#its not even playing the lyre its tuning the lyre...

[evandore]

wait crazy development...ive sort of started to understand how the notes on the fretboard line up now bc ive been playing lyre and thats all individual notes. you can do chords too but im still figuring out the actual like science behind it idk i just do it LOL

[cercandodiscrivere]

Quod fata ferunt | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.3k

tags | @self-shipping-doll13

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, blowjobs, porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | Being the favored one of an Emperor came with many privileges, one of them being able to see his most human side.

Under all their power and their might, even powerful ruler are still men at their core.

gifs by @batty4steddie

Geta is worried.

You don’t blame him; you understand.

You were present when he decided upon Acacio’s fate: all it took to turn the common people against their rulers where good words and a fleeting display of gentleness among foes – which ultimately meant nothing. Greater men have begged for mercy within the walls of the Colosseum, their distressed cries ignored by the spectators.

No, it wasn't pity that stirred the crowd: the anger had been simmering in their minds before, biding its time for the perfect opportunity to release itself.

A single withered leaf can ignite an entire town if placed upon an open flame.

Geta understands the significance of this – so he is worried.

It is an uncommon occurrence, which in turn worries you.

He paces around his chambers, twisting and turning the rings on his fingers – gold and gemstones and colored glass that send shimmering hues throughout the rooms.

The same hand he is torturing now condemned a man just moments earlier: and even as it happened, you couldn't help but wonder if Acacio would be the only one to bear the brunt of fate.

“You did what you had to do” you try.

There was no specific reason for why you were taken – dragged – to his quarters, other than the fact that you happened to be near him when the rebellion broke out. Amidst the chaos, two praetorians seized both you and Geta as their comrades protected Caracalla and Macrinus.

Oh, it was an incredible privilege to be invited to witness the fights from the imperial pulvinar: and yet, if you hadn't been busy serving wine to your domine the exact moment the revolt started, you would have likely been left to be trampled over by a raging mob.

Three other favorites of the Emperors were also present, but you haven’t seen them since. They weren't present in the chambers where the twins and their arms-dealer discussed what had occurred. None of them came running when Caracalla erupted into screams, nor when he stormed out of the chambers followed closely by Macrinus.

Alone with your master, you watch as he paces back and forth.

The argument with his brother left Geta in an even worse state, if that is possible. His mind seems to be pulled in two different directions, the distress visible on his face.

He knows some of the words spoken by Caracalla may hold truth, despite being laced with the poison of his illness.

Could he have made a mistake in his decision?

The Gods themselves communicate with him in ways that you could never comprehend – not with words, but through the sacred blood he shares with them. Did he misunderstand their wishes?

Even in his divine state, he may not be immune to the burdens of human existence. After all, despite sharing the same sacred lineage, Caracalla's mind is still plagued with flaws.

“There was nothing else to do” you say again. You feel a bit useless as you parrot his own words back to him, but in this delicate situation you fear saying anything that could be taken as an insult.

Geta is a pleasant companion and a passionate paramour – for those who know how to handle him.

From a young age, you have been taught how to play the lyre. Over time you lost the quick skilled fingers needed to captivate an audience, but the lessons learned still serve you in other ways.

In untrained hands, the instrument produces nothing but a jumble of harsh and unpleasant sounds: only those who have mastered it can create a tune that leaves others yearning for more.

During your initial encounter with Geta, you likened him to a lyre; a rather silly comparison, perhaps, but figuring out how to please him in order to gain his favor felt much like learning to strum the strings at the right moment.

And what a masterful musician you’ve been with him.

Still, the Emperor possesses the fiery temperament of a powerful man not accustomed to receiving criticism. He is quick to boast and show anger - but just as quick to calm down and become merciful again.

I play a lyre made of splintered wood, you think, but quickly push the image aside before a smirk can form on your face.

"You made the right decision" you repeat as you stand up, trying to infuse your voice with comfort.

Your movement catches Geta’s attention. He stops in the middle of the room, lingering, but not quite still. His hands continue to fidget and twitch: he looks at you as if he had completely forgotten of your presence.

Taking advantage of his confusion, you approach him and gently place your hand on his tense arm. “The praetorians are fulfilling their duty. Has any crowd ever been able to sway them?”

There have been past attempts at rebellion by the common people - their leaders too weak, too consumed by hunger to have the chance to succeed.

When Geta finally speaks, he does so while grasping your hand, his gaze fixed on the windows once again. “They listened to that poet’s words. That has never happened before.”

You refuse to acknowledge it, but he is right. It is not uncommon for gladiators to captivate audiences with their skillful use of spears and brutal displays of violence – but never with peace messages or pledges of liberation.

In another life, the man’s perspective would have seemed almost convincing. In this one, you've witnessed far too many good-willed revolutionaries meet a violent end.

“Gentle words can’t win a battle” you gently stroke his cheek, tilting his chin towards you so that he focuses on your face instead of the chaos happening outside. “Gladiators tend not to live long” you add to further placate his mind.

Geta’s eyes move, following your gentle guidance. He leans in and presses his lips against the inside of your wrist, sending shivers down your spine from the warmth of his breath on your skin.

Being the favored one of an Emperor came with many privileges, one of them being able to see his most human side. Under all their power and their might, even powerful ruler are still men at their core. Still, in moments like this one – when he stares at you with such vulnerability and openness, as if your voice is the only thing worth hearing – it becomes harder to contain your feelings to a level deemed acceptable for your position.

“The Gods have spoken through you” you reassure him once again, this time shifting just enough so you can pull him towards the lectus. “To attack you is to declare war on the deities themselves.”

“My brother…” he starts, but his voice fades. His eyes are shrouded in shadows once again; crammed amongst the pillows, he appears almost like a scared child, lying down but still far from being at ease. You gently twirl his ginger locks between your fingers, feigning a calmness that eludes you.

“He is scared” you murmur. You search for words that are reassuring yet respectful; it doesn't matter how much Geta favors you above others, you would still find yourself in the dungeons if you showed Caracalla any less devotion that what his status demanded.

“The mob is loud, but screams are nothing to arrows and swords” as you talk, you gradually lower yourself onto your knees in front of him, never breaking eye contact. “The praetorians are loyal to you and you only, no pretty words can change that.”

He hums, a quiet sound. “What about your pretty words?” he smirks.

A mischievous grin creeps onto your face as you play with the delicate hem of the elegant ivory palla draped over his tunic. “All I say is for your satisfaction.”

From this angle, with white paint masking his features, he bears the same daunting presence as the marble figures that decorate the halls: a god once again, towering over his most devoted disciple.

“All I do, is to please you.”

It’s eerie how greedily his gaze seems to follow even the slightest fraction of your movement, yet he remains seated on the cushions without making a single motion. His breath escapes in short puffs, tickling your forehead.

Now it's your turn to take control: this is the moment when he abandons his all his titles and becomes nothing but a man.

You remain on your knees between his spread legs, lightly tapping your fingers against his inner thigh - but still, he does not budge.

The challenge in his eyes is unmistakable, as if he's daring you to do something - anything - without his assistance.

As you press your lips against his clothed cock, he lets out a loud grunt, as if there was no fabric between your kiss and his skin. The noise goes straight between your legs, but this evening is not meant for you.

You continue to tease him, kissing your way up and down his thigh, deliberately avoiding his erection. To his credit, he tries his hardest to stifle his groans as best he can, but you can sense his muscles tensing and his patience wearing thin.

You want to consume him. You tug at the fabric of his tunic; this time, he doesn't hesitate and quickly moves into action, removing his own clothes until his hips are bare.

He begins to mention something about comfort, gesturing towards the luxurious pillows that surround him - but you're already nuzzling at his exposed thigh and the words die on his tongue. With one arm slipping beneath his knee, your body presses closer to his, the other hand running along his skin, hot and damp with sweat.

It’s intoxicating how you can make Geta shudder even when you’re taking your time with it. Sometimes, you've questioned whether it's expected of you to just pleasure him as soon as he asks – but in truth, you enjoy taking your time, savoring the sound of his soft moans.

Mouthing at his pale skin, dragging your nails down his legs with enough strenght to leave a trail of soft red marks. You plant a kiss on the head of his cock, pleased to see that precum is already forming at its tip. You eagerly lap at it with your tongue, paying no attention to the way your actions cause him to grip the cushions of the lectus until his knuckles turn pale.

He lets out loud groan as you engulf him completely in the wet, slick warmth of your mouth. His legs shake on either side of you, his hips thrusting forward as your cheeks hollow, tongue curling as you suck him.

 He keeps moaning, seemingly unconcerned about how desperate he must sound. Under different circumstances, he may have been more conscious of his tone. Perhaps, if your meeting had occurred after a triumphant war victory or a grand celebration in his honor, he would be as confident and arrogant as you are are accustomed to - but now all he craves is comfort, and you’re sucking him into oblivion.

Tracing the tip of his dick with your tongue causes him to bite down on his lower lip in response; licking along the underside has him closing his eyes and sigh. Your favorite moment, though, is when he's in so deep your chin rests on top of his balls - and he can't help but release a deep, raw moan of pleasure as he tries to thrust more into you. 

You can tell he's already close just from this. 

You peer out from under your lashes, eyes filled with longing, only to catch Geta's gaze fixed upon you with adoration. His mouth hangs open in a silent whimper, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows saliva. There is no being more magnificent than him in this right moment, neither god nor mortal.

Without warning, his hand shoots out and grabs onto your hair as you become more frantic. You whine, a mixture of pleasure and pain as his fingernails digs into your scalp, and he responds with even louder noises of his own.

His cock rests on the back of your tongue as he lets out rough and guttural groan and empties himself inside your mouth. His head falls back, his eyes fluttering closed.

You swallow it all, ensuring his eyes are back on you before nonchalantly wiping the cum from the side of yout mouth and licking it off your fingers.

Exhausted, you lean your head against his leg and close your eyes.

_

Geta's breathing is still uneven, but the haze of satisfaction is not enough to make him lose awareness completely – not  when Caracalla comes back into the room, shouting.

"Get out!" he growls. The harsh order is directed towards you, still kneeling on the ground, but his gaze is fixed solely on his brother.

In the past few months, there were times when he had lost his temper. Servants, concubines, hosts: everyone was subject to his outbursts of rage – but those were short-lived explosions, like fires on wet sticks.

Caracalla's skin is now covered in red blotches, visible even through the numerous layers of makeup on his face. Whatever words Macrinus exchanged with Caracalla during their private conversation did not seem to have a soothing effect on his temper.

“Get out, leave!” he screams again, pacing back and forth in agitation. This time, Geta helps you to your feet before nodding towards the entrance. His expression is serious once more, a confident facade to hide his underlying concern.

You are dismissed.

A chill runs down your back: you have witnessed the anger of the ill Emperor before, but never in such a furious state. Caracalla is yelling, Geta stands with his hands raised in surrender.

A moment of panic overwhelms you - even greater than the fear induced by the riots outside, but you quicly manage to calm yourself and take a deep breath.

Just as you approach the door, you catch sight of Macrinus once more. He watches the twins from afar, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if ready to intervene at any moment.

He's a strong man; he'll have everything under control.

With that last comforting thought, you turn away and leave.

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Now See Them Burn in Fire | Part 1

Genre: dark fic, future smut, angst

Word Count: 7.1k

 Chapter Excerpt: “Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips. 

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it? 

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.” 

Warnings: fem!reader, DARK FIC, FUTURE NONCON/CON, mentions of people being burned alive, iron age au, supernatural au, yandere beomgyu

_____________________________

Your fingers strum along the chords of the sacred lyre, producing celestial tunes that rise up to the heavens to reach the ears of the gods you’re worshipping through your songs, words of revelation passing through your lips like a prayer as the people of your tribe gather to witness and take part in the ceremony, offering up their own silent prayers for the ones above, wishing for food, safety, a good harvest, an opportune marriage for their children… It all moulds together to encase your song as it moves up to the heavens. 

Usually, you would be lost in it, surrendering yourself as a vessel for the will of the people to reach their gods. That is your role after all. As a priestess, you’re the link between the mortal world and the heavens above and you take your role very seriously. These people have entrusted you to carry their messages to the gods and the gods have entrusted you to deliver those messages, any distraction on your part could result in a failure of this process and the squandering of the people’s goodwill and the gods’ trust in your abilities. 

That’s why you feel guilty right now. You can’t focus your full energy on your job, not when you can feel his heavy, suffocating gaze on you. You look up to the heavens, seeking to gather strength from the stars above to guide you back to that enlightened state of being you usually access when performing the ceremonial prayers, but as your eyes land on the stars, you’re startled to see one suddenly fall down from the heavens in a bright flaming blaze. Your heart stops as you follow the distressing demise, no one else noticing it, all too focused on the song and dance and liveliness that you and your fellow priests and priestesses are putting on for the tribe. 

No one even notices your hands faltering over the strings, blasphemously ruining the perfection of the heavenly song. No one but one. And as the star heads to the earth, flickering its last flames of light as it approaches its demise, it disappears behind the trees, leading your eyes directly to the original source of your apprehension as if it had fallen merely to guide your attention towards him.

But you didn’t require such sacrifice to realise the burden of his scrutiny, you moved through every waking moment of your life entirely absorbed by the feeling of being watched and knowing whose eyes are upon you. 

It’s those eyes that belong to the boy with the long dark hair and even darker gaze. He stands out from the crowd, not for his clothes or jewels or status, but for his attitude of somberness and stillness among the joyful festivities of others which is enough to raise the hairs at the back of the neck of anyone who has the misfortune of noticing him. He stands there unmoving, his heavy eyes locked on you and no one else, and you–under that singular watchful gaze–hit the wrong note, plucking your own heartstring in the process, before you stop playing completely. 

No, this can’t be. You may not know precisely what all of this means but even the unenlightened can recognise such a glaringly bad omen–the star falling out of the heavens to point straight at the ill-fated boy. 

You're jolted out of your spiral when your friend nudges you, shooting you a concerned but sharp look, silently urging you to keep playing, and with widened eyes you quickly pick up your lyre again, looking around to see the concerned and strange looks from the tribes people, and the angry looks of your family. You can’t take your role lightly, not even for a second. You have a duty to your people and every second you’re not joining in the collective song, you’re weakening the prayers and risking their failure. 

You diligently join back into song, but you know your heart's not in it, not when you can still feel his cursed eyes upon you. 

He’s been watching you for some time now, and it wasn’t making only you uncomfortable. Others have noticed it too, and rumours have already started to spread–rumours about his inclination towards you. Some are making fun of you for being the object of desire of the tribe’s outcast–as if it makes you deficient in some way to be wanted by him–while others have started to distance themselves from you because of it, not wanting to be adjacent to the troubling boy even if it’s through the most tenuous connection to you. 

It makes you angry to be so unfairly burdened by the unwanted association with him but you can’t blame them too much. You know where their fear is coming from, and you wish he would stay away from you too. 

It’s not that he’s uncomely. If any of you were to be fair, you would readily admit that he is one of the most beautiful humans you have ever laid eyes upon, his handsome features seeming to have been carved out by the hands of a god… but which one, you’re not sure. A trickster god, perhaps, for the boy’s unrivalled looks that are meant to entice and enthral clash harshly with the unsettling darkness that surrounds him and keeps others away despite that immense beauty that under normal circumstances would have made him one of the most popular eligible young men in the tribe. 

The quiet orphan boy never quite fit in despite his parents having been formidable warriors and therefore much loved and respected members of the tribe. His father’s power and influence at one point even rivalled the current tribe’s leader, a fact that has undoubtedly been the source of the hushed and vile speculation by some of the tribe’s people asserting that that is precisely the reason behind the boy’s parents sudden and mysterious deaths when he was just twelve.

