#might also spice some up with heart beads

[theamazingannie]

Official prototypes for my friendship bracelets. Might change around the letter beads and a few of the colors due to inventory but overall I’m happy with the results

[hiraeth-sonder]

Entangled Branches - Queqiao

Jingyuan x Reader

Courting is a matter that requires the utmost tact, though exceptions can be made when you're just that old

//I think this just turned into me dumping about ancient Chinese courting gifts. Poem is 秋夕 by 杜牧.

Holding a needle between your deft fingers, you embroider brilliant thread through the plain fabric, eyes focused on the prick of metal weaving in and out as the image of mandarin ducks slowly forms. One much more colourful than the other, thread of ochre and cerulean decorating the foremost bird’s feathers, the second adorned with milder shades of greys and sepias. Cyan lotus pads scattered around the two birds provide some sense of atmosphere, accompanied by scant petals, all that is left for you to do is to tidy up your ducks and add additional ripples of water.

A hand reaches to grab your scissors, snipping away the last remaining bits of orange thread that now finished the last duck. You mindlessly thread grey string through your needle, piercing through the white fabric to sew wavelets around your ducks. Your fingers ghost over each hill and ridge, feeling for imperfections that might snag. You are well aware that what you make does not have to be perfect, but your pride would not let you give someone anything less than your utmost. 

It is perfect, more than perfect. You cannot help the tightness in your chest and the soft smile that creeps up your lips, thoughts not quite racing but on the verge of. Still, you must calm your thudding heart as your hands meticulously free your fabric from its wooden confines, spreading it smooth against the wooden table. Sunlight peaks through the window by your side, verdant leaves just visible behind the elaborate frame, illuminating your work properly, you take a moment to merely let your thoughts wander. 

Spice sachets are by no means some modern gift to give your lover, perhaps more common in the days of your youth but surely not now. Back then, they were used as insect-repellent or air fresheners, some people also believed that they protected the wearer against evil spirits. Truthfully, he would have no need for it, but call you an old sentimental coot, you just could not help yourself from wanting to protect him, even in your own silly antiquated way. 

Before the thought of actually sewing the pouch comes to mind, your head immediately jumps to the basket weave of herbs long sun-dried for use. It had taken a bit of time to get them, seeing as the alchemy commission was being quite nosey about their use and you had not the heart to tell them. So you did the next best thing and lied, citing that you needed them for cooking. Of course, it was only then that they lightened up, but that did not mean that you could not feel their stares as you scurried away. 

The herbs, shrivelled and colours dulled, provide an ever so slightly scent that floated lightly through the air. A pleasant smell, one that relaxed without being excessively heady or strong. Though you had worried that such a gift would only worsen your lover’s sleeping habits, your concern for him won out in the end. 

Still, you turn away from them to work on sewing the satchel together, far easier work compared to the actual momentous task of embroidery. It goes by much faster than you expect it to, with your mind drifting to familiar faces and that even more familiar emotion. Before you know it, the satchel has taken on the shape of a lotus pouch, drawstrings and all. You attach the beads onto the strings and all that is left to do is to place your herbs in. With a delicate hand, you slowly stuff them in, layering them as if anyone would even open the pouch. 

Tugging on the drawstrings, you hold it to your chest for a moment, your eyes fluttering close and imbuing your prayers for him. To be safe and prosperous, able to do as he wishes without fear or shame, and most importantly for him, for his workload to decrease. A soft sigh escapes you, though it is not one of resignation or annoyance but rather fondness, horrid fondness.

You will find some way to slip this into his office, granted that would not be some hard act with how often he is not in. Still, there had to be some subtlety to your actions, you would ruin all the fun if you refrained from such. Of course, finishing one just means you will have to start the other. You could not possibly think of not making one for that disciple of his, especially when he just keeps getting himself in some kind of trouble. 

You shake your head as a soft smile tugs at your lips. Truly, you must have been some saviour to be granted such people. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

银烛秋光冷画屏，轻罗小扇扑流萤。

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He holds up the wooden comb up to the light, keen eyes pouring over every aspect of the humble item. Dark wood carved into elegant depictions of verdant bamboo and a crane, the tines were slender yet sturdy, spaced perfectly to glide through hair. Before him were many more options of such, each comb’s design more elaborate than the last. 

The thought of seeing any of them in your hand, fingers wrapped around the wood as you detangle your hair, works oils with that sweet scent that seems to always coax him closer, it sends a soft warmth to his limbs. He does not quite know how to explain it, a rather pitiful situation for someone known for his flattery and skillful words, but he finds that even when you are doing the most mundane things, he loves you just a little bit more. Perhaps others may call him love-addled in the head, but under soft moonlight, in nothing but your sleeping garments with your hair let down, he imagines that fond glint in your eyes and just cannot help himself but yearn to bear witness to such a sight for the rest of time. 

The idea of gifting you a comb has been borne out of spontaneity, something he is not the most familiar with but still welcome. It had been custom for combs to be gifted between lovers, a desire to grow ‘old’ with said person, and he supposes that such a sentiment is rather difficult to continue on when long-lives and mara are two very common phenomena. It is rather silly, but a comb is a practical gift and he has always believed that if given the chance, if the two of you were merely two mortals, you would be happy to watch the wrinkles appear on each other’s face and for your hair to turn grey. You would still be beautiful, aged with the years spent together and the joy evident upon your visage, crow’s feet, smile lines and all. 

When he returns to his senses, his hand has rested upon another comb. A lighter shade than the first, though the quality is still just as immaculate, the spaces between the tines are much larger, not as tightly packed as the last. Though arguably a lot less intricate than many of its predecessors, there seemed to be a certain charm to it, humble jasmine flowers carved onto the main body with a care that went far beyond ornate. The very engraving of each petal laden with care, ridge and valley of complete smoothness, the simple design far conveyed to him the vision of you than the rest.

He thumbs over the engraving, smiling to himself as he imagines you once more. Again that old image of you at your night-time routine, this time with this very comb in your hand as you call for him, your voice gentle along the night wind with the smell of sandalwood in the air. It really is foolish of him to keep musing, and yet no matter how many times he says it, he truly has been reduced to a languishing simpleton of a man when it comes to you. 

“I shall take this one,” He hums, cradling the comb in one hand as he hands it to the seller. 

The seller takes one look at it, a contemplative look appearing on their face before their brows furrow. Taking it into their own hands, they send him a complex look, not quite judgemental but surely urging, “Ah, this plain old thing? I’m certain that we have other combs you will certainly be much more interested in.”

A soft breath escapes him, mostly out of amusement than any negative sentiment. He only nods his head, reaffirming his desire for this specific comb out of the litany he was presented. 

“Apologies, but I’m quite certain.”

When the seller notes his conviction, they just accept it. They must surely still be confused at his choice but he does not see why he must explain himself, after all, when it comes to someone such as you, even he cannot explain the manner in which even the simplest things remind him of you. 

“I see, of course.”

The comb is promptly wrapped up in delicate paper and fastened with string, tied in a knot you will no doubt struggle with but will admire for all of five seconds. When it is brought back to his hands, he thanks the merchant and his chest grows warm. 

A comb for his beloved, jasmines adorning your head, surely he must have been some great saviour in his past life to be able to have such a sight. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

天街夜色凉如水，坐看牵牛织女星。

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“General, would you perchance have the time to accept this lowly one’s gift?” 

Your arrival to the seat of Divine Foresight has long been announced, a notion that Qingzu and the routine cloud knights were made aware of even before you could fathom planning your next visit. After all, when the general has come to expect your presence sliding in when everyone least expects it, you gain some perks. 

“You and your formalities,” He laughs, his voice dear to your ears. Jingyuan’s eyes, framed by those long lashes, focus upon you. Seated at his desk with mounds of scrolls to look upon, though he would usually be more than happy to be dozing off right this very moment, the energy at which he responds only boosts your excitement, “Of course I do, I’ll always have time if it's you.”

“Old sap.” Shaking your head, you can only let that fond smile appear across your face as you make your way to his desk. 

It is by no means an arduous journey, and it is not long before you are granted a full view of a certain someone’s rather smug face, almost feline-like if you will. Furthermore, you suppose you also should have expected that he would pull you closer towards him, his head all but resting on yours if not for the fact that you still needed to give him something. Still, you ignore the way your breath hitches for just a moment, the familiar scent of sandalwood and tea that clings to his form drifting to your nose and coaxing you to relax, instead you reach for the spice sachet and place it in his waiting hands. 

He accepts it readily, and it is by the slight widening of his eyes that you know he recognises exactly what you have made for him. After all, it is not like spice sachets are commonplace in this day and age. 

“See, I’ve made it so you can attach it to your belt,” Your voice is low, your head leaning against his shoulder as you fiddle with the strings. You can feel his breath fanning against you, his much larger frame a steady pillar“And it's not too long so it won’t get in your way.”

He is quiet for a moment, admiring the pouch as he turns it over and finds new details to marvel upon. Then, he speaks, voice low and teasing,“My dear, are you saying your beloved stinks?”

“No, I'm saying the air around you stinks.” Huffing, you nudge him with your elbow, a notion that he also clearly finds amusing, as he makes an over-exaggerated ‘oof’ to your light tap. 

Jingyuan only laughs at that comment, wrapping an arm around you so that you may be closer to one another. Still, he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, a doting smile on his lips. He whispers, “Thank you for the gift, I’m certain your blessings will keep me safe.”

“You better, if I have to find out from Qingzu that you got some grievous injury again I think I’ll be the one going mara-struck instead.”

“Oh then whatever shall I do? I suppose I can only trouble my dear wife to take care of me so that I won’t end up in the healers again.”

At that, you barely resist the urge to butt him with your head, another overfond sound escaping his lips, sounding more like sweet birdsong to your ears that you may hear his amusement and joy so clearly. Though, it is not long until you notice the weight in your lap, some object wrapped in paper and bound in string. When you meet his gaze, he only gestures for you to open it, golden eyes glinting with some indulgent sentiment. You do so, fussing with the knot but eventually unwrapping the paper to reveal a simple wooden comb, jasmines carved onto its body. 

The breath in your lungs seems to escape you, for your words get carded in your throat and all you can muster is a pathetic, “You…” 

“You old coot, getting me a comb,” You chuckle, an attempt to hide how choked up you were. “We’ve already spent so many years together and you….”

Jingyuan looks to you, and you are certain that if a mirror were to be brought to both of your faces right this very moment, what would be found would be merely two senior citizens playing at youth. Though, with the many hardships that the centuries have put you through, you cannot quite say that  you quite mind this kind of childish tomfoolery. Why else would you call upon childhood sentiments? Why else would he choose such a gift? 

Holding up a hand to cradle his face, he leans into your touch, those soulful eyes once again meeting yours. There is such a profound affection within them that for a while, it scared you. Yet now, being the one most privy to such a sight, those eyes who hold the sun and make you yearn to protect him, it comes to you as natural as breathing. 

“What do you say, my dear?” He offers, cocking his head to the side as those mellow words sink in. 

You can only shake your head, an overly indulgent quirk of your lips pulls your lover closer. It is not the first kiss you shared, and it is certainly not the last, for there will be a long, long time before one of you meets your ends.

[merakiui]

MERAAA it’s phantom anon here (・ω・)ノ

lemme just tell you- i’ve been rereading your old works and they never. stop. hitting.

but RABU JADE??!?? OH BROTHER

*pulls up a chair and sits down unceremoniously*

he hasn’t left my mind ever since i’ve read it. he’s quite literally- a leech.

i’ve been thinking of how poor ol’ reader is gonna get out of the predicament they’re currently facing.

(which i will send another ask about cause oh my god the rot in my brain- it’s festering i tell ya)

i def think that jade had some kind of sick pleasure knowing that he was boiling fingers and the like while reader was right. there.

seconds away from checking the pot. inches away from the last remains of the restaurants last dine-&-dash victim

he could have you find out anytime he likes, ‘darling mind stirring the pot for me?’ ‘darling could you help drain the broth from the pot?’ ‘honey how would you like to help me prep for the day- there’s a bag in the freezer i need you to get’

i can see him biting his lip in some, perverse pleasure, as he watches reader scurry around the kitchen doing her thang. checking the pot right next to his. his breathe hitched when you’re about to unmask his… secret.

but with a little ‘whoops’ and a giggle of ‘wrong pot,’ jade’s heart beats a little faster, his teeth clamps a little harder, a bead of blood on his lip as he has to excuse himself.

i think he lays awake in bed some nights, holding reader tightly as he lets his mind wander. how would reader react? would you get nauseous? would you faint? would you yell at him: if so in despair or anger? would you try calling the cops? would you try calling floyd?- his arms get a little tighter at the thought of you in his twin’s arms.

would you try to convince him you didn’t see anything? would you flinch if he tried touching you.

all these scenarios racing through his head- would you help him?

ahhh maybe he gets so shy thinking about the two of you cooking… with love. yes you do it already but this is a different kind of intimacy 🙈

but i also don’t think he was ready for the day to actually come- much rather fantasize about your reactions. because they’re just that- fantasizes

after all, every couple has their secrets. and a bit of mystery always spices up things a bit 🙈

so jade seeing reader as stiff as a brick while in front of his pot had a different kind of thumping in his chest.

(imagine reader trying to distract him with the pregnancy test they tried slipping in the pot HHAHAXHAHA- don’t reader put it in a 2 sealed plastic baggys cause they have a 3 star standard to uphold!!)

YAY!!

ALSO I JDUT SAW ANGELS OF TOBET GOT POSTED SO LEMME JUST SCURRY OVER TO THERE😸😸

Phantom anon, hi hiii!! ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Oh, RABU Jade...... he really does have all sorts of twisted fantasies. >_< you have no other choice but to continue loving him, for he's your darling husband. But the fingers in the pot and Jade's secret are second to the biggest news: your pregnancy!!! <3 aaaa Jade's just so happy. Maybe he promises not to harvest anymore special ingredients so it won't stress you and the baby out. But if you find yourself craving that yummy bone broth with its dubious ingredients, who is he to deny you?

You're definitely going to have to reevaluate your husband after discovering this hidden side. ^^;;; confiding in someone else is dangerous because you have no idea what he might do to them, especially if that person is Detective Ashengrotto. ;;;;; maybe Floyd might have some advice.... :)

AAAAAA OTL I just love RABU Jade!! He's so devious.

[last-starry-sky]

Kate, consider this: making out with a girl to get Simon’s attention. Naturally, he gets possessive and drags you away. Then you get weirdly jealous over how he’s tasting another woman’s lips when he kisses you 🤪

warning - listen, i am painfully heterosexual 💀 but do i enjoy a toxic scenario between two fundamentally broken people enough to get over it? hell yes.

[MDNI - reader/f!oc (I guess? she's written very vaguely so have fun with that) - nothing nsfw, just some drinking and kissing. I wrote it more that Simon becomes jealous, reader doesn't plan it, sorry. maybe some spice if you want a part 2???👀]

You don't understand why he's mad.

He's the one who led you on for weeks. Texting and calling at all hours, which you answered promptly (like a moron), only to be suddenly left unread? You understood he was military, but there was only so much you could swallow.

You'd cared for him too. Stuffed his massive frame and all his stuff into your tiny car when you picked him up from the airport, given him a place in your house to rest and unpack his bags, too, if only for a few days. You expected the newfound closeness to also push him to become, you know, closer to you. But it's like every ounce of your desirability evaporated once you gave permission for him to stay.

Whatever, you think as you get ready to go out after work. He’s not even there. It's his loss really. If he's going to treat you like a hotel, then he can enjoy the lumpy mattress in the spare room alone.

You have all this pent up energy to let off and a whole night to do it.

The cub is nice and busy: filled wall-to-wall with bodies on the dance floor and the bar. It’s dark and hazy, enough to see your drink in front of you, maybe a face if you really tried, but no one is here for that. You’re here to melt into the crowd stuffed into the little brick building, get drunk and maybe have a little anonymous fun.

You’d just managed to squeeze a spot in at the bar, the bartender mixing up your drink quickly in front of you before jetting away. Shame, you think as you spin your ice cube with the pretty fruit skewer. He was cute.

“Hey!” A woman's voice says behind you as she slides into the stool next to you, her hand on your back. “Mind if I sit with you?”

Oh, you think, she’s cute, too. A sparkly gold dress that matches her eye shadow hangs off her frame as she rests her head in her hand. You can tell she’s been dancing her heart out. Sweat beads at her hairline and neck, making her sparkle even more in the dim light.

“Go ahead,” you say, leaning in so she can’t hear you. “Need something to drink? Water?”

She laughs a musical laugh as she catches her breath. “Buying me a drink already? You move fast.”

You nod, a new boldness growing from all the disappointment you’ve been shoving down since Simon set fire to your expectations.

“I have a tab,” you tell her as she pulls her stool close enough to touch your knees. She’s signaling for the bartender before you have the words out of your mouth.

You order another drink each, falling into easy conversation once the music changes from a thumping rave to slow and melodic. You talk about your lives, jobs, the reason you both came out tonight, all while you carefully tiptoe around mentioning the man staying at your house.

“You wanna know why I sat by you?” She says, finishing her second drink.

You shake you head and stir your own drink with the skewer, cherries falling down into the alcohol.

“You looked sad,” she says reaching out to hold your wrist. “Pretty girl like you? Didn’t want you to sit at the bar all night. Wanted to see you smile! Get out there and dance, be happy, you know?”

You feel a blush creep over your cheeks. You look down to where she’s touching you. It’s innocent, but something about her look says she wishes it wasn’t.

Might as well tell her now.

“I . . . I invited this guy to stay with me and he turned out to be a total ass,” you blurt out.

She reaches out immediately with both arms to pull you into a hug.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” she says smoothing her hands down your back. Her words are soft and sweet in your ear. “Guys can be so dumb sometimes,” she says pulling away, her hands trailing down your arms to hold your hands. “That’s why I don’t even bother anymore. Wanna dance?”

You nod again, a small smile mirroring hers as she pulls you away from the bar.

Her hand is on your back as she leads you onto the dance floor. The crowd is gathering again now that the music has picked up tempo, but her hands casually draped on your hips tell everyone else to give you space. You like it. She’s warm and energetic, already swaying to the music. You thread your arms over her shoulders nervously. This can’t be any different from dancing with a guy, right?

“Relax,” she says leaning in to your ear. “Not gonna bite.”

You nod back. She pulls away until you’re nose to nose.

“First time?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

You nod again. She pulls you into closer, until your hips are flush, breasts pressing deliciously together, your faces only a breath apart. You can feel how wide your eyes are.

“”sokay. Just lean your head on my shoulder. I’ll lead.”

You do as she tells you. Closing your eyes as she rocks both of your bodies to the beat. You enjoy it. A spore of a thought lands in your mind to ruin it, though: what if Simon hadn’t been such a distant prick? Could this have been you and him? Would he have even come out with you?

You feel a vibration in your pocket as she slides her thigh between yours. You whine at the contact, not even registering the next text that comes through for a full minute. You sluggishly pull away, pulling your phone out as you do. You give her a sheepish look as you check your lock screen.

It’s Simon.

You sigh and fall back into her waiting arms. You don’t want to answer him. You have a sinking feeling he's just gotten back to your empty house and now he's trying to crawl back to you, apologizing and begging for a crumb of pussy like before. You don't want that though. You want to stay here, in the arms of someone who gives a damn about you, who makes you feel good.

"Your guy?" she asks, more mirth than disappointment in her voice.

