#of hearth and home and other promises

[faorism]

every once in a while, when it's a quiet moment between him and one of his partners—could be anything from a stake out to a long drive in lucille to the warm moments between making love and sleep—eliot will turn to them and say, tell me something i don't know.

parker will usually tell him secrets. the bits of history that only exist between her, bunny, and now eliot. there's a lot from living on the streets, when she was young. she tells him about training with archie; eventually, she tells him what it felt like. she tells him about loneliness and not understanding and frustration and how her hands hurt when she wants to flicker them around; when he asks her why she doesn't let them, she says to ask another night. that's too big a secret to share when another's been revealed already. he does ask, and she does answer. once, she says in a shaking voice, i love you and hardison so much, and parker feels silly because duh eliot knows that, hardison knows that, but eliot heard something deeper than she could express, so he held her tight and kissed her hair as she shivered through the weight of her confession. after sharing with eliot, sometimes parker feels comfortable enough to share with hardison, peggy, sophie, or a client who needs to know they are not alone in the mess and hardship of the world. much later, the fact that parker has shared something once makes it easier to tell her shrink as she gets on SSRIs, which she seeks out after confessing to eliot that even if it had been based on a lie to grift hurley, maybe there was something to her treatment at the second act rehabilitation center that she missed. occasionally, she'll tell him about art. he listens just as patiently as anything else she decides to divulge and she loves him all the more for it.

hardison infodumps. parker didn't press eliot for what he meant the first time he asked; hardison did. eliot had shrugged, anything you wanna share. hardison nips out a testy, so if i go off about (he paused thinking of something that would surely turn eliot off) optimal simcity street design strategies, you wouldn't mind? eliot didn't back down, even when hardison went into a two-hour spiral that branched into different iterations on the concept, including rollercoaster typhoon. eliot made a few comments here and there, asked some clarifying questions now and again, but otherwise let hardison rail on. the next time, the question was framed as what you working on? but the effect was the same. eventually, hardison stopped hesitating and started looking forward to these monologue sessions. hardison doesn't think anything of them other than he's got some quality time with his partner, until one day on a job with some leverage international trainees, eliot manages (elle woods style) to untangle the lie at the heart of a condo scam with a few pointed questions about the plumbing. when one of the trainees asked how the hell he knew that, hardison expects to hear over the comms how eliot once dated a plumber or an architect; instead, eliot scoffs, you met my partner. genius knows a little of everything. which is when hardison remembers once infodumping about sprinkler systems. eliot gets the tightest of hugs when he gets home for truly listening to hardison.

#leverage #eliot spencer #parker leverage #alec hardison #leverage ot3 #thiefsome #faorism headcanons #of hearth and home and other promises

[troublesomesnitch]

Make Your Hands Unclean

Aemond x Wife!Reader - Period sex drabble

Premise and bits of dialogue shamelessly stolen from The Borgias.

Contents: drabble, pure filth. Menstrual sex, p in v, anal touching, graphic imagery. Internalised misogyny and harmful attitudes towards menstruation. Aemond is an asshole. Porn with weird plottish vibes.

Words: 2300

idk what this even is, this thing kind of wrote itself and I just went with it. It is kind of a mess tbh.

You were supposed to marry a lord.

That is what you were raised for, and those are the skills you were taught. To sing, to dance, to play the harp; to make yourself look pleasant. Your septa taught you to sew, and a woman from Essos taught you to weave, and in the afternoons the maester taught you history and linguistics, astronomy and arithmetic, and other things that ladies rarely speak about, but nevertheless must learn. 

For it is the lady, not the lord, who runs the castle. Who manages the household, and oversees the people it employs. Such a lady must ideally be both kind and commanding, generous and frugal. She must know how to handle serfs and noblemen alike, and she must be proficient in numeracy; able to record expenses and perform difficult calculations. 

To be a prince’s wife requires no such skills. 

This castle already has two queens, and besides it is not for royal women to concern themselves with practical matters. There are ladies-in-waiting for that, and stewards, chamberlains, maids and matrons; an army of servants hundreds strong to ensure that you may always be spoiled and idle. More than a lady, but less than a queen, left to twiddle your thumbs and wonder when, if ever, the oppressive walls of Maegor’s Holdfast will begin to feel like home.

You do not like it here. 

The days are long in King’s Landing, and the air is foul, polluted by the smoke of ten thousand hearths, by the stench of filth and unwashed bodies. It seeps through every crack and crevice, and you like the early mornings the most, when a cleansing mist blows in from the sea, and the ship’s bells ring over Blackwater Bay. 

Your husband rises early too, though it is for different reasons. Prince Aemond adheres to strict routines, to noble pursuits and rigorous discipline. He is exactly as people say: a stoic, severe in both temper and countenance, condemning indulgence and deriding depravity. 

Yet for all of his moral posturing, he does seem to have developed a taste for it rather quickly. 

You couldn’t say the exact number of times the prince has had you, but it has been many, and often, and in every position imaginable, and you dutifully report it all back to your family. As they have instructed you to do.

Before you were sent off to the capital, you were relentlessly reminded that there will never again be an opportunity such as this. That a marriage to a royal prince is a rare honour for your family, and one that was only made possible because the crown finds itself at war. Your house is not a great one, and your father is not the noblest lord, but he is very wealthy. And on the field of battle, wealth does tend to triumph. 

You do not know what other promises were made, what lands or titles were negotiated. Only that so much now depends on you; on your ability to please your husband and give him healthy children. Preferably male, but even a daughter would markedly strengthen your position. So you play your part as best as you can , and you pen your secret letters, divulging all the details of your intimate affairs. That the prince sleeps with you frequently, and seems to find great pleasure in it. That he performs his movements to completion, and expends his semen inside your body. 

It is a grave responsibility to have on your shoulders, and you were utterly crushed when you woke to find your insides churning, and your sheets stained with blood. 

They will be most displeased, your mother and father. Your brothers and uncles, and your cousins too. Prince Aemond's seed has not yet taken. 

-

In the evening he knocks on your door. Two determined raps, and you are thoroughly surprised. Your maid will have told his mother of your ailment, and she will have told him, and he too must be disappointed. But you know it is the prince, for there is no one else who would visit you at this hour. 

You know very well what he has come for, too. 

“We can’t tonight,” you sigh. 

“And why is that?” he says, amused, as if the idea that you would refuse him is ridiculous. 

“My blood - I am bleeding.”

Prince Aemond hums, but he walks to your couch and begins to undress himself, unbuckling his doublet and unlacing his breeches, tugging off his boots while you wring your hands. 

He can’t be serious. He can’t mean to take you like this. 

“It’s not - it isn’t proper,” you protest. “Our maester said it is ill-advised - most men find it unclean - “

“I am not most men,” he scoffs. 

There is no arguing against that, and he says it with all the confidence of someone who knows it to be true. Aemond is a royal prince. A dragonlord, a scion of a greater people. Second to no one but his king and brother, and if he wants to get himself all bloodied, then you suppose that is his right. 

He rids himself of his undershirt, and you reluctantly move to the side to let him join you in bed. It isn’t proper, but your insides flutter when he pulls you against his naked body, letting you feel the warmth of his skin, his manhood against the back of your thigh. It is hard, and twitching when he runs his hands over your figure, your breasts and your stomach, your waist, your hips, the tops of your thighs -

“No, you mustn’t - �� you squeak, but he rucks your gown up anyway and slips his hand in between your legs.

You are wet there, with blood as well as with desire, and you can feel the stickiness when he spreads your lips, curving his fingers and sliding them back and forth along your slit. His breathing is hoarse just from caressing you, from feeling your wet, your warmth, your little swollen nub begging to be touched. You whimper when he circles it with the gentlest of strokes, light and teasing, until you arch your hips up in frustration and breathe oh please. 

Prince Aemond likes it when you beg. Only then does he press down, but not enough to bring you to a peak. Just enough to make your insides tighten, and more blood gush from your womb.

You always did find it strangely beautiful, the blood of your cycle. Deep maroon, and scarlet red - but you are ashamed to see it coating the prince’s fingers when he withdraws them. It is thick, and clotted, and he takes a moment to study it before he wipes his hand clean on your shift. 

“Are you not displeased with me?” you whisper. He should be, given that you have failed to conceive. That there is no way of knowing if you can bear children at all. 

“One mere month is not cause for concern,” the prince says. 

You breathe a faint sigh of relief. It is a comfort to know that at least your husband doesn’t hold your failure against you - yet. 

He tugs on your shift, eager to expose your body, but you cross your hands over your chest.

“Let me keep it for tonight,” you plead. 

You can’t rid yourself of the thought that you are unclean, and you would feel so much more at ease if he didn’t see your heavy, aching body. But you don’t want to entirely deny him access to it, either. Seeing as you are bleeding, the chances of begetting a child are small, which means that his wish to sleep with you must come from genuine desire rather than obligation. And that makes you very happy, as you imagine it would any wife. 

You will make sure to include it in the next letter you send back home. Hopefully it will lessen their disappointment. 

The prince looks somewhat displeased, but he lets you keep your dress, resorting instead to bunching it up around your waist. He is stern, but never cruel to you, even if he does pull at the neck to bare more of your breasts. He pinches your nipple, and then his hand moves downward again, and you throw your leg over his hip to give him more room to touch you. 

This time he does it properly. His fingers find your pleasure right away, and he swiftly brings you to your rapture, impatient as he is to have you. It leaves his hand stained and tainted, and once again he wipes it off on your shift, but this time you don’t care. 

With the position you’re in, it is easy for him to crawl over your leg and take his place between them, and he kisses you as he presses against you, deeply and hungrily, rocking his hips, his manhood throbbing and leaking between your legs. 

Your parts are soaked, but he is careful when he pushes inside. Despite the prince’s relentless pursuit of knowledge, he must not know all that much about a woman’s blood, at least not in practical terms. Where it hurts, and how much, and whether this intrusion will make it worse. You can’t hold it against him - you don’t believe there are many scholars who would want to write about the topic, and how then was he supposed to learn?

“Harder,” you pant, and he obliges, moving faster and pushing deep inside. 

You let him find a steady rhythm, hooking your legs over his hips, and letting your hands wander over his body while he has his way with you. You stroke his balls, imagining that what he keeps inside will take root in you. You pinch his nipples, all hard with pleasure, and you slide your hands down to his lower back, to the base of his spine, where the skin is dusted with downy hairs. Where you can feel each of his thrusts; the rolling movements of his hips, the rhythmic clenching of his buttocks. 

Your dainty touch makes him shudder, and you move your hands to his arse, and then further still, slipping your fingers in between his buttocks. To where he is warm and tender, and where his skin starts to pucker. 

It is filthy, the way he twitches there. The way he throbs. A dirty place to touch, and a sinful thing to do, but you have found that the prince likes it. No added pressure or attempts at entry, just gentle strokes with the tips of your fingers. Soft caresses over his opening. 

He buries his face in your neck and groans, and you can feel that he is nearing his peak. His movements are fast and shallow, his chest heaving and slick with sweat. 

“Yes, my prince,” you whisper. “Fill me with your seed, put a son inside me - “

He likes that. He hisses loudly, gripping the headboard for purchase, and you look up at him when his hips stutter. Prince Aemond’s face is always handsome, but never more than when he is on top of you, in the throes of ecstasy. His brow is furrowed and his eye squeezed shut, and the tension in his body makes the damaged side of his face convulse, his lip twitching up towards the scar. 

He wouldn’t like for you to see that, but in this state he does not feel it happening. 

You lie still as he peaks, allowing him to rut into you wildly, groaning and grunting as he spills his seed. Hot, and wet, and adding to the mess inside you. He lies limp on top of you to catch his breath, and when he finally withdraws, the blood is everywhere. On his softening organ, on his sack, and crusted to the soft hairs on his thighs. 

“I’ve made you dirty,” you state. 

“Yes, you have,” he says. “In more ways than one.” 

You look the other way to give him some privacy when he rises to tidy and dress himself. On your wedding night he stayed with you until the morning, and he has done it a few times since, but it is not a common occurrence. Prince Aemond prefers to sleep alone, and your mother chastises you for that too. She says that to rouse a man’s desire is less than half the battle, and that you must make your husband love you.

Of course if it were really that simple, then there would be no unhappy marriages and no children born as bastards, and if you knew how to make a man fall in love, you would be the richest woman in all the world. 

But you must at least try. 

“Won’t you stay with me?” You ask. “It is - important, for a woman to be embraced - to be treated gently, afterwards…”

“Next time, I will,” he says. And that is the end of that, for you will not stoop so low as to beg for his company. 

He smoothes out his shirt and pulls on his breeches, and you sit up and comb your fingers through your tangled hair. When you look down there are stains on your sheets, and a thick rosy fluid trickling out between your legs. 

“You may want to abstain from riding,” the prince says over his shoulder. “It is known to upset the balance of the womb.”

You nod, bound to obey what is clearly a command posing as a suggestion. 

“Did you know,” you muse, “that the blood of the womb is the only blood that is not born from violence?”

Prince Aemond looks at you with a thoughtful expression, one that suggests he had in fact not considered that before. 

“Quite the philosopher you are,” he remarks, with a little raise of his brow. Coming from him, that is the highest praise. 

It does not change his mind about staying, but he does press a noble kiss to your temple before he leaves you. Sore and bloodied, but content. 

You did well tonight. 

Notes

“Most men find it unclean/I am not most men” is from S1E7 of the Borgias. 

“Menstruation is the only blood that is not born from violence and yet it’s the one that disgusts you the most” is a quote by artist Maia Schwartz. I couldn’t find any more information about her unfortunately. 

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic

[stellar-skyy]

FAMILY (OF SORTS) — Platonic Fatui Harbingers & reader.

i. SUMMARY: The Fatui Harbingers have a soft spot for Arlecchino's child. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! iii. NOTES: STRICTLY PLATONIC, headcanons, fluff, parent!arlecchino, house of the hearth!reader, all of the harbingers are reader's weird aunts and uncles, gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, 1.6k words. iv. A/N: the fatui are just a dysfunctional found family and i will die on this hill. shoutout to @romaritimeharbor for listening to my rambles about this idea 🫶🫶 also pierro and pulcinella aren't here because i could not think of anything to write for them :')

All of the harbingers knew about Arlecchino’s child; the one that appeared in Fatui Headquarters stuck to her side, eyes cast to the floor. They all saw the way that Arlecchino had held a soft grip on their shoulder, guiding them through the halls with the gentle touch of a parent from the gentle hands of a monster.

