#DO NOT use any sky lanterns!!!

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ghostbuster. || kidnapper!Simon "Ghost" Riley

[ FIC MASTERLIST ] || [ CHAPTER 2 -> ]

Rating: M + Dark Fic + DDNE Words: 4.2k~ Pairing: Serial Killer!Reader x Serial Kidnapper!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark fic, serial killing, serial kidnapping, torture, body disposal, death, murder (purposeful), murder (accidental), mentions of rape? (neither Simon nor reader rapes anyone!!!!!), blood, knife/weapons, gross abandoned buildings, police verbage. tags: dark fic, serial killer AU, no smut (for now), OOC Simon, you/your pronouns, afab!reader, reader & simon terrorizing the city of Manchester, Manchester geography/accuracy?. a/n: fully inspired by the post below, by @moongreenlight ; also fully a gift for @superhero-landing

"This marks the 7th body found in the Greater Manchester area in the last 6 months."

It's dark outside. Eerily so. Probably because, although the moon is high in the sky, full and bright, plenty of clouds hide it from view. The weather forecast speaks of heavy rains for the next few weeks, but you got lucky... It's not currently raining. It leaves the night feeling weirdly still and quiet, the roads long empty after people retreated into their homes after work.

But not you. Never you.

You turn your head to peer at the old box TV in the room over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed in on the screen where the news anchor talks about the police investigation at hand.

"The victim, a 24-year-old university student, residing in Wythenshawe, had been reported missing last month, on the 18th, after having not come home after a nightout with friends."

The old shop is dark too, barely illuminated by a camping lantern you've brought inside when you first broke in. The air is stale, almost unbreathable from all the dust; the floor, and counters caked in a layer of dried particles, courtesy of the decades' long abandonment the shop has suffered, as well as the ceiling panels having come loose, knocking down concrete dust all over the shop.

Shaking your head, you carefully click your tongue in displeasure, while you clean the tool in your hand with a rag, keeping your eyes and ears still honed into the broadcast. "Poor thing." You comment to yourself.

Your head slumps forward to reach your arm, and you rub the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and forearm, sniffling a bit to clean some of the snot dribbling down your nostrils due to the overly dusty air.

"The Great Manchester Police HQ has issued a warning on the brutality of the recent string of murders and their commitment to find the people responsible. The Police Chief urges that anyone who might have any information to please come forth."

Sighing, you turn your head away again, as the news anchor drones on about the funeral for the young girl who was just found. You step away toward the array of tools displayed, for your convenience, on one of the old counters, laid neatly across a black tool roll bag and carefully set the knife atop it.

The shop smells. It's not entirely unpleasant, but you've gotten used to it either way. You're pretty sure if you weren't, it'd smell horrendous, like it did in the beginning. Stale, dusty air, old blood caked into the gashes and knife cuts on the wooden countertops, tools that were abandoned and grew colonies of bacteria after enough time went past, old vent systems that haven't been cleaned, meat display cases that didn't get disinfected before the butcher shop went out of business.

Tossing the rag aside, atop the butcher's block countertop, you run a finger over the wristband of your black cooking gloves, the latex feeling sticky and damp due to the fresh blood caked onto it. Turning on your heel, you return to the center of the room and look down at the body slumped on the chair before you.

"That guy is a fucking sicko, isn't he?" You complain and crouch before the man tied to the chair, raising his bruised and bloodied face by gripping him around the chin.

The man before you looks like the rest of them, balding and with a 5-o'clock shadow of a beard. He was greying as well, as most of them tend to be. Old, perverted bastards... He's slowly paling before your eyes, the blood slipping down his abdomen, soaking through his clothes and flowing onto the drain below his rickety chair.

"You know, you've gotta be a particularly... Nasty bastard to kill women that young... To bathe and redress them post-mortem..." You trail off. The man before you doesn't reply. He looks groggy and languid, blinking irregularly, and his chest heaving. Barely aware of anything as his life, much like his blood, drains from him.

It's almost poetic to watch his blood stain the white tile of the backroom of the shop, the walls lined with racks and hooks meant to, in the past, hang carcasses from... Almost like this old cooler room is finally fulfilling its role again, to cool and drain a dead body of its blood, all of it flowing down the incline toward the drain...

"I believe I saw in a few Criminal Minds episodes that those types that... clean them afterward feel 'regret' for what they did." You shake your head and kiss your teeth in annoyance.

"They feel regret after it's done, but not while they do it. 'es it mean they gain a conscience after the fact?" You ask him. "Monsters, the lot of them..." You chide and scoff, letting go of the man's face.

Then, you smirk as you notice his breathing get shallower, his head going a bit more limp, hanging low, his chin pressing over to his chest. Leaning forward, you bring your mouth close to his ear, your lips almost grazing his ear. "Don't worry, I won't clean you up once I'm done."

-

Sitting in your dark bedroom, you lounge back lazily on your desk chair, chewing some bubblegum and tapping away at your mouse before scrolling down a forum page.

The room, much like the rest of your flat is dark, only illuminated by the bright blue-toned light emanating from your computer screen, even in dark mode.

The best part of the internet age is the fact people share, comment and gossip about everything. It makes your research so much easier. Though, you suppose it's human nature... to be curious and gossipy. Social creatures and such.

Clicking on one of the posts on the subreddit r/ManchesterCrime, you skim through the post, where the OP is mentioning how they live nearby to the location where the new body was dumped: the southside of Manley Park.

Grabbing your pink fuzzy-top pen and a couple of highlighter markers, you get up from your desk chair and lean over your desk to the corkboard hanging behind it.

You take your writing materials to the printed map of the Greater Manchester area which you had pinned to the cork slab, tracing the information you have so far:

Resident of Wythenshawe.

Captured somewhere between The Three Pigeons and home.

Dumped in Manley Park.

You set down your pens and grab some pink wool string and a couple more pins, using them to rig up a new line to connect the dots over the map.

Taking a step back, you look up at the map and sighed, shaking your head, feeling anger flowing through your veins.

You have been trying to figure out the killer's area of operation for months... Trying to triangulate it, find a pattern...

But nothing.

No convergence point for the lines; no silly little connect-the-dots shape being formed; no secret message being shared... Or maybe there is and you just suck at reading it.

So far, all you have is 7 pieces of string of different colors... 7 victims. All over Manchester, with no overlay.

Just... 7 young girls taken for weeks at a time, killed and then dumped like rubbish.

Has he been taking them to different secondary locations all over the city before slaughtering them?

Has he been driving about, passing by schools and homes and banks and shops, on his way to the dump sites... with a body in his car?

Allegedly, they were all bathed and redressed, with no signs of sexual trauma or abuse, other than a stark loss of weight and some rope burn around the wrists and ankles...

But who really knows?

You are no PI or constable, just a sleuth. Whatever information you have, you got from the internet and from the news... You have no way to be sure of anything.

It angers you to imagine what he had been doing to those poor girls while keeping them to himself.

The poor, terrified girls... someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's girlfriend, someone's friend... And he had been plucking them from their mundane, safe lives and murdering them?

Throwing yourself back down onto your chair, you stack your fingers together, elbows on the armrests, and swiveled side to side as you looked at the corkboard map.

You hate men like this.

Predators.

Taking and hurting and killing with no issue or hesitation... Sure, psychologists might allege that he feels regret and expresses it by caring for them after death... But you disagree with that interpretation.

You've never met a man who regrets hurting a woman.

-

It's almost funny how easy it was to play with a man's emotions.

They see a pretty face marred by running mascara and red, swollen tear-filled eyes, holding a thumb out for a ride on the side of the road, and they always stop.

From then on, you can just spin whatever sob story about needing a ride...

Men love to play the hero... and oh, how idiotic they are.

They always let you in, and within an hour you have a new warm body to tie up and toy with.

In a way, you are actually surprised by how long you've been able to get away with this for.

You're secretly thankful your murders have not been given any attention so far.

You suppose that's one thing you could thank that... killer for.

You hate how the internet had given him a name already:

The Ghost

because someone allegedly witnessed him dumping a body in Heaton Park, and then vanished into the shadows of the night like a spectre.

Don't they know what happens when they give these types killers nicknames?

How that embiggens and emboldens them?

Have they never watched a true crime show? Or even a fictional one?

But... regardless... as long as young women are being slaughtered by a maniacal monster of a man, and, therefore, kept in the eyes of the world... No one is going to notice the missing middle-aged men you'd been consistently murdering for the better part of 3 years.

Yet another way where men have the upper hand over women. Lady killers just don't get taken as seriously.

You think of that as you watch the body disappear under the water, the cinder blocks you had tied to his feet dragging him under.

You wait a few minutes after his bald head vanishes from view, making sure it doesn't re-emerge, your hands tucked into the pockets of your parka, dead leaves crushed under your hiking boots.

-

Another body; the 8th one.

This one got dumped much quicker.

A 26-year-old till clerk at a Tesco had been reported missing only 36 hours before her body got found.

The news spoke about the incident and the GMPHQ deemed it a separate occurrence. An accident. The girl had been a Type 1 diabetic and seemed to have had a fatal sugar crash.

But you know it has to have been 'The Ghost'.

You don't know why. But you can just tell.

And, for the first time, as you draw up the line over the map, to signal where she got picked up and where she got dumped... there's an overlay.

The pick-up site, somewhere between her job, and her home... and the dumpsite.. Alexandra Park, near Oldham. Both those locations were mere minutes away from where the second victim had been picked up months ago.

Has he gotten sloppy?

Has her sudden death thrown a wrench in his plans and caused him to panic and pick somewhere nearby?

Your eyebrows twitch and a smirk takes over your lips as you finally find something you can exploit.

"Got you, you fuckin' knob'ead." You say and can't help the proud chuckle that escapes your mouth.

-

Simon's pissed off.

He feels like shit after having gotten that girl killed on his watch.

Not that he hadn't gotten the other ones killed either, but this one had truly been an accident.

Between the stress and the fear, her blood sugar had dropped and Simon hadn't noticed before he left the house to pop to the shops and get them both some food.

And by the time he got back and made her dinner, she was just... gone.

It startled him.

Startled him more than when the other ones died.

While looking in her purse for a justification as to why she passed... like any medication he failed to give her, he found the insulin pen and the sugar monitor.

So now, here he is. Back on the street. Back on the prowl. With 8 accidental kills under his belt and a desperate need to fix his streak.

He drives aimlessly. It's a Saturday night and Simon was sure he was going to find some young, vulnerable girl wandering about and stumbling over her own feet, too drunk or high to even walk in a straight line without stumbling or having to lean on street lamps and walls for support.

He hates seeing girls in that state. Young, vulnerable, alone... Left to be preyed upon by some creep in the shadows... Their support systems having failed them...

What kind of friend leaves a drunk girl to find her way home alone when she can barely stand?

What kind of manager lets an employee walk home after dark?

What kind of parent, or sibling, lets a girl walk home from the bus terminal during a storm?

And then they wonder why girls get raped or murdered senselessly by dirty bastards in back alleys.

That only happens because no one protects these vulnerable girls.

They protect them as children, but not as adults? What kind of world does such a thing?

Probably the same world that misinterprets his actions as senseless killing.

He's not a killer.

He's... just very bad at taking care of the girls he... 'helps'...

He never means to hurt them. He's no monster. He just wants to protect them.

-

For once it's actually raining. Heavily so. The water has soaked through the slinky mini skirt and spaghetti strap top you're wearing, your heels are open-toed and slippery, and each step you take feels like you're about to fall face-first into the mud.

You've had your arm out-stretched and your thumb up for the better part of an hour, trying to flag down any car driving past, only to get no luck.

You're at your wits' end, and so so close to calling it a night and trying to stop baiting a driver into taking you in. It's that bad tonight. You can't seem to reel anything in.

The cold wind nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs, and you know well you'll spend the next week in bed with the nastiest cold of your life.

A car zooms past you as you walk and show your thumb, only to groan and protest when it doesn't stop...

But it does slow down to a stop not far ahead of you, having turned on its blinkers after spotting your outstretched arm and thumb up.

Rushing over to it, you stumble a few times and trip and slip with your heels on the wet tar of the road, before you come up to the passenger side door.

Look in the window, you find a young-ish looking bloke behind the wheel, looking at you with concerned eyes and knitted brows. He leans over and pops the door open for you.

"Get in, get in!" He tells you urgently when he notices you shivering like a wet dog in the rain.

Climbing inside the car carefully, you close the door behind you, hearing how the rain and wind turn muffled once you do.

It's surprisingly clean inside, the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror smelling of pine. It's also warm, so warm, the heater running at max temp and making the car so much more cosy.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for stopping!" You whine, forcing yourself to sniffle and hiccup as tears pour down your face. They're fake ones, warranted by you watching a handful of soldier-coming-home videos on youtube and using some menthol-infused stick in your undereye.

"You alright, sweet'eart?" The man asks as he looks at you with worried eyes. "Are you all alone out here?" He asks and glances out of the window.

He's younger than most of the men you usually bait out, but he'll do. He's also... more handsome than most of them too. Long, prominent nose, a long jaw and chin, pouty pink lips, and the biggest brown eyes, not to mention a crew cut worth of blonde hair.

"Yeah..." You sniffle. "My boyfriend he... we were coming back from a birthday party and we... he... we were arguing and he tossed me out of the car and... and...!" You explain. The practiced lie slips through your teeth quickly. It's been used on about 7 of the 20 or so men you've wiped off the map, and you say it as if you truly believe it, which helps sell it.

You also stumble over your words, as if you're starting to choke up, to make sure you sound even more distraught. Men love when you're hyperventilating.

"Alright, it's alright-!" He tries to reassure you and sets a hand on your shoulder. "God, you're freezing. How long have you been out there?" He asks you, concerned.

"I- I don't know! An hour?" You answer with a whine, your lip quivering as more sobs rack your body.

Your eyes are sharp, though. You're noting his every movement. How he quickly pulls away from the backrest of his seat and shrugs off his coat and wraps it around your bare shoulders. "Here. It's alright. You're alright."

You continue softly sniffling, tucking your legs to the side toward the door, while hiding your face in your hand.

"Where can I take you?" The blond man asks gently as he glances at you and slowly leans closer, resting an arm on the steering wheel, the other on the centre console.

"I don't... I don't know..." You whine and sniffle. "I can't... I can't go home... I can't face him right now..." You trail off. "I can't believe he'd toss me out of the car like that...!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, love, but he sounds like a right knob'ead." He says and carefully pats you on the shoulder. "How about I take you to the bus terminal? Or the station?"

"I don't know...!" You whimper. "He took my things with him... I can't even buy a ticket home to my mum..." You hiccup and try to clean the tears off the corner of your eyes.

He's handsome, he speaks calmly, hasn't tried to touch you longer than simply patting you for reassurance, and even gave you his jacket... You almost feel bad about doing this to him. Almost.