You nod into her shoulder. You pick your head up with another sigh. "I should answer him back," you shout over the crowd.

She flicks her head back, indicating the front door, before leading you through the wall of bodies off the dance floor.

She holds your hand until you walk out into the chill of the night. The crowd of smokers looks back at the both of you before turning back, minding their own. You pull away to look at your phone. Another message from Simon had come through. Before you can unlock your phone to read them, she grabs your hand again.

"Hey, I-" she says snuggling up to you, hands circling your hips again. Her slinky dress can't be keeping her very warm. "I had a great time with you, so, no pressure, but if your guy is still being an ass-" You let her pull you flush to her body, your heart pounding in your chest. "you can come back with me tonight," she whispers before pecking a kiss on your lips.

Neither of you pull away. You do forget about the phone in your hand and the plans you'd made almost immediately. Silently, you press back against her lips, your hand coming up to rest on her neck.

You can taste her lip gloss as you kiss her, nothing but plastic and chemicals, but it makes your head spin. It's almost sweet, how chaste the two of you are. Standing outside of a bar, her shivering and moaning, as you hold one another and share a long goodnight kiss.

Your phone vibrating in your hand knocks you back to reality. This time, you hold it up to your face, and your phone unlocks into your messages automatically.

where are u? gone out? want to talk. outside. give u a ride home.

You hear unmistakable rattle of your car (you've been meaning to get that noise looked at, honest) as it pulls up behind you as you read the last message. A chill rolls down your spine.

trying to make me jealous? get in the car. bring your friend with you.

((OKAY I HAVE TO END THIS NOW BC ITS BEEN ROTTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR AGES BYE))

[freeuselandonorris]

✨💌

(for the writer asks here!)

✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

hmmm. a lot of my fics are either for very niche pairings, niche fandoms or niche kinks, so I’m kind of used to posting into the void to an extent 😅

that said, two fics I’m particularly proud of that didn’t get huge traction are:

all the blood runs hot before it’s cold (F1 RPF, toto wolff/christian horner, christian horner/geri halliwell, E). look, i get it. it’s a weird fic about two very rich and quite obnoxious middle aged men being vile to each other, and one of them gets pegged by a spice girl. it’s not for everyone. but I love what I managed to do with that fic and I think it’s the one I’m proudest of overall in terms of showing off my actual writing ability.

crosstown traffic (our flag means death RPF, taika waititi/rhys darby, E). this one actually did okay for the bounds of a tiny fandom, given it was posted between seasons. but again, I feel like I did a decent job of making this a character study of LA Taika (as opposed to Aotearoa NZ Taika, a very different beast). I’ve actually been thinking about doing a sequel to this at some point, set during the filming of Flag S2, where I look at Aotearoa Taika in more depth, like a mirror image piece somehow.

I guess I haven’t entirely answered the question directly here but yeah, I think they’re the two I would be happiest for people to revisit!

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

oh god I have like…five WIPs on the go currently because I have poor impulse control.

so I’ve been working on a sequel to the toto/christian fic I mentioned above, set from toto’s POV this time (one of my favourite POVs to write from).

“You know,” Toto says. “I read this book over the winter break.”

“Oh dear,” Christian looks pained.

There’s something different about him today. In the intervening period since Toto was last alone with him, something has changed. He’s taking up the whole cradle of the armchair like he thinks he belongs there.

“It was about Mithridates,” Toto continues, ignoring Christian. “He was the ruler of Pontus in Anatolia in the first century BC. His father was assassinated at a banquet, and so Mithridates spent seven years in the wilderness, ingesting poisons at sub-lethal doses.”

“Right,” Christian says impatiently. “Why, exactly?” His fingers twitch against his thighs.

Toto leans back against the desk, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The sharp edge cuts into his glutes. He flexes, letting the discomfort translate itself into another stirring of blood.

“He built up an immunity,” he says, and leans forward. His cock throbs with every beat of his heart. “Eventually, these repeated small exposures to the deadliest of poisons accumulated in his system. It no longer affected him.”

I also started writing girl!Lando/Oscar filth yesterday whoops

“Hey, Osc.” Lando drops her phone to her chest and fixes Oscar with a scrutinising gaze. She’s been sprawled on Oscar’s sofa for the past hour, feet up on his coffee table, gnawing on the beads of her bracelets and largely ignoring him. “You ever made a girl squirt?”

Jesus. Oscar should be used to this kind of thing by now, really, but it never stops startling him when Lando pipes up have you ever done spanking or did you know that you can train yourself out of a gag reflex if you like, really commit apropos of nothing.

“Uh,” Oscar says. “Nope. Can’t say I have. Have you?”

and wonderful OP I realise you might be glazed over now while I talk about motorsports fics when you followed me for Flag stuff! but the other day I remembered I got halfway through a Roach/Blackbeard cannibalism fantasy (look, it’s canon, alright) fic that I abandoned a few months ago. I’d like to go back to it at some point, though!

“They say you’ve tasted human flesh,” he says. The words are astonishing coming out of his mouth. He keeps his voice deliberately low, his words audible only to Blackbeard before the breeze and the waves wash them away.

“Do they, now,” Edward says, musing. He’s still smiling, but it’s changed now. He’s eyeing Roach speculatively; Roach feels pinned, like something to be inspected under glass. He forces himself to look up at meet Edward’s gaze, more boldly than he feels inside.

Edward leans a little closer, voice low. “Yeah, I’ve tasted flesh.”

Roach can’t stop the way his eyelids flutter, hearing it. He sucks in a breath. “You have?”

“Oh, yeah,” Blackbeard says, and tilts his head. “A man can work up all sorts of appetites under the right circumstances.”

thanks for asking! 💕

[bylightofdawn]

Whelp, accidentally deleted my previous Hot Toys post. To summarize, I got bit by FOMO super hardcore and bought the Hot Toy's Rex because I realized I would be heartbroken if in six month I'd saved up money for him only for him to be sold out and disappeared off the site.

That happened to me earlier this year with a Nightcrawler maquette I'd been eying around the same time I bought my Quicksilver one.

Rex has been released for a few months too and I was shocked at how swiftly Cody disappeared from the Hot Toys store so I didn't want to miss out on him. And I'd honestly been eying him for years at this point.

So I opted to do an Affirm payment plan instead which makes me mentally cringe. But I have gotten to a place in my life that I don't want to let fear or uncertainty stop me from doing what I want to do.

And I really want my Hot Toys guilty OT3.

Yeah, it'll suck having to find an extra 50 bucks a month in my budget but I will buckle down and do it and at the end of the day, that might not be the fiscally responsible choice but it is one that brings me happiness. And life is too damned short to not do things that bring you small joys.

I know every time I look at that display case and see those three figures, it'll bring a smile to my face and kindle of fondness to my heart.

I don't plan on buying any more of these stupidly expensive toys short of them releasing a Wedge Antilles which I know will never happen because he is super niche. But I would be so fucked if they did because I would bleed blood for my favorite Corellian son.

They did release a Hoth Luke which is super gorgeous so I'm assuming ESB's 40th anniversary so I think it's pretty safe to say he will never get graced with a gorgeous Hot Toy, which is good for my budget.

Also, I’m telling myself I don’t NEED the Jango figure but ngl I’ve been eying him semi-covetously as well. And if 250 bucks randomly landed in my lap out of nowhere, maybe I’d get him. But for now, I’m not planning on buying anything else.

NGL, it's hard fitting the three of them onto one shelf. I had a set up which I hated and was debating doing something stupidly extra like finding a way to hang Rex from the ceiling but when I was researching I discovered the display stand he comes with is articulated for making flying poses. So I found one I liked and sacrificed Cody's honestly pretty bleh sandy/rock display base.

I think he suitably conveys you will have to through him to get at his General and Rex is there ready to do bash bros shenanigans with Cody. Though nitpicking things I need to do is redo Obi-Wan’s pose and I forgot to put Rex’s ammo pack on but that can wait.

I do kinda want to get some kind of diorama things or something to spice up the background I think. I would love to find one that will allow you to display more than one on a stand and I've seen some on etsy. Honestly, from what I've seen I'd really need to find a way of doing something 3D printed and I know you can purchase and even pay people to do 3D prints and then paint it yourself but I've never done model painting in my life.

Still, it intrigues me and seems like an interesting artistic challenge.

I've been feeling kinda like I want to some kind of crafting again but it needs to be cat safe. I did start to do some beading, left it in a bowl high up on a shelf and somehow my fucking cat still managed to pull it down and attempt to SWALLOW the 8+ feet of fireline. So I had to gently pull that out of his gullet, something I discovered afterwards wasn't the play to do. So that scares the shit out of me and makes me super sad because beading has always been my crafty go-to. Thankfully, fireline is a LOT stronger than regular thread and it didn't break off when I was doing it.

Sure, I could be more careful and lock it up in a tupperware container or something like that but I'm still kinda traumatized by the whole affair a month or two later.

Maybe that's why I've gotten so into decorating my space lately, I just need some kind of physical creative outlet.

[kanerallels]

Holding Hands With Your Heart

For Kanera Week day four: "On a mission." Set in a canon compliant universe, pre-SWR. Dedicated to @accidental-spice, who gave me the idea for this story!!

Rating/Warnings: T (canon typical injury, some description of blood, and someone kinda gets a knife thrown at them but don't worry they're fine)

Taglist: @accidental-spice @laughingphoenixleader @heckin-music-dork @auroramagpie @opalknight @firefoxtessa @day-to-day-thots @kaneraweek

Read on AO3!!

Hera wasn’t much a fan of undercover missions. She understood the need for them, of course. Sometimes meeting a contact in public was too dangerous, for either of them, without changing their looks. Especially this time— their contact had just escaped an Imperial prison near Bakura, and was hiding out while the authorities looked for him. Hera just hoped the information he was promising was accurate.

But more often than not she ended up wearing a dress, and worse yet, heels. Neither of which were very practical for potential escapes or shootouts.

None of this seemed to deter her altogether too enthusiastic companion.

“Looks like that’s our stop,” Kanan observed from the passenger seat of the speeder. Shooting her a grin, he said, “Ready to be married to me for the next twenty minutes?”

Rolling her eyes, Hera dead-panned, “I can hardly wait. Try not to go too over the top, dear.”

“Who, me?” Kanan gave her a look of mock injury as they pulled into a vacant lot, at the back of a large brick building. “I would never.”

“Uh-huh,” Hera said, still not totally convinced. Kanan had joined her crew almost two years ago now, and while the more serious flirting had stopped, he still liked teasing her. And while Hera wouldn’t admit it to his face, she liked matching wits with him.

Now, however, she was not in the mood for it. Switching off the speeder, she glanced at Kanan. “Okay, we’re looking for a human with reddish hair, pale skin, and a scar on his forehead. If he sees us first, he’ll head to the bar to order something, and I’ll make contact. Otherwise, I approach him first, but until then, we just mingle and hope for the best.”

“Sounds good,” Kanan said, hopping out of the speeder. As Hera got to her feet, he hurried around to her side and offered her a hand. “Shall we?”

“I feel like I should protest,” Hera said, “but honestly I’m not totally sure I’m not going to break my neck in these heels. And while that might get me out of this, it’s really not worth it.”

Kanan chuckled as he helped her out of the speeder. “You’re really not looking forward to this, are you?”

“Looking forward to being ogled for the rest of the night by drunk idiots? No, I am not,” Hera said, and Kanan grimaced.

“I can’t argue with that. Tell you what— if it gets too bad, wink at me twice and I’ll punch someone out or shoot them or something.”

Hera snorted with amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind. But that’s another thing— I can’t carry a blaster. I don’t like being unarmed.”

“Are you telling me you don’t have that knife I saw you use last week on you somewhere?” Kanan asked, lifting a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Because I find that hard to believe.”

Hera couldn’t hold back a wry smile at that. “You’ve got a point there, dear. Still, I prefer an outfit that goes better with a blaster than this.”

She wouldn’t exactly say she disliked the dress in question— it was far more tasteful than some of the others she’d found when they’d gone shopping. The simple sleeveless design appealed to her, as did the skirt that hit just below her knees, for both modesty and mobility’s sake. The color scheme was black and white, with the lower half of the skirt a filmy black, studded with sparkling beads, and the upper half a solid white. A swirling pattern, like waves or vines, swirled across the left half of the dress.

It was beautiful. But it was also eye-catching and showed more skin that she liked, strictly speaking, and there wasn’t anywhere practical to hide a blaster. So Hera had to make do with a knife and the hope that there weren’t too many people who’d be staring at her in there.

Thankfully, Kanan’s suit coat covered his blaster perfectly, so they weren’t totally unarmed. His outfit still bordered on casual— a suit jacket over a crisp white shirt, black slacks, and black shoes— but it was still strange to see him in formal wear. Which, Hera was loath to admit, he looked really good in.

If she told him that, he would be insufferable, so she wasn’t saying anything.

“I get it,” Kanan told her, bringing her mind back to the present. “It’s tough to be somewhere without anything to protect yourself— and I know it’s different, but I don’t love people staring at me, either. But we’ll get through this fast, maybe have a few drinks and something to eat, and save the day. Deal?”

“Deal,” Hera relented, looping her arm through his. “Let’s go.”

The night club they were infiltrating, Club Paraxo D’Prata, was invitation only. Despite several bribes, one instance of Kanan getting a Rodian very drunk, and a visit with a forger, they hadn’t been able to get any. So they went with an old standby, which Kanan liked to call “fake it til you make it.”

They headed up to the front, Kanan’s arm around Hera’s waist, the two of them laughing as they half-walked, half-stumbled their way up to the door, where two bouncers were waiting for them.

“Hi, there,” Kanan said, offering the duo— a bored looking human man and a muscular Devaronian, both well armed— a charming grin. “Sorry to bother you, but my companion and I are meeting some other friends inside. Any chance you can let us in?”

“Invitations?” the human droned, looking if possible, more bored.

Giving him a rueful grimace, Kanan said, “About that. I stepped inside earlier for a drink, and left my invitations inside, in my other jacket. If you’d just let me step into the entryway—”

“No entry without an invitation,” the human said, his boredom beginning to give way to irritation. 

“We are so sorry,” Hera said quickly, making sure her voice held her natural Ryl accent. She gave the pair a smile. “We did mean to keep them with us, but we forgot. And Kerron did promise to buy me a drink here, didn’t you, love?” Lacing her fingers around his, she gave him an affectionate smile that was less forced than she’d expected it to be.

She felt him stiffen slightly, but his smile didn’t falter. “Surely you can understand, gentlemen,” he said. “I owe the lady a debt.”

The man started to respond, but the Devaronian spoke first, his tone gravelly. “I didn’t see you two come in earlier.”

“Oh,” Kanan said, glancing at Hera. “Um…”

“Plan B,” she muttered under her breath.

“Got it.” Turning to the bouncers, Kanan waved a hand, and Hera could swear she felt something thrum in the air. “You want to let us inside.”

The man’s eyes glazed over, his face going blank. “I… want to let you inside,” he said, the Devaronian echoing him seconds later.

“If you say so, sir,” Kanan said cheerfully. “Come on, Layda.”

Together, he and Hera slipped past the guards and made their way into the club together.

The inside of the club was dimly lit in blue, the walls made of rough bricks. Tables lined the corners of the room, with a bar on the right side and a stage in the very center, where a band was performing. Beings were clustered throughout the room, dancing or talking or sitting at the bar.

Not one of them seemed to take any notice of Kanan and Hera as they slipped inside. “Thanks for the save,” Hera murmured to him.

“Not a problem,” Kanan responded quietly, leading the way to the bar. They both took seats at the less populated end, Hera instinctively scanning for threats as they did so.

“Looks like we’ve got a group carrying blasters,” she said, nodding at a pack of black clad beings, standing around a Togruta wearing a white suit and more jewelry than Hera had ever seen on a person. Even his lekku had gold rings around them. “Some kind of crime lord, maybe?”

“Either way, we don’t want to tangle with him,” Kanan replied wryly, waving to the bartender. As the Rodian headed their way, he added, “Off duty Imperials, over by the stage. Next to that fake plant.”

Hera followed his discreet gesture to where two men were chatting up a duo of Twi’leks. “Military haircuts, and they stand like they’re Imperial,” Kanan said as the bartender arrived. Turning towards him, he said, “I’ll have a glass of Corellian whiskey.”

“And for the lady?” the Rodian asked, turning to her.

“If you could mix me a mocktail with something meiloorun, that would be lovely,” Hera said, offering him a smile.

“Right away, ma’am. Sir.” 

As he retreated, Kanan asked, “So what’s the deal with our latest contact?”

“His name’s Atticus Nardeth. Apparently, he was an Imperial— Clone Wars veteran who just didn’t complain when the regime switched,” Hera explained, flicking her gaze across the crowd. “But then, he was sent to fight in the siege of Lasan.”

Understanding flashed through Kanan’s eyes. “I bet that changed his mind pretty quickly.”

“It did,” Hera said, pausing as the Rodian arrived with a tumbler for Kanan and a tall glass full of golden-orange liquid, a straw in it and a slice of meiloorun on the edge. Accepting hers with a smile, Hera waited until he was gone, then continued, “According to my source, the minute he realized what was happening, he put his rifle down and refused to go any farther. He was arrested, and spent the next years in prison.”

“Until now,” Kanan said.

Nodding, Hera sipped from her drink, enjoying the smooth, tangy-sweet taste. “He broke out two months ago, and he’s been on the run ever since. He claims to have some sort of information that the Empire would want, and so Fulcrum wants me to find out what he knows.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Kanan glanced around the room. “Any idea if he’s here yet?”

“The owner is a friend of his, so he probably is,” Hera said. “We just have to wait for him to show himself. I gave him a meeting time, so we just have to find him in the next hour.”

Snagging his cup, Kanan took a quick drink. “Then we’ve got some work to do. Mingling first or dancing?”

Hera sighed. “We’d better dance first. Then if I break my ankle, I can sit while I mingle.”

Kanan chuckled as he left a few credits on the counter, hopped out of his seat, and offered her a hand. “Don’t worry, Captain Hera. I’ve got your back.”

“You’d better,” Hera said, only half-joking as she placed her hand in his. 

Together they headed out onto the dance floor as the band started playing an upbeat, fast-paced tune. Hera stumbled a few times at first, but quickly caught on to the rhythm of the dance. It helped that she had a good partner— Kanan was a better dancer than she’d expected, moving skillfully and covering for her mistakes with grace. “You never fail to surprise me, dear,” she told Kanan. “Someday, you’re going to have to tell me where you pick up these skills.”

Shooting her a grin, he said, “Now, where’s the fun in that? Want to try a spin?”

“Fine,” Hera said, unable to hold back a responding smile at his infectious delight. “But be prepared to catch me if I trip.”

“Always,” Kanan assured her. Lifting her arm, he spun her out. As Hera whirled around, she caught sight of a man sitting at a table set back in the shadows, watching them with a furrowed brow. Deliberately, he rose to his feet and started across the room towards the bar, and Hera caught sight of a dark scar curving across his temple, disappearing into his red hair.

He moved out of sight behind a crowd of Gotals, and Kanan pulled Hera back in. “Nice,” he complimented. “You didn’t even trip. I think you’re improving.”

“Undoubtedly,” Hera quipped wryly. Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. “I spotted our contact. He’s making his way to the bar.”

She felt Kanan’s muscles tighten slightly under her hands, and his chin brushed her forehead when he nodded. “Got it. Bad news— more Imperials just showed up, and they’re not out of uniform.”

