#;no matter how much love i put in it won’t bear fruit. it’s like the tragic love story of romeo & juliet! (character study - grell)

[yuri-is-online]

Well, since you are feeling festive and so am I, could I have request a fic with Ortho? Just doing a little holiday decorating or some other tradition with a homesick prefect? I don’t know, I just imagine Ortho to be the type to be interested in holiday traditions from another world. Thanks!

Oh hell yeah this slaps. Originally I was going to write about tree decorating but then I had a thought and I didn't want the fic to come off as me info dumping for however many words. I hope this is something like what you had in mind, and happy holidays!

notes: they/them used for Yuu, Ortho is the main focus here but the other first years are mentioned, Yuu and Ortho decide to play Santa. I would absolutely love to hear about any personal holiday traditions of yours, dear reader, as I think those are always very interesting. As always, other fic can be found on my masterlist here.

Christmas. Ortho had searched multiple websites, data banks, and even online journals to see if he could find any mention of such a word outside of the few instances he has heard it muttered by the prefect. He initially thought his searches weren't bearing fruit because Yuu pronounced it several different ways (Chrimis, Crisis, Chrysler???) but he has ultimately concluded those were likely jokes based off of their tone of voice.

That had been what finally made him ask, not even his brother liked laughing at his jokes alone.

"Oh that's one of the big winter holidays in my world." You had told him, trying to sound matter of fact but unable to hide the way your voice cracks with the strain of your homesickness. "I made the mistake of trying to remember a nursery rhyme while Grim was around and ended up telling him about Christmas stockings and now he wants one."

And now you have to explain the concept to him, but with much less pressure as Ortho listens carefully with growing excitement.

"Putting presents in socks! That's really silly but I suppose that there are some holidays here you might find really weird too huh?" Ortho can also see why Grim would be so excited about this particular tradition, a gift (in a sock or no) that has the potential to be made up entirely of candy, fruits, and other foodstuffs sounds very much like him. "So do we just need to find Grim some socks he fits in? You already have a fireplace to hang it on... or are you thinking about giving Grim coal?"

“Well-”  It had crossed your mind.  “Sometimes adults give chocolate that’s shaped like coal but that’s not really what’s bothering me.  You don’t usually use socks for this, you make these really big fake socks.  I wanted to make one for Grim, but while I was thinking about how I wanted to decorate it I sort of… thought it would be nice to make stockings for the others, y’know like Ace and Deuce and maaaybe Jack, but then I would need to explain it to them and I don’t want to do that.”

“Oh that’s easy, we just won’t.”  Ortho laughs and takes your hand to eagerly drag you towards Sam’s before you can question just what he means by “we.”   ~~~~ "Operation sock jaw is a go." Ortho mimics rubbing his hands together gleefully, his lab wear feeling deeply out of place in the unofficial official Ramshackle craft room. A small pile of carefully picked out fabrics and season appropriate accents are neatly folded at the corner of the table as you carefully trace out what you think resembles a pattern for a Christmas stocking as Ortho carefully watches.

"You have really good aesthetic tastes," you nod as you look over the drawings Ortho had provided "this one really matches Ace's clown vibes."

"I'm glad you like it!" He laughs. "I figured a harlequin pattern in Heartslabyul colors suited him perfectly! Deuce was a bit harder to figure out... I didn't just want to slap a playing card on it and call it a day. Jack was a bit easier with how often he searches for information on cacti and succulent care. Oh I can cut the cacti out of the felt if you like?"

"With scissors?" You tentatively ask, not entirely sure how your dorm would hold up if he decides to break out the lasers. But the suggestion seems to flatter Ortho rather than annoy him.

"Oh that'd be fun! I've never really had the need to use normie tools before, this will be just like..." his voice briefly trails off as he looks down at the scissors. You wonder if he is capable of zoning out, being a robot and all, but decide that isn't too far out of the realm of possibility as his next words come out in a stutter. "Hey Yuu, does this sort of feel like an anime to you?" It's not too unexpected a question for Ortho to ask, so you look down at your crafts and really try to think about an answer.

"I guess so?" You gently place the pieces you have cut for Ace's stocking down so you can look out at the snow blanketing the world outside your window. The scene isn't too different than one you might see in your world on a card. But then again- "There's a lot of tropes associated with Christmas in anime, there's an entire genre of weird rom com movies about it, so yeah I guess making crafts like this with you does sort of feel like something I would see in an anime?"

"I thought so!" Ortho happily begins to carefully cut the felt with the scissors, mimicking what he had seen you do with the little tuna fish for Grim's stocking earlier. "That makes me glad, if something is a common enough for people to fantasize about it in an anime, then it has to be really important to the people of your world. And yet no matter where I search I will never be able to find data about it in mine!"

"Doesn't that annoy you a little?" It would stress you, does stress you how familiar and yet distant Twisted Wonderland's traditions are to your own. But the smile Ortho gives you is one of such genuine excitement you feel at least a little of that stress fall away.

"It scared me at first, but then when I got my soul I realized that it meant I had a really good excuse to keep talking to you. More data is never a bad thing! You could give me and my brother ideas for a truly unique game or show, so please, tell me everything you can remember about your world. I'll make sure it's remembered." He means every word he says. It's enough to make you cry.

"Alright, but just remember you asked for it. Where to start?"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ortho shroud #ortho shroud x reader #i had an idle thought that since no Christmas #that mean no hallmark movie #which i think is something i could see ortho being very interested in because A) film research club #B) we know he and idia like b rated horror flicks so ofc he would go crazy about b rated rom coms #also deuce gets a bunny themed stocking #sebek gets a boring one in diasmonia colors and he cries because he thinks it is malleus themed

[kii-nami]

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WC: 29.1k  | AFCAT SERIES MASTERLIST | ISF GENERAL MASTERLIST (cannot update links because tumblr refuses to let me; please look for the masterlist in the pinned post) | DISCORD FOR DEATH THREATS

Between life and death, there is only you.

The sky is empty. Clouds form and the moon shines, the stars keep growing and falling, yet never reaching the ground. For the sky as everyone knows it, is nothing but a hoax. Void of nothing but a corpse, guarded by the clouds, it looms over everything like a shadow. And although empty it may be, it is unforgiving to those who once wronged it. This memory of you is nothing but a taste of guilty bitterness and something else that even now he is afraid of. For just like the sky up above, you rarely forget and never forgive. And he would go to the ends of the earth if it meant to stay by your side. Yet loving you is the only thing he cannot allow himself to do.

For how can the sun fall in love with the moon, if he refuses to admit it even to the empty skies?

The way you are holding your sword is weird.

Dainsleif disregards the odd grip you have on the hilt and focuses on the tension between your eyebrows instead. Whether you are disappointed by being here with him or being reminded of the fact that Hlin’s teachings didn’t seem to bear any fruit, Dainsleif doesn’t know. What he knows, however, is that he won’t be able to teach you anything if you aren’t willing to learn it.

So he asks, “You don’t seem to be happy with this arrangement, my lady.” It’s a thinly veiled question in the form of a simple observation, but it does the trick.

You put the sword down on the surface of the table right next to two other intricately done blades that probably belong to Hlin and Lumine. You keep your gaze fixated on the one in the middle; thinner than yours and with a pommel in the shape of a star. Dainsleif doesn’t have to wonder whom it belongs to, your heavy sigh gives it all away, “Indeed, I am not.”

“Why?” In a way, by asking that Dainsleif pushes a lot of boundaries. He is also aware you won’t be responding to any questions that you deem unworthy of being given an answer.

You turn around, resting your weight on the edge of the table, “Does it matter?” It isn’t an explicit no he expected from you, so Dainsleif can’t help but think that you want to talk about what has been clearly bothering you for a long time.

“It does.” Dainsleif nods. You look up at him, not locking eyes. Just staring at him without actually noticing him. “Unless you don’t want to talk about it…” In a way it is also very much fitting. In the grand picture of your life, he is insignificant. Dainsleif is more than sure that if someone other than him ended up chosen as your guard, the outcome would have been the same.

You hug yourself with your left arm, the elbow of your right resting on top of it. You press your fist to your mouth for a second, teeth biting the nail of your thumb. Whatever you want – or don’t want – to say is most likely a hard thing to admit not only to someone else but also to yourself. First and foremost, to yourself. You are not the one to hide how you feel about things, however, so when you find the words that fit, you speak, “I know it’s irrational…” You mumble. Your teeth press on the nail bed again lightly, then harder. When you notice, you pull your fist away from your mouth and fold your arms over your chest fully. “Some part of me just thinks Hlin is tired of me. I put her through a lot. I won’t be surprised if she just sees me as a burden.”

Although you admit your concerns with a lot of worry behind your words, Dainsleif can’t think of them as warranted. It’s a little foolish on your part to think Hlin – of all people – would deem you a burden after all the time she spent raising you. The Æsir woman is not just your maid or a caretaker; she truly cares for you. Hlin loves you, Dainsleif knows that much. That being said, he is also very much aware of the fact how strained your relationship has been since you apparently confronted the woman about her wanting to resume your lessons with a new teacher. Dainsleif is sure it’s not even the fact that she doesn’t want to teach you anymore that upsets you, but the fact that you found out about it from him and not Hlin. Whatever the case, you shouldn’t be worried about something that is simply not true.

“I’m sure that's not the case.” Dainsleif assures you, but you don’t look like you believe it much. “If anything, I think she wishes only the best for you, my lady. And since it is something she feels like she cannot give you, she decided to do the next best thing.” It doesn’t feel right to call himself the second best, because although Dainsleif refuses to brag, he will always be the first to admit that he is good with a sword. And despite never seeing Hlin in action, he is sure she hasn’t had even nearly as much experience as he has. But for the sake of making things both better and easier, he is willing to undermine his skills just this once. “I am more than sure you cannot tire her out with just simple fencing lessons.”

You shake your head lightly, an amused smile forming on your lips, “You don’t know even half of it, Dain.” The way you worded it makes Dainsleif wonders what in the stars was even included in your lessons, but he doesn’t ask. Hlin Trygg may have a Vanir name, but her mother is an Æsir and the only way she could have taught her daughter to handle the blade is the Æsir way. Whatever you know now may be good and effective, but it surely won’t be enough in the long run. Because Khaenri’ah wasn’t built on only mercy.

“Then you can show me.” Dainsleif says, pulling his sword out of the scabbard. “Let’s spar. I need to see where you stand and how much we can improve.” You nod, blindly reaching for your sword with your right hand and holding it in that odd grip of yours. Dainsleif has no idea where you learned that, but he is more than sure Hlin didn’t teach you that. If anything, it was probably a part of the issue she had with you yet refused to acknowledge.

You stepped away from the table, twirling the blade in your grip and then lifting it up so the point of it was directed at his face. Dainsleif drew his own sword, moving your blade out of the way lightly. You laughed, tilting your head to the side a tad bit, “Just be gentle, Black Serpent Dainsleif. Some of us only have a blade.” Through the drumming of his heart and the drowsy tone of your voice ringing in his ears, it took Dainsleif a second to come to a realization of the meaning behind your mocking words.

When he did recognize the implications, Dainsleif was fast to affirm the hypothetical would never be anything more than that, “I would never–”

You lowered the sword, shaking your head lightly, “I’m joking, Dain.”

“Still.” Dainsleif said firmly. “Let’s make it clear that I would never use it against you. Even if you ask me to.” Using a power given to him – be it by Abyss or the stars, or whatever else that was generous (or wrathful) enough to gift (or curse) him with them – against you would be considered the greatest ever sin. And even if it wasn’t, the thought of using Void to his advantage against you just felt nauseating.

To Dainsleif’s misfortune, you never take things at face value and ask the most important questions despite them being the most uncomfortable ones, “Even if I’m about to kill you?”

“Unless it hurts you in the process.” He should be embarrassed about the speed at which he answers you. He is not. It’s one of the red flags Dainsleif learned to ignore in the time that he’s known you. For better or for worse.

You nod, “It will.”

“Then I shall stop you.” Dainsleif isn’t really sure what you mean by that, but somehow he knows you didn’t say yes to his previous question but to something completely different. Whatever it may be, Dainsleif will make sure that for as long as he is around, there won’t ever be the need to test his theories. “Come on, let’s see how good of a teacher your handmaiden is. We–”

You attack before he gives you a signal or even gets into a proper stance, barely managing to parry the blow you send to his side. Dainsleif quickly readjusts the hold on the blade, deflecting another swing meant for his face, and strikes first this time around. You block the strike without changing your position and whatever prompts you to do so is not something Dainsleif can truly comprehend. You are not operating on the School of Mercy teachings, every single move of your weapon is directed to a vital part of the body that would either incapacitate someone enough for a finishing blow or simply leave them bleeding out unless saved in time. And the Æsir do not think this way. The Jötnar, on the other hand…

Fighting you is like looking at a broken mirror and seeing hundreds of distorted reflections of himself. Dainsleif steps back, deflecting your blade and reading himself for his own move. The Vanir way of fighting won’t be effective here no matter how much he tries to follow the rules of the Royal Guard. You do not care if it’s a sparring match or not, neither do you underestimate him enough to think of it as a simple training session. It’s both a good and a bad thing at the same time. Dainsleif now understands very clearly why Hlin gave up on you, whether unconsciously or not.

There is something hauntingly familiar about those bastardized moves of yours and even despite the weird – and plain wrong – hold you have on your sword, you seem to completely understand what you are doing. Dainsleif can’t even call you incompetent or ignorant, for that is a blatant lie. You are good, alarmingly so. In spite of your odd handling of the blade, you are terrifyingly skilled in your strange technique. On some completely unconscious level, Dainsleif shifts his weight, changing his stance and does something that if noticed by Jöfurr Alberich, would immediately get him punished for going out of line. The weapon that was just a second ago secured tightly in his grip is now flying to where you are standing on the other side of the training room, calmly watching it get closer by the second. You don’t change your position for defense, instead you take a step closer to it. Then another, quicker one. And another one, until you are running towards it with no intention of protecting yourself.

Dainsleif should have noticed it sooner. It’s a mistake on his part to not see the similarities and the differences between him and you and the way you think about approaching this fight. Any fight. You kick the flying sword with your leg and it returns back to its owner with an angry glare of the light reflecting off the steel. Before Dainsleif can even touch the hilt, you are right beside him. He gives up on trying to reach for the weapon, your rapid strikes making him take a step back to save his neck from getting sliced open, yet it doesn’t prevent the edge of your blade lightly grazing his cheek. You twist your arm to make up for your mistake with the last move, your eyebrows furrowed in something between disappointment and resentment. Dainsleif doesn’t let you fix your position, however, his empty palm hitting your wrist with enough strength to force you to lose the grip on the weapon. It’s just enough time for him to catch the blade falling from your hold and use it to his advantage to land the finishing blow.

It's not cruel to strike a defenseless woman who wields a sword with only intention to kill, it’s a teaching moment for the both of you. And even with your back on the ground as Dainsleif holds you down with his knee to your stomach and your own blade pressed tightly to your neck, he is well aware of his own weapon that you are holding in your non-dominant hand. In a real battle, you would have been dead. In a real battle, he had all the odds pointing to his untimely demise. Nobody wins, everyone loses.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” Dainsleif asks, small pants leaving his mouth between each word. Even if the pressure of the sharp edge of the sword to your neck hurts, you don’t comment on it. Neither do you look troubled by the weight Dainsleif puts on you. If anything, you look nothing short of frustrated. Whether with him or yourself, remains unclear.

“The grip.” You say matter-of-factly, further proving his suspicion of this being a recurring problem in your initial training with Hlin, which the Æsir woman wasn’t able to resolve by herself.

Dainsleif leans closer to your face, removing the weapon from your neck and letting you finally breathe properly, “And why didn’t you change it, then?” His cheek stings lightly, Dainsleif can faintly feel the blood on his face as it drips down from the wound and falls down in red drops on your face. You don’t even try to move away, just let it run down your skin and get lost somewhere in your braided hair. The angry line the blade left is a stark contrast to your skin, and even if it won’t heal with a scar, it will surely get him in trouble with the abyssal envoy of the queen of flowers. Yet it doesn’t matter because you don’t care about it enough. Wouldn’t have probably cared even if it scarred.

“It’s all I know.” You say then. If you could have enough freedom to move, you would have shrugged. Dainsleif has no idea who taught you the way of the Jötnar, but whoever they were, they knew what they were doing, but did not have enough conviction to force you to learn a proper grip. Not that he can blame them, you are extremely stubborn when you want to be.

Dainsleif shakes his head, removing his knee from your stomach and helping you up to your feet. You hand him his sword with a bitter glare hidden somewhere in the reflection of his face in your pupils. It takes some time to understand that it’s not directed at him but at the mirror image of yourself that you see in his own eyes. “The way you attack is not the way of the Æsir, you lack–”

This time the hostility is for him; or at least some of it is. The rest is most likely brought up from the grave you buried it in after Hlin stopped training you a couple of years back. When you said he didn’t know even half of it, you weren’t exaggerating. The harshness of your tone is dripping with venom, and it doesn’t help that your fingers are smearing his blood all over your face as you speak, “Grace? Dignity? Is that–”

 “I never said any of those things. You lack the compassion.” Dainsleif stops you before you can say any more of the things he never thought and put any more words he never meant into his mouth, “You are not made for the Art of the Pale. That’s why Hlin had such a hard time with you.”

“So, what now?” You cross your arms over your chest. The silver fabric of your blouse has red specks all over the sleeves and some on the high neckline of it. Dainsleif didn’t stop to think just how you caught his sword back then to be able to get it in time before he disarmed you, but the way you clench your fist says a lot. Red drops fall from the cut on your palm, dissolving in your clothes and staining it in the process. Noticing this, you wipe your glove-clad palm over the front of your pants as if it’s just a mild inconvenience and not a real injury that needs to be tended to. “I should give up because I am not delicate enough? Is that it?”

Dainsleif takes a step closer to you, taking your injured hand in his silently. The cut in the leather glove is long, crossing from your thumb to your pinky finger, and even with the white fabric covering your palm, the blood still finds a way through. Dainsleif slips the glove off your hand and carefully inspects the wound caused by your reckless behavior, while you watch him with a curious look. Luckily, it’s shallow enough to not need any stitches, the tough leather took most of the damage caused by the sharp steel, but you still need to treat it accordingly before it gets infected. “You are jumping to a lot of conclusions today, my lady.” It’s supposed to be a joking observation to lighten up the mood, but instead it just makes your lips twist into a frown.

“Sorry.” You mumble, taking the other glove off. “I’m just frustrated. This is not the first conversation I’ve had about my awful lack of grace while using the blade.”

“You don’t lack anything of any sort.” Dainsleif assures you, letting go of your hand and making his way to the medicine cabinet. Alcohol and gauze should do for now. And for later too, unless you plan on informing Hlin of this. Which won’t be the case, Dainsleif is more than sure. “Where did you learn the swordsmanship of the Jötnar?” He asks, motioning you to come over to him.

“Hlin taught me all I know.” You shrug, offering Dainsleif your hand. He opens the bottle with the disinfectant, pouring some on the cotton pad and proceeds to clean the edges of the cut carefully.

“She could not teach you this.” Dainsleif says. You hiss, your hand twitching in his hold. Whether you want to cover up for that person or make sure they are buried in the past just like you are, Dainsleif isn’t sure. But admitting to being taught by one of the School of Corrupted would be a nice stepping stone in progressing your studies. “In Khaenri’ah we have three ways of teaching the blade: the Vanir way, the Æsir way and the Jötnar way. Whoever taught you those moves was studying under the Jötnar.” Dainsleif wraps the gauze tightly around your palm, it stains with red almost instantly, but it’s better than if it didn’t. You frown again, it makes Dainsleif wonder if you are giving his words another meaning yet again. He has never seen you doubting yourself in anything before this point, and it just feels foreign to witness you doing it now of all times. Maybe Hlin’s inability to teach you the Art of the Pale struck a chord somewhere inside of you. Maybe it was your own self all along whom you were blaming for not being able to learn properly. Whatever it may be, Dainsleif elaborates before any confusion arises, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I am just curious why they didn’t continue your studies when you are clearly more suited towards more aggressive approach.”

You sigh heavily, closing your injured palm and then relaxing it again, “Dain, there was nobody else but Hlin. I just did what felt natural.” Dainsleif has a hard time believing your words, but he does anyway. You have no reason to lie and all of the recklessness of a young woman with a lot on the line to take a risk for. He isn’t surprised the hazardous and sporadic style of the Jötnar felt more fitting to you than the flowy ways of the Æsir. “I will not change who I am just because I cannot wield a blade like Hlin wants me to. She thinks of mercy and giving a second chance, but I cannot afford a luxury like that.”

Of course you can’t. The queen won’t let you have even a moment of hesitation, not with the Blade of Fólkvangr at her disposal and a lot to lose if she leaves you even a second to breathe. “Then when you strike, what do you think about?” Dainsleif already knows the answer, yet asks anyway. It’s more of a means to find out if you will be honest with him now, just like you were back then in his bedroom, than to confirm what he is already aware of. You could lie and save the both of you from a cruel reminder of your fate, or you could tell the truth and be honest with yourself and the things you have to sacrifice for the greater good of everyone. If you are merciful, you will lie.

The thing about you that Dainsleif knows for sure, is that you are anything but, “The fastest way to end it all.” You say plainly, not sugarcoating anything, just as usual.

“Okay.” Dainsleif nods, letting the thought of the upcoming future hang over the two of you like the starless sky. If the future is as inevitable as it seems, he has no say in the matter with his hands being tied behind his back by fate itself. All he can really do is make sure he can live in the future that proceeds still standing by your side. “I think I know what to do.” Dainsleif fetches your blade from where he left it lying on the floor and offers it to you. Taking it, you adjust the hold on the hilt in that odd way of yours with a little frown on your lips. “Try this.” Reaching out, Dainsleif readjusts your fingers to a proper grip, the one which his father taught him once and the one he had to discard when he became one of the Black Serpents. “Better?”

You nod, stepping away from him and twirling your sword in a lazy moulinet, “Yeah. A bit steadier now.” Taking it as a cue to resume the training, Dainsleif goes back for his own blade, still stained with your dried blood and motions for you to attack him. The second you do, however, your grip immediately shifts back to the wrong position and he lowers his weapon mid parry, forcing you to do the same.

“Don’t change it.” This won’t be the last time he is reminding you of this, but getting rid of well-trained habits is extremely hard and Dainsleif can also be very patient if he must.

You sigh, frustration sipping through your very breath, “I’m trying.”

“I know your muscle memory wants what it wants, but you can relearn.” Dainsleif knows that because he had to do the exact same thing. Granted he also wasn’t holding much onto the teaching of his father helped him tremendously, he is still very much sure you are not a lost cause you seem to think you are. It’s not clear whether it was something Hlin said to you that made you think this way or the sole fact she dumped you on him so suddenly after two years of not giving you any lessons, but to Dainsleif the reason doesn’t actually matter. Everything isn’t as bad as you made it out to be; if anything, all you need is a little guidance. “Let me help.” Coming behind you, Dainsleif fixes your grip again, keeping his palm closed over yours, and performs a couple of strikes guiding all of your moves like one would do to a puppet.

“I think I got it.” You mumble, but it sounds more like a question than a confirmation of your understanding. Dainsleif follows your words anyway, stepping aside and getting ready for defense. You attack the second he gets into the stance, the grip your fingers have on the hilt a bit too strained but at least it helps you to control your desire to shift it back to the wrong position.

“You’re doing well.” He reminds you, just in case your mind is too focused on making sure your grip is correct and not paying attention to the actual fight. The tension in your knuckles lessens slightly after hearing that and you seem a bit more relaxed than a second ago, and Dainsleif takes a mental note to not forget to feed your ego once in a while. Confident or not, everyone needs someone to praise them for doing well. “Now try offence.” Dainsleif shifts his foot, not leaving you much time to think about his words and strikes as soon as he possibly can to make sure you won’t have much time to think about going back to the wrong hold. You don’t, although he notices your pinky finger shifting just barely before you fix it back into the proper position with a little huff as you deflect another blow he sends your way. “Good girl.” It's a second of hesitation on your part that allows Dainsleif to both postpone his wallowing in embarrassment and actually win this round – this time for sure – with one strike to the rain-guard to knock your sword from your hand and another one to deliver a clean-cut almost slash to your neck.

“Hey, it’s not fair.” You groan, stepping out of the way of the sharp blade and picking up your own weapon from the ground. It’s not like he did that with the intention to slice your neck open; but were you someone else it very much could have been the case.

“See? Two strikes doesn’t always mean mercy.” The fastest way to help you find yourself in the art of the sword is to help you polish what you already have. And if that creates some bastardized version of everything and nothing at the same time, then so be it. You might know the technique of the Jotnar, but you will never be able to master it to absolute perfection. Not only because you spent years studying a style that was completely different from this one, but also because you simply don’t have it in you. Khaenri’ah or not, you are only human. And in some ironic way, it’s extremely fitting for the queen you were born to be. “Forget about the Æsir way of looking at things, you need none of those. If you wish to know the best way to have someone dead, you already have what you need. We just need to polish what you already know.”

“So I’m not doing anything wrong?” Maybe Dainsleif got your personality all wrong, and you weren’t as confident as you liked to pretend you were, and instead you were one of those fake it till you make it kind of people. In the end, what you are and what you are not doesn’t really matter. Even the most confident of people had their insecurities and even the most insecure people had their moments of confidence.

“On the contrary.” Dainsleif promises, the tiny smile he puts on seems to reassure you more than any words that leave his mouth. “I think if my father ever fought you, he would have been pleasantly surprised.” Dainsleif doesn’t want his father anywhere near you just like he doesn’t want him anywhere near anyone he has ever cared about. He is also aware that some things cannot ever be predicted.

You blink as if you can read his mind once again, “Well, I have only you here, so let’s try again.”

Dainsleif nods, “Of course, my lady.” You laugh; the shine the diamonds of your pupils cast down on him are worth more than any precious metal ever did.

If there was a star that can illuminate the world with both light and warmth, it would be you.

The sun fell in love with the moon.

The sky is a hoax. It’s an illusion created by a hand of a being with a higher power and a greater mind, yet the one with a fragile soul and a lot of broken promises. But every time people look up at the mirage that is the sky, they see a familiar sight of the moon that is promised to be the only thing to connect everyone together. They watch its shimmering silver glow, not being aware that on the other side of the world other people do the same thing yet see a completely different picture. And just like that, this memory of you is as bitter as the realization that everything he has ever known might just be a hoax as well. Yet, just like the rest of them, it is the one he will never give up even with his life on the line.

The angry red of Alice’s hair can be seen from the other side of the street. She doesn’t seem to mind the attention she is getting from some passersby and just gives an overly friendly wave of her hand for each and every person who stares at her for too long. Some greet her back, some turn around the second they realize they have been caught.

“Hello, you two.” The woman smiles, arms wrapping over your frame as she embraces you tightly against her chest. You don’t do much to hug her back, a bit stiff under her touch yet not as put off as you were the first time she did it. Letting you go, Alice turns to face Dainsleif with a curious look and a little nod in his direction and something tells him it won’t be long till he ends up getting the same treatment.

“Good morning, Alice.” You nod, stepping aside and closer to Dainsleif’s side. Alice keeps watching him with that mischievous smirk on her lips. Dainsleif just keeps his hand on the pommel of his sword as a reminder.

“Someone’s in a bit of a sour mood today.” She snickers, yet Dainsleif can’t really share her amusement over the situation. Truth be told, he doesn’t like Alice very much. She never really gave him a reason to. Not on their initial meeting, not when you came over to show her all of the research you have done so far, and even now she is not making a case for herself. Especially with some of the things she says, not thinking of the consequences or implications, “Didn’t have enough sleep? Or was it your dreams that got you so… worked up?

“Lady Alice, with all due respect…” That’s a bit of a lie on Dainsleif’s part. He is pretty sure there is none of that respect he just mentioned in him towards this Æsir woman as of right now, maybe if – or when – she actually does something other than egging him on, things would change.

Alice quirks her red eyebrow, you do absolutely nothing to put an end to their one-sided feud. In some way Dainsleif understands why, he is a grown man who should not be allowing some silly teasing get under his skin and you are aware he can handle it himself. Some other part of him feels like you are somewhat enjoying his embarrassment. “Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Dainsleif might have gone a little overboard with just how dry his tone ended up being, as Alice’s eyes widened for a split second before returning to that lazy lulled look.

“My, oh my…” She giggles, covering her mouth with her palm as she does so. “I’m just joking, Dainsleif. It’s nice to see you again.” As if sensing that Dainsleif is about to retort with something that will inevitably just continue the pointless – and absolutely one-sided – argument, you clear your throat.

“Where are we going?” You ask after your other two companions finally decide to acknowledge your presence.

“Ah, you see, my dear princess…” Alice scratches her chin with her thumb as if she is actually pondering over your question and doesn’t have an answer already and simply refuses to share. “I would tell you, but that guard dog of yours might not like it.” Pointing her finger at Dainsleif casually, the woman tilts her head to the side and waits for your reaction.

No matter what she expects, you don’t give it to her. Or at least don’t take the bait of overreacting and defending Dainsleif’s honor. You just blink slowly, crossing your arms over your chest and letting the long flowy sleeves of your blouse float in the gentle breeze. Then you say, “Alice, your humor is not appreciated.”

“Tough crowd, I see…” Alice pouts. She is too overly dramatic for a woman of such an old age. Granted she is most likely also a not very sane woman, Dainsleif doesn’t blame her for being flamboyant. Her uplifted attitude doesn’t last for long, however, as Alice fixes the flames of her hair and wipes the smirk off her face. When she speaks this time, there is no playfulness in her voice, “Very well. We’re going to Muspelheimr.” The silence that hangs after has this deathly and harrowing sense of intensity. Alice presses her lips tightly together after she finishes talking. You nod, taking the information as a given and once again proving just what you are willing to do for the goal you set for yourself.

“We are not.” Dainsleif breaks the tension and puts the stop on whatever delusional plans Alice thinks are worth it enough to put you in such grave danger. Or at least he thinks he does. In reality Alice shakes her head in something that reminds Dainsleif of the times Duneyrr looked at his older brother with that disappointment look only a mother could muster. He is not sure whether Alice has any children or not but she has no right to be frustrated with him for not wanting you anywhere near that place.