"Tell you wha'." The bloke says as he leans a bit closer, tilting his head to look at you in the eye. "I'll take you to the bus terminal and give you a couple more pounds so you can call your family or a friend to come get you, yeah?"

Sniffling, you shake your head. "No... you're already... doing so much! I can't... I can't even pay you back!" You add.

You really should earn an Oscar for this performance. The damsel in distress who's actually such a good girl that she doesn't want to impose on this man's money or take too much of his help.

"Don't worry about any of that." He tells you and waves his hand to dismiss the point, before leaning over and fixing the direction of the air vents on the dash, making sure they point at you to keep you warm. "You don't have to pay me back, alright?"

Nodding a bit, you try to stop crying and rub your eyes with your hands, causing an even bigger mess within your make-up, your fingers now also stained with mascara.

"Here. It's alright. No need to cry anymore." The driver says affectionately as he offers you a tissue from a pack, before he shifts in his seat and starts driving forward.

-

Simon watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives. Poor little thing, all alone, abandoned by her boyfriend, left on the side of the road...

It's like the universe had handed you to him on a silver platter. He couldn't not take you in! And, this time, he's not going to let anything happen to you.

He's not risking it.

And so of course he's going to soothe you, to calm you down, you, the poor little thing, that got left on a side road by your awful boyfriend, like a stray cat no one wants to feed...

That's the thought in his head as he drives down the wet roads, the windshield wipers working overtime to beat the pouring rain that decided to attack the city of Manchester even more aggressively than usual.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, making sure to drive carefully and steadily, and trying to spot the look in your face as he does.

You still seem stressed, frazzled, worried. The tears haven't stopped despite your breathing having settled...

He wonders if you've had anything to drink. You're definitely not drunk, but the amount of tears... maybe tipsy?

Maybe you won't even need to be threatened. You'll just... let him take you into his house, gently guide you into the bathroom and let you wash off the mud and rain...

He'll give you clothes, and food, and let you watch tv with him... And he'll keep you warm and safe, like everyone in your life has failed to, that got you to the moment you were now in...

Alone.

Afraid.

Abandoned.

He wants to tell you not to worry, that he's here now... But he holds his tongue. You'll hear it later.

-

"You should've kept going forward instead of turning right..." You say aloud, forcing your voice to still sound soft and meek, as you look out of the window.

You've been driving for a while. You've kept your head low, enjoying the warmth coming from the A/C, which helps with the genuine cold wetness of the rain that settled on your skin and bones.

You're not stupid. You know the way to the bus terminal and to all the train stations in the area...

He's not taking you to either. In fact, you're pretty sure you've taken 3 rights in the last 5 minutes, and are, in short, going back the way you came.

"Sorry. It's easy to get turned around with this rain, I'll go back to the main road." He replies. His tone apologetic, and his brow scrunched in concern... But his eyes... his eyes are hard.

It sends a tingle down your spine. For once, you actually baited out a man that has nasty intentions with you.

Had he not tried to do that, you would've considered letting him live... But no, of course, he's actually a creep...

What a shame... He's actually kind of cute. In a blue collar sort of way.

It gives you some weird sense of satisfaction, the realization in the back of your mind that you might have succeeded... that you might have bated him out... The Ghost.

Your hand carefully slips into the left side of the waistband of your slinky skirt, the side closest to the door, so he can't see, your fingers already wrapping around the handle of your pistol.

Your eyes remain on the street, the road, keeping an eye out as he returns to the main road and goes back over the area he has just driven past. A closed down shop, the post office...

And you wait.

You wait patiently for the next time he tries to turn right and put you back on course toward the area you had triangulated for The Ghost to live in or work out of...

And he does. He does just that.

Within a minute, he turns right again...

And you don't hesitate.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol handle and you rip it off the confines of your skirt, your arm hurling itself toward him, steadily pressing the barrel to his temple...

Only for you to notice his arm moving sharply at the same time and, you're suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

His eyes are wide, his brown irises nearly invisible from how wide his pupils are blown and he stops the car suddenly with a hard brake that jostles you both forward.

Looking each other in the eye, over the top of both your pistols, you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

The look of surprise, confusion and pure dread painted in his features, the way his brows knit together and furrow in displeasure, his lips already twisted into a scowl...

It's a sickly sweet pleasure, to spot the way that, just like the other ones, he's scared of your pistol... It's likely his first time... But an unfamiliar warmth forms in your tummy as you stare down his pistol too... It's also your first time...

"Well, well, well... Would you look at that?" You quip as a smirk takes over your lips. "Looks like I've busted myself a Ghost."

You don't miss the way his brows go from concerned and fearful to dropping low onto his eyelids, and his jaw clenches in disgust.

Got him.

[fridayth13]

Could I request Zhongli reuniting with his wife after the two had a falling out 500 years ago?

crushed cor lapis.

↳ zhongli × gn!immortal!artist!reader

↳ part one, part two

↳ genre: soft angst at the beginning, but it's mostly bittersweet | wordcount: 1.6k | warnings: none

↳ notes: i ended up with less angst than i thought i would have. but i did want to explore the thought of time passage and fighting for people who are going to live forever, even if it's subtle; reader is immortal and implied to be an adeptus or a god, but the kind isn't very important; ive had an idea for zhongli and an artist reader for a long time so i tried to combine it i hope you don't mind; as with the gender. i did write with a fem!reader in mind as per the request but in the end, the gender didn't need to be specified for anything so i left it gender neutral; i tried to give reader a more divine disposition about them so the writing ended up really flowery, but in any case i hope you enjoy! i really did have fun writing this one

You were a painter.

In your old life, as you liked to call it, however, you were a god. Your domain of influence laid in artistry and beauty.

Or rather, that was what Morax used to tell you. Archons like him were the only beings in Teyvat with real domains of influence. But you wouldn't really stop him if that was his way of calling you pretty.

That was about five hundred years ago. Nowadays was a very different story.

You crushed the yellow berries in your mortar and pestle to turn into paint for tomorrow's commission.

You liked your job in Liyue Harbor. As quaint and.. human as it was, you thought there was divinity to be found in the painstaking recreation of the things around you. Though a painting couldn't rival a Kamera in terms of accuracy, you were certain it completely surpassed the device in most other things.

You slowed your movements, surveying the consistency of the paint and the color. That would probably do. You'd collected quite a lot, so you supposed it was time to head back. All you were really lacking earlier was yellow.

And so you trekked on home from the terraces, skipping over stumps of cor lapis and sunset-painted grass along your way.

As you finally reached your home in the harbor, the sun had fully gone down. The lanterns lit, casting the entire city in a soft, warm glow. The neighboring waters reflected the deep blue of the sky and the speckles of rust and gold adorning every building in sight.

You opened your door and you thought of Morax, wondering if he knew five hundred years ago what beauty would settle upon his previously war torn nation. Leaning on the doorframe, you watched over it for a while. Children playing, kites flying, dinner being prepared, laughter and joy running amok.

You don't like to think about him too much, or how his silence is present in every part of the city that was all him, despite having nothing to do with him any longer. No matter how much time had passed, you seemed stuck in the first night he decided not to apologize.

Still, five hundred years was a long time. Although it felt like the blink of an eye, even immortals had to move on eventually.

You gathered your materials inside and closed the door behind you.

—

The mountains may erode, but they will always be mountains.

You recalled his own words as you saw him again for the first time in five hundred years.

A human-sized Rex Lapis stood before you, hands behind his back, dressed to the nines, pristine, and put together, and perfect, and not at all like he ought to have seemed like at your first meeting in several centuries. Though at the very same time, you couldn't imagine him looking any other way.

You bitterly savored the way he avoided your eyes in front of his boss.

"So this is him!" She said. The lively Director Hu Tao of the local funeral parlor was Rex Lapis's boss. You tried not to laugh. "Our new consultant, Mr. Zhongli."

You set your canvas down onto its easel, then the bulk of your dyes and paints on the floor. You did this without averting your eyes, as if trying to burn him if he ever had the nerve to look back at you.

He did not. And to her credit, it seemed Hu Tao noticed it as well. So as not to make your client too uncomfortable, you decided to take a step towards them.

"Mr. Zhongli." You said. With the proximity you put between you, he had no choice but to look back at you. Not a lot changed about him in human form, but by far, his eyes were the most the same. Down to the hard, intense stare, and the set of his brows. You wondered how many other people in Liyue he'd enchanted with them while he was busy avoiding you.

"Mr. Zhongli?" You repeated, a little less amused. Though you somewhat enjoyed how stupefied he looked at your appearance, you'd endured his silence long enough. "My name is Y/N. It's an honor to meet you here."

This seemed to regain him his senses. That, or Hu Tao's suspicious back and forth glances between the two of you.

Zhongli cleared his throat.

"..The honor is mine."

Hu Tao nodded, seeming satisfied for now. She clapped her hands together in excitement, turning to you.

"Alright! I suppose I'll leave you to it then. I have complete faith that you'll be able to depict the poise and elegance of my esteemed consultant."

You gave her your best half smile.

"Well, I'll try."

"No need to be modest! I've seen your work before. You're one of, if not the best, painter in Liyue. Just ask Mr. Zhongli! He's been very taken with your paintings even before we first met. He speaks very highly of you."

You crossed your arms. "You don't say?"

Five hundred years or the blink of an eye, you could still see his embarrassment without him having to say a word.

—

Director Hu Tao had business to take care of for the funeral parlor, and so left with a flourish, and a "Make sure to get his good side!" as she ran off.

You both continued to speak as civilians for a little while. He sat down at a table on the porch, a steaming pot of tea on said table between you. Your face was obscured to him through the thick white canvas.

Avoiding conversation was easy, but not. Comfortable, but not. Natural, but not. It shouldn't have been. As such was the nature of a marriage to the Geo Archon, you supposed. Or rather, the current lack thereof. But even that was up in airs.

"How.. How have you been?"

Your responding glare was unseen to him, but he heard it in the vitreous tone of your reply.

"Fine." You said. "Something must've happened to you though. Your eloquence seems to have disappeared into thin air."

"..You are still upset. I see."

"In what world would I be upset, Mr. Zhongli?" Your use of his mortal name created a crease in his brow. You gently brushed over it on his painting.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You still could've asked." You muttered, momentarily leaning sideways to look him in the eye. "For someone so revered for his wisdom, your brain still seems to be as hard as rocks."

You caught his surprised expression as you turned back to the canvas. You didn't allow him another word.

"Honestly, who ghosts their own spouse after an argument like that? You'd think the best time would be after.. five hours. Five days. Maybe five weeks after. Not five centuries—"

You caught him mumble, "Well, it's not as if you tried to talk to me either."

"I didn't think I needed to. You made it very clear you wanted me to leave you to die in the Archon War all on your heroic lonesome."

When he didn't respond, you snuck a glance.

The sun's rays were at the precipice of turning gold in its descent into the sea. The glow smeared his porcelain cheeks in amber, his eyes in glitter, the metallic components of his suit in light. He looked like a monument. Tall, statuesque, and lonely. Almost like his mountainous true form. More beautiful than even his numerous statues across Liyue could capture. More than you could capture. Though you did certainly try.

Annoyed and angrily pining as you were, you still tried to get his eyes right. The little flecks of rust against gold. Like cuts of cor lapis crushed to shimmering powder in the Archon's hand. A man of his own making.

You looked at Zhongli as the golden hour faded, slowly turning dusky pink. His eyes swam in wistfulness as he stared out at the harbor. You couldn't help the dull twinge of sorrow deep in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

You didn't know how to follow up. You weren't entirely sure what you were apologizing for. But it felt nice to hear it back from him.

When he finally looked back at you, you were tracing the rich scarlet of his eyeliner onto the canvas.

At some point, he turned on the lamp and set it down beside you while you worked on the finishing touches.

"You're better than I remember." He whispered like he thought you couldn't hear him.

You weren't sure what to say to that either. You just kept painting.

—

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still angry with you."

"Of course."

Zhongli never seemed to run out of tea. Despite not having brewed a new pot throughout your stay, the one on the table continued to steam, its aroma wafting leisurely throughout the room. When he offered you a cup after you left the canvas out to dry, you let yourself take it. You allowed him a calmer response when he spoke.

"This may upset you a bit more, but I am also somewhat bothered you never tried to talk to me."

"So we are at an impasse."

Of course, it did occur to you that you were both being hardheaded and moronic. But you were comforted by a few things.

"It would seem so." Zhongli nodded.

"Or maybe not." You quipped, glancing pointedly at an old painting on the wall. "You seem to have been stalking me, Mr. Zhongli."

"I think stalking might be a slight exaggeration."

"Oh, really."

Even as the mountains erode over the centuries, from the dust, they are fated to reform anew.

dividers from @clutteredfun

[ryker-writes]

Firefly

A post for @cloudcountry 's event to get Idia out of his room! Yes this may or may not have been inspired by a small quote in Auburn's profile

"This is it. I'm gonna die. You're trying to kill me."

"Idia, you're fine. There's barely anyone out here."

It's was quite a sight to see the tall man hunched behind you as he tried to hide out of sight from other people. Any time another student was in sight, even if they were far away, he would move ever so slightly closer to you. His hand held onto your own as you led him along the pathway to Ramshackle Dorm.

It certainly wasn't often that Idia got out of his room for...well, anything really. So you were actually doing him a favor. On the way out of Ignihyde, Ortho had even given you an approving smile.

But you knew Idia better than most, and you truly cared about him! So while you wanted to show him something, you also wanted to make sure he was comfortable. That's why you tried to take him out when there wouldn't be as many people, and you two took the paths others didn't go on as often to avoid anyone that was out.

"We're not far now. I promise there won't be anyone there either. Just us."

He didn't really respond, but you could sense the appreciation. You could just see him relax slightly. His hold on your hand had loosened, but he didn't let go.

The small lanterns around the outside of Ramshackle were the only thing lighting your path. Under the night sky, the building could look ominous, but not to you. To you, it was peaceful. Almost like a home. But you weren't taking him inside. Instead, you were taking him to the small forest behind the old building.

You already had everything set up. A small blanket laid upon the grass in a small clearing between the trees. Near one corner of the blanket there were some snacks and two small jars.

But what caught both of your attention the most, was the sight you had brought him here to see. Throughout the small clearing and behind the trees were dozens upon dozens of small flickering lights. Possibly hundreds of small fireflies flew through the air around the two of you. Their lights twinkled and decorated the dark night like stars in the sky.

You led Idia with you over to the blanket in the clearing before handing him one of the jars. He stared down at it for a small moment before clearing his throat.

"You...brought me out here to catch bugs?"

"Not just any bugs. Fireflies. They're pretty and if we catch them then they can be like a small memento. Or a gift for Ortho in proof of what you did."

He paused in thought for several moments before letting out a sigh and took the jar, carefully unscrewing the lid.

"Fine..."

"Think of it like a quest. A quest to capture say...three fireflies."

