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vilhelios · 25 days

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— IF YOU'RE THE SACRED SCRIPT, I AM THE HIEROPHANT.

( if you're the holy church, i'm gonna worship . ) ; the old, dusty tomes that amund gives you state that the lemurian gods are perfect, flawless beings. not a single scar or freckle adorns their skin, no emotion creases their hallowed faces.

cw: fluff !!! ; established relationship ! ; abysswalker!rafayel <3 + brief mentions of god of the sea rafayel; slight spoilers for rafayel's sea of golden sand and forgotten sea (?) myths + siren's song anecdote; i am the self-proclaimed ceo of lemuria world building (lemuria lore headcanons!) 💪 ; not beta-read !!!

" THE GODS ART PERFECT BEINGS — FLAWLESS IN FORM AND IN ESSENCE ; THEIR SKIN IS UNMARRED, NAY SCAR OR FRECKLE ADORNS THOSE DIVINE. NAY LINE OF EMOTION MARKS THEIR HALLOWED, PRISTINE VISAGE. "

"RAFAYEL?" you ask, your voice so loud in the quiet dark of night. a hum, a shift in the arms that hold you. "i heard that the gods are perfect."

“they are supposed to be, yes.” rafayel murmurs, hands gently carding through the strands of your hair. the desert is quiet tonight, not a single howl of wind, or a curious fennec fox or gerbil, race across the expanse of sand. the only sounds in your ears are the mingled breaths and synchronised heartbeats of you and your dear abysswalker, tangled beneath the sheets in your shared tent.

his blue-pink eyes stare, searching your gaze. the dark circles beneath them are prominent in the shadows cast by the silvery moonlight. you watch as he takes in a deep breath, and then exhales: "... what books did amund give you today, my love?"

"you know very well that all amund gives me are books and scrolls about lemuria," you huff, thinking of the stack of dusty old books the old man had shoved into your hands at noon, "which would not bother me, if he did not sneer so condescendingly while he gave them to me."

"alright, alright." he sighs, there will be things to discuss with amund in the morning, if the slight exasperation in his tone is anything to go off of. and then, he asks, voice gentle: "what did you learn about the gods, my heart?"

" OUR GOD OF THE TIDES HATH BEEN TAINTED. HIS SKIN HATH BECOMETH SPECKLED. HIS HEART HATH BEEN SURRENDERED. NAY LONGER PERFECT IS HE, WHO IS'T HATH, IN LOVESICK FOLLY, GIVEN BOTH LIFE & DOMAIN. "

"they say you are no longer perfect." you murmur, brushing your lips against his jawline, "using their definition, perhaps they are right. you have scars, and little beauty marks."

"the scars are inevitable. you should know it yourself, my heart." he sighs, solemn, "but they dissolve with us during each seamoon ceremony — i am not reborn with the scars of my past."

"and the beauty marks?"

he hesitates, a bit. there's a far-away look in his eyes that you've grown used to seeing. "they persist and accumulate." rafayel states eventually, as if it's fact, "new ones appear, but i never lose them."

"you never lose them?" you echo, and he nods.

leaning into him, you inspect his face as best as you can in the moonlight. your lips graze his cheek, right above where one lies below his eye. another lies at the tip of his nose, and you repeat the action, rafayel's breath hitching beneath your touch. another sits at the bridge of his nose, and you feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin as you continue.

"there is something about them, in the books." you start, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. rafayel leans into the warmth of your touch (after all, you think, grimly, a stray dog will take all the food it is offered, afraid to go hungry again), and you continue with a smile against his skin, "they say that they represent where your lover loved to kiss you, in your past lives."

rafayel hums, holds you ever closer in his arms, considers the thought. when he falls silent, you know he is aeons away; somewhere below the waves, somewhere thirty thousand years away—you patiently wait for his return, like the shore that welcomes a weary sailor home. a gentle kiss is pressed to right above where his heart should be, and another in the middle of his collarbone. it's instinct, second nature, as natural as the way waves lap at the shoreline and leave seafoam in their wake.

"perhaps there is some truth in that." he finally says, returned to your side from his reverie. he presses a kiss to your temple, a gentle smile against your skin, "after all, it seems you still do as you used to, even now. determined to uphold tradition, are you?"

( & aeons ago, beneath the waves, lies the first mark; the first bearer of sin in eden. a young god of the sea laughs, a rumble in his chest, as his beloved kisses right above where his heart should be. every touch is reverent, like tending to an altar. it is no wonder, then, that he entrusted his heart to such a devout worshipper — after all, it will be in loving hands. )

a/n : hi hi hi i think lnd needs to CALM DOWN with all the rafayel banners or i'm gonna intervene. quite rushed and not as deep symbolism woooo as the last one because i was in a haze.... abysswalker my beloved is as odd to write as usual but i think it's not too ooc... also this is just a little manifesting/tribute thing for my god of the sea rafa myth pulls today i want him to come home !!! i'm so so excited for the myth story !!!! good luck to anyone pulling! may the god of the sea give us his heart without us needing to open our wallets 🫧💕 if you sent in a request recently for the follower event, thank you! it'll still be a bit until i can answer them, but it shall be done !!! <3 will be crossposted to my ao3 if you prefer the fic being in actual capitalisation and in normal text!

update: i had to drag him home with 130 pulls ,,,, i also spedran the myth,,, guh buh,,, whadahell,,, someone please talk to me about them,,,,

#love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #rafayel fluff #rafayel headcanons #love and deepspace fluff #qi yu headcanons #qi yu x reader

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vilhelios · 2 months

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kei's 150 followers celebration ｡:ﾟ૮ ˶ˆ ﻌ ˆ˶ ა ﾟ:｡ ♡

hiya! the blog recently hit a number that's bigger than i would ever expect for this silly little tumblr blog i started because i liked a 2D, white-haired, double-degree having psychiatrist way back in 2020 ! all i have to say is thank you for all the love !!! it's more than i deserve or ever expected, and i hope i'll be able to continue writing things that can bring you all comfort or bring you all emotional distraught (in a good way, ofc) !!!

so, to celebrate the milestone and to thank you all, i've decided to finally actually write things based on your asks / open up requests ! —̳͟͞͞♡ ૮ ○ﻌ ○ ა

please read the blog rules + characters i write for) & the details of the event listed under the cut before sending a request in !

send in your requests . . . !

-; for asks that are not based on the prompt lists (or even those using them), please be as detailed as possible if you have something in mind! i want to write things that you will enjoy, and the littlest bit of inspiration helps me immensely!

-; these can be anything you have in mind, or prompts that you'd like to see me play with from these pretty cool prompt lists: settings (🎡), affectionate things (💌), hurt/comfort (🩹).

-; you can send in a request for 2 characters from the list!

-; when sending in a request with these prompt lists, let me know which one (either simply write the number or the entire quote/setting/prompt) and let me know which one they're from via the emojis i listed above! you can combine some of them together too, although keep in mind that i might take liberties and choose only some of the prompts listed ! (this depends on how well i think i can write them!)

-; adding onto the base rules, i can't promise that these requests will be fulfilled quickly because i am a university student with commitments but they will be fulfilled within a reasonable time (i hope) !!! polite reminders are welcome but do be patient with me !!!

-; if you'd like and you're sending an ask as an anon, assign yourself an emoji or a combination of emojis! (also allows for easy tagging/navigation in the future)

📩 got mail to send ? secrets for a conch shell ?

#kei's 150 follower celebration #vilhelios.milestones #love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace x reader #tears of themis headcanons #tears of themis x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #fire emblem three houses headcanons #fire emblem three houses x reader #did i tell you i'm so so grateful and thankful and honoured

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vilhelios · 2 months

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I'VE GOT THE STRANGEST FEELING / THIS ISN'T OUR FIRST TIME AROUND.

rules . . . !

-; the obvious: don't steal/claim my work as your own/feed it into ai. don't transform it into other forms of media (such as a bound book (although my work is too short for that, thankfully), video, etc.) without my knowledge either, if not for personal use!

-; this is a sfw blog! i mainly write x readers of the fluff and angst variety, and i don't write smut because i'm not quite comfortable with writing it yet, so the most we are getting in fics is suggestive content.

-; although i am not easily triggered by many things and can handle a lot of content, if i find something in a request uncomfortable, i will let you know! there are obvious topics that i absolutely will not write for, and i will not write anything that promotes any type of bigotry.

-; the reader is meant to be gender neutral in all of my work (although they might be implied to be fem-aligned depending on the media i am writing for, such as when a fic is based off an otome game). tell me if i accidentally slip up so i can edit it asap!

-; please understand that i am currently a university student on a pretty demanding course content-wise, so answering your asks/requests might take a while!

i will write for . . . !

-; TEARS OF THEMIS — vyn richter , artem wing

-; GENSHIN IMPACT — kaeya alberich , diluc ragnvindr , zhongli , tartaglia , alhaitham , wriothesley , neuvillette , ganyu

-; LOVE & DEEPSPACE — rafayel , xavier , zayne

-; FIRE EMBLEM 3H — claude von riegan , byleth eisner , dimitri alexandre blaiddyd , hubert von vestra , yuri leclerc , marianne von edmund

-; PERSONA 5 — akira kurusu / ren amamiya , ryuji sakamoto , ann takamaki

-; OBEY ME ! — lucifer , simeon

thanks for going through the rules ! ໒・ﻌ・७

send me mail ( check status first ! ) | masterlist

( header image is from vyn's second anniversary card ! )

#vilhelios.info #vilhelios.rules #don't mind me just setting something up

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vilhelios · 2 months

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— THE PAIN OF TENDERNESS IS A WOUND OF LOVE.

"in lemurian," rafayel starts, thumb tracing seemingly aimless lines along the back of your palm, "another word for love is derived from the word give."

cw: spoiler for chapter 8-9 of rafayel's "sea of golden sands" myth & "fragrant dream" tender moments ; fluff !!! ; very slight angst ; lemuria lore headcanons ; mentions of god of the sea! + abysswalker! rafayel ; the sea god's bride (spoilers: past life mc/reader) is mentioned so it can be implied that the reader is fem aligned (but the fic itself is written with a gn!reader in mind !)

when RAFAYEL had invited you to a museum exhibition, brandishing two tickets that read “TALES FROM THE DEEP SEA: LEMURIA” between his fingers, you had admittedly worried for him; how unsettling must it be, seeing the ruins of your home displayed in a glass case?

... but for now, rafayel seems fine, with your hand in his, as the two of you stare into a display case. a deteriorated marble stele lays inside, yet even in its current state, you can't help but think that there is something beautiful about it. rafayel zeroed in on the slab the moment the two of you walked into this section of the exhibit, and (before you could look at the other shiny items in the display cabinets) he'd dragged you up and towards it. his free hand comes up to gently graze against the glass, indigo-pink eyes holding that familiar far-away gaze. with no hope of reading the engravings on your own, your gaze instead shifts to the museum label:

THE DIVINE BALLAD Marble marriage stele Reportedly excavated at an unknown island located near Lemuria's ruins As observed in many civilisations around the world, the Lemurians too, recorded joyous ceremonies by means of writing on stone. The inscription upon this stele details the marriage of the Lemurian God of the Sea and his human bride in the form of a ballad, perhaps sung during the celebration of this marriage. Although too eroded to be fully transcribed and translated, what we know of the Lemurian language alludes to a great and sweet love between the divine couple.

lemurian is practically a dead language, so you're not too surprised with being met with nothing. you can't help the sigh that leaves you; "there's no translation..."