Alice sighs, running her fingers through her hair and Dainsleif almost sees the fire crinkling as she does so, “I know how it sounds, but it’s important–”

“I am aware that this is important.” Dainsleif is more than aware. Your responsibilities follow him just as much as they follow you, weighting the both of you down, albeit not equally, yet continuously and without mercy. Dainsleif truly wishes you to find your answers sooner rather than later, as he witnessed first hand just how frustrated this stagnation makes you; but if the price for this weapon of yours is a gamble on your life, he would rather you find another way even if it takes longer. “But I will not allow you to put Her Highness in danger like that. I’m sure you are smart enough to find another way.”

“Dainsleif, listen–” Alice sure is pushy when she wants to be. The woman he sees right now is a far cry from the flamboyant and overdramatic fire hazard she pretends to be. It’s pretty evident for Dainsleif nobody actually knows what the real Alice is like and this is just a glimpse behind all the masks she puts on on a daily basis to make sure nobody gets close enough. Dainsleif is also convinced she isn’t helping you just to redeem her mistakes, but for some other ulterior motive she would die protecting. This only makes him all the more frustrated over how unfair your life is in comparison to someone like the queen or Rhinedottir, or even Alice herself. Why does Khaenri’ah have to keep making sacrifices while those who have all the power have a comfortable life of a sinner with nobody to punish them? Dainsleif grips the pommel harder, hands itching to just draw his sword and be done with it. He also knows he can’t.

“No, you listen.” Maybe Dainsleif should make good of that promise and cut her tongue off. Maybe the two of them should talk it all out instead of blindly and stubbornly defending their own opinions. But could your safety amount to something as trivial as an opinion? Dainsleif doesn’t think so. “You are more than old enough to understand that if she shows up there, everyone will want her dead. It doesn’t matter if she is just as much of a victim or what she stands for. They see an Einherjar, they attack no questions asked. Something as trivial as questions isn’t a part of revenge.” His knuckles hurt from the sheer pressure Dainsleif is putting on them with the way he is squeezing the pommel. His father would have laughed at his words and called it not revenge but a payback. And even if Dainsleif hates his father as much as the next person who knows the man, he also can’t really blame him for this one.  “I am ready to die for her, but are you?”

Your hand is cold on his skin. “Dain, calm down.” Like a frost burn, your icy touch turns into fire the second he gets used to the chill. Dainsleif relaxes his grip on the sword, watching Alice watching him. Only this time there is nothing fun for her to get amusement from, just a frown on her lips and something distant in her eyes that could only be described as regret. “Nobody needs to die for me. Nobody will die for me. Ever.” That’s a bold claim for you to make, but you say this anyway. Dainsleif is sure you truly think this way, he is also painfully aware how wrong you are in doing that.

“My lady, please reconsider.” Dainsleif turns around to face you. You rarely listen to him – or anyone else for that matter – but when you do, it’s always hauntingly aligning with your goal one way or another. There is no changing who you are and what you want, but if there is even a slim chance of him being able to sway your decision for the one more beneficial to your wellbeing, then Dainsleif will try time and time again. “There has to be another way. If something happens to you…”

“Nothing will happen.” You say. Your hand is still as cold as ever, even if Dainsleif is holding it in his this time around. “Won’t you trust me?”

The notion of Dainsleif not trusting you is ridiculous. All the fragile trust that Dainsleif has in him is put on the line for you and only you. The problem is not him not believing in you, the problem is in something that he would rather not acknowledge until he can’t run from it anymore. “I trust you. But that woman–”

“Then it should be enough. You don’t have to trust Alice. Or anyone else for that matter. Just me.”  You are good at convincing people to bend to your will. Maybe it’s your words and the tone of your voice. Or your face. Or the ghostly aura of the dying stars. Or the glimmering diamonds of your eyes and the moonshine hiding in your hair. Or maybe it’s just simply you and Dainsleif is a weak, weak man who cannot admit something so very important to himself even if remaining ignorant is nothing short of a burden at this point. “Please, Dain.” Fighting the rational part of himself and the one that wants to bow down and give you anything you want is a thing Dainsleif is very much used to, yet it is also the thing that only ever ends one single way. There is not a thing Dainsleif won’t sacrifice for you, and if allowing you to walk into a warzone and risk your life is the thing you wish to do, then he will lose the fight once again. He will bow down and give you anything you want, and before it kills you it has to kill him first.

As if noticing his shaking will, Alice heaves a tired sigh, “If you actually allowed me to talk, white knight, you would have known we won’t be going to the City of Ashes. We just need the portal.” Dainsleif throws Alice a look over his shoulder, one the disenchanted ones that he learned from his mother as they more often than not were directed at himself and the anger issues he inherited from his father. Whether you knew that Alice didn’t plan on taking you to the City of Ashes or not is unclear, but the area around the portal should be safe enough for Dainsleif to agree even if you hadn’t convinced him just a moment prior.

“If I see even one person out there, your head is off. Do you understand?” It’s not an empty threat, the both of them know that. All of you are also aware of the possible power imbalance between them should this moment arrive.

“So demanding.” Alice grins. Dainsleif almost feels a headache coming. “Do you talk like that in bed also?”

This time you take the obvious bait, “Alice, manners are a thing. Make sure to remember.” Dainsleif is acutely aware of his hand still holding yours. Alice is as well. Maybe it’s a way for fate to tell him to get a grip and be real with himself. Maybe she is just a sadist.

“Couldn’t help myself. He’s so easy to tease.” Alice snickers, wiping a stray tear in the corner of her eye. Although she is the only one that’s laughing, the Æsir woman seems to be just fine with that. “Now come on. To the waypoint we go.”

Stars help her, or she won’t be the one who is laughing next time.

The journey to Muspelheimr is a short one, granted the easy access to the waypoints scattered across the nation. Despite Dainsleif’s clear apprehension of the trip, you don’t seem to mind it even one bit, following after Alice readily and dragging him along with you without another word. Your determination is both admirable and terrifying in a way Dainsleif has a very hard time relating to or even understanding in the first place. Despite the tough life almost everyone in Khaenri’ah was forced to endure, you are way too eager to fix it despite the dangers it may bring to both you and the rest of the nation should that unknown plan of yours fail. Maybe that’s precisely the thing that drives you to obtain this dangerous power, however what beckons you to start a revolution to begin with is a thing Dainsleif still cannot pinpoint clearly as of now. When he does, it won’t change a thing except shedding light on the extent of the damage your mother caused. For now, Dainsleif knows nothing, so when Alice stops next to a lonely dead tree branch, he does as well.

“You’re late, Red Witch.” The tall woman standing beside the decaying tree waves her hand lazily in some sort of a greeting. The stench of Abyss clings to her like the toxic fumes coating the field tiller junkyard. Alice laughs.

“Sorry, sorry.” The Æsir apologizes, dismissing the comment the unknown woman threw her way, then points her finger at Dainsleif’s direction, “The overprotective boyfriend was being the overprotective boyfriend.” Alice’s words make no sense to Dainsleif, and by the looks of it neither you nor the unexpected addition to the group understand it either.

The Jötunn woman scowls. The upper row of her teeth is made completely out of canines and it’s hard not to notice when she speaks, “If I only knew what half of that shit means.”

Alice shakes her head, upset that nobody has found her joke funny, “The Royal Guard was being difficult.” Beside Dainsleif, you sigh. He doesn’t think you trust Alice as of now but you are still willing to go along with her antics if the end result benefits your goal. To Dainsleif, your safety is way more important. Yet the press of your fingers to his palm is a clear warning to stay put and to not make any hasty decisions. Dainsleif is very much aware, but he also cannot promise you anything.

The pale blue hair of the unknown woman moves with the harsh winds of the desert. Dainsleif can’t help but wonder if she is a lector or a herald, and what in the stars Alice has promised her to lure her out of the depths of Abyss. “Ah, I heard he’s a handful.” The Jötunn hums in agreement and before Dainsleif can even process her words, she turns around to you, “Hello, royal annoyance.”

“Skirk.” You give the name to the face so easily as if you and this abyssal woman have a whole history together. Dainsleif cannot know for sure, but in his mind anything is possible when it comes to you. If there is a will, there is a way; or so the saying goes. “Still alive and kicking?” Dainsleif has never heard you speak in that tone before to anyone else. He has seen you angry, he’s witnessed your sorrow and he knows what you look like happy; this annoyed tint of your voice is a new addition to the half-empty palette of your emotions and Dainsleif doesn’t know how to feel about it.

This woman, for all of her abyssal origin isn’t fast on acting upon vengeance, despite Dainsleif knowing the extent of the grudge the Jötnar hold against the crown. Then again, whatever bound you together seemed very much contradictory in a way that made your bond both shallow and unbreakable at the same time. Or maybe he was just looking into things too much, searching for something that wasn’t there in the first place. Skirk scoffs. “Like something in this wretched nation can kill me.” You don’t have a chance to return another snarky response back to her, as Skirk grins. The canines of her canines – if that even possible – look as sharp as the blade of his sword when pressed to her lower lip. “You must be the royal guard.” The way she addresses Dainsleif is very much familiar, although it means not that it is welcome in any shape or form. “Kinda scrawny if you ask me. You sure he can fight?” Skirk nudges you with her bony finger, you swat her away like a pesky fly, despite not doing anything to confirm or debunk her statement just like always. Just tap your fingers over his palm as a reminder. Letting go of your hand, Dainsleif doesn’t think your warning works all that well right now.

Standing there under Skirk’s scrutinizing red gaze just reminds Dainsleif of what it was like to find out who he really was and where he stood in the world divided into three absolutely unequal parts. It also very much reminds Dainsleif of his father. And he really doesn’t like when that happens. It’s his father’s fault, more than anything. And despite being aware he should be working on his issues instead of just acting on them, Dainsleif never claimed to be the most mature person in the room. Especially when annoyed. Conjuring his sword, he presses the sharp point right to Alice’s throat. You sigh again.

Alice blinks, the amused smile on her lips way too calm for someone whose life is on the line. “Need for violence, white knight.” Dainsleif not even once thought he would be able to actually harm the Æsir woman, yet it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t like to at least try.

“I promised, didn’t I?” He’s sure the woman doesn’t need a reminder, but he is also aware she knows it’s not the promise he made that pushed him to this point but the thinly veiled question of whether he is even capable of protecting you or not. That’s why Alice remains at ease even with a sharp steel right at her jugular.

When Dainsleif doesn’t budge, Alice reaches for the sword with her hand, pushing it away from her. “We were supposed to meet up, cut the anger issues.” Her face is void of her usual scheming smile and the scowl on her lips is a perfect representation of his annoyance. The leather of her glove screeches over the polished steel with an awful noise. “Calm your lapdog, Your Majesty.”

You take off your gloves, tucking them under the hem of your pants and rub your palms together. The air here is dry, the sand sticks to the fabric of your clothes, giving it a golden tint. You try to get rid of it but when you do, the wind brings the sand back so you give up without trying for the second time. You raise your brow, the movement of your head sets the stars of your headpiece in motion as they get tangled in your braided hair. “I don’t own dogs.” Is all you say and it is more than enough to show where you stand.

Alice shakes her head in dissatisfaction, watching as your fingers once again tap against the steel of Dainsleif’s sword. He wishes he could control his emotions better, but Dainsleif is his father’s son and he knows little about self-control, and the things he does know are of little relevance right now. “He reminds me of the priest.” Skirk comments vaguely and despite the confused angle of her lips at first, Alice hums in understanding soon after. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Dainsleif.” He introduces himself, hiding the blade back in the scabbard.

“Well, Dainsleif, cut the idiocy and let’s go.” The sarcasm is very much present in Skirk’s voice and Dainsleif finds it hard to comprehend why he seems to be the only one  with reasonable concerns over your safety. You do not care, for you put your mission first above all else, even yourself. Alice has her own reasons, the most of which nobody will ever know even if they search high and low for them. And this Jötnar woman – whoever she may be – is just as unpredictable of a variable in your life as Lumine’s existence in Khaenri’ah. Yet nobody stops to think just how dangerous this place is for someone like you. Do you trust him this much to keep you safe to not even bother about worrying, or is this research so important that it must continue even at the cost of your life? Dainsleif can’t say for sure.

“It’s not unreasonable to be cautious for my lady’s safety.” He retorts. You dust your blouse one last time and pull the gloves back on, and then suddenly move forward without looking back at the group. It seems you have had enough of their bickering, to take matters into your own hands. Dainsleif isn’t sure you even know where you are going, but he is also acutely aware of your strange sense of direction even in places completely unfamiliar to you, so he still doesn’t stop you. Just follows blindly after you in an oddly familiar direction, forcing the two other women to do the same, with Alice hurriedly taking the lead.

“It’s not. You also should know the girl is insane.” Skirk states matter-of-factly. Dainsleif cannot tell her actual age, but he is sure just by her interactions with Alice that the woman is not as young as she looks.  And judging by how she treats you, he wouldn’t be surprised if she knew Alice before Khaenri’ah fell apart at the seams. “If anything, you need protection from her.” Skirk points in your direction as if you are the bane of all evil. Dainsleif knows she’s wrong. He also isn’t aware he is just as wrong as he thinks she is.

You shrug, not even arguing for your own sake, “Takes one to know one, Skirk.”

“Glad we’re on the same page, girl.” Skirk grins. Dainsleif isn’t sure how to feel about someone like her calling you dangerous. You are the embodiment of Khaenri’ah and his home has always been a place both kind and cruel to those who deserve it. It’s in the way you hold your head high just like it’s in the way you grip your sword. You are the manifestation of the moon's will and the moon knows everything as it reaches into every corner of the world. And knowledge has always carried danger. Yet Dainsleif is also aware of how the stars all but abandoned you to your own devices just so you can carve your own path to what has been taken away from you. So in a way, Dainsleif understands it. Those robbed of freedom are always the most deadly. Yet he still doesn’t think you would ever turn on those you swore to protect. “Heard you’re researching the seven. Should have come to me for this. For a price, of course.”

You blink slowly, as if comprehending her words. Then you scoff suddenly, hand waving in dismissal, “I’d rather go marry the first random man I see than be indebted to you in any shape or form.” Dainsleif scowls. It’s more because of the first thought that came to his head, than because of the words you said so confidently. It’s not a thing he should be indulging himself in, Dainsleif is aware and it only makes the matters worse when he notices the knowing look in Alice’s sharp eyes. She winks. Dainsleif has half a mind to pull the sword out again.

“Smart decision.” Skirk commends. “Besides the point, Alice may know a lot but it’s kinda useless if Khaenri’ah doesn’t have elemental beings.” She is strangely reasonable when she doesn’t go out of her way to make herself the biggest nuisance around. Although this doesn’t last long, as Skirk snickers again, “Well, the Jötnar are but we also won’t be very happy being dissected like that.”

Alice clicks her tongue, “Your brother would.”

“Zandik would dissect his body himself if he wanted to. That child is beyond saving.” The Jötnar grumbles, annoyed expression finding its way to her face in a matter of seconds. Then it slips away, her lips pressed tightly together over the sharp teeth, “Whatever the case, we need to look for elemental energy in Abyss. That’s the only way.”

“My lady–” Just as Dainsleif is fast to try and be the voice of reason when it comes to your wellbeing, Skirk is fast to shut him down with a lightning speed.

“Nobody asked, boy.” The woman hisses, “Keep your mouth shut while women are talking.”

“It’s fine, Dain.” You dismiss him rather quickly this time around, not wanting to prolong the pointless conversation any longer than necessary. The oddly familiar direction you were headed all this time leads to the tall archway, covered in blue wispy mist. How you knew where the Gate to Abyss was, Dainsleif doesn’t know, but questioning things at this point would get him nowhere. He knows you won’t answer anyway.

“She can handle herself.”  Skirk is rather sure of her own words. Dainsleif can’t tell whether she trusts your strengths this much or she is sure there won’t be anything more dangerous than you, but the Jötunn seems very much confident in your abilities, “And if she can’t…” She speaks again suddenly. The realization leaves the sour taste in his mouth, despite the inherent truth hidden in Skirk’s words, “Well, Khaenri’ah doesn’t need a weak queen.” Alice says nothing to dispute that and Dainsleif cannot find it in himself to do so either. Skirk – despite him wanting to argue otherwise – is right. It’s a sad truth that none of you can run away from. And out of the four of you gathered here, you are the one who is aware of it the most.

That’s why you don’t comment on Skirk’s statement, just take a step forward into the portal. And even whether you know what awaits you on the other side or not remains unclear, you do not hesitate as the spiral of fog engulfs your form. Dainsleif follows suit not because of his duty to Khaenri’ah but because of the bottomless pit somewhere inside his stomach slowly filling itself with worry. The mist is hot, biting the skin of his face with blue flame and coating everything in painfully familiar darkness. The only thing that cools down the abyssal fire is the chill of your touch. For even in the depths of Abyss he will find his way to you.

“Well, fate has been sealed.” Alice mumbles, not quite understanding just how much weight her words actually hold. For the fate has been sealed a long time ago, and each and every action is nothing but a self-fulfilling prophecy written in the stars.

“Let’s just go before he kills himself.” Skirk huffs, dusting the sand of her cloak. Dainsleif can faintly hear Alice chuckle lightly for the other side, as she’s eagerly stepping into the portal.

When the fog settles, with only the little nausea remaining on the outskirts of Dainsleif’s mind, he grips your hand tighter, steadying you on your feet. You look a bit faint, eyes a little glossed over as you press your lips tightly together. In his hold your hand is trembling with an odd tremor, the one Dainsleif can very much relate to as he himself once had a misfortune to take his first trip to Abyss with nobody to support him.

“Are you okay?” He whispers lightly, fixing the stray strand of hair that got out of your braid.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nod, probably trying to sound more sure of yourself than you actually are. Your ego is big and your pride is even bigger, and asking for help doesn’t come naturally to you. Not a lot of things can change that, including you being close to passing out. “Just a bit dizzy. A lot of pressure.” You inhale in short and shallow breaths, but they do little to help you relieve that pressure, as you keep your lips pressed tightly together.

“Keep breathing.” Dainsleif reminds you, trying to force you to breathe properly, but Skirk’s exasperated huff ruins whatever progress he has made yet also seems to bring you back from wherever your dizzy mind drifted to.

“Stop babying her.” She snaps. “Could have been worse.” Dainsleif cannot argue with that, but this also doesn’t mean undermining your experience is the way to go about it. Although Alice seems to share Skirk’s sentiments, as she calls out to you.

“Princess, come here.” You lift your head from the ground, the glass fogging your eyes gone for the most part, with only the glimmer of the diamond remaining. “I want to show you something.” You nod, carefully untangling your hand from his and excuse yourself, hurriedly walking to where Alice stands beside a tall, delicately ornamented pillar.

For you, this corridor must be something out of  fairytales; a place never before explored with the ruins of a nation long destroyed by some unthinkable cataclysm. This was also a new home of some of Khaenri’ahn people, so the fascination you must be having is completely warranted. Yet Dainsleif cannot bring himself to say he missed this sight. The farther you go, the more destruction you face. The deeper you ascend, the more corrupted you get. Dainsleif would never wish this on his greatest enemy.

“Familiar sight, ain’t it?” Skirk laughs, her hand is heavy on his shoulder. Dainsleif has half a mind to throw it off, he doesn’t, only try to keep it civil in case she is the type to get upset over things like that easily.  He is aware he sometimes makes things difficult for you, and Dainsleif doesn’t want to be any more of a guard dog than he already is – Alice’s words, not his – especially after you all got to Abyss anyway.

“For you, maybe.” Dainsleif shrugs. Skirk takes the hint, yet does nothing to make his life easier and keeps her hand where she puts it on the slope of his shoulder.

“You can’t hide your heritage from me, boy. You are a walking red flag.” She is not the woman to sugarcoat things, and it’s fine with Dainsleif. If only she was as self-aware as she is perceptive of others.

“If I am a red flag, then what are you?” Dainsleif asks offhandedly. On the other side of the corridor, you intently listen to Alice explaining something, arms folded over your chest and adding your own one-word commentary from time to time. Whatever the Æsir woman is talking about, you seem to find it extremely entertaining , and although Dainsleif wishes a lecture like this was taken back to the safety of her home, he can give the credit where it’s due. Alice – despite being clearly into whatever subject she’s explaining – is acutely aware of her surroundings, making sure you are standing with your back against the corner and keeping you safe in the most subtle of ways. A stark difference to her previous silent agreement with Skirk.

“Heh, I am your worst nightmare.” The Jötnar woman chuckles. Dainsleif doesn’t know if it’s only her or if all the abyssal women have such an ear-piercing laugh, but every noise that comes out of her mouth is like a nail dragging over glass. She removes her arm from Dainsleif’s shoulder, fingers that touched his clothes not even a second ago sinking inside her mouth as she pulls on her skin to reveal her sharp teeth.  Licking her fingers clean, Skirk wipes them down on her cloak, “These teeth don’t bite though. Unless you put your fingers in my mouth.”

“I’d rather not.” Dainsleif replies curtly, once again diverting his attention back to you and Alice, who is now the one listening to you instead. You seem to be slowly moving down the corridor, leaving him and Skirk no choice but to follow after you a couple of steps behind.

“Of course, my bad.” Skirk is an annoyance. If Alice knows when to quit, the Jötunn thrive on causing mayhem and creating chaos. She’s watching you with a mild interest, yet the fire in her eyes directed your way might just burn all of Khaenri’ah to the ground were it not built with the most indestructible material known to men. It’s hard not to notice the implication when she isn’t even hiding them in the first place, “It’s not my mouth you’re interested in.” And Dainsleif is very much not happy about her finding entertainment in him, because unlike you, he has a hard time ignoring traps people set up for him if the bait is offensive enough. It’s another of the awful qualities he got from his father.

“Do not talk of my lady that way.” Dainsleif snaps back, turning his attention from you to Skirk, who is grinning triumphantly at her successful ploy.

“I’ve never mentioned her but if the shoe fits.” She shrugs, and although she is trying to act innocently nonchalant, Dainsleif knows this is the farthest thing from what one should describe her as.

“Maybe if you were not staring at her in that way, I would not have the need to assume.” He scoffs, picking up the pace to make sure you and Alice aren’t too far. Skirk doesn’t like to be called out on her abhorrent behavior, however, as she quirks her pale eyebrow.

“In what way? I’m not interested in looking at her at all.” The disgusted look on her face is a bit too disgusted to not be completely fabricated. Even Dainsleif doesn’t hold that much resentment towards his father to pull a face like that and Skirk is helping you out of her own free will, it looks like. The disgust on her features doesn’t hold on for long, however, as she grins once again, jabbing her pointer finger fight between Dainsleif’s ribs, “You though... Must be so hard being so deprived all the time, you poor soul.”

Skirk is having a bit too much fun with the nonsense she keeps spewing out of her mouth, with no rhyme or reason to it. And if Dainsleif is offended by what she says, that is not because she is right but because the absolutely inappropriate topic inherently involves you as the subject and he cannot let it slide. The problem is, Skirk knows he’s in denial and uses it to her advantage and enjoys every second of his annoyance mixed with irrational anger.

“You–” Dainsleif needs to ask you for some tips on how to ignore people, but for now all he can do is just glare at the Jötnar woman, silently hoping for Abyss to swallow her back from where it spit her out. Her grin just grows wider by the second, sharp teeth on display and red eyes gleaming in the light of the corridor. Whatever she wants to say next is ruined by your voice, however, as Skirk closes her mouth abruptly the second she hears you call out from a distance.

“Dain!” You sound excited, look the part as well. Dainsleif wishes it happened more often, yet it’s not something that can be easily fulfilled by just his wishful thinking. “You need to see this!”

“Oh, look at that.” Skirk recovers from interruption rather quickly, smirk plastered on her features is just as scheming as she is smug, and Dainsleif wishes he could be less of a man and wipe it out. He is not, so he can’t. “Your lady is calling.” What he can be is a bigger person. To just simply be a bit more like you and disregard the idiocy and walk away. He can and he should, and so he does.

“Coming!” Dainsleif calls out to you, turning around to leave Skirk with no way of getting the last laugh.

Only he didn’t take into account just how mad the woman actually was, as she caught up to him in no time, “I don’t think you will be any time soon.” She mumbles under her breath, just barely audible so only Dainsleif and Alice can hear. “Not with that attitude.” Alice chokes down a laugh. Dainsleif rolls his eyes instead of saying anything.

If it wasn’t for the fact you were waiting for him, Dainsleif would have turned around to retort something bitter back. But you keep still, patiently waiting for him beside one of the half-destroyed statues of some unknown deity worshipped all those years back by this civilization long gone, and in the back of his mind Dainsleif cannot help but find this scene extremely nostalgic. It’s a nerve-wrecking sense of déjà vu that makes his heart beat faster, yet it is a feeling that is completely unreasonable for he knows for sure you could not have met here before.

“Look.” You whisper, gently pointing to the black and blue glowing wings of the butterflies floating around the decaying statue, “I’ve never seen crystalflies like these.”

“The influence of abyss is unforgiving.” Dainsleif whispers right back, something inside of him absolutely terrified of ruining the atmosphere of the illogical horror that drowned him in the odd sensation of something he could only describe as sorrowful longing for a moment he cannot ever relive again, “You either adapt, or you die.” One of the crystalflies lands on your finger, wings flapping sluggishly, completely unmatching the beat of Dainsleif’s heart.

“Well said, boy.” The voice is painfully familiar, but not in the way that makes Dainsleif wish to relive the past again and again till there are no tears left to cry but in a way he would rather rip his heart out than hear it ever again. “Too bad all that wisdom is wasted.” A shiver runs down his spine, and Dainsleif too hastily blames it on that painful nostalgia coursing through his veins. When he realizes it was a premonition the Void has sent to warn him, it’s already too late and the butterfly on your finger has turned into nothing but a shimmering blue glitter and you are forcefully thrown to the other side of the corridor by a hard wind current, barely landing back on your feet with a sword already in the palm of your hand.

Reaching for his sword is an instinct, driven by the years of bitter resentment and the sheer audacity his father has for not using his eyes properly to assess his surroundings and laying his hand on you of all people. Dainsleif grips the pommel, ready to draw the blade and strike the man dead then and there just for daring to show his face around him again. Yet the iron grip one dainty hand has on the sleeve of his jacket is far stronger than it looks at a first glance.

“Stay put.” Alice orders, uncharacteristically serious as she watches you deflect another anemo blow with a swift dodge.

“Get off, Alice.” Dainsleif is really trying to get out of her hold, yet for someone so frail looking, the Æsir woman possesses an inhumanly unnatural strength. It means nothing if Dainsleif just simply uses his free hand against her, although Skirk seems to catch on to his plan rather quickly, as she puts her hand on his shoulder again.

“Know your place, boy.” There is no teasing or mischief, or even anything remotely resembling her enjoying the moment; if anything, Skirk is very much somber and dead set in her honesty. “If she lives, she will become stronger.”

“And if she dies?” It’s not a question Dainsleif should be asking, but this is also not a situation he should be facing when he tried time and time again to prevent this exact scenario from happening. Yet with how the two are borderline holding him in place and stopping him from interfering and helping you out, this is very much a viable question that has only two answers and only one of them is acceptable.

Alice loosens her hold, “She won’t.” Dainsleif can only hope she is right. For if she is wrong, there won’t be a place in all of the world where she will be able to hide from him.

You don’t notice your guard’s turmoil, however, too busy with parrying another ruthless strike of the turquoise blade, just for it to dissolve into thin air a moment later. It’s a rapid exchange of attacks from both sides of the conflict, with little to no room left for defense. If Dainsleif was someone else, he would have had a hard time keeping up with the speed of your movements, as you swiftly moved to evade a blade to your neck by blocking it with your own. The angle at which you did so is a little awkward, you holding your swords almost all the way pushed past you back and Dainsleif is painfully aware his father won’t hesitate to use it to his advantage. And so he does, sending another anemo current to push you past the distance you would be able to reach him, and throwing his sword – this time the real one – towards you, disguising it amongst all the other anemo blades.

You turn around, your weapon dragging on the floors with sparks flying off the steel as you try to distinguish which one of the rapidly approaching swords is the real deal. Deflecting the majority of the illusions, you switch the hold you had on the handle – Dainsleif should not be feeling as proud as he is for the correct grip you used at the time like this – readjusting it so your dominant arm is now free and catch the blade Högni sent your way, just to switch the positions a second later to send it back to him with one throw and kick.

“Since when do the Einherjar know how to fight properly?” Högni asks, dodging your attack and impassively watching as his own sword flies past him just to pierce through the stone wall behind him to the very hilt.

“Since when do the Jötnar lack integrity?” You retort, blowing the stray strand of hair away from your face. Dainsleif can almost feel how tense you are, despite being the only one left being armed. It’s a valid and healthy concern to have, and you being aware of the power imbalance between you and his father is just another proof of why it has to be you occupying the throne and not someone else.

“I’m a little special.” Högni laughs lethargically, the dark blue wisps forming on the tips of his fingers, as he straightens his posture. “Unlike you, Rindr.”

You stand up a little straighter as well, your free hand reaching out above your head, fingers folded in an odd sigil and forming some sort of signal nobody seems to understand. Dainsleif doesn’t know what he expected to follow after that, but he surely expected something. However the sole fact that absolutely nothing happened even if it felt like it should have, made him uneasy. Even more so when you lowered your arm, palm pressed into a tight fist. The tension in your jaw and the furrow of your eyebrows, if Dainsleif didn’t know any better he would have said you were about to cry out of sheer frustration about the thing that did not happen even if it should have. Whatever it is, it occupies all of your focus well enough for you to completely disregard Högni’s presence and delve deeper inside your own thoughts as the grip you had on the hilt of your sword loosens and it falls down on the marble floors with a deafening clink.

Dainsleif doesn’t think he has ever seen you this enraged before. You watch the blade lying close to your feet with the unblinking stare. It takes some time to realize you are looking at your own reflection in the polished surface of the steel. Dainsleif has a hard time understanding how someone can be so resentful towards themselves, yet here you are with trembling pupils and shaky fists, almost ready to shatter that blade of yours to the point of no recognition. Högni cares not for your torment, however, wasting no chance to give into his desires and commit the greatest sin known to men under the pretense of centuries old revenge.