Of course none of it was true. These were just the ramblings of the bored and nefarious, gathered under dwindling bonfires and spouting their ignorant and hateful conspiracies. The leader is a kind and loving man. He would never deprive a boy of his family unjustly.

Just as unfounded are the rumours that the boy himself was at fault for his parents’ death. After all, they failed to bear a live child after him–his mother’s womb becoming a graveyard for multiple of his lost brothers and sisters until it eventually killed her. 

After his poor mother died while birthing yet another departed soul, his father was never the same afterwards. He became cruel and vengeful. He took his grief and turned it to anger–an emotion a warrior was much more familiar with handling. Unfortunately when defending the land and killing the tribe’s enemies wasn’t enough, he turned that anger towards his only son.  

You had felt sorry for the boy to be the subject of his father's anger and resentment. You even went out of your way to be kind to him every time you saw the marks of hate on his body or saw him crying to himself in the woods. For a very brief period, you may have even considered yourselves friends. 

He didn’t appear evil from up close. He wasn’t so quiet and menacing. He was a child like all of you were. He wanted to play and laugh and enjoy himself, and you really enjoyed watching him do that. He was a silly child when you were alone together and for a short while it warmed your heart to see him let go around you. He had a beautiful smile and a tinkling honey laugh. You developed a minor addiction to it and you craved to see it more and more. 

That is how you justify to yourself your traitorous indiscretion of secretly revealing to him some of the magic only those raised under the guidance of the gods should have access to. You couldn’t help it. He had shown such interest in it and you couldn’t refuse to indulge him in one of his very few desires. It wouldn’t do anyone any harm. It’s not like he could ever do anything with that knowledge. Only those chosen and trained by the temple could put that powerful knowledge into meaningful action. 

And so you felt comfortable telling him secrets about the practice that even seasoned mages didn’t have access to–secrets you’d only known by eavesdropping on your own high-ranking parents, and he lapped it all up, pushing you for more and more which you happily provided.

Truth is, you enjoyed divulging such secrets about priesthood to him because despite it being a very respected and esteemed position to hold, it was also incredibly isolating by nature. The arts you’ve learned allowed you to tap into great power meant to help and protect your people, but also necessitated that you guard the secrets to it closely so they don’t fall into the hands of those who have not been taught how to correctly use them, or worse yet, those with ill-intentions. 

Even amongst your fellow apprentices, each of you had your own area of study and weren’t privy to much else. That way each of you would only be skilled at a particular art and that art only lest you become too powerful and think yourself rival to the gods much the same way the great Gija did–an ancient priest so powerful he rejected the rule of the heavens and in his arrogance thought he could bring down the gods and take their place instead. His greed was like a sickness that spread through the tribe and corrupted your ancestors, convincing them that if they directed their duplicitous charges at the heavens, they could fell the gods and rule in their place, revelling in endless riches and heavenly desires, only for the gods to strike him down, leaving him to a fate worse than death and laying waste to your people–turning them from a once prosperous and opulent civilisation to one that is barely surviving amongst the wilderness. 

Many of the secrets of that ancient power were lost then, only a few ruins from that time remain guarded in the heart of the sacred temple and even fewer taught to you and your fellow apprentices in bits and pieces that are intentionally scattered amongst you to prevent another Gija from rising. 

That is why there are now so few priests and priestesses who have been allowed to learn more than one art of magic and why you’re forbidden from sharing secrets about your practice even amongst yourselves. 

But no one in the tribe knew you were meeting him in the woods under the cover of darkness and therefore no one could stop you from divulging all your secrets to him. It was harmless. What would he even do with that knowledge? He’s a warrior just like his parents–not a very good one much to his father’s chagrin, but it meant that he wouldn't be able to do anything with the secrets you were exposing to him even if he wanted to. He did not have the gift. 

Still, he understood your frustrated and disjointed ramblings well–a part of you secretly worried that he may have understood them too well for he would then make off hand alterations to incantations that would help you crack a spell you'd been struggling with for some time or bring you rare ingredients from the forest that were very hard to come by, maybe even dangerous, and would be the missing touch to a potion you’ve been slaving over to no avail. 

You didn’t understand how he knew what was missing each time but you selfishly didn't ask because you didn't want to ruin it. Not when his help was setting you apart from your peers and enabling you to make a mark for yourself as the most promising young priestess of your generation. 

For his part, Beomgyu's eyes would light up every time his help would cause you to advance further in your training. He never cared that he couldn’t claim credit for it in front of others. He would just smile and make you his special wildflower and mushroom soup to celebrate which tasted like nothing out of this earth and made you crave it almost as much as you craved his smile. 

That smile–that cursed smile he would wear as he looked at you while you gushed or complained about your training. He didn’t care, seemingly happy to listen to you talk either way, and your foolish young heart liked to think you could see a special fondness in his gaze. It was a stupid passing fancy of course. You couldn’t possibly consider him seriously, not with the dark rumours surrounding him even then and especially not after his father too passed in a uniquely gruesome way. 

As the story goes, he had been out drinking his sorrows as usual. At some point during the pitch black night, drunk and disoriented, he left the group of men he was drinking with to head towards his abode but he never made it back. He was found in the morning impaled on a spear that had gone through his eye and out the back of his head, his lifeless corpse suspended by it. 

It was deemed an accident, an intoxicated man tripping and falling on top of an improperly stored weapon. There was no evidence of a struggle, and even his own men could testify he was not walking straight when he left them. There was no reason to think anymore of it, they said, but between themselves the people talked… yet another death around the dark child. It scared even you. You knew he hated this father. You knew he had an inexplicable knowledge about magic. You knew many have died around him. And so as the whispers grew stranger and more fearful, and stories of curses and dark magic swirled around, you silently stepped away from the boy, your friendship living and dying under the darkness of the night. 

He tried to seek you out, tried to find out why you were suddenly gone, tried to win you back–but it was difficult for him to get to you when usually you were the one who would go out to meet him in the forest at night, away from prying eyes. He couldn't approach you when you put others in his path and so he tried to express himself through gifts and flowers that he would hide in your home, hoping they would help him gain back your favour.

His gifts were beautiful and precious–a stunning bouquet of wildflowers, an iridescent stone adoring a delicate ring, valuable ingredients for your potions… all carefully thought out and picked just for you which made you feel all the worse for rejecting them but you had to. This had gone on too far and for too long. You had both grown too attached to each other and you needed to end it. He must not think he has a chance with you. It was not fair to either of you so it was best to end it quickly, even ruthlessly. 

And so you threw his gifts away–you cut up the bouquets, scratched the jewelry and burned the ingredients, leaving them out in the woods where you knew he would find them and get the message that you wanted nothing to do with them. 

And he did get the message, for shortly after you stopped receiving any more gifts. The boy fading back into the unknowable abyss where he belongs. For years he stayed there. For years you knew peace–a guilty, lonely peace but a safe, secure one. He wasn't there to light up your nights anymore and you weren’t there to make him smile, but you were also spared the rumours and gossip that had long surrounded him and were threatening to infect you. 

It hurt you more than you liked to admit to lose him but it was necessary. There was just no future for you together and he seemed to finally understand that. 

Until now. Now it seems like those once familiar black eyes were watching everything you do once more, but you no longer had silly fancies about any imagined lost innocence in them. Instead they scare you the same way they scare everyone else, maybe even more. He has grown somber and serious without you. You haven’t seen his smile in years. He has abandoned his family’s legacy of fighting and heroism for the feared but respected path of foragers. It fit him. After all, he was always in that forest doing the gods only know what and now he has made a tenuous but necessary place for himself in the tribe by it, wading into that same forest to harvest or hunt for things and creatures unknown from treacherous regions that no one else dared to wade into. 

As part of the mysterious foragers profession, he has made himself indispensable to your people as they depended on him and his few peers to bring them the rare and crucial supplies that numerous factions of the tribe–the priests included–depended on in order to do their job. And he was the best of them. He could get you anything you had need or want for, no matter how remote or dangerous, for the right price and as long as you didn’t ask any questions. 

This, of course, caused more rumors to spread around him than ever before, the tribes’ people coming up with all sorts of tales about how he managed to find these things and what he had to do to procure them–whispers of dark pacts, evil ceremonies and dancing with demons dominated the imagination of your people, but no one dared to say anything directly to him. Not anymore. Not now that they needed him.  

You on the other hand were scared, not just of him but for him. Every time he would disappear for days on end in that wretched forest, you would wonder if he would come back, wonder if this is the last time you would ever see him as he inevitably makes his last trip into its dreary darkness like many other foragers have done before him. It’s a perilous, lonely life and so many do not make it for long. Yet he does. He always comes back, and you’re always relieved and scared to be met with his handsome face, the shadows under his eyes taking on a new layer of darkness every time.

What does he see when he goes in there? What creatures does he encounter? What horrors does he face? How close does he come to death and how does he manage to outwit it? 

You do not know for you could not ask him. He hasn’t even met your eyes in years following your pointed rejection of him. Even when he would drop off supplies at your temple, he would keep his eyes downcast as if meeting your gaze would reveal all his secrets to you.

Yes, he has avoided your eyes for years, which makes his recent unwavering stare all the more unnerving. Something has seemingly flipped in him overnight and now you’re the one hiding from his gaze that never falls off of you whenever you’re around him. 

You think you know what he wants. It is the summer fertility festival. It’s a time when those like you and him who have just come of age are encouraged to reach out and start looking to find a companion. You have already received multiple gifts from other boys in the tribe, most of them loudly claiming them and boasting about what they have managed to buy or trade or hunt for you. 

But one gift was unclaimed, the most precious of all, nestled in a nondescript wooden box with a delicately carved wildflower on top of it, and inside… inside was a night bloomer, a sacred plant that flowers only one night a year that the ancients would consume to aid in their divination. It is an integral part of your religion, a powerful tool that once upon a time allowed your people to peer into the future and speak to the gods, but after the great Gija rebelled against the gods and was smote down, the knowledge of where to find it and how to harvest it has been lost and so did the flower. 

No one saw it for centuries until it became the stuff of legends to the point that some of your fellow priests doubted its very existence, preferring to view the mentions of it in religious myths as a symbolic tool to signify how close the ancients were to the gods through their strong belief and how they lost that connection when they betrayed them.

Yet there it was, a bloomed flower sitting in your hands. And there can only be one person who could’ve found it for you. 

You should’ve rejected it. You should have given it back to him so he could give it to someone who will take him, but you were too selfish for that. How could you pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity? You would never get the chance to use a night bloomer again and you could not find it in you to do the right thing and return it to him. You needed to find out for yourself if it really was as powerful as all the legends described it. So you eagerly made it into a tea and drank it, ready to use its power to gaze into your future–another sin of yours. You were told over and over again not to use the powers gifted to you for your own gains. They’re meant to be used to guide and protect the tribe and not for your own selfish desires, but once again you couldn’t resist, and maybe that’s why you were punished so brutally.

The visions the flower brought you were horrific. They were twisted and bloody and demented–filled with death and gore and terror. In them, you saw everyone you knew and loved die in the most gruesome of ways. You saw them cry out to you for help as their skin melted off their bones and their eyes leaked out of their skulls. Their charred hands reached out to you, begging you to make it stop but you couldn’t. You could do nothing but stand there and watch–the smoke stinging your eyes and blackening your lungs. You couldn’t even look away or get yourself to wake up. You were trapped in the ugly visions for what seemed like eternity–none of them making much sense to you as visions usually don’t, but the smell of burnt flesh and the anguished cries needed no explanation, and throughout it all you felt watched, like someone or something was doing this just to see you suffer. 

The visions went on and on in a loop until you felt you would be trapped in them forever–perhaps a punishment for your misuse of this onerous gift–but slowly your vision cleared up and you could see the world around you again.

You found yourself burning up, covered in layers of animal fur as your mother tended to your feverish body. You wanted to throw them off but couldn't spare any energy to move your arms. You couldn’t even speak, the only thing that came out of your mouth was dry deathly whispers that immediately got carried away by the wind before they could reach your confused mother's ears. You lay like that, sick and immobile, for days, your muscles stiff as if the fire had burned off all the water in them as your mother nursed you back to health. For weeks after you'd be caught out by a sudden whiff of smoke and your heart would pick up and panic would flood your body. You quickly had to make every effort to cover up your visceral reaction to anything fire or burning as it attracted too much attention and threatened your place in the temple. Nobody wanted a hysteric apprentice to train or a frightened priestess to protect them. You’re supposed to be the personification of calm and strength. You would lose everything if people found out that the mere smell of ashes secretly sent you into a ball of terror. 

So you covered it up. You pretended that you didn't want to run and cower under your covers every time fires would be lit to warm up or make a simple meal. It was ridiculous. It was weak and laughable but you couldn’t help how your body reacted to it, and you could no longer stomach the taste of meat anymore–a bite of the cooked flesh would send you into a heaving and retching mess. You had sworn off it since then, much to the confusion of others and the irritation of your family. They never liked it when you did anything to draw the curious attention of others. You were not supposed to step out of line except to excel in your training. As their only child, your performance reflected directly on them, and they did not appreciate the strange way you've been acting since you had consumed that cursed night bloomer.  

Did he mess with it somehow? That can’t have been what the ancients used. This can't be your future. You refuse to believe it. He must have tricked you somehow. 

Your mother had attempted to enquire about what has happened to you–she pushed and prodded but you remained steadfast in your insistence about it merely being an illness brought about by eating spoiled meat which conveniently explained your newfound aversion to it. She didn't believe you, of course, but you also knew she preferred to be ignorant of anything that would indicate any brewing trouble, a crack in her perfect daughter, only telling you to get yourself together and not do something stupid to ruin your future. It was a clear order. Whatever it is that you had done, you better fix it–it meant.

That’s why you must stop whatever advances Beomgyu is trying to make on you. He can only bring you pain and trouble. Just like right now.

As soon as the prayer is done, you’re strong-armed back to your home by your chagrined family who were less than happy about your embarrassing performance tonight. 

“What was that?” Your father hisses at you as soon as you are tucked away in your shared abode, away from prying eyes. “How could you disgrace us in such a way in front of the whole tribe?”

“I am sorry, father. I–I–” You hang your head down, hesitating for a moment as your tongue falls almost paralysed under the weight of what you were about to reveal. “I saw something fall from the heavens. I saw a star die.” 

You choose to omit the part about the boy. Your family doesn't know about your brief secret friendship with him. They don’t know about everything you’ve told him. They don’t know about the blasted gift you have accepted from him. They can’t know. They might cast you out if they did. 

“What?” Your mother whispers fearfully, a tinge of denial in her voice as if she does not wish to believe you–again hiding away from the ugly truth. 

“It was big and bright and beautiful but–” You gulp, wrapping your arms around yourself to stop your body from shaking at the memory. “But I saw it flickering in the throes of death as it bled across the heavens and crashed to the earth.” You finish fearfully, and that fear latches onto your parents immediately. 

Your father strides towards you and grabs you by the shoulders roughly, face pale. “Are you certain, child?” 

“As certain as death. I saw it with my own eyes.” I saw it pointing straight towards him.

Your father casts you away as if you were stricken with pestilence and paces around the room, passing back and forth in front of the pale and ghastly figure of your mother. 

“Father. Mother. Tell me the truth. Tell me what this means.” You ask hesitantly, not certain you even want to hear the answer. You knew it was bad, of course, but their reactions were heightening your anxiety to intolerable levels. 