“with the way they handled it, there's not much left to read.” rafayel clicks his tongue, huffs. his frustration is warranted, given how many of the artifacts you've seen so far have suffered more damage due to past excavation and transportation processes (as admitted by the museum staff.) "... and what little they could get would be translated wrong."

“mind telling me what it says?”

“like the label says, it's a marriage stele.” his eyes look to the museum plaque, to the slab, and then meet your own. the frustration in his eyes melt away the longer you hold his gaze; "i can tell you all about it later, but for now..." he draws you nearer, hand never letting go of yours, and points at a specific set of faded characters along the engravings.

"in lemurian," rafayel starts, thumb tracing seemingly aimless lines along the back of your palm. "there is a word for love that is derived from the word give. they're not wrong when they call it a 'great and sweet love' or whatever, but it's more than that." you notice the slight pout forming on his lips and seeping into his tone, think it's terribly endearing. "there's no real way to translate it properly, i think, although some languages do get pretty close.”

you hum, consider his words, what little rafayel has told you about this sea god, and look back at the plaque, "i guess the best way to describe it is ... he loved her so profoundly he was willing to give her everything?"

rafayel is a tad quieter, then: "yeah, something like that."

( is it any wonder that the god of the sea gave everything that he ever was —his heart, his domain— to his beloved, when all he has ever known was that to love and to give could be said in the same breath? his elders could judge him, damn him to the abyssal rift for what he'd done to them and their divine ocean, but they had doomed him first by teaching him that love and devotion were one and the same. )

you stare at the characters, trace the loops and hard edges of the letters with your eyes, before breaking the silence that had settled between you two: "can you teach me one day?"

"what, lemurian?" he looks up at you, eyebrow raised. you nod, and he's prompted to continue, "wouldn't it be more useful to learn, i don't know, anything else? a language that'd be more useful when we travel, maybe?"

"you know how to speak enough languages for the both of us." you smile, take both his hands in yours, cheeks growing warm from the words that begin to slip from your lips, "... i just think i'd understand you better if i learnt it."

rafayel stills, blinks, looks at you like you've told him something incredibly profound. there's a beat, and suddenly he's chuckling, his hand leaving your grasp to gently cup your cheek as you have his many times before; "god, you're adorable." he leans in to press butterfly kisses along your temple, "yeah, sure, i'll teach you. we can start tomorrow if you want."

( you know it's what he resorts to when the words won't come any other way. he whispers and mutters to himself, hushed words against your skin that you don't understand—all you know is that his tone is reverent, filled with love and a longing fulfilled. perhaps only an old language can hold the centuries worth of waiting he has endured. )

you can't help the way you beam up at him then (that toothy grin always gets his heart rushing, a million and more words for 'cute' flooding his mind at the sight), and your own hand comes up on top of his. "i'm looking forward to it."

"of course." rafayel grins, starting to lead the both of you away to the next display. "we can start with what's on this slate." and you let him lead you, your hand in his, his thumb draws the same lines onto your skin. ( you learn, later, that it's how you write that word—a love that is the same as to give—with a rafayel that chuckles at your flustered form. )

( and perhaps, in the far off future, you remember the words he teaches you. feel them on the tip of your tongue, in the back of your mind, in a time long lost. the latin "desire" cannot compare to the lemurian "devotion." you place his dagger to your chest: i want to give—i love you. he replies, dooms himself: i give you life—i love you too. )

a/n : happy birthday to rafa, my cutest little fish 💕!!! i've devoted many of my mortal possessions & a lot of my brain power to u <\3 this fic is a lil rough but i just. brainrotted too close to the sun.

for creative notes: obviously there is no actual lemurian script written in the game (only voiced in "journey seeker" and in the tome of the sea god in chapter 8 of rafayel's myth) but i was thinking about how in indonesian translations of the bible, the word for god's love is translated to "mengasihi," which can mean "give" and when used in a sentence it'd be like aku mengasihimu or "i give to you" ... and and just thinking about how every time rafayel has shown his love it is by giving or devoting something to you rather than "taking/desiring" something from you (love in english can be derived from / has the same roots in the latin word for "desire"); how you love him so much at the end of the myth that you are willing to give him the heart, but he loves you far too much too, and gives you life at the cost of his own — agape love. cries. sobs.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace headcanons #rafayel x reader #rafayel fluff #rafayel headcanons #qi yu headcanons #qi yu x reader

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vilhelios · 2 months

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— SWIM WITH ME / I THINK I CAN SEE THE BEACH;

( i need you here with me / but we're out in the open. ) ; romantic headcanons for abysswalker!rafayel ♡ more under the cut!

CW: spoilers for rafayel's "sea of golden sand" myth + general abysswalker rafayel lore ; fluff ; angst ; hurt/comfort ; mentions of blood, injury, and self-harm (rafayel plucks off his scales) : might feel a little ooc because it is abysswalker and not main story rafayel ; quite the word dump (bc i rattle my cage for him)

— as the morning light of the desert creeps into the dim of a tent, two bodies lay tangled in the warmth of each other. RAFAYEL sleeps light and wakes early—hours before the sun peeks over the golden dunes—and although the habit irks him, it does offer him a wonderful sight as compensation: the sight of you, bathed in the soft, rose-gold light of morning, hair a mess, marks littering your skin from where the sheets pressed up against you.

overcome with a love that warms him like molten gold, the young god cannot help but litter your face in butterfly kisses. two to the apples of your cheeks, one on the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips, the middle of your temple. when you shift in your sleep, groan at his ministrations, rafayel can only chuckle, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. he thinks he can hear amund yell for his presence. he couldn't care less.

— RAFAYEL sees himself as the sword at the hilt of your belt, the dagger in your hands that you should use as you see fit, the steady hand guiding your own, drawing your bowstring. he is your ever faithful shadow, always at your side, a watchful gaze always on you. it is only natural for one to protect the keeper of their heart... which is why you and the medical kit from the nurse's tent have gotten well acquainted with each other.

"one of these days, you're going to listen to me." you sigh, gently peeling aside the torn leather of his garb. rafayel does not wince; you don't think you've ever seen him do so, not when he ripped that arrow from his shoulder, or when he stumbles back to your tent with a bloody gash on his chest, or when he's brandishing new bruises on his knuckles. the royal guards seem intent on tracking you down, crossing all of philos's 30,000 zetameters of sand to lock you up in your gilded cage again.

rafayel seems equally intent to ensure that doesn't happen, even if it means throwing himself into their line of fire.

"if i listen to you," the lemurian starts, violet gaze trained on the gentle workings of your fingers, "they'll take you from me again, back to the palace." his breath hitches the slightest—at the thought of you leaving him again, or at the too-harsh tug of the bandage, you're not sure.

— some nights, RAFAYEL is awoken by dreams—horrible, lifelike nightmares. it's sudden, a jolt that has him taking in rapid breaths, a tremor in his hands. "a nightmare", he tells you, when you stir awake and ask him what's wrong in a groggy voice that makes his heart ache, "just a nightmare, sweetheart. nothing to worry about." he waits until he hears your breathing slow once more, pressing kisses to your temple all the while, before slinking out of the tent and into the cold desert air. he'll return to your side before the sun rises, but for now, with still-stuttering breaths, he just needs some time to clear his head.

in his nightmares, a butterfly flaps its wings just the wrong way and rafayel is landed in a world where he is as cold-blooded as amund wished he was. he is back in the ruins of the isle of songs, your hand guiding his own (white-knuckled, dagger brandished) to the place where your heart thrums beneath. and unlike himself, rafayel takes the chance: takes back what is his, what was never yours to keep. the god of the sea was a foolish, lovesick man. he would not make the same mistake.

the dagger sinks into your flesh, the ease of it wrong. your blood flows onto his palms, gets into all the creases of his gloves, spills onto the barren earth and dyes the returning sea red. it is so, so warm against his skin, warms the fire in him that threatened to fizzle out. (he has always been a selfish man, he knows. it is only right that he is no better than bloodthristy philos.) the look dream-you gives him, before he awakes from this cruel world, sears itself into the back of his eyelids. he can see it still, when he looks at the dark of the night sky: reverent, loving. (how could you not, when he has freed you yet again?)

— often, you ask RAFAYEL to tell you tales of the ocean; more specifically, its creatures! what were those rays he spoke of, or the sharks, or those star-shaped things? do the lemurians actually eat them? your lover finds your boundless curiousity incredibly endearing, chuckling whenever your eyes seem to light up at the mention of some new deep-sea fish.

"this is a whale shark." rafayel says, and you watch as the scale in his hands transforms into a small purple apparition. it's as long as his pointer finger, heteroceral tail flicking as it swims in the flame currents, light purple spots patterning its black back. "they are gentle things, despite their size. they only ever eat plankton. i used to have one as a pet, long ago."

"how cute!" you laugh, waggling your finger in front of the shark and watching it follow. "did you have other pets?" and at that, he procures another silver scale, places it into your palms and covers it with his own. a barreleye manifests, and you grin when it's luminous purple eyes stare up at you.

(rafayel ignores the sting in his arm, pinpricks of blood soaking his garb from where he'd plucked some scales off. the wonder in your eyes is more than worth it.)

— helping the LEMURIANS with their daily chores within the camp comes like second nature to you. there is always so much to do: collect jars upon jars of water from the nearby oasis, prepare food, feed the camels, record the state of the camp's supplies... all the while, you feel RAFAYEL'S eyes on your form, your ever cautious vassal. with a little smile, you pretend you don't notice his lavender gaze, if only to spare him from the flushed ears.

it's surprisingly simple, making that lemurian cake: tapioca flour, camel's milk, a healthy dash of sugar, and citrus rind... when the sweet old woman you've spent the afternoon baking with feeds you a slice, you think you've simply ascended. back then, rafayel had fed you one that was cold and a little stale—probably as it was a part of his rations for long journeys. perhaps he'd like one that was far fresher, and baked with love?

... which is how rafayel found himself with a wicker basket full of cake shoved into his hands, and an awaiting you in front of him. "you've been training a while, haven't you?" you smile, taking one of the soft slices and bringing it up to his lips; "try it for me, please!"

and as obedient as ever, rafayel takes a bite, sweetness and citrus on his tongue. "it's good," he hums, kisses your fingertips, "tell me when you're making it next time, love. i'd love to help."

— the LEMURIANS, you remember, were masters of the arts: singing, painting, poetry... so it's no surprise, then, that they celebrate their craft almost every night: children crowd around a charming poet, hooked on every word of their newest bedtime story—his newest fable, that is (something about a fish and a bird, who wished to visit a bakery); the musicians have already begun their newest improvised song, a lively version of an old elegy, it seems; the bonfire in the centre burns high into the night sky like it was trying to reach the stars itself, and when the lemurians dance around it their shadows are long against the sands. you don't know how, but you're eventually dragged into the dance yourself. the glee is infectious, and you find yourself instinctively looking for your beloved.