The Knave always swore she didn’t play favourites, but from an outside view it was clear that they held a special place separate from the rest. Anyone could see the way they appeared so much more frequently by her side. They were permitted to sit in on meetings, following her like a shadow. Some of the Harbingers guessed that she had picked them to be her successor; that their frequent shadowing was training them to take over once she was gone. Others joked about Arlecchino’s apparent soft side taking over. Whatever the reason, time went on, and the Fatui saw more and more of them.

All of them varied in their opinions of them—some indifferent, some fond—but the Harbingers all cared for them in their own ways.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Columbina simply adores them. They’re just so small and cute, so tiny and fragile! Admittedly, her idea of ‘tiny’ is rather skewed—applying to anyone she deems weaker than her (notably, this label also gets given to Capitano and Tartaglia, despite their larger size and physical strength. The Damselette is truly an enigma.)

Whenever Arlecchino allows her to watch over them, she is delighted. She has a penchant for pet names, so ‘angel’, ‘my sweet’, and ‘lovely’ are all more commonly used than their name. Sometimes there’s a ‘baby’ or ‘bub’ if she’s feeling particularly affectionate, but no matter the name, it is always dripping with sweetness. She’ll sing to them too, to calm them down or get them to sleep. Her voice is gentle, laced with as much love as she would show her own child.

Some Fatui believe Columbina is a woman formed from hollow sweetness; that behind the lazy smile and soft voice, lies a callous and unfeeling heart, but her insistence on singing them to sleep comes from a place of genuine affection.

When they have to return home, she’ll kiss their cheeks and sweep them into a hug, making them promise to visit her soon.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The fact that Arlecchino would tear out his throat with her bare hands if he dared to look at them the wrong way is the only thing stopping Dottore from roping [Name] into one of his experiments. Even then, he can’t help but investigate them a bit. Nothing extreme—please put the knife down, Knave—just some simple trials to see how they work. A quick strength assessment, a test of their reflexes, enough to judge the effectiveness of the House of the Hearth’s training.

The segments all had different opinions of them, varying from Prime’s general indifference to some of the younger segments fondness towards them. The latter were less likely to try to trick them into the lab—not that Arlecchino would allow them anywhere near it without strict supervision—and instead focused their efforts on convincing them to help mess with the rest of the Dottores. They proved to be an excellent partner in crime to thoroughly ruin the older segment’s day.

Despite his assertion that he won’t harm them, Dottore tends to be the one Arlecchino trusts least around her child. His unwillingness to get on her bad side doesn’t stop her from insisting Columbina or herself accompany them whenever they visit his lab.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Tartaglia loves them. The days he gets to see his siblings are few and far between, so he’s always eager to play the older brother for them, and for any other House of the Heath kids that stop by. In fact, whenever any of the children visit, he makes sure to buy them plenty of sugary treats and candies before quickly sending them back to their Father.

(Arlecchino was not happy the first time this happened. It didn’t stop him from doing it every time, though.)

He was the first to convince them to call him Uncle, a feat that he bragged about to the rest of the Harbingers. This small incident would inadvertently lead to a petty competition to see who their favourite is, an event that would quickly spiral out of control with bribery and promises coming from all sides.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Sandrone is very particular with who she allows in her workshop. When the rare guest was allowed inside, they had to follow three simple rules: do not touch anything, do not move unless I tell you to, and do not talk to me while I work. When [Name] first stumbled into the room, she was prepared to discourteously shoo them out the way she did whenever Tartaglia poked his head in to see what she was working on. But after some extensive begging, she relented and sat them down in a corner to watch her work. 

Even if she is far less fond of them as some of the other Harbingers, she still audibly squeaked the first time she was called Aunt Sandrone. This was covered up with a cough, but nothing could stop the warmth blooming in her chest. It was the first time a living creature had addressed her with such a familial title; some of her synthetic creations had a habit of calling her Mother, but this was a living, breathing person.

After they started calling her that, she quietly told them they were free to visit when she was working—provided they did not interfere with anything. 

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

As much as he denies it, Scaramouche has a big soft spot for kids. He’ll swear up and down that he doesn’t care for them at all, but he treats them noticeably gentler than he treats any other member of the Fatui. Arlecchino once caught them huddled against him, using his wide-brimmed hat to shelter from the rain. She never let him forget that moment—the fearsome Balladeer, who notoriously never let anyone close enough to touch him, allowing her child to use him as an umbrella.

They remind him a little too much of the young boy he once considered his family. Whenever he spends time with them, there is something inside that both urges him to protect them in the way he couldn’t protect that child, and warns keep them at arm’s length before they betray him too. But his endearment towards them prevailed, and he begrudgingly allowed them a place in his heart.

Unlike Columbina’s affectionate pet names, the only nicknames Scaramouche gives them are ‘kid’ and ‘brat’, depending on his mood. On good days, they might even get called by their name, though it is a rarity. He cares for them, truly. In his own, strange way.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Capitano is the best at giving advice out of all the harbingers. He is much more down to earth than Columbina and Dottore, and far less cynical than Scaramouche and Sandrone. He’ll let them ramble about their frustrations freely before offering gentle suggestions on what they should do to help. Even if they aren’t looking for a solution, he’s patient enough to hear out their thoughts, however jumbled and incoherent they may be.

He also likes teaching them skills he deems important for a young person to know. These include cooking—Tartaglia is not allowed to join them in these lessons after he almost burnt down the kitchen trying to ‘help’—as well as sewing and mending clothes.  

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Pantalone never would describe himself as parental. He never cared too much for kids; he hadn’t enough patience to deal with constantly crying babies or needy toddlers. Arlecchino’s child was thankfully far above that age, so they were less unbearable to deal with.

He was quite happy to spoil them with extravagant gifts and treats to win their favour, but the most effective way he does so is simply spending time with them. Trips to luxurious restaurants for lunch, allowing them to shadow him while he works. He also likes to give them advice—completely unasked for—about life, and relationships. Unlike Capitano however, his advice is of a much less helpful; he has a habit of advocating for blackmail for solving problems.

In exchange for a box of the most expensive pastries in Teyvat, he got them to call him their favourite uncle in front of Tartaglia. The miniscule dent in his funds was worth the look of betrayal on the younger Harbinger’s face.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Signora easily took the longest to warm up to them. When she first met them, it was easy enough to label them as Arlecchino’s brat and move them from her mind. But they kept appearing, in and around the headquarters. At first they were always glued to the Knave’s side, but eventually Signora began to see them wandering alone through the halls. She took note of them—not out of any attachment to them, only out of self-preservation knowing that if Arlecchino found out her child landed themself into trouble while she was close by, it would be her funeral soon.

The sense of obligation faltered when she started to grow fond of them. They were irritatingly innocent, a rarity within the Fatui. Something about the spark in their eyes reminded her of when she was young—when she still had warmth in her heart and blood in her veins. For the first time in centuries, her frozen heart began to thaw with care towards another person, and begrudgingly, she began to accept that they were not as unpleasant as she once believed.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

#watch this be wildly ooc when the harbingers get introduced #✒️ — writing #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #platonic x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui x reader #arlecchino x reader #platonic arlecchino x reader #dottore x reader #platonic dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #columbina x reader #platonic columbina x reader #scaramouche x reader #platonic scaramouche x reader #sandrone x reader #platonic sandrone x reader #signora x reader #platonic signora x reader #la signora x reader #pantalone x reader #platonic pantalone x reader #capitano x reader

[ma1dita]

solipsism

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.1k

summary: (post-TLT) drink responsibly… trouble doesn’t; you punch luke in this lol (novelization spoilers? kinda canon-compliant)

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. Luke visits you four times during college, in a timeline opposite to yours (doctor x river song-coded) (lore expansion & explanation here) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i hurt myself with this one. anyways its canon (to me) that we’re roommates now !!!! more to come like i promised even during my birthday break ! scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(post 3/6, edited/betad @hotchfiles )

—

solipsism (the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist)

You didn’t mean to send a prayer out into the world so strong that it would will an apparition of an Olympian, but burning cookies seems to be your specialty. Arguably, they weren’t the good kind, just the ones you grab in the freezer aisle of Walmart, and still, somehow they set your fire alarm off. Opening a window and waving through the smoke— Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home was standing next to the rickety dining table you bought off Facebook marketplace. 

“Holy shit, you scared me!” 

There’s mirth in her eyes at your reaction, though for all you know it could be annoyance—it’s not often that an immortal could be badgered enough to reveal themselves for an accident like this one.

“Dionysus was right. You’re too much like him for your own good,” she grins, taking a seat at the table like she’s an old friend. There’s a warmth to her unlike anyone you’ve met before—fire crackling in her eyes and an aura of serenity swaddling the air that you’ve never felt before in your student accomodations.

“I’m sorry I just… with all due respect, what’s going on?”

You go to toss the hot tray of cookies in the trash bin, before hesitating and putting them on your nicest plate. A gentle shove slides them over the table to the goddess, and she takes a crunch out of one happily.

“You were praying,” she states, like its common knowledge, “so strongly, in fact, I thought I’d make a visit to one of my most loyal devotees. Though in this case, you’re the object of his devotion, yes?”

Your hands are clasped across your lap and a familiar feeling spreads through you, then she jerks her hand up and points, “There. You’re doing it again. Y’know, it’s about time you start reciprocating the effort. Hermes’ son prays for you with intention.” You were thinking about Luke before she appeared—and hope glimmered like a tiny open flame. It’s still there, in the slow beating of your heart.

“He’s waging war with the gods. I don’t think he prays to them anymore,” you reason. Luke's offerings to the hearth must have been extinguished by the wrath he’s rained on Camp Half-Blood by now. The perfect storm.

“Not when it comes to you. Mortals never fail to surprise me. But it seems you’re a special case, my sweet. He’s made a home of you.”

To love Luke feels like having to keep a secret and never being able to tell anyone, but Hestia reaches for your hands across the table and looks at you knowingly.

“When I gave up my seat on Olympus for your father it wasn’t a sign of weakness, even if I did it so that others could be happy. I think your soul is a lot like mine in that you’ve given up so much of what you want to protect others. In turn, he’s doing the best he can to protect you; I listen to him every day, sweet girl. You are not weak for loving him still. There are generations of strength in your bones.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I search for him in everyone I meet and I’m not sure I’ll ever find that type of love again.”

These are thoughts you’d never told anyone—not Annabeth, not your father, not even yourself and surely never aloud.

“I hope you never do,” the goddess says, and you know it too.

i. no winter lasts forever (a night out after a drive home from virginia)

Flick. Flick.

“Come on, Hestia. Not you too. Don’t fail me now,” you mumble. The frigid metal of your zippo lighter rubs against your thumbs as you cup it in your hands, shielding the tiny flame that fights the harsh winter wind. Trying to focus as you lean against the brick of the Inferno, you take a deep inhale of smoke to warm your bones. Healing was never supposed to be easy.

Breathe in.

It’s somewhat of a routine you’ve made since getting back from visiting Annie. You’re a regular at this pub now—not even acclimated to the ins and outs of your sleepy college town, and though you don’t know the name of the hall your classes are in, you do know there’s a barstool in the corner of the Inferno with your name on it. There’s something funny about using your father’s gift as a form of fake id, and you wonder if he knows how heavily you indulge in your vices. Five vodka redbulls down the hatch have your knees feeling weak under the alley light until a stranger looms over you like a shadow.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day.”

Breathe out.

“Gods willing,” you laugh, stumbling over your boots and Luke catches you like he was never meant to let you go in the first place. The leather of his jacket is musky and his hair is buzzed. 

Either you were wasted or uncaring of who he was (both), you toss him your car keys and climb into the passenger seat. It’s a silent ride to your apartment besides you giving him the directions and Luke wonders how bad he must have hurt you for you to lay out for a stranger and waste away like this. But he’s the farthest thing from a stranger, even in this error in time and you’re still the daughter of the god of wine so after the third time you try to put your key in the lock he helps you because he hopes you’ll let him in.

“Y’know Annie would get a kick out of your haircut. Come inside.”

You’ve always been able to see right through him.

He’s standing in the hallway with his hand around your waist and he’s already broken too many of the titan’s orders by being here, so he scoffs, “You’re not gonna remember this by morning.” But you leave the door open anyway, dragging him by the wrist and your hand still feels the same in his even after all this time. What more is there to resist when there’s not much left of him to lose? 

This is the last time, he reminds Kronos, and there are monstrous hands around his brain, but yours are still gently holding his heart. The little part of his soul that hasn’t been eaten away holds on for a bit longer, tethered to your being by the way your hands are tied.

“I can, if you want me to.” 

He looks ready for war, and he is— yet you have him following you around the tiny living room almost in a trace as your arms loop around his neck. Luke doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if you’d want to see him sober, especially when his absence is still fresh for you.

“Baby you look different from the last time we met,” you slur, stepping onto his feet as he takes you for a spin around the coffee table, dancing in the quiet. He’s older than you’ve ever seen him, voice deeper and colder. This is not the boy that ran from you in the forest many months ago. This is a man who’s seen horrors you haven’t lived through yet. You can deduce that he’s the cause of them too.

“So do you. Though still as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers like he’ll get struck for saying it. Your eyes are unfocused as he inspects your face, still soft and young with hope. The titan grips his features now, almost burning through his sense of self—though it’s not tangible he wonders if you could see it.

“I see you all the time. I just… usually have to drink enough to make it feel real. I just miss you.”

He looks pained at your words, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard you. Luke pushes you towards your room, an aura of darkness spreading through him like fire but he relents, pushing past the flames. He’s on borrowed time now, but Luke would gladly waste those minutes tucking you into bed.

Lifting your arms up, he pulls an old shirt of his over your shoulders, and his eyes catch onto the fact that you’re still wearing the dragon scale necklace he made you. Luke digs through your medicine cabinet while you sloppily wash your face and his calloused hands rub serums and moisturizer into your cheeks like how you taught him once upon a time. These are the things he won’t forget. Kronos can take it all away, as long as he gets to keep you. You lean against his chest and shut your eyes, scared that if you open them again he won’t be there.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Are you mine?”

