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halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months

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To Hunt a Silver Stag (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wore a crown of deer antlers atop your head. Charms were woven into the gaps between the tines, attached to golden thread; jewels of starlight strung like teardrops from the moon. Your feet, staying still on the hard stone of the Great Hall, are bare though attract no dirt or dust—it is as if the very ethereal aura that coats your gown of pure white repels any such thought of uncleanliness or corruption of this mortal plane.

You are so very far from home.

Standing in the center of your soon-to-be husband’s court, your eyes seem not to be on the man himself, who watches you greedily from the throne of black iron, but instead behind him. Blank of any emotion, your long lashes blink in the direction of the stained glass windows with a horrible longing. Whispers from the multitude of court attendants go in one ear and out the other—useless to you. Their time would be gone in a blink, and yet here you would remain, immemorial. Their words were nothing, and their utterances would turn to dust faster than their bodies would.

You can’t help but wonder if those colorful depictions in that glass window, of God and his valiant angels, are mocking you as you blink at them slowly. Not only for what you are and where you now find yourself in the kingdom of your enemies but for being so full of the very qualities that would normally resign a woman of this age to the stake.

Independent, confident, and curious, among others.

A voice raises above the rest, and your eyes blink elegantly, the silver hue to them unnatural in all senses. Yet, you do not look away from the mighty white stag, its soldered bits of thin glass a patchwork of an overwatching Lord. Saint Eustace is there, staring at it, just as was told from generation to generation.

A pagan man converted to Christianity, the symbol of a cross set between antlers very much like the ones adorning your head. Humming under your breath, your eyes dip down, chin moving. Below the window, there stands a tall knight, and your gaze locks with his softly.

“Today,” the King’s voice echoes over the crowd as brown orbs stare at you, blinking. “We are here to celebrate the joining of two great bloodlines!” He stands with a grand cape over his shoulders, falling to the floor as his boots stand at the top of the stairs to the throne. Yet, this knight holds your attention more than your Promised does as the cheering starts, loud; making your ears twitch.

At your waist, a golden belt is engraved with expert attention, stories woven into metal that even seem to move with the magic embedded into it. It seems to hum with an energy that makes your eyes narrow in confusion upon this stranger.

He had brown eyes, the knight, and the hues reminded you of brown that you could see in the trees of your home—those old beasts that grew still with the magic of your line and your gentle touch. Surrounding him, there was silver armor and a strip of red fabric that went over one shoulder, hanging beside the items of his station; a sword and a dagger on a brown leather belt.

Brows furrowing, your head tilts slowly, unblinking, as the eye contact persists.

A bold man, it seems.

The knight’s eyelids slightly widen, as if realizing he had been staring, and his face swiftly moves to the side, his short hair close to his oval skull. You hear the faint clearing of a throat come into the shell of your pointed ears.

Sighing, your focus returns to the matter at hand, the crown’s adornments clinking together as your head rotates. The speech.

King Michael spreads his hands out, a man far into his older years but still had the gleam of malice in his eyes. Those beady things. They remind you of a rat—a small creature, while intelligent, that cannot win unless through tricks.

“We all know that magic has slowly been disappearing from the lands,” the King utters, voice echoing off the walls. Your hands are holding themselves near your abdomen, grace embedded into your bones. Watching how he speaks, you can’t deny he was influential. But influence didn’t matter when you had no wife—no children. He has a dying line, and that means weakness…which is why you’re here, after all. “And in that time, our war with the Fae has fallen into a stalemate.”

Your expression sharpens, fingers twitching. Stalemate? There were humans in your lands—spreading their fires and swinging their defiling iron swords. There was no war here except the one that this King was perpetuating.

But you held your tongue, even if your silver eyes narrowed in an ancient, bitter, anger. Your head raises itself higher, hanging gemstones swinging. The knight near the stained glass is back to watching you—his feet shifting from under him, hands behind his armored back with loose shoulders.

“...Today, myself and the King of the Fae have come to an agreement in confidence, and in the fashion of old, I am to be wed to his daughter, a princess!” Gasps, cheers, clapping. They spring up from all corners of the Hall, bouncing. Your body longs for nature, to be away from rock and metal, these suffocating walls that close in with the gaggle of wretched corpses walking. “Peace shall be beholden to all of us! Magic shall come back into my bloodline through our many children, and all will share in its wealth!”

You had compared yourself to a broodmare when your father had given the news of your journey here. A womb to be filled until you could give no more; restrained to a bed—away from any privilege and right.

And you’d been sent here anyway. A price needed to be paid, your father had told you. A daughter to stop the war. A child to bring back mortal magic and keep the peace through generations. Was your head to be put to the block for that? Who was to say that children would bring peace? That there weren’t more conflicts to come?

This was a momentary sacrifice, and here you were wearing white.

You hum under your breath and feel shackles tie themselves to your ankles; tying you to this place. But what other option did you have?

Your ears listen to the loud rapturous cheering, the exclamations of love that mean nothing to you—you do not love these people, do not love their need for violence and their pride. You want to go home, to find where you can rest among glades and grass. Converse with the birds and the beasts to learn of their news of far-off lands; run your hands through clear streams and watch plants grow where you walk.

As your stone body stays still, silver eyes unblinking, the knight near the window is the only man in the room not gazing at you like he wants something from you. While Lords have their eyes filled with lustful envy of your age-less skin—your finery and wealth; the promise of strong children, the knight is the only one with an open expression.

He only watches, handsome face holding the whispers of stubble and eyes that would make many moral women wish to be his wife.

Admittingly, your attention keeps going back to him, just as his own is stuck on you even as he tries to look professional. Back straight, armor glinting, sword pommel fiddled with by long fingers.

The King is walking down the stairs, one withered leg at a time. You don’t offer any help.

“My bride,” Michael licks his lips when he’s in front of you; but he’s more fixated on your stomach than all else. What it will hold for him. “My beautiful Fae bride. My wedding will be known through history for ages to come.”

My.

The world holds its breath. The knight’s jaw clenches, though no one sees it.

You take a heavy breath into your lungs to hold back your snapping tongue. As the words meet the air, they come out as unemotional as a wave at sea. Wind holding mist.

“Certainly.”

—

As it turned out, the castle itself was even less homely than the material that was used to build it. You walk slowly through the halls, hands behind your back and your crown glimmering—the trail of a thin and flowing gown making you look like a specter. One crudely carved window after another passes by your right shoulder, and you look out of every slit; seeing the silver shades of moonlight. In contrast, everything on your left was washed with firelight from the blazing iron sconces, your ears twitching to the pop of wood and fabric saturated in animal fat.

Everything here was horrible.

A prison, you think, slowing near one of the larger windows in the hall. A cage.

Staring outside, trying for only a moment to understand the disgusting castle and adjoined town you look at, there’s a faint noise from far down the corridor.

Wasting no time, your head moves slowly to the side, blinking. There isn’t anyone to be seen, but yet again, your slightly pointed ears twitch.

A firm heartbeat.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Staring at nothing, you listen for a moment, taking it in as your visage fights with blue and red light, shadows littering the small cracks and the marks of stone—your hands slightly tighten, but you hold no fear.

You refused to be afraid here; you would go to your spiritual death with a high head, and nothing less.

“It’s unbecoming to stalk as if a wolf,” you call, voice smooth and even. A beat of bird’s wings. “Four-legged beasts have perfected it, yet, the same cannot be said of you.”

There’s a lapse of silence—a swirling of slight tension that comes not from you but another. The heartbeat in your ear lightly skips. Startled. A shadow cusps one of the connected hallways, a gleam of silver armor. You blink slowly.

“Apologies, Ma’am.” The Knight. The one from the Great Hall. “I…didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

His lithe form doesn’t try to hide from your accusation, instead, his body moves to the middle of the stone floor and straightens—one hand going to his heart and the other behind his back; bowing. The darkness of his complexion seems to glow in the light, smooth skin besides the marring of small scars along the left cheek. Tiny things, only two lines.

For no reason at all, your body lightly turns towards him, watching.

“I’m not nervous,” you respond. “Please, stand straight.”

He does so without hesitation, though his eyes are avoiding yours. A guilty pull is to his lips that you can’t help but quirk a brow at. Yet, you remain emotionless, and outside the shadows of flying birds shift past.

“What is your name, Knight?” You see his expression slightly tense at the question, but you continue easily. A test, perhaps, if this man was worth your time. “I recall your face.”

“I can’t give you that, My Lady.” Brown eyes go to meet yours, and the silver flecks in your orbs glimmer. “My orders were clear.”

“And were those orders also to follow me?”

He clears his throat, feet shifting. “...Maybe.”

You hum, moving your body slowly and walking forward to him. The man blinks in surprise, straightening even more but a firm set to his eyes. His attention never wavers, unless it’s to glimpse your crown and belt, perfect pieces of artistry lost to this section of humanity. No mortal craftsman could imagine making something as such. He liked them, you notice at the light impression of awe in his gaze.

Anyone with sense would.

Stopping just a few feet away, you tilt your head.

It was common knowledge that you never gave your name to one of the Fae, your betrothed would have told everyone close to him to avoid doing so. Just as you would never tell your real name to anyone—not even under dire circumstances. Names hold power, and no person in this castle would make you even more of a prisoner than you already were.

You know the names of beasts and plants, flora and fauna—they bend to you, let you manipulate them to your will, though you often find no need to. The animals from any land prefer your company, anyway. The castle’s hunting hounds have already become well acquainted, just as the messenger birds had.

But mortals? No. No, there were no names that you knew besides the King himself, and even then it was a fake one. Second names and such, are common.

“Your title, then,” you say to the Knight. “If you’re to be a constant face to me.”

“Gaz is just fine, I’d say.” He nods his head, a slow smile moving his cheeks. Your brows furrow. Strange fellow. “A pleasure. I really do need to say that I wasn’t following you for long—I was only concerned you might have lost your way.”

You stare.

“Lost?” Owlishly, your head shifts.

Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the base of his neck. “Yeah—lost. It’s, uh, it’s a big castle, My Lady—”

“Stag.” Wide eyes blink, this meeting is only awkward on his part and not yours. In fact, for how humans go, he was acting far better than most. Usually, there was iron being brandished by now.

“What was that?”

“My title,” you explain, your crown’s gems bright in the light. The fire crackles, popping. “Stag. I do not need my status stated. I know what I am, Knight.”

“Then I’d say the same,” your fingers twitch, liking the word game he plays. Inside of your sockets, the unnatural makeup of your eyes shimmers.

“Very well,” you pause, picking your words. “Gaz. A strange choice to be sure.”

He chuckles, nodding in a very stoic-like way despite the nearly boyish nature of him. “Well, Stag isn’t exactly common, either.”

You hum in your throat, unblinking; staring. Your intrigue grows the longer the man talks. Just like in the Great Hall, his form attracts all of your attention to it, against all laws that you seem to know in your soul.

“Pray tell,” you shift, moving back to the window with your feet not making a single sound. Gaz watches on, eyes flickering between the hanging gems and how you tread over the stone as if you had wings. Your form slips back to the window, and your focus once more goes outward. “Has the King told you to spy on me, Gaz?”

The title, even if not the one of his birth—not the one written on his soul like a brand—still made the air quiver with might. You were older than most of this kingdom, the Knight knew. Older than the oak trees of the nearby forest; older than rock and wind and air.

Power dripped off your tongue like water to a leaf.

But it wasn’t your influence that made the man answer you. It was his own nature.

“Yes,” Gaz says, taking a few steps to where you stand, watching a flock of birds dance above the courtyard, silver moon-drips illuminating white feathers. “But I wouldn’t call it spying. Officially, I’ve been put in place to keep you safe, Princess.” His dark brows crease when you don’t pay him any mind. “I take my job very seriously, yeah?”