If you notice your opponent move as the air all but bends to his will and moves with him, you don’t let it show; just continue gazing upon the reflection in the blade given to you as a gift by your handmaiden. Skirk keeps her arm on Dainsleif’s shoulder as a reminder to stay put and not interfere. Alice keeps still, observing the whole thing as if she expected it all go this way. If she did, she’s as good as dead although in some convoluted way, it’s also okay. They don’t know you like Dainsleif does, they won’t be affected if something were to happen to you unlike him. So could anyone blame him for acting on his emotions and not the voice of reason everyone thinks he has.

The Void around his fingers whispers something Dainsleif has no time to comprehend, as the wisps of dark blue smoke cross the short distance between him and you and trap Högni in place before his touch could ever reach you. The look of confusion on his father’s face is priceless. It would have felt more like a payback for all the things he put Dainsleif and his mother through if Dainsleif’s mind wasn’t so preoccupied with your safety. Out of the corner of his eye, Dainsleif can see the disappointed shake of Alice’s head and even Skirk steps aside soon after. Dainsleif wastes no time getting closer to you, unoccupied hand clasping your own in hopes of getting your attention.

You make no efforts to move, just mumble the familiar mantra absentmindedly, “Poet, soldier, king, judge…” It’s been years and Dainsleif is still not aware what you mean by that and neither Hlin nor Lumine explain even when asked.

“My lady, is everything okay?” Dainsleif kicks the sword out of your line of sight, severing the fragile connection you created with your own reflection. You blink slowly, the whispers dying out as you look up at him.

The faint sounds of the heels clicking on the stone grows closer, as he can almost feel the hot breath on his neck as Alice sighs, “You’re a fool, Dainsleif.” She scolds him, getting in-between the two of you and making sure he cannot touch you any longer. She palms your face gently soon after, as if looking for any sort of injury that is simply impossible, “You good, dear?”

“It’s fine.” You mutter warily and Dainsleif realizes that the damage might not be physical but simply unreachable, hidden deep inside your mind.

Before he can say or do anything else, Högni chuckles, hands straining against the restraints Dainsleif’s powers created. “Dain. Long time no see, son.” Dainsleif turns away from you to face his father, the displeased scowl on his lips forming almost instantly when he notices the man’s amused grin.

“Father. I wish it was longer.” He wishes it was forever, but he would rather not start another fight when you are clearly not in the right headspace to be dealing with any more conflict; especially the family drama.

Högni raises his brow, the white of his hair shines with the borderline blue undertone in the cold lighting of the corridor. There is not much of himself that Dainsleif can recognize on his father’s face, but all that he can he wishes to erase. “Sold your soul to the crown for some shiny coin?” He asks, accusing Dainsleif of a crime he was very much guilty of, although in the grand scheme of things it ended up being a blessing in disguise.

“Serving Khaenri���ah, something that you won’t understand.” With a huff, Dainsleif turns his attention back to you as Alice leads you a bit farther away from the two of them, asking something that you don’t grace with a reply. Your posture is still as stiff as it was before and the silent anger is still very much present. Dainsleif tightens the hold of the Void. Högni hisses.

“Didn’t you promise to never use it ever again?” His father follows the direction Dainsleif is looking at, casting a brief glance your way before locking eyes with Skirk who throws you your sword back. You catch it almost blindly, making it disappear right after in a glimmer of stars. “The vile powers I gave you, or whatever you called it.” Högni wiggles his fingers jokingly, and someone else might have believed that’s all that is there to it, but Dainsleif knows better than to trust someone like his father, so he squeezes his fist and watches the skin on Högni’s neck give in under the pressure of the shimmering smoke.

“Stay still.” Dainsleif reminds casually. He should not be finding such satisfaction in watching his own father choke, but almost everything in his life that relates to Högni and the issues he left his son is nothing but a self-fulfilling prophecy. Like father, like son. “One wrong move and I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Your own father?” Högni grunts through the pressure, “For the crown?”

Dainsleif nods, even if he doesn’t really agree, “For Khaenri’ah, yes.” It’s for his mother. For himself. For you. He can let that man run out of air and get it over with for good, Dainsleif is also very much aware how upset Duneyrr would be if she finds out. If not about Högni’s death, then about her only remaining son becoming a murderer. So Dainsleif lets go.

Högni rubs his neck with his hand, even if it doesn’t really do anything to relieve the pain, “Is that what they did to you in the Black Serpents? Have you gone completely docile there? The queen is not Khaenri’ah.”

“The queen isn’t.” Dainsleif agrees. It’s the sanest thing that has ever come out of his father’s mouth and the only idea that he shares with him. Dainsleif also knows his father isn’t as dumb as he loves to pretend he is. “But she is.”

He doesn’t even have to point in your direction, Högni is already looking there. It’s hard to miss the way he addressed you despite clearly seeing the differences between you and your mother; though it is also extremely easy to pinpoint exactly why he did so. Högni thrives in others’ misery, especially if that person is a descendant of the House Einherjar. What Högni doesn’t like, however, is when people mirror the energy he gives them or even worse, ignore him completely.

Alice says something to you and you nod, waving your hand dismissively. The Æsir woman sighs, looking at Skirk for help but the Jötunn isn’t the person to resolve other people’s problems, so she just shrugs as if saying to leave you be. Whatever you three were talking about is unknown, but the way Alice folds her arms over her chest as she strides confidently towards Dainsleif and his father, already gives a clear picture of what is about to follow. Högni won’t be having a fun time with her around, that’s for sure.

“Högni, this is my floor.” For all of her pretend carelessness, Alice is very fast to drop the act when it matters for her. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, Alice, darling.” Högni grins. How the two know each other is beyond Dainsleif’s comprehension, but it has to be related to the same place or time she met Skirk. Maybe his age is just another thing Högni lied about; it wouldn’t be surprising if he did, “You see, someone has been lurking around the Gate of Nilfhel. The levels of pollution went up, so we had to close access to the Mirror Hall.” The man shrugs, his eyes darting from Alice to you from time to time as if to make sure you are still here and not just a figment of his imagination, “It’s for the best, considering your new affiliation.” The way Högni says it makes Alice roll her eyes. Dainsleif strangely relates to her reaction, although he almost understands his father’s point of view. Only almost, because he is not a fool blinded by some silly revenge that did not even involve him directly. “Didn’t think you would stoop this low.” Högni says with accusatory tone, glancing over at his clanswoman with disgust, “Especially not you, Skirk.”

The Jötnar woman doesn’t appreciate the unsolicited opinions about her decisions, it looks like; because she takes it as her turn to roll her eyes, “Jumping into conclusions runs in the family or something? The both of you are unbearable.” Skirk groans, throwing Dainsleif an annoyed look. He cannot even blame her, she did say he reminded her of the priest not so long ago. It’s Dainsleif’s own fault for not connecting the dots, and it’s Högni’s fault for not disclosing to his own family that he was once some sort of a priest to begin with.

“Oh, yes.” Högni nods, the sharp-toothed grin forming on his features, “Dain took his worst from me. His taste in women is, unfortunately, not a familial trait. It’s pretty bad.” Dainsleif chokes down an exasperated huff, only staring blankly at his father as the man stared back at him patiently waiting for some sort of a reaction. A lesser man, a bigger person, Dainsleif reminded himself. To walk away without giving a response might just be a sweeter victory than choking Högni to death.

“Neither the time nor the place, Högni.” Skirk being the reasonable one for once is a thing Dainsleif has never thought he would ever see and he’s known the woman for less than a day at this point. Yet here she is, sounding vice and mature. It just shows how much of a fool his father is, if he can make Skirk seem rational. “Read the fucking room.”

“I’m sorry, am I being annoying?” Högni asks in a mock worry and when nobody replies, he just nods as if petting himself on the back, “Great.”

Alice ignores Högni’s deliberate acting annoying, and gets straight to the point without wasting any more time, “We need access to the Mirror Hall.”

The man doesn’t want to budge, however, “No can do, I told you already.” Högni shrugs, looking over at you from under his half-closed eyelids, “Unless Rindr is willing to sacrifice herself for greater good, there is nothing I can do.” The way his father goes out of his way to call you by your mother’s name makes Dainsleif wonder if Högni knows a lot more than it seems. A logical part of him wants to say it’s not possible, the more paranoid one reminds him there is nothing that is impossible as long as you are under the watchful gaze of the Khaenri’ahn moon.

Dainsleif knows this for a fact, because you once again read his mind with the help of her haunting whispers, leaving your spot next to Alice and finding your place right by his side. It should be both alarming and embarrassing how fast his hand finds yours without him even thinking about it, yet Dainsleif still disregards whatever red warning signs glaring at him in a form of Skirk’s ruby eyes following his every move. You intertwine your fingers together for more comfort, leaning closer to his shoulder and sending Högni a confused look.

“Is your father blind, Dain?” You ask casually. There’s a little dark line on your face from when one of the anemo blades was quick enough to graze you and Dainsleif is quick to pretend he doesn’t notice it.

“He has his moments, my lady.” He agrees, and although he is not aware of the actual reason behind Högni’s desire to aggravate you, Dainsleif is more than sure his father is successful in his endeavor nonetheless.

Högni hums, looking you up from head to toe curiously, eyes lingering at your locked hands for a brief second and Dainsleif already can tell he will not know peace just by the way the light reflected in his father’s eyes at that very moment, “Oh… Well, that’s awkward now.” The man frowns, tilting his head to the side, as if he just now realized that you were not, in fact, the queen. “Which one are you? You all look the same.”

“Do I really look like I am about to part ways with this life?” You quirk your brow in a question. It’s more of a joke on the expense of both your mother and Högni’s intelligence, but Dainsleif doesn’t think even for a second that you believe whatever nonsense his father is spewing.

Still, Högni enjoys the attention your response gives him, “No, you do not. Rage is blinding, my dear.” The sudden switch in his behavior is more alarming than all of Dainsleif’s moments of denial combined into one single entity. Högni squints his eyes at you, the smirk slowly turning into a very familiar yet just as unwelcomed smile that Dainsleif has only seen directed towards one single woman. “If anything, you remind me of someone else I used to know.” The wistful tone of Högni’s voice is nothing but chalk against the blackboard and combined with the angle at which his lips bend in nostalgic anguish, it paints an awful picture in Dainsleif’s mind. The sentimental moment of longing his father was going through doesn’t last for long, much to Dainsleif’s relief, as Högni turns around to Skirk and Alice, “How long have you known?”

Skirk shrugs nonchalantly, further confirming her prior involvement with you, “For a while now.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” It’s an odd sight to see Högni genuinely offended to be left out on some apparently important information. Although for Dainsleif the whole idea of your existence as a whole being something seemingly so very important to the Jötnar so even Högni is willing to forgo his obsession with revenge feels hauntingly disturbing. Especially after he deliberately attacked you not so long ago. Especially if he probably expected to never land the finishing blow in the first place.

“Seems like none of your fucking business.” Skirk replies bluntly, putting a stop to all of Dainsleif’s wild conspiracies.

“The princess is none of your concern, priest.” Alice adds after. The title Dainsleif was never aware of is brought up again so very carelessly and with a little thought put behind it. Dainsleif has no idea whose priest his father was back in the day, but Khaenri’ah has never had a deity to worship and those statues scattered all over Abyss are old enough to see the day of Lady [Name]’s birth. So the implications are not playing in Högni’s favor in the slightest, if anything they just further prove Duneyrr is right.

“Well…” Högni sighs, rubbing his chin with his hand mindlessly, “I guess I can let you in. It will cost you, though.” The man looks at you when he says it and for Dainsleif it means no good because he is just as sure you will inevitably agree to just about anything as he is sure that the inteyvat blooms just for you and you alone.

“Didn’t expect anything else.” You say calmly. Whatever made you so enraged before is long gone and you are back to your impassive façade of serene and poised. It’s surprising how quick you can switch your moods, completely changing yourself in a blink of an eye. Only you don’t surprise Dainsleif by refusing his father’s offer, on the contrary, you agree, “Name your price.”

Högni nods, a curious glimmer in his eyes, as he steps closer to you, but drawing the imaginary line between him and your group and refusing to cross it; just beckoning you to be the one to do so. You untangle yourself from Dainsleif without hesitation, and he cannot help but think back to Skirk’s words of you being insane. Maybe that is exactly what you are, yet Dainsleif cannot for the life of him say that it’s a bad thing. Maybe on someone else it would have been, but you make it work.

Högni watches you cross the line, coming to a halt a step away from him. He reaches for your face with his hand, two fingers hooking under your chin to lift it up but before he can, Dainsleif stops him. Maybe Skirk was right and he really is deprived in some twisted way that Dainsleif needs to resolve before it blows up in his face, but this time when Högni feels the pressure of the Void around his neck, he doesn’t as much as blinks; just tears his eyes from you to look over your shoulder at his son, “Don’t be so jumpy son, I’m not interested in anyone but your mother.”

Lesser man, bigger person. Dainsleif lets the jab fly past over his head, “One wrong move.”

“I know, I know.” Högni dismisses him rather hurriedly, instead leaning closer to you so he can whisper in your ear. It’s a very brief interaction: it ends as soon as it begins and you step away from his father the moment after. Dainsleif cannot see your face but he can watch Högni’s reaction to your emotions and judging by now his eyebrow twitches he sees nothing, “What do you think?”

You simply nod, “Consider it done.”

“Just like that?” The surprise in Högni’s voice is so genuine it almost gives Dainsleif a whiplash. For if his own father is astounded by your agreeing to his whimsical demands, there is more than a hundred percent chance it was a completely diabolical thing that he asked of you.

You don’t seem so perplexed by your own answer and instead once again wondering about Högni’s level of intelligence, “What is in the best interests of the people is in the best interests of Khaenri’ah. I see no issue with your request.”

It’s the no-nonsense tone of your voice that makes Högni tilt his head in amusement, as he once again looks you up from head to toe, “I’m simply curious, but if you were to become the queen–”

You correct the man almost immediately, taking no chances in him misunderstanding your stance, “When I become the queen.”

“Yes, of course.” Högni agrees hurriedly, “When you’re the queen, what is that you wish to do?”

“What do you want me to do?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Dainsleif is afraid his father already misinterpreted your question in the most bastardized way possible and it seems to be the case when Högni smirks suddenly.

“I asked you first, little one.” The Jötunn says, but now Dainsleif is more than sure his father doesn’t really understand your words all that well.

“I think you misunderstood me.” You say, confirming Dainsleif’s suspicions, “The queen is the woman of the people. If she fails to make their life better, she has no right to call herself queen.” This statement might end up bent by Högni’s skewed perception of reality as well, Dainsleif knows it. “So I’m going to ask again, what do you want me to do?” If his father will end up thinking you can be manipulated into doing his bidding and dirty work, he is dead wrong. It’s not about pleasing people, it’s about making the world a fair place for everyone. Despite your hellbent desire to create that elemental weapon, you are very radical in your beliefs. Because even if you break yourself and take any chance given to you just to reach your goal, you just as easily let things go. If you deem something useless, you refuse and act accordingly.

Thankfully, Högni isn’t as delusional as Dainsleif thinks he is, “I quite like you, second daughter.”

You don’t comment on the odd compliment, just fix one of the stars of your headpiece away from you face, “Can we go now?”

Högni nods, “Sure, go ahead.”

You turn around, not waiting for any other confirmation and tug on Alice’s sleeve lightly, “Let’s go, Alice.” The woman nods, linking her arm with yours and striding towards the door at the end of the corridor.

Dainsleif is fast to follow after the two of you, yet one look from Skirk is enough for him to slow down and let you be. The Jötnar woman shakes her head, throwing Högni one last side eye and joins you and Alice quite quickly for someone who claimed they didn’t like neither you nor your company. The realization of her leaving him with Högni alone as a form of torture for not listening to her and intervening with your fight comes a bit too late for Dainsleif’s liking. It’s already too late to back out at that point, however, so he sucks it up and continues his journey in his father’s silent company. Dainsleif can only hope it will remain as quiet as it is now.

“Your taste in women changed drastically, Dain.” Only his father is a source of all the issues Dainsleif has ever had in his life and Högni would do anything in his power to make his son’s life miserable, “For the better, too.”

The implications are out in the open and although Dainsleif would like to say his father is the first person to make a comment like that, he is not. Yet this can of worms is not the one Dainsleif is ready to address just yet, especially in the presence of his father of all people. So he does the only thing he knows best, Dainsleif pretends like nothing is wrong and he is not suffering and instead it’s the others’ fault for misunderstanding he and your relationship, “Vana and I are still together, if that is what you’re wondering.” Dainsleif says casually, only this just makes the matters worse as Högni chuckles drily.

“All while being in love with another woman?” Despite all the bold claims he likes to give out, his father knows nothing. Dainsleif is not in love with you. He cannot be, for it’s simply not possible. There is not a lifetime in which you and him are destined to exist. For you are Khaenri’ah and he is nothing but a sword for you to wield. For you are the stars and he is the shadow their light casts through the canvas of trees. For you have the world resting on the slope of your shoulders and he is nothing but a coward. “I taught you better than that. Or are you going behind her back, is the pretty princess really worth your dignity or–”

The speed at which Dainsleif shuts his father up is both comical and terrifying. This is just another sign for him to start addressing his issues in a way that can actually help to resolve them and not just by acknowledging that they exist and then letting them simmer inside of him till the most miniscule thing triggers a chain reaction.

“Keep her name out of your mouth.” Dainsleif doesn’t like how easily agitated he can become. Maybe with age will come that well needed and very much welcomed maturity, but for now all he has to his name is a constant reminder that anything can set him off if used right. Dainsleif used to pride himself on his stone will and calm demeanor, when in reality all it really takes to make him tick is a right person knowing exactly where it hurts. “If you think I will allow you to spew this nonsense just because you let us through, you’re mistaken. One more foul word in her direction and you’re dead. Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for what you did to my mother.”

“Your mother and I have our issues.” Högni says, oddly collected for someone who was just laughing a moment ago. Maybe it’s the feeling of his air supply being cut off for the third time in the span of a couple of hours, maybe it’s the guilt that Duneyrr’s name invokes in him, Dainsleif would never know. Not that he even wants to. “It doesn’t mean you should be following in my footsteps.”

The notion of being just like his father is nauseating as it is, Högni himself comparing their experiences in this way makes Dainsleif’s stomach churn even more. “I am not.” He is quick to correct his father, yet the choice of words he says next does not help Dainsleif plead his case, “I care for Vana and wish only the best for–”

Dainsleif can see the smile growing on Högni’s face. “Dain!” He hates that knowing look probably even more than he hates the idea of being just like that man, if not even worse and yet the way he reacts to you calling his name is the most damning evidence against him one can possibly find. Dainsleif looks ahead to where you are waiting with Alice under the big archway leading to the tall staircase. You wave your hand just a tiny bit to make sure he is paying attention, as if all of it isn’t already given to you and call out his name again. The way it sounds coming from you feels like both his damnation and salvation at the same time, and this contradictory feeling balled somewhere in Dainsleif’s throat is something Högni would never understand.

“Yet here you are.” If Högni thinks shaming Dainsleif into admitting something that takes too much courage and disillusionment is the way to go, he is wrong. “Is the little Valkyrie still not allowed to call you that?” Lesser man, bigger person, Dainsleif reminds himself as he walks away from his father. Dainsleif doesn’t think he can answer that question honestly even with his life on the line, anyway.

Disregarding his father’s mumbling, Dainsleif crosses the distance between you in a record time, hurriedly walking up the staircase. You are standing by the other side of the archway, head tilted upwards to the star-covered sky. He would have called this scene a rare moment of serenity, yet the wrinkle between your eyebrows won’t let Dainsleif do that. You don’t turn around to face Dainsleif even when you hear his footsteps come to a halt, only cross your arms over your chest as our frown deepens.

He watches you bite the inside of your cheek right beside the corner of your mouth, “Is it me, or does the moon look odd?” You ask suddenly; Dainsleif instinctively looks up to the moon hanging over your heads.

“I don’t think so…” To Dainsleif there is nothing out of the ordinary about this omnipresent entity that all but dictates the lives of Khaenri’ahn people. If anything, she looks the same as she always does with her gloomy shimmer falling down from the sky and on your face in a rain of cold light. “Is it?”

To you, however, she is foreign. And how could she not be if you are as familiar with her as you are with the people you share the roof with? How could you not find this one strange if the one back home speaks to you as if you are old friends and you listen just as carefully? “It’s like…” You mumble, stopping yourself halfway through your sentence. “It’s like this is a different moon. Not the one we see back home.” Dainsleif doesn’t know what to reply to that. You see things that he simply cannot. To him this is the moon he knows, for you she is an impostor. Dainsleif watches you stare up at the muted light of this unfamiliar moon, and no words come to his mind to even try and begin to understand the way you look at things.

His father, on the contrary, always has a word to two to fill in that awkward silence, “That’s because it isn’t.” He joins in on the conversation, disregarding the snarky look Alice sends his way. Although the man isn’t fast to elaborate on his preposterous statement any more than that.

“We’re in the Abyssal Moon Spire.” The Æsir woman clarifies for Högni, “It exists by its own logic and cannot be explained by a human mind. There was once a prosperous civilization living here, but now there are only ruins that remain.” She continues casually. It once again reminds Dainsleif that she most likely was there when this very civilization was thriving in its prosperity, and even if she wasn’t, she was there to watch it all crumble down like a house of cards. “Makes you wonder–”

The sudden gasp that falls from your lips interrupts Alice’s flow of thought, as she hastily turns over to you to see if something is wrong. You are pressing your fingers to your temples with your eyes tightly shut together in pain as your mouth moves, forming words yet never voicing them. Unfortunately, this is not an unusual occurrence for Dainsleif.

The first time it happened, he had no idea what to do and with no choice but to call for Hlin, he was left in the dark about the true reason behind your sudden illness. The Æsir woman explained these to be simple migraines you are having from time to time, Dainsleif let her think he believed her lies and moved on with his life, keeping an eye on your health. With time those sudden headaches happened more and more rarely and at some point they all but vanished altogether save for some lone incidents here and there when you stayed up late for weeks at a time. Yet despite it all, Dainsleif couldn’t shake off the odd foreboding looming in the air every time you did have one of these occasional episodes. Whatever it was, the pressure radiating from you in those moments was too intense to sometimes even stand next to you.

Yet Alice isn’t as aware about your health complications – neither is Skirk despite her appearing to know you the longest out of all of them combined, even if it looked like she could sense the same dreadful sensation Dainsleif did – as she hurriedly reaches for your shoulders, checking if you are stable on your feet and won’t be fainting any time soon.

“Are you okay?” She asks. It’s unpleasantly ironic to Dainsleif that Alice is concerned for your wellbeing now and not when your life was in actual danger, but he tries not to judge her too much considering she even has it in her to worry about you in the first place.

“I’m fine. Just a headache.” You say through your teeth, dismissing Alice’s concerns and standing up straighter. “We should not be wasting time on irrelevant matters.” The way you disregard it all dispels the chill of apprehension floating around the moonlit spire and leaves nothing but a bad omen behind as a parting gift.

“Of course.” Alice nods, getting the hint rather quickly, and pulls a key out of her satchel soon after. “C’mon, Your Majesty. I’m gonna teach you a neat trick.” She wastes no time linking her arm with yours – out of worry or just because she is a person living off the touch of another human being is unknown – and points to the tall door at the other side of the empty room.

“Don’t blow her up, Alice.” Skirk says, and although it is supposed to be half a jab and half a joke, Dainsleif cannot help but think she is talking from experience.

The Æsir woman huffs, poking Skirk in the arm with that same key she is holding, “You, of all people, should know that I set on fire only things I don’t like.” The maniacal grin on Alice’s face is a mirror image of the one Skirk was sporting in the not so distant past and this somehow makes her look more unnerving than the Jötunn ever was. Skirk doesn’t reply to that, only stares back at her friend – are they friends? – with a blank face. Alice chuckles, “Wait for us here.” There is some sort of finality in the tone of her voice when Alice says that, even Dainsleif doesn’t have it in him to argue with the woman, just watches your backs as Alice hands you the key.

You take it, then insert it in the keyhole of the door, turning it all the way until the distinct click resonates through the empty chamber. Cracking open the door, Alice enters first and leaves just barely enough room for you to pass through and then shuts it close behind you the moment after. It’s not clear how long you spend there; time works completely differently in Abyss compared to the passing of time in Khaenri’ah, but the company of Skirk and Högni doesn’t help the time to fly faster in the slightest. They take turns bickering and insulting each other, then falling completely silent for a brief moment just to return back to casual – albeit oddly personal – insults.

Dainsleif sits down on the floor, leaning on the wall next to the door you left through, and watches the moon, trying to see – or at least to even begin to understand – how this one is different from the one back home. It shines the same and looks the same, and even the light it sheds has the same tint. It’s only when the door opens again and he notices the distorted reflection of it – not her, the moon as you all know it is waiting for you back home – in the diamond of your pupil that Dainsleif finally gets it. How lonely it must be to meet a dear friend just to be greeted by an impostor. The silence you hear when looking at it must be hauntingly deafening.

Skirk asks how everything went, yet neither you nor Alice reply to her, the Æsir woman just simply showing off one of the sizable vials she’s keeping neatly in a special pouch. It’s full to the brim with some purple liquid and if Dainsleif didn’t know any better, he would have sworn he could see sparks flying inside of it. The Jötunn nods, picking herself up from the ground and dusting her cloak from all the imaginary grime it’s collected over the course of her sitting down. You are strangely tense when Alice passes you the purple vial, holding it rather carefully in your grasp before shaking your head and returning it back to the woman. Alice doesn’t look surprised in the slightest by your reaction, just takes the vial back and hides it inside the pouch and hands it to you again. This time you take it, clipping it to the hoop of your belt and nudge your head to the direction of the exit.

Whatever wordless conversation going on between the two of you doesn’t please Högni all that much, as he interjects with a question to break the silence, “So…” He begins but neither you nor Alice spare him a glance, just quietly walking towards the exit of the chamber. Following you out, the man shares a look with his clanswoman, but Skirk just shrugs it off, not really bothered by the tense silence. “You know what you’re going to do with those?” Högni points to the pouch hanging off from your belt, the vials clinking lightly with your every step.

“I know.” You say simply, deciding to not elaborate any more on any of your plans for the contents of the vials.

It’s not enough for Högni, however, as he pushes his curiosity even further, “So, what’s your plan then? I–”

You stop abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. The light shining behind you casts an eerie shadow on your face, leaving the stars on the headpiece you are wearing glimmer like a halo. “Alice, that Mirror Hall we entered through, where do the other doors lead to?” You ask, staring up ahead to the end of the hallway where a lonely mirror stands tall, the barely noticeable mist flowing all around it.

Alice blinks up at you, perplexed by your sudden question, “Anywhere you want and everywhere you could imagine.”

“I see.” You hum then. Whatever your actual question was, despite it being covered by a thin veil of lies, Alice answered it just enough to leave you satisfied. “Let’s go home.”

And then you move past them all and straight to the exit with no other words spared till the door of your bedroom shut tightly behind you. Whatever happened in that chamber changed everything, for even the starlight does not reflect on that key Alice gave you.

Yet it reflects in your pupils with a burning flame of a star yet unseen.

The sun fell in love with the moon.

The sky is broken. Plagued by the eons of suffering, it cannot be repaired even by the most genius minds, for even if they can create everything from nothing, they cannot turn back time to return things back to the way they were before. No matter how beautiful those artificial stars shine in the sky full of broken promises, they will never replace those that long but died before ever reaching the ground. And just like those man-made stars, this memory of her cannot ever compare to those that he has shared with you, yet he holds onto them for the fear of looking up and seeing the sky for what it really is. Yet one can live in denial for so long, until even the most intricate illusion begins to crack.

In a way, you are someone Dainsleif cannot recognize anymore.

He is also very much aware that this is not true, and your recent supposed change of character is just years of frustration finally manifesting in a physical form. Ever since returning from that trip three months ago, you are never leaving your room these days, and when you do it’s either to see Gold or visit Alice. It may sound like it’s nothing new but the way your self-imposed solitude affects you is completely different from your usual behavior.

You are snappy and agitated, easily set off by a single word that you take the wrong way. It’s not even directed at the people but at your own research, as you are trying yet constantly failing to harness that very power you obtained. Being this close yet never reaching your goal must be an extremely difficult thing to handle, especially when so much depends on your success. So when yet another unfortunate rat dies after making contact with that device you created, you bang your fist on the table.

The papers scatter everywhere, falling down from your desk and onto the floor, joining the parchments you ripped with your own hands not so long ago. Somewhere on your bed Lumine sighs. For someone so disgusted by the sight of dead animals, she always seems to be here to observe your each and every attempt. You stare the dead rat down, watching it slowly drown in the flames the glowing orb created as if it should come back to life at any given moment. You know it won’t, because nothing has changed since your previous experiment even with your constant adjusting of the alchemic formula.

When the rat does not awaken even after being engulfed in fire just as you expected, you reach for the flower vase on your windowsill. Throwing the flowers away to the side, you flip the vase and pour the water all over your desk. It puts out the fire and soaks into all the remaining documents that probably worth more to you than all of the Khaenri’ah put together. Or were worth something before this very moment, because even when the ink smudges all over the parchment you do nothing to save it. Dainsleif supposes you don’t even need to do that, all of the formulas and diagrams are most likely etched into your mind for the rest of your life. If only it did you any good.

The water drips from the edge of the desk onto your dress, you ball your hands into fists, your jaw tight as you get up from your chair and walk right on the parchments dusted all over the floors. In the dark corner of your bedroom the rats squeak when they hear you approaching their cage. Dainsleif cannot tell if they sense their upcoming doom or are mindlessly excited to be let out of the tight cage, but they flock to your palm as you reach for the lock. Lumine gags. As if sensing it with your back, you step aside from the rat cage, opting to pace around the room instead. From window to the door, from the desk to the bed. The water is still dripping all over the papers. The stench of the burned rat is finally starting to settle in.

“Calm down.” Lumine interjects suddenly, getting up from her spot on your bed and looking over at you with a tired expression.