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says with no hesitation, “Four years later, and there is still not one living thing worth losing you,” he says, lips chasing after your fingertips as you trace his jaw. Your eyes flutter in exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes survey your room and he finds traces of you that he’s missed as he rubs your back lovingly like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands cup his face, making him look at you, and he surrenders himself to you as you pull him into a kiss. He’s a ticking time bomb about to detonate in your arms. The warnings that Kronos is beating into his head is nothing compared to the pain of knowing he won’t be with you for much longer. And he kisses you like he could save you from his blaze by doing so, lips and tongue and shattered breath saying I’m here, and this is real. Maybe your worst vice is not being able to wean yourself off the taste of him.

“Tell me what I need to hear. Even if it’s not true…Even if you’re not real,” you say between gasps, and your position on his lap makes him wonder why he’d ever give the world up and burn it down when it’s sitting right here and staring at him with violet eyes.

“It’s always going to be you and me. I’ll love you until the end of my days and then some.”

You laugh in the way that drives him crazy—though he already is, for loving you still. Luke lost all sense of himself when he left camp four years ago. All that remains is you, pushing him so that his back hits the bedspread. He lets you consume what’s left of him, and he’s on fire.

You wake up the next morning with a jolt. It’s still winter, and you’re still alone but despite the chill, you feel warm.

ii. autumn years (with a familiar visitor who finally shows up on time)

Knock, knock.

There’s someone at the door, but your date isn’t supposed to be here for another 10 minutes.

“Babe, someone’s here for you!” your roommate Jo calls out, and you tell her it’s fine to let them in.

The pantyhose clings to the lotion on your thighs and you fix the bracelet on your wrist, stepping out from the bathroom hollering, “You’re early, Kit! Don’t tell me you’re skipping to the good part; I’m a lady i–”

“Who’s Kit?”

Luke’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom and his eyes flit to the reflection of your naked back peeking through the undone zipper of your dress. You look stunning, lips painted red and eyes smoky, but you’re also furious. Too bad he’s always thought you looked extra hot when you’re mad.

“None of your business. As you can see, I don’t exactly have the time for this, Castellan.”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him gently and with the raise of his brow, Luke is leering at you like a teenage boy. Respectfully, of course. The glint of celestial bronze against his hip reminds you who he’s become though.

“I’ll make the time if you say the words, trouble.”

Sighing, you step forward, but then he does that thing again from the last time you saw him out on sea, twisting the crick in his neck like he has to resist your touch.

“You’re still funny. Some old habits die hard I guess,” you scoff, turning and lifting your hair out of the way so that he can zip you up. He opts to not touch you, sliding the dress closed until it fits against your body. You think you can feel his fingers ghost above your skin, and goosebumps rise where he leaves and his breath is warm on the back of your neck.

“Leave your weapons at the door. I run a tight ship, unlike you.” 

Gliding away from him while his hands are still in the air, you turn and sit at the edge of your bed, crossing your legs as you nod at him. Luke picks up the pair of heels next to where he sets the sword against the wall, and like it’s nothing out of the sort, he gets on his knees. You offer a foot to him while he speaks, “I could tell by the taser on your bedside table. You’ve killed monsters before, why a taser?”

There’s freckles on his tanned cheeks and he smells like the sun. You wonder what he’s done to come see you tonight.

“I’ve found out that not all monsters are mythical. When…are you?”

His eyes dart away from yours, securing the buckles on your ankles, and his touch sears through the mesh of your pantyhose.

“A few months ahead.”

There’s an eyelash on his nose, and your finger reaches out to touch it, but he flinches away. Face pulling into a frown, you spit, “You never slow down enough to let me catch up with you, huh?”

You can hear the microwave whirring in the kitchen, your roommate none the wiser of the sound of two hearts breaking. The both of you suddenly realize this is the first time you two have been alone (and the same age) since he left camp. There’s a silent question of if it will ever happen again as he gets up from the floor.

“So you’re seeing other people. Must’ve been easy, h—”

You punch him in the face before he finishes speaking, and all he can do is laugh. You would never let him off so easily.

“Fuck you. What, you think you can just hop in here and act like everything’s okay? What do you want, Castellan? For me to grovel at your feet and beg for you to fix what you broke?”

And you’re right, he supposes. This is the closest to peace that you’ll get in this life you’ve created without him. He won’t be able to take you on nice dinner dates like Kit can, or hold your hand without feeling like fate is going to smite him for existing. You scoff at the lack of his response.

“What happens next?”

Luke watches you chew on your lip, and even if he shouldn’t touch you in fear that you’ll will away his reason for defecting, by the gods does he want to.

“What do you mean?” he mutters. The cord of his necklace is tucked into your dress now that he looks closer.

“If I’m right,” you say (and it’s rare that you’re not), “each version of you that comes to see me knows less, and each time I see you I learn more. You were 23 last time. Why didn’t you see me at 22?” You know he won’t have an answer, but this is the only time you’ll be able to ask the real him. The one that’s yours, just a few steps ahead.

“There’s already been a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you offer him, like he hasn’t already. He can feel the bruise blooming on his cheekbone and he grimaces with what he’s about to say.

“Never intentionally. I’ll try not to.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and you feel stupid with how empty you feel just watching him. He’s made a home of you, choosing moments in time to visit, but when he inevitably leaves, then what? Luke taught you how to be a home, forgetting you exist until it’s convenient and now there are things about yourself that you can’t unlearn yet don’t know what to do with.

Your roommate knocks on your door asking if you want a shot of vodka before your date starts, and Luke is already walking towards it since he’s overstayed his welcome. He raises his sword to open a portal but you shake your head.

“Go out the way you came,” you swallow, fiddling with the copper pendant around your neck, “and take the purple umbrella in the hall. It’s raining outside.”

When you walk into the kitchen moments later, the front door shuts gently and Jo’s sitting at the table with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

“Is he warming up the car? Your date’s hot as fuck, babe,” she grins, steam coating her glasses.

Knock, knock.

Your phone buzzes and there’s another knock at the door. Kit is 15 minutes late.

iii. auld lang syne (ringing in the new year with an old friend, or more)

Your apartment is filled with friends and acquaintances, but who the fuck cares anyway? There’s 10 minutes to midnight and you’re crossed out of your mind. Holding onto a half-empty bottle of prosecco, your heels clomp over to the window in the living room as you crawl onto the fire escape. 

Clack, clack.

The air is chilly as you hug yourself, and you hear someone step out onto the stairs behind you. 

“What are you doing out here alone?”

You sigh, not even turning to look at him, “What are you doing here, period?”

He takes the bottle of prosecco out of your hands, making you swivel your head to look at him as he takes a big gulp. He’s younger again, and it makes you laugh at how fucked up your luck must be to never be able to see him when you want. It’s always been on Luke’s terms.

“You’re too young to be drinking that,” you drawl, knees bumping against his when he takes a seat next to you. Long Island is quiet at night, and the lack of city lights is nice when you can see the stars so clearly. Music blares through your JBL speaker in the living room, and the sound of cheers gets louder when The Neighborhood starts playing.

“We used to do worse,” he laughs, but something in it sounds hollow. The breeze picks up and you shiver, taking the bottle back from him and swigging it.

“All these visits…you sure do know how to make a girl feel special. But you never come in the summer.” 

He clears his throat, before leaning back on his elbows, “ I haven’t gone a summer without you since we were 14.” This Luke doesn’t know what’s ahead of him yet, but you realize that he’s right. Even now, he keeps up the habit of pissing you off and raising hell on Camp Half-Blood every summer. You notice he’s not wearing his camp beads, and he notices you shiver again in the chill. 

Clack, clack.

Your heels rattle the metal of the fire escape as you readjust your position. He takes off his jacket to sling it around your shoulders and neither of you realize you’ve missed the countdown until fireworks burst in the sky above you. The red and blue reflect off the planes of his face, but what stands out to you is the orange of his shirt, and you comprehend now where he just came from.

“I had to see you. I didn’t get to say goodbye when I left,” he says, and you take another sip before handing him the bottle to finish off. The only new years’ kiss you’re getting is through the lips that hold the last remaining drops of prosecco. 

You nod, remembering it all too well as you both watch the fireworks in silence. He wasn’t able to watch them properly the last time he was with you, Annie, and Percy just a few hours prior.

iv. spring cleaning (only big days are ahead for the both of you) 

It’s quiet in your college apartment this morning. 

The moving boxes are half-packed and stacked against the wall of the entryway and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the French press on your kitchen counter permeates the air. Perhaps the idea of caffeine is the last thing on your mind, hands twitching as they smooth over the black polyester of your graduation regalia. There’s a few hours still before the ceremony, but you’ve never liked being unprepared. Pollux is driving your dad down the Island because despite the war you’ll inevitably be fighting in once you cross the stage and get your degree, D specifically told Zeus that he’d wage another if he was made to miss your big day.

Parting your hair to fit under the ugly graduation cap, the tassel swings in front of your face as you grab a few bobby pins from the side table. A golden medallion of Castor’s smiling face almost whips into your cornea and you stifle a laugh. D said in his Iris message last night that all three of them would cheer so loud you’d be able to hear it from Elysium (and honestly, jokes aside—he probably has a way of making that happen). A staggered breath leaves your lungs, and you’re filled with anticipation, though you’re not sure what for. 

Time is a thief and you know that too well by now. After all, you’ve spent the past four years running from the truth of your heritage—dodging monsters between study sessions and grief welcoming you every time you come home. Four years later, and who are you trying to fool? While walking across that stage later you might as well take a bow. After all, your ex-boyfriend is the reason why there’s going to be a war of both blood and ichor, mortal and undying and still, you find yourself in the middle of it. You’ve found yourself fielding questions this last semester like dodging celestial bronze, the questions always a little too close to home and the answers you give are too entertaining to be considered the truth.

So, what are your future plans? 

Oh no big deal, just going home and dealing with generations-old family drama. If it drives me crazy enough I might enlist! 

Gods. 

How do you even articulate that these past few years were those future plans? That you didn’t expect to be alive this long, much less have the comfort of feeling secure enough to dream… It’s been years since you’ve had a good dream to work towards with a boy you once knew holding your hand through it all. But the expensive piece of paper you’ll be receiving later feels fake somehow. 

Who does that belong to? Surely not you…surely, someone who dreams without bearing the weight that comes with it. Someone who doesn’t have to look over their shoulder everytime they walk to work in the mornings, who can convince children that monsters aren’t real without having to lie. Psychology was a great field to learn from the mortal side of things—to know the reasons why brain chemistry affects us so deeply instead of just willing it away with the touch of your fingers. You like making people feel better. But who can ever do that for you?

A gust of wind sweeps through your room, the multicolored tassels hanging off your neck swaying from the force and you shut your eyes knowing he’s there again. Citrus and musk, and something that’s just him. He knocks over your hamper, cussing under his breath until his eyes follow your motionless figure in front of the mirror.

“Shit. I can explain, um… I thought you’d still be asleep,” Luke sputters, his converse falling into your laundry pile like quicksand. He bends over, stuffing your pajamas and sweatshirts back into the bin with fidgety hands as his eyes take a quick scan of your room. There are no pictures of you and him on the bedside table. For a moment, he wonders what that means but then his cheeks redden when he picks up a pair of your lacy underwear. He shoves that down too.

“Big day today. You know I can’t sleep when I know something is about to happen,” you smile wistfully, and you keep your eyes shut for longer, because like this, it’s almost like he’s actually there in real time. In a world where things went your way, this would be his apartment too, and his clothes would be scattered around your shared bedroom like how they used to back in cabin 12. You always used to put them on The Chair, as he would call it—but Luke’s known to make a mess of your life regardless of your efforts.

“When isn’t there? Something’s always going on when you’re around, trouble.”

Click. Scattered memories flicker in your head like images through a view-finder, spinning through your vision as you hear the sound of his laughter, gently tapping away at your heart again. Click. In the ones you pre-selected, he’s draped in sunlight, honey eyes sweet and kind, and his kisses are perpetual instead of an indulgence. Click. He’s always wearing faded orange, worn-out, but most of all well-loved. Click.

You open your eyes and they meet his own in the mirror. Time stops for once, letting you catch your breath.

Right now, he looks just as you like to remember him, as you knew him four years ago. Multicolored camp beads are resting easily against his broad neck instead of weighing him down, and he’s wearing the red converse his dad gave him. He’s too young, and so in love with you that it blinds him, but even then…now, he knows the look on your face and it makes him ask, “It’s not my first time visiting you is it?”

“You’re usually more discreet, the door right behind me wouldn’t have been your first option. But you’ve never failed to surprise me before. Tell me about your day, Luke.”

A hesitant smile crosses his face as he sheathes Backbiter against his hip, adjusting under the weight like he’s not used to it yet, and then he speaks, “We ate strawberries in the fields today, straight off the vine, but I argued that the ones you conjure will always taste sweeter to me. You smushed one against my face and I carried you home. You?”

You nod, turning around to face a ghost of your past, and the both of you meet in the middle only a hairs distance away as you admire each other.

“I graduate today. Annabeth’s driving up with her boyfriend and the rest of my family is coming to celebrate.”

He doesn’t know of Percy yet, of Chris’ insanity, of your brother’s death, and the immense hurt he’s caused everyone. The smile that lights up his face makes you realize he thinks he's still a part of this—you. And you miss him—even when he’s right here, fuck, you miss all the versions of him that have come to visit, even the ones you don’t know of yet. Tears brim your waterline as you take a deep breath; the last thing you want to do is scare him away.

“This was his promise to me. By showing me something I was sure of—and I always knew you’d graduate and make it big. Wanted to see it for myself, baby,” he grins, tangling his fingers with yours like your strings of fate, and though you know the answer to your next question you still take a chance, just in case.

“If I tell you what’s happened since…you. Would it be too late to change your mind?”

“Trouble, do you want me to? Kronos’ plan is already set in motion. I think…” he swallows, and your vision blurs without your permission as tears start to fall. Through the film over your violet eyes, Luke frowns and pulls your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one. He hasn’t done that in years.

“Did I make a mistake? Do I lose you, in the end?”

“Angelface…” you sniff, leaning your cheek against his hand, “You were so scared of losing me that you didn't even stop to think of what losing you would do to me. I lost you so long ago, Luke. And you’re not mine anymore. I don't think you have been in a long time.” In these heels, your forehead is closer to his lips so he kisses that too, hoping that somehow this time he can will away your pain instead of his. He doesn’t know what to do but hold you until you say something again.

