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ladysharmaa · 1 month

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Kate mini version

Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma x sis!reader

summary: Kate's sister is sent to live with Kate and Anthony by her mother who had to travel to India and couldn't take her. Feeling that she was unwanted and intruding on the Bridgerton couple's lives, Y/n starts acting distant. When Anthony and Kate realize this, they try to make Y/n see how much she is loved by everyone

requested: yes

Y/n was sitting in her carriage for 5 minutes, not having the courage to open the door. She was outside the Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton mansion, in other words her sister and her brother-in-law. Her hands trembled in her lap as she took a deep breath to try to calm her anxiety and her irregular heartbeat.

Her mother Mary had to travel to India and decided to not let her youngest go with her. As Y/n was still too young to consider it safe to keep her at home alone, even with maids, Mary asked Anthony and Kate to welcome her into their home.

Ever since Mary's older daughter found a husband and went to live a new life, Y/n felt that her relationship with her mother got worse.

The house was quieter, both of them no longer had the usual company of the other sisters. It made Y/n realize how she couldn’t hold a conversation with Mary, at least not like Kate and Edwina. It also didn't help that Y/n was extremely similar to their father, who had already died. It seemed like Mary was grieving again for her late lover, and Y/n was the cause of it.

So, like a snowball effect, Y/n couldn't help but think that Kate and Anthony were just taking her in out of obligation, since they were family, but that she was actually considered a burden for them.

"Would you like for me to open the door, Miss?" the maid who accompanied her asked with a gentle smile.

"There is no need for that, Anne. Thank you." she replied, snapping out of her thoughts.

With a last deep breath, Y/n opened the door just as Anthony and Kate were leaving the house. As soon as she saw them, Y/n bowed slightly. When she lifted her head again she found the two of them with a smile directed at her. But even so, she had doubts, after all, in this society, everyone had learned to master the fake polite smile. Kate hurried to her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Y/n! It's so nice to have you here. The house can get so quiet when the Viscount is working. It'll be great to have our conversations like we had before." Kate whispered in her ear, Y/n only responding with a small smile.

Anthony approached the younger Sharma to greet her, Y/n bowing again. "Lord Bridgerton, thank you for your hospitality. It was very kind of you."

"By all means, Miss Y/n, you are family. Now let's come inside, Phillip can bring your belongings to your room." Anthony said, linking his arm with his wife and starting to head towards the room where the maids were setting the table for the tea.

Y/n followed behind the couple, her steps cautious. She looked at the huge mansion and sighed, her fears continuously running through her mind. This was going to be a very long month.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was still quite early, the sun's rays barely illuminating the mansion. However, Y/n was already awake and ready for the day. She went down to the kitchen, wanting to help the cooks and maids. It was the least she could do, since now they were cooking for one more person and the day before they had brought her a rather late meal since she didn't eat all of dinner.

The maids were surprised to see the youngest Sharma in the kitchen, tying an apron around her waist. However, with a lot of resistance on Y/n's part, they let the girl help. Y/n had a lot of fun, the maids had a good relationship with each other, throwing in some jokes from time to time that made her laugh.

Y/n was placing the last dish on the table. She had to admit that everything looked great. The food varied from fruit to various cakes and breads. Just in time, Anthony entered the kitchen, stopping in surprise when he saw Y/n there.

"Miss Sharma, I wasn't expecting you to be awake already. It's quite early."

"I'm a morning person, Lord Bridgerton." Y/n chuckled, running her hands down her dress nervously. She then pointed to the table, desperate not to remain in an awkward silence. "Breakfast is ready."

"I see that, everything looks great." he sat at the end of the table. Y/n remained standing, looking around, causing Anthony to hesitate before asking, "Aren't you going to sit down to eat too?"

"Oh! I already ate with the maids, thank you. Hm, is my sister awake?"

Anthony clears his throat, looking down. A frown appeared on Y/n's face when she saw the man's cheeks start to turn pink. "Your sister is still sleeping. She was not feeling well last night so she couldn't sleep much."

"Very well..." The girl nodded slowly. "I shall bring her tea when she wakes up. Until then, I was hoping I could go on for a walk in the gardens? Please?"

"Of course, Y/n, you don't have to ask." Anthony nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin after drinking some orange juice. "Do you want me to ask a maid to go with you and keep you company?"

"No, it's okay, I prefer to go alone."

"No problem. In the afternoon we should go to my mother's house to play pall-mall. It would be lovely if you decided to join us."

"Oh, I'm not sure yet. I wouldn't want to interrupt your family time." Y/n looked away so as not to show the sadness she felt.

She had never even met Anthony's family properly, only meeting them briefly at the couple's wedding. Either way, with all the stories she'd heard from Kate, she doubted she'd be able to fit into the family dynamic. She was afraid that Anthony was only extending the invitation to her out of obligation to now be living with them, after all, she had never been invited even when her two sisters were.

However, with all these thoughts, the girl did not see the frown that appeared on her sister's husband's face. What do you mean she didn't want to interrupt family time when it was part of it?

Although his family never spent much time with Y/n, it was just because since she was younger, they thought she would feel more comfortable with her mother instead of being dragged around with Edwina and Kate to every event. She had lost her father and moved countries, they didn't want to overwhelm her. However, Anthony's siblings really wanted to meet her, especially Francesca and Hyacinth, who wanted to have a new friend.

"Y/n, you are family. My siblings would love to spend more time with you, especially my sisters." Anthony finally said.

"I will think about it." Y/n offered him a small smile out of politeness. "I will be heading to the gardens. Let me know if you need me. Excuse me, Lord Bridgerton."

When Y/n finally left the dining room, Anthony rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. He really needed to talk to his wife about this.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Y/n was lying down on the grass, enjoying the sun's rays that warmed her skin, when Kate found her. After Anthony told her about what happened at breakfast, Kate knew there was something wrong with her younger sister.

Anthony's wife lay down beside Y/n, alerting her to her presence. Y/n lifted her head, offering her sister a small smile. "Are you feeling better?"

"Pardon?" Kate frowned, not understanding the question. Her mouth opened in realization as she remembered what Anthony had told her with a light blush. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. Nothing that a few more hours of sleep couldn't solve."

"I'm glad." Y/n closed her eyes again, enjoying the sunny day.

"Are you enjoying your time here? Lord Bridgerton told me that you cooked with the maids today." Kate said after a few moments of silence.

"Yes, they were lovely. I wanted to help."

"If you had a good time then there's no problem. But you know you don't need to get up early to cook for us. I want you to have fun and be comfortable while you're here."

Y/n remained silent. Her hand started messing with the grass, a way to distract herself. "I know." she replied with a small voice.

"Do you?" the elder Sharma raised her eyebrows teasingly.

But Y/n remained silent, a small frown forming on her face as she thought about what Kate said. In turn, Kate felt her heart tighten with guilt. As she looked at her little sister, she remembered when she was a baby and made exactly the same face when she thought. A sigh escaped her lips, missing having Y/n's company all day.

The three Sharma sisters used to spend every waking moment together, strolling around the garden or simply relaxing in silence. But now, with Kate married and Edwina being courted by the prince, they didn't think about how it would affect Y/n.

"Tell me what is really wrong." Kate asked with sad eyes. Y/n sat down, opening her mouth to start speaking, but nothing came out. "Y/n, I'm sorry I haven't spent much time with you. But I love you, and I want you to be comfortable being here with me and Anthony."

"You didn't just let me stay out of obligation?" the younger sister asked shyly, refusing to look into Kate's eyes, who had also sat up and was trying to lift Y/n's chin with her hand.

"No! In fact, I was the one who asked mother to let you stay with me instead of considering you going with her to India. We wanted you here. I miss seeing my little sister every day. It can get lonely when Anthony works, and I love having you here."

"Really? But when you're bored, don't you visit Lord Bridgerton's siblings?"

"Yes, but no one can replace you. And I'm always talking about you to them, from all the stories I've told, I think they like you more than me!" Kate laughed, her smile widening when Y/n also chuckled. "I'm sure they would be delighted for you to go with us to play pall-mall."

"Hmm, I'm not sure. What if they don't like me?"

"Oh!" Anthony's wife gasped as if it was the most ridiculous idea. "That's impossible! With your heart and your kindness, they would be fools to not like you!"

"I really missed you." Y/n admitted, resting her head on Kate's shoulder.

"Me too. And after mother comes back, our house is still open. You can come here whenever you wish."

"Thank you, Kate. I'm glad you found Anthony, you seem very happy."

"I am happy." Kate assured her. "And just because I am married now, nothing changes between us. You are still my priority."

"Thank you. And I believe a game of pall-mall is not the worst thing in the world. I will join you." the younger girl nodded with a smile, gaining confidence from her sister's words.

"Great! Then you'll also get to see Lord Bridgerton be a sore loser when I win."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

She was already starting to regret her decision when she saw Anthony's family in the garden, already bickering with each other. She and her sisters were competitive, but not at this level.

"Dear siblings, if you could please just listen to me first." Anthony caught their attention with a sarcastic smile. "This is Miss Y/n, Kate's younger sister. She will be joining us today."

"Another Sharma? We are going to lose!" the younger boy, who Y/n assumed was Gregory, said.

Two other girls came to her, introducing themselves as Francesca and Hyacinth, Anthony's younger sisters. As they excitedly talked, Y/n's nerves began to disappear. Kate watched them closely, relaxing when she noticed that her sister was smiling, looking happy to be making friends. Her husband joined her, letting her lean against him and kissing her cheek.

"I told you it was going to be okay."

"Yeah, I know. But I was so sad that she thought we didn't want her here with us. It's my fault." Kate whispered sadly, feeling Anthony put his arm around her waist in comfort.

"It's not your fault, my love. We have to make her feel welcome, but for now, I think she's having fun." Noticing that Kate still wasn't convinced, he added. "What if the three of us went for a horse ride tomorrow? You once told me that Y/n always wanted to ride a horse, but she never got to learn since your father died. What if I taught her?"

"You would do that?" his wife smiled in delight. "Oh, Anthony, thank you. I'm sure she would love that."

"Anything for my wife and her little sister." Anthony smiled, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. "I love you."

"Are you being this lovely just so I won't be so competitive in the game?" she laughed teasingly. "Forget it! Prepare to lose, my dear husband."

Kate turned her back on him, going to the others so they could start the game. Anthony enjoyed the view of his wife, wondering how he got so lucky. "I love my life."

While they were playing, Eloise told Y/n how women deserved to go to college and not live just for their husbands. Benedict appeared later, declaring that he was going to save her from her sister's obsessions, making Y/n hide a giggle behind her hand. In turn, he and Collin were extremely funny, especially when Anthony made a bad move and Kate beat him.

Y/n also had time to meet Daphne's son, who seemed to like her and demanded with a cry that she pick him up. She didn't complain, the baby was too cute to refuse anything.

She and her two new friends got tired of playing, preferring to sit under the shade with the baby and play a little with him. Meanwhile, they talked about everything and got to know more about each other. They only realized how much time had passed when Lady Violet Bridgerton called them to drink and eat something.

By late afternoon, Y/n was exhausted but happy. Her family was more complete, and she loved being part of its dynamic.

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #collin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #kate sharma #bridgerton sister #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #kate sharma x reader

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wri0thesley · 5 months

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famous last words - dottore x reader x dainsleif (9.6k)

you can take care of yourself.

cw: dead dove, do not eat. not sfw, minors dni. non-con, drugging, syringes, mind control. yandere dottore and yandere dainsleif. reader is the traveller and has been travelling with dain. bondage, restraints, misuse of the akasha system, reader is traumatised and taken advantage of by dainsleif after being at dottore's mercy. reader wears a dress and has breasts/a vagina, but is referred to by they/them pronouns. please please heed the warnings.

a/n: please please (i am repeating it!) read the warnings on this one. one of my favourite yandere/dark content tropes is actually 'reader has a horrible experience and then a character who is supposed to take care of them takes advantage of them', and i don't think i've ever written it before, so this was super interesting to write!

this was a commissioned work.

Dainsleif has been on edge since the two of you crossed Sumeru’s borders.

He doesn’t say it out loud - you have learnt, over the time the two of you have spent travelling together, that Dainsleif is a man of very few words even at the best of times - but you know his small quirks and foibles well enough now that you sense it. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the line of his mouth, the way his eyes are constantly darting about wherever you go.

It’s somewhat in the way he walks closer to you, his height casting a shadow over your own, as if he can protect you merely by being near you. It makes a muscle in your jaw twitch - you are grateful for his care, of course, but surely he knows by now that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself? You have gotten used to the feeling of a sword in your hand over your search for your twin - you have made a name for yourself in every nation you’ve traversed, and only some of the time has Dainsleif been by your side.

You suppose that the newfound relationship between the two of you is clouding his judgement somewhat too--

Well.

‘Relationship’ might be too strong of a word.

Dainsleif is hesitant with you even now; checks with you, twice and three times, before he so much as touches your shoulder. But you hope you have made it clear he does not need to, with the way you have let your hand entangle with his and the way you have smiled at him when nobody else is looking, the soft confessions to him at camp overnight that he’s one of only two people in this world you would trust whole-heartedly . . .

All of that, perhaps, has made Dain even more protective over you than he was before, despite the truth of the matter being that you are almost equal in swordsmanship and combat ability. And he’s said enough to you, too, that you understand his hesitance. Other people he has loved have been taken from him - a whole nation, in fact. Dain has had to struggle on for years all alone, and walls built over such a long time do not crumble so easily--

But still. You wish he would not fret so when you walk away from him in Sumeru City to investigate an interesting looking fruit and to ask the stallholder some questions about their wares.

You’re startled out of your reverie - handling the Zaytun peaches that lay in plump piles in round baskets upon this particular stall - by Dain murmuring your name. He has attracted some attention - he is tall and handsome and blond, an air of mystery and exoticism emanating off of him - but he is unaware of the giggles behind other people’s hands, his gaze set firmly on you.

He has always been like that - those piercing blue eyes, even through his mask-like patch - never fail to make you feel as though you are the only person in the world. You have woken up in the night at camp plenty of times, too, and felt safe in the knowledge that Dainsleif is there and his gaze will not falter.

You toss some Mora to the stallholder and turn to Dainsleif, proffering one of the peaches to him. He takes it like a precious treasure.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, before you take a bite. His brow is furrowed - you sense something brewing in the wind. A kind of unease that lies hot and heavy in the humid Sumeru air. Dain sighs softly.

“I have some things I must do,” he says to you, his voice soft and low. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but . . .”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him, smiling. You wonder what it is that he does not want to take you along with, but you do not push - Dainsleif will tell you in his own time, you are sure. You have no desire to push him too far when his hope seems such a fragile thing still. “I’ll meet you tonight, here?”

His shoulders untense, just a touch.

“Will you stay in the City?” He asks you, and you laugh.

“Dain,” you say, smiling, just a touch of reproach in your voice. “I can take care of myself, you know! Go and do what you need to do. I will be absolutely fine. You know that! When have I not been?”

Dain does not look entirely convinced, but whatever it is that he has a need to do has a hold on him - he looks at you with those serious, piercing eyes and takes your hand. Your cheeks go hot all over as he bends to press a chivalrous kiss upon the back of it. The crowd of admirers that Dain has amassed are all atwitter over this - you cannot blame them. If you’d seen it happen to someone else you’re sure you’d be swooning. Even now, your heart is beating a double time march against your ribcage as you wonder how you got so lucky.

“You promise me?” He asks. You can sense he is barely holding back the urgency in his voice; anxiety that tugs at the syllables like it is weighing them down. This errand he has to run . . . your curiosity runs rampant at what it might be that it is so clearly important to him.

“I promise I’ll be more than fine,” you say to him, smiling. There is the slightest snick of irritation, in the back of your mind - have you not fought dragons? Have you not befriended Archons? His concern is sweet, but he does not need to fret about you so. You say to him, trying to make sure your voice is as reasonable and convincing as possible; “You don’t have to worry about me.”

As it turns out, this proclamation will come back to haunt you.

They will become what are referred to in some places as ‘famous last words’.

You notice the earpieces that the Sumeru citizens wear as you wander around; when you ask someone about it, they look baffled as to your own lack of them.

“Usually you’re given one when you come into the city,” the young woman explains, as she kindly guides you back towards the entrance of Sumeru City. This explains it; Dainsleif always prefers to take the least populated way into anywhere, and most of the time you are happy to agree with him. Your exploits across Teyvat so far have occasionally resulted in some notoriety that isn’t always conducive to exploring new nations; you’re not surprised that Dainsleif had avoided the grand entrance of Sumeru City proper. Still, you’re beaming as the young woman brazenly walks up to one of the men standing at the entrance greeting newcomers.

He has dark hair and a moustache, and is wearing the robes that you recognise as marking him out as a member of the Sumeru Akademiya; as the young woman explains that you two are without the devices - she calls them an ‘Akasha’ - you smile at him, as bright and hopeful and friendly as you can manage.

He nods thoughtfully, and raises a hand to his own Akasha system.

“Just a moment,” he tells you, “I’m scanning the system for any information on you - just to ensure we don’t go around letting in criminals, you see?”

As he does that, you ask a few more questions of the young woman - what it is that the Akasha system does, and whether your . . . unusual physiology (a far easier way to explain it, you’ve surmised over weeks of practise, than explaining that you are a traveller from beyond the realms of Teyvat) will effect it in any way. She is effluent with her praise - the Akasha, she tells you with a wide smile and genuine pride in her voice, has truly revolutionised what it is like to be a citizen of Sumeru.

“This is unusual,” the man says, finally taking his hand from the complicated earpiece of the Akasha system. “I’m terribly sorry, but . . .”

“Is everything alright?”

You hadn’t wanted to mention it, of course - but you’d been afraid when he’d said he was scanning for information on you. Though you have mostly made peace with the nations you’ve travelled through, there have been plenty of misunderstandings too - and there are an unfortunate amount of activities that may be considered criminal in your past. Your heart beats just a little too quickly, as you carry on smiling and hope that your nervousness isn’t written too plain on your face.

You’d hate to get yourself into trouble after promising Dainsleif you would be absolutely fine on your own.

“I’m sure there’s no problem at all,” the man assures you, as he tries to return your smile. “It’s simply that we do have a record of you - oh, please don’t worry, it doesn’t name you as a wanted criminal or some such thing! It merely asks that you be shown to the Akademiya to meet with one of our trusted scholars, if you are to set foot in Sumeru City.”

This sounds a little more understandable, you think, as you let loose a small sigh of relief. Your reputation precedes you in several places - and this scholar would be far from the first person who has sought your help with matters. It’s strange that they couldn’t manage it alone with all of the resources of Sumeru behind them, but you are not in a position to judge.

“Is it just me?” You ask. “I usually travel with another man, a different blond--”

He checks, the vine-like contraption of the Akasha pulsing over his ear, but then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, as he offers you his arm. “The only information we have is on you.” Another smile, clearly meant to reassure. “I really did mean it about not worrying; if you were a danger, I’m certain that this would not all be so civil. Sumeru maintains several forces of Eremite mercenaries to keep the peace, and the Akademiya itself has the Matra . . . If you were about to be in trouble, there would be far more of a guard than simply me.”

You still consider running. You let your eyes flash over the surrounding area to map out all possible escape routes, to see who you might have to fight if you need to - but in the end, you take the proffered arm. No matter how much Dainsleif might want you to lie low and not attract attention, you can’t help thinking that causing a scene like that would be far worse than going along with whatever it is you’re wanted for up in the Akademiya.

You do not know it at the time, but it turns out to be just another decision that will come back to bite you.

As the two of you walk, Panah - that is the man’s name, you find out - sends a message up to the Akademiya proper via the system, to let them know that the two of you are coming. He seems almost giddy when he is done, a smile playing beneath the moustache.

