#we shall emerge victorious

[bookwyrminspiration]

it does look like sophie!! if you wanted to help her look a little more youthful, you might try adding some roundness to the cheeks and emphasizing the cupid's bow a bit more

ty catherine I love you forever and ever dedicating this piece to you and you only <33

me vs the roundness of sophie's cheeks is an ongoing battle I keep trying but she is staying stubbornly a little angular. actually almost everything about her is fighting me.

I think the reason it's not quite doing it for me is that she doesn't match the other individual in the piece. Who has a certain *essence* to them, a style that Sophie doesn't have. So while she technically looks fine and like Sophie, she doesn't look like she belongs in the same piece as them. and I very much want the two of them to go together. Will continue trying, even though I have class tomorrow and will. get a bunch of homework </3

also!! thank you to everyone else who made comments and suggestions as well :)

[cauliflowercounty]

Knives Dance (Part II)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

Summary: You and your father address your people to quell the seeds of unrest on Youra.  Realizing the resolute dedication of your people, Baron Vladimir begins to conspire against you and your homeworld, something you and Feyd will not take lying down when you put a plan of your own in motion.

Warnings: visceral imagery, more death, reader goes a little mental 

Word Count: 6.0k

Part I | Part II | Part III

Breaking your kiss reluctantly, Feyd looks around at the twenty some odd soldiers you’ve both just killed, exhilaration and admiration for you still coursing through his veins.   “I’m sorry to do this, but I must ask something of you, Feyd,” you say, looking down at both of your garments saturated in blood. 

“Anything,” he responds without a second thought. He knows he means it.  

“You must not let anyone know what I showed you or that I was fighting alongside you tonight.” You walk over and pick up your second blade that Feyd tossed away, strapping it back to your thigh along with the other one.  Next, you collect Ozran’s knife and hand it to Feyd. It’s light and flimsy in his grasp compared to your daggers, truly a laughable excuse for a murder weapon.  An animal being killed for supper deserves to be killed by a better blade than this. You fasten your cloak back onto your person, and it consumes your body again, making it seem as if you hadn’t just butchered half the dead around you. “These are my best kept secrets. You must say that it was you who killed all of our attackers.”

“Of course,” he replies, and you press a soft kiss on his lips in thanks.  As soon as he leans in to kiss you back, approaching footsteps become audible.  It’s your father, the baron, and a fleet of Youran guards with their weapons drawn.

“Let’s give them a little show, shall we?” you whisper against his lips. As soon as they come into view, Feyd feels you fall into his arms, spotting delicate tears collecting on lower lashes. He brings his arms around you, cradling your figure as you sink to the ground and begin quaking in his embrace, which makes his heart twinge. 

Your father calls out to you, aghast as he spots the dead bodies surrounding you and Feyd.  The look on your father’s face is as if he’s worried you might turn to dust. He kneels beside you, taking you out of Feyd’s arms and into his own. “We heard commotion from the castle and came as quickly as we could. Are you injured, my darling child?  What happened?” 

“F-Father, I am alright, ” you quiver, breath shaky as you lean into him.  “It was so scary, though! Na-Baron and I were on a nighttime stroll, and suddenly a poisoned dart flew out of nowhere and nearly hit me.  When we looked over to see where it came from, Ozran was approaching us with a wild look in his eyes.” You’re sobbing into your Father’s chest at this point, tear stains soaking into your father’s clothes, and Feyd cannot help but be impressed by your theatrics.  “Ozran said he was unhappy with our dealings with House Harkonnen. He meant to kill us to make a point, but Na-Baron courageously disarmed Ozran and struck him down. As soon as that happened, Ozran’s loyalists began to strike, but they were no match for Na-Baron.”

Hearing those words, Feyd sees his uncle lift his chin up in pride, delighting in the thought of Feyd emerging victorious over twenty, killing in cold blood. Your father lets out a sigh of relief, pulling you closer in his arms as he holds the back of your head.  “It’s alright, y/n. You are still alive, and Ozran cannot hurt you any longer,” he whispers before looking up to Feyd.  “Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. I am most grateful. Thank you for saving my daughter from those criminals.  I am in your debt.”

Feyd sees his Uncle’s eyes glimmer with excitement.  Your father shouldn’t have said that.  His uncle never passed up an opportunity to prey on those indebted to the Harkonnens. Before, Feyd also enjoyed the manipulation of other peoples, but now that his uncle has his sights set on you, a growing sense of unease begins to build, and he can’t bring himself to look at his uncle. 

“It was my honor to fight for your daughter tonight,” Feyd replies. “I am glad I was here to protect her life, and I would do the same again.”

Your father brings you to your feet, your cloak still concealing your stained battle gear underneath.  You bring the back of your hand up to wipe away your tears, letting out a meek sniffle.  Feyd keeps trying to remind himself that what you’re doing is just and act, a way of protecting your secrets from his devious uncle, but Feyd’s chest continues to ache seeing you cry. If he had his way, nothing would make you shed a tear ever again.

“If there were this many attackers tonight, that means we have unrest on our hands. There are sure to be more of them.”  your father says, turning to one of the soldiers. “Call the citizens to the castle, and prepare the thrones.”  

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard says, turning on his heel and hurrying away, and Feyd watches as he disappears.

“I do hope this does not mean the marriage will be called off,” Baron Vladimir interjects with a leading stare at your father.  Your father shakes his head straight away. 

“Of course not, Baron.  I value our alliance.  We will handle our people. I assure you, the marriage will happen on Giedi Prime,” your father says as the sound of a horn reverberates across the island nation.  “Would you be present for the address tonight?”

His uncle obliges, and the guards guide everyone through the winding hallways.  After a few minutes, they exit the fortress through another set of doors, and the group emerges onto an enormous stone platform overlooking an open basin lined with towering columns. Two grand thrones stand in the middle of the platform: one for you and one for your father.  Instead of stone like their surroundings, they’re made of thick, twisty branches of a rich, dark wood that have grown into the shape of chairs.  It’s almost as if these chairs were borne out of the very nature on the island.

Feyd looks down to the land below the platform.  People are quickly gathering below at a remarkable rate.  He sees citizens emerging from all directions from the surrounding mountain range.  Multiple cable cars whose lines stretch from inside the forest to the basin approach. Light shines outward from the compartments, and Feyd sees they’re positively filled with people. When the cars meet the ground, the stained glass doors open and people flow out and into the crowd while others run across the wooden bridges out from under the trees. 

Your father beckons all of you forward once the crowd has amassed.  When you and your father come into the people’s view, there is a roar of cheers.  Feyd sees people start to raise their hands and clap for you as the crowd begins a melodic chanting of “House Ronen!  House Ronen!”  The way they rally for their leaders is earnest and true, a sight to behold. 

You take a seat at your throne as your father does.  You gesture to Feyd to come stand behind your chair and the baron floats beside your father’s throne.  When the crowd spots the Harkonnens, some of the cheers turn to murmurs, which rumble through the group as more people begin to whisper to one another.  Your father raises his palm to the people, and they fall silent.

“Thank you, my dear friends, for coming at this hour.  I would not have called you if I didn’t think it was important,” your father’s voice booms.  “We have something very important to tell you tonight."

He gestures over to you and you rise from your seat and step forward, once again holding your cape closed.  The armed guards advance on the sidelines, holding their weapons at their sides to protect you.  You pause and gaze out at your people before centering yourself, holding your head high with poise appropriate for a lady of your stature. 

“I would like to echo my father’s thanks for your time and presence,” you begin, your voice collected and commanding.  “Not an hour ago, there was an attempt at my life at the Pools of Ashora.” A wave of disbelief propagates through the crowd.  Some cup their hand to their mouths and others begin to whisper to their neighbors. A few let out roars of anger, but Feyd swears he sees a few snigger at the news.

 “Twenty men led by researcher Ozran Neyru ambushed me and Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen tonight.  As you can see, the endeavor to end my life was unsuccessful. During the attack, Ozran told me he and the others were motivated because of my upcoming marriage to Na-Baron Harkonnen, that their belief is I am betraying our ideals by allowing the House of Harkonnen into our circle.  I do not doubt there are others that feel the same as him, and I have come to offer you an explanation, which I feel you all deserve.”

There are nods through the crowd.  Some seem undeniably compelled with your speech while others cross their arms with skepticism. You glance over to your father, gestures with his hand for you to proceed. 

“I have lived on Youra all of my life.  It is my homeland, and a place I care deeply for. When I was seven, I drank from the sacred pool on top of our great mountain, and when I was sixteen, I had my own Rite like each of you.  I know what being Youran is because I have lived it from the moment I took my first breath. I’ve grown up knowing our stories and our traditions, and I love the society we’ve been able to build.

“Looking out upon you tonight under the glow of the lanterns, I think of the tale of Zeyred, who was the first to release lanterns at nighttime to guide the souls of our departed to their final destination amongst the stars after he mistook a shooting star for the soul of his dead mother.  Zeyred used what he thought was the truth and created a wonderful tradition in order to help loved ones on their final journey.  Since then, we have left behind the notion that souls go to the stars once life is over, but we still release lanterns every night to pay our respect for him and the Yourans of his time.  It reminds ourselves of where we come from.” 

Feyd sees an air of nostalgia wash over the crowd and a few clutch their hearts, admiration growing in their eyes as you recount the traditional Youran folktale. 

“This practice of using truth for the betterment of others is ancient, but it still remains the lifeblood of Youra today. By seeking truth in our collective research, we’ve developed elixirs that have eliminated diseases that have historically killed many. We’ve found ways to protect our crops from failure. We’ve made advances in engineering to improve our ships and travel around our planet and beyond, broadening our quest for knowledge. By following truth, our quality of life on Youra has improved because of the choices our predecessors have made more than any of us alive today will ever know or appreciate.  We’ve found countless ways of providing for and protecting others.”  Mumbles of agreement echo from below. Some nod their heads to one another. The citizenry is certainly taking to your argument, and Feyd is in awe of your eloquence and composure. 

“Tonight, I have witnessed an undeniable truth: the prowess of House Harkonnen. I have seen strength, valor, and loyalty in Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, without whom I would not be standing here in front of you. As a woman of Youra, I put my faith in what is real, which is why I am putting my faith in the House of Harkonnen.

“This union is not a departure from our ideals.  If anything, it is a commitment to them. It is my way of protecting you.  It will strengthen our society by putting us under the wing of the greatest major house and those we care for is simply getting a little larger. I have made this decision for the betterment of all of us. I ask you to join me in the celebration of this union when I depart for Giedi Prime.” 

The crowd erupts in cheers as you let out gasp in amazement at the overwhelming support by your people. Even the soldiers around you raise their weapons to the sky in support. You bow to your nation, thanking them for their time.  Some of the people in the crowd begin to chant Feyd’s name, thanking him for saving their beloved Lady, which catches him by surprise. Your father claps at your address, and Feyd joins him in applause, commending your efforts.

The people are dismissed and the Youran soldiers guide Feyd and the others back into the castle. As the group is safely indoors, you grasp one of Feyd’s hands on your own and press a kiss on his closest cheek and lean in to whisper “Thank you, Feyd.”  

As you pull back, you and your father bow to the Harkonnens before you return to your quarters, still encircled by guards.  Watching you disappear behind a corridor, Feyd notices his heart longing for your company. He thinks of the way you two moved in perfect sync during your fight.  The fiery look in your eyes during the battle was thrilling to behold. His mind lingers on you as he reminisces about the feeling he had of bolts of lightning shooting through his veins when you kissed him.  Just as soon as he's entranced, he’s ripped out of his fantasy by his uncle’s fingers clenched around his shoulder.

“Come,” his uncle orders, and Feyd follows as they return to the guest wing of the fortress.  The walk to the guest wing is eerily silent.  All that can be heard is footsteps and the gentle whirring and occasional clicks that come from his uncle’s medical contraptions.  His uncle beckons him into his own quarters after the guards bid them goodnight.  The baron floats into the room while instructing Feyd to close the door behind him.

This guest suite is an exact replica of the one Feyd is staying in. The walls are covered in painstakingly crafted tapestries and the furniture is made of a red-brown wood with a bold grain that looks like billows of smoke. An entire wall is a floor to ceiling window that leads to a balcony which overlooks the ocean.  The soft reflection of the moonlight from the water’s surface streams through the window, illuminating half of the baron’s face in a stark white light while the other is cast in a sinister shadow. His uncle calls Feyd closer, and he obeys. 

“Well done, Feyd,” is the first thing his uncle says to him in a low voice.  “The Yourans may still be outside, so we must be quiet.” Feyd nods to his uncle in understanding as he notices his uncle’s unbridled grin, the one he only has when he’s plotted something truly heinous.  “The Yourans are weaker than I ever imagined.  I knew they were a society of wisdom, but I never expected them to leave themselves so… vulnerable.” The baron’s eyes are now ablaze with savagery. Saying the words out loud has lit the flames of cruelty that burns in his soul. “The fact that you killed twenty of them in the time between us hearing the attack and arriving in the courtyard single handedly is a true testament to their sheer mediocrity.  I shall reward you when we are back on Giedi Prime.  How about another mistress this time? I will ensure she’s properly broken for you.”

I don’t want your praise. I don’t want your gifts, Old Man, Feyd thinks, resisting the urge to grab ahold of his uncle’s neck, strangle him, and feel his trachea shatter under his thumbs.

“I was originally frustrated at you, Feyd.  I wondered why you simply didn’t allow them to kill her, but you’ve done well, despite your lack of foresight. We will not have to take the planet by force. Now we have a way to win over the people of Youra, and they will soon be ours. Lady Ronen is foolish.  She thinks their principles will keep them safe, but their dedication to their values will be their downfall.”

Feyd conceals his clenched fist from his uncle’s view as he collects himself.  He must not be rash.  Instead, he suppresses his emotions, and he asks his uncle “What are you proposing?” 

“We take her to Giedi Prime, and once the marriage is sealed, I want you to kill her.”  Those words make Feyd’s blood run cold. Kill you?  After everything that’s happened? After the fear of losing you had already struck his heart once today? Feyd will not allow it.  “We shall tell them it was natural.” The Baron continues with a venomous tone. “…and that it was her dying wish for her people to honor our alliance.” The baron grins, bearing his inky, black teeth.  Frightening images of your dead body crumpled on the glossy black floors of Giedi Prime flash in Feyd’s mind with your beautiful eyes blank and unseeing, which makes his head begin to spin. “You saw how they rallied around her tonight. They are so dedicated to her that they will honor her wishes even in death. The planet Youra will be ours, Feyd. We will take the bounty of their work to Arrakis where we will kill Muad'dib, and the House of Harkonnen will emerge victorious.”

With that, the baron shoos his nephew out of the room.  On the other side of the door, Feyd balls his fists and clenches his teeth so tightly it’s a wonder they haven’t cracked under the pressure.  Instead of returning to his quarters, he walks through the corridors of the palace straight to yours, trying to hold his breath steady as the bile within him threatens to pour over.  Outside of your room, there are armed guards keeping watch over the entrance.  One knocks at the door when he requests to see you and slips inside once you permit the guard entrance. 

Moments later, you emerge at the door. You’ve cleaned up since he last saw you and you’re no longer in your cloak and battle gear.  Instead, you wear a light, flowy nightdress that hugs your waist and reflects the moonlight exquisitely. You reach out to Feyd and bring his hands together near your chest.  Feyd’s heart skips and you raise yourself up on your toes to kiss him in earnest.  He sighs into the softness of your lips. Having you so close and being graced by your touch is one of the greatest privileges he has ever received. As you break away, there’s a look of concern on your face.

“Would you like to come inside?” you ask him softly and he nods.  As soon as he enters, you close the door and lock it behind you.  He lets out a frustrated hiss, finally able to express his frustration as he sits down in an armchair chair and rests his elbows on his thighs. He his head in his hands in frustration. “What’s wrong, Feyd?”

“My uncle is plotting.  He wishes for me to murder you after we wed. He thinks you weak and your people impressionable,” Feyd seethes, closing his eyes and running his hands along the back of his neck.  “I couldn’t ever bring myself to do that to you, but I know my uncle.  If I don’t do it, he will have someone who doesn't care for you like I do carry out the deed instead. He plans to take control of your planet and your people when you are gone.”

For the first time in years, Feyd feels like he’s on the verge of tears, something that the baron had him beaten for until his bones shattered when Feyd was a child.  He has only just found you.  You’ve begun to heal his heart and put the light back in his eyes.  You’ve shown him unwarranted kindness and let him bask in your affections.  You’ve given him someone to fight for, and just as soon as he’s found his salvation in you, it’s about to be taken from him.  Bringing your thumb up to his cheek, you wipe the small droplet that threatens to spill over away.

“Do not worry, my love,” you whisper to him, taking the opportunity to gently nuzzle his neck, and he sinks into your embrace.  “Please dry your eyes.”

“We have to get rid of him. We need a plan,” Feyd says with conviction, and you nod. As he looks up at you, his worries seem to fade when he senses your fortitude.  You support his cheek with your delicate touch and stare into his eyes.  Behind your irises he sees a glint of devilishness. 

“I know of a way, Feyd.  We’ll silence Baron Vladimir, and in the end, we will install you as the ruler of Giedi Prime. You will be Feyd-Rautha, Baron of the House of Harkonnen.”

–

The people of Youra come to see you off in droves as you depart for the wedding. Everyone is dressed in their very best as they watch you precess toward the Harkonnen vessel accompanied by your father, the baron, and your bodyguards.  Some parents have brought their children to catch a glimpse of you as you depart, the young Yourans perched on their parents’ shoulders to get a better view of you.  You wave to them, and the children smile excitedly when you acknowledge them. Feyd marvels at your people's continued love and affection for you as he offers his arm to you. The Baron glances over to Feyd as the citizens cheer for you, nearly drooling at the prospect of dominating this society. Feyd looks away from his uncle as you take his arm, his determination rising. He will not permit his uncle’s scheme to go to fruition.

Under Giedi Prime’s black sun, the wedding proceeds as planned by Baron Vladimir.  The entirety of Giedi Prime’s populace gathers to watch the union of Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha and the Lady of House Ronen. You wed each other in front of the crowd for all to see, wearing Harkonnen garb next to the baron and your father. Feyd cannot look away from you.  You are beautiful in every way.  The dress seems to hang delightfully on every curve of your physique. The long sleeves that extend just beyond your wrists conform to the shape of your arms perfectly. The rectangular cutout filled with sheer mesh placed perfectly over your breastbone is something Feyd cannot help but stare at.  The splendor is so befitting of your stature, and all he can think of is him and his Baroness ruling Giedi Prime together one day. 

You and Feyd each receive a necklace of dark stone plates from his uncle, marking your marriage.  Feyd grasps your body firmly as he kisses you, his mind consumed with you and you alone as he cups your waist. You are finally his to have and to hold, and how wonderful that is to him. The crowd chants for Feyd when he raises your intertwined fingers for the crowd to see.  The people exalt him, and the baron smiles from the sidelines as the alliance is sealed. 

During the celebratory banquet, you and Feyd make careful effort to keep you away from the baron, lest he has other plans for you.  The night goes on, the fireworks inky in the air and Harkonnen music playing to the late hours.  As the lights fade and the diplomats go home, you bid your father goodbye, promising you will return to Youra soon. As his ship disappears into the night, Feyd comes to stand next to you. It’s almost time. You’ve been summoned to the baron’s personal chambers. You and Feyd walk in silence to the baron’s room through the empty halls.  Outside the door that separates the two of you and the baron, there are no guards. 

“It’s a trap,” you mouth to Feyd, careful to not make any noise.  He gives you the smallest nod in agreement.  Luring his victims into a false sense of security is something the baron always loved to do.  Once they thought they were safe, the baron would turn their relief into agony and despair, relishing the emotional differential, torturing them until they begged for death after which he would oblige. Luckily, you and Feyd both know better, and you’ve come prepared.

Together, you both press one of your palms on one of the double doors and push them open. The room is inky black inside, only lit by horizontal strips of lighting.  In the center sits the baron in a tub of viscous black sludge. Proceeding slowly, Feyd sees you mark every object in the room, creating a mental log for yourself.  Nobody else is in the room.  It’s just the baron in his tub. 

“Welcome Feyd and Na-Baroness,” the baron says, taking a puff from his pipe as he leans backward in his tub. You both approach him, but are careful to distance yourself from the tub. “I wanted to congratulate you both on your marriage.  Our people seem quite enthralled with you, na-Baroness,” the baron comments before clicking his tongue and taking another huff. “I- We wanted to present you with a gift to welcome you to our House.”

The Baron gestures for Feyd to come closer, and he obeys as the baron extends his arm to gesture at a black box that sits near the edge of his tub. The Baron raps his fingers on the box once as his eyes maliciously dart between it and Feyd. Feyd knows what this box is.  Inside are his poisoned knives.  As Feyd looks at the box, he can hear his uncle’s voice from the night on Youra in his mind: “Kill her!”  