“The stars are supposed to be eternal watchers, the guardians of the heavens. If one of them falls then the ranks have weakened.” Your mother explains fearfully, “Something has managed to get in or out of the heavens.”

You shudder. What could that be? And what does it have to be with the boy who will forever be your one regret?   

“Only you saw it?” Your father asks and you gulp. “I think so.” 

“Good. We do not want to cause a panic unnecessarily, especially this close to the climax of the fertility season.” He proclaims, trying to compose himself but the pallor of his face gives him away. “The leader’s boy seems close to making a proposal for your hand.” 

You frown. Is this really what you should be focusing on right now? Certainly, you have been more than delighted to garner Kai’s favour and, prior to tonight, you have not been thinking about much else, but surely this star issue trumps trivial earthly matters of marriage and ranks. 

You know your family is pushing for this marriage to go through and you understand how monumental this would be for your position in the tribe–to marry into the ruling family would raise you to the top of the ranks and bathe you in the riches only available to them, but that does not mean you can neglect your duties as priests and priestesses. This fallen star could be fortelling a catastrophic future to befall the entire tribe and you need to set aside all your selfish desires to protect your people from this mysterious fate.

“But the star–” 

“Make no mention of it to any soul.” Your father cuts you off sharply. “Not until we find out more about it. Your mother and I will consult the temple’s ancient inscriptions. You just focus on winning that boy over. And make no repeats of that disgraceful display today.” 

You look down to your feet. You hadn’t meant to embarrass them. They would understand if they knew about your new shadow, but they must not know. No one must know. He is like a pestilence–anything he touches withers and dies and you will not let yourself be one of the ghosts hanging around him. 

You may not know what this dark omen means but you feel in your heart that it is related to him and you have to stop him. Maybe then you can avert this calamity from occurring.

So you meekly accept their admonishment and warnings, keeping your head down and waiting until your parents are well on their way to the temple before you slip out yourself, following in the direction you know he would be, along a trek you should have never have allowed yourself to get familiar with and are now determined to sever from your life. 

The path takes you out of the settlement and into the dark woods. The chill in the air didn’t suit a midsummer night, and it only grows more frigid once you spot the boy’s hunched over figure on the ground, digging for something with his bare hands. Your heart beats rapidly as you watch him pull weeds out of the ground as if he’s gutting the earth and for a second you consider turning around and running back to the safety of settlement. You don’t know what he’s doing out here at night–the once familiar, sometimes even welcoming forest now a strange and bizarre landscape of terror to you. He could be up to all manner of unsavoury things out here and there was no one around to protect you from him. Maybe you could find a way to speak to him in the morning…

But before your feet can move, he cranes his head back to look at you, his dark gaze rooting you to your spot, and just like that you cannot move a muscle. 

“What are you doing out here, flower?” He asks softly, voice deep and saccharine, bathing you like a fly in honey so you won’t escape. You resent yourself for being so improperly affected by it–still feeling a silent pull towards him despite your better judgement, but how can you convince your eyes to deny his beauty? How can you get your ears to shut away his honey voice? 

What you can do is contort your face into an ugly scowl. He doesn’t get to call you that anymore. You should have never allowed him to get close enough to have affectionate names for you. 

“What are you doing here?” You throw the question back at him, needing answers to quiet your worrying mind and time to gather your courage for what’s to come.  

“Gathering supplies for my soup.” He tells you readily, and your scowl loosens a bit at that. Of course, how can you forget his soup? You’ve tasted it many a times to the point that just the mention of it has a remnant of its memory tickling your tongue and making you salivate at the reminder. “Would you like to come home for a bowl? You haven't had any in ages.” 

You curse yourself for how much you suddenly crave it which is then followed by a sinking feeling in your gut as you question why exactly you’re craving it so much. Yes, it was one of the most delicious things you have had the chance to taste in your short life but why was it so? Did he do something to it the same way he did to the last “gift” he gave you? 

You shudder as you think about the countless bowls of soup he had made for you over the course of your brief friendship and what he might’ve slipped in them. No, you would not like to try strange soups from the strange boy, no matter how much your body craves it. “No, thank you.”

He frowns, looking upset–almost hurt–at the rejection. You would laugh if you weren’t so scared of him. “You don’t visit me anymore.” 

You can’t, however, hold back your scoff at his whiny proclamation, as if you owed him that acquaintance. “It is not proper for an unwed woman to meet strange men in the night.” 

“You meet Kai.” He retorts simply and anger and dread wrap around your cold form. What does he care about Kai? Does he really think he and Kai are on the same standing when it comes to you or anyone else for that matter? Has he forgotten himself? 

“That is not your concern.” You hiss at him, scared that he might do something to ruin your tentative relationship with the leader’s son. He has expressed his interest in making you his wife by providing you with the most luxurious gift during this fertility festival. You would be crazy to turn him down and even crazier to let whatever delusional fancy Beomgyu holds for you ruin your chances with him. 

“Why did that make you angry? Are you letting him do things to you that you know you shouldn’t?” Beomgyu confronts you, expression unnervingly blank. “Are you letting him under your skirts?” 

You stalk towards him, raising your hand up and slapping him, then watching a red handprint bloom across his handsome face. You immediately regret it. You’re now within arms reach of the dark boy and he looks angry. 

Before you can step back and run, he reaches out to grab the arm that you struck him with and pulls you to the ground with him. You try to fight him off, using all your strength to attempt to push him away but that just makes him climb on top of you so he can still your thrashing arms and pin them above your head, his body holding yours down as he presses you against the cold mud. 

He was surprisingly strong despite his lean frame, though you suppose you shouldn’t be so surprised given his warrior background even if he quit that path years ago. 

You stare up at him, his dark eyes almost swallowing up the stars above. You don’t dare speak or move. You just lay still as he uses one hand to keep your wrists above your head so he can free up the other to cradle your face, his muddy hand staining your skin. 

“Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips. 

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it? 

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans down and meets your lips with his. They feel unfairly good against your own, fit you too well and you hate it. What is this inexplicable hold he has on you? What has he done to you?

In defiance, you command your body to stay still. You may not be able to fight him off but you won't give him the satisfaction of responding to his unwanted advances. So you just lay there and let him mould your mouth to his. He is incessant but surprisingly soft, pushing and coaxing until you unwillingly find yourself whining lowly, and when you open your mouth to let out a small gasp, he uses the opportunity to press his tongue in. 

He tastes so sweet fruits, honey and milk–all things you remember he loves so much and that you always used to provide for him just to see that smile that you now have not seen in years. 

How is it that he tastes this good? What unnatural magic is he using to entice you? He must be because you could not possibly be this inclined towards him.

Your doubts are further confirmed when you detect a hint of something bitter hidden underneath all the sweetness–a sharpness that prevents you from falling completely into him and keeps you on alert. 

Beomgyu lets out his own small moan as his tongue caresses yours and you should be disgusted to be so engulfed by the dark boy, to let him force himself over the boundaries you have put up to keep him away, but the heat radiating off him feels so good against your goosebumps afflicted skin, his small stuttered breaths and whimpers make your body tingle and sizzle and you have absolutely no control over it. You begin to fear you will be trapped here forever under his spell. 

But when his mouth leaves yours to make its way down your neck, you are allowed reprieve to gaze at the sky above and focus on something that isn't him. That's when your eyes stray to the spot where the fallen star was, naturally drawn to it like a tongue is drawn to a missing tooth, and with the phantom taste of iron in your mouth, you snap out of the spell he put you under. 

What the hell are you doing? How can you lie there and let him slither his way back to you? You're a disgrace. 

Disgusted at your weak self, you use that repulsion to fuel you as you gather all your strength and try once again to push him away, but all you could muster is enough power to unlatch him from your neck, exposing the wet freshly kiss-laden skin to the frigid air and making you shiver. 

He gazes at you with a farce concern as he gently cups your cheek, his warm hand like the soothing touch of honeyed milk to your skin that once again compels you to let your guards down, but his blown-wide pupils and his laboured breathing keep them up. 

“Hey, it's okay. I got you, my flower.” He tries to soothe you, bending back down to catch your lips again, but he only manages to freak you out more. 

My flower? No! You must stop this. 

You bite down on his lip harshly, tasting blood, and he reels back, cursing in pain. “What the fuck?” 

In his shock, you’re finally able to push him off and scramble to your feet. “Stay away from me. I do not want you. I have chosen him so stop whatever the hell you’re doing. I will never be yours.”

He levels you with a dark look, the little bit of blood dripping down his chin making him look even more chilling. “Why not?” He asks bitterly. “I can do good by you. You don't have to pay mind to the rumours about me. You know me.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, I do not know and never wish to know you. You are unwell. Stay away from me.” You proclaim with all the conviction and strength you could muster, before you turn around and dart back to your home. 

You didn’t want to give him the chance to challenge you. You do not know what he's capable of and you have disgraced yourself enough already. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you run, and you whip your head around constantly to make sure he isn't following you. You feel as though he is, gooseskin prickling at the back of your neck at the feeling of being watched, but every time you whip your head back, certain you'll meet his dark eyes, you find nothing there. 

Your family is not back when you reach your home which is both a relief and a grievance. You’re glad they are not there to question your whereabouts or your dirty frazzled condition but you do not wish to be left alone in case he comes to find you. 

In order to soothe yourself, you cast a protective spell on a powerful talisman and hold it to your chest, burying yourself under heaps of fur and praying that is enough to protect you from whatever evils linger around the dark boy.  

_____________________________

A/N: so excited for this series, let me know what you think please!

[yourlittlegoblin]

{How Venti Shows His Love} Venti x Reader

Yellow hello mellow with shits and giggles mother fuckers because I am totally not pretending to be high for shits and giggles while watching a video in the background as we speak so guys live laugh love because shits about to go down and sorry not sorry but its long

Venti doesn’t just say he loves you—he sings it

In the middle of town, in the fields even in the middle of a battle

Wakes you up with soft melodies playing his lyre outside your window like some windborne bardic Romeo

Sometimes the songs are sweet, other times they’re absolute nonsense he made up on the spot

If you hum a tune absentmindedly you will hear it later that day

You will either being played in the tavern, whistled by passing NPCs, or woven into a full song

He loves the way you laugh

Pls laugh at his jokes he uses it to cover how hes crippling inside because he feels like you're attracted to the persona he plays and for the body of his dead friend and not who he truly is

If you ever laugh at one of his dumb little songs, he will absolutely repeat it forever

You have doomed yourself

Whisks you away on a breeze when you least expect it

Trust me it is always unexpected

You’ll be mid-conversation with someone, then suddenly—whoosh—now you’re on the rooftop of Angel’s Share with a beautiful view of the sunset

“We can talk here. It’s more private. And romantic. And your hair looks pretty in the wind.”

Randomly twirls you around in the middle of the street

Writes poetry for you but disguises it as just another one of his usual songs

“Oh, that song? Just a little something inspired by my muse~” winks obnoxiously "Ehe~"

Leaves tiny wind-blessed trinkets in your pockets. A feather that never gets dirty, a little carved Anemo sigil that hums in the breeze, a scrap of parchment with illegible but undeniably pretty handwriting

If you ever get lost in Mondstadt, don’t worry—Venti will literally send a breeze to guide you home

Hates walking

Loves floating

Sometimes he just… picks you up with the wind and carries you along with him. It’s an honor really

“My dear, walking is so boring! Let me show you the joys of soaring instead~”

Has an uncanny ability to appear the moment you think about him

You sigh his name in frustration while struggling with something? Boom. There he is

“Ah, you called for your beloved bard? Fear not, for I have arrived!”

Pouts dramatically if you don’t give him attention

He will sigh and flop onto you like a lifeless doll

“Ah… I am but a forgotten wind spirit… abandoned and neglected… only a single kiss can bring me back to life…”

If you kiss him you will break him for like 3 seconds before he proceeds to pull you into a make-out session that lasts like 30 mins

Steals sips of your drinks without asking

Writes love notes and literally sends them on the wind

You could be minding your business, and suddenly a scrap of parchment flutters into your hands: “Meet me at Windrise~”

Always, always holds onto you when flying together. Not because he needs to—he just likes it

Oh and do I have to mention that hes clingy?

Whispers sweet nothings in your ear when no one’s around

The kind that make you wonder if he’s just being a flirt… or if there’s something more beneath it

“The wind is jealous, you know. It wishes it could carry you like I do.”

Turns even the smallest, most mundane things into a grand romantic gesture

Walking to the market? Now it’s a romantic stroll. Sitting under a tree? Now it’s a fated meeting of souls

Knows exactly how to fluster you. And he lives for it

But beneath all the playfulness, his love is as deep as the winds that have carried him for centuries

He doesn’t just love you in the moment—he loves you as a song, an ode, an everlasting melody that will never fade

And when he holds you close, when the mischief in his eyes softens into something warm and unguarded, you know—he truly means it

[santsukii]

ᯓ✿ say you love me

ˋ°•*⁀➷ anemo boys falling for you (alt angst version here)

ˋ°•*⁀➷ venti, xiao, kaedehara kazuha, shikanoin heizou, wanderer x gn! reader

���˚ character story spoilers, this is more or less just an excuse to write the silly little scenarios in my head involving these boys, some more angsty than others but it’s like 90% fluff

it’s not as if venti were completely oblivious to his own emotions, he understands what’s going on when he notices his heart fluttering when you’re around. when you smiled at him, it was as if his heart were beating right out of his chest. his music so clearly and beautifully graced the air, drowning out his own whispered confession of love. if he were to say it loud enough for you ears to pick up, how would you look back at him? as if fate itself were turning its head and laughing at him for falling so helplessly in love with someone he only considered a friend until recently.

to all but the archon himself, such melancholy tunes played on his lyre while sitting on the hands of a statue made in his likeness were simply meaningless and carried little to no weight whatsoever. the sky was clear, allowing him to gaze ever so wistfully at the constellations in the night sky as he thinks of you. maybe he’d find yours, reaching up and tracing the connections of the brightly shining stars with his finger. he knows he’s nothing more than a god fallen from grace, and not even you knew of the gnosis that had been taken from him. venti’s heart ached at the idea that he may never be able to scream out his love for you due to his own doubts.

yet right now, in the dead of night, he could sing of the love residing deep within his ever-beating heart. with a final song to confess to the night sky, he sings and plays so softly that it’s difficult to hear. even with that, his voice is so soothing and comforting as he sings out the love that had plagued him for a long time now. as he finished his song, he noticed the smallest amount of tears dripping from his face as he finally let out the pent-up emotions. even if he presumed you were far away, he hopelessly hoped that his voice would reach you. your beautiful smile and laugh were etched in the archon’s heart, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

if xiao met the same fate as those he once held dear, he hoped he could at least let out his love for you. it brings him peace that he can protect you as the last yaksha of liyue. he often finds himself separate from society for their own sake, his karmic debt often drawing closer the demons he swore to kill. yet, you stayed close to him despite the immediate danger you often faced. sometimes, he would find the tears pricking at his golden eyes as he reminisces the life he wished he could have lived with you. it would have been a peaceful life full of happiness and love beyond compare, surrounded by his fellow yaksha.

even with that, the light of your smile never passed him by. silently watching over you from afar during the lantern rite, he was torn. xiao wanted nothing more than to join you in the crowd, but what if you got separated from him? would he have the courage to hold your hand? those doubts landed him sitting atop a building and watching from a distance, silently hoping you’d turn around and notice his affectionate observations. as hundreds of lanterns gently floated into the air, he found himself once again fighting the urge to join you in the crowd. it would only be a matter of time before the fireworks begun, maybe then he’d have the opportunity to stand beside you and welcome in a new year.