“I was permitted to speak to him myself,” he says, and you gather from the excitement in his voice that whatever man it is you’re about to meet occupies a place of high honour within the walls of the Akademiya. You’re impressed by the technology; you can’t help thinking how useful it would be, if you and Dainsleif had such a way to communicate when you were apart.

He’s not going to be happy about all of this - but with any luck, this will be a quick thing for you to deal with and you’ll be able to rake in some glory and reputation in Sumeru so the two of you don’t have to worry so much on your journey. A lost dog, perhaps. A band of Treasure Hoarders who need to be taken out--

If you had one of those Akasha systems, you think, you wouldn’t need to be trailing up all of these steps. You bring this up to Panah, and he laughs, still riding a high from speaking to whoever it was he was permitted to speak to.

“Ah, don’t worry about that! You’re going to be very lucky - he told me he even has an Akasha terminal set aside especially for you, with a couple of brand new features he’s been wanting to test out--”

Later on, you’ll curse yourself for these words not setting alarm bells off in your head. But right then, under the bright Sumeru sun and with the freedom of a day in Sumeru without Dain’s occasionally too protective presence, you just laugh brightly and daydream about the knowledge your very own Akasha will place at your fingertips.

There’s a little bit of pomp and ceremony when you make it to the Akademiya proper; the other staff members and workers and students who have been assigned to help you are all excited and chattering as they wave Panah off and begin to lead you into the labyrinthine halls. It’s a beautiful building, to be sure - but it’s deceptively large, and after going through lifts and corridors and being taken through door after door you begin to lose sense of where exactly it is you are. You feel a brief flare of panic inside; you much prefer to be in places where you have an idea of how to escape, should the need arise--

But everyone around you remains excited about the great scholar you’re about to meet, and their smiles and pats and their wistful proclamations about how lucky you are serve to soothe the fear, just a little.

“Here we are,” says one of them, stopping outside a great wooden door with a complicated series of locks on it; some of them are easy to understand (you know what a padlock looks like, after all), but others seem to be rather more high-tech than you’re used to. Whatever it is behind this door, you think, it must either be very important or very expensive. “Oh! We have your Akasha terminal--”

He reaches into the folds of his robe to produce one of the vine-like contraptions that everyone in Sumeru wears on their ears.

“This one was designed by him specifically,” the man tells you in awe, as he reaches over and affixes it onto your ear. “It has a few brand new functions that he wants help testing out, and he said that your experience would be a huge boon in working out all of the kinks--”

Ah. So that’s what he wanted your help with. You wonder which of your exploits it is that has made this scholar think you’d be a good fit for this kind of testing; you wonder, too, why Dainsleif wasn’t included in this idea. The two of you have done so much together, after all--

You feel a brief electric zap that seems to flash over your vision and down to your spine. A little noise in your ear, a sense of heat that lasts barely a moment - and then, the man is stepping away from you and giving a strange little bow.

“It’s working, I think,” he says, as he reaches into his pocket to turn a key, swipe a card, as his own Akasha pulses to life and some of the locks upon the door respond in kind. “Ah - I’m afraid we’ll be leaving you. His temperament can be a little unpredictable, and I’m sure he’d rather meet you alone--”

“That’s alright,” you say, smiling. You wonder what kind of brand new functions this Akasha system is going to have; perhaps something for combat capabilities? Wilderness scanning, to be able to identify poisonous herbs and dangerous animals? The big wooden door slowly creaks open, as the entourage who have guided you into the bowels of the Akademiya all disperse, leaving you alone.

“Come in,” calls a voice.

The voice is familiar; somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know that you recognise it. A kind of low, smooth drawl of a voice, that shivers with suggestion as it calls out to you. But it is not enough to deter you, now you’ve made it all the way here.

You step into the room, walking further and further into it to see that it’s a . . . workshop, of some sort. There are a few tables scattered with various tools, deconstructed machinery lolling on the floor and propped against walls. There are a couple of remains of Ruin Guards, but in Sumeru this is hardly a surprising sight--

The door slams closed behind you. You hear the click and the whirr of the locks resetting themselves, trapping you in here, but even then you still do not panic just yet. You are in the Sumeru Akademiya, after all - what horror could possibly befall you at the hands of someone so well-regarded, in such a beacon of wisdom and hope in the nation?

That’s when you spot the bed in the middle of the room.

Sterile white sheets, white metal frame, restraints at the head and at the feet. An IV standing proudly beside it; a table to one side that is scattered with, instead of tools and screwdrivers, medical equipment. Needles and scalpels and pill bottles. Your throat goes dry.

“Ah,” there’s that voice again, and out of the shadows steps a figure. Your brain snaps into action sickeningly quickly; this is indeed a man you recognise. This figure, in his doctor’s coat and long boots, with his hair falling over a masked face-- “You’re just as lovely as I remembered you.”

You crouch, your body primed, your position ready to jump to attention at any moment. You reach behind you to will your sword into your hand - if you incapacitate Dottore quickly enough, perhaps you can knock him out whilst you search his workshop for tools to help you break the locks--

“Oh, my,” he says. “Such an unwelcome reception, my dear. Still. That won’t be for long.”

“Open the door,” you snarl, through gritted teeth. “Let me out, and I won’t ram my blade through your throat.”

He smiles beneath the mask, the tilt of his lips almost fond.

“There’s that lovely fire,” he says to you, in a pleased purr. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for you for what seems like forever.”

“I’m warning you--” Your fingers wrap around the hilt of your sword. Your breath comes short; your heart pounds.

You do not truly know if you could take Dottore in a fight - he is ranked second of the Harbingers, after all, and you do not think such a position would be granted without some combat capability. But you have to hold fast to your hope - and without Dainsleif here, all you have to rely on is your own skills. What might happen if he does overpower you doesn’t bear thinking about--

(You’d noticed, the last time the two of you had met, the way his gaze behind the mask had lingered on the shape of your body. The way he had spoken silky smooth, shivering with intent, when he had addressed you. The way his leather gloved hands had felt, on your shoulders, lingering there as if they wished they could be somewhere else--)

“Ah, ah,” he clicks his tongue, chiding. “Now, darling. That won’t do at all.”

You realise too late that the Doctor himself is not wearing an Akasha system earpiece - but you are.

And as you feel it pulse into life, as bright colours flash against your vision and you stumble, your sword slipping through your fingers . . .

Everything goes black.

“Now,” Dottore’s voice cuts through the blackness, as everything seems to slowly fall back into place like a jigsaw puzzle being re-assembled. “This might hurt a touch. Just a sharp scratch, my dear--”

You’ve been strapped onto the medical bed, just as you had feared. The straps are wrapped around your ankles and your wrists, binding you spread-eagle upon the thin little mattress. You can still feel the vines of the Akasha system wrapped around your ear, and your throat clogs with the fear of it - if it could knock you out stone cold, what else could it do? Your eyes flutter open, and Dottore pauses--

He’s leaning over you with a syringe in his hand, the liquid within glowing with the same blue glow as the earring he wears. As he sees that you’re awake, his mouth opens into a wide smile with just a hint of too sharp teeth.

“Oh!” He exclaims in delight. “You’re finally awake! My, you’ve missed quite the little drama.”

He carefully places the syringe down upon the metal table as he reaches over you and fiddles with some kind of control on the side of the bed. Slowly, it creaks upwards, propping you up a little so you are bent at the waist.

“That’s better,” Dottore coos. “Now we can all see one another. Look, darling. Your knight in shining armour.”

Dainsleif.

How long have you been out cold? How easy was it for Dottore to strap you onto this operating table - how deeply did the Akasha knock you out?

Long enough for Dain to realise you were missing. Long enough for him to track you down - long enough for he, too, to be overpowered by the second Harbinger and find himself entirely at the Doctor’s mercy.

Your travelling companion sits across from the bed you are restrained upon, ropes tied around his broad chest to keep him lashed to a rusted metal chair. A gag has been crudely shoved into his mouth so all he can do is make a soft little distressed noise at the predicament you have found himself in; more ropes bind his ankles to each leg of the chair, just to ensure that he’s fully unable to so much as wriggle in his bindings. He stares at you, agonised.

“We’ve been talking about everything I’m going to do to you,” Dottore hums - and something hot and sour crawls into your throat as he leans over, and his leather gloves caress your face like a lover and not like a madman. “Ah, sweet little traveller . . . I’ve barely been able to wait to get my hands on you. A pretty face like that, and that fighting spirit . . . Ah! You stick in a man’s mind.” His smile is just as wide and unhinged as ever as he taps your cheek fondly. “I don’t think your poor knight is going to enjoy it, but . . . well. I’m sure you will.”

You struggle in the bonds, as your strength returns to you. You try and use your not inconsiderable strength to see if you can loosen the leather around your wrists, as fear of the undercurrent of desire in Dottore’s words and anger at Dainsleif finding you like this and worry about Dain himself all war at once within you like a churning whirlpool.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you seethe at Dottore, tugging hard. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but it would be better for everyone if you just let me go now, and we can pretend none of this happened--”

Dottore throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh,” he practically purrs at you. “You’re so lovely when you’re enraged. But . . . ah. No, I don’t think I shall. Now, my dear. How shall we start? A kiss, perhaps? Your lips have been haunting my dreams recently--”

“I’ll bite your tongue off,�� you snarl, and though you cannot see Dottore’s eyes you can tell from the way that his face moves that he has raised his eyebrows. He lets out a low, silky chuckle.

“Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be. Well, if so . . .”

He reaches back over to the metal table, and in his hands now he lifts the syringe once more. He taps the barrel of glowing blue liquid once, twice, that infuriatingly calm and smooth smile returning to his face.

“This won’t knock you out,” he tells you. “I want you to be aware of everything we do together, darling, so you remember how good it makes you feel . . . how much we belong together. But it shall . . . how should I put this? Take a bit of the edge out of you.” He leans in; finding the crook of your elbow, thumb smoothing softly and almost lovingly over the patch of skin. “I’d hate for all of your fire to go missing, but . . . perhaps we should at least dull your teeth a little, hmm?”

Dainsleif makes some awful noise; a whimper crossed with a moan, a kind of noise you’ve never heard the stoic Twilight Sword make before, as the needle sinks into your skin with a sharp scratch. Panic flares in your mind white hot at whatever kind of concoction is being injected directly into your veins--

But the panic quickly dulls, as you feel the drug beginning to take effect.

It adds a muzzy kind of quality to everything. You see Dottore and Dain before you - the Doctor smiling, Dain agonised behind his patch and gag and rope. You know that there is something terribly wrong with this scene, but your mind is too hazy to pull up the specifics. You go to open your mouth and put word to a question, but nothing comes out - your tongue is too heavy, your teeth feeling as though they’re in the wrong place in your mouth.

“Oh, lovely,” says Dottore with relish. “My, you took to that sedative better than even I hoped you would! Sweet dear thing, will you let me kiss you now?”

You know, in that hazy mess of your mind, that you do not want this man to kiss you - but as he leans forward, you cannot remember why. You cannot make your tongue move to say no, and before you know it a pair of lips have firmly pressed to your own, tasting of the smell of antiseptic and peppermint. Dottore kisses you as thoroughly as he does everything else - his mouth working against yours, sharp teeth tugging at your lower lip, his tongue slipping into your mouth and laying claim to the shape of it as if he is an explorer mapping out newly conquered territory.

From somewhere that seems very far away, you hear another angry noise, half groan and half moan.

Dottore pulls back, his tongue tracing his lips as if he’s savouring the taste of you left on them.

“Even better than I imagined,” he murmurs. “But . . . ah, my dear, don’t you want to kiss me back?”

There’s a pulse by your ear. Your mind short-circuits - and then Dottore is leaning in again for another kiss, and without you sending a single signal to your body you are kissing Dottore back, your mouth working against his, your tongues twining with one another as if possessed by an unknown force. Dottore groans into your mouth, at the same time as one of his gloved hands comes to land on your thigh, bare beneath your skirt.

You realise dully that it is the Akasha, taking control of your body; doing exactly what Dottore tells you to do.

If you hadn’t been drugged with the sedative that the Doctor had used, perhaps this realisation would make horror rise in you - it clearly does in Dainsleif, who struggles desperately against his bonds. But to you, in your current state . . . it is merely a realisation that washes over you like a cool stream. An inevitability.

“Ah,” Dottore says, and he smiles something horrific and tender down at you. “We’re going to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?”

Those gloved fingers slide higher and higher up your thigh, the touch remaining soft. You think it would be better if he started pawing at you like an animal; if he ripped and tore at your clothes. Something about the softness of how his thumb moves over your inner thigh, the soft untouched skin there - something about the gentle way his thumb brushes over your underwear . . . that feels a hundred times worse than you could ever imagine.

He sighs in pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it; your wrists and ankles bound, your entire body prone, your veins numbed with sedatives. Your eyes seek out Dain’s across the room - and he looks at you, so broken that you think you will cry.

Dottore’s other hand reaches up to the catches down the side of your dress. They are there to make it easier to dress yourself - catches and buttons up your spine are not helpful when you are alone or injured, and since you have found yourself in Teyvat you have been both of those things more often than you’d like to have - but you curse them, now, as Dottore’s other hand gently (oh-so-gently) peels them from your body and you are almost bare before him. Your nipples pebble in the cool air; your cheeks flush hot at how he tilts his head to look down at you.

If you could see his eyes, what would you see written in them?

“Oh,” Dottore is quiet when he speaks; appreciation dripping off every syllable. He moves his other hand away from where he’s been constantly petting at your sex through your underwear in order to turn all of his attention to your newly bared chest; you feel the hot flush across your collarbones at the sheer admiration that seems to ghost every movement. “You’re even more lovely than I could have thought.”

His leather-clad palms reach down, taking a handful of the soft curve of your chest; squeezing the half-globes in his hand, sighing happily at how they fit in his grip. His thumb and forefinger find the nub of your nipples, pinching one each until they stiffen and pucker beneath the attention and you squirm, a hot little bolt of lightning going straight from the place Dottore is pinching to the place between your thighs.

“You like that?” He murmurs, not missing the way you shudder beneath the attention. “Ah, sweet thing - has your knight not done this for you? Have you been saving yourself for me?”

Again, you can’t make your tongue form words; all you can do is let out a little whimpering moan of a noise that makes Dottore chuckle. It sounds far too close to affirmation for your liking, but what can you really do, as Dottore continues to pinch and pluck at your nipples and the warm zaps of pleasure and excitement continue to run hot in your veins?

You can hear the way your breath is starting to come out in little pants; how it shudders in the air, heat coalescing between the bots of you as Dottore’s insistent pinches further cloud your mind. You can’t help the noise that falls from your mouth as he bends his head and applies his tongue just so upon one of the buds; as it swirls around it, suckling the nipple into his mouth, lathing it with attention that makes your back arch involuntarily.

Dainsleif, still bound across the room, fights against the ropes once again and lets out a muffled noise of anger; words caught in the gag, vitriol spewed at the Doctor as he does whatever he wants to with your body. It is all for nothing, though.

Dottore’s thumbs are hooking into your underwear. The thin cotton tears at the seams at only the flimsiest tug from the second ranked Harbinger, and then Dottore is looking down at your spread thighs and the folds of your sex on display for him and cooing at you so sweetly that it cloys.

“Oh, darling,” he says to you. “You’re this wet for me?”

It’s not fair.

Frustrated tears rise to your eyes. In your current state, drugged and confused, under all of Dottore’s touches . . . your body has betrayed you. You know you’re wet; you can feel your own slick, oozing out of you, your folds wet with droplets of arousal. Desire to be touched warring with disgust for the man before you inside of you - frustration that you cannot so much as speak to put voice to your anger. Not even to beg him to stop.

Hand on your thigh. Two fingers, deftly parting the lips of your labia so cool air hits the sensitive inner folds; the swollen bud of your clit, waiting to be touched, thrumming with excitement. A whine catches in your throat at the sensation of being studied like this; the way that Dottore is looking down at you like a wolf about to thoroughly enjoy his meal.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, again. “So much lovelier in the flesh.” He turns his head without turning his body, catching Dainsleif’s gaze. “Look, Twilight Sword. Ah. Don’t you wish you were in my position now? Aren’t you simply longing to have your wicked way with our sweet little Traveller?”

Dain struggles desperately, the muscles of his shoulders flexing, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth working at the gag firmly pressed within it. You know that he wants to help you; that Dain would tear Dottore limb for limb for what he is clearly about to do to you, if only he could get himself free.

But, too, there’s something in his eye that you do not want to admit to.

Shining bright behind the agonised blue is a palpable lust; a desire to be in Dottore’s place. You know that Dain would never hurt you - would never strap you to a table and use you against your will, you’re sure of it - but that look in his eyes makes you shiver.

“Don’t worry,” Dottore assures him, turning back to you with that wicked smile on his face. “I’ll make sure you get to watch.”

He eases the way his fingers are keeping you spread apart in order to be able to slowly slide his index finger through the valley of your sex; to wet his glove on all of the slick, to let it gather on his fingertip. He raises that gloved finger to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you as he tilts his chin back to savour it.

“Ah,” he says, as he tugs his glove off with his teeth. “Forgive me, my dear - I simply must feel you without them.”

His fingertips feel just as cold, as he touches you with them instead of the gloves. Your back arches again, though your own restraints keep you on the bed and stop you from being able to wriggle away from Dottore’s questing fingers even if the sedative hadn’t filled your limbs with honey.

Dottore lets out a soft chuckle at the way your body moves, another chiding click of his tongue.

“Breathe out,” he advises you, as his finger circles your entrance, as his thumb finds the swollen pearl of your clit and begins to draw slow, firm circles over it. “It will make it easier, sweet thing--”

One of his fingers swiftly presses inside of you, punching the air out of your chest. You hate it, you think - you hate the feel of his slender digits pressing further and further inside of you, the feel of him crooking his knuckle just so that the bone rubs against a spot inside of you that makes you see stars--

It feels good, too. You don’t want it to. You don’t like how the feeling of him inside of you seems to satiate an ache that had started when he had rubbed over the seam of your underwear and kissed you and toyed with your chest. You don’t like that, as a second finger rubs around your entrance in preparation to be put inside of you, your breath catches in excitement at the thought of being stretched further.

“That’s right,” Dottore is murmuring, his own voice a little breathless now as excitement leaks into his tone. “Oh, you’re doing so well, lovely thing. Ah-- you have no idea how good you feel. Like silk . . . Thinking about doing this to you doesn’t at all measure up to the real thing.”

The thought of Dottore having these thoughts about you makes your heart twist. You close your eyes, just so you don’t have to see Dainsleif sitting across from you, watching you with agonised eyes as Dottore’s fingers make you feel a way you didn’t know you could.

A few more months and perhaps you would have imagined Dain himself doing this to you - something more intimate than the shy, awkward kisses the two of you have so far shared, as Dainsleif silently agonises and worries about his body being tainted and his curse ruining everything that shimmers between the two of you like fragile gossamer. Perhaps then, it would have been slow and careful - Dain waiting for you to give the go-ahead, letting you lead . . .

That choice has been taken from you, now, as two of Dottore’s fingers scissor inside of you to open you up wide and his thumb continues to rub over your clit in firm, sure circles. The way that Dottore touches you would almost be clinical - designed solely to make you feel good, to prepare you for the inevitable stretch of his cock, to make sure that your slickness would provide adequate lubrication for the glide of the same - were it not for the bright mania that fills his grin as he stares down at you, watching your sex swallow his fingers with every wet, slick pump of his wrist.

That is the look of a man very much enjoying what he’s doing to you.

“Sweet Traveller,” he murmurs, low and cajoling. “I think you’re going to come for me.”

You have just enough control of your body to toss your head weakly, shaking it from side to side, your hair falling over your face. It does not hide the fact that your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright, that your chest is heaving as every rub of his fingers sends brand new sparks of pleasure careening to the middle of your stomach into a hot, tight ball.