“I’m calm.” You hiss, yet the speed of your pacing just grows after that.

“I can see it.” She sighs in disappointment. In his spot in the chair next to yours Dainsleif remains silent. “Stop pacing. It won’t help you in any way.”

You stop suddenly, looking down at your feet, “Why doesn’t it work?” You ask then. Your voice is so tired, tone so dejected, it feels like you are about to burst into tears at any given moment. The frustration you are feeling right now must be all-encompassing; all these months of trial and error getting absolutely nowhere were bound to break you one day, Dainsleif just wasn’t sure when this day would come around. “It should work. I know it should.”

“Then it’s simply not the time.” Lumine shrugs casually. Dainsleif doesn’t think she really understands the extent of the differences between you and her. She has all the time in the world while your life is bound to an hourglass that can be broken at any given moment. For Lumine there is always an easy solution for all of your problems; you live in fear of gathering the shattered glass and separating it from the spilled sand. Dainsleif doesn’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing that she is so carefree most of the time. “Rest. There is always tomorrow.”

“There will be no tomorrow if I fail with this!” You snap then, the shrill volume of your voice scaring the rats as they start scratching on the bottom of the cage.

Lumine doesn’t react to your outburst in any way, just takes it for what it is and lets you release all of your frustration instead of helping you to bottle it all up again. “You won’t.” She states calmly, “Now let’s clean up and rest.”

Lumine is right, you need some time off from the madness you put yourself through on a daily basis. Dainsleif knows it will be hard to convince you to set your work aside even for a short while, but it is still worth a try, “Let’s take a walk. It’ll clear your mind.” Dainsleif finally speaks up.

You shake your head, refusing to listen to anyone, “I cannot waste time on–”

“Just today.” Dainsleif interrupts you before you can find a way out of resting once again. He knows he cannot be greedy and ask for more than half a day of peace for your mind, when you refuse to even entertain the thought, so he settles for less, “I am sure tomorrow you will be able to look at things from a clearer perspective.”

You swallow slowly, the muscles of your neck moving up and down. Then you press your eyes shut, and Dainsleif knows he won. Even just this once. “Just today.” You repeat his words back to him, fingers gripping the wet sleeve of your dress, “I need to check on the flowers, anyway.” It’s hard for Dainsleif not to smile at the thinly veiled mention of his mother and her newfound interest in khemia-born flowers created by you. Lumine rolls her eyes so hard, they must be straining inside their sockets.

“I’ll be waiting for you at the door, then.” He says, leaving the room before you can change your mind.

You don’t make Dainsleif wait for long, joining him sooner than he expected with a new headpiece he’s never seen before covering almost all of your upper face by a shimmering veil of vines. He doesn’t comment on the odd choice nor does he question your ability to see through the sparkling rain of gems obstructing your vision, just silently walks beside you instead.

Those walks are shamefully Dainsleif’s most favorite pastime, have been for a while, and even if he is brave enough to come in terms with the fact himself, he is still cowardly to admit it to you even when you deliberately pass by the waypoint without using it to make your journey faster. It’s a crime, whatever that is going on between the two of you; the unspoken and disregarded, Dainsleif keeps it tucked safely far, far away inside the deepest crevices of his beating heart. For if he digs it all up, then what?

You ask something, he answers on a complete autopilot. The skirts of your dress drag along the dusty pavement, painting the hem with the uneven layer of dark grey. Dainsleif should not be looking forward to such simple things as visiting his own mother with you – it’s another check mark on the ever expanding list of the sins he will inevitably be prosecuted for when it all ends – but he is and he wishes not to soil a good memory with his, although reasonable, still completely unwanted thoughts.

Dainsleif knocks on the door. Duneyrr opens it up almost immediately, a cup in her hand and a pair of reading glasses low on her nose. She steps aside and lets the two of you enter, offering some tea. You agree even if you hate the unsweetened herbal concoction his mother makes for you, settling down at the dining table with the row of potted flowers lined before you and thanking her for the hospitality. Duneyrr busies herself with making tea and Dainsleif sits down beside you, watching as you inspect the flowers – glazed lilies as you called them – while all but demanding a report on their behavior. It's not rest, but just another form of work for you, Dainsleif is very much aware, yet as long as the frustration is gone from your voice and your posture is relaxed enough for you to lean backwards on the back of the chair, it’s enough for him.

You take a sip of your tea. Dainsleif is almost sure his mother knows you hate it, but she takes some sort of pleasure knowing you still drink it despite disliking it and never once voicing your displeasure. He guesses it’s all about superiority and sadly, yet understandably, goes back to Duneyrr’s involvement with the Valkyries. He doesn’t dwell on the thought for too long, simply dumps another spoonful of honey in his own cup, not letting Duneyrr’s ego get any larger than it already is. Offering you some as well, Dainsleif can’t help but sigh when you persistently refuse to sweeten the bitter taste, opting to drink the most vile thing in the world despite hating it.

Duneyrr laughs at your stubborn nature, taking a sip from her own cup. She opens her mouth, ready to say something, but the knock on the front door interrupts her line of thought, as Duneyrr turns around to face in that general direction.

“Were you expecting guests, Lady Duneyrr?” You ask then, downing your tea in one go and setting the cup aside for good. The proud glimmer in your eyes is hard to miss, and Dainsleif cannot help but find it amusing. Maybe drinking that disgusting tea was more of a help for your overworked mind than this whole outing put together.

“I did not.” Duneyrr replies, pushing her own cup away from her, and looking over at Dainsleif expectantly, “I’m sure Dain can open the door just fine.” His mother says, and reaches for one of the pots with a blue flower to leave no room for disputing her decision, “So these ones are supposed to constantly bloom?” She asks you, and Dainsleif has no choice but to get up and see who’s been knocking on the door.

You hum in agreement, “They bloom only under the moonlight.” You explain, “They came to me in a dream. They were too beautiful to only exist in my imagination...” Your voice gets fainter and fainter the further Dainsleif is from the kitchen, while the rapid knocking grows progressively louder.

He turns the handle slowly, half-a-mind occupied with an idea just to turn the lock instead and give a more than obvious signal to whoever it is for the other side of the door to just leave you all alone. Dainsleif doesn’t just simply because it’s his mother whom this unknown person is trying to reach, and Duneyrr is not the one for unexpected guests and even more so for those who seek some sort of help from her out of anyone.

The door cracks open. Dainsleif reminds himself to oil the hinges so they won’t be making that ear-piercing noise every time they move. “Lady Du–” Vana stops. Rapidly blinking away her surprise, she is frozen with her fist halfway up in the air, ready for another knocking session. “Dainsleif.” She finally chokes out in a strained voice and for a brief moment Dainsleif has not a faintest clue what he is supposed to do with her here of all places.

“Vana.” Her name sounds strangely foreign on his tongue, despite it being one of the most common names of the Vanir population. Deep down Dainsleif is more than aware as to why it is the case, but that rational – or delusional – part of his brain refuses to acknowledge the fact and just throws another pile of metaphorical ground over it just to bury it deeper. “What are you doing here?”

“What?” Vana is rightfully offended just as she is taken aback by the straightforward if not outright rude question Dainsleif threw her way. When the fleeting moment of bewilderment passes, the Valkyrie frowns, eyes sharp as she looks in disbelief at the man she promised to love forever, “We haven’t seen each other in three months, Dainsleif!” Three months is a long time to not see someone you are romantically involved with, Dainsleif can acknowledge that. He can also admit he didn’t even notice the passage of time with how busy he became after you returned from your trip to Abyss. Dainsleif kept his promise of writing Duneyrr letters and even visiting for a little while, but those were just excuses to get you out of the house more than anything. Vana’s worry was and is completely unwarranted, Dainsleif is more than sure. He has her letters in the neat pile on his desk and just because he has no time to reply to every single one, doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for Vana any less. It’s not life he vanished from the face of the earth again, he didn’t. “I worry about you. You don’t respond to my letters and never visit, what am I supposed to do? Sit there and do nothing?” Or maybe he did. Vana’s voice is shaky as it keeps going up with her every word before it drops to a labored whisper, “What if something happened with the crown? What if they got you killed as well? What if–”

“I am perfectly fine, Vana.” Dainsleif cuts the Valkyrie off before she dives any deeper into her pile of conspiracies. Stepping aside, he lets Vana inside the house, and closes the front door behind her. “And I am sorry. I was really busy. Things have been very hectic lately.”

“Too busy to even write me a note?” She doesn’t understand, Dainsleif reasons. If she did, Vana would not have acted like that. But he knows it’s for the better if she is left in the dark about that sacred part of his life that involves you. “What does that bastard daughter even do?” Dainsleif can’t help but stare, left speechless by Vana’s exasperated question. So stunned, in fact, he doesn’t even notice the growing sound of footsteps behind him, as the curtains separating the corridor from the entryway fly open.

“What’s taking so long? Lady Duneyrr–” Your headpiece chimes with your every move, as you stop at the archway. Dainsleif was honest when he said he wished to make sure the two of you would never ever meet. Yet fate is unpredictable and it always works only in favor of whoever is pulling the strings of the human lives, so here he is, watching his worst nightmare come to life.

“My lady…” Dainsleif mutters awkwardly, “Let me introduce you to Vana.” He sees you nod, the straight line of your mouth becoming sharper by the second. “Vana… This is my lady, Frigga Einherjar.” Vana is staring. Dainsleif has no idea if it’s a good or a bad thing.

For an extremely prolonged moment that extends to what feels like centuries, you keep quiet. When you do speak, it’s the first time since he has met you that Dainsleif can compare the tone of your voice to a sharpened knife, “It’s time for us to leave.”

“You need–” Dainsleif wants to remind you that you promised both him and Lumine to take some time off to clear your head. He really, truly wants to, but you leave him no chance when you keep watching Vana as if her very existence is a danger not only to you and him, but Khaenri’ah as a whole. Dainsleif wishes it wasn’t so reasonable for you to feel this way, but despite all efforts and his constant battle to change Duneyrr’s opinion on Vana as she is now, he still remembers the person she was before her older sister was tasked to execute that Æsir girl and the horrific aftermath that followed. Dainsleif wants to believe you and Vana have never met before this very moment, but the way you all but force yourself to stay still unfortunately proves him otherwise.

“I want to leave, Dainsleif.” It should not hurt as much as it does, but for once Dainsleif can own up to his feelings and admit that he would rather never hear you call him that ever again. You slowly take a step closer to the shoe rack and Dainsleif can swear that despite not even being able to see half your face properly, you are not taking your eyes off of Vana even for a second, “If we stay, I won’t be responsible for anything that might happen.” It’s not a threat that falls from your lips so easily, it’s a warning and Dainsleif doesn’t want to test the limits of your patience for his is well aware that Khaenria’hn wrath has no bounds and he would rather you live another day in peace with no blood on your hands. Revenge or not.

“Okay…” He nods. If Dainsleif notices Vana’s shock at his effortless agreement, he simply pretends he didn’t. “Let me take you home.”

You shake your head, the stars hanging off the vines chime again in solidarity, “I want to see Alice.”

Dainsleif doesn’t argue, he doesn’t even remind you about the cloak you left on the back of the kitchen chair, instead he simply agrees, “Alice it is, my lady.” Satisfied with his answer, you finally turn away from Vana and put your shoes on in a hurry. Whatever you do and wherever you go, you cannot seem to catch a break. This time Dainsleif can admit it’s his own fault.

Beside the little table by the window, Vana exhales through her nose loudly, “Dainsleif, you can’t just leave.” She says, and all that annoyance in her voice that is directed at him is justified, yet it also doesn’t mean understanding he’s in the wrong would change Dainsleif’s mind.

“I’m sorry, Vana. I have duties.” It’s not about duties in the slightest, Dainsleif knows that, but he would rather die by his own blade than to admit to the real reason behind his decision. It’s not even a decision in the first place, there is no choice for him to make for there is only one single option. Between you and everything else, he will choose you. Always.

“Babysitting is not a duty.” Vana huffs, arms crossed over her chest defensively.

“I am not babysitting anyone.” It’s too snappy coming from him at a time like this, and it’s evident by the way Vana recoils. Dainsleif doesn’t apologize for this, despite probably needing to. Instead he just opens the door for you and looks over his shoulder at Vana for the last time, “I’ll be back, if you still want to talk.” Dainsleif doesn’t want to hurt her, but he also cannot stay even if she begs him to.

“You aren’t serious, are you?” At this point Vana doesn’t even sound angry, just defeated. It’s like she has been talking to one of the castle walls all this time and was foolishly waiting for it to respond.

“I’m sorry.” Dainsleif says, yet not even for a second does he try to look apologetic. This is not the man she fell in love with all those years back, yet he looks exactly like Dainsleif she knew.

Watching the front door close behind him, Vana takes a hesitant step forward, yet doesn’t follow with another as someone clasps her wrist tightly, stopping her from doing something she will end up regretting one way or another. Duneyrr shakes her head, letting go of Vana’s wrist when she notices the Valkyrie is smart enough to not act out on her emotions.

“Don’t go doing something stupid like running after him.” The older woman says, uncharacteristically somber and – what is even more odd – civil for once, “Have some self-respect, stars.”

It feels strange to hear this woman who has never been kind to her even once since Dainsleif introduced the two to each other giving her reasonable advice that is actually helpful. Vana wants to be offended, she has all the rights to, yet – disappointingly enough – she simply can’t. If anything, she is almost grateful at Duneyrr’s backhanded way of making sure Vana keeps her dignity even if it directly involves her only son.

It doesn’t really help that the both of them can clearly hear the muttering on the other side of the door. Neither you – the bastard daughter, the faceless apparition, the hauntingly familiar presence – nor Dainsleif – the man she loves, the man she misses, the man she cannot recognize – care to keep your voices down. Vana doesn’t know if he wants them to hear or if he thinks the thin wood is enough to hush your conversation, but the outcome remains the same. It breaks her heart either way.

“My lady.” The way Dainsleif addresses you is different. Vana doesn’t know how to describe it properly without using that simple adjective, but it’s the only way she can properly express her impression. He talks to you in a certain way, deeply intimate for someone who is just tasked to be a glorified babysitter. If anything, Dainsleif borderline sounds like you are the one who hung the stars above the lands of Khaenri’ah, and it’s not how it should be. “Have you met before?” Here it is, the dreaded question. Vana not even once saw your face properly yet she is sure she recognized that scowl from somewhere. Maybe from your mother or half-sister, maybe from that father of yours the queen cheated on the Bough Keeper with. Whatever the case, Vana is sure you have never met before this very day and she can honestly say she would rather you never met at all.

You defy her expectations, however, as you say curtly, “Yes.”

It’s a one single word, but it sends an array of chills down Vana’s spine. Where, when, under what circumstances. She is sure she would have remembered someone like you even if just by the tense sense of your presence alone. Yet Vana cannot recall even a single white haired woman coming her way recently, moreover the one she had a conflict with. All that comes to mind is a child from all those years ago, before her life changed for both better and for worse, yet Vana can’t remember her face no matter how much she tries.

For Dainsleif even one single word from you is enough, Vana notices. As he is quick to talk and despite his words coming in her defense, it feels more like an excuse he makes for himself rather than Dainsleif pleading Vana’s case, “I can assure you, she is not the same person anymore. She’s changed and I can promise you she is sorry for her actions.” It shouldn’t hurt yet it does. Vana is self-aware enough to realize her mistakes and the despicable way she behaved and the atrocious acts she committed before her disillusionment with the crown, yet the way Dainsleif is so fast to apologize for her simply makes Vana feel sick. She knew she was awful, but was she really that bad that even Dainsleif could so easily pinpoint the time she and you – whoever you may be – met?

“Is she?” You question skeptically. It’s not an accusation, it’s simply a fact. Whatever Vana did to you – a thing she shamefully cannot even remember – hurt you so deeply you have a hard time believing that someone like her is capable of change. In a way Vana is insulted; she is a changed person who can own up to her past mistakes. Yet in another way she can’t help but wonder if it’s true and maybe she just is so good at pretending that she fooled even herself.

“I swear on my name.” Dainsleif promises then.

His tone still very much holds that special tint Vana has never heard before. It makes her question the way he must be looking at you right now. Bastard daughter or not, you must have that Einherjar beauty you keep covering with those over-the-top headpieces. Is that it, simply a pretty face is all it takes? Or does the moon shine that extraordinary light reserved just for the blessed ones on you too? Vana has no time to ponder, because when you speak again, she finds out she has no need to question anything at all.

“Do you love her, Dain?” You ask and of course. Of course, it would be like that. There must be something the stars gifted you that nobody else has, there is no other explanation. Vana can hear her own heart somewhere in her throat, beating loudly in anticipation of the answer that will make or break everything.

“I…” Dainsleif begins; Vana can hear his breath hitch slightly. The tremor in his voice is almost palpable even from the other side of the door, and this pause alone says more than even the words he says next. Because Dainsleif stops himself to pick what he wants to say. And he doesn’t choose I love her. “I care for Vana very much, yes.”

You don’t seem to notice the implications, simply continuing your line of thought as if Dainsleif didn’t just all but admit to not be in love with Vana all for the sake of your peace, “And this woman who you swear she is now, does she make you happy?” You are oddly composed and mature for someone so spoiled. Bastard or not, your mother is the queen and she dotes on her children more than she takes care of the people she swore to protect. If Vana wasn’t as hurt as she is now, she would have commended your character. Right now all she wants is to remember that moment the two of you first met so she can find out another, more valid, reason to despise you.

“We were there for each other at our lowest, my lady.” Dainsleif replies. The past tense is a glaring red flag. Vana wants this to end so she can just return home and pretend she didn’t leave her house today and that absolutely nothing happened. She can’t.

“I see.” You hum lowly. Vana wonders if you are even aware that you are ruining her relationship by simply existing, or if you are going out of your way to do so as some convoluted revenge. If it’s the letter, you are very much successful, “I care for you, Dain. You’re one of the only people in my life I truly hold dear. I want nothing but happiness for you. And if this woman is the one for you, then so be it. I wish only the best for the both of you.” Or maybe it’s the former. Maybe even Dainsleif himself is not aware of his own behavior and it’s all just in Vana’s head. He has a duty and you are demanding, maybe he was right to say he was simply busy and she should just wait there for him to come back and talk it all out like adults without jumping into silly juvenile conclusions. Maybe that’s all there is to it. Vana can’t be sure, but what she can acknowledge is how ruthless you truly are, “That being said… If I see her ever again, I will do the same thing to her that she did to me all those years ago. It’s the golden rule.”

Despite not knowing what happened, Dainsleif has no qualms agreeing, “Of course, my lady. Anything for you.” And it’s just another maybe to add to the list.

Beside Vana, Duneyrr sighs, “Come on, girl. I’ll pour you a drink.” Despite knowing better, Vana agrees. The retreating footsteps that sound oddly in sync don’t do much to change her mind. Vana closes her eyes.

Stars know she must be a better person, burn it or not.

The sun fell in love with the moon.

The sky falls. The clouds remain and the winds blow, yet all that it held since before it was born and till this very moment, all crushes down and plummets to the ground. And when there is nothing left on it but the lonely wisps of smoke and the ghastly corpse illuminating it, the sky is left to rot till someone finds it again and fixes it. He will make sure she hangs the artificial stars by the strings and will make the hottest of them all shine the brightest; but even those new stars won’t really bring the sky back to life. For what once died, will always remain dead. And just like the dead sky, you are burying the you who died that day for good. For you don’t need a ghost of a lonely, crying child following the path of war.

In everything that you are, you are a fool.

You are glad he cannot see your eyes, for the veil of disappointment clouding your irises is as misty as those swamps where Durin is still patiently waiting for you to come back to visit him. The sole fact of its existence makes you resent yourself a bit more than usual, despite all the rational thinking you are trying to apply to your completely irrational feelings. At least that illogical part of them is what makes them real for you in the first place. You are too young to be this apprehensive yet you are too old to be this naïve. A vicious cycle you don’t think you can get out of.  It’s all Yggdrasil’s fault.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?” Dainsleif asks. You follow the movements of his lips a bit too intensely for it to be healthy. You also justify it with those same irrational feelings that distort your logic and make you wish he actually wanted you to make him stay.

You don’t act on them no matter how much your heart itches to, “It’s fine, you should go.” You say. “Lumine is here, anyway.” You want him gone despite also wishing he would stay anyway, yet you cannot hold yourself accountable if he does so.

Dainsleif nods in a curt bow that looks too out of place for him, when he not even once bowed to you before, “Okay then, I will be back at dawn to pick you up.”

There is nothing in this world you hate more than the visions Yggdrasil sends your way, yet it’s moments like these that make you wish you could see Dainsleif in those visions. Yet not even once has the all-seeing tree showed him to you. Not his arrival, not even him in the future that once already passed. It’s the very fact that willed your feelings for him into existence and made them so frighteningly real for you; for if you could not see Dainsleif of the future yet to come and simultaneously the one you have already lived, then it is your own free will that guided you to love him. However, this inability to see the future long gone, is also a thing you sometimes loathe more than even your own mother.

“Be careful, Dain.” You can’t do anything other than nod, for if you protest and he doesn’t stay, then what next?

“I always am, my lady.” His hand is warm as it touches yours ever so tenderly. You wish to claim his hands as your own so he won’t ever touch another person again, yet in the real world things don’t work like they do in your imagination. So you let him walk away. “Have a good night.”

And even as you enter the house without as much as a knock, taking your shoes off and throwing the headpiece you so carefully put on not so long ago on the loveseat in Alice’s living room, you still wish he stayed. Chose you. In spite of you being painstakingly aware of how absurdly laughable the notion even was. There is no choice for you are not an option. And even if you were, there is so little time for you to be exploring what could be nothing more than a fleeting romance before you will inevitably make that dream yet to be dreamt into reality, consequently marrying yourself off for the sake of the country. If inteyvat is merciful enough, he might just be the only viable bachelor. Yet it’s all but a speculation you only allow to exist in the depth of your mind, not ever letting it forget that no matter what, you will never be an option.

“Why the sour face, Your Majesty?” Alice asks jokingly, most likely noticing the frown plastered on your face. You cannot even say it’s a new thing, when all you have been doing lately is just trying to bring those man-made godly eyes to life and failing while doing so and trying again; and when not doing that you are trying something different, like keeping it all together and not burning this world down before they can do it for you.

Lumine’s surprise is hard to miss. “Frigga?” The displeased scoff escaping your mouth is even more obvious. You hate that name just as much as you hate how weak and pathetic you are as of this moment. All talk and no bite, and too many visions to try and make sense out even a half of them. Lumine notices, however, like she always does, throwing one of Alice’s glossy papers aside and looking up at you from her spot on the couch to check on why in Abyss you are here and not resting like you promised you would.

“I’m so tired, Lumine.” You say, settling down next to her, leaning onto her side for the comfort only she can bring.

The way you love Lumine is completely different from the way you love Hlin or Dainsleif, or even the care you have for Alice’s oddly charming personality. Hlin is home, the stability that sometimes leaves you just so you can grow stronger because of it. Dainsleif is the air in your lungs that you choke on constantly, yet the one you cannot live without for he is the flame of unknown and you are a moth acting on her selfish desires. Alice is what you think a mother should be, yet the one you won’t ever have for it’s already too late to seek comfort like that from a woman willing to give it to you. And Lumine is… Lumine is time. She is present, past and future, and for as long as you could think straight all you remember that is not engulfed in flames of destruction is her. And even if it’s sometimes hard to distinguish what she did, what she does and what she goes on to do standing by your side, the only thing you are absolutely certain about is the fact that she stays no matter what. Because come what may, she loves you in that exact same way you do her.

 “What happened?” She asks, her arm wrapping around your shoulder to bring you closer to her side. You lean into her touch, hiding your face in the crook of her neck just in case your following words will sound just as juvenile as you think they are.

“I’m trying.” You mumble. It’s only when you begin speaking it dawns on you how truly tired you are, to the point you can almost feel the muscles inside your body vibrating as they cool down from the constant strain and the bones of your skeleton finally finding peace in stillness. “I’m trying so hard. It’s so irrational, those stupid feelings.”

You can feel Alice’s knowing stare on the back of your head despite you not saying much for her to be truly aware of anything. Lumine sighs in understanding. “You can’t help the way your heart feels. Of course, it’s irrational.” Lumine’s sympathy does not last long, unlike the grudges she likes to hold, as she switches the topic, “What did he do?” You are not in the slightest bit surprised she thinks Dainsleif is at fault for something, they have never gotten along all that well. It doesn’t mean you will be picking sides just because of that.

“Nothing.” It’s not a lie. You are more than sure it is not, yet despite wanting to throw all the blame on one single person, you know you can’t. If anyone is at fault for your constant state of disappointment, it’s you and your wishful thinking that borders the line of delusional fantasies.

“Then what’s the problem?” Lumine doesn’t like dragging information out of people, that’s why she is as curt with you as she is because she loves giving you a hard time for your stubborn nature.

“I don’t know.” You do know. You know very well. So well, in fact, that very moment is burned in your retinas forever till your final breath that you will inevitably take sooner rather than later. And Lumine knows better than to trust your lies, being one of the only people who can look right through them no matter present, past or future. The huff that leaves her lips is drenched in annoyance and even if you wish to never admit your immature side, you do. Because just like other useless things you want to get rid of it, “I met her today.” Lumine hums, resting her chin on top of your head. She probably knew already and only acts like that to save you the embarrassment.

Whatever the case, it’s Alice who asks the next question, “And what do you think?”

“I hate her.” You say that with no hesitation, yet the words burn the roof of your mouth as they slip down your tongue and scorch it as well. Because you don’t want to hate what Dainsleif loves so dearly. And yet you do, so what kind of person does it make you?

“You can’t like everyone.” Alice reminds you as if you aren’t already aware of it. “That’s not how the world works.” It’s not the idea of not liking some person picked from the crown of Khaenri’ahn people, it’s the notion of disliking the woman he will inevitably marry that makes you sick.

“But I tried so hard to like her. I tried to be the voice of reason and convince myself I can’t despise someone I haven’t even met because they have something I can’t.” You wanted to like her, deluded yourself with your idle fantasies and busied yourself with more pressing matters, painted a glorified picture of this woman inside your mind. “But now that I met her…” All to be met with the ghost from the past that deserves nothing more than to hang next to the spot your mother’s head will inevitably be. “She doesn’t deserve him. She doesn’t deserve a single good thing.” You are glad the fabric of Lumine’s dress muffles your manic laughter, “Yet I can’t even say she stole him from me, he was never mine in the first place.”

“You are allowed to hate people.” The Æsir woman says then. “Jealousy is a part of being in love with someone. I see nothing wrong with it.”  It’s yet another thing you already know and despite the two of them giving you that much wanted validation, all it truly does is just fuels your delusional desire for him to want you back, while the rational part of your brain screams again and again of you never being an option.

 “That being said…” Lumine speaks up suddenly, as if sensing how Alice’s words seem to be having a completely opposite effect on you, “Sometimes it feels like a burden, doesn’t it?”

“It does…” You agree. Lumine always knows what to say, because she can always understand how you feel. And it just reminds you of the conversation you once had on a starry night that has long but passed. “Give up what you love before it does you in. Or so you say.” You retort her own words back to Lumine, slowly untangling yourself from her.

The look in her eyes lets you know she does not remember ever saying this, but it’s fine. “I don’t remember saying that.” Lumine confirms your suspicions, stretching her limbs as she gets up from the couch.

“Maybe it was someone else then.” You say vaguely, glossing over the incident. Even if she hasn’t done so yet, she will inevitably do so in the future, and the impact her words will leave would be ten times more memorable than if you didn’t make this mistake today.

“Are you feeling any better?” Alice interjects, burying your slip up even deeper under the rug.

“No.” You say honestly. You don’t think you will ever be truly content with not having Dainsleif in the way that you want to, but you are mature enough to respect his feelings in spite of you all but loathing the object of his affections. “But I have bigger problems than some silly unrequited love.” Because the most important thing is, your time is limited to the number of sand grains stuffed in an hourglass, and with it turned upside down, the sand keeps falling down and outside of it through the hole in the bottom of the device. So there is no time left for you to waste when all of it is already borrowed as it is, “Let’s go try again, I had enough distractions for today.”

Despite looking like she has something more to say, Lumine doesn’t do that. Instead she pulls a face, too ugly for it to be a genuine reaction, and mumbles something about her hating rats. Alice chuckles, getting up as well to relocate to her basement she redesigned for the sole purpose or having an alchemic lab yet leaving it unused for years until you came along.

You pull out a chair, the drag of its legs over the floor disturbs the rats kept in a cage standing on the desk. The second you hear them squeak, all the determination you felt not even a moment ago is all but gone and slowly but surely is replaced by a very familiar mix of annoyance and frustration simmering somewhere in the pit of your stomach. You remind yourself that it’s not your bedroom but Alice’s basement and you cannot set everything on fire just to drown it in water later on; if not for the fact that it’s not your home and you are nothing but a guest then because the only elemental device – delusion, or so the you from the absent future called it – you keep here is the one infused with electro.

Alice doesn’t care for your frustration with yourself, however. “And what do you think is going wrong?” She simply digs her slander fingers right where it hurts and rubs the wound bleeding and raw until you are forced to face your reality. And no matter how aggravating it is, this is the best wake up call and motivation you could ever need.

“The test subjects keep dying, Alice. That’s what is wrong.” You deadpan at her, not even a slightest bit amused by her asking obvious questions. “They are weak and can’t handle the raw energy of the Shard of Divinity.”

You open the box in which you keep that electro delusion, carefully picking it up. The concentrated power of the elements powered by that very abyssal energy that keeps Durin’s stone heart beating is zapping through the orb with electrifying impulses. You guess it’s more than fitting, considering the nature of the object and all the blood, sweat, tears and forbidden matter you put into it.

“That’s all?” Alice takes the sphere – delusion, the voice in your memories reminds you – from your hands, inspecting it with a scrutinizing gaze. “Weak and frail life force is the only reason? Then why don’t you try it out on a human?”

She is very much aware of the reason why you don’t take the risk and try the power of the delusion on a human just yet, but she still asks it anyway for the sole purpose of getting you riled up. If there is a thing that can perfectly showcase the complexity of Alice’s character, it would be the notion that she is not against experimenting on humans. You, on the other hand, are nowhere near this level of inanity just yet. But the you from the future that is floating in your memories might as well be, you are not so sure.