RAFAYEL doesn't indulge in dancing often, as fun as it may be. he knows the steps, his feet still tapping to the rhythm of the tambourines even as he nonchalantly leans against the tent pole in the distance. it is second nature, now, but his eyes always find you, even in the crowd of people—you, laughing and twirling around without a care in the world. it makes his heart race, a smile creeping onto his own features. he watches you dance with his people, linking arms and being spun around; for a moment he wonders if he should join just to be your one and only dance partner.

... he doesn't notice when you've escaped his gaze, but before he knows it, you've snuck up on him and wrapped a shawl around his neck, dragging him towards the crowd; "dance with me, rafa!"

and how can he refuse a shared moment that transcends lifetimes—across shimmering oceans, and marble floor ballrooms, and golden sands? rafayel's stumbling forward into you until his arms take their rightful place around your form. his hands find the small of your back and yours hold onto his shoulders, shawl long abandoned on his neck. this is second nature, galaxies colliding, two souls becoming one.

— after all of the night's festivities are said and done—the musicians pack up their flutes, lyres, and tambourines; the children cover up their yawns with still-red palms from clapping to tonight's tunes; the remaining food is safely packed away for tomorrow—it's just you, RAFAYEL, and the dwindling embers of the fire he'd just stomped out. "i do believe even your highness is not exempt from curfew," he hums, takes your hand in his, and presses his lips to the knuckles.

and in the silence of your tent, coveted in the silver hues of moonlight, rafayel sits you down before him, your back leaning against his chest. his arms wrap around your frame, his chin resting on the crook of your neck. this is your ritual, on too-cold nights: rafayel lights a flickering flame in his palms, the black and violet embers cold as ever. you both stare into this dying fire—you both know what is to come.

sometimes, when the ugly concoction of guilt and sorrow prick at your very soul, your hand reaches up to entwine with his own, just as they did to guide his dagger to your heart. "i won't." rafayel says, and you know what he means. "i will never hurt you." he doesn't complete the sentence, the words dying on his tongue, but you know the rest (there is no other end to this story): i would rather die.

a/n : i need abysswalker carnally it's not even funny anymore 🤩 these were. not supposed to be this long (they are like little fics in themselves omg). but i love this rafa so much i think he deserves it. thank you for the love on the previous rafa content <3 it makes me so happy seeing people who also love this lil guy. the dancing with rafa hc is very much so inspired by "through heaven's eyes" from the prince of egypt! <3333

#love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #rafayel fluff #rafayel headcanons #love and deepspace headcanons #qi yu headcanons #love and deepspace fluff #qi yu x reader #abysswalker rafayel

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vilhelios · 2 months

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Streaks of Vermillion

AO3 || Rafayel x Reader || Hurt/Comf || 1, 238 words

a/n: uhh i finished the myths for rafa and thought this thing up and its has referenced death of reader but youre not acc dead i promise its all the set up hurt/comf/rafa feeling so many Things for you

Oh God what he would give to stop seeing that colour on you.

To the God of the Sea, this is the happiest day of his life.

And when he kisses her, he devotes the entire ocean to his beloved.

It couldn’t have been better if he willed it. The sight of you standing in front of him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist as you playfully scold him to not try dropping you into the crystalline azure beneath your feet. He can barely hear it with the blood rushing through his ears, the angelic notes of your voice brushing against him like seaweed against his fingertips.

To surrender his heart to you is a happy thing, he thinks. It wouldn’t change things, not at all. You’ve held his heart in your hands since the day he met you. Your fingers brushed against the surface of his being, shallow ripples drawing the attention of an ever curious younger him. The only thing he knows with confidence from that moment forward was how to love you.

It’s why he’s deluding himself that your voice in his ear isn’t slowly getting weaker, tears staining the side of his throat simply just tears of joy. You were happy, weren’t you? You told him as much constantly, reminding him that he is – no, was – your saviour. It’s why he pretends your normally secure grip on him is loosening, fingers trembling against his shoulders in a way he knows isn’t pleasure.

The hot release of your body coats his fingers, lithe hands unable to turn wrists in the way that you need him to. Instead, he holds you tightly, muttering affectionate words into your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me.”

“Just hang on, just a little longer.”

“That’s it, just like that.”

They burn his throat coming up, butterflies in his stomach pounding incessantly against skin and bone – maybe they’re scales now, he can’t tell.

You gasp in response, a pathetic sounding whimper ringing out and making his stomach drop.

“Rafayel, please,” you plead, stuttering breaths pushing insistently against the column of his throat.

His hand is sticky, blood already beginning to dry in the arid temperatures of the desert. The blade penetrates your body, just shy of the heart you’ve returned to him.

He feels your hand come up to cup his cheek, a reassuring smile still on your face.

“I meant it when I said it Rafayel. My heart is yours. From this life to the next.”

Your body is cold to the touch. He can’t explain why. You were just fine earlier, smiling brightly at him as you tried to convince him to rest. Sunlight streams in through the windows and he thought the rays supposed to keep you warm.

He can’t understand why this is happening to him again, not here, not now.

Scarlet pools underneath your body, Rafayel’s eyes unable to see anything else. His breath catches in his chest, bile rising up in his throat and tainting his breath.

His arms go under your body, recoiling at how warm it is there. He feels your heat slowly dissipating, streaks of read marking his hands and your face. He wills himself not to lose focus, picking you up to try and get you some help. He feels the thudding of his heart pounding heavily against his chest, trying in vain not to throw up at the feeling in his stomach.

He can hear your voice calling to him. His name always sounds so pretty on your tongue and it’s all he can think about before he hears the loud thud of your body hitting the ground.

“Rafayel! What are you doing?!”

Your perplexed expression looks up at him from the ground. He watches you massage the side of your body that hit the ground, grimacing a little.

“Why are your hands so cold? And why didn’t you respond after I started hitting you?!”

“I…I was washing paintbrushes,” he replies numbly, faintly remembering getting up to try and organise some of his supplies.

“The water heater’s been acting up so all the water in the house is ice cold. I forgot.”

Vibrant hues of red and orange dye his room from the setting sun, painting your face and body in them. It takes his eyes a while to readjust to the vibrancy, shaky fingers wanting to reach out and hold you but he can’t be sure this is reality. He looks to his hands, clenching them into fists to try and restore some feeling into the stiff joints.

“Poor thing,” you coo, picking up on the change in his demeanour as you reach out to take his hands and try to warm them up in yours.

“You must be freezing. It’s like there was no blood running to your hands at all.”

You were horribly wrong. There was blood – far too much of it.

Silence envelopes the two of you, something Rafayel was beginning to forget when he found you again. You choose not to let it bother you too much, seeing the somber expression on his face. You’re not sure what to make of it, biting your lip as you try to find the right words to say to him.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” you try after a moment.

“About what?”

Rafayel’s long since turned his attention to an abandoned canvas in front of him. You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He stiffens in your hold for half a second before relaxing, exhaling deeply.

“You’re not normally that spaced out. Do you remember anything?”

He turns to face you for a brief second before looking back to the canvas. You can’t tell if his refusal to answer is because he’s genuinely forgotten or because he’s choosing not to answer you. You decide it’s the former and help him out.

“You were absolutely exhausted so I told you to go take a nap. Then I got tired so I laid down with you. I guess you woke up before I did and went back to your painting. Next thing I know you woke me up with a death grip around my body and proceeded to ignore me until I threw myself out of your arms and onto the floor.”

He remains silent and you find it a little foreboding. Rafayel’s chatty nature was something that endeared him to you. You know it’s a representation of his affection to you and the fact that he’s quiet always means he’s thinking about things. Despite the overly dramatic and whiney personality that Rafayel had you understood well that it was a cover for something he wasn’t yet comfortable enough telling you.

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in the smell of salt and paint mixed in with something unmistakably him. He leans into your touch, showing you that he heard you.

“Is that so?” he says after a bit, suddenly standing up and taking your hand in his.

You find yourself being taken back to his bed, quietly pushed against the sheets and pulled into his arms. You don’t miss the way his hand comes up to rest against your chest, Rafayel’s breath tickling your hair as he takes a deep breath.

“Did you have a nightmare or something?” you try again, ignoring the slight gnawing in your stomach of concern for him.

“Just thought about something I wish I could forget,” he mumbles, mind tiredly counting out the beating of your heart.

#BITING MY FIST /pos #this is so so good i'm so sad #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader

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vilhelios · 2 months

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hiii, can I still request a drabble? if yes, I want to ask for prompt 1, vocabulary list: stay with rafayel. bcs I think this boy is definitely a tsundere, will do and say literally anything but the truth that he wants you to stay with him. clingy rafayel is just so cute! thank you, I love your writings by the way ✨

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

24. vocabulary list: stay

rafayel; 2,073 words; fluff, fem!reader, pining, slight!spoilers, no "y/n", teeth rotting fluff

summary: 5 times rafayel asks you to stay + 1 time you do instead

a/n: it's just cuteness u__u

001.

“Stay.”

You are both children, and the summer sea is lapping at your feet. Sand squeezes between your toes and shells glitter like diamonds scattered across your stretch of secret beach. Rafayel’s pinky is hooked through yours. You laugh a laugh that sounds like heartbreak, even though Rafayel is too young to know what heartbreak means —

He wonders, later, if creatures of the sea are both with heartbreak in their bones — because what is heartbreak if not the sea? With the way it sings to an endless sky, the way it cups the world in its palm, the way it loves so helplessly — the beach, the seafarers, the rain — only for its loves to sink into its depths and never rise again.

“I can’t — you know I can’t!” you’re still laughing, digging your toes into the sand, as if this were all just a game.

Rafayel huffs, “I don’t! I don’t know!” and he knows he’s being petulant, being childish. But he figures he still is a child, by the measure of the sea, so he should be allowed at least this.

“I’ll be back tomorrow!” you say, you promise, so carelessly, as humans are wont to do.

Rafayel bites his lips, and a part of him knows that you won’t be. Still, he forces a smile, a sigh, and nods.

“Okay then… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

002.

“Stay…” he’s drunk. He can taste it in the weight of the humid air on his tongue. It’s late — the summer moon hanging huge and turgid on the horizon. Even the tide is lazy as it sloshes against the long stretch of shore just outside his window, weighed down by the summertime dreams of long lost loves, the shrapnel bits of broken promises.

You sigh as you look down at him, your eyes bright in the dim lighting of his giant studio.

“I really should be getting back…” you glance at the large clock on the wall, but your eyes flicker back towards him and Rafayel seizes on the chance, pushing himself up and tugging at your sleeve.

“You told me you’d come back and now… you’re leaving again…” he knows he sounds like a petulant child but he feels like a petulant child, the half-bottle of champagne dulling his senses and muffling his usually razor sharp wit.

“I —” a frown creases your forehead as you crouch down beside him, looking over his face, “I said I’d… come back?”

Rafayel sighs again, letting his eyes fall shut, “You don’t even remember…”

He feels the cool of your palm against his cheek and fights down the urge to moan and lean in closer, to press you to him.