in the bitter cold of the night air as the first of the fireworks exploded into the inky dark sky, you saw him next to you. xiao smiled gently, not saying a word as the landscape was illuminated with the bright and lively colors of the fireworks. his hand in yours, welcoming a new year together with a kiss. the one thing that couldn’t be heard beneath the explosions of color that could outshine the brightest star was his voice, saying three words he never thought he’d say again. “i love you”

he had fallen for you without a care in the world, allowing it to grow as the days go by for no reason besides the idea that he has nothing to lose by falling for you. kazuha’s heart felt as if it were bursting with love and passion whenever he looked at you. it was a whirlwind type of romance, one in which both parties involved were constantly sharing knowing glances and giggles, overly affectionate with a passion that will surely burn itself out if given enough time.

but it didn’t. he never once doubted his love for you, in fact he was quite open about it. it was bound to make others jealous, the way he was constantly sending letters with gifts when he was away on various travels. whenever kazuha was away from you, he found himself missing you exponentially more as the days went by. oftentimes, he only wanted to return to the place he belonged, in your arms. he doesn’t really enjoy being all alone, so he’d take your hand and hold it ever so tightly. you’ve always been what guides him and gives him peace of mind. your smile was like a guiding star in the darkest of nights, always there to light the way despite the circumstances.

kazuha never truly “confessed”. his actions alone indicated his love for you, and he one day just began saying he loved you. it came so naturally to him that he could never overthink it, like a second nature. those three words flowed so naturally out of his mouth with that beautiful and soft voice of his, it just felt right. what began as simply a lighthearted summer romance had quickly grown into a love that would stand the rest of time, despite any struggles the two of you may face. if nothing else, you’d face it together.

heizou is a naturally flirty person, using that to his advantage to conceal his true feelings for you. being a detective, he was naturally able to read people, yet he could never truly understand what was going on behind those eyes of yours. really, it was such a nuisance to hold these feelings in. alas, it was a hinderance to his work. sometimes he wondered if you could hear his heart beating out of his chest whenever you were around, surely it wouldn’t take much to realize what’s going on here. he’d need for you to simply let him in and he’d be the happiest man in teyvat.

it really doesn’t take a detective to figure out he loved you, it was quite obvious really. how many words at minimum would it take for you to notice his love? even with heizou attempting to hide the feelings in his heart, the summer days spent with you made his feelings soar. sitting on the beach and watching the sunset together, he really couldn’t be happier. he knew he was helplessly in love with you, warmth creeping onto his face every time you smiled or laughed because of him.

so here he was, singing and dancing in the warm sand with you under the sun’s fading light. the crashing of the waves on the shore drowned out your voices, but he hadn’t a care in the world. with his hands in yours, your laugh as the both of you fell into the cool water, he couldn’t be happier. even if both your clothes were now wet, you didn’t care even one bit as his lips met yours.

ever since the day he met you, he feigned indifference and rudeness to hide his feelings for you. he was a perfect example of using his naturally intimidating demeanor to hide the love he held for you. a puppet made without a heart, you had given him all the more reason to continue living. the nameless wanderer was so into you that he couldn’t help but smile to himself after any interaction with you. of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead smiling over you. just like magic, he was immediately done in by you without your knowledge.

he wanted to hate you as much as he pretended he did, that much was true. even after he warmed up to your presence, he wanted to stop acting like his true self around you. he wished he could just shut you out again, yet he couldn’t stop wondering if you felt the same. he assumed you did, based solely off of your words and actions without even the slightest verbal proof. with every single touch of his puppet body, his heart beat out of his artificial chest. maybe he had known you in his past life, maybe his heart broke knowing you wouldn’t remember him.

yet, you seemed to love him in every iteration of his life. he knew it all along, he said as he held your hands and forced himself to confess. the more he tried to fill the metaphorical gap between you, the more he unintentionally forced himself away. sure, he’d admit that he was greedy for your love. it wasn’t that bad to be in love, was it? under a beautiful tree surrounded by colorful flowers, he had his first kiss. hundreds of years living, but you were the only one he ever seemed to want to be around. angry looks and scoffs had been replaced with smiles despite all odds.

[jackiepackiee]

Telemachus x Apollo Blessed! Reader

Chapter Five

Masterlist

Prince Telemachus who is favored by Athena with a reader who's favored by Apollo. Both under the guidance of the god and goddess of wisdom and knowledge respectively. One a fierce warrior and the other a lovely musician. Yet complete opposites of their role when it comes to a peaceful artist and intimidating opponent.

Previously…

Looking embarrassed, he shrugged and his shoulders turned inwards a little.

Until you laughed. First, a small huff before a full giggle at his antics. Shocked and amused by his actions, you laughed.

And he thought it was the best sound ever, even better than the music from your lyre.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Where are you going?” You asked, your laughter dying down as you took in a breath and watched him.

His head tilted to the side and his hair fell over his forehead, his body was turning to go inside. “Your lessons?” He referenced, pointing to the hallway.

“We don’t have to do it inside.” You offered, leaning against the wall while sitting on the balcony's stone railing.

“My mother will be expecting us to be…” He started, until he saw the way the sun was glowing on your face so beautifully. Wind taking your clothing and making it flow like water around your body.

He stopped, clearing his throat and looking away to the sky in thought. “Well, the weather is lovely.”

You nodded, unaware of his type of gaze. Looking at the view yourself. “I’ve never seen this part of the island.”

What could be seen was a part of the beach that only the palace could see, placed in a way that was down far in the island like a cove. Letting the rest of the view be mountains, ocean, and sky.

And against it, Telemachus thought you looked like a goddess in front of such a view when he looked back at you.

Clearing his throat, he spoke again. “Then we should stay outside… so you can see the new view! Of course.”

Trying to get a better look below, past his training grounds to the rest of the nature, you tilted forward. As you leaned, he gently took your upper arm and shoulder into his hands and stabled you. Strong body keeping you from going too far over the railing. His face was flush, but he didn’t mind it while he acted.

“This is very high up, my lady.” Despite his nervousness that was obvious from the touch, he refused to let you get too close to the ledge.

In reaction, you laughed again. Not minding his touch as he guided you to stand on the balcony. Feet meeting the ground as you joked. “That is silly coming from the prince who just climbed all the way up.” Smiling, your eyes couldn’t help but close at his behavior.

Not being able to see him, you couldn’t see the way his face softened entirely as he took in your expression. Feeling his heart in his chest, aware of every beat that it made in its haste. He took his hands away from you when you stood balanced on the floor.

When you finally stopped laughing, you picked up your lyre into the proper position. Not seeing the way he quickly shook his head and got focused.

“Have you ever played an instrument?” You inquired, making sure all the strings were in tune.

“…no.” He admitted, adjusting the brackets of gold on his forearms nervously. Twisting them so he didn’t look too interested in talking with you.

As you listened for his answer, you nodded. “That’s okay. We all start somewhere.” You spoke absentmindedly, finishing your check of your lyre.

Continuing on, you looked up at him. “What do you know about music?”

“That you’re good at making pretty songs.” He responded quickly, not putting much thought into his answer. As he realized his compliment however, he tensed up. Shoulders tightening as he stood straight up and put his hands up defensively. Flush returned to his cheeks, which the close proximity didn’t hide. “I didn’t mean to be so bold. Apologies.” His voice sounded higher than before.

Seeing his panic at the apparent fear of making you uncomfortable in his forward comments, you felt something strange in your chest.

A pulling at your heart which seemed to grow faster. So much so that you could feel it, even hear it in your ears and get caught in your breath.

“You’ve heard me play enough to know that?” You asked, trying to spin the conversation away from either of your reactions.

“Well… I heard you the day you arrived here. And yesterday when we were introduced. As well as today when you played during my training.” He admitted, recounting all the times he’s heard you.

Unbeknownst to him, you’d only ever played simple tunes off the top of your head while he was around. Not enough to impress anyone, at least not in your mind.

Before you could argue, he continued. “I know it’s not much, and it’s not like I’ve asked you to play for me. But I enjoy how it sounds.” He leans against the wall, looking at your lyre as if trying to understand its structure.

“I’ve never been very good at art… My mother is the artist of the palace.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he smiled gently at his admission.

Hearing this, you shook your head at his words. “I’m sure you could be wonderful, so you mustn’t be so doubtful.”

The confidence you had in him was surprising, though it soothed his mind of his worries.

“Thank you.” He looked back up at your eyes as he thanked you, letting his face relax as he took in your calm expression.

For a while the two of you stood in silence, only being able to hear the ocean crashing against the cove below and birds occasionally swoosh by the balcony.

After a minute or two, he started to speak. Voice not shaky, but not entirely stable and confident as he tried to present himself as a prince. “Hey, um. Do you think you could play me a real song?” He looked out to the sky, watching a cloud, before continuing his request. “I’ve only heard you for short periods.”

Confused at his desire, you made it known. “That doesn’t sound like much of a lesson.” Your voice was calm as it was before, but you didn’t look away. In fact you seemed to be in thought while gazing at your lyre in your hands. Fingers ghosting over the strings.

“Well, I guess not.” He shrugged, mentally hitting his head at his mistake for what seemed like a silly request. It was only your second time meeting, and he couldn’t help but be so forward and awkward!

After a few more bouts of silence, you spoke. Gaze moving from your lyre to his expectant face. “…I’ll play something.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Hearing music play, the queen paced down the corridor slowly towards the sound. Her nurse and most trusted maid, Eurycleia, at her side.

“Is that your son playing, my queen?” Eurycleia questioned, following a few steps behind the queen as she walked towards the noise.

“I doubt it.” Her level voice said honestly. “It must be the girl, as I’ve heard she’s one of the best musicians in all of Greece.” Slowing down, she stopped her quick pace when she neared the balcony.

The two women did not dare peek past the stone pillars of the wall. Not wishing to be caught or interrupt the lesson.

Eurycleia whispered, “We can get a better view from the window down the hall.”

And with that, the two walked a few meters down and turned so they could spot the two of you on the balcony.

You were both the picture of content.

You, strumming your lyre as you gently draped yourself against the railing. Sun gleaming onto you as it lit up on your golden instrument. It was obvious you were in a position of comfort. Doing something you know and love.

And the prince, Telemachus, was watching attentively. Eyes flickering around from your face to your hands. Letting his guard down, and looking absolutely entranced. Almost like he heard a siren song.

Both of you adorning smiles as the beautiful melody, looking almost childlike.

A state Penelope hadn’t seen her son in for years since the suitors roamed the halls and spiked his pressure to become a man.

The queen and nurse smiled at the boy, never seeing him allow himself to be in such a natural state of self.

“I know music lessons would be a good idea.” The queen said, smiling at Eurycleia.

“All it took was finding the perfect teacher.”

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[xxventiswindblumexx]

Yandere Venti being jealous of Zhongli because Darling is in love with him and him only see Venti as "cute" and "adorable" see's Venti as a little brother not at all she's attracted Darling is simply memorized by Zhongli ((who could blame her))

Who could?? I couldn't 😌

Shout out to my bestie for keeping me motivated!

⚠WARNING⚠:Yandere tendacies, non-con, unprotected sex

The warm breeze of Mondstadt’s early spring filled the air, carrying the delicate aroma of blooming dandelions. You stood at the edge of Windrise, the towering oak tree casting a playful shadow over your figure. Venti sat perched on one of its sprawling roots, his lyre resting lazily in his lap. The soft hum of a tune died on his lips as you spoke, your voice tinged with excitement.

“Zhongli is incredible, don’t you think? He has this timeless wisdom... and the way he speaks—it’s like poetry in motion.” You smiled, your eyes distant as though picturing the Liyue Archon right there before you.

Venti’s fingers froze mid-strum. His usually carefree expression faltered for just a moment, but you didn’t notice.

“Ah, yes,” he said, forcing a laugh that came out a little too light. “Old man Zhongli... He certainly has a way with words. Probably from all those centuries of rehearsing.”

You chuckled, taking his comment as harmless jest. “Dont be so mean,” you replied, playfully nudging him. “Besides, I find his company really comforting—like he understands things on a deeper level.”

Something in Venti’s gaze shifted, the glimmer of mischief fading into something darker. He tilted his head, the playful breeze that always seemed to follow him growing still. “And what about my company?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You blinked, turning to look at him properly. “Yours?”

“Yes,” he said, his teal eyes locking onto yours. There was something unnervingly intense about his stare, like he was trying to read every thought in your mind. “Do you find my company comforting?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, brushing it off with a smile. “But it’s different. You’re like a little brother to me, Venti. I know I can always count on you to make me laugh when I’m feeling down.”

The words landed like shards of glass. Venti’s smile remained, but his grip on the lyre tightened until his knuckles turned white. A little brother.

The breeze stirred again, colder this time, wrapping around you like a warning. Venti’s voice was light as he said, “I see. It’s good to know how you see me, Y/N.”

There was something unnerving in the way he said your name, the casual affection you were so used to tinged with something sharper. But before you could reply, he sprang to his feet, his cheerful façade slipping back into place.

“Well then! Shall we return to Mondstadt?” He beamed, slinging the lyre over his back. “The taverns won’t empty themselves!”

You hesitated but nodded, brushing off the odd tension as nothing more than your imagination. Yet, as you walked ahead, Venti lingered behind, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of longing and possessiveness.

‘..She likes Zhongli..’ the thought repeated in his mind like a haunting melody. His carefree smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a shadowed scowl. But that’s okay... I’ll show her just how much better I can be.

As you and him returned to the town of Mondstadt he wanted to show you something ‘special’ making you laugh “oh? Sure what do you got in mind?” He would only giggle as he lead you to and up the statue of his, making you nervous since it is high up.

It was when you wasn't looking he approched, just as quick and quiet as the wind

“You love me right Y/N?” He asked sweetly before pushing you on your back against the hands of the statue, making your race race as he pine you down.

"Baby, I’d play my lyre until my fingers bled if it made you smile. Now, tell me—would you bleed for me?" He spoke in such a sweet tone as if this was a romantic evening yet it was far from it. He didn't wait for you to answer

“of course you would, my windblume, precious Y/N..no more speak of that.. Old lizard” still stinging at his heart

"Why let his name linger on your lips, my windblume? Am I not the only melody you need to sing?" His free hand downs while the other held your wrists as you struggled

“Venti- what-” “shhh don't speak, I'm the archon here~” with that you felt your lips become dry and couldn't speak as if he commanded your voice to be taken.

His soft but cold hand pulls and rips at your clothing, discarding them on an unsuspecting mondstadter walking late night.

His thumb rolls over her nipples wanting them to perk up, a sick but sly smile plays on his lips “so soft.. And so sweet too, as I expect from my windblume~” his lips connect with your breast, licking and swirling his tongue around it before biting it making you squirm.

Slowly his hand made its way down to your pussy, feeling and rubbing the slit, wanting to create more slick, after all it'll be harsh to go in dry.

“Go on my windblume, show me how much you love me~” pulling his already hardened and twitching cock out he rubbed it against her growing slick, making the head occasionally pop in before slipping back out with a slight whimper, he couldn't help himself he's been dreaming of this. As he presses the tip against your wet hole you squirm and try to speak but nothing comes out as he giggles

“Too late~” before pushing into you, pushing all the way to his hips, savoring the feeling with a beautiful moan he starts to rock his hips. As his hips start to buck faster you could see his elemental marks glow as he couldn't help but drool.

"Please, my windblume, say it—say you love me. I need to hear it, need to feel it. Tell me I’m the only one in your heart, or I might just break without you." He pants and moans out as he held your wrists with a tight grip, for getting his spell he out on, it didn't matter, he couldn't hold back his ‘love's for you, his cock twitching delightfully before gushing cum into your womb, his hips stayed against yours as he held you in a loving embrace, whispering bittersweet promises to you

“Even if the winds carry you far, I’ll follow, no matter where you go. Even if it hurts us both, I’ll never let you go."