“You’re just making her more irritated, Alice.” Lumine grumbles, the embers of her eyes following your moves as you toy with the lock on the rat cage. “I hate seeing dead rats.” She mumbles in disgust, most likely remembering the stench of the burning fur. You want to shoulder the blame, but this time it’s nobody’s fault but her own for staying and watching. You warned her more times than you can count.

“Maybe she should electrocute something else then?” Alice asks, and even with this clearly being a joke, she sounds pretty serious, as her gaze falls on the gilded bird crate hanging from the ceiling.

Lumine follows her line of sight, quickly catching on to the Æsir woman’s thought as she shrugs dismissively, “It’s not like the peacock is going to die from it.”

“Technically, it can.” Alice corrects her, but Lumine isn’t as well versed in the abyssal energy as a concept to get the hidden meaning behind her words just yet. “Despite its ability to resurrect itself, there is still a chance it will simply cease to exist. The abyssal energy in this thing might just drain all the life force out of it for good.” Alice twirls the delusion between her gloved fingers, then throws it back in the box with no care in the world.

In retrospect, she is correct. The abyssal energy that allows delusion to even exist as a device is not a thing just everyone can handle. It pains you to say that your desperation in inability to power up the elemental core you so graciously called the Shard of Divinity was noticed by Gold very quickly. It wasn’t hard to catch on your frustration as it was borderline palpable on a good day; on a bad one you could cut it with a knife and serve it as a snack. It was Rhinedottir who introduced you to abyssal energy and what it can do. It’s not like you weren’t aware of it – Durin was there for you to observe – but the woman never trusted you enough to let you in on how she brought the mountain of bones to life and made his stone heart beat. Till that very day. And you are more than sure it will cost you great grief later down the line, yet so far that altar of yours that you made specifically for Gold and Gold alone bore only fruits of great success. You just hope those very fruits won’t end up poisoning you instead.

“Durin seems faring alright as of now.” You add, making sure to point out that you are well aware of his unstable nature, so Alice won’t have any reason to doubt your standing on the usage of the abyssal energy any longer. “Though, who knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.” Alice shakes her head, reminding you how unstable the abyssal energy actually is. You have no reason to argue against her statement. You know it’s unstable, but so is your sanity polluted by all the memories of Yggdrasil just like civilization that resided in Abyss was once corrupted by its pollution. They need not know that, however, so you change the subject, “Help me with the bird, Alice.”

The woman does as she was told, unclipping the golden cage from the hinges and moving it carefully to place on the desk in front of you. You reach for the delusion, making sure your gloves cover the whole surface of your palm before doing so and place the orb inside the cage. The peacock looks at it curiously, flapping its wings and puffing up its tail, but not risking touching the unknown object just yet.

“I still don’t understand how this works.” Lumine mumbles, watching you nudge the delusion closer to the bird so it can make contact with it faster, “If you made it, shouldn’t it be yours already?” It’s a valid question, but it’s also the one you have the most trouble explaining to people.

Delusions are just as spiritual as they are a material object, and that’s why understanding how it truly works is so important for you. Seeing it being used in your dream of the future is one thing, dying because you are ignorant enough to think this power will bend to your will just because you are its creator is another.

“Well, as I think of it…” You halt, watching the peacock come down from the wire, carefully approaching the delusion as it cracks with sparks of lightning more and more often the closer the bird gets to it. “As long as you do not accept this power, it won’t come to you.”

The realization doesn’t seem like an epiphany and it really should not in the first place. Not when Lumine witnessed you fail time after time on a daily basis for months at this point, “And the rats don’t know any better.” She sighs.

“They do not.” You confirm; of course, they don’t. And neither do birds, as the peacock nudges the glowing orb with its beak. You hold your breath, waiting for the inevitable to come as it always does. If it’s not flames they drown in, then it’s frost that kills them. And if not that, they just drop dead as if nothing has happened, but the static clinging to their bodies is enough proof of the Abyss rejecting the undeserving yet again. You don’t expect much, yet it’s still disheartening nonetheless when the bird chirps some strangled sound before falling over, completely still as the air begins to crack with electricity. “And it died.”

You turn away from the corpse, opting to just forget yet another failed attempt. Alice pets your shoulder sympathetically, the pity she gives you just drives you further up the wall, “Abyssal energy is unforgiving. Those who stayed in Abyss got their whole existence altered forever. But they also got something out of it in the…” Alice stops, mouth half opened as she stares at the cage in shock, “Process…” She finishes in a barely distinguishable whisper.

A scratch. A spark. A zap. The bird chirps, shakily getting up on its legs as it finds itself amongst the lands of the living yet again. You stare. Unblinkingly and with a strange mix of relief and some sort of sense of accomplishment. Lumine’s realization might not have been an epiphany but yours is. It hits you harder than the electric shockwaves resonating from the delusion and you drown in it just like you choke on all of your feelings and memories belonging to you and the person that you will soon become.

Everything is a blur and even Lumine’s amazed laughter is nothing but a white noise in your ears. This is it. Alice was right. Abyss is unforgiving and it does not accept the weak and frail unless they are willing to adapt and become strong instead. And as of right now, you are weak. The pathetic and powerless, you are a thing that the Shard of Divinity will not deem worthy no matter how much you try. Frigga Einherjar won’t be able to wield a delusion.

“Careful, Lumine.” Alice scolds the younger woman, as she cradles her pointer finger to her chest.

“It zapped me!” Lumine complains in both wonder and annoyance, but the Æsir woman disregards the minor injury and looks over at you instead.

“So, you did it.” Alice says. “Congratulations.”

You almost want to say she is proud of you, but you don’t want to do that. For there is nothing in this world that Frigga Einherjar should be priding herself on. Weak and frail. Pathetic and powerless. You died once and came back to life even more feeble and fragile than you were before. This won’t work any longer if you want things to change. It’s quite ironic, but if you wish to finally taste the real extent of freedom and make sure those around you do as well, you have no choice but to die again.

“I don’t get it.” Lumine says, massaging the tip of her finger in hopes of soothing the pain, “What’s the difference between now and then?”

“Alice is right.” You admit. “Abyss gives something, but it is never for free.”

Lumine understands you with no more explanation needed, just falling silent for a brief moment of grief for a friend who has to inevitably die once again, “So how are we going to do it, then?”

You wish you had more time to organize your own funeral, but all you have to work with is a comically short span of a couple of minutes and the sound of falling sand hitting the ground grain by grain. “To be reborn one must abandon their past, present and future and bury themselves alive.” You say, and half the memories that before made no sense begin to take form and shape themselves into a logical chain of events that leads you to your final moment in the crypts of Vanaheimr. “And the act of giving up your identity is the only way one can erase themselves from existence.”

“That’s it?” Lumine questions skeptically, “It’s that simple?”

Alice’s face softens for a split second. You wonder who she sees every time she looks at you with those eyes, “I don’t think giving yourself up as you knew is ever simple, Lumine.”

“I’m sure she has nothing to hold on to in that past of hers.” Lumine argues back but her words have no real malice behind them.

“Fortunately, I don’t.” You agree with your friend. It's a simple fact and she is mostly right in saying that. And yet… “Someone else might.”

“You want to give one of those to someone else?” Alice asks wearily, picking up the glowing delusion from inside the cage to separate the bird and the weapon.

“Not just someone else.” You shake your head, the image of Hlin conjured by your own imagination looks almost realistic enough for you to feel her touch on your skin. And although the relationship you have right now is strained at best with the both of you having a hard time coming to terms with your inevitable growing up and her understandable need for being her own person, you will forever seek out her company even after death. You or her matters not. “I shall give it to her who saw everything.”

Alice rubs her chin, a curious spark in her eyes, “What should we call you then?”

A name. Your name. The one you will carry all the way to the crypts to die for the final time. A name that is truly yours and not the one chosen by a woman who discarded you as easily as she replaced you. A name you as Frigga Einherjar are not allowed to decide. The weak and pathetic have no voice.

“It’s not for me to decide.” You say then. It’s an easy way out but it is the only right decision Frigga can do before you bury her for good. “Those who brought me into this world as I am right now, shall bury me as well.”

“Sounds cruel, Your Highness.” Alice chuckles.

And you know even if she means every word, she does not blame you for being this way. “I never once said I was kind.”

It’s later that day that you show Hlin a delusion. The one that will be serving you with its frost and snow as it buries all of you enemies alive under the blizzards and avalanches. The look on her face is that of pure horror as she refuses to even touch it and it’s all fair. Hlin Trygg, for all of her kindness and love she has for you, with all respect you have for her, is just as weak and pathetic as Frigga Einherjar. And she too won’t be chosen by the Shard of Divinity. You know that for sure.

And even as you all sit down at the dining table, Hlin’s stare heavy on your figure, she is still not strong enough to withstand and endure the abyssal power coursing through the delusion you made specifically for her. For even with all the willpower and resolve, she is nothing but a cog in the machine. For unlike Dainsleif, you can see her in the dreams yet to be dreamt.

“I can no longer go by this name.” You say. It’s a fact that cannot be disputed, but Hlin still finds a way to interject.

“Why?” She asked. “You work day and night on such mysterious projects, you show me a device of sorts, and now you wish to be renamed? I do not understand.” You want to say her confusion is unjustified, but it truly is. You are the only one to blame for this so you own up to your mistakes readily; it doesn’t mean you will be apologizing for what you have done.

 “I do not like the name that has been given to me.” You say simply, not wanting to explain yourself any more before the woman who will soon be buried under the same pile of snow Frigga Einherjar has found her resting place. “I wish to use my own.”

“I am willing to address you any way you wish. If you desire not to be the princess, you are not the princess. But to throw away the name bestowed upon you at birth–” It’s almost comical she has the audacity for sounding so accusatory when you have given her a way out time and time again. Over and over you asked for her opinion, trembling heart and soaring mind, hoping for her to be the one to change it all. Hlin was supposed to be the person who knows you best, if there is someone who can change fate it should be her. Yet she never did. She went with the flow, ignoring your silent pleas and gave you a reluctant green light for any of your endeavors. So demanding answers from you now made her nothing more than a hypocrite.

“All the more reason to discard it,” You press. “The girl who that name was given to is no longer me, and never will be again.” You just want all of this to end. To be inlaid upon the crypts along with those who dared to cross the line. Your mother, foreign gods, fallen nations, the corpse of the moon and the whispers of the fake skies; none of it matters when all you crave is to just finally be at peace with both yourself and this wretched world. “Do you understand?”

“I apologize for my forwardness.” Hlin mumbles weakly. It reminds you of the time you stared her down hoping she would tell you no. She did not. That was the turning point you would never forget.

“You are forgiven,” You nod. You cannot really forgive Hlin, but you will forgive the woman she will become once she sees herself for what she truly is, and it’s fine. You cannot forgive Frigga either. “Now. How shall you call me?” 

Lumine already knows the answer yet asks anyway, “Why leave that choice up to us?”

“I trust that you will make the right decision.” You say then. Beside you Dainsleif curiously watches you, awaiting Hlin’s reaction. For as long as you are Frigga, you refuse to look back at him. Because Frigga is not an option. Never was and never will be. But you – whoever you end up being – can be. She must.

“[Name].” He says suddenly and it sounds not like a suggestion but a statement of a fact.

The air in your lungs stops circulating, you are once again choking on your own breath, and you hate these silly feelings rising in your chest every time you hear his voice but they are still the only thing that makes this world seem real. Yggdrasil cannot see him, therefore it cannot force you to love him, and that love you harbor in your chest like a fugitive is the only ever decision you have made on your own. And this notion is the only thing that keeps you going. For it is as real as the field of inteyvat, and not even your broken mind cannot take it away from you.

“Abundance, love, and beauty.” Lumine muses. Her knowledge of Khaenri’ahn language has gotten better over the years, but she fails to notice the reference anyway. You – the you that Dainsleif named – is allowed to look at him, so you turn around to see him already watching you. He simply nods, and you foolishly wish he loved you even half as much as you did him.

“It is everything you are.” Hlin adds then, all but waking you up.

You swallow, one of your hands gripping the cryo delusion as it lights up with a pale blue glow, acknowledging this you who was reborn for the second time as woman worthy of its power. The frost bites at the tips of your fingers, but you hold it tight as it does so, embracing the abyssal power as it accepts you in return.

“Then it is so.” You say, locking eyes with Hlin for the first time since you killed Frigga Einherjar and doing so feels nothing short of liberating. And as brief and fleeting as it may be, you bask in it all the same.

This marks the true beginning of the end.

If they think you are strong enough to be their Lady [Name], then you shall become her, only to drown her moon’s glow in the light of your man-made stars.

hii, im back. probably thought i died. well you’re wrong. it’s been a month and i’m sorry but i have been doing adult things in the mean time.

i also have to apologize for the sheer size of this thing, i don’t think even hilichurl dildo can compare to the length of this monstrosity of a chapter. almost 30k words of unbetaed text, god forgive me but i will not be rereading this shit even if you point a gun at my head.

that aside, i present you the amalgamation of my drunk and sober wring. is dain an arrogant dick who should own up to his feelings? absolutely. will he? only inteytat knows. mc’s pov is back as well. i had to like sit and stare at the previous chapters to try and understand how this bitch actually speaks and found our she has a thing called dramatic flowery descriptions disease. alice admits she experiments on humans, skirk loves shitting on other people’s love life, hogni is a bastard but every single character in fat cat is so nothing new. if you think dain and mc just suddenly in love with each other out of nowhere, then it’s all going according to plan. also please do not send me death threats over dead rats, thanks.

the next chapter will be fun. probably. have no fucking idea what i’m going to write, i haven’t opened the master doc in ages, sorry beesan. see you when ch 5 is done, have a nice day/night. niya out.

#genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #dainsleif scenarios #dainsleif imagines #dainsleif x reader #al haitham imagines #al haitham x reader #alhaitham scenarios #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham imagines #pantalone imagine #pantalone x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche scenarios #wanderer x reader #albedo scenarios #albedo imagines #albedo x reader

[nowis-scales]

Takumi Birthday Headcanons

That’s right. I missed last year because of some personal stuff, but now I am back and I am ready to give the littlest Hoshido brother everything he deserves... which is a set of lovely birthday headcanons!

‣ Has a really high pain tolerance, which is about exactly as whumpy as it sounds. If he gets roughed up in battle, he’s not one to legitimately whine about it. He’s very much a grin and bear it person, even if it is seriously putting him behind, which frustrates and upsets Sakura to no end. More than once she has had to explain to unfamiliar healers that just because Takumi is not screaming does not mean that he is not in serious pain. The weirdest part is, it’s not even entirely about his inferiority complex. Like sure, it is partially, but at the same time, he was just always one of those kid who could get beat up and go right back to playing within a few minutes.

‣ You know how you sometimes see an ugly fruit at the store amongst the other pretty ones? Takumi has to buy that fruit because he feels bad for it. In fact, it’s not just fruit. Like, there have been times where he hasn’t done it because he was worried about being judged, but he’s laid awake at night feeling guilty about leaving the fruit there. The fruit didn’t ask to be how it is, how is it fair for everyone to just leave it behind? Certainly he is doing everyone a favour by taking the fruit, especially since people insist that it’s such an eyesore and he shouldn’t want it? He’s quite frustrated that some people just won’t let him love the fruit.

‣ This man is very rigid in and open about his personal ideals. He will commit PVP in the royal court if need be. It’s not like he’s often unprincely about it, but he’s quite outspoken and not afraid to say what he thinks. Due to his affection for philosophy (JPN), he spends a lot of time thinking about how Hoshido and its people should conduct themselves, and tries his best to work to implement these into the mindset of courtiers. This is actually one of the reasons why Ryoma asks him to study government at the end of their support conversations: he genuinely likes hearing about Takumi’s unique perspectives, and likes that what Takumi thinks sometimes challenges what is traditional or what Ryoma himself thinks. Of course, Ryoma probably doesn’t tell him that because he’s allergic to emotional vulnerability and communication, but after awhile, I imagine Takumi probably starts to pick up on it.

‣ A very adept dancer. You know how, at the end of Birthright, Ryoma makes a joke about how Takumi once danced on stage with a bunch of dancers during the last Festival? That’s because Takumi’s got the moves. He might not be able to keep up with Laslow, per se, but he could get pretty damn close. He tends to be able to pick up dances pretty quickly, so even if he were to learn like a Nohrian waltz, it really wouldn’t take him that long at all. Surprisingly, he actually tries to be pretty humble about it. If you throw him on stage like those dancers did, he would be modest at first, but with a little encouragement, he’ll go all out. Nohrian, Hoshidan, Vallite... it doesn’t matter. Once Takumi starts dancing, people cannot help but be taken with him.

‣ Immensely clever, even as a child. His tutors growing up absolutely loved him for his out-of-the-box thinking, and the nursemaids would sometimes set up extra puzzles for him just because he had so much fun solving them. That turned into Ryoma and Hinoka challenging him to shogi, then to extra studying with Yukimura, and... the ball just kept rolling from there. The weird thing about it is that, logistically, Takumi knows he’s smart. He just seems to discount it all the time.

‣ I’ve talked about his big brother and big sister as drunks, and he deserves to be called out for the dweeb he is as well. I think that because he has the swinging pendulum of “I’m the best” and “I’m the worst”, getting drunk gives him a bizarre confidence boost at first. Like he’s ready to be reckless, bouncing off the walls, arm wrestling with people and challenging them to drinking contests and talking about his battle conquests... but the longer being drunk goes on, the more he gets quieter and more introverted, until eventually you could probably put a drunk Takumi off to bed with no trouble.

‣ Has this weird, dad-shaped hole in his heart and he’s not really what sure what to do about it. In the Japanese version of the game, it mentions that Takumi doesn’t really remember Corrin, which... also means that he probably doesn’t remember Sumeragi all that well, either. As a result, he ends up being a bit more of a concept to Takumi than he is a person, although he does like to think about what life would be like if Sumeragi were still around. Most of the time, he pictures the interactions as rather happy and warm, but when the self-esteem issues start getting to him, all he can think about is once again finding a way to be in his big brother’s shadow.

‣ I’m pretty sure this is just popular fanon at this point, but when it came to Mikoto, he was probably the biggest Mama’s Boy. Definitely not in unhealthy territory or anything, but he loved Mikoto with all his heart. Apart from Sakura, he is probably the person he trusted the most in the world. She could do almost no wrong in his eyes, and he grew very upset when people tried to criticize her (considering she was an easy target as a foreign woman). Though she led a busy life, she always made time for him and told him how much she cared. He appreciated that more than words could say. While it is true to say that at times he felt like a replacement for Corrin, he empathized deeply with her agony and did everything he could to ease that pain. It hit him incredibly hard when she died.

‣ Still has a few of his old dolls and takes good care of them. They’re not loved in the same way that Sakura’s are, but he definitely has put them aside and keeps them free of dust and grime. They are also 100% hid out of view of others, because if the servants gossiped about him having a doll he would literally die, but he still makes sure they see some light. He’d never admit it, but sometimes when he’s particularly upset, he take one out to just hold onto for a few minutes. It gives a bit of comfort in reminding him of his childhood.

‣ The most fashionable of the royal children… and Oboro only has a little to do with it. In fact, I think his fashion sense is likely to be one of the reasons she likes him so much. For whatever reason, he’s always just had an eye for things that go well together. Sakura has more than once been stressed about the banquets they must attend as royals, worrying that she will look bad in her kimono, but Takumi is able to console her with a few words. They’ve put you in a blue kimono with doves on it? Well, you look good in blue and doves symbolize peace, it sounds adorable. Conversely, he’s also able to tell when someone is badly dressed. Which, as you can imagine, means that he has seen his older siblings dress themselves, and immediately gone, “Oh gods no, you have it all wrong. Let me help you.”

#LISTEN I'M A FEW MINUTES LATE BUT I DIDN'T FORGET!! #fe headcanons #fire emblem fates #fire emblem #fire emblem takumi #hoshido #fe takumi #FE 14 #fe 14 takumi #happy birthday takumi!!

[aeoki]

Primavera - A Breath of Spring Air: Chapter 5

Location: Fruit Parlour Characters: Touri, Yuzuru, Eichi & Wataru

Yuzuru: May I be the first to begin?

I’m not sure how much you know, Young Master, but I have a secret I’m hiding from you.

First, I’d like to apologise for that.

I am truly sorry for doing so.

And I’d like to explain myself. The secret I bear is closely related to “Chocolat Fest”.

Touri: Is that why you were so enthusiastic about “Chocolat Fest”?

Yuzuru: Yes. It was merely a coincidence but the Master has told me to keep it a secret from you until you come of age, Young Master.

However, the more I kept secret, the more I had to lie to you.

If it was one lie, I would have accepted it as part of my duties as a butler. But I felt more and more guilty as the lies piled up.

We’ve known each other for a long time, after all.

You immediately noticed there was something strange about my behaviour and I felt pressured to balance my promise to the Master with my own behaviour.

I’ve made up my mind. So I asked the Master this morning if I could tell you the secret.

I told him if it weren't possible for you to know the truth, I would consider resigning…

Touri: Is that true…?

Yuzuru: Yes. I’m sure the Master couldn’t have expected that. He said I could tell you if you really wanted to know the truth.

Touri: …………

Yuzuru: Young Master. I shall tell you the truth.

Touri: …I don’t want to hear it.

Yuzuru: I beg your pardon…?

Touri: I knew you were hiding something from me. And I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to say to you.

I thought about it a lot but I still couldn’t find the answer… But I don’t want to force you to tell me your secret.

I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I did.

That’s why I don’t need the truth. It doesn’t matter how many secrets you have – it won’t put a dent in our relationship.

…Right, Yuzuru?

Yuzuru: But… Are you certain? You have the right to know.

But even so, to hide it from you on purpose–

Touri: Like I said, that sorta stuff is annoying! Are you going to quit being a butler if you have to keep shouldering secrets? That makes no sense!

There’s no need for us to tell each other everything honestly and try to understand each other. Do you know what annoys me more? Quitting over a trivial reason like having a secret!

Besides, if you can’t trust someone just because they’ve got secrets, then what about Hibiki-senpai? He’s covered in secrets from head to toe!

Wataru: Oh. What odd timing to be dragged into the conversation.

I didn’t think I would be dragged into this war of words like this, but I suppose I’m now a part of it. Keeping secrets a secret can be one form of beauty.

Humans were bestowed with an infinite imagination! One of our bad traits is that we have the inability to find beauty in a cracked statue of a goddess, is it not?

Eichi: There is no evidence proving that love means to be all-knowing – That’s the answer you’ve come up with, isn’t it, Touri?

Touri: Yeah. It still doesn’t mean I’m fine with not knowing anything about the other person, though. Ignorance is bliss, after all. I can say that based on my own words and my own beliefs.

I don’t know everything about the members, but I think “fine” is the best unit out there and I’m happy with how things are.

Us gathering here and talking right now is proof of that.

So, no matter what the truth is… You’re a butler for the Himemiya family for life, okay?

Yuzuru: Young Master…

Touri: …Hehe. Or what? Was it an excuse that you wanted to tell me the truth and you actually wanted to quit~?

Yuzuru: …No. Absolutely not.

I misunderstood you, Young Master. You’ve grown and I thought I was being polite by aiming to build a relationship where there would be no need for secrets.

But I see you genuinely cherish me without ever thinking about what’s on the outside or the inside.

I’ve realised once more that I am truly glad to serve you, Young Master. I am extremely honoured…♪

Touri: Yeah, that’s right~ You should be thankful towards me!

I bet that secret of yours is something like you actually don’t like chocolate or something along the lines of that, right? You’re such a worrywart, Yuzuru.

I’ll leave things at that, so don’t say you’ll quit being a butler ever again!

Yuzuru: …Yes. It is exactly as you say.

The chocolate you made in the past was quite awful and I couldn’t bring myself to eat any after that…

That is the secret I’ve been doing my best to hide all this time ♪

← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

#primavera

[starrynightarchive]

can you learn to love me? really?

darlin', your resolve is adorable, truly. but let me warn you, i am not easy to love. i am not beautiful in a way that's convenient. you can look into my eyes and wax poetry that makes apollo hang his head low in shame but here's the thing: you cannot veil the fact that they will always remain the ones with which orpheus looked back foolishly to forever doom eurydice, droven mad with love and devotion. you can kiss my nose and try to pretend like my jagged edges don't exist but you see it, don't you? the desperation in my eyes and how they grow longer and sharper as i utter promises (lies) that leave you feeling dirty because you too, know i can't help it. i can't stop myself from becoming whatever this is. every time you kiss my nose, i can hear you sighing,"oh, my poor pinocchio."

hands tangled in my hair, so silky and luxurious, you marvel that i stepped out of your sweetest dreams. i smile and kiss your nose ("oh, my poor pinocchio."). in the dark of this night, when the silver moonlight caresses my frame, you gasp. please take your hands away, would you? the serpents growing out of my scalp are waking up and their ebony scales are tipped with venom that could put you in an endless slumber. beautiful, you said? ah, i've heard that one from countless men, right before they meet my eyes to embrace their doom. (with that smile of yours that drips honey, call me medusa, won't you, lover?). this is a tale as old as time; you watch the rose petals decorating my hair wilt and fall one by one by one. what happens when they all fall apart? ("tell me how to fix this," you sit by my side and sob. i look up at you from my deathbed and try to smile, but all i can do is bare my teeth menacingly,"oh my poor, innocent beauty. that's the thing," the petal holds on to its dear life,"you can't." the petal falls and i swallow you whole.)

you hold my gold stained fingertips to your lips and kiss them one by one. my hollowed out cheeks are dusted with powder to look pretty for you. haunted, but pretty. aren't i? aren't i pretty? isn't that all that matters? then why can't you look me in the eyes? please, my love, can you feed me a handful of those pomegranate seeds? in this lonely castle of mine where everything i touch turns to gold, it's been so long since i've even tasted a morsel of rice; the curse of midas is making a masterpiece out of me, one that's made of gold but please, please, i am so hungry. come closer. pick up the knife and split apart this fruit for me dear. i lick my lips, grinning as i watch your shaking hands pick apart the fruit. i can't remember tasting anything other than blood.(one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, you slip them past my lips. why are you crying? why are you afraid? i'm just your lover, aren't i?)(but some call me the queen of the underworld, too)

night after night, you'll have to bandage my ankles and our home will never have those white linen sheets that you always say the are the most comfortable because i will stain them maroon over and over again, anyway. you can never be comfortable with me, my dear, you can never know peace. i'll show you love like no other but we always know how that ends, don't we? i love and i love and i love and i wake up screaming, my hands and legs tied to a wooden pole to be lit on fire ("burn that witch!") because i've never known how to be enough. i've never known to be anything other than too kind, too full, too bright, too giving, too forgiving, too much. and i will always end up bearing the sins of the whole world (and the tragedy is that they will loathe me for it. i will loathe myself for it).

will you remove nails hammered to my ankles and wrists and remove the crown of thorns perched on my forehead gently, gently? and as they lower me to my grave, will you cry yourself sick? would you cross your heart and pray to gods that you've never cared to believe in? and when i return on the third day only to bleed and bleed all over again, would you scream your throat raw at all the grief and gore or would you kiss my temple with steely eyes like sending off a soldier to war?

now, look me in the eyes and tell me, dearest.

can you learn to love me?

#my writing #my poetry #ish? #thinking out loud #pretty words #mythology #fairy tales #dark poetry #greek mythology #love poem #technically not a poem but a very long poetic ramble #poetry and beauty #love and all that surrounds it

[prometheusinitiative]

Ivette | MM.5 | Give Me Closure

Finally they stand alone, Ridley’s jacket being the only comfort left. Every single person in this room is against them and Ivette wouldn’t have expected anything else. Maybe she is drowning, maybe she does feel like she doesn't have a choice anymore. There is no more stopping. No matter how much they plead and yell that there is another choice, that she can just go with them and find a home, that together they can make this world better if they just work together. It doesn’t need to end in death and light.

There is a rift.

On one side is everyone.

And on the other. Ivette, all alone. At least, that’s what they think.

“NONE of you get it! There’s no fixing this–” Their head hangs low as they shrug off the jacket Ridley left. “Kill all the cryptics! Heal every tear in reality! It doesn’t change the reason I want to do this. The cryptics were a result of this world’s unrepairable flaws, not the cause of why I think this whole place needs to be rewritten! Every moment of human history has led to this very moment! Every moment is hundreds of years too late to be saved!”

A small flash of light hits the room. It’s not a gentle light, not sunrays through a sheer curtain. It’s bright and buzzing and blinding. There is no question that brings these lights. It is Ivette’s full determination and strength of will. It’s Ivette’s tears.

“I will destroy it all. Everything will die, even concepts. Selfishness, greed, and even… Even the concept of death will change in this new world.”

They raise one of their arms, holding their sword out to everyone, widening the rift and their spiteful grin.

“I might only have two hearts but I have something none of you could ever dream of having. I couldn’t kill Eden without them. If it wasn’t for their manipulation and treachery then I wouldn’t be standing here with Eden’s heart in my body... Dearest Death, sweet Terminus, I am sure you’re watching us right now. You are the last one who is truly on my side. I know my plan will destroy you and then a new death will be chosen in my world but doesn’t that sound nice…? How long have you been the reaper? When was the last time you were allowed to sleep? Please help me do this and you will be able to rest. It is unfortunate that when my plan comes to fruition that sweet Ville will die with this place. It’s truly a shame and not a choice I make lightly.”

The tears won’t stop. The enteral well of sadness and light floods out from her eyes as the cracks rip through her skin more. Maybe it is power too strong for her to hold alone, maybe it’s Ivette finally tearing herself apart. No matter what she does not put the sword down.

“This is a love story… I am giving all my love to do this, and all my hate, all of my sadness and loneliness. I am giving every shred of myself in order to do this. I am doing this… So someone like me will never exist again. It’s too late to save me from my rage and pain but it’s not too late for the rest of you. I will make it so. I will save every single person and bring them into my garden. I will chop down the apple tree before it bears fruit because I love you and because I hate myself.”

“I will ask you one more time...”

