statues – it was easy to forget. “it’s more flowers and art than anything, no dreary buildings to block out the sky.”

helaena seems to sigh at the notion. highgarden was truly magnificent and words couldn’t even begin to scratch the surface on how breathtaking it actually was. your lips twitch downward as you continue to think about it – your friends, your family, how were they doing? has any of the flowers changed since you last saw them? any new sculptures or rooms? your hands collapse into your lap and you begin to fiddle with your fingers.

“highgarden often hosts party’s and festivities, don’t they?” you raise your head to acknowledge helaena’s next question. you smile and nod your head, the words unable to come out and affirm what she was asking about. it was weird, no doubt, to be talking to someone who had no absolute idea on what kind of grand, social soirées took place at highgarden – it was often the talk of the reach. “i believe there’s a festivity tonight within the city.”

if your interest wasn’t piqued now, it sure was.

your brows raise and your mouth parts slightly, though the words that were supposed to come out were interrupted by a man – “festivity? it’s nothing more than a fuckfest.”

you head turns and it’s aegon with aemond trailing after him. the latter gives his older brother a sour look, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed. you turn your head the other way and roll your eyes, not missing the double take aegon seems to give you.

“aegon.” his name seems to flow off the tongue of yours and aemonds at the same time, a scold evident. the word is, eerily enough, the same pitch and volume. you both cast each other a glance before continuing to glare at aegon. it’s aemond who continues the conversation after a tut - his voiced is hushed, “such use of language around your wife isn’t appropriate.”

aegon waves his hand in the air as if he’s swatting away the scold. he rounds the furniture and stands behind helaena, a grin parting his lips as he gently clasps her shoulders. she seems uncomfortable now, the smile she bore now replaced by a thin line. though it’s been sometime since helaena and aegon’s wedding, you can’t help but still feel unnerved at the mention of the word wife.

“come, my darling wife,” aegon says, sucking in his bottom lip and teething it. “i want to show you something.”

the look he gives her makes you feel icky and you must admit, the look on helaena’s face is enough for you to be disturbed. you’ve never asked helaena about the relationship – she always seemed like a candle snuffed out in his presence.

helaena gingerly takes his outstretched hand and rises from her seat. she casts you a look, slightly tipping her head in a silent goodbye. you give her a reassuring smile, but it doesn't do much. you cross your legs, fingers thrumming against the wooden table as their receding footsteps come to ear. soon, silence befalls you and aemond. you take a look at him; he's paying you no mind, except his jaw is set and his fingers are rubbing together in though. no doubt, he was also bothered by their absence.

you clear your throat and he almost seems to glare at you out of the corner of his eye.

"have you been there?" you offer. aemond turns his head this time to full look at you, eye squinting.

"where?" his voice is monotone and low, drastically different from the light airiness of your own. it sends a shiver down your spine and you don't like that.

you want to roll your eyes, "the," you begin, suddenly feeling shy underneath his watchful stare. you look down at your hands, fingers already starting to pick at the skin of the nailbeds. the action was absentminded and hardly your own. "the festival."

"it's unfit for a lady."

"i wasn't asking if it was fit for a lady."

both phrases are calloused and harsh, two sentences that shoot out like swords that clash in the air. he tilts his head, his stare hardening. you jut out your chin and raise your brows questioningly. defiance meets defiance, but aemond seems to give in a little too easily.

"i have," he finally says, "but i must confess, being your tribulation is much more amusing."

you roll your eyes, of course, "i'll decide that."

aemond, intrigued by your response, turns his entire body and leans forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. he's facing you now, legs, chest, and face attuned to your direction. he gives you a sly grin, one that's almost challenging your statement.

"and how will you accomplish that, little flower?" he asks, his finger pointing at you almost accusingly, "you have no chaperone."

you snort, shaking your head. you hadn't thought this out too far – you hoped that he wouldn't be too keen on questioning you, but alas, your plan fell short. you chew on your bottom lip, trying to decide what to say without outright pleading him to take you. you wanted to be granted this one night of fun – a night that would remind you of home.