“Oh,” Dottore’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. “That wasn’t me asking, darling. Come for me.”

Another zing; a zap, a pulse, where the Akasha terminal is wrapped about your ear--

And your body twitches and pulses under his command, as the hot tight ball of want inside of you seems to get a signal from the terminal that now is the time to explode. You don’t know how to explain it; the way that your mind seems to contract at the same time as your body, and then you are panting and whining helplessly as shivers rack you underneath Dottore’s twisting wrist, his insistent thumb.

He lets out a sigh of pleasure as he pulls back, his fingers glimmering wetly with your own orgasm. Again, he lifts them to his mouth; again, you see a sharp flash of teeth as his tongue traces his own digits and he savours the way you taste on his tongue.

“That’s more than enough,” he says, pleasantly. He looks at Dainsleif, the blond all wide-eyed and desperate and seething with hatred, and gives him another smile that is like the edge of a knife. “Don’t you think so, knight? Ah. Don’t you think it’s time for me to take them fully?”

Dainsleif struggles again, and Dottore laughs like a creaked, rusting hinge on a sharp iron gate.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” he says, syrupy sweet. “Oh, they mean more to me than that. I merely want them to understand how badly I need them . . . and how good I could be for them, too.”

The sedatives in your system do not allow you to fight back; to bare your teeth and growl and tell him you could never imagine how he could possibly be good for you. But though your mind churns with these thoughts, your body is still not quick enough to respond - your veins still weighed down with honey. Too tenderly, Dottore reaches for your face; traces his thumb over your cheekbone.

“We are going to consummate our mutual adoration,” he tells you, and he reaches for his fly. You hear the buttons of his placket undo as if you are somewhere very far away, button sliding through button hole. Dottore sighs happily as he repositions the table and himself, making sure that Dainsleif has an even better view of the way that he slots himself between your thighs. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel Dottore’s cock slap against the bare skin; the wet, slick head of him, as he rubs it over your own soft inner thighs. You burn with humiliation, as the wet pap of him slapping the cockhead against your cunt echoes in Dottore’s workshop, and the Doctor keeps smiling as if he’s enjoying himself terribly.

“How about,” he says, loud enough for Dainsleif to hear it, “before we begin, you tell me what I want to hear, Traveller?”

You blink at him slowly, as he pushes his hips forward, and the head of his cock catches on the ring of your entrance; as your body clenches and puckers, waiting for him to move further forward. You wish he would just get on with it, but at the same time you wish that this wouldn’t happen. If you were fully in control of your body, you’re certain you would be struggling and sobbing and spitting - but you are not.

“Oh,” he murmurs, syrupy sweet. “You don’t know what I mean? Darling, let me say it a little simpler whilst you’re still all addled from me making you come . . . Loud enough for the Twilight Sword to hear, now. Why don’t you tell me you love me?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence.

It’s not really silent; there’s a buzzing in your ears, there’s a constant hum from the machinery that surrounds you both, there’s the sound of three people breathing within the room, panting and seething and hating . . . but that’s how it feels.

You would never tell this monster you loved him.

But Dottore is still looking at you, his cock still pressing against your entrance, his head still tilted to one side, his mouth still quirked in a smile - and there’s an eager kind of obsession in his gaze, as if he thinks you might actually get the words out--

The pulsing in your ear. The flash across your brain. You can’t breathe; you can’t think, through anything but the sudden desire to tell the Doctor who’s about to ruin you that you love him.

Your tongue is slow. Heavy. Your voice echoes too loud around the room.

“Doctor . . .” Dainsleif lets out a pained whine behind the gag. “I-- I love you--”

“Oh, good-- well done--!”

Dottore pants in wild pleasure at the sound of your voice, the way it sounds desperate and reedy not with hate, but with feeling. He cants his hips forward, still too wild - and your head falls back, a whine escaping your slow-tongued mouth as his entire cock sheaths itself inside of you in excitement.

It’s easier to close your eyes.

You do not want to see Dainsleif, over Dottore’s shoulder - the disappointment and horror and despair that’s written clear across his handsome face. He must have seen the Akasha pulse, he must know that you would never say such a thing of your own volition - but that doesn’t stop the fact that you did say it, and he did hear it. Eyes squeezed shut, the feel of him inside you is all the worse; the way you can sense your body tightening around him, the feel of being stretched wider than you’ve been stretched before.

Dottore’s pants do not let up; there’s a desperation in him that you would never have thought the Doctor possible of - bringing a horrifying kind of truth to all of those things he had said, all of the ways he had stared at you. Perhaps it is more than just lust--

And that makes it all the worse.

His hips judder against yours in desperation, his white coat rustling as it rubs against your own bare body. One of his hands explores your chest, even as he keeps rutting into you; thumbs pinching at your nipples, palming at your hips and your waist and your chest, as if he cannot truly believe this is happening.

He is undone, like this; and you cannot quite believe he is letting you see some of those walls fall down. There is no more the strong, smooth Doctor - the one who could raze cities to the ground if he so chose. There is a man; a man who is fucking into you, a man who wants to have as much of your body as he can, a man who seems to want to devour you.

You cannot believe he made you say that you love him. The Akasha upon your ear feels like a parasite, worming its way into your psyche, taking complete control of you. You think of Dainsleif, forced to watch, and a juddering sob manages to tear itself from your throat.

Dottore kisses your cheek, the tears catching on his lips, his tongue tracing the saltwater tracks.

“Don’t fret so, darling,” Dottore murmurs, against the apple of your cheek. “It’s alright . . . Doesn’t it feel good?”

It doesn’t - and it does. You don’t want to admit to the way that his constant thrusting and the grinding of his pelvis against your still-swollen clit are working together to make your insides churn, your body feverishly hot and confused. Your breath comes out in pants that match Dottore’s own. You can’t come for him again, you simply can’t - it doesn’t matter, you try and tell yourself, that there is heat bursting anew in your stomach. That it is not really because of Dottore, but natural biology--

You came earlier, yes, but Dottore told you to; used the Akasha against you. If you came now, without him forcing you to, it does not bear to think about - it doesn’t bear to think about how Dain might react, if he watched you come of your own volition under Dottore’s fucking--

No matter how sternly you try to speak to yourself, one cannot stop biology in its tracks.

Dottore’s pelvis batters against your clit; Dottore’s cock bullies itself mercilessly into you, as if it is trying to make you mould to the shape of him. With each thrust, it rubs against spots inside of you that your own fingers have never been able to reach; ones you had never realised would feel so good. You try and tell yourself, over and over and over, that you will not let yourself come for Dottore.

But your body betrays you.

Your body betrays both yourself and Dain, a man who you had always thought would be the only one to ever do this to you, though you had not let your fantasies yet get further than a hand over your dress, skimming your bare thigh. You come for the second Fatui Harbinger, as he continues to fuck into you with wild abandon - and this time, you do not even have the Akasha to blame it upon.

Your wrists are still held either side of your head by restraints; all you can do, as the spasms of pleasure resonate out from your sex and into every other part of you, is dig your nails into your palms. All you can do is let out a heavy, slurred whine-moan escape from your parted lips. All you can do is take it - come for the Doctor, the way he always knew you were going to.

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips double their speed, desperately rutting into you. “I didn’t even have to tell you to, that time - you want me just as badly, don’t you? Oh, sweet thing, don’t worry, I’ll give you everything I have--”

His words are slurred too; he is too far gone within the euphoria of finally being inside of you. His hips rock into you, harder and harder, his cock twitching wildly as he hisses out your name.

He comes inside of you with a wild bite into your bare shoulder, grunting and groaning, more animal than scientist - proof that, beneath it all, he is just a man. He remains there, humming into your skin, his cock softening inside of you. His tongue licks across the bite on your shoulder as if he wants to remember the taste of you.

“Why,” he says, a pleased hum in the back of his throat. His cock twitches. “I think I might even do that again--”

There’s a knock on the door.

You are still too out of it after what Dottore did to you to register much beyond his frustration that he is being called back to Snezhnaya, now of all times. An awkward assistant, unsure of what they’re supposed to be doing, lingers by Dottore’s side as the Doctor grumbles under his breath and pulls your clothes back on over your bruised body, his come still leaking out from between your thighs.

“I’ll see you again,” Dottore says to you, with a smile, as he brandishes another syringe. “Oh, I won’t be forgetting about how much we shared any time soon, darling. You’ll keep me warm many a cold Snezhnayan night.”

The syringe is brought up to your elbow; the liquid injected directly into the vein once again. You barely have time to wonder what he is injecting you with this time before the heaviness of unconsciousness begins to blur the corners of your vision.

Dottore strides across the room to Dainsleif, another syringe glowing within his gloved fingers.

Before you slip into oblivion, you watch Dottore roll up Dainsleif’s sleeve, and you hear him say this;

“Now, I’m sending them back with you, Knight - but you won’t soon forget, will you, that they told me that they loved me?”

You slip into the abyss.

You wake back up at the camp you and Dainsleif had established, on the edges of Sumeru, as safe as the two of you could find - as if absolutely nothing has happened.

Oh, there’s the lingering reminder of Dottore - there’s a soreness to your thighs, there are bites on your shoulders, there’s a muzzy headache from the drugs and the way he had used the Akasha upon you . . . but other than that, there’s nothing. The system itself isn’t even attached to your ear any longer.

Dain, too, has reminders of the ordeal upon him - rope burn on his wrists. A burning look in his eyes when his gaze falls upon you that makes your insides crawl in fear, lest he be disgusted by you now - lest he never want to look at you again. Perhaps, you think wildly, he is going to cast you away - say that the two of you can no longer travel together, accuse you of being damaged goods . . .

It does not end that way.

Dainsleif stares at you across the clearing after waking up, as if he is trying to sort all of his thoughts out. His fingers twitch, his eyes raking over you desperately - and then he has moved, lightning quick, and his arms have wrapped around you and you are being crushed against the weight of his chest.

“I thought . . .” He whispers into your ear, his voice so broken it makes you ache. “Oh, I can’t believe he would . . . I’m so sorry--”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” you whisper to him - relieved to find that your tongue and your throat are once more capable of working. You reach up to touch his face, and Dain groans, torn between leaning into the touch and pulling away as he so often does, so worried that he’s somehow going to taint you.

You’re not sure if you could ever feel more tainted than you do right now.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” his voice cracks. Dainsleif is normally so stoic and solid; you cling to him as you journey through Teyvat, relying on him. Seeing him like this makes you ache.

“You won’t,” you reach for his hand, take it gently and place it over your collarbone, shivering at the touch of his glove on your skin. “See? I’m still here.”

Dain sighs again, his lashes fluttering closed against his sculpted cheekbones. He murmurs your name again, so softly you can barely hear it; and his fingers slide along the imprint of that same collarbone, to your shoulder, until they find the place Dottore had bitten into when he had come.

“I can’t bear seeing his marks on you,” he whispers. “I want to scrub you free of every touch.”

You close your own eyes and let yourself be lulled into Dainsleif’s arms; you let your head rest against his chest, you let yourself be comforted by the familiar scent of him. His fingers don’t stop tracing the bite marks, his touch getting more and more agitated.

“Dain--” You murmur. You’re suddenly so tired. You know you were just unconscious, but that’s not the same as getting real rest. This morning - or was it this morning? How long were the two of you really with Dottore? How long had it been before Dainsleif had come to find you? Whatever the case, it seems a hundred years ago now.

You wonder if Dainsleif would mind if you fell asleep on him, right here.

“Please,” Dain’s lowered his head now. His breath flutters against your ear; delicately tickling your ear. “Let me . . . Let me make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, but it clearly means a lot to Dainsleif, and you do not mind the gentle touch of his hands as they smooth softly over the places Dottore has bitten, the places you have bruised. Dainsleif has lost so many people, after all - you do not blame him for wanting to check on you. You nestle your head under Dain’s chin and he takes a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Do I still smell like myself?”

“Don’t joke,” his voice breaks. You don’t know how else to cope with it; the thought of Dottore’s hands all over you, the reminder of what the Doctor took from you. Dain’s hand slips under the bodice of your dress.

You go all-over cold, all-over still.

Dainsleif doesn’t even notice. His hand gently travels further down, further down, squeezing the weight of your breast in his hand. Your fingers twitch where they lay against him, cradled as you are in his arms - but Dainsleif is still murmuring to himself now, lost in a frenzy of his own thoughts, and for the first time you feel afraid of him.

“Dain--” You try to say, throat clogged. “Dain, don’t--”

“Please,” he repeats, ragged. “I just . . . I need to touch you. I need to know you’re here. I need to know he didn’t--”

You can’t do this. Your heart jumps into your throat, a sickening thumping beat as Dain’s thumb rubs a circle over your nipple and traitorous body, it responds to him just as it had to Dottore.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you,” Dainsleif whispers, broken into your ear. “Let me . . . I won’t hurt you . . .”

His other hand, pulling you further into his lap. Holding you spoon-fashion against him, like a lover.

You wouldn’t complain, ordinarily.

But now . . .

All you want is for him to hold you. All you want is for him, you think, to kiss your forehead and reassure you and take care of you. The way his hands keep travelling over your skin - the other is kneading at the flesh of your thigh now, his breath coming in those same great shuddering pants as if he doesn’t have full control over his own body right now. You whimper aloud as his hand brushes further, further--

You’re not wearing underwear. Not after Dottore had torn it at the seams.

Dainsleif sighs.

“It killed me seeing him touch you,” he whispers into your hair, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head, disgustingly tender. His fingers are petting at your folds, his arms iron-tight like the ropes that had wrapped around him earlier. He doesn’t notice that you’re trembling; he ignores the soft little entreaties you do manage to get out.

“I can’t,” you say, as Dainsleif tugs at your nipples.

“Dain--” you whimper, his fingers spreading the lips of your sex apart.

“Not yet,” you beg, as he drops a kiss over the bruising bites Dottore left on your shoulders.

“I wish I could cover you with myself,” Dainsleif says, as he continues to use his mouth and his fingers and acts as though he does not hear a word. “But . . . oh, I don’t deserve you . . . Not yet . . . Please, let me make sure you never think of him again--”

It’s too much. Too much, too soon, your body churning with feelings and your mind churning with thoughts that you can’t yet put in place, because Dainsleif is touching you and not listening to you and you wonder if this makes him just like Dottore, in his way.

You think about yourself, in Sumeru City, your smile bright, laughing off his concern - and you think about Dainsleif now, his touch so possessive and so desperate that he’s going to cover the bruises Dottore left with bruises of his own.

“I’ll be fine,” you had said. I can take care of myself.

Dainsleif takes care of you, when you cannot; when you are injured or sick or lost. You have always had him to rely on; your travelling companion through Teyvat, as you desperately tried to make sense of the world that you have found yourself in.

Here, though . . .

You think, as the tears roll down your face, you could do without Dainsleif taking care of you like this.

#writing #dark content for ts #non con for ts #dead dove do not eat #mind control for ts #dub con for ts #genshin impact posting #commissioned work #not sfw text

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wayfayrr · 7 months

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ive just had a thought- like a person who ISNT hylian[a human] is different likely from hylians, like maybe they can withstand different things better?? like hyrules poisons? maybe SOME things just don't affect them, [kinda like in how some fics magic doesn't work on them] lol a person travelling with them munching on some type of poisonous fruit [that's only found in hyrule] while the chain is freaking out lmao

[this is completely hypothetical, i just about have a heart attack when chocolate is too rich lol]

Sketch I'm gonna be so honest with you rn sgkrykh these kinds of ideas are my favourite next to self-aware game characters - It's like the humans are space orcs posts, the idea that reader or whoever is with the chain can just munch on these things that ARE DEADLY to the chain scratches my brain just right!! thank you so much for sending this ask <33 I don't really know if it's a request or not so I'm just gonna spitball some of my own thoughts about it - I'd love to talk more about it though if you ever want to :D

the image I've gotten is reader looks nearly identical to a hylian, with the only real difference being hight and having rounded ears Hylians are short and you can't change my mind over that sgvd but when it comes to eating things? There's a wave of horror as they bite into a fruit they found on the path, and the whole chain gather around them in a panic. Wild with tears in his eyes frantically swiping through his slate to find an antidote, bursting into tears when he can't find anything knowing that there are only a few precious minutes left to act. Rulie trying desperately to heal them with all of his spells knowing that it'll be useless to deal with what they ate. each if the others trying so desperately to get their goodbyes in, thinking that they'll never see them again. then... Nothing.

Reader is fine, shrugging it off after their time should be up but now they have to deal with the chain being more mothering and protective of them. For a few days anyway until their curiosity takes over a little bit, wanting to try things that would be mildly poisonous to them, nothing that could possibly be fatal of course. The biggest shock to them would be things that are safe to them being dangerous to reader instead like if reader was lactose intolerant but didn't mention it until malon got them to try some lonlon milk and they didn't handle it well at all

#moss✦answers #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #lu wild x reader #lu hyrule #humans are space orcs

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ludoka · 4 months

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So.... What would happen if SOMEONE decided to rewrite Freaky Fusion but eliminated the fusions, left the plot of the hybrids and the time travel plot?

Long text after the cut:

The fic would begin by introducing the hybrids and the students' reaction to them. Cleo and (I think it was her?) Draculaura would give the same comments as in the movie. But here the hybrids already established in the series would not be ignored. Lagoona would talk about how she herself is a hybrid. What's more, we could even add that she is the fruit of a freshwater Nymph and a sea monster.(I just made this up while writing. I have no idea if it's canon or not but I like it.) Your intervention in the conversation could leave the atmosphere a little tense. Frankie tries to lighten the mood by insisting her friends go to class.

In another part of the school, Deuce and Jackson are in the former's locker talking about the same topic. Or rather, Deuce is nervous and frustrated by how everyone is reacting to the hybrids. While Jackson doesn't care too much. He has already had his conflict with the students regarding what he is. You already know this is temporary until the novelty of the matter cools down. This resolution does not reassure the gorgon at all. In fact, it frustrates him enough to vocalize his concerns. The whole topic was really making him very uncomfortable. On a good day, he's already having trouble coping with the fact that he's a hybrid. This only makes you feel worse. To the point of being terrified that other monsters will know what he really is. Jackson tries to console him but the bell at the beginning of his first class forces them to cut the conversation short.

What they didn't know is that a certain gossiping ghost, who was collecting information for his blog, was listening to them.

The first class is Dead Languages with Professor Rotter. Class is pretty boring today. Which causes some students to become distracted and murmur among themselves. Cleo is one of them and tries to talk to Deuce (who is more in the clouds than on earth)One of the topics he brings up is about hybrids, which he immediately realizes is the wrong topic to talk about. Since she sees how her boyfriend tenses very visibly. Which makes her remember that she's been on thin ice ever since she almost got her boyfriend's best friend killed just because of her pride. Said friends... It is also a hybrid. Cleo is seriously thinking about asking Frankie to sew her mouth shut so she doesn't screw up again. (I'm thinking about placing this after my own version of Ghoul Rules. I feel it is appropriate. It seems like he's been building up these nerves since before this day. It's more ✨ dramatic ✨)

The rest of the class passes without pain or glory. Only at the end does Rotter remind his students that in the last period of school they have to present their family tree work. (because I don't remember how the homework they were given in the movie was written)And he points out that Frankie will be the first to speak.