He seemed content enough with that, and stepped away to try and scope out the fireflies. You watched him as he followed several and stumbled about trying to catch them. While it seemed easy enough in the beginning, the fireflies were quick and kept managing to escape his capture. He'd mutter curses under his breath each time one escaped before quickly moving onto the next one.

The true plan of yours unfolded once he had managed to get two fireflies in his jar. He'd taken a quick moment to look down at the small bugs he'd captured with a small smile, and that's when you saw your perfect moment.

His victorious smile was quickly wiped off his face and replaced with a startled expression the second he saw the flash of light. His head snapped towards your direction only to see you smiling and pulling the camera away from your face as it printed out the photo. Your hand grabbed the newly printed photo and started to shake it lightly, laughing as he looked like a deer in headlights.

"This was a trap?!"

You shook your head, "It wasn't a trap. Look! You caught some fireflies!"

His hands tightened around his jar of fireflies that he had worked so hard to catch. Those golden eyes shifted from you down to your empty jar.

"You haven't been trying to catch any..."

"Of course I have. I just have a different method than you."

Looking at the photo, you were quite proud of yourself. It perfectly captured the moment of Idia's victorious smile as he looked down at the bugs in the jar. All around him, several firefly lights could be seen shining, some even flying near his fiery hair in interest. It was perfect.

You smiled over at him once more as you carefully put the photo in the jar, and shut the lid.

"Look! I caught my firefly!"

[m1d-45]

just a small idea since you said you had a lil writers block: since wushi (lion dance) is used for important events/occasions and to honor special guests, maybe you could write about how ga-ming does a lil performance for creator?

- curse anon

vanguard’s fortune

note: this is not what you asked ! i thank you so much though

word count: 1k

-> warnings : written prior to 4.4, lots of “if you know you know” spoilers for liyue archon, story, and hangout quests, but nothin big

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept

< masterlist >

despite everything, ga ming knew he was lucky.

he certainly didn’t feel like he was. aside from his continued streak of bad luck at his performances, you never attended any of his shows and your vessels never gave him so much as a second glance. you’ve walked right by him on the street before—and yes, he knows you don’t ‘see’ most of liyue, but he was in the middle of a dance. he’s certain that word must have spread at least somewhat, but even when he put on a show during the last lantern rite, you didn’t attend. it was as if you didn’t even know he was there, skipping his meager stage to meet up with yun jin.

part of him wondered if you simply disliked liyue, but that was easily proven false. you took the time to accompany chongyun on his patrols, xiangling was more than happy to talk about when you’d helped her in a competition in mondstat, and you’d even fetched ingredients for the wangsheng consultant last year. it was the simple fact that you had nothing against liyue, and he was an outlier.

and yet, he was blessed. vision wielders were rare on their own, and only a thin sliver of them had constellations. he was incredibly lucky to be one of the few within your spotlight of attention, but he never felt the love that was supposed to come with it. yes, he had a vision, the lion carved on the back a figure he’s long memorized, but even the latest of liyuen rotations had a chance to exist by your side. though the others always tried to reassure him, their words fell flat. xingqiu had recieved his vision long before he became a vessel, but he had several turns in the sky to try. chongyun was largely ignored and ningguang was rarely missing from the jade palace, but that information didn’t help as much as they thought it did.

he didn’t care that he wasn’t a vessel (as much as one couldn’t care about such a thing) so much as he was ignored. you fought by ningguang’s side and helped yanfei out of the chasm, but he’d never even heard his name thrown your direction. it could be argued that he was being selfish or even egotistical, but he didn’t think so. sword and strongbox secure transport agency was a well-known name throughout liyue, and yet you’d never so much as heard a rumor. it didn’t affect his business—nor did he want your attention for business purposes—but with you helping a film show (at least now he knew you enjoyed theater) in fontaine, he may or may not have been hoping that yilong wharf’s name might have been passed your way.

it hadn’t been, though. his days went on and he continued his rounds as usual, doing his best to promote his dance and maybe getting a few mora thrown his way in return if he was lucky.

but that was fine. irritating, sure, but fine. liyue was in the tail end of preparations for this year’s lantern rite, and he was set on attending. as soon as the ministry of civil affairs opened applications for performers, he’d done his best to secure himself a stage. nobody had given him a secure word, though, saying that it was “up to divine guidance” as if your traveler hadn’t taken the transport up to the jade chamber last week. yes, you often found other things to do during lantern rite, digging into liyue’s past, but you still attended the scheduled events. you still walked the streets and saw the stalls, and there was no way that the entirety of the main road was already taken up when he’d made a point of asking early.

it was because they saw him as a guard first and a dancer second. most people did, and he was lucky they’d given him uncertainty over a guaranteed rejection. the only reason they did at all was because of the constellation etched into his vision, and he was lucky to have that too. he was lucky to have this chance when most street performers could only dream of performing at the lantern rite.

‘lucky.’ it was an accurate word, but one he was beginning to get tired of hearing.

it was fine, though. he was determined—his vision blazed as he left the ministry’s office, a constant warmth at his side—to prove himself, determined to perform for you. he didn’t know when his chance in the stars would be, or when he’d have his time by your side, but he would make the most of each day until then. when, not if, he did, he would do everything in his power to make the best impression possible.

he gave a few polite waves to various merchants as he walked through liyue, making the familiar trek over the bridge and past the gate. the millelith didn’t stop him, and he didn’t stop to say hello, only lingering long enough to acknowledge them with a quick nod. he knew liyue’s hills and they knew he did too, easily navigating to a quiet, flat space of plain. the threat of hillichurls was a constant outside the harbor, but he didn’t let that stop him, confident despite the growing twilight.

ga ming reached into his inventory and pulled on his mask, hands easily finding the controls for the massive puppet. he took a breath, then began to dance, his feet sweeping over the quiet grass.

he had no guarantee when or if he’d receive the chance to chance to win your favor. but if you chose to have him on your stage, he was determined to put on the best show you’d ever seen.

[kataang-week]

Trick or Treat, Kataangers!🎃

Katara and Aang sprites from Distant Horizon. Graphic created by Mod Belle @itsmoonpeaches.

🦇What is Kataang Halloween?

Kataang Halloween is a one-time, three-day mini-event hosted and created by @kataang-week on Tumblr for the first time this year. (However, there is potential for it to happen again in the future.) Kataang Halloween celebrates Kataang with a Halloween theme. All prompts were chosen by the mod team.

🦇Cool, when is it?

Kataang Halloween starts on Thursday, October 31, 2024, and ends on Saturday, November 2, 2024.

🦇What are the prompts?

In honor of Halloween, we're using lucky number 13! There are 13 prompts for each adventure.

"Trick" prompt list:

Old Spirits

Family Secrets

Altered State

Moonlight

Teeth

Demon Claws

The Deep

Offerings

Inner Palace

Lost

Grotto

Cliff Edge

Poison

"Treat" prompt list:

Taffy

Candied Haws

Lanterns

Mid-Autumn

Mooncake

Crunchy Leaves

Warm Drinks

Pumpkins

Chrysanthemum

Sharing

Toadstools

Apple Picking

Paint

🦇So how does this work?

Choose your own adventure! You can take inspiration from the Trick prompts, Treat prompts, or both! Feel free to mix and match prompts to create spooky and/or sweet Kataang content.

Anything you can think of counts as content as long as you fill one or multiple prompts at a time. Fanfics, fanart, gifsets, metas, edits, playlists, moodboards, music, etc.—the sky's the limit.

🦇What are the rules?

Please create your own original pieces. We do not accept AI-made fanworks.

We only accept new works created for Kataang Halloween, not works that are retroactively said to be created for Kataang Halloween. However, you may create something that fills a Kataang Halloween prompt for an ongoing work like a chapter fic or an ongoing series. See this ask for more information.

We accept all range of works. However, bear in mind that this is an all-ages event. If your work contains themes or imagery that may be intended for older audiences, tag and warn people thoroughly. Works with adult content must have an all-ages appropriate preview.

Do not repost other people's works. Reblog their original post if one exists.

If a creator/author/artist has requested you to post their work for them, remember to credit the original and link back to their page.

Be respectful in your fanworks and to others participating or enjoying the event.

🦇How should I tag my work?

The easiest way for us to find your work so we can reblog it to this blog is by using the tag “kataang halloween”. Using “kataang” and “kataangtag” also help. You must tag one of the three in your first five tags otherwise it doesn’t appear in the search. It is also helpful to tag us directly with @kataang-week.

Sometimes even properly tagged posts may not appear when we search the tags, so if you do not see your content reblogged, please let us know.

Once we’ve reblogged it to this blog we add our own tags (a prompt tag and a user tag) for easy organization. This means we can find all the work for one prompt or all the work from one user in one easy click (this also means that if you have changed your username since participating last year you need to let us know so we can update your tag!).

🦇Can I post my stuff other places online too?

Of course you can! However, we won’t be able to reblog anything that isn’t a Tumblr post.

For those of you who will be posting your works on AO3, feel free to add your fic to our Kataang Halloween AO3 collection.

🦇What if I have late submissions for Kataang Week 2024?

While we will not reblog any late submissions for Kataang Week 2024 during the Kataang Halloween event, late submissions for Kataang Week 2024 will still be accepted up until Kataang Week 2025, so don’t be shy and don’t worry about giving the world more Kataang content 💖 We always welcome it!

As always, if you have any questions, feel free to submit an ask to the Kataang Week blog. See you on Halloween, Kataangers!

🦇Who are the mods?

@airbender-dacyon AKA Mod Dan: A Kataang fanfic writer who prefers fluff, but also loves some drama and angst. Mod Dan started writing Kataang stories in 2013 and has helped organize Kataang Week since 2016.

@penguinsledder AKA Mod Atarah: A writer, gif maker, and musician–she enjoys fluffy young adult Kataang and all the ways they complement and parallel each other. She first joined Tumblr for Kataang Week 10 years ago, and started helping out with writing posts and making banners as a mod since 2016!

@itsmoonpeaches AKA Mod Belle: An avid Kataanger with a penchant for angst and mild violence who likes writing. Mod Belle has been a mod since 2021 and helps write posts and social media.

@chocomd AKA Mod Celes: Fanfic writer who adores Kataang for their fun and flirty side but also their bond forged through grief and loss. Mod Celes joined in 2023 and helps with a little bit of everything - whatever needs to be done!

[heliads]

whilst requests are open I have an idea to put forth after years of us discussing this man. Harry Hook x reader based on 'the way I loved you' by taylor swift. Childhood friends to lovers, to strangers to lovers again mayhaps? idk babes. Love you though, I hope your requests don't get out of hand again so you can stay stress-free!

eva i love you for sending this in, please let me talk about harry hook. he's insane and i cannot get enough of him

masterlist

You are lying on your bed in a dorm room in Auradon Prep, and if you close your eyes, you can almost convince yourself that you’re somewhere else entirely. Your roommate hung a lantern in the window, and with the glass pane cracked halfway, the light sways back and forth on the ceiling, painting shifting golden silhouettes on the perfectly painted ceiling. If you let the present world fade into the corners of your consciousness, you can pretend there are flaws in the endless pristine magnificence. You could even pretend that you aren’t on the continent at all.

No daughter of a princess should ever be anywhere but in Auradon. That’s the way it should have been, but you ran the second you got the chance and ended up amongst criminals and sons of thieves instead of with other prettily polished girls. Is it a terrible thing to admit that you miss it more than anything?

You shouldn’t, that’s the worst part. You left them willingly. As time passes, though, you’re starting to think that what you thought was one great fight with the so-called lowlifes of this world might have been the greatest time of your life. It’s like fording a raging river; while you’re in the thick of the waves, you think you might drown, but when you’re safe on the dry shore again, all you can think of is the coolness of the water, how the flood had sparkled like a thousand sapphires.

You shut your eyes and then you’re back again, just a kid, happier than you’ve ever been and twice as free. It had been easy to leave, actually, easier than it should have been. In your family, there were enough siblings and cousins and relatives that just one girl could go unnoticed. It’s not that Ariel intentionally tried to blur all of her daughters together in her memory, but it couldn’t be helped. She was one of seven daughters, and you were one of many as well. It wasn’t her fault, no, but it was your excuse anyway.

It turns out that nobody bats their eyes at a mermaid’s daughter when she’s running headlong towards the surf. You dove into the waves and came up to shore miles away. Your mother was terrified of losing any one of her children to the endless sea just as her father lost her to land, so none of you were allowed to stray that close to the beach. Of course you would see how far you could go the second you were unsupervised. Of course you would push the limits just to learn where you would break.

You ended up scaring the daylights out of a boy in a small sailing craft not far from the limits of the Isle of the Lost. You hadn’t meant to go that far, but you were giddy with the feeling of doing something wrong and he was trying to escape as well. He’d offered for you to hitch a ride with him so long as the wind was good. You thought that suited you well enough, so you took the hand he gave you and listened when he introduced himself as Harry Hook.

He said his name the same way you did, emphasis on the first name and not the last. It’s the exact opposite way any child of a prince or princess does, and you think that might have been why you liked him from the start. The sun shone overhead, and you talked to him about running away and taking to the sea and all the things you wanted to do if you just had time.

Neither of you wanted to leave, not really, but of course all good things have to come to an end at some point. You watched the sun sink lower and lower in the sky with all the dread of a doomed man going to the gallows. You must have looked seriously unhappy, because you remember Harry laughing and saying that you could meet him tomorrow, if you wanted. You wanted that more than anything, as it turned out, so you eagerly agreed.

Harry took you as far as he could towards Auradon again, and watched as you dove into the water. You can still remember how he’d watched you go, the way his eyes had tracked the water as if he could look at you forever, even after you disappeared from view. He stayed there for a long time before finally forcing his ship to turn around again. You’d know; you stayed there on the ocean floor watching him back until he was gone.

The next day, you slipped away to meet him again, and the next day, and the next. When you were caught trying to go out to the sea sometime in the second month, you fought until you could find a suitable excuse. Your mother was perfectly fine to let you go to some private school by the coast, it would mean one less child to keep track of. The papers were signed and agreements made before you could so much as blink.

You, of course, never went to that school. Instead, you showed up on Harry’s ship just like usual and told him that you wouldn’t be going back. Harry had been talking about a friend of his, Uma, and how she was forming a crew of her own larger pirate ship. You wanted in, and he couldn’t be more delighted to take you home.

You think you replayed the memory of him introducing you to Uma about a thousand times over in your head, and you’ll do it again tonight. The slats of the dock had been slippery under your feet, but you knew that so long as he was by your side, you would never once fall. Uma had looked at you questioningly, blue-green hair cascading down her shoulders, but Harry had hardly been able to tear his eyes away from you.

“This is Y/N,” he’d said, “she’s my friend.” He’d imbued the word with all the hope and grief and joy you could ever possibly attach to such an idea. Harry smiled as he said it, took your hand, let his eyes open comically wide so you’d know he was just joking when he mentioned that he’d jump overboard if Uma didn’t take you on.