"hm?" aemond taunts when you don't reply. in response, you glare at him. he seems satisfied by this; the grin he had on his face only grows with each passing second.

you sigh in frustration, "i'll go on my own."

despite the confidence in the way you say it, the idea outright terrifies you. to be a highborn lady, alone, on the streets of kings landing was unheard of and definitely avoided. your father had always warned you of the beasts that men become after a cup or two of too much wine. you would be devoured by them, squabbled over like children to their toys. you're unnerved at this point of your own thoughts and aemond can tell. though, he likes this newfound fire. he wants to poke at it and feed air to it, to breathe a new flame of ferocity into it.

undoubtedly and without confession, he wants to experience the raw and unfiltered version of you.

he continues to stare. there’s a mischievous gleam to his blue eye, one that seems to make the iris glow iridescently. you take this moment to observe his face – strong and sharply sculpted, as if he was carved by the gods themself. his lips, despite being constantly curved into a sly sneer, are perfectly imperfect. his top lip casts a shadow over his bottom one and there’s a bow within the top that gives it more dimension. your gaze moves down toward his chin, where it proudly protrudes – and this is the first time you notice that there is a faint dimple in the middle. your eyes trail back up; his brows are fluffy and unkempt, baby hairs flaring out from both the top and bottom. the softness they give contrast to the harsh lines of the rest of his face.

he’s pale in this light, yes, but he’s indubitably gorgeous when he’s not brooding, taunting, or snapping his jaws at those near him.

"i'll pray you don't return," he says, clearly with amusement. you scoff and roll your eyes once more, getting up with such force that the chair screeches with abuse. you turn abruptly and walk away, grumbling about his scorn. you exhale deeply, slipping between the door and the crack to get away from him. despite his beauty, he was a nuisance – a head-splitting headache.

it's not long during your roam through the castle's hallways that you are summoned to princess helaena's room. the servant who brings you this summon, instructs that helaena desired to be bathed. you oblige, stopping by the linen closet to grab cloths to wrap the princess with and smaller strips at well to scrub her skin with. your feet carry you quickly to her private quarters and enter only after your knocks are met with an acknowledgement.

there's a bath filled with steaming hot water. you approach, setting the linens nearby before grabbing nearby bottles of soaps and oils. you open the oil bottle and shake a few droplets into the steaming water. instantly, the room is filled with the pleasant aroma of fruits. you turn and helaena is sitting quietly, staring down at the small piece of sown cloth. there's a spider on it, sown neatly with little to no errors.

"helaena," you call, approaching her slowly as not to startle her. she's broken from her trance and suddenly remembers where she's at. the princess gets up and closes in on your location, slowly tugging at the strings of her loosened chemise. you help her undress and ball the clothing up, discarding it into a bin that you mentally note to take to the chambermaid. you help her into the water and she sinks in, sighing at the warmth that soothes her muscles. you roll up the sleeves of your dress before continuing.

you grab a strip of cloth, soaking it into the water. you wring it out and drag it across skin that's surfaced. you notice, out of the corner of your eye, that helaena relaxes into your touch. you continue like this in silence, the sound of water dripping from the cloth as you repeated your actions. you move from her arm to her shoulders, over to the length of her back, and then to the other arm. you work meticulously, even going as far as to scrub at the undergrowth of her nails. you hand helaena the rag, abandoning her side to grab some soap for her scalp. the princess dunks her head into the water, hands running through the strands of silver hair in order to soak it through.

this felt like a routine to you and you both worked in perfect synchrony. once she's done wetting her hair, you move to the end of the tub and lather the soap into your hands. the substance becomes suds and in turn, you begin to massage it into her scalp.

"have you thought about names?" your voice is gentle and bordering a whisper. helaena smiles and meets your eye – hers sparkle with what you could call motherly tenderness.

"i was thinking jaehaerys.”

the name is undoubtedly targaryen – no doubt a tribute to the former king. you muster a smile that matches hers and coo in response.

"a name fit for a prince." you both giggle and she continues to scrub at herself.