A stressed Deuce is the first to leave the classroom, closely followed by a worried Cleo. She is a couple of steps behind him. Thinking about how to talk about whatever is bothering the gorgon. Just when you think you've finally found the words, a mass notification from Spectra's blog catches your attention. She is about to ignore it but when she saw how the students began to stare in her direction, she decided to quickly check just in case. The title leaves her baffled. "Deuce Gorgon, the most handsome cool boy in school, is a hybrid?" That was the huge title that headed the blog. Cleo looks up with the mission of searching for answers but notices how terribly pale Deuce is while looking at his cell phone. She catches his attention. He looks at her scared. In fact, Deuce becomes hyper aware of his surroundings. He notices how everyone is looking at him and starting to whisper around him. This sends him into a spiral of panic and he ends up escaping the scene. It ends somewhere in the school, near the indoor pool. That's where Lagoona finds him. Deuce realizes that she is not alone. She is accompanied by Sirena von Boo and Neighthan Rot. When he asks about them, Lagoona tells him that she became friends with Sirena in their previous class. They saw him run out of the hallway and read the blog. Lagoona and Sirena went to look for him, they ran into Neightan and he joined the search. (mainly because Avea and Bonita were still in class)

This is where I cut the explanatory text and give the concise points of this particular plot:

The plot itself has the hybrids talking about feelings and experiences. Trying to help each other in all this sea of rumors and staring. Mainly by comforting Deuce and letting him open up to them.

There would be some scene with Draculaura and Clawd talking about their relationship. The topic of vampire biology would be touched upon a little. How they age and mature slower than other deadly monsters.

I would also have Deuce and Cleo talking about this matter.

Also the reaction of the students, encouraged in a negative way by Toralei, towards Deuce and his "deception".

In general: Lots of feelings, heavy conversations and ✨drama✨

Now you will ask yourself: Where is the time travel plot in all this? Good. Let's go back to the moment of Rotter pointing at Frankie.

After watching the teacher leave the classroom, Frankie lies down on his table and writhes in his misery. Robecca and Ghoulia who were by her side comfort her and ask her what's wrong. She explains that she has nothing useful to expose. His parents avoided the topic of family too much and gave him nothing to work with. So you're probably going to fail the class. Invisibilly appears (because he is another gossiper) and comments that he also goes through the same thing. His father isn't the most talkative when it comes to whatever turned him into a monster. Billy has a suspicion that it was an experiment gone wrong but he has no idea. He believes his father is looking to take the secret to the grave. Here Jackson Jekyll joins the conversation. (because in this school the concept of "private conversation" does not exist) Jackson comments that if there is a family that loves to keep secrets, it is the Jekyll family. It was easier for him to help Heath by putting together the family tree of his elemental family, than it was for Holt to find SOMETHING about his mother's family. They know that their great-grandfather is the one who started the whole Hyde thing but they don't know anything else. Not even what year his grandfather was born or how his great-grandfather Henry Jekyll and his great-grandmother met. It all seems like a big secret that no one should know about.

As he listens to them complain, Robecca has an idea. His father, before he disappeared, was a lover of science in general. He lived many years collecting information, meeting other scientists and doing his own experiments. She suggests they look for something in her father's workshop. Hopefully, they can find something regarding the Stein or Jekyll family. (Robecca apologizes to Billy for not being able to find a solution to his problem but he rejects her. He doesn't care much) Ghoulia was going to say something regarding work but after watching Deuce and Cleo leave the room, she decided that it was easier to help this group with their homework.

This is how Robecca, Frankie, Ghoulia, Billy and Jackson go to the Hexiciah Steam workshop.

While there, they don't find much. At least until Billy stumbles upon plans for a time machine. This draws the attention of the rest. Robecca takes a look at the plans and searches the workshop if there is something similar there. And, indeed, it was a large machine that was in the middle of the room. As they examine the machine, Billy comments that it would be great to test if the thing works and use it to do his homework. That makes them pause and contemplate the idea. The first to be against it is Ghoulia. She doesn't think it's very smart to mess with the timeline just for a school project. Frankie and Jackson support her. But Jackson also comments on how MAYBE if they didn't interact with anyone and were just there to watch, they wouldn't actually be doing anything. It also suggests it could be a good thing for Robecca. After all, it's the most direct way he can find clues to his father's whereabouts. This raises the robot's hopes. Ghoulia is still against it but after seeing her friends' hopeful looks, she decides that MAYBE it's not such a bad idea. As long as the necessary measures are taken. The girls and boys celebrate this beforehand and look for anything about the operation of the machine. They discover that for the machine to work and there to be a way to return, someone needs to be in the current era. Monitoring travelers through bracelets that serve as trackers and controls that allow them to travel by time and place. Ghoulia and Jackson note that there is a very specific way these bracelets work but decide to find out later. Since this was just a round trip to see if the machine worked in the first place. So with everything prepared Robecca, Frankie, Jackson and Billy get ready for the test trip. Ghoulia gives them the go-ahead and turns on the machine. The quartet enters the machine and goes to a year not too distant, just to try it out. More specifically 1950's New Salem.

In fact, the machine works! After watching a bit, the four try to go back to their time to tell the zombie. But can not. No matter how hard they try, the bracelets don't send them back to their time. In reality, it sends them randomly to other places and times. They panic a little (A LOT).

Currently, Ghoulia is worse. The disused machine was broken enough that it had imperfections that none of them noticed. So now the machine was causing fluctuations in time itself. Making time go slower or faster randomly. This is also causing beasts and animals from different places and times to appear today. Not to mention that, for some reason, his friends can't come back. So it's up to Ghoulia Yelps to fix the time machine, prevent the timeline from being destroyed, send the beasts and animals where they belong, and bring his friends back. It's... A pretty normal Monday, if Ghoulia is allowed to comment.

So this subplot has:

Jackson, Robecca, Billy and Frankie traveling through time. Uncovering family secrets and finding clues to the whereabouts of Hexiciah Steam.

To them trying to survive times that they only read about in books, saw in movies or paintings.

And Ghoulia saving the day behind the scenes.

Yes... A standard Monday.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I hope you have a happy new year and I wish you the best of luck in meeting your new year goals. 🎆❤️✨🎆

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omgahgase · 11 months

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dinluke one-shot

i wrote this on twitter with no real plot in mind but with the long-felt need to have luke want to reach out to din, only to have din do it instead. it's my first work for dinluke so go easy on me pls 🫡

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Luke always tentatively brushes his fingers against Din’s when they walk together in markets because he can never bring himself to fully grasp Din’s hand. He thinks he’s not allowed to, that Din will brush him off after the next touch of fingertips, but he doesn’t.

So, Luke continues, pretending that it’s just accidental when they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder in a crowded area. When like this, Luke will drink up what he can, because he’s greedy when it comes to Din. It’s a trait no Jedi should acknowledge, yet Luke clearly knows it’s deeply rooted in him for he wants Din all the time. He wants to touch him freely, without the armor and gloves. He wants to stare at Din unrestricted, with no visor between them so Luke can get his fill of the handsome man that he saw once and never again after that.

Luke wants to run his fingers through Din’s curls. Kiss his nose. His cheeks. His lips. Feel the hair of his mustache and beard rub against his face where his skin will bloom red under Din’s ministrations, catching the affection between every atom shared in their space. Luke wants so much from Din just within the few months they've been co-training Grogu that it scares him, this all consuming fire that may burn him from the inside out.

Luke wants what he knows he can’t have, so instead of acting on his desires, he feigns ignorance and hopes that Din will push him away—that his hand won’t be there for Luke to fleetingly caress in a half millisecond of contact. So that he can take his rejection in stride.

Din never does push Luke away, though.

Instead, after the fifth or sixth time Luke's knuckles grazes across the back of Din's hand, Din releases a huff that crackles through his modulator, sounding just as tired as he does when Grogu escapes his room and goes frog hunting before dawn.

“If you want to hold my hand, Luke,” Din says, startling something fierce behind Luke’s ribs at being caught, “then you don’t need my permission.”

Luke, ever the level headed Jedi he’s been trained to be, doesn’t sputter a half-assed excuse of forced proximity via milling market patrons. He doesn’t, no matter what Artoo may have caught on holocam. Din sighs, this one a tell Luke is intimately familiar with.

Then, as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy for him to do, graced with what feels like decades of practice despite only knowing each other for less than a year’s worth, Din captures Luke’s hand and laces their fingers together. Tight. Unyielding. Locked in.

Din slots their fingers into the spaces between each other’s and tugs, pulling Luke away from the fruit stand he’s so intelligently frozen in front of. With his mouth open, no less. Artoo thrills, amused, and says something about sending that photo to Leia.

Luke ignores him because it’s easy to let his mind go blank and be weightlessly pulled through the crowd, following Din like a puppet on a string. What he can’t ignore is the heat between their palms, warming Luke’s flesh hand to the bone. The heat travels up his arm, his chest, his neck. Until it feels like a magma explosion that rivals Mustafar breaks the surface of his skin and spills across his face, heating his cheeks to a scorching degree.

‘Din’s holding my hand,’ Luke thinks, his inner voice so doped up on Din’s touch that he sounds stupid even to himself. ‘Din’s actually holding my hand. He wants to hold my hand.’

“I’ve wanted to for a while now.”

Oh.

Oh Force. Luke hopes Artoo didn’t catch his blunder or else Han is going to get wind of this too and Luke is not mentally prepared for that.

“I always want to hold your hand,” Din says simply, as if it’s obvious. “I just never know when it's the right time. You get jumpy.”

“I do not,” Luke protests. Artoo beeps an agreement the same time Grogu flashes an image of Luke, skittish and flustered and—oh. He is jumpy around Din. Okay. Well. That’s not embarrassing. Hopefully Leia and Han will enjoy this prime time disaster because Luke is a mess.

“It’s alright, Luke,” Din reassures, rubbing soothing circles over Luke's thumb and, wow. Isn’t that something? “I like when you’re nervous.”

Before Luke can jump to defend himself because—uh, rude. Din finds enjoyment in Luke’s gay panic? That’s mean—Din is tugging Luke close to his side, pressed against his arm where Grogu can latch onto Luke as well from his buir’s shoulder bag.

“It makes me feel like I have nothing to be scared of."

“You’re scared of something?” Luke asks, incredulous. Din’s not scared of much, so this must be terrifying. “What are you scared of?”

Din’s quiet for a moment, but in the deafening, ever boisterous ruckus of the market, Luke can feel the frantic thrum of his heart in his palm. And it’s the loudest thing Luke’s ever heard.

“That my desire for more than what I’m allowed to have when it comes to you,” Din says, “Will one day consume me entirely.”

Stars. Luke didn’t know his body could feel like this. Happiness. Surprise. Disbelief. Emotions that he can’t even name let alone register how he’s experiencing them all at once. Luke didn’t know it’s possible for Din to feel them too either, and yet. It’s as clear in the Force as if Luke’s looking right at them. Dripping from Din like a cracked dam that’s moments away from bursting.

Din’s small, heartfelt confession is soon lost in the noise of the market, but its effect lingers.

Din wants more. He wants more than what he thinks he’s allowed to have. How much more, exactly? And is it as much as Luke wants? Artoo ramming into Luke’s calf breaks him out of his fleeting stupor and, eventually, Luke voices the first thing that comes to mind.

“Then I guess it will consume us both.”

The sharp crackle of Din’s modulator is as big an indicator as ever when Luke absolutely refuses to face him with his cheeks as red as Artoo says. He just stares ahead, focused on the crack of a flag flying high above a drink stand and hopes Din doesn’t notice the tremble in his hand. He does, of course, because Din notices everything about Luke just as much as Luke notices everything about him.

Din releases Luke's hand and slides the broad of his palm across Luke's waist, settling on his hip quick enough so Luke doesn’t miss the warmth of his touch. And Din stays there. Flexing his fingers over Luke’s robes and burning a mark through three layers of clothing. His grip is tight. Unyielding. Locked on. It’s the most secured Luke's felt in a long time.

“Yes,” Din agrees, stepping closer so they can walk in sync with not an inch of space between them. “I guess it will.”

And Luke, the ever level headed Jedi he’s been trained to be, is alright with that.

#dinluke #luke skywalker #din djarin #star wars #the mandalorian #grogu #skydalorian #they're both obsessed with each other #din tries to love from afar but he can't resist luke's gravitational pull #luke loves hard like anakin but not like that level

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etherati · 3 months

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Taproot - (1/25)

To celebrate finally finishing this monster of a fic after 4 goddamned years, I'm going to be posting the full chapters here on Tumblr, serialized like in the olden days, to make it easier to digest a bit at a time. Expect an installment once a week. This is a sequel to Wellspring, and is a post-S2 AU with, at this point, established Trephacard--plus some historical flashbacks, family drama, bloody showdowns, and a lot of secrets waiting in the wings. And feels. All the feels. If you like those things--or, for reasons I cannot disclose at this time, dear old Leon Belmont--consider giving this one a spin.

Summary from Ao3:

Taproot (n): The oldest, most central root; that from which all else arises.

Every family has its roots, diving down into the shadowy, secretive earth--and there's no such thing as a bloodless inheritance.

🎵 Music pairing: The Old Ways - Loreena McKennitt

Next -- >

Sunrise over the Black Sea—golden light spilling into the water like its own sort of glowing, glittering liquid, diffusing through the brine and illuminating it in hues of orange and amber and violet-pink—is one of the most beautiful sights the natural world has to offer. There are other striking sunrises to be had, and other bodies of water prone to making a person feel overwhelmingly small, but nowhere else do the two combine into such a spectacle, delighting the eyes even as it harrows the soul.

At least, nowhere else that Sypha has been, and she has been a lot of places.

She twists the end of her walking stick into the damp sand and gravel. This means that she’s close; she can tell by the particular mineral-laden smell of the salt and the angle of the light that she’s still a bit north of Enisala, but not by very far. There’s no shame in having arrived at the sea slightly off from her target. The only truly accurate navigation is by the stars—and the lingering presence of the night creatures and the winter’s bitter chill have had her travelling mostly with the sun.

Overhead, the keening cries of shorebirds as they dip and weave, coming in low to gather at the waterline, to pick over the tide pools and sandbars. The breakers beat the rocky shore, relentless. There’s a stark beauty to the place, to the way life struggles forward despite its days being filled only with further struggle. Tenacity. Tenacity, she understands, and all the spoils it brings.

This would be a lovely place to bring Adrian and Trevor to, she thinks; let them see this dawn, let the three of them roughhouse in the waves and drink sweet fruit wine in the sun and make love in the cool, damp sand once twilight settles in, all softness and blue-black shadows and the murmur of the tide. When the weather is warmer. When the sea is greener than it is grey, and the wind coming off of it doesn’t threaten to peel the skin from her face and hands. When they feel safe, leaving the castle unguarded for a while.

That time is, with certainty, not yet now. But she’s working on it. She’s still not gotten used to travelling alone, honestly hopes she won’t ever have to, but sometimes needs must. And that’s the entire point of this, of having to be away from them for so long.

She misses them—misses her family, too, but that’s an old ache that she’s grown accustomed to. Missing Adrian and Trevor is a different kind of hurt, sharp and fresh, made worse by knowing how badly they’re missing her in return. When she was growing up, travelling constantly on journeys measured in seasons, a month had felt like nothing. Now, it feels like an eternity.

There’s no snow and ice out here, this close to the water; there never is, in her experience, until you get to the deep, deep north. The sand is wet and the coarse stone crushed into it grinds under her staff. It’s blunt and thick, as writing implements go, and there’s no way to get any detail—and anyway, she’s no artist.

She still leaves a chunky, lopsided heart in the sand, as if marking the spot to return to later—as if the waves won’t wash it away mere hours after she’s left this place.

The sun is high overhead by the time the crumbling stone fortress of Enisala comes into view on the horizon. It feels wonderful, even if winter sun never warms one through the same way summer sun does; she drops her hood to bask in it, shifting her pack on her shoulders.

The ruins themselves are all beige-grey rock, the sky even more devoid of color, stormy and brooding. As she gets closer, though, she can see little pops of color all around the perimeter of the old fortress—blanket-draped caravans, colorful paper lanterns, artifacts of every culture the trains have come into contact with over the past year. Anything to make the space lively.

This place has always felt oddly significant to her—with its ruins that no one will claim ownership over, that seem to belong only to themselves, like slumbering giants from the birth of the world. Really, anywhere on the eastern edge of a landmass would do, for the Speakers’ winter solstice celebrations. But this is where her family group has always come, and so she knows she will find them here. For a week on either side of the solstice, many trains gather here in the sprawl of the mysterious ruins, and they eat and dance and share stories, all the stories of the year before, and Sypha knows she has a few that will make even the elders jealous.

She smiles to herself, framing the narrative in her head as she sets off down the narrow, meandering path to the gathering below.

“Sypha!” a familiar voice calls out, along with the clatter of scattered and dropped firewood; she’s barely made the edge of camp, is still lost in thought, but that voice would snap her out of just about anything.

“Kiri,” she oofs out, as the woman barrels into her, catching her up in a crushing embrace that’s more robes than anything else—layers and layers of them, to keep out the damp chill. Sypha hugs back just as hard; she’d been expecting her family and the others, the ones she’d watched leave Greşit all those months ago and then had to say farewell to again late in the spring. She hadn’t been expecting Kiri, Kiri who knows all her secrets and remembers what she looked like when she was young enough to go about with her hair unshorn, who she spent more time with growing up than she did her own family—throwing rocks into rivers and climbing trees and playing rough games with the boys. Testing every limit, challenging every rule, pushing for every wild dream.

Kiri, who’d been away from their clan for at least three years now, off studying the healing arts with the Ottoman scholars in the east when their own collective knowledge had proved insufficient for her. Three years that now feel like nothing—and isn’t it odd, how the friends of childhood are so often forgotten when the demands of adult life catch up, but the body never forgets what it’s like to hold them?

“I’m so glad you made it,” Kiri says, her face buried in Sypha’s hair. “My first Solstice back with our people and you weren’t here! I was getting worried.”

“What, did you think I would miss it?” Sypha asks, faux indignation through her own laughter. “Never.”

“Well, I’ve been told that you have your hunter, now,” Kiri says, pulling away, a sudden swell of distance blooming between them. No wonder—too often, Speakers who marry outside the tribe never quite find their way back. She and Trevor hadn’t been that to each other the last time she’d seen her family, had just been circling ever closer without quite making contact, but fair assumptions could be, and often were, made. “And your sleeping soldier?”

“Mm, yes,” Sypha says; it’s been a long time since she’s thought of Adrian that way, though he’s never stopped fighting for them. “But this is important, being here. And seeing everyone again! How have your studies been?”

Kiri’s eyes flash with excitement, bright against the wind-bitten redness of her cheeks; her skittishness evaporates in an instant. “It is incredible, Sypha! The things they know, in the south—the things they’ve kept track of, that others have forgotten. There is a book one man there has written on how to repair a person as if they were a torn garment or a broken wagon. It’s remarkable.” Adrian probably has a copy of that, somewhere in his mother’s medical library—if not, she’ll have to remember to track one down. “I understand why we do not record our stories, but after three years there, I wonder if we are foolish to not record knowledge itself? Raw knowledge I mean, the kind that is hard to frame in the context of a story.”

My people are idiots, she remembers saying, during that

interminable stay in the Belmont hold; she’s usually more inclined to be generous, but there’d been an infectious kind of frustration and cynicism they’d all been fighting, after a certain point.

“I’ve wondered that, too,” she says now, far more diplomatic; the journey has done her outlook a lot of good. “About an entirely different body of knowledge! Not something that would be as useful as the medicine you’re learning, but yes—if having something written down can save a life, how can that be wrong?”

“Don’t let the elders hear you say that!” Kiri admonishes, laughing.

Sypha blows a dismissive breath through her nose. “I am sure they already think I’m a terrible member of our tribe, just for raising a hand against the enemies of humanity. I cannot imagine their opinion of me can get much worse.”

Kiri throws an arm over her shoulder, pulls her in. “It’s not that bad,” she says, trying to be encouraging, but there's a tension there. “Our Sypha, the warrior of Wallachia. But I always knew you were destined for something special.”

Sypha frowns in thought, takes a few steps in silence. Did you? She wants to ask, and she wants to ask, Why?