“You must really be drunk, huh…” your voice is soft and helpless, but he can hear the hint of your resigned laughter. A moment later, he feels the couch dip as you sit back down, tugging his head into your lap as you run an absent hand through his disheveled hair.

He shakes his head, “Not drunk…”

“Shh… just sleep, okay?” you murmur, pressing your hand to his forehead and smoothing out the tiny frown threatening to crease his brows.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really want to know the answer.

Your laughter is soft, and maybe even a little sad as you caress his cheek.

“Maybe.”

003.

“Stay… still.” Rafayel has both your wrists pinned above your head, his eyes narrowed as he looks down at you. You tug at this grip, cheeks flushed as you glare up at him.

“Stop! It’s fine —!”

“It is not fine,” he bites out as he reaches down to tug up your shirt. You squirm beneath him, your skin burning hot as his eyes skate down the length of your torso to catch on your lower abdomen, where you can feel the wound you’d gotten during your latest mission splitting open, oozing a steady stream of warm blood onto your freshly laundered sheets.

“This — you —” his eyes are wide as he looks up at you before his gaze is drawn back down. A look of horror seeps into his face as he lets go of your wrists.

“I’m — it’s okay — I’m okay…” you say, wincing as you push yourself into a half-sitting position, him still half-hovering over you with an expression caught between anger, terror, and confusion. You sigh, looking down at the large, rather ungainly gash on your lower abdomen.

It’d hurt like hell, sure, but now, it’s mostly faded to a dull throbbing and the occasional zing of pain that shoots up your spine. Vaguely, you wonder how many stitches it’ll have to be this time.

“Y-you’re…” Rafayel sounds distraught, and even though he glares at you again, you can hear the tremor in his voice.

“I just need some sleep… and tomorrow, I’ll go get it checked out.”

Rafayel slumps sideways onto the bed next to you, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

“If you want,” you lay back against your pillow, shifting gingerly so as not to agitate the wound even more.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Yeah, in the bathroom — but —”

You can only sigh as Rafayel makes his way to the bathroom and comes back a moment later with the first aid kit and a determined frown.

“Now really — stay still.

004.

“Stay close…” Rafayel’s voice is sweet and warm by your ear.

You bite down a rack of shivers a second before he pulls away, laughing at something someone is saying. The bright lights of the exhibition are a bit overwhelming but you’d promised to show up, and so you had.

The dress you’re wearing is a bit tight, but you hitch a smile to your face as a wealthy art collector smarms at Rafayel, waxing poetic about canvases and colors and the sea. You watch with a muted amusement as Rafayel charms the man into a purchase, and then, as soon as he’s got the signed check, sends the babbling socialite on his way before turning back towards you with a soft shudder.

“I think that’s enough networking for one night.”

You blink, blustering as he tugs you off to one side, grabbing two more glasses of champagne as he goes.

“Wh — but — what about the other buyers?”

Rafayel rolls his eyes, “I really only need to make one or two big sales a year, and then the rest —” he flaps his wrist with a painful, marked nonchalance, “that’s all just for clout, anyway.”

You heave a deep sigh, swallowing down a laugh as Rafayel sips at his drink.

“Shouldn’t you at least try to appease some of the other attendees?” you ask, looking around at the various glitterati of Linkon society.

“Nope!” Rafayel sounds too pleased as he grins at you, reaching out to clink his glass against yours, “I don’t really care what most of them think, anyway.”

“Most? So… you do care what some of them think?” you probe, curious now as to who’s opinion Rafayel might put above his own.

Instead, he leans in, pressing in so close that you feel his hot breath against the lobe of your ear, feel the weight of his words ricocheting down your spine —

“No… just the one.” He pulls back and your heart stutters in your chest.

“And… who might that be?” you ask, your voice breathy and thready and just a tiny bit jealous.

Rafayel’s smirk pulls wide, “Oh… a certain Hunter with a mean streak and a weird obsession with claw-machine plushies.

005.

“Stay with me… please…” his voice is hoarse with want, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallow the midnight magic of his eyes.

“Rafayel, you’re burning up!” you press your palm to his forehead and frown, your other hand wrapped around his wrist, his pulse fluttering beneath your grip.

“D-don’t worry — it’s just — it happens ever year —”

“Still! We should go see a doctor —!”

“No! No — no doctors…” his voice is harsh and he pulls you back towards him with such force that the wind is knocked clean from your lungs as you sprawl against his chest, held there by the weight of his arms and the aftershocks of surprise still coursing through you. Vaguely, you note that he’s much stronger than he’s ever let on — less vaguely, you note that his thumbs as pressing into the bare skin of your side as he bites his lips and looks anywhere but at your face.

“Rafayel? Are… are you okay?”

“It’s — I’m fine —” he lets out another ragged breath and you know implicitly that he’s lying.

“You’re not fine — I’m going to grab some ice — o-oh!” you topple backwards as he pulls you back, strong arms encircling your middle as you try too get up and make for the kitchen.

“R-Rafayel?”

He lets out a long breath as he hooks his chin over your shoulder; in your periphery, you can see the dark blush blooming across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, can feel the heat seeping through his thin shirt and yours to your skin. You can smell slightly salty sweetness of his skin as he holds you to him, his eyes closed, lashes almost damnably long in the moonlight as he tugs you back and slumps against the couch.

“I don’t need anything else but you… so… can you just… stay?”

His voice is soft, almost pleading.

You swallow; you nod; you sink into his embrace, wondering briefly if you’d felt something similar to this before. Or perhaps you’d made a promise like this, once upon a time. But the moon is soft and low and heavy on the horizon, and the sea outside is sweet as it shushes against the long stretch of beach, the water casting a myriad of dancing starlight scattering across Rafayel’s studio ceiling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, leaning back into his embrace.

“Good…” he says, nosing into the soft spot between your neck and shoulders; you shudder as his lips brush against the sensitive skin there, “good,” he says once again before leaning down to press a longing kiss to your shoulder.

006.

“Stay…” you peer blearily up at him through the haze of sleep, all your limbs feeling both heavy and weightless all at once. The events of the night prior flashes behind your eyes and you flush hot at the memory.

Rafayel lets out a soft chuckle, “Oh how the tables have turned.”

“Hm?” you make an uncomprehending noise, frowning slightly as he leans in to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand, still sitting up, the soft white sheets pooling around his middle, the morning sun casting him in a halo of silver and gold.

“Nothing. I’m just gonna go grab some breakfast — I’ll be right back.”

Still, you pout, digging your fingers into his wrist as you shake your head and whine.

“Don’t… don’t leave.”

Rafayel lets out a soft sigh, laughing as he leans back down to kiss your bare shoulder.

“I’ll just be in the kitchen… I won’t go any further than that — I promise, okay?”

You loosen your grip ever so slightly, “Can your promises be trusted?”

He tuts, gently tugging his arm free, “Of course they can — I found you again, didn’t I?”

You hum, burying your face back into the soft linen cover of the pillow as Rafayel gets up to prep breakfast.

He returns less than ten minutes later with a silver tray and a helpless smile as he looks down at your slumbering form, before he leans down to press his lips to yours, curling his fingers into the baby hairs at the nape of your neck and shimmying back under the blankets with you.

He loops his arms around you and smiles to himself as you burrow deeper into his chest, mumbling incoherently.

“Stupid girl… as if I could ever, ever leave you again.”

#injecting this into my veins #it's so CUTE AHHHH /pos #i'm in love with him #and i'm in love with this #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #rafayel fluff

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vilhelios · 2 months

Text

⸝⸝ ꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃. 🫧ㆍ₊⊹

✦ 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ;; rafayel x gn!reader ✦ 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ;; fluff, pure fluff and brainrots, not fully coherent thoughts ✦ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ;; 0.7k ✦ 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 ;; obsessed and thinking about husband rafayel 24/7 - so a little filler drabble while i finish up the zayne oneshot and before i go to bed. enjoy my seashells <3 (currently can't add my yellows - i'll edit the format tomorrow)

✦ 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦 (𝘧𝘪𝘤/𝘩𝘤𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯!!) ♡.

⟢ husband! rafayel who makes sure there's always a place for you to sit or lay down on when you're in the room watching him paint

⟢ husband! rafayel who smears paint on your cheeks while you're sleeping, only to feel bad and paint a small sunset or ocean or sunrise or the sky or anything, really, across your cheeks

⟢ husband! rafayel who will trace miscellaneous shapes on your collarbones and shoulders - connecting every freckle and mole

⟢ husband! rafayel who looks at your stretch marks and kisses them gently, tracing every curve and smiling up at you, stopping to only tell you how much they look like stardust

⟢ husband! rafayel who would cave when you give him puppy eyes and a pout - he's weak for you, he knows

⟢ husband! rafayel who once reserved a whole restaurant because he remembered you saying you don't like eating in front of a lot of people, just so you would be comfy on your date night

⟢ husband! rafayel who would collect seashells everyday as he walks on the beach with you, telling you stories about his adventures when he was a little kid in lemurian waters; placing them in a tiny jar that he gives to you - and his grin is so blinding and hug so warm and kiss so tender when he sees it on your desk and in your bag.

⟢ husband! rafayel who thinks you look exceptionally pretty in pearls, but he thinks you're ethereal when you're in his bed, curled up around him, bed hair and sour breath and all

⟢ husband! rafayel who grew fond of cats because of how much you love them - who fell in love with the way you looked and loved cats, and could never think of cats as harmful ever again (especially when you look at them like how you look at him)

⟢ husband! rafayel who buys you dresses upon dresses, if only to see you wear them and spin around like the disney princess you deserved to be but couldn't affort to be

⟢ husband! rafayel introducing you to little fishies during a swim in the ocean, calling you his wife and watching with awe as the fishes boop your nose and circle you two, guiding you both through the waters to the prettiest coral reef ever

⟢ husband! rafayel who lets you see his silvery scars from fighting for his kingdom, letting you trace them even though he flinches from the memories - only soothed by your fingertips and gentle kisses to his skin, your calloused thumbs wiping away falling tears

⟢ husband! rafayel dedicating a whole exhibit with every painting of everything you've ever loved and liked, with the centerpiece as both of you dancing at the banquet, with the words "for my ocean" as its caption

⟢ husband! rafayel who has never thought of having kids until he took one look at you with your nephew, and decided he wanted some then and there

⟢ husband! rafayel who brings you trinkets and tidbits from wherever he travels to, be it in Linkon or overseas, because every little thing reminds him of you (he'd rather live with your memory and you by his side than have to lose you again)

⟢ husband! rafayel that would not let you go anywhere without him - he knows you can defend yourself, but he wants to be able to see you and touch you just in case; he likes protecting you (if only to make up for all the time that he wasn't there to protect you - could you blame him? he wanted you to forget, he was sure you would)

⟢ husband! rafayel that would cook for you when you return home from work, shit-faced and weak, wobbly, exhausted legs - who would feed you and hold you close as your words slurred, a fond smile on his face as he squished your cheeks, watching you fall asleep, your features so beautifully calm and peaceful

⟢ husband! rafayel who never wants to see you cry, but would sit there on the bathroom floor at 5am, wiping your tears away when memories of you both together centuries ago flooded your mind, his heart aching as he watched you cry over not remembering him when it really was his fault

⟢ husband! rafayel who would hold your hair back when you didn't like the way it felt, tying it up into a bun and decorating it with little seashell clips so you felt pretty

⟢ husband! rafayel who would see his child hold a paintbrush, painting a very wonky looking apple and sing with glee - who would frame the apple painting and title it "[child's name]'s first painting"

⟢ husband! rafayel who would tell his child how wonderful of a mother you are, spinning the baby around before he tucks the baby onto his hips, holding her close

⟢ husband! rafayel who would rest his forehead against yours at least 5 times a day, loving the peace and love that radiates from you, seeping into him and soothing his bones, a quick kiss on your lips sealed the deal

⟢ husband! rafayel who always tells you that he's glad to finally be yours, to kiss you and hold you close

⟢ husband! rafayel who looks at you like you hung the moon and stars when you tell him you love him

⟢ husband! rafayel who is just so happy you come home to him everyday

♡. head empty only husband rafayel.