“I’ll tell you something you need to hear. And no matter what you say or think, babe—it’s the truth. Even without all the glory in the world I would still be yours. I still am, even if I can’t bear it.”

Though he’s holding you, it somehow feels like the opposite—a purer version of him in your embrace while he holds the broken pieces of you together with his golden touch. Right now, you look into honey instead of gold. The both of you look at each other in the mirror melded together like kintsugi, something good still shining through the cracks of you two together like this.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door lifts you from his embrace, and with one look you both know its time for him to go; Luke’s brows furrow as he mutters, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, and we’ll be together. I promise.” You nod anyway, hoping at least one of you believe it.

“Go home, Luke. She…I still need you. I’m always gonna.”

He’s already got Backbiter in hand and one foot through time when he looks back at you. Your voice sounds a lot like how it does when you tell him you love him. Luke wonders how long it’s been since you did. Your bedroom door opens with a bang and some laughter.

“Hey troublemaker, you left the dryer on! All your clothes are gonna shrink,” Jo grins, peeking her head through the doorway of your room and she’s looking at you in your graduation gown standing there alone.

“Were you on the phone? Who were you talking to?”

It’s quiet in the apartment again. Your fingernails make indents in your palms, bunching up into fists before you let go. A sad smile crosses your face as you let the settling wind kiss your cheeks, before reality kicks in and everything settles back to how it was before. 

“Just someone I used to know.”

—

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” -Richard Siken

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?)

1/2 luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko@bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader #made by ma1dita ♥︎ #luke castellan imagine #percy series #luke castellan angst #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[waves-against-a-cliff]

There is something about Simon Riley that just screams

“I’ll fight for you, each and every time I will fight for you. Like a doomed hero holding off an army of your demons and insecurities, I will fight with everything I have. You, my dear, are the deity who I worship day in and day out. Let me be your sword and shield, let me be your strength and love. Let me love you like you’ve always deserved.”

There is something about John MacTavish that just screams

“Let me be your sun, moon and stars. Let me guide you home like a sailor following the North Star and hold you close and warm like a hearth. Let’s lay in bed together tangled in a knot that binds. I have no need for marriage to declare that my heart and soul belongs to you because it has since we first met. I will kiss you like it’s our first and last, hug you like you’ll disappear.”

There is something about John Price that just screams

“Let me help you with your burdens. Lay them all at my feet and I will carry them like Atlas holds up the sky. I will grab the star you point to and hand it to you if you wished, turn the tide of the ocean if you commanded it. I’ll be your protector, you will not suffer alone. We shall walk this rocky road together until it is smoothed out by our love for each other.”

There is something about Kyle Garrick that just screams

“I will be your rock against the harsh waves of the stormy ocean. Your refuge from the storm. I will hold you in my arms until everything passes and we will be alright. Let me hold you, let me love you, let me mold myself into your bones and keep me there. Each kiss is a declaration, each hug a promise. Loving fully and deeply, falling hard and fast despite the claw marks on the cliffs edge. Smiles that radiate warmth, days filled with laughter.”

#ghost x you #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #captain john price #captain price #johnny mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz call of duty #price x reader #price x you

[heich0e]

bliss - vash/f!reader/wolfwood (trigun stampede) 3k, poly!au, wild west!au, bounty hunters, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, masturbation (m), cum eating, finger sucking, wolfwood calls reader 'kid' as a petname, there will be a part 3 where nico gets his moment i promise! 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

part 2 to bounty see also: BOUND - poly!au masterlist

you can taste the tobacco that clings to his mouth from this close, but you don't mind it when it tastes like home. “and it’s our bed, nicholas. so take me to it whenever you’d like.”

nicholas carries you inside with one hand underneath you, one on the small of your back, and your legs wrapped around his waist.

regardless of the familiarity, his strength always surprises you; the effortlessness with which he scoops you up into his arms and holds you there never fails to make your heart beat a little bit faster, no matter how many times he does it.

“aren’t you tired?” you mumble against his mouth between kisses as he totes you across the little timber ranch you call home. he nearly stumbles on the edge of a tattered old rug underfoot, the same one he's helped you hang on the clothesline a hundred times on sunny days, kicking it huffily back into place as he holds you tighter.

“not too tired for this,” nicholas replies easily, leaning forward and laying you flat across the wooden table that sits at the centre of the main room of your home. 

it’s the same table at which you’ve shared countless meals with him. the same table where you’ve sat the boys down and patched up their wounds after a bad hunt. the same table where you and vash play cards at night as the fire on the hearth burns low, where he always lets you win while nicholas watches on from his favourite rocking chair on the other side of the room with a sly smile on his face.

“i thought you were taking me to bed,” you say breathlessly as you stare up at him from the hard surface of the sturdy wooden tabletop.

nicholas smirks down at you, shucking the straps of his suspenders off his shoulders one at a time.

“thought maybe i’d have something to eat first,” he drawls as he drags the poplin of your nightdress up slowly over your thighs, baring your skin to him and revelling in the unhurried reveal, “i’m starving, you know.”

your breath hitches in your throat at his words, a heat flooding fast through your cheeks as you peer up at him. your lashes flutter slightly, blinking slowly as your desire for him builds inside of you, and you part your thighs for him invitingly.

nicholas’s playful smirk splits into a full-blown grin at the gesture, something so charmingly boyish in the expression, and he drags you down to the very edge of the table with his strong hands gripping your hips. he settles down on his knees, and you feel his warm breath against your aching centre, catching on the wetness that’s already begun to seep out from your core. above you, you stare up at the wooden beams of the ceiling overhead as your pulse thumps under your skin. to calm yourself, you trace the shadows that the beams cast with only the oil lamp on the other side of the room to light the space.

nicholas hums from his place on the floor, dragging two fingers up through the sticky wetness between your legs.

“you’re already this wet?” he muses, unmistakably pleased. “did you know we’d be coming home to you tonight?”

he splits his fingers into a V shape to spread you open, and you can’t help but whimper at the slightest brush against the sensitive bud at the apex of your sex. you hear nicholas draw in a sharp breath.

“oh,” he says the word on his exhale, a little shaky though he’d deny it if you were to bring it up. “you missed us, didn’t you?”

you nod even though you know he can’t see you from his current position, fisting the skirt of your nightdress in your trembling hands.

he hums curiously, goading you, and you know he wants you to say it.

“'course i did,” you whimper the words out helplessly, breathlessly, and completely sincere. “missed you, nico.”

“yeah? how bad did you miss me, kid?” he asks, pressing featherlight against the pretty swell of your clit. “because it looks like it was a lot.”

all you can manage is some sort of affirmative little sound, your breaths a bit harder to drawn in now that he’s touching you. your tongue more leaden under his careful attention.

he peeks up at you over the curve of your tummy, his dark hair hanging into his voracious eyes.

“anything else you wanna tell me?” he asks, pressing a bit more firmly against you now, tracing a lazy circle with the very tips of his fingers. your hips jump and your eyes squeeze shut, your heartbeat thrumming underneath your tongue.

“…myself” it’s almost unintelligible with how quietly you say it, and you can feel the satisfaction rolling off of nicholas in waves, like a tide that threatens to pull you under.

“what was that?” his fingertips trail down, dipping just inside of you, a little stretch but less resistance than there usually would be.

“i touched myself,”—you gasp at the sensation of him finally pressing into you, two knuckles deep now and far fuller than it had been when they were your own fingers—“in the bath. before bed. 'cause i missed you s’much.”

“i can tell,” nicholas breathes, but it sounds like a prayer—reverent and pious. “poor little thing.”

“nico!” 

your back bows as he wraps his lips around the bundle of nerves between your legs and suckles against it, his two fingers taking the opportunity to slip all the way inside and curl in just the way you like. finally giving you what you’ve been aching for all this time.

it’s noisy—your panting breath, your whimpers, the slick sound of his mouth against your wet wet cunt. the table even creaks slightly, in spite of its sturdy construction, when he drags you down even closer to his mouth, looping your legs over his shoulders until there’s no space left between you at all.

so it’s really no surprise when a figure appears in the doorway to your bedroom, blonde hair totally unkempt and rubbing at tired blue eyes. vash had stripped himself bare before he crawled into bed with you, and he hasn’t covered himself up since, so his scarred skin is on full display as hesitates at the threshold, watching curiously at the sight unfolding before him.

“vash,” you mewl, your fingers tangled in nicholas’s hair as your hips grind against his face. you reach out towards him with your other hand, and the dainty gold ring on your finger glints in the warm lamplight. 

nicholas pulls away from you with a loud, lewd slurp at your call of the other man’s name—strings of spit and god only knows what else stretching from his swollen lips to your pussy. vash and nicholas’s eyes meet, and the blonde hesitates almost shyly on the other side of the room. after a moment, nicholas sighs, but there’s almost something mirthful in it as he wipes the slickness from his mouth with the back of his calloused hand.

“you gonna make her wait all night, or what?” he calls to him, nodding him over like he’s giving him permission to approach.

even in his half-asleep stupor, vash doesn’t need much more of an invitation.

he’s at your side in an instant.

vash, rather peculiarly, sits in a chair at the table while nicholas returns his attention to the throbbing heat between your legs. you’re too distracted by the pressure building in the pit of your stomach to question it too intently, and so the blonde leans his head on his crooked arm, watching your face carefully as your other partner slowly takes you apart.

“feel good?” vash asks you quietly, a fierce flush burning along his cheeks as he raptly observes at every minor change in your expression. your head lolls towards him, and you nod. 

“kiss please,” you whimper to him, and he’s so so quick to oblige you, pressing his mouth to your own and greedily swallowing every sound that nicholas is pulling out of you with his unfairly talented tongue and his lithe, nimble fingers.

vash’s mouth is warm and wet and eager against your own. he kisses you the same way every time, whether it’s a hello, or a goodbye, or just a moment like this. he kisses you like he’s chasing something that isn’t running from him; taking everything you give him, but still desperately needing more.

“oh!” you gasp against vash’s parted lips as nicholas’s fingertips find that spot inside of you he seems to be incapable of missing, but intentionally skirts around to drive you even more insane. panting against your mouth, vash’s eyes flutter open and peek down at where nicholas is still dutifully at work. 

you watch his pupils dilate a little in the low light, the inky black swallowing up the blue of his irises as his eyes hone in on the wet, messy sight of the other man between your legs. vash pulls away from you as though drawn towards nicholas by sheer magnetism. you’re not sure if nicholas senses him nearing, or has more of his wits about him than you’ve given him credit for, because he lifts his head from where he’d been dragging his tongue along your clit as vash slips behind him to get a better view.

nicholas tips his head back to rest against vash’s hip, and his breathing is ragged as the blonde’s hands reach to gently cup his face.

“she’s so wet,” nicholas rasps up towards him as vash drags a thumb over his slick chin.

“yeah,” vash murmurs, his voice strained. his keen eyes flicker from nicholas’s face to your dripping pussy and then back again, like he’s not sure which sight he likes more. you watch helplessly as he lifts his thumb, covered now in your arousal and nicholas’s spit, to his mouth and uses his tongue to taste you both. “tastes good,” he moans, the digit still caught between his teeth.

“yeah, she does,” nicholas agrees, and you wiggle your hips involuntarily at the remark, feeling the crest of your building pleasure slowly begin to fade.

he chuckles when he notices, leaning forward again to press his fingers inside of you again. he holds them still there, and vash leans forward, gently pinning one leg further open so he can get a better view. you whimper when nicholas gives you none of the satisfaction you’re chasing, and keeps his fingers inside of you unmoving.

“please, nico,” you beg him earnestly, your voice fracturing on the plea. your nightdress is sticking to the perspiration on your skin now, and you want it off, but you have more pressing issues at hand. 

or rather more issues with hands pressing you.

“does this feel better than touching yourself?” nicholas asks, giving one slow curl of his fingers that has your back bowing off the hard surface of the tabletop. “does it feel better now that you have the real thing?”

“y-yes,” you keen, a sob building in your too-tight chest that you can’t even drawn enough breath into to properly let form. “so much better. i-i wanna cum, please make me cum.” 

“that’s our girl,” nicholas breathes, grinning wolfishly up at vash who looks completely enamoured watching you fall apart quite literally at nicholas’s hand.

below you, vash begins to stroke himself to the sight of you coming undone, his other hand tangling in the short strands of nicholas’s hair at his crown. nicholas indulges him while he continues to please you, because he’s never denied either of you anything you want. vash’s little whimpers and moans as he watches you writhe on the table top only make your heart beat faster, and it doesn’t take much more until you’re crying out, the levee of pleasure giving way to the rush of your peak.

“oh, look at that,” nicholas hisses against your pussy as your walls clamp down around his fingers to the point he almost can’t move them at all. you aren’t sure if he’s speaking to you or to vash, but it scarcely matters with the way your head is spinning. “you close too?” nicholas asks, tilting his face towards where vash is leaning against the table, one hand pressed flat against the surface now while the other passes quickly over his flushed, leaking cock.

you watch him through the daze of your own pleasure, marvelling in it. everything about vash is just so pretty. his parted lips, slick with spit and swollen from the way he catches them between his teeth. his delicate cheekbones, and the rosy blush that curls across them, that stains his nose, and even curls down to his chest. even the silvery scars across his skin, stories from a lifetime he knew before you, adorn him like art.

“yeah,” he whimpers out brokenly, his teary blue eyes meeting yours as you blink at him from your place on the table. nicholas rests a hand on vash’s hip, a rough thumb sweeping encouragingly over a scar that’s etched into his skin, and you watch the blonde tip his head back as he cums with a drawn out moan—the final push over the edge. his spend drips down over the divots of his knuckles, and he gives a few more half-hearted pumps of his hand to ride out his own end with a shudder.

it’s quiet for a moment in the your house. you hear the wind whistling outside through the windchimes vash had made for you, the sound of panting breaths, and the slowing beat of your racing pulse.

“what a mess you two made,” nicholas is the first to shatter the stillness, his tone wry. he clicks his tongue behind his teeth, eyeing the smear of wetness at the edge of the table that’s dripped down the inside of your thighs to pool there and the cum dripping from vash’s trembling grip. nico reaches up and takes vash’s soiled hand, dragging his fingers through your mess. the brunette shoots you a mischievous look, and then lifts sticky digits to his swollen lips and cleans them off with a flick of his pink tongue.

vash slackens as nicholas’s lips wrap around him, like the tension he’s been carrying since they got home–from the botched hunt, the long days away, and the argument they'd had that has been weighing on him–dissipates with the gesture. once vash’s hand is mostly clean, nicholas pulls back and places a kiss to his palm.

the two of them share a look, and wordlessly you know that all has been forgiven.

their eyes return to you, next.