Flicking a quick glance over her shoulder towards the door, Hera spotted one gray clad-figure making its way forward, followed by four in white. “That could be a problem,” she muttered. “We need a distraction.”

“I can handle that,” Kanan replied, and Hera arched an eyebrow at him.

“We need a distraction that doesn’t involve starting a bar fight. If we can get through this without the Empire spotting us or our contact, that would be ideal.”

“I can do subtle,” Kanan said. “Well, as subtle as distractions get. Don’t worry, it won’t cause a riot. Trust me on this one.”

Hera hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll head for the bar and get our friend. If anything goes sideways, we meet back at the speeder. Deal?”

“Deal,” Kanan said as the song they’d been dancing to came to an end. He started to pull away, his hand brushing her forearm, then paused, catching her eye. “Good luck.”

With that, he slipped away into the crowd, and Hera followed suit, making her way to the bar. She didn’t look after Kanan— although there was a part of her that wanted to, a part of her that wished she could follow him and feel his hand around hers again as they danced. 

Don’t be ridiculous, Hera, she scolded herself. Whatever had been in that meiloorun drink was clearly going straight to her head.

Weaving her way through the crowd of dancing beings, she finally found herself at the bar. The red-haired man was sitting at the far end, a drink sitting untouched in front of him as he periodically glanced around the room.

Hera started to move towards him, then froze as a familiar deep voice rolled out from the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption.”

Spinning around, Hera gaped at the sight of Kanan on stage, holding a microphone. Looking completely confident and at ease, he continued, “I’d like to take this time to dedicate this song to someone very special out there, who happens to look stunning tonight.”

And to Hera’s absolute shock, he began to sing as the band played a upbeat, jazzy tune—

“We went down to the water,

So help me, father,

I believe I fell in love.

Since the day we met, 

Where you’re all I’m dreaming of.

His voice was better than Hera would have expected— deep and rich, and the skill of the band made up for any mistakes he made. And, more importantly, his theatrics had totally drawn the attention of everyone in the room, Imperials included. Thank the Force for that, Hera thought, and headed over to the far end of the bar.

As she took the seat next to him, the red-haired man looked up, a frown knitting his face. “Atticus Nardeth?” Hera asked quietly.

He nodded, relief filling his eyes. “And you’re Captain Syndulla. Fulcrum made sure I knew what you looked like. I can’t begin to thank you for taking this risk.”

“It’s what I do, Mr. Nardeth,” Hera said. “And you’re the one taking the risk. You said you have information that the Empire doesn’t want out?”

Nardeth nodded, glancing around. “It’s about Lasan, about the massacre. You’ve heard plenty about that, I imagine.”

“I have,” Hera said, feeling a twinge of sorrow. “I heard about the ion disruptors, that after they were brought in… there were no survivors.”

“But that’s just it,” Nardeth said, his voice a harsh whisper. “There are survivors.”

Hera felt a bolt of shock run through her, and she stared at him. “What?”

“Well, at least one survivor,” the man amended. “I don’t know how, but he managed to get off the planet just as the disruptors were being used. I’ve been looking into him, and I may have a potential location.”

Hera sat, unmoving, her mind whirring as Kanan launched into the chorus of the song he was singing. A Lasat survivor, out there somewhere. There was no question of what she was to do next. “Where?” she asked.

Before Nardeth could respond, a formal, accented voice from behind them spoke. “Excuse me, sir. You need to come with us.”

Turning, Hera’s stomach lurched when she saw the Imperial officer standing there, flanked by stormtroopers. Rising from her seat, she offered him a look of confusion. “Is there a problem, officer?’ she asked, stealthily slipping her knife out from the sheath under her dress.

“Not at all, ma’am,” the Imperial said with more politeness than Hera had expected. “We simply need to speak to your companion.”

Hera shot a glance at Nardeth, and saw the fear and resignation in his eyes. “I don’t think so,” she said, starting to lunge towards the officer— and froze at the sound of four blasters humming to life. 

“Don’t move,” one of the troopers barked.

“I’m going to have to ask you to drop the weapon,” the officer said, his hand drifting towards the blaster he wore at his side. 

Kriff, Hera thought, scrambling for a way out. She shot a glance in Kanan’s direction— but he’d just finished the song, and was looking the other way, distracted.

Misreading her look, the Imperial said, “I wouldn’t try running for it.”

“Fine,” Hera said, letting out a sigh, and lifting her hands as if in surrender. And then she did the only thing she could possibly think of— she threw the knife at Kanan.

For a moment, she thought it wouldn’t work, as she and the very confused Imperials watched it whistle through the air, heading straight for Kanan. And then, in the middle of a conversation with one of the band members, Kanan’s hand snapped up, and he caught the knife inches from his face. Turning, he gave Hera a look that very clearly said, “What the kriff?” And then the confusion melted away as he saw the men surrounding her, and he gave her a tiny nod.

The Imperial officer stared at Kanan for a minute, then turned towards Hera. “I didn’t think he was that bad of a singer.”

“It’s complicated,” Hera said, letting out a sigh as the band started up again— and then blaster fire sounded as Kanan leapt off the stage, shooting one of the stormtroopers in the back.

The Imperials spun around, going for their weapons. Hera grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be Nardeth’s drink, and smashed it over the officer’s head. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious, as Kanan charged towards them, blaster firing repeatedly. 

The other troopers hit the ground within seconds, and pandemonium broke loose as the patrons of the club screamed and ran for the exits. Turning to Hera, Kanan held up her knife. “You threw a knife at my face,” he said, sounding wounded.

Plucking it from his hand, Hera replied, “I knew you would catch it.”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t throw a deadly weapon at my face,” Kanan protested.

“Well, I tried giving you two winks but you were distracted,” Hera said, rolling her eyes.

Kanan opened his mouth to protest, stared at her for a long moment, then closed his mouth. “Right. Let’s figure out a way out of here before more Imperials show up.”

“Good plan,” Hera agreed. “The exits are too crowded. Nardeth, is there a way out that leads to the back lot?”

“There’s a window upstairs,” the man said.

“Show us,” Kanan commanded, grabbing a blaster from one of the dead troopers and tossing it to Hera. Nardeth immediately moved forward through the crowd, and Kanan and Hera followed on his heels.

They’d made it halfway up the staircase in the back of the room when they heard voices shouting orders from downstairs. “Looks like the Empire finally showed up,” Kanan said.

“Then we’d better make this quick,” Hera said. “Nardeth?” 

“This way,” he said, leading them into a parlor with ornate furniture and a  fairly large window. Hera moved up to it, peering through the dirty glass. Sure enough, it looked out on the vacant lot, their speeder visible at the far end. 

“Does this window open?” she asked, and Nardeth shook his head. “Alright— stand back.” 

They all backed up, and Hera fired a blaster bolt into the center of the window, shattering the glass. There were urgent shouts from below, and Kanan moved to the door, shutting it and shoving a char in front of it as Hera cleared the last shards of glass from the window.

“It’s quite a drop, but we should be able to handle it,” she said. “Kanan, you go first.”

“You’re the pilot,” Kanan pointed out. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to go first?”

Giving him a “don’t you dare argue right now” look, Hera said, “I want someone down there to make sure we don’t bump into any Imperials. Now, please. Nardeth, you go after him. I’ll watch our backs.”

Kanan grumbled something under his breath, but hopped up onto the window sill and vaulted out. Nardeth followed seconds later, and Hera was about to follow when she heard someone banging on the door.

“Open up in the name of the Empire!”

“Oh, great,” Hera muttered. Scrambling onto the sill, she raised her blaster as the door flew open— but was stopped by the chair Kanan had shoved in the way. Still, the crack was large enough for blaster fire to come zipping into the room. Hera returned fire quickly, edging towards the opening. She could hear Kanan shouting her name from below, but steadfastly ignored it. Just another minute, and I can make it out. Just one more—

A stray blaster bolt slashed across her arm, and Hera let out a gasp of pain, jerking backwards instinctively. Her foot slipped, and suddenly she was plummeting over the edge of the windowsill.

She braced herself for a painful landing— but slammed into something decidedly less unyielding than the permacrete ground. “Gotcha,” Kanan grunted, staggering a little and Hera clung to him instinctively as he caught his balance. “You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Hera replied breathlessly— which was from the fall, of course. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was so close to his face that she could see the variations of color in his blue green eyes. She could feel him breathing, his arm secure and warm around her waist.

Seeming to realize he was still holding her, Kanan hastily set her down. “Right,” he said, lifting an eyebrow as he nodded at her arm. “Because that’s okay.”

“That’s going to have to wait until later,” Hera said as more crashes sounded from above them. “Let’s go!”

They raced over to the speeder, and Hera had it up and running in seconds. With both Kanan and Nardeth on board, she shot out of the vacant lot, cruising down the street and away from the club as fast as possible.

They ditched the speeder a few blocks from the spaceport, then hurried down the streets, avoiding people as much as possible, Hera wearing Kanan’s jacket to disguise the wound on her arm. Somehow, they made it to the spaceport and reached the Ghost without being caught.

Just being on board her ship made Hera feel better. Bolting into the cockpit, she began the startup sequence, ignoring the throbbing from her arm that grew with every second.

“Whoa— what happened? Is this your idiot’s fault?” Chopper beeped indignantly.

“It’s the Empire’s fault, Chop,” Hera said. “As always. Now let’s get moving, I don’t want to tangle with any TIEs on the way out of here.”

“Eh, a little murder always spices up the evening,” Chopper disagreed, but he rolled forward to help her anyways. Within seconds, the Ghost’s engines had rumbled to life and they were lifting off.

There was no sign of pursuit, but Hera still refused to relax until they’d broken through the atmosphere and the stars blurred into hyperspace around them. Only then did she sit back in her chair, taking a deep breath. She felt herself shaking from the aftermath as the adrenaline drained away.

“Hera.” Kanan’s voice jolted her upright, and she realized with alarm that she’d been drifting off. He was kneeling next to her, his brows knitted together in concern. “We need to get that arm looked at.”

“It’s just a scratch— I can take care of it myself,” Hera said. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

Kanan responded by holding it up, and Hera reached for it. “No,” he said firmly. “You’re the boss, and you know I respect that. But I’m not gonna sit by and watch as you stitch yourself up. Let me help. That’s why I’m here.”

Hera nearly started arguing— but he was right. And she was honestly too tired to fight him on this right now. “Okay,” she said, reluctantly sitting up. “Let’s get this over with.”

Carefully, Kanan helped her pull off the suit coat. The blaster burn had started bleeding, and a dark stain marred the inside of the sleeve, blood sticking it to Hera’s skin. She winced as it pulled painfully against her skin. “Sorry,” Kanan murmured as he tugged the sleeve away.

“I’m sorry,” Hera said, shrugging off the coat and biting her lip hard against the pain. The burn was small enough that it wasn’t a big problem, but it definitely stung. “I bled all over your jacket.”

Kanan gave her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher. “I don’t really care about the jacket.” Flipping open the first aid kit, he started digging through the contents, and Hera took the opportunity to grimace, pressing her eyes shut. Stars, this hurts.

When she opened her eyes, Kanan was watching her again, his frown even deeper. “What’s wrong?” Hera asked. “If you’re mad at me about staying behind longer—”

“Force, no. You’re the boss, remember? I do what you say, and try not to worry too much.” Kanan was quiet for a long moment as he pulled out bacta spray and gauze, and Hera pretended her mind wasn’t fixating on the implication that Kanan worried about her.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re allowed to hurt. You know that, right?”

Hera frowned at him. “What?”

Kanan exhaled hard, rubbing his forehead with a frown. “You’re allowed to hurt. You always just… bottle it up. Keep a strong face so no one sees that it’s affected you— and don’t get me wrong, I admire how strong you are.” Soaking some of the gauze in bacta spray, he began to gently dab at the wound, cleaning away the blood. “But you don’t always have to be the strong one. Sometimes, it’s okay to let things out.”

As he kept working, Hera stared at him, feeling surprise cutting through her. She’d never really thought about what he was saying. For her, for years, it had just… been this way. Just her and Chopper, with no one to really take care of her. So she’d had to grit her teeth, to stitch herself up and not let herself fully feel the pain until she collapsed into her bunk.

But now, things were different. Now she had a crew. Or to be more precise, she had Kanan. Kanan, who was carefully wiping the last of the blood away from her wound, and wrapping it in gauze, his hands gentle. 

It was the last thing she would have expected from the gunslinger she’d met on Gorse. But then, Kanan was always surprising her these days. 

“You’re right,” she said quietly, and Kanan glanced up at her, surprise flashing through his eyes. “I’m not used to having someone else take care of me. It’s still new, and I don’t want to be a burden—”

“You could never be a burden, Hera,” Kanan said, his voice firm. “You’re the reason we got this far, you’re the one who’s holding this crew together. You’re allowed to let someone take care of you every now and then.”

The look in his eyes was determined, but there was also a warmth in his eyes, one that sent a shiver through Hera. “And… and you’re the one who’s going to be taking care of me, then?” she asked.

Tucking in the last edges of the bandages, Kanan offered her a half-smile. “That’s why I’m here, Captain Hera.”

His words were cavalier, but the care with which he finished bandaging her arm, and the way his hands lingered, just for a second, fingertips brushing her skin— that told a different story. Packing away everything in the first aid kit, he rose to his feet, glancing at her. “You looked nice tonight, by the way. But you always do.”

“Oh,” Hera managed, caught off guard. But something about the compliment. It had been a long time since he’d said something like that— but there was something about this time that made it feel real, and brought a smile to her face. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re a better singer than I would have thought.”

Kanan smiled back, and for a moment it was just the two of them, watching each other and wondering what would happen next, if one would make the first move or if this would be another missed opportunity.

And then the cockpit door hissed open. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain,” Nardeth said tentatively, and both Kanan and Hera turned towards him.

“Not at all,” Hera said, rising from her chair. “When I spoke to Fulcrum earlier, they said that they had a place for you to hide— we’re heading to the rendezvous point now.”

“Thank you,” Nardeth said. “I appreciate that— but I’m here about the Lasat survivor right now.”

“Wait,” Kanan said, and Hera glanced over to see his eyes widening. “There’s a Lasat survivor? That’s why we’re here?”

“I was as surprised as you were,” Hera said quietly. Looking back at Nardeth, she said, “Of course. Do you have a location?”

“He’s been moving around a lot,” the man said, “but his last known location was Kijimi.”

Hera turned to look at Kanan, and found him already looking at her, eyes expectant. “I guess we’re going to Kijimi, then,” she said. “As long as you’re in, dear.”

“I’m with you all the way,” Kanan promised. And not for the first time, Hera wondered if there was something else behind that promise, something that had been there when they first met and was steadily growing stronger.

It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered about this. But it might have been the first time she found herself hoping for it.

This wasn’t something she had time to worry about now, though. Right now, she had another mission to run, and a Lasat to find. But she had Kanan by her side— and together, the two of them could handle anything.

[lavendermin]

if all stars fell at once (4) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3.1k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warnings | light smut, eventual smut

Routine.

Defined as habitual tasks you partake in on a regular basis. These monotonous daily routines are what provided a grasp of control amid the uncontrollable and brought you order in a time of uncertainty.

The dawn of a new day started with the bittersweet greeting of the mourning doves’ songs. It gently tugged your consciousness forward, your weary limbs stretching out beneath warm covers. Your eyes would peek open and be greeted by the same dull room, bed tucked in a far corner. The sheets over old furniture still haunted you, the house inherited by past ghosts of memories.

It was a husk you resided in, perhaps a tomb you inherited. And as with every morning, you push the thought away.

A quick wash-up and breakfast helps kickstart your day before you’re off to run any errands listed off in your mind already. Fresh morning dew still glistens on the grass when you leave.

Days where errands would carry you to the harbor would have their own side routine you knew fairly well. Checking Bubu Pharmacy for any medicine pickups for the village elders, a quick chat with Ganyu as you passed her during one of her duties, a passing stop to the markets by the docks for supplies, and the occasional prolonged stay for lunch per the invitation of Zhongli and his courteous acquaintance. Every week, just like clockwork.

The busy day would wind down near the docks, watching the waves as they crashed upon rocks and taking in the scent of the sea spray that swept by you with it’s breeze. If you closed your eyes, the sounds of the sea and bustling voices of the harbor would meld together into one— a comforting cacophony of background noise to keep you grounded before the harbor’s relentless energy swept you away.

The city was a little much for you. It made you miss the tranquility of the small place you resided in tucked far back in the village.

And so everyday your heels pointed back towards home, ending with a meal in between more work you buried yourself in until odd hours of the night.

This was the routine you came to know with seldom any out-of-the-ordinary variation.

And then, curiously, slowly, the yaksha you came to befriend incorporated himself into the routine— first embedded into your routines and soon enough ever-present in your heart. Perhaps you could say that he altered your habits for the better.

Nowadays, leaving the harbor after errands is pleasant. No longer does the road back to Qingce isolate you into your thoughts. The sun that casts mesmerizing hues upon the sky as it sets leaves a pleasant warmth on your face. You look forward to his name on your tongue.

‘Xiao.’

The summon rings out clearly amidst his tumultuous headspace, bringing brief peace with the familiarity of the voice. In an instant he’s at your side, the ominous mist that enveloped him subsiding. There's a wordless question in his eyes as he shyly laces his fingers with yours.

With a light squeeze of his hand, you reply, “Let’s go home.”

There’s a pleasant silence that accompanies these walks, his hand firmly holding yours as if you might slip through his grasp at any given moment. On occasion, he would ask how your day went just to hear your voice. Though he wasn’t fond of the crowded hustle and bustle of the harbor, hearing your little enthusiastic retelling was enough to leave him with vivid imagery. Your voice was his comfort.

Arriving home has also taken on a newfound normalcy. With Xiao around, the once-empty house you inherited no longer feels foreign. Finally, with sure conviction, you can say it feels like your own.

Shelves that were once scarce with items and decor were now neatly arranged with ornaments and small handcrafts that Xiao has given you. The bookshelf that was once littered with dust and cobwebs is now rich with rows of books of all sorts. Even tables and bedside stands that were once empty are now always adorned with flowers that you and Xiao pick while out stargazing. These items are glimpses into the new pastimes you treasure to make time for.

Today was one such day where the breeze was pleasant as the sun tucked away for the night. However instead of being outside, you chose to take up comfort reading indoors. There on a pile of blankets and pillows you sat comfortably, Xiao resting his head on your lap to intently listen to you read aloud.

The adeptus reminded you of a cat that’s getting comfortable with a stranger they keep meeting. The spots he chose to rest on were getting much closer in proximity, but never directly on you. That is, until you boldly asked if he would like to rest on your lap and he settled there gratefully with your permission.

You closed the book, running your hand through his hair to get the yaksha to open one eye. “Are you sure you want to hear me read this poem book again? I’m sure you know it by heart at this point,” you pointed out with a laugh. “Why don’t you choose a book this time?”

There was a moment of contemplation before Xiao relented and went to search through the many book spines readily available. A glistening stone caught his attention again—his hand visibly hesitating for a moment.

You leaned your body over a bit from your comfortable pillow haven, curious as to what book he would select. Part of you expected him to select a random one off the bookcase, and was surprised to have a quaint little red book placed in your hands.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… about this one,” Xiao started, his face neutral but betrayed by the twinge of pink that was hidden by the dimness of the lamplight.