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 09 Chapter 09 | fractured harmony⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The feast was in full swing, the grand hall once again filled with laughter and life. The air was warm and heady, charged with the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread, mingling with the sweet aroma of honeyed fruits.

It was a jolly atmosphere—joyful, vibrant, alive.

You found yourself among the musicians once again, your hands moving rhythmically over a small djembe drum, the deep, resonant beat echoing through your body.

With every strike of your hands on the drum's taut skin, you could feel your heart matching its tempo, drumming in sync with the pulse of the music. The rhythm was infectious; your whole body seemed to pulse along, your face flushed from the heat and energy of the room.

There was something about being a part of this collective sound, this melding of melody and percussion, that made the moment feel almost sacred, as if all the troubles of the world had temporarily vanished in the warmth of the hall.

You watched as the others played their instruments—lyres, flutes, and tambourines—all weaving together in a tapestry of sound that filled every corner of the room. Your fingers ached from the constant motion, but the smiles on the faces of those around you were more than enough to keep you going.

The music built up to a joyous crescendo, and as the final notes echoed, the song came to an end, leaving you breathless and grinning.

You took the opportunity to step away, your skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Making your way towards the long table at the side, you grabbed a goblet of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat.

You paused, leaning back against one of the stone pillars, your gaze wandering across the grand hall as you took a long sip.

The sight before you was beautiful—almost like something out of a dream. Penelope and Odysseus sat close together at the head table, the queen's eyes warm as they rested on her husband.

Every so often, Odysseus leaned over, his lips moving close to Penelope's ear, whispering something that made her smile. She swatted playfully at his chest, her laughter ringing out—a sound full of genuine happiness that made your own heart swell.

It was a simple, tender moment, yet it spoke of the love and resilience they shared, even after everything they had endured.

As you finished your drink, you heard the musicians striking up another tune. The lively notes filled the room, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched several servants—both from Ithaca and Bronte—begin to laugh and cheer, pairing up to dance.

There was something beautiful about the sight, the way the house colors blended together, Ithaca's blue and gold intermingling with Bronte's green and yellow. The servants moved with an easy grace, their feet tapping in time with the beat, skirts and tunics twirling in flashes of color.

The laughter, the cheer, the music—it all seemed to weave together, filling the room with a sense of unity.

Just as you were about to move and head back to the musicians, you spotted Telemachus making his way over. His eyes met yours, and an easy grin spread across his face, one that you couldn't help but mirror.

You smoothed down your clothes absentmindedly, flattening your hair as a flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you. Your heart beat just a little faster, a mix of anticipation and nervousness making you fidget.

Telemachus had always made it his mission to catch a dance with you if time permitted, and tonight seemed to be no different. You couldn't help the giddy feeling that welled up inside as he drew closer, the warmth of his smile making everything else fade into the background.

But just as he was about to reach you, a flash of green and yellow entered your field of vision.

Lady Andreia intercepted Telemachus, her bright grin unmistakable as she placed a hand on his arm, her fingers curling gently but confidently around his sleeve.

Without waiting for his response, she tugged him toward the center of the room, where the others were already dancing.

Telemachus hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes flickering back to meet yours, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but there was a twinge of something in your chest, an unfamiliar emotion that you couldn't quite place.

You watched as the princess pulled Telemachus into the line of dancers, their movements quickly falling in sync with the lively beat of the music. The prince spun her effortlessly, his laughter mingling with hers as they joined in the swirling dance.

Your gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, that odd twinge deepening in your chest as you took in the sight—the two of them moving together, their colors blending amidst the blues, golds, greens, and yellows that filled the hall.

It was a beautiful scene, and yet, it left you feeling strangely hollow.

With a soft sigh, you turned away, forcing a smile as you made your way back toward the musicians. The music was still playing, the notes joyous and bright, but for the first time tonight, it felt as if you were on the outside looking in.

☆

☆

All throughout the evening, Lady Andreia had remained close to Telemachus, her laughter echoing above the music, her presence unwavering. She danced with him, her smile radiant as they spun together, her fingers brushing his arm in fleeting touches that seemed both innocent and intentional.

They moved as if they had known each other forever, and it left little room for anyone else to join in.

You tried to stay focused, to keep the beat steady with the musicians, your hands drumming over the small djembe until your palms ached. The rhythm was your anchor, something that kept your thoughts from drifting too far into that uncomfortable twinge that seemed to grow each time you caught a glimpse of Telemachus and Andreia together.

He tried, a few times, to break away—to come find you and drag you into the dance—but each time, Andreia was there, her bright smile and laughter cutting in before he even reached you.

Eventually, you decided it was easier to stay put, to let the music carry you through the evening and to ignore Telemachus' fruitless attempts to catch your attention.

It was better this way, or at least, that was what you told yourself.

You poured all your energy into the music, the notes carrying you forward even when your heart wasn't quite in it; your fingers grew sore, your body ached, but you refused to let the fatigue—or the strange, unfamiliar feeling gnawing at you—show.

The music was your refuge, the only thing that made sense in the swirl of emotions you couldn't quite name.

By the time the last of the guests had gone, the hall was quiet, save for the clatter of dishes and the soft murmurs of the servants as they tidied up.

You worked alongside them, your movements automatic—stacking plates, wiping down tables, sweeping away the remains of the night's revelry.

As you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances toward the center of the room, where Telemachus and Andreia had danced. The memory of them spinning together, her hand resting on his shoulder, his smile bright and carefree, made your heart twist painfully.

There was a heaviness in your chest that you tried to ignore, shaking your head as if that would somehow rid you of the thoughts that kept creeping in.

Once the work was done, you walked with the others out of the now empty hall, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor.

You exchanged quiet goodbyes, your voice almost lost in the stillness of the night, and then you turned, splitting off from the group as you made your way towards your room.

The night was calm, the air cool against your skin as you stepped into the outside.

The sky above was clear, the moonlight showering down, bathing the courtyard in a silvery glow. The chirping of insects filled the quiet, a gentle hum that seemed to wrap around you, a reminder that even in the stillness, life continued.

The path to your room was familiar, and you moved slowly, your eyes tracing the patterns of moonlight on the ground, your thoughts drifting.

The ache in your chest hadn't lessened, but out here, beneath the open sky, it felt a little easier to bear.

It was quiet. Peaceful. A stark contrast to the noise and warmth of the hall, to the laughter and music that had filled the air not long ago.

And yet, even in the quiet, your mind thought about Telemachus, about the way his eyes had searched for yours, the way Lady Andreia had pulled him away.

You shook your head again, as if to clear it, and quickened your pace.

It was late, and you were tired. Tomorrow would be another day, and perhaps, with the morning light, things would feel different.

So instead of focusing on such churning thoughts, you focus on the sound of your footsteps, the feel of the ground beneath your sandals, the glow of the moonlight guiding you forward.

The night was quiet, and for now, that was enough.

You were nearly halfway to your room when you heard your name called, the sound breaking through the stillness of the night. The voice was familiar—soft, yet insistent—and it made you stop in your tracks, your heart giving a small, unexpected leap.

Turning around, your eyes widened slightly as you saw Telemachus jogging towards you, his figure illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon. He was a sight, his hair a little tousled, cheeks flushed from the exertion, and something about the way he moved—hurried, purposeful—sent a warmth spreading through your chest.

"____," he called again, his breath a little heavy by the time he reached you, but his eyes were bright, a soft smile spreading across his face. He looked down at you, his gaze gentle, and for a moment, the weight that had settled in your chest seemed to lift, just a little.

"May I escort you the rest of the way?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of warmth, his eyes searching yours as if hoping for an invitation.

Before you could respond, his hand reached out, taking the djembe drum that hung by your side, lifting it from your shoulder with a careful touch.

You blinked, and then smiled, nodding. "Of course," you said, your voice softer than you intended, but it seemed enough for him. Telemachus returned your smile, his own soft and genuine, and with that, the two of you began to walk.

The silence that fell between you was comfortable, the kind that needed no words; you could feel the warmth of the prince beside you, his arm brushing against yours every so often as you walked. The djembe hung at his side, and his fingers tapped against it absently, keeping a gentle rhythm as you moved.

You found yourself glancing at him from the corner of your eye, the moonlight highlighting the curve of his jaw, the softness of his expression, and something inside you softened too.

He looked ahead, his gaze focused on the path, his features calm and relaxed, and there was something about the way he walked—steady, unhurried—that made you feel at ease.

It was as if, for just this moment, all the confusion and the uncertainty from earlier had faded away, leaving behind only this—just the two of you, walking side by side beneath the moonlight.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you looked ahead, letting the quiet wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

The night seemed to hold its breath; the only sounds were the soft crunch of your footsteps against the path and the distant chirping of crickets. You could hear the rustle of the olive branches above, swaying gently in the breeze, casting dancing shadows on the ground as the moonlight filtered through the leaves.

The air was cool, crisp against your skin, yet the warmth of Telemachus beside you seemed to make the chill almost pleasant, balancing it out in a way that made you feel content.

Telemachus cleared his throat softly, the sound breaking through the quiet but not disturbing it—more like adding another layer to the stillness of the night. He looked down at you, his eyes soft, the corners of his lips turning upwards. "Did you enjoy the feast?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant, as though he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to break the peaceful silence.

You turned your head towards him, meeting his gaze, and a bright smile spread across your face. "I did, my prince," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of excitement as you recalled the vibrant festivities. "It was wonderful—the music, the dancing, the laughter. It felt like, for just a moment, everything was right again. Everyone seemed... happy."

Telemachus nodded, his expression softening, the lines of tension easing from his face. "It was," he agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Bronte was surprisingly pleasant. The people were warmer than I expected. It was nice, having them here."

At the mention of the neighboring kingdom, you felt your smile falter just a little, your heart giving an odd, uncomfortable twist.

You nodded, forcing the smile to stay on your lips, pressing on despite the unease that flickered within you. "Yes, it was," you agreed, your voice quieter now, a touch of something unspoken lacing your words.

You looked ahead, focusing on the path, on the way the stones seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, trying to push away the feeling that tugged at your chest.

You could feel Telemachus glancing at you, his gaze lingering, as though he could sense the shift in your mood, but he said nothing, choosing instead to remain in the comfortable silence, letting the moment stretch between you.

And for that, you were grateful. Grateful for his presence, for the warmth that seemed to radiate from him, for the way he walked beside you without question or pressure, just there, solid and steady.

After a few more moments, Telemachus gave a soft chuckle, his voice lightening the mood. "I think I made a fool of myself on the dance floor," he admitted, shaking his head, a sheepish grin forming on his face. "I haven't danced like that in a long time."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound escaping you before you could stop it. You glanced up at him, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "You weren't that bad," you teased gently, your smile widening. "In fact, I'd say you were quite impressive—though maybe not as graceful as Lady Andreia."

Telemachus groaned playfully, rolling his eyes. "Ah, yes," he said, his tone holding a hint of self-deprecation. "She certainly made me look better than I am." He paused, glancing at you with a sly smile. "Though, I do think I would've rather danced with you instead."

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth spreading across your cheeks. You looked away, hiding the smile that tugged at your lips, feeling a flutter of something light and hopeful bloom in your chest. "Perhaps next time, my prince," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

Telemachus hummed in agreement, and you felt his arm brush against yours, a gentle touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

The two of you continued walking, the soft crunch of your footsteps filling the silence as the path narrowed; the ground gradually shifted beneath you, the soft crunch of gravel transitioning into the smooth tiles of the palace floor as you entered a different part of the building.

Telemachus walked you all the way to your door, neither of you saying much—the quiet had settled between you like a comforting blanket, one neither of you wished to disturb.

When you reached your door, you paused, turning to face him, your eyes meeting his. The moonlight bathed his features in a gentle glow, softening the lines of his face, making him look almost ethereal.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you filled with something unspoken, something tender and fragile.

Telemachus gave you a soft smile, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gentle, almost hesitant touch, as if testing the waters. "Goodnight, ____" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with warmth.

You swallowed, your heart pounding, and offered him a small, genuine smile in return. "Goodnight, my prince." Your voice was equally soft, the words carrying more than just a farewell—something unspoken that hung between you, lingering in the air.

For a moment, it felt as though he might lean closer, as if the two of you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn't quite name. But then he pulled back, his smile still in place, and nodded once before turning to walk away, his footsteps fading into the night.

You watched him go, your heart still pounding, warmth blooming in your chest. When he finally disappeared from view, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, leaning back against your door. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you rested your head against the wood, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Your heart was racing, your cheeks warm, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in the feeling—the hope, the warmth, the quiet thrill that seemed to spread through you.

It was like a secret, something just for you to hold onto, a memory to carry with you.

Finally, with a sigh, you pushed yourself away from the door, opening it quietly and stepping inside.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon filtering through the small window. You moved slowly, setting your drum down in the corner, your fingers lingering on the wood for a moment.

You shrugged off your shoes, your fingers deftly undoing the laces before placing them neatly to the side. Your eyes scanned the dim room, and you quietly moved to take off the rest of your attire, folding each piece carefully and setting it on a chair.

You splashed your face with water from the basin, the coolness making you shiver slightly, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of your flushed cheeks.

Finally, you slipped into your nightclothes, letting out a content sigh as you settled into your bed; you were knocked out the moment your head hit the pillow.

The dream was unlike anything you had ever experienced—a strange yet beautiful vision that seemed to blur the lines between fantasy and reality.

You were sitting in a seemingly never-ending field of flowers, the sun shining down warmly, bathing everything in a golden glow. The flowers danced around you, vibrant colors stretching as far as your eyes could see.

You wore a flowing white dress, its fabric catching the breeze, and your feet were bare, the earth beneath you soft and comforting.

You were humming softly to yourself, the tune light and carefree, your hands busy weaving a flower crown to match the one already resting atop your head. There was a sense of tranquility, of freedom, that seemed to fill you entirely, making your heart swell with joy.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across you, interrupting the sunlight, and you looked up, a smile already forming on your lips. Though the figure was shrouded in shadow, somehow, you knew them—an innate familiarity that made you feel safe, comforted.

The man bent down, his presence filling the space around you with warmth. His hand reached out to cup the bottom of your face gently, and his touch was like sunlight itself—soft, warm, and deeply comforting. You found yourself closing your eyes, leaning into it, savoring the tenderness. His thumb brushed against your cheek, a touch so soft it almost tickled, and you could feel your heart fluttering in your chest.

The man leaned closer, his warmth enveloping you as his lips brushed against your ear; you shivered as he whispered your name—a low, soft voice that sent a thrill down your spine.

" ____, my love."

The words were filled with so much warmth, so much affection that it made your heart swell almost painfully. His presence was comforting, his closeness like a soothing balm to your soul.

You could feel the heat of his breath, the way his hand cradled your face like you were something precious, irreplaceable. The warmth of his touch seeped into your very being, making you wish for the moment to stretch on forever.

You leaned into him further, your heart pounding with something that felt so pure, so unguarded, and as his fingers brushed against your jawline, you could almost feel the promise in that simple touch—a promise of love, of devotion, of something far beyond what words could convey.

And just as you began to turn your face towards his, your eyes still closed, your lips parting slightly—

When your eyes opened, the dream was gone, replaced by the soft light of dawn breaking past the horizon, filling your room with its gentle glow.

You blinked, disoriented for a moment, the warmth of the dream still lingering in your chest, the sensation of his touch still vivid.