♡₊˚ 🪼・ copyright @scribeofnight all rights reserved ;; do not copy, steal, plagarize, reword or repost to other platforms without proper permission || all credits to original owners and creators of the characters from the media + pictures that are not my own.

✧˖°. header creds ;; @editshan <𝟑

#AAAAAAAAAAAAA #im so so sad im devastated /pos #this is so so cute #rafayel headcanons #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace fluff #rafayel fluff

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vilhelios · 2 months

Text

— WAIT FOR ME / I'M STILL SOMEWHERE ;

( you're getting older without me and i'm getting scared ) ; in which rafayel still hopes that there's a life where this works — where you do not crush his bleeding heart in your hands, & he still loves you despite, despite, despite.

cw: not beta read; spoilers for abysswalker rafayel's "sea of golden sand" myth, "fragrant dreams" card, "siren's song" anecdote, & main story ch. 7; angst ; some fluff ; mentions of blood, injury & death ; theories + headcanons about mc & rafayel's past lives ; kinda pretentious rafayel lore analysis ( can't help it, i just love him a lot! )

"RAFAYEL, do you think we're lovers in every universe?"

in the stillness of the night, as he mindlessly draws designs on your skin with his thumb, rafayel lies through his teeth: "yeah. i'm sure we are."

it's all he can manage. how do you tell your lover—your dear, sweet muse, whose presence makes the sea of your heart ebb and swell—that you've wondered the same thing lifetimes ago, and know the answer with bittersweet certainty? you continue talking about an article you read, in the morning—something about "consciousness energy fluctuations" and "that feeling of deja vu" and "soulmates."

and rafayel wonders, humming along to your rambling, if that's what you two are: soulmates.

"i wonder what we're like." you sigh, burrowing your head into the warmth of his chest. surely you can hear the rapid thrumming of his heart—he can't help it, the organ so helplessly weak in your presence. "you're the most creative man i know; got any ideas?"

"i think," rafayel starts, runs his fingers through your hair, "there's a life where i'm a merman, you're the human i've fallen deeply in love with, and the barrier between the waves and the shoreline is all that's stopping us."

rafayel remembers being younger, lifetimes ago. he remembers swimming upstream, through a little river that becomes a smaller creek, settling by your quaint home. he remembers playing you a song on his flute, an elegy for lemuria that became your song. he still remembers your head peeking out from the window and the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen staring down at him. you were like sunflecks dancing upon the water's surface—dazzling—and he, denizen of the deep dark sea, couldn't help but fall in love. he gave you his heart, his blood, his voice.

"hmm... reminds me of an old fairy tale." you press a kiss to the beauty mark on his chest, your lips curving into a smile against his skin. right above where his heart is, where the proof of your pact would shine bright. "do you think you'd have gotten a pair of legs and we'd live happily ever after on land?"

"of course i would've." rafayel smiles.

(he does not think about the way his voice grew hoarse as he sung lemuria's elegy. he does not think about the dagger he'd clutched so tightly in his hidden hand, as you approached him on the shore. he does not think about the hug, the warmth of your body making his resolve flutter. the warm blood on his hands, in the water, seeping from the heart he once loved and now carved out and cradled. he does not think about returning to a ruined lemuria, everything he's ever loved ripped away from him in a night.)

"then i like that one. what about another? knowing how we quarrel, do you think we were royalty hailing from opposing kingdoms?"

"hmm, close. i'd say that i'm an assassin, sneaking into your lovely highness's bedroom window."

"hah! i can see that." his heart flutters when he hears you giggle. rafayel wishes he could trap that beautiful sound inside a conch shell, it almost seemed possible, the way it felt like molten gold—sunlight. "i'd leave the windows open just so you'd have an easier time coming in."

"glad to know you'd still fall for my charms." he finds it in himself to smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "even if it might not be the brightest idea, dummy."

"hmph, but if we still loved each other then, you wouldn't kill me." your hand reaches upwards to cup his cheek, a thumb aimlessly stroking comforting lines across his skin. his breath hitches at how naturally it comes to you. "you'd fall for my charms too."

(why wouldn't it? you've done it so many times before, as you—dear highness of philos—gingerly removed his mask. he, who was destined to carve out your heart; and he, who could not bear to do so, who fell apart in the warmth of your hold. any hatred he'd held in his heart for the humans that desecrated his home —beautiful, sacred lemuria— dissolved with each ripple of the lake you both had danced across on that silent night. how could he ever hurt his beloved, who in another life he'd devoted entire oceans to?)

"yeah." he breathes out, almost a chuckle. "yeah, i guess i would, your highness."

"rafa?" you murmur, words slurred with the call of sleep, ushered in by him running a hand through your hair. "i really hope that we're soulmates even if it's in the silliest lives you could ever think up. do you?"

(and he hopes for more, a case study in greed. he hopes for the most blissful lives with you—where he's the receding sea and you are the sands of the shore, or you are an anemone polyp and he is the rock you've decided to settle upon, or he is the deepsea fish that looks longingly upon the warmth of the sunflecks that dance upon the water. he hopes there's a life where this whole thing works: where you do not crush his bleeding heart in your hands, & he still loves you despite, despite, despite.)

and rafayel smiles, presses the umpteenth kiss tonight to your forehead, watches you draw closer into his hold. and then he whispers his little wish against your skin, as soft as a siren singing lullabies to a sailor:

"yeah. i hope so too."

a/n: on this lovely valentine's day i offer the rafa stans: angst 🤩 the ending was a bit rushed because i... was no longer in an angsty mood. this fic is very much so a product of a time where i knew less of rafa's lore (see: did not finish the myth) so there may be some lore inaccuracies ... please do listen to berenstein by the band camino!!! l&ds' plot feels like an amalgamation of some of my favourite songs (berenstein, heartbeat by bts, isohel by EDEN)... and it's just such a good plot so far. please send me rafa lore stuff/general thoughts bc i'd love to try and play around with some of them (i have an idea for his birthday fic already) ,,, i'd love and appreciate you immensely ♡

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace angst #rafayel headcanons #rafayel x reader #rafayel angst #qi yu headcanons #qi yu x reader

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vilhelios · 3 months

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-> a/n: first time writing for my lil fishie :’)) pls be nice 2 me xx

Rafayel wants to paint you.

A portrait of his beloved as seen through his Lemurian eyes, something for him to keep and gaze upon on those days when you’re not there in the flesh. Though why you wouldn’t be by his side, he’ll never know, but still - just in case. He’ll never say it aloud but he does yearn for you so terribly when you’re away.

“Sit right… there. Perfect. Now whatever you do, don’t move an inch.”

You huff in annoyance as you hold the simple pose he’s put you in. You’re just glad it’s nothing weird or complex. “Couldn’t you have just used a photo?”

Scoffing, he looks at you from over the top of his easel with a look of mild disgust at the notion. “As if. The colours in photographs aren’t always true to life and I want this to be lifelike.”

“I thought portraits weren’t your thing?” you ask him curiously.

He smirks as he swirls his brush in fresh paint. “That doesn’t mean I can’t paint one, baby.”

There’s a sense of serenity that settles over the two of you as he works. A hushed breeze flutters through the open windows, bringing with it the faint scent of the ocean. His brush swooshes against the canvas with every stroke, and he hums and mumbles to himself as he tilts his head thoughtfully, casting glances at you every so often.

When Rafayel paints, it’s like he turns into a different person. He grows quieter, more pensieve, retreating to a place within himself where his hands are guided by an unknown force, beyond his own conscious thought. Once, he explained it to you and all you could do was blink at him dumbfounded, concluding that it was just one of those ‘artist quirks’. But it’s always interesting to watch him work, an artform in and of itself. His steady, practised hands, the way his wrist flicks with a flourish of the tool in hand, long fingers curled around it elegantly.

Day bleeds into dusk, the hours stretching past you as the sun begins to dip beneath the horizon. Your legs and backside ache from being sat in the same way for such a long period of time and you’re about to open your mouth to complain to your boyfriend but he steps away from his easel and cocks his head to the side in scrutiny of his work. A look of frustration crosses his features as his eyes flick between the canvas and your face.

“... Are you done?” you ask and he nods imperceptibly, his attention split between the painting and your voice.

“Yeah.”

“Can I see it?”

“Hmm. No.”

“Why not?”

Frowning, he folds his arms over his chest. “Because I don’t like it.”

Rising from your seat, you groan quietly as you stretch out your limbs and walk over to him to peer at his creation. To you, it’s faultless, like looking in a mirror. You tell him as much, not quite sure what the problem is. He sighs and runs a hand through his lavender hair, a pout forming on his lips. “It doesn’t look anything like you!”

“Are we looking at the same painting?” you giggle, amused by his little tantrum.

“Apparently not! Come here.” Gently, he tugs you by the bicep to stand beside the painting. “The differences are so obvious!”

To Rafayel, they are. The curves of your cheeks aren’t as endearing, the way your bright smile reaches your sparkling eyes isn’t as captivating, the slope of your nose and the texture of your soft, soft lips are all wrong on the canvas.

And the colours? The ones that are flecked throughout your irises, the ones that thread through your hair and dapple your skin, the shades on the canvas are far removed from reality. It’s nowhere near close enough and it does you no justice. Splodges and strokes of paint cannot hope to carry the life and vibrancy in you.

The sun dips lower, pouring burnished light through the tall windows in his studio, and you squint as a beam of it falls over your eyes. Rafayel looks at you again and the brush in his hand clatters to the floor, a soft, barely audible gasp leaving his lips.

You’re soaked in lavender and roses, burnt oranges and fire and he has never seen anything quite so ethereal. And it’s then that it dawns on him. This is impossible, a truly fruitless endeavour. It’s impossible to capture love within the confines of paint and canvas and pencil when there are times where he can’t even explain the thumping in his heart. How could he pour all of his love into this one piece when there’s oceans upon oceans of it, so deep and undiscovered that he can’t describe it, even with all the colours of the world at his disposal.

Frustration gives way to surrender, and he offers you a handsome, half smile, reaching out to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Never mind,” he says softly, paint-smudged fingertips whispering over the line of your jaw. “I don’t need a painting. I have you. Right before my very eyes.”