“how are you doing up there, princess?” nicholas teases, his eyes scanning over your dishevelled form.

“good,” you reply, your lips curling up into a soft, satisfied smile. with a bit of effort, you regain your bearings and push yourself onto your elbows. vash quickly slips a hand behind your back to steady you, and you shoot him a coy look of thanks.

“just good?” nicholas asks as rises from the floor, his knees crack and he winces, but he shakes it off quickly. his palm comes to rest flat against the tabletop and leans down close to you. the smell of tobacco is almost gone now, replaced with something a little headier, a little more primal, but you enjoy it just as much.

“great even,” you say softly, and he kisses you to hide the smile on his face. the kiss is brief but welcome, and soon nicholas is helping you up off the table and back onto your own feet, your nightdress falling back into place as he smoothes his palm along the curves of your body. you lean into his side, batting your lashes up at him as you purse your lips. “i distinctly remember someone making me me a promise about taking me to bed, though.”

nicholas rolls his eyes, but it’s an expression that bleeds fondness more than anything else. “yeah well, i didn’t wanna wake this one up,” he replies, reaching out and ruffling vash’s already messy hair.

“hey,” the blonde complains as he bats away his hand, and nicholas covers a laugh by burying his face in the crook of your neck. you giggle too and it only seems to make vash more wounded. “i’m awake now.”

nicholas lifts his face from the crook of your neck, resting his temple against your own. you can hear the smugness in his tone as he replies “want me to make you regret it?”

vash eyes widen, and he blushes a little more.

you reach up, and vash dips down like he knows what you're reaching for even without you having to say it. you take your time carefully brushing his hair back into something more closely resembling its usual state, and his eyes shut contently as you trace your fingertips along his scalp. once you're satisfied with the result, you take his face in your palms, enjoying the warmth of his blush against your skin.

“it's good to have you home, boys,” you whisper with nicholas still wrapped around you, cradling vash’s cheeks in your hands. "i was lonely without you."

vash's eyes open once more–his pupils wide again like they had been not long prior–and at your side nicholas's arm tightens around your waist. you feel the press of something hot and hard against your hip, and you swallow thickly as saliva pools under your tongue.

"jeez, you really know how to make us feel guilty, huh?" he murmurs, his tone dry but noticeably tight. you feel the soft brush of his lips against the shell of your ear as he nuzzles closer, and you can't miss the draw of his suddenly more laboured breaths.

"guess you'll just have to make it up to me," you whisper back to him. you hoped your tone would be playful, but it's too anticipatory, too breathless, to have bite. your eyes are still trained on vash's, watching as they grow hungrier with every passing thump of your quickening heart.

"well, you know where our bed is, kid," nicholas whispers, and his voice makes you shiver when the heat of his breath tickles the side of your cheek. he nips at the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear, the sharp drag of teeth that you know would never truly harm you. "or are you waiting for me to carry you there, too?"

#vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #wolfwood x reader #nicholas wolfwood x reader #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun stampede fic #trigun fic #writing #poly vashwood

[lexyleblancc]

Something nicer {Sihtric}

Summary: Sihtric takes care of his family during the night of a storm. 

Dad!Sihtric x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nothing, unless you fear children and a simp of a man :)

Word count: 699 haha nice

Disclaimer: Not proof read, we die like men here. Also have decided to make this a little series of the TLK men being dads because it warms my heart

There had been rumors of a storm hitting, and Sihtric couldn’t be more happy that he had made it home before it hit. The nights had been getting colder, almost unbearably cold. Furs were piled high on all the beds at night, roaring fires hit in hearths to keep the chill at bay. You were curled into Sihtric’s side, your nose cold and red from being the only part of you visible under the mountain of furs you curled under. The man sucked in a breath as your cold nose made contact with his neck, making him shiver. The door to the bedroom creaked open, making the restless man look up, seeing the small figure of your youngest child standing there, holding a small stuffed bear tightly in her arms. 

“Da, it’s so cold.” The little girl cried quietly. Sihtric sighed, sitting up and letting the furs pool around his waist, the cold air hitting his skin. 

“It is.” Sihtric agreed, motioning for his youngest to climb onto the bed. “Lay with your mom, keep her nice and warm and I’ll go get the fires going again, okay?” He cooed softly, tugging the furs over the young girl and kissing her forehead. In your sleep you reached out for your daughter, pulling her closer to you and letting out a soft hum. Both Sihtric and your daughter let out small laughs, before the man stood from the bed and found the closest tunic he could reach. 

The wooden floors were half frozen, sending shocks through him as he quickly rushed to the living room to stoke the fire before heading down the hallway to the children’s room to stoke that one as well. Sihtric almost cursed the day you insisted on giving your children the larger room with a fireplace in it, but they would always come first. He just prayed to the Gods you would be able to move houses soon, somewhere that was much larger and had a fireplace in every room to keep the family warm. 

Your two oldest children were curled together in one bed, shivering under the furs while the man worked quickly to warm them. The middle child, your only son, had abandoned his bed at some point in the night to help keep his older sister warm during the night. Once the fire was roaring once more, Sihtric grabbed some of the extra furs from a chest beside the door and covered the children, kissing both their foreheads before leaving the room quietly. 

When he was finally back in his and (Y/N)’s room, he smiled fondly seeing his wife and youngest child sleeping soundly in each other's arms. He slowly slid back under the covers, reaching over your daughter who laid contently between you two, and pulled the both of you closer to his shivering form. 

“Where did you go?” You asked, your voice laced with sleep as your eyes opened slowly to look at your husband. 

“Just fed the fires.” He told you softly, pushing some of your hair away from your face as he smiled widely. “Gave the children some extra furs to keep them warm until morning.” 

“We need more fireplaces to keep this place warm.” You joked quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. The walls would tend to let in drafts during the colder months, taking all the heat away when the family so desperately needed it. 

“Or a nicer home.” Sihtric mumbled, his eyes growing heavy with the sleep that so desperately called for him. “I will talk to Uhtred in the morning, see if there is something we can do about the cursed cracks in the walls until then.” He promised, placing a tender kiss on your lips before leaning down and kissing your daughter's head. “Just rest darling, the warmth will flow through the house soon.” 

“I’m not the one shivering.” You hummed, placing a warm hand on your husband's arm. He smiled softly, holding you and your daughter tightly as the both of you fell asleep once more. 

He would always wake up at night, to stoke the fires that warmed your family, just until he could provide something nicer. 

#Sihtric #sihtric x reader #The Last Kingdom #the last kingdom imagine #osferth #osferth x reader #Uhtred #uhtred x reader #ragnar x reader #young ragnar #erik x reader #erik thurgilson #finan #finan the agile #finan x reader

[breelandwalker]

Harvest Moon - September 28, 2023

The summer heat might be hanging on, but it's time to get excited for autumn shenanigans all the same. Grab your canning supplies and your favorite cider mug - it's time for the Harvest Moon!

Harvest Moon

The Harvest Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs closest to the autumnal equinox. It does not matter whether the moon occurs before or after the equinox or in which month it falls. In some years, this means the Harvest Moon may occur in October, in which cause the September moon might go by the name of Corn Moon or Rice Moon, depending on where you are.

In 2023, the Harvest Moon falls once more in the month of September. The same will happen in 2024, when the Harvest Moon will also be a supermoon! However, in 2025, the September moon will come early in the month, making it a Corn Moon. The Harvest Moon that year will be in early October.

The September moon is particularly beloved by farmers in the Northern Hemisphere, as it rises earlier and shines brighter than other full moons due to the relative angle of the Earth in relation to the moon during the equinox, which is helpful for lighting up the tail end of those long work days. In addition, the Harvest Moon may also appear full for multiple nights, providing additional illumination for labor or evening strolls. As such, while the peak of the Harvest Moon will occur in the wee hours of September 29th, it will appear to be full on both the 28th and 29th.

Other North American Indigenous names for the September moon include a number of variations of the aforementioned Corn Moon (used by numerous nations), such as Corn Maker Moon (Abenaki), Corn Harvest Moon (Dakota), and Corn Is Harvested Moon (Zuni). Other names refer to seasonal changes or animal behavior, such as Autumn Moon (Cree), Falling Leaves Moon (Ojibwe), Leaves Turning Moon (Anishinaabe), and Rutting Moon (Cree). Some European and modern pagan names for the September moon include Barley Moon (Old English), Singing Moon (Celtic), and Fruit Moon (general).

It's also worth noting that our Jewish friends and neighbors will be celebrating Rosh Hashanah this month, so remember to share your apples and honey and wish them Shanah Tovah (Happy New Year)!

What Does It Mean For Witches?

As autumn begins, we continue to reap what we've sown over the course of the year. It's a time to pause and reflect on what we've accomplished, let go of any unnecessary burdens we're still carrying, and focus on taking care of hearth and home for the cold months ahead. Now is a good time to do one last clutter purge or finish those repairs you've been putting off all summer!

Change is in the air as well, and transformations begun earlier in the year will burst into vibrant life. Just as the flowers bloom in spring, the leaves turn in the fall, and those of us who come alive in the autumn will start to fell that zing coming back.

Community also comes back into focus during harvest time, both because of the sharing of resources and the accompanying start of the school year. Take a moment to reinforce positive and supportive connections with friends and neighbors, or reach out to your local or online circle to strengthen existing bonds.

This a time of great abundance, so if you've been meaning to draw any kind of increase into your life, take steps to do so now. Harness that Harvest Moon energy to help carry you through the lean times in comfort and plenty.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

This is the time for feasting, bonfires, and outdoor gatherings. September and October will give us a few more warm weeks before the weather turns cold and rainy, so make the most of it! Have a potluck supper with a menu made of everyone's favorite seasonal recipes. Visit a local farmer's market and bring home that fresh seasonal produce. Thank the earth for the bounty it provides and renew your promise to be a good steward of the land where you live.

Technically, this is the second "harvest" moon of the year, since the harvest of most seasonal crops began back in August with wheat and corn and late summer fruits. The harvest of corn and grain continues into September and is joined by additional late-season fruits and vegetables, the most iconic of which is the annual apple crop.

Apple-picking is easily my favorite autumn activity and it's fantastic way to get outdoors, get some fresh air, and come home with tasty produce for uses both mundane and magical. From cider to applesauce to pies, apples are delightfully versatile. They also feature in a number of folk traditions and party games which double as divination rituals.

Continue your preparations for winter by canning or preserving fresh foods, hanging harvested herbs and flowers to dry, or refreshing your stocks of moon water and magical oils. Make your own magical brews using a stock pot as a cauldron and soups, stews, punch, cider, and mulled wine as your potions. Kitchen witches, your time is NOW!

Wear the colors of the season boldly and revel in all the gifts you've received and joys you've experienced so far this year. If you've been particularly blessed, pay it forward to share the bounty with others. Reflect on everything you've accomplished, celebrate your progress, and maybe set one or two small goals for the end of the year.

And since the decorations are already appearing in stores, start stocking up for Halloween!

Happy Harvest Moon, witches! 😊🍎

Further Reading:

Additional Lunar Calendar posts

Secular Celebrations - Autumn Equinox

Harvest Moon, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

What Is The Harvest Moon?, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Harvest Moon 2023: The Spiritual Meaning of September's Full Moon, The Peculiar Brunette.

Full Moon 2025 Calendar, Full Moonology.

Rosh Hashanah, Wikipedia.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

#Harvest Moon #lunar magic #moon magic #lunar calendar #witchcraft #witchblr #witch tips #witch community #pagan #autumn

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 7)

cregan x reader

A/N: yay more lord husband! (does a little dance) we're getting closer to the wedding and i can promise more trauma :)

series masterlist

word count: 1,182 words

You don’t find joy in Winterfell. You find a small sense of peace in its beauty but you are far too stubborn to be happy in the castle. There have been attempts at friendship. Sara Snow had likely been encouraged by her brother for her to try as many times as she did. You do like her but you also do not want to give anyone the idea that you may be settling in. This isn’t where you belong and everyone knows it. The servants talk just like the noblewomen that have begun to arrive for the wedding. They seem to enjoy the irony of your position, the fire princess whose heart is cold like ice. Perhaps the North was where you were meant to be after all. That is, if your life was a poem in a book. The servants also like to say that the fire in your hearth is always blazing so you can burn out your demons when you aren’t drowning your sorrows in the bathtub. The rumours always swirl around you. Perception is a fickle thing but you can’t bring yourself to care all too much, not when you know that talking about you is the most amusement they’ve had in all of their dull lives. Just a chance to look at your dragon would forge a story they would pass down for generations. You ride a dragon and all it takes for them is a glance.

Your family arrives today for the festivities. How kind it is of your mother to entrust her throne to your grandfather so she may attend her only daughter’s wedding. What a joyous occasion it is. You hear the murmurs as you stand next to Cregan in the welcoming party. You look tense and he notices it. You feel a large hand incase yours; you glare at him.

“It would be rude to let go.” He says softly as he looks ahead. You pull your hand from his grasp anyhow and he just huffs.

The carriages roll up. Your mother and Daemon step out first, a pleasing smile gracing the Queen’s face. It’s strange how proprietary causes you not to greet each other until the whole family is present. You just kind of look at one another awkwardly until your siblings walk up as well. Though, you find that little Aegon doesn’t seem to care much for proprietary. As soon as your little brother lays eyes on you, he’s running right over. He calls out your name before launching himself into your arms and you hold him close.

“I missed you so much! Joffrey has been such a bother since you’ve left.”

You laugh. “Oh, has he now?” It seems that the formal greetings have been forgotten as Joffrey comes over as well.

“I have not been a bother.” He defends and he lets you pull him in for a side hug. You didn’t know you could still smile like this.