With a sigh, you rubbed your face, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream as you slowly pushed yourself up, the chill of the morning air brushing against your skin.

You could still feel the echoes of that strange, beautiful vision as you stood, stretching, and began to prepare yourself for the day ahead.

☆

☆

Throughout the morning, you couldn't help but notice that Lady Andreia was still on Ithaca.

You had seen her once or twice after she had gathered her brother's body, and you had assumed she would leave promptly after, but she and her entourage had continued to stay. She was particularly present around the royal family, her presence lingering like a shadow.

Most noticeably, she often stayed close to Queen Penelope.

At first, you assumed it was simply a formality—a gesture of goodwill to stay and converse with the queen after everything that had happened. But as the hours passed, you saw Andreia with Penelope often, their heads bowed together, sharing whispers and laughter.

There was an ease between them that seemed to grow, as though they were beginning to find comfort in each other's company.

It was nearing lunchtime when you were bringing a tray of fruit and freshly baked bread to Penelope. You made your way through the corridors, the tray balanced carefully in your hands.

The closer you got to the queen's chambers, the more you could hear the soft murmur of voices.

When you entered, you found Penelope and Andreia seated by the window, sunlight streaming in, casting a warm glow over them. They were chatting animatedly, their smiles bright, their conversation filled with an ease that made you pause.

Penelope looked up as you entered, her expression softening. "Oh, ____, I'm sorry," she said, a gentle apology in her voice. "I forgot to tell you that Lady Andreia would be joining me for lunch today."

You nodded, offering her a small smile. "No trouble at all, my queen. I can bring more," you said politely, already making a mental note to fetch another tray.

But Lady Andreia shook her head, her red hair catching the sunlight as she smiled warmly at you. "Please, there's no need. I feel like I'm intruding as it is," she said, her tone light, though there was a sincerity beneath her words.

Penelope waved her off, her smile growing. "Nonsense. You are a guest here, and it is our duty to make you feel welcome."

You busied yourself setting down the tray, your hands moving with practiced ease as you arranged the dishes, making sure everything was in place. You tried to keep your mind focused on your task, but you couldn't help overhearing their conversation.

"I must say," Andreia spoke, her voice carrying a note of wistfulness, "Ithaca is truly beautiful. The landscapes, the people—there is a warmth here that I have never known elsewhere."

Penelope smiled at her, tilting her head slightly. "It is home," she replied, her voice filled with a quiet pride.

Andreia sighed softly, her gaze drifting out the window. "Bronte is beautiful too, in its own way," she continued, her voice thoughtful. "But it's different. The mountains are tall and covered in mist, and the forests are dense, almost impenetrable. Our people are strong, but they lack the openness I see here. Everything in Bronte is..." She paused, searching for the right word, "harsher, I suppose. Our winters are long, and the sea is often angry, but there is beauty in its wildness."

You couldn't help but glance at her as she spoke, her eyes far away, lost in her memories. There was a sadness there—a longing for something. It made you pause, your hands hovering for a moment as you listened.

Penelope reached over, placing a gentle hand on Lady Andreia's. "Every place has its own beauty," she said softly. "And I am glad that, at least for now, you can find some warmth here with us."

Andreia looked at Penelope, her eyes softening as she smiled. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice filled with sincerity.

Then, after a small pause, she added, her tone shifting slightly, almost wistful, "The people here respect you deeply, my queen. It must be a great comfort to have such loyalty from those around you. And King Odysseus... his presence must also be a great source of strength for you. His reputation alone speaks volumes."

Penelope returned her smile, her expression warm but also slightly curious. "It is a blessing," she agreed, her eyes meeting Andreia's with genuine fondness. "One that I do not take for granted. Odysseus and I have been through much together, and his return has brought a balance I did not realize I needed."

You watched the exchange, Andreia's eyes lingering on Penelope with something like longing—perhaps admiration, perhaps something else, a yearning you couldn't quite understand.

She smiled again, though there was a weight to her words. "The tales of his cunning and strength—seeing him here, in person, makes one understand how such legends are born." The way her words hung in the air, filled with both warmth and something more complex, made you uneasy.

You finished your task, stepping back and offering a polite bow before making yourself scarce.

You couldn't quite place the feeling that lingered in your chest as you walked away—a mixture of curiosity and something else, something you couldn't quite name.

A/N: ugggghh, the way i wanna jump right into meeting hermes, lololol but alas plot gosta be made, but the brightside is at least the buildup will be magnificent; double ugggghhhhh cuz tell me why i'm literally writing this so-called group paper for one of my classes by myself?? we in college, these people too grown not to know how to write a fucking paragraph, but lemme stop before i start ranting 😩😭 so i do apologize if update are really really reaaallllyyy weird because i'm working + schooling 💔

[allfearstofallto]

A wip that I started that I liked a lot. I don't think I'll ever finish it though because I genuinely CANNOT REMEMBER WHERE THE STORY WAS SUPPOSED TO GO.

anyways Venti x Fem! Reader

TW: alcohol and drinking

Your travels took you to lots of places. The harsh deserts of Sumeru and the stormy terrain of Inazuma being two that you could think of right off the top of your head. Being an adventurer meant that places like that would be common for you, not something to look forward to, but something to be expected and dealt with accordingly. With that being said, even you found yourself grateful when the most you had to worry about in Mondstadt being small hilichurl camps and winds that could at most, blow your map away.

The city of freedom truly lived up to its name. It was the smallest in size, but somehow the most lively you’d been to. Bards were commonplace and music being played on the streets was normal to the point where you rarely ever heard the silence. The people, while often drunk, were friendlier than in most cities. In exchange for their help, all they’d ask for was to share a drink, while you told them a tale of your adventures.

That was one thing that they loved most. A good story. Especially one that went well with their liquor, hence why you were always so popular in town. Your adventures, while they seemed rather tame to you, were like music to the ears of the people of Monstadt. They just couldn’t get enough of you. Even though you were supposed to leave days ago, you found yourself unable to pry yourself from the comradery of the city, choosing to stay for just a bit longer.

You nursed your drink and listened to a sailor who’d just gotten home tell the tale of a monster that he was convinced he saw in the sea. The bar patrons heckled him, calling him a liar in more ways than you’d ever heard of, all the while he continued on as if he weren’t being shouted at. It surprised you the first time you saw something like that, them yelling at the person giving the entertainment. It didn’t take long for you to realize that this too was normal and also in good fun.

“I have a story to share,” all eyes turned to the corner of the room to find the source of a voice which was followed by the strum of a lyre harp. Even you found yourself perking up at the sound of the mysterious verse, “A story in the form of a song.”

The bar went silent as the man plucked the strings of the instrument, playing a slow, solemn melody. The way his fingers moved was hypnotizing, they were like waves of water, splashing over the shore in a pattern that was heavenly. But he didn’t speak, didn’t sing, just played that tune into the silence with his eyes gleefully glued shut.

“What are you waiting for? Tell us the story!” someone shouted from across the bar. This caused an almost instant reaction amongst the crowd of more yelling and cheers.

“But it’ll cost you,” he said, finally peaking open one of his swirling green eyes, “The price of one drink.”

There was an instant groan and booing amongst the masses after he said this, but he didn’t falter. He just shut his eyes back, crossed one leg over the other, and began strumming on his lyre again, playing peacefully as if none of the complaining was bothering him. Everyone else went back to what they were doing, ignoring the man once in favor of talking amongst themselves, already sick of his antics. Everyone, but you.

What little bit of the song you’d heard was already stuck in your head, to the point where you just had to hear more. You scraped the mora you had in your pocket out and handed it to the bartender, a tall glass of dandelion wine was slid back to you. A specialty of Mondstadt, you seldom drank it yourself. The taste of it was sweet, a little too sweet. Its sweetness hid the taste of the alcohol, to the point where you found yourself drinking a little too much of it. You didn’t remember any of that night and decided to lay off the wine for a while.

Slowly, you eased the glass onto the table next to the bard, but before it could even leave your hands completely, he had already picked it up and was chugging it down. You watched in relative horror as he swallowed the drink down, each gulp of his throat making the glass become emptier and emptier before he slammed the now completely drained glass onto the wooden table.

“Phew! That hit the spot!” he breathed dramatically, using his forearm to wipe away what little liquor had fallen away from his lips.

Words couldn’t even escape your mouth. You just stared at him in what was akin to horror. Even you, who had a pretty okay tolerance, knew that downing a whole glass like that with no breaks, would get you too drunk to see straight, let alone still act entirely sober. Yet here he sat, lyre in hand, staring up at you with a playful smile.

“So it’s a song you wanted to hear?”

A mere nod was your answer. Curiosity had gotten the better of you in actuality and drinks cost so little. It wasn’t much effort to see what he was offering.

“Then a song you shall receive,”

[nightvortaex]

Davron Orpheus/Eurydice au:

"Not even death can do us part. I would descend to hell for you, my love."

It was a new chapter in their lives, full of bliss, but fate had a cruel twist. The love of his life, his eternal sunshine, died soon after their marriage began. A viper struck down on him; its poison killed him immediately. He held his lifeless body in his arms and cried. Every living, even the gods, wept as he played a mournful melody on his lyre in his grief. A voice whispered in his ear, telling him to bring his love back from death.

Obeying the advice of the voice, he descended to the Underworld. Ghosts surrounded him, and even Cerberus noticed his arrival. They couldn't harm him as the gods granted him a safe passage. He stood before the Lord and Lady of this infernal place with his instrument in one hand. He played a song on it, a tune filled with so much sorrow that it softened the cold heart of the Lord. They decided to give the lovers a chance. He was allowed to leave with his love on one condition: not taking a single glance back at him on their way out. His whole being ached to see his beautiful lover, but laying his eyes on him even for a split second meant sending him back to hell for eternity. He was certain that in this obscure light he looked magnificent. Neither place nor time existed in which he wouldn't have been the most ethereal being.

Only a few steps away from the exit, a thought emerged in his mind: what if the gods tricked him? It urged him to take a glimpse back at his beloved to make sure he was there behind him. He tried to fight it and chanted:

"I mustn't look back." 

"I mustn't look back." 

"I mustn't look back." 

[idcallmyselfhuman]

Xiao/Aether 👹⛅ Masterlist 2.0

A compilation of moments between Xiao and Aether through the years. The last revamp I did on the old post got nuked by Tumblr, so I just made a new one.

I tried to be as complete as I can, but there's probably some stuff I still missed. The shipping wiki is great for compiling stuff, but I felt it wasn't very detailed. Soooo here ya go

Lover's Oath (Lone Tower in the West)

Thank you @kristalijah for the reminder!

On Aether's journey through Liyue, he was tasked to inform the Adepti of Rex Lapis' "death". The Wangshu quest is the first time he meets Xiao in the game, and a certain detail didn't catch a lot of people's attention until the soundtrack got released a while later.

"Lover's Oath" is the song that plays in the background the very first time Xiao appears in front of Aether. On one hand, this could very well just be in reference to the place they were in, as the balcony of Wangshu Inn is known to be where lovers spend time together. However, this theme never plays for any other scene again, nor is it the background music for the balcony in general.

The only time this track is used again is during Tuned to the World's Sounds, an event in-game where Xiao and Aether duet this song on the very place they met, with Xiao playing a lyre, and Aether, a zither.

This theme has only every been used when they are together. So, Lover's Oath can be considered "their" theme. I adore this tidbit of information because it fits their future relationship so well, as the game constantly reminds us now of Xiao's promise to Aether.

Battle of Osial

If you're a fan of this ship, I'm sure you already know. This was the moment the fandom went, "wait a minute...", essentially the birth of the ship itself.

This cutscene is just [chef's kiss], its existence makes me so happy. The Aether community in 2020 has never been the same.

Aether's feet were already steadied. Xiao could have let go already, or let him fall as gracefully as Mountain Shaper did to that guard (I would have hated him). There was no reason to hold on. In fact, he had every excuse to release his hold the moment they got to safety because he was the one who kept insisting that contact with mortals, or even being near them was something he absolutely Did Not Want. But he didn't let go. No, even more— he tightened his hold, squeezing Aether's hand and telling him to be careful. HUH?!?!

Looking back on this scene also made me think of Aether's unique ability to purify things he touches, something that still hasn't been explained. I wonder if Xiao was already gravitating towards Aether because of it, finding comfort in his contact without knowing why, just yet.

Lantern Rite 1.3

I'm sure we're all familiar with this scene, right?

The very first time Xiao promised Ae that no matter what, as long as he calls his name, he will be there. I think the game showed how special that promise is really well.

Moonlight Merriment

On the same year, they released Moonlight Merriment. The first time Aether summoned him was here, when Xiangling was looking for a 'customer' with mild tastes. While Xiao told Ae to call for him when there's trouble, it's really cute that he doesn't really mind what sort of 'trouble' it is.

Whether it be actual danger, or a small dilemma that Aether needs help with, he's there. (Though I guess you can see it as anything that is bothering Ae is considered trouble enough, no matter the scale :))

This scene also clarifies that the promise was specifically made to Aether, and no one else, not even Paimon. The fact that they went so far as to have Paimon call for Xiao multiple times only for nothing to happen is... so fucking funny. Aether says his name once and he's already there.

Just... your commitment is really subtle, Xiao. Keep at it.

Baizhu's Story Quest

The second time Aether summons him is during Baizhu's story quest, and I think this part is what really cemented the weight of that promise for me.

Every single time Aether brings up that he can contact our resident yaksha so easily, they're always surprised. The adepti are known for wanting to keep to themselves that even Changsheng thought it would be impossible for them to meet, but here Xiao was, just one word away for one special traveler.

It's an oath that was made with such... devotion? Loyalty?

It would have been a little more distant had it just been for protection, something like "when you're on the brink of death, you may call for me." but it isn't. This was literally a promise that whenever Ae needed him, Xiao will be there, "Anywhere. Anytime."

It's also sweet how Xiao's departing words are always a reminder to call him whenever needed, to the point where Aether has to say "Yeah, we know." If that promise had an expiration, it sure as hell doesn't matter because Xiao keeps renewing it anyway.

Perilous Trail (Interlude)

Unfortunately, there was one time where Xiao failed to get to Aether, but only because he physically wasn’t able to. The only time he couldn’t fulfill his promise was because he was stuck in a different plane of existence. But even then, once he heard that Aether was in trouble, he was persuaded to cross a literal fucking spacerift to get to them.

You absolutely cannot tell me they aren't in love because you would be wrong.

Also Yanfei being perceptive enough to use Aether being in trouble to convince Xiao? Bless. Where else did we see someone pull out the 'Aether' card on Xiao recently...?

god he's so fucking easy and everyone knows

Anyway, this quest also showed how protective Ae is of Xiao, constantly asking how he is or if he was okay, ignoring Xiao's warnings entirely.

He even gets mad when Xiao brings up creating a will.

Just— a lot of things happened in this quest. While I can't add all of them, do yourself a favor and either play this or check it out in the archives. Yanfei knows what's up

Also there's a part where Aether looks over Xiao's sleeping face and wonders to himself if a person who's always wary is capable of dreams.

To finish off the Chasm segment, it ended with a conversation that had Xiao realizing a lot of things he was lost to because of his grief: that there are people who will always care about him, and in his words, "Even the darkest hearts have room for those they cherish.

"Will Xiao be ravaged by the unending war he wages and be plunged into despair? Or... will he meet someone who understands his sacrifice, and can shine a ray of light into his dark world..." —Dainsleif, Collected Miscellany - "Xiao: Conqueror of Demons"

I think... it was important for him to have had this conversation with Aether. Zhongli acknowledges this as well in the most recent Lantern Rite, but the beginning of the changes within Xiao started because of Aether constantly pushing him to see the light.