#thank you for capturing the softness of this beloved fishie <3 #such a pretty fic!!!#screaming crying throwing up /pos

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vilhelios · 3 months

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— I THINK I LOVED YOU IN ANOTHER LIFE .

( WHERE I WAS THE SEA, & YOU WERE THE SHORE . ) ; general fluffy romantic headcanons for rafayel / qi yu from love and deepspace <3

CW: not beta read, general rafayel story/lore spoilers, may be slightly ooc, tooth-rotting fluff, very slight angst !!!

— RAFAYEL is a terribly sweet, loyal, and affectionate lover. sometimes, you think he is something like a lovesick puppy—always ready to greet you at the door with a warm hug when you return from a mission, always eagerly awaiting your phone calls and texts. always at your side. when he calls you darling and holds you close, burrows his head into the crook of your neck, you can't help but feel like your being has been warmed by a pleasant summer sunbeam.

despite this, sometimes he feels like he's drifting somewhere far away from you. a receeding ocean tide, sea foam dissolving from your fingertips as you dip your hands in the waves. he's somewhere you don't understand, when he looks into your eyes and searches for an iteration of you in the reflected image of his own eyes—perhaps he is 800 years away, a lifetime and more. and yet, when you gingerly cup his face in your palms, feel him lean into your touch, you know he returns to you.

— RAFAYEL'S art studio is admittedly, a mess. there are days where you'll enter that room spotless and leave with splatters of some new shade of red and his beloved blues all over your clothes and skin. some days, this happens purely on accident—a trip right into a canvas here, a palm pressed onto wet paint there—and on others, rafayel seems to delight in using you as a canvas.

— when RAFAYEL kisses you (in that gentle fashion, where he cups your cheek like if he doesn't you'll slip like seafoam from his hold), those soft lips of his taste of cherries and grapes and strawberries. and perhaps that best encapsulates what loving rafayel is like, this sweetest red, red, red: the way his cheeks and ears flush when you press a kiss to his cheek; the colour of his eyes when the morning's rose-gold sunlight hits the pink in them just right; the bleeding, beating heart he offers to your awaiting hands. eventually, he pulls away to let the both of you breathe, and when he presses his forehead against yours, glances at you with that charming smile of his, you're enveloped in warm crimson all over again.

"there." rafayel smiles, leans back to admire the flamulla he'd painted on your cheek and the pout that graces your lips. "a cute flamulla for the cutie that keeps distracting me."

"you weren't even painting anything when i came in!" you scoff, dabbing the paintbrush he'd given you into the paint upon the palette. while he painted moon jellies, flamulla, and blowfish on your skin, you'd busied yourself with painting seashells on his. some of the clamshells are too close together, the venus combs look a little too spiky, and some conches don't look quite right. when he looks like he's about to chuckle at the sight of them, you poke him with the other end of your brush; "hmph. you're just a meanie."

"how rude!" he feigns, hand to his heart. "this is how you treat me for making you look like one of my most precious paintings?"

— you notice, eventually, that RAFAYEL always gifts you red jewelry (if not pearls, of course). the little treasures glint in the sunlight; rings with a ruby or red spinel centerpiece, a necklace with a red coral pendant, fire opal earrings... they're beautiful and never gaudy, as to be expected from a man with an eye for aesthetics, but it still perplexes you.

you ask him why, while he helps you put on his most recently gifted necklace as you two get ready to attend his aunt's opera show. your painter answers with a thoughtful hum, deft fingers clasping the necklace for you: "red disappears the fastest in the deep sea, so i never got to see it much." rafayel presses a kiss to your cheek, then, before settling his chin on the crook of your neck. "what better way to appreciate a colour i missed out on for so long than seeing it on you, darling?"

— RAFAYEL'S smug and haughty countenance seems to crumble at the mere press of your lips against his skin, little pecks gracing each beauty mark. the first kiss is placed on his cheek, a little ways away from his eye, his head cradled in your palms; you feel how he heats up beneath your touch, a light blush dusting across his cheeks and a bright vermillion burning at the tips of his ears. the second is placed on his chest, your lips and gentle, roaming hands sparking the rapid thrumming of his heart.

— RAFAYEL sees you in everything. in the morning sunlight that filters into his kitchen, in the cherry blossoms that land on his hair, in the sea breeze that rushes past him as he walks along the shore. the mundane of daily life has become filled with so many traces of you that he cannot see them as anything other than beautiful. there's a piece of you in every one of his paintings now, a streak of your favourite colour intertwined with his reds and blues. he made the pigment himself, of course, extracted the colours he needed from your favourite things.

THE LOVERS ; Rafayel (20XX) ; Oil on canvas

This painting consists of only two colours, and depicts the view of a simple shoreline, with waves lapping at the shore. Although simple in essence, the two paints were handmade (as is the norm for pieces by Rafayel) with pigments extracted from materials that represented himself and his beloved. Upon closer inspection, one may notice the difference in brushstrokes between colours—where they start to blend, so do the strokes, perhaps one hand guiding the other. As per the words of the painter himself, this artwork is meant to represent a "marriage and a transfiguration; the way two souls are forever intertwined and changed by love."

a/n : pretty privilege is real because rafayel acts a lot like marius but i like him infinitely more than i do lu jinghe 😭👍 my love/obsession for this pretty little fish has made me rise from the grave of uni work and writer's block... please fill his tag i need to satisfy this itch in my brain that he gives me <\3 might write some more for him + him as abysswalker <3 (p.s. that final hc is perhaps the cutest thing i thought to do)

#love and deepspace headcanons #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #rafayel headcanons #qi yu headcanons #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel fluff #love and deepspace fluff

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vilhelios · 5 months

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-; I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU. / IT'S ROTTEN WORK.

(NOT TO ME, NOT IF IT'S YOU) ; in which wriothesley lets you tend to his wounds after the dramatic affair with the beret society.

CW: not beta-read. cerberus chapter spoilers! gn!reader, slight hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of blood, injury, and violence. mention of scars (+ my headcanons of how wrio got some of them), & finally, lovesick loser wrio!

"i'm telling you, sunshine, i can handle it myself."

at his words, your hands still, pristine rolls of gauze and bandages already soaking in red blood. a frown breaks across your countenance as you glare up at wriothesley, eyebrows furrowed. there will be no stopping this, you know; there will be days where your beloved duke returns to your arms with a new wound that you're sure will scar. days he brandishes blooming bruises on his knuckles, and you'll eventually press butterfly kisses to them. perhaps, he will crawl into your loving embrace, his warm home, with blood dripping from his fingertips. (grimly, you wonder how much of it will be his own. you know you'll thank the archons when it's not all his.)

with a sigh and a dab of the alcohol-soaked cotton against his exposed side, you mutter: "you always say that. look where that's got you now."

"it's just a scratch."

"wri, it's a bullet wound. you're lucky it only just grazed you."

"so... what i'm hearing is that it really is just a scratch."

now that earns him another glare (which he sheepishly smiles at).

"look, as stupid as it may sound," he sighs, clear blue eyes finding your own, "i didn't think dougier would have a gun with him." the duke's expression contorts ever so slightly, a weak hiss slipping from his gritted teeth, as you rub a cooling ointment against his angry, red wound. "didn't think he'd have that many gardemeks either."

(another comment, much quieter: "and i thought it'd be cool, really.")

and with that, you both fall into relative silence. the classical music playing from the office gramaphone, your steady breathing, and the occasional pained hiss from wriothesley (followed by your whispered string of apologies) permeate the space between. in the quiet, your mind eventually runs rampant with thoughts of your love getting injured. wriothesley may have proven to you time and time again that he would always return to your side, but he wasn't invincible. your gaze wanders, frowning further when you soak in the sight of the scars that mar his chest. they do nothing to comfort you.

"hey," wriothesley starts, when he notices your stare on the claw marks etched into the skin of his neck. they stretch downwards, the cruel tally marks stopping right above where his heart would be. you try not to think about how they could've easily torn out his throat. "i know you'll still worry about me, but i've been through much worse." he raises his own hand to trace the scars, playing with the black wraps around his neck; "and, as you can see... i fought and won."

( you know he has. he's told you all about them, once. on a sleepless night, where you two lay in bed and traced designs on each other's skin. his calloused fingers against your softer flesh, your touch along the lines of his many scars. some were from fierce sea creatures, he tells you, with a teasing lilt in his voice that makes you giggle. others from his time serving his sentence, fighting for his life in the ring. when you trace one along the back of his arm, smaller than the rest, his voice gets a little softer — he got it on the day he spilt his first blood. you had kissed along all his scars that night, and he had returned the favour with a shower of kisses along your cheeks.)

"promise me you'll be more careful." you say, as you unroll a new roll of gauze and begin wrapping it around his torso. it's a beat, and then two, and when he doesn't respond you turn your gaze back to him.

wriothesley frowns, now. he could do cheeky proclamations of victory, tell you he'll always crawl back to your side alive... but he can't promise you that. not with your current lives in meropide. "you know i can't—"

"wriothesley." the syllables roll off your tongue and he quickly seals his mouth shut—it's been a good, long while since his full name has graced your lips. (he much preferred wrio, or sweetie, or darling; something from you that made him kinder. softer.) "please?"

the silence comes back for a heartbeat. you think you feel tears pooling at the corner of your eyes—

"alright, alright. i'll try." he says, quickly relenting to your teary-eyed gaze. and when that's not good enough for you, highlighted by the pout of your lips and the slightly-aggressive tightening of his bandage wrappings, he says: "fine. i promise to be more careful. as best as i can."

a smile graces your lips. (wriothesley thinks he's seen the sun. you, his darling star, whose mere presence lights up his gloomy underworld.)

"sigewinne and i will keep you to it then."

he can't help the way he leans into your warmth as you press a quick, gentle peck to his temple nor can he help how he almost whines when you step away from him. his gaze is on you even as you pack up the first aid kit and make your way to the stairs (how cruel you are, leaving your lover while he toils in pain!) wriothesley stands from where he leans against his table, just as you reach the bottom of the stairs. he stands up a little straighter, smiles as you shout out:

"oh, and i heard from the traveller! your stunt did sound pretty cool."

a/n: happy birthday wriothesley! here's a very short, indulgent, not beta-read thing to celebrate his birthday and his c1 coming home during his banner! sorry if he's a little ooc or this is just. a really oddly worded / structured fic — this was very much so written in a haze after seeing his story quest cutscene... he's so dreamy. . ..