Destined. Destiny is too large an idea, is the sort of thing that hovers around other people, people with remarkable families, with mysterious pasts. Sypha is a magician like any other Speaker magician; her father was the same, and his mother before him, and there is nothing unusual about any of it. These things run in families, and magic users are common, and sure, she'd gotten herself sucked up into an epic story because of it, but it could as easily have been another.

Couldn't it have?

Would another scholar of magic have done just as good a job? Would another magician have melded into the team as well as she did, have communicated in battle so effortlessly, have picked up the slack the other two dropped and protected them when they needed it? Could just any magician have snatched Dracula’s castle out of the aether like it was a feather on the breeze?

Would another Speaker have tossed aside the principles of a lifetime to stand up and fight, or is there really something dark and burning in her that sets her aside?

If there is, is that a good thing or a bad thing? Is that even the question to be asking?

“...how does it feel, to fulfill a prophecy?” Kiri asks, as they start to make their way toward the rest of the camp. It’s clear from the suddenly uncomfortable undercurrent in her voice that she’s not talking about the whole killing Dracula part; that story, her family has already heard, and it’s surely made the rounds. No—she’s talking about the rest of the prophecy. The part that’d had Sypha so uneasy clambering down into the catacombs and so defensive when she awoke there in the face of a hunter; the part that she’d like to believe any random magician would not have been able to fulfill.

“Strangely?” Sypha says, pitching her voice low. “Like I did have a choice in the matter.”

“Truly? You did not feel fate’s hand pushing the issue?” A pause, a few scuffing steps in the snow. Then, carefully: “Or another hand entirely?”

And oh, Sypha understands why her old friend is concerned, understands all too well given the way the world has sometimes treated their people. How non-Speaker men have often regarded them—worldly and experienced and incapable of ever saying no, as if rejection of the church’s self-loathing, oppressive morality somehow made them into succubi. But the implication is so absurd in context that she still laughs, conspiratorial. “No. My God. I had to push them. I thought I was going to go crazy.”

A smile then, more genuine. The tension drains out of the arm across Sypha’s shoulders. “What kind of heroic warriors are they, if they’re not fighting for the hand of maiden fair?”

“In what world, I wonder, would I be considered a fair maiden?” Sypha asks, smiling despite herself. Her robes are ragged with wear, her hair recently chopped short again, her feet swathed in cloth bandages beneath her sandals to keep out the cold. Fair indeed. But she knows that society outside of their caravans frames the world in certain ways. “And they were fighting with me, not for me.”

“Still. Most would expect some sort of reward for saving the world—even if only from fate.”

Sypha shakes her head, remembering that sunrise through the castle doors, the way they’d all started drifting apart before she’d pulled them back together. Those first few hours of having no idea what to even do with themselves, in this tomorrow that they hadn’t expected to see. “We were all shocked to still be alive, in the end. I imagine that would be reward enough for anyone.”

Kiri looks to her feet, swallows. They walk in silence for a moment. It had, perhaps, been unfair to go into such dark territory—to invoke how close they’d all come to dying that night. But these are the stakes Sypha has gotten used to, the way she’s become accustomed to thinking of the world. Speakers don’t fight; they are always in danger from those who don’t understand them, but that is a danger that brings itself to one’s door. The memory of choosing to walk across an enemy’s threshold, certain she would not ever cross it again, is uniquely hers.

“If you met them,” she says, gently bringing the topic back around, “you would understand. They honestly are good men. They understand what trust and respect are.” And they have enough baggage to fill an entire wagon, between them both, but that’s not for her to say. She’s not so dense as to think that they’d been dragging their feet just to frustrate her. “They do respect me, and I had to do nothing extraordinary to earn it—only what I’m truly capable of. We are equals.”

“Enough so that they trusted you to make this journey alone,” says a voice from her other side, mild and gentle, and Sypha turns without thinking, throwing herself into her grandfather’s arms.

“My angel,” he says, stroking her hair, and as it always does, the endearment makes her heart clench up a little around something—something hard and painful, like a rock in her chest, that she has never understood.

She huffs a laugh against his robes, pushes through it. “It was more a matter of whether I trusted them to survive a month without me.” Kiri laughs then, and her grandfather does too, and it warms her to know, with this kind of certainty, just how lucky she really is.

“…and it was in this way that the houses were joined, the scorched land of one family and the usurped fortress of their oldest enemy, and from the ashes of tragedy and loss and centuries of discord arose the hope of an unexpected and brilliant future.”

A long silence, broken up by the crackle of logs in the fire, by the quiet rustle of voices from elsewhere in the camp. There’s no need to pronounce the end of a story here, not if one is half decent at telling it; Sypha knows that they are just letting it sink in.

“A remarkable story, more so even than the first telling, which we have all heard,” one of the elders says, one she isn’t familiar with. In front of the old woman’s feet, a pair of young children are still staring raptly at Sypha. The elder’s voice is warm, pleased. “It will be quite a thing to add to our memory stores. And quite a thing to know that one of our own played a role, in such a difficult time for our country.”

“One of ours, one of Dracula’s, and one of their own that they threw out,” says a young man a few places to Sypha’s left; his voice carries the twist of a smile. “I wonder how the church must feel, in the face of such irony.”

And oh, that’s a thought that has given Sypha much satisfaction over the last year—to be a fly on the wall when the heads of the church met to discuss what had happened!—but the old woman frowns. “I imagine they feel as though they nearly caused the extinction of all human life in Wallachia,” she says, a touch sharp. “Perhaps that is enough?”

One of the children at her feet giggles, a Look who’s in trouble kind of sound, and the man ducks his head. But he’s not in trouble. That isn’t how they do things. “Pardon me, Elder,” he says, “but I disagree. That they made a horrible mistake is knowledge that can fade or be downplayed over time. That they were saved by the very people they ostracized and cast out—that carries weight that cannot so easily be shrugged off. Even if we cannot share this with the rest of the people of Wallachia, that lesson should at least be preserved.”

Because it is about hubris as much as it is about blame, she can remember saying, after that first meeting they’d had with Acasă’s strange new church. Blame can be washed away with a convincing enough apology, and hubris will make the same mistakes over and over again. Both must be undermined if any progress is to be made.

It had been a hard sell. Adrian tends to want to place blame if only to have something to aim all of his anger and sadness at, now that he’s allowed himself to start navigating them; Trevor only wants the world to feel more just than it is. But in the end she’d brought them around: more needs to be done than to just rub the church’s nose in the mess it’d made.

Which is why they’d agreed, in the end, for her to finally tell the story in its entirety—nothing masked or obfuscated, no details left aside. Only for her people’s ears; a closed telling, a rarely invoked practice used when the full story needs preserving but would put the participants in danger, should it get out into the general populace. The people of Acasă are just now starting to truly accept Trevor for who he is; tolerating a witch and a vampire is a bit much to expect of them, just yet.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she says now, “as a participant in the story? I agree. How this was ended, and by who, is just as important as who started it in the first place. There are lessons in both of those things."

The elder regards her for a long moment, thoughtful. Then nods, just a tiny dip of her face into the firelight. “Very well. This story will sit alongside the previous version. The nature of Wallachia’s saviors is to be preserved, as a means of emphasizing the church’s shortsightedness and the need for it to not repeat that mistake.”

Sypha nods deeply, a long and slow dip of her head nearly to her knees. “My thanks, Elder. May your tribe live happily and well, in the coming year.”

“And yours.”

The crowd disperses, some going to hear or tell other stories, some retiring to their caravans for the evening meal. One figure stays nearby, hunched over a nearby fire, close enough to have heard her telling but not actually part of the group receiving it. In the fading light, the shape is just that: a shape, a silhouette, blue-black against the blue-white of the snow, limned in the cold violet light of sunset. They have a branch in their hands, are stripping it of its side-shoots methodically, tossing them one by one into the fire.

It’s a silhouette Sypha would know anywhere.

“What stories have you to tell,” Sypha asks, settling down alongside her, the ritualistic question feeling strange in her mouth, “since this time last year?”

Kiri huffs a laugh. “None as exciting as yours. You’re a hard act to follow, Sypha.”

“You seemed excited about all the knowledge you’d gained, earlier.”

Twist, pull, snap. “That’s nothing, compared to having a grand destiny.”

“I still say that destiny is too strong a word. We basically fell down a hole.”

“Directly into the vault of Greşit’s sleeping soldier. At precisely the time the three of you were most needed. That sounds like kismet to me.”

Sypha can’t help but laugh, remembering. “It felt more like incredible clumsiness, from where I was standing.”

“Falling.”

“From where I was falling, yes.”

A stretch of quiet, then, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

“So,” Kiri says after a while, tossing an entire handful of twigs into the flames. There’s a smile on her face but the firelight has turned it bitter, all shadows and edges. “Your soldier is a vampire.”

“Dhampir, really,” Sypha corrects, kneejerk. For so long, it’d been Trevor she was correcting, then after a while, Adrian himself; she’s used to being quick on the draw with it, because either of them saying vampire had generally been a sign of badness brewing.

Kiri breaks another few twigs free from the branch, twists them in her fingers. “I don’t know what that means.”

Right. Of course she doesn’t. “It means his mother was human.”

“Oh,” Kiri says, seemingly still not sure what to do with this information. “I knew that, I guess. From the story itself. I didn’t realize the distinction mattered.”

“Yes, it… it matters. A great deal. I do not think a true vampire would have ever sided with humanity.”

"Still. I wonder if I would have been able to guess, had we met in the summer instead of the winter."

Sypha plucks at the scarf around her neck, the wool scratchy but warm, dyed in a hundred vibrant colors. It’d come from the market in Acasă, knitted by an old blind woman, and had been a gift—gratitude for the work they’d done securing the town against the demon attacks. They had saved her son’s entire family, and gone home that night and celebrated it, a battle with no casualties save the demons themselves. She’s wearing it because of the cold, but she knows what Kiri is asking. "Perhaps."

A huff of breath. “So much for your gentle warriors.”

“You would probably be surprised,” Sypha says with a shrug, not even bothering to take offense on Adrian’s behalf, because she can tell this isn’t what Kiri’s actually upset about. Some people compare words to weapons, and it’s truer than they know; you can dodge and feint and mislead with them as well as you can with steel. “But that isn’t—Kiri. What’s going on?”

For a long moment, no reply. The fire cracks and pops, splitting the wood apart in a spattering of sparks. Kiri throws the whole branch into it like a spear, a hard burst of frustration.

“Taerna married, this summer,” she finally says, the words quiet.

That stops Sypha cold, her fingers poised in mid-reach for a branch of her own. She curls them back up around the empty air, feels the nails bite into her palm. “She always said she would wait for you.”

“Why should she have bothered? We were only friends.”

“You were more than that.”

“She married,” Kiri repeats, short, face tightening as if to hold something inside. “Like all of my friends and sisters did. Marriage and children and… it’s all anyone does. We had plans. We were going to, to travel, and she was going to hunt our food and I was going to heal people and we were going to see the world together. But this is the only life anyone seems to care about.”

And even you’re going down that path, Sypha can hear, unsaid. You and your prophecy, your exiled hunter and your inhuman soldier.

Sypha closes her eyes, takes a breath. “She cares about you.”

“She also cares about her hound.”

“She loves you,” Sypha says, insistent.

Kiri laughs, bitter, tears threatening. It’s like watching an old dam crumble, flawless limestone threading through with cracks and stress fractures, and then: an outrushing of things held back for far too long. “Not enough,” she says, curling forward over herself, arms tight around her belly. “Not more than she loved the idea of having a child. Not enough to be with me.”

“Oh, Kiri. I’m sorry,” Sypha says, threading an arm over her shoulders, pulling her in. “I’m sorry.”

“Do yours love you?” Kiri asks after a moment, muffled by the layers of robes. “Enough to change the world, to defy everything for you?”

Sypha thinks about Trevor punching Dracula in a ridiculous, suicidal attempt to keep him away from her, thinks about Adrian in her garden, enduring the sun to make her happy—about a castle and a watchtower and the ending of the story she’d told, and her grasp on her friend tightens. “They do. And each other.”

A laugh into her shoulder, rough and wet. “I’ve always thought it would be terrible, to be involved in a prophecy,” she says, barely audible. “I never thought I’d be so jealous.”

There’s a stream that runs past the ruins, a narrow but swift-moving current that cuts through the ground here like a knife. It leads into the tough, gnarled pines and firs that grow this close to the sea, into these dark and uninviting woods that are nevertheless filled with a thousand secret places.

Sypha follows it, as she always has, year after year.

Things are different, this year.

She finds them by the water, bundled up and talking quietly. There’s a fire burning, but it’s been banked and allowed to subside down to embers, giving off heat but very little light. In the heavily filtered winter moonlight, they look like faery folk—Arn with his delicate, dignified features, Lily with the luminescent white bone beads threaded into hair the color of pitch, both of them beautiful and earnest.

They look up when she steps closer, their faces dark, shadowed. Painfully anxious.

She sits down on the ground, near to them, facing them. She is just as filled with anxiety. She has never done this, has no idea how to approach it—she knows they are not being blindsided like Kiri was, knows they have had time to adjust to the idea of this, but all she can see is her old friend’s face, broken up in grief over a friend-love she—and everyone else—had thought was something more. For once in her life, Sypha cannot find the words.

Then Lily smiles, the brilliant, passionate smile Sypha remembers, and holds out her hands, and Sypha lets herself fall into the woman’s arms, nearabout crushing her in the embrace.

“It’s all right,” she whispers, against Sypha’s ear. “You’ve found your loves. It was always bound to happen to one of us.”

Sypha nods against her, feeling the tears welling up. Turns to embrace Arn, the familiarity of his touch painful in this context, in knowing what she has to do.

“Are you set to marry?” Arn asks, quiet, solemn.

Sypha shakes her head. “I haven’t brought up the subject yet. There are a lot of complications—no human establishment would ever welcome us. But...”

“But you would like to.”

“Yes.”

“Will you come back to us then, for the ceremony?” Lily asks, and her voice sounds like the fear of paths diverging, not knowing if they will ever converge again. “Or even just to visit? You know there are none here who wouldn’t welcome all of you—or if there are…”

“Lily will convince them to change their minds,” Arn finishes for her, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

Sypha closes her eyes, takes Lily’s hand. “Of course. I could not stay away for long. And you can always visit us—we’ll have a lot of space, once we rebuild.”

Visiting, seeing old friends: it’s not the same, won’t ever be the same. And sometimes things change, and people change and what they are to each other changes. But these two were always dear friends first and foremost, and that will never—can never—be any different. She gathers them both into her arms, and it’s a sweet, comfortable place to be.

“Please tell me,” Arn whispers into her hair after another long moment, “that Belmont at least bathes regularly, now?”

And like that, the seriousness of the night vanishes, goes up like a twist of smoke into the black. Sypha laughs, and keeps laughing, until it turns to tears again and she can’t sort out which she’s feeling more of.

“Yes,” she says, with a little hiccup of sob-laughter. “He does. He fights the darkness and protects the innocent—like he was born for. And washes the monster blood off, after.”

“Good,” Arn says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We could tell from the beginning, that he was capable of being more than he was pretending to be.”

A long measure of silence, only the water rushing past, too swift to freeze even in the heart of winter.

“Will you let us give you a proper farewell?” Lily asks, hesitant. “Do they know—”

“They know,” Sypha says, biting her lip. “I talked with them about it before I left. They don’t mind.” As long as it’s a farewell, she hears Trevor saying, laughter in his voice even as he’d tried to be serious about this. And not a ‘till next time’.

Adrian had just been quiet, and had smiled softly in that way that is always disarming to her, and had simply said that traditions, and closure, are important. For everyone involved.

“Do you want this from us?” Lily asks. “Whether they mind is not the only question.”

It’s secluded in the little copse of trees, even the starlight blocked by the arching branches thick with green needles, and warm from the banked fire. Sypha nods, and reaches out with both hands, palms up in invitation. They each press a kiss to her open hands, and they hold her and she holds them, all of them swathed in the shadows of this secret place. She lets them say goodbye to this part of their collective lives, lets them put their hands and their mouths on her and push her to giddy exhaustion—one last gift from her youth, and one that will have to hold her over through the winter chill until these two weeks are out and she can begin to make her way home.

When they wander back to camp late that night, appetites sated and tension shaken away, things are different between them, always will be different, now—but that’s all right, in the end. Change, like liquor in a wound, can sting, but it is sometimes the only thing that makes the blood run truly clean.

The next day passes quickly and well. She gives her grandfather the gifts that Adrian and Trevor had sent along with her; scouring the castle library, Adrian had found a rare volume of supposedly true stories from the far east that he thought the tribe would appreciate having to add to their memory stores, and Trevor, feeling some cabin fever in all of the early season snow they’ve gotten, has taken up carving—which is to say, he isn’t very good at it yet, may never really be. But the two simplistic figures he’s sent are easily recognizable as rough caricatures of priests, one missing a finger and one missing an eye. In memory of the day we all met! he’d said, performative, trying to disguise the sentimentality as tactless humor.

Her grandfather laughs to himself as he holds the figures up, and she can tell he’s trying hard to mask how entertained he is; violence is so anathema to their people and yet, somehow, this particular act of violence never seems to have unsettled him. Context, she supposes; Trevor had been acting specifically to save his life, and he could have done far worse.

She wanders the camp, looks at all of the lovely exotic decorations, and plays with the children, an odd pang in her heart as she watches their innocent games. She helps prepare lunch, lighting the fires for the ones doing the cooking, chopping vegetables and kneading dough for flatbread, and she goes into the woods with Kiri to gather more firewood—they will need a lot of it, tonight.

They don’t talk, while they gather. It’s not awkward, just an understanding that the space between them needs some quiet, needs time to breathe.

She visits with the others in her family, with the surrogate aunts and uncles that are not actually related to her by blood, with the childhood playmates and the mentors, and with Taerna and her husband, a man from another tribe who’d chosen to join hers

instead of the other way around, had chosen to take her name. He seems sweet enough, and Taerna seems happy, if a little haunted around the edges of her eyes. Everyone she asks says that yes, of course they will be there, tonight.

Last night had been for stories, and tomorrow will be as well. But tonight is for celebration. All things in equal measure.

Hours in, Sypha drops onto one of the logs around the edges of the clearing; she slumps forward with a happy groan, reaching to rub the knots and strings out of her calves. Her walking muscles are conditioned like no others, but dancing muscles are a different story. It’s a good ache, though, like that burn in the cheeks that comes from too much smiling, too much laughter. She feels overheated from the exertion and the fire, no matter the chill in the air, and she unwinds the scarf, loosens the top layer of her robes to let the air move through.

Between where she sits and where the fire burns, silhouettes move, a chaotic display of human joy and beauty. They have no structured dances, really, though longtime partners often grow into each other’s steps. She can smell warm food nearby, bread and stew and hot mead, sees all of her family and friends and the strangers that come here as well, all her people, all dressed as she is, and wonders again: could any of them, the ones with magic at least, have done what she did?

She stares into the fire, remembers the feel of the castle’s engine between her fingers, the way she’d felt reality bending and brittle fracturing around her, so much more power at her disposal in that moment than she’d ever brought to bear conjuring fire or ice—and she thinks that no, maybe not. She’s met other magicians; she’s not sure any of them have ever trapped an eldritch monstrosity or blown apart an Enochian ward or—or done the things she’s come here to learn how to do. The things her father and her grandmother could do.

Later. Later, when the Nasaii tribe arrives. They should be here by morning. She will learn what she needs to, and she will go home, and she will be able to protect that home more thoroughly than she ever has before.

In the meantime, she watches the dancers, contemplates getting some stew, contemplates whether her legs will fall off if she tries—watches Arn and Lily together on the far side of the clearing, twisting in a tight curl that makes Lily’s hair lift, the fire lighting up her bone beads and glinting in Arn’s eyes. Watches the children imitating the adults, the youngest pairing off with their siblings, stumbling all over each other. Watches strong, tough Taerna with her husband, insisting on leading him, as much as anyone can lead in this sort of dance.