Looking back toward the doorway, two Harkonnen soldiers, armed with the barbs they use to subdue slaves in gladiatorial fights, have silently entered the room with their weapons drawn.  Their stances are wide.  When they step, they shift side to side, using the outside edge of their feet to make their footsteps barely audible. They approach you from behind, but Feyd knows you’ve already sensed them when your eyes narrow and your spine straightens as you moderate your breathing.

“Now!” the baron bellows to the soldiers, who throw their hooks at you, aiming for your shoulders.  With the greatest of ease, you duck downward, allowing the prongs to soar over your head and clatter on the floor at the base of the tub.  You grasp the lines the soldiers are holding in your hands.  Standing back up, you twirl and swing one of your legs up and around the lines attached to the barbs. Using your foot as a hook, you force the lines downward and towards yourself, and the men topple over in their place as the lines are tugged toward you. They yell out in shock.

Feyd sees his uncle’s face contort in horror as he is frozen and at a loss for words. Clearly none of the three were expecting any resistance from you to be successful. You yank the ends of the barbs toward you and wrap your hands around the long rods. Dashing toward the entrance of the room, you make contact with one of them, killing them with a single blow before they have a chance to react.  The other one whimpers in fear, watching his comrade fall before attempting to scramble back to the entrance on his hands and knees.  

“FEYD, DO SOMETHING!” the baron hisses as you strike down the other who only makes it a few feet before your weapon collides with the back of his neck.  The second barbman falls to the ground, motionless. Feyd opens up the case and takes his knives out, holding them steady at his side.  As he approaches you, Feyd’s eyes flicker to the side toward where the baron lays in his vat of ooze, directing you to bring the fight closer to his uncle.  Your gaze intensifies, and you lower your stance, using the sharp edge of each barb to cut the lines away.

“Let’s dance, my dear husband,” you coo at him as you raise your weapons and rush at each other. The shrill sound of metal clashing fills the air.  You both know each other’s moves now.  As one attacks, the other easily parries, neither one of you coming close to inflicting real harm. Feyd feels the tingling of excitement in his soul.  Fighting with you before was exhilarating on Youra, but this is something else. He can finally see your beauty in all its glory.  The way your body contorts like an acrobat as you dodge and counter flawlessly. How your brow furrows when you take on one of his blows with impeccable form is a sight to behold. You are nothing short of a miracle. 

From the tub, the baron bellows, “Kill her, NOW!”  You and Feyd continue, circling around the tub so that you come closer to the baron.  With a signal to Feyd and one swift move, you knock baron’s hand closest to his control panel away, preventing him from calling for help.  The Baron gasps in surprise. You couldn’t have known that’s where the controls are unless you were told. The realization dawns on him too late; he feels the sting of Feyd’s blade on his neck. He looks up at his nephew in horror.  

Feyd drops his other knife and uses his free hand to force his uncle’s mouth open. The Baron chokes and gasps as the nephew he has groomed into a ruthless monster turns on him. The Baron tries to tell Feyd to unhand him as a desperate last effort as he struggles in the tub, but Feyd’s grip on his uncle is unwavering and only gets rougher. Feyd’s mind is ablaze.  This is his revenge for plotting to kill you and for a lifetime of abuse at his hand. 

In the past, Feyd revered his uncle, admired his iron grip on Giedi Prime, and thought that the baron was what he should aspire to be, but Feyd sees the truth now, looking down at his uncle writing in his grasp to no avail.  His uncle is and always has been pathetic.  It takes all the strength Feyd has in himself not to crack his Uncle’s neck right there. Feyd quells his impulsiveness. The plan must proceed as you arranged.

You approach from behind and stick two fingers in the baron’s mouth, stretching his cheek out as far as it will go.  The baron whimpers as he spies something stirring under your sleeves.  It circles down your arms and out from under the black fabric.  It’s a black centipede with thick, glossy armor.  It must be half the length of your arm, and the baron’s eyes quiver as it crawls onto the back of your hand and into his gaping maw. He chokes as the legs scuttle and scratch at his tongue.  The creature forces itself down his esophagus. The baron feels the creature thrash, and he can almost hear the chitin armor clicking against itself from within him as he chokes on it.

“Don’t move,” you tell the baron with a dark smile.  The baron’s fear is thick and palatable in the air.  “She won’t like it if her host moves too much.” You remove your fingers from his mouth and recoil at his saliva. “What shall I have her do first?  Maybe I’ll have her paralyze your vocal chords so you don’t go blabbing to anyone?” Your victim looks at you in desperation, but you tisk at him before letting out a rhythmic series of clicks through your teeth. The Baron feels the head of the creature wriggle inside of him back up into his throat.  The Baron coughs.  Gasping out in pain, he feels a searing pinch. Then the inside of his throat begins to burn. The centipede has clenched its jagged pincers around the inside of his throat. “Isn’t she so well trained, Baron?”

You lean down to the baron and hold his head in your hands so that you’re looking directly into his eyes, which are bloodshot and tearful.  “You pitiful man, you thought you could kill me?” you whisper to him as he tries to call for help, but no comprehensible sound comes out. “Let me tell you a secret: I am more than the damsel in distress you think I am. I fought alongside Feyd that night.  I even killed half of them. You shouldn’t have underestimated me or my people.  We may be caretakers, but once those we love are threatened, we will not rest until we have our revenge.  Now, you shall die a slow, painful, unceremonious death alone in a hot vat of black slime for your arrogance.”

You and Feyd release the baron from your grip. Allowing his body to sink against the edge of the tub.  The baron sputters, as he begins to convulse.  The venom is beginning to take hold.  Soon it will affect his whole nervous system and shut down his body entirely.  You and Feyd leave him there to rot as you deal with the bodies of the barbmen.  In the early morning before anyone is awake, you collect the centipede from the baron in his tub. His body is twitching ever so slightly, but there is no hope for him.  You hide the creature in your dress again, whispering small praises for a job well done and leave the room. 

By midday, the Harkonnen attendants are growing concerned that they have not heard from the baron, a servant opens up the doors to the baron’s chambers, finding him lifeless in his tub with empty eyes staring up at the ceiling with a single tear stain on his cheek.  The top doctors on Giedi Prime are brought in to perform an autopsy. They say he died of natural causes, unable to identify any trace of the centipede's presence.

The news spreads quickly about the baron’s passing, and you and Feyd put on a brave face for House Harkonnen.  The funeral procession is quickly organized. The people of Giedi Prime hang their heads, mourning the sudden loss of their dear leader as you and Feyd precess through the city alongside the coffin to put the baron in his final resting place. Feyd makes a speech, praising his uncle for his leadership, secretly relishing his death.

You put up large flags with the baron’s face on it throughout the land, shrouding the architecture in even more dark fabrics, hang a portrait of him next to the other past Harkonnen leaders in the hallway, and order a monument to be built in his honor. Nobody suspects a thing.

A month after the death of Vladimir Harkonnen, you and Feyd stand in front of the citizens of Giedi Prime in your best clothes again as one of the Harkonnen advisors announce your new titles: Baron and Baroness Harkonnen. The crowd chants for the both of you with zeal, grateful to have leaders again.  

The next morning, Feyd smiles as he opens his eyes and sees you sleeping peacefully, your head resting on his chest as you unconsciously run your fingers over his muscles.  He hopes you’re dreaming of him because you were most certainly the subject of all of his fantasies last night.  He tilts his head down, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head.  He knows his next job is dealing with the Fremen attacks on Arrakis now that he is Baron Harkonnen.  Instead of concerning himself with that, he chooses to close his eyes again and pulls you in closer. That job can wait. For now, all his thoughts are consumed by you as they should be. 

--

Thanks for reading!

Part III OUT NOW!

Taglist:

@austinbutlerslovers

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

[etherealstar-writes]

PAINTBALL | ARSENAL WOMEN X READER

pairings: arsenal women x reader

summary: in which you're involved in a chaotic paintball battle with your friends

warnings: none

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

Beth gasped as you shoved Katie down, taking a hit to the chest. 

"I've got her!" Katie yelled, dragging you to safety and checked your pulse. "She's still alive!" 

"Of course she is," Viv mumbled, taking aim and shooting Leah in the leg as she ran into the open. "This isn't a real battle." 

You sat up, giving Katie a thumbs up. "Just paintball, Katie." 

Beth shrieked as a series of paintballs hit the towers behind her and Viv, both of them ducking down. 

"Give it a shot." Katie nudged you with her gun and you nodded. 

Rolling onto your knees, you poked your head above the small fort and spotted Kyra with two paintball handguns. "What! Where did she get those? Not fair." 

You closed one eye and aimed before pulling the trigger as three paintballs shot out and hit Kyra along her shoulders and arms. "Ha!"

"Get down!" Viv chided you three, getting back to her position. "If you stay up too long, you'll-" 

A pink paintball was splattered behind them with paint flying everywhere and added to the array of colours in Viv’s and Beth's hair. 

"AH!" Viv swore under her breath in Dutch.

"Viv, no! Wait!" Beth tried to grab Viv and pull her down, but she was already standing and shooting randomly at where Kyra, Leah, Caitlin, and Lia were hiding. 

Caitlin jumped up and made it one step forward before paintballs were pelted at her everywhere. And while everyone was distracted targeting poor Caitlin, Kyra rolled out, aiming her gun and shot Viv in the chest. 

"Vivi, nooo!" Beth dramatically wailed out. 

She yanked Viv down, half cradling, half strangling her while Viv tried to break free. "Oi! Let me go! I'm fine! I'm not dead!" 

Beth wiped away a fake tear. "In the world of paintball, you are." 

As Viv rolled her eyes at Beth's melodramatic display, the three of you huddled together, plotting your next move. The battlefield was filled with laughter and shouts as paintball pellets whizzed through the air. 

You wiped a streak of paint off your cheek and exchanged determined glances with Katie and Beth.

"We need a strategy," you said, your voice low. "We can't let them take us down one by one."

Katie nodded, her eyes scanning the field. "Let's focus on Lia and Caitlin first. They seem to work well together, and if we eliminate one of them, the other will be easier to handle."

Beth sniffled theatrically, still cradling Viv. "Vivi, my love, we shall avenge you! We will paint the field with the colours of victory! Your sacrifice will not be in vain."

Viv couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Just make sure you actually hit them, unlike the sorry attempt you made to save me."

The three of you broke into laughter, and once the giggles subsided, you set your plan into motion. Sneaking through the field, you took cover behind barricades and crates, moving stealthily towards Lia and Caitlin's position.

As you approached, you signalled to Katie and Beth to be ready. With a coordinated attack, you emerged from cover, firing a series of paintballs at Lia and Caitlin. The two opponents fought valiantly, but your combined assault overwhelmed them. 

Lia was the first to go down, her colourful attire now adorned with splatters of paint. Caitlin, still defiant, tried to retaliate, but Beth, channelling her inner warrior, charged forward and unleashed a flurry of paintball fury. Caitlin's resistance crumbled, and she joined Lia in paint-covered defeat.

"Two down!" Katie exclaimed, exchanging triumphant high-fives with you and Beth. "Now, Leah is next."

You regrouped, strategising your approach to take down Leah, who was proving to be a formidable opponent. 

“You can’t get me, losers!” Leah yelled out as she sprinted away from you.

“Don’t be so sure about that!” With a combination of flanking manoeuvres and coordinated attacks, you managed to corner Leah. And with a well-aimed shot, she had no choice but to surrender to the colourful onslaught.

“Hah! Take that, Williamson!” You jumped in joy while Leah playfully glared at you as she was dramatically sprawled out on the floor. “Who’s the loser now?”

Your little victory was cut short when dramatic gasps were heard from Beth and Katie. While you’d been busy with Leah, Kyra had taken the chance to sneak up behind those two and had surprised them with a rapid blast of paintballs.

“Gotcha!” Kyra exclaimed, grinning at her successful ambush as those two went down. “It’s only me and you now, Y/n!”

The battlefield was now eerily quiet, with only the distant sounds of laughter and shouts from other ongoing matches. You and Kyra were the last ones standing, facing off against each other. 

"Ready to surrender, Kyra?" You called out, crouching behind a makeshift barricade.

Kyra's laughter echoed across the field. "Not a chance, Y/n! I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

The two of you engaged in a lively exchange of paintball shots, dodging and weaving through the obstacles. Paint splatters filled the air as the vibrant colours painted the battlefield. The tension between you and Kyra was palpable, but there was also a shared sense of enjoyment in the competition.

As the battle raged on, you managed to catch Kyra off guard with a well-timed shot. A burst of laughter erupted from your lips as the paintballs landed on her, covering her shoulders and arms.

"I gotcha, Kyra!" You exclaimed, revelling in the sweet taste of victory.

Kyra dramatically staggered, clutching her chest in mock defeat. "Noooo!"

Theatrically, she collapsed to the ground while your teammates rushed to join you, cheering and celebrating the hard-fought victory. Beth and Katie, still covered in paint, embraced you, and Viv playfully patted you on the back.

"You did it, Y/n!" Beth laughed. "You've avenged us all!"

You then approached Kyra with a playful grin, offering her a hand. "You put up a great fight."

Kyra took your hand, pulling herself up with a grin. "You too, Y/n. You got me this time, but I won’t let you win next time."

The two of you chuckled and joined your friends, huddling together for a group photo that you no doubt would cherish deeply.

[aronarchy]

A copy of the first reading list, if you dislike clicking on Google docs links:

The liberal news media is working overtime to silence Palestinian voices. As we sit thousands of miles away, witnessing the massacre through social media, the least we can do is educate ourselves and work to educate others. Apartheid threatens all of us, and just to reiterate, anti-Zionism ≠ antisemitism.

Academic Works, Poetry and Memoirs

The Revolution of 1936-1939 in Palestine: Background, Details, and Analysis, Ghassan Kanafani (1972)

Palestinians: From Peasants to Revolutionaries, Rosemary Sayegh (1979)

Popular Resistance in Palestine: A History of Hope and Empowerment, Mazin Qumsiyeh (2011)

My Life in the PLO: The Inside Story of the Palestinian Struggle, Shafiq al-Hout and Jean Said Makdisi (2019)

My People Shall Live, Leila Khaled (1971)

Poetry of Resistance in Occupied Palestine, translated by Sulafa Hijjawi (Baghdad, Ministry of Culture and Guidance, 1968)

On Palestine by Ilan Pappé and Noam Chomsky (2015)

Gaza in Crisis: Reflections on the US-Israeli War Against the Palestinians, Noam Chomsky and Ilan Pappé (2013)

The Politics of Dispossession: The Struggle for Palestinian Self-Determination, 1969-1994, Edward W. Said (2012)

Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique, Sa’ed Atshan (2020)

Stone Men: The Palestinians Who Built Israel, Andrew Ross (2019)

Ten Myths About Israel, Ilan Pappé (2017)

Blaming the Victims: Spurious Scholarship and the Palestinian Question, Christopher Eric Hitchens and Edward W. Said (2001)

Palestinian Walks: Notes on a Vanishing Landscape, Raja Shehadeh (2010)

The Gun and the Olive Branch: The Roots of Violence in the Middle East, David Hirst (1977)

Gaza: An Inquest into Its Martyrdom, Norman Finkelstein (2018)

Fateful Triangle: The United States, Israel and the Palestinians, Noam Chomsky (1983)

Israel and Palestine: Reappraisals, Revisions, Refutations, Avi Shlaim (2010)

Politicide: Ariel Sharon’s War Against the Palestinians, Baruch Kimmerling (2006)

The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of Jewish Suffering, Norman G. Finkelstein (2015)

Light in Gaza: Writings Born of Fire, Jehad Abusalim (2022)

Nakba: Palestine, 1948, and the Claims of Memory, Ahmad H. Sa’di and Lila Abu-Lughod (2007)

Peace and its discontents: Essays on Palestine in the Middle East peace process, Edward W. Said (2012)

Three Poems by Yahya Hassan

Articles, Papers & Essays

“Palestinian history doesn’t start with the Nakba” by PYM (May, 2023) 

“What the Uprising Means,” Salim Tamari (1988)

“The Palestinians’ inalienable right to resist,” Louis Allday (2021)

“Liberating a Palestinian Novel from Israeli Prison,” Danya Al-Saleh and Samar Al-Saleh (2023) 

Women, War, and Peace: Reflections from the Intifada, Nahla Abdo (2002)

“A Place Without a Door” and “Uncle Give me a Cigarette”—Two Essays by Palestinian Political Prisoner, Walid Daqqah (2023)

“Live Like a Porcupine, Fight Like a Flea,” A Translation of an Article by Basel Al-Araj

Films & Video Essays

Fedayin: Georges Abdallah’s Fight (2021)

Naila and the Uprising (2017)

Off Frame AKA Revolution Until Victory (2015)

Tell Your Tale Little Bird (1993)

The Time That Remains (2009)

“The Present” (short film) (2020)

“How Palestinians were expelled from their homes”

Louis Theroux: The Ultra Zionists (2011)

Born in Gaza (2014)

5 Broken Cameras (2011)

Little Palestine: Diary of a Siege (2021)

Al-Nakba: The Palestinian catastrophe - Episode 1 | Featured Documentary

Organisations to donate to

Palestine Red Crescent Society - https://www.palestinercs.org/en

Anera - https://support.anera.org/a/palestine-emergency

Palestinian American Medical Association - https://palestinian-ama.networkforgood.com/projects/206145-gaza-medical-supplies-oct-2023

You First Gaza - https://donate.gazayoufirst.org/

MAP - Medical Aid for Palestinians - https://www.map.org.uk/donate/donate

United Nations Relief and Works Agency - https://donate.unrwa.org/-landing-page/en_EN

Palestine Children’s Relief Fund - https://www.pcrf.net/   

Doctors Without Borders - https://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/what-we-do/where-we-work/palestine

AP Fact Check

https://apnews.com/article/israel-hamas-gaza-misinformation-fact-check-e58f9ab8696309305c3ea2bfb269258e

This list is not exhaustive in any way, and is a summary of various sources on the Internet. Please engage with more ethical, unbiased sources, including Decolonize Palestine and this list compiled by the Palestinian Youth Movement.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The concept of Lilia raising fem Silver is so cute and endearing. Imagine Lilia and fem Silver having a tea party together surrounded by silver's animal friends while Lilia is dressed up in a pink tutu dress and ROCKING it.

Raising a human child is a lot more different than raising a fae child, but get this; Lilia would have to learn that at a certain age, fem humans get their periods (Assuming fem fae don't have periods?!). Either way, he would panic or be chill about it. He would also have to explain what menstruation is, lol.

Period cramps can be so bad. Luckily for Silver, Lilia knows how to wash blood stains with COLD water (considering he saw a lot of blood in war). He would bring her snacks and comfort her best to his abilities, and he would make sure to keep menstrual products in the house or carry some with him for emergencies. I know, I'm just rambling at this point, but idk it's really cute to think how Lilia would raise fem Silver.

So, while i agree with you that Lilia would raise normally just like how he raised Silver in Canon, i do think there are quite a few differences, especially when it comes to such things such as Periods, buying bras and so on.

[Other Lilia raising fem!Silver posts here and here!]

In my original post, I was speaking only from a socialization angle since a lot of what we see as "gender norms" are the result of how we were raised and taught. On that front, I don't really see Lilia changing one way or another. Of course there would also be biological differences that Lilia would have to become accustomed to, and those he would have to tackle differently.

I imagine he would mainly ask the Zigvolts for assistance in this regard, since they already help with watching Silver while he's busy with other matters in canon. Even if we assume that female fae do not menstruate, Mr. Zigvolt is a medical professional who would have some understanding of menstruation (due to taking A&P classes), even if his specialty is teeth. He could at least refer Lilia to the proper resources or a medical professional with more relevant knowledge. If we assume that female fae do menstruate, then Mrs. Zigvolt could be comforting and understanding of Silver's situation. Maybe even Sebek's older sister could pitch in as well!

Either the Zigvolts could explain menstruation to fem!Silver or Lilia could? Knowing how… tactless… Lilia was when dealing with Silver learning he was adopted though, it might be a mixed bag. Lilia might go for a silly explanation, an actually wise one, or he might pull out all the stops and try to reenact the story of an egg cell being expelled from the body via hand puppets. When fem!Silver isn't feeling well, Lilia can sit by her bedside and sing (screamo) lullabies or recount tales of his travels until she's soothed off to sleep.

Imagine Lilia having to take Malleus aside to explain how menstruation works to him too (when Malleus shows confusion at fem!Silver kneeling over mid-training). Maybe Sebek would already know about it because he has a decent sized family and he expresses his concern in the typical Sebek way. "Hmph! If you find yourself faint, it shall be an easy victory for me—but there is no glory in that. Sit this one out, and once you’ve collected yourself then you shall be a worthy opponent!”