"i pray so," she says after a moment. she looks up at you through her lashes, "have you thought about having children?"

the question causes a pang of hurt to radiate through your body. though you're sure it wasn't meant to intentionally hurt you, you can't help but think about the romances that simply didn't work. first, it was the boy from highgarden. what his name was, you couldn't remember, just that he was unmistakeningly handsome and had a smile that would put the gods to shame. then, there was prince jacaerys.. the kindling that never happened. you smile at the thought of the latter, though it's laced with disappointment.

"no, not really, my princess." helaena frowns and notices that she's plucked at the strings of your heart. her wet hand reaches out for you, gently holding you in place as she gives you a look. it's knowing and almost apologetic – most importantly, it's her showing that she understands.

"you can leave me, my friend. i can see myself to bed." you smile gratefully at her and lean forward, placing a chaste kiss on her temple.

"good night, helaena. i will see you on the morrow."

she bids you good night and you see yourself out, rolling down the sleeves of your dress. there's spots of wetness – spots that begin to irritate the skin underneath. you reach your room after walking through the corridors. your feet ache and there's a dull pain in your knees that starts to crawl up the bone of your thigh.

you finally reach and enter your room, locking the door latch once you're safely inside. you slump on to a nearby sofa, rubbing at your legs with a soft moan. you, however, were fully intent on celebrating the night festivites. how, you didn't know, but you would figure it out and play it by ear. once you're rested enough to not audibly complain about the feeling in your legs, you get up and change out your dress. this one is darker in tone and still long-sleeve. it's plain; less adorned with jewelries and designs. you change out your shoes and search your closet for a shawl, something you could wear to keep you warm.

once you've figured out what you were wearing, you look at yourself in the mirror. hopefully, your clothes wouldn't be such an exclaimer on your status. you grab a coin pouch and pull out a few coins. you figured if you kept your purse light, you wouldn't be an easy target. hopefully.

you quickly braid the length of your hair, tying it off with a leather bound before tucking it into your hood. you tuck the pouch into your clothing and make your way to the door. fingers expertly unlatch the lock and you swing open the door. your eyes are met with an enclosed fist and the sight of silver hair.

"aemond?" brows furrowing, you look at him up and down. he's wearing almost the same exact thing you are. you tut and narrow your eyes at him.

he moves past you, as if his presence wasn't a surprise, "good, you haven't left yet."

"excuse me?" you make a face, watching him as he entered your room. you shut the door and walk towards him, arms crossing over your chest. "why are you here?"

"we're going to the festival."

"when did me become we?"

he rolls his eyes at you, "don't be childish, little flower. did you believe i would have let you go, unaccompanied?"

"i did, yes," you shoot back. aemond moves about your room, studying the walls with an interest that confused you even more. what was his deal? "i was hoping to be blessed with a night without you."

his search is broken by your words and he gives you a pointed look, his eye narrowing, "now, now, i'm being charitable. you should be thankful."

charitable? thankful? annoyance begins to bubble in your stomach and you're ready to curse him, yell at him for being so assumptive–

there's a loud creak that seems to shake the room. aemond is pressing on the wall and despite it being carved out of stone, it moves.

"come now, the festival won't wait all night."

you close your mouth. maybe you shouldn't argue with him just yet. besides, his way of escaping in the night was much more.. practical. and, he would also be a valuable chaperone. he had a sword, a dagger, and all the means to protect you. without a second thought, you move forward and follow him wordlessly. you're moving through the passageway, steps light.

"i never knew these existed," you mutter after observing the walls. they're not at prettily crafted as the ones that decorate the main hallways of the castle. they're hastily built and forego any beauty. there's droplets of water coming from somewhere, though it seems more like an echo rather than a nearby source.

"not many do. aegon showed me the day he took me to the street of silk on my thirteenth nameday," aemond responds. he stops at a fork in the road, looking left, looking right.

your brows furrow at his words and reach his side, "street of silk?"

he seems to falter at his echoed words. he thinks for a moment, distracted by the notion. aemond grimaces at his vivid remembrance. "yes."