“This is…?”

He shrugged. “The subject of this book— is this something you like?”

Confused, you opened the cover. Inscribed on the inside in unmistakable cursive was a message from a certain librarian— a friend. Your brows creased, mouth pressed in a thin line as your eyes skimmed over the note the particular librarian left. A subtle feeling of dread crept over you.

‘Hey cutie, sent you a few goodies that were offloaded from our catalogue this season. Thought you might enjoy this one to spice things up a bit. I know how curious you were about the forbidden section, so here’s a little glimpse for you.’

Oh no… You quickly skimmed through some pages of the book that felt hot in your grip. Or perhaps it was your entire body flushed with embarrassment at the lewd imagery the story portrayed

“I–I didn’t… I d–didn’t know Lisa sent this along with the other books. This book— I haven’t read before so… um…” You anxiously bit your lip, voice growing quieter the more you went on. “I–It was a gift. I didn’t know.”

Xiao hummed, hand grazing your reddened cheeks curiously as you fanned your face. There was practically steam rolling off you.

“So,” Xiao started cautiously, “The things the book spoke of— it’s not something you like?”

If you were red before, you couldn’t possibly imagine how you looked now.

“N–No! I mean— Yes. I mean—!” You fumbled over your words, flustered over such an erotic novel unknowingly being in your possession.

“So, it makes you… happy?”

“Xiao— Stop, please— I’m going to die of embarrassment,” you squeaked into your hands.

His persistent curiosity would be the death of you at this rate. You buried your face under a pillow, too overwhelmed by the suggestive images still swirling in your head.

A little dumbfounded by your reaction, Xiao could only watch your huddled form hide away as he awkwardly rubbed your back in an attempt at reassurance.

The adeptus finally gained a bit of your attention, quietly inquiring, “Do you not wish to talk about that type of subject?”

The grip on your pillow slowly eased up, partially uncovering your face to meet his gaze. There wasn’t an ounce of discomfort on his face, and it was reassuring save for the fact that you were the one needing to explain.

“It’s not… that I don’t want to. Intimacy like— that—“ You pointed accusingly at the book now in his hands. “Is something, uhm, highly emotional— in a good way! Ah, what am I saying… It’s an act of love and bonding with a significant other, so to speak. Usually. Ah— it’s a little complicated.”

As you fumbled with your train of thought, his hand slowly placed itself over yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. It drew your little state of panic to a close, feeling him press his lips to your forehead in a moment of soft distraction. It quickly brought a small thankful smile to your lips.

Kisses made you happy. This was a fact Xiao had learned.

“Let’s talk about it another time. Do not stress yourself over it.”

You nod timidly, choosing to hide your face in the crook of his neck. “...Okay.”

Xiao leaves not too long after, disappearing into the shadows to diligently tend to his duties. Sleep finds you quicker when he’s not around, though your mind is still tumultuous.

You had half a mind to go straight to Mondstadt and give Lisa a stern reprimand, not that she would care. If anything, it would fuel her amusement and her teasing would become more unbearable especially when your heart could barely handle Xiao boldly initiating displays of affection. That librarian was more perceptive than her languid facade let on.

For the time being you buried the cursed erotic book within cluttered closet boxes and called it a night.

Out of sight, out of mind.

—

A bead of sweat rolling down his temple caught a glimmer of the pale moon watching over him. Beasts that were affected by his karmic debt laid strewn across the battlefield. It weighed heavy on his mind, a distasteful reminder of increasing demonic activity with the Lantern Rite a few weeks away.

There was a light burning sensation that twinged Xiao’s calves and arms, and he rolled his shoulders to relieve his muscles from the fatigue of ceaseless combat. His tired muscles were just about ready to turn in for the night and make his way to Wangshu Inn.

But he paused. The voice tugged at his mind.

‘Xiao…’

There was no mistaking it. It was your voice.

The ache in his muscles was an issue for later. There was strain in your voice, evident discomfort. The reason was uncertain but as much as Xiao wanted to deny it, he was alarmed ever so slightly.

A blur of black mist was all it took and he was gone under the serene moonlight. When he found you, his guard was high with lingering confusion. An intruder was his first thought.

A quick walk around the house, footsteps lighter than the breeze that accompanied him. Nothing. No other presences detected either.

‘You called me, but why?’ Xiao questioned.

The bed gently dipped with quiet creaks where he sat next to you, brushing his thumb over your cheek. Your peaceful sleep was broken as your brows slightly furrowed, breathing slightly labored with small whimpers you let out.

“...X–Xiao,” you quietly whimpered amidst your sleep.

Ah, you had summoned him in your sleep then. How odd. It was a first, to say the least, but he couldn’t be upset with you.

‘Another nightmare…?’

Just how bad could a nightmare be that you would desperately call his name in your sleep, he wondered? But a promise was a promise. He was determined to rid you of your ailments if it was within his power.

The yaksha took in a deep breath, focusing himself fully before slowly exhaling a puff of dark mist. The aches in his body went ignored.

Dearest dream eater, won’t you save her?

—

The sound of his footsteps pacing a dark corridor— humid, stuffy as he pressed forward following the muffled sound of your voice. It’s something he will never forget though he feels he should.

To feel haunted by a dream’s fragments that refuse to vanish is something he should laugh at. It’s not real.

Then why?

Bits and pieces are burned into his memory. Perhaps in a torturously pleasant way he never really imagined. Blame it on him never finding someone he considered such private feelings with.

Xiao did not stay that night after consuming the dream, nor did he come back to check on you come morning as he usually did. On the tiled roof of Wangshu Inn he lays, brows furrowed and a strange warmth pooling throughout his lower torso.

The memory is unlike others that plague him, though it causes him inner turmoil with the increased bodily frustration.

Those eyes… haunt him. The smugness on the face that stared back at him then was enough to piss him off. The reasons festering in his tightened chest he couldn’t quite explain. The fragments would rewind and play, rewind and play, over and over since that night.

‘So,’ the familiar red stranger began with an amused smirk. ‘Looks like the yaksha really will answer any call of his name.’

They made it a point to maintain eye contact as they pressed their lips to your temple, arms holding your back flush against his chest.

Those piercing jade eyes— a mockingly similar exterior. It was like Xiao stared at a twisted reflection of himself conjured by your dream, the red accents in his hair and clothes a fiery scarlet akin to the bubbling anger he felt upon seeing the illusion lay its hands on you. The fact that they spoke in his same voice was enough to raise a rumbling growl within Xiao’s chest.

Quiet huffs left your parted lips as your chest heaved, a scarlet sash tied over your eyes like a blindfold.

‘Xiao, I–‘ Your body shivered at the feeling of his hands gliding over the inside of your thighs. It made you let out an involuntary whimper, cheeks aflame with arousal.

‘That’s enough,’ Xiao commanded the dream illusion of himself through gritted teeth.

The scarlet-hued Xiao shifted you in his lap, his lips set in a mocking smirk as his hand slipped between your legs to elicit sweet mewls from your parted lips. What Xiao wouldn’t give to conjure his spear then and there to wipe that irksome grin off his own face.

The illusion hummed, making it a point to place a kiss to the swell of your exposed chest. ‘Surely you don’t mean to ignore our person’s feelings? Or our own, for that matter. How crude of you, adeptus, to try and stop something she begged me for— something our body clearly begs for, as well.’

‘Quiet.’

The silence was deafening, though the illusion only seemed to stop momentarily out of amusement in seeing how long the real Xiao could uphold such a serious facade. Internally, he battles with two new emotions he hadn’t experienced before— jealousy and arousal. Somehow, because he could channel a warrior's rage through jealousy, the other warm feeling seemed to be drowned out. For now.

‘Silence me all you’d like. Deny your desires until you grow numb, for all I care. But for your human, these desires are your bond,’ the illusion persuaded, unbothered by the icy daggers Xiao glared through him. ‘Isn’t that right, my love?’

His fingers slowly working at the sweet, throbbing ache between your legs left you unable to form any coherent thoughts. Perhaps it was deliberate so your mind was elsewhere, drowning in a hazy pleasure. The gasps and mewls leaving your shaking body were slowly getting to the adeptus. Ironic, just how similar to that stupid book this was.

Xiao scoffed, and prepared himself to finish what he had sought out to do. ‘I don’t concern myself with desires. I’ve had enough of you.’

As Xiao unraveled and crumbled the dreamscape around him, the illusion remained smiling with sly intention.

‘Dishonesty will get you nowhere, Adeptus Xiao. She will be forced to forget this dream, but these feelings you both harbor cannot be erased so easily.’ The illusion lifted the ribbon from your eyes, leaving Xiao momentarily frozen.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, and what he saw in those misty eyes left his body aflame— confused. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he swallows thickly.

Once you get a taste, a dormant desire will begin to flourish.

The sly illusion holds their hand out invitingly, jade eyes unreadable as they scrutinize Xiao’s movements. It’s hesitant— the small step forward he takes.

‘What are you waiting for, adeptus?’

—

There’s a harsh gust of wind that blows through, the skies of Liyue harbor a dull grey with the rolling storm. The crashing sounds of waves upon the rocks below the docks resonate with your tempestuous heart. Weary eyes scan the horizon of the uneven sea, looking past the peaks of Guyun Stone Forest in the distance. You cling onto the hope of catching a glimpse of something— something to ease your worrisome heart.

“It’s been a few weeks,” you note quietly, the door of the balcony clicking shut as you walk back into the warm home office.

Yanfei answers without looking up, her hands still furiously scribbling on the parchments that have slowly accumulated into a towering pile. “He’s probably busy. With what exactly, I wouldn’t know— but I’m sure you have a better idea.” She sighs, regretting the coldness of her blunt tone. She adds in a softer tone, finally looking up, “Sorry, I’m not much help if it’s not consultation involving the law.”

The legal adviser can only watch helplessly as your eyes drift back to the window to gaze out beyond the sea’s horizon.

“He’s going to the Lantern Rite festivities with you, right?”

You turn back enough to meet her hopeful gaze with a sad smile. The silence is all the answer she needs.

“Was that a stupid question to ask?”

You shake your head, and turn your face back to the window so she can’t look further into the feelings you try to conceal.

The Lantern Rite was in a few days, and Xiao was nowhere to be seen. Though there've been occasions where you hardly saw him, this… this time was different. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake off and it filled you with uneasiness.

The thought of calling his name and receiving no answer terrified you. Doubt was quick to grip your mind in a vice.

“I think I’m the stupid one.”

[kinkmaster3000]

So i really like angst and assistance like someone haveing a caretaker personality and needing to always help someone in pain, so how about a request on someone whos just been so pent up all day and keeps trying to finally settle there stomoch but finally someone notices and gives them some ginger ale and some well needed tummy rubs, all to the recevers embrassment and anxious resistance but still drawn in by the results. its been so painful and now its finally feeling the rush of confort.

Instead of choosing two specific characters I made this more of an "insert your own faves" sort of fic, hopefully it still turned out ok

A wasn’t sure what exactly he had done wrong. He had been excited to spend a romantic evening with his boyfriend. He had rented a movie that he’d heard was excellent, and even set aside some money to order takeout for both of them.

They had made these plans well in advance, but as soon as B arrived home from work, he had simply muttered a half-hearted greeting, plopped down on the couch, and put on some mindless trash-television. The question “how was your day?” yielded the answer, “fine” followed by nothing else. He considered himself a reasonable person, but this was not acceptable. He took good care of his boyfriend, he didn't deserve this treatment!

“C’mon, out with it. What’s your deal today?”, he called from the table, shutting his laptop. If B wouldn’t talk to him on his own, he would pry it out of him.

His boyfriend turned toward him in surprise, “What do you mean? N-nothings wrong, I didn’t even say anything!”

“That’s the whole point! You’ve been home three hours and you’ve said, like, two words to me. What the hell is this silent treatment for?”

“I’m not giving you the silent treatment…”

He looked back at his boyfriend, ready to give him a tongue-lashing, but stopped short. Now that he took a closer look at him, he really didn’t look well. The color was drained from his face, and small beads of sweat were forming on his brow. The arm protectively wrapped around his stomach didn’t go unnoticed, either. His anger dissolved, quickly replaced with concern. He walked over to the couch, sitting next to him with a comforting pat to the leg.

“What’s wrong? You look awful…”

“Gee, thanks…”

“I’m serious! Did something happen at work?”

“I don’t know… I mean, not really.”

“Are you feeling sick? You’re clutching your stomach like it hurts.”

B wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “I- maybe, a bit.”

“You poor thing! How long have you been feeling bad? What can I do? Can I get you anything?”

“...You don’t need to fuss over me, I’m a full-grown man.” B grumbled, only seeming more childish as he pouted.

A chuckled, “I know, I know, you’re a big, serious guy, or whatever.” B shot him a glare, which he simply ignored. “But, it seems like you aren’t taking care of yourself right now, so forgive me for wanting to swoop in and help. Your misery is my misery; ‘happy wife, happy life’, right?”

This got a dry laugh from B. “We’re not even married. Besides, I-”

Whatever he was going to say next was drowned out by a loud, sickly gurgle. He folded in on himself further, groaning slightly.

A clicked his tongue, rubbing B’s back in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “What’s gotten you into such a state?”

“One of our new clients wanted to have a lunch meeting at the Indian restaurant downtown. It was delicious, of course, but…”

“You can’t handle the spice?”

“Y-yeah…” He nodded sheepishly. “I was fine for a while, but I’ve been feeling worse as the day’s gone on. It's like it's... reacting, to something inside of me.”

“Well, you certainly look miserable. Do you think a bit of ginger ale might help to settle your stomach?”

“I don't know… I think putting anything else in my stomach might push me over the edge.”

“Well, maybe you need to get ‘pushed over the edge’. There’s obviously something you ate that your stomach doesn’t want anymore.”

His boyfriend shrunk in his seat, staying silent, his face gone from pale to flushed. A couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by how he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he chalked it up to embarrassment. B could be a prideful man, and it was in his character to not want to be sick in front of the one he loved.

“Please, babe? For me?”

B sighed. “Don’t call me ‘babe’, I’m not a teenage girl… but, fine… I feel bad enough to try anything at this point.”

Filled with pep at the opportunity to be of help to his boyfriend, A shot him two thumbs-up and darted for the kitchen. He brought back with him a cup of fizzy, iced ginger ale, and a small trash can with a fresh bag (just to be on the safe-side).

The trash can crinkled as he gently set it between B’s legs, the ginger ale still hissing as B hesitantly accepted it. “It’s like you’re expecting this to make me hurl…”

A laughed. “You’re the one who said it might. Just take small sips, ok?”

As B took a few reluctant sips of the soda, A reached over and began to undo the bottom buttons of his shirt.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Geez, you’re really bloated. No wonder you've been feeling so bad!”

“You don’t have to point it out! I already feel gross right now…”

A smiled, cupping B’s distended belly lovingly. “You could never look gross to me. Would it help if I rubbed it a little? It might help settle the storm inside of it.”

“...Fine, just, be really, really gentle, okay? I’m serious, like, barely press down.”

A hummed in agreement and began moving his hands in slow circles around B’s bloated stomach. A quiet “mm” sounded from the back of B’s throat. A hoped that was a sign that it felt good, and not a sign that he was about to lose his lunch.

They continued like this for a while, the TV quietly making white-noise in the background. True to their words, A kept his touches light, and B slowly finished the entire glass of ginger ale, setting it down on the coffee table with a soft hiccup.

“...Um, I feel like I need to kind of… burp, a bit. Do you want me to go to the other room, so you don’t have to hear it? I don’t want to gross you out.”

A simply laughed at his modesty, then pressed a bit harder into his stomach, causing a deep burp to rumble out. “There you go, that was a good one!”

“Okay, if you talk to me like you’re burping a baby, I’m going to leave anyway. Also, I said to be gentle.”

“Okay, okay, fine…”

“I mean… I guess you can do that again, though. That did help a bit.”

A nodded and rubbed a slightly firmer circle into B’s stomach. B groaned, then let out a string of short, thick burps. “Wow, that really is helping. Keep going, please.”

A kneaded the bottom of B’s stomach, and almost immediately, a deep growling rush of air burst from B’s throat. He quickly brought a fist to his mouth, seeming surprised and embarrassed by himself, but he didn’t bother to stifle the long, airy belch that soon followed. B let out a content hum afterwards, melting into the couch.

“That certainly sounded like it'd been pent up for a while! I bet that felt really good, didn’t it?”

“D-don’t ask me if it 'felt good'! You’re so gross sometimes…”

“So it did, didn’t it?”

“... I feel much better. I’ll admit to that.”

“That’s what I thought,” A smirked. “You can admit that I have magic hands!”

“Don’t get cocky.”

A continued rubbing B’s stomach as they absent-mindedly watched TV, with B letting out the occasionally soft burp. He seemed much more comfortable, and his stomach’s sickly noises had quieted down, much to A’s delight. He took no greater pleasure than being able to make his boyfriend well again.

“Are you still feeling sick?”

When he got no reply, he turned to look at B’s face, only to discover that he had fallen fast asleep, snoring softly.

“Ah.” He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, laying it over B gently with a soft smile. “No movie tonight, I guess,” He whispered. “That’s alright. I would rather have done this any day.”

[snowgoldwaylon]

A Night At The Opera - Grigori Weaver X Reader

Performing is what you loved to do best. Meeting a young soldier is just what you always dreamed off, but while you were on tour for one of the most iconic operas ever written. And you, the main character.

TW: None!

"Y/N! You are live in 10 minutes!" The producer called, as he walked past your mirror.

You glanced in the mirror and just caught the last glimpse of him leaving the room. You turned to look back at yourself in the large vanity, the lights illuminating your current hair style which stood pretty tall.

You were getting final touches to hair and makeup, and it just so happens for this opera, you were the main star. And as hollywood rules states, go big or go home. So you chose the classic big, bouncy curly hair with curled sideburns to give it spice.

It was elegant, you had little glass flowers put all through it so it would glitter and reflect off the stage lights. You wore a stunning ballgown dress, with large bell sleeves. And for the finishing touch which the hair stylist was putting in your hair?

An authentic, diamond and gold lined tiara, which had a long, lace veil attached to the back. You simply smiled at how you looked in this moment. A makeup artist came over and touched up some spots and re-applied the ruby red lipstick you had on.

As soon as they finished, you looked over yourself and smiled. You pushed a falling glass piece back into place, applied hairspray, and got up. You soothed the dress out and turned to the two who had made you look stunning.

"Thank you both, you have made my dream look come true! I think I'm going to permanently hire both of you to tour with me!" You exclaimed, giving a hand.

They both nodded graciously, and bowed with a humble 'thank you' before you were pulled away by someone.

"Okay Y/N, you will be live in one minute. You know the cues, good luck out there!" The stage coach yelled, pulling you to the side stage.

You watched as the young man who played Pollione finish his number, Meco all'altar di Venere. After the dramatic change of scene and the curtain close, the audience clapped loudly. The moment you trained for was finally here!

You watched as Klaus, the owner of the gorgeous, all original opera house approached you. You smiled, and he gave you his hand.

"Miss Y/N, do you look stunning! I must tell you before you go on, we have special guests in the audience. Not to make you worried or such, but these guests are returning soldiers from the war. One in particular who you might have the chance to meet after, is named Grigori Weaver. He loves operas, and even funded this show to go on!" Klaus exclaimed.

You were taken back by the odd sounding name. Grigori? Is that Russian? you asked yourself. You smiled at Klaus, and gave a simple nod.