... But it would be sort of funny if Lilia asks the QUEEN of Briar Valley for help on this 🤡 "Your majesty!! My little human child is gushing out blood from down there, does she have a wound? Will she bleed out? Should I be concerned") I also find it really ironic that Lilia, an infamous retired general, probably already has knowledge of how to wash blood out of fabrics due to his experience in war. Now he can repurpose that skill to help out his daughter 😂 Just don’t trust Lilia to make snacks for fem!Silver cramping up, he’ll only make the cramps worse with his cooking…

Anyway, I enjoy the idea of Lilia being a father that supports both Silver's (traditionally) feminine and (traditionally) masculine interests and is secure enough in his own identity to engage with them. He'd have so much fun dressing up with Silver and having those tea parties with the animals out in their yard.

[panakinthedisco]

PART 1 | HEAVEN ━━ Marcus Acacius

summary: acacius' mother forged a blood pact with the goddess of love, vowing to safeguard and elevate her son, while dedicating her life as a delphi in return. through all general acacius' triumphs, you as the daughter of venus deftly orchestrated his victory as promised but then gradually nurturing a forbidden attachment.

author's note: don't get me started how i almost died with the trailer and the photos of papi pedroooooo so i had to do this (also i can use my greek mythology knowledge for some good use) so yup reader is an immortal goddess and possibly daughter of venus, idfc anymore because i'm making my own lore! they're going to be arwen and aragorn-esque ending coz i eat those kind of tropes lmfao

warnings: eventual smut to later chapters. mentions of misogyny, violence and also implications of sexual abuse.

word count: 4.4k

In the heart of a desolate village, a young woman stood at the fringes of society, shunned and abandoned for bearing the child of a powerful general. Clutching her infant son tightly to her chest, she wandered aimlessly, her heart heavy with despair and fear. The whispers of the villagers echoed in her mind, a cacophony of judgment and scorn. Tears streamed down her face as she made her way to the grand temple of Venus, the goddess of love, her last beacon of hope.

The temple, with its towering marble columns and intricate carvings, loomed before her like a sanctuary in the midst of her turmoil. The air grew thick with an impending storm as she fell to her knees at the entrance, her cries piercing the silence of the sacred place. "Great Venus, goddess of love and mercy," she sobbed, her voice trembling, "I beg of you, protect my son and guide us, for we have nowhere else to go. I fear for his life, for he is innocent."

As her desperate pleas echoed within the hallowed halls, the wind suddenly picked up, swirling around her with a fierce intensity. The sky darkened, and the deafening roar of thunder cracked through the air. In the midst of this tempest, a radiant light descended upon the temple. From the ethereal glow emerged a figure of unparalleled beauty, clothed in pure white robes that flowed like water.

Venus, the goddess of love, knelt before the fallen woman. Her presence was divine, her skin like alabaster, flawless and luminous. Her eyes, a captivating shade of deep blue, held the wisdom of the ages and the compassion of a thousand hearts. Golden hair cascaded down her back in waves, shimmering as if woven from sunlight. A gentle smile graced her lips, exuding warmth and serenity.

"Rise, my child," Venus spoke, her voice a melodious symphony that filled the air with hope. "Do not despair, for I have heard your cries and felt your anguish. I can offer you and your son protection, but it comes with a price. You must dedicate your life to me, serve as my devotee, and in return, I shall ensure your son’s safety and guide you both to a brighter future."

The young woman, overwhelmed by the goddess's presence and her words, gazed into the loving eyes of Venus. With unwavering determination and gratitude, she nodded. "I will do as you ask, great goddess. My life is yours to command, if it means my son will be safe."

Venus gently lifted the woman to her feet, her touch tender and reassuring. "Then it shall be so. From this moment forth, you are under my protection. Fear not, for love shall guide your path, and together, we shall overcome all obstacles." 

With that, the storm subsided, leaving behind a serene sky. The young woman, now filled with renewed hope and purpose, cradled her son as they both embraced the divine path laid before them by the goddess of love.

Years had gone by, the once forsaken young woman found solace and purpose as a devoted Delphi. She served with unwavering faith, her every breath a testament to the sacred bond she had formed with the goddess of love. Her son, Acacius, grew under the protective aegis of the temple, receiving the finest education and training from the wise sorceresses who resided there. His days were filled with rigorous training and study, molding him into a formidable warrior.

One golden afternoon, the courtyard of the temple buzzed with activity. Acacius, now a young man of remarkable prowess, moved with grace and strength as he sparred with his fellow trainees. His body, chiseled and powerful, gleamed with sweat under the sun. Every muscle in his arms and chest rippled with the precision and control honed through years of discipline. His jawline was sharp, his dark hair tousled, and his piercing eyes focused, exuding an aura of confidence and determination.

From a distance, Venus, resplendent in her divine beauty, emerged from the temple accompanied by you, her daughter. Venus’ robes flowed like liquid moonlight, and her presence illuminated the courtyard. While you, whose divine essence shimmered with an ethereal glow, stood by your mother’s side, your eyes subtly observing Acacius as he trained vigorously.

"Look at him, my daughter," Venus spoke, her voice a soothing melody. "Acacius’ mother devoted her life to serving as a Delphi, and it is now your duty to watch over him. He has grown into a man of great potential."

You were hesitant and prideful, replied, "Mother, surely I am capable of far more important tasks than merely watching over a mortal."

Venus laughed, "Ah, my dear, I see great things in Acacius. I made an unbreakable oath to his mother to protect him and guide him to victory. This task is of utmost importance, and you, my daughter, are perfectly suited for it."

Reluctantly, you agreed, though you felt the weight of the responsibility. As Venus gracefully returned to the temple, your gaze lingered on Acacius. You had watched him grow from a vulnerable child into the powerful warrior he had become. His masculine form, sculpted by relentless training, was a testament to his dedication and strength. His broad shoulders, strong arms, and defined torso were a sight to behold, each movement exuding a raw, magnetic energy.

As the daughter of Venus, you had spent millennia observing the ways of mortals. From the heights of the celestial realm to the depths of human existence, you had witnessed the endless cycles of birth, love, ambition, and vanity that defined their ephemeral lives. Mortal men, in particular, seemed ensnared by their own reflections, driven by a relentless pursuit of power, beauty, and validation. Their obsessions with vanity, you mused, were like chains binding them to an endless quest for an ever-elusive perfection.

In the sanctity of your divine solitude, you pondered these thoughts, your mind weaving through the countless interactions you had with mortals over the ages. Vanity, you concluded, was a double-edged sword. It spurred men to greatness but also led them to their downfall. How often have you seen warriors, poets, and kings, their hearts consumed by the desire for eternal youth, adoration, and glory? They built monuments to themselves, adorned their bodies in opulent garb, and sought the fleeting approval of their peers, all the while neglecting the deeper virtues of humility, wisdom, and compassion.

Living among mortals, you had grown accustomed to their ways, understanding the fragile nature of their existence. Yet, with each passing century, you have grown more disillusioned by their unchanging flaws. Despite the wisdom imparted by time and the guidance of the gods, mortals remained predictably obsessed with their own image.

When your mother, Venus, entrusted you with the responsibility of watching over Acacius, you could not help but feel a familiar pang of skepticism. Was he not just another man, destined to be ensnared by the same vanities as those before him? Despite his formidable strength and the disciplined mind he had cultivated, you feared that beneath his heroic exterior lay the same vulnerabilities that had claimed countless others.

As you observed Acacius from the shadows, your thoughts grew heavier. You remembered how, as a boy, he had shown signs of the same traits that plagued mortal men: the pride in his burgeoning strength, the flicker of arrogance in his victories, and the longing in his eyes for recognition and admiration. He seemed no different from the countless men who had walked the earth, striving for greatness yet ultimately ensnared by their own hubris.

Your divine heart, though swayed by eons of witnessing human folly, felt a curious twinge as she watched him. There was something about Acacius, a glimmer of potential, that both made you intrigued and worried. Could he break the cycle? Or would he, too, succumb to the inevitable downfall of vanity?

As you silently vowed to fulfill her mother’s promise, you found yourself grappling with an unexpected sense of protectiveness. Despite your reservations, there was an undeniable bond formed by watching him grow, a reluctant admiration for his resilience and strength. You feared for him, not because you doubted his abilities, but because she understood the weight of his mortality.

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to the task. "Acacius may be like other men," you thought, "but perhaps there lies within him a spark of something more." You would watch over him, guide him, and protect him from the shadows, ever vigilant and ever hopeful that he might transcend the very vanities that ensnared his kind. As the daughter of Venus, you knew that love and duty were bound by unbreakable threads, and you would honor them both, even if it meant confronting your own doubts and fears.

As you observed him and embedded in your own thoughts, Acacius suddenly paused and turned his head, his sharp eyes meeting yours across the courtyard. Startled, you quickly retreated into the shadows, your divine essence blending with the darkened corners of the temple. 

Hidden from view, your heart pounded. You realized the gravity of your new role, feeling a mixture of trepidation and an unspoken bond with the man she would protect and guide. As Acacius resumed his training, unaware of the divine eyes watching over him, you knew this won’t be an easy responsibility. 

As the daughter of Venus, you have watched over Acacius from the shadows, your divine presence hidden but your influence ever-present. From the moment he drew his sword, you felt the weight of your mother's promise pressing upon your shoulders, a vow to guide and protect him, to steer him towards greatness. Acacius was more than a mortal; he was the culmination of a divine pact, and your duty to him was as sacred as the bond forged between his mother and Venus.

In his youth, you whispered wisdom into the ears of his mentors, guiding their hands as they trained him in the arts of war and leadership. You ensured that the best teachers found their way to him, that he learned not only the strategies of battle but also the virtues of honor, compassion, and justice. Through subtle interventions, you shaped his character, molding him into a man worthy of the destiny laid before him.

As he grew, so did the challenges he faced. You were there in the thick of his battles, unseen but ever vigilant. During his early skirmishes, you would nudge his instincts, sharpening his reflexes and lending him the strength he needed to overcome his foes. When he faltered, you were the whisper of encouragement that steeled his resolve, the invisible hand that steadied his sword.

In the grand halls of strategy and politics, you guided his thoughts, helping him navigate the treacherous waters of Roman ambition. You planted seeds of wisdom in his mind, urging him to form alliances that would strengthen his position, to make decisions that would earn him the respect of his peers and the loyalty of his men. You were the unseen force that smoothed the path before him, ensuring that every step he took led him closer to his destiny.

When he was appointed as a general under Maximus Decimus Meridius, you knew that your efforts were bearing fruit. Acacius had become a formidable leader, his name spoken with reverence and fear across the empire. Yet, his journey was far from over. Under the rule of Emperor Geta and his co-Augusti, Caracalla, Acacius faced new trials. The invasion of Caledonia was a test of his mettle, a crucible that would forge his legacy.

As the Romans prepared for their campaign, you took on the guise of a tradesman’s daughter in Caledonia, positioning yourself to be near him, to watch over him more closely. The battles were fierce, and the land was unforgiving. You ensured that crucial information reached him at the right moments, that his strategies were sound and his decisions unerring. You softened the hearts of those who might have betrayed him, turned the tides of fortune in his favor.

Through the years, you have been his silent guardian, his invisible ally. You have seen him rise from a young warrior to a revered general, each victory a testament to the bond you honored. Even now, as you  stand among the captured townspeople, disguised and hidden, your purpose remains unchanged. You are here to protect him, to guide him, and to ensure that he fulfills the destiny that was promised.

In the moments when doubt clouded his heart, you were the light that pierced the darkness. When he faced insurmountable odds, you were the strength that carried him through. You have watched over him with a mixture of pride and affection, your heart swelling with each triumph and breaking with each loss. Acacius is more than just a mortal; he is a living embodiment of the divine promise you are bound to uphold.

Amidst the chaos of the Roman invasion of Caledonia, the air was thick with smoke and the cries of the conquered. The formidable General Acacius, now a seasoned leader under Emperor Geta and his co-Augusti, Caracalla, surveyed the battlefield with a steely gaze. His once youthful visage was now marked by the scars of countless battles, his presence commanding and unwavering.

In the midst of the turmoil, you risked disguising as a daughter of a tradesman, moved with quiet resolve. Clad in the coarse, earth-toned garb of a peasant, she blended seamlessly with the captured townspeople. Yet, even in your humble attire, your divine essence could not be wholly concealed. Your skin, a flawless alabaster, stood out against the grime and soot of the war-torn village. Your eyes, a striking shade of hazel, gleamed with an unearthly light, and your movements, though tempered to appear modest, held an innate grace that betrayed your true nature.

The Roman soldiers, drunk on victory, rounded up the women of Caledonia, separating them from their families with ruthless efficiency. Among the throng, the disguised goddess maintained a facade of fear and helplessness, your heart pounding as she witnessed the suffering of the innocent. The brutality of the soldiers, their coarse laughter, and lecherous gazes made you shudder inwardly, but you knew you must maintain your cover.

General Acacius, his mind burdened with the responsibilities of command, scanned the scene with a practiced eye. His soldiers were securing the captives, ensuring the spoils of war were collected. His gaze fell upon the group of captured women, and for a moment, he saw them as mere pawns in the grand scheme of conquest. But then, his eyes landed on you.

Despite your plain clothing, something about you stood out. Your skin, untouched by the harshness of the elements, was too smooth, too luminous for a common peasant. Your hair, though partially hidden beneath a simple headscarf, shone with a subtle, otherworldly luster. You moved with a quiet dignity, your posture erect even in the face of despair. Acacius's sharp eyes missed nothing, maybe a nobility pretending to be a peasant so they can escape from the invasion. He finds it as a clever tactic. 

As one of his soldiers, emboldened by the chaos, approached her with lecherous intent, Acacius felt a surge of anger. The soldier, a brutish figure, reached out to grasp your arm, his intentions clear. Before he could lay a hand on you, Acacius's voice rang out, authoritative and cold.

"Stand down," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The soldier froze, his hand hovering in the air. "Do not touch her."

The soldier, taken aback, stammered a protest, "But, General, she's just a—"

"Bring her to me," Acacius cut him off, his gaze fixed on the disguised goddess. "Now."

The soldier, reluctant but obedient, withdrew his hand and roughly pushed you forward. You stumbled slightly but quickly regained your balance, your eyes meeting Acacius with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. As you were brought before him, he could see the subtle details that marked you as different: the refinement in your features, the intelligence in your eyes, the air of quiet strength exuded within you.

"Who are you?" Acacius asked, his voice softer but still commanding. "You do not belong here, do you?"

You hesitated, you mind racing to craft a plausible response. "I am the daughter of a tradesman," you said, your voice steady despite the fear you felt. "Captured like the others. Please, I mean no harm."

Acacius studied you for a long moment, his instincts telling him there was more to your story. "Take her to my tent," Acacius declared, his voice carrying an edge of finality. "She will be my personal cupbearer."

The soldiers, recognizing the unwavering tone of their general, nodded in agreement. They stepped back, leaving you untouched. Acacius's gaze softened slightly as he looked at you, a mixture of curiosity and protectiveness in his eyes.

"Find her something clean to wear," he instructed, his tone gentle yet firm.

Two soldiers led you through the encampment, their grip on your arms firm but not harsh. They guided you to the lavish tent of General Acacius, a striking contrast to the roughness of the battlefield outside. The tent was grand, its exterior adorned with rich fabrics and ornate decorations. Inside, it was a sanctuary of luxury and comfort amidst the chaos of war.

The interior of the tent was spacious, with plush carpets covering the ground and opulent cushions scattered around. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of Roman victories and mythological grandeur. A large, intricately carved wooden table stood at the center, laden with an array of sumptuous food and fine wine. The scent of incense filled the air, mingling with the aroma of roasted meats and freshly baked bread.

As you stood in the middle of the tent, feeling the weight of her disguise, General Acacius entered. His armor gleamed in the soft light of the tent, and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. He moved with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, yet there was a gentleness in his approach.

"Sit with me," he said, gesturing to the cushions by the table.

You hesitated but complied, lowering yourself onto the soft cushions. Acacius sat across from you, his gaze never leaving yours like a lion observing his prey. He offered you a plate of food, the array of delicacies a testament to the wealth and power he commanded.

"Please, eat," he urged, but you shook your head, declining politely.

"I’m not hungry, my Lord," you explained, your voice steady.

Acacius leaned back, studying you intently. "What kind of business does your father have?"

You took a breath, weaving the story you had prepared. "My father is a tradesman, specializing in silk. We travel far and wide, even to the distant lands of China, to procure the finest silk. He sells it to the emperor and to those of noble birth."

Acacius nodded, intrigued. "A tradesman of silk, you say? But then, you do not seem like a mere peasant."

You lowered your eyes, the weight of your divine secret heavy upon you. "We have faced many hardships, but my father has always ensured that we present ourselves with dignity."

Acacius leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me," he said, his voice low and measured, "does your family live in Caledonia?"

Your heart is pounding. "Yes," you replied, your voice steady. "We come from an impoverished background. My father sought to make a better life for us through his trade."

Acacius studied you closely, his eyes dark and intense. As he reached for a cluster of grapes, he popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. The act, so casual and yet so intimate, made your pulse quicken. His scrutiny was unrelenting, and you felt as though he could see through the layers of your disguise.

"You should know," he began, his tone carrying a note of warning, "that the nobility of Caledonia will be captured. There is no escape for them."

You remained silent, her expression carefully neutral. You knew he was testing you, probing for any signs of deceit. His words, though intended to intimidate, also carried a hint of concern.

"My soldiers are ruthless," he continued, his voice growing colder. "They would take advantage of you if given the chance."

You nodded silently, acknowledging the gravity of his warning. Your heart ached at the thought of the suffering around you, but you knew she had to maintain your composure.

As Acacius spoke, the flap of the tent was pushed aside, and a soldier entered, carrying a bundle of fresh clothes. They were simple but clean, likely taken from a Caledonian household. The soldier handed the bundle to Acacius, who thanked him with a curt nod.

"Here," Acacius said, extending the clothes to you. "Put these on."

You rose from your seat and took the bundle obediently, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. The contact sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the thin line she walked between mortal and divinity. 

"You may change behind the screen," he said, gesturing to a beautifully carved wooden partition that provided a modicum of privacy within the tent.

You nodded and moved behind the screen, the fabric rustling softly as you slipped out of your peasant clothes. The new garments were a marked improvement, though still modest. As you dressed, you could feel Acacius's presence just beyond the screen, his protective aura enveloping you like a shield.

When you emerged, you found him watching you intently, his eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something you could not quite name. The new clothes fit you well, accentuating your grace and poise even in their simplicity.

"Better," he murmured, his voice softening. "You look more like the person you claim to be."

You offered a faint smile, lowering her gaze. "Thank you."

Days passed, and you, now working as a cupbearer in General Acacius's camp, endeavored to maintain your humble facade. Despite your best efforts to appear as an ordinary servant, your innate grace and poise occasionally betrayed your true nature. Acacius, ever observant, began to notice the subtle refinement in your movements, the way you carried yourself with a dignity that spoke of nobility.

Your body language, though deliberately subdued, hinted at a life of privilege and education. You moved with an elegance that seemed out of place in the rough-and-tumble environment of a military camp. The way you poured water into cups, the delicate curve of your fingers as you handled the pitchers, all bespoke a background far removed from the impoverished tale you had spun.

One afternoon, a group of generals gathered in Acacius's lavish tent for a luncheon. As you silently poured water into their cups, you could feel the weight of their gazes upon you. The generals, their voices booming with laughter and boasts, paid little heed to the solemnity of their surroundings. One of them, a burly man with a coarse beard, eyed you with a lecherous grin.

"Acacius," he called out, his voice thick with drink, "is your cupbearer good in bed?"

The tent erupted in raucous laughter, the crude jest echoing off the walls. Acacius, seated at the head of the table, narrowed his eyes. His gaze hardened, and he fixed the offending general with a stern look.

"Such things are not to be discussed," he said, his tone carrying a quiet authority that silenced the laughter.

The general, still chuckling, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Ah, Acacius, always so reserved. You'd do well to indulge a bit more."

The disguised goddess watched the exchange with keen interest, your heart pounding. You knew Acacius's character well, having observed him for years. You despised these gatherings, these displays of vanity and ego. He found no pleasure in the idle boasts of his peers, preferring the company of his own thoughts and strategies.

As you continued your duties, pouring water and refilling cups, you could sense Acacius's discomfort. He was a man of action, a warrior with a clear sense of purpose. These luncheons, with their empty chatter and frivolous banter, were a stark contrast to the disciplined life he led. You admired his restraint, his ability to maintain his composure in the face of such provocation.

The generals continued their revelry, their conversations shifting from one boast to another. They spoke of past victories, of conquests and spoils, their voices a cacophony of pride and self-importance. Acacius, though present in body, seemed distant, his mind likely focused on the next battle, the next challenge.

As you moved around the table, you caught his eye for a brief moment. In that instant, you saw a flicker of something deeper, a connection that transcended. You knew that he valued substance over show, strategy over vanity. His reluctance to engage in their crude jests and hollow boasts only endeared him to you more.

The luncheon dragged on, the generals growing more boisterous with each passing moment. Acacius, ever the disciplined leader, maintained his stoic demeanor, responding to their jibes with measured patience. You could see the tension in his posture, the tightness in his jaw, and felt a pang of empathy.