Watches the elder she’d told her story to last night, sitting across the fire from her, watching Sypha right back with a gentle smile that says Don’t worry, that says You will be with them soon.

And there’s nothing inherently romantic about these dances on the solstice—friends dance with friends, parents with children, and many dance alone—but she remembers being young and everything being about those early, tentative relationships, remembers that there was a thrill in getting the chance to dance with those people she called heart-mates, or to be asked to dance by someone she wished to be that close to.

So she can’t help but smile when she sees Taerna whisper something to her husband and break away from him, sidling hesitantly up to where Kiri sits. She’s poking at the dirt with a crooked, bare stick, and her sandals haven’t touched the dance ring—are clean of the dust and soot that coats the ground here, the

remains of a hundred years of bonfires.

Taerna holds out a hand, uncertain.

It won’t solve all of the problems, won’t make Kiri’s love hurt less or magically mend things between them. But there’s something of healing in Kiri’s eyes as she reaches up to take that hand, leaves the stick behind in the dirt, lets herself be pulled up and into the ring of dancers, the two of them falling into each other’s space with an ease that says We belong here, that says Even if we must change, there is still us, that says You will never be a stranger in these arms.

Next -- >

#castlevania #fanfic #netflix castlevania #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #adrian tepes #alucard #fanfiction #taproot #wellspring #trephacard #post s2

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 5 months

Text

Jaune: Pop quiz time. A train is traveling west to east at speed of 300km/h. The driver applies the brake producing a deceleration of 1.4m/s/s. In newtons, how hard will the man in carriage 7 mash his face into the seat in front of him and realize most of the problems in his life are created not by external circumstances but by his own repeated self-sabotage?

Ruby: Jaune?

Jaune: Are human tears primarily composed of a) water b) antibodies c) a quiet admission that all of our plans and dreams will eventually turn to forgotten dust or d) salt?

Ruby: Jaune!

Jaune: Daniel gets salty at criticism and admits he is wrong: never. In years, how long will it be before he alienates all of his friends with this behavior and finds himself entirely alone?

Weiss: Is this supposed to be a personal attack?

Jaune: Rachel has chosen to remain alone at home for the evening and drink two liters of red wine. Please identify the correct chemical formula for consumable alcohol. Is it: a) C2H6O b) C2H5OH or c) The 17th time this year Rachel has attempted to solve an issue by escaping it internally simultaneously knowing at some point, however difficult, she will have to confront whatever it is that went wrong and why?

Weiss: Yo what the fuck?

Jaune: If the y axis is a sense of purpose, and the x axis is the course of a person’s life time, please explain the significance of this result. *flips them off*

Ruby: Jaune this isn’t funny.

Jaune: Quiz ain’t over yet. Alice and Pierre are having a significant disagreement. Pierre says ‘why didn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi remember R2D2 in star wars episode IV?’ Alice says 'he did, because, like, remember when he called him his little friend.’ Pierre replies 'then why did he say he didn’t remember owning a droid.’ And Alice returned 'that’s because R2D2 was Anikin’s droid.’ Who is right and why?

Jaune: Please study figure 66 of the world not giving the slightest shit. And relatedly refer to figure 72 of the world before you were born. Then the world after you’re gone. Then the world after everybody is gone.

Jaune: *Holds his arms apart* Is this angle a) acute b) obtuse c) reflex or d) the hug we desperately wish we could ask for but have convinced ourselves that the pain of existence must be carried alone on our backs forever and ever?

Weiss: This is a personal attack.

Ruby: I’ll hug for as long as you want as much as you want.

Jaune: Ava and James sometimes interact digitally. This month James has responded: 4, 3, and 7 days after Ava’s messages so as to give the impression he is uninterested despite being completely infatuated with her. What is James’ median reply time and why will he live miserably ever after?

Weiss: Is this why you don’t text me back immediately?

Jaune: Arthur knows people who are nice to him, and people he likes. Please explain why the only people he pushes away are the few who belong to this intersection.

Ruby: I don’t know…

Jaune: An intersection is a point where two lines cross over. Will and Claire intersect on a street. Claire is thinking 'Do you know that I still love you? That I will always love you? I was never as happy as when things were good between us and I wish it could have worked and I’m just so sorry.’ Will is thinking 'Not a day goes by where I don’t remember your little and big kindnesses. And I recall the heights of happiness we climbed to. And how sure we were that it couldn’t go wrong until it all went wrong and I’m just so sorry.’ Their lines will not intersect again. Why are people like this?!

Ruby: Jaune, what the actual fuck.

Jaune: This year Amelia has suffered a death in the family, a break up, and several personal crises. Calculate her remaining resistance to completely loosing it when Christopher says: 'Hey you look sad. have you tried going for a run? Have you tried the paleo diet? Have you tried melatonin?’

Weiss: Okay Jaune we get it.

Jaune: I’m not finished with the exam. A pine cone is the canonical fruit of the pine tree. It isn’t sentient but it also doesn’t suffer for possessing sentience. Therefore, would you rather live as a) a pine cone b) a pine cone or c) a pine cone?

Jaune: A pine cone experiences neither shame, anxiety, nor the long months that turn grey and numb for conceivably no reason. Using only the terms 'gnaa!’ and 'aaahahaah!’ explain what a nice condition it must be to be a pine cone.

Jaune: A pain cone is traveling from west to east at 300km/h. If the driver applies the brakes even if the pine cone bops its head, even if the pine cone comes home to its house burning down and its life destroyed, even if the god of darkness manifested in the sky and started laying waste to continents with anti-matter beams shooting out of his ass please explain why the pine cone will witness and bear these things with ease and experience no self contradictions, no sadness, but merely boundless calm.

Ruby:

Weiss:

Jaune: And for extra marks please explain why evolution or a deity would bestow upon a person a big enough brain to realize they are fucking up but make them too stupid to stop fucking up and if your answer is 'happiness’ please show all your workings.

Ruby:

Weiss:

Jaune: If your answer is 'happiness’ please show all your workings

#rwby #jaune arc #rwby incorrect quotes #weiss schnee #ruby rose #lancaster #whiteknight #whiterose #white rose #white knight #war of roses

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years

Note

Here me out...... 😂😂How about reader watching loki eat something sweet (maybe doughnut/bearclaw) n him just being drool worthy and kind of sexy about it. Make it happen pretty please

🤤🍩

A thousand times YES

Sticky Fingers

A link to my Masterlist is HERE

“Ohhh yesss, Norns you’re delicious...”

Loki’s deep moan of pleasure filled the air, lost in his own world as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“You’re being quite loud, you know”, you huffed at the god of mischief sitting across the breakfast bar as you turned the page of your book nonchalantly.

Silence fell. You raised your gaze to take in the scene across the short elevated table in the kitchen where he sat opposite you. Loki, Prince of Asgard, with a fat glazed doughnut in hand missing one large bite.

“And how exactly, is one supposed to devour such a delicacy if not in full appreciation?” he raised his eyebrow towards you with intense sincerity.

“It’s just a doughnut.”

He let out a low chuckle as he leant his elbows on the polished white tabletop, swinging gently side to side on the padded swivel stool.

“Did you know, that on Asgard, tantalising delights such as your dough-nuts do not exist?”, he said as he waved the leavened pastry in the air between you,

“literal gods, feasting on nuts and fruit like animals while mortals enjoy these sinful concoctions of their own invention…it truly boggles the mind, does it not?”

You nodded mutely.

This was the longest conversation you’d ever had with Loki; the absolute hottest man in any room ever, that you’d had a massively intrusive crush on for almost a year, that you needed to work with every day in this Tower, that you’d give your spare kidney if he asked. And it was about doughnuts.

You watched in disbelief as he raised his finger to your eyeline, moving it slowly across to dip it into the exposed jam core of the doughnut and lavishly scooping a sizeable blob of jelly with his tip; his eyes never leaving yours.

They glinted with mischief as he locked on to you with his perishingly sexy gaze, bringing his finger purposefully to his lips, parting them only a touch to allow the digit access.

He placed it on his tongue, his tantalising lips travelling up to the head of his finger as his incredible cheekbones hollowed and he gently sucked it clean with a light moan, his brow furrowed in faux ecstasy.

He withdrew it, slick with a thin sheen of saliva, before rubbing his forefinger and thumb together with a smile.

“Delicious.”

You literally couldn’t form words. You stared at him, mouth slightly open. Hoping you weren’t drooling. Fuck.

He leaned in towards you across the breakfast bar with intent.

“I would offer you a bite, darling, but I don’t think you would be interested in something so decadently bad for you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as his eyes bore into you, pink rising in your cheeks as you became increasingly aware of the sea of wetness gathering in your panties.

“...or maybe I’m wrong, maybe I can tempt you after all.”

Fuckkk.

His jaw dipped as he gave you a look, his eyebrows raised as he flamboyantly straightened his index finger once more.

Even slower than the first time, he made a show of dipping it inside the gaping hole, running his tip expertly around the edge of where the thick juices spurted forward under a gentle squeeze of his hand.

He held it up to you horizontally, his face full of sincerity as he waited for you to make your play.

You felt yourself leaning forward, drawn to him like gravity as your eyes widened.

His amused smile faded as your lips closed around his tip, your tongue gently massaging down past his fingernail towards the head of his finger, swirling around his extremity with full blown sluttish intent as you firmly sucked every molecule of jam wantonly from his skin.

You figured that you were already far too deep in this absurd situation for anything to make it weirder, so with full knowledge of your actions...you let out a sensual moan.

His breath hitched as you languishingly withdrew your lips, sucking gently every centimetre of the way as your purr vibrated against his skin before freeing him with a wet pop.

You straightened, looking back at him with a smirk as he sat with his long finger still extended in your direction, a glazed look in his eyes. His mouth opened to speak and then closed again as you licked your lips, gently biting the bottom one as you did so.

“Delicious'” you echoed.

The doughnut in his hand made a theatrical drip onto his trousers, sliding down his thigh, the thick jam hitting the polished floor with a heavy splat.

🍩🍩🍩🍩

"Delicious" request series part TWO now available here : Fondue Me

I think you'll like this req:

@wheredafandomat

@lokischambermaid

@lokisninerealms

@holdmytesseract

#loki fanfic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki of asgard #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #hot loki #loki smut #loki marvel

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lovingastory · 6 months

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Sakura collaboration story

Back in 2020, Kadokawa published a volume titled Sakura collaboration, which included a number of short stories (more like drabbles, really) related to several light novel series, including The Slayers. "Cherry blossoms" (sakura) was the common theme.

I recently got my hands on one copy of the volume, and the story Hajime Kanzaka wrote for The Slayers (set sometime after novel 17 and paired with a lovely illustration by Araizumi of Lina and Gourry under a cherry tree, which has been circulating on its own for a while) is so cute and quietly poetic that I thought it was a shame not to share it with everyone. So under the cut you can find my tentative translation.

It looked like falling snow.

It filled up the sky, filled up our field of vision – swaying, drifting white, white, white.

Except, it wasn’t cold. If anything, it reminded of warmth, perhaps simply because it was warm, or perhaps because there was also some red among all the dancing, falling white.

The open blossoms fell among the lined trees, splendid, and ephemeral at the same time.

“Wow,” I couldn’t help but say in admiration, unconsciously stopping as soon as I fixed my eyes on that spectacle.

“Amazing,” commented Gourry, my travel companion. He stopped too, enthralled by the dancing blossoms. “Say, Lina, what kind of flowers are those?”

“Dunno. I’ve never seen them back where we come from,” I replied.

A little while before, for a number of reasons, Gourry and I had been sent away to an unknown, faraway land. We’d found ourselves under this sky as we were trying and get back where we came from, on a clueless and unsuccessful journey.

I’d travelled here and there in the land I used to live in before, but I’d never seen those flowers. Meaning they probably only blossomed here.

“Cherry blossoms!” The girl called Ran, who’d become our travel companion ever since we got here, suddenly blurted out, in a strange voice.

She often used weird expressions, which, according to her, were in her hometown’s dialect.

“Huh? What, now?”

“The name of the flowers – cherry blossoms.”

“Ah. They are called ‘cherry blossoms’.” I looked at them again.

The mountains stretching out in front of us were green. However, at their foot, the colors of what appeared to be ‘cherry blossoms’ trees lining along the highway formed a long streak of white, continuing as far as we could see.

The fact that they were only along the highway and not on the mountains made me think that they hadn’t grown naturally, and had been planted. But why on earth were hundreds – heck, thousands of trees planted like that?

“To have grown so many trees… must have been some sophisticated and eccentric king or lord!”

“Wrong!”

“What’s wrong?”

“It wasn’t a king who grew them, just one common person.”

“Huh?!” As the meaning of her words struck me, I couldn’t help but raise my voice. “Wait, wait, wait! A single person, growing these many trees on their own? That shouldn’t be possible!”

“They were not on their own.”

“Didn’t you just say it was just one person?”

“After they’d started working hard to grow them, the people around here came to help too.”

“… Right.” Her way of expressing things was always a bit confusing.

“Still, why did those people feel the need to grow that many trees? Are their fruits edible, by any chance?”

It wasn’t elegant of Gourry to ask, but truth is, it did happen sometimes that trees that bore edible fruits were planted along highways, in order to lower the chance of travelers collapsing from hunger or thirst.

When asked that, Ran furrowed her brow. “Mmm… they do bear fruits and those fruits are edible, but… they are not that good?”

Judging by her words, she had tried them before. Perhaps, they were extremely bitter or sour.

Gourry, probably anticipating that he, too, wouldn’t enjoy the taste, wore a dejected expression. “Not good? Why, getting plenty of delicious fruit like that would have been perfect…”

“What are you talking about?” I said, still enthralled by the white. “This scene itself is perfect, isn’t it?” A particularly strong gust of wind made the petals dance.

“Perhaps, the person who started to plant the trees did it because he wanted to see something like this, too.”

That one scope. Perhaps, he’d kept on with that one scope in mind. Perhaps, that person had seen something like this in his past, and burned with desire for seeing it again.

Perhaps, the people around that person had been moved by that love and enthusiasm, and decided to lend a hand.

The earth-moving passion and effort of one person, stirring up other people… that wasn’t common, but it did happen, sometimes. And as a result…

… as a result, now, we were in that place, surrounded by blooming white.

Perhaps, one day, Gourry and I would be back where we came from, far away from there. And still, we wouldn’t forget the scene we’d seen that day.

The three of us stopped there for a while yet, surrounded by dancing flowers.

#slayers #the slayers #lina inverse #gourry gabriev #ran #slayers novels #lina x gourry #gourry x lina

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nqmonarch · 4 months

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Hanahaki Disease

Hanahaki disease is where when one person has an unrequited love flowers grow inside their lungs and they begin to cough them up. In some versions flowers also start growing on their body. Eventually they die, unless if their love becomes requited, they go through surgery (which leaves them either emotionless or with no memory of the person they love, depends on the story), or (personally I'd say) if they fall out of love with the person.

As someone with self confidence issues (and some shit in the past) I can't really imagine people falling in love with me. So I'm always like damn if this is real and I got transmigrated I'd be dead in 5 seconds.

Characters: Raiden Shogun x Reader (onesided), Hu Tao x Reader, Baizhu, Traveller, Zhongli

Ever since the first time you'd seen her, she'd been a symbol of light, of beauty, of eternity. She was everything right in the world and you were simply made to follow her will. You enlisted in her army, followed her will stripping innocent souls of visions, yes, you felt guilt but... the Shogunate knew what was best. She had to. You'd seen her peerless genius, bared witness to her skills with the sword. She was terrifying and even more so beautiful.

It was by chance you met the traveler, someone on the run from the Shogunate and her army, someone you were supposed to capture at all costs. But you didn't. Instead you looked on with a quirked eyebrow as they tried hitting some electrocubes to make them all light up. They looked like an absolute idiot, you couldn't help but laugh. How could you kill someone like that? So you gave them a small hand to help them escape, thinking nothing of it. But they continued to make trouble. Until it finally happened, the Shogunate went back on her decree.

You felt relief, guilt, so many emotions flood you at the news. It appeared even the wisest could make mistakes. Then it happened. The traveler had spotted you while walking through the streets of Inazuma and invited you to join them on a walk. You obliged, willing to amuse the funny little blonde haired person. What you hadn't expected was for the Raiden Shogun herself to join you.

You were absolutely awestruck, her eyes looked even more alive up close, and the small awkwardness she showed at what normal people did was absolutely charming! Her love for sweet things was adorable, and you wished you could kiss her cheeks and lie on her lap as she sipped dango milk. You didn't say a thing when you were with her. Instead your eyes darted to her every few moments, with anticipation, and when they darted away a small blush normally graced the tip of your ears.

That was when it all went wrong. A day afterward you felt sick and couldn't contain your coughs. Your supervisor gave you the day off, telling you to rest and get better soon so you could return to fighting. You laid in bed, assuming that all of recent work you'd had to pick up was the cause of stress which lead to you being sick. But then with one particularly aggressive cough you felt as if a shock echoed through your body, and on the covers of your bed laid a strange looking flower.

It was light purple, soft to the touch, and shocked you slightly whenever you touched it. You'd wondered if you were hallucinating, it seemed beyond belief. But then it happened a day later and the frequency and quantity of these shocking flowers increased. They weren't even flowers. Amakumo fruit was their name, a rare plant that could only be found in Seirai island. Concerned, you visited doctor after doctor hoping to find a cure or reason that the plant was alive in your body. But you found nothing.

When the first stem began to grow out of the vein on your elbow you panicked. With anxiety and worry you sought out the traveler, they'd been to many places, perhaps they'd seen something like this? You had to get healed as soon as possible so that way you could return to serving her. So you could dedicate your life to her. Your heart throbbed painfully at the thought and you willed away any unsavory feelings. The Raiden Shogun was meant to be admired from a distance, feelings such as love and lust had no place for one of her soldiers. Not like you were on her level anyway.

The traveler perplexed at your condition suggested they bring you with them to Liyue where they knew of a skilled doctor named Baizhu; eager, to return to your life of servitude toward the one you love you followed them without a second thought.

The green haired man was peculiar, there was a white snake wrapped around his neck comfortably. But you could tell he knew what he was doing, from the minor touches to check your breathing and heart rate, to the line of patients outside his door he seemed like a professional. He was probably your best bet at this rate. He seemed confused as well and after the initial examination told you to come back tomorrow, where there'd be another one.

On your way out a short girl with long brown hair in two pony tails approached you, a friendly smile on her face. You would've had a positive impression of her if not for the card she handed you. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor...? 50% off your coffin if you order ahead of time?

You stared up at her with dead eyes and furrowed brows as she kept a welcoming smile on her face, "You won't find any other funeral services like it! Get 50% of your coffin if you order before you die!" Neither her voice nor wide eyes carried any malicious intent but--

"Is something wrong with you?" What the hell was with this girl? "Do I look like I'm dying?" Even if you were, that was still incredibly impolite of her.

"Well," She paused and leaned forward, elongating her neck and stretching her back to get a better look at you, "No glow, a bit ashy actually, straight posture but it's a bit stiff, not really healthy, and just exiting Bubu Pharmacy? You could be and I'm trying to poach customers from Baizhu."

Her nose crinkled ever so slightly as she continued voice slightly less upbeat, "Ugh, that guy..." Her voice was barely audible but either way her words made you upset.

You shoved the business card back in her hand, "Don't say such reckless things just because of some drama you have with him."

You felt a small shock in your ribcage, you didn't even flinch, you'd gotten used to such feelings. It made your body feel itchy and jumpy like every individual cell wanted to run out of your body and leave you with nothing. You let out a small cough, feeling the electricity jump up your throat leaving behind a small burning sensation, the smell of seared flesh faintly in your nose. A small petal landed in your hand but you were quick to close your hand around it.