“I can see that,” you utter, eyes still on the birds. “The only thing I need protecting from is the iron ring on your right hand.”

He startles, blinking for a moment.

“...Parden?”

Silver eyes pierce him, watching; waiting.

Gaz looks down, locking on the hand that has been resting on the pommel of his sword. Cape swishing, he makes a noise in the back of his throat. His sigil ring—the one that had been given over at his dubbing ceremony sat on the first digit, the engraving of his King’s coat of arms glimmering back.

A wolf; a snake caught in its fangs.

Brown eyes dart back, and he sheepishly smiles, huffing a chuckle of sorts.

“Comes with the job, unfortunately,” yet still, his other hand easily grasps and slips the thing off, tucking it away into the leather pouch swinging from his belt. “I thought that was a myth—the Fae being harmed by iron. Conjured up to give people something to cling to.”

“I can name a million things that men and women like you consider myth,” you mutter, starting at that pouch, deep in thought. You hadn’t expected him to give in that easily. Your shoulders loosen their rigidness, but your chin never drops its high pride. “Every story comes from somewhere—be it reality or wives’ tales. Who’s to say that the words don’t give them life in one form or another?”

“Bloody hell. Not a discussion to take up with me, I’m afraid,” Gaz huffs a chuckle, smirking. While still hesitant around you, the conversation wasn’t anything that made him want to not be around you. Everyone deserved to have their character shown, and what he was seeing so far wasn’t ringing any alarms. “Sound more of a scholar than a Princess, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Your lips quirk. “I prefer philosopher.”

“And what’s a Fae philosopher doing out in the middle of the night, then?” A breeze wafts through the window, blowing on your dress and making Gaz’s cape flutter in its bloodish tint. The torches whip and dance. You take a low breath, bird chips coming closer.

“Speaking with an old friend.”

A white dove lands on the stone opening of the window, fluttering wings coming to fold along its sleek form until it shakes and settles all at once.

“Lysander,” you say in greeting, nodding your head. Gaz watches, barely moving as his lips part in astonishment.

Your hand extends itself, bearing no rings or bracelets. All you needed was your crown. Tiny eyes blink as an angular head turns to the side, tiny coos sparking from a rounded breast. Pale feet grasp your perfect flesh, such a tiny weight settles before you lift effortlessly; wings flapping to keep balance.

“What news, then?” You ask in a whisper, bringing the beast to your crown. Lysander settles on one of the tines, head dipping down as feathers puff. Into your ear, words take shape.

You hum in answer, blinking at every clicked sentence; tapping talons.

Gaz stares blankly, eyebrows pulled up on his head and unable to articulate himself.

So many stories about your people—he hadn’t thought half of them to be true. While he’d been stationed in many places during the duration of this war, he’d never actually encountered one of the Fae before. Gaz had been told they were like a plague; they came in when you weren’t looking, spoke magic into your ears, and forced you to come back to their home and live as mindless beasts. Cupbearers and entertainment.

Of the countless knights he’d been in line with, he knew the true names of none of them. A precaution. Forethought.

Yet…you don’t look dangerous.

But the man is far from stupid.

“He says the fires from your forges burn his eyes,” your voice snaps him back to you, and he straightens, fingers twitching. Gaz finds your face already turned his way, owlish in its movements. “The smoke makes his throat ache.”

“I,” he pauses, mouth opening and closing. Brown eyes dart to the sharp-beaked dove; the thing very much like you in the way it watches him. “I’m…sorry?”

Your lips pull in a frown, sighing with a shake of your head.

I can never survive here, you find yourself thinking. I believed this is what I had to do, but if this is how I’m going to live…

“Tell me about your King, Gaz,” your body swiftly turns, feet carrying you down the corridor once more with long, even, steps. “If I’m to marry him, I will know of his nature.”

The man clears his throat and follows after, where you hear the clinking of silver and the scabbard against his thigh. He glances over at you, walking if not a bit behind yourself in proper fashion.

“What do you want to know, Ma’am?”

Your unnatural orbs shimmer, and the bird on your crown hunkers down; puffed contently and eager to rest his wings from a long flight.

“Everything. I will not be unaware of my fate.”

“Well,” Gaz sighs, rubbing at his chin with his opposite hand. He licks his lips, mind running to answer the best he can. “You’ll not want for anything—finery and wealth will—”

“I do not care about mortal revelry. I need neither fine things nor wealth.” Your voice curtly moves along the open air. The Knight’s boots connect with stone while your bare flesh emits nothing. “His character, Knight. Is he fair—just?”

Gaz’s face tightens, glancing from you to the hallway as he takes a moment to think.

“My King has…become troubled with the turning tides of the war. I’m sure when your marriage is official, he’ll go back to how he was before.” He doesn’t seem certain, but loyalty is a trait that a knight knows well. You had been set as his charge, of course, not under the best of circumstances, but he would do his job how he believed would benefit all parties. Even if his guts were stiff at the thought of a forced marriage.

“My Lady Stag?” He asks, and your heart jerks unexpectedly at the muttering of your title.

Blinking in confusion, your hand coming up to rub at your collarbone like a willow branch, you almost miss the question entirely.

“Where you come from, if I can ask, of course, what’s it like?” Your mind strays from marriage ceremonies and consummation—momentary peace slipping in on waves of this man’s smooth accent.

Mouth opening, only to close once and open again, you decide to indulge this man with your answer. If only because he speaks of your home.

“Green,” is the soft utterance of your answer to him. “It’s green. More trees and rivers than you can count in your lifetime. Animals each more fantastical than the last; all of which your people now call nothing but hearsay.”

You can sense his attention, sucking up knowledge as if he had the years to know and understand it all.

Lysander coos, shaking his feathers out, and you glance upward without moving your head. You chuckle like a blade of moving grass.

Blinking, Gaz slowly begins to smile, cocking his skull to the side boyishly. “What’s so funny, then?”

Your high nose twitches.

“He says you’re as if a Wyvern hatching. A curious thing.” Brown eyes drift to your companion, whose peaked eye pierces like black fire-stone. Gaz’s mouth releases a puff of a chuckle, chest jerking.

“Hell, never thought I’d get insulted by a bird.”

“Humans have not the ability to speak with beasts,” you ease out, walking on. “On that, I have to say you are at a sure disadvantage.”

“What?” Gaz’s amused voice is in your ear. “Minus the whole immortality thing?”

You side-eye him, visage calm with decades of understanding. “Not everything is built to last forever.”

A momentary silence falls between the two of you. Eyes locked, you both stare, legs carrying bodies across the unfeeling stone until the area Lysander had told you about takes form. You shift a slow right and exit into the inner courtyard, large stone walls making a small square of patchy green grass and dying plants. A fountain sits still.

“If this is to be a game of equal exchange, Knight, I desire to ask the next question.” Your eyes take it all in, hand moving out to capture the blackened leaves of a Medlar tree. Frowning at the dead fauna, you hear Lysander take to wing, flapping until his ghostly form lands on the far-off fountain’s edge.

“Alright,” Gaz nods, looking around at the dying place with a frown as well. He’d never come here before, but the state of things was…sad, really. “Ask away.”

“When you leave the castle—the town,” you let power move to your fingertips, and you feel the tingles of it running the lengths of your arms like ice and fire; taking a low breath. “What do you see? I admit, I’m not used to having company with humans. I know not how their souls feel.”

Gaz walks into the small enclosed space, humming as he taps the pommel of his sword. His shoulders shrug as his head tilts up, blinking at the stars.

“I wouldn’t see it as you would, I gather.”

You look over your shoulder, amusement in your face mixed with a slice of intrigue. “That wasn’t my question. But, no, you would not.”

“Figured,” he chuckles, nodding at you. Gaz articulates himself dutifully. “I see a place far more peaceful than the one here. Outside the stone and smog—it’s beautiful, truly. Calm. You can actually think above the noise, you know? I usually find myself wanting to get out more often, but my duty ties me here.”

Your eyes soften slightly, thumb running the face of the leaf as you take in his words. Lysander stoops to take a sip of water.

“You’re…” You lack the words, only humming and stopping yourself.

“Why are we here, Princess?” Gaz asks you, gazing around. “I had only expected you to walk to the kitchens—the library, even. Don’t get me wrong, you can go as you wish, but I’m not sure this is the most…” He grunts. “Sightly place to end up. Everything’s dead.”

“Nearly,” you whisper, a tiny smile taking over your flesh. “Not quite.”

Gaz’s frown is lost to you, as is his comment that he mutters, “Looks it.”

Leaning forward, you press your lips to the leaf you hold as if a precious object. Into its blackened and shriveled form, you whisper its name—its true name, one you had learned through years of patience and trust that bordered on an entirely trance-like state. A Medlar is a tough and stubborn thing, like the fruit it bears, it will hang on until all else is gone to dust. Its roots are strong, and from them, you had listened to the earth sing its songs one buzzing note at a time.

All things speak, you just have to know how to listen.

There’s a surge of wild order, a dichotomy of will and freedom; the sing of an axe and the memories of young saplings just gracing their leaves to the sun. A circle of death and rebirth as old as the stars that still shone in a sky of black.

You know many names, but those of the trees were the first to come to you, and it was only proper. Before anything, there were trees.

The Medlar shakes, its leaves dropping down one at a time until they come in groups, in clusters—bare branches shiver like dogs do until creaking ballads move over the air.

Starling, Gaz had taken a large step back, hand snapping to the handle of his sword, the blade half drawn. Lysander flies past his face, blunt talons skating the close-cropping of his hair before the bird grapples to your crown. Flinching, the knight watched with a mixture of horror and pure wonder.

The tree was sprouting new greens.

You step back, and from your feet, the dead grass quivers, before the smell of groaning earth makes his nose twitch; fresh blades show themselves anew. The dove atop your crown jumps from one sharp tine to the next, dodging lines of gold—eyes glinting and wings flapping excitedly.

Life is in the very air.

You smile to yourself, silver eyes moving as a nearly ancient-looking spark flares to life in them—a long breath entering your lungs.

Gaz’s face begins to heat as he watches, his heart pounding with something he can’t understand. He stares at your bright face before his fast-blinking eyes move to the grass growing all around; the bushes dancing, flowers opening up and turning to you. Birds gather on the edges of this verdant and fertile land, darting one by one to the fountain and to the trees. Singing.

The knight steps back, feet dancing over the ground with an airy laugh stuck in his throat.

“Holy hell…” he breathes, nearly panting.

Wide eyes move back to you, expression open, innocent. This was a moment when you truly believed you’d never seen a face more bare than this; more giving.

“You…” He laughs. “You’re tellin’ me you could always do that?” You chuckle, and it is a sound that could make roots grow in his heart, flowers bursting from his lungs. “I…I’m speechless, really. This is,” he laughs once more, turning a full circle, with his hand going to the back of his neck in shock. It was entirely new—all of it. Ivy climbed the stone, and the animals spoke and flew in the air; excitement something that transcends species. “This is extraordinary.”

You were something incredible.

Chuckling, you raise a slow brow, feeling a foreign heat move over your cheeks. It’s a moment before you speak, taken aback by the reverency.

“My thanks, Knight,” your head nods his way, a simple dip of your chin and nothing more. “But this is only a small courtyard. A fraction. If I so wished, forests could grow from ashen ground.”

“How?” He asks you, eyes glittering more than the moon.

Smaller birds join Lysander on your head, finches, perhaps, and sparrows. They tweet and chip, speaking their thanks. You reach up and let one move onto your finger, bringing it back to eye level as you move to softly connect your forehead to its own. Moving back, you hum and watch the bird fly off.

“Ages of practice,” you elegantly tip your head his way, careful of your cargo. “Quite verbatim.”