#wriothesley x reader #genshin impact headcanons #wriothesley fluff #genshin impact scenarios

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vilhelios · 6 months

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— ; OH, HOW THE MIGHTY FALL (IN LOVE)

to the very depths of hell, i will tumble down with you // alt title: help! the demon i summoned is a cutie... STARRING: demon!kaeya x reader GENRE: fluff, slight horror, hurt/comfort, demon!au CW: written in all lowercase + small text, not beta read! slight body horror (eye imagery), blood & injury, slight religious themes

pavo ocellus.

a million and more eyes emerge from the darkness, akin to the fake ones that adorn the blue and green feathers of male peacocks. they all blink, sometimes in unison, sometimes in a haphazard pattern. you stare at them all, and they stare back - some squint, some glare, some are glassy and seem to see nothing. it doesn't matter. they all see right through you.

i want to make a pact with you.

somehow. somehow, you've gotten the words out. there is something about this space, now, that weighs onto your bones - an oppressive force that wishes for nothing more but to grind your flesh and sinew to pulp and feast upon your soul. a heartbeat thrums loud in your ears and you know it to be yours, fluttering with fear. even this beating heart knows that this is a mistake. it is too late now.

those thousand eyes inspect you, then four more, blue irises and slit pupils and all, and they all peer into your soul. this is no prideful bird, you gulp, but a serpent. you have summoned a snake, and it will see through you. it will coil around the things you hold dear, choking them out of life. it will find the cracks you thought you’ve hid safely away and unravel each and every one.

it will eat you alive.

but first, it laughs. a chilling thing that rumbles in the ribs of the body it has claimed as its own. and then, it speaks. the words fall from its lips like a gavel to hardwood, ushering in your death sentence.

then it's a deal.

· · ·

ii.

it has begun calling itself kaeya alberich.

to blend in, you assume, because you know you too would raise an eyebrow if a stranger introduced themselves with a name as outlandish as pavo ocellus. when you had confronted him about it, he had smirked - an easy, crooked thing, canines in full display - and said; well, isn't it much less of a mouthful?

so you let him have this moment of self indulgence, warily settling into this masquerade. it is a pretty name, at least: kaeya alberich. the syllables roll from your tongue and you watch a smile creep onto his lips - it doesn’t reach his eyes. he whispers, later in the day: if you ever need me at your side, you know which name i answer to.

in your time of need, whisper only his true name and he will come running.

it can take on multiple forms.

it seems to favor just one, though. one with sun-kissed skin and soft, dark hair and a singular, piercing blue eye. his horns have shrunk away, though if he fiddles with his curls enough you can spot the shrunken, pointy stubs peeking out from his scalp. cruel claws have been whittled down to form deft, slender fingers and gloved palms. there is a coldness in each knuckle, you notice, on the rare occasion where he’d twine his hand with yours in an act that you could only hope feigned affection. those hands are not soft and warm, calloused and cold, but you suppose there is comfort in that too.

you remind yourself that it is not a home that you will find there, but a bastion.

an eyepatch lies atop where his right eye would be. in a fragile moment, something you’re scared to call weakness, he allows you to peel away the cloth. his fingers gingerly guide your own to unravel this one part of himself, and beneath are the eyes that peer into your very soul. you find yourself staring back at them, just as you had the legion all those months ago, and you think it is your imagination when he shrinks away. perhaps he cannot tailor it, or maybe he simply chooses not to, but the cluster of eyes that sprout from that hidden socket remain as they do in his true form.

( he sneers, then, venom pooling in his words, though not meant for you; aren’t i quite the sight? )

it is the eyes that remind you that he is merely masquerading as human.

it is… insufferable.

but you knew that already.

kaeya alberich, pavo ocellus, demon of secrets. whatever he wishes for you to believe, serpent or peacock or hound, he is insufferable. having to deal with him for a year was by far your greatest feat - as miserable as that may sound - and you do not think you look forward to more of them with him.

the mere thought of him elicits a sigh, an annoyed furrow of your eyebrows, a faint sting in your hands. you find yourself staring at the mark on your palm most days, tracing over its inky lines on others - an eye with a cross for a pupil. it is nothing short of a dreadful reminder: you are bound to him for as long as your soul may toil in the cold depths of hell.

( you ignore the little voice that whispers: maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. )

· · ·

iii.

another case file.

when you had offered to help out with jean’s workload, you didn’t expect there to be as much as there was. you think you’ve seen enough profiles and paperwork to last your fickle lifetime, though you suppose it wasn’t as boring as it would have been - what with all the supernatural involvement, and all that.

slumping in your seat with an exhale, you find yourself going over this week’s bounties. a little girl that had somehow bound herself to an angel - and began calling him her older brother, to his confusion - and a particularly irritating demon that had begun infesting a nearby bank. engrossed in your growing mountain of paperwork, you don’t notice the knock at your door, or the way kaeya slithers in, or how he watches you with an amused glint in his eye.

“as much as i love getting my beauty sleep,” he starts, and his voice is like thunder in a silent field, leaving you jolting up in your seat, “it’s not very nice of you to keep me in the dark, hmm?”

you cock your head to the side, a little more than confused, and kaeya, observant as he is, catches it right away. with a sigh, and a gentle flick of his beloved crystal earring; “you haven’t exactly discussed why you summoned me.”

“oh, i didn’t tell you?”

“unless my memory fails me, no.”

“have i told you what i do for a living?” you start, nodding at the file splayed open on your desk before looking back at kaeya, staring into his one cerulean eye. just in case, he could always just peer into your soul and get the answer himself.

“you’re part of the ordo favonia, correct?” you nod, watching the demon hum - not unlike considering his playing cards. “i must say, you continue to surprise me.”

“sooner or later, i’m going to be assigned jobs that i probably can’t get done without you.” you could already think of a number of things, from gathering secrets - his specialty, probably - to actual combat. “so even if my boss didn’t like it very much, i made a pact with you.”

he stands there for a while, suddenly finding interest in his hands, before breaking the silence; “what an odd solution.” and for a second, you wonder if he’s concerned - maybe even a little - but he looks back at you with an expression you can’t quite read.

“i suppose it’s nothing i can’t handle though, eh boss?”

· · ·

iv.

kaeya alberich, pavo ocellus, bleeds red.

albeit darker than yours, it is red that stains his skin. maroon stains the skin on your fingers and palms and seeps into the cotton balls and bandages that pool at the bottom of the nearby trash can. you whisper soft apologies against his skin at his every wince, but you continue pressing the cloth onto and around the nasty gash just below his ribcage. it is, thankfully, not as bad as it looks.

when you hear him hiss, your gaze snaps upwards to meet his. kaeya doesn’t bother putting on a brave face now, but he gives you one of his small smiles. you are acutely aware of the way his hold on your arm tightens.

i’ll be fine. he murmurs, brows furrowed, and thank you, by the way.

there is a horrid thing that wells up within you when you see him like this. it is the pit that forms in your gut, the heaviness that collects in your eyes, the quiver of your lips. you think it’s guilt, or pity, something in between, or none of those things at all. you had said it yourself: sooner or later, this would become a daily occurrence - there are some duties you were given that only kaeya could handle. it’s why you summoned him in the first place: your soul for a vassal. and he is nothing short of the vassal you’ve been looking for; your loyal, cunning kaeya.

as you wrap clean bandages around his figure, it is realization that creeps up on you. a sinking feeling, a rock that falls into the pit that has manifested in your very soul. a slow and ebbing revelation;

you’re terrified for him.

· · ·

you feel it, then, his heartbeat.

the rational part of your mind scolds you, a parent to a child; of course he has a heartbeat. it’s not special, not in the slightest. all demons have heartbeats, angels and gods too, perhaps. it doesn’t change the fact that these hearts could very well be rotten things, beating for all the wrong reasons.

and you think this is it; you’ve finally launched yourself off the deep end and into the abyss, to have associated a pulse and a heartbeat to goodness. and yet, when you place your hand on his chest and feel the gentle thrum beneath his skin, you cannot help but be entranced. his heart beats.

“you feel it, don’t you?”

you nod, only half registering his words. at that, the demon laughs, a rumbling in his chest that conceals his heartbeat for a moment. when you shift to cup his cheek, kaeya leans into the touch with a purr - like a housecat, you think - and the cluster of eyes he had hidden away glint when they catch the moonbeams just right.

“you really are something, aren’t you?” he starts, voice silk and words honey, and you think you hear an inkling of a chuckle in the back of his throat. “to think it’d be you.”

“what do you mean?”

there’s a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, a grin splayed across his face - a real one, that has your heart stuttering. the warmth of his skin leaves that of your palm, and you blink when he presses a kiss to your temple. it’s simple and sweet - the very antithesis of the kaeya that you've gotten to know, all confounding and sly - and when your brain processes it a bit more, you think you’ve gotten a fever, a warmth humming under the skin of your cheeks.

“well love, if you must know." he says, voice teasing yet soft and comforting in your ears. "it's not everyday that this heart beats for someone."

a/n: first post of the year (?) and first genshin post! spooky little thing to celebrate halloween!!! i'm sorry it's been so long, but i can't promise it'll be any different... i also can't promise a lot of tot content just because i haven't played in a while... but anyway, this is a little kaeya fic that's been rotting in my head and in my docs to celebrate the many things that have happened since i made this account! one day mihoyo will give me my demon!kaeya skin (because they love him so much...) but i will be content with haitham, wrio, and kaeya's thief fit. i hope you enjoyed this lil fic—demon!kaeya is one of my favourite concepts <3 !!!

art in header is “Sisters of Clouds” (1994), Adriana Diaz

#genshin impact headcanons #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya fluff

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vilhelios · 2 years

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—; ALL ANSWERS ARE CONTAINED WITHIN THE DOG ǃ ( owning a pet with vyn and artem ! )

knock knock, is totblr doing alright over here? this has been rotting in the drafts for so long to the point hoyoverse made a vyn card about him having a cat :')

cw: not beta read, everything is in lowercase, cats & dogs ! ; continued hcs for vyn & hcs for artem utc!

.: VYN RICHTER

— adopting a dog from the animal shelter downtown. when you first brought up the idea at tea - about one or two saturdays ago, you think - you never really expected vyn to actually take you up on your offer. perhaps it's because you've always seen him as more of a cat person?

— and thus, here you were, desperately stifling a laugh at the sight before you: vyn richter ( who, in his day to day, was ever so calm and composed ) currently planted on the grass, arms wrapped around a wriggling, golden mess of fur in an attempt to stop the pup's destructive ability.

— apollo, a golden retriever. although he was old, age on full display from the white hairs that appeared on his snout, apollo seemed to become a young pup again with the two of you, especially when brought out into the garden ( or whenever vyn seemed unoccupied. )

— in the early hours of morning, far earlier than vyn's usual nine, apollo clambers onto your shared bed without fail. he's not quiet at all, and you can feel the way his paws press against your calf as he shuffles closer to curl against your side. vyn grumbles, drowsy and disturbed by the sudden movements, but when you run your fingers through his hair and press a kiss to his forehead, he returns to the land of the dreaming.

"g'morning, polly..." you manage, words half-formed from the sleep that still plagued you. apollo does not bark at the greeting, merely shuffles and worms into a comfortable-enough position in what little space lay between you and vyn. as you give the old dog his most beloved head rubs, vyn grumbles and shifts, eyes still shut. "wh... what time is it...?" he mumbles, burrowing his face in his pillow. "hm, still too early." you reply, shifting closer to press a peck to his temple; "go back to sleep, sweetheart."

— and so apollo, lovingly called polly, has become a boundless and blitzing golden sunbeam in your home. ( vyn would argue, however, that no one can quite replace you as the sunlight manifest in his arms. )

.: ARTEM WING

— when you come home from work, you didn't expect to see this. your beloved artem wing, a street cat in his hands and a helpless look on his face, sifting through bottles of newly bought pet shampoo and conditioner.