Luckily for him, Uma had no problems with you. She saw something in you, the same sort of restless troublemaking spirit the rest of them had in spades. Before you knew it, you were quite literally learning the ropes of how to help out on Uma’s ship.

From there on out, everything was perfect. You watched the sun rise and set from the deck of a ship you could call home. When the weather was good, you spent all night and day out in the grasp of the world, and when the storms raged on, you hid belowdecks with the best friends you’d ever had. They wanted you, not your mother in a younger form, but you. Just you. It was wonderful.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that you would end up falling in love with Harry. You were hurtling towards that fate as fast as you could, running and sprinting towards the inevitability of it all. No one compared. No one had half as much influence over you as him. And, when he finally managed to tell you how he felt, you thought you might be able to take over the entire world with the sheer force thrumming through your veins.

Perhaps you should have taken that as a warning. The universe doesn’t care much for happy endings, you’ve learned, even for its fairytale heroes. Princesses grow old and fade into obscurity. Princes forget how to save the day. Villains live out their days with fantastic dreams that will never be achieved. You learn how to deal with adequacy, and pretend that it is enough for you.

You loved Harry because he was wild, your untamed, brilliant boy, but then you hated him for it, too. Just once, you wanted to walk into a room and know what he was going to say before he said it. Every word from his mouth was a dagger in your chest. Some days, he was a hopeless romantic, others, he was mad and uncontrollable. He never hurt you, but at least the pain of a blow would be something you could depend on and understand.

Your mother tried to find you about a year or two after you took to the sea, and you used that as your excuse to break up with him. Harry found out you would be returning to Auradon at the exact same time as the rest of the crew. You think he might hate you for it still. You think he would have reason to hate you for a lot, actually, most importantly that you were never quite enough to match him.

So you slipped away from the ship with the worst kind of goodbye, one that you did not mean, and you never looked back. You greeted your mother and agreed when she said that it was time you took up your studies at Auradon Prep. You joined the endless number of would-be princesses and princes and pretended that it was all you had ever needed in life. If you woke up sometimes with the sound of waves crashing in your ears, or felt the steady rock of a ship beneath your feet as you dreamt, you ignored it. Such illusions only belong to the past, and they will never be yours again.

You still have a jacket of his in the corner of your room; you brought it all the way over here, anywhere you go. You never had the heart to give it back. You don’t know that you could if you tried. It still smells like saltwater and laughter and sun-bleached him, and you have absolutely no idea what you will do when that familiar scent fades.

Still, you weren’t able to completely erase his influence on you. Children of villains arrived at Auradon Prep, and instead of running away from them, you befriended them as quickly as you could. Mal thinks like you do, her and the rest. You laugh like them– not quite as polite as you should be, but loud and beautiful and real. You hang out with them all the time and, when they talk about how much they wish they were back on the Isle of the Lost, you lie to yourself that you do not agree.

You never told them the full scope of your exploits, but they know part of it, enough that one day Mal knocks at your door and tells you that she needs your help on a pirate ship. She needs to get something from the Isle of the Lost, a mysterious ingredient for a spell, but they have to keep it a secret so they can’t use the bridge. The next best option, then, is to sail. It’s not a far destination, so it would work.

A thousand memories of sun and surf flash through your head, and you find yourself agreeing before Mal can so much as finish trying to convince you to go along with her plan.

Mal blinks in surprise. “Really? You’re sure? I thought you would have mixed feelings about that time in your life.”

You breathe out slowly, trying to calm yourself. “Certain things scare me more than others.” Certain people, that is.

Mal winces as she leads you out of your dorm and back into the hallway. “Actually, we might have a problem with that.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Mal casts you a nervous glance. “Before I continue, remember that you already agreed. I’m not letting you leave now.”

You laugh. “I’m starting to get worried. No, Mal, I’m not backing out. Just tell me already.”

Mal holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Never doubted you for a second. It’s just, well, we don’t have a ship at our disposal, obviously, so we’re borrowing one from Uma.”

You shrug. “I have no problem with that. Uma’s great.”

“Yeah,” Mal says, drawing out her syllables in an attempt to buy herself time, “but she insisted on having a skeleton crew present. You know, to make sure we wouldn’t run aground or something like that. That includes her first mate.”

Your head snaps up. “Harry’s going to be there?”

You can feel Mal’s gaze on you, but you refuse to look at her. Instead, you’re scanning the hallway, every door you pass, sure that he’s going to be waiting for you, leaning casually against a wall or peering out of a window or somewhere you could find if you just looked hard enough.

“He is,” Mal confirms, “is that going to be an issue?”

Yes. “No, I’ll be fine.”

You can’t really tell if Mal believes you or not, but then you’re rounding the corner and the rest of the VKs are in front of you, and the conversation must be dropped as Mal explains her plan. You’re going to join the four of them and Uma’s guys in piloting the ship over to the Isle of the Lost, where you’ll search for a talisman hidden somewhere on the island. Once the talisman is secured, you’ll head back. Easy as that.

Mal leads your group to a boathouse on the southern part of the shore. You take up a position in a corner of the room, hidden by the shadows. You suppose that’s why the pirates don’t see you immediately when they come in a matter of minutes later. You suppose you chose that place on purpose so you could get a good look at Harry without him seeing you.

He looks just the same. You don’t know why you thought he would change, that he would have to look different to explain how different you feel, but he’s the same. It makes a soft smile rise to your lips at the same time as the weight of all your memories pierces you through the heart.

Uma’s talking to Mal, doubt lacing her every word. “I hope you have a good idea of how to run a ship, because I don’t think any of your friends have the slightest clue what to do on the sea. That’s my territory, in case you forgot.”

“I know,” Mal says, temper just as strong as always, “that’s why I brought a friend.”

Harry arches a brow. “What friend?”

“That would be me,” you say, and step out of the shadows to face him.

For a moment, you swear that time stands still. Harry’s breath catches in his chest as he looks at you for the first time in months. He has never been one to show off weakness, always laughing off injury or claiming not to feel pain, but in this instant, you can see the shock lancing through his eyes, wracking his frame until he has no choice but to stand there and stare.

Uma breaks the silence, wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a grin. “Y/N, good to see you! I take it back, Mal. Y/N could captain a fleet of ships with her eyes closed.”

It’s easy, after that, to pull yourself together. Uma’s friendship is something familiar, a rock you can stand on. “I appreciate your confidence,” you reply, “good to see you too, by the way.”

“Of course,” Uma says dismissively, then adds somewhat unnecessarily, “Hey, Harry, look who it is!”

Harry swallows hard when Uma addresses him, tries to pretend he’s just like normal. “Yeah, I saw. Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey yourself,” you say quietly.

Evie looks at you nervously, then quickly speaks up. “So, should we get to the ship? We only have so much time before people start looking for us.”

Uma rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you guys are too popular, I get it. Ship’s docked outside.”

Harry takes this as his excuse to bolt out, and you watch him go with wide eyes. Evie heads over to you as soon as everyone’s attention is off you again. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” you whisper back through gritted teeth. Of course it is a lie. You couldn’t be more affected by this.

You avoid Harry the entire duration of the trip over to the Isle of the Lost. It’s difficult, especially when you push off from the shore and the wind is on your face again and everything is just like you remember. You tug a few lines into place, tie them down with the knots he taught you, and race to the bow as soon as you’re free.

You forgot just how wonderful it is to sail. You laugh delightedly as the ship picks up speed, skipping over the waves as the wind snaps the sails almost to bursting. This close to the surface of the water, you can’t hear anything, but you sense something anyway, and that’s how you know to lean back up and look to your side to see Harry standing there, smiling as he takes in the sight of you.

Your laugh dries up in a moment and you feel frozen there, trapped in this moment with him. Someone calls your name a second later and you’re able to spirit away to safety, but you can still feel his gaze burning like a brand into your back every moment until the ship docks at the Isle.

Mal announces that you’ll be splitting up in pairs so you can properly canvas the island for the talisman. Before you can look at her or Evie, Uma suggests that you and Harry work together, and the rest are already partitioned into pairs before you can fight it.

Fine, then. You’re certain he’s put her up to this, but you won’t give him a scene if he wants it. Instead, you march resolutely towards your assigned location, and pretend that you’re just really invested in finding the talisman so you can’t hear him when he tries to talk to you.

Eventually, Harry has enough and puts his hand on your arm, trying to get your attention. You spin back around by reflex, dagger in hand and held to his throat before Harry can get so much of a word out. The Isle has always brought out a different part of you, more of a villain than any princess’ daughter.

Instead of looking afraid, Harry just laughs. Usually, this is the time at which you’d join in, but you narrow your eyes and hold strong.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says when he’s finally able to get his laughter under control, “I don’t think your friends would like it very much if you killed someone on your little vacation to the island.”

You glare at him. “We’re not friends anymore, sweetheart, or have you forgotten that already?”

“When your knife is to my throat? Couldn’t forget that if I tried. Out of curiosity, why are we enemies again? I seem to remember you liking me very well just a couple of months ago.” Harry says, reaching up to tap your forearm where you still hold your blade.

You pull your dagger away but stand there still, thrumming with the urge to run. “We’re too different. You’re a villain, and I’m a perfect angel, obviously.”

Harry grins. “What, just because you’re the daughter of a princess? You’ve never let that come in between us before. You’re not Ariel, you’re Y/N, and I have always loved that about you.” Something like doubt flickers across his face. “Is that why you left? You thought you had to become more like her?”

You glance away from him, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “I left because I had to. We weren’t working out.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, and suddenly he’s the one in control now, he’s the one stepping forward until your back hits the wall and you have nowhere to run, “What was so wrong with us, Y/N?”

Your hands are shaking. Harry takes the knife from you, carefully sliding it back in the holster on your side. His hands linger there a second longer, and when he finally takes them away, you can’t tell if you’re glad of it or deeply unhappy that you can no longer feel him.

“We could never work,” you insist.

“Why not?” He replies, “Show me we could never work. Prove me wrong.”

Harry Hook has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, just as unpredictable as the sea that both of you love, but somehow you know it’s coming when Harry leans forward and kisses you. For a moment, you consider pushing him away, and then you realize that you do not hate this, not him, not in the slightest, not at all.

Surrender is not the worst thing in the world. Sometimes it’s like the release of a sail to the wind, the acceptance that even though you let a person go, they will always come back to you. You surrender the last of your inhibitions and you kiss him back. It is everything you missed, the fighting and the laughing, the good times and the bad all in one. It is all that you love about him and more, what you didn’t realize you held most dear until you were gone.

Harry breathes quietly against your lips and you breathe back, one small circle of in and out and together. He grins, says, was that really so bad? And you laugh and tell him to shut up, so he does, but only by kissing you again. The island can wait, the talisman and the life waiting back for you at school. You have your boy back, and you could not care about anything else.

requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @/thatfangirl42, @amortensie

[djarindroid]

Marry Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Daryl proposes to you under the stars (Established relationship. Setting- Alexandria)

Word Count: 712

Comments: I just wanna write endless fluffy fics for Daryl 💕

The evening breeze carried a feeling of peacefulness as you and Daryl sat outside. This had become routine for the two of you, after a long run or a day's hunt, you’d enjoy a quiet breath of fresh air together. The light from the porch lantern cast a soft glow over the both of you as Daryl meticulously cleaned his crossbow, each movement practised and methodical. 

You, perched up on the porch railing, stared at the clear night sky. You’d always found solace in the stars, sparkling way above you, not affected by any of the horrors down here on earth. You almost envied them, so removed from everything, but if you hadn’t faced the uncertainty of this world you wouldn’t be here, with the man you love. 

The amount of times Daryl had cleaned his crossbow allowed him to keep his eyes on you as he worked. His gaze was filled with nothing short of adoration as he watched the starlight dance across your skin. To be truthful, if he could spend eternity watching you gaze at the stars he’d be a very happy man. Deciding this was the perfect moment to break the comforting silence, he uttered two of the most important words he’d ever said. ‘Marry me.’ 

Instantly bringing your attention away from the sky you looked to Daryl, finding him watching you with a soft smile. His request settled around you, making the night air warmer as you felt a grin gradually spreading across your face. You hopped down from the railing and crossed the short distance of the porch to stand in front of Daryl. His eyes never leaving your face, he looked at you as if you were his whole world. You were sure the look on your own face was a mirror of his. 

You’d face everything you'd been through all over again if it meant you’d end up here, in this moment. You knew you’d do anything for the man in front of you, and couldn’t fathom a life without him.

You gently cupped his face with your hand, ‘You sure you wanna marry me D?’ You couldn’t help but ask, though you were sure of the certainty behind his words. 

‘Yeah,’ he responded without a second thought. The corners of his mouth lifted even higher as he added, ‘never been more sure of somethin’.’ He cupped one of your hands in his and tilted his head to place a delicate kiss on your palm. 

You always knew you’d spend the rest of your life with Daryl but hearing him so sure and eager to do so caused happiness to overwhelm every fibre of your being. It was so overwhelming that you couldn’t stop the tears that slowly rolled down your face. 

Daryl, ever the man of few words, spoke through his actions. Putting his crossbow to the side he stood up, his eyes stayed glued to yours. He brought his calloused hands up to tenderly cradle your cheeks, using his thumbs to delicately wipe your tears away.

‘Marrying me that bad huh? Didn’t think ya’d cry,’ he jested quietly as he rested his forehead against your own. You laughed quietly with him.

Saying yes to Daryl was as easy as breathing, ‘I’m just so happy and being Mrs Dixon is everything I could ever want,’ you confessed whilst lovingly wrapping your arms around his neck. Fireflies had circled around the two of you, as if the stars themselves had fallen to witness this moment of love that had survived the apocalypse.  

‘Good, because I dunno what I would’ve done with this if you’d of said no.’ He pulled out a simple silver ring from his pocket. It was perfect, not too flashy, just a perfect reminder of the connection between the two of you.

Time seemed to stretch around you as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger, the weight of its significance settled into your heart. Life was no longer about surviving, it was about building a future together. As you gazed into Daryl’s eyes, gratitude washed over you, thinking about how lucky you were. You knew the stars you loved to stare at didn’t contain all the answers, but in Daryl’s eyes you saw a galaxy shining just for you. 

[thatsoanjie]

When the wind settles

Sebastian Sallow x reader

Summary : After Ranrok was ended, a Goblin rebellion happened. This is 5 months after the rebellion, and everyone thought you were gone for good. Sebastian revisits Feldcroft in an attempt to find traces of you again, not knowing what's to come.

Word count : 1.5k

Notes : This one was a little heavier to write! Just had to get this one out of my mind.

TW : Mentions of su!c!dal ideation... read at your own discretion.