Gaz is speechless, unable to recall something in his life that had made him feel so special to be able to witness it. Magic to humans was a dying thing—you’d be surprised if he’d ever even seen it in this magnitude before.

“...Amazing,” he utters under his breath, smiling like a fool.

For all of your Fae trickery, your games, you had to be honest. “I don’t believe I thought you’d be this moved by it.”

“Really?” He blinks at you, a boyish twist to his face. “How could I bloody not be, Love?”

Your air gets stuck in your throat, eyes minutely widening.

Gaz quickly comes back to himself, straightening and clearing his throat as your face suddenly blazes in a way that startles you. Heart pattering like a horse’s hooves not only at the…different title but his awe at your magic as well.

“Forgive me, My Lady,” you choose not to correct him. “I overstepped.”

His body bends forward in a deep bow, hand to his heart, resting over his armor as the cape drapes its crimson fabric to the now vibrant grass.

It had briefly eluded you that you were to be married soon. A comment like that could get the Knight and his tree-bark brown eyes put to the sword. You hold back a long sigh, eyelids fluttering shut softly.

“Is he kind?” Your question is small, but it moves like a knife.

Gaz stares hard at the ground, once dead and nothing but a reminder of nature. He clenches his jaw, a worry swirling in his gut. The man knows who you’re asking about, and he holds the same dread he did in the Great Hall as you were led like a sacrificial lamb to the altar.

Maybe the Knight was broken, but even if he’d never met one of your kind before, he knew that no person deserved to be bartered for the illusion of peace—forced to give children like they were only objects. But maybe he was also just a man not meant for this lifetime.

It was the way of things.

Gaz swallows the tension in his shoulders. He will not lie.

“...No.”

—

This tall knight had become a constant at your side. Officially, he’d been placed for your protection, but you knew it was because the King didn’t want you to cut and run.

But unless there was a very good reason to, he should have known that you were not the running type. It was a battle of wits, and even into your marriage, you would always come out on top.

It started easy enough—Michael would invite you for tours of the castle ‘making it a home’ he’d said in front of his court. It was a power trip.

He’d talk about his wealth like it would make you swoon; like you cared at all. You could only hide your sneer for so many hours, even with your infinite amount of patience. Time had mellowed you like the rocks of the ocean, but even they cracked when the storm was strong enough.

Yet still, you considered yourself too intelligent for baseline insults.

“My palace was much the same, your Highness. Our towers rose high—nearly gracing the clouds themselves.”

“Oh, lovely, my King. Pray tell, do you also have pet dragons? Oh…unicorns, perhaps? My, I had the most lovely unicorn companion when I was just shy of my two-hundredth birth year. A little thing—all legs and neck. Beautiful creatures.”

“Gorgeous little trinkets. Tell me, do you have a coffer for fallen stars? They create the most magnificent illumination for late-night reading.”

Gaz nearly lost his composure at times, even if no one else could tell except for you and your pointed ears; twitching at every breath that was fought to keep still. The over-the-lip huffs and chuckles. In fact, you found yourself perpetuating the back-handed insults just to hear those noises. Such small and meaningless things, in the grand scheme.

You took…enjoyment from it.

Seeing the effect it had on the King was also a bonus—his raging eyes, snapping tongue held back for only his reputation and little more. He wanted to take you by the arm and shake you, you knew, yell in your face.

Kind, King Michael was not. Gaz had been correct.

In the nights, you would discuss with the Knight—sitting in the dense and growing courtyard with your body comfortable on the grass; Gaz’s on the fountain’s edge.

You have much of the same confidence in one another as you do tonight.

“Do knights marry for love?” Your voice wafts out, petting Lysander with a single finger in your lap; itching at his neck as he coos. “Do they get to choose?”

Gaz fiddles with his cape’s clasp, fingers dancing over the silver make. He has made a motion to always take off his ring when it’s just the two of you, easily slipping it away until he was forced to put it back on. He doesn’t know if you feel it, but he believes the two of you to be well-off acquaintances—perhaps even friends.

The man enjoyed speaking to you. He reveled in the limitless knowledge that spilled from your tongue, your stories and tales. Gaz, unlike so many others, enjoyed your company not for the power that it offers in a physical sense, but for the words that you freely give. Often your sentences were like honey to him, seeping into his head.

A princess speaking with a knight? Unheard of. A Fae princess? Blasphemy.

It was easy to forget that you were older than many generations of his family line.

“No,” he says, glancing over. “All knights take a vow of chastity when they commit to service. None of those alive in this kingdom will wed unless they willingly break their oaths.”

Your head tilts, crown resting comfortably a small distance away on a rock.

“That sounds lonely.”

Gaz smiles, “Worried about me?”

You stare, eyes traveling the little deaths on his face—the lines, the scars. “If it’s what you wish to do with yourself, who am I to tell you any different?”

The man’s face softens, lips pulling as his cheeks heat under the moonlight. “Figured you’d have some opinion of it.”

You hum, raising a brow. “It’s your life—it’s so fleeting. Tread it as if water between your fingers. Before you know it, it’ll be gone.” Lysander leans into your flesh, shivering. “Live it.”

“For someone who says they don’t know humans that well,” Gaz grumbles, though his chest is light. “You sure know a lot about them.”

“Intuition,” your mouth twitches in a smile. “And a bit of reality.”

Delicate looks are shared.

You do admit, you liked these conversations with Gaz. The long nights and the feeling of grass under your flowing dresses; the horrid contraptions that your betrothed had tried to make you wear stuck far back into the wardrobe of your room. Heavy items—suffocating corsets, unlike the simple but elegantly sewn one you wear now. You could feel it trying to sneak in when the days drew on.

Control.

It was all becoming more and more apparent. You did not want to live like this.

Your face goes troubled as the calm silence moves over the Medlar with its reaching branches. Fireflies hang like miniature stars as you take your crown and slip it back on; to feel the comforting weight of antlers.

The knight pauses as he slips his cape off of his shoulder, blinking over at you in a slow confusion. You look troubled. He’d never seen that expression on your face before.

“Stag?” Your head swivels, as if in another world.

“Just thinking,” your voice moves into his ears, making them hum with energy. Gaz’s brows furrow, a frown taking over. After a second, he stands, moving closer on quiet feet.

You watch him as he goes to kneel near you, one arm moving over the bent nature of his leg while the other holds fabric—letting it cascade over the earth. Brown eyes narrow, and a joking tease moves with the undertone of slight concern.

“I’m usually the talker, I know, but when you look a bit like that it makes me nervous.”

You frown. “Look like what?”

“Like someone’s got a sword to your neck, Princess.” The air is cool here, the deep throws of night taking you by the breath in your throat. A smooth smirk. “It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

If you leave, if you find a way out of this…the war will never end. It will go on until stone cracks like glass and generations forget why it even started in the first place.

But why were you put to the axe because of it? Why must you take the blade to the stomach—an object of greed?

Gaz’s amused voice moves lower at your immobile lips, going serious.

“Hey,” a hand outstretched to your arm, hovering. “Really, is everything alright?”

“Gaz,” you pause, voice still level despite your heated pulse. It’s like a snake curls itself in your guts, roots growing in your veins. The courtyard seems to shiver all by itself, leaves curling into themselves from bushes and trees. Lysander’s feet shimmy, head moving about.

This knight had been kind to you as well as honest about his intentions. Chivalrous. Such qualities are hard to come by anymore.

“I don’t believe I want this.” It’s a breath more quiet than a lapping of waves. Gaz stills, fingers above your flesh twitching. “I can’t live in a cage. I refuse.”

Silver meets brown, holding it firmly.

“I will not be a prize to be chained to a birthing bed.”

The man’s face pulls at that, tightening.

You don’t know what to expect. It isn’t fear in you—no, nothing like this could make you afraid. Apprehensive? Perhaps. Age made you cautious. At any moment he might flip his tune; run off to tattle to a King he, seemingly, likes just as much as you. Which is to say, very little. But there’s still the possibility, the knowledge stacked over ages and ages of strategy and mind games.

A knight of a tension-ridden kingdom, swearing fealty to a King whom you’re betrothed to. You’d just expressed treason, in a way. It could put you to the sword; to the rope. To irons. Your mind runs through the millions of possibilities, not able to settle on a single one before—

A cape settles over your shoulders, startling you.

Hand snapping to grab the front, your head snaps up, eyes wider than you can remember them ever going.

Soft browns meet you, a thin smile. Fireflies buzz about, and a dove sits under your still finger, watching with beady orbs intently at the scene. A Medlar quivers.

A stag and a knight breathe the same air. A godly creation and a saint ensnared in a song far larger than they intend, as the world shifts past all around them. Silver starlight leaves long reflections breaking from the hanging glory of your gems, but the patches of light on Gaz’s face capture yours in that instant far more than they should have.

Impossibly so. Unnaturally so.

Does this mortal have magic of his own, perhaps? You have to ask yourself. There was no other possibility.

And when he speaks…it’s like whatever ice has been layered over your antediluvian heart breaks into fire. There wasn’t even a fight from him.

“Then tell me what you need.”

TAGS:

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802 notes · View notes

sakkiichi · 8 months

Text

YOU’RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH.

You meet him under the brightness of ballroom lights and the vibrant colors of his mask. However, is it a good idea to let yourself be lead by infatuation?

feat. Childe, Kaeya, Kaedehara Kazuha, Lyney, Albedo x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, fluff, slight angst in kazuha’s and lyney’s, royal masquerade au. reader wears a dress, mildly suggestive allusions on childe’s (very soft).

i would like to dedicate childe, kaeya and albedo’s part to my dearest @bunny-rambles <3 albedo’s part is dedicated to the sweetest @ssilversiren too !

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ CHILDE

Crossed arms over his chest and a sharp edged smile peeking from underneath his mask. The prince is certainly amused, and not precisely by this gathering he himself hosted.

It’s this feeling. Being unknown; just another face amidst the ebb and flow of a sea of profiles.

What would it be like, to converse with others, with them being none the wiser about his royal status?

Running a hand through his ruddy locks, Childe leans off the wall, something, or rather, someone having caught his attention.

The person is standing on the opposite corner of the room, their skirts as if weaved out of seafoam and tides, cascading to the floor in silky waves of sky. They’re alone, the ornamented wall behind them making them look as an extension of it, a painting without frame; for they stare longingly at the swaying crowd, their frame still, anchored, yet without a harbor.

“Fancy a dance?” A voice you swear you have heard somewhere before asks, causing you to turn around.

Striking sapphire eyes lock with yours, the cheeky smile he sports weakening your knees for a second. He’s dressed finely, in white and red, silver accents decorating the lapels and shoulders of his jacket, matching with the scarlet mask partially concealing the constellations of freckles dusting his handsome face.

You swear you know him. But you don’t at the same time; a crystalline pond at night, argent starlight swallowed by the depths of its abyss.

“Quite the bold request, considering you haven’t even introduced yourself, don’t you think?” You prompt, the stranger’s magnetizing grin drawing one of your own from your painted lips.

“Oh, come on, humor me?” He pouts, drops of cobalt glinting in the previously dull ocean patches of his gaze.

“Hm,” you ponder, bringing a finger to your chin. “How about you give me your name first?” You suggest, tone taking on a playful lilt. He watches the light quality of your dress, sweeping around you, tendrils of a spring wrapped around the delicate curves of your figure.

“A name, huh?” He smirks, and no matter how much you know it’s a bad idea, you find yourself hoping to call his name often in the future.

He knows what he’s about to reveal is an equally bad idea as you swimming in the currents of his pull, and still, he finds himself uttering the appellative he hasn’t heard in ages.

“Ajax. My name.” He whispers, those lips that only promise trouble brushing the shell of your ear.

You smile, your stare glinting not unlike the azurite shimmer that decorates your disguise.