You should leave before it got worse. Your expression wasn't pleasant, permanently furrowed eyebrows, and a scowl. You were stuck wasting your time trying to cure yourself so you could serve the Shogunate better. A shock of pain jolted through your body, nearly bringing you to your knees. It didn't. You were trained better than that. Yet here you were, looking like a fool, if the Shogunate could see you now she wouldn't let you serve a day in your life. You would always be classified as a disappointment to her.

Another jolt, even stronger, and with it came an onslaught of coughs. The girl from earlier looked on at you worriedly and approached again. You would've pushed her away if not for the continued assailants of pain, shock after shock, and cough after cough racking your body. You gripped onto your arms in a hope to stabilize yourself but found yourself kneeling on the floor, shaking, nails digging into your arms and drawing blood.

The girl was talking now, at the very least she seemed concerned, as concerned as someone that just offered you a deal on buying your own coffin could be. You couldn't hear what she was saying. Only the continued crackle of electricity. Why did it suddenly get worse? You didn't have time to ponder any questions as the pain overwhelmed you and the world went black.

Hanahaki disease. That's what Baizhu called it. The disease of unrequited love. You loved the Shogunate, something you never should've done, you reminded yourself. You'd voiced your thoughts once to the curious brown haired girl from the funeral parlor, Hu Tao.

She only looked at you quizzically, "You can't control love!" She objected, crossing her arms a smile still on her face, "Just live life to its fullest, enjoy it, and accept everything that comes over you!"

"Strong words from someone that isn't coughing up flowers brimming with electricity," You replied, but your words held no malice.

Baizhu couldn't find a way to cure it, his only hypothesis being that if the person you loved loved you back then it would end. As if the Raiden Shogun would ever love you in any way. You didn't want to show her this pathetic version of yourself, anyway. And where did that leave you? Surprisingly, at the funeral parlor.

Hu Tao had welcomed you with open arms, her employee, Zhongli was also fine with you staying. Of course, you didn't just free load you helped out, trying to do heavy labor where you could. You assumed you'd be the strongest because of your training but the sickness had taken it's toll on you, and vision users were freakishly strong. For such a small girl Hu Tao could lift, a lot.

She would often creep up behind you in an attempt to scare you, not that it had worked yet she was still trying to come up with a way to do so. You would scold her, and return to your work, which was often just basic maintenance of the funeral parlor now, dusting, cleaning, it was mundane but you didn't want to freeload. Then the three of you, Hu Tao, Zhongli, and yourself would eat dinner. Zhongli was normally quiet aside from a few sentences, those few sentences alone made you suspicious of him though. How could one person be so knowledgeable? Of course, once you saw his poor mora management all of your suspicions dropped.

Dinner mainly consisted of Hu Tao and yours banter. It was nice. You had to admit she was growing on you, in a different way to all of the Amakumo fruit. A few had begun to sprout out of your body now, you knew each day that passed you were lucky. Your coughs got worse and so did the electric shocks, it didn't help that your body was becoming more frail from lack of use.

Hu Tao kept you company though whether through asking you out for food, "Yo! Afternoon! Let's get lunch! Xiangling's got a new dish!" The dish ended up burning both Hu Tao and yours's tongues. Too spicy, apparently using the seeds of a Pyro Regisvine had that effect. Although, it was funny to see Hu Tao jump at the heat.

Then she would make you go to performances, "Yun Jin has a show today! I asked for some tickets, I'll introduce you to her too!" Hu Tao somehow knew everyone.

And as your friendship strengthened she read you poetry.

"You write poetry?" You were disbelieving at first, but she took no insult from your words instead placing her hands on her hips proudly.

She read some for you, the topics varying from the feeling of elation to death. The two of you knew you were dying soon. In a few days you were bedridden.

But you didn't want to leave so soon. It wasn't just about serving the Shogunate but the past few weeks, the dinners, the people you had met, the stories you had heard. You selfishly wanted more of that. You told Hu Tao you'd face your death honorably, that you would look toward the future, and wait for her to escort you to the afterlife. That you wouldn't fight death.

One night you cried though. You held her slender hands in yours, relishing in the warmth, and feeling guilt at each electric shock that went through your body and reached hers.

"I don't want to die," You confessed. "I feel like, only now, have I truly begun to live. Why is it that I barely had any time to enjoy this?" Your words were choked up and your shoulders hunched as you leaned toward her.

You looked into the usually lively amber eyes, which held a lighter star in them. They were the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. "I wish I could spend more time with all of you. I wish I could spent more time with you," You spoke quietly.

You didn't wait for her to reply and instead removed her hands from hers, and placed your hands on her cheek. Your lips touched hers, hesitant, cautious, exploring unknown ground. You could've sworn you were in love with Hu Tao. But your body was already bound by the flowers of the Shogunate, you'd long ago taken your vow and it couldn't be revoked.

Hu Tao kissed back though, she moved slowly at first before reaching a hand out to hold onto the back of her head. You didn't want to open your eyes and see her expression. You could feel the tears running down your face, you could feel her parched wet lips on hers, and for a moment you didn't feel any of the pain, any of the shocks.

And as you were immersed in the kiss of the woman who moved your heart you didn't notice as the flowers fell off your body, and landed on the ground softly without a sound.

I did not mean to make this so long.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #raiden shogun x reader #unrequited love #hanahaki disease #hu tao x reader #gn reader #reader insert #angst with a happy ending

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saiilorstars · 11 months

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☼ Fandom: Harry Potter ☼ Pairing: Fred x OFC ☼ Summary: In which Fred Weasley is a simp for his wife. ☼ Arlet’s Masterlist ☼ Taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @foxesandmagic If you’d like to be a part of this OC’s work/edits, let me know!

Fred was completely, and overwhelmingly, lucky. He knew he was. He knew from the moment that Arlet said 'yes' to being his girlfriend. She was gorgeous, had the prettiest sparkly blue eyes and the plumpest cheeks he'd ever seen. She had bangs when they met in Hogwarts, giving her an extra touch of cuteness.

Arlet arrived with her younger sister to Hogwarts in '93 and because of her late birthday, she was to start as a 5th year with her sister. She was intelligent, very intelligent. She showed everyone when Snape asked her to list the ingredients of a potion they weren't supposed to prepare until the following week. There weren't many students who could say they had bested Severus Snape (not that Arlet would ever boast about that).

Now, Arlet was shy, but her sister Aracely was the stark opposite. Aracely was an avid quidditch fan and because she tried out for the Gryffindor team, Arlet's path inevitably crossed with Fred's. He had the perfect opportunity to get to know her.

It was still a laugh between them and the rest of their friends and family that Arlet had struggled to tell Fred apart from his twin. She made the mistake many times in the beginning. But ultimately, she got the hang of their differences and then suddenly, things had changed. She sought him out and he sought her out. They gravitated towards each other no matter what. It was an unnatural ache to be away from each other. So, the only solution was to...become boyfriend and girlfriend.

And two months into their relationship, Fred was absolutely in love with her. The type of love that made it hard to breathe when she was around yet simultaneously making him feel like he was walking on clouds. It sounded ridiculous — that's what his brother told him countless times — but Fred insisted that it was an actual feeling. And as soon as it became possible after the war, he asked her to marry him. She didn't think twice about it, much less about the date. Less than a year after their engagement, they were married. And now years later, when things were more than established, there were still things that Fred was coming to find out about his wife. Every day, actually.

Arlet was known for being proper and graceful and just about everything that Fred knew he was not. But he knew a secret that nobody else knew...

"You're a right ole troublemaker like myself," he would tell Arlet in the privacy of their own room. Because every once in a while, when they were alone, she would pull a harmless little joke on him.

Fred suspected that she was getting tips and advice from George.

Arlet giggled each time her joke came to fruit. One time, she left Fred's hair stark blonde.

"Not that I don't appreciate the color, but I really don't fancy the idea about looking remotely like Malfoy," Fred told Arlet very calmly as he admired himself and his blonde strands in the mirror.

Arlet had laughed for hours that night. But in the morning, proper Arlet had returned and helped him get rid of the color and so nobody knew a thing. Nobody knew that Arlet Weasley liked dipping her toes into the prankster life too.

The closest anyone would come to finding that it was when they happened to vacation with their friends and family and on occasion her jokes would last through the morning. What drove things home was Arlet warning Fred that nobody would believe him if he said that she pranked him.

She was a little bit of an evil mastermind. Fred said it many times. He loved it. Spiced things up every once in a while.

He especially liked the adrenaline when they were traveling. Arlet's mother was from Mexico and with that came a lot of vacationing spots in the area. They visited a lot of ranches, countrysides and beaches. Arlet would take advantage of his lack of spanish and trick him into trying the spiciest things ever, or getting him into the stupidest performances when they were in hotels.

Now, Fred loved going to the beach and it wasn't just because he would get to see his darling wife in bikinis or he would get to turn her pranks into his own show. No. He loved the salty smell of the air and the passing vendors with sweet coconuts and fresh fruit and the passing muggle trinkets that always caught his eye. He loved doing all of that with his wife.

And Arlet loved it all too. She loved that her husband loved it all and shared it with her.

They started making it an annual trip, whether it was on their own or with friends and family.

When Arlet wasn't planning on secret, totally evil, pranks against Fred, they would watch the sunset on the beach. They could do anything else in the day but at sunset, they would come back to the beach, sit on the sand, and watch the orangey-red sky as the sun went down the horizon.

"You know, one day, I say we should renew our vows here," Fred said to her one year as they sat on the sand together.

Arlet's laugh was like a sweet melody to him. "Even if I make your life miserable? I have plans to turn your hair purple next week, you know."

"Funny, I had plans to turn yours a bright rainbow next week too," Fred remarked. "We'll see who gets who first but in the meantime, I was very serious."

Arlet still laughed. "You would come all this way to get married again? You're—" But she had stopped when she glanced at him and saw him holding out a ring box to her. Her sparkly blue eyes went wide with shock. "Fred, you're not — you already gave me a ring. You do remember that, right?" She even raised her hand where her wedding band rested.

Fred chuckled. "I promise you that the firework fumes have not given me amnesia. Yet. But we can always do with an upgrade, right?" The shop was doing far better than it was when he first asked Arlet to marry him. He could afford a better ring for her. "So, Arlet Weasley, would you marry me…again?"

A soft smile spread across Arlet's face. "Anywhere, anytime. But it better be with you."

Fred smirked immediately. On the day of their wedding, just a few minutes before she was supposed to marry him, George met her with the rest of her bridesmaids pretending to be him. Arlet had not been amused with their switch-up trick at all. Molly Weasley smacked both of them that day.

"You think I would let my idiot brother marry the most gorgeous woman in the world? I think not. But it did make for a funny trick, right?"

Arlet shoved a hand against his chest. He laughed as he nearly slipped back but when Arlet lunged on him and kissed him, he had all the fuel he needed to laugh through the rest of the night.

The vow renewal announcement spread like wildfire amongst their friends and family. They chose to tell them in that same vacation spot, making it a whole party out on the beach. There were cheers and applause and all the good stuff that usually came with such news. There were plenty of 'why now?' too.

Arlet would put it all on Fred to answer since he was the one who came up with the idea. It was her attempt to make him take care of all the nosey people and free herself. But of course leave it to Fred Weasley to come out with the mushiest things to say when she was being such a bad wife.

"She makes me fall in love with her even more every single day."

"I learn new things about her and I'm a sucker all over again."

"It's like voodoo or something because I swear I wake up loving her and by night time, I love her twice as much."

Fred kept catching Arlet's eye from across the party, letting him know that she was hearing every single word of his. He would wink at her each time. When he was free, Arlet approached him with two tequila shots.

"You want to party with me, Mr. Weasley?" She offered him one of the shot glasses

"Oh, I don't know, my wife might get a little mad…" Fred said, taking the shot glass.

"Mmm…" Arlet hummed and leaned up on her toes, brushing her lips over his, "We can keep it a secret…"

It wasn't always that Arlet was that bold out in public. Fred suspected that it had something to do with the tequila in her hands. She loved tequila.

"Oh honey, you're going to be in big trouble tomorrow," he mused. He wrapped his free arm around her waist.

Arlet chuckled. "I'm not that drunk yet, Fred. Just happy, that's all."

"Oh, well in that case—" Fred drowned the tequila shot and shook his head. Arlet laughed louder. "Where's the next one?"

Arlet was happy to show him, after she drank her own shot. After that, it was a frenzy of celebrations and drinking. They danced together, shared kisses here and there, and the touches as if they were a newly engaged couple. It was true what Fred said. He always loved his wife twice as more by nighttime and tonight was no exception.

He remembered being so hyped up on tequila that even as they were leaving the beach and coming back to their hotel, they were still dancing. They danced in the lobby, Arlet a full giggly mess, and all the way up to their room.

Inside, they were a tangled mess of kisses and touches. Clothes were thrown every which way. There was a series of 'I love you's' exchanged between them, moans and names yelled out. But, as drunk as they had seemed to the others, the following morning they both remembered exactly what their night had looked like.

Arlet felt her husband's strong arms wrapped around her bare body under the sheets when she woke up. Soon, she felt his soft kisses on her neck.

"Buenos días," Fred whispered in her ear.

"Mm, nice Spanish," she mumbled, refusing to open her eyes just yet.

"Well, you made me speak in a whole new language last night," Fred remarked. He planted a kiss on her cheek.

Even though Arlet knew it was impossible, she felt her whole body heating up like it was summer. She opened her eyes and tilted her head up to meet Fred's eyes. "Hey…"

He smiled down at her. "Hi."

"We have to leave today, don't we?"

"Yes…" No sooner had Fred had answered than Arlet let out a groan. He laughed lightly. "Just remember, there's someone waiting for us back home."

With that reminder, Arlet did perk up. She was out of bed before him, and the first one to finish packing as well.

"LET'S GO!" She yelled at him excitedly when they left their room.

Fred laughed as she dragged him away. They had someone waiting for them, after all.

They couldn't possibly get to the Burrow any slower, at least that's how it felt to Arlet. Fred pointed out that they made great time on the sole fact they used the Floo network but alas, she was just too eager to see—

"Where is she?" Arlet's eyes swept over the Weasley's living room frantically. "Oh my goodness! What if they're not home? We told them we'd be back at—

They suddenly heard an excited babble coming from the kitchen and in a few seconds, the babbler herself had come wobbling into the living room — trying to run, it appeared — with two soggy cookies in her hand.

All the franticness washed from Arlet's face. Fred had started laughing when his mother came running in after the 2 year old girl yelling "'Cookies are for dessert, Siena! Give them back to grandma right now!"

Fred brought a hand over his chest. "Ah, it seems like it was just yesterday when I was doing the same thing."

Arlet threw him a look. "That's because you did that last week."

Fred grinned. "Oh, yeah! Siena!" He swept up the two year old into his arms and kissed her bright red hair. "Cookies are most definitely for breakfast!"

Molly reprimanded him on the spot. "Don't encourage her! She stole those cookies when I wasn't looking!"

"How terrible," Fred said with an overly seriousness. Of course he turned away from his mother with Siena in his arms and mumbled to her "That's my girl."

Molly welcomed them back and offered them to stay for lunch, although she warned Fred not to let Siena eat the cookies. She then headed back into the kitchen.

"How could I say no to you?" Fred tickled Siena's stomach, earning the giggles he loved hearing so much.

Siena Weasley was a spitting image of her father and that spelled future trouble…'for those who don't have a fun bone in their bodies' as stated by Fred himself. Arlet had yet to decide if she was worried as well.

"Oh, a troublemaker you'll beee…" Fred cooed at Siena. She had already offered him one of her cookies and then to her mother. "Hey Arly?"

Arlet had started gathering Siena's toys off the ground to alleviate some of the work for Molly. "Yeah?"

"I was just thinking…you're lucky I'm your baby's father."

Arlet paused, then shot her husband a deadpanning look. "Seriously?"

"Aha."

"And why is that?"

"Well, first of all, look at us," Fred turned so Arlet could see him and Siena together. "We're adorable."

Arlet shook her head. "You're something alright."

"And because you know that Siena will be anything but boring!"

At that, Arlet has to laugh. "That's what I'm afraid of, honestly." She walked over to the two, kissing Siena's forehead. "She's got your adventurous bug. My poor baby."

Siena leaned towards her mother and so Arlet took her into her arms. "Hi there, mi nena preciosa!" Siena responded to her mother with squeals. "Tan bonita y traviesa!"

Fred watched as Arlet continued to speak to their daughter in Spanish, a smile growing on his face. Words couldn't describe what he felt seeing his girls in their blissful bubble. He was so lucky, he knew it.

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zibus · 3 months

Text

Theory time!

I dont think Blackbeard is a true D.

Blackbeard is one of my favorite characters in One Piece, and one of my favorite fictional villians of all time. Im fascinated by everything we learn about him, and by how he serves as a foil to Luffy.

The most important way he foils Luffy is the differences between their approaches. Both have increadible ambition and want to stand at the top of the New Era, but the way they approach this goal are completely opposed.

Luffy is bullheaded in the best way. He picks a goal every arc (usually punch the bad guy) and lets nothing stand in his way. He acts impulsively, based on instinct. In Fishman Island, we see how the crew plans around Luffy disrupting their plans. In Film Gold they even purposefully dont tell him the full plan. He is often also willing to risk his dream for those he considers his friends - to help them achieve their dreams. As he travels, he constantly inspires others, leading to him collecting the crew and Grand Fleet.

Blackbeard, on the other hand, is cautious and meticulous. Shanks describes how BB waited in Whitebeards shadow till the time to strike. He tells Ace he has "a plan to reach the top." Above all he his pragmatic. He recruits not by inspiring people, but by offering them something they want - as seen with Shiryu and Aokiji. Even at the moment of hus greatest triumph, when he shocks the world by obtaining the Tremor Tremor fruit, he isnt willing to do anything that might jeopardize his long term goal. When Shanks arrives, even though BB just declared he is now the strongest, he says its not time to fight and leaves.

There are lots of fascinating details about what makes BB special, but the most intriguing to me is that he doesn't sleep. Ever.

If I wanted to be King of the Pirates, and I never slept, you know what Id do? Id use that time to study and plan. I think we can say with some confidence BB does this. The first step of his plan, as far as we know, is that he studied and memorized every known devil fruit to find the perfect one - the Dark Dark fruit - for his plan. Every move he makes is calculated with the risks carefully weighed.

To get to the point: I think Marshall Teach learned about the Will of D in his studies somehow - not the full truth! - enough to recognize that pretending to be a D might give him a leg up. It might intimidate some, or bring certain allies under his banner, for instance. And so he chose to start using it. He didnt truly inherit the will.

Why I like this: the main reason is that he's the only D clan member who is without a doubt evil. Garp is complex and made choices most of us would disagree with, but he isnt selfish or corrupt like so many in the Navy. Perhaps Rocks was truly evil but we dont know enough about him. Otherwise all the other D members are clear allies of the Strawhats. Furthermore, they all seem to display a clear emotional drive to do what they believe is right. Saul betrays the Navy after meeting a single woman who cast doubt on the gov's intentions. While Vivi goes undercover, it reads more as desperation rather than some thought out plot. We all know about Ace and Luffy. Law is the most coniving among them, but in Dressrosa he goes along with Luffy and abandins his comokex plan to defeat Doflamingo, and in Wano he nearly jeopardizes the mission by turning himself over in order to save his crew. They act on insrinct and their strong moral compasses.

All except Blackbeard.

So how would this tie to the one concrete hint we have about the Will of D? That they are the enemies of the gods a.k.a. the Celestial Dragins and Imu?

Well, we know that BB is willing to work with the Navy to achieve his goals. First by becoming a Warlord, then by capuring Bonney, and currently with Coby. I think if BB thought he could achive complete personal freedom and power by being a Marine he would. And I think he will, or at least try to. He will try to usurp the World Gov. under his control while the true Ds will try to dismantle it. This will betray him as someone who doesnt truly care about freedom - only power.