#submission #trial #mm #ivette

[carolap53]

September 5, 2022

Am I Really Supposed To Die to Myself? DR. ALISON COOK

Lee en español

“He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God …” John 1:11-12 (NIV)

For years, there has been a silent message most of us have been taught. The message is that in order to be a woman of faith, you must die to yourself.

This message has been passed down in various forms, such as:

You should always be nice.

You should only think of others.

It’s always wrong to focus on yourself.

It’s often portrayed as biblical since Jesus said, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves” (Luke 9:23, NIV). But these words have been misconstrued to encourage millions of women to:

Destroy their health.

Stay in abusive relationships.

Bury their God-given talents.

Sit by while friends walk all over them.

You may not know that you’ve internalized this toxic interpretation of Jesus’ words. You just know that you’re exhausted, hurting and overwhelmed.

I’ve been there. As a young woman, I wanted to serve others, and I thought my job was to die to myself by saying “yes” to everyone around me. This worked for a while … until I completely burnt out. And I’ve observed a similar pattern in the lives of thousands of women I’ve counseled.

This kind of self-rejection is not what Jesus meant.

When talking to His disciples, Jesus used a metaphor to describe the process of dying to yourself:

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24, ESV).

Consider this: The grain of wheat represents your old ways of relating — the pleasing or performing for others, the ways you’ve learned to hide. Those ways worked for a time, but they no longer serve you or anyone. Dying to yourself means letting go of what’s not working so that you can become even more fruitful.

We have to change. We have to die to old ways. And it’s hard! It might even feel like a loss initially. After all, these ways served us in the past. But to become a truer version of ourselves, we have to release them. It’s the only way to grow.

This idea of fruitfulness through faith is echoed in other Bible passages. Here’s more from the Apostle John:

“He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God …” (John 1:11-12).

What does it mean to become a child of God? It means, among other things, to continually “put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life” (Ephesians 4:22, ESV). This doesn’t happen just once in our lives, but we are to practice this every day.

I love how Eugene Peterson’s The Message paraphrases John 1:11-12:

“But whoever did want him, who believed he was who he claimed and would do what he said, He made to be their true selves, their child-of-God selves.”

In our culture today, being true to ourselves often means self-love without Christ and without transformation. But according to Scripture, our “true self” reflects the image of God, and He empowers the best of who we are to live out the virtues of Christ.

When you follow Jesus, you become more of your true self.

We know from Jesus’ words that the process can feel like death, like you’re losing all that you’ve known. Letting go of old ways can be painful. But here’s the promise: You are dying to old ways in order to become the brave, light-bearing woman God made.

This process isn’t a rigid form of self-denial. Instead, what if dying to yourself means dying to these destructive tendencies?

Pleasing someone as a way to get love.

Feeling shame and self-hatred.

Burying painful emotions, like sadness, loneliness or anger.

Perfecting yourself to earn approval.

Playing small so others won’t be threatened by you.

Believing that you don’t matter and that your life does not have value.

What if dying to yourself means dying to the lie that God does not want more for you?

What if dying to yourself means coming alive to what brings out the best of you?

This is what I believe it means to grow in emotional and spiritual health. It means dying to toxic patterns of relating to yourself and others. And it means saying “yes” to the Good Shepherd as He leads you on this journey of becoming your truest self.

Lord, help me notice old ways of relating to others that don’t reflect the best of me. Help me become more of my true self, the woman You want me to be. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

[damagecompiilation]

tag dump - grell sutcliff (moved from redreaperr)

#;out of worlds #;i do love red the most. hair. clothes. lipstick.. i love them to be red. (interactions - grell) #;no matter how much love i put in it won’t bear fruit. it’s like the tragic love story of romeo & juliet! (character study - grell)

[catch-the-wind]

when reader is sick hc's p2

PART 2 IS FINISHED WHOO

here's a link to part 1 uwu

so i'm still brainrotting over this and i would like to date almost every character rn~ i probably won't add more to this unprompted but if anyone wants a part 2 just shoot me an ask! <3

tags: gn!reader, xiao x reader, zhongli x reader, ningguang x reader, beidou x reader, kazuha x reader, amber x reader, keqing x reader, venti x reader, scaramouche x reader, thoma x reader

xiao

this man is so awkward goodbye

he’s really popping into the kitchen of wangshu inn like mr. smiley yanxiao i need an order of almond tofu and uhh whatever the hell it is sick people eat

asks cloud retainer if there’s a medicinal thing she’s created and hey can you fix my s/o

meanwhile his s/o is like xiao- xiao- XIAO- it’s a COLD i’ll SURVIVE, stop leaving me to find solutions and just come cuddle

so xiao cuddles <3 he’ll read to his partner but it’s likely he’s also just sitting there in silence holding his s/o

he likes the companionship, doesn’t talk much. comfy silence all around

his partner probably falls asleep on him at some point but he’s okay with it

he probably watches his partner while they rest and he’s super frowny because he hates seeing them in pain :(

but also the gentle forehead kisses while his partner rests <3

he tells zhongli that he needs time to be with his s/o while they’re ill. he makes it sound like his partner is dying which is...overdramatic but also he just wants to dote on them and make sure they’re okay

he asks verr goldet what things a sick person might want while his partner rests and then he tries to kinda sorta subtly ask for help getting them

tries to dote on his partner subtly but he’s so grumpy all the time LOL

n e ways he gives his partner smooches and cuddles and that’s all that matters uwu

zhongli

he doesn’t even have to really say it to hu tao, she just knows he’s about to ask for a few days off. he does ask, ofc bc he’s following the protocols of social etiquette

he goes to his partner’s home or they’re in his for the entire time they’re sick

has a shopping list of foods for a sick person, also gets tea

has no mora to purchase anything on his shopping list so he hits up tartaglia LMAO

tartaglia comes w zhongli just to visit zhongli’s s/o

hu tao also comes to visit zhongli and co but he’s so wary of her because is she about to pull a prank- really she just brings him some tea he likes and wishes his s/o well <3 she probably sings to them too but it’s a little creepy if you listen to the lyrics LOL

this man is not reading his partner stories, they’re getting histories, pov morax. he knows so many little details that are lost in time but are kept safely in his memories

the man works out, tell me otherwise. he may choose his own body and he knows he has cake but the man works out and trains. he’s a god of WAR and he keeps himself in good shape. n e way he works out in the living room or backyard while his s/o is sick and he trains w just a shirt and pants and he’s so pretty aHEm i think my asthma is acting up again hang on

okay but muscles rippling and you can see it through the clothes that aren’t even that tight BUT BRO WHY ARE YOU GRUNTING SO MUCH PLEASE NO ONE ELSE DOES

would probably get his partner toys and such and one of them is a little dragon <3 give it smooches every day

he’s distracted when he answers hu tao or the adepti because he’s thinking ab his partner instead

ningguang

the frown on her face when she finds out PHEW

she takes her partner’s temperature with the back of her hand and she’s all frowny all day. ganyu is lowkey concerned bc what’s the matter with lady ningguang-

her partner stays in ningguang’s home and she’s working from home for a while <3 there are millelith guards and members of the qixing popping into her home office and even beidou once or twice. bei is also worried ab ning’s partner, but she’s doing the hearty slap on the back and the “get well soon!”

ningguang ordering food from wanmin and xiangling personally delivering it <3 xiangling and guoba are both showing up with some hot soup and guoba is there for cuddles pls he’s so cute

ningguang will read to her partner, probably tells them about her day and entertains small talk until they fall asleep

she cooks some of her qiankun mora meat and tries to make her partner soup <3 the millelith and the qixing have never seen their tianquan in a kitchen working before but she would only ever do it for the people she loves

keqing is in the corner quietly shipping while munching golden shrimp balls goodbye

i think ningguang respects ganyu too much to force her to run around for stuff but ganyu probably likes ning’s partner enough to do it anyway

ning and cuddles and temple kisses and she won’t give her partner smooches on the lips :( but she’s soft for them so they get cheek kisses and spooning them to sleep

beidou

she stays at her partner’s place while they’re sick because the crux might make them feel seasick instead

but she goes back and forth to the crux to get her things and take care of business and such. her crew probably loves her partner so they have things for bei to bring back <3

bei doesn’t even leave her partner’s town but she’s got sango pearls, cecilias, qingxin, cor lapis jewelry, dendrobiums (even though those are like. blood flowers. they’re pretty it’s fine) and many many fruits

xiangling comes by with food for bei and co and sticks around to hear beidou telling her partner stories about her time at sea

beidou is. she’s so buff okay. she carries her partner in and out of the room and to the living room or kitchen or brings everything to her partner and you can see how defined her muscles are bye i’m in love with her

we already know bei learned to cook a little bit from xiangling but beidou is absolutely learning to cook more while her partner is sick. xiangling is there giving her cooking lessons while beidou’s partner watches <3 bei with that look of concentration and she’s so quick with the knives too i’m- okay but her spoonfeeding her partner?? *chef’s kiss* ;)

beidou puts too much pepper in a dish and it deffo clears sinuses LMAO but she tried and it actually does taste very good if you can handle your spice 🤷‍♀️ i cannot so find me with a gallon of milk later

n e ways beidou cuddles her partner to sleep and falls asleep as soon as she knows they’re resting <3 many cuddles and many kisses, even if they insist not to because cooties will get u sick bei 🥺

visits bubu’s pharmacy to get her partner’s medicine herself but also has remedies from other places too! zhongli deffo helps her with some other gifts for convalescents so it’s historically, traditionally and socially acceptable

kazuha

is so worried omg

wherever his ass is, he’s going to his partner as soon as he finds out they’re sick. he’s so frowny and worried it’s almost cute but also,,,kazu it’s a cold, it’s FINE

he goes to collect qingxin and sweet flowers and stuff himself and makes his own poultices and soups and such <3

he shows up at his partner’s home with arms and buckets of flowers and herbs as soon as he possibly can. bei understands if he has to go tho, she gives him leave uwu

makes his partner soup and dried fish and gives them many smooches <3 they are not allowed out of bed LOL they just have to stay there and wait for him to dote on them

many many cuddles and smooches. he plays leaves and grass and recites poems for them he’s so cute <3 sigh, this man plays grass and i’m out here simping

also comes bearing gifts from wherever he was last tho. if he was on the crux, he’s probably got gifts from beidou and the crew even if they don’t really know kazu’s partner, they just know he’s happy and that’s what matters. if he’s not on the crux, his boss probably gives him leave and a gift or smth even if it’s just like a tea or a bottle of wine or smth

he’ll cuddle and be a blanket. but he’s also got fabrics that beidou picked up in inazuma and he uses that as a blanket for his partner <3

will tell his s/o stories of his childhood, his time wandering, his time with the crew, his work. anything they want to know or have questions about, he’ll tell them.

forehead kisses, temple kisses, holding his partner’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of their hand ugh i love him

deffo gets sick because he can’t deny his partner smooches on the lips smh. and then it’s his partner’s turn to play nursemaid

the crew from the crux probably drops by to check on kazoo man and co. they bring some regional delicacies and blankets and their best cold remedies with a slap on the back for kazu and a gentler pat for his partner. like w ningguang’s partner, bei probably gives kazu’s s/o a hearty slap but it’s not enough to hurt them

anyway i’m in love with him

amber

she’s so worried she’s such a sweetie omg

she goes to her partner immediately and fusses over them before they have to gently tell her that they’re fine

she goes to collect sweet flowers and stuff and goes to ohm, albedo and barbara for help making medicines and such

doesn’t want to leave her duties unattended to but jean also knows that amber wants to be with her s/o so she tells amber that she has fewer duties for her <3

jean tells kaeya to go make sure amber is doing okay and doesn’t need help or anything so he drags ohm, diluc, albedo and lisa too LOL

lisa was planning on going anyway, she just used diluc to carry her books w this opportunity <3 albedo is just treating amber’s partner w meds and potions and things and lisa takes a peek at that too

she’s so sad she doesn’t have ohm’s super cold skin so she can’t be a human cooling pack for her partner </3 but she gives them many smooches on cheeks and foreheads and temples

barely resists giving her partner kisses on the lips bc she still wants to go to work but also wants to give her partner what they need and sigh. it’s a struggle for amber

she wears pajamas and cuddles with her s/o <3

cooks her partner some (fully cooked!!) meals, not her specialty steak. but she makes soup and goes to good hunter and gets good hot food there too

keqing

wants to take some time off to help her partner feel better but also doesn’t want to leave work. ningguang probably sends her home at some point because she’s fretting and working and stop feeling so bad keqing, you have sick days

she still goes to work but she’s just taking marginally shorter days sigh, she goes home early instead but brings work home so she can do it while sitting with her partner

wears leisure clothes when at home with her partner but the fact that she has clothes she doesn’t use for work is shocking LMAO the cat ears stay tho ;) catgirl always

ganyu comes by with keqing’s work, some wanmin takeout and a card and gift for her partner <3

xiangling hears that keqing is home with her partner while they’re sick and brings food over to keqing’s. she’s got extra golden shrimp balls for keqing. AND AGAIN. GUOBA CUDDLES ❤️❤️❤️

keqing feels so bad for not doing as much work, she’s making herself almost as sick as her partner </3

ningguang comes over one night with beidou while keqing is doing work in bed while her partner is resting and she sees keqing stressed as all hell. she just gives keqing some food and tells her to actually rest. soft!ning and bei being moms god i love them

okay but keqing tucking her partner in with a sweet kiss before retreating to her work in the corner, the lamps turned to the lowest they can possibly be because keqing refuses to leave her beloved but can’t not do work

keqing trying to cook food for her partner that isn’t meant specifically for survival but for taste is so cute. she’s trying to cook golden shrimp balls and soup and stuff and she’s not bad at it! she took a single night of giving her s/o hot tea and some wanmin soup before she learned the whole cookbook so she can be the one to cook for them <3

venti

he brings his partner wine u cannot tell me otherwise

he goes to diluc’s. not the tavern but straight up dawn winery and asks diluc if he can get a bottle of wine for his s/o and please please please he’ll go fight some of those slimes for you, please? with the big 🥺 and staying outside diluc’s window to beg bye

diluc just gives him the wine with a glare but won’t make venti do the commission <3 venti legit says “thank barbatos” and gives diluc an ~ehe~ before he gets ready to glide away. he turns around and asks diluc if he’s sure he can’t do the comm but diluc just glares at him all broody~

diluc comes by to check on venti’s partner too bc where does venti live- venti is just camping out at his partner’s place for now and feeding them and giving them wine and diluc just kinda goes a little pink but glares while he says “get well soon” and leaves a windwheel aster from near the winery

venti makes soup and many vegetable/fruity foods because “they’re good for you! have some wine with that ehe”

jean comes by at some point with barbara to check on venti and co. they’ve got other foods and some hydro healing for venti’s partner <3

ohm comes over to see his friend and brings him some medicines, food and wine. he gets to witness the anemo god get all soft and squooshy for his s/o it’s so sweet

he uses anemo to entertain his partner with some gentle breezes playing through leaves <3 but he also plays his lyre for them and gives them smooches in between and during songs because he’s a god ofc he isn’t gonna get sick, pay the bard with kisses. and where’s his gratuity :( 😗

he doesn’t read to his s/o but he does tell them stories with a musical accompaniment. sometimes his partner will fall asleep so he just smiles so softly and tucks them in and continues playing his lyre at the window while they sleep <3

but also brushing his partner’s hair back and giving them a kiss on the forehead please i love my beloved kinnie

n e ways venti forehead smooches and playing the lyre for his s/o <3 no cough meds ehe, just dandelion wine and whatever ohm gave him (that was, in fact, the cough medicine)

scaramouche

bro this dude looks like he CANNOT be assed but he really cares <3<3

his work schedule doesn’t change but he’s going to his s/o’s home super often with soup and food and medicine and extra blankets

even to his partner, scara looks broody but he always looks like that LOL

tartaglia finds out where scara is going and he brings food and toys and stuff too <3 scara later has to read one of the kids books tartaglia brought and he refuses to voices but it’s very sweet anyway

scara probably asks sandrone if his doctor brother can get him some good cold medicine but would never admit that he asked ohm for help LOL. ohm shows up anyway and finds out <3

can and will cook soup but that’s all you’re getting from him. the takeout he brought is most definitely not something he made, no sir’am he would never do something as soft as cook for them. soup doesn’t count, it’s oboiling water with some added flavor, shut up tartagalicious he’s not soft

will give his partner kisses only after he thinks they’re asleep. refuses to give them any affection besides a headpat or two and maybe one hug when he shows real concern. his partner isn’t quite yet asleep one time and then feigns sleeping when they hear scara’s whispered “i love you” and he presses a kiss to their forehead 🥺❤️

he takes off his hat inside the house but will go around with a blanket around his shoulders to mock his partner smh. the blanket is on his head like a hood and he fake sniffles with an almost derisive laugh but he gives his partner a real smile at the end <3

9/10 times will never admit that he’s soft unless it’s a Very Serious Moment but he’s a squishy dood for his s/o and his s/o only

will not read or sing to his partner but he’ll sorta cuddle if they ask very nicely and many times. it’s just kind of him sitting next to them and they kind of have to muzzle before he’ll move his arm for his own comfort LMAO

will bring his partner gifts and food, a few flowers but he’ll just claim he’s delivering it from someone else with a look of fake disgust </3 maybe like two of those are actually from other ppl and not him

when his partner is actually feeling really sick, he won’t be a big smol meanie and he actually looks so concerned~ his partner means a lot to him and he doesn’t want them to feel sick or in pain so he’ll cuddle them unprompted and rub their back, run his hand thru their hair, soft forehead and temple kisses and “i’m here, baby” and “i love you” and falling asleep with his partner tucked under his chin <3 he’s actually so sweet bye 😭

thoma

thoma feels so bad when his partner is sick. it isn’t even his fault but he feels so bad because he wants to protect them, even from tiny little germs 😭 i’m sorry u can’t be my immune system thoma it’s FINE

he asks to take off work and ayaka just kinda sighs but smiles and waves a hand to dismiss him bc yes ofc you can, simp

ayato just laughs when he sees this LMAO BYE

thoma’s partner stays at his home, in his bed or a guest room (idk if he has his own place or stays w the kamisatos as their literal live-in maid but anyway)

his partner gets his care, any doctors or caretakers around ritou, the medic from the crux, the kamisato family doctor- this man is using some of his favors for medicine and then cuddling his s/o, ugh i want to date him sm

both kamisatos come by with some food for thoma and co but poor ayato can’t even keep his grin contained, poor thoma is conditioned to be nervous ab what ayato feeds him LOL

he’s cooking for his partner, legit gives them a list of options and an “anything you want, my love?”

cuddles his s/o even tho they might protest but it takes like 0.2 seconds to stop protesting bc that man is comfy

tells his partner stories about what it was like back home in mondstadt and his journey to inazuma and why he’s there as well as his stories about all the different kinds of people he’s met

taroumaru coming w kozue to the kamisato estate to get some hot tea to thoma 🥺 and the cuddles and nuzzles from this great doggo for thoma before he turns to his partner too 😭 straight up jumps in the bed and licks their faces a little before nuzzling in for a hug

n e way thoma gives a lot of hugs and kisses and cuddles and i think he’s hella touchy-feely and misses home and treasures his partner even more because of it

my beautiful red shield ❤️

#genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #ningguang x reader #beidou x reader #kazuha x reader #amber x reader #keqing x reader #venti x reader #scaramouche x reader #thoma x reader #genshin fluff #hc's #lyz.writes #part deux was fun i wanted to add more to thoma's lol #i'm so in love w him help

[yandere-sins]

"Stop fucking looking at me like that!"

Referencing this post I made, I thought why not :’D

»»———————— ♡ ————————««        

Rummaging through the big chest, Enderman supplied it with the new items he gathered. Meat, vegetables, a potion for the worst case. Buckets of water and milk, everything you needed to have as a human. It should be enough to last at least for the upcoming weak, but you had been complaining about it rotting and molding since you couldn’t eat it fast enough or preserve it. You were also craving fruits. Biting his lip, he thought hard about how to accommodate your wishes better when he suddenly heard the growling of a zombie nearby, making him come to an immediate stop.

If he was quiet enough, the zombie shouldn’t be able to make you out inside this little, sparely filled room he created. No one said it would be easy to accumulate enough obsidian to build this hut. Still, it was the only way to keep you safe, even if it took him forever. All these monsters and treacherous villagers outside were after you, and even if he was able to keep them at bay for a long time, what if one day he couldn’t be around to keep you from harm? Perhaps it wasn’t a very pretty domicile, but it was safe. The only light source was one window, but he built it high enough so no zombie, skeleton, or creeper would be able to look through it. He collected a bed for you, chests, and books from the village, but that was all there was to keep you busy.

Enderman listened intently, waiting for the footsteps and grunts to disappear before he could let out a sigh of relief. Even with all the precautions he made, one could never be too safe. Even if he wasn’t worried about himself, if it was for you, he’d do everything to keep you far away from the dangerous mobs roaming the world. Continuing to pack your chest with edibles, he didn’t notice you slowly waking up, rising behind him. Enderman made a point out of coming at night rather than day to avoid the one thing that made him uncomfortable. While he would have loved interacting with you, the human custom of keeping eye contact was something he could never bear to endure. Not even for you.

Even now, your eyes drilling into his back, he began to shake anxiously, hoping you’d recognize him and go back to sleep.

But you didn’t.

You never did.

“It’s late,” he chuckled nervously, slowly closing the lid of the chest before standing up. He had to raise the ceiling quite a bit after realizing he couldn’t fit the space after he built it. Even if he could teleport in and out at his leisure, with his size, it would have been hard to stay with you in an emergency had he kept it at his first draft. But he learned that humans quite liked high ceilings, and secretly he hoped that meant you liked him too, considering his size.

“You should be sleeping. I brought new food, so you can rest assured.”

Was he just talking to overcome the awkwardness? You’ve been nearly killing him with this silent treating of yours, only ever looking at the back of his head. It was unfathomable why you’d treat him with such disrespect. He had voiced his discomfort more than once, but you insisted that you hated his treatment of you, and as such, he’d have to endure the same. But how could you? All of this was only ever in your best interest. Out there, you’d have done the same to keep safe - build a home and gathered food - so why did you hate it when he did it? Wasn’t he good to you? Didn’t he try his best to fulfill all your wishes? Was it too much to ask for that you were safe under his care?

“Please stop,” he whispered with clenched teeth, the shaking of his body getting stronger. “What more do I need to do to make you stop looking at me like that?”

“Let me go,” you finally spoke up, the sound of your voice almost as beautiful as he remembered it--no, even better! A quiet gasp escaped him after finally receiving a word from you, and he turned around for the first time in forever to face you.

A big mistake.

Your eyes met as Enderman suddenly felt overcome with a wave of emotions. He wished it had been only positive ones, but there was no way he could escape his instincts. Doubling over in pain, he grunted, trying to keep himself under control, but to no avail. Even in his state, he could clearly perceive the shuffling of blankets as you got up, noticing the state he was in. Though he wanted to believe you cared for him, it was clear you were merely concerned about what to do if something happened to him. But that would be enough. Even if you just liked him for his use, it would be enough to satisfy him. As long as he could keep you safe, you could use him as much as he wanted.

The obsidian made no sound as he gripped you by the wrists, slamming you into the wall. Your body, on the other hand, made an absolutely horrifying crack, so much so, Enderman feared the worst already. But one look at your eyes showed them clear as day, still very much able to perceive him. Perhaps adrenaline soothed your pain momentarily.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that! I told you so many times to fucking stop! When will you listen?!”

His yell filled the whole space around you two. If he hadn’t been seething with anger, he’d have instantly regretted raising his voice. No less because it could have attracted unwanted visitors. Enderman had never lashed out at you before, never done anything that would put you into the opposite of what he wanted - danger. But here he was, eyes falling to your mouth as your breath hitched, unable to form a word. All you did - finally! - was looking down and away from him before pinching your eyelids close tightly.

Immediately, he felt much calmer, now that you weren’t drilling holes into him anymore. Regaining his senses, he let go of you, letting you plummet back onto the bed he held you above. Whether or not you were in pain wasn’t something either of you seemed to notice. Instead, you were quick to hug yourself, fearful tears rolling from the closed corners of your eyes despite no sobs escaping you. You had no weapons to defend yourself, and a punch didn’t do as much as one of his did to you. It must have been a big shock for you to see the other side of Enderman, one you had a hard time comprehending.

Placing his hand on your shoulder, you flinched noticeably before finally breaking down into crying, collapsing forward onto the mattress. Enderman stood there lost for words or actions to console you, wanting to say something, apologize even! It didn’t matter who’s fault it was, he never wanted to see you hurt or crying! That’s why he did all of this after all!

Instead, he remembered the peculiar thing he found in one of the villages. It was a banner, something he thought you might enjoy hanging up in your tiny home, but when he reached for it now, he had a different idea of what to do with it. Ripping off the bottom wasn’t easy even for him, especially since he allowed no tools or scissors in this safe space. But once he had it, he returned to your side, kneeling next to your bed and lifting your head gently. You tried to turn your face away, but he had a tight grip on you, nudging you to face him. Good as you were, you kept your eyes closed still.

Even if he couldn’t be sure how to do it, he loosely tied the cloth around your head, covering your eyes with it. “W-What…?” you stuttered meekly, feeling the fabric on your skin, and Enderman hushed you gently. “This will do. You won’t be able to look at me this way. You’ll never need to be afraid anymore; this will keep you safe, I promise.”

Whether his assurance went through to you, he couldn’t decide, unable to read your expression as you bit your lip. Your body began to shake again, and it felt almost like his whenever you made him uncomfortable and anxious. Enderman knew this feeling all too well, but you wouldn’t need to bear it alone. He could if he had to, but he wouldn’t let you go through these complicated feelings alone.

Easily, with inhuman strength, he picked you up, sitting down where you had been just seconds ago, and lifted you into his lap. Finally, his big body and long arms were good for something, even if he hadn’t expected it would be comforting you. If it was for him, you two could have continued the relationship you had. Enderman would have simply stayed by your side while you slept, brushing the hair out of your face and pulling up the blanket over you to make sure you had a good rest. You didn’t need to recognize his efforts, and you could even scream at him if you’d prefer that, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He knew you were safe and well-taken care of, and he’d never forget you needed him. That was enough.

But now that he held you in his arms, he wasn’t sure if it was enough for him anymore.

Now that this awful habit of looking at him had been prevented, nothing was stopping him from being close to you. Now he could touch you, hold you, comfort you tenderly! All without fearing what might happen. “It’s going to be alright now,” he hushed you sweetly. “I’m so sorry I lashed out, I will do everything to make it up to you! I’ll bring new books and flowers to decorate with soon, everything will be okay. You can always rely on me; I’ll keep you company from now on, trust me!”

He meant it. Even if he didn’t understand most of the complicated feelings you had, you must have felt relieved as you started to cry even more. And so was he. He was relieved too. Who knew being with you so close, holding you, and swaying back and forth with you felt so wonderful. The only other time he held you, felt your warmth and heartbeat, had been when he teleported you inside of this room. Enderman had always believed that to be the height of all emotions, but he now realized there was so much more! So many more opportunities and feelings to explore. But you had time, right? He wouldn’t be greedy; he’d take his time to explore them all with you and enjoy them thoroughly.

After all, you were safest with him.

And he was the happiest with you.

#Enderman #Endermen #enderman minecraft #yandere enderman #yandere!enderman #minecraft #yandere minecraft #yandere!minecraft #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

[b-yeonder]

Bringing Them Breakfast in Bed (Brothers + Undateables)

LUCIFER:

When you walk in balancing the breakfast tray Lucifer is already sat up in bed checking his D.D.D for any important news from RAD, but his attention is quickly diverted to you. The spread you offer him? Buttered toast, two different types of jam in cute little decorative jars, a full wine glass, and a cup of tea. "Wine in the morning? What do you take me for," he chuckles putting his phone down. Grinning you tell him that it's just grape juice to which he laughs and accepts the tray from you with a sincere thank you. Finds it incredibly endearing and can't stop smiling - calls you his good girl/boy with a wink. Will definitely put him in a good mood for the rest of the day.

MAMMON:

"For me? All of it? Really?" Yup! He's flabbergasted, blinking stupidly with his mouth hanging open as his cheeks redden before eventually catching himself and clearing his throat, putting on his usual bravado. "Well damn, I definitely deserve this huh, being the Great Mammon after all!" Cheeks are still red despite his demeanor change. Takes the tray and starts tucking in with gusto. "Ya gonna help me with this right? Here, I'll feed ya a pancake look--" He does, insisting on feeding it to you by hand and is a happy bubbly fella all morning. Why? Because his human pampered him and he feels s p e c i a l. (Because he is, of course.)

LEVIATHAN:

Shakes off his tiredness in an instant when he realises what you're handing him. "Is this that Limited Edition Ruri-chan cereal!? WHOOOAAH!" A million thank yous before he takes a million pictures to post on his social media and is loathe to eat it but it looks so good and ohhh man he's caved already and it IS good! You can't help but laugh at him as he eats it with his eyes closed, humming happily. "I can't believe you got these. Just for me? Really? Like, the whole box, you don't want any at all?" Blushes reaaal hard once it dawns on him how difficult it must have been for you to get and that you made all the effort for him and him only. "What if I feed you a spoonful? They're really good." Blushy blush, hide behind that fringe cutie pie.

SATAN:

"Ohh well well well, what have we here?" A smirk as you hand him his tray. Freezes when he sees what's on his plate and his cheeks redden quickly. You can't help but grin as he just stares. Cat pancakes. Cat-head shaped pancakes with syrupy faces. "You okay there?" "I....they're..." He clears his throat and blinks up at you. "Cute right?" Your grin widens as he nods. "I don't know if I can eat them..." At his mumbled confession you laugh and plop next to him on the bed, offering to feed them to him which has him blushing more. What can I say, sleepy morning bedhead Satan is easily flustered.

ASMODEUS:

"Oh darling this is amazing! But really all you had to do was show up nude and that would have been all the breakfast I need--" "ASMO!" He giggles and licks his lips at the delicious looking spread laid before him. "G A S P, is this GLITTERY JAM!?" "Yes! Isn't it cool?" Squeals and tucks in, rolling his eyes in his head. "Oh my gosh it tastes as good as it looks. This would make a good lipstick colour, we should go looking for one later." Uses it as an opportunity to gossip and get a few little flirtatious moves in before the day has even started. Dabbing jam on your nose just to lick it off making you snort with laughter and shove him away.