Read my disclaimer and fair use notice here

The ruins of Feldcroft lay still, a silent testament to the war that had ravaged the land. The village, once vibrant with life, was now a graveyard of memories, its cottages reduced to charred skeletons, its streets choked with debris. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and ashes, a grim reminder of all that had been lost. Snow had begun to fall again, soft and steady, as if the sky itself was mourning.

Sebastian Sallow stood in the center of what had once been his home, his heart as cold and lifeless as the stones scattered around him. It had been five months since the final battle of the Goblin Rebellion, five months since he had lost almost everything that mattered. Ominis and Anne were safe, and for that, he was grateful, but the knowledge did nothing to fill the void inside him.

Because you were gone.

The thought was a knife in his chest, a pain that had become as familiar as his own heartbeat. You had been his anchor, his hope, his everything. And now you were nothing more than a memory—a ghost that haunted his every waking moment. They had told him you were dead, that you had been lost in the chaos of the battle, your body never found. He had refused to believe it at first, had scoured the wreckage for any sign of you, but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the terrible truth had settled in.

You were gone. And there was nothing he could do to change that.

The guilt was a constant companion, a weight he could never shake. You had been the best of them, the light that had kept him going through the darkest times. And now that light was extinguished, leaving him to stumble through the shadows alone.

He had come back to Feldcroft because there was nowhere else to go. The world outside was trying to rebuild, to move on, but Sebastian was stuck in the past, trapped in a moment that he couldn’t escape. The ruins of Feldcroft were all that was left of his old life, a desolate reflection of the emptiness he carried inside him. 

He wandered through the village, his steps slow and heavy, his mind lost in the memories of what had once been. He could still see it, as if the echoes of the past were imprinted on the air—the laughter of children playing in the streets, the warm glow of lanterns in the windows, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the cottages. But those memories were like ghosts, insubstantial and fleeting, impossible to hold on to.

Just like you.

Sebastian’s breath hitched as he reached the edge of the village, where the land sloped down toward the river. This had been your favorite spot, the place where you had always come to find peace, to escape from the burdens of the world. He could almost see you there, standing by the water, your hair catching the light as you turned to smile at him.

But it was just a memory. Just another ghost.

He closed his eyes, the ache in his chest unbearable. He didn’t know how to keep going without you, didn’t want to keep going. The world was a darker place without you in it, and he was so tired of stumbling through the shadows, of trying to find his way in a world that no longer made sense.

But then, through the silence, he heard it—a sound so soft, so faint, that at first, he thought it was just the wind. But it came again, more distinct this time, a footstep crunching in the snow behind him.

His heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat. He turned slowly, afraid to look, afraid to hope. And then he saw you.

You were standing just a few feet away, your figure half-hidden by the falling snow, your eyes wide with shock and something else—something that mirrored the grief and yearning that had been eating away at him for so long.

For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, to reconcile the image of you standing before him with the brutal reality he had been living in. It couldn’t be real. You were gone. You were a ghost.

“Sebastian,” you whispered, your voice trembling as if you, too, were afraid that this was just a dream, that you might wake up at any moment and find yourself alone again.

He shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re not real,” he said, his voice breaking as he took a step back, his hands trembling at his sides. “You can’t be real.”

“Sebastian, it’s me,” you insisted, your voice thick with emotion as you took a step toward him, your hand reaching out as if to reassure him, to prove that you were real, that you were here.

He flinched, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at you, his mind screaming that this couldn’t be happening, that you were just a figment of his imagination, conjured by his grief and longing. “You’re dead,” he whispered, his voice raw with the pain that had been festering inside him for months. “They told me you were dead.”

“I almost was,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath. “I was hurt, Sebastian—badly. But I survived. I made it to one of the camps, and they healed me. After that, I helped wherever I could—healing, rebuilding, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. But my work there was done, I had nothing keeping me there. I had to find you.”

He stared at you, his heart breaking all over again at the sight of the tears in your eyes, the grief and love that shone in them. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. “I thought you were gone, and I didn’t know how to keep going without you.”

You took another step closer, your hand brushing against his arm, warm and solid and so achingly real. “I’m here now,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet, unshakable determination. “We’re both here, Sebastian. We survived.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight with the tears he had been holding back for so long. “It should’ve been me,” he choked out, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to suffer like that. I should’ve been the one to die, not you.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice laced with a fierce, desperate kind of love. “Don’t you ever say that, Sebastian. We both fought, we both survived. And now we’re here. Alive.”

He hesitated, his heart warring with his mind, his grief and guilt battling against the overwhelming relief of having you in his arms again. “I thought I’d lost you,” he repeated, his voice breaking as he finally let himself believe what he was seeing, let himself believe that you were really here, that this wasn’t just a cruel trick of his imagination.

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, your touch grounding him, anchoring him in the reality of the moment. “I’m right here,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the depth of your emotions. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you, Sebastian. Not now. Not ever.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. With a broken sob, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could, as if he could somehow make up for all the lost time, for all the moments he had thought he would never have with you again. You clung to him just as fiercely, your tears soaking into his shirt as you buried your face in his chest, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to steady yourself.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words spilling out of him in a rush, as if he had been holding them back for too long. “I love you. I should have told you before, but I was too scared, too afraid of what might happen. But I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “I always have, Sebastian. And I’m not going to let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, pouring all of his love, all of his grief, all of his yearning into that one kiss. It was a kiss filled with the promise of tomorrow, with the hope of a future that he had thought was lost. And as he held you in his arms, surrounded by the ruins of Feldcroft, the wind swirling around you like a shroud, he knew that he had found you again.

And that was enough.

***

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Requests are open.

[luimagines]

Since requests are open... may we perhaps have the Chain with an SO who's really into astronomy and space? Just the biggest star and planet nerd to ever walk Hyrule.

(Totally not inspired by my own geeking out over how gorgeous the night sky is in TOTK, nope, not at all).

I'm going to have to do some research for this one. ^.^* But I'll do it for you, Nordic!!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

The ship rocked softly back and forth on the seas, cradling the sleeping heroes as the moon gently draped the bedazzled sky with it's softer toned light.

Wind was still awake, as were you. Both of you were trying to keep the course of the ship on the right track.

Your lantern light was the closest thing you had for a light source to look at your maps and charts. You consider yourself lucky to have this on hand. Only Wind seemed as well versed in the stars as you were, hence the agreed upon decision to leave you both to your devices while everyone else went to sleep in the hammocks the small ship provided.

Wind was silent as he stood by the wheel.

You mapped out the course for the next island you were to make land, following your previous notes and comparing them to a map you had purchased before you had set sail.

A short sigh escaped your lips as you started to pack up. You couldn't keep doing this. Your eyes were strained and the moon made it difficult to see the needed stars for you figure out if you were going the right direction. You'll give it an hour or two- let the moon move further across the night sky and then start recharting what you needed.

"Going to bed?" Wind asked quietly.

You shook your head. "I'm tired, but I'm not going to leave you alone just yet."

An bitter chuckle tumbled from your lips as you stretched. Your spine and ribs popped and cracked from the needed release of strain. You saw Wind flinch but ignored it.

"If only it wasn't the full moon tonight. It would make this a lot easier."

"I can't even see the Farore Constellation." Wind sighed in despondent agreement. "I know these stars... but we're technically sailing over an island right now, so I doubt I'd actually be of much use as a navigator."

You snort. "That's why I'm up with you and not sleeping in the hull of the ship with the other guys."

There's no other sounds afterwards. There's a moment of stillness, save for the callings of the wind and the waves in their frequent call and response symphony.

"I've actually never been on a ship before." You admit, breaking the moment.

Wind jolts, almost as if he was startled awake. He tilts his head with a cheeky smile growing on his face. "Really? You're a natural at navigating. I never would have guessed."

That sets your frustrations at ease for a bit. You sit down against the railing, turning your body to talk to more experience sailor. "I just like looking at the stars for fun."

"Fun?" Wind gets a credulous look as he giggles. "I just knew the stories I was told as a kid. But I wouldn't say that comparing them to maps was fun."

"I know the stories too, sir and it's fun for me." You rolls your eyes playfully. "It just means we make a good team. I wouldn't be able to steer the ship for the life of me."

"You literally just turn the wheel left or right."

"I'd steer us right into a cliff face."

Wind giggles again.

"You actually know what you're doing but I actually know where we're going." You grin. "It works out."

"I guess so." Wind shrugs. "Better us than any of the others guys."

"They'd capsize the ship."

"Don't joke like that. Bad luck."

You smile. You don't necessarily believe in luck, but you've heard sailors to be the suspicious sort. You'll let him have this. "I retract my statement then. How far along are we following The Star of Demise?"

"About 15 knots, why?"

"Change coarse to sail towards Nayru's Trident." You grin. "We'll hit land fall by morning."

"Perfect."

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Seven

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.9k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

As you stand at the edge of the lake, Morpheus' words echo in your mind. The peacefulness of the scene is interrupted by a gentle tug at your consciousness. The next moment, you find yourself back in the palace, surrounded by bustling staff.

They flutter around you, their excitement palpable. You catch snippets of their conversation as they work, their voices light and musical. A celebration. Dressing up. Well if they were so excited you’d go along with them!

"The celebration day in the market! It's always such a grand event."

"And we finally have someone to prepare for it!"

You can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. One of them—a young woman with bright eyes and quick hands—gently guides you to a chair. She gestures for you to sit, her face alight with joy.

"We have something special for you," she says, her tone full of anticipation.

Another staff member brings out a dress unlike any you've ever seen. It's woven from stars and galaxies, the fabric shimmering and shifting as if alive. You reach out to touch it, feeling the cool, silky texture under your fingers.

"It's beautiful," you whisper, awe-struck.

The young woman beams at you. "It was crafted especially for this occasion. We thought it fitting for someone so unique."

They help you into the dress with practiced ease, each movement precise and gentle. As they fasten the last clasp, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror. The dress hugs your form perfectly, the celestial patterns swirling around you in an enchanting dance.

"How do I look?" you ask, turning to face them.

The staff step back to admire their work, their faces lighting up with pride.

"Like a dream," one of them says softly.

Another staff member approaches with a delicate tiara adorned with tiny stars that twinkle softly. You wanted to tell them that it was a little overboard, but they were so excited to tend to you, you didn't have the heart to say no. They place it gently on your head, adjusting it until it's just right.

"There," they say, stepping back once more. "Now you're ready."

The palace staff usher you outside, their excitement bubbling over. The bridge connecting the palace to the town is lined with lanterns that glow like captured fireflies, casting a warm, inviting light. You hurry across, eager to experience your first festival in the Dreaming. As you step into the market square, the air buzzes with life. Stalls stretch as far as you can see, each more fantastical than the last.

To your left, a vendor sells bottles filled with dreams. The glass containers shimmer with colors that shift and swirl, reflecting scenes of soaring through clouds or swimming with bioluminescent creatures in deep oceans. You watch as a child selects a bottle, her eyes wide with wonder. She uncorks it and is instantly enveloped in a soft, radiant glow.

"Best dreams in the land," the vendor boasts, his grin as wide as the sky.

Next to him, another stall offers nightmares. Unlike the dreams, these bottles are dark and opaque, their contents hidden from view. A hooded figure examines one carefully before nodding and exchanging coins for it.

"Why would anyone want a nightmare?" you wonder aloud.

The vendor catches your eye and smiles knowingly. "Not all nightmares are bad. Some teach us valuable lessons."

You continue down the row, drawn by the rich scent of exotic spices from a nearby stall. The vendor there waves you over enthusiastically.

"Try this," he urges, handing you a small pouch filled with vibrant red powder. "It's made from the dreams of ancient warriors."

You take a pinch and sprinkle it on your tongue. A rush of heat floods your senses, followed by visions of epic battles and heroic feats. Your heart races with adrenaline and you hand itches to snatch a blade from your waist and toy with it. A blade which you do not have.

"Impressive," you manage to say, breathless, looking down to double check that you indeed, do not have a sword or dagger hanging from the skirt of your dress.

Further along, a group of musicians plays instruments crafted from moonbeams and stardust. Their melodies weave through the air, enchanting everyone who hears them. You pause to listen, feeling the music resonate deep within your soul.

A little further down the path, an artist paints canvases with scenes from people’s dreams. Each brushstroke seems to bring the image to life—trees that sway in an unseen breeze, rivers that shimmer like liquid silver. You watch in awe as she transforms a blank canvas into a vivid dreamscape.

"Would you like me to paint yours?" she asks without looking up from her work.

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head gently. You didn't quite feel like yourself and didn't want a portrait to reflect that. "Not today."

She nods in understanding and continues painting.

As you wander through the market, you realize that every vendor offers not just goods but experiences—each one unique and deeply personal. You are so glad you decided to come. To think you might have missed this! The air hums with magic and possibility, making it clear why this celebration is so beloved by all who attend.

As you stroll through the bustling market, you catch a whiff of something sweet and buttery. Your stomach rumbles in response, reminding you that you haven't eaten since arriving in the Dreaming. Following the tantalizing aroma, you find a stall adorned with golden pastries. Each one sparkles as if dusted with tiny flecks of sunlight.

"Care to try one?" a gravelly voice asks.

You turn to see Mervyn standing behind the counter. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, a rare sight for someone usually so stern.

"Don't mind if I do," you reply, reaching for a pastry.

Mervyn chuckles and hands it to you with a flourish. "Golden flour, harvested from the fields of dawn. Best you'll ever taste."

You take a bite and your taste buds sing in delight. The pastry is warm and flaky, with a hint of honey that lingers on your tongue. Mervyn watches you with amusement as you savor each bite.

"Good, huh?" he asks, leaning against the counter.

"Better than good," you say between mouthfuls. Did golden flour actually have gold in it? The glimmering flecks were suspicious enough but the treat tasted so good! "Heavenly."

He grabs another pastry and breaks it in half, offering you one piece. You accept it gratefully, and proceed to gobble it down. As you finish the last crumb, something catches your eye. Across the square, half-hidden in shadow, stands Morpheus. His dark jacket billows slightly in the breeze, and his piercing eyes scan the crowd with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

Mervyn follows your gaze and grunts. "Always watching, never joining."

You nod absently, unable to tear your eyes away from Morpheus. He moves with an almost ethereal grace, slipping through the throng without drawing attention. For a moment, his gaze locks onto yours, and a shiver runs down your spine.

"He's got his reasons," Mervyn continues, pulling your attention back to him. "Always does." But is that not lonely?

You decide to go over to Morpheus and say hello so he isn't alone. Leaving the warmth of Mervyn's side, you weave through the crowd, each step bringing you closer to the Dream Lord that has occupied your thoughts since you have met him.

As you approach, Morpheus turns his head slightly, acknowledging your presence with a subtle nod. His eyes, dark as the night sky, hold a depth that makes you feel both seen and understood in ways words could never capture.

"Enjoying the festival?" he asks, his voice smooth and velvety, resonating with an otherworldly quality. His eyes drink in your figure, lingering on the dress you wear for the evening—a flowing, ethereal gown that seems to shimmer with the light of a thousand stars. His stars look so beautiful wrapped around your body.