"but-"

aemond picks the left passageway and interrupts you, "this way."

dumbfounded, you watch him trail away. street of silk? what in gods name, would he be doing in the street of silk at thirteen? you frown, assumptions beginning to cloud your once excited mood. you hurry after him and stay silent for the rest of the twists and turns. soon, the exit is within sight.

you two leave the castle and you are amazed at what you see. the kings landing that existed during the day was nothing compared to the splendor of the night festivity that was going on. lanterns littered the streets, spouts of fire causes shadows to dance in the distance, and from the looks of it, there's people dancing.

aemond leads the way down the steps and into the streets. music becomes increasingly louder and you pull your coat tighter around you as a cool breeze flows within the air. you notice that aemond has tucked his hair into his own cowl and has pulled up the hood to conceal his hair; a smart move.

you're open-mouthed and practically gawking at everything you see. the parties at highgarden are nothing compared to the rawness of kings landing. people are laughing, drinking, fucking in alleyways, and are absolutely visceral – basking in their freedom. you see a vendor and tug at aemond's lapel, though, he doesn't turn around. you huff and wander off, politely excusing yourself through the crowd.

candied berries, mugs of a brown liquid, bread, and other items litter the shelves of the shop. you eye the candied berries and point, asking the vendor for a handful. once you learn the total, you pull out your pouch and grab a few copper pennies and an extra silver dragon. you give it to the man, offering him a smile as you exchange currency for food. he's astounded by the coins you give him and he yells over the crowd his gratefulness. you wave and tuck both the pouch of your coins and your berries into your belt.

you wander off once more, eyeing the buildings rather than where you were walking. your eyes trail to the streets, then in front of you where you encounter a man standing in your way. worry begins to pickle at your skin and you utter an 'excuse me', but it seems as if it goes in one ear and out the other.

he begins saying some obscenities, not loud enough for you to hear, but enough to make you uncomfortable. you back away slightly and he advances, though, it's cut short. his once lewd face falls into a fearful one, and he instead, backs off. you turn around and sigh in relief at the sight of a hooded aemond.

"you shouldn't wander off." you're unsure if it's a scold or not. aemond's eyes move down, eyeing the two pouches that were tucked away. before he turns to lead the way, you could swear that there was a smile twitching the corner of his mouth. was it the berries or your purse that caught his attention?

you follow wordlessly, paying closer attention to where he was going. he's leading you somewhere less crowded and noisy, somewhere where it's a view due to the steps you both climb. soon, he reaches a ledge where it oversees the lively streets. he moves his cape, settling down on to the grass with ease. his legs hang over the ledge and dangle lazily. you opt for more grace; bending at the knee and keeping modest as you sit cross-legged. you smooth out your dress before reaching for your candied berries.

dipping two fingers into the pouch, you pull out a berry and toss it into your mouth. you munch on it politely, savoring the sweetness it brings. you take another one before offering the pouch to aemond. he turns his head to fully look at it when he notices it out of the corner of his eye. his blue eye widens, enough so that the whites of his eyeballs show. he looks up at you through his lashes, offering a few, slow blinks. he waits for a moment, as if testing you, before he reaches in and snags a few berries for himself. he puts two in his mouth and chews on them. he's surprised at how juicy and sweet they are, dousing his tastebuds in pleasantry.

his hesitance is obvious to you, and you feel the need to voice it, "are you so tainted with hatred that you've forgotten what kindness is?"

"kindness is often masked as deception, it dissuades me," he divulges. his gaze shifts from the pouch to your eyes, and from behind the sapphire hue, you can see the umbra of hurt. you eat another berry, thinking carefully.

"the celebration here reminds me of home," you confess after a moment. aemond looks back out at the scenery, but your sight remains fixed on the outline of his face. from this orange glow, it's soft and almost romantic. it's drastically different from the harsh lines he had in the sunlight. feeling like you're staring a little too long, you clear your throat and look away – he seemed to notice.

"d’you miss it?"

his question nearly catches you off guard. you'd expected him to ignore your comment and pretend like you didn't say anything.

"i do."

side by side, you and aemond snack on the rest of the candied berries. you're both caught up thinking in your own minds, almost forgetting each others presence. you then think about aemond, then his eye. despite your best efforts, you can't help but feel curious about the tragedy of his left eye. did a cat claw his eye out as a child? were the whispers true and he had plucked his own eye out? you bite your lip.