Bonus! Xiao being a dumbass

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN "...Really..." YOU WERE JUST STANDING THERE?!?!!??!??

Companion Voicelines

Aether: "How do you like it here?", "Want to chat?"

To bring up Aether's ability to purify things again (Dvalin's Tear), it could be related to that. Or, maybe Xiao just gets so in his head about Aether in his presence that his Karmic Debt just gets insta-blocked. Who knows?

Aether: Is there anything you'd like to do?

For the first and second Lantern Rite, Xiao was still adamant on not even stepping foot in Liyue Harbor, declining every invitation to go there because of how much he disliked being near mortals.

Yet in his teapot voicelines, once you reach a high enough friendship with him, Xiao actually takes the initiative to invite Aether to go to the city, if only to understand him better. Xiao explicitly says that his willingness to go to the harbor was for him.

This isn’t the first time Xiao brings up his wish to get to know Aether better. At first, he kept saying that he has no interest in human affairs, but in his voicelines, as the two of them get closer and closer, he says that he would like to know more about Aether.

I also really like Shenhe's voiceline. Aether's effect on Xiao benefited not only him, but the people surrounding Xiao as well. It's shown in the way Xiao's become softer, and more open to being in social gatherings. We see it the most in Lantern Rite 3.4, Waterborne Poetry, and the biggest one that point towards the cause being Aether is Xiao's birthday letter of 2023.

Birthdays

If Moon Carver's reaction is anything to go by, the old Xiao doing this for his birthday was unfathomable. As Xiao allowed himself to open up to the world, the people around him were also able to enjoy their old friend's presence as well.

Dainsleif said that the cost of his duty was perpetual solitude, but it seems that that's no longer true.

Fun little note: The fact that he went to Moon Carver first is funny to me, since Aether and Moon Carver are both voiced by Zach Aguilar.

I was reminded by @comfortingnightmare that Aether was the first person to celebrate Xiao's birthday in a thousand years :>

Which brings me to another topic! Gifts!

Aside from the adorable fact that every character in the game gifts Aether something on their birthday, Xiao gives him a butterfly made from leaves in his voiceline.

From what I've read, butterflies supposedly mean conjugal love, freedom, and vulnerability of life in Chinese culture. I'm really no expert on this so take that with a grain of salt.

There's also the more obvious meaning, which is transformation in one's self. I really don't like tackling this kind of thing because it's very "the curtain was blue", but if we take their relationship in consideration, it fits.

Lucent Crescent

Big thank you to @spiderskull142 because I didn't even know about this.

In this year's TPRGT image, we see that Paimon is holding a red box—Aether's gift for Xiao. I didn't really pay much attention to it at the time since I thought it was just a regular gift box... and also because I was distracted by Xiao pretending to sleep. It's about the closest we can get to Xiao feigning illness to get pampered LMAO

Anyway, I looked it up and apparently those specific boxes are used to keep jewelry. I looked around Liyue to see if any other store used this box for anything else, but the only one that seemed to have it is Mingxing Jewelry, a boutique that specialized in an ornament called "Lucent Crescent".

Note: The closest I could get to a box that was similar-looking were the red stacked boxes outside of random houses. No other store seemed to have them, so I can only assume that's where the box was from.

When you interact with Xingxi, the person who runs the shop, she tells you about the meaning of Lucent Crescents.

Xingxi: Have you ever heard anyone mention our Lucent Crescent ornaments? They are especially popular with young people. We produce a very limited quantity of Lucent Crescent – only ten per month. People say that if you manage to purchase one of them, you are sure to win the heart of your beloved.

As we know, Aether is very mindful with the gifts he gives every year. I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to think he would order something as valuable as this for Xiao.

And speaking of Aether's gifts...

Teyvat Food Notes: Sweet Dream, Adeptus' Temptation, Mint Jelly, Unagi Chazuke, Satisfying Salad

Alongside Xiao's birthday art are articles from the Teyvat Food Notes, where real-life recipes of in-game food are made, and it also has interactions between XiaoAe on his birthday.

Sweet Dream (Almond Tofu)

Note: Both google translate and Papago seem to use Mandrill instead of Xiao, so... just know that’s who it’s talking about.

This is where we learn that Xiao didn’t even make Sweet Dream; this dish was Aether’s thank you gift to him. Xiao’s specialty dish is a gift from Aether. I’m—aGH! ANYWAY.

Sweet Dream also makes an appearance in Childe’s birthday art in 2022. And— I’m really sorry to Tartaglia, but seeing that dish stole all his thunder I just couldn’t get over it.

I like to think that Aether was so preoccupied with making Childe his birthday feast that he began to absentmindedly prepare Almond Tofu in the way he’s most used to (because of how often Xiao requests it.)

Additional:

Adeptus Temptation

This one in particular isn’t from one of his birthdays, but a special they put out for the first Lantern Rite, which includes every released Liyue character at the time. I was initially going to write it off, but I thought hey what the hell, what are the odds that there’s gonna be a XiaoAether moment in here?

Of course there was. With these two, I should have known.

Note: “Fairy/Buddha Jump over the Wall” is apparently an actual Chinese delicacy that the Adeptus’ Temptation is based on!

A little more additional context, I added the part where Zhongli was going full English teacher at the beginning because everyone was spouting poetry so passionately with every bite of the dish. That’s why Aether wonders, “Do all Liyue people eat like this?”

That’s also why Aether asked Xiao to give him an evaluation of the food, hoping he’d be the same as the others. I found it really cute, especially right now as we just finished Waterborne Poetry.

From the very beginning, Aether caught a glimpse of Xiao’s affinity to being poetic (Isolation does that to ya, who knew?), which is why in the event, he encourages him to write poems. With enough encouragement, along with Xiao pondering over Aether’s words and advice, he eventually does write a poem.

Frost-Coated Slime (Mint Jelly)

For this Teyvat Food Note (2021), Aether laments that he doesn’t really know Xiao very well when he realized that the only gift he can think of giving him is almond tofu.

“Although it is not impossible to continue to treat [Xiao] to eat almond tofu, there is a stubbornness in my heart that has been preventing me from continuing to serve almond tofu.

I don’t want to be the same as usual, I don’t want to give [Xiao] the same gift as everyone else.”

Aether realizes that almond tofu has become somewhat basic, since everyone else gives the same thing, and it’s no longer a gift he considers to be special enough. He then remembers the mint jelly he once tasted in Mondstadt, and thought it was similar enough to the texture and taste of almond tofu. He decides that that’s what he wants to give him.

Once he meets with Xiao, Xiao gives him the ‘butterflies’ he caught (I assume this actually refers to the crystalflies he gives along with the letter?) Aether thinks wearing [crystalflies] on his head doesn’t suit him, but Xiao seems to expect him to wear it judging by his silence. This also fits his letter that year, where he admits he was actively looking for crystalflies for Aether to put on his hair, thinking it would look nice on him.

The last part of the food note is so heartwarming. After Aether has him help prepare the mint jelly, they finally settle down to eat it.

Xiao: It doesn’t look like I want to eat it. I’d better order almond tofu.

[Aether] grabs Xiao and explained that it actually tasted very good, and the texture should be similar to almond tofu.

Aether: The most important thing is that for Xiao’s birthday, I want to make something different as a gift...

Xiao stopped.

Xiao: I don’t worry about the taste of the food you cook. I just want to collect it.

They are so cute?!?!?!?!

Later on, Xiao confesses that he doesn’t like almond tofu just because he likes the taste, but because of the memories that accompany it.

Aether then looks at Xiao, but Xiao doesn’t look at him. Instead, he says “The jelly I made today is a special memory. Thank you.”

Unagi Chazuke

Thank you @dragon-type-nuggetz for sending this one because this is what reminded me that the other teyvat food notes existed aside from almond tofu and adeptus temptation lol

Last one for the Teyvat Food Notes! There’s none for 2023, because they seem to have discontinued it entirely after 2022. This one’s a lot shorter than the other ones, but no less sweet.

Aether knows that with Xiao’s dedication to Liyue, he works non-stop to defend the nation and has never experienced anything as leisurely as going on a vacation for the sake of relaxing. So instead, Aether tells him stories of his travels, and he decides to cook a dish that gives the feeling of traveling with him.

Xiao also says something here that I found really funny.

“Let me start by saying that I have no interest in human food. Even if the food you make doesn’t taste good, I won’t eat it.” CAP. You’ve gone this long eating Aether’s food, who the hell are you trying to fool?

In the end, Xiao finishes the entire bowl to Aether’s shock, but he says he’s sorry as he can’t think of any words to praise the food.

Aether then says that the fact that Xiao finished it at all is the greatest compliment.

Satisfying Salad

This isn’t connected to the food notes this time, but just the dish in general. Satisfying Salad and Almond Tofu are the first dishes that Aether has ever given Xiao in-game to convince him to talk to them. I thought it was a pretty minor thing and didn’t think much of it at the time, up until Smiley Yanxiao brings it up again in Moonlight Merriment.

Everyone around Xiao thought that almond tofu really was the only thing he can eat, only for Aether to prove otherwise. While he claims that he has no interest in human food, and the only thing he can possibly stomach is almond tofu, he has never denied anything that Aether offers him, even when the two of them didn’t even know each other very well yet.

So, for all of Xiao’s talk, he has shown in his actions pretty clearly that Aether is and has always been an exception for him. Whether that be for food, or anything else...

Lantern Rite 3.4

I am here to remind you all of a beautiful scene that should never be forgotten for years to come.

Regardless of Genshin trying to be mysterious and making us guess who saved Aether, the fact that they both came rushing over is incredible on its own. They know that Aether isn't a damsel in distress, and Paimon's acting was so on the nose, but they still couldn't allow even the slightest possibility of harm to come to him.

Xiao looking away and talking in circles just to say he really was worried is the funniest fucking thing.

As for the Lantern Rite dinner... well, first things first. We say thank you to Hu Tao for her services as a professional wing-woman (It's her side-job to advertise the parlor)

Moving on! Remember when Aether told Xiao he'll bail him out of uncomfortable social situations? (Companion voicelines)

There really isn't much I could say that I haven't already said before. For XiaoAether shippers, this was Hoyo spoon-feeding content on a silver spoon. It's Aether and Xiao at their most comfortable with each other, talking and spending time with the people they care about.

It's years of talking to each other, of Xiao realizing that he's at ease when he's speaking to Aether, of learning to talk more about himself to the point where he starts talking about his past and the people in it...

It'll be awhile until Xiao will ever be comfortable with large crowds, but as long as Aether's there who knows when it's becoming 'too much', he'll be fine.

Aether is also, in Xiao's eyes, the most distinguished guest among them all.

I couldn't add it but Xiao also says "I trust Aether's judgement." in this scene.

This Lantern Rite is also where Zhongli acknowledges what Aether has done for Xiao :")

(Suspiciously on the last screenshot, the perspective makes Zhongli look like a pastor wedding the two of them)

Waterborne Poetry

The catalyst for this post. The reminder of how lovely this ship is, and how far these two have come.

As we have all learned from Xiangling, Yanfei, Venti and Hu Tao, you only need to mention Aether's name to convince Xiao of whatever it is you're planning. The part where Aether and Team Chongyun were trying to convince him to come with them and touch some fucking grass was really cute.

This event and the previous Lantern Rite also had Aether and Xiao talking privately, only to get interrupted by Paimon/Xiangling (as well as calling them out lmao)

And, of course, the scene that everyone freaked out over,

A short, but sweet moment where Aether looks at Xiao from afar and immediately gets inspired, performing a poem where the real meaning is shared only between the two of them...

And Xiao's smile.

An expression that Aether had done so well to bring out.

Xiao in a Commission

One last thing! Xiao appears in the Liyue Commission "Uninvited Guests". It's very short, but cute

Xiao: Oh, it’s you.

Aether: What brings you here?

Xiao: I encountered these monsters by chance and defeated them.

Xiao: This area is not safe. So...

Aether: I’ll be careful.

Xiao: Right. I have other matters to attend to. See you.

-

...There are still things I couldn't add, but that's okay. I got mostly everything this time so I'm satisfied. Very grateful to the people who reblogged the old post to add more stuff :))

Some things I didn't add were trivia from the shipping wiki. For one, apparently Xiao's JP voice actor was told by the director to be gentler when speaking to the Traveler. There's also a small part of the Lantern Rite animation where as Xiao and Aether watch the lanterns side by side, Xiao turns to look at Aether right as Paimon blocks his head from view :")

[himasgod]

Venti x Reader

Where you and the bard sing at night and dance under the stars

The night in Mondstadt was in full swing, with the stars twinkling over the city and the cool autumn breeze blowing through its streets. You decided to take a walk to clear your mind, enjoying the tranquility that the night offered after a long day of work. However, your plan to relax in silence was interrupted when you heard a familiar laugh echoing in the distance.

Not far away, you found Venti, Mondstadt's most mischievous bard, sitting on the edge of the fountain. His signature lyre rested on his legs as he hummed a cheerful tune. Upon seeing you, his eyes sparkled with overflowing enthusiasm.

“Oh, if she isn't my favorite midnight companion!” he exclaimed, raising a glass of wine that he seemed to have gotten from… who knows where?

“Venti, are you stealing wine from Diluc again?” you asked with a smile, crossing your arms.

“Not at all, I got it legally this time!” he protested, bringing his hand to his chest in a theatrical gesture of offense. “Let’s just say I just… ‘borrowed’ it from the Angel's Share when he wasn’t looking.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh. Venti had a unique way of making you smile, even at the most unexpected times. You walked over and sat next to him on the edge of the fountain. The night was cool, but his presence, as always, made it feel warmer.

“And what are you doing here alone?” you asked as you took a sip of the wine he offered you, hoping it wasn’t too strong.

“Ah, just enjoying the night air and thinking of new songs,” he replied, looking up at the stars with a dreamy expression.

“The night is the perfect muse, you know? When everyone is asleep, it’s like the wind whispers secrets to me that I then turn into melodies.”

You smiled at his enthusiasm, always so full of life. A few moments passed in comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the splashing of water in the fountain and the rustling of the night breeze. Then, Venti turned to you with a look you recognized all too well: the mischievous look of someone who was up to something.

“I have an idea,” he said, his green eyes sparkling. “How about we have a competition?”

“A competition?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. With Venti, that could mean anything from a song contest to trying to climb the cathedral without Jean catching you.

“Exactly! Let’s see who can improvise the best song about… hmmm…” Venti paused, bringing a finger to his chin as if he were deep in thought, “… about Mondstadt wine!”

“Really?” you laughed, knowing it was impossible to beat him at something like that. But seeing his excited expression, you decided to play his game. “Okay, but don’t complain if I beat you.”

Venti’s eyes lit up even more if that was even possible, and he quickly began strumming his lyre, singing a lively tune that seemed to echo throughout the square. With his clear, melodious voice, he began singing some improvised lyrics:

“Oh, Mondstadt, land of liberty, where wine flows endlessly. In the Angel's Share, laughter and song, though Diluc never invites us along.”

You laughed out loud as Venti continued singing, making up increasingly ridiculous verses about how he “kidnapped” barrels of wine from under the nose of the poor tavern owner. When he finally finished, he looked at you with a smug smile.

“Well, your turn, song partner,” he encouraged, gently nudging you with his elbow.

You took a deep breath, trying to remember the few verses you had improvised in your head. You cleared your throat and, with a smile, began to sing:

"Beneath Mondstadt's starry sky, I met a bard, a little wild, oh my! With wine in hand and a mischievous grin, no one more charming… or more sly within."