As the daughter of Venus, you had always found mortal men to be easily swayed by vanity and ambition. They are like clay, molded by the hands of society and their peers, their true selves often buried beneath layers of ego and pride. But Acacius is different. Despite the pressures and temptations that come with his rank, he remains steadfast and true to his values. You're secretly proud of him, of the strength he shows in resisting the crudeness and arrogance that so often define his comrades.

That evening, after the generals had left and the camp had settled into a quiet lull, you found Acacius outside his tent, gazing up at the night sky. The stars twinkled above, their light casting a gentle glow on his strong, chiseled features. There was a tranquility in the air, a moment of peace amidst the chaos of war.

You approached him silently, your heart swelling with admiration for the man he had become. "Thank you for everything, My Lord," you said softly, breaking the silence.

He turned to look at you, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "You don’t need to thank me," he replied, his voice steady.

You nodded, understanding the brusqueness of his words. "Even so, I am forever grateful."

As you turned to return to the tent, you could feel his gaze lingering on you. There was a mystery in his eyes, a curiosity that you knew he could not easily dispel. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you—this woman who appeared from nowhere, cloaked in the guise of a humble servant yet betraying hints of refinement and grace.

CONTINUE READING: PART 2 | PART 3 ━━ AVAILABLE ON AO3

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @ALDERAANDORS ☆

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

What if... yan prince, with knight apprentice reader? Reader's father was the army cheif and she's the daughter who is ambitious, wanting to become just like her father in future.

Where does the prince comes in the story. They are playdates. But instead of playing house they play with swords, bows and arrows. As they grow up, the reader is assigned as his personal guard, but after a near death experience for reader while saving the prince, he realizes that how much more precious his knight is to him. Like a rare treasure. One he wishes to keep himself only.

Ps: the prince was originally very mischievous and childish, dragging reader everywhere with him and getting into trouble as well.

-🌼

Yandere! Male! Emperor x knight! fem! Reader

Finally! This yandere ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

If you've read Eros' story, you would know that there is an Imperial family, and that there is a crown prince which is Yuno, but if you've read Aeron's, there's a new bloodthirsty emperor in town. And, in an ask, I confirmed it's not Yuno. So who is it?

Also, thanks for the other asks, 🌼anon! Even those which are not requests. I've read them all and appreciate them ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

BY THE WAY, HAPPY NEW YEARS! This my gift uwu

Well, let's see, shall we?

Yandere! Emperor name: Callisto (yes, name is from Villains are Destined to Die manhwa (´▽`)❀.)

TW: Misogynism, literal pet names (dog)

Callisto.

Quite the arrogant kid. A brat, someone who thinks highly of himself because he's a prince, and a smug piece of--

Anyways...

Born as the Emperor's fifth child and the third son, he's always faded into the background. That's why he acts up in order to get into his father's radar.

His mother, a travelling dancer, got pregnant by the Emperor when they met at the fare. She immediately rose to become a concubine, and due to her ethereal beauty, Callisto inherited her looks.

And despite not being the crown prince, Callisto is favoured by the Emperor due to his mother being the apple of the Emperor's eye.

So other than being an arrogant mama's boy, what are his redeeming qualities?

Well...

He's smart, and actually politically intelligent. Even though he's still quite young, he grasped the way a monarchy run and how the state is affected by the aristocrats and the Imperial family's decision. He sometimes pipe up to say opinions and queries that even adult nobles cannot comprehend.

Why is this guy not the crown prince yet?

Callisto, having a rivalry with the current crown prince, Yuno, always bullied the boy.

Due to the current Empress being out of favor due to the Emperor's new concubine, Callisto, despite being younger than Yuno for two years, eagerly pushed down Yuno down. Somewhere he apparently belongs.

Everyday, whenever they meet at the academy, Callisto always finds a way to humiliate the boy. Tripping him, ripping his uniform, dumping dirt or bugs, anything.

This created a weird superiority + inferiority complex inside Yuno as he runs to his fiance.

Well, Callisto doesn't care.

His mother asked the Emperor to not give Callisto a fiance yet, saying that he "needs to find true love like how they met each other". When in reality, His mother is cunning, and wants to find a fiance for him personally. Someone easy to rope into their side and not be a perpetual spy for the other princes, princesses, and concubines. Especially the Empress'.

And so, even though Callisto doesn't have a fiance, he does a companion.

From the rigorous trickling of numerous proposals into one, you emerged victorious.

Someone who serves the Imperial Family, but is known to be quite the strong opposition to the Emperor who keeps him checked, the Captain of the Imperial Knights. He's married, and had a family with you as the daughter.

Strong, upright, and righteous, you inherited your father's sense of duty yet the strong sense of camaraderie and service to the people. Same as Callisto, despite being young, you had quite the righteous view of the world. Someone so helpful yet to nihilistic towards the Imperial Family even in a not so direct way.

The first time you two met was unfavorable.

He immediately tossed a sword to your way and without a moment of hesitation, tried to stab you. You parried quite well, making Callisto smirk in arrogance as he hopped back.

He found you interesting. A girl, wanting to be a knight? Preposterous!

Yet, admirable.

He liked seeing you scramble to keep up with lessons.

Sure, you're talented, but that made people hate you more due to your gender.

So, why not help, right?

Callisto would always watch you practice. His eyes never leaving you as you struggled to fight with the misogynistic teacher, the arrogant teammates, and the pressure burdening you.

And, when it got too much, he would interrupt the lessons by tossing a sword to you again and sparring.

It did stop the bullying momentarily, but god did it put you in trouble.

Drills upon drills, they punished you for interrupting the lessons despite Callisto doing it! The reason why it's you? It's because he's a prince, and the son of the beloved Concubine.

Of course.

This made your relationship with Callisto wonky. More like an enemies forced to be together for politics. But in a platonic way.

And years passed...

Callisto, now 22 years old, finds himself watching his stupid crown prince of a brother fumble his fiance as he dances with a random girl named Elisia.

Sure, she's pretty, but he always thought Yuno is head over heels for his fiance.

"Pfft. Such a fucking disgrace." He cracked his neck and got off the pillar to go to his father, the Emperor.

The Emperor is rightfully angry, seeing his son humiliate him over and over again.

"Father, I think you should really reconsider his position now." Callisto whispered, watching as Yuno pull Elisia to the balcony to do god knows what. "Hell, i'd rather have that weirdo of a hero who suddenly appeared one day to be the crown prince."

Callisto frowned as he remembered the man who suddenly appeared in the throne room. Now a Marquis, Aeron is steadily becoming a powerful man, and Callisto intends to bring him to his side once he...

He looked at the Emperor who shivered in fear from the mention of Aeron. He remembered how the Emperor sent that man to a suicide mission. It was honestly disgusting, but Callisto can't do anything other than try to send him party members.

"Yet those fuckers continue to betray him. What the fuck." He mumbled to himself before clearing his throat. "Father, what do you think? I even think Duke Eros is good for the position."

Duke Eros also, an eccentric man. Cold blooded and someone sharp, yet invents these infrastructures and weird devices that pioneers technology. A term he coined. An odd fellow, but Callisto likes the Duke due to being one of the people who can oppose the Emperor without that much backlash and resistance due to his own power and authority.

He's also someone who Callisto needs to look out about.

Honestly, the Emperor is never a good man. He's a greedy man, creating enemies left and right due to his pride and his habit of stealing money from the coffers of the people. Tax money? Pocketed. Jewels? Stolen. Government? Corrupt. Everything is fucked up in his reign that Callisto is having a hard time thinking of what to do.

So, why not usurp the throne?

His mother, who rose to be the Empress, has laid down a path for him. And all he has to do is to follow diligently.

His eyes scanned the ballroom to find his sweet little playmate.

There you are, eyes scanning the crowd for potential threats and assassins.

He felt bad, not letting you know of the plans. But he needs to do this. If he wants you to survive the usurpation, keeping you in the dark is what he needs to do.

The Emperor grunted, finally relenting to his son's will.

"Alright. I'm taking off Yuno from the crown prince position." The Emperor said, rubbing his temples.

Callisto secretly smirked, one of his plans finally bearing fruit.

"Thank you father. That will be enough. I don't think Yuno is qualified to be the next Emperor. He's too... Impulsive, and doesn't see the path you laid down for him." Callisto praised him, fueling the Emperor's Ego and lowering Yuno's reputation more.

"Yes yes... Go forth and call my Prime Minister. I need to discuss Yuno's abdication as soon as possible." Callisto nodded before going away from the ball to call the prime Minister.

Of course, you're diligently following him like the puppy you are.

And yes, you became his personal guard after graduating from the Knight training. Sure, you could have joined the ranks, yet Callisto here asked his father to make you his personal guard.

Not able to reject an order from the Emperor, you had no choice but to comply to his wishes.

"Hey, you're on my side, right?" Callisto asked, suddenly stopping in the middle of the long hallway. The moonlight filtering through the giant windows made an eerie yet despondent shadow on Callisto as you cleared your throat.

"Yes, your highness." You muttered.

"Then, let this be a test if you are actually on my side."

Suddenly, the windows broke, shattering the glass and the protective barrier placed on the palace.

Immediately, you unsheathed your sword and dashed to attack the intruder who crashed through the window. Cloaked with a dagger in hand, he tried to reach Callisto who's only leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

"Your highness! Please run!" You yelled, pushing back the assassin as you prepared for another collision.

"Nah. I actually want to see this." He chuckled and watched your body move and glide across the hall to fight off this unusually strong opponent.

Callisto's eyes was enticed by the way your form flexed under pressure and under the force of such a strong oponent.

Seeing you struggle and not complain was enough for him.

"Okay, big girl. Come on let's stop this. Just kill the man."

But before he could come up to you and help you stop the assassin, he saw you kill the assassin and look at him in a shocked stare.

It happened so fast.

He felt you grab his body as you shielded him with yours.

Then, a warm liquid spilling onto him.

His eyes zeroed on an another cloaked man with a dagger, stabbing your shoulder.

You slumped down on his.

You felt soft, warm, yet he oddly felt lightheaded.

When he came to his wits once more, he's cradling your body with the cloaked man's body mangled on the floor.

Carrying you, he ran to the royal hospital. He's soaked in blood, your blood.

He felt helpless for the first time as he demanded for one of his servants to call for his mother.

Yeah, maybe his mother would know what to do as you fought for your life.

It felt like a blur as he saw his mother run to him, carrying her heavy gown as she kneeled to him. Oh? Callisto is kneeling? When did that happen?

He felt his mother brush away his tears. Tears? When did that happen too?

Once more, a blur as he fainted.

He feels like he's floating on the sea as he confronted a man. He also looks the same age as him, maybe a bit older. The man looked at him with a smile.

There and then, the man, who proclaimed himself as god, told Callisto that he's the protagonist of a "media". He forgot if it's a novel or whatever a videogame is, but he knows that he's the most favored character of this god.

He scoffed.

"So, if I am the favored one, then why..." His voice shook. "WHY IS MY BELOVED FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE FOR ME?!"

It took almost everything inside of him to admit that he loves you, but he doesn't care anymore.

The god whispered that it's the part of the plot, and that he should just let fate run its course. He assured Callisto that you will be okay.

Callisto nodded, heaving a bit before giving the god a cold glare.

"So, if I am this protagonist, this ever so important character..." Callisto murmured. "I can get away with anything... Right?"

"Right?"

The sheath of a sword, and a heavy, wet plop on the carpeted floor became the backdrop for the sound of victorious yells.

Callisto sighed, cracking his neck as he got out of the castle, and out of the Kingdom to their East.

"Emperor Callisto! What shall we do with the captured servants?" One of the knights asked, and Callisto cleared his throat, thinking.

"Put them in the dungeon back in the Empire. I still have to think on what to do with them."

With the knights bowing, they dispersed as Callisto immediately teleported back to the Palace.

After learning that the previous Emperor was the one who sent the assassins, he almost broke his facade.

It seems that the Empress didn't seduce the Emperor enough to make sure he didn't doubt Callisto.

Yet, he doesn't care about that.

He only cared about the fact that the Emperor almost killed you.

With the guarantee that he won't have any dire consequences due to being the "protagonist", he immediately went to Marquis Aeron to assassinate the Emperor with his sprites.

Aeron gladly did it, giving two sprites to Callisto as they phased through the walls and kill off the Emperor in his sleep.

And, while the chaos of the sudden death of the Emperor, he challenged Yuno to a duel for the throne. Yuno, who just got his engagement annulled and watched as his fiance became Duke Eros', he's scrambling to bring back his pride and dignity.

Yet, the "protagonist" cheat proved right as he won by landslide. Beating Yuno black and blue and becoming Emperor.

His mother, proud as her son finally took the path she intended for him to have, became Empress dowager.

Where are you in this situation?

You were in a coma like state. The dagger, having poison, took a toll on your body. So, you did not witness the way he avenged you and took the throne for himself.

And when you woke up, you only heard of the assassination, and knew he's behind it.

"Callisto! You killed your father?!" You confronted him, appalled. And Callisto, surprised by your anger, only laughed in disbelief.

He avenged you, and you're angry? "Yeah, I did."

"You know that all of the people in this Empire knew you're the one who assassinated the Emperor." You glowered.

"How do you even know that?" Callisto smirked, shrugging as he took a seat on the throne. "They don't. You're deceiving yourself, big girl."

"Do not call me that." Your jaw tightened, eyes in anger and annoyance. "They will know. I just feel it."

Callisto frowned. How dare you say that when he's the protagonist? He's practically invincible.

"Are you threatening me, y/n?" He stood up. Suddenly, he didn't feel like the childhood friend you have. He feels imposing, too far for you to reach, a wall so thick you can't even comprehend.

"I avenged you. I killed my father for you. Those assassins? He ordered for them to kill me." He laughed, eyes wide with annoyance. "And you, a mere woman dares to not see the grace I gave?"

You laughed in disbelief.

DId he just...

"And I do thank you y/n for shielding me. It made me realize something. Your loyalty is something I need by my side."

He held out his hand, holding out for you to grab.

"Be my Empress. You're my most loyal dog. And you have a good eye for politics." Callisto proposed. "I can spoil you greatly, give you riches beyond your dreams. Just be my pretty, loyal, dog, or doll. If you're into that."

You gripped your hand into a fist, eyes ablaze with anger.

"I will not. Women are not mere dogs, nor do I need to say yes to your proposal." You spat out. "And I am not going to be yours. Never yours."

When did he become such a deplorable man? Someone so full of himself? He already was, but at least he's logical and never demeaning.

But this?

"I will correct myself. I knew that the people will know that it's you because you're the only one who is close to Marquis Aeron and Duke Eros, two of the well known opposition to the Emperor before, amongst the Imperial children. And you used Marquis' sprites, which only those who defeated the demon king can wield. And, Marquis Aeron is not the emperor now, but you. HIS FRIEND." You smirked bitterly.

"What? People are stupid! They won't realize that!"

"HAH!" You rasped out. "Even still, it will instill doubt in them. Other than that, I will abdicate myself as your personal guard. Fuck. You. Callisto."

Callisto's eyes widened as you turned your back to him, marching outside with a slam.

When he came back to his wits, he seethed in frustration and decided to take a breather. Anger is riddling him.

But once he calmed down and tried to summon for you, he just heard from your father that you ran away.

He scoffed.

As if you can run away from him.

But you disappeared. With such a meticulous way to vanish, nobody can track you at all.

As if you never existed in the first place.

He felt his body run cold.

Where did you go?

Where did you vanish to?

"Y/N!!"

He went mad trying to find you, tirelessly combing through the Empire without stopping.

It was only a year later that a lead was given.

You're out of the Empire. That's it.

Manic, Callisto decided to do the extreme to scare you out.

Now known as the warfreak Emperor, he reigned fear and blood onto other territories as he decimated every place just to find you.

His blood running cold, his time running out, and his patience running thin,

Once he finds you, you know you can't escape from his shackles. Literal or not.

And he will continue the bloodshed for you.

And this heavy burden and sin will be on your shoulder the longer you don't return to his arms.

[soleilenchaine]

Limbus Sinner Chess Headcanons

yes, that's right. chess hcs

they need to play some boardgames to pass the time so here we goooo

Yi Sang

has the stockfish calculator in his brain. each time a sinner makes a stupid move it just goes into the red and it confuses the hell out of him. constantly muses to himself and to others if they are listening when the pieces are not in their ideal positions

Faust

either at IM or possibly GM rating. is extremely good at decimating almost any opponent and will be extremely smug about it. she is constantly giving the side-eye to anyone who plays badly when she spectates

Don Quixote

i know we joke about her eating the pieces but i just think she keeps asking Yi Sang for help. she also constantly calls the knights Rocinante. if there is any chance for her Rocinantes to claim an opponents piece she will announce it in the most DonDon way possible

"ONWARD, ROCINANTE! WE SHALL EMERGE VICTORIOUS"

Ryoshu

plays chess like shogi.

no really. she just thinks shogi allows for more artistic expression in the endgame. also because she keep yelling at the opponent when she claims an opponent's piece with the pawn by moving it forwards rather than diagonally and the opponent says that's an illegal move.

but if she was forced to play by the rules (and she will threaten to C.Y.U), she would make the most bizarre plays by claiming as many pieces as possible to create the most elaborate endgame

Meursault

his poker face gives him the advantage in almost any match. each time he leaves a piece hanging the opponent gets increasingly more nervous because what if he left that piece to psyche them out.

Sinclair especially gets very nervous when playing against Meursault and ends up fumbling, but Meursault will explain to the little chicky man what happened and teaches him how to counter but in the most deadpan voice known to man.

Meursault: On move 12 you had compromised the bishop's position by moving your rook from b4 to f4. That was how I was able to claim your bishop. Sinclair: Wait, move 12?! When was that??? Meursault how on earth have you been keeping track?

Meursault: I had merely been observing (:meursault-stare:)

he claims a piece en passant and some of the sinners think he's done an illegal move until Faust (and possibly Yi Sang) corrects them. the guy is very good, will always play with the most efficient openings possible and can hold his own if someone were to pull a surprise move on him.

Hong Lu

he's a very competent player. knows all the fancy openings and endgame setups, and is extremely good at countering. he's also very good at bluffing and ends up stumping his opponents during the endgame

he finds joy spectating other sinners' matches and will ask throughout the match if a move is a special opening or counter that they do in the Backstreets. he needs to know!!

he also pulls an en passant on Heathcliff, but just to rile him up. he secretly finds it funny.

Heathcliff

ahh, Heathcliff. see you would probably think that Heathcliff is bad at chess but on the contrary.

he probably tried to learn it to impress Cathy, and eventually learned certain openings and counters that Cathy was fond of.

but overall his playstyle is simple, direct. no bells and whistles. he gets extra angry at Meursault for pulling an en passant (we need that Brit/French hatred).

any match with Ishmael ends just as how you would expect it to end.

Ishmael

she's pretty good at playing chess. she can play blitz chess against Faust and hold her own (though she always loses because Faust is just far too good)

she has surprisingly good knowledge of the most niche openings and would troll Heathcliff by playing them. but otherwise, she would also play with very few bells and whistles. a straightforward playstyle for the most Normal Sinner(TM) on the bus

Rodion

Rodya constantly played with Sonia back when she was still with the Yurodiviye, so she is at least 1800 rating.

she is extremely good at blitz chess. she thrives in a high stakes, fast paced game and with her constantly chatting with the opponent throughout the match she decimates the opponent purely because she just keeps distracting them with her friendly banter and quips.

she's also really good at adapting her playstyle to match her opponent. that's why Sinclair likes playing with her because she patiently waits for Sinclair to make his moves and she doesn't pull weird fancy openings on him or else he gets very confused.

she is super competitive, but is a very good sport.

Sinclair

my sweet chickadee. he used to compete in chess competitions back in school, and he got pretty good at blitz chess. but he's always dreading LCB tourneys because he will have at least three sinners backseat playing behind him while the opponent just crushes him.

but if he plays with his seatmates, he gets increasingly exasperated at Don with her increasingly chaotic plays while Yi Sang just quietly keeps score.

Outis

her experience commanding her team during the smoke war is reflected in her playstyle. she plays very aggressively and will taunt the opponent if they make a mistake. she is brutal with her openings and will attempt to immediately conquer the chessboard until either the opponent forfeits or is forced into an unwinnable corner.

once you see her set up a Sicilian defense it's basically over for you.

Gregor

our dearest roach man.

if he plays against the rest of the sinners, he takes it easy. he's a chill player and doesn't pull any complex endgame shenanigans unless the opponent tries to pull a fast one on him. he will also happily teach Sinclair and Don some cool openings if they ask him to play a match.

but when he plays against Outis, it's a completely different story. he is surprisingly good at countering even the most aggressive opening, and any match against Outis ends in a stalemate. his easygoing uncle vibe dissipates and you're suddenly reminded that he, too, is a Smoke War veteran. he's also had a lot of experience on the battlefield, so he knows full well what kind of tactics Outis would use during a match.

this is also the only time Outis doesn't taunt the opponent: she's too focused on trying to get out of a stalemate.

he also likes to pull meme openings every once in a while. man just does a bongcloud opening and Faust is at the side giving him the BIGGEST side eye. BUT he actually manages to win with that and Faust has to admit that she is quite impressed.