You smile, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through you under his gaze. "I am. It’s beautiful, Morpheus. You’ve truly outdone yourself."

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. "Not as beautiful as you," he replies softly, his eyes tracing the lines of your dress. "The gown suits you exquisitely."

A rush of heat rises to your cheeks, the compliment making your heart flutter. "Thank you," you say, your voice a bit breathless. "It’s an honor to be here, to see the Dreaming like this. And this dress, I've never worn anything like it before, it's incredible," you reply, feeling a flutter in your chest. "But I noticed you standing here alone. Thought I'd keep you company."

A small smile tugs at the corner of the corner of his lips. "Your presence is appreciated."

You feel a flutter in your chest as his gaze lingers on yours, the intensity of his eyes making you feel like you're the only person in the crowded market square. His smile, though subtle, holds a hint of warmth that draws you in.

"Tell me more about this festival," you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "What's its significance in the Dreaming?"

Morpheus' eyes light up, and he leans in, his voice taking on a narrative quality. "The Festival of Dreams is a celebration of the Dreaming's power. It's a time when the veil between reality and the Dreaming is at its thinnest, allowing us to tap into the deepest desires of those who sleep."

As he speaks, his words paint vivid pictures in your mind. You can almost see the threads of the Dreaming weaving together, connecting the sleepers to the world of the awake. A shame they won't remember when they will wake.

"The festival has been celebrated for eons," Morpheus continues, his voice weaving a spell around you. "When my realm is at it's most powerful and dynamic."

You are captivated as Morpheus shares stories of the festivals that came before, at least when he was present. His fervor for his realm is contagious, and you feel yourself caught up in his excitement. A ruler that truly cared about his people, his realm.

As the night wears on, Morpheus glances up at the sky, his eyes locking onto something beyond the lanterns. "Come," he says, his voice low and husky. "I want to show you something."

He offer's you his hand, and that makes your stomach flutter. It wasn't like you were anything special, just a narcoleptic dream walker.

Morpheus leads you away from the bustling festival, weaving through the crowd with a graceful confidence that only an Endless could possess. You follow closely, your heart racing with excitement and anticipation as you venture further into the realm.

The further you travel from the market square, the more the noise of the festival fades away, replaced by a silence that feels almost reverent. The only sound is the soft swish of your dress and Morpheus's footsteps as he guides you to an open field, where the stars above are reflected in the dewdrops on the grass. You are more than surprised that your heels have yet to cause you pain or discomfort.

"This way," he whispers, gesturing up at the sky.

Your eyes follow, and you gasp in awe as you take in the breathtaking sight before you. The sky above is ablaze with cosmic forces, nebulae and planets breaking apart and reforming in a dance as old as time itself. Well, almost, Father Time predated the cosmos, only just. The colors are unlike anything you've ever seen, shades of indigo and violet mingling with the warm hues of red and gold, casting an ethereal glow over the field.

Morpheus steps closer, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. A true dichotomy. “This is the true power of the my realm," he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the rustling of the leaves in the wind. "The forces that shape our world, and the worlds of those who sleep. Ever changing and remolding itself to the whims of humanity, much like sand.

You find yourself lost in the beauty of the cosmos, your heart pounding in your chest as you take it all in. Morpheus stands beside you, his gaze fixed on the sky. You can feel his warmth against your side, and the air between you seems to crackle with tension.

"You have a unique perspective," he says softly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Most never get to see this world as it truly is."

His words hang heavy in the air, and you can't help but wonder what he means by "unique perspective." Is it because of your ability to walk between dreams? Or that you are mortal? Or is there something else?

Morpheus turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours. "I am eternally grateful for what you did," he says, his voice low and husky. "When I could not help my people, you stepped in and saved them."

Your heart races at his words, and you feel a flush creeping up your neck. You had only been trying to help them; you never expected him to be so grateful. But there's something else in his eyes—something that makes your stomach flutter and your pulse quicken. Is it admiration? Or something more?

"Thank you," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to help."

Morpheus takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "There's more to it than that," he says softly. "You have a connection to this realm—a connection that goes beyond mere dreams."

Your heart skips a beat as he speaks, and you can't help but wonder what he means by that. Do you truly belong here—in the Dreaming—more than in the waking world? And if so, what does that mean for your future?

Morpheus reaches out and gently cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing the line of your jawline. You feel a jolt of electricity pass between you as his fingers brush against your skin, and for a moment, everything else fades away except for the two of you standing beneath the stars above.

"You are special," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "And I want to show you just how special you are."

His words makes your stomach flip as he leans closer—so close that your lips are almost touching—and for a moment, everything else fades away except for the two of you beneath the cosmic dance above. Soft stardust shimmering down like a drizzle of rain. But before your lips can meet, Morpheus pulls back suddenly, leaving you breathless and confused. What the hell just happened? Had you really been about to kiss an Endless??

You wake up in bed for once.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you sit up, gasping for breath. The room around you is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon through your window. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to touch your cheek, half-expecting to feel Morpheus' lingering touch.

But you're alone, in your bed, back in the waking world.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The dream felt so real, so vivid. You can still feel the electric charge of Morpheus' presence, the warmth of his hand on your cheek. The memory sends a shiver down your spine.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, needing to shake off the remnants of the dream. Your room feels strangely empty, as if a piece of it is missing now that you're awake. You walk to the window and look out at the quiet street below, your mind still buzzing with the images of the festival and the cosmic dance in the sky.

As you gaze out at the night, you hear a soft rustling behind you. You turn quickly, half-expecting to see Morpheus standing there. But there's no one. Just your room, filled with shadows and moonlight.

You let out a sigh and run a hand through your hair. "Get a grip," you mutter to yourself. "you're narcoleptic not a hopeless romantic, it was just a dream."

Okay maybe you are a hopeless romantic….

But deep down, you know it was more than that. You've always had a connection to the Dreaming—a connection that feels stronger now than ever before. And Morpheus' words linger in your mind: "You are special."

You close your eyes and take another deep breath, trying to center yourself. When you open them again, you notice something on your nightstand—a small vial filled with shimmering dust. You pick it up carefully, turning it over in your hand.

"Stardust," you whisper, recognizing it from the festival.

How did it get here? Did Morpheus leave it for you? Or is this another trick of the Dreaming?

Your fingers tighten around the vial as a sense of determination fills you. If there's one thing you've learned from your journeys through dreams, it's that nothing happens by chance. Everything has meaning. Always.

You place the vial back on your nightstand and climb back into bed, pulling the covers up around you. As you close your eyes, you make a silent promise to yourself: you'll chase after whatever this is, regardless of your narcolepsy. Sleep comes quickly this time, pulling you back into its embrace like an old friend. And it is. The stars above twinkle softly as if whispering secrets just for you.

Date Published: 8/21/24

Last Edit: 8/21/24

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[armandisdaddy]

I Will Break You

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (Pirate) x Fem OC (Mermaid/Siren)

Word Count: 1,700

Content/Warning(s): !!18 PLUS!!, Non-Con/ Dub-Con, Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Attempted Drowning, Abduction, Obsession, Toxic.

Author’s Notes: This is set within The Golden Age of Piracy (1650 to 1726). I don’t know why I thought of this, but I think the best stories are the ones that just pop into your head. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1.

King’s Landing knew him as “Aemond One-Eye” or “The Kinslayer”. He had become a well-known enemy of the monarchy. After killing his nephew; Lucerys in cold blood he escaped his execution by a hair and in the midst of his exile he created a band of the most ruthless criminals he could find to sail across The Narrow Seas and reek havoc on any unsuspecting ships and pillaging any lands nearby. Many men aboard “Vhagar” spoke of the mysterious sirens that plagued the seas and took many men to an unpleasant death.

Aemond listened to the tall tales and wondered if they’d ever encounter a swarm of them and if they did would they live to tell the tale? It was a rather misty night with the moon high and the entire crew was asleep. Aemond did not sleep often he was usually up planning his next attack. The sea was strangely calm putting Vhagar on a steady course. The sounds of faint splashes against the small waves and soft singing alerted him and he left his cabin to go on deck.

He held a lantern in his hand as he walked across looking out into the thick haze and he saw a glimpse of feminine face. He called out into the darkness. “Hello is anyone out there?! Do you need to come aboard?” All he could hear was the sweet sounds of a woman singing. It was alluring; seductive. He started to lose his train of thought with the melody wrapping itself around him. The sounds of the sea became muffled once those sea green eyes found his and his body moved uncontrollably toward the port side of the ship desperately climbing over it to get to that sickeningly sweet voice.

Without warning one of his men pulled him back aboard just as he was going to plummet into the darkness which was not an easy task. Aemond fought him tooth and nail trying to get to that sound. “No! No! She’s calling me!!!” He finally held his hands over as his ears. “Captain! Fight it!! Ye’ cannot follow the sound. It will lead you to your death!” He pulled him below and smacked the living daylights out of him. He finally stopped wailing like a mad man. He realized he was drenched in sweat and his chest heaved heavily.

“Daeros..? What…what happened?” He ran his fingers through his hair feeling as though his heart was longing for something that he could not reach. It was a dull ache that he wished to be rid of. “Captain..ye’ were bewitched by a sea devil. Ye’ must resist the lot of them or it will be eternity in Davey Jones Locker for ye’.” This particular creature had been following them for quite some time. She had the sapphire within Aemond’s skull by chance one night and she wished to pluck it from his eye socket and save it for the rest of her collection of shiny or precious things.

She had been observing him for quite sometime noting how the darkened circles under his eyes never left and he often seemed without rest. He was the only one on board who didn’t use precautions and stuff his ears like the rest of his crew. Obviously he did not believe in her kind’s existence and his ignorance would be the death of him. But tonight she was deterred and obviously angered by the interference of another. She almost had him she thought. She found refuge within a nearby cove and thought of what to do next.

Daeros left Aemond to get some rest but instead he stared at the ceiling of his room thinking of that voice and those eyes he would never forget them. The next day the sky was clear and the mist dissipated. Aemond wandered into the deck tired as usual still not finding rest. He sighed with that creature still on his mind. It haunted him so such a dreaded creature with eyes that pulled him closer and closer to his demise and yet he would risk it just to see them again.

Nights had passed and there was no sign of her, but she was there watching and waiting. He was expecting her again and she knew it she could tell by the way he roamed the deck when the moon was high. He paced back and forth and stayed there until dawning hoping to hear her song again. Finally, after days of them pillaging another unsuspecting village they stayed docked for a while making plans to set sail the next day and she knew this was her last and only chance. He had decided to take refuge as large water pool where it stood stagnant away from the harsh waves. He knew he was being watched small splashes alerted him, but he stayed calm and never showed that he knew she was there.

He smirked to himself whistling while the reflection of the moon rested on the body of water. Then in the distance he heard her and his heart fluttered with anticipation. He would finally have his chance, he could see her head peaking from the water far enough for her to swim away and deep enough to pull him to a watery grave, he stood to his feet instantly become captivated by the sound of her voice. Her voice pulled him in and the feeling the ice cold waters didn’t even make him flinch she had him where she wanted him so she swam forward wrapping her arms around him.

He finally saw her face. She was alluring and ethereal. He’d travelled the world and he hadn’t seen such beauty until her. Her wet tresses were as black as the sea and her eyes as deep as the ocean itself. She reached to pull away his eye patch, but was met with the dull sting of a knife being pushed into her tail. Her cries of pain were inhuman it almost sounded like a banshee screeching. He smiled at his victory and the pain her eyes held. She thrashed about trying to escape him and he didn’t fight to let her go, but just as she thought she could flee a net was thrown her, tangling around her.

She fought with all her might, but the pain and loss of blood began to slowly deteriorate her energy. His crew pulled her ashore and carried her away onto his boat. She was to be held below deck within a tub like a pet. Aemond came down to see her and help the wound he caused and she wasn’t happy to see him in the slightest. She hissed at him as her body laid with something that gave off the look of a tub. Her right arms was chained to the floor. Her instinct to push back and make herself smaller as he came closer made her feel helpless. She looked for an exit anywhere being inside of this thing.

“I will not hurt you again. So long as you don’t try to drown me again. Deal?” If looks could kill hers would rip him apart. He chuckled to himself and took the rag with ointment on in and began dabbing it against the wound. “I guess…you don’t speak my language…hmm..I heard your kind looked grotesque and hideous, but you….you are far from hideous.” She flinched and hissed from the stinging pain. “I’m sorry about that, but you would’ve gotten away from me…I couldn’t let that happen.” She stayed silent listening to him talk all the while planning how she could somehow find her way back to the sea.

“Don’t get any ideas…you should get used to seeing me. We are headed back to my home and you are to stay with me. I heard that after some exposure to the dry elements you sprout legs. A painful transition I suppose, but it can’t be helped. You will never see the sea again, well from your window you will.” She could feel tears flowing down her face something rather unfamiliar. She detached from the moment thinking of her sisters that she was leaving behind and the ocean that she loved so dearly. He was to hold her captive like some prized possession and she was going to be helpless.

“P..please…” She muttered lowly. He looked up in surprise. “So you do speak…Wonderful. You will learn to get use to what will now be your life. I can be very pleasant if you can learn to behave.” Her face twisted and she bared her fangs and extended jaw at him. “There she is…you didn’t like that word. I know you don’t know what it is to be tamed…but I will bend you to my will one way another.” He dug his fingers into the wound causing her to screech trying to pull away from him but she was too weak. “Please!!!!” Was all she could say unfortunately it was the only word she knew.

He pulled away and savoring the sounds of her screams. “I will be back to check on you…we will be home soon.” She fell into the tub wrapping her arms around herself and shaking. The rocking of the boat reminded her of the push and pull of the ocean and eventually she fell asleep. She thought it was all a nightmare. But she was awakened by excruciating pain. It felt as though her tail was being ripped apart. She screamed out, tears pooling in her eyes. Hearing her screams he ran to her aid and saw the most gruesome scene.

Her tail was becoming two and her scales were falling off blood pooled within the tub and she reached for him hoping he could make it stop. He for a second felt empathy wanting to throw her back into the dark sea, but he wanted her with him and he could not let her get away. Instead he pulled her from the tub and into his lap wrapping his arms around her as they sat on the floor. It was to be a long night and an even longer day once they got to his home.

To be continued….

@izzy-the-ginger

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hi. Can I get a scenario where Hu Tao realizes that she is in love with s/o? Like they've been dating but she finally falls in love with them

(Genshin Impact) Hu Tao realizing she's in love

I've had this pulled up for five actual hours and kept getting distracted by Halo Infinite and watching Dredd. I have the attention span of a squirrel.

To say that Hu Tao was strange would be an understatement.

Her idea of fun is relentlessly pranking her friends and any unfortunate soul who was in her sight.