Venti let out a merry laugh, clapping his hands together in applause.

"Bravísimo!" he exclaimed, leaning towards you with a smile that could rival the brightness of the moon. "Though I must say that your last line slanders me a little, my dear lady."

"Oh yeah?" you joked, gently pushing him away. "I don't know what to tell you, Venti, the one with a reputation for being a trickster is usually…"

Before you could finish, he jumped up and extended a hand towards you, with that inexhaustible energy he always seemed to have.

"Come on, come on, the night is still young. Let's dance under the stars!"

He said, not waiting for your response before pulling you towards the center of the square.

Under the moonlight and to the beat of a melody he himself improvised, you danced together, not caring about who might be watching or what others would think. It was a moment of pure freedom, the kind of moment only Venti could create.

As you twirled under the starry sky, you realized that it didn't matter if you would ever figure out all of his secrets.

The only thing that mattered was that you would be able to dance with him under the night.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[hyacinthusmemorial]

Marsyas Verses Apollo

I was researching for my story Forgotten Age yesterday, and I specifically was looking into the story about Marsyas, the satyr who played the pipes and thought he was just as good as the god Apollo. I had a lot of feelings that I needed to unleash before I could go about my day--and I just want to preface that this is an analysis of Lucius Apuleius's Florida and not other sources regarding Marsyas.

Lucius Apuleius recounts that Marsyas played music in the days when "the art was but newly born and only just beginning to grow." He was playing the pipe in early times of civilization, before it was truly developed. He only knew how to play simple songs that were entertaining, but they were great compositions. Lucius Apuleius says aptly that nothing can be perfect in its conception, its new, it has basic elements that need to be developed. High musicians were bound by what they knew, and they knew about as much as shepherd and cowherds. But, Marsyas's father/instructor, Hyagnis, was already developing the art, and he learned how to separate the pipes into two, he learned how to play with two hands, one breath for two pipes.

Marsyas became famous for his pipe-playing Phrygia, which is to say for comparison he was a bango player from Tennessee, pretty skilled at his pipe, but ultimately, he knew how to play a simple tune with energy. The problem is not that Marsyas thought he was good, or even that he wanted to prove he was good. The problem was that he insulted Apollo when he challenged him.

The scene of their competition that Lucius Apuleius describes is so interesting--Marsyas in his boisterousness, Apollo in his cool silence. Marsyas is cocky, loud, speaking of his greatness in comparison to Apollo while Apollo is a god, he is quiet, observant, almost snake-like in his serenity as he watches his prey make his moves. Lucius Apuleius takes great care to illustrate the dichotomy between the two, even down to the physical level.

Marsyas is described as being with "a filthy beard" and "grim and shaggy face of a wild beast." In fact, Marsyas may have been a man, not a satyr, but he looks so much like a beast--they will call him half man and half goat. "His body was covered with hair and bristles." As Lucius Apuleius says, "Twas hideousness contending with beauty, a rude boor against a sage, a beast against a god."

Apollo is described by Marsyas himself:

In the first place...his hair is smoothed and plastered into tufts and curls that fall about his brow and hang before his face. His body is fair from head to foot, his limbs shine bright, his tongue gives oracles, and he is equally eloquent in prose or verse, propose which you will. What of his robes so fine in texture, so soft to the touch, aglow with purple? What of his lyre that flashes gold, gleams white with ivory, and shimmers with rainbow gems? What of his song, so cunning and so sweet? Nay, all these allurements suit with naught save luxury. To virtue they bring shame alone!

Marsyas denounces Apollo for being Apollo: beautiful, wise, calm. Marsyas despises his pretty clothes and his pretty lyre.

Marsyas then makes an exposé of himself to Apollo--he shows off his unkempt body and his unwashed state, and he says he is the model of perfection, not Apollo.

This imagery of a savage man trying to tell god what perfection is and how he might obtain it. The god needs no instruction. Apollo says nothing in this account, the Muses and Minerva (Athena) are amused and laugh at Marsyas--not because he possesses any humor but because it is so outrageous. His insults are comical in their depravity.

They have their contest, Apollo wins, and you can see his quiet rage in how he kills Marsyas. "When this boastful piper had been defeated in the contest and had been skinned as though he were a two-footed bear, they left him with his entrails torn and exposed to the air." They treated Marsyas like he was an animal because he acted like an animal. But, Apollo seems to regret this savage action--"Apollo he was ashamed of so inglorious a victory."

Apollo, it seems, regrets the whole situation because it drove him to the same depths that Marsyas sat in. It seems more of a story about Savagery verses Civilization than a story about Hubris in Lucius Apuleius's work. Yes, Hubris is a theme, but the dichotomy between Apollo and Marsyas cannot be ignored either. It is directly called out, and when Apollo sinks to the same depths as Marsyas, he is ashamed. It's not a glorious victory.

[rebornofstars]

chain as musicians

not to hit everyone with another headcanon post so soon but i cant stop thinking abt the chain's relationship with music. so: opinions behold

hyrule plays the recorder and the recorder only. he’s self taught but there’s something a little creepily innate about the way he plays. he knows how to play the songs of wind and trees and stars. it's like feeling the world turn, listening to him. he plays alone in the wild to soothe his own spirits, most of the time, but he also dearly enjoys getting the chance to play for others.

legend plays every instrument under the sun. he’s a quick learner and adaptable when it counts. he’s very very good at translating songs from one medium to another, even on the fly, and equally good at picking up tunes halfway through. the king of flexibility. instruments he owns include: a flute, a lute, a drum, a bell, a sea ukelele, an ocarina, the eight instruments of the sirens (full moon cello, conch horn, sea lily’s bell, surf harp, wind marimba, coral triangle, organ of evening calm, thunder drum), strange flute, phonograph, the harp of ages, etc. he has a ridiculous number of instruments. he finds busking to be quite relaxing, and especially fun when he has a partner to make the music more dynamic and responsive. he's constantly trying to convince ravio to play with him, because ravio can play very well, but chooses not to most of the time

time will always feel more at home with an ocarina, but after a bit of careful fiddling he has slowly picked up or been taught a couple of other instruments as well. he likes to just riff around randomly, searching for sounds that strike him rather than melodies in his creation of music. he cannot play sheik’s lyre, although he’s tried. instruments he owns include the fairy ocarina and the ocarina of time, which can transform itself into deku pipes, goron drums, and the zora bone guitar, suggesting that its form is really more fluid than it seems, and the only reason it’s an ocarina most of the time (hah) is because of time’s own nostalgia

wind has his wind waker, which is really a conductor's baton at heart, and that’s all he’s ever really needed – music at sea often relies not on instruments but voices, backed up by whatever fiddles and concertinas the crew has around, and he knows how to sing a good shanty. he won't while on land, though. the sea songs belong to the sea. he’d like to learn the violin

four has his ocarina of wind and is content with that. he plays music not as a hobby but as a form of remembrance and respect. and sometimes chaos. it’s more of a tool to him, but he does take a certain enjoyment from it.

twilight has grown up playing tunes on reeds, also known as whistle-grass, and so music is something snatched out of time on a slow walk home, easy and careful and practised, songs that have been passed down and some that he’s made up over the years. he can sing as the wolf, in a manner, or at least it feels like singing to him. and he’s got his horse call, too, though he doesn’t count it as music.

sky has his harp, which he has been given by zelda. it reminds him of her! they learnt together, formally, and he can play many complete songs by memory, and handfuls of half-remembered others. he, legend, and time are among the few who can read sheet music, although sky knows a lot of very old and obscure ways to write it, and he often copies down songs they hear on their travels for later reference.

one day kass is going to cave and allow wild a turn on the bandoneon. hestu has given him a quick run of the maracas, but wild is hungry for more. when he does pick up an instrument, he does it with an unbalanced, uncivilised quality. a confidence to his incorrectness that makes all the clashing notes sound strong and real. and then occasionally, amid the chaos, he’ll hit a smooth run of notes that chill the spine, before his playing devolves into discordant sound again.

warriors has never really played very much, was never taught, but he has a recorder and a dream, and he gets by. he’s better at it than anybody expects, even himself. it’s not private, exactly, but it’s closer to his heart than he lets on. he watches legend (who lends him an ocarina) carefully and picks up a trick or two on the sly. he's efficient with it when in front of people, but alone sometimes he plays very long and slow notes that sort of sound like sorrow.

i simply think i love them, your honour. there's so much use of music in loz and i find it to be a joy and a delight (credit: july - starry notes)

[mimiccry]

Movie Night’s End

Venti x Reader (platonic)

summary: basically you and Venti watch a shitty show, and you fall asleep by the end.

word count : 590

———————————————————————————

“…What? They barely have any chemistry, what do you mean, ‘I love you’?!”

You aggressively took the final sip from your soda, then threw it across the room towards the recycling bin. It stubbornly clunked against the edge and landed on the floor.

You sigh loudly and slump to the carpet.

“How many more episodes are they gonna stretch this out for?”

Venti, who was sitting on the couch above you, rested his head on his palm in thought. You wonder how he had been sitting in criss-cross-applesauce for so long. Won’t his legs go numb? You suppose that’s what doesn’t happen when someone is as naturally flexible as him: complete freedom in sitting positions. He responds,

“Hmm, normally this would mean a whole new season, but who’s to say that it’ll be all resolved by then?”

The screen looks odd from this 90° angle rotation, even more so with your right cheek and eye squished on the fuzzy surface below you. Right now, the characters had just had their first dinner together, and now one of the pair was stalking the other’s trip back home.

You turn on your back and look up at your friend.

“Throw in a misunderstanding trope?”

He grins.

“Aaaand ensue one more season of avoidance, and then another season of reconciliation!”

“Oh nooo…” you groan. “How much to bet that you’re correct? Hundred bucks?”

He scoffs.

“Nah, I’d give it a twenty.” You sit of abruptly.

“That’s it?! Have you seen this before or something?”

“No…I’ve seen this happen countless times in other shows. It’s a tale as old as…well, who knows?” He says wistfully.

“Jeez, how much of these shitty shows do you watch, you weirdo?” You sit up and poke his foot with your finger. He lets out an “egh” sound and draws his feet away from you in favour of stretching his legs out towards the other end of the sofa.

“What?” He protests. “At least it’s not boring, right?”

You sigh and partially nod.

“Know any good shows so we can actually enjoy this?” You jokingly ask. He ponders this question for a few long seconds with his finger on his chin.

“No…” he concedes.

“…maybe you can choose the good ones?”

You don’t have any willpower left to overcome the second-hand embarrassment that comes from watching badly written shows. Putting on a heartfelt animated film sounds much more appealing at this point.

…

Maybe one of Venti’s songs could do you some good. It’s late, after all.

“Hey Venti?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up from the pen he’s trying to spin with his fingers.

“Can you sing me one of your songs?”

The pen flies out of his grasp and twirls gracelessly to the carpet at another failed attempt. Venti doesn’t seem to care, though.

“Any song?” Is all he asks while staring at the ceiling. You blink harshly to try and stay awake. When did you get so tired? This is quite a strange spot to be in, sleepy and sitting on the hard floor of the cold living room.

“Any. Your writing is miles better than whatever we just saw. I need a refresher.” You chuckle. He grabs his lyre from the coffee table and strums the strings a few times to ensure they’re in tune. While he plays his song, the resonance of the lyre’s plucked melodies lull you to sleep. Venti hums instead of singing, and his voice leads you into your dreams, your mind taking its hand before letting go as you fall unconscious.

———

notes: i’m not too proud of this one but no one’s perfect. might proofread again later but i’m gonna collapse from exhaustion

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Kara gets roped into the RenFaire scene one summer as a face painter because a) she's an art major, and b) she's an art major who needs money. Her friend Nia has worked concessions there since she was old enough to get her workers permit, and swears to Kara that its a great place to work if she doesn't mind the occasional heat wave.

Which, to Nia's credit, is true. Except what Nia forgets to mention is that the resident RenFaire fiddler will make Kara feel like she's living in a permanent heat wave.

The fiddler's name is Lena, and she's gorgeous. Long raven locks and skin like ivory, wearing frocks of green leaves and shimmering wings, she looks like something out of a fairytale.

There's an invisible threshold between the summerbounders and those who have made the Faire their home, marked only by how naturally they fit in their medieval, fantastical roles. Summerbounders, like Kara, throw themselves into it with all the good-hearted cheesey pomp they can muster. The others, well-- they simply are their roles.

Lena is of the latter group. She was raised in the Faire, after all, spending her summers flitting between booths while her mother sold charms to enchanted patrons. But even when her mother passed, Lena didn't want for love. The Faire is her family too.

For her part, Lena immediately takes a shine to Kara, quickly noting her kindness towards children while she paints whimsical designs on cheeks and foreheads. But when Kara seems to clam up and shut down any time Lena comes anywhere close, Lena learns to keep a relative distance. Kara isn't about to approach Lena herself, so they fall into a pattern of mutual admiration from afar.

Until Nia asks Kara how she likes Lena (bc Nia lowkey shipped them when she suggested the job to Kara), and is surprised to learn they have yet to have a single meaningful conversation.

All right. That's it.

Nia invites Kara to a sleepover at the faire grounds overnight, for those who camp there-- among which is Lena. Surely, with the glitter wiped away and the lack of wings Kara will be less blinded and more... personable.

Except that after getting some mead in her system, Kara is even more entranced by Lena. How could she not be, with a speck of overlooked glitter on Lena's neck, glinting merrily in the firelight, and her long dark hair let loose around her shoulders.

But now, mellowed by said mead, Kara can't bring herself to look away when Lena catches her staring. Their eyes lock, and Lena's surprise soon gives way to a blush, then a smile as warm as the fire between them.

Lena doesn't play her fiddle this night-- everyone is pleasantly tired, and content to lounge on their logs and stumps. But someone does pull out a lyre, and Kara does notice that Lena softly sings along to the tune most everyone seems to know.

When Nia and another of the folks seated next to Kara rises to fetch a refill of their tankards, Kara blinks to find a new figure filling their empty seats.

"Hi," Lena greets, her voice low in her throat. The sound is heady, buzzing deep in Kara's core.

"Hey," Kara returns. Thankfully, the drink has smoothed her tongue, eliminating the stammer that previously caught in her throat had Lena approached her at the face painting station.

"You've been avoiding me," she's told.

Kara grimaces. "Kinda... I'm sorry."

"Well, so long as it's not because I smell bad...."

Though of course now Kara breathes in, and her lungs fill with the scent of woodsmoke and pine, and something floral. The floral, she surmises, is Lena.

To be sure, Kara leans in and inhales once again, this time with her nose just brushing the side of Lena's neck. The floral is in fact Lena. Kara notes the jumping pulse point in before her eyes and the catch in Lena's breath.

"Nope," she pulls back languidly, letting a goofy grin spread across her features. "You don't stink."

They're still perilously close, and Kara watches how Lena's gaze jumps from her eyes to her lips and back again. How has she missed this, Kara marvels at herself. To have missed Lena's interest in her is... a travesty.

Lena's head is turned towards her like the rest of the group has fallen away, and perhaps they have-- Kara takes little note of them.

"You're very smooth for someone who's been scared to be within ten feet of me."

"What can I say?" Kara shrugs. "I know to be wary of the fair folk."

"Fair or faire?" Lena teases.

Kara smirks. "I'm sure both are equally dangerous."

"Then you're doomed, considering I already have your name."

Suddenly Kara's brain shortcircuits as Lena leans in, eyes slipping shut as their lips come near enough to brush as Lena speaks.

"Kara."