"Yes Klaus, I understand. Thank you for the information. I do hope to meet him afterwards!" You said.

The stage hand tapped your shoulder, as you saw two men heading towards the curtain strings.

"I must go, Klaus. Thank you!" You said, before taking your spot center stage, right up against the curtain.

The choir filed in behind you on the risers as you stood, singing small voice warmups before it was go time. You felt nervous, but excited. Your heart raced with joy and adrenaline as the final words of the scene were spoken.

That was the cue! With the final dialouge spoken, the curtains opened. The lights suddenly filled your vision, along with the large crowd in the huge theather. A small, soft smile was written on your flawless features as the orchestra began the song.

The flute soloist filled the room with warm, beautiful, contrasted music with crescendos and decrescendos. It sounded almost ominous, but it was beautiful. You stood in the pose as practiced before.

The bell sleeves hung beautiful as you would slightly lift your arms with the music. The violins cued your very first note, and you gave it your all.

"Casta Diva, che inargenti

queste sacre antiche piante,

a noi volgi il bel sembiante

senza nube e senza vel."

You maintained a professional and elegant posture as you acted the part of your character, Norma. You swayed lightly with the music, and smiled as the choir behind you hit the correct notes, pitch, and phrases behind you. You glanced out over the crowd, and right away spotted a man wearing an eye patch in the VIP section.

Suddenly, you felt the urge to finish this aria right, and with ease. Your next cue happened, and you let the bell sleeves hang beside you.

"Tempra, o Diva,

tempra tu de’ cori ardenti

tempra ancora lo zelo audace,

spargi in terra quella pace

che regnar tu fai nel ciel.

 

Fine al rito

e il sacro bosco

sia disgombro dai profani.

Quando il Nume irato e fosco,

chiegga il sangue dei Romani.

Dal Druidico delubro

La mia voce tuonerà.

Cadrà; punirlo io posso.

Ma, punirlo, il cor non sa.

 

Ah! bello a me ritorna

Del fido amor primiero;

E contro il mondo intiero

difesa a te sarò.

Ah! bello a me ritorna

Del raggio tuo sereno,

e vita nel tuo seno,

e patria e cielo avrò.

Ah, riedi ancora qual eri allora,

quando il cor ti diedi allora,

ah, riedi a me."

With the last note of the orchestra, ending right after your vocals pitched down, you struck an elegant pose. The diamond of the tiara made you sparkle as you soaked up all limelight.

Cheers roared and echoed through the halls and walkways of the opera house. Whistles and flowers were thrown as the curtains began to slowly close. You glanced towards the man with the eyepatch again, and saw him standing up.

He joined everyone in a standing ovation because your pure and effortless talent had shaken them to the core, but in a good way. The heat of the lights brought you to a pant, and small specks of sweat beaded at the line of your hair.

The curtains finally came to a close and you released the pose. You quickly made the way backstage to cool off, so you wouldn't look rough for the finishing act.

Producers swarmed you, makeup artists, and hair artists also swarmed you like buzards so they could doll you back up. You were to keep the hairstyle for the final act, but change the dress for a Victoria era wedding dress.

TIMESKIP, END OF THE OPERA

You gathered at the entrance along with the cast to say goodbye to guests as they exited the opera house. This gave guests a chance to get autographs, pictures, and words to say. You were of course, the first at the door for the order of namesake.

Soon, the hundreds of people came, and shook hands with everyone. You were signing many autographs for many people, and snapping many pictures for all. And you were very determined to make sure everyone who asked had one.

Soon, the end of the line came, and out came the man in question. The handsome, dark haired man with the eye patch and a handsome pair of dress blues. He made conversation with everyone, and you even noticed Klaus right beside him, talking.

They came up to you last, and the rest of the cast exited to get cleaned up. You smiled as they approached, and held out your hand.

"Evening, Miss Norma. You did fantastic. My name is Grigori Weaver, could I have yours please?" He asked kindly, taking your hand and giving it a small kiss.

You blushed as Grigori let your hand go, and turned to Klaus.

"This is the gentleman who sponsored the whole show!"

"Ah yes, Grigori. Nice too meet you. I'm Y/N Y/L/N. Or as you know, Norma. On behalf on all my cast and producers, coaches, and myself, we thank you. This production would have been lost if it wasn't for you kind donation." You said.

He smiled at you, and only you. He couldn't get over how flawless and just how polite you were.

"Well, as proven tonight, Miss Y/L/N, it's my pleasure. I do hope you stick around for more performances these coming years, da?" He asked.

"Well of course! I plan on staying in the opera for many years while I attend school and look for my dream job." You said.

Grigori looked at his watched, and slipped his hat on. While he fixed the collar on his jacket, he fished inside his coat for something. He pulled out a brilliant, luscious red rose and handed to you. You gratefully accepted as a blushed creeped across you.

"I must be going now, my job starts soon. But, for you, Norma. Maybe possibly I could come see you perform again this coming week?" He asked.

"Of course you can, I'd love that." You said, with a smile.

"Off I go then. Have a wonderful evening, both of you!" He said as he exited the opera house.

You watched him walk to his very luxurious car, and he looked back. You waved and turned on your heel, walking back with Klaus.

"I think you just got the VIP to fall in love with you, nyet?" He asked.

"Klaus, do not be so foolish! He was simply being nice." You said, walking up the first flight of stairs.

"But, he did say he'd be returing for the other shows. If he does, then that will prove my point for sure!" Klaus said.

You came to your dressing room, and wished Klaus a good evening as you closed the door. You set the red rose in a vase on your vanity and began carefully taking out the pieces from your hair. You couldn't stop thinking about with Grigori had said.

And over the rest of the following days the opera showed, Grigori kept his promise. Soonz the vase was overflowing with roses. And after one performance, you found yourself at one of the nicest restaurants with Grigori.

That was one hell of a night at the opera.

Taglist: @smokeywhalee @wennbergbabe @justagenderfluidstuff @goawaypleasecryingemoji @kazazure @kapanovangswife @xundeadqueenx @direwolfspostsrandomshit

[before-we-get-started]

My Favorite Mistake Pairing: Colin Shea x Reader Word Count: 3525 Warnings: Fluff, angst Image by pinterest.com “You sure you don’t want to meet us later? We should be done with dinner by 8.” “No thanks.” “Y/N, you haven’t been out in weeks. You can’t just stay in that apartment all the time. Put on that cute black dress and meet us at Rave’s.” You pulled the blanket up higher around your chin, making sure it covered your socked feet on the coffee table. “It’s ok, I really appreciate it but I’m really comfy here. I’m gonna check out a new series on Netflix.” Your friend sighed through the phone. “Ok. Call me if you need me, ok?” “Thanks,” you said, ending the call and tucking the phone under the blanket in your lap. It was 7:30 on a Friday night and you were alone, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s serving as dinner as you surfed the TV for something good to watch. It had been exactly three months. Three months since your heart was shattered, three months since you thought your world had ended, three months since you’d allowed yourself to enjoy anything. Everyone warned you, including a few friends that had traveled the same road. Colin was trouble. While everyone agreed he was dangerously sexy and incredibly handsome, everyone knew that for Colin, variety was the spice of life. He’d even told you that he tried one time to settle down with someone, and it was so painful when it ended, he would never do it again. That didn’t stop you though. You’d never forget the moment you’d met him – you were moving in to apartment 6C in a gorgeous, historic building in Boston. It was your first place of your own – your folks were so proud of you and helped you get moved in. On day 3 in your new place, your world changed. You were stepping out your door for work when your neighbor in 6A opened the door to grab his newspaper. He was naked but for a flowered bathroom towel that he held to keep his privacy. He was tall and lean with defined pecs, muscular arms, spiky blonde hair and blue eyes that reminded you of the ocean. And then he smiled, a million watts reaching across the banister to your apartment. “Good mornin’ 6C. I’m Colin,” he’d said in that delicious deep voice. Somehow you’d managed to squeak out your name, trying hard to breathe and keep walking. You had to pass him to get to the stairs, trying not to trip and fall or make an idiot of yourself. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around,” he said as you made your way down the stairs. “I hope so,” you’d replied, your voice sounding stronger than you imagined. A corner of his smile turned up and he gave you a little salute as you headed downstairs. True to his word, he’d knocked on your door that night with a bag of Chinese food and you’d invited him in. You played hard to get that night, even though the four beers and those blue eyes nearly broke your will. But on Friday, when he knocked again, you didn’t even make it through the tacos he brought over. Before you knew it, you’d gone from deep kisses on the couch to your bed, where you fell asleep wrapped around his body after hours of incredible sex. When the sun came up that Saturday morning, you blinked your eyes as you awoke, looking up at the most handsome face and long eyelashes you’d ever seen. You’d kissed his cheek, then peppered his neck and shoulders with kisses, releasing him from sleep and encouraging him to take you again. You’d wrapped your legs around him and he’d carried you into the bathroom, where you ran a hot bath and the two of you snuggled under the bubbles for an hour. The next few days you were inseparable. As soon as you got home from work, he was there. Most every night he stayed in your bed. More than once you’d watched the glow of the sunrise on your bedroom walls as you and Colin couldn’t get enough of each other’s touch. You’d watched some movies, binged a couple of shows, and shared the kitchen preparing some of your favorite recipes. You’d also talked, and talked, and talked. You told him about your ex, the guy you thought was “the one,” even though you certainly never felt for him what you did when you were with Colin. He told you about Allie, who had lived in your apartment before. He’d fallen hard for her and thought maybe he should think about settling with one girl, but she’d broken it off suddenly, and later he learned she’d eloped with one of her exes. The hurt in his eyes had been unbearable. That night you’d made it your quest to make him forget her – he’d called your name more than once and you’d held on to him tight, kissing him with enough passion to wipe out the sad memory of her. There was something so thrilling about being with him. Most of the time you didn’t have a plan, and you loved how each time with him would unfold. You’d spent a few evenings listening to your favorite tunes on the roof of the building, dancing under the moonlight. Colin was always working on songs for his band. He’d strum the guitar and you’d listen intently - you’d even helped him with lyrics on a few. One night Colin texted and told you he had plans and wouldn’t be able to see you. You’d texted back and told him to have a good night, happy to find him waiting at your door the next night after work. A few times he’d left to spend then night at his apartment. You’d noticed he’d checked his phone and figured he had something on his calendar for the next morning. You’d mentioned him to your girlfriends and gotten more than one eyeroll. “How many of you have slept with Colin?” your friend Jenny asked your friends at a bar one night. A few raised their hands. “I’m not stupid,” you’d responded. “I know he likes girls. We’re just friends with benefits.” The words came out, but you knew they were a lie. You were in love with him. Head over heels, heart and soul, forever and ever in love with him. You were in love with a total player who made it his goal to sleep with every girl in Boston. And so, on the morning of the 6-month anniversary of your first evening together, the truth had reared its ugly head. You’d spent the night before at your parents’ house after having dinner with them and had run home to get ready the next morning before heading to work so that you could bring him a gift. You’d picked up his favorite cannolis from the local bakery. You knew he was probably still asleep so you hung the bag on his door and texted him to check when he woke up. As you left for work, you heard a giggle across the hall. A girl opened Colin’s door and peeked around the edge, grabbing the bag of cannolis from the doorknob. You heard his laughter behind her as she closed the door. You froze. You couldn’t catch your breath. Your knees were weak. Tears burned at your eyes. The next few moments were a blur. You marched over to his door and knocked softly. You heard a rustle, then he was there, bare chested, wearing your favorite ripped jeans. “I hope you two enjoy your breakfast. I’m glad I went out of my way to bring it to you on a day that at least means something to me.” You turned on your heel and rushed down the stairs, ignoring him calling your name. You’d broken down on the train, dabbing at the tears to try and save your makeup. The older lady next to you patted your arm as you pulled yourself together. Your phone had dinged all day. Text after text from him, none of which you read. You were upset, but mostly mad at yourself. It was your own fault. He had told you himself that monogamy wasn’t his thing. But it had been impossible not to believe he felt something for you every time the two of you came together. The way he looked in your eyes, the way he held you so close, the way the two of you were entangled for hours on end. Could it really not be more than just sex? That night you’d stayed with a friend, leaving from her house the next morning for work. You’d left work early and slipped into your apartment in the afternoon, changing into his t-shirt and climbing into bed. You’d slept through to the morning, trudging in for another day at work. You couldn’t help but wonder what was happening behind his apartment door. It was unbearable to think of him holding someone else, kissing them the way he kissed you. For weeks, you’d managed to avoid seeing him. More than once you’d heard him come home, then heard a soft knock at your door, but you didn’t answer. There were so many text messages. “Good morning Y/N. Hope your day is good.” “Good night, sweet dreams.” Worst of all, lots of “I miss you” texts that made you want to open the door the next time he knocked. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to just accept that you’d take what you got from him and be happy with it. But knowing that you might be his Thursday and another girl would be his Friday was just too hard. How could he kiss you in that spot on your throat that drove you crazy, and then do the same thing for someone else? How could something so intimate not mean more to him? So for three months, you’d been miserable. Friends had tried to set you up on a couple of blind dates, your mom had even tried to introduce you to one of your dad’s associates, but you just weren’t ready. And now you were sitting home on a Friday night, wrapped up in frumpy sweats and a blanket, feeling sorry for yourself. You didn’t know exactly what got into you but you threw the blanket off and headed for the bathroom. You peeled out of the sweats, turned on the curling iron and grabbed your makeup bag. In 20 minutes you’d pulled on your favorite little black dress, applied makeup for an evening out, curled your hair and grabbed your beaded clutch. You slipped on your strappy high heels and headed for the door. You’d text your friend and let her know you’d be at Rave’s to meet them. As you opened the door, you stopped cold. Colin was in front of you. He had on gray slacks and a pale blue button up shirt, the first three buttons open. His hair was styled, the thin silver chain of his necklace and the tattoo on his chest peeking out from his shirt. His ocean blue eyes lit up when he saw you. He held a bouquet of roses in his hand. You smelled the musky scent you loved so much. “Hey,” he said shyly. “You look amazing.” He licked his lips as he looked you up and down. You went from startled to smug in a few seconds. “I’m on my way out,” you said. “Meeting some friends tonight. Mind moving out of my way?” He hesitated but stepped aside. You brushed past him, looking over your shoulder at him as you rounded the banister. “Y/N, I really want to talk to you.” “Not tonight,” you said confidently, descending the stairs. The club was rocking when you got there and the girls were all glad to see you. You took advantage of all the free drinks they were supplying and did your share of dancing, including a couple of slow dances with hot guys that were knocking each other over to flirt with you. When one asked to walk you to your Uber, you agreed, and took him up on making the ride to your apartment. He’d taken your hand as you ascended the stairs to the 6th floor, chatting and laughing all the way up. You fished in your clutch for your keys when you heard the door behind you open. Your escort put his hand at the small of your back and pulled you in for a kiss just as Colin peered out. You opened your eyes just as he started to close his door. You saw that sadness, the same sadness you’d seen when he’d told you about his broken heart. Your escort started to turn the key but you stopped him. You thanked him for walking you up but said you needed to call it a night. He gave you another kiss and you exchanged phone numbers, then he headed down the stairs. You let out a huge sigh as you stared at 6A. You thought the night out would help extinguish the fire but it continued to rage inside you. You walked over and gently knocked. You held your breath as you watched the door knob turn. “Hey.” “Hey.” “Can I come in?” He pulled the door open a bit more so you could step in. He stood still, looking down at his feet. You pushed the door closed. “Why were you dressed up tonight?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I had a date.” You felt your heart sink a little. “Oh. How’d it go?” “I don’t know.” You cocked your head a little. “You don’t know?” “Nope.” You shook your head a little. “Why don’t you know?” “Didn’t happen.” You blew out a sigh, a little frustrated. “You had a date, but you didn’t have a date.” “Right.” “Ok,” you said. Maybe it was a mistake coming over. You turned towards the door. “Well, sorry to bother you, just thought I’d say hi.” “Don’t you want to know why it didn’t happen?” You sighed. “Sure, I’ll bite. Why didn’t it happen?” He stepped toward you, then put his hands on the small of your back, pulling you closer. “I went to ask her and she was on her way out.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and looked into those ocean blues. “Where’d she go?” “I don’t know,” he said gruffly, “but she didn’t come home alone.” “Hmm,” you hummed, “wonder if he likes cannolis?” He looked down for a minute, something flashing across his face. Guilt, maybe? To his credit, he met your eyes again. “I’m sorry.” You’d hoped to hear those words for so long. You hoped he’d at least acknowledge that he’d hurt you. “I was an ass. Easily the most asshole thing I’ve ever done. And that’s saying a lot. I’m sorry.” You let out a quiet chuckle. “Definitely a move that will get you in the Asshole Hall of Fame.” It was his turn to laugh and he met your eyes again. “I was scared,” he said. “Scared? Scared of what?” “Of us,” he said. Your eyebrows scrunched in surprise. “What do you mean?” He let out a huff of air and squeezed your hips a little tighter. “You and I, we were really good. I got so used to being with you. Everything about you made me happy. And I got scared. I tried feeling that way before and it broke me. I had to put some space between us.” “So you let some bimbo eat our anniversary cannolis?” He laughed a little, dropping his head and shaking it. “Yeah. I know. I’m a shit.” “Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ loudly. “I tried to talk to you. Tried to apologize. I texted, came over a few times. It was clear you weren’t interested in hearing what I had to say. So tonight I decided to step it up.” You felt tears burn at your eyes. You wanted to stay strong and blinked them away. “I did something incredibly stupid,” you said. “Yeah?” “Yeah. I fell in love with you. Even though everyone told me and everything inside me knew I shouldn’t, I did. All of those times being with you,” you said, your eyes glistening with tears. “All of those kisses, all of those touches, they meant something to me. More than just hooking up. I let myself believe they meant something to you too,” you said. “They did,” he said softly in that deep, sexy voice. He lifted a hand to your face, cupping your chin and gently touching his lips to yours. You closed your eyes, soaking in the feeling. You pressed your hands to his chest. He deepened the kiss and you instinctively let your hands slide up and encircle his neck, burying your fingers in the hair there, pulling it a little between your fingers. A soft moan escaped him as he pressed his body closer to yours. He dropped his hand to your hips again, pulling you so close you could feel him through his jeans. Sirens sounded in your brain. You were letting yourself fall down this hole again. You knew how hard it had been to climb out. You gently pulled out of the kiss, licking your lips and rubbing the tip of your nose on his. “I can’t,” you said, a tear escaping your eye. He pressed his forehead to yours, pulling his hand behind your head and caressing your soft hair. “Y/N.” There was no sound like that of your name on his lips. It was like music. You felt yourself shiver as you fought with everything you had not to melt into him. “I want more than you do. It’s too hard. It’s not your fault, it’s just how it is. This – hurts,” you said, a soft sob escaping. “I want it too.” You felt a sad smile cross your lips. “Not like I do Colin. I want all of you. Everything. I don’t want to share. I don’t want you to touch anyone else.” You gently ran your hands up his chest. “I don’t want you to kiss anyone else,” you said as you pressed your lips to his. “I don’t want you to find that special place on anyone else,” you said, pressing your lips to that place on his neck that drove him wild. He growled deep in his throat, encircling your waist with his arms. “Y/N,” he breathed. “It’s ok,” you said sadly. “I was lucky to have you while I did. Most people don’t get to feel what I felt with you.” You ran the backs of two fingers down his cheek, letting yourself dive into those eyes. Every inch of you felt warm. “What if –“ he started, then hesitated. “What if we start again. And I don’t fuck up this time.” You let out a low laugh. “You’d just be setting us up for failure. It’s ok Colin. I don’t –“ His fingers circled your wrists and he covered your lips with his. “It’s not ok. I hurt you.” He kissed you again, this time a little deeper. “It took me seeing you with someone else to really get it. I’ve missed you so much. But seeing you tonight – I just ache. Please tell me we can try again.” He smothered your mouth with his, sucking gently on your bottom lip. “Please Y/N.” You tried taking a breath but it caught in your throat, your heart beating wildly. You’d be a fool to do this again, put yourself out there for more. How did that saying go, insanity was doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result? “Colin –“ “I love you.” You blinked at him, certain you’d just imagined it. “What?” He smiled, that smile that could light up the entire city. He gently pushed a piece of hair behind your ear and let his fingers linger on your earlobe. “I,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose. “Love,” he said, pressing his lips to the apple of your cheek. “You,” he said, locking onto your eyes with his, then gently kissing your lips. “I love us.” You leaned into him, burying your face into the side of his neck, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m afraid.” He pulled you to him, stroking your hair, a hand at your lower back. “I know baby,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s ok. I’ve got you.” You let yourself melt into him more. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let go. “What if – what if you get scared again? What if I’m not what you really want? What if you wake up one morning and look at me and realize I’m a mistake?” You felt his chest rumble with a little laugh. “Trust me baby, you’re my favorite mistake.” He pulled back and kissed you, and you let yourself melt into the love of your life.