Not helping matters is the fact she despises doing nothing, which means she always has to be doing something.

There are many she'd call a friend, but there aren't many who were willing to go along with her shenanigans, at least to the rate of where they can catch up.

But, there was one person who managed that feat, much to her delight!

Ever since meeting her S/O, Hu Tao's life was filled with even more enjoyment than before!

Someone she could actively terrorize with her pranks, or get firsthand accounts of her newest poems was a dream come true.

Well, whether or not her S/O enjoyed the pranks, that was up for debate.

But they liked her, so it probably counts.

On the days that S/O was busy, she noticed that the day seemed to crawl slower than usual.

She couldn't put a reason as to why, until she finally got to be by their side again.

At which time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time.

===

(Hu Tao) "BOO!"

Hu Tao leapt from the corner of the streets of Liyue Harbor, hands outwards in an attempt to spook her S/O.

And judging by their smile, it didn't really work.

(S/O) "Hey, Hu."

Hu Tao pouted and crossed her arms.

(Hu Tao) "You didn't have the reaction I wanted!"

S/O rolled their eyes playfully.

(S/O) "Well, when you do that every single week, I kind of just start expecting it."

Hu Tao hummed in acknowledgement, walking by S/O's side as they walked down the street. The lanterns lit the night sky, the Harbor glowing a bright orange and illuminating their way home.

Many people were still out and about or heading home, but this was the time Hu Tao felt the most energetic.

(Hu Tao) "Now that you're off work, how about we grab something to eat?"

(S/O) "Sure. I can cook something for us when we get back home."

(Hu Tao) "Aaaww, are we going straight there? This is the first time I got to see you in a while, we can at least loiter about for a liiiittle longer!-"

(S/O) "It's been two days since you saw me-"

(Hu Tao) "That's forever to me!"

S/O couldn't help but chuckle, finally admitting defeat and indulging her.

(S/O) "Okay okay, we'll take the scenic route back home."

Hu Tao smiled in satisfaction, but her expression softened as she gently took S/O's hand into her own, their brisk walk now slowing down so they could enjoy their time together.

Her hand slightly fidgeted, her thumb idly rubbing the back of S/O's hand as they leaned in a little closer so their arms could be touching. An action that reddened Hu Tao's cheeks.

This was not her first time getting so close to them, but whenever it was just the two of them, her heart seemed to race.

Hu Tao turned her glance over to S/O. Their smile was soft but distinct. No doubt they were tired from getting off work and directly bumping into her. Yet here they were, going along with her.

(Hu Tao) "...Just like always."

(S/O) "Huh?"

(Hu Tao) "O-Oh! Just like always, you never fail to disappoint!"

(S/O) "I think I'll disappoint you by rejecting your next offer of 'hanging out' with Qiqi."

(Hu Tao) "Hey! For your information, I'm not that mean to her! And I resent the fact she wants to hang out with you more than me!"

(S/O) "Well you did try to bury her-"

Hu Tao began pouting once again before her feigned annoyance was shattered hearing their laughter.

Their smile seemed to sparkle in the moonlight, accompanied by an affectionate look, one that was only meant for her.

S/O looked at her for a few moments before their expression changed quickly to concern.

(S/O) "...Hu? You alright? You look like you're staring off into space."

(Hu Tao) "...Nah, just staring at something better!"

(S/O) "Something better?"

Hu Tao shook her head, letting go of their hand for a brief moment and turning around to face them as they approached the rest of the bustling streets of Liyue.

She playfully ran ahead, with S/O lightly jogging to catch up.

Hu Tao wouldn't tell them, but it was also so she could regain her composure. Any more of their smile in the moonlight and she'd probably lose it.

After a few moments of speeding up their return home, Hu Tao turned to S/O and asked a question.

(Hu Tao) "Say, have you heard any of my love poems before, S/O?"

(S/O) "Hm...Can't say those ones you've divulged to me."

(Hu Tao) "Perfect, I can start making one now then!"

===

Bonus Full Image of Hu Tao being cute:

Can't believe I slept on her character for so many years. Gremlin pyro wife my beloved

[milliesfishes]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚𝓕𝓪𝓲𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓼𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

[fem reader] contains: fluff <3 pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: princess reader x billy the kid author’s note: enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this one <3 might do more pending interest :) Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Moonlight was your lantern as you rested your cheek against the stone of the window. Stars freckled the skin of the sky and you traced them with your eyes, creating imaginary constellations with pretty names. The delicate scent of roses wafted through your window, making you sigh.

Collapsing your upper half over the windowsill, you stretched your arms out, letting your hair fall over you. You'd just brushed it out, all smooth and silky so it flowed between your fingers. Normally your lady's maid would have helped you prepare for bed, but tonight you'd given her the evening off, determined to do it yourself.

All dolled up in a pretty nightdress, you were practically hanging out the window, eyes roving past the rose-crawled palace walls for any sign. For most of the night you'd paced your pretty pink room, running and pressing your nose against the glass. Eventually you'd unlatched it and pushed it open, letting the fresh air breath into your space.

It was late now. Later than you should have been up. To bode the time you'd tried to distract yourself, organizing your vanity and playing with the ribbons on your sleeves.

A letter laid opened beside you on the pink cushion of the window seat, wax seal broken, paper wrinkled as if the receiver had been clenching it. The words were ingrained in your mind now, you'd read it so many times. It was a comforting thing, imagining his hand toiling over the page, brow creasing as he thought of the perfect thing to say.

Reaching for a strand of your hair, you trailed your fingers down it, anxiously wondering if he was coming at all. He'd never failed to show when he sent word. Had he changed his mind?

You laid back so your head rested on the hard plane of the windowsill, feet on the ground, hair tumbling down the stone wall like a character in one of your storybooks. Closing your eyes, you gave up, one of your hands resting on the letter beside you.

Hoofbeats. Sitting up, you turned your body, nearly falling through the window in anticipation, knees digging into the tiny expanse between the seat and the edge. Though the night was dark, it was clear, and you could see the shadow of a man on a horse, dismounting and wedging his foot into the stone of the garden wall, hoisting himself up over the edge.

You sprung up, racing across your room and flinging the door open. Hair streaming behind you, your feet carried you down the stairs through the secret passage behind the library. Nobody was awake, and the guards were all stationed outside. It was thrilling running through the empty halls alone, skirt grasped in your fingers so you wouldn't trip. The last thing you needed was a bruise on your rosy cheek.

The door only creaked slightly as you snuck through it, creeping under the ivy leaves that kept it hidden. Your footsteps were soft as you padded through the garden. Sneaking behind the pink rosebushes and pushing aside the leaves of the willow tree, your eyes brightened as you saw him, waiting there on the white stone bench. His head was bent, hat pulled low over his eyes as he studied something hidden by his fingers.

When he caught wind of your presence he stood, tucking it into his shirt pocket and sweeping the hat off his head, lowering himself into a deep bow. Voice raspy and low, he murmured, "Princess."

Your feet pattered across the grass as you pushed him to stand up straight, jumping into his arms and burying your face in his neck. He was warm, heating you through your thin nightdress. "Don't do that," you whispered, fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. "It makes me feel unworthy."

Billy was smiling into you- you could feel it. One of his big hands stroked your hair, smoothing it from your journey downstairs. "My love, you're worthy of everythin'."

Pulling your head back, you stood on tiptoes, tilting your chin up and knocking his hat off. He smiled fondly and lifted you up off your feet with arms around your waist, dipping his head to kiss you soft and sweet. Nudging your nose against his, you murmured against his lips, "I thought you weren't coming."

"'m sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, lips trailing across your cheeks as he peppered kisses over your face. "Had a lawman tailing me for a few miles...had t' lose 'im 'fore I could come...'m sorry."

"It's okay." You tried to get in a few kisses of your own, but he was determined. This was a ritual every time he saw you; he had to kiss you all over for the same reason churchgoers had to do the sign of the cross in the doorway. "I'm happy for any time with you."

He sat in the grass and pulled you to sit across his knees, not wanting the green to stain your pretty nightdress. Billy held you tight to him, chin resting on your shoulder as he slightly rocked you back and forth. It was soothing even when you had no need of being soothed.

You played with one of his hands splayed over your tummy, memorizing the details of his fingers. Here was your own tradition where his was kisses. Somehow you'd convinced yourself if you didn't know every detail of him, he'd disappear before your very eyes, leaving you sprawled on the ground alone.

"I missed you," you said plainly, careful to keep your voice low. Though the guards were stationed far away, you knew they weren't above investigating any strange noises that pierced the night.

"Missed you too, baby," he cooed into your neck, lips nudging the spot. "All those nights without my sweetheart...coulda run right through the front gates 'n climbed through your window."

"Oh my darling," you murmured lovingly, turning and putting your arms back around his neck. "I rode out over the hills a few times hoping to see you."

"That's dangerous," he breathed, kissing your nose. "Honey. There's bandits in those woods."

"You're in those woods," you protested lightly, shifting on his lap.

Billy sighed softly, shaking his head and smiling softly. "'xactly. Lotsa scary stuff in there."

"You aren't scary." Nuzzling your cheek against his jaw, you clasped his hand in yours. The feel of his scratchy stubble against your smooth skin was one you adored.

He chuckled, rubbing your back. "'m an outlaw darlin'."

"But you're different," you insisted, and he tucked your hair behind your ear. "You don't keep what you take."

"'s the least I can do," he murmured, a lost look shadowing his eyes. "Don't want less fortunate folk to hafta do what I do t' survive."

Heart warming, you kissed his nose with the gentlest of touches. "That's what makes you different. You're a better person than you've ever given yourself credit for."

Billy smiled in a tired sort of way. He said nothing, just framed your face with his hands, nose bumping against your cheek as his lips found yours. He kissed you lazily for a moment, and you lost yourself in it, the scent of the roses acting as a sort of aphrodisiac. "I love you."

"I love you," you breathed, and he got a tender look on his face, thumbing the side of your cheek. Billy always reacted this way, like he couldn't believe you meant it.

He captured your lips once again, holding you so close that you were nearly melded into one person. The way he touched you was sacred, like you were a china doll he was afraid would break under his rough fingers.

Oftentimes you would daydream that Billy was your knight, like in the storybooks lining your shelves. He would appear before you in the court, gallantly sweeping you off your feet and carrying you away from the restrictions and traditions of your life as it was.

He was everything you'd ever dreamed of, handsome and solid and good. You held him tight whenever you could, wary of the forces threatening to tear you apart. Heaven only knew what the king would do if he discovered your secret. Banish you to marry a prince from a foreign land, maybe. Or worse...send Billy to the hangman's noose.

You held him closer at the thought. He pecked your lips twice, softly bringing you down from the kiss. Big hands smoothed your waist over your nightdress, ghosting the soft fabric. He smiled, leaning back slightly to take you in. "Ya wear this just for me, sweet girl? 's pretty."

Nodding enthusiastically, your hands going to the handkerchief around his neck and playing with it. "And I can see you cleaned up."

"Only the best f' my girl," he grinned, touching his lips to the tip of your nose. "Knew I was meetin' the princess. Course I tried t' look my best."

"I think you're handsome any way," you promised. Billy's fingers fiddled with the lace edging on your sleeves, tickling the ribbon. He looked at it fascinatedly, making you giggle. "Shall I wear this next time we meet?"

"Yeah." The word was out of his mouth instantly, and you laughed softly. Billy trailed his fingers up and down your waist. "You're so pretty, baby. Like an angel." Pulling a rose seemingly from thin air, he tucked it behind your ear.

"You make me feel pretty," you smiled, reaching up to touch the flower. He always had.

"I wish I could do more for you, sweet girl," he murmured, adjusting the rose.

"I have your letters," you kissed his cheek. "And my time with you. What more could I ask for?"

Billy just watched you affectionately for a moment. His hand was under your jaw, tipping your face up to meet his eyes. The blue of them were an icy chasm you longed to throw yourself into. It was those eyes that whispered their way into your fantasies, appeared in your dreams. You could lose yourself in them forever and not mind one bit.

Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pushed your hair behind your shoulders, telling you to close your eyes. Something cold touched your collarbone, and your hand flew up to hold it. There was the sensation of a chain touching your neck, and he carefully pulled your hair up and over it.

You only opened your eyes when he told you to, looking down at yourself. A little silver heart rested there on your skin, and you gasped in delight. "Oh, Billy..."

"You like it, baby?" he brushed a strand of hair behind your flower-less ear. The other arm wrapped around your middle and squeezed your back to his chest.

"Love it," you whispered joyfully, leaning your head back against his shoulder. Now that he had access, Billy brought his mouth to your neck, silently kissing the space. His hand rubbed your side absentmindedly. "Who did you take it from?"

His words were muffled against your skin. "Countess of Rothshire."

Fingering the chain, you said, "She was mean to me at last fortnight's ball."

"I know," he mumbled, lifting his head to glide his lips over the space behind your ear. "Thought it'd look better on you."

You giggled in delight. "My hero. Avenging my honor."

"Ain't no hard thing," he insisted, pulling back and settling one hand on top of your head, thumb brushing your hairline. Billy kissed your temple soundly, leaning his head against yours. "The least I can do, honey. You're my princess, too."

Looking at him with his earnest eyes and loving heart, you knew he was forever yours. Even if you became a spinster and only was ever able to meet him behind the leaves of the willow trees, he would come back to you over and over. Your soft, lace trimmed world was brighter when he held you this close, kissed you this sweet.

"Only the best for my sweetheart," he breathed, the stars in his eyes alike to the ones in the darkened heavens above. "I'm only one of many men before you."

With that he laid back in the grass, pulling you to rest on top of him. He kissed you tenderly until the sun broke through the leaves of the trees, alerting the princess and outlaw that it was the time of day when he was forbidden to touch you anymore.

Next Part

[five-and-dimes]

Sunflower

This is a continuation of Mountain Sound and will make fare more sense if you read that first.

For Dreamling Week Day 3: Painting

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Dream takes his time planning his gift for Hob. As outcasts amongst werewolves and vampires alike, all they had was each other. Almost every day was spent side by side, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. However, it made surprises difficult.

But this is something Dream has wanted to do for Hob for so long, and their transition deeper into the mountains provides the perfect opportunity to hide things in the shuffle. Despite the unfortunate circumstances of their move, there is something fun about it as well. A break in the routine they had fallen into for the past decade or so. They spend a few weeks hiking and exploring, searching for a spot that would suit them. Traversing caverns and rocky outposts and hollow trees. It had been Hob’s idea to combine multiple spots.

“Why limit ourselves to a single building?” he had explained excitedly, gesturing at the forest around them, “We can have it all! Build a shelter among the trees and use the caves for the colder months, build a treehouse, maybe dig a burrow for storage!” On and on he’d spoken, everywhere he turned he saw a place they could make a home, a place they could take up space for the life they wanted. Dream simply listened fondly, and vowed to give Hob everything he could possibly want. 