Cregan knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the affection. It is common knowledge that your family was happy even in the isolation of Dragonstone, but to see you act so tender, it shocks him. He’s never seen you behave in a way other than cold and yet, your little brother is in your arms and looking at you like you’re about to give him the world on a platter. It makes his heart soften.

~~~

After settling in, Rhaenyra visits your new chambers with Baela, Rhaena and a servant in tow.

“Your rooms appear to be comfortable.” Your mother comments.

“They are.” You say in response. Conversation used to flow freely between the two of you but now small talk is all you can seem to accomplish.

“Your dress is finally ready. We were almost worried that the seamstress’ wouldn’t complete it in time.” Rhaena says, gesturing to the servant to bring over the gown.

“It will definitely live up to your vision.” Baela comments. 

You wanted something different, something new. You admire your mother’s style greatly but you wanted to have your own in your new home. That’s why the skirts of your dress are fuller and the sleeves more puffed. You will wear black and red to show where you came from but the style of the gown shows how you’re your own person. The gown still holds much of the King’s Landing structure so you can make the change in style gradual and it holds hints of how northern women dress so it’s more likely for them to copy you, even if there’s no reason for them to not copy the Lady of Winterfell. Well, you perhaps shouldn’t say that. There is still one reason. You are not one of their own and bringing in elements of how they decorate themselves will never change that.

“It’s perfect.” You say in a pleased tone.

“It’s more than perfect.” Baela cuts in. “I’ll be getting married to Jace soon. How am I ever supposed to top that?”

“You simply will not.” You say in a cheeky tone and she slaps your arm.

“The both of you will be more than beautiful on your wedding days, just in very different ways because you are very different.” Rhaenyra muses before she grabs your hand. “How are you?” She asks you and you know how much your mother cares about the answer.

“Cold.” You say. You aren’t quite sure what she wanted to hear.

“Well the warm months will come soon. Have you settled in nicely?”

What do you even say to that? Does she want the truth or the assurance that she hasn’t done something to ruin your life?

“I’m not too sure of that answer yet. It truly doesn’t feel like I have been here for long.” Perhaps you will ruin her day tomorrow instead.

“Things will likely fall into place after the wedding. Once you take up your new status, you will see how these things are for the best, my sweet girl.” Her words don’t feel like assurance as much as a command. Calling you her sweet girl barely softens it.

“Of course.” You confirm but don’t hide a single emotion. The irritation you feel is clear on your features.

Not wishing for an argument to come forth, Rhaena speaks up. “Winterfell is so beautiful and i’m quite antsy from the travel if you would be so kind as to give me a tour, sister?”

“Oh yes!” Baela chirps in. “You ought to take us to the gardens. I want to see if Weirwood trees truly have the faces of the old gods trapped in them.”

“Is trapped the right word?” Rhaena asks as you all stand.

“Will you accompany us, my Queen?” You ask Rhaenyra formally.

“I’m very tired. I think I will rest in my chambers.” 

You just think that talking to you pains her more than she wants to put up with. You try not to care as you take each of your sister’s arms but you won’t play nice to fix a relationship she ruined. You miss your mother but your stubbornness won’t allow it.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

Lord husband: @feyres-fireheart @possiblyafangirl @hb8301 @marihoneywk @youn-jo @velvet-spider @janelongxox @ninastyless @nyctophilic0vitnir @m-a-s-h-k-a @delicious-xx @weepingfashionwritingplaid @happinessinthebeing @betelrus @joliettes @black-swan-blog27 @mxtokko @valeridarkness @karolalolla @satan-s-ass @synindoodles @a-beaverhausen @petertingle3000 @lunnnix @hermaeusmorax

lmk if i forgot u

#cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark fic #hotd #hotd fic #lord husband

[wrenwrongs]

Worth More Than Silver

Sihtric/fem!Reader

Summary: Sihtric has been frequenting the brothel in Winchester. Osferth and Uhtred investigate why he still pays for your company despite his claim that you love him.

Word Count: 1.3k

cw: afab reader, she/her pronouns, use of the word whore (2x), childbirth (not described in detail), slight deviations from canon timeline, Sihtric and his football team of kids

“Have you made a decision yet?” asked Sihtric, his horse striding alongside Uhtred’s own. “Have you given it thought?”

“Given thought to what?” His Lord answered in false ignorance. It gnawed at Sihtric’s insides. He would not give up in his quest, yet he knew if he pushed the subject too hard Uhtred was wont to set his denial in stone. Lady Gisela seemed to take pity on him.

“Uhtred,” she warned from her place next to her husband.

With her aid, Sihtric continued, “My request to marry, Lord. I wish to have a family.” It was true. More true was that he wished to have a family with you.

He had been captivated from the first night he met you. Your laugh ringing out as he threw you on to the bed. How your brushed your fingers through his hair as you caught your breath. Still, he knew it was nothing more than he had payed for.

It was almost a fortnight later when he saw you walking down the road, the frost had tinged your cheeks red. Your arms were overburdened with logs as you trudged though the ankle high snow. He carried them for you to your home; a small room with a bed and a hearth. When you invited him in for tea, he saw how you had decorated with herbs drying from the ceiling, furs, and paint all along the walls. It was a proper home in his eyes, not just the place you rested your head as he had become accustomed to.

You laughed as he regaled the time he and Finan strapped fake legs to a horse and convinced a drunk Uhtred that it was Sleipnir, the chip in your front tooth evident, and he knew he was yours.

A voice broke through his thoughts.

“Lord, you will answer the man.” It was Gisela again. In that moment Sihtric thought her sent by Freyja herself.

Uhtred sighed before turning his head to speak, “I will speak to her at Winchester and give you my decision.”

“Thank you, Lord.” With a grin, he fell back into line as Uhtred shouted back at him.

“But you are to give her no more of your arm-rings, nor silver!”

A gentle breeze swept through the valley, cooling the sweat on their brows. The sun, now past its highest point in the sky, warmed the earth as they arrived in Winchester. Finnan and Sihtric accompanied Uhtred while Osferth was sent out on his own quest.

After visiting your home and inquiring at the brothel, he was directed outside the walls of the capital. There, he spotted a figure emerging from the surrounding trees. The glint of silver around your biceps confirmed your identity.

“My lady,” he spoke softly as he approached, not wanting to startle you.

“I am no Lady,” you responded, the wind rustling your hair. “And I’m not working today.”

“No,” he blushed. “You misunderstand me. I am one of Lord Uhtred’s men.”

You said nothing, but looked upon him with suspicion and doubt.

He cleared his throat before speaking again, “You are Sihtric’s woman are you not?”

“That I am." You stepped closer to him so that the two of you could hear each other clearly. Osferth took a glimpse into the basket you carried. Elderberries and yarrow sat among a myriad of herbs. "You must be the Baby Monk I’ve heard about.”

“You love him?”

“Yes." There was an edge to your voice.

“Yet, you still take his silver?” The hurt in your eyes sent guilt rampaging through him.

“He is not the first man to make promises of love in hopes of a free night. I have seen the heartbreak and shame those girls are left with too many times to allow myself to fall for the same trick.”

“It is no trick. He wishes to marry you.”

“So he says.” You began walking back to the gates leaving Osferth to follow.

“You don’t believe him?”

“I wish to." You nodded to the guards as you passed them. "As much as I believe that Sihtric is different, I know those other women thought the same of the men that left them.”

“He has asked for permission from Lord Uhtred.”

You paused, hands tightening on the basket till your knuckles turned white. “He will not get it,” your voice was cold as you spoke. Osferth opened his mouth to argue, but you had already disappeared into the crowd of the afternoon market.

It was the next morning when Uhtred came to you. Sihtric had already departed after reluctantly leaving your bed and breaking fast together.

“Osferth spoke to me last night. He says your heart is true." Uhtred's words did little to calm your nerves. He sat across from you at your small table, drinking your own blend of vervain and violet tea. You could see his eyes flicker down to watch you tug at loose threads of your sleeve. "I will give my permission for you to marry.”

“Thank you, Lord Uhtred,” you said. Meeting his eyes was no easy feat, still you managed. “Sihtric mentioned last night, that if given your blessing, he wished to marry by the time your company leaves next.”

Uhtred shook his head. “You will come with us.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped before you could contain it. “A Saxon who fights with Irishmen, Danes, and monks now wants a whore to accompany them?”

“Not a whore, a healer. Osferth told me you where gathering herbs.”

“Mathilda’s son has a fever. I just made something to help bring it down.”

“Gisela said you often assist the læce. Do you know how to sew a wound?”

“Yes, Lord.” Though your experiences in doing so were less than pleasant as you struggled with the sight of open flesh. In truth, you would rather never do it again, but if it meant you could be with Sihtric perhaps it would be worth the sting of bile in your throat.

“Then you will be of use to us,” Uhtred said firmly, and you got the impression that he was not one to easily change his mind once it was set. “I will inform Sihtric of my decision. When we depart from Winchester next, you will accompany us.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” You could no longer contain your smile as Uhtred took his leave. As he bade you farewell he took notice of your thumb absent-mindedly stroking one of the rings while you stirred your tea.

Perhaps it should have become routine at this point. Woefully, that was not the case. You had birthed six of your eight children with Sihtric and while the boys joked that pregnant was your perpetual state of being, the labor remained grueling.

“I swear this is the last one,” you said through clenched teeth as the midwife rushed around you.

Sihtric knelt by your side, cringing as you squeezed his hand, “You said that during the last one.”

“I mean it this time. Seven is more than enough.” You suspected Sihtric would have as many as you allowed.

Aethelstan had come into your lives just after you had discovered you were pregnant. You agreed it was best for you to stay back, even after your first daughter was born. Sihtric brought Cynlaef shortly after that, he was less than ten years old at the time. 

It seemed that if you weren’t with child when he and the others returned you would be by the time they left. True to the promise he made on your wedding night, he was present for as many of the births as he could be. Because then came the twins and later your youngest daughter, named Fianna after Finan who had pestered you one too many times about naming a son after him. Truthfully, if Osferth had been any younger you would have counted him among them.

It felt like ages before the midwife placed the boy in your arms. Sihtric turned to Uhtred and spoke, “Last chance to have one named after you Lord.”

“No.” Both Uhtred and you said at once. But you supposed your husband was right, it was the last chance to name your child after someone you both loved so dearly.

You turned back to the babe pressed against your skin, your words barely above a whisper, “His name is Osferth.”

#s: fic #sihtric x reader #sihtric imagine #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric kjartansson imagine #sihtric kjartansson x reader #tlk x reader #tlk imagine #tlk fic #my posts #what is a queue like me doing in a post like this?

[lychniis]

⚘ — TELL ME WE'RE NOT STILL HOLLOW.

i. SYNOPSIS : years ago they made a vow to you. now they ponder it, as time runs its course and as new stars wink into existence and old ones die out. or in which, they recall their marriage with you, as they seek their comfort . ( blade / jing yuan x reader )

ii. WARNING(S) : angst / fluff / comfort, spoilers to blade's backstrory alongside heavy speculation because hoo boy hoyo sure is taking its time. written pre 1.3 where dan heng's backstory will be fully cleared up, spoilers for blade's true name and the final battle of 1.2. written for @mikacynth's summer santa event, as a gift for @genshinimpactzpsff. NOT PROOFREAD.

# masterlist

&& . blade | yingxing · ( what are these memories ; held in a box )

I. GENTLY DOES HE HOLD THAT BOX, a singular, worn old thing whose wood steadily gives into rot and the weight of lost memories. Blade remembers too little of who he once was and he forgets what he does recall when his chest is borne open to his raw, beating heart. But the hairpin in hand is deceitful in its make. Plain iron and wood imbued and drenched in fleeting whispers that beckon him to old times. 

( “Yingxing!” it calls, soft, urgent, hypnotic.)

He remembers how it adorned your hair in a way where it glowed as the sun caught it ( and you glowed too, like the fires of the hearth, like iron spiderwebbed with cracks of gold ). He remembers the chai being whole, he holding one half of that heart and you, the other. He remembers that promise, that unposken agreement, that look in your eyes when you pressed it into his palms.

Come back to me.

It was an insistent thing, and it carried over, even as his mind fragmented and Yingxing, your Yingxing, was torn apart and scattered to the cosmic wind. Blade wonders why he still lets you linger when all he knew were the spinning of battles and the icy touch of death. He despises the longing it brings, the feelings it unearths, the demons it sets loose that cry out to him, that long, that weaken his resolve and leave him with a want that saturates his blood with helplessness.

( Blade despises that memory, for he sees a future in you. Something warm, something so wholly separate from the horror lurking behind his vision. He sees what was lost, a sense of normalcy stolen away years ago. The thought of you leaves Blade prone. The thought of love, he realizes, was nothing more than bitter fruit. )

II. ONE DAY, BLADE’S FINGERS PRESS TOO HARD, and the delicate wood of the chai fractures. 

He stares at the broken pieces and his hands shake with repressed fury, with a scream that rings in his head, with tears that refuse to fall, with a weight that crushes him. The hairpin is swiftly locked away and shoved into his drawers and he breathes, he stills his heart, he digs his nails into his arm till blood soaks his clothes and the pain outweighs the panic.

Do not think, he tells himself.

The hairpin in the drawer mocks him some more. Think of our promise. Think of what we were. Think of how you held me and kissed me behind the walls of our home and spoke of our dreams. Think of how we lived till our faces grew lined and our limbs grew stiffer, of how we spoke of peace in a far away place till we’d settle into the earth together.

That was not me, he hisses. He was not the white haired man whose eyes held no pain or anger. He was not the man who held you with a tenderness he was incapable of.

He looks at the drawer. The taunting does not cease and Blade sinks deeper into this pit.

III. BLADE’S DREAMS GROW HEAVIER and running away was but foolish optimism. He sees you in them, bent over one of his weapons, embing the final detailing, those touches of beauty and those flourishes that hold your strokes. He sees your hands, roughened like his from artistry and housework. He sees himself, reflected in the mirror, and he’s smiling as he calls your name.

“Don’t bother me!” you sigh. “Yingxing, I must concentrate.”

“You’d ignore your own husband?” he asks, his tone in jest. 

You look up, your gaze dark and intense, and your hair a mess held back by a single hairpin ( and this was you, holding a passion brighter than the white sparks of the forge fire. This was you, with that strange brittleness and that softness that molded your body and being ).

“You don’t want that cocky kid tailing your ass for messing up his Guan Dao now do you? I’ll be the first to run away when you seek help. I promise that!” He laughs at your flustered gaze, at how you soften up for him and cup his cheeks with a playful pout.

When Blade’s eyes open, he sees your grave. The sweet distance of his memories that trail behind dissipate. Yingxing died centuries ago, laid to rest by your side in a tomb enshrined with flowers and incense. Perhaps he could learn to accept that, to let you lay with the man you loved.