[enstarsblr-yearbook]

The time has finally come...

The results are in!

Welcome everyone to the results of the final voting of the enstarsblr yearbook 2023! In total we have received 115 votes from all over enstarsblr, we are very grateful to everyone who voted!

This project has been an absolute delight to host and we all hope you have been enjoying yourselves as well!

Let's not beat around the bush and get right into the results... or shall we?

The mods would like to give three bonus categories based on stats and numbers from the yearbook and the blog itself a time to shine!

If you are curious about the results of the yearbook, be sure to press "keep reading"!

First up we have...

Early bird

This one goes out to the two people who were the first to submit on the nominations form and the voting form!

Give it up for...

Seknots-izumimir and Catzakis!

Congratulations, you beat everyone else in submitting your nominations and votes! Unfortunately, it only earns you bragging rights.

Next up we have...

Nomination hoarder

This goes out to the person who got the most nominations throughout all submissions and categories combined!

Give it up for...

Seknots-izumimir!

Congratulations! Your url took everyone by storm, making you win this category with a total of 21 nominations, behind you was second place with a total of 13 nominations.

Last of our bonus categories is...

Biggest fans

Biggest fans as given by tumblr statistics!

This one goes out to...

Beastofmoss, laly-481, seknots-izumimir and lycanthian!

Thank you all for your support on the yearbook! This doesn't go for only you four, but everyone who has interacted with us, nominated and voted, thank you!

Now let's get to the part where everyone is waiting for...

The final results!

With 115 votes from all over enstarsblr and over 2 months of work to get here, it is finally time to get to the final results. We shall follow the same order as the voting form was presented, so that means we are starting with...

Conspicuous Lurker

Our nominees are:

subakogas

silverw19

adonis-ass

vampacidic

miss-rainbow-sprinkles

The winner... with 38 of the votes is...

Adonis-ass!

Congratulations with your victory, we hope you can wear this badge of honor proudly!

We move onto...

Enstarrie with the silliest posts

The nominees are:

mamadarama

mihai-florescu

transactinides

averyspoopedcorgi

xketsuekix

With an overwhelming amount of 66 votes, the winner of this category is...

Mamadarama!

Congratulations! The overwhelming majority found your posts the silliest of all, we hope you continue bringing your silliness to our enstarsblr for a long time.

Now moving from silly posts to silly... eating?

That's right, we have arrived at

Would eat a cardboard cutout of their fave

Fun fact: this category is and was the most balanced out of all categories in terms of votes.

The nominees for this category are:

pitxroxas

adonis-ass

shinkaishoujo103

starpros-sunshine

catzakis

The winner with 34 votes is...

Catzakis!

Congratulations, we hope that the cardboard tastes nice!

And with that we move on from people who eat their fave to people who are simply and utterly down bad...

Most down bad

The nominees are:

zakomoya

nightingale-memoir

shinkaishoujo103

natsmagi

himenikis

From these five, the most down bad of all with 34 votes is...

Natsmagi!

Congratulations on winning, please never change your ways of being down bad.

Moving onto our next category...

The rarepair enstarrie

Enstarrie who you think of and go "Oh that's the rarepair person"

The nominees for this category are:

seishun-emergency

yume-fanfare

starswallowingsea

surreal-duck

Our winner for this category with 48 votes is...

Yume-fanfare!

Congratulations on winning! Please continue spreading your rarepairs with everyone!

Moving on we have two categories that were very popular with some people, first we have...

Silliest url

We have four nominees for this category and they are:

seknots-izumimir

beastofmoss

adonis-ass

princess--bongwater

The winner here, with an overwhelming majority of 56 votes, is...

Princess--bongwater!

Congratulations on your victory! You had tough competition, but in the end you swept it all!

Now for our next category, the counterpart to the silliest url we have...

Worst url

One that makes you go "I hate this" while laughing because it's funny

Our three nominees are:

seknots-izumimir

princess-bongwater

stupidpussy

And our winner is, with 55 of the votes... someone who has been campaigning for this category since the nominations went up... that's right, the winner is

Seknots-izumimir!

Congratulations! Your campaigning did not go unnoticed by us or by the people, your competition was tough but you managed to pull through! Enjoy your victory.

Next up we have...

Most unlucky producer

For this category we have six nominees:

rinnelovebot

lycanthian

amodernpersephone

twowink

buddyfunnyspendtime

meowyoi

And the most unlucky producer as decided by the people, with 35 of the votes is...

Twowink!

Congratulations on your victory, who would've thought that your bad luck would get you here, huh? Sometimes your losses do have an upside to them!

Next in our categories we have...

Most likely to rank first in an event

Our nominees are:

himenikis

voiceofsword

hxneylavendxr

paperconsumption

cryptidm0ths

With a total of 36 votes, the one who is most likely to rank first is...

Voiceofsword!

Congratulations, your power knows no bounds as decided by enstarsblr! Hope to see you in the rankings soon.

Now from terrifying power of rankings, we go from terrifying power in politics, our next category is...

Most likely to become president

Our six nominees are:

mihai-florescu

yume-fanfare

twowink

paperconsumption

amodernpersephone

mishkakagehishka

With such an incredible list it could be anyone's win, but there can only be one and with 46 votes it is...

Mihai-florescu!

Congratulations on your win! Can't wait to see you as the next president of... somewhere!

Now we move a little away from our beloved enstarsblr and go onto...

Most iconic not-actually-an-enstarrie

Someone who isn't an enstarrie, but is well known in enstarsblr

This time it is between two people, our nominees are:

non-fantasy

rythyme

But even with just two nominees, only one can go home with the title and that winner with 76 votes is...

Non-fantasy!

Congratulations on winning and being featured in an enstarsblr event despite not actually going here! This truly shows how iconic you are.

Next we move onto...

The "wait you are an enstarrie?" enstarrie

Someone who IS an enstarrie, but you wouldn't think they are

Our nominees for this category are:

evilmario666

lycanthian

bearnarrow

orange-frog

All truly worthy competitors indeed... however, there can only be one winner and that is, with an super overwhelming 86 votes...

Evilmario666!

Congratulations, kinning Eichi has gotten you very far in this. A round of applause for evilmario666!

Now, next up is...

Enstarrie who would fight god and win

Our nominees for this category are:

lisxdumbr

starpros-sunshine

kurokeip

asbestieos

beastofmoss

This was another very balanced category meaning everyone here is clearly capable of taking on god, but only one of these will be succesful in doing so, our winner with 29 votes is...

Asbestieos!

Congratulations on winning, you have managed to beat god in your fight while the others have fallen! Enjoy your victory.

Next up in our categories is...

Most likely to start an enstars war at school

For this category we only have 2 nominees:

mihai-florescu

amodernpersephone

Our nominees have entered the boxing ring to fight over who can start a war the best, however only one of them can win and with 93 votes that is...

Mihai-florescu!

Congratulations! Please keep that war at your school and don't bring it to enstarsblr, we have had enough enstars discourse instead to last us a lifetime...

We are getting close to the end, our second to last category is...

Akira in disguise

Our wonderful nominees for this category are:

himenikis

mihai-florescu

actuallylgp

twowink

buddyfunnyspendtime

All of them worthy of being Akira in disguise, however we can only have one Akira... with a total of 46 votes our Akira in disguise is

Mihai-florescu!

Congratulations on your victory and getting revealed to actually be Akira in disguise! We take no responsibility of people coming in your asks begging for you to reveal what stories you're currently writing.

Now, at last, we have arrived at our final category of Enstarsblr Yearbook 2023!

Wataei of enstarsblr

For this category we have pairings of people from enstarsblr nominated as couples, these nominees are:

mishkakagehishka & meowyoi

solaaresque & neoxsanctuary

nazukisser & neoxsanctuary

shinkaishoujo103 & laly-481

loveregrown & memoryofmarionette

All of them wonderful couples in their own way, it is unfortunate that only one of these couples can be crowned as the wataei of enstarsblr. With a total of 53 votes, the wataei of enstarsblr is...

mishkakagehishka & meowyoi!

Congratulations, your love for each other has been recognized by everyone as being worthy to be acknowledged as our version of wataei!

With this, the yearbook has come to its end, we would like to thank everyone for participating and contributing! The yearbook has been a wonderful project that lasted for about 2.5 months, we really hope that we have brought something fun to enstarsblr this year! It was a lot of fun to see everyone's propaganda and to see everyone having a good time. We hope to return again next year!

Since this post is long enough already, we have an afterword from all the moderators of this project in a separate post, we would really appreciate it if everyone took some time to read it!

You can find the Moderators Afterword here!

[zaidwahmad123]

Even amidst the rubble, Gaza’s spirit refuses to be extinguished.

Despite the relentless assault on its landmarks, mosques, homes, schools, and roads, hope remains steadfast 🍉🇵🇸🕊️

We stand in solidarity, knowing that victory is not just a possibility but an inevitability. As the world grapples with the aftermath of devastation, we hold onto the belief that from the ashes, Gaza will emerge stronger and more resilient than ever before.

In the face of injustice, oppression, and evil actions, we find solace in the knowledge that nothing lasts forever.

This too shall pass, for the spirit of Gaza is unbreakable, its resilience unwavering.

Donate through the evacuation link in @zaidwahmad123 bio.

Instagram @zaid_ahmadd.1

If you’re unable to donate, sharing our story is just as impactful. Spread awareness about the reality in Gaza so others can understand and know.

[tnsophiaonly]

"A shift within reality hurts."

Devotees stated, feeling their body duplicate and travel within different realities.

Part 1, Part 4

TW:

Bad words, (word) graphic mentions of tearing limbs, uhm very bad bad writing (as always) and short (?)

—y—t—i—l—a—e—R—

Out of all the odds in your room, it has got to be that little mirror ball. It reflects your reflection.

It's like those things fortune tellers use to know your fortune? Like this -> 🔮

You don't know how or why you have that but you just kept it, what if you somehow need it soon?

—t—f—i—h—s—

The Zapolyarny Palace, a cold and magnificent establishment where the Cryo Archon, The Tsaritsa orders her subjects.

The Tsaritsa's orders were simple yet held so much meaning and danger, "The Creator has descended upon this lands, and has ascended back to thy's world, they have the answers to this world that we don't, the power and the position. They will be a critical need against Celestia. Bring them here, alive."

It echoes through the halls, the order, sharp and clear. The tinge of cold lingering in her voice.

The 11 Harbingers are currently in the Il Dottore's laboratory,

Only a certain ginger was excited, hopelessly waiting to be able to get to his creator's world.

"Could you cut it out already?!" A purple puppet punched a ginger's arm as the ginger won't shut up about the Creator.

Apparently, only Childe was a devotee, and some Fatui agents too. But the others can't be said the same.

Example.. well The Balladeer. The Balladeer, well is self explanatory...

—s—l—a—o—g—

On the other hand, researches among other nations were also moving, thrilled of the possibility of being in their creator's world.

After the spreaded news of the creator descending, and with the Oracle, '(S/M)' finally talking about the creator event,she has given out wisdom that those who are gifted are finally capable of ascending to the creator's world.

—n—i—a—p—

"Devotees and Acolytes, I, the creator's humble oracle, hereby knowledge that it is my utmost honor and privilege to deliver a message of the utmost significance, Our Grace, who has descended to bless the flowers and very terrestrial of Teyvat has ascended yet again, but now, with a way for us to reach that heaven. The time has finally come for all those who seek ascension, for the pathway to our heavenly paradise has finally opened. Only those who possess the strength and determination to overcome the rigors of the world shall emerge victorious and bask in the eternal glory of our Grace. Let us now offer ourselves in humility and devotion, for our purpose has been revealed. The paradise we seek is within reach, and we shall reap the rewards of our efforts in this life and the next. Come forth, and I shall guide you through this gateway, which will lead you to eternal bliss and utter contentment.." every exact word the creator's oracle spoke with every possible happiness and admiration. As they set off to Mondstadt, other nations were envious of the nation but as so still came either way, (S/N or M) has led them to the very Creator statue, sitting in mid air with its hands in offering,

The statue looked ethereal, but didn't match the Creator's actual look of graciousness, but then, no statue or anything can ever match the Creator can it?

As they stood, (S/M) walked slowly, then, the blonde traveler came in a swoop out of nowhere, in the creator's hands, with a look of shock and confusion, a transcendent mix of the color blue, pink and gold appears in a stair like form.

Guiding and ending to the heavens above. The traveller went up first, then disappeared on the top, turning into primogems, then (S/N) went, turning into primogems too, then archons, then gods (even non-playables), then adeptus, then just at this point every character playable, then vision users, then the last ones were the npc's some were able to get in, some were not.

All came except for the Fatui Harbingers, The Tsaritsa, fully knowing what they're up to, decided to let them be under orders, because unlike Dottore's machine, there's no knowing where this gate will take them. Then she went in, then turned into primogems.

—r—e—w—o—p—

Ever since the creator's descending, deceased ones lived again, La Signora became alive again, Teppei, Tomo... Etc... But those who perished without the Traveller with them were not saved again. They lived in peace yet.

No one knew how Scaramouche came back, but he was definitely with Dottore now, apparently, Dottore exchanged Scaramouche and his clones for the electro and Dendro gnosis to Nahida in the negotiation. That's what they were told then.

And here they were,

Here in Dottore's lab with the help of Sandrone's machinery and Dottore's knowledge and shit, they were able to create a machine to be able to shift.

It was understandable that some were skeptical about the choice, it had a 49.88% out of 100% chance to work isn't it? But, there was no choice but to comply, as it is strictly under the Tsaritsa's words that they should go through a legitimate machine that can bring them to the creator.

Then one-by-one they entered the metallic machine, then felt immense pain as soon as they got in,

It's as if their body was warping with another, their body ripping apart, limb-to-limb, if you were a normal person, it would feel like a punishment for trying to shift into another reality,

Unlike the gateway from the Creator statue that'll feel like going to heaven and all, this machine felt like you were a doll that's been ripped apart when two little girls fought over you, stretching your body apart that it ripped into two.

—-—-—-—

Holding on to your consciousness in class as math class/history class started, it was Monday again unfortunately, school started yet again, you just want to bop your head and cry, why are you studying when you die it's all just gonna get tossed away either way? You wasted your life struggling in stress, pain and all, but it was all for nothing, then again if you just sit there it's also considered as wasting your life isn't it?

Suddenly you want to go back to that strange dream, lucid dream..? Or..

"(Y/n).."

Your name was called out by a classmate, asking for an extra pen sheepishly. You stared at them, eyeing them, then went through your stationary and gave them an extra pen, with a thanks, they started scribbling again. You look at the board, oh shit, you had to take notes or else!

Then you started writing again, with few silly doodles on the pages,

As class goes on, you're unaware that the world you've just went to, has come to you.

Pls ignore to the fact that I disappeared then just appeared out of nowhere, class started becoming HORRID and really a pain in the ass-

+I was not satisfied with the things I wrote in here so it took so much time 😭

Anyways here ya go, I'm dropping another thing connected about this dw.

Taglist

(I still don't know what is this)

@khalhaimdad @yourlocalstranger123 @undecidingfate @urog1 @mmeatt

[thedeviltohisangel]

All The Things I Did (Princess Era): I Love You, It's Ruining My Life

a/n: i am honestly so obsessed with this version of them. i think about it all the time. this is fully inspired by the idea that john bows to many but will only ever kneel to cass. yes, in all the ways you can think of. yes. especially that one. i hope you guys like it and please feel free to chat with me about this au in particular or any other you can think of. cowboy au? canon aus? doctor au? fireman au? i will literally drop them into any universe because i love them enough to suffer across timelines. enjoy and see you soooooooon

Cass could hear the sounds of music playing in the Great Hall from her bedroom. She could hardly keep still as Mary was trying to wrangle the knots from her hair, Butter tugging on the other end of the braided rope she held in her hand. 

“You’re so strong my handsome boy, aren’t you?” He kept pulling and pulling against her but she knew the compliment was warming his heart. “Surely my hair is good enough, Mary. I don’t want to miss all the dancing.” The parties hosted after a tourney had always been some of her favorite. There were always newcomers from surrounding villagers for her to talk to and ask questions of and learn about. But tonight there was one newcomer in particular she was interested in getting to know. John. The handsome man from the village who had proved himself more than capable this afternoon.

She watched with bated breath as he walked towards the royal box, his helmet tucked under his arm and his lance next to him.John bowed his head to her father and greeted them before ensuring his eyes locked directly onto hers. Cass stood slowly and walked to the edge of the blacony. “A token of my favor,” she spoke as if they were the only two people in the world. She tied a silken scarf around the end of the lance. “I expect this brought back to me upon your victory.”

“Your Highness, you honor me.” She smiled and blushed under his gaze even though he was further away than he had been the other day in the village. He smiled right back at her and if it wasn’t for her father clearing his throat, he thinks they would have stayed just like that. 

He had been successful in every round of the joust, her favor displayed proudly as he rode his horse around the arena in triumph. Cass hadn’t been able to help herself as she stood and rushed to the edge to watch him. Watch the way his smile spread his flushed cheeks in joy. The way his grip on the lance remained sure and strong even after th ehorus of physical intensity. The way even her mother had quirked an eyebrow at the impressive nature with which he had maneuvered through the trials. She had been whisked away before she could receive her scarf back. Cockily, he had merely winked with an implication that she could have it back at the celebration tonight. 

“Princess, if you go out there looking like a wilding, the Queen will have my head.” With both her older brothers and her older sister married off, the weight of the world was resting on Cass’ shoulders to follow in their footsteps. As soon as Kent had been whisked away in a carriage with his wife, a highborn lady from a land with a considerable military, all the eyes of the court had turned to her to be next. 

“Nothing I ever do is of standard to her so why shall we bother?” With one particularly hard pull, Butter emerged victorious in their game as the rope fell from her hand. His entire body wagged with the excitement of the outcome. He dropped the end of the rope back into her hand, requesting they play again. Cass obliged. 

“And what about the handsome swordsman from this afternoon?” 

“What about him?” she answered rather sheepishly.

“I am certain you would like to look your best for him tonight.” Butter dropped the rope and tilted his head in curiosity at the mention of this mystery male. 

“Surely there are plenty of girls in attendance spinning him around with delight as we speak,” Cass sighed. Sensing she was upset, Butter whined and nudged at her hand with his nose. She scratched the top of his head. “Besides, I’m set to marry Lord Horrific in due time and will spend my days avoiding his touch as long as possible.” 

“When has someone else’s plan for you ever stopped you, my lady?” Cass merely smirked, bending down to kiss Butter’s head as Mary began to twine flowers around the crown of her head. “None of those girls spinning him around could even compare to you.” Butter huffed in agreement. 

“Thank you, Mary. For everything.” They shared a sad glance. Mary had already agreed to accompany her on the journey to her betrothed’s lands when the time came. Agreed to stand by her side through any ordeal that the Lord hurled at her. Promised to be her companion through it all. It had meant more to Cass than words could ever express. Butter had bitten the Lord last time he had come to visit. He was threatening not to allow the dog if Cass didn’t comply with his requests and demands. She was doing so for the benefit of Butter, her best friend and child wrapped into one, but she was keeping track of every slight. One day he would pay.

“There,” Mary announced as she stepped back from her masterpiece, holding a smaller mirror to the back of Cass’ head so she could see her handiwork. 

“It looks radiant!” she gasped as she took in the flowers through her braid and the wisps of hair that framed her face. “Let’s hope our victorious, handsome lad feels similarly awestruck.” They giggled conspiratorially while Butter merely looked on with annoyance.

----

Over the years, he had matured into solitude. Had learned that it offered the opportunity to observe and listen and the longer you were there, the more people forgot to notice. That is when their true selves would emerge. 

He watched happily as Gale danced with Margaret and drinks flowed and food was eaten and replenished. Everything here was in excess. A facet of life he wasn’t used to and hadn’t experienced in so long. He had given the King and his family little thought throughout his life. Had joined the call to battle out of love for his land and his family. It was in the war camps that he had first learned of Princess Cassandra. The babe celebrated through the realms but grown into a beauty never before seen on this side of the stars. Her light stunning blind any man honored enough to gaze upon her. Her kindness a triumph amongst the court and her wit bringing amusement to her tutors. 

When he had unknowingly laid eyes on her in the village, he had known there was no possibility anyone more beautiful could exist. Known the eyes of mortals and the realms of men would not be able to bear it. To learn she was the Princess was to learn angels were real. 

“The castle as horrid as you imagined?” Gale asked as he joined John on the outskirts of the hall for just a moment as Margaret twirled with one of her friends to the sound of the strings. 

“The wine is good,” he drained his goblet for emphasis, “but I should be on my way. I’ll spend the night in Zig’s stall then ride out at first light.” 