With the decision made, they began gathering supplies, which gave Dream a chance to sneak away the things he needed for his gift. Hob would not find it unusual for Dream to purchase paints from the nearest town, being the avid painter that he was, but the sheer amount he needed would be suspicious. So he buys the colors he will need in multiple trips, hiding them amongst the tools and linens and lanterns that they needed. He takes advantage of Hob’s own idea and shifts into a wolf to dig a deep burrow in the forest, stashing the piles of paint where Hob would not find them. 

It takes nearly a year for them to fully settle once more. They finally bid their previous home farewell and move deeper into the mountains to hide from the world as best they can. They had built a new house beside a rocky outpost, nestled between tree and stone. A nearby cave is filled with various supplies, a place to keep cool in the height of summer and keep warm in the depths of winter. Hob even keeps his word and builds a small treehouse. There are no windows, keeping the sunlight out for Hob’s safety, but the walls are thin enough that in the daytime the sounds of songbirds can be heard easily.

Ironically, they spend the first night after completing their move outside. Dream and Hob run through the landscape that is their new home, Dream even shifting to tackle Hob to the ground, too lost in their shared joy to feel insecure about his wolf form. Leaves kicked up around them as they wrestled playfully, laughter and happy yips echoing through the night. They only return to settle in to sleep inside the house when the sky begins to lighten. In the doorway, Hob looks over his shoulder, a sad smile on his face that Dream is familiar with as he takes one last moment to watch the sky brighten with the light of a sun he can no longer see.

On the very first night they meant, he had told Dream that it was the only thing he hated about being a vampire. That he could never again stand in the sun.

Now, years later, Dream has a plan.

About a month after the move, Hob expressed wanting to go into town. One of the drawbacks to their new location was being farther from the nearest human encampment, but it was unfortunately necessary to increase their safety. 

“I didn’t realize how beat up our tools got from all the building,” he sighed, nearly pouting, “I mean, they’re still fine for fixing things around the house I guess, but I was hoping to do some decorating.” One of Hob’s favorite hobbies was woodcarving, engraving intricate patterns into their door frames and bedposts, or making small figurines to adorn their shelves. Dream could see how the dents and chips in his tools would make it more difficult to carve the details he was so fond of. 

“Plus, I wouldn’t mind snooping a bit more to see if I can’t find some new books on protection spells,” he added. Their new dwellings had a few protection charms, but it was difficult to find enchantments that would keep out other werewolves and vampires without harming the werewolf and vampire that lived there. “Would you like to come with me?” he asked.

“Hmm,” Dream moved nonchalantly, winding his arms around Hob’s neck as he admitted, “I would not mind some time to myself. If. That would not offend you.”

“Never,” Hob responded immediately, with a genuine smile, “I know you. And I love you.”

“Forgive me if that still startles me,” Dream tries to sound joking, but the honesty bleeds through.

Hob doesn’t mind. “Nothing to forgive,” he promises, giving him a light kiss on the lips. “Might be about a week, with the new travel time. That alright?”

Perfect. That would give him plenty of time. 

“Of course,” he responds lightly, concealing his excitement.

The next evening, after a kiss goodbye, Hob speeds off down the mountain and, as soon as his figure disappears from sight, Dream heads inside to get to work. He has time, but that doesn’t mean he can dally. 

He starts by moving the furniture out of their bedroom. There’s not too much in there to begin with, so the process doesn’t take long. The wardrobe and chest they use for storage are moved into a side room that had been ambiguously assigned the title of ‘study’, which was used more as a catchall for their various hobbies and interests they had accumulated over the years. Once the room is empty, Dream gets started laying plaster over the nooks and crannies of the wood paneled walls, running a wide blade over it meticulously until the walls are smooth and even. 

It takes a day for the plaster to dry, and Dream spends that time fetching his paints and mixing them carefully. He sits cross-legged in the middle of the room, occasionally stepping outside to hold his brush up to the sky, comparing the colors and adjusting until they are as perfect as he can make them. 

By the third day he is already nervous. Logically he knows he has plenty of time, but what if Hob comes home early? What if it takes too long to dry? What if the colors look wrong once they are dry and he has to start over? He forgoes sleep and food in favor of painting, coating the walls as quickly as he can without sacrificing the smoothness of the gradient. 

The fifth day, he has moved on to a smaller brush, the background dry enough for him to add details on top of it, shadows and highlights, feathery strokes of white, perfect circles glowing against the waves of color. Dream stands on two chests stacked on top of each other to carefully put the finishing touches on the ceiling.

On the sixth day, it is done. Everything should be dry by tomorrow, when Hob is due to return, and he’s set up the room exactly as he wants. With nothing left to do, Dream shifts, curls up in the very center of the room with his nose tucked under his tail, and worries some more.

What if Hob didn’t like it? What if it upset him? What if he was mad that Dream transformed a whole room in their new home without consulting him? What if he laughed at Dream for being so stupid, for thinking this could possibly be enough in return for all that Hob has given him?

They do not have an anniversary, per say. Even when they have kept calendars, neither felt the need to try to trace back exactly when they met, or exactly when they got together. But every year, when the leaves are just starting to turn like they had on the day they collided together, Hob will pluck a vibrant leaf from the ground and smile.

“Ah,” he will say, a warm smile on his face, “Another year together.” And then he will kiss Dream gently and hold his hand, and Dream will be reminded just how lucky he is. 

He doesn’t know how he could ever express all the love he feels for Hob. The gratitude and the joy and the peace he’s found with him. But he wants to try. He hopes Hob will see that he is trying.

When Dream hears Hob approaching in the distance late the next night he has to immediately return to his human form, because Hob is incessant in his teasing whenever he sees Dream’s tail wag without his permission. Regardless, he can tell by Hob’s face that Dream’s joy at his return is obvious. Despite both of them having spent so much time alone- despite Dream still needing occasional solitude- neither could bear to be apart for long. So while a week may not be long to some, they still run to each other as soon as they are in sight. Their bodies collide, and they take a long moment to simply embrace before they manage to pull back enough to kiss. 

“Welcome home, beloved,” Dream whispered against Hob’s lips.

“Good to be back,” Hob grinned. Once they disentangle themselves, Hob picks up the bags he had dropped in his enthusiasm, “Got a good haul this time. Better tools for repairs, and also splurged on some specialty tools for myself,” he grinned apologetically, but Dream only smiled.

“I think you deserve high quality materials for your craft,” he insisted. Privately, he also felt it only fair considering the amount of paints Dream himself had ‘splurged’ on.

Hob gave him a quick peck on the lips, “I’ll be sure to make you something nice.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, as though he knew a secret Dream didn’t. But before Dream could question him, he continued, “I also found a couple of interesting tomes. Not sure if they’ll be any use to us, but I figured it was still worth going through together. You always had a better grasp of all that magic nonsense.” 

“Hm, we’ll see what we can find,” Dream agreed, reaching out to take one of Hob’s bags as they made their way inside. As they deposit Hob’s things in the common area, Dream inhales deeply, filled with anxiety. He opens his mouth, but pauses. Should he wait? Should he let Hob unwind first before springing this on him? Was it too sudden? He had spent so much time worrying about it not being enough, but maybe it was too much and Hob would be annoyed, especially after his long journey-

“Hey.” 

Dream nearly jumped, Hob’s voice breaking through his thoughts. Hob smiled gently, “You alright, love? You seem tense.”

Swallowing, Dream steeled himself before blurting out, “I have a gift for you.”

Hob blinked in surprise before breaking into a grin, “A gift? Really?” He had a look of excitement on his face like a child, even as he stated, “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

“I know,” Dream smiled, “I wanted to.” Reaching out, he laced their fingers together, pulling Hob towards the bedroom. Outside the door, Dream released his hand, nudging his back to push him forward. Hob raised an eyebrow, but then turned to open the door.

The first wall Hob sees when he walks in nearly makes him flinch. The painted sky in front of him is so detailed and meticulous, he had felt as though he had somehow stepped outside into a sun he sometimes fears he has forgotten. The entire wall is a deep blue, a few wispy clouds breaking up the wall of color, but doing nothing to obscure the bright, pale sun in the center.. 

For a long, long moment, all Hob can do is stare. When he finally begins to turn to look at Dream, his breath hitches as he sees the next wall to his left. This one is more vibrant and colorful, the blue of the previous wall bleeding over before darkening. The sun on this wall is lower, mid morning or early evening perhaps. 

He knows he is crying, but he doesn’t care, whipping around to see the wall behind him. This one also starts with the blue of the afternoon wall, but the gradient is more dramatic. Blue to purple to vibrant reds and oranges, clouds catching every color along their edges. The sun is a darker yellow, a half circle at the base of the floorboards. Sunset. Or, he supposes, sunrise. 

When he finally turns to look back at Dream, he sees blues and reds and purples connecting the walls, the sun painted on the back of the door, not a complete circle, but higher than the previous. Hob feels like a child as he finds himself spinning in place, seeing the way all four walls are connected, a perfect gradient of daytimes. He’s still crying, but he’s so happy, and it is in a moment of glee that he tips his head back and sees one more sun.

Directly above him, pale blue and a sun nearly white with its brightness, only the faintest yellow glow around it. An iron ring holding a circle of candles has been painted white and hangs from the ceiling in the center of the sun, illuminating it even more. High noon on a summer day.

Hob is surrounded by all the daytimes he has missed for so long. 

He allows himself a moment to glance at the rest of the room. There is a pile of pillows and furs in the center, and a tray on the floor with a vase of flowers, a bottle of wine, and two glasses. There are a few lanterns carefully placed around the room to keep it lit as brightly as possible, but the rest of the room is empty, no furniture to obscure the paintings of the sky. By the time he finally turns to face Dream again, he feels like he might combust from love and happiness.

Which makes it all the more ridiculous that Dream looks nervous, wringing his hands in front of him and chewing on his lip.

“I know you miss the sunshine,” he says softly, “and… and I know this isn’t the same, I know it doesn’t truly make up for it, but, but I thought, maybe-”

Dream’s supernatural strength is the only thing that keeps them standing when Hob crashes into him, hands framing his face to kiss him fiercely. Dream wraps his arms around his shoulder, smiling shyly into the kiss, and Hob only pulls away because of the laughter bubbling in his chest. He giggles, so overwhelmed with joy.

“No sun could compare to the light you bring to my life,” he whispers against Dream’s lips, “But I will admit, this room is a close second.”

“You like it, then?” Dream asks, his smiling widening ever so slightly.

Hob laughs again, because what sort of question is that? He loves this ridiculous man so very much, “I love it nearly as much as I love you.”

Dream melts against him, all nervousness gone, “I would bring you the real sun if I could.”

“I don’t need it,” Hob rests their foreheads together and tightens his embrace, “I have everything I need right here.” Pulling back almost reluctantly, Hob looked at Dream so softly, “Dearheart-”

Dream is so full of love he is nearly nauseous with it, like his body can’t contain it and all he can do is interrupt with a breathless exhale, “Marry me.”

Hob’s jaw drops, his eyes widening, and Dream rushes to say more, “I know it doesn’t… doesn’t really matter, wouldn’t really change anything, but I love you so much, I… I want to call you husband.”

There is a long pause, and Dream is almost ready to take it all back, but then Hob is laughing, and peppering his face with kisses, “You absolute twat,” he laughs, voice full of affection, “If you had just given me two seconds-” 

Stepping back, Hob took a moment to rifle through his pockets. Then he is taking one of Dream’s hands and bending down onto one knee. 

“I had a whole speech planned,” he says, trying to pout but smiling too wide for it to be effective. In his other hand, he is holding a beautiful wooden ring. The soft reddish-brown of rosewood, smoothed and polished, with a small chip of sapphire embedded in it, “I even went through the trouble of making this myself because every jeweler kept trying to talk me into silver.” 

Dream barked out a watery laugh, and that was when he realized he was crying. Hob giggled with him, leaning to place a kiss on his knuckles, “So. I know you asked first, technically,” he said with fond annoyance, “But I’ll say yes to your proposal if you say yes to mine,” he squeezed his hand, holding the ring a little higher, “Deal?”

There is too much love in his body, he fears he might burst with it, and so Dream thinks Hob will forgive him for the way he tackles him, toppling them both to the ground as he wraps his arms around him and kisses him deeply. “Yes,” he whispers against his lips, “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Yes,” Hob replies in return, kissing him back. Eventually they pull apart long enough for Hob to slip the ring on Dream’s finger, a perfect fit. Dream stares down at it in wonder. 

“Definitely better than silver,” he teases, Hob smacking at him playfully. “I suppose in fairness I will not insist on being married in a church.”

“You are a menace,” Hob rolls over to pin Dream beneath his body.

“Till death do us part,” Dream smiles.

Hob leans down to kiss him again, “Not if I can help it.”

[time-woods]

How would you describe the kingdom in your medieval fantasy au? I'm so curious about its rules and society

ok i need to put this down somewhere so im gonna take this as the opportunity to do such bc this things been brewing in my cranium-

The kingdom is a fairly young one, destroyed a few hundred years ago by a falling asteroid, it created a crater in its place. Few survived but those who did instilled the fear of the sky and what dwells in it to those who remained. So anything from the sky is no good, this includes birds. Things that aren't grounded basically. They also blamed it on magic and that a evil magic moon god did this to them, sending one of its children down to tear down their home.

the interesting thing is- they didn't relocate. they cleared what remained of the asteroid, using the stone as their new foundation. They say this is like showing their power over what tried to destroy them or whatever. but yea they built their new kingdom in the crater. Now I hear you saying 'what abt when it rains? wouldn't everything flood?' your right. but you see, they hate what dwells above, they covered the top. its flat. the kingdom is flat up top. (besides those who don't live at the heart of the kingdom- like farmers who need land n such)) Everything is illuminated by thousands of lanterns that carry a flame said to be of the very asteroid that created this pit. This is yet again them taking power over what crushed their kingdom all those years ago. (flame that never dies? doesn't sound very grounded to me mr kingdom..) Those at the crown seemingly hate magic and any form of 'ungrounded' thinking. They are tolerant to those who are half human but if you are deemed too 'monstrous' they lose that tolerance very quickly. rumors are that the kingdom in recent years has started getting double standards for what they allow in their home. aka the head guard being 'half monster' (hes a bug. hes literally a whole bug. there's no human there at all) when the people thought entrusting that care to someone unlike them would be unthinkable, but surprisingly they've been safer these past years with him at the helm.

also yea most of the kingdom is this purply rock cause of this, as well as the flame in the lanterns. despite it being underground it manages to be fairly bright !

OH YEA one of their symbols is a stylized lotus/flame (lotus' can be seen as a symbol of rebirth and that put in place of the asteroid's flames makes for a good cycle like a phoenix sorta)) (this design is seen on Carmine's armor/ alt version on the bg guards))

this is just some stuff thats been in my head as of late that i havent gotten round to writing down.