( Not him, not the monster he was. ) 

He cleans away the fallen leaves and places the broken chai atop it.

Blade leaves without a word.

&& . jing yuan · ( and as the years pass ; you're all i have that remains )

I. THE LUOFU WAS A SHIP OF GHOSTS among men and Jing Yuan was old enough to know it. To the eyes of an immortal, where centuries bleed into yesterdays and what is ancient is recent, he knows the Luofu remains a stationary side in the universe. An unchanging phenomenon, a slew of familiar crowds and faces, a sect of people who refuse to die as a curse tears apart their bodies.

Jing Yuan knew irony like an old friend, like a sworn enemy, like an act of sudden betrayal etched too deep into his skin. Jing Yuan lived through it — the only soul that remains amongst five, the general who prides the company of finches as he ponders lost dreams, Jing Yuan himself, with his every calculated move beneath the monotonous guise of languid habit.

Jing Yuan has lived a life too vast for a human and he feels it, slowly, surely as the years wear on and the sweetness of longevity turns sour. 

( And the Luofu too, feels it, as dear beloveds die yet the wounds remain fresh. When Jing Yuan met Dan Heng's gaze and saw little of that old friend, he knew, and it hurt, like a stab to the heart, like fire on bone. 

Where would he stand one day — as the living comes to wither, when it's all over? )

II. YOU WERE THE LEGACY OF A DEAD WORLD — and Jing Yuan wonders what that burden brings — when his thoughts shift to your sleeping form next to him, still like upended earth and steady stone. He wonders what it feels like to live beneath that stifling loneliness, to watch the memories of your home crumble apart and fragment into nothing ( for the cosmos, it was large and it holds little time to remember old truths ).

Sometimes he sees the younger you when your soul would set alight, the caged creature who died too many deaths while walking that dangerous tightrope. He sees the weapon you let yourself become, following the orders of loveless men that let your wrists be slit and your bones be sacrificed. 

Jing Yuan wonders if you feel like you're drowning too, if you felt like you were drowning in your home world, choking on chaos and blood while knives pressed at your throat as it seethed and hated what you were.

Because there is a story there, a tragic one in your scars and in your smile. It tells him of a place that was hardly kind to your darling heart, that spat you aside, that watched you suffer with a terrible apathy and let you cry your human tears till they dried out and you were nothing but its dark reflection.

How could you still be so kind? He wants to ask you, but he knows the answer.

Your eyes hold it, those persistent little embers scraped to the side of the hearth. And he loves them, he loves them, he loves them.

( And he loves you, behind his lazy smiles and in the way his cheeks would dimple and his lashes flutter. It’s something so passionate and deep for an old man like him and sometimes Jing Yuan fears what he feels for you.

Yet he loves you all the same. )

III. WHEN JING YUAN FIRST MET YOU, you tried to kill him, plain and simple ( and he fought back as you did in a deadly dance of your making ). 

You were a child of abundance, no matter how you revile the curse you were afflicted with. And the Hunt was an enemy and the Luofu was an enemy and to the Luofu, you were a monstrous abomination and you were a threat.

A threat, he thinks when he touches the wedding band on your finger, when you stroke his beauty mark with an absent smile. A threat, he thinks when he sees you step into battles turned sour and bring down the mara struck with chilling ease. A threat, he thinks when he sees your melancholy in how you gaze at the stars.

“I feel so small.” you admit to him one day.

“Why?”

“I always did, back home and even now.” there is a sadness imbued in you, in your very being. You knew death all too well. You saw it creep into the flesh of your friends. You felt it dig its fingers into you before you fell out of its grasp and sent you far, far away. “I suppose it’s because I felt lost.” you finally speak up after a moment’s silence. “You feel small when you’re lost, don’t you? It’s because you don’t know what to do and everything feels so much harder in the world…”

( He knows. Aeons, he knows. Destiny was never as straight as Lan’s flying arrows. Destiny brought him friends, then took them away, then brought them back again as living ghosts with clouded gazes and new names. What was he to do in the face of it, but jest? )

“Do you feel lost now?” he asks.

“You’re here.” you smile at that and Jing Yuan’s heart melts, like butter to the stove. Mimi butts her head against you. “And Mimi too. And Yanqing. It’s still hard but…I could be kinder to myself…I wish to be.”

“Good.” Jing Yuan nods. He kisses the palm of your hand, then your nose, then your lips. 

“Be kind to yourself too, Jing Yuan.”

He laughs, and it trembles, down to his chest. Jing Yuan sneaks another kiss again, letting him sink into this brief indulgence. “I will, dear heart.”

“Good.” you echo back. A laugh betrays you. It's the most beautiful sound he's heard.

IV. JING YUAN KNOWS THOSE UNFINISHED STORIES.

He contemplates his, then stops.

The universe was vast. It changes like the cloud cover and winds like the river currents. Perhaps, when the time comes, he could worry about the aftermaths and the will happens as he sets his pieces down and weaves his plans and stratagems.

He has a new chapter to write.

And you look over his shoulder, your worn hands grasping a kinder light. 

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

kjhgFCBGHJ I HOPE I MET YOUR STANDARDS. i wish i could have posted something longer, but seeing blade and jing yuan as immediate favorites, i just knew what i wanted to do. i hope you liked my summer santa gift.

fun fact : chai are special hairpins made with two prongs, and are customarily broken in half when a pair of lovers are sepeated. considering how haitrpins play its own role in chinese courting, i just had to include that.

the reader in jing yuan's part if heavily inspired by the reader / kind of oc in the jing yuan shot i have in works. something about old people being tired together kjhgvfbh.

title credits go to lostcap!

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!

taglist — @silentmoths @hiraethsdesires @x-zho @dustofthedailylife @kaelily @mikacynth @snobwaffles @jnyuan @bbladie @starzqx @sangomis @ofoceansandtombsanew @zhxngii @crystalflygeo @laughterofthetombs @khxii-i

AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#&&. my writing !! #honkai star rail #blade x reader #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail blade #honkai star rail jing yuan #angst #fluff #comfort #— summer santa

[faorism]

(really in my feels about the ot3 because of the @powerpolyculeshowdown so here's some propaganda)

parker and hardison allow eliot to be sillier. more ridiculous. outragous, even. eliot sings the stupid ditties hardison writes special for him, and he rolls his eyes at parkers pokes and prods and the occasional "accidental" face slap, and eliot can express himself for what actually bothers him no matter how nitpicky, versus having to calculate what he should say. (he still argues with hardison that throwing in on a brewpub was a stupid plan given its risk, no matter how many times hardison claims it was always a gift for him.) eliot laughs more. real laughs; you can tell because his smiles look more and more like grimaces: the way his ma perked her mouth which his dad always teased her about (though it was his favorite thing about her), rather than the wide toothy grins eliot learned because he knows, tactically, they are best for charming. parker and hardison let him not feel like he's a monster. or... parker tells him she always thought the big bad wolf had a bad rap, and hardison says some stupid shit about monsterfucking being the hip thing the kids are into these days, anyway.

hardison and eliot allow parker to feel deep. it's food that tastes like a hug and it's gadgets made just for her and it's loving and being loved and it's being one another's real families. she doessn't want to run away, anymore. or... she wants to run but with her friends beside her. or... running cons is all she's ever wanted to do, and all she did, for so long. parker is good at it. she loves it. she loves that hardison and eliot love it too. but... feeling deep is also being deep. she's no longer just her piles of money because she is no longer afraid of herself. her past. the memories that hurt. the habits she thought she needed to grow out of but always missed. these habits, like bleeping sounds that arent words and hands move move moving. hands that were once made to stay now can fly because hardison buys her fidgets and designs some just for her and keeps locks in lucille for when parker feels like infinity and needs the vibrations of ticktickticks to bring her back to herself. and eliot lets her braid and unbraid his hair; he won't let her blow dry it, not yet, but... he lets her pet his hair while it's still hot, now. it frizzes his hair a little, and parker feels her pulse rush throughout the day knowing she did that to him. eliot and hardison kiss her knuckles when they burn.

parker and eliot allow hardison to be mean. vindictive. he is nicer than he needs to be. wants to be... what he needs to be is nonthreatening, for the most part, in many places. he knows what it means to be him: tall and black and queer and gaining muscle and too smart for his own damn good and so very, very tenderhearted. hardison loves so damn deep, and he cares so damn much, but part of caring (the other side of a coin) is not giving a fuck. it's the boiling point of rage and betrayal. the i need to walk away from this fight because you are dead wrong and imma about to say something imma regret, so go fix yourself. the im not gonna forget, im not going to forgive, and im going to get my revenge. parker and eliot would not have questioned hardison's joy at securing the capture of the men that put him in that damn coffin; they hold space for him to be fully himself with all his ugly parts and his petty parts and the parts that do bring hardison shame if he thinks about it for too long. they know he's not perfect, and that? that feels like safety and love and forever to hardison.

#alec hardison #parker leverage #eliot spencer #leverage #leverage ot3 #thiefsome #faorism work #faorism headcanons #of hearth and home and other promises

[literallyjusttoa]

What’s better Christmas present than a bit of angst huh?

When Apollo was young, not yet a year old, he was banished from Olympus due to his crime of murder. Gaea called for his head, but Zeus shielded him.

“I will not rule as my father did,” he said “The boy can learn, he can be better.”

Apollo was sentenced to exile. Nine years, though he was not told this. No, Apollo was certain that he had lost his chance to join his family in the heavens. His father had spared his life, and as penance he now had to stay on the mortal realm for all eternity, alone.

The young god made due with what he had. He wandered through the fields of Greece, tending to the animals he found along the way. He would sing, as light and clear as the birds, and mortals would flock to the sound. Apollo was never allowed to linger long, but he fell in love with that feeling of warm comfort mortals seemed to carry with them, that joy that he could never quite reach. When he could, he worked, often for little reward. He wanted another taste, another glimpse of a less lonely existence. So he became a shepherd, a soothsayer, a musician, always a few steps away, watching but never being.

One day, in the middle of the coldest months, Apollo was hired by a farmer in the Vale of Tempe. He had a large herd of cattle and was in desperate need of a someone to care for them. Apollo traveled through the backroads and forests, making his way to the valley. When he arrived, however, he found no farmer, and no cattle. Instead, a lone man sat at the base of the river that flowed through the vale. The water was near frozen over, but the man did not shake. Instead, he turned, and smiled wide.

“Apollon,” Zeus said, “Olympus has missed you.”

Apollo was shocked. Had his father truly come for him? He dropped into a low bow, too nervous for words.

Zeus chuckled, low and warm, “Rise, son. There is no more need for humility. It has been decided you have done enough.”

“Truly?” Apollo asked, “May I truly join you on Olympus?”

“You may join me at home, Apollo.” Zeus responded, “Your home. Come, we shall perform a rite of purification in these waters, and then you will ascend to your throne.”

And so the rite was performed, and Apollo was cleansed. As far as the rest of the world knows, the two immediately ascended to Olympus, to the glorious applause of the other members of the divine court. Apollo took his throne, next to his dear sister, and began his immortal duties.

But there was a moment, one moment, which was kept away in that sheltered vale. Once Apollo had been cleansed, he stood at the bank, waiting for the next step. Any demand his father asked of him, he would have agreed too. But Zeus held nothing over his head. Instead, he summoned a cloak of sheep’s wool, and placed it over Apollo’s shoulders.

“A gift,” he murmured, “The golden treasures you were born with will bring you glory, but this my son… I hope this will keep you warm.”

And Apollo believed, with all his heart, that he would never be lonely again.

Time is a cruel master. As years bled into centuries that bled into millennia upon millennia, Apollo realized that loneliness would be his most constant companion. He realized that the source of this loneliness, this suffering, would often be the very man that promised to keep him warm. The fire of his father’s hearth burned everything it touched, leaving Apollo with blistered hands and a scorched heart.

But he still wore the sheepskin. When the loneliness crept into his bones. When the lightning crackled across his limbs with a burning pain, as warm as his father promised with an agony he’d never mentioned. When all seemed lost to the ground and the dust. Apollo found that wool cloak and cast it over his shoulders. Even broken promises can bring some sort of comfort. Even old sheep’s wool can bring an illusion of warmth.

I was his child once. He used to love me.

If only the bite of a king’s cruelty could be chased away as easily as the chill of a winter’s day. The wool does nothing, and the loneliness remains. Apollo shivers, and goes to rest.

#trials of apollo #toa apollo #lester papadopoulos #sunny speaks #fanfic #kind of? #tw: mentions of abuse #pjo Zeus #long post #I cannot overstate how the degradation of their relationship both fascinates and horrifies me #also for reference: the cloak mentioned is the one Apollo wears in my Fall of Greece design for him :D

[irondadfics]

Holiday Rec List.

Hi everyone, this is long overdue, but I promised so here's to starting off the New Year right with some fics for you to check out. I didn't add any descriptions, so check them out! Some are series, some require you to be logged into your ao3. These are in no particular order. You are sure to find something you will love. We've linked the authors where possible so be sure to check out their other works, encourage (not pressure) them to finish their in progress works please or even write new works! Trust me! Happy New Year!

So many awesome stories did not make this list because I didn't want to overwhelm anyone, but many are already in mind for another special rec list!.

I love you more than anything (bio dad au) - iron_spider

But Only Hope and Sorrows End - iron_spider

Lazarus, come forth - iron_spider

Four times peter cheated death (and one time he didn't) - iron_spider

A Life of Crime - intothestorm

Up Came the Sun - WhimsicalEthnographies

Hey Ragazzo - WhimsicalEthnographies

Becoming Belonging - sahiya

A Soft Place to Land - sahiya

The Third Option - Uncertainty_Principle

Men of Iron - Spdrmain

The Little Things - soupshep

First Wednesday of March - soupshep

You'll Always Get There First - soupshep

The Time Traveler's Mentor - Diaz_evan

Three Weeks, Two Days, Seven Hours - soupshep

Never Go Home Alone - Orphan Account

Here's to all New Beginnings - Gruoch Orphan Account

Even Children Get Older - LittleMissAgrafina

A Snapshot Moment - soupshep

Hold Your Breath While You're Safe - Gruoch Orphan Account

The Hearth - Sagemb

Everyday Superhero Verse - Stoneage_woman

College Applications: The Biggest Meme - Sagemb

The Long Way Back - Gruoch Orphan Account

Allston Christmas - Gruoch Orphan Account

Hard to Love - Groo_ock Orphan Account

Aperture - Gruoch Orphan Account

Holdfasts - Gruoch Orphan Account

I Am One of You Forever - Gruoch Orphan Account

Neon Liar (Hiding in Plain Sight) - isaDanCurtisproduction

Constant Internal [Spider] Screaming: Semi-Connected Scenes from a Graduating Senior’s Life - isaDanCurtisproduction

As Luck Would Have It - blondsak, whumphoarder