BEELZEBUB:

Presented with a full English breakfast, a giant stack of pancakes, and orange juice his eyes are the size of saucers as his pupils flick from the food to you. "What's wrong, handsome?" "I'm trying to decide what I want to eat more right now - the food or you." Because yes the poor sausage is overwhelmed and gets hard with excitement over all the deliciousness before him. Ends up shoving some egg in his gob followed by a pancake and half of the orange juice before pouncing on you. "Lemme love you!" "BEEEL-!" He's grinning and smothering you with breakfasty smooches leaving you a giggling mess. (Would want to finish his breakfast with you wrapped in his arms after he’s had his way because hugs and food are the best.)

BELPHEGOR:

"I've never seen you eat breakfast so I didn't know what to make you therefore I am serving myself," you say, gesturing to yourself with a flourish. "Perfect." Instantly grabs you and starts biting and gnawing at you making you erupt in a fit of giggles and try to push him off. "Mmmm human, so delicious!" Keeps going, pinning you down and climbing on top. "BELPHIE STOP THAT TICKLES." Evil grin plastered on his face, eventually ends the antics with a kiss on your nose. Then bites it. "Just for future reference though, I love a good omelette. Make me one of those and I'm yours forever." "You're not already mine forever?" "No, you suck, make me an omelette." Collapses on top of you so you can't go and make one even if he wasn't just winding you up. 

DIAVOLO:

Has a massive grin on his face the moment you set foot in his room, getting even bigger when he sees you've brought food. You serve it professionally, pretending to be Barbatos and making him laugh. "Your breakfast, young Master."  "Ooo, my birthday must have come early?" Devours everything eagerly, insisting on sharing with you no matter how much you protested. "Come now, you deserve to taste the fruit of your labours. It's wonderful!" Like a big kid, smothers you with kisses when he's done. "I'll have to think of a proper way to repay you..."

BARBATOS:

Completely taken by surprise - it was usually him that was serving meals after all and here you were up at an even earlier hour than him handing him a breakfast tray? Doesn't know what to say at first, eyes roaming over the food you'd prepared for him until he spots the little flower-shaped strawberries you'd cut for him - something he'd done for you once to cheer you up when you were sick. "Seeee," you say with a playful nudge as you settle next to him. "I've been learning." "You have...this looks wonderful, thank you." He leans over to press a delicate kiss to your lips and you mumble a quiet you're welcome against them. The two of you share a rare moment of solitude chatting idly and enjoying each others' company before another busy day at the Palace begins.

SOLOMON:

Eyes you and the food suspiciously. "You trying to poison me again?" "Dude it was just gone-off milk it wouldn't have killed you. Also that was a whole year ago why are you still holding that against me?" "Yeah well..." Sniffs it just to be sure then flashes you a playful smile. "I'm just messing. This looks really good - thanks." Halfway through tucking in: "Y'know I'd offer to return the favour but you'd probably die so I won't bother." "Yeah please don't," you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. "Although....what if you were my breakfast next time? Worth a thought," he mused, tapping his spoon against his bottom lip as you rolled your eyes.

SIMEON:

Oh...this is awkward... You both are bearing breakfast trays intended for the other. Burst into laughter you make your way to his room where you swap trays and tuck in. "I can't believe this..." "We're too in tune with each other," Simeon smiles, sipping at his tea. "Yeah, I guess we are." The food was delicious - heavenly even and you found yourself closing your eyes from pleasure while eating it. "This is amazing, Sims." "Glad you like it," he replied with a grin. "You've made these eggs perfectly." "I'll have to make them for you more often." "I'd like that a lot." Simeon definitely tries feeding you at one point, laughing sweetly at your eagerness to take it from him.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me undateables

[english8muffin]

Cozy winter

Summary: going to the market, being cheeky in the parking lot and a warm cuddly morning sprinkled with some funny-business

Warning: Cute banter, smut (NSFW), fluff

Word count: Around 5300 words!

I want to open this with one of my favorite quotes ever, so if you allow me ;)

“Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”  -Kurt Vonnegut 

“We need muffins.”

“We don’t NEED muffins, what we need are some fresh fruit and vegetables, ” Henry butts in. You frown and look up at him, “Oh whatever, Hen. You eat your greens, beans, potatoes and tomatoes, while I get fat by munching on some sweet, sweet, delicious chocolate muffins.”

 He sends you a smirk from across the aisle. It was always fun to do mundane things, like going to get coffee together or grocery shopping, when he was home from filming. The last year you went to university it was very hard to be away from him for such a long time, especially when you still lived in Europe. You would fly over to England once in a blue moon, when Henry was in London and your schedule would allow it. Other times your relationship existed out of phone and video calls. It was a rough period, if you have to be honest. But It made the two of you closer and your bond stronger. It’s true what they say, absence does make the heart grow fonder. 

You let Henry know you were going to get the ingredients for the muffins and start pushing the shopping cart in the direction of the baking supplies. As you walk back to the fresh produce section, you get distracted. So many colorful packaging was just screaming your name…

“What the- lovey! I thought you were going to get your muffin ingredients,” Henry cackles and almost doubles over seeing the now full shopping cart.

It took you a second to answer, a bit too focused on his beautiful face and the smile lines that appeared when he laughed. You quickly try to defend yourself, so he doesn’t think you have no self-control, even though, you know your eyes were bigger than your stomach.

“No! I did get them, they’re just underneath the other bags,” you trail off, eyes drifting to the floor. You sigh, “I just saw this aisle with all the snacks. These magnificent snacks. And, Hen, I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life! And, Hen-Henry! Henry, listen! Stop laughing at me! It was a moment of weakness! You can’t judge me! You don’t even know how they taste, I promise you, you will understand once you take a bite of everything!”

Henry wipes away a small tear at the corner of his eye and kisses the top of your head. You stroll around the aisles, trying to work through the rest of your grocery list, but suddenly you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hen,” you say, trying to get his attention. He gives you a hum in return, letting you know he heard you, “why on god’s green earth does my grocery list say ‘sex’?” You tilt your head up to his face, seeing a bashful grin. 

You shake your head, clicking your tongue disapprovingly, “it isn’t even on top of the list! You put your oatmeal protein shake before sex, fuck, you even put curry before sex, you really need to get your priorities straight!”

After getting some more stuff, like pak choi, steak, tofu and the ingredients for Henry’s beloved curry you always make him, you walk to the register. 

The petite Asian lady gives you a smile and takes a little peak at Henry, who was too busy looking at the various Chinese cough drops that are displayed in front of the counter. Her brows rise behind her thick glasses, “哇，大帅哥。你很幸运啊。” (Wow, big handsome man. You are very lucky, ah.) She says, turning back to you and winking. You can’t help but chuckle. Grinning you send her an ‘I know’-look.

Hearing your laugh, Henry looks over his shoulder with a questioning look. But you just smile and shake your head.

You two quickly get everything in the reusable shopping bags you brought with you. It was getting late and more people were getting off of work and wanted to do some last-minute grocery shopping. Henry takes both of the flower printed bags and the two of you walk to the car. It was getting colder, your breath turning into puffs of smoke. You look up at the sky glooming over you. They promised snow tonight. 

Seeing Henry load the bags in the trunk, his ass proudly sticking out in the air, you give it a pinch. You just couldn’t resist. It was just there, so you better make use of the situation. 

Feeling your hand touch his behind, Henry turns around, an unamused look on his face.

“Excuse me, miss. But that is mine,” he says, really playing up his posh accent.  “I sure hope you disinfected those filthy little paws of yours.” He cutely scrunches his nose, doing a once over and trying so hard to keep himself from smiling, but failing miserably. He turns back around and arranges the bags in the booth so they won’t tip over.

There is a moment of silence, just the noise from cars driving up and off the parking. From the corner his eye Henry sees the stare you give him but ignores it with a small smirk.

“You know,” you begin with a cheeky undertone, making him curious, “I bet I could kick your ass,” you grin, looking at him and trying to gauge his reaction. 

“What was that, doll?”

“You heard me, big lad!”

“Oh really?” He asks and looks at you, towering over you like a brick wall. His eyes glimmering with mischief. Yeah, no, this was NOT a good idea. 

You squirm a little and a small nervous giggle leaves your lips.

“Yes, I can. Watch m-AHHHH! HENRY!” You squeal as he lifts you and throws you over his shoulder, fully forgetting you are in public. “Let me down, you caveman!” You laugh, slapping his left ass cheek. But he ignores your plea and just slaps your ass in return. 

Wiggling a little, you challenge him, “Beat me up! Come on, do it!” 

He turns his head and playfully bites the exposed skin by your hip, making you shriek like a little kid. 

Henry lets out a loud belly laugh and puts you back on your feet. As soon as the tips of your Dr. Martens touch the pavement, you get pushed against the car. Trapping you between the icy cold black metal and his warm body. His arm goes around your waist and pulls you closer to his front.

“I love you.” The words are hushed but you hear them loud and clear, making a shiver go down your spine. The both of you look at each other, completely enamored and grinning like idiots. Noses and the apples of your cheeks rosy, bitten from the cold.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. His hand glides inside your coat and underneath the thick knitted jumper you finished to other day. He just needed to feel you. You lean up a little and gently push your lips to his, adoring the familiar warmth that fell over you whenever you’d kiss. Before you can come in for a second smooch, he frowns at you. 

“Thought you were going to beat my ass?” He mocks, trying to imitate your accent. 

Lightly tapping your finger against your chin, you pretend to be in thought. 

“Well, this is much more fun.”

“Hmm, agreed,” he grins, already eyeing your red swollen lips and tilting his head towards yours. 

You hear heavy footsteps coming closer, the wooden floorboards slightly creaking under the weight. It was getting dark outside, the overhead lights in the kitchen casting a homey hue down on the oak countertops. Your ‘cooking playlist’ was filling the room with some gentle tunes. You also had a ‘dancing in the kitchen playlist’ but that one was mostly used in the mornings. You hum along to the melody when stirring in the stew you were preparing for the evening, rocking your hips side to side. The stew was softly bubbling away, spreading an amazing aroma around the house. 

The footsteps stop behind you. A moment later two big, sweater wrapped arms envelop around you, delicately caressing you. Henry lovingly pulls your loose braid to the side and places his head onto your shoulder, trying to get a peak at what was in front of you on the stove. 

“What smells so good in here?” Just then Henry’s stomach makes a loud grumbling noise from the mouthwatering smell going on in the kitchen, you chuckle. 

He had been gaming before this, you could hear the tiredness in his voice, it was a bit lower and more hoarse than normal. Whenever he was tired like this, he’d just turn into your big cuddly bear, you loved it. 

Dinner was almost done. You made one of the dishes your grandma used to make for you when you were younger. You won’t lie, it was pretty difficult at first to decipher the little recipe she send you in the post, but now you knew it by heart. 

“Cantonese style braised beef stew with white radish, bean curd sheets and a side of rice,” you inform him and brush your hand over his, that was placed on your stomach. Hearing that, he has to make sure he’s not drooling.

“And for dessert…” You nod your head toward the piping hot apple crumble pie currently cooling on the kitchen island. “We still have some vanilla ice cream if you want to have that with your pie. I know you want to be healthy, but I just really wanted to make a pie and this one does have filling,” you ramble, joking on the last part about the filling. He probably thought you were pestering him with his diet that most likely didn’t allow him to eat it. 

You wince a bit, feeling him tense against you. “You don’t have to eat it, my love, promise!”

“No petal, you’re just… you’re just so perfect,” Henry admits, pressing a kiss just below the strap of the pistachio green apron you were wearing, nuzzling his nose in your tousled hair.

It was a gloomy Saturday morning in London. If your alarm hadn’t gone off, you wouldn’t have known it was morning already.

Yesterday after dinner, the two of you cuddled up on the sofa, under a warm blanket with Kal snuggled up on your lap. His head resting in your lap, while his tail occasionally slapped Henry in the face, making you burst out laughing and Henry almost choke on the fur. The akita would fondly press his snout deeper against you, really loving the head scratches he was receiving. Both you and Henry were fully satisfied with the tasty dinner you had paired with a glass of wine and were now cheekily flirting with each other while watching a detective movie, of which you missed the plot because you were, well, differently occupied…

Now the bedroom held a calm, soft aura, a dim light streaming in through the linen curtains. You let out a little whimper, not wanting to leave the bubble you are in and stretch out your limbs. A bit sore from sleeping in a weird angle, amongst other things. Behind you, you hear a small sound of protest and before you know it, you are engulfed by a strong arm. Henry hides his face in the side of your neck, keeping his eyes closed, groaning, clearly displeased with the fact it was morning already. 

You smile, this was your favorite kind of morning. Warm and cozy in bed, cuddling with your boyfriend. You turn around, careful to not let any cold air under the duvet, your arm going around the large form beside you and curling your fingers in the mess of curly hair. Henry moaned, burying his face lower, between your breasts. Now fully content and still a bit dazed by sleep, he lets out the most awful snore. Even though he sounded like a drowning goat when he snored, you couldn’t do anything other than coo and gently scratch your fingers on his scalp, lovingly gazing at the man beside you. 

“Are we going to be lazy couch potatoes today?” You chuckle, placing a kiss on his forehead, wild curls tickling your nose as you do so. Your voice was still a little raspy, but Kal apparently still heard you, and pushed open the door to come snuggle in bed with his favorite humans. 

“What time is it?” Henry groans. 

“Around 8.”

“We can be busy bees if you want,” Henry whispered against the swell of your breast, peppering delicate kisses on the bare skin. “Or better yet, busy bunnies.”

Kal was now situated on the end of the bed, head on his paws while the serenity of the room made him doze off. His dad on the other hand was now slowly waking up, as his hand crept lower and lower over your body. You giggled and pushed his hand away.

“There is a child present ,” you motion towards a sleeping Kal, who lays stretched out on the feathery duvet, already heading off to dreamland looking content as ever. Henry lifts his head, peering at his buddy and snorts, “he’s seen much worse, haven’t you bear?” But he doesn’t get acknowledged. 

Laying his head back, he reaches up to push your hair out of your face before grabbing your cheek and pulling you down for a kiss. He places three kisses on your swollen lips, lightly sucking on the bottom one.

“May-,” you try to say something, but he just pushes his mouth harder against yours. Quickly taking the opportunity to stop you from making excuses. A hoarse chuckle rumbles from his chest, as he wraps you in his arms.

“Stop talking, woman, and kiss me back.” You let out a small moan and grip the curls you were playing with moments ago. He deepens the kiss slightly, tongue invading your mouth, surprising you. A subdued hum escapes your mouth, resulting in him grabbing the back of your neck, as the other rests on your hip. The kiss gets deeper and more passionate as the minutes go by. Getting a bit overwhelmed you pull back slowly, softy panting. 

“Hmm, so sweet, darling,” he says smugly, earning a little smack to the chest as a bright blush covers your cheeks. Like it wasn’t already hard enough to resist him and stay in the warm bed all morning, he does this. Henry rolls your naked body over so you’re straddling him, a large hand wraps itself around your hair. He tugs, not too hard though, so he has more access to shower open mouthed kisses on your neck and chest. Leaving you a breathless mess on top of him. His hands trail from the top of your back to your rear, squeezing your cheeks before giving them a fast slap, making you take in a breath. 

From all the shuffling, little snickers and kissing noises, Kal woke up and groaned, irritated that his humans couldn’t just hanky-panky somewhere else. With a last disapproving look, he jumps off the bed, landing with a thump. From the sound of paws hitting the wooden floor and toddling down the stairs, you look over your shoulder, duvet falling down so you sat there fully naked, much to Henry’s delight. 

Then you felt it. It was normal for Henry to get hard in the morning. To be honest, he would be a bit worried if his cock wasn’t hard first thing when waking up.

Involuntarily you grind down, drawing a heavy moan from deep in his chest. Holding intense eye contact with him, you start humping over his bare front, mewling like a kitten in heat. It was embarrassing how he had you wrapped around his finger. A cheeky smile formed on his face, “look who came around.” Your body was practically begging for sex. 

Pouting, you keep on moving your hips in a tantalizing slow rhythm, scratching at his hairy chest. Making sure you kept your eyes on his, he licked his three middle fingers and a second later you feel him reaching between your thighs, wiping his fingers down your slit. Tensing up a little, you try to hold back a grunt at the sensation. 

“Oh darling,” he started, his voice going an octave lower, “what a mess you’ve made.”

He pulls back and observes your reaction when he pops his finger in his mouth.

“Wet and sweet, like always.”

“You are so nasty,” you whisper in total awe at what he manages to do to your body. He snickers and you quickly grab his hand, pushing it back between your thighs, “I didn’t tell you to stop, though.”

Your jaw goes slack, the moment you feel his thick fingers moving in and out of you. He was hitting just the right spot, making you groan and throw your head back. He felt like he couldn’t hold back anymore, he quickly flips you over so he’s on top of you, fully trapping you underneath his body and smashes his mouth on yours. Everything was happening so fast that you couldn’t pay attention to every incredible thing he was making you feel. Taking his cock in hand, he rubs his shaft against you, up and down, pressing it so you could feel the length. You look up at him, veins bulging in his neck, eyes dark, face already becoming flushed. God, he was so sexy. Grabbing your legs, he pushes your knees back so you were completely spread open and at his mercy. 

He curses under his breath and lines himself up with you sticky center. Stifling your moans and pants, by pressing his lips to yours, when he slowly sinks his thick cock inside. 

“Oh my god,” you whine, feeling him stretching your walls apart, pushing himself deeper and deeper. 

“Y’feel so warm and tight, my love. M’so hard it hurts.” Henry whines against your lips, lacing his fingers in between yours. He trails kisses in your neck and under your ear, trying to get as close to you as possible. He loved feeling your body against his. Your walls were so plushy and wet for his cock, he wanted to stay buried in you forever. 

“M’gonna make you feel so good, darling,” he whispers in your ear. You whine softly, getting worked up, “please.”

He smirked, obviously liking your plea. 

Instead of giving you a nice, hard pounding, Henry wanted to go slow. It was still very early in the morning, the both of you still barely awake and he wanted to savor this moment with you.

“Oh, Hen-,” you pant softly, loving every bit of it. As he pushes deeper into you, you can feel his entire weight pressing down against you. The weight comforted you in a sense, like others would with a weighted blanket. He prolonged his strokes, making sure that when he slid out you could feel every centimeter of him, but then slid back in quickly. 

“Fuck.” He grumbles into your neck, “feels so good, love,” he praises, nibbling on the skin under your ear, grabbing a handful of your hair pulling it back. You move you hands from his grasp and push them up his broad shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

“So good,” you moan out to him, feeling his cock nudge at the extremely sensitive spot deep inside your core. He lifts his head to look at you, seeing your mouth formed into the letter ‘o’, head tilted back into the cloud-like pillow and eyes screwed shut. A string of desperate moans falls from your lips. 

This was what he loved, seeing his love, his girl react to the way he was pleasuring her. Just looking at you in this state made his orgasm coil up in the pit of his tummy. He never would have dreamed that another person could give him this feeling, the feeling of utter bliss when you were together. The unconditional love he felt for you was indescribable. 

Henry continues to thrust into you and attaches his lips to yours, feeling you squeeze around him. You manage to spread your legs even wider and wrap them securely around his slim waist, digging your heels just above the globes of his perfectly sculpted ass. 

He was aiming his stokes into the deepest part of you and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your release. 

“Fuck,” you whimper out to him, digging your nails into the skin of his back. He knew you were about to cum. You let out another loud moan. 

“Come on, petal. Cum f’me,” he pants, trying to coax you. Hearing the almost desperate tone in his voice, combined with the sound of him slapping his hips to yours and the feeling of his cock moving in and out of you was becoming overwhelming. 

“Oh my god!” A loud moan ripples through you, the feeling of your release coming near. 

“Almost, my love,” he moans, speeding up the pace of his thrust. He inhales sharply, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulls you up, quickly pounding into you. Completely losing control, trying to get deeper as if that was possible and lets his forehead rest against yours. With one last push of his hips, you get to your breaking point and cum, screaming. Henry feels your walls clamp around him and let’s go, fully satisfied. The noise he made was an orgasm on its own. He keeps himself against you when he lets go inside of you. You could feel Henry’s cum filling you as you slowly come down from your high. You feel his cum dripping out of you, almost proud of what you made him do. 

He is about to roll off of you to cuddle up beside you, but you stop him by tightening your legs around him. “Please stay like this,” you whisper, your brain still a bit muddled by the amazing orgasm you just had seconds ago. He smiles down at you.

“Don’t be a silly goose,” he kisses your nose, “I would crush you,” Henry says endeared with a cheeky grin and pulls you into his side. You feel warm and safe. You yawn, blinking away when your eyes become watery.

“I can’t move,” biting your bottom lip, you snuggle closer to him, “and my throat hurts like hell.”

Henry lowers his hand to your ass and gives it a firm squeeze, “I’m not surprised. Oh doll, the sounds you were making,” he bites his bottom lip, closing his eyes. 

You laugh and roll your eyes. Henry nipped at your neck, making you erupt into a fit giggles. He chuckles, leaving a kiss on the spot he had just bitten. 

Henry trails his hands up and down your back. You closed your eyes and tangle your leg in between his, really liking the feeling. His chest was heavenly and just being in his arms felt amazing. He almost lulled you back to sleep the moment he began to run his fingers through your hair. 

“That good, huh? Almost fucked you back to sleep,” he chuckles. 

“It was alright, I guess,” you tease him. He raises his eyebrows, eyes twinkling with joy. 

“How would you rate the experience?” 

Tilting your head to look up at him, “Hmm, ten I guess.”

He looked very pleased with that.

“Out of twenty,” you finish. 

“OUT OF TWENTY?” He sobered up, staring at your face with a shocked expression. 

You snicker, climbing into his lap, “No, honey, I was just joking, I’m sorry.” A big pout forming on your face, making you look oh so innocent. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to put you up on all fours and take you like that, don’t tempt me,” he says, shaking his head. Wiggling your brows you grin and kiss the dimple on his chin. 

“As much as I would enjoy that, I think Kal has to go potty and we have to eat.”

After some hushed pillow talk and hoarse giggles between the silky sheets, you two decide to move downstairs and start making some fresh coffee. When you lift your body out of the bed, a light throbbing shoots between your legs. You almost fall back into the mattress, making Henry roar with laughter. You end up getting a piggy back ride down the stairs, only wearing a v-neck shirt from Henry that fell just below the curve of your ass and showed plenty of cleavage. Your lilac panties were fully on display and your almost black hair looked like a lion’s main on top of your head, but you didn’t care. 

The both of you were still in that bubbly, fulfilled state of mind, looking like two drugged out kids, wearing blissful smiles. When you got to the kitchen, Kal bounded around the corner, coming from the sitting area, his tail wildly sweeping through the air. Eyes sparkling with happiness when he saw his parents finally had left the bed. 

“早上，宝宝” (morning, baby) You greet him, still on Henry’s back. Kal gives you a high “woof” as to say good morning back. After living with Henry and Kal for around eight months now, the akita started to pick up on a few Chinese phrases. He even decided the pet name ‘宝宝’ (bao bao), which means baby or darling, was only to be applied on him and nobody else. 

Every time you would video call with your Chinese speaking friends, and they talked about or to their children, Kal would cheerfully patter over, thinking they were cooing at him instead of the small infant in the background. But you thought it was the sweetest thing ever, he was your little fur baby after all. 

“I’m going to make us some omelets, is that alright with you, darling,” Henry asked, already opening the fridge and looking for the carton of eggs.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you call out to him. You give Kal his breakfast and receive many, wet kisses in return. Shuffling back over to your boyfriend, you lean against the dark green counter with its wooden countertops, and look at him carefully chopping up some bell peppers and onion, only wearing his joggers and a tank top. You were a lucky girl, and you knew it. Henry sends you a grin and winks before turning back to cutting the vegetables.

You begin to brew some fresh coffee for Henry, and put on the kettle for your morning tea. While he was finishing up breakfast, you start to read the newspaper to him. He absolutely adored it when you’d read to him, due to your accent becoming more noticeable. Kal came over to you, stuffing his wet nose against the hand you held out to him. “You’re such a good boy, Kal. Yes, you are,” you tell him in a baby voice, “you’re my little angel aren’t you? 我的小天使” 

You clean the table, after eating your breakfast and get ready for the day. Henry was already out to go on a walk with Kal. It did indeed snow last night and everything outside was hidden underneath a thin sheet of white snow, so you made sure Henry was wrapped up in a thick scarf you made him and a black beanie. After giving you a kiss as if he was off to fight in a war, he and Kal happily walked through the front door, into the freezing cold. Him whistling and Kal buzzing with excitement. 

Brushing your teeth and doing your makeup, you dance through the bathroom, in a good mood. You grab your phone that was propped up against the mirror, planning to put on the podcast you had been enjoying lately. You freeze seeing all the notifications, not having heard your phone due to it being on ‘quiet’. You swallow.

Oh shit.

There you were, plastered on the internet for everyone to see and laugh at. You and Henry making out on the parking lot of the Chinese supermarket. Was he going to be angry with you? It was your fault for teasing him after all. Oh no no no…

‘Henry Cavill and girlfriend were spotted having a steamy make out session outside local grocery store’

The headline read, making your face as red as a tomato. Trying to fight against it, you couldn’t hold yourself from reading the next paragraph. 

Being in the middle of winter, doesn’t stop these two lovebirds from having a heated make out session in a parking lot!

Yesterday early in the evening, Witcher-superstar Henry Cavill was spotted with (to some) much younger girlfriend, designer, Y/N Y/L/N. The two have  recently confirmed their relationship with an Instagram post from Cavill, showing a candid of Y/N, with the short caption ‘My sunshine enjoying the sun shine’. Last month Vogue came out with a video featuring Y/L/N in which Cavill and his dog Kal made an appearance, making fans go wild. It seems like the two really are living the life and we are excited to see more of them together!

Want to know more about the stars? Subscribe to STAR NEWS! 

This was it. You could already hear your sweet grandma, praying to the ancestors to forgive you for your sins, lighting all the incense she could find. You were a disgrace to the family now. It wasn’t that you were ashamed or felt bad about doing it, hell, everybody in the position would gladly sit on Henry’s shoulders and stick their tongue down his throat. You were just disappointed you got caught.

From downstairs you hear the door close with a loud thump and the pitter-patter from Kal’s nails on the hardwood floor, letting you know your two boys were back home. You nervously descend the flight of stairs, holding your head low and tightly clutching your phone in hand. 

“Hey, lovey! you really missed something, Kal and I could practically ice skate over the walking trails, it was so much fun!” Henry says enthusiastically as he hears you wander into the living room. You ignore him and plop down on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes. 

A frown makes its way onto his face. 

“What are you sorry for, sweet girl?” His eyes hold a concerned look, not understanding what you were talking about. You huff out a breath and hand him your phone so he could see the article. 

A roaring laugh sounds through the open space, making your head shoot up. “Yeah, I saw it this morning when I went and checked my Instagram,” he chuckles, face still rosy from going outside. 

“We really gave the paparazzi a field day, didn’t we?” He continues.

“Your ass looks great in this pic, though. Look,” pointing to the one were he had you lifted over his shoulder, but softens his voice when he sees how tense you were. 

“Aw, doll, loosen up, I’m not mad or anything, if that’s what you think. I’m rather pleased now that everybody can see how happy we are and how much joy you bring me,” he lets you know nonchalantly, pressing a smooch to your forehead and starts to march towards the kitchen.

“You want another cuppa, lovey?”

And just like that, you were back in your good mood, perplexed at how well he took all of this. 

Don’t be a silent reader! Show some love by reblogging and commenting, did it make you laugh, scream, smile? Let me know, it would make my day!

Much love, Nahmi xxx

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[saphirered]

Hey! You asked for individual character requests, so how about Vex x Reader (I thought I’d give you a break from EXU as well), where the reader has a massive crush on Vex, but is unfortunately really scared of Trinket? And maybe something about Vex helping them to relax and bond? Thanks regardless! I love your writing x

Thanks for requesting! This was definitely a fun one to write so I hope you enjoy! 😘

-

You may or may not like Vex. Okay, maybe a but more than just like, closer to a major crush but how could you not? Vex’s intelligent, quick-witted, drop dead gorgeous and don’t even get started on the woman’s charm or you might just swoon. Gods above, you’ve fallen for the half-elf hard. The worst part; you know she likes you too. She’s stated so several times, flirting with you more than anyone else and not just to get something from you. She’s not shy about it and takes every opportunity she can get to make you blush. It’s great, or would be great were it not for your very reasonable fear for big hulking bears and Vex just happens to call one such bear her closest of buddies if not closer to a fur baby.

You’re not sure what to do. Trinket, you know, is nothing short of lovely but you cannot get over your fears no matter how much you may like Vex. You’ve kept your distance and retreated within your shell every time the big grizzly is around. Bears are scary. Sharp claws and teeth, super strong. They can climb, swim and run. They’re great trackers too so there’s really no getting away from them.

“Darling, do you have a moment?” You’re seated at the table scribbling away on some paperwork you needed to take care of. Someone has to assure there’s any food and drink left after Grog has one of his solo exclusive parties again. They’re not really parties and only consist of him inviting Scanlan and Vax for a night of binging food and ale until the sun comes up but you’re always out of groceries right after.

Vex peaks around the corner leaning on the doorpost arms crossed. You put down your pen and nod. Vex nods her own head to the hallways behind her and you get the message getting up and following her to wherever she’s leading you. There’s a determination in her step but she tries to cover everything else which leaves you worried just a bit. What’s she up to?

“Vex, where are we going?” You fall in line next to her as you begin to ascend the stairs.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ve found the perfect sight I think you might enjoy and simply wouldn’t want you to miss out before the weather changes. I’d like to discuss some things with you too so, two birds one stone?” Okay that does sound like a reasonable explanation. Maybe almost a little too reasonable now you think of it. You continue walking until you’re stopped in front of a door, Vex opens it and allows you to step in.