“Nonsense, John, you can spend the night in our home and you should really consider staying-” The strings paused and so did their conversation. Princess Cassandra strode in with her head held high, a pale pink dress flowed into a wide skirt and gloves up to her elbows. She nodded and waved politely and did her best to spurn everyone out of their bows and back into their dancing. 

“Your Highness.” Both men dropped into bows as she reached them. 

“Sir Gale, a pleasure to see you out of your armor tonight.”

“Yes, my lady. A privilege to be in your company tonight.” Cass blushed and hid her giggle behind her hand. 

“You honor me, Sir Gale.” Her attention turned to the brunette man. He was still staring at her with his mouth slightly agape. “I never did get my scarf back upon your victory today, John.” There was a twinkle in her eye he wanted to lose himself in. It spoke of untold boundlessness. 

“I’ve grown quite fond of it. Might keep it for luck on my travels.” Her heart fell and her face was right with it. 

“Travels? You do not mean to stay here?”

“The capital is not my home, Princess.” She wanted to scream that it was her home. That someone wanted to tear her away from her home. That maybe if she left here with someone like him then whatever the future held might not be so bad. “Might I be your first dance for the evening?”

Cass looked at the hand he extended out to her and thought about it for just a second. Taking his hand felt like so much more than just an acceptance to dance. It felt like giving in to the butterflies in his stomach when he looked at her. Giving in to the heat that raced across her cheeks when he smiled at her. Giving in to the voices screaming in her head that John was safe and secure and all the things the lord she was betrothed to wasn’t.

“It would be a privilege to dance with the victor,” she offered back. He bowed his head in gratitude, his fingers closing around hers with a featherlight tough, and escorted her through the crowd of revelers. The Princess nodded her head politely at the bows and curtsies that lined the way. 

“Is it ever daunting to be so worshiped?” he asked as they settled into the temp of the musicians. 

“One hardly notices after a lifetime of it,” she reasoned. “Once I’m married no one will bow so deeply anymore. Perhaps I will find the anonymity I’ve been chasing the further from here I get.” Her marriage to Lord Landry would mark the passage of responsibility from her father to her husband. The same way her older sister’s marriage had resulted in her being whisked away to run a Lord’s household and have his children and ignore his affairs. Only her oldest brother would be allowed to stay in these walls forever. Only Robert got to call this place home for the rest of his days.

“Why will no one bow anymore? Will you not still be a Princess?” His arm was so strong and sure around her waist. Cass was positive he could lift her off her feet effortlessly.

“I will but Lord Landry will never tolerate his wife being bowed to. He will only allow them to show deference to him.” 

“Someone as beautiful as you should be bowed to regardless of lineage.” His face was impossibly close to hers as the words fell from his mouth. So close his nose brushed hers as he pulled back to a respectable distance. “I’m sure you’ll be quite persuasive and find your way.”

“I plan to be as silent as possible in the hopes he forgets I am even there,” she seethed. “He is a monster. There is no reasoning with a man like him.”

“What do you mean by monster?” Something was gnawing inside his chest. Something was furrowing his brow. Something was urging his hand to grip his blade and find this man. 

“I’ve already said too much, John. This is a celebration!” The tempo of the music began to pick up, Cass laughing as her and John fell into the steps of the traditional dance with ease. Their hands touching as they moved in a circle and their eyes remaining locked even when the number called for brief changes in partner. 

It was palpable between them. Whatever it was. Cass using his glances to smile and blush and look away as coyly as possible. John using her gaze to let her know just how content he would be to lock eyes with her for the rest of time. 

The song ended and they were back in front of each other. Their palms facing each other at the height of their shoulders and fingers interlocking. “You’re not a bad dancer,” she teased as they drifted closer. 

“Only when I’ve got the right partner.” She smiled. His head tilted down. Her eyes closed. But before they had the chance to throw caution to the wind, all hell broke loose.

----

There was quite the commotion as the doors blew open and a hoard of villagers stormed through the hall with torches and pitchforks. The knights in attendance immediately sprang to action but Cass stood frozen. These were the same people she gotten to know on her visits to the town square. People she had grown to consider friends. They had never expressed such anger with her father and the rest of her family. Certainly not enough to warrant an assault on the castle. 

“Princess, we must get you out of here.” His sword was in his living quarters. He couldn’t protect her in open combat like this. He needed to get her somewhere safe. Somewhere where he would have the tactical advantage and could make a decision on strategy safely. 

“I don’t understand,” she murmured as John tugged at her arm again.

“Princess-” The velvet drapes behind them caught on fire and she jumped back into his arms with fright. He tugged once more and she fell into step besides him easily. Their fingers never left their grips as they weaved through the crowd towards the exit, goblets shattering and tables being overturned, until they reached a set of glass doors that led to the gardens. “Come, we can hide in the maze until the coast is clear.” He was certain they would be able to contain the mass to the castle walls. By whatever means necessary. He wished he had had time to look after Gale and Margaret.  

“They always seem so happy when I am in town. Never a negative word against me or my family. Why would they do this now?” They took a few turns through the hedge maze before John stopped, his breath coming in pants but he still held onto her hand. 

“Your father raised taxes last month. I would assume that has something to do with it.” 

“That could make people this angry?” she asked as he turned back to face her. 

“Yes, your Highness. The people of the realm, your realm, work very hard for their meager lives. Are very proud that their hard work provides what it does for them. When the King comes along and tells them he wants to take from their pockets, he is taking their food and risking their roof.” She looked away as she thought about what he was saying.

“They must trust that he is making the decisions for their benefit. That he has his reasons for them no matter how unpopular they are.” He disagreed completely. Thought the King was lining his own pockets and ensuring his own fortune. The very fortune of the woman that was standing in front of him right now. But she had such belief and passion behind her eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to extinguish it.

“Perhaps, Princess. Perhaps he should get some new guardsmen and reinforce that wall out front.” Cass giggled and looked down at their still joined hands with a blush.

“You can call me Cassandra.”

“Okay…Cassandra.” Her smile bloomed as her name on his lips reached her ears. A symphony in the night air. 

“John. I would like it very much if you would stay a little while longer.” She hoped her words were not desperate or an overstep of what she could or could not ask of him. 

“I promise, Cassandra, I am not leaving this maze until I am certain you are perfectly safe.” She scoffed.

“That is not at all what I meant.” He smiled because he knew exactly what she had meant. 

“Are you and Gale conspiring against me?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice but she knew the inquiry was genuine. 

“I wasn’t aware Sir Gale was capable of an act such as conspiracy,” she mused as she drifted closer to him in the moonlight. The sounds of chaos in the Great Hall were slowly dying down and guards flooded the scene and got the mob under control. The time for punishment to be doled out would come sooner rather than later. Cass wanted to be nowhere near it when it came. 

“You’re probably right. He’s too kind for something like that.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side to make room for his nose to slot against hers, her breath stilling in the last moment before their lips connected when his caught sharply, his hand around her arm like a vice. Before she even knew what was happening, he was in front of her with a dagger held towards the shadows. “Step out slowly. Arms up.” His other arm was holding the front of her dress to ensure she stayed close. 

“You would defend this royal scum?” The man who emerged was holding a rusted sword that looked dull and almost a little bent. Even still, she was not sure how John would fare with only a dagger to aid them.

“Careful. One could consider those words to be treasonous.” His fist tightened around the fabric of her dress to pull her impossibly close to him. “When he moves, you run.”

“John-”

“Do not argue with me, Princess.” Her lips pressed together tightly to prevent the retort from sneaking out. The man with the sword moved to strike and Cass took off running just as she had been told. Deeper and deeper into the hedge maze until she was certain there was no way out of it. Her chest heaved as she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. Surely somehow would have to find her eventually. Surely John was more than capable of defeating the man with the sword. Gosh, she wished Butter were here now to keep her company. She could only imagine the torment her companion was going through with the sounds of violence down the hall and not knowing where she was or if she was safe. 

Dropping to her knees, her hands found the cool dirt and her breaths attempted to even out. Only a little while longer. A little while longer and someone would find her. And everything within the walls of the castle will have been dealt with. Her life could go back to the serenity it had been. 

A bark gave her pause. She would know it anywhere.

“Butter!” He barked once more as his loping steps got closer and closer to her ears, Cass crying as he rounded the corner and launched himself into her arms. “Oh, Butter! You found me, my good boy. I love you so much.” She hugged him as her panicked sob shook her shoulders, his tongue licking at her tears as best he could. 

“Princess? Cassandra?” It was John’s voice. She couldn’t tell where he was, his voice sounding like he was circling her.

“John? Can you hear me?” Her scratches behind Butter’s ears grew more desperate. 

“Don’t move! I’m coming to you!” he called. Cass kissed the top of Butter’s head while they waited, the dog stoic and proud as he was ready to protect her from whatever might come around the corner. He barked once as a signal to John as his footsteps got closer and closer.

She ran towards him as he finally reached her, his eyes flooding with relief when it seemed not a hair on her head had been harmed. “What happened? Did he hurt you?” Cass fussed as they reached each other. Her fingers traced over the skin of his face and checked under the sleeves of his shirt in an effort to find any blemish that would be on him now.

“He has been dispatched. You don’t have to worry about him.” His palms held her cheeks perfectly. “Is this your dog?” Butter barked and weaseled his way in between them.

“This is Butter. And he’s more than my dog. He’s my everything.” She bent down to kiss him for good measure. 

“How did he get out here?” John reached down to pet him but the way the dog looked at him…he kept his hand to himself.

“He must have heard the commotion and used his secret door to escape to come find me.”

“Secret door?” Cass nodded.

“I built him a door so he would have access to the tunnels under the castle in case of a crisis. Tonight certainly warranted it.” And she was so thankful that she had.

“Well, he seems more than capable of protecting you in the event a knight is not around.”

“Particularly with your pending departure,” she mused as Butter began to lead them out of the maze. 

“Princess, you don’t want me here. I promise.” 

“And why do you presume to know what I want?” she asked with a lift to her chin so she could do her best to look down her nose at him. 

“I don’t do well staying still,” he offered with sincerity. She had known types like him before. Nomads that wandered the land in search of their next coin but not letting it keep them up at night. Content to live under the stars and with the wind in their hair. John was a free spirit. Believed staying here would take that from him. It didn’t have to. Couldn’t, if one was strong enough to keep it intact. Cass certainly believed he was strong enough to do anything.

“How long has it been since you tried?” she asked.

“Longer than I could remember. Haven’t had anything worth trying for.” The latter part was tacked on in a fleeting moment of clarity. She was beautiful. Just as everyone had said. But there was something so much deeper to the princess than just her looks. Something molten and effervescent simmered just beneath her surface. How he ached to let it free. “We should get you back inside.” She craned her neck so her lips could meet his cheek. A blush blossoming in her wake.

“Thank you for tonight. For the dance and for everything that came after.”

“You’re welcome, Cassandra.” Maybe he should have offered to do it again. Asked her for another kiss. But he had meant what he said. John wasn’t good at staying still. Putting down roots. Filling a place with memories that tied you to it for a lifetime. And when he looked in her eyes, that was all he wanted to do.

----

The last of his belongings were shoved into a bag, the early rays of the sun casting a glow across the small room in Gale’s house he had been staying in. Of all the places he had wandered to, this was the closest he had ever been to not wanting to leave. He had a friend here. One of his oldest friends. Marge was the sweetest woman he had ever known. They had a beautiful life that they were willing to share with him. A roof he would always be welcome under. And then there was the matter of the Princess. That matter was a dangerous one. A burning rope he was walking tightly along. It was that yearning that urged him out of here as soon as possible. To protect them both.

“Not so fast, John.” Gale came skidding around the corner and poked his head into the room, breathless. “You’ve been summoned for an audience with the King.”

----

The King was stoically seated on his throne, the queen and his heir flanked him on either side and John’s mouth quirked into a subtle smile when he saw Cassandra and Butter standing behind her father. 

“Your Majesties, your Highnesses,” John bowed at the neck and settled into a comfortable stance, as comfortable as he could be with the metal armor shaped to his body.

“John, I wanted to thank you in person for your efforts in protecting my daughter last night. It was told to me that you acted quickly in her defense and put yourself in between her and an armed assailant.”

“It was my honor, your Majesty.”

“I would like you to stay. Take the title of knight and serve as her devoted protector. Personally ensure the safety of my daughter until she is in the custody of her betrothed.” If the words wounded her, she did a fantastic job of not showing it. Butter seemed to bare his teeth ever so slightly. 

John opened his mouth to politely decline when he caught the eye of Gale who was standing against the wall. Everything in his look told him in no uncertain terms that he should accept the proposal or risk his own death. “No duty could fulfill me more than such, your Majesty.” He dropped his head once again. The Princess descended the steps down to where he stood, a ceremonial sword in her grasp as the eye contact made both of their breath catch. 

He held her gaze as he dropped down to one knee. Looking up at her with his own oath burning in his eyes. His own oath to only ever kneel for her. To only ever pledge his sword to her. To throw himself in front of any danger and shield her until he was worn down to the bone. He wanted to touch her. Ached to feel the warmth of her skin under the velvet of her dress. Trail his fingers along the seams until he found an inch of something bare to cling to. To silence the whispers in his head that change was coming and he couldn't control it. But if losing control was losing himself in her…he’d welcome the free fall with a grin on his face.

“From this day forward, let no blade touch you, save that you reply with honor, courage and prowess. We command you to succor the defenseless, seek justice for those of every station, and maintain the honor of your Order,” she announced as the ceremonial sword tapped at his shoulders. “You may rise, Sir John.” He paused and looked up at her for another moment. 

“I kneel at your throne, your Highness. Will only ever knee at the altar of you, Cassandra,” he whispered so it was just a secret between them. A secret they would each take to the grave. She bit back her whimper as he rose to his full height and she took a step back to avoid acting on her improper thoughts. The knights around them were cheering and even her father was smiling but she only saw him. The man that had opened the chamber of her heart that believed she had control in her future. That she had a future worth fighting for. That maybe he could help her reach it.

He only saw her. The Princess that could command him in any direction but need only point. The Princess that presented a front so sure of herself only to hide her anxiety of her future. He would protect her until his last breath. And use that breath to ensure she knew she deserved more than a marriage without love and a life without freedom. She deserved all her wants and all her desires. 

“I suppose you are now at my mercy, Sir John,” she spoke with a joyous smile and a gentle twist of her skirts. 

“I can think of no place I’m more meant to be.”

And God help those who tried to tear them apart.

[kristinamae093]

Dashing Through the Snow ❄️

Everything else can be found here.

Book/Universe - TRR

Pairing - Liam x F!OC (Kyla)

Summary - A new festival commences at the palace, and the terror twins get creative to ensure their victory. (HCTS AU)

Word Count - 2500

Warnings - two bad words, a lot of fluff, shenanigans.

A/N 1 - I am using the following prompts-

@choicesflashfics prompt number 3, which will appear in bold.

@choicesflashfics holiday prompts numbers 10, 17, 18, 46, and 97, which will appear in blue.

@choicesholidays prompt its tradition, which will also be blue.

@choicesficwriterscreations holiday prompt snowball fight.

Please excuse any errors, and thank you in advance for reading and sharing!

Most characters belong to Pixelberry.

The palace was alive with activity, as it usually was on a Saturday afternoon, but today was a special day and called for additional hands. What would now be named Winterfest would soon open; a plethora of holiday-themed activities and competitions lay ahead, the most awaited a snowball fight with participation from both nobles and commoners. Despite the snowstorm from the day before, the projected attendance was still substantial.

Constantine banned the unofficial tradition long ago after Liam suffered a harmless injury, but Liam wanted to resurrect the idea. The holidays were near, and Liam saw an opportunity to strengthen the bond with his people and start the new year on a positive foot. 

Liam lingered in the foyer, observing the commotion beyond the window. The elated smiles of the growing crowd mimicked his own, as he anxiously awaited the start of the festival. 

Constantine emerged from the hallway singing, bundled in multiple layers and a thick hat. “Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open–” 

Liam was a patient man, but could withstand only so much; Constantine had been doing this for weeks. “I swear to God if you sing another damn Christmas carol…” 

“It’s fitting!” Constantine protested. “Seems like someone wants to be on the naughty list this year…” 

“Ha! You want to talk to me about who’s naughty?” Liam snickered. “You’re getting coal this year… No doubt about it.” 

Constantine’s mouth fell open. “Why? Give me three justifiable reasons–” 

“Halloween alone gives me plenty.”  

“You’re not Santa — you may be the king, but that doesn’t mean–” Constantine stopped as Liam arched his brow. “You know what? Forget I said anything…” He nonchalantly grasped Liam’s bicep. “... Have you been working out?”

Before Constantine could respond, Kyla appeared in the doorway. She traded out her usual scrubs for jeans and a coat and let her long, luscious locks flow freely. Liam couldn’t help but admire the pep she held in her step as she bounced over; the smile on her face stretched from ear-to-ear and Liam momentarily swore he was staring directly into the sun. 

“There you are!” Constantine exclaimed. “I hope you’re ready for a day of fun!” 

“Oh, I am.” Kyla beamed. 

“Good! We have a lot to accomplish today.” 

Kyla furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?” 

“Since I am forbidden from participating, that means I shall live vicariously through you.” 

Kyla’s eyes widened. “Me?” 

“Precisely! Since the Grinch over there believes that my health won’t allow me to toss a snowball.” 

“I stand by that statement,” Liam interjected. “And that’s Mr. Grinch to you.” 

“I have to agree with him, sir…” Kyla timidly spoke, but threw her hands up when Constantine glowered at her. “I’m not the one being a hard ass about it — I just gave my professional opinion.” 

“Hey!” Liam cried, the creases on his forehead duplicating. 

Constantine chuckled. “You’ve got a point there — his rear is solidifying as he ages.” 

“Really…�� Liam placed his hands on his hips, glancing back and forth between the pair. 

“Perhaps we should venture outdoors while we await the first contest?” Constantine spoke to Kyla, completely ignoring Liam. “It’s a hill race, but we can explore the vendors in the meantime.”

Kyla’s stomach rumbled. “Does that include food?” 

“As far as the eye can see,” Constantine laughed. “Let’s go find something to munch on and we can discuss our plans…” He quickly cut his eyes over to Liam and smiled brightly, but soon directed his attention back to Kyla and whispered, “Let’s talk elsewhere…” 

Kyla clenched her lips together to conceal her laughter. She nearly broke when she saw the feigned offense etched in Liam’s features, but could tell from the playful glint in his eye that he wasn’t upset — actually, he looked as if he were fighting the crack in his stony facade.

The pair quickly exited, leaving Liam alone in the entryway. He watched them disappear and couldn’t help but grin. However, his father glanced over his shoulder with a distinct glint in his eye that Liam recognized all too well, causing the hair on his neck to stand at attention — he didn’t know what it was, but the terror twins were up to something. 

The day was enjoyable for Kyla; she survived an exhilarating sled race and placed third in an apple bobbing contest with Constantine cheering from the sidelines. The pair bounced around at a steady pace, visiting the multiple booths and sampling the offered delicacies. Liam was scarce as the center of attention, but made it a point to smile and wave whenever he spotted them.

After Kyla made a snowman that resembled the former monarch — much to Constantine’s delight — they retrieved some hot chocolate. Kyla's hands practically froze in the brisk air, but the warmth of the cup soothed her icy fingers as they sat together on a vacated bench.  

Constantine took a swig of his drink and observed the crowd. “It would appear as though the finale starts shortly…” 

“Seems like it…” 

He reached into his pocket and dug out a trinket, handing it out to Kyla. “Take this — it’s your secret weapon.” 

Kyla’s brows furrowed. “... What is that?”

“You know what it is, Kyla.” 

“Okay, but — how is this a weapon? And for what?” 

Constantine snickered. “The last person standing is victorious, and that is going to be you.”

“Me?” Kyla reiterated with wide eyes. 

“Yes, but we have to get creative…” He lowered his voice. “Here’s our plan — Liam will eliminate most of the competition because he’s competitive by nature, so you need to stay hidden until the playing field dwindles.” 

“… Then?” 

“Then you’re going to catch Liam off guard, and victory shall be ours!” 

Kyla’s confusion intensified as she stared at the object in her palm. “But I don’t see how this will –” 

“You know what to do with it, Kyla…” Constantine suddenly stopped. “You don’t have to actually do anything, but act like you intend to…” 

“That seems kind of… mean…” Kyla unsurely answered. “And I still don’t see how–” 

“Just play along — distract him — the rest is taken care of…” 

Before Kyla could respond, static from a microphone peeled through the air. Atop the stage was Liam, wearing a vibrant smile. After the crowd roared for a moment, Liam held up a hand to silence them. He detailed the past traditions that were being honored, as well as his intention to continue the festivities annually, which everyone in attendance was receptive to. He thanked the vendors and the staff for their service, but everyone listening was patiently awaiting the commencement of the last activity. 