“Very well, Ajax,” you draw out the last word, your voice directing the incognito royal’s heart wildly against his ribcage. “Come and find me.” Is the lingering echo of your words, a seashell’s melody, as Childe watches shades of aquamarine mingling with the crowd.

Perhaps this was not a good choice; but maybe you like the rush that comes with wishing he asks your name, with wishing his hand catches yours.

From the corner of your eye, you spot a wisp of red as you turn a corner down the busy corridors of the palace. You certainly wouldn’t mind if you happened to take Ajax’s half cape off later tonight.

✧ KAEYA

Rows upon rows of glinting masks and flashy clothing fill the luxurious room, the space practically painted in molten gold.

If anyone were to ask you, however, you’d reply this place is hell. The palace’s corridors are labyrinthine as it is, twisting endlessly, the frozen images hanging on their walls unchanging to your widened eyes.

And certainly, the shoves and pushes of a too excited crowd are not helping your mood at all. Exasperated, you grunt for the thousandth time, bunching up the skirts of your lacy white dress, determined to elbow and step your way to the damned ballroom.

Alas, the distant stars had other plans for you tonight.

Just as you were going to decidedly advance a particularly rowdy crowd, a force collides with you from behind, sending you and your unstable high heels against the polished tiled floor.

Except when the impact comes, it is not hard at all.

“My, a beauty like you should be more careful to watch where they’re going.”

You rise your gaze to meet the owner of that smooth teasing voice.

Hair weaved of icicles at midnight, braided to one side, falling over the spotless bronze skin of the stranger’s pretty face. His eyes, or rather, his visible eye, is chilly blue, the biting touch of a sunny morning after a snowstorm. And, unlike the rest of the guests, he’s not wearing a mask. He doesn’t need one either, his mystery-exuding aura, paired with the eyepatch on his right eye, somehow disguise enough.

You clear your throat, trying to act as if you hadn’t been blatantly staring at the man in front of you.

“Why, thanks.” You let out, tone crisp. “I was watching, but apparently someone with no manners wasn’t.” You add, with disdain, glaring at the advancing multitude.

“I don’t disagree.” The enigmatic stranger smiles, a sliver of moon, icy eyes following over your figure as you straighten your skirt.

Then he hums, the crescent of his sultry lips morphing into a smirk.

“Why don’t I accompany you for a while?” He offers his arm to you. “I was just leaving, but seems I’ve found a reason to stay, at least for a while…”

You match his smirk, conflicted at how attracted you don’t want to admit you are to this man.

“Oh? Does it outweigh the reason you were planning on leaving for?”

“I’ll take the risk to find out.” He grins, looping his arm with yours.

In silence interrupted by the joyous multitude, you make your way to the ballroom. It’s odd, the way you feel comfortable next to him, despite secrets and starry nights concealing the truth of his nature. You don’t even know his name…

“Call me Kaeya, by the way.” He murmurs, as if reading your thoughts, his tan hand, adorned in gold and midnight, lacing with one of yours, his other around your waist.

“Pleased to meet you, Kaeya.” You find yourself whispering back, entranced by the mysteries frozen in that shady stare of his.

Perhaps this is wrong, to let your heart out in the falling snowflakes around the flickering spark of this igniting infatuation, and yet, maybe just this once, you feel like you can fly with wings made of ice under a blazing sun.

You don’t regret it. Not when you know you’ll dream of Kaeya’s voice for nights on end. Not when he twirls you around the room, a flurry of snowy clouds outlined by gilded twilight. Not when he pulls you aside, hiding both of you into an alcove, his smooth hand pressed against your mouth, as some guards pass asking for “the prince”.

He definitely looks like one, you think. You don’t have time to dwell on iit as you both run off, hands still laced, into a narrow torch-lit corridor, the night air beckoning you towards the exit.

Danger had never felt so right.

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

You should have known better.

Better than to trust that bastard.

The nobleman that was supposed to be your date tonight.

It’s not like he didn’t show up, oh, he did alright.

You wish he hadn’t.

Seeing that asshole arm in arm with someone else makes your blood boil, a cold, cruel anger seeping into your bones, its chill enough to burn white-hot.

And yes, perhaps stomping out to the too pretty rose garden was a childish decision, but maybe it was you just exercising self control.

Best to brood than let your tempestuous wrath strike the whole place down.

Storms were only beautiful from a distance, after all.

You heavily sigh, removing the bejeweled mask covering the upper half of your face.

No point in keeping it now, you observe, running a thumb over the faux diamonds embedded over the indigo surface.

How ironic, you laugh, humorless, for your mask to look like a bright starry sky, when all you see the moment you rise your gaze heavenward are dark clouds gathering.

“Pardon my intrusion,” a pleasingly gentle voice begins, just as you were plucking the fading petals of a dying rose, “but are you not feeling up to joining the ball?”

Suddenly, the gloomy night dyes moonlit and crimson: twin pools of sunset regard you, a soft flame, soothingly warm in the chill of the inauspicious night; threads of starlight seem to constitute the man’s hair, almost angel-like in the way it frames his candid face, in the tender way the locks fall over his shoulder, tied in a bright red ribbon, akin to a bouquet of lily of the valleys. Like you, it seems he has discarded his mask, a splash of vermillion held in between svelte fingers wrapped in pale silk.

You greet him with a smile, the previous gales of fury receding, replaced little by little by the nurturing caress of an early autumn wind through maple leaves.

“I could ask you the same question.” You offer, turning your body in his direction, the faint touch of moonlit clouds brushing against your skin.

He shakes his head, tendrils of silver swaying with his movement.

“Let’s just say I prefer the peaceful nature of the outdoors.” He chuckles, sincere, the sound almost transparent in its quality, tiny ripples by a dawn breeze over a mirror-like stream. Then, he tilts his head to the side, silken strands caressing the smoothness of his cheek in ways you know you shouldn’t be dreaming of so soon. “However, I do believe it could prove romantically irresponsible of me to deny someone else this dance, no?” He asks, extending a hand to you.

And you know you shouldn’t feel your face heating up at the protruding tendons over the callous softness of his skin.

“My name is Kaedehara Kazuha,” he finally introduces himself.

Kazuha. You can’t quite tell just yet why you somehow wish that to be forever the name on your lips, nor do you know yet why you find your eyes naturally drifting off to every lash and diminutive freckle so temptingly touching his cheeks.

You don’t know if it’s right either, to take this leap of faith. What if the jump ends in you downfall? Again.

But what if you could swim in a pool of starlight instead? Is the voice whispering in verse into your ear, when you find one of your hands entwined with Kazuha’s, the other resting over the shoulder of his black and red suit jacket.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Kazuha.” You find yourself smiling back, before introducing yourself.

As your dance partner twirls you around, the warmth of his hand lingering on the small of your back, the overcast skies seem to part. Like a wrinkle in the mundanity of human life, endless sparkling stars cast their gaze over you two, even their moon coming out to take a peek into the couple’s hearts yearning for the fated romance to be.

Splashes of cotton candy pink and cherry crimson sweetly bloom under the argent lights of the enchanted night, even the wilting rose you had been tampering with earlier dyeing in shades of life anew.

Though, to you, in this moment, the only life that matters is the one held in Kazuha’s autumn stare, his tenderness tethering you to the gentle comfort of your head resting against his heart.

Maybe it had already started beating for you, much like yours.

Perhaps some charms begun at midnight.

✧ LYNEY

Throngs of people gather around the Opera Epiclese building and yet, you had never felt so alone.

A sinking feeling settles in your heavy heart, as you pat your now lackluster gown, check your purse, only to come up empty handed.

Your ticket for today’s masquerade ball, seemingly vanished.

Defeated, you sigh, turning on your heel.

What use will be lingering around, with no way to get into the opera house anyway? Things couldn’t have turned out worse.

Or so you thought.

For, seconds later, you would find yourself tripping over the hem of your long dress, ripping it in the process, one of your delicate high heeled shoes slipping off, clattering to the concrete ground, a few feet away from you.

The ruby tear embedded on your mask seems like a mockery right now, salty crystalline tracks streaming down your cheeks.

Luckily, no one will pay you any mind and you’ll save yourself the embarrassment, you try to console yourself.

Alas, the fates didn’t even want to concede you that small salvation.

“Are you alright?” a pleasant voice questions, causing for you to turn around.

And when you do, the man standing right before you is not unlike a spell himself. Violet eyes concealing the secrets of a lifetime spent on the edge of light and shadows regard you through his cat mask, the disguise leaving a maroon tear-shaped mark visible on his cheek, similar to the one on your own mask; his top hat is decorated in shades of rose and night, a purple ribbon around it, its hue almost in tune with the magic of his gaze. Silvery strands sweep over the stranger’s pale visage, slightly ruffled in the ebb and flow of the night’s balmy breeze. And in his hand, he’s holding the fine shoe that caused your fall.

With your face burning in shame, you look to one side, mumbling an affirmative response. You can only be grateful for the crowds starting to dissipate, leaving you and this boy mostly alone.

Kneeling, he carefully slips the shoe on your bare foot.

“Are you sure about that?” He prompts further, helping you up. “You look dressed for today’s ball, however, you were heading in the opposite direction…”

Rubbing at your face, you hang your head low.

“About that… I’m not going anymore…”

“Is that so?” He tilts his head to the side, gaze of iris settling on the torn skirts of your attire.

“I just… it’s embarrassing…” You admit. “I somehow lost my ticket to enter… and well, then I fell, and now besides not having the means to get in, there is no way I look presentable for the occasion anyway…” You chuckle, humorless.

He hums. Then:

“If I may be so bold, I do believe you look lovely.” The mysterious man compliments you, snapping his fingers.

You follow his gaze to your outfit. And when you take it in, your eyes widen. Where there used to be a tear on the fabric, now it’s seamlessly weaved together, sweeping over the nightlit cobblestones. And not only that, but its shade is an even more vibrant shade of carmine now, small sparkly flecks catching the silvery ripples of Fountain of Lucine.

“Wha- Thank you…” You breathe, awestruck, admiring the revived color of your clothes.

“My pleasure.” The magician chirps, with a wink. “Now, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ball? It’s starting soon, and I would be very happy if you said yes.”

“I mean… I would love to, but my pass is gone…” You answer, regret lacing your tone.

“Hmm…” He muses, holding his chin in between two fingers. “Can I ask you to look closely now?” He pulls out his ticket, and right there, in the blink of an eye, he slides a second pass from behind the first one.

You gasp, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“How about now? May I, Lyney, have the pleasure to join you for the night?” He proposes, bowing.

Smiling gratefully, you take his arm, wonderstruck still.

Together, you make your way towards the Opera Epliclese, the tickets safely held in Lyney’s free hand.

When you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the clear surface of the fountain’s waters, a Rainbow Rose adorns your hair.

The magician’s doing, no doubt.

You silently thank Lyney with a smile, and he believes no beam of moon could ever hold a candle to the sight of you.

✧ ALBEDO

Above the hall’s music, an acute faraway sound pulls you out of the forest of masked faces.

The spacious room is lit in gold, luxurious lamps and chandeliers focused on a crowd disguised in velvets and lace.

But, that melody. You can’t quite get it out of your head. You’ve been hearing it all evening, every now and then.

Akin to a gelid river, cutting through blocks of stone-hard ice, making your every hair stand on end when its notes tantalize you with the promise of the gilded reflections of northern lights over the stream’s surface.

You can’t ignore it any further, the flames dancing from ornate candles against the walls seem to murmur.

And even though the impending rushed beat of your heart may be painting danger red all over this possibility, you decide to ignore it, listening to the unknown song’s voice, beckoning you out of the ballroom.

Flecks of gold seem to hang in the air as you make your way through twisting ample corridors, the otherworldly sound welcoming you through a set of double doors, their wood snow white, their handles, crystal.