"may i ask the truth of you eye?" the words are meek, clearly afraid of any possible outlash like from the first encounter you had with the prince. his jaw becomes set and you hear an audible breath be released from his nose. he turns his head to give you a look; perhaps aemond should have known better. had you lulled him into this peaceful tranquility just to dull your curiosity? was your berries a deceptive tactic in order for him to confide in you?

aemond thinks he's being a bit too harsh by being accusing. then again, his words replay like a broken tune in his head. kindness is often masked as deception.

"it happened years ago, when i was a child," he begins, looking down at the grass. his hands move to play with the green tufts and slender fingers deftly pluck separate strands. "my nephews did not like that i claimed vhagar."

your brows furrow and you scooch over just a bit. aemond is confused by the proximity, but thinks nothing of it.

"she was riderless and i without a dragon. when i returned, we fought." aemond doesn't miss the way your face contorts, was it horror or disturbance? he knows the face all too well – it's the same face every person he tells the tale to makes. at this point, aemond starts to feel as if his words are moving you against him – as if you're not understanding his side of the story. why did everyone assume he was the villain?

"y'think that was the right thing to do?" despite the softness and carefulness that lingers in your words, there's no doubt a beast stirring within aemond – and he doesn't like the way your question doubts him. it's annoying and most of all, hurtful.

"you don't?" he responds back callously.

"vhagar is a dragon and he took my eye," aemond is growing increasingly irritable. he spits the words out like venom through clenched teeth. whoever the ominous he was, you assumed that aemond had a disclosed abhorrence for whoever it was. he was robbed of his eye, his vision. his fists closes in balls on the grass and the hands shake, "i was a child and they berated me, and they beat me for claiming a dragon."

his speech is now uneven, laced with the hardness of anger. the once calculated, even-tongued aemond targaryen, had now descended into a brazen mess of incoherent feelings. pent up feelings from long ago were beginning to bubble over.

aemond feels his lip twitch and you feel sympathy coil in your stomach. you gingerly reach out, hand enclosing over his bicep in an attempt comfort him. he's ready to swat it away, but soon enjoys the warmth that seeps through his clothes. its benevolent and sweet, almost bearing the same consolation as his mothers hold. he thinks he likes it.

"it's all right, aemond. it's the past, we cannot rewrite what's already written in the stars."

he stays like this for a moment, evening his breaths and settling himself down. he doesn't like the fact that he became berserk, unwound by a single topic from his childhood – a scar that felt like had reopened. he swallows the rest of the pain away and rises with ease to his feet. he outstretches his hand in offering to help you up. you take it.

"we must return, i'm sure someone is bound to be curious about our whereabouts." without another glance or word, aemond pretends like the ordeal didn't happen and instead leads the way back to the secret passageway. the journey is silent and full of reverence for it.

aemond turns back to glance for your whereabouts, probably reassuring himself that you hadn't wandered off. you two climb the steps back to the passageway then enter through the hidden door. he leads you through the hallways with expert precision, retracing the steps you took to exit. you wouldn't have remembered where to go and were thankful for his memory.

a yawn parts your jaws and tug once more at aemond's cloths. he notices it this time and turns around, his brow raising questioningly. you lick your lips, looking into his eye with sincerity.

"beneath the brooding, pompous facade you throw on for others," you take a breath, "there is some good in you, aemond. i just wish you made it known."

"hm."

the ridges of aemond's mouth purse into a thin line. he blinks, casting a glance down before turning around and continuing to lead the way. you're suddenly afraid that you've upset him, though you did want to tell him your truth. sincerely, aemond is someone who wasn't all vile, nasty remarks. he's clever, dangerously so, and often is nice to talk to when he's not teasing you. you follow after him and reach the door that leads to your room.

you're hesitant to enter and call out in a hushed yell when you notice aemond has already started walking away, "aemond!"

his steps slow to a halt and he turns halfway, only his side profile obvious in the shadows. you're about disappointed when you realize he was leaving without a goodbye. you swallow the feeling.

"thank you."

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