#long post #one piece #one piece theory #one piece spoilers #marshal d teach #blackbeard #will of d

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xhanisai · 1 year

Text

What Do Kisses Taste Like?

AO3

Pairing - Adrinette + Ladynoir

Prompt - ‘Toothpaste And Energy Drinks’

Summary -

"We were discussing what kisses taste like, Marinette!" Rose happily quipped, more energetic than Marinette has ever been in her entire lifetime. The sweet girl clasped her hands together and pressed them against the side of her head in a precious pose. "What do you think they taste like?"

Marinette hummed lowly with little to no interest, placing the travel mug down on a nearby desk and her eyes fluttered shut. Everyone thought she was just mulling over it, coming up with an answer that'll satisfy them all in class president style.

They were wrong.

Before anyone could even take another breath, Marinette had Adrien's collar in her fingers instantly and then suddenly her lips were firmly pressed against his in one, deep kiss.

~(x)~ . . . "What do you think, mec? What do kisses taste like?" When the class discussion (sans Marinette who was most likely going to arrive much later) put him on the hot seat early in the morning (with Madame. Bustier having stepped out for some business for a little while), Adrien was immediately put off guard. However, it wasn't that he was intimidated by all the eyes on him nor did he feel pressured to do anything stupid or say anything equally as embarrassing. 'What do I say to this? The only times I've ever been kissed was by my Lady under the influence of an akuma where my memories were wiped and when Marinette kissed me as a prank...but I pulled away too fast to actually taste her lips...not to mention all those times my lips accidentally brushed my Lady's or my Princesse's by accident when helping them get out of an Akuma's way were all too fast for me to even register properly...' He thought long hard and deep, a comical look of concentration and focus plastered on his face adorably, peaking the curiosities of all his friends. He even had a hand clutching his chin in a manner that brought out endeared grins from some of his classmates, finding him quite cute and charming like a little kitten trying to make up its mind after being presented with two of its favourite treats. "Doesn't...well, doesn't it depend on who you kiss and when? And that multiple factors come into play when kissing?" Adrien finally asked after some time, still not able to come up with a definite answer and having his companions use the little brain cells they had that barely worked this early. "Like...say Rose had some chocolates and she kisses Juleka, wouldn't that make her kiss taste of chocolates too? Or Alya just came in from outside and kisses Nino, wouldn't their kiss taste like the cold, crisp air?" "True, true," Alya began, her sly, impish, fox-like smirk unseen by the blond boy who was still wracking his brain for more answers. "But I assumed you've already kissed a couple of times, Adrien- especially with how confident you looked when you and Marinette had to do it for our class film...unless...you have never been kissed?" "Our lips did lightly brush before Chloé interrupted us," Adrien sighed a little sadly and there was a tone of regret, ignoring the mayor's daughter who squawked indignantly in the background and simultaneously blind to the way everyone else's expressions (except Lila's) lightened up with pure delight and mischief. "Marinette smelt really, really sweet and so good...like spiced vanilla...and her lips were dewy with a cute gloss and it smelt fruity...so I'm not sure if she would've tasted like sweets or fruits or even the delicious cookies that she often shares with us in class. That would've been my first kiss too. What a missed opportunity." His unfiltered babbles and lovesick sighs were like the most delicious cheese in the world and all of his classmates except for the two grumpy, seething girls were Plagg. The way he looked despondent over losing an opportunity to kiss his beloved Marinette and the way he lightly pressed his bottom lip with his fingertips with the definition of unadulterated yearning within his big, green, sparkly eyes was just too good for his gossip-hungry, giggly friends. Though, neither of them got a chance to prod and pry further. "Ughhh...it's too early in the morning! Why are you all so loud?" A sudden, dead on her feet, sleep-deprived Marinette appeared, leaning against the door with a travel mug full of coffee in hand. She didn't even blink at the way Adrien physically lightened up at her presence, his body looking more than ready to pounce her in a huge embrace like his alter-ego's namesake and his emerald greens glittering with adoration and delight. The poor heroine was far too out of it to properly comprehend anything and was currently fuelled by less than three hours of sleep from the past forty-eight hours and many, many beverages. "We were discussing what kisses taste like, Marinette!" Rose happily quipped, more energetic than Marinette has ever been in her entire lifetime. The sweet girl clasped her hands together and pressed them against the side of her head in a precious pose. "What do you think they taste like?" Marinette hummed lowly with little to no interest, placing the travel mug down on a nearby desk and her eyes fluttered shut. Everyone thought she was just mulling over it, coming up with an answer that'll satisfy them all in class president style. . They were wrong. Before anyone could even take another breath, Marinette had Adrien's collar in her fingers instantly and then suddenly her lips were firmly pressed against his in one, deep kiss. His eyes practically bulged out of their sockets, his body frozen under her fiery touch and before he could even think of reciprocating or even holding her with his burning, desperate hands, she pulled away. . Meeting the gazes of their baffled classmates, the super-tired Marinette eyed them with something similar to boredom and nonchalance. "Mint. Kisses taste of fresh mint...like toothpaste. There's your answer." She released her grip on the lovestruck Adrien, about to head for her cup of coffee, only for the feline hero to snap out of his stupor and grasp Marinette by her shoulders. "Wait a minute!" He growled with both annoyance and disbelief, slamming his lips back on hers without wasting any time. The speechless students around them gawked unattractively as Adrien clenched the back of Marinette's dark blazer with one white-knuckled hand and tangled his fingers up in her messy hair with the other, hungrily parting his lips against her rosy pair over and over again until he finally gained access to her mouth with his eager tongue. The more innocent of their classmates such as Ivan and Sabrina averted their eyes from the clearly, hormone-riddled kiss that shouldn't ever be seen in public, their hands covering their faces. The more excited and outrageous classmates such as Kim and Alya and Rose watched with glee and cheered them on, hearts pounding happily on behalf of the very occupied duo and relishing the joy of seeing their ship sail after all this time. A few of them took a couple of pictures and videos on their phones whilst a handle of the students from the class had to restrain a furious, fire-breathing Chloé from tearing apart their one-true-pairing (and no one paid any mind to the way Lila fainted from absolute disgust at the sight of her enemies shoving their tongues down each other's throats). . Finally, after what seemed like forever, Adrien reluctantly parted from Marinette's lips for some needed oxygen, his hands tenderly cradling her soft face and the two of them panting with cheeks more rouge than Ladybug's suit and their eyes glazed as if they've just woken up from a dream. . That was until Adrien's eyes flashed with irritation. . "Energy drinks...why do you taste like energy drinks? I thought your parents banned you from them because they completely messed up your sleep schedule. And you also brought a cup of coffee with you?" Blinking slowly at her frustrated friend, Marinette did the one thing that her slumbering brain could only think of. . She ran. . "Hey! Marinette! Wait up! You're not getting away with this!" . And Adrien followed suit. . "So...does this mean kisses taste like toothpaste and energy drinks?" "Kim. Shut up." ~(x)~ Alya was living her best life. The bestest of them all. She didn't know what she did in her past life or the previous one before that but dammit it must have been something so amazing because all the Gods and higher powers must have blessed her, evident in the way one of her treasured OTPs were kissing messily right there and then and her hands trembling with indescribable elation as she recorded the event with her trusty phone. Her personal 'adrinette' album was pretty much spilling with so much content! "Cappuccino. With five teaspoons of sugar. Five!" Adrien grumbled with irk, pulling away from Marinette's lips with a soft glare, his hands cradling her face and slightly squishing her cheeks so that her lips were pooched. The girl in his grasp only scowled with an intensity of a kitten stuck on a tree branch, her tired baby blues glinting with defiance and her arms crossed as she scoffed and looked away childishly. This only made her blond drawl out her name as a warning. "No way! I only had one and a half teaspoons of sugar in my coffee for breakfast!" She attempted to fib, cheeks and ears reddening as she tried not to give in to his narrowed (but gorgeous, beautiful) greens. "Besides, all that excess sugar is from the fruits I've also had with my breakfast!" "Do I need to shove my tongue back in your mouth, again?" And like the married couple they totally are, the duo began bickering once anew in a manner that reminded Alya of her other OTP, donned with polka dots and feline assets. She didn't pay any mind to Nino who gave her a slightly worried look as she manically cackled quietly behind her phone, squealing when this time, Marinette shoved her tongue down Adrien's throat and then pulled away triumphantly. "Aha! You also had coffee! And not just any coffee...an espresso! With at least three teaspoons of sugar!" The finger Marinette jabbed at Adrien's chest was caught by the taller teen, using the momentum to tug her back to his chest. "Unlike you, I take my caffeine and sugar in moderation and know how to not overwork myself. You? You go through the day with five or six cups daily!" "I'm not gonna let you stop me, Agreste!" "Oh, we'll see about that, Dupain-Cheng!" Alya once again, thanked the higher deities and her boyfriend simply just rolled his eyes with both love and affection for her and his good friends. Though, he much rathered that neither Marinette nor Adrien ended up in a heap of exhaustion and fatigue in the corner desk of the classroom again. The two of them were just as bad as each other. ~(x)~ A sleep-deprived Chat Noir registered the scent of sugar and sweeteners and artificial fruit flavours before the sound of his Lady's feet landing on one of La Tour Eiffel's beams, making her way towards him. He whirled around to face her without opening his eyes, swallowing her gasps as he slammed their lips together in one, bruising kiss. All that his tired mind could register was the extreme sugariness and silkiness of her yielding lips, flavoured with something she definitely should not have been consuming and her body melting like putty in his hands. "Energy drinks again, Marinette?" He sighed groggily as he pulled away from her lips, resting his aching head against hers with a quiet grunt. "At this rate, you'll give me a heart attack from worrying about you constantly-" He snapped his eyes open, feline greens constricting, finally realising that within his arms was one gaping, tight-lipped Ladybug, her face so red it blended in with her suit magnificently and her chest pressed against his as she had to strain her neck to meet his gaze above due to their height difference. "A...Adrien?" She whispered questionably, baby blues glittering and her rosy lips reddened deliciously thanks to his ministrations. Had he been in his right mind, Chat Noir would have probably whooped in joy and kissed her enthusiastically and maybe gotten down on one knee and proposed or something like that. . Too bad he was severely sleep deprived. "You. You're going to bed. You shouldn't even be up at this time!" Was all he muttered, his partner mutely allowing him to carry her away in his arms to her humble abode. She could freak out properly the very next day after a good night's sleep but for now, she casually just let her Chaton drop to her side on her bed after detransforming and snoozing in the comforts of her arms (but not before kissing her goodnight). . . . ~(x)~

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #ladynoir #ml fanfiction #ml fanfics

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softquietsteadylove · 8 days

Note

I fell asleep making an ask midway... It was a vow au prompt request and I think I was just editing when I suddenly time traveled to now. I digress my request was:

Thena, half-awake smells breakfast. Her dream turns into an echo of a memory with Gil. Once she awoke, she tried to look for Gil— he was not in the kitchen nor dining room. She had left her food in search for him, wanting answers and hoping he hasn't left for work. Only for her to find out that he just got out of the shower. A particular droplet traces down to his hand. The very hand holding the small towel together as it held for its dear life around his waist.

The dream and memory could be anything, likewise with Gil's reaction. Hope this wasn't a duplicate...

- 🃏

The smell of eggs and aromatics pulled her from sleep. Half in a dream and half in her mind, she thought of coming out of a room. Everything was bathed in sunlight and then there was Gil. Gil standing at the stove, cracking eggs into chili oil with miso soup and fresh fruit waiting. Gil making coffee while she slept, and then as she slinked out wearing his shirt. Gil turning around in nothing but a white t-shirt and sweatpants with his hair mussed after their first night together-

Thena jolted in bed as she woke completely. She'd been experiencing it quite often as of late; she would be hovering on the edge of sleep, stuck in a very vivid dream until she was plunged into wakefulness. It was always jarring, always so vivid she could swear it engaged her senses. And then she would wake up not knowing what was a dream and what was real.

She had vaguely expressed these notions to Gil, although admittedly lacking some of the more vivid details. He had asked if she wanted to see her doctors again, but she declined. She could figure it out on her own, for the time being. And if the dreams got any more tactile, she wasn't sure if she would ever want to go back to the hospital to complain that kissing her husband in her dreams was too realistic.

Thena turned over in her bed to look at the clock. She was growing somewhat tired of the guest bed she now called her own. It was a fine bed, but it was feeling less and less comfortable the longer she spent in it. She also hadn't mentioned that to Gil either.

The therapist at the hospital did say that some separation at first might create a healthy boundary for them.

She dragged herself out of bed, swinging her legs over the side and touching her toes down first. She kept expecting a soft, white shag carpet, but the guest room had hardwood floors and a thinner rug under the bed. Nonetheless, she stood to brave the rest of the apartment.

The smell was real--Gil was making breakfast. Or it was already made, perhaps. Thena poked her head out, surveying the area. It was still early, she didn't think he would be at work already, but he wasn't anywhere to be found either.

She slipped from the guest room, across the opening to the living room and foyer to the kitchen. Her plate was set out for her, on the counter with a steaming hot cup of coffee. Of course he even set out a proper place mat and everything.

Thena rose onto her toes to sit in the high kitchen stool. The stove was off and the coffee was being kept warm; if he wasn't already at work then he was getting ready and about to leave. Part of her was glad she could catch him before he left for the day.

It was one of those silly little things, but she really did enjoy getting to send him off before they spent the bulk of their day apart.

The man made great eggs. She happily cut into them with her fork, admiring the sheen of the red oil slipping off and around the pristine white and jiggly egg yolk. Before Gil, she hadn't bee addicted to chili oil. Now it seemed they put it on everything they ate.

The coffee was also perfect, of course. She looked around again. The solitude of eating alone was also beginning to wear on her. As much as she enjoyed eating in silence, she would take comfortably listening to Gil chewing over the sound of the fridge humming.

"Hey, you're up."

Thena looked over at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raising as high as they could go.

"Sorry hon, I was going to have breakfast with you," he mumbled as he puttered around, depositing a kiss on her cheek before moving to the fridge to retrieve his lunch. "But I remembered kind of late that we've got a big custom order coming in. I should get in a little early to get a head start on things."

Thena just watched numbly as he double checked that the stove was off while also pouring himself a cup of coffee. He really was in a rush, letting little droplets slosh onto the counter.

"Ah!" he hissed as some of it splashed on him. He wiped at it with just the corner of his towel. "I'm sorry I can't sit with you, hon, but after I'm done we can--Thena?"

She just stared.

"Sweetie, are you okay?"

Her eyes darted down and then up helpless. Her jaw was hanging open as if she were a teenager first discovering her own hormones. The splash of coffee aside, Gil wasn't even properly dried off from the shower, a few droplets escaping his hair and trailing down his skin.

The thick muscles he had glistened and jiggled, soft in some places and then sharply angled in others. His free hand was holding the towel around his hips since he hadn't grabbed the full size one but a midsize towel.

Now that she thought about it, she was quite sure she was always telling him that the big towels were on the bottom in the bathroom shelves (from smallest to biggest in descending order, of course). And now he was just a man, damp and half naked in his own kitchen. She could even see the dark hair collecting under his naval. She did try not to eye the towel too perversely.

"Shit!" Gil swore, just now remembering the circumstances of their situation. He pulled the towel more around his front and used his free hand for modesty's sake, pressing against the heavy cotton. "Sorry, hon, I wasn't thinking!"

Thena looked away graciously as her husband flustered as if he had committed some heinous crime. She wasn't sure what he had to be so embarrassed about. It was his home, and they were technically married. "It's okay, Gil."

"No, I'm sorry Thena, this isn't-" he sighed, reflexively moving to run his fingers through his hair before moving the hand to shield any potential exposure again. "I shouldn't-"

"It's fine," she repeated, feeling warmth rise in her face. Somewhere in her mind, the objective, factual knowledge that she and Gil were married connected with the feelings that she still harboured for him, whether her memories came back or not.

She knew he was attractive. She was so attracted to him that she had, in fact, married him. But until now she hadn't exactly had evidence of anything quite so...visceral. Her mind replayed the water slipping down his back, over his muscles. The way he had swiped at the coffee on his side and she'd gotten a peek of...something.

The elephant in the room, so to speak.

Gil cleared his throat, flushed quite red and shuffling backwards towards their bedroom. "Sorry, you finish your breakfast. I'll get dressed. We can talk about it later, if you want."

She just blinked at him, still captivated by the flex of his bare arms and the contrast of muscle and tummy under his thick pectorals. She wasn't fully gawping at him like a fish anymore but her mouth was still open. Her hand attempted to bring her fork back to her mouth, but all it did was float blindly in front of her until Gil disappeared from sight.

Only once he was gone did she realise what she had been doing. Poor Gil, of course he felt sheepish about it. She still didn't blame him for not thinking of it--he wasn't exposing himself to a stranger. But she did have to realise that she was indeed married to that.

It wasn't as if she hadn't considered it at all, of course--what their sex life had been like. The therapists and doctors had advised against intimacy until she felt ready and left it at that. Gil, the sweetheart that he was, hadn't brought up anything of the sort. The guest room was set up for her by the time she got home, her clothes in the closet and everything.

They had just barely become accustomed to a light kiss here and there. Public displays of affection still were not her strong suit. Affection in general, perhaps. She liked it, though--greeting him with a little kiss when he picked her up or sending him off to work with one.

Now all she could think about was that towel. She knew he was muscular. It was visible no matter his state of dress. But the muscles in his back, and his shoulders, and his arms. They were substantial; she felt as if she knew what it was like to hold them in her palms just by looking at them. What would it feel like to sink her nails into his back muscles...?

The clatter of her fork falling startled her. She rushed to pick it up, feeling embarrassed as if some unseen force were there to witness her lusting after the man she had already married. It was pointless to fantasize about things within her grasp.

Grasp.

"Thena?"

She nearly dropped the fork again but rushed to stand. A smile fixed itself on her face as she looked at Gil, now properly dressed for work with his hair at least somewhat brushed. "Hey."

"Hey," he uttered quietly, his whole body shrunken in on itself like a contrite child. He shuffled over to her, "sorry, again, for...you okay?"

She smiled more genuinely, dropping her fork on the counter again. Always so sweet, her husband. "Yes, Gil, there's nothing to fret over. I didn't see anything, if that's what concerns you."

That wasn't completely a lie, although maybe not the whole truth, either.

He blushed anyway, ruffling his freshly sorted hair. "Uh, well, I mean if you didn't--I should've realised."

Thena sighed through her nose, moving closer so she could stand on her toes and give him a little peck of a kiss. "I appreciate your concern, Gil. But I do not consider it a breach of my consent for you to walk around our home in whatever state you desire. Or need, I suppose, considering you're running late?"

The suggestion that he move on from the matter and resume his hurrying didn't work, though. He put his hand on her waist and gave her another soft - but still chaste - kiss. "This is more important."

She smiled, running her hands down his chest naturally as she lowered back to the heels of her feet. Her mind wandered to the image of said chest completely bare again. But she forced herself to remember the task at hand. "Consider it forgotten, if you like."

He finally seemed to relax a little as she cradled his hand between both of hers. "Okay, if you say so."

"I do," she confirmed for him before giving his hand a final pat. "Now, I believe you have to get to work?"

"Right, right," he sighed, kissing her one more time before dragging himself away. He grasped for his keys blindly. "I'll pick you up after I'm done?--groceries and then boba?"

She just nodded, waving back to him as he floated out the door. Gil always left like they were still in the midst of their honeymoon phase.

Thena looked back at her plate of remaining breakfast, then back at the door. She didn't feel she could focus on eating, after that. She wasn't sure if she would succeed in focusing on anything, if she were to be entirely honest with herself.

Really, though, she was married to a man like that, and she had no memory of it? It was a miracle she was still alive.

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