When you push them open, frozen air appears to settle all around you. It is not unpleasant, though.

In the same way, even though the music has just stopped, the sight before you is not unpleasant either in the slightest.

Amidst the room, a blonde man stands. His gaze, resembling underwater lights at dawn, is set on you. A white shirt with blue and golden accents falls perfectly against his frame.

You don’t miss the way his sleeves are rolled up, nor the tiny multicolored splashes in them.

Which brings you to take in the space around you.

A multitude of paintings line every wall: landscapes of somewhere you can only dream of stepping into; portraits of people you have never met, or have you, in the distance of sweet sleep?; abstract brushstrokes, constituting colors you had never seen before, that you know you won’t see anywhere else.

“Hello,” a soft voice that can only belong to the man in the room utters. “I am Albedo, the court’s alchemist, how may I be of assistance?”

You clear your throat, stammering an apology. He smiles, that sunny sky gaze never leaving you.

“I-I uh… I just heard music and… it seemed to come from here… I apologize for barging in so rudely.”

He gives you a sweet smile. You wonder whether he’s a prince, instead of an alchemist.

“Not at all. Music, you say?” He asks, bringing close to his lips the flute he had been holding. “Did it sound anything like this, perhaps?” Albedo starts to play, notes filling the chamber, colorful blossoms flourishing along snow-covered plains.

You get lost in the sound. In the ethereal aura the prince-like alchemist exudes. He’s as magnetic and entrancing as the melody he plays. Unconsciously, you’ve started to sway, and perhaps a part of you wishes this song was a gift for your ears alone.

At some point, the symphony stops, notes of it, still lingering in the crispness of the atmosphere, despite the closed windows.

“Beautiful.” He utters, tender, the fall of snowflakes atop your open palms.

Warmth creeps up your neck when he steps closer to you, his elegant hands hovering close to your face, to your silver mask.

“May I?” His lips say, rose-colored in the careful lilt of his tone.

Nodding is all the answer you can manage, Albedo’s cool fingertips grazing the side of your cheek.

“Yes, lovely.” He repeats, studying the lines of your mask-free face, the wave of your hair, the sparkles in your wide eyed gaze.

You wonder if he’s ever looked into a mirror, because if he’s presenting you these compliments, no words could describe how utterly breathtaking you think he is.

“Would you allow me to paint you?” Is the question you find yourself nodding to as well.

Beneath the golden lighting of fabricated starlight and with the paradoxically warm caress of Albedo’s cool touch when his hands position you for his portrait, you enter a labyrinth of emotions you only want to brave deeper.

What lies beneath the sunlit layer of snow clinging to Albedo’s every movement?

Perhaps tonight, as he renders you in watercolors, you have already imprinted yourself in his golden encased heart.

876 notes · View notes

creepa-b0t-inc · 7 months

Text

EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS

i am poor and jobless so sknfkalhflshnklf ALSO I JUST UPDATED THE PRICES

[image id: An image of @creepa-b0t-inc on tumblr's emergency commission sheet. All text is in the deltarune/undertale font. Each section end is marked with a white line connecting the white border that outlines the entire image. The background is transparent.

The first section reads "HI! I have built up the courage to open emergency COMMISIONS!!! I mainly work in Deltarune/Undertale style art. HERE ARE MY PRICES!!!! [It would be greatly preferred if you could provide any ideas or concepts for designs, because I am sadly not that good at design. I will try my best though!]" with a note off to the right side reading "!!! I SOMETIMES TAKE A LONG WHILE!!" and "!!BE PREPARED TO WAIT!!". All text is white, except for the 'HI!' which is yellow, and 'emergency' and the side note, which are in red.

The second section lists off examples and prices for commissions. The top left has white text stating "OVERWORLD SPRITES (next line) $20-$80 PER CHARACTER (next line) [depends on how many sprites you want]" with a side note in red that says "+$20 FOR ANIMATION". Below and to the side of this, there are 5 examples:

An image of Jockington from Deltarune from four different angles, front, left side, right side, and behind view.

An image of Starlight Glimmer from My Little Pony standing on her hind legs and curled around herself like a worm, covering her mouth with her hoof and smiling, looking at the viewer mockingly.

An image of a cockroach sitting on a bench reading a newspaper. it has a brown fedora and looks unimpressed.

An image of BIGSHOT.ex from Puredawns, with his left hand on his hip, smiling. He is wearing pink and black boots, black pants, and a pink suit top with a yellow tie. He has a purple and black cape and there are yellow rings around his wrists and knees.

A collection of 16 walking sprites of Noelle from Puredawns. She is wearing a long white hooded coat with icy blue accent marks, icy blue wings, and the hood down. Her color palette is much colder than usual.

The top right has white text stating "UNDERTALE STYLE BATTLE SPRITES (next line) $40-$100 PER CHARACTER (next line) [depends on how many sprites you want]" with a side note in red that says "+$20 FOR ANIMATION". Below and to the side of this, there are 4 examples:

An image of Exposition Guy made by Kevin Temmer Tunes holding a spoon in black and white.

An image of Spider Guy by Jaiden Animations in black in white, except for the pupil of its eyes which are red.

An image of Jaiden Animations in black and white. She is wearing a white hoodie with black accent marks and black sleeves.

A black and white image of an aimkid style dog character wearing socks, gloves, and armor with its left hand on its hip and its right hand holding a giant meat cleaver with a bumpy end, like a comb.

The bottom left has white text saying "DELTARUNE STYLE BATTLE SPRITES (next line) $40-$100 PER CHARACTER (next line) [depends on how many sprites you want]" with a side note in red that says "+$20 FOR ANIMATION". Below and to the side of this, there are 4 examples:

An image of Pibby from Learning with Pibby, a small light blue character with pink/light purple hair buns.

An image of a large sky-blue computer with a control panel and 2 rocket engines propelling itself into the air, along with two colder-blue speakers on the computer's left and right sides, also being propelled by their own respective rocket engines. The circle part of the speakers are alternative white and black circles and the computer screen is black except for a green outline of Queen from Deltarune.

An image of an angry looking robot character. it is a dull blue with light yellow accent marks and purple wires sticking out of its back. it's face is a pixelated red screen. It has thick, blue vent-hose like legs with 2 large blue, metal feet. They are accented with a caution pattern in light yellow.

A collection of 5 sprites of Night in the Woods characters-from left to right: Mae, Gregg, Bea, Angus, and Germ-all looking angry except for Germ and Mae. Mae is holding a baseball bat with two hands behind herself, Gregg is holding a crossbow with his right hand, Bea is smoking and holding a pickaxe with both hands, Angus has his hands on his hips, and Germ has his hands in his pockets with a possum on his head.

The bottom right has white text saying "DIALOGUE EXPRESSIONS (next line) $20-$60 PER CHARACTER (next line) [depends on how many sprites you want]". Below and to the side of this there are 4 examples:

A colored image of Flowey from Undertale's head.

A collection of 6 images of Rouxls Kaard from Deltarune's face, each expressing a different emotion. From left to right, the expressions go: smiling with teeth, open mouth smiling, open mouth smiling with wide eyes, smiling with teeth and wide eyes, smiling with teeth and winking, and smiling with teeth and both eyes closed.

A collection of 7 images of an ice cap (with sunglasses) from Undertale's face, each expressing a different emotion. From left to right, the expressions go: neutral with tired eyes, neutral with wide eyes, surprised, angry, maniacal laughing, evilly grinning, and nervous/looking off to the side, sweating.

A collection of 3 images, each containing a different expression portrayed by op's oc. the oc is a reddish-pink flower with a green stem and its petals behind its face with a loose strand, as if it is hair. The expressions portrayed, from left to right, go: smiling, smugly grinning, and angrily yelling.

The third sections begins with white text saying "DELTARUNE BATTLE MOCKUP (next line) $200 (next line) [This could take me a while to finish, so I'll only take on ONE of these at a time.]" Below this is two example images:

An image of a Deltarune-style battle scene with Night in the Woods characters. There is a red bar on the left side of the screen that has white text next to it vertically reading "TP 0%" and a menu with a text box on the bottom containing Mae and Gregg, Mae with 150/150 HP and Gregg with 170/170.Mae's icon is in light blue and Gregg's is in orange. It appears as if the user is selecting what to do with Mae's turn, hovering over the fight button. In the text box below, there is white text that reads "* The cultists strike back!". The fight setting is in a grassy area in front of a red, sunken furnace with bricks surrounding it. On the left towards the top, Mae is holding a baseball bat behind herself with both hands, and below her Gregg is holding a crossbow with his right hand, his left hand in front of him, looking angry. On the right, there are two identical looking cuktists in brown, hooded robes and boots holding shotguns.

An image of a Deltarune-style battle scene with Night in the Woods characters. There is a red bar on the left side of the screen that has white text next to it vertically reading "TP 0%" and a menu with a text box on the bottom containing Mae with 150/150 HP. It appears as if the user is selecting what to do with Mae's turn, hovering over the fight button. Mae's icon is light blue. In the text box below, there is text that reads "* CASEY awaits your first move." The text is shakey, and all white except for 'CASEY', which is blue with glitching text behind it. The fight setting is in a starry sky area, with the head of the Sky Cat watching Mae. On the left is Mae in a blue color pallette entirely except for her pupils, which are red. She is holding a baseball bat behind her with two hands. On the right is Casey, a shadowy cat figure whearing a long coat. He has glowing white eyes and facial features with a glowing blue outline.

The fourth section begins with red text that states "THINGS I WILL NOT DRAW:" with a lower opacity, larger 'NOT' behind the main text to create an echoey effect. Below this is a bulleted list in white text containing "NSFW, RACIST/BIGOTED THINGS, NFTS, (and) ANYTHING I DON'T WANT TO". Beneath this is a bit of text that says "SO, feel free to message me on either Tumblr or my Discord, @creepabotinc." with '@creepabotinc' in yellow text. /end id.]

#creepa art #commissions open #emergency commissions

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

Note

I had a very cursed thought and I'm choosing violence and making it Tumblr's problem:

Bruce had his thing with Talia. It led to the Stabby Child that is Damian.

Except, Damian has 2 dads.

Bruce, biologically his Father, and Daniel James Phantom, brought to their world by the Lazarus Pit, who "convinced Ras to retire" (aka turned his mind to mush through Eldritch Madness of Revelation). Talia took over, and, thinking herself The Chosen One, allowed the guy to court her.

In fact she isn't some Chosen One. She's a badass woman who could kill Danny easily, and he's very into that. And it's not helping that she's very attractive, and her kid is very feral and like to fight, like baby ghosts also like to do.

Eventually the Bats get wind that there's been a Change in Management in the League, and they come to investigate. Bruce expects the worst, Tim is just praying Ras is dead and he can get his spleen back, Jason is mildly disturbed that it might mean Talia is leading the Assassins, and Dick is keeping Gotham safe while the others are out.

They expect a cruel dictatorship, or a mound of corpses piles in a corner.

They did NOT expect to see a tiny Damian fight a guy dressed in League armor, a Cape and a crown of black iron, who could've been Wayne Adoption Bait if he was younger, while the guy laughs and corrects his form. Every blow the child is allowed to land simply passes through him.

Talia got herself a very comfy throne (Danny gifted it to her, saying some cheesy line like "no other would be fit for a Queen like you") made of Starlight and Ice, from which she can watch her on and her Beloved bond and train, while her new and improved League watch on as their Prince takes joy in his training and the pride his parents have in him. Soon he shall move to Gotham to meet his other dad, and learn from him as well, so he may know his family and make his destiny as he wishes.