[diavolodigitale]

Dream Sequence. Lucio

It’s been a while since I had so much fun writing something. No plot, really, it’s a pretty light read and I am proud of it.

All parts of the trilogy: Lucio - Asra - Julian - All stories in PDF

A part of the "trilogy" about dream encounters dedicated to Lucio (because I love him, apparently). Nothing special, just You (or the Apprentice, or the Reader, however you view it) and Lucio spending some time together (if you know what I mean, which you probably don't, so go ahead and read it, it's pretty short, I promise). My character was male, but you are free to imagine whoever you want since there are no references to it in the text.

Genres: Romance, Fluff, Humor, Dreams, POV First Person, One-shot, Light-hearted

Pairing: Lucio/Apprentice(or Reader or You or Whatever)

Characters: Lucio, Reader/Apprentice/You

Rating: G for Geez that’s a good story

Size: around 2500 words

I open my eyes and look around. The room I am in is quite spacious. Despite barely containing any decorations or even furniture, somehow it still feels inviting and cosy. It is dimly lit, the only light sources that I can spot are a few candles standing here and there.

Suddenly, I hear a loud thud, as if something heavy fell on the floor, and I hastily turn around to investigate. I immediately spot an empty decanter lying on the ground at the leg of an old wooden table and a figure crouching beside it. The figure looks like it’s glowing in the darkness of the room because everything about it is so brightly white.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” says Lucio awkwardly and stands up, cradling the decanter in his arms. “Or did I?” he immediately proceeds to ask, roguish smile plastered on his face.

I smile in return and shake my head. This is probably another dream we’re sharing. It happened a few times before. There is no logical end to it, no specific purpose, nothing. We just seem to linger in an accidental place, surrounded by whimsical decorations or nothing at all, until one of us wakes up and cuts the ties to this place rendering it forever lost in time and space. I suppose it has something to do with our connection as the spirit of Lucio seems to be drawn to me whenever I slip out from the deep slumber and see dreams.  

“And why would you want to do that?” I ask and cross my arms, raising my eyebrow inquiringly.

“Isn’t it obvious? If you’re scared, you will seek my protection and want to hold hands. Maybe, even more than that,” he responds without even a hint of embarrassment and casually puts the decanter back on the table.

“Oh, you would need to do more than that to scare me, don’t you know?” I say playfully. This encounter doesn’t seem to differ much those we usually have, so I decide to behave as I always do around him.

“What a shame…” he says and pouts, hardly being able to supress his impish smile. “I was hoping I could find a reason to hold you.”

“Since when do you need a reason to do that?” I ask as he slowly approaches, his walk as gracious as ever.

“Huh, true,” he says and grins, now standing much closer to me. There is not enough light in the room for me to see the features of his face clearly, but I am nevertheless able to spot the playful glim in his eyes.

“What do you feel like doing this time?” I ask more seriously. We’ve been on quite a few thrilling trips in my dreams as they are often filled with peculiar apparitions and location, but right now I cannot find anything that could interest Lucio with his insatiable appetite for adventures.

“Hm…” He puts an index finger to his lips and musingly looks around. As I expected, nothing in the room is able to pique his curiosity so his gaze wanders back to me.

“I have an idea,” he says mischievously and immediately covers my eyes with his hand for a second. When his hand is removed, the only thing I can see is complete darkness.

Intrigued, I summon a small glowing orb to light up the place. To my surprise, we are in a completely different room that resembles a closet more than anything else. The place is a tight squeeze, with Lucio standing right before me and the orb hovering above us. Though we’re not actually close enough to be touching, there is hardly enough room to move around at all.

The room quickly fills with heat and I feel my head spinning. The feeling of almost tangible warmth around me reminds me of the time I first met Lucio. His presence had the same effect on his surroundings, which seems to be the sign of him being agitated or excited about something. My gaze is wandering from his jawline to collarbone and back since I don’t want to stare him directly in the eyes. Lucio might be shameless, but I immediately feel flustered in such a situation.

“You are quite a fast learner,” I say nonchalantly, looking up for a split second. He grins even more, flattered by my words.

In spite of his utter incapability when it came to using magic in the real world, he somehow was able to learn to manipulate matter in my dreams quite easily. There was rarely a need for him to resort to this skill, but his still tried to use every opportunity he had to give it a try.

“I can do many more things,” he says and moves closer to me, resting his heavy gilded hand against the wall right above my head and leaning a bit closer. “You know, I am very talented.”

I nod and look down. The orb illuminates every little detail of his face, and I am afraid he is provided with the same sight of mine, so I do my best to hide my flustered expression. I find the position we are in uncomfortable, but I am also curios to see what he has on his mind.

Lucio leans even closer, propped up on his arm, and starts whispering into my ear.

“Have any plans for tonight?” he asks, his eyes narrowed in a cunning smile.

“No, not that I am aware of at least,” I reply. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I was thinking we might find a monstrous beast for me to slay…” he whispers, tickling my ear with his warm breath, “I would look exceptionally good swinging its ugly head left and right, with a few light wounds here and there and covered in its blood. Or we might show up to an extravagant ball and have the time of our lives there. We could demonstrate the public our best, most elaborate dance, and they would cheer and applaud, flabbergasted at our awesomeness and grace.”

I chuckle a bit at how unsurprisingly flashy his suggestions are. But it is usually my job to tease him, so I can’t let him beat me so easily, even if I seem to be much less at ease in such… circumstances.

“Your idea certainly sounds entertaining,” I mutter and slide my hand down his side and onto his waist.

“Wh– which one exactly?” he asks, visibly taken aback by my display of interest.

“Both of them, actually,” I say, as my hand wraps around him and pulls him a tad closer.

Lucio’s face blossoms with light-pink and he lets out his breath with a loud sigh. The air of confidence he always has around him disperses in a matter of seconds every time I unexpectedly agree to play by his rules. He just cannot get used to it for some reason.

“And… which one would you chose?” he asks carefully, moving away from my red ear to steal a glance at my face. He is a bit taller than me and stands so close that it’s hard for me to look at anything else except for his squinted eyes and blond locks of hair framing his face.

I pull him even closer, pressing him to me and squeezing his side, and rest my other hand on his cheek. His face is growing redder every second and he starts to squirm a little, trying to avoid my gaze and the intimacy he seems to still secretly enjoy.

“I believe, I have an even better idea,” I say, smiling, and raise my hand to cover his eyes for a split second.

Before he has the time to protest, we are back in the room we first appeared and it is hardly different from the way we left it. I release him from my grip and give him a light push on the chest. With nothing to grab on his way down, he helplessly falls onto the bed behind him, a startled “Ah!” escaping his lips.

I smile, savouring the look of surprise on his face, and approach the bed.

Lucio is flushed but doesn’t seem to mind losing control over the situation. Invitingly, he reaches out with his hand to me, but I shake my head and climb on the bead on top of him without his help.

The bed is incredibly soft so I doubt he felt any discomfort landing on it. It reminds me of the one I saw in Lucio’s old chambers, only in its pre-catastrophic state. The cover is pleasant to the touch and seems to be crimson, but it’s difficult to discern the colour in almost complete absence of light in the room.

“You’ve got something red on your cheeks,” I say playfully and run my hand over the side of his face. It’s warm, hot even, and I feel the muscles twitch on his face as he smiles at me.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says casually, “when I felt you were here, I ran with all my might to get to you as fast as I could (and had to cover infinitesimal distances, of course) so now I might feel a little too warm.”

I quickly land a kiss on each of his cheeks, pressing him more with the weight of my body, and he laughs merrily, trying to catch my hands in the process.

“There’s something here as well,” I say and kiss Lucio on the tip of his nose.

He tries to escape my touch and turns away, giggling, so I kiss his ear shell which is even redder than his face now.

He struggles playfully a bit, but it doesn’t feel like he really wants to win this fight. I stop to look at him, and he returns my glance without a second thought. His hands are resting on my thighs and he moves them up and down carefully.

“You’re as light as a feather,” he notes, tilting his head, “we need to start feeding you properly. What is your favourite food?”

I take a second to consider my answer.

“Bread. With spices,” I reply, remembering fondly the times Asra and I would go to the bakery near our shop and enjoy the heavenly taste of freshly baked bread.

“Then it’s decided!” says Lucio excitedly and lands his hands on my thighs with a clap. “When I’m officially reinstated as the Count, I’m going to buy you all of the bread I can find! No, the whole stall! No, wait, the whole street! I will buy you a whole street worth of shops with all the bakeries you want!”

I cannot help but laugh at how foolishly he behaves. He pouts and turns away, trying to pretend that he lost interest in me.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say, still laughing. “I am truly sorry, Your Highness. How could I ever make up to what I have done?” I ask inquisitively, observing his face.

Lucio’s eyes spark with mischief again and he pretends to be thoughtful before proceeding to say what has been on his mind, perhaps, this whole time.

“I might forgive you if you lend me a hand for something. There seems to be something wrong with me…” he says worriedly, but I am not buying into his act. “Something wrong…” he repeats, slyness becoming visible through his cracked façade of seriousness. “It’s become so hard to breathe, I am almost suffocating… Could you please help me with this problem? Pretty please?” he says and dramatically rests his hand on his neck. I look into his eyes full of fake innocence and nod with understanding.

Lucio moves his hand away and starts watching me with unhidden curiosity and excitement. I carefully touch his chest which is rising and falling steadily and, to my surprise, notice, that his coat is buttoned up more than usually. It even makes me think that it really might be hard for him to breathe as he is definitely not used to walking around like this.

I go ahead and start untangling the lace that holds his cloak. I feel soft fur brushing against my hand as I purposefully tinker with the clasp much longer than is really needed. Lucio is growing visibly impatient but seems to do his best not to hurry me. I, in turn, try to hold back my laughter.

Having delt with the cloak, I proceed to unbutton his jacket. The fabric is very delicate, and I again take my time to tease him instead of just dealing with it quickly.

Lucio loses what was left of his patience and opens his mouth with a frown of unsatisfaction.

“What’s taking you so long?”

I look up at him as if he was a child with which I had to reason.

“We wouldn’t want to damage your magnificent attire, would we?” I ask and airily brush my finger against his bare chest that is now partly exposed. “Better proceed carefully.”

He flushes again because of my touch and appears to be at a loss for words. In the end, he just swallows loudly and pretends he did not want to say anything in the first place.

I occupy myself with the buttons again, and this time he waits almost patiently until I finish torturing him. Every time I “accidentally” land my hand on his skin instead of the soft fabric, I feel his pulse quickening, and every time I am forced to bite on my lip to hold back my treacherous smile.

Once I am done, Lucio exhales with relief. I don’t know what he expects me to do next, but suddenly an idea flashes in my mind and I already know I just have to do it.

With his eyes half shut and mouth a little agape, he watches as I delicately lay my hands on his sides and stroke him. It looks like he wants to say something, but I don’t give him a chance as I begin to tickle him violently, running my fingers along the skin between his ribs.

Lucio struggles and kicks below me but cannot do anything to escape my attack. He breathes erratically and I hear his muffled giggling when he jerks up from the bed and presses his body against mine to give me no room for movements. I decide to spare him and hug him instead, wrapping my hands around his neck.

“Well, that didn’t help me at all!” he exclaims jokingly, hugging me back and burying his face near my collarbone. His gilded hand is stroking my back and it feels a bit ticklish because of how sharp the tips of his fingers are, but I decide not to complain as it is more pleasant than anything.

I nestle closer and start twirling a strand of his hair around my finger. He has calmed down and I can hear him breathing steadily against my chest.

“I wish we could sit like this forever,” he says quietly.

“And who told you we can’t?” I ask, and he looks up at me, astonished and puzzled. “Show me who said that and I’ll give them a nice thrashing!” I say and it makes him laugh again.

“Not if I do that first!” he exclaims and plops back onto the bed with me startled but still securely held in his arms.

“I’ll be there to watch then,” I say, resting my chin on my arms crossed on top of his chest.

“Of course, you will! Why else would I do that?” he asks with indignation. “You just watch me. Don’t watch anybody else, just me, okay?”

“Oh, I would never…”

[cozycryptidcorner]

Potamoi (Greek River God) x Reader (sfw)

A commission for the wonderful and kind @atalantaroars! She wanted a meet-cute with the monster match I wrote for her awhile ago. Hope you all enjoy the hunky water boi as much as I did creating him!

There are two options for you today: hike a trail, or go one more week in the stifling silence of your house and go absolutely insane. It doesn’t take much mental convincing to pack up a little backpack with snacks and water, waking up while the sun is barely more than a hint in the sky. This might not be your usual mode of operation, to drop everything and spend time out in nature despite whatever responsibilities you still have at home, but you’ve been pushed to the fucking brink lately and need to spice things up.

There’s an unmistakable scent of growth the moment you step out of your car, one that calls your body forward as if you say welcome home. You take in a few long, deep breaths, trying to let the cold morning air medicate your soul in the only way nature can, a deep sense of relaxation overcoming your mind and body as you try to clear your worries away. Only when you feel mentally ready to take on the hike, do you approach the entrance of the nature reserve.

A large, wooden board is painted with the many different trails you can take, all winding around the mountain range, labeled with various symbols that indicate difficulty levels. While you don’t think you could manage one of the more difficult ones, you also think you might not find much fulfillment in one of the easier paths, so you settle for one a bit in the middle. This trail should wrap around one of the valleys, following the main river that brings life to a neighboring town, one fed by the melting snow from the tips of the higher peaks.

Everything is quiet, peaceful, you don’t see anyone else as you begin to walk the trail, basking in the sunlight before it’s drowned out by the towering trees. Birds chirp as you continue on, sticking close to the side of the matted dirt, right where vegetation dares to attempt growing. Wildflowers dot the side of the hill as the earth swells upward, white, light blue, and yellow smattering color amidst the green. The air is almost shockingly different from what you’re used to, your body is trying to compensate for the freshness, but it doesn’t quite know how yet.

When you take a break, the sun is already high in the sky, sweat now beading down your forehead. The water you carelessly packed tastes divine, you have to be careful not to drink too much or too fast, saving most of it for later. You even eat your lunch when you get to a pile of rocks that work as a table and seat, the flat, elevated surface perfect for tossing your food onto without worrying about it falling off.

Once you are satisfied that you’ve explored the trail as long as you desire, you decide that it’s about time to head back. Even though your path into the forest seemed straightforward and easy to remember, there are suddenly several branching paths that you didn’t even realize you passed just moments before… which isn’t good, to say the least. Biting your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, you try to logic yourself into taking the one that seems like it blends seamlessly into the trail you’re walking.

Or maybe it would be best to keep going in the direction you were already heading, after all, the trails are supposed to loop around and head back to the parking lot, the keyword here being eventually. Some of them are supposed to take a seasoned hiker a full day, and you don’t remember how long this certain one is going to take because you had decided previously that you would turn back anyways.

Letting out a breath, you decide that it might be a better option to take the more straightforward path instead of risk getting lost, so you tighten the straps of your backpack and keep walking. As you go, you think about how best to ration what’s left of your water, in case you’re in for a much longer hike than you initially anticipated because you’re not sure if you can realistically make it.

You take another well-needed rest after a long while, trying to close your eyes and chill out, trying to find the same solace in nature that you felt earlier in the morning. Instead of that same, peaceful aura that settled around your body in a soft, gentle wave, you only feel more tense and anxious as you did before. The sounds of the forest are no longer warm and inviting, the screech of cicada is now like a hard, ugly accusation, the occasional snapping of twigs don’t fill your heart up with the thought of life, and the sky’s tone seems to turn almost a hateful gray as the sun makes an almost hasty descent.

Up ahead, there’s a river, and if you remember correctly, civilization is often downstream. Letting out a breath, crossing your arms over your chest, you look down at the water, internally fighting over what you should do. After a long moment of contemplation, you decide to stick to the trail, but just as you take a step on the crunching gravel, you spot someone over by the water. To say you almost tripped over yourself to get to them wouldn’t be an understatement; you almost bite the dust before you were able to catch your balance.

After regaining your stability and taking a second look, you realize with no small amount of shock that the man appears to not only be petting a deer but also… talking to it? You can hear the voice he uses on it, soft, soothing tones, clearly offering comfort of some kind. Whatever he is doing must be working, because the deer slowly stops thrashing about, it’s squeaking cries slowly dissipating as it seems to melt back into a state of calm.

Even though his back is towards you, he seems to sense your presence, because there’s an underlying tenseness in his body posture. Once the deer doesn’t seem too anxious anymore, he says, without so much as turning around, “I know you’re out there, at least do me the service of showing your face.”

“Um,” you say, after a moment unsure of what else to do, but introduce yourself, “hi. I’m very lost right now.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you wonder if he maybe was referencing some other person that is also hiding in the woods?

“I suspected,” he pets at a deer you hadn’t noticed prior, glancing up at you only after he manages to calm the creature down from its initial panic, “we don’t get a lot of your kind out this deep in the forest.”

“Er,” you look over at the deer, who seems to be regarding you with the utmost suspicion, “yeah, I wasn’t really planning on coming this deep into the forest, either. But, like, if you could point me in the direction of the parking lot, or literally any major highway, that would be absolutely fantastic.”

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s a massive, as in, you knew he was large for a man when you approached him, but you’re just now processing it all. He very well could be some kind of action movie star, his muscles, face shape, and stature all suggest that he’s very, very important, and you should pay attention to everything he says. As you watch him, he seems to look upwards at the sky, brow furrowed as though doing many mental calculations, then sighs.

“You won’t be able to leave this pocket of the forest until morning,” he says, releasing his steady hand on the deer’s flank.

“Um, what?” You aren’t sure if you heard him correctly, but you’re pretty certain he did not tell you that you can’t leave. “How is that even supposed to work? I came in through the main trail, surely there’s a way back.”