Immediately you see the late afternoon sun shine through the clouds, casting rays of golden light upon the landscape contrasting with the darkened grey of the rain ahead. It’s an absolutely beautiful sight. You enter the room walking up to the window as Vex steps in and closes the door behind her. You hear a grumble and a soft but forceful ‘shh’ behind you.

“Just my stomach. I’m afraid I haven’t had lunch yet. Would you like to enjoy some with me?” You turn around at the offer, seeing the table to the side set with lunch for two and a huge plate of fresh fish. A brown grizzly tries to nibble on the tail of one fish in an attempt to pull it off the plates without his momma noticing and is quickly scolded.

“Trinket! What did I say! Stay hidden!” Vex scolds the bear as you squeal making a break for the door but Vex is quicker and grabs you by the arms stroking your shoulders in a calming motion as Trinket growls in shame, for disappointing Vex and being tempted by the delicious fish.

“Let me go, Vex.” You almost beg and Vex offers you a sad smile.

“I’m afraid I can’t just yet. I wanted to ease you into this but as we’re a bit short on time, we’ll have to take this route. Now calm down, just breathe, in and out. That’s it.” You do as she says, Vex guiding you and preventing a mental breakdown of being face to face with your fear in an enclosed space. Her presence makes it a little better knowing she at least is able to control Trinket to an extend and you know he won’t attack you outright but doesn’t get rid of the fear.

“Now, are you alright to sit down or am I going to have to tie you up to prevent you from running? I’m not opposed to the latter but I think we’d both prefer better circumstances.” Vex jokes, or half jokes. You know her well enough for that. You nod and she guides you over to the table, sitting you down on one chair while taking the other next to you, rubbing circles in your back to keep some nerves at bay as trinket makes himself comfortable, laying down, eyes closed but occasionally peaking, pretending to be asleep, much akin to a young child having been told to go to bed.

“Shall we eat?” Vex gestures to the set table and you have to admit the food does look divine, maybe minus the plate of fish though. You look between her and Trinket. You can do this. You’ve been in the same space as Trinket plenty of times before. Granted, those times the spaces were much bigger and there were several people between you and the bear at all times.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I could do with some food.” Your voice shakes but Vex smiles anyway. Small steps are better than none at all. She half expected you to have made a break for the window. She took all the precautions and ‘fear-proofed’ the room just in case. Awkwardly you’re eating and if Vex has learned one thing from animals is they don’t eat when they really mistrust the company, so people can’t be much different right? Vex attempts small talk asking you about your day and such and while you replied you always keep an eye on Trinket not so successfully pretending to be a sleep even mustering a fake snore.

Halfway through Vex keeps staring at you absentmindedly playing with her food leaning her chin upon her enclosed fist. She’s got plenty of ideas running through her head but all are circumstantial. Maybe she’ll go for a hail Mary.

“Darling, do you trust me?” The question makes you look at her confused. Have you done anything to show that you don’t? You don’t think so.

“Of course I do. You’ve saved my life more than I can count. I trust you more than anyone.” You admit a bit wary of where this is going but it’s Vex and what you said is true.

“Could you close your eyes for me?” You look between her and Trinket biting your lip. You do trust Vex but within your own head a battle between that love and trust for her and your fear for the big fuzzy animal rages on. What are you supposed to do?

Vex sees your struggle and gets up from her seat. She gracefully walks around the table making sure your eyes stay focussed on her and kneels down in front of you. Taking both of your hands in hers she squeezes them softly and gives you a gentle comforting smile.

“I want you to know your trust is not misplaced so I’ll give you this.” Vex takes the necklace from her neck and puts it around yours.

“Now I want this back when we leave this room but for now you’re in control of it. Will you close your eyes for me?” She asks once more. Her expression says enough to let you know if you don’t want this you don’t have to and literally anything but closing your eyes will show her you’re not ready yet and that would be okay. There’s no shame in taking small steps or finding a different approach. She’d come to terms with that too but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved and happy when you nodded and closed your eyes.

Darkness. That’s all you see, and the occasional movement of light outside bleeding through distorting that darkness from time to time. You’re hyper focused on your other senses and you’re unsure wether that be because of closing one sense off or because you’re practically shaking with fear awaiting for that fight or flight reaction to kick in. You smell the sweet fruit from your plate, the gentle kick of the fermented grape juice, and of course the slight saltiness of fresh fish. You hear a grumbled moan and the sound of paws-no sharp nails hitting the fine stone floor step by step almost drowned out by the soft whispers of encouragement of Vex.

Trinket, as quietly and carefully as he can makes his way over to you. Vex shushes him a couple of times and the bear loyalty obeys the commands, laying down at your side. Vex takes one of your hands and you jump a little when she does so she turns to rubbing circles in the back of it as she guides your hand away from your lap towards Trinket.

“You’re doing great.” Vex can feel the gentle shake of your hand but you don’t resist so very slowly she guides you towards Trinket until your fingers touch his fur. You breathe in sharply holding your breath upon contact and freeze up, waiting for something to happen, be that a sharp claw slashing out at you, teeth munching down on you, a roar in your face but none of these come. Even Trinket awaits in suspense for your responses, his bear senses giving him enough insight in your discomfort.

Once you’ve gotten a moment to adjust Vex takes her hand off yours watching both you and Trinket. You don’t dare open your eyes yet but in the back of your mind you hear words of encouragement. You’re doing great. You got this and before you know it your fingers glide, all be it a little rigid and awkwardly, through Trinket’s fur.

“Perfect, darling. You’re doing absolutely wonderful.” You nod afraid to speak and break the spell you definitely must be under with this newfound courage.

Vex couldn’t be more proud of you. When you walked in here she wasn’t even sure she could have you be in the same room as Trinket for more than ten minutes and now you’re petting the bear. She watches as you slowly peak through one eye and when you deem the coast clear open the other too watching in amazement.

“He’s so soft…” You breathe barely audible and Vex laughs. Trinket grumbles at the compliment making you pull away your hand and jump a little but when no repercussion comes you put it back and continue petting the bear, who begins purring softly almost akin to an oversized cat. You can still feel your heartbeat in your throat but this is going relatively okay until you begin seeing spots and you start feeling dizzy. Vex notices and pulls your hand away from Trinket offering you your glass.

“Maybe that’s enough for now? We’ll take it easy.” You nod and feel the nerves subside as Trinket returns to his comfy spot by the window. It may be best not to push your luck and drive yourself into a panic attack.

“Don’t worry, darling. Before you know it we’ll have you riding into battle on Trinket’s back. Won’t you like that Trinket?” She shouts over her shoulder to the bear who replies in a happy moan. Vex pours you another glass of wine after she watches the colour drain from your face. Let’s stick to small steps. But for now, the first ones have been taken. Besides, she can’t deny you’ll look absolutely marvellous riding into battle on her favourite Trinket.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #vox machina x reader #vex x reader #vex'ahlia x reader #critical role #vox machina #vex’ahlia

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love Pt. 2 (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T? Maybe? Almost the exact opposite of the first one. Language, minor violence Genre: Fluff, mainly, with admittedly a little bit of humor? I blame my lack of sleep. And my adhd. Warnings: Implied cannibalism adjacent activities because guess what honey, this is a fucked up family, what do you expect of me??? Sure, they have breakfast in this, there's cute stuff, but c'mon, they don't eat flowers and oatmeal! Notes: Doubt it needs to be said, but this is a sequel to the good ending of part one. Also Cass has one line in this that might be OOC, or seem oddly placed, but admittedly this chapter is also loosely based on a dream I had, and I couldn't not include the few direct quotations I remembered, and she seemed the most likely to say the line. And yes, there will be a part 3, because I am weak and also kind of maybe made this one less plot-moving than intended.

{Wounded Love: The re-woundening}

Every step ached more than the last, even with Alcina supporting you. She had wanted to carry you down the stairs, of course, but you had insisted that you would be fine. Now you were just determined not to complain out loud. One yelp or cry and you’d be scooped up in her arms, surely to be carried for the rest of the day. As much as you appreciated your girlfriend’s assistance, you hated feeling useless, and hated putting a burden on others. So here you were, one arm wrapped around Alcina’s waist, limping ever-so-slowly towards the dining room.

Further ahead (unburdened by your injury) the three Dimitrescu daughters talk among themselves, voices hushed as they too headed for breakfast. It was odd to see them all awake, and socializing, as there was usually at least one who came to meals late. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with your condition… or the circumstances that had caused it.

Less than eighteen hours had passed since your fight with a stray lycan, and tension had been high since. While you hadn’t yet spoken to the sisters, you had spoken to Alcina, who had briefly mentioned their concern for you. Whether they actually cared about you as a person or just cared because you are dating their mother is unclear. Based on how they had acted while treating your wounds, though, you were inclined to think that they were fond of you. And seeing as Alcina had already vowed to get revenge on your behalf… well, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that her daughters intended to assist.

“Careful on the last step, dear,” Alcina says, positioned as to catch you if you fell. It takes a little willpower to resist the urge to hop down the rest of the way. As long as you landed on your uninjured leg, it wouldn’t even be that bad. Still, irritating your girlfriend first thing in the morning felt like a pretty stupid thing to do. Instead you just nodded, slowing down even more, and took visible care not to trip. “Good girl.”

Well, you certainly couldn’t say that being careful didn’t have its rewards.

“I have my moments,” you replied, blush rising to your cheeks. Suddenly your pain didn’t feel so bad (at least until you took another step and winced). “Damn, who woulda thought that cutting a chunk out of my leg would make it hurt more?” The leg in question throbbed in pain, as if to prove your point, protesting the weight you put on it. Changing the angle at which you stood helped some, allowing the lower half of the limb to bear more of the burden.

“Dearest…” Alcina starts to say, looking like she was going to readdress her desire to carry you. For a moment you try to avoid her gaze, but she moves in front of you, making sure that you could still hold onto her for support. “I know how you feel, how you want, desperately, to be independent. When I was first… granted this gift, it took a long time to adjust. There was so much I had to relearn how to do, so much that I suddenly needed done for me.” A pause, a deep breath. At last you look up at your girlfriend, warmth in your heart, reaching out to hold her hand. “You have time, my dear, and plenty of it. More than that… this will not last forever. The more you push yourself, the longer your recovery will take. Now, please, allow me to assist. You have already proven how strong you are.”

“Oh, you drive a hard bargain… but if you insist, who am I to decline? Or, well, who am I to decline twice in a row?” You answer, somewhat begrudgingly. It wasn’t much farther to the dining room, you figured, so it wouldn’t be much of a loss to accept help. Or at least that was what you told yourself. Even with Alcina’s encouragement it was so hard for you to accept her help. After all, you were the one that worked for her. Never mind the fact that she was somewhat responsible for your injury- really, you were actively avoiding thinking about that.

It’s much easier to forget once Alcina carefully picks you up. One arm goes under your legs, the other under your chest, lifting you without any effort. You might as well have been a kitten or a child’s toy. The movement does, however, shift your injured leg in such a way that it aches. At this point you can hardly move the limb at all without it hurting, and even the slightest friction against the bandage makes your eyes water.

Apparently someone would be delivering some painkillers later in the day. You assumed it would be The Duke (whose name is apparently not Doug, as you had thought), seeing as he knew some special way to get to and fro without risking the same fate that had befallen you. Which, of course, made you feel a lot better. Getting someone else hurt would weigh on your mind forever.

Regardless, you were safe now, as was your strange, bloody little family. Before long you would even be enjoying a pleasant meal together. Certainly that would help get your mind off of your wound? For now, though, you were met with an unexpected impasse. The sort of impasse that really, really should have been expected.

“Why… is the doorway… so small?” You asked, jokingly, as you stare into the mildly embarrassed face of your girlfriend. It’s already hard enough for her to crouch through the gap normally. When she’s carrying you? Impossible. “Can we ask Mother Miranda for bigger doors? She gave you eternal life and also three kids, she’s gotta be capable of making bigger doors. Put me down, I’ll go call her and-”

“That won’t be necessary, dear,” Alcina cuts you off, not fully appreciating this part of your humor. Or maybe she had already asked for bigger doors, only to be told no?... Okay, yeah, it was probably the first option. With a sigh she sets you down, as gently as she can manage. Ready and raring to go, you start to hobble forward, only to find all three of the daughters waiting for you, just beyond the door. They’re grinning as they watch you, and Bela extended her arm to offer her help. “What appears to be the matter?” Alcina asks from behind you. Accepting your fate and Bela’s arm, you let the sisters guide you to the table, Cassandra holding your other side, and Daniela pulls your chair out for you. Honestly it’s pretty adorable. Evidently your girlfriend agrees, from the way she smiles as she follows.

“Thank you,” you say, more out of reflex than genuine gratitude. Again, you weren’t thrilled about needing this assistance. If the girls notice they’re at least polite enough not to mention it. They simply move to their own seats at the large table, eager to dig in. It feels… strange, to be here, on this side of things. Stranger still to realize you’re the only one intending to eat actual food. There’s wine in your glass, but it’s a much fainter red than those you’ve previously served to your girlfriend. Thank goodness, you think, after how raw my throat was yesterday, I really don’t need to taste any more blood.

Once Lady Dimitrescu sits down, the meal formally begins, with several maidens appearing from the kitchen. Several seem relieved to see you, although surprised, and one even gave you a brief smile. The smile did not last, however. It wasn’t unexpected, considering the nature of her job, the pressures that it put upon her. No one smiled at mealtimes. Well, no maidens, that is. They simply moved around, wordlessly, faces blank, doing exactly as instructed. Only a few days ago you had been among them, fear keeping you in line. Was it wrong of you to care for Alcina, knowing what she was capable of doing to others? Knowing what she might have, in another life, done to you?

A maiden places a plate of warm food, as well as a bowl of fresh fruit, in front of you. For a moment your eyes meet, but she looks away instinctively. Your heart threatens to break.

“This looks wonderful, thank you for your hard work, all of you,” you speak up, glancing at each of the women working so hard. There’s more you want to say that dries in your throat; you are valued, you are deserving, someday I will join your ranks again.

“You don’t need to thank them, they’re just doing their jobs,” Cassandra chimes from the other side of the table. Hearing her say that damn near makes you drop your fork. It’s not an uncommon settlement, particularly among older generations and the rich, but one that irks you nonetheless.

“They’re doing my job. They are taking on extra work, for no pay, because I am injured. Why would I be so cruel as to ignore them? Have I not toiled alongside them enough to call them my kin?” You ask, struggling to keep your voice even. Next to you Alcina is slowly cutting into her meat, watching the scene unfold out of the corner of her eyes, perhaps considering when to step in. On the other end of the table, Bela looks increasingly uncomfortable, as if silently willing her sister into silence. None of the maidens have reacted to what you said, likely too afraid of Cassandra to even consider speaking.

“Ooooh, this is much more fun than our usual breakfasts,” Daniela says, stifling a giggle. “Do you have any other thoughts you’d like to share? Preferably ones that aren’t about me.” At this, Alcina sets her utensils down, clearly intending to put an end to the discussion. Unfortunately for her, you were a bit… impulsive, especially considering the previous night’s activities had left your mind struggling to cope.

“Dead lycans smell terrible. Literally the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, easily, no question about it,” you answer, shrugging a little as you do. It’s such a simple thought that you almost don’t realize how the others at the table react. Until the clatter of silverware on the table catches your attention, that is. All three sisters are eying you with different expressions (Bela is confused, Cass is impressed, and Daniela looks shocked). But it’s Alcina’s wide-eyed stare that gets you to elaborate. “Should I have said ‘a dead lycan’? I only got one, so I guess I shouldn’t say they all smell bad. C’mon, though, they have to all smell bad, right?”

Suddenly Daniela shifts from shock to pure amusement, a fit of giggles overtaking her. You’re still confused, not sure what the matter was, so you just sip your wine and hope someone asks the right questions.

“You… killed the lycan that attacked you?” Bela finally says, after a few moments of her sister laughing, expression still incredulous. When you nod she sort of shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “May I ask how you managed that?”

“Oh, you know, I just meh meh-” you mime a stabbing motion with your fork- “until the stupid thing stopped moving. I had to use a tree branch as a weapon, but then it broke after a few whacks, which actually helped because then I had two stabbing implements to, you know, stab with. That’s right around when it got my leg, and it tried to bite me. Thankfully it wasn’t very smart, so when it leapt at me I just hyah-” this time an upwards strike- “right into its neck. That didn’t kill it, but it was enough to slow it down, which allowed me to stab the other half of the branch into its skull. Made this horrible, horrible sound as it died. Seeing as we are eating, I will not imitate the sound. Not that I could, now that I think about it…”

Once again there’s silence. Even Daniela has quieted now, and is watching you with rapt interest, likely hoping that you’re hiding another story up your sleeves.

“So… did you guys actually think that I managed to run away from the lycan? Or were you under the impression that it simply got bored of me and left?” You ask, casually returning to your breakfast afterwards. No one says anything, at first, taking in your words as best as they can. A few moments later both Daniela and Bela resume their meal, as nonchalant as one could be in the current situation. Alcina, however, rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze with a loving look.

“You will never cease to amaze me, my dear. But let us ensure you never have to… smell, or see, one of those wretched things again, yes?” She says, softly squeezing you as she does. You can’t help but agree, and nod eagerly, mouth too full of hashbrowns to speak. Still, there’s been a shift in the atmosphere of the room. It’s not that the family didn’t respect you before, as far as you can tell, but they evidently hadn’t expected you to prove as capable as you had. It brings a sense of pride to the forefront of your mind, making you completely forget about your injury for the remainder of the meal.

Unable to stop yourself, you insist on helping the other maidens clean up, and Alcina eventually agrees to let you wash a few dishes- as long as you stay sitting the entire time. The last thing you hear before you shuffle off to the kitchen is the start of a conversation between Cassandra and her mother.

“You picked quite a feisty one, didn’t you?”

“That I did, that I did…”

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #ya boy is a simp and also technically not a boy #i am ill defined and like it #please appreciate this #if you put nice things in the tags I WILL read it #and I WILL love you for it

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I would m u r d e r for some tom x reader x pump and skid (platonic of course)

Reader has to babysit pump and skid but they also want they're black eyed boyfriend to hang out with them and tom actually gets along with them.

(also he totally doesn't want kids after that)

- Kneecaps anon

"So...why are your eyes black, mister Tom? Are you a spooky demon?"

"Ah well, it's a long story. You see-"

"Oh, Pump!! The ice cream man is here!" Skid interrupted the conversation, before he turned to you, clasping his hands and giving you the infamous puppy-eyes. "May we have some money for ice cream, pleeeaaaase???"

You sighed, knowing that you couldn't refuse. This kid was just too polite for his own good. So you took out your wallet and gave him and Pump some cash. "Here you go, boys. Get whatever you want."

"Yay! Thank you, [y/n]!" They both shouted in unison before they raced out the door.

After it slammed shut, Tom looked at you with an amused smile. "They seem like good kids. But..are they always wearing those costumes?"

"Yeah. They love Halloween."

"...but it's summertime."

"Doesn't matter to them. Every month is spooky month, according to them." You shrugged as you sat back on the couch, briefly looking outside to see the boys getting their ice cream.

Lila had to work today so she called you up to ask if you could babysit the two. You would've felt bad for leaving Tom all alone, though, and thus you invited him along. They were ecstatic to meet him, convinced he was "spooky" because of his eyes.

You reassured him that wasn't a bad thing. It was their own way of complimenting him, so he felt better knowing that.

Tom looked around the house, noticing a hung family portrait of the kids, Lila, and...a monster with a lemon-shaped head?

"Who's that?" He pointed to the frame.

"Oh! That's Lemon Demon." You explained. "They're not actually married. Lemon just kinda became their dad one day, since Pump doesn't have any parents and Skid's dad isn't around anymore."

"Huh, a dad who resembles a fruit...that's funny....."

Hearing the sad tone in his voice, you shifted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, I know you miss him.." You kissed his cheek, to which he sighed, frowning a bit.

Of course, how could you forget? His dad resembled a pineapple. He never talked much about when he lost him, only mentioning something about guns and bears while he was drunk one night. But you won't force him to tell you unless he was ready.

In that moment, the door opened and Skid and Pump rushed back in with popsicles. Upon seeing how sad Tom looked, they went to the sofa, climbing onto it.

"What's wrong, Mr. Tom?" Pump asked, concerned. "Did I say something bad about your eyes?"

"No, don't worry about it." Tom slightly smiled at him, patting his head. "You wanna tell me more about your dad? This "Lemon Demon" guy?"

"Oh!!" The pumpkin's eyes lit up. "Yeah! He's the best! And so is Eyes but lemme tell you how we met Lemmy!"

And he explained the story about how this monster tried tricking him and Skid into kidnapping someone's girlfriend for candy. But after some time Lemon became attached to them and felt bad for using them for his own selfish desires. So they introduced him to Lila and the two quickly fell in love.

Tom was surprised by the story--and a bit confused--though it seemed to distract him from the sad thoughts of his own family.

You, on the other hand, were impressed with how humble the kids were. They only met your boyfriend for a short while, and they cared for him so much..even moreso than his lifelong friends Edd and Matt.

Eventually, they both finished and glanced at you. "[Y/n], may we use the Ouija board?" Skid asked. "We wanna cheer up mister Tom by introducing him to our new friend!"

"Sure," you chuckled. "You know where the candles are?"

"Umm...no."

"That's okay. We'll show you."

"...we?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. It'll be cool. Now c'mon, to the attic we go!" Standing, you grabbed his hands to pull him up. He complied, knowing there was no way out of this.

"Fine...but I better not get possessed."

...........

Surprisingly there was no destruction nor possession as the spooky skids summoned a demon with the Ouija board. It was just taught the "spooky dance" and seemed to enjoy it a lot before returning to the underworld.

Tom wasn't freaked out--as he's used to seeing bizarre things--only confused at how some silly dance could tame such monsters.

By the time everything was packed up and put away, you heard a car beep from downstairs. "It's mom!" Skid jumped to his feet and dashed off, you and the others following suit.

Once Lila paid you and Tom--who was stunned that he actually got money from just sitting around and watching the kids--you both said goodbye and went on your way back home.

"Y'know they seem spoiled but..they're actually kinda cool." He remarked.

"What?" You gawked at him, putting a hand to your chest dramatically. "Tom doesn't think children are annoying for once?? Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend?"

He just chuckled at your act. "Yes, yes I admit they're alright. Big deal. I wouldn't mind if my kids ever turned out like that."

"Yeah I don't mind the Halloween obsession--wait..hold the phone." You stopped in your tracks. "You actually...want kids?"

"I-I mean..not now obviously. Just a thought." Pink dusted his cheeks as he looked away from you, slightly flustered. Though you simply smiled and hugged his arm, continuing your walk.

"Well, seeing how you were around Skid and Pump, I think you'd make a great dad."

#wow fnf eddsworld and spooky month #as mr peanutbutter would say: 'what is this? a crossover episode?' ghshgh #clanask #kneecaps anon #eddsworld x reader #ew tom x reader #spooky month x reader #fnf x reader #not rly but eh

[boldbrash-fandertrash]

Ignore me, unless I’m right in which case I fucking called it

So I was rewatching the episode for the fourth time and one I realized that Remus is much much smarter than we give him credit for and two I can generally predict how the rest of the story is gonna go.

We’re gonna have another aside video with Patton and Janus before the big season finale, and that aside is going to be one of the most important videos to the general progression of the plot.

I’m sure you’ve noticed the pattern so far, two sides who diametrically oppose each other being forced to work together on a problem they vastly disagree about, usually turning the small issue into something much messier than it ever would be and them learning something about themselves in the process.

Each pairing exists to point out to the viewer exactly what issues exist with each side that need some form of resolving, and the big unifying theme amongst them is “you’re not listening to me”. Roman and Virgil dragging Thomas across the cafeteria in favor of or agains him talking to Nico, Logan and Remus deliberately ignoring and working to undo the others work in an attempt to break Thomas out of the depressive funk he found himself in. Nobody is working together here. The only side to even remotely cooperate with the group was Virgil body checking Thomas into Nico, and it took him and Roman bullying each other and Thomas for an entire video to even get to that point.

Watching Logan and Remus interact, one, brought me immense joy and I will be chasing that high for weeks to come, and two, after an ounce of critical thinking was frankly painful to watch. Any critiques Logan offered to Remus were immediately discarded with absurdity and any critiques Remus offered to Logan were discounted as absurd.

During the obvious scene at the end with the Eyes™️, Logan claimed he wasn’t pretending Remus didn’t exist, but honestly, he kinda was.

The Dunce Cap Scene really accentuates this point. Logan pulls a holier than thou, why won’t you learn I’m always right, bullshit passive aggressive remark, Remus does his dramatic repenting student shtick, starts singing directly into Logan’s ear, and makes a kink joke. Literally the words Remus sings are “can’t fix this guy, all by yourself”. Remus is saying this inches from Logan’s personal face and even still the logical side ignores him outright, because of all the fluff around the message. Hell, in Remus’s introduction video, Logan likens him to a screaming baby on a plane, essentially saying “well eventually he’ll stop screaming so just bear with it for a while and you’ll be fine”. He’s ignoring Remus outright due to a preconceived notion and missing out on valuable information because of it.

The dunce cap scene indirectly calls back to learning new things about ourselves, where Logan is completely unreceptive to the puppet bit because of its perceived absurdity and absolutely refuses to acknowledge any potential the medium might have for learning until he physically cannot anymore.

Remus is capable of, and does often, make valid points and offers genuine critiques of shit happening in their lives. In Forbidden Fruit, almost every single line harkens back to some idea the other sides had been trying, and failing, to communicate to Thomas. “Good and bad is all made up nonsense”, “if you shared those musings with your friends i doubt they would forgive you”, “why deny yourself knowledge, say, knowledge of yourself” “people don’t like me much, Thomas, but that only just cause I’m honest”, “these sorts of things are only thought in the mind of a man who’s soul is truly rotten.”

Despite all of this, he is ignored outright because of his medium. Just like Logan is ignored due to his monotone cadence and large volume of content, just like Roman is due to his flair for the dramatic and artistic display of ideas, just like Patton is due to his playful and childlike nature, just like Janus is due to his perceived role as the Villain, just like Virgil /was/ due to his perceived role as the villain.

They all have become accustomed to being stepped on by the other sides because of who they are and how they communicate, and have in turn learned some less than ideal methods of being heard again. Logan yells and gets passive aggressive, Remus ups the fear factor for everyone around him, Roman shuts down anyone who tries to talk through bullying and raising his voice, Patton manipulates the others into feeling guilt and covers it up with a smile, Virgil whips out the tempest tongue and incites fear in Thomas, and Janus physically silences anyone in his way.

And here’s why I say the next asides episode is going to be the most important one developmentally. Patton and Janus are going to be forced to work together. Patton, who is in the midst of an identity crisis, and willing to listen to any new ideas provided they offer a valid solution to the shit he’s found himself in, and Janus, who knows a lot more than he’s willing to let on, who concerns himself exclusively with Thomas’s self preservation, and loves to talk when given the opportunity. Janus is gonna have a thing or two to say to Patton when they’re inevitably faced with their moral dilemma, and Patton is going to be in just the right mindset that he’s willing to listen. And Janus is going to end up being right, and the small issue they’re facing will be resolved, which will therefore strengthen Patton’s trust, and his openness to changing for the better.

Patton is goofy, and childish, and kinda ditzy sometimes, and because of that we as a fandom tend to overlook any of his moments that are anything but that, but we are not giving this man enough credit. When Patton sets his heart on something, he throws his whole self into it, and is willing to stand up for his beliefs in the face of extreme opposition, and would gladly do anything in his power to defend his family. Once Patton decides that he’s willing to grow, and if he believes that this growth will help put his family back together, nothing can stop him, and that will be absolutely crucial for the growth of all the other sides around him.

Whatever him and Janus discuss during their aside will absolutely give Patton the information he needs to help stitch together the rift between everyone.

I predict the next official Sanders Sides video is going to be the longest one yet, possibly over an hour long, because there’s a LOT of work that is going to need to be done, and Everyone is going to be in it. The big issue of “you’re not listening to me” won’t be resolved, but it will be acknowledged in a serious light by everyone. We won’t be getting any appearances from the Orange Side I don’t think, that would end up just complicating matters even more when each character is already incredibly shaky in their own identity.

Something less than ideal is gonna happen between Thomas and Nico, he’s gonna summon the initial three to deal with the matter but the other lads are gonna worm their way into the discussion, everyone’s gonna start screaming at each other, and Pattons gonna do something that stuns everyone else into silence (I’m guessing he’ll start crying, considering the start of season two was all about him repressing negative emotions and what better way to show character growth than to sob openly on camera).

Once everyone just fucking stops for ten seconds that’s when the apologies start. None of the sides are ever the first to apologize, we’ve seen that time and time again. Their desire to be in the right as well as their pride will always get in the way, however if someone starts the apology train everyone will eventually follow suit. We see that in Alone On Valentines Day, My Negative Thinking, Growing Up, Accepting Anxiety, Fitting In, Moving On, actually in pretty much every video where an apology actually takes place, once one person apologizes the other will immediately follow suit.

Patton is gonna be a goddamn mess, he’s gonna apologize to everyone in the room for anything he thinks he may have done to wrong them, and that’s gonna be what gets everyone to acknowledge all the shit they’ve put each other through, and the others are going to jump between trying to console him and trying to apologize to each other. They’re going to come to the unified decision that they need to work together more on future issues, the group is all going to offer up a solution and decide together on a remedy to whatever happened together between Thomas and Nico, and that will be that. Season three will be about them finding the balance between stepping on toes and being stepped over, while also working out how the orange side fits into everything.

Thus marking the end of my rant.

I started writing this at 2 and it’s now 4. I have to be up in three hours. I have an essay due at 3pm tomorrow that I haven’t started, but instead I typed up all this bullshit. I hope any of this made any sense, and I hope this is a suitable replacement for my emotions essay that’s completely untouched because chances are this is what I’m presenting to my therapist tomorrow. Wish me luck.

#sorry for no page break I’m on mobile #I’ll be fixing that in the morning after some well deserved rest #thomas sanders #sanders sides #ts sanders sides #ts spoilers #ts patton #ts Logan #ts roman #ts Virgil #ts Janus #ts Remus #ts theory