TLDR: Danny is a simp for strong deadly lady and a good dad to her kid. She's indulging in his attention and caring. The bats are confused. Jason can feel the Ghost Adoption that will be coming his way when Danny "Ghost King" Phantom learns of his existence. The League of Assassins, even while they kill people to maintain Wolrd Order, treat Talia, Danny and Damian like the spies in SpyxFamily act towards Loid and Anya :)

Bruce: *opens his mouth*

Talia: You can't adopt my love

Bruce: *closes mouth*

I go a little feral for Jason viewing Talia as his mom so I am 100% behind Danny adopting Jason. Maybe Tim follows him after learning what Danny did to Ras and let's him have his spleen back, tho only on the condition that his own doctors put it back in. Who knows what Ras has done to it and with ecto involved its better to be safe than sorry. Tim is amazed that they can put the spleen back in at all due to how long its been outside his body.

Is this going to turn Poly with Bruce/Talia/Danny? Cause I'd read that!

Lmao imagine everyone going on vacation in the Ghost Zone. I'd read that too!

#the alien answers #dp x dc #i noticed the Change In Management and im wondering if thats a reference to one of the fics ive inspired

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moonchemistry · 4 months

Text

here's what it was all leading up to! my silly little next generation of MLP. more info about them under the cut because i can't help myself

ships:

fluttercord

appledash

cheesepie

twipie

shining armor / princess cadance??? whatever that's called

starlight / trixie / sunburst

derpy / dr whooves

sweetie belle / button mash

lore:

pandora is the oldest of the mid gang, jellybean is the youngest

anath is a student/apprentice of rarity, who initially they didnt get along for various reasons (do you notice i made them look as antithetical and unappealing to rarity as possibly) but now they see each other as family and rarity is a huge mother figure for her. rarity saw a lot of spike in anath and that was one of the reasons she started growing so close to her

zap apple wants to be the first earth pony to be in the wonderbolts. his older sister, aurora apple, desperately wants to get away from the family and just do her own thing

it took twilight and pinkie a long time to get together so thats why jellybean is the youngest lol. the poly relationship is twilight x pinkie and pinkie x cheese but not twilight x cheese

klaus is just some guy that pandora thinks is neat

pandora and anath cant stand each other

skyla is kind of in the group by proxy and because shes cousins w jellybean etc etc but she 1. lives in the crystal kingdom 2. kind of feels excluded sometimes because shes kind of just there cus their parents are all friends

on the other hand, lil' cheese and flurry heart are huge friends, despite the fact that flurry heart is prolly like 5 years or so older than him.

flurry heart and bundt cake dont rly know each other but lil cheese and bundt cake have been besties since they were born cus they were born around the same time and grew up together

silly string is trans. i didnt make her cape that color on purpose it was an accident but im going w it lol

silly string is the first pony to ever be born from 3 ppl and shes got some Things cus of it (dont ask me waht those are)

sudzy has heterochromia w a blue eye and yellow eye from both her parents

vanilla sweet is prolyl the hardest to identify here, shes sweetie belle x button mash, just mostly inherited her moms traits

fun fact these are all kind of based on designs I made when I was ten years old (of which will never see the light of day for various reasons)

#my little pony #mlp #mlp next gen #fluttercord #cheesepie #twipie #appledash #RARITY FANS I AM SO SORRY. I'VE ALWAYS HAD A HARD TIME SHIPPING RARITY WITH ANYONE AND IT WAS EVEN HARDER TO COME UP WITH A WAY FOR HER TO #HAVE A CHILD EVEN THOUGH I KNWO SHE'D LOVE IT #THIS IS THE BEST COMPROMISE I COULD COME UP WITH. IM SO SORRY #moonchem.art

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luminoustarlight · 7 months

Text

Tell Me Again Tomorrow | Din Djarin

You are injured in an attack, The Mandalorian takes care of your wounds, and you admit your feelings for him.

rating: general audiences | pairing: din djarin x f!reader | wc: 2.6k | read on ao3 warnings: blood and injury, hurt/comfort

this is a repost from old blogs of mine but it is my writing <3

You think you're done for as soon as the side of your head makes contact with the rock. The pain in your body is excruciating. How can it be so dull and so sharp at the same time? The pang in your side— it’s sharp. Continual and constant, like the pointed tip of the blade is repeatedly slicing through your flesh, even though you know it’s gone. There’s the ache in your chest and around your ribs, and the pounding in your head is dull but ever-present.

You think you hear Mando’s blaster and the attacker’s body fall to the ground, but everything is hazy. He rushes over to you and kneels on the ground. It’s wet and warm and he realizes he knelt in your blood.

“Dank ferrik,” he huffs. Your eyes begin to flutter closed but the distinct outline of your Mandalorian hovering over you makes you feel safe. “Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me.” His modulated voice is tender but urgent.

“H-hurts,” you push out, squeezing your eyes tightly. (Doing the exact opposite of what Mando told you not to do).

“I know, starlight. Just try to keep your eyes on me.”

Starlight. Starlight? Is that a term of endearment? He’s never called you that before. You might be slipping in and out of consciousness but you know what you heard. Starlight.

“You look horrible,” Mando follows up.

You’re pretty sure you’re dying and this is what he chooses to comfort you with? You want to laugh but it hurts. It all kriffing hurts. “You… you should s-see the other guy.”

“He’s dead.”

“Exactly,” you slur. Your lips quirked up into a small smile until you feel a sting in your lower lip. You try bringing your hand up to your mouth, but the effort is unsuccessful.

Mando needs to assess your injuries but he doesn’t even know where to start. The gash on your forehead, the blade wound in your slide, your split lip, and your puffy eye. His chest tightens at the sorry sight of you. He should’ve never left you alone on the streets of Coruscant. But he did and now you’re both paying the price. You, physically, and him, mentally.

The cut on your head is superficial. There isn’t much he can do about your lip and your eye. It is the stabbing injury that concerns him the most. Since the attacker removed his blade, you are losing a significant amount of blood. It has completely saturated the right side of your shirt and the ground beneath the two of you. Mando needs a plan of action and he needs one quickly if he’s going to keep you conscious.

Apply pressure to the wound. Mando tears off a long piece of his cape and wraps it underneath you, tying it tightly. He then moves to the other side and scoops you up, pressing his hand against your wound for extra pressure.

“Owww,” you drawl. Your head starts feeling light and your eyelids are terribly heavy. But it’s good that you’re reacting to him. It means he hasn’t lost you yet.

“Put your arms around my neck. Can you do that, starlight?” Mando has already begun a quick pace toward the Crest. Your head rests against the cool pauldron on Mando’s shoulder, and it relieves some of the pain from your cut. You weakly manage to sling one arm around Mando, holding onto his cowl as tightly as you can. It hurts to breathe but he smells good. Like sweat and musk and him. It’s grounding you, keeping you on this plane with him. You’ve never been so close to him. So weak and so vulnerable.

You’re quiet under Mando’s grasp but he can still feel the expanding of your ribs when you breathe. “You with me? We’re almost at the ship.”

You’re conscious. You know because you deliberately close your eyes to keep out the bright lights of the bustling cosmopolitan planet. “‘M here,” you mutter.

You decide that you want him to hold you forever. You fit snuggly and perfectly in his strong arms. It’s not the most comfortable thing being pressed up against beskar, but you wonder how wonderful it would be to lay on his broad chest, kiss his sturdy shoulders, and nuzzle into his neck. You feel like your head is turning to mush when you think you should’ve gotten hurt ages ago if it meant being held by The Mandalorian.

Mando fiddles with the controls on his vambrace and before you know it, you hear his heavy boots clink against the ramp of the ship. He slams the door control with his fist and gently lays you on the cool ground. The duality of your Mandalorian fascinates you.

“Be right back, starlight. Gotta grab the medkit. Stay awake, okay?”

“Mmkay,” you roll your head on the floor and look around the ship to refamiliarize yourself with your surroundings. The pain all around your body makes you feel unsure about a lot of things. Is Mando actually calling you something resembling a pet name? Are you actually back on the ship, away from all the slime and grime that makes up the streets of Coruscant?

You are staring at your bedroll when Mando comes back to you. He was probably gone for no more than 3 seconds, given the medkit is only a few steps away. He kneels by your side and unties the fabric of his cape. You hear him sigh as he opens the medkit. You know he feels guilty you got hurt. He always tells you to watch your surroundings, to be careful. And you always tell him you’ll be fine, you can take care of yourself. And usually, you can. Today was just not one of those days.

“Need to lift up your shirt, okay? Need to see what we’re working with.” Mando’s gloved fingers sneak beneath your woven shirt, brushing against your skin as he does so. You nod lazily, which is all the permission he needs to push the fabric up your torso. With all the blood you’re losing, it is difficult to see the exact location of your wound. He grabs all of the gauze from the kit, making a mental note that he needs to restock the next time he gets supplies. As the gauze absorbs and sops up as much of your blood as it can, Mando pulls off his gloves to see if he can get a feel of your incision. You inhale sharply when his fingers find the outline of it.

“ Sorry, mesh’la.” He reaches for the cauterizer.

“S’okay,” you mumble. “J-just close me up. ‘M not feelin’ so great.” Blacking out seems like such a nice escape from all the pain. Your swollen eye is almost entirely shut, anyway.

“It’s going to sting a bit.” Mando pinches your skin together, joining the seams of what was once a complete and untorn canvas. “Scream if you have to.”

He doesn’t even give you a grace period to prepare you for the stinging, zapping, burning sear of the cauterizer on your skin. “GAH!” You yelp, back arching and heels digging into the floor of the ship. That’s the most response you’ve given Mando all night. It’s a good sign.

“I know, starlight, I know it hurts.” He knows it hurts because you’ve mended him with the same tool at least five times now. It’s a utilitarian tool he didn’t have on board before you joined and now it’s the second-best thing Mando has.

“How do you not have a cauterizer on board?” You asked him when you were taking inventory of his medical supplies.

Mando shrugged. “Haven’t had a need for one.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never come back to your ship battered and bloodied with no one to tend to your wound and never wished you had a cauterizer to quickly and efficiently stop your bleeding?”

He shrugged again. There had actually been several times… perhaps you were right. He should get a cauterizer. “Well, now I have you.”

“Try to stay still,” Mando brings you back to the present. Zzz; Zzz. The cauterizer zaps rhythmically, sending up wisps of smoke and the burnt smell of blood. It’s putrid. You can’t decide which is worse: all the kriffing pain you’re in, or Mando seeing you like this— weak, vulnerable, injured and being roasted like a piece of meat at the market. The latter. Definitely the latter.

“You’re doing so well, starlight. Almost done,” Mando praises while gently wiping the remaining blood from the incision.

You take a slow and steady breath and you brace for the next shock against your skin. Maybe talking to him will get your mind off the pain. But words feel so heavy on your tongue. It takes so much energy to move your lips in a way that forms words. You try anyway. “B-being so— ow!” A line forms between your brows. “S’nice to me.”

“Shh, save your strength,” Mando hushes you, running his hand along the soft skin of your stomach. Although he is gentle, you wince when he reaches the other side of your ribs. With the blossoming of bruises, he wonders if you didn’t break a couple of ribs. “Sorry, starlight.”

There’s that name again. How many times has he called you that tonight? You aren’t imagining it, are you? Starlight. His inflection is soft, but also hesitant every time he says it. Like he’s just testing it out. No better time to be calling you something other than your name when you probably won’t remember in the morning.

The cauterizer had effectively stopped your bleeding, so now Mando can tend to your other wounds. And he needs to get you out of your blood-soaked clothes. “Be right back. Gonna get fresh clothes and a wet cloth.”

When Mando leaves, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. There’s still an ache in your chest, but there’s something else there. A warmth. Bright and overwhelming. You suck in another breath when Mando returns with some sleep clothes and a cloth in a small bowl of water. “Can I… can I undress you, starlight?”