Poison Apple - whumphoarder

Inevitable - imgoingtocrash

Knowing (of everything she doesn't) - imgoingtocrash

287 Miles - imgoingtocrash

Out of Darkness - StarryKnight09

I Would Lay My Armour Down - losingmymindtonight

Webcams and Webshooters - losingmymindtonight

Call You Home - Madelinedear

The Guardian - Emily_F6

Survivor's Guide to The Galaxy - fanfic1892

A Little Late On the Blood Work - Pixiemage

With Kind Regards and Completely Serious Warning - jennylarner

The Chain - RayRox360

Was that a Star Wars reference, Dr. Stark? - Jen27ny

You Are My Sunshine - M4rmalade

I told you I had issues - Bergen

PS: If you make it here then awesome sauce! Send us your fave fics to read as well, you never know they may end up on a special rec list someday! No promises though! Thank you all! Have an awesome 2024 everyone!

#fic rec list #follower outreach

[eluxcastar]

The little sisterfication of Arlecchino

── ୨୧：arlecchino & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: little siblingfication final stretch lets gooooo

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child arlecchino, it is fluff and angst at the same time, like hurt/comfort ig? idk, implied child abuse, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 1.9k

there are only two more after this oh god. Pierro and Columbina. I also realised like five seconds ago that Pulcinella is not on the list but tbh Idk if I'll add him in because I kinda don't know what to do for him at all. I could try to make it cute? maybe, I'll see

this started way nicer, but then I remembered the previous Knave was an asshole and quickly replace the vibes that bled over from watching Grease with something darker. The Knave is used to refer to the previous Knave, while Arlecchino refers to our Arle, because I needed some way to distinguish them. I also thought the previous Knave was a dude for some reason?? I fixed it though

all little siblingification posts

Biologically speaking, the two of you are not related in the slightest, but it's not uncommon for children in the House of the Hearth to choose their siblings and stick by them until the inevitable moment they either remain together or are parted by responsibility. You have been there and guided Arlecchino through the orphanage since she first arrived from Fontaine. Arlecchino might've been lost and confused for much longer if not for you.

Instead, she had you, a little older and wiser, to walk her around and teach her how things worked.

The moment she arrived, your guardian, the Knave—now her guardian as well—pulled you over to meet her and asked you to show her around and make her comfortable in her new life. Your new little sister, she called her, and she stared at the woman dumbly before you stole her opportunity to ask him what she was talking about, whisking her away.

You took her to see everything, showing her off to as many people as you ran into and introduced her as you went. She felt like a shiny new toy in an overcrowded playground, and you let her revel in it until it tired her out. 

Once the fanfare died down a little bit, you took her to find an unoccupied bed to put her things on. There weren't many, but you offered to help her find a place for them nonetheless. You got a sheet and blanket from the linen closer to make the bed for her and helped her stand a few things up on the headrest to make it her own. Despite her apprehension, you almost managed to make living here seem just a little less bleak; looking over her bed, made and decorated with her stuffed toy and a few personal belongings she'd brought, it felt a little more like home. 

You assure her all will be fine, the only thing even close to soothing in the whirlwind that was coming here, and point her in the direction of your bed not too far away. The one with the overcoat laid on the end of it. You always put it there when you're not wearing it, apparently.

She refrains from asking why you're not wearing it and why you own one of the grey and red coats she recognises from the fatui footsoldiers she saw wearing them.

Most importantly, you teach her the rules: behave yourself, clean up after yourself, bedtime is nine pm, and not a minute later, finish your dinner— 

"Even if you're full?"

"Even if you're full."

and the most crucial rule: never make the Knave mad.

"Why?"

"Just don't, ok?" 

Arlecchino doesn't dare question why again. You know best, and something in your eyes tells her she should trust that.

Through tense, dreary halls, you lead her with a skilled hand and the favour of the Knave. She runs to you in the middle of the night when the far-off screams scare her awake, yet despite your promises, you are nowhere to be found, and neither is your coat. It's a suspicious absence you explain away with housework and chores. The children jump at the chance to see you, and you greet them much more warmly than the stoic Knave. Everyone tells her you have something the others don't, and she should stay in your good graces for as long as possible. The Knave likes you, and you can get anyone out of anything as a result. It's why she calls you to do everything for her, including taking Arlecchino off her hands and showing her around. You are her best. 

It's as if you have a sense for every time she breaks the rules. She stays up late one night and sneaks out of bed to keep playing. She is not tired in the slightest and restless beyond belief; she is a child filled with energy and naive to the consequences of her choices. She is caught, of course, the Knave looming over her to ask what exactly she believes she's doing. She stumbles for an answer. It is just as she thinks the worst has come to pass when you appear in the doorway with a broom in hand. You asked Arlecchino to help you clean up. She's picking up the toys for you to sweep the floor.

The Knave hardly believes it, but what the others say is true—she favours you. She relinquishes Arlecchino to your care, and you walk her back to bed with the tightest grip on her arm she's ever felt. Through gritted teeth, you scold her harshly, "Don't ever do that again!"

She almost fears disappointing you more than the Knave.

You make the House feel safe. With you, it becomes a place where one day she may thrive and return to the world a well-raised woman with much promise. You teach her to play the games the others made for themselves and perfect the chores the Knave demands of her. Arlecchino could wish for no greater sibling than you, and you walk her through it with the patience of a saint as if you have done it a million times before.

She runs to you for everything from hurt knees to finding her lost stuffy, where it has run off to. You respond in kind by cleaning and bandaging the scuffs in her skin. You even show up well into the night past bedtime to return her dearest stuffed toy so she can sleep easily. You were happy to stay when she asked you to sit with her until she could fall asleep and stroke her hair to settle her. It is one of the few tastes of home she savours, even though home did not have you there to take care of her.

You are the closest she will ever have to a parent. You are happy to have her wake you up in the middle of the night when she's scared and needs help, assuming you're there at all. Most nights, you're busy cleaning up the messes other children made that would get them in trouble, and you take her back to bed whenever she finds you.

However, it does not take long for Arlecchino to realise why you warned her against angering the Knave. She decides that Arlecchino, at her tender age, is well and truly ready to complete a mission on her own. A terribly simple one, but it scares her nonetheless.

What scares her more is that you bargain your way into going with her under the guise of showing her the ropes.

You are the best guide she can ask for and nothing less as she comes to understand what that coat is for. You're not just a child of the House; you're a fatuu. You put it on before you leave and lead her off wearing it, making sure she's warm and advising her to wear gloves before the Knave practically tosses the two of you into the harsh winter of Snezhnaya to complete the task thrust upon Arlecchino as her first test.

Before anything else, you make that much abundantly clear to her: what Arlecchino does determines her future within the House, and you don't want to see her fail. You shed your coat to give to her when she gets too cold and hold her hand to force her to continue even when she feels like giving up would be much easier. More than anything, you are loose-lipped and cynical in a way she's never seen before. Over hours, you drill everything into her head that has been kept from her, the source of the screams she's heard that everyone seems to ignore, the reason for the abundance of fear permeating the House.

Every part of the carefully crafted wonderland you had been trying to make her falls to pieces before her very eyes as you walk through the snow with a backpack so heavy she begged you to take it from her shoulders. The Knave is a tyrant reigning over the only thing she can control with an iron fist. Whether she likes it or not, there is no escape, and the Knave will hold anything she can over her head.

You dodge the question when she asks what the Knave uses against you.

Arlecchino quickly realises you have seen many children walk the path she is now on, and she dares not ask how many of those you still waste your breath on. You're sorry. You tried to protect her, but there are some things you can't do.

The journey is bleak, and the trip home is even bleaker as you're late; it's well past bedtime. You enter quietly and run a bath to warm her up, slipping your coat from her shoulders and leaving it by the fireplace. Her only comfort is in you crouching by the edge of the bath with a rag in your hands to scrub her clean with the help of the meagre few inches of water you could afford to spare her.

Your apologies have subsided, as has your tough love attitude, spoiling her with affections and gentle reassurance she didn't expect after seeing how you acted only hours earlier. You pull Arlecchino close and stroke her hair. The wall of the tub becomes little more than a nuisance as it blocks her from fully hiding away in your arms, where she hopes to disappear. She is afraid, but you manage to settle her fears to a nagging whisper tucked away in the deepest corner of her brain.

Apologies give way to promises, grand promises you know you cannot keep, promises of protecting Arlecchino for as long as you can.

You wrap her in a towel, help her dress herself in the night clothes you retrieved from her bed, and send her off to sleep with the reassurance that you'll handle reporting all of what the two of you were doing to the Knave.

Content and soothed by your words and promises, Arlecchino wanders back to bed, where she makes herself comfortable, staring across the room at your empty bed. Perhaps you have said those things to many children before her, but it doesn't occur to her as you quickly fall back into the role of being her only comfort in this house of horrors. You'll protect her from anything in your power, keep her safe, and watch over her.

Sleep coaxes Arlecchino to relax, give in, and rest, and she almost does. She is seconds from being out like a light when she hears those screams again—those that used to send her bolting to look for you in your bed. You were never there when she tried to find you, and now, as she stares across the room at your vacant bed, she suddenly realises why.

The screams that had woken her all those nights had been yours.

Until you could no longer stay by her side, you would protect her from anything.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

#✦ — headcanons. #✦ — fluff. #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

[mayuichi]

“Oh, you're still here ?„

Arlecchino x Reader. No warnings!

note: aaaaaAAAAAAA that one isn't as good as the others but my brain ran out

Official art from Hoyoverse!

A child comes to you, handing you a card orned with drawings of trees and snowmen. “Look! That's my wishes to Santa!„ a smile creeps on your face and a chuckle escapes you. You carefully grab the card to read what the child had written.

“Dear Santa! I hope on Christmas we can all play together and that Father will be home with us!„ your heart warms up at the sweet words. You know every children in the orphanage hold Arlecchino dearly in their heart. After all, she saved their lives.

You hand back his card and gently pat his head. “That is a lovely wish you have made. I'm sure Father will be home to spend some time with you.„

You could feel an hesitant tug at your sleeve. A little girl looks up at you with big puppy eyes. “I... I don't know what to write on my card...„ she shyly admits. You chuckle quietly and take her hand to guide her to the nearest table.

Helping that poor child, you yourself hope your wife will manage to get home to spend time with you, but you'd understand if she can't. After all, being an Harbinger isn't an easy task now, is it?

You already met Pierro once, and Archons, you felt so tiny and vulnerable, as if he could crush you at any moment. You almost met all the other Harbingers in fact, beside Dottore. Arlecchino always forbids you to, she doesn't want this sick twisted doctor to try anything funny with you.

Once every children finished their cards, you gesture them to come over and give it to them. “I'll go deliver them to Santa~!„ is the plan, but you know that it isn't the case. You'll keep it to yourself and try to make their wishes come true, as best as you can.

You aren't actually working in the House of the Hearth, but since you are Arlecchino's partner... You are allowed to come and go as you please as long as you don't do any harm to the children.

As the last kid hands you his card, he takes your hand in his, pleading eyes. “Could you make Father do a card too ? It'd be nice!„ the others' eyes shine with stars at the thought. “I will.„ you promise, not even knowing if she'll come home, and that even if she does... How the fuck are you going to do it?

Anyway, it's only three days after that while you're chilling in your quarters, or more likely - Arlecchino's quarters -, reading a book, you hear the door shut close and her figure walking closer.

“Oh, you're still here ?„ she glances at you, tossing aside her jacket. “I thought you would've been to your house.„ stepping closer, she leans against the desk, taking the book from your hands.

“Still reading Princess Mina of the Fallen Nation? Wasn't it what you started when I left?„ she questions. Well, that is true that you're taking a while to read it, but... “I have been busy around the orphanage...„

Raising an eyebrow with a smirk, she places back down the book, “Oh, really ? How so?„ her voice drips with malice. It gives you butterflies. Your cheeks take a soft pink tint. “I helped with the children, of course... I tried to keep them entertained.„

She loves the idea of you taking care of a kid, that's a fact. Her hand reaches to the side of your neck, and you slightly jump at her sudden touch. “... Such a scaredy kitty. What have you done with the children? I hope they haven't caused any trouble.„

You quickly dismiss her words - or somehow worries - ���No, no of course not! They are adorable!„ she chuckles, cupping your cheek, caressing it with her thumb while being careful to not hurt you with her nails. “Since it's soon Christmas, I.. I made them do some Christmas cards.„

Her eyes close, seemingly in thought, and she sits on the table. “Christmas cards, huh... What a stupid thing. How can it be useful?„ she opens her eyes once again, letting them bore into yours. “It isn't specifically useful but... It made them happy to do it, so I wouldn't call it stupid.„

“No, it's true. It isn't stupid. It is just very childish, and it doesn't surprise me from you.„ she teases, creeping closer to press a kiss over your nose. “I bet they love you.„ you nod. You couldn't deny what's true.

“They do, but they love you too. And they miss their Father.„ her eyes widen slightly in surprise, a deep chuckle leaving her lips. “Is that so... I am glad they recognize to who they owe something.„

You roll your eyes at her words. Suddenly, you feel yourself lifted, and pinned down to the bed. “However, I missed you the most. Would you be so nice to let me engulf into you again?„ she asks, but you know it isn't a question. It's an order.

“Wait...! The children want you to do a card too..!„ she shakes her head, “Not now. Right now I need to be with you. So anything else isn't important.„

She doesn't leave any room for argument. Her lips collapse against your in a fervent and hurried kiss. She claims your lips for the first time of the night, but clearly not the last. You are definitely in for a very long night.

/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋ mayuichi's property. do not repost, copy or translate without permission.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin arlecchino #genshin impact arlecchino #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #x reader #/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋ's writing