“Not once the sun is no longer in the sky.” He picks up a stick from the nearby banks, and now you realize that while his lower half is in the water, it’s not… it’s not human colors, more like… a kaleidoscope of some kind? Like he’s wearing those fancy mermaid tails, the kind you can buy off the internet, except what reason could he possibly have to wear one in the middle of a forest? “You will have to wait for night to run its course before you can return.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s not how basic geography works,” you say, tensing at the thought of spending however many hours the sun is gone out in the wilderness.

“It has nothing to do with basic geography, and you will do well to heed my words,” the man almost snaps, only marginally restraining himself from sounding rude. “This part of the forest encloses once the sun sinks below the horizon, and opens when it returns. It is this way to protect what little of Gaia’s children are left from your kind.”

You swallow nervously, not believing him in the slightest, so you think over your options in the meantime. There isn’t a lot for you to work with, your phone has no signal, and using your flashlight will eat up the battery fast than you might be able to find your way back to the main trail. Still, you’d rather be apart from him, even though he hasn’t given you any weird vibes beyond the obvious, you don’t want to be stuck here with him overnight.

So you do what you think is best, turning around and heading back for the trail, except there isn’t any trail. And by that, even though you were just walking on a gravel pathway barely more than five minutes ago, and you know it was in this direction, it’s nowhere to be found. Sucking in your breath, you close your eyes and count to ten, then whirl around and march back to where the man still lounges, halfway in the stream.

Trying to keep your voice from wobbling, you ask, “can you please point me to the regular trail? I think I… um, misplaced it.”

He pokes the water with the stick without looking at you, “you won’t find it until sunrise.”

Swallowing thickly, you try to say without trembling, “I don’t understand.”

With a sigh, he turns to the sandy banks, using the stick to draw a rudimentary chart, and in the dying light of dusk, you can manage to make out what he’s trying to convey. “This is the land of Gaia,” he draws out a circle, “which is the world you are familiar with. It is the physical plane at its most fundamental levels, meat and bone and blood grow and churn within the earth mother and her offspring. This land- this forest, is not a part of Gaia’s form,” here, her draws another bubble, halfway in the larger circle, halfway out, “halfway physical, but able to separate as it needs to. Do you understand?”

“Not really,” you say, trying to be truthful, and still just as anxious and frightened as ever.

He lets out a frustrated breath and tries to reiterate, “this separate pocket of world that can be hidden away or entirely separated on its own, and closes itself off once the sun sets. You must have stumbled over the boundaries while you were wandering, did you end up seeming to go around in circles on paths that don’t make any sense?”

Oh, god. “I- yes.”

“Exactly what I thought.” There’s a shimmering glimmer in your periphery, and you realize that his lower half is, in fact, a tail. “I’m sorry to inform you that you’re just going to be stuck here overnight.”

You feel absolutely defeated, miserable, broken, because how the hell are you supposed to be handling this now? Apparently, you’re trapped in some sort of fucking pocket dimension, and you can’t do anything about it, and the only other person here to help you is some sort of merman who seems less than pleased to be in your presence.

“So I just… wait here?” You’re doing your best to not cry, goddamnit. No fucking tears. In the meantime, you’re digging around your backpack for your can of bear spray, of which should completely wreck the man should he try to make the wrong move.

“I suppose,” he softens, just a bit, “you can stay here with me, because there are things roaming these woods that wouldn’t dare approach you so long as I am here.”

Oh, wonderful. “That would be nice,” you mumble, plopping yourself onto a rock, folding your legs up and making yourself seem small.

The woods are never really silent, so even though the two of you share no conversation, there is a background filled to the brim with dozens of different noises. Nocturnal creatures begin to creep out of their homes, an owl hooting just close enough for you to make out its specific call, crickets still chirping despite the descent of the sun, and the crunching of stray twigs and leaves upon the ground suggests a silent stalker. You’re suddenly thrilled to have accepted this odd man’s offer to stay by his side for the night.

The stars blink down, twinkling in the sky, almost like each individual eyes staring down at you from above. You remember that Ancient Greeks believe that each cluster used to be a living thing- Caster and Pollux, Cassiopea, Orion, and so on, people who died and then ascended into the sky to watch the earth below. You wonder if they are like guardians, keeping the inhabitants of the ground safe from anything that lurks in the depths of the void above, or if they are merely passing observers to whatever happens around them, trapped in time.

“So,” you swallow almost painfully, trying to make some conversation, “how do you know so much about the way this, um, pocket dimension thing works?”

“I told you that Gaia herself is protecting her children,” he says, not impatiently, nor unkindly. “The last effort to keep Prometheus’ biggest mistake at bay.”

“Right, of course,” you say, not believing him in the very slightest. “And you live here, then? With the blessings of Gaia?”

“Of course,” he says it like there’s no other possibility, “she looks after her children.”

“And I’m just a spawn of Prometheus?” You say it with some amount of humor, poking at his weird explanations, but he takes it seriously.

“Even if there are those here who would have you killed, just to chew your bones between their teeth and taste your blood. I will not allow that to happen.”

“Oh,” you say, trying not to sound awkward about it, “thank you.”

Silence follows, and you hear some crunching of leaves accompanying the water trickling through its creek. Still, you’d rather not spend the night in awkward silence, so you chew your bottom lip and try to quickly come up with something else to talk about. Anything. You wonder if he might know about modern devices, or if he would even care, but you need to reassure yourself now that it’s too dark to see that he’s still there.

As though reading your thoughts, he speaks first. “Tell me about your home.”

Relief fills your veins, so you do. You spill your guts like you’re at a confessional and it’s your death day, opening up every single crevice of your life back in reality and letting it pour out of your mouth like a broken dam. Where you were born, where you lived, where you moved, school, the people who went to school, friends, families, enemies. Not necessarily in that order, the night goes so shockingly fast that you barely keep track of what you’ve already said. You tell him about cities, about corporations, about countries, about charities. Humanity at both its best and its worst, and even what happens in between.

He’s a good listener, too, offering questions here and there, following your train of thought even though sometimes it doesn’t even make sense to you. He seems to be able to pick up on any gaps of logic you’ve forgotten to say, asking for clarification on some things, wishing for more detail on others, even requesting information about kingdoms you know haven’t existed for hundreds of years. And… better yet, he seems to enjoy talking to you.

“So,” you say, putting on your jacket to fight the biting night chill, “does this part of the forest happen every single night?”

“Yes,” he says, and you may be imagining it, but you think there might be some kind of tone of relief in his voice. “Yes, the forests merge every day, only to part during the night.”

“Theoretically, then,” you fan your fingers out, folding them together, “I could come back. To… like, visit, or something.”

“If you wanted to, then yes, you most certainly could.”

You close your eyes tight, shutting out the stars and the moon. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose or anything, but like, if you’d want to know more about the modern human world, I could come back prepared. With like, an iPad and a PowerPoint ready.”

“Would you?” He sounds a bit mystified, and you realize you probably didn’t cover those two things during your talks. As he mulls it over, the first element of daytime bashfully pokes out from the trees, the sky lighting just enough to swallow up the stars.

“If you wanted my company.”

“Yes,” he says very firmly, “you’re…. Fascinating, a very fascinating specimen of your species. I do not sense any bloodlust that I’ve heard is so very common in your kind.”

That’s the nicest thing he’s said about you, and you find your chest thundering in response. “Tha-thank you, I guess.”

“And I would also like to see this iPad and PowerPoint.”

You feel your cheeks redden slightly. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

[mostly-megan]

December 5th: Shopping

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Rating: Mostly E for Everyone, but there is some implied stuff

Word count: 1076; not beta read, we live and die by the sword

Warnings: It’s Oberyn, so allusions to sexy times

❄️December Writing Masterlist ❄️

(A/N): I was excited to write this one, but I really don’t know how good of a job I did, so I’m sorry. Prompts from @honeymandos​​; Photo credit: NYDailyNews

It’s strange passing through the market now, especially since nothing has particularly changed. The grocers and produce vendors call out their specialties straight from port and vine, ripe and perfect for your coin at the best price as jewelers and weavers and all manner of craftsmen peddle their eye-catching trinkets and treasures. But now as you stroll through your favorite alleys and shops, the crowds part, bow, and murmur at the Prince of Dorne by your side. 

Still early in the day, the light wind from the sea brings a relieving cool to the rising heat of the sun. The winds also carry the swirling dusts of warm spices and sweet blossoms set out enticingly. Music, chatter, and color fill the shaded corridors of the winding city, even more so than usual as the end of year festivals and feasts draw ever closer.

Oberyn’s lazy gate lets you glance at each stall, one hand gestures this way and that as he explains different rare objects or how they are transported when they are so fragile while the other is draped across your shoulders.. You love Oberyn’s intelligence which he was more than happy to share with all who cared to know, you love the warm mirth of his voice and how he can make even shipping processes sound fascinating. You’re fairly certain that he is barely containing himself enough to disregard the impulse to dash from vendor to vendor like little Dorea at the sweets shops.

You’ve learned to be careful what you gaze at or handle for too long. Any pretty trinket you fiddled with or soft shift you admired would be found laying on your bed by nightfall the next day. Although you were too lost in the dazzling shimmer of the gauzy fabric to remember that fact at the moment. “Ah, my petal’s head has been turned by such loveliness I see,” Oberyn’s smirk and raised eyebrow make you feel flustered a moment before you turn back to the material. “Yes, lover, but not for me. Do you think this would look lovely on Ellaria?” you hold the midnight blue fabric high so it catches light and reveals it’s soft glitter.

“She would, I believe she may have a dress of this already. It makes her look like she’s wrapped in the dusk sky,” Oberyn smiles warmly as he recalls his paramour fondly. You, however, sigh and drop the fabric back onto the vendors table and turn to gaze around the tables nearby.

“My petal, something is troubling you today. What is wrong?” his strong hand moves rest soothingly on your back, the gentle concern in his eyes softens your nerves as you relax into him. “I’m sorry, my love, I was trying to find something for Ellaria. The festival is so soon and I have a gift for everyone, except her, nothing seems right enough for her,” you sigh and survey the vendors again. Ellaria has been with the prince for many happy years and Oberyn’s love of lavishing gifts on those he cares for is well-known. 

She has chests of the finest jewels, overflowing shelves of books, more garments than she could ever hope to wear; whatever you could get her would never outshine all of the beauty she deserved and Oberyn always seemed able to provide. Your prince turns to the steward who was trailing you holding boxes you and Oberyn had purchased for other members of your household and instructs him to return to the palace. 

“Now, petal, let us walk and see if any inspiration strikes in that beautifully talented head of yours,” he pulls you close to him as he places a reverent kiss on your temple as he resumes your stroll. He points out several antique looking glasses, clay beads, and curiosities from all around Westeros, but still nothing is right for your Ellaria. Despite his best efforts, your Prince seems unable to help soothe your disappointment in leaving the markets empty handed. 

Sitting in the carriage back to the Palace, Oberyn drags you into his lap and gently kisses your shoulder. When he finally catches your eye, he gives an exaggerated pout, no doubt dramatically mirroring your own expression. You can’t help the small smile and laugh that follow seeing his handsome features tease you, “Don’t make fun, I’m being serious. Ellaria has so much of my love and, for a festival that is all about the love of others, I cannot even find an appropriate gift to present her with.” You huff and lean into his shoulder, not caring that you sound like a child as your frustration builds. 

“Did you find one for me?” his question is soft and curious, you almost miss it buried in his coat. “What?” you bring your head up to see his eyes, his sweet expression making your heart ache. “You said she has your love and yet you have not found a gift. I know I have your love as well, little petal, so have you found one for me?” Your mouth opens and closes like a fish a few times before answering slowly, “Yes, I have. But I’m not telling you what it is, if that is what you are after, Oberyn.”

At that, he throws his head back a bit and laughs, “That was not my intention, sweet, but I can see where you may think that. Whatever you have gotten for me, and I have a fair idea of what a gift may be as, perhaps that is the gift she would like most as well. Perhaps, my soft petal, you are the gift she would like most, as I do.” He draws your chin down to capture your lips. Of course he had figured out his gift. Most occasions, his gift from you had become you appearing in his rooms in a garment barely resembling clothing for him to admire before he disrobed you entirely. 

You smile as you draw away from his plush lips, quirking your eyebrow mischievously at him, “Then perhaps, my Prince, I shall have to return tomorrow for that shimmering fabric after all. Although I shouldn’t need much of it.” Oberyn groans, capturing your lips again and dragging you to lay under him on the carriage seat. “By Gods, you’ll look divine enough to devour in so little of that night sky enveloping you. Although I think I would much prefer to be wrapped in you wrapped in it.”

Tagging who might be interested: @zeldasayer​ @winters-buck​ @max–phillips​​ @rae-gar-targaryen​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @scribbledghost​ @plexflexico​ @sunshinepascal​ @agirllovespancakes​ @keeper0fthestars​ @freak-nasty-thick-dick-mando​​ @youmeanmybrain​ @talesfromtheguild​ @frannyzooey​ @absurdthirst​ @softpedropascal​ @fairytalesintheend​​ @lackofhonor​​ @maybege​​ @getinthepoolkeanu​​ @pedroepascal​​ @pedropascalito​ @mylifeliterally​​ @catfishingmorales​​ @miss-me-jack​​ @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​​ @pettyprocrastination @autumnleaves1991-blog​ 

[spoopyredacted]

“No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her” Hozier - Work Song

The Mandalorian x Reader 1.4k

I asked the discord chat what their favorite kind of angst was and some how this came out of that conversation. I also had to make step dad atlas proud and i hope i did.

Taggin some hoes @wrestlingfae @helplessly-nonstop @hardcorewwetrash (Laura idk if you wanted just wrestling stuff but here) and also step dad @concussed-to-pieces

The bounty, that was supposed to be an easy catch, was turning out to be a lot harder than he originally thought. Now it was turning into a nightmare.

Literally.

He doesn’t know when, but at some point in the last 30 minutes of chasing the bounty to the edge of town and into the jungle that lay outside, he’d been hit with something. And that something was knocking him out on his ass. It was some sort of poison, that he knew. He felt like his skin was on fire and his head was foggy. His armor felt more like bricks that were tied to his being, pulling him deep underwater, instead of the layer of protection that they usually left him feeling.

Luckily he could still follow the bounty through the trees, but only by tracking their heat signatures. At this moment he knew they had the upper hand, he just hoped that they didn’t realize it as well.

Never going after an alleged spice runner again.

The Mandalorians vision begins to wane the more he stumbled through the underbrush of the jungle, from the corner of his eye he sees a flash of a person, turning quickly he fires in that direction, but there was no one there. Another flash of someone in the other direction. He turns, fires. And again no one. He dizzies himself spinning around, looking, hoping that some will actually be there.

Stop it. Shake it off.

He tries to continue following the bounty’s path but he's confused, disoriented. He feels as if his skin is even hotter now, sweat beading on his forehead, dripping down, blurring his vision even more. Leaning against a tree he tries to stabilize himself but the poison is rushing through his body now. His mouth turns dry as his tongue feels corse against his lips. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, the thrum of it gradually drowning out the natural sounds of the jungle until all that’s left is a high pitched ringing.

Blaster fire jostles him out of his trance, as it hits just above his position, splintering the trees there. The Mandalorian turns and fires in the direction the shot came from, swaying where he stands but grip never faltering on his weapon.

He makes his way over, hoping to catch the bounty unawares as he lumbers through the underbrush. Feet not as light as they usually are, breath heavy, he fears he’s making too much noise. They’re going to get away. They’re going to get away and he’s going to be left here, poisoned and sweaty in this stupid jungle unable to get back to the Crest.

Back to the kid.

Back to you.

Back home.

Blaster still raised Mando comes around the trees the bounty was hiding behind and sees them crouched down, their back to him. Their form seems familiar. Like he’s seen it before. Like he’s watched it, studied it, craved it before.

“Stand— Stand up.” His voice hurts, it’s dry and croaky and he hates the way he’s slowly losing control of reality. He takes a step towards them when they don’t make an effort to move, “I said, Stand. Up.” He has to support himself against a tree before his knees buckle below him, all his strength goes into keeping his focus on the familiar form in front of him and not on the fact that his vision is fading. That he is fading.

Finally— finally they turn, and he wishes they hadn’t. It’s you. Of course, it’s you. He could pick you out in a crowded cantina in the dark if he had to.

Why didn’t he recognize you?

But more importantly, why are you here? Why aren't you on the ship?

Are you his bounty?

No.

That’s not right. That can’t be right.

“Wha—?” Pain rips through the right side of his body, with a sharp cry he drops his weapon and collapses to the ground. Fire scorches through his veins and it’s hot, hot, hot. There's nothing but pain.

Always pain.

And then darkness.

——

In the darkness, he dreams.

He dreams of the brightness of the sun, the light that it brings, the warmth of its touch, the life it gives. He dreams of the inky blackness of space that swallows everything hole. And yet, the light of the stars still pierce through. Still as bright and beautiful as they’ve always been. As they always will be.

And he dreams of you. How you are all of those things, and yet you are still so much more. You have to know what you mean to him. Right? You have to know that you— that you’re his home. That you’re his life. That he loves you. Right? Right?

——

There's a faint beeping that draws him out of his dreams, but the panic that follows is what fully makes him conscious. The kid. He has to get to the kid. They’re going to get them. He attempts to move but his body rejects it, instead, he just lays there against the tree, waves of panic and anger rolling off of him.

And then it’s you. And you’re there in front of him and he doesn’t know how, but here you are. You’re here—you’re here—you’re here.

You’re not an illusion this time. You’re real and tangible and crouched down beside him putting pressure on his wound whispering words to him that he can’t focus on. His heart is bursting with emotion he doesn’t want to give a name to. He tries to reach up to touch your face, to show you some comfort, to wipe away the tears that you don’t realize are falling. But he’s weak, he’s so weak. He just can’t.

He tries to speak, his voice coming out rough and broken, “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay I’m here, we’re here.” You croak out barely able to contain the worry and fear gripping your voice. Gently grasping his hand in yours you place it over his wound, “You'll— you’ll be okay.”

The child is with you, you had to place them in the carrying bag, along with some supplies you luckily thought to bring, “You… you have to stay awake, okay?” With one hand keeping pressure on his blaster wound, the other searches through the bag for the bacta spray you keep for emergencies. The kid worryingly coo’s, ears drooped and big sad eyes look up at you as you rummage through the sack, “It’s okay. He’ll be okay, we’ll take care of it.” You attempt a smile as you whisper, but you can tell it doesn’t soothe anything in either one of you.

With the spray you are able to at least close up his wound enough to make it back to the ship. With the baby in the backpack, you carrying the Mandalorian, and being on the lookout for any danger, you aren’t sure how you made it back to the Crest but the three of you did.

Once the Child and bounty hunter are set down you set the security alarms and hurry back to Mando to finish dressing his wounds. Gathering the rest of the med pack you settle down next to him pulling out a bandage to cover where he was shot.

Your hand rests just above the wound along his rib cage, even through the beskar and layers of clothing you can feel his body heat. If this were a different situation. A different time. If this man, who you have come to know, come to care about, wasn’t just on death's doorstep you might have been inclined to explore him. To see where he was ticklish, to find and caress and kiss all his scars. To see if when he blushed, did it run all the way down his chest or did it flow over the tips of his ears.

But you can’t. Now is not the time. And you don’t know if it many ever be the time.

You are about to place the bandage on him when his hand comes up to stop you, his grip loose on your wrist, ”I… Thank you.” You can tell it takes a lot of effort for him just to say that with the way his voice brakes.

“I wasn’t sure,” He clears his throat, “I wasn’t sure I would be able to get back to yo— to the ship” His grip on your wrist tightens.

“I just… Thank you.”

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 21

It had taken a little over ten days to reach the Witcher stronghold. At day five, Geralt had felt ready to crawl out of his skin and demanded that one of the mages conjure up a portal to take them to Kaer Morhen. The itch under his skin had grown into a raw pain gnawing at him, his dislikes for portal didn’t matter he would just cover his eyes and plunge deep into the gateway. Triss with a piteous frown as she refused to state that ‘both of you need space’ and Yennefer simply smirked and turned away. It meant Geralt spent the next five days barely sleeping or eating; he had gone through a gallon of the smelly gloop to keep the fever at bay. As soon as silver tower peaked over tops of the trees, Geralt charged Roach off in a mad dash to the castle.  Bracken and brambles tugged at his leathers, but he barely noticed them in his focus of her scent. It was everywhere, that blend of apples and the ocean, soothing and heady. But there was something different, something else mixed in with it, tangy and fresh. Zesty and fury like ginger and lime. It has a seductive edge to her usually nubile smell.

His heavy footfalls echoed through the valley as he stomped up the stone staircase and threw open the heavy oak doors as it, they were weightless. The scent of her was enough to send him into a frenzy; it was everywhere. Beads of sweat began to slide down the side of his neck; he had been able to smell her for the last two day, the slight scent on the wind. He had smelt the slight change in her scent, but he couldn’t imagine it would affect him in this way. In his half-fried brain, he half expected her to throw herself into his arms; if she had suffered the way he had, she would be a mess of need. But there was no one to welcome him, just stretch after stretch of empty halls. No Jaskier or Ciri or Vesemir. No Adva. He had caught a glimpse of his old master’s mare wandering around the field, grazing on the wild grass and weeds. Tearing from room to room he searched in vain, ever room he dismissed the scent grew stronger till, at last,  he found them on what had once been loosely called a veranda, that had been repurposed into some sort of outdoors study. Books stacked chest high. Piles of manuscript tucked neatly at the side and stacks of paper protectively held down from the wind by a furious wolves head paperweight roaring at him.

‘Where is she?’ A gruff voice barked out, breaking the three from their study.

Ciri and Jaskier eyes immediately snapped up to the tired-looking Witcher before sharing a dark look. His mentor, on the other hand, didn’t show much as look in his direction, merely turned the page and continued reading. Vesemir didn’t need to see his student to know what sort of state he was in. His voice was like gravel, and there was no energy behind it. Jaskier frowned at his friend and a twinge of guilt; he had been somewhat hard on the Witcher last time he saw him. Geralt looked exhausted, dirty and dusty, hair an unkept mess and harrowed eyes lost their glow but still held that ferrous intensity.

Ciri also saw it, but Witcher eyes also gave her the keen sight to see past beyond the surface, he was barely clinging on to his sanity, his eyes were mad and crazy. It scared her; his eyes had always been impassive seeing them so full with emotion was disturbing.

‘Cooking dinner. Apparently, they don’t like my cooking.’ Vesemir growled out at the young bard; his narrow eyes swept over them before resting on the younger Witcher. The harsh eyes soften slightly as he took in Geralt frame before hardening again, letting them full down on the page with a scowl.

‘Well someone had to tell you at some point, it pretty diabolical. Hello, sweetie, I see you have done lots of research already’ Triss smiled as she slides into the room silently trailed by the violet-eyed mage.

Triss lent in and peaked the younger girl on the cheek before dropping down exhausted into one of the seats.

‘Good. Adva and I were pressed ganged into slating the roof yesterday, I have tar in places I didn’t know it could be stuck, and Jaskier has actually been helpful for once getting all texts from the archive.’ Ciri playful smiled across at Jaskier who sat ideally tunning his lute having given up research several hours ago

‘You let her up on that death trap.’ Geralt growled inching toward the older man.

‘She is a good worker, and the roof needed doing. And don’t give me lip boy you aren’t too big to get a hiding.’ Vesemire stood, chair strapping dangerously on the stone floor as both men took the measure of the other.

It broke him to see his young ward to look so…so broken. His hair was wild and covered in blue smears. His eyes were glowing a dangerous orange and always moving, body twitching with excess energy, but he looked tired, exhausted even, deep bruises had formed underneath his eyes, making them appear sallow and hollow.

‘She could have fallen and broken her neck. She is not a servant for you to order around.’ Geralt snapped edging himself closer to his former tutor

‘Adva wanted to help out, and frankly, if you hadn’t let that mage of yours off her leash, that mate of yours wouldn’t be mopping around the castle looking for a distraction from the shit show that usually comes with your romantic relationships.’ Vesemir spat out.

‘This is not going to end well…but it will make an exciting Ballard.’ Jaskier half-whisper is stunned awe as both Witchers sized up to each other.

Geralt gazed down at the older man, their size had never really come up, there wasn’t much difference in it, but Geralt was just slightly taller, but that bit of height gave him the ability to look down at the older man. Never in his entire life had he wanted to strike him, they had always had a solid bond, a close a Witcher could get to a father and son relationship. With a silent snarl, Geralt gave him one last look before storming off toward the kitchens.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once upon a time when Kaer Morhen had been a flourishing Witcher stronghold, the kitchens feed hundreds of people. The hearth was large and spacious with room to roast several roasting pigs. There were three large stoves, and an open smoking pit and oven, along with a prepping bench that stretched across the large kitchen and large open window shone light from across the valley where the sun rose, and the sunset providing the kitchen with light every possible moment of the day. Back in Brightwater, this would have been her dream kitchen; it was light and airy with every possible thing she wanted or needed. The one in the brothel was windowless and had what you would barely call a roasting pit which billowed out smothering smoke that blinded and choked her. It made her sad inside to know that the kitchen would only service a handful of people anymore; it seemed such as waste.

Despite her heavy heart, she felt okay, just incredibly numb. Food had no taste; fire had no warmth; the wind could barely be felt against her skin. Even Jaskier’s silliness did not affect her. She knew he was funny, playing the jester to make her happy, it was hilarious, but she had to force herself to laugh, to smile and join in, but she felt cold inside. She was content to hide away in the kitchen pandering to Jaskier need for edible food or help repair the dilapidated castle anything that made her forgot for a brief moment. Forget that she might be a mermaid, forget about Geralt and Yennefer.

‘Adva’

She tensed as she felt Geralt’s gruff tones echo across the pantry. As soon as she turned around, she regretted it, he looked so adoring, so in sorry and it broke her heart. Quickly turning, she forced herself to focus on the meal she was preparing in front of her—a simple meal of leavened bread cakes, eggs, and spiced vegetables. The dried meal had been soaked in oils and herb and roasted in the pit with garlic and sliced figs. The Witchers had been self-sufficient here with various trees and vegetable patches planted which meant her meals could be that much more flavourful and at least better than whatever that dish Vesemire had prepared on their arrival.

‘Look I really don’t want to talk about it.’ She sighed as she placed the bread cakes in a serving bowl and slicing the meat into mouthful chunks if she turned around now she would be a goner, she knew that and kept her gaze trained on the chopping board in front of her.

‘Avda…’ Geralt croaked.

Throwing her knife down, she half screamed in frustration ‘Geralt! It's fine; I get it. You prefer Yennefer to me, it's fine. I understand I am not upset. We will find the book you can break the bond, and you can go off with her. Can we just not talk about it please I just want to forget about it.’ Tears were now welling up in her eyes and threaten to spill onto her cheeks.

‘Adva, please.’ Geralt pleaded. ‘You need to listen to me. We need to talk, please….. I know I messed up by not telling you….but I have been so confused. I have been attached to Yennefer for so long… But all I can think of is you, every fibre of me needs you. You are my soul mate….Please Adva.’

Geralt reached out his bronzed hand and grasped her forearm gently turned her to face him. Blue eyes met gold orbs, and she felt herself melt. The warmth of his hand felt good against her skin; she could help but sigh as the feeling it was the first time she had felt anything in so long, it gave her more pleasure than anything before ever had, well almost. The hungry look in his eyes took her back to that night. She wanted nothing more than to push him down on the table behind him and…. The though were more explicit than she ever thought herself capable of.

It would be so easy to full into his arms and forget the events of the last ten days, but then that violent eyed mage face entered her mind.  

‘No…just no. I can’t; I just can’t be near you right now. Please leave me alone.’

‘Adva…How can I prove to you that I don’t want her, just you, only you.’

‘You didn’t tell me. You go from Yennefer to me because of your ‘bond’, and I won't be there when you change you mind.’ Adva’s voice was barely a whisper.

‘You know that not what this is….I could never do that. Let me worship you my little flower.’

Pulling herself out from his grasp, she could look at him; she couldn’t trust herself to look at him not now. ‘Just…just stay away from me. I can’t; I just can't right now. Stay away from me.’ She whimpered out before escaping out the room into dark ache way to collect herself away from the sounds of crashing furnisher.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

‘Dinner’ Adva called, swiftly made her way to the library and pulled open the dumb waiter and immediately began to offload the food onto the table. It was not a very fancy meal but it smelt good, but she couldn’t force herself to feel hungry. A sickness bubbled in her stomach, and she carried the food to the table, bowl by bowl. She agonised over her discussion with Geralt. Part of her believed him, but the other part felt relieved; she knew this story all too well. It had happened to too many of the girls on the brothel, promises of love destroyed them, made them totally dependent and vulnerable to the men that promised them everything, only for them to be cast them off and move onto a new woman leaving behind a wreak. It happened to one girl, in particular, Soffie, a pretty young thing, 18 and bright-eyed whisked off to some exotic land but an elegant merchant. The blonde woman child followed after him and returned 18 months later looking ten years older having whore her way across the country to get home. Soffie was never the same as that her eyes lost that spark in her eyes, flirted with died eyes as she took man after man to her room. She refused to be like that, but every part of her schemed she was doing the wrong thing.

The food smelt wonderful, full of fresh herbs and toasted spiced, the buttery bread gave an oddly comforting aroma, but she felt no hunger or want to eat in fact she felt sick thinking about have to force it down her throat. Jaskier slid in next to her and Ciri wedged herself next to her, sandwiching themselves either side of her. Geralt stalker over and slide himself opposite her, staring darkly across at her.

‘Have you cleaned?’ Yennefer asked in the manner only suited to a queen, arrogant and dismissive. ‘I am glad to see you putting the creature to work.’ She sneered at the group huddled around the table.

Five pairs of eyes glared up at Yennefer as she sneered down at Adva, her eyes slide over to the prepared food, and her lips curled back over pearly white teeth. Adva was torn between wanting to shrink back in her seat and wanting to throw the plate of glazed vegetables into her perfect face or pour the bitter ale over her head and ruin the stunning dress that clung to her body. If you could call it a dress, it was a thin strip of silk that wrapped around her shoulders and dipped down to her naval where it was tied in an attractive knot and bellowed down into a floaty skirt. Truly, Adva had never wanted to harm someone as severely as she did now.

Instead, Adva lifted her shoulder and pulled on a piece of bread, nibbling on a corner. It was soft and chewy, but it turned to ash in her mouth. ‘Have you found anything?’

‘Not really, just a lot of lore and eyewitness story.’ Ciri breezed as she poured himself a long drink. ‘

‘Did you find anything more in the archives’ Adva smiled sweetly as Jaskier who was devouring a bread cake laden with the roasted vegetables and meat.

‘Just this…It an accord from the last war with the Merfold and the Humans. It nothing interesting but look at the signature.’ The bard pushed the scroll into the centre of the tabled.

It was an elegant piece of material. It was not the usual discoloured yellow but a pale green. It shimmered in the sunlight, and the smell of seawater still lingered in the air. Reaching out a pale hand Adva brushed the paper with her middle finger, the silky parchment slide across her flesh as she traced the signature on the paper. The curl of the letters spelt across the bottom of the page next to a scruffy scrawl.

‘Cersi…’

‘It appears Cersi and Mousesack acted as arbitrator between the two parties. The Empress Azalea, First of Her Name, The Protector of the Deep and Waves, Queen of Navacis, Sovereign of Sirei, Mother of all and ruler of the Great Sea met with Leopold the Ready to discuss the peace treaty between the two kingdoms.’ Ciri explained pushing the document toward the Mage and the Witcher.

Geralt skimmed the document, narrowing his eyes at the lengthy text—a mix of sonic script and Novigradian. How a text like this got into the archives was strange, it should have been locked in some vault or the archives at Oxenfurt. Underneath it was the incomplete family tree of Empress Azalea, deep crinkles wove their way onto his brow as he gazed down at the small pile of papers. A page about the full history of the high court and the great families of the Great Sea. Mermaid were notoriously private, which meant little was known about them and that their research would uncover nothing that would illuminate the situation. Something caught the corner of his eyes, something that felt important but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it.

‘So you think that Cersi became friendly with some Mermaid who gave her a child to look after who she abandoned to a torturous mage and then brothel.’ Vesemir scoffed, scooping up another palate full of meat and vegetables.

‘Cersi put her in the brothel to protect Adva. The mermaid physic emits pheromones which could have put her in danger from others…it’s the only thing that would make sense.’ Triss smiled across at her young pupil.

The caramel eyed mage took the hand of the young mermaid. The poor girl's hand was icy cold and sweaty. For her sake, Triss hoped that Cersi had placed her in that brothel for that reason, it was the only thing that made sense, a less Cersi had a darker motive which she prayed to god she didn’t, she didn’t know how much more Adva could take.

Ciri glanced around the table, all, ever Yennefer seemed to be in deep thought, somberly munching on their food. Pondering on the fact, Ciri spoke ‘Have ever you thought that maybe Cersi is her mother? And she had an affair with a male mermaid.’

‘Titian. No, I would have smelt it’ Geralt muttered pushing the document away from him. ‘Besides being a Mage it's unlikely, most are infertile having gone through their…. Transformation.’ Geralt muttered, glancing behind him to the stoic raven-haired Mage.

Adva knew what that entailed, Cersi had spoken a little about her regret about seeking out her transformation and losing her womb. Part of her often wondered if Lord Brightwater and Cersi kept her for the temple of mages to keep her from that vicious alteration to her body. Part of her wanted to say that if she had been training in the Magely arts that she would have refused the procedure, but there was a lot, she would have changed. She would like to be taller and slimmer; she was all curves and thick body parts. She would keep her eyes and lips, and her noise though slightly too big gave her character. Her breasts were too small and hips too big. Maybe she would have changed them; her womb didn’t seem that big a sacrifice to her, hers didn’t even work anymore that’s to Tradi’s nightly beating.

Vesemir bleached loudly ‘It not impossible. Merfolk is the oldest document race. Many scholars believed they were the first race before some cast themselves out of the water and crawled onto the land. It would not be surprising if they had access to some sort of fertility magic or something. I once met a sailor who claimed that a Mermaid cast as a spell on his seed and he went on to have 13 children.’ The older man shrugged dipping his break in the mean juices.

Yennefer look down at the girl who was looking gloomily poked at her food, casting a curious eye over her figure. If that was true, the girl might be a useful tool in her pursuits of a family. A smirk stretched across her lips as the girl glanced up. The smiled faltered as Adva blue eyes met her violet orbs. A swirl of angry and hatred burnt brightly. The little fish was starting to turn into a shark.

‘Cersi smell is wholly different from Adva; it improbably they are related. Mothers and daughter usually have the same base smell.’ Geralt gruffly added.

Vesemire nodded, started to know one another piece of meat

‘What about I ask Crispin? He might have something in his book collection that could share some province.’ Adva piped up. ‘The Earl, he did say that he had a large collection of books on creatures and plants, he hinted about some rare pieces in his collection.’

‘Oh, it Crispin now?’ Geralt snapped. Jealous surged within him, she could barely speak his name, but she freely spoke about a man she barely knew.

Triss rolled her eye at the stropping Witcher, ignore the sound of several doors the slammed behind him ‘I will send a message to him, he should be back at his manor by now. He might be able to help…I hope.’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva paced. Might be a word she had come to hate. Might be able to help. At this point, hope wasn’t enough. Everything that she found raised more question then answers. If she really was a Mermaid, had her parents given her to Cersi? Or was she stolen? Was Cersi her mother? The question was enough to bring her to tears. Up until now, her life had been uneventful; in the past four months, there was enough to last her a lifetime. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the heady scent of oak and spice. Geralt. Angry tears welled up in her eyes, shining in the moonlight. Gods! Her body was burning with a need for Geralt while her mind was screaming at her to run away from Geralt and Yennefer as fast as she could. She hadn’t seen Geralt since he stormed off during dinner. Yennefer, on the other hand, had stayed in the library till they all retired for the night. Yennefer had been very quiet, but the glares she sent across the table where vicious and menacing. Part of her wanted to run a hide somewhere, but a bigger part of her wanted to rip her apart. It scared her. Never had she ever wanted to hurt anyone with such a ferocity of feeling, she could feel the energy simmer under skin throbbing away violently.

Throwing open the window, the cool breeze caressed her skin. In the darkness of the surrounding wood, a figure stood vigilant beneath a mighty oak. Even in the darkness, she could see the outline of a man bundled up in a fine black cloak his face hidden in the shadows. She didn’t know why, but it gave her an overwhelming sensation a dread. The man had no right being up here, it was the hidden sanctuary of the school of Wolf and the long-kept secret to the world, how a man had wandered up here and found it scared her. Even at this distance, she could sense the man's face twist into a scowl as he tenses himself.

She watched the shadow hesitate against underneath the door—the wind dying in the air.

Creak! The floorboard screamed under the immense weight of a heavy boot as they moved through the corridor.

Whirling around, wide eyes fell on the door. The thick line of light shone out across the darkens floor shifted as a figure passed over it. She knew, she just knew who it was. The figure shifted outside the door wavering on the threshold. Geralt was looming in front of the door. Her breath caught in her chest as she watches the shadow shift from side to side. A soft groan vibrated through the wood as a weight lent against it. They both knew they could sense the other separated by a thick strip of wood. All he had to do was to turn the handle. All she has to do was to turn the handle. But they didn’t. A low growl grew from behind the door, shaking as it built in intensity, making the air thick with electricity.

Adva gulped as she watched the shadow retreat from the door before the warm orange glow disappeared descending her into darkness, only the pale light of the new moon illuminating her room. Turning back, the figure was gone leaving the lonely oak tree surrounded by a deep dark shadow. Blinking several times, she refocused on the patch of dirt where the man stood to find nothing but a lonely branch waving in the wind.

She was losing her mind, squeezing her eyes shut, she slipped under the quilted blanket, snuggled down into the bed and flung the cotton over blanket on top of her shivering body as anxiety twisted and knotted in her stomach.

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I am so sorry I have taken so long to update. I finally got my qualification, and I am now a teacher! This has meant I have been trying to set up my classroom and set out a lesson for next year and as a lot of them are practical and need equipment, it meant I had to try and sources all the stuff. So much fun! --__-- After about Jully 22nd I should be able to relax and get back into a solid update a week.

Just to let you know shit is going down next chapter so please stay tuned!!

As always please leave comments and likes. If you want me add you to the tag list please direct message me. Lots of Love!

@threepupsinapuddle @broco8 @introvertedmouse @luxyash @vikingsbifrost @pastelblogsposts @wastingmypotential @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png