“Mhm,” you hum gently. He’s being so sweet. Is he always this sweet? He’s moving hesitantly and tenderly. In no way does he want to take advantage of your current state or hurt you any more than you already are. Leaving you alone on Coruscant has done enough damage.

Mando grasps your wrist, placing your arms over your head. His skin against yours sends electric currents through you— the cauterizer barely holding a candle to the way his touch makes you feel. He slowly starts to lift off your shirt, pausing before he goes over your breasts. He closes his eyes and blindly removes your shirt. He feels around for what he hopes is your sleep shirt and continues to dress you with his eyes closed. Of course, you don’t know that his eyes are closed and you’re too loopy to notice that he sticks your arm through the head hole at first.

He then removes your pants and slides on a new pair much easier than he did your shirt. Then, he crosses his legs and gently takes your head into his lap. He dabs the cloth over the gash on your forehead. It stopped bleeding, so he’s just removing any dirt and debris that might’ve caused an infection. He places a Bacta patch over your wound and you muster all your strength to wrap your hand around his wrist. Despite your head being in haze, you know one thing is clear.

“L-love…”

What did you just say? Your voice is so fragile and quiet, Mando’s not completely sure he knows what you uttered. It sounded like ‘love’. But that can’t be right.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, starlight. You get some rest now.” He scoops you up again, conscious of all of your bruises, and walks you over to the bunk.

“Mm,” you hum as he places you down on his bed. The Bacta patch is starting to kick in. The haze is beginning to disappear. “Stay with me?”

Mando wants nothing more than to stay with you. What he wouldn’t give to lay down in that bed beside you and hold you close and tight in his arms as if it is the only thing that will heal your wounds. “Let me get the ship in the air. I’ll be back.”

You yawn, “‘kay.” Your head is sinking into the pillow, but you call for Mando once more.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

He hears you loud and clear. His heart bursts before it sinks to his feet. He just can’t let himself be happy, can he? You are in such a dazed, pain-filled, drowsy state of mind. You most likely don’t even know what you’re saying. “Tell me again tomorrow.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When you wake up, you’re surrounded by unfamiliar bedding. You feel like you’re suffocating in the small space. Are you… are you in Mando’s bunk? You shoot up quickly and then groan. Your hand goes up to where your blade wound is. Everything comes back to you.

“I love you.”

“Tell me again tomorrow.”

Dank ferrik. You told The Mandalorian you love him. And he didn’t say it back. He told you to tell him tomorrow. He probably thought you wouldn’t remember. But you remember it all. The attack, being stabbed, being punched, and hitting your head on your way down. You remember the tear of his cape and it wrapped around your body. You remember clinging to his cowl and the pressure he was holding to slow your bleeding. You remember being on the cold floor of the Razor Crest and Mando’s warm hands. His bare hands.

Then you asked him to stay with you. He said he would be back. Did he come back? Did he sleep with you? Hold you in his arms? Why don’t you remember that part?

And then there was that name.

Starlight.

Starlight, starlight, starlight.

You shimmy out of Mando’s bunk and hobble up the ladder. Before you reach the control panel, Mando has already opened it, seemingly waiting for you on the other side.

“I was just coming to check on you. How are you feeling?” He hates the way you look. He hates himself for letting you look the way you do. The swelling in your eye has gone down, but it’s as bruised as ever. He should remove the Bacta patch to see how the gash is looking. And he should check the bruising on your ribs and make sure the blade wound is going to heal alright.

“The thing… you told me to tell you tomorrow.” You ignore his question. It’s now or never, you think. You said it last night and he gave you the perfect opportunity to say it again. He wouldn’t tell you to tell him tomorrow if he didn’t want you to say it. Right? “Well, I presume it’s tomorrow. So…”

You stare into the onyx of his T-Visor. Ideally, you’d be looking him in the eyes. It wouldn’t make any difference knowing what he looks like, though. You love him whether his eyes are blue, hazel, or brown. You love him whether he has blonde, brown, or black hair; curly, frizzy, or straight hair. You love him when he’s grumpy, you love him when he’s a little more talkative than normal. You love him when he sasses you, you love him when he takes care of him You just love him. Everything about him makes your heart swell.

“I still love you.” “I…” Mando says one word and panic washes over you. Shit. You didn’t think about what he would say back. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t want you. But then, clear in affection, fuzzy in transmission, he replies back: “I love you too, starlight.”

luv my dinny boy

◂ din masterlist ▸ main masterlist

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fluff #din djarin fluff #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader

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kowaiitenshii · 11 months

Text

[Sunkiller Lullaby Part Two]

Pairing: Darth Vader X Reader

Plot Summary: Accepting your role as Lord Vader’s personal attendant, you take the first steps in learning your new duties, and proving your loyalty to your new master.

Warnings: Canon-level violence. Mentions of death/murder. Descriptions of fear. Corruption. Canon-divergent. Unburnt!Vader. Reader is a former slave. Improper use of the force. Vader is his own warning. Descriptions of mistreatment. AFAB reader, feminine pronouns and descriptions used. 18+ content to come in later chapters.

Words: 4.2k

A/N: First off, thank you so much everyone for all the love on part one! I truly did not think so many people would enjoy it! I appreciate everyone who reblogged and liked, and I cannot wait to continue sharing this story with you. If people continue to enjoy my writing, I will most likely open up for requests/prompts!

Part One HERE

Part II:

To your dismay, you awaken to bright beams of starlight peeking through the sheer inner curtains of your suite.

You blink in confusion as you mull over the contents of the past night’s dream, and lament the fact that it was only that; a dream.

Sighing deeply in disappointment, you slowly rise from bed and dress yourself for the day, deciding on a deep ruby red set of robes. They’re thick and soft as you slide them on, and you decide that red really compliments you.

You are again presented with a decadent breakfast, this time dining on exotic ripened fruits, cured strips of thinly sliced meat, and toasted breads.

When you finish, the friendly droid again kindly leads you to Lord Vader’s private chambers.

As the doors slide open, you nearly jump out of your skin when you find your master awaiting you, staring at the door expectantly as he anticipates your arrival.

Forcing yourself to hold your head high, you saunter into the room as nonchalantly as you can muster. Your hands shake as you approach, and you clench them tightly in an attempt to push down your building nerves.

“Morning, young one.” he greets you coolly, his deep voice resonating through the silence.

“Good morning, My Lord.” you reply calmly, bowing to the Sith Lord.

He gives you an approving nod as you rise, before turning to the large window behind himself, commanding you to join him.

“Come.” he booms simply, and you oblige him. Standing next to him only highlights the size difference between the two of you, seeing as you only reach his shoulder at the highest.

All the lights of the room both overhead and from electric controls shine off of Vader’s helmet and armor, creating almost an aura of light which glints off of him. Your eyes are drawn to the heavy slant of his shoulders with his cape draped over, and the curve of his very evident biceps beneath his thick suit. Your face reddens slightly before you turn to face the window, feeling a measure of shame for looking at a Sith Lord in such a way.

The two of you gaze out at the expanse of stars before you, and you can’t help but marvel at the sight. Being from a small planet and having been enslaved since you were just a young girl, you had never any chance to explore or travel, no matter how badly you may have wanted to.

One of the things that amazes you the most as you stare out into space is the realisation that the stars are colourful.

There are stars of every colour you can imagine, and most of them are planets. Each star glittering across the sky in endless hues, they remind you of the fields of wildflowers that were common on your home-planet.

For a fleeting moment, you imagine lying amongst the stars and wrapping yourself in a blanket made of space itself, before Vader speaks again.

“I have arranged a test for you today.” he asserts, his tone unreadable.

Cocking your head, you glance up at your master, questioning exactly what sort of test he had in mind.

“We need to have the understanding that we can trust in one another if I am to take you on in personal servitude.” He explains, sensing your curiosity.

You can feel yourself go cold as the words sink in. It could be any kind of test, and ice cold pangs of fear grip your heart as you pray you do not fail.

Failure is simply not an option.

The trembling in your fingers only worsens, and to your horror, Vader notices.

He takes one of your quivering hands tightly within his own before placing the other heavy, leather-clad hand over top of yours. His touch is like holding a livewire, like nothing you had ever felt before, and it makes you jolt in your skin.

His gaze albeit masked is fixed upon you as he speaks, the air catching in your throat.

“I can sense your fear, your hurt. Your rage.” he says, a reassuring tone hidden in his distorted voice. “Use them. Do not fear me.” he commands, before dropping your hand like he had never touched it in the first place.

Not fearing him was a hefty task indeed.

You say nothing in response, swallowing thickly and flexing your fingers to rid them of the lingering sensation of his touch.

Just then, the ship begins to descend on a barren planet. The land is desolate, clouds of smoky-coloured dust covering the rough, rocky terrain.

You take deep breaths to steady yourself as the ship lands, still reeling from the touch along with your nerves and their gnashing teeth gnawing at the back of your mind.

As you disembark, you can feel how tightly wound your body is with anticipation. Despite this, you diligently follow your master as he treks along the barren, grey landscape, leading you to a wide clearing in the rocky wasteland.

All around you are boulders and crystals of enormous size, and you figure this must be an Empire-controlled resource planet.

Looking up to the violet sky, you pray to the maker that you make it out of this in one piece.

Vader stops at once, turning to regard you once more as you come to stand before him.

“Before we begin,” he starts “What is your name?” he asks, striking you with the realisation that you had not yet told him, and that he almost certainly already knew it. Truthfully, you had nearly forgotten that you had a name, as more derogatory terms were commonly used to refer to slaves. It is a strange thought that Lord Vader would even care to know it.

“(Y/N).” you answer dutifully.

“(Y/N).” he confirms before speaking again. “As I previously stated, we must be without a shadow of a doubt that we trust in one another. I have brought you here to assess that fact.” he explains, his droning voice reverberating off of the jagged walls of the terrain surrounding you.

Doing your best to maintain your shaken composure, you watch as the Sith Lord strides a few paces away before speaking again once more.

“I will test you, as you will test me.” He iterates, now turning towards you and watching you for a moment.

Rooted to the spot, you clench your shaking hands and swallow the lump in your throat, fixing your gaze upon Lord Vader.

You will test him? What could he possibly mean by that?

You watch in thinly veiled terror as he raises his right hand and the ashen earth around you begins to tremble. A large mass of sparkling crystal sizable enough to crush a freighter breaks away from the earth, beginning to levitate.

Stomach in knots and your mind racing, you watch in horror as it rises impossibly high and comes to a stop directly over your head.

In your youth you had heard tales of the Jedi and the Sith, but you had always taken them with a grain of salt. It is then that you come to understand that the stories were true, and the force is more powerful than you could ever have imagined.

Vader’s voice cuts through your frenzied train of thought, snapping you back into the moment.

“Focus on me.” he instructs you, holding the spiked mass of crystals steady above you, pulling it higher.

Although every atom in your body screams at you to run, you know there is no point. Wiping away the fine sweat forming on your brow, you obey your master, fixing your widened eyes upon him.

“Feel your fear.” he commands in a guiding tone. “Feel it, and understand that I will never harm you.”

Dread cuts into your chest like knives, and still you obey. You feel the goosebumps on every inch of your skin, your muscles poised to flee, and the fine tremble running through you in waves.

You look upon Lord Vader who holds your life in his hands so effortlessly. Focusing on the expressionless countenance of his helmet, you envision looking into his eyes and finding unwavering certainty there.

You stand as a statue as the massive crystal drops, time itself seeming to slow, and you don’t so much as blink when Vader catches it just before it hits.

“Very good.” Darth Vader affirms, before reeling back and launching the crystals far off into the distance; the sound of impact only coming as a murmured echo.

Sighing a huge breath of relief, your shoulders and head droop as the tension washes away in waves. When you lift your head, the Sith Lord is in front of you again, this time holding a cylindrical silver and black object in his outstretched right hand, motioning for you to take it.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks as you carefully take it from him, examining the activation switch on the side.