— the kitty in question, it seems, is a tabby cat that he found lingering outside the law firm one evening. and artem explains, with the smallest stutter, that he never intended to take her in - really, he swears it! but... an offering of some of his leftovers quickly spiralled into a small can of cat food, and.. well...

— it is celestine that convinces him to adopt the little one; she gives the tabby a name – "gaia," she says, scratching a spot behind its ears, "be nice to this boy" - and because it never really occured to him to give her a name, this one sticks. gaia the tabby cat.

— and now, artem wing stands in his bathroom with a few light scratches on his hands and a slightly displeased gaia in his bathtub. her tail flicks just the slightest, the shallow water sloshes around, and artem sighs with a hand running through his hair.

you laugh at him, at the soap suds on his arms and cheeks, and at how... bizarre this whole situation is. artem's moment of weakness is taking in a stray cat? the frown that had danced upon his lips quickly quirks upwards into a smile as you wipe away the little bubbles on his cheek, "you've got a little something there, dearie."

— gaia is an exceptionally sweet kitty, clingy too. she's at either your or artem's heels at home, or leaping onto the dinner table to watch the two of you eat, or burrowing into your chest as you lay against artem's after a long day at work. she is loved dearly, and one weekend, artem decides to build a cat tower for her while the two of you watch and cheer him on.

a/n: i hope you've all been well ! sorry for the long long hiatus :') exams, graduation, and uni applications killed any writing bone in my body, and i dropped tot for a bit ... vyn's might be a little (a lot) off since i'm still a little rusty! oh!!! and thank you for 100 followers, i'll try to upload fluffy content more consistently! :'D

#tears of themis #tears of themis headcanons #tears of themis imagines #vyn richter #vyn richter x reader #artem wing #artem wing x reader

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vilhelios · 3 years

Text

—; & WE'VE DONE THIS ALL BEFORE.

you and i have known each other in a few lifetimes. // a short vyn in a slight soulmate au for his birthday <3 just for clarity, the two of you are sitting on his couch!

"there has been something on my mind, recently."

"oh?" you hum, taking one of his hands in yours. his fingers are as cold as ever from the chill of the night, and you settle into your routine of fussing over them – twine your fingers with his, trace the bump of the knuckles, then envelop his hand in both of yours. vyn chuckles at your actions, shuffling closer to bask in the warmth that you – and the blankets you've been wrapped in – provide.

"i'm all ears, love. what is it?"

you look up at him expectantly. you've known vyn long enough to know that everything about him softens when he is with you. in this moment, this snow globe of comfort in a world that threatens to swallow you whole, vyn's masks fall apart as he holds you close.

"there is something that feels so natural about all of this." he starts, as he turns his eyes towards your hand in his, "perhaps we've known each other for multiple lifetimes."

"like soulmates?"

there's a slight pause, a hitch in his breath. and then; "something like that."

"i like that thought." you smile, leaning upwards to press a peck to the corner of his lips. "what do you think we were, in those past lives?"

"of that, i can't be sure." he says, and it's his turn to hum, to bury his head into the crook of your neck. stray strands of his hair ghost against your skin as he settles there, chin resting on the junction of your neck and shoulder. you watch as he plays with your hands, just as you did his. you hear the smile in his voice as he says, "but that doesn't matter, does it?"

"i suppose it doesn't." you say, and you take in the sound of his breaths and the chirping of the crickets in the garden. it never fails to amaze you how warm and safe you were. "hey vyn?'

"yes, darling?"

"i love you, a lot." you turn to give him your most genuine smile, angling your head just right to press a kiss to his cheek, "you know that, right?"

"i know it everyday." and you see the red dusting his cheeks, and the way his gaze softens, "and i love you too, with everything i am."

a/n: birthday vyn came home in 12 pulls!!!! sorry for the hiatus! exams and uni applications killed any thoughts of tot content. this vyn fic is just something to get back into it :') i'll upload artem and vyn with pets later this week!

#tears of themis #tears of themis headcanons #tears of themis imagines #vyn richter #vyn richter x reader

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vilhelios · 3 years

Text

—; PARADISE, AND WE WOULD HAVE MADE IT SO.

things i assosciate with the tears of themis guys + what their love is like! headcanons for artem, luke, and marius under the cut! (slight spoilers for luke's <3)

. : VYN RICHTER

— the song: dancing in the kitchen by lany

— VYN is the scent of freshly baked bread, the ding! of an oven, the smile that graces your lips when someone enjoys the food they're having. he is the grass that tickles your skin as you wade through a wide, open field, and the soft feel of delicate flower petals against your skin, and sunbeams filtering through the blinds and onto the covers. the warmth of a hand on the small of your back as you're briskly pulled into a gentle waltz, a slow dance in a sunlit kitchen.

— FALLING IN LOVE WITH VYN RICHTER is like falling in love with the ocean. he is a complex man, built upon façades and something like nesting dolls, and you find that you will get lost in unravelling each and every mask. it is like wading into the vast depths of the ocean and finding yourself staring into a cold, dark abyss – you fear that you will find the same within him. and yet, you are proven wrong when all you find are warm hands, and sunshine eyes, and a soft, human heart. you must come to realise that this heart beats so strongly for you, and you would do best to protect it, just as he would yours.

"i am hopelessly terrified, sometimes." it is a murmur against his skin, barely above a whisper, as your fingertips ghost over his collarbones. vyn hums, then, as he holds you close; "of me?" it is the horrid conclusion he draws, one that breaks your heart and his own. "no, never." you cannot help but shake your head at that, fingers moving to trace the fading scars that tatter his arms. "for you, i believe.'"

— when VYN loves, it is a gentle love. something slow and ebbing that has your heart doing flips and your breath hitching in your throat. he realizes he's in love quite quickly, aware of the machinations of his own heart. it is in every soft look reserved for you, every warm cup of tea, and in every fresh bouquet of blossoms. when he is with you, he notes that he is not unlike a flower in the presence of the sun. he loves you as though he adores the very act of loving you.

. : ARTEM WING

— the song: the movies by nightly

— ARTEM is the distinct awareness of a blanket being draped on your shoulders by a loved one as you drift in and out of sleep. he is the blur of highways and green ricefields, or maybe the whizzing by of fluorescent lights and citylife, as you peer out of a car window. looking at someone laugh and feeling a warmth in your chest as they focus on the movie you have on tv, and late nights overthinking. he is shy touches, and flustered countenances, and a hand in yours that reassures you: "this too shall pass, and i will be with you through it all."

— FALLING IN LOVE WITH ARTEM is something that, eventually, comes as second nature. it is falling in love with the little things he does as you would the little niceties and wonders of this life you were given. and just like wading through life, loving artem is something that requires patience. he is a busy man, and an ambitious one in his own right, and sometimes you feel as though he is going somewhere you cannot quite follow just yet. know, however, that he will keep you close and pace his footfalls with yours – you only have to ask.

"won't you take it easy tomorrow?" you ask, voice soft as you hold his head in your palms. artem lets out a sound - something between a hum and a grunt - as he leans into the warmth of your hands. he debates it in his mind for a bit, and then; "you know i can't do that." the fatigue is evident on his form, and it has you sighing, tracing the ghosts of dark circles under his eyes. "but it would really do you some good..."

— when ARTEM loves, it is something so heartbreakingly sweet. he stumbles around with his emotions, at first, slightly confused as to why the tips of his ears and his cheeks are all warm and red and itchy when you smile so sweetly at him. although brief respites, this love is stored in every good morning text, every lending of his jacket on a cold night, and every lingering graze of his fingertips.

.: LUKE PEARCE

— the song: helium by glass animals

— LUKE is the way sunlight dances on water at noon, a fairy's dance of sorts. he's sitting down on the swings of a playground you used to frequent as a kid, and the way the hinges squeak just a bit as you sway idly back and forth. he is the warmth and glee in your bones on those field trips where your group of friends would call dibs on the very back of the bus, kings and queens of your own regard. pinching each other's cheeks and giggling when they pout, cheeks sore from wide, toothy grins.

— FALLING IN LOVE WITH LUKE is like trying to hold a zephyr in your arms, held tight to your form. he's here, he's real and he's in your reach, but you feel as though this won't last. whenever he is with you, however, your mind doesn't stay on that thought for long. the two of you dance around in this little world of sunlight and songbirds, even as you are acutely aware of the ending that awaits – the wind will leave your hold eventually.

i'm going to die soon.

the words plague your mind now, each syllable voiced out with an unsettling clarity. he is going to die soon. you had three years, more or less – too soon and too inevitable. the words worm into your mind and settle there, even as you whisper a string of i love you's against his skin. you think it sounds desperate, like your soul so badly wished to make its mark on him. luke smiles, then, a gentle thing that softens his wine red eyes, and responds in kind with i love you too's, and i know's, and i'm sorry's.

— when LUKE loves, it is bittersweet. it is longing gazes and touches that last a little too long, and this sinking feeling that aches in his heart whenever he's with you. he lays awake at night and thinks - of you, often, of this horrible feeling of dread and anguish when there should be giddy joy and butterflies. while he is here and in your presence, however, he will offer up his adoration in every swing of your locked arms as you walk through town, every sunshine smile, and every promise said through tears.

.: MARIUS VON HAGEN

— the song: paradise by chase atlantic

— MARIUS is the way the sun gets in your eyes when you try to look at the clouds overhead, sunset glaring down at you. he is art gallery dates spent lovingly watching the person you love admire a work of art, stardust admiring stardust. he is that thrill in your marrow and the cold wind against your skin as you run through a vast, empty parking lot with your friends at too early in the morning. sitting in a little diner by the sea, interior fitted with neon lights, while a jukebox sings in the corner – and maybe, later you share a strawberry milkshake with your muse.

— FALLING IN LOVE WITH MARIUS is refreshing, a breath of fresh air. there is no boring, idle moment with him - it seems physically unable for that to happen, not when he's all smirks and pouts and teases. you notice however, that there is more to him than he'd let you see, a weakness he hides away beneath this charming mask he has made for himself. to love marius, it seems, is to peel away that glittering snake-skin and unveil that burdened, beating heart.

"when you said you wanted me to treat you to dinner..." marius starts, twirling his fork between his fingers, "this... isn't what i had in mind." and at that, you can only chuckle. a sudden craving led to a hold on his arm and pleading eyes, and here you were: a 24 hour diner at 11pm, jukebox playing some old jazz song you've heard somewhere in passing and neon lights tinting your skin crimson. "you can't tell me you don't like it." a knowing smile finds its way onto your lips as you reach over to twine his fingers with yours, and he sighs with a grin of his own.

— when MARIUS loves, it is a playful love. not many see him for more than what he appears - arrogant prodigal son, and problem child, sometimes - and when you do, you've got him at your beck and call. he finds that you have become his muse, the thought behind every paint stroke on his canvases and the graphite on his fingertips. know that there is a truth in every gilded word and love in every thought-out gift.

a/n: hope you enjoyed this! i'm trying to figure out how to write the rest of the guys, so it may be ooc </3

#tears of themis headcanons #tears of themis imagines #vyn richter #vyn richter x reader #artem wing #artem wing x reader #luke pearce #luke pearce x reader #marius von hagen #marius von hagen x reader

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