“Alright, let’s get to business,” Liam started. “Our last event will be the snowball fight. Remember that today there are no titles — everyone playing is engaging as equals, myself included. In order to win, you must be the last one standing when the bell rings, and that person will receive this plaque, along with substantial bragging rights.” He held up the item and the crowd erupted, eliciting a chuckle from Liam. “I will see you on the west grounds in five minutes.” 

As Liam vacated the stage, Constantine addressed Kyla. “Alright — you’re ready for this.”

“I am?” 

“Yes! Follow my instructions and you’ll be fine.” Constantine reassured while leading Kyla to their destination.

Kyla nodded and before she knew it, they'd arrived. The country came out in full swing; there wasn’t a patch of snow-covered ground that didn’t have eager feet on it. The area was transformed into a makeshift battlefield, including ridges to take shelter and piles of pre-made balls scattered around. 

A loud horn sounded and chaos ensued; most ran to the nearest stockpile to arm themselves while others dropped to the ground to form their ammunition. Within seconds, Kyla’s vision neared completely white as snow sailed through the air. She recalled Constantine’s instructions and hid in a bank away from the brunt of the commotion. She fended off a few people on her venture but made it to her spot safely.

Liam bobbed and weaved the multiple projectiles flying in his direction. He hadn’t had this much fun in years and although the preparations were draining, this moment was worth it. He laughed and regardless of his frozen fingers, he never stopped even for a second. Liam took out anyone who dared to provoke him and as he watched them fall, his confidence skyrocketed. 

As the playing field lessened and only a few contenders remained, he didn’t even try to seek coverage; Liam felt ten feet tall and bulletproof, and nothing was going to stand in his way. Usually, he would have to compete against Drake or Olivia, but the storm impacted their travels; nobody was blocking his path to victory. 

Kyla could tell from the dwindling voices that people were bowing out; she carefully raised her head and saw very few contestants left. Liam stood in the open firing at anyone he saw, and Kyla couldn’t help but smile at the pure elation etched in his features. The moment was short-lived as she watched Liam force yet another participant to concede; she knew her moment was now.

She dashed to the closest shelter near Liam. “Hey!” Kyla exclaimed, just loud enough to grab his attention. “C’mere!” 

Liam jogged over, but kept his ammunition in hand. “Well, well, well…” 

“I come in peace!” Kyla proclaimed but knew it was a lie. 

“You know you’re supposed to be throwing these…” He trailed off while holding up his snowball. 

“I know… But… Well, I have this — thing that I wanted to show you…” 

“Now?” 

“Yep…” Kyla unsurely answered, suddenly realizing how blatantly obvious this ploy was. But Constantine was trusting her, and she was going to see this out. She dug the object he’d given her out of her pocket and held it over their heads. “Look, there’s mistletoe. We have to kiss, it’s the law.” She bluntly stated, but instantly flushed and scolded herself. 

Liam smirked and was tempted to succumb to her — oddly timed request, but it faded as he pieced things together. “So… You’re just running around out here with mistletoe in your pocket?” 

“Don’t you? I thought everyone did.” Kyla nervously chuckled. “You know, Romans believed that mistletoe brought about peace, and they hung them over their doorways for protection.”

“Is that so?” Liam asked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. 

“Yep.” 

“Okay, then.” Liam dismissively agreed. “I’m going to have to take a rain check on your offer, but don’t worry — I’ll be back to collect.” He winked. 

“What–” Kyla stopped as two people appeared behind Liam, poised and ready to strike. It didn’t take long for her to figure out that the first was Trent, the other Bastien. However, Liam instantly thwarted their plan as he sensed their approach. He wasn’t a monarch at that moment — he was a predator. 

Liam spun around in true action hero fashion, hurling projectiles in every direction; despite his blind reaction, he landed a few critical hits. As Bastien and Trent retreated, he launched his ammo with precision, intently focused on his targets. “You think you’re sneaky? HA! Better luck next time!” 

Kyla watched and knew Constantine’s plan must be failing; on instinct, she took matters into her own hands. She quickly crafted some artillery and rose with her arm cocked, expecting Liam’s attention to be on Trent and Bastien but they were gone, and Liam was staring directly at her with a smug grin. 

“If you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war,” Liam emphasized. 

“Kyla!” Constantine yelled from the sideline. “Do it! Finish him!” 

Liam saw Kyla considering it. “Don’t — you will regret it.” 

Kyla’s brow arched. “Is that a threat?” 

“Nope…” Liam snickered. “It’s a promise.” 

Kyla contemplated her options for a moment before she lowered her arm with a sheepish smile. “Sorry… I guess the battlefield got to me for a minute.” 

Liam smiled. “No harm, no foul.” 

���Yeah… Perhaps it’s best if we hugged this one out.” Kyla suggested, trying to buy herself time. 

Liam’s grin faltered. “... Truce?” 

“Truce,” Kyla agreed. She hugged him, taking a moment to bask in his scent, but knew she had to think of something. 

Liam held Kyla closer, relishing in the added warmth from her petite frame, but noticed she was tense. The thought was short-lived as a brisk chill started at the base of his neck, slowly traveling downward and creating icicles in the wake of the snowy path. 

He recoiled away from Kyla, shuddering and dancing to vacate the sensation freezing his skin. Kyla giggled, and that’s when Liam recognized her deception. A newfound sense of determination washed over him at this sudden betrayal but before he could react, an icy projectile landed on his chest, followed by another, then another. 

“Throw the snowball like you mean it!” Constantine hollered. 

Kyla did as instructed and wildly launched snow at Liam; she wasn’t crafting balls anymore but hurled anything in his direction. Liam returned fire, but Kyla proved to be precise. Regardless, he snuck his way back to her. He secured his arms around her waist to subdue her, but Kyla wasn’t willing to go down without a fight; she squirmed and kicked up snow as he lifted her and spun in circles. The sound of Kyla’s infectious laughter filled his heart to the brim, but Liam's deep rumbles joined the symphony of her joy. 

He eventually stopped and Kyla stilled, but Liam kept his hold intact. He stared down at her, admiring the elation sparking behind her doe-like eyes. A force beyond himself took over; he inched closer, never once breaking their intent gaze, but he could see the anticipation coursing through him reflected in Kyla’s vibrant orbs. Just when he was about to make contact the concluding bell sounded, startling them apart. 

The crowd invaded the field again to congratulate those remaining, and Liam made a small statement to finish the day. People surrounded him after, but he politely deflected their attempts to get his attention; he had a prize to collect. 

He quickly located Kyla, his father, Trent, and Bastien together. “Ah, so I’ve found the circle of treason.” 

Trent’s jaw dropped and he stuttered something, but Constantine rolled his eyes and snapped, “Compose yourself, boy. You’re safe for now, even if you failed miserably.” 

Bastien laughed. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got your back.” 

“And you,” Constantine scowled. “I expected better out of you.” He went off on a long rant about honor and dignity, causing Liam and Kyla to chuckle. They quietly slipped away from the commotion, but kept Constantine in their line of sight. 

“So…” Liam started after a period of comfortable silence. 

“Yes?” 

“I believe I was promised a — prize — of sorts…” 

“You weren’t the only winner, thank you very much.” Kyla confidently stated. 

“Then consider it a reward for both of us...” 

As she took in Liam’s smirk, realization swept over Kyla. “Oh…” She bowed her head with flushed cheeks. “You want…?” 

“It’s tradition, Kyla, and I always honor traditions…” 

Kyla giggled and softly pecked his lips; it was so fast and sudden that neither was sure it truly happened, but the jolt of electricity told both it was very real. However, Liam needed more — a little taste of her simply wasn’t enough. He brought her closer and kissed her properly, cradling her face in his palms as they savored the tranquility of the moment. Butterflies swirled in their chests as their lips softly curled together, but Liam eventually pulled away wearing a bright smile that mirrored Kyla’s. 

“Now that’s a prize...” Kyla playfully swatted his chest, eliciting a bark of laughter from Liam. “Thanks for coming today, Kyla… I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Me too.”

“Do you think Lancelot failed Arthur, such as you have me?” They heard Constantine bellow over the crowd, as he laid into Bastien and Trent. “Yet, there are two of you, and you still couldn’t manage a simple task–” 

“Should we rescue them?” Kyla asked Liam. 

Liam considered it a second before he shrugged. “Nah. They can consider this punishment for their treason.” 

“Aww… Is William butthurt that his men turned on him?” Kyla batted her lashes with a toothy grin. 

Liam rolled his eyes. “Always with the 'William'…”

Tags (let me know if you want added or removed) - @ao719 @queenrileyrose @angelasscribbles @tessa-liam @kingliam2019 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @bascmve01 @busywoman @belencha77 @mysticalfangirl @nestledonthaveone @lovingchoices14 @lunaseasblog @malblk21 @sfb123 @emersyn-in-cordonia @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @queenmiarys

[enm-enthusiast]

The Exhibitionists Club Ch. 4 - Jack Part 2

Last chapter we saw Jack witness the preliminary wrestling match between his colleagues Daniel and Roderick, in which Daniel surprisingly came out the victor, but now before both of their cocks were put on display in front of the entire crowd. Now, Jack has to face his own boss, Henry in a strip wrestling match, can he emerge victorious and get through his initiation unscathed? Or will he end up a naked loser?...

Jack

I swallowed the growing pit in my throat as I followed Henry up on the stage, and as I did I took the chance to size my boss up. He wasn’t as tall as me, standing at 5’10 compared to my 6’2 but he was bulkier, his thighs and arm muscles far exceeded my own and from the stories I had heard around the office he knew how to use them. His casual clothes couldn’t hide his rather impressive glutes, either, and I couldn’t help but admire his toned and meaty globes attached to his backside. His graying dirty blonde hair was cut short, and had recently shaved his neat, handsome face, his piercing hazel eyes turned to look at me and flash a dazzling, knowing wink and a smile before taking the final steps up on stage.

I followed him up, the bright lights flooding my vision and making me temporarily squint as my eyes adjusted from the darkness of the crowd. Ian greeted us as he did Daniel and Rod, we introduced ourselves to him, afterwards he turned back to the crowd and said “There you have it gents, our next two volunteers! And may I say what hunks, am I right?” He said.

Many from the crowd voiced their agreement and I thought I heard one even say: “Tear his clothes off, blondie!” and I felt my face flush from heat as I knew who they were referring to.

“Let’s wait and see who rips off whose clothes first, shall we? Now, to repeat, there is no biting, kicking, or low blows to sensitive areas, either of you get caught doing this by me or security and we will remove you from the premises, right?” He said, matter of fact. Both me and Henry nodded our heads and Ian waved us down to the ring and we separated to take opposing spots with me on the left and Henry on the right.

“And remember! First one to lose all his clothes will lose the match, and you can either keep or return the loser's underwear, and with that, let’s get this show on the road!” Ian finished and me and Henry both took our socks and shoes off, taking our first careful steps inside the oil-slicked ring.

I was wearing casual navy blue shorts, a red shirt, and a red and black jockstrap underneath it all…I told myself that my opponent would be someone I could handle enough that I wouldn’t lose more than my shirt. True enough, if anyone else BUT Henry had been chosen to wrestle me my victory was guaranteed, no doubt it's why he's my opponent.

Henry himself was wearing black cargo shorts and a black tank top, showing off his muscled arms which threatened to put me in a hold I’d never escape from if he managed it. We began sizing each other up in the precious few seconds we had before Ian started his countdown to begin. My best chance was to evade being grappled by his arms and focus on his legs which would slow him down. I’d go for his tank top first, the straps were an easy target that wouldn’t be an issue for me to simply rip off of him. 

“1!” Ian shouted, his countdown had begun.

I spread my legs open and crouched, storing energy in my legs in case I got the opportunity to pounce and wrap my legs around him. 

“2!”

Henry moved his arms up in a defensive position, which made me think he was either preparing for a straight up attack or was feinting and trying to catch me off-guard. 

“3!”

The match had begun, and true enough he was feinting, because I didn’t move first, instead he lunged at me like lightning after the first few seconds had passed. My eyes widened and I moved to sidestep him but he reached his arm out which managed to grab right onto my left hand and he pulled me along with him.

I pried my hand from his grasp and moved before he could, he was against the edge of the ring and so I wrapped my legs around his waist and hooked my arms underneath his and pulled upwards. Within the first minute I managed to get him firmly pinned.

“Fuck…your quicker than I thought” Henry said, his voice hoarse from the breath being knocked out of him.

“Maybe you're just getting slow, old man,” I said, my smile widening. I noticed my crotch was pressed into his lower back, right against his firm ass. As soon as I realized, I could feel my cock start to respond and I cursed myself silently as the more I restrained Henry the more his ass pressed upwards onto my crotch.

My bulge was growing as I could feel his glutes rubbing up against me, despite the layers of fabric in between. Henry tried to free an arm and I responded by lifting Henry up further which as soon as I did it, I knew it was a mistake.

I landed his backside right in the middle of my crotch, my shaft was even rising in a way that nestled itself between his cheeks and at the contact I couldn’t help but bite my lip and said “Fucckkkk” under my breath.

Henry, damn him, heard me and even from this angle I saw a smile split his face. “What’s the matter, tough guy? Is all this muscle too much for you? Or are you just happy to see me” He said and I could tell he had noticed something poking at his ass and my expression of arousal had only confirmed his suspicions. 

I didn’t answer, but even while restrained he could still slightly move and so he took it upon himself to sway his ass from side to side, effectively grinding his ass against my quickly growing cock.

I sucked in a breath as the contact only made my cock grow to full mast inside my shorts and jockstrap. I felt my head swirl with lust as I wanted to completely tear off Henry’s clothes and bend him over and fuck him senseless but I had to focus, I had to keep him pinned so I could rip off his tank top. I managed to clear my head at least for a moment so I had to act fast because as soon as one of his arms was free it would only be a few seconds before he broke away completely.

As Henry continued grinding against me, I counted down internally and as soon as I hit 5 I once again lifted Henry up, bending his back and while he was distracted I let go of his left arm and immediately grabbed ahold of the left strap of his tank top and Henry was beginning to realize what I was doing.

I tightened my grip, released my legs around his waist, and whilst pushing my legs away while still holding onto his left strap…

RIIIIIIPPPPPP

I lunged away but half his tank top came with me, the rest was in shreds around him and was now stripped to his waist, and the crowd cheered as I lifted up the garment in a momentary victory and threw it into the crowd. Henry turned to face me, now bare-chested and as I always suspected was quite hairy but still very well built and stocky. His torso was already beginning to glisten from the oil, because as soon as I had jumped away he had landed on the ground, and it only accentuated his large male pecs which rippled with muscle as he instinctively flexed them as he ripped away the remaining shreds of his shirt.

The movement stirred something in me, his large dominating figure awakened something primal, and I felt an equal urge to both break and bend his ass over for me…and for him to utterly pound me into submission. My cock twitched in response as it continued to throb, still imprisoned within my jockstrap. 

“I see you haven’t lost your edge, it’s too bad though…playtime’s over” Henry said, his eyes locked onto mine and the look in them sent a tingle down my spine, and a chilling dread in the pit of my stomach. His expression wasn’t one of rage or amusement like it was before, no, his face was stone-cold and determined, and it both frightened and turned me on at the same time.

He readied himself, arms up in defense and I matched his movements in quick succession. We then circled one another as we slowly traversed the floor of the ring on our knees, each waiting for a sign of weakness, and it wasn’t until someone in the crowd nearby coughed that Henry made his move. 

He lunged forward and so did I, and our palms slammed into each other, the force of which had me slide backwards a few feet. This didn’t deter me as I knew my next target was his shorts, and I briefly glanced down at them until my eyes locked right onto his crotch…

He had a full on bulge going on, and judging from the size of the tent he was pitching down there, the old man had nothing to be ashamed of unlike poor Rod. 

I had to force myself to look away and locked eyes on Henry’s again, who noticed where my eyes had gone but his expression hadn’t changed, he still looked like he was equally ready to end me as much as strip me naked. 

Our arms were locked in a struggle, and I was holding my own for the moment but I could already feel the strain on my arms weakening my resistance against the slow push of his arms against mine. I tried to push back in a vain attempt to knock him off his balance and I did succeed in sliding him back a bit, however Henry just smiled, a cold, wicked smile and said “it’s cute how you think this is my full strength, time to show you how it’s done”.

He breathed in deeply and his arm muscles rippled and he pushed with much more force this time, and my arms, already strained, couldn't keep up and I lost my grip. Henry seized the advantage and lunged forward and I was too slow to react to try and evade him. With one arm he bound mine behind my back and slammed me down on the ground with my arms pinned underneath me. He used his right arm to hold my torso in place while his legs held down my own. 

He didn’t waste any time gloating or taunting, no he went straight for my throat with his free left hand and gripped the collar of my shirt tightly in his fist. He leaned down towards my ear and without warning he softly licked my earlobe which, despite myself I whimpered and felt my body tingle as he did so. My face flooded with heat as he said “you have no idea how bad you're gonna get it, this is just the start” and with a growl in his throat he tightened his grip on my shirt…and pulled.

RIPPPPP

He completely tore off my shirt, leaving my furry but stocky and well-built chest exposed. The crowd was loving it, they watched Henry completely turn the tables on me and had me firmly pinned, there wasn’t anything I could do to escape unless he wanted me to. Suddenly, he gave both my nipples a twist which made me suddenly gasp and say “Ahhh…fuckkk” I said.

My cock throbbed inside my shorts and Henry noticed the tent in my pants suddenly lurch upward. His grin grew even wider now, and he twisted my nipples again, and again. I had to bite my lip to keep myself from moaning, instead I put every ounce of energy into looking for an opportunity to escape. However, my hopes were in vain as  he twisted my nipples one last time, and harder too, I couldn’t help but let out a soft “Mmmmm” 

While I was distracted, Henry suddenly stepped off me and before I could react he flipped me over onto my stomach and quickly put down my flailing legs and held my arms down with his right. Henry didn’t waste any time in giving my ass a quick slip before saying “time to lose the shorts” he said out loud.

Some in the crowd had heard him and they began to chant the words “lose the shorts!” “lose the shorts!” “lose the shorts!” they said, each time more voices joined in. I couldn’t tell if our colleagues had joined in or not but soon enough their voices chanted in near unison for Henry to divest me of another piece of clothing.

After a few moments, Henry bowed to their wishes, because he kept my legs pinned down but used both of his arms and reached for the sides of my shorts. The soft contact of his hands against my bare skin at first made me gasp and my cock twitch slightly as it was pressed against the floor. He slowly started to lower my shorts, and I could feel the cold air against my lower half as he did so and my cheeks flooded with shame as I felt the top of my ass being exposed.

“Wow! We got another jockstrap here!”

“What a pale butt, he needs to tan more”

“Smack his bare ass!”

As he exposed the top half of my bare butt, Henry did just that and I felt his hand smack against me, the sting made my eyes water a bit and strangely my cock throbbed even harder inside the pouch of my jockstrap. After that, however, Henry lifted himself off me and quickly slid my shorts down and off of my legs, throwing them into the crowd which left me in nothing but my jock, and people quickly noticed my bulge as I flipped upwards to face him.

Before Henry could prepare another attack, I recklessly tackled him to the ground, and the crowd lost it as we each rolled over, our bodies becoming ever more slick with sweat and oil as they collided with both the floor and each other. Henry was caught off guard and I used it to my advantage as we wrestled across the ring, and despite my frantic, energetic attempts to reach them his powerful arms constantly blocked any attempt at grabbing for his shorts.

At one point he wrapped his arms around my stomach and lifted me upwards, holding my body against him, and this time, as I did at the start of our match, this time I could feel his bulge’s warmth against my ass and Henry growled in his throat as he thrust his hips upward, sliding his crotch against my exposed ass cheeks. 

The red in my face returned as it felt so good to feel the warmth of his bulge thrusting against me and that strange desire to submit to him returned. I briefly imagined myself in his office, this time both of us naked and me bent over his desk, with him pounding away at me like the alpha male he was that was claiming what was his. My desire to strip away his shorts now intermingled with my lust for my own boss, which only made me want to slap myself for acting like an animal when I had a match to win. 

I had to break away, but suddenly Henry’s hand reached underneath me, grazing my bare ass cheeks but reaching past to grab my aching cock through the jockstrap’s pouch and I audibly whimpered this time. Henry’s voice whispered in my ear “who knew that the big, tough, new guy Jack was secretly a slut that’s practically begging to take my cock” he said, chuckling softly and I felt my face flood with shame. He knew this was turning me on like hell, and had intuitively guessed at my lust for him. Even before today I caught a few glimpses now and then of his features, checking him out every time he flexed his muscles or bent over it would always catch my eye. But today was the first time I had ever felt anything so intense, especially with my growing desire to let him fuck my brains out, and the fact that he knew was just so embarrassing as I had always cultivated the ideal image of professionalism for myself, and with each time he massaged my bulge it made both my remaining dignity and self-control slip away ever further.

He continued to massage my boner through my jockstrap, and I knew that if I didn’t escape soon I might lose my only remaining piece of clothing or worse…shoot my load in front of everybody here. I couldn’t let that happen so with all my strength I pulled his left arm muscle which made Henry cry out in pain and I seized my chance to break free from his grip. 

I turned around and lunged straight for his shorts, and I managed to grab a hold of his sides but the oil made my grip loose, which made it easy for him to quickly side step me. I wasn’t letting him off easy, so I followed and tumbled with him, his arms again kept trying to hold mine down and overpower me, but I adopted a strategy of swatting his hands away whenever he tried, and my legs were just as powerful as his, indeed mine had the edge in terms of energy and training as his leg strength gave out way faster than mine did. 

His deeply-tanned torso was shining thanks to the oil, which some people continue to pour more into the ring to keep things from drying out. My own torso, much paler than Henry's, was glistening with sweat and oil, which made our grips and grabs flimsier and our bodies easily slid along anothers. 

The crowd was enraptured not only by our determination but also the sexually charged tension between us. Henry had sensed my lust but I was beginning to sense something else from him too, it was one thing to tease and taunt your opponent, however it was another to grab his hard-on and thrust your bulge in between his bare ass cheeks. 

My suspicions were confirmed when I made the mistake of trying to use the floor to slide away from his lunge and latched himself onto my shoulders, he quickly climbed over my body and used his own full body weight to hold me down on the ground, pinned beneath him. I felt it again as he did so, however, the same euphoric warmth of his bulge had nestled itself right along my ass crack. Because of this, I had a rough idea of how big he was and if I was right…he had at least 7 inches on him which I knew could utterly destroy me if he ever did pound me into submission like my cock was begging me to do.

Just then, however, I felt him thrust once, twice, three times, until he was outright humping me. I bit my lip once again and felt my face turn a crimson red as Henry utterly humiliated me by asserting his dominance and manhandling me as if I were nothing. That strange, suppressed desire was starting to take hold of me again, and it took all of my self-control to keep myself from begging him to fuck me right there and then.

I knew I was defeated, however, there was no escape this time and all he needed to do was snap the waistband of my jockstrap and it would be over. It made my desire to submit all the stronger but I held onto my defiance even as my cock was leaking precum inside the pouch of my jockstrap. 

Henry showed no signs of stopping, in fact his slow thrusts turned deeper, faster, more full of energy as he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and his voice in my ear said “Saturday, 9:00 o’clock at night, my office, don’t be late” he said before kissing the side of my face and licking my earlobe once again which sent shivers down my spine, before retreating.

In my confusion I almost didn’t register him suddenly wrapping his hands around the sides of my jock, and I sank my head in defeat as I felt the fabric give way with a simple snap and I laid there as Henry stood up and raised his arms in victory. The crowd cheered, but some expressed their desire to see me stand up with him, including, I noticed, our colleagues who were standing right beside the edge of the ring now. I realized there was no point in trying to hide, but thankfully Henry extended a hand to me and helped lift me up onto my feet.

“Jesus! That thing is thick!”

“Wow, Can you believe he’s already leaking?”

“Fuck, I’d ride him till he shot!”

Were all shouts from guys in the crowd I could make out coherently, but most of them drooled at the sight of my fully hard, 5-inch long and thick cock. My pale face was beet red, and I sheepishly smiled and chuckled at the guys from the office who all sported wide, shit-eating grins and suffered from bouts of laughter.

Suddenly, Ian tapped on his mic and said “Well well, looks like our winner is Henry Knight, and sorry Jack Whittle, guess you can’t keep your underwear, however, before you leave we keep spare clothes for those who lose them, but feel free to stay as bare as you want,” he said and gave me a wink that only made me turn my head away in embarrassment. 

“Alright folks, let’s get at least two more rounds here, come on, volunteers” Ian said as me and Henry stepped out of the ring, and the guys greeted us with, as I expected, laughter and teasing. I used my hands to cover myself until my boner went down though none of the guys let me off the hook for it.

“Alright fellas, a bet’s a bet, time to pay up” Henry said, and held out his hand, waiting.

The guys all lost their grins immediately and started pulling out their wallets. “Um, what’s going on?” I asked, and Henry looked at me, still bare-chested, and smiled and said “Oh right, well the guys here bet me you wouldn’t even be able to get a single piece of clothing off, but I had faith you’d put up a fight, and trust me…you did” he said as he gladly accepted cash from each of our colleagues, all except for Daniel who stood off to the side, seems he hadn't taken the bet.

I almost couldn’t believe my ears, my mouth hung open, and I was about to lose my shit but suddenly I remembered the second part of my initiation bet…

“So….I lost, and I said I’d do one favor for you guys if I did, so…what is it?” I said.

Henry glanced at the guys, whose knowing smiles returned but they said nothing. Henry spoke up and said “come into work tomorrow and find out” he said, winking and that’s all he would say about it for the rest of the night. We decided to stay and watch the other two matches, one was a Latino man that looked like he was a professional marathon runner, the other was a young blonde that didn’t stand a chance and got stripped fully naked within 5 minutes. The second match was a lot closer, it was between that one hottie I saw before, Sebastian, and some other student I had seen on campus, some red-haired jock that talked a lot of shit. Sebastian managed to put him in his place, stripping his arrogant opponent naked but not before he lost his own shirt and pants. Ian called it a night after that, I made sure to grab a change of clothes from security, which were unfortunately too small but…it was better than walking out naked.

"See you at work tomorrow, sexy" Henry whispered in my ear as he walked by and towards the main doors. I couldn't help but shiver in pleasure as he did so, and despite myself...I couldn't wait for Saturday night, and judging by the growing bulge in my new pants...my cock agreed.

Next day at work

I arrived at my usual time, and everything seemed normal at first until I had put my change of clothes inside my locker and walked out into the main office to see all the guys standing there, including Henry, waiting for me. 

“Uh…what’s up guys?” I asked, nervously.

Henry stepped up and said “Well, you wanted to know what your forfeit was for losing the match, and we decided that if you lost…you have to stay naked at the office for a whole week” he said, and some of the guys snickered.

My eyes widened and I could feel my cheeks blooming with heat as I panicked and said “What?! I’d never have agreed to-t-to this if I’d known this was my forfeit!” I said, my face now crimson red.

“That’s the point, you wouldn’t have, so we had to keep it vague, but you knew that we could have demanded anything when you agreed to the terms, it’s not our fault you failed to consider this possibility, so step up and take your punishment. Strip,” Henry said, that cold and serious look on his face again.

I hesitated, I began to think of what Henry had said last night right before he stripped my jockstrap away, and despite how mad and humiliated I felt…I already knew I was going to do exactly what he told me, and my cock began to rise at the thought of what he planned for me. I knew that there was no point in arguing, if I didn’t, they would strip me themselves, so…I began to remove my clothes.

The guys watched me like vultures as I stripped, first came my socks and shoes, which I left in front of me, then came my shirt which I slowly unbuttoned and I let fall onto the floor, next came my pants which quickly joined my shirt. That left me in nothing but my boxer briefs, and the guys all nodded their approval, including Henry, who watched me ravenously as I slowly pulled off my last piece of clothing and left them in a pile with my other clothes, leaving me totally naked.

Daniel, with a nod from Henry came over and quickly gathered up my clothes and walked off, which left me no choice but to stay naked. I used my hands to cover up and I hung my head in shame as I asked “Do I have to leave the office naked every night for the rest of the week?”

“No, you can get dressed in your change of clothes once you leave work every night, but not before then, oh and don’t worry I’ve changed the schedule, you're on office duty for the next week, so you better get busy naked boy” Henry said, winking at me before walking off.

The guys then walked over and started chatting with me, a bunch of them said they thought I had balls of steel to go up against the boss like that, while others asked if they could have another “look” but I told them to fuck off which thankfully they did. Through all of it, my hands covered what was left of my modesty and dignity. I thought I had found a way to make my initiation as least humiliating as possible…instead I managed to make it possibly the most any guy has ever had to endure.

As I walked past the guys who began to resume their work duties, I felt a stray hand slap my bare ass cheek as I walked by. I glared at them but they only grinned at me in return. They all talked among themselves and as I made my way to the reception desk, where the main desk worker was posted during the day, I thought again of what Henry said but also of how I had to stay naked for the entire week.

If they caught me trying to wear clothes at all they’d just strip me naked again, or worse punish me for disobeying…no, they were right, it was my idea and I agreed to their terms, better I just suck it up and deal with it…

What the guys didn’t know, or see, except maybe Henry, was that as I stripped away my underwear and stood naked in front of them, my cock rose to full mast and still hadn’t gone down. Thankfully I was able to tuck it between my legs and used my hands to cover it, though it made walking awkward. Still, the combination of confusion, embarrassment, and arousal only made things so unclear. One thing remained constant, however, and that was that no matter what, I was going to be in Henry’s office, at 9 o'clock ...on the dot.

End of Chapter.

Author’s Note:

Thank you guys for reading another chapter of this series! I know it’s been a while since my last post but don’t worry I haven’t forgotten you, I’m unsure which character to focus on next, please feel free to suggest any of the ones I’ve introduced so far or someone you’ve been wanting to see from the main cast list! Until next time, I’m always here and I hope you enjoyed ;)

These are my two main choices for the next character chapter, but again feel free to suggest otherwise!

Time for a blast from the past, either:

1.) Professor Ethan from The Professor's Anatomy.

2.) Thomas from Thomas' Misadventures

[belaephemeral]

of flesh and bone, thunder and lightning

Pairings: Wanderer x Reader (gender-neutral) 

This oneshot will refer to Wanderer as “Scaramouche”. Feel free to replace this with the name you chose for him as you read!

Summary: Every gesture, touch and action that you share with him is something that you will always treasure. From the way his eyes securely lock onto yours, like two puzzle pieces falling into place, to the fingers that interlock with yours, like threads of an interwoven tapestry of adoration that perfectly weave together; it simply just isn’t enough. But what you always desire for are the kisses that are oh so characteristically him. You yearn for the invigorating way it nourishes and rejuvenates the ardour that blooms in your heart whenever he conveys his endearment through a loving and intimate embrace. 

Word count: 3000

Author’s Note: Happy belated White Day everyone! (I meant to post this earlier but I had a presentation and a mock exam. Sorry for the wait!)

(PS: I named Wanderer “sayang” [“love/darling” in Bahasa Malaysia] because I couldn’t think of a name that would fully reflect his personality and what he means to me. I will always refer to him as “Scaramouche” so, I gave him a cute pet name! Though I was extremely compelled to call him baby girl. Haha, let me know what you named him!)

From the moment of his conception into that hollow, artificial shell to his current incarnation as the enigmatic, wandering wayfarer, the former renowned Balladeer isn’t well versed in the language of intimacy. In fact, he is rather perplexed with your inherent fluency in it. 

One evening, he found you peering over his shoulder as the clouds soared overhead and the ink of nightfall spilled onto the expanse of sky that hung over your forms. “What do you want from me?” he inquires brusquely, inexperienced with the notion of being inextricably tethered to someone. A connection forged by the countless moments you have shared together, the numerous battlefields you have both emerged victorious and triumphant from as you stood over the bodies of your enemies, and the several occasions he’s learnt that he could tolerate your presence and the serene silences that envelop you both after a tiresome day. “Do enlighten me as to what you are thinking - though I can’t guarantee I’ll retain interest in this conversation if you simply wanted to engage in small talk.” As expected. There’s that honest and straightforward reaction that you’re well acquainted with and a familiar demonstration of his infamously sharp tongue and blunt remarks. 

Absent-mindedly, you gingerly draw the pressed hems of his white collar closer to the centre of his chest, your hands slowly reaching towards the various embellishments that adorn his body and minutely adjusting them to their rightful place. Scaramouche notices the way your brows knit together, as though you were slightly vexed by the mild breeze prior that put them into a state of disarray and disturbed them from the rich cobalt and baby blue fabric that they were fastened to. 

Inquisitively, his orbs observe your movements, waiting for your next words. He  waits with the patience you would never have been able to rouse within him when you initially met. Gradually, your eyes meet his, and you struggle to conceal the beam that threatens to spill onto your face. The expectant look that glazes his features and the way your hands smooth out the folds of his signature attire reminds you of your various encounters with the felines you’ve run into throughout your journey. Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair just as you did with the inky-black shorthair you met a few hours ago, you tilt your head up to peer into his dark pools of purple and whisper, just loud enough for him to catch your words amongst the whistle of the wind and the howl of the approaching night: “The sun is setting; shall we retire for the night?” 

Scaramouche isn’t used to physical displays of affection: your touch makes him flinch momentarily, but his muscles relax as your presence permeates into him and your delectable scent renders him defenceless. Simultaneously, his thoughts are occupied at the irony of how you intend to maintain his aesthetic integrity despite the grime and dust that speckles his pristine ivory outfit and the minuscule crimson cuts peppered onto his smooth and unblemished pale skin. 

Continuing your tentative ministrations, you gaze into his dark indigo orbs, which are flecked with specks of aquamarine and royal blue - you gaze into them as though you’re searching both for an answer and searching for a glimpse into what could possibly run through that inquisitive and yet tranquil mind of his. 

Abruptly, his head snaps away from yours, the ornaments adorning his body twinkling as he does so. He exhales, releasing a sound that, to an ordinary passerby, verges a fine line between mutual amiability and absolute contempt. In reality, he uses the derisive scoff that escapes him to try and conceal the flush that creeps along the apples of his cheeks and flourishes to the tips of his ears. Slowly, he closes one eye and snidely peeks at your form with a timbre full of mirth and he softly purrs: “Hmm? What, you can’t fall asleep with me around? And here I was - assuming you had something important to tell me. Well, despite expecting more, I guess it can’t be helped.” A glint of playfulness flashes onto his crystalline orbs. Candour laces every sentence that leaves his mouth but his words betray the way he unconsciously beckons you ever closer to him to witness the stars string themselves into constellations before your very eyes.

“Well, if it is ever anything about you, it most certainly is important to me.” The former Fatui Harbinger isn’t as sly as he thinks he is - your perceptive gaze catches traces of the pink that dusts his bewitching visage and the slightest dilation of his obsidian pupils. After he finally unravelled the persona he had skillfully hid underneath his artificial facade, you revel in the way your closeness flusters him and you relish in the way you are the only person he’d traverse these lands with to find his true identity and meaning in his newfound life. 

“It’s astonishing how you can utter that without an ounce of shame. I guess it’s by your nature - fortunately your fighting capabilities and, well, decent appearance compensate for your rather brazen personality.” 

With an astounded gasp, you lightly swat his shoulder, earning the faintest snigger from the male. Eyes glinting with mischief and a subtle smile curled with mirth, he observes you once again chuckling exasperatedly at his antics. “Well, excuse me for caring about you - aren’t you freezing in that outfit? At this rate, you might catch a cold.” As the moon rises, the temperature slowly depletes. The chill of the wind bites into your skin but Scaramouche seems unfazed by it - he, in fact, basks in the gusts that periodically billow by. His brows are no longer furrowed and his jaw unclenches, content with the way the breeze tousles his deep purple tresses and causes stray strands of hair flutter against his face.  

Gently, you slink your arms around his shoulders, your fingers drawing nonsensical shapes on the nape of his neck. “I need to have my sparring partner in tip-top shape. Nursing you back to health is not something I want to add to my itinerary - you should be well-aware that my schedule is completely full.” You add haughtily, his teasing remarks spurring you to counter his verbal advance with a challenge of your own. “And I’ll have you know that in the time it will take for you to recover, my combat proficiency will certainly surpass yours in no time. If that’s the case, then I assume that you want to lose to me again?”

“Why you-” his head dives forward as he launches an attack on your jugular. “Rest assured, I do not have a delicate constitution, unlike those other ordinary mortals.” As he buries his nose into your collarbone and his digits trace your ribs and waist, you convulse with laughter as his touch dances against sensitive parts of your upper torso. Your hands attempt to resist his ministrations, but his physical strength overpowers you, not that you were putting much of a fight in the first place, and you’re stupefied by the teeth that unexpectedly graze your clavicle and leave the affected area tingling with electricity. Audaciously nipping your neck as you titter, he softly murmurs against your skin: “I’ll let you stew in your victory for today, koibito, but I’ll have you know that I do not intend on losing - must I remind you of who remains the reigning champion in all of our duels?” 

Averting your head away from his firm grip, you blow a raspberry, sneering smugly at him: “Sure, call it whatever you want Scaramouche - construe the indisputable fact that my talents and ability outclass yours, which obviously excels way beyond your current capabilities, into whatever palatable narrative that will satiate you. Just accept your defeat already.”

His eyes catch yours and one of the corners of his mouth lifts upwards, just enough for you to notice the glint of his boyish fangs. “Oh, koibito, you’ll renounce those words once I conquer you on the battlefield tomorrow. I’ll remind you of the sweet taste of my overwhelming prowess.”

His intoxicating presence infiltrates your senses like a potent toxin: he renders you defenceless to his reticent whims. From prior fleeting meetings and brief acquaintanceship that solidifies into something more, it is in moments like these, you can feel the pulsing and robust bond that has bound you two together - a bond you nor he could sever without incapacitating the other that has been irrevocably tied to this everlasting string that connects your beings. 

Swiftly slicing into the universe that has formed between you and him, a drop of rain splatters onto the plane of grass that lays beneath your feet. A few droplets multiply into a light drizzle, which then gradually lead to a downpour that descends relentlessly onto your figures. 

Yelping as a cold stream of water cascades down your back, you instinctively pull Scaramouche closer to your form. Reaching your hand above your head, you promptly draw one end of his hat downwards in a futile attempt to shield both you and him from the torrential rain. Over the thundering pitter-patter descending above you, you make out an exasperated yell erupt from the form within your grasp: “Seriously, you’re using my hat as an umbrella?! The audacity!”

“Stop moving your mouth and start moving those legs! Let’s hurry to the house before we’re both soaked through!”

Briskly, your hand wraps around his lithe waist whilst the other clasps his nimble wrist. You pull him firmly towards the quaint cottage that Granny Ruoxin kindly let the two of you reside in after taking care of throng of Treasure Hoarders and stray agents of the Fatui who sought to disturb the peaceful village. 

As the rain pelts down onto the vibrant expanse of orange and yellow fields, Scaramouche stumbles and teeters as he loses his footing. The dirt dampens with the downpour and the muddy surface threatens to pull him down as his ukon-geta sinks into the moist soil underneath his figure. Noticing his struggle, you whisk him into your arms. Hoisting his frame closer to your chest, you support his waist in one hand, tucking his form closer to your bosom as his legs are securely lifted up with your other hand. 

Scaramouche’s features contort into one of shock but he is unable to fully explore his sudden astonishment as your ministrations cause him to desperately cling onto your shoulders to avoid falling down. Incredulously, he shouts: “A little warning would have been nice!” Closing his lids, to calm his thundering heartbeat and to allay the sudden spur of bewilderment, he hollers: “Is this really necessary? You shouldn’t fret over me in such a situation - put me down and take care of yourself first.” 

Fidgeting in your hold, he ruffles like an agitated and displeased feline, clawing his way out of your secure embrace. For once, it isn’t because your actions have aroused that inherent feeling of vexation or irritation that wells in his being. For once, (even if these are things he’s thought about countless times, but he internally, indignantly and stubbornly refuses to accept this) he’s concerned about the hefty burden carrying him places on your form, already weary with the elemental reactions inflicted onto you and the countless swords and weapons you had to defend yourself and him against. For once, he’s afraid you’ll become ill with every transparent drop of water that descends onto your exquisite profile. For once, he’s at a conflict between relishing in how your arms sturdily and firmly grip his form with the same overwhelming strength and power he’s witnessed in innumerable battles, and reprimanding your foolish selflessness that blinds you from the danger of trekking through the vast plains of terrace fields and hills that await you on your journey to the quaint village. 

“Pipe down, Scaramouche, do you honestly think that I would let you walk in this storm with sandals like that?” Glancing at the clogs that limply hang from his feet, he grimaces at the soil that cakes the dark wooden soles and he’s starkly reminded of the pain that shot up the length of his calf when he stumbled moments ago. 

“Hmm? Cat got your tongue? If so, hold on tightly, ohimesama, let me take care of you now.” It’s astounding that even here, you’d snarkily tease him so. It’s astonishing that even now, you don’t seize your romantic advancements - not as you briskly send a cheeky wink and gallantly march towards the cozy cottage that awaits the two of you. Heavy rainfall splatters relentlessly onto your visage, which seems even more breathtaking as the water highlights your charming features. (Not that he’d actually vocalise these thoughts - maybe it’s because of his pride or because he’s afraid of inflating your ego any more than it already is. Perhaps it’s because he trips over the words he wishes to tell you, your beauty petrifying him so much so that he feels vulnerable in a way he’s never experienced before and flustered that he lacks the same amount of experience you hold in amorous endeavours.) 

After being well-acquainted with your headstrong, albeit also quite frustratingly stubborn and obstinate, nature, he surrenders to your whims. The only thing he can do is to securely loop his arms around your neck and, begrudgingly, use his hat to provide some way of deflecting the incessant downpour. He flushes at the way you reflexively move your head closer to his, your damp strands