“Yes,” you affirm as you inspect the object with great curiosity. “It is a lightsaber.”

You had seen them in use only once when your planet was under siege, but you had also seen them traded by smugglers a handful of times.

However, you had never held one. The metal is cool to the touch, and it is deceptively heavy in your hands as you marvel at it, turning it over and over in your hands.

“Turn it on.” Vader demands, cutting your observation short. You swallow your nerves, holding the lightsaber in your right hand and placing your thumb over the switch. You jump as you press it, the glowing crimson plasma blade instantly shooting out with a sharp sound.

The glowing saber incandesces between the two of you, red light illuminating Vader’s ominous visage.

“Good. Now off.” he directs, and you obey immediately.

“Now, we test my faith in you.” he states intently, stepping closer and closer until he is merely an arm’s length away, looming expectantly over you.

Stomach tingling and your mind blank, you watch as he harshly grips the wrist of your right hand and presses the unarmed lightsaber against the blinking control panel on his chestplate, the shocking sensation of his touch feeling a million miles away.

Staring at where the hilt of the blade rests against his armor, you have the cold understanding that you could kill him right now.

You could kill him, and yet it would do nothing to change your fate.

It takes a moment to realise he’s staring at you before you look up to meet the blank gaze of his mask. Somehow you can feel it in him, the faith he has in you and the understanding that killing him would not save you.

You’re like that for a moment, staring at each other and listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing before he steps away, and you hand the lightsaber back to him.

“Well done.” he praises as he beckons you to follow. “Come. We are done here.”

You both board Lord Vader’s ship once again, your mind and emotions still reeling from the stress of the situation you just managed to live through as he calmly leads you to his chambers.

“Make yourself comfortable.” he orders as you enter the room, and you waste no time in shrugging off your outermost robe, leaving on your cowl and belted underdress. Plopping wearily onto one of the long couches in the room, you notice that it’s notably firmer than the plush furnishings of your suite, though you were in no place to complain.

Lord Vader stares at you for a moment, and you become bashful at the idea of him looking upon your uncovered skin, before he turns to his place at the large window to watch as the ship takes off.

You wonder if he does anything other than stare out the window in contemplation.

Straightening yourself up, you watch the grey planet fade away as the ship flies, bidding the site of your near-grave a goodbye before looking around the room in which you sit.

Now that you have the chance to really look, you take in your surroundings. To your right, the wall with the door is covered in blinking controls which you can only assume are either used to manipulate aspects of the room or call droids and Imperial personnel. On the far wall opposite where you sit, there is a large open doorway into an illuminated room housing an enormous tank filled with a mysterious blueish liquid, and you wonder what the purpose for it could possibly be.

You don’t see a bed in the room, so you assume that Vader sleeps elsewhere. That is, if he indeed sleeps.

In the left hand corner of the opposite wall, you can see a long white table littered with various parts, mechanisms and tools laid out upon it, and you find it mildly interesting that Darth Vader likes to tinker.

The Sith Lord’s voice cuts through your curious observations like a razor.

“What do you know of the force?” He asks, peering over his shoulder at you.

You’re stunned for a moment before you answer.

“I must admit, Lord Vader, I know very little, as it was forbidden to be taught on my homeworld.” you reply truthfully, caught off guard by the seemingly random question. It was true, the ways of the force were not formally taught as a form of trying to shield the people of your home-planet from the Empire; all you know are the legends and the myths that were told as stories.

Lord Vader nods in acceptance.

“This ship is equipped with an entire library full of knowledge of the force, both light and dark; Jedi and Sith. You are free to utilise it if you so wish.” He offers, but it sounds more like an order.

Feeling as though there’s something he’s not saying, you simply nod.

“Thank you master.” you accept graciously with a soft smile.

He only nods in reply, gaze lingering heavily upon you before he turns away from the window, pacing over to his work bench in the opposite corner from where you sit and taking a seat.

You do not know how long he toils over his machines, nor how long you accompany him in doing so.

The last thing you remember before waking up in your own bed is dozing off on Lord Vader’s couch.

Confused and unaware of how you got back to your suite, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and sit up. As you rise, a gentle knock sounds behind the door.

“Come in!” you call out, clearing your throat and wetting your lips.

The friendly droid enters, bowing to you and chirping its greetings.

“Good evening, Madam! I’m assured you’re ready for your meal?” it asks politely. Smiling softly at the kind droid, you nod.

“Yes, please.”

After all, the stress of the day's activities has left you quite hungry, your stomach growling at the thought of the decadent spreads you’ve been spoiled with.

The droid steps out for a moment, promptly returning with a spread no less extravagant than the others you’ve been lucky enough to enjoy. Tonight, your meal consists of a striking plum-coloured stew, accompanied by an herbed mash of root vegetables, and crusty baked breads still warm from the oven.

As you eat, a curious and humorous thought crosses your mind, and you set down your spoon to ask the droid a question.

“Was it you that carried me all the way back here?” you giggle playfully, finding amusement in the idea of the spindly droid hauling you through the corridors.

“No milady, Lord Vader saw to that himself.” the droid answers dutifully.

Knowing it is incapable of lying, the idea hits you like a train, and you’re struck by it for a moment.

Carrying you to your room seemed like a task that would be uncharacteristically tender, too gentle for Vader to carry out. You can feel the flush that spreads across your cheeks as you come to the understanding that there is still much you do not know about your master.

“Oh, um. Give him my thanks.” you reply quietly, leaving it at that.

“As you wish, Milady.” the droid affirms.

Spending the rest of your meal in contemplative silence, it does you well, nourishing and soothing your tired body.

Before the droid leaves you for the night, you request the books that Lord Vader had mentioned, thinking some studying may help you to understand your master, even if just a small bit more.

It happily delivers them to you, leaving you with a stack of thick and heavy books with weathered bindings.

Elsewhere, Darth Vader paces in his chamber, heavy footsteps echoing around him.

He is quite satisfied with the recent turn of events, knowing surely now that your spirit had not been broken by your life of torment, but that it was bendable.

It was true that you had great fear within you, but your lust for power and your anger was greater. Your suffering had made you fierce, it made you courageous.

The Emperor will be pleased.

Remembering the strength in your expression as you had connected with him while your very life hung in the balance, the absolute, steady faith you had in him; And then the dichotomy of holding your serenely peaceful sleeping body in his arms, your angelic calmness, he feels an unfamiliar flutter in his chest before shaking it off.

Spending the rest of the night flipping through an ancient tome, you are thoroughly intrigued by the stories contained within. They read like fairy tales; tales of heroic bravery, of villainous contempt, of epic battles and galactic love.

They’re enchanting, reminding you of those cherished times as a child when your parents would read to you before putting you to bed.

Well into the late hours of the night, you finally ready yourself for sleep, yawning and stretching as you shrug off your garments.

As you lay out an outfit for the next day, you catch a glimpse of a passing moon. It’s beautiful, a light yellow hue to the pallid monolith as it glows. Moons always reminded you of solitude, your only companion in those quiet hours of the night. As you watch it pass, you silently hope that you dream of your mysterious suitor again.

Your prayers are answered.

Becoming aware of your surroundings, your eyes scan the room around you. It’s a more intimate setting this time, a quaint stone cottage within a verdant forest. There are strange herbs and flowers hung to dry all about the room, leaving it with a floral, green aroma.

Sitting on the floor in front of a warm, crackling fire, your vision finally adjusts to your dimly lit setting, and you spot the one you had wished for standing just within the doorway.

He smiles warmly as your eyes land on him, exposing a row of perfect teeth. You can’t help but to smile back.

Striding out of the shadows, he joins you by the fire, nestling you against his side. His energy is the same and you can feel it just as strongly as before, entrancing and sultry as the fire before you.

You spend a long moment just looking at him, committing every aspect of his features to memory in case you never get the pleasure of seeing him again.

He’s still got that warm smile on his face as he gazes back at you, making your stomach flutter. His hair falls in perfect golden waves on his shoulders, framing his outstandingly handsome features. His eyes are half-lidded, his pupils blown wide as he looks upon you; his full, pink lips parted.

Feeling the heat in your body rising, spreading across your face and tinging the tips of your ears, you look away shyly.

The connection you feel with this man still baffles you, it doesn't make any sense, leaving you confused and questioning whether you can even trust your own emotions.

Though, you suppose dreams don’t have to make any sense.

Reaching over to you, he brushes a tress of hair away from your face to read your expression, pulling your attention back to him.

You blink sheepishly at him through long lashes as he hooks a finger under your chin, turning you to face him fully. Goosebumps form instantly at the contact, your hairs standing on end as a wistful sigh leaves your lips.

He brings your face so close to his own that you can feel his gentle breaths tickling your lips. The air, the energy between you is like a thunderstorm; intense, restless, and exhilarating.

You revel in the way he touches you like something that threatens to break.

The realisation then hits you that this is your first time seeing him unhidden by his cloak. You take your time in taking in all the new details you had missed, noticing a lengthy scar on the right side of his face, running nearly all the way from his hairline to just below his eye.

He slowly curls a strong arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap, never breaking eye contact while doing so. Following his movements obediently, you shift your legs to wrap around his waist as you perch on him; the tips of your noses tickling each other as you adjust yourself.

You want, you crave nothing more than this closeness and contact with him.

After being denied pleasant, consensual human contact for so long, the feeling is intoxicating. It makes your head swim, and your heartbeat race.

Still face to face, you delicately raise your right hand, ghosting the tips of your fingers down the length of his scar, taking great care in case it’s still painful for him. Your fingers buzz and tingle, like nerve endings coming back to life after having fallen asleep.

Lips parting and eyes falling shut at your touch, he presses his forehead against yours.

Your whole body lights up and hums at the sensation, like a static charge. His intense and all-consuming energy surrounds you, threatening to swallow you whole.

And you let it. You let him in.

Holding the doors to your mind open, you begin receiving visions.

Visions of a small boy with tawny hair and bright blue eyes. Visions of the familiar sandy, dual-sunned landscape of Tatooine. Visions of that small boy toiling away in the shop of a cruel junk dealer.

Your eyes fly back open with the newfound understanding that the child was him, that he truly had lived a life like yours.

In this moment, as your heart races and your eyes flit between his, he feels like the person closest to you in the entire world.

He looks back at you with soft eyes. The expression on his face is one that says:

This is me. Do you see it? This is me.

Overwhelmed by the connection, by the painful swelling of your heart in your chest, you let instinct lead rather than logic.

Leaning into him further, you brush your lips just barely over the full curve of his, inviting him to close the distance.

Instantly he relents, capturing your own lips with his, pure passion and intense longing radiating off of him in waves.

As he tangles a large hand in your soft hair, you can feel your heart thumping against your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins. Draping your arms over his sturdy shoulders, the very air around the two of you feels electric, tingling and crackling with released tension. Lips locking over and over, hands everywhere, tongues tasting each other in the heat of your fiery desire, you send a message through your ministrations.

I see you. You say with every touch of the lips, every tease of his tongue, every rake of your nails across the soft skin of his abdomen. I see you.

When you finally break the session to suck in greedy gasps of much needed air, he bites onto your bottom lip, prolonging the contact for as long as possible. He clutches you tightly, possessively to his strong body, as if you could be ripped from his arms at any moment; his own chest heaving as he breathes.

He slides a large, rough hand up the small of your back, steadying you as you rest your head on his shoulder for a moment. Pressing a feather light kiss to the petal-soft skin of his throat, your eyes slide shut with great satisfaction.

Credz:

Lightsaber graphic creds: @saradika

Taglist:

@heyitsaloy

@poisonedsultana

@cryptidsrcool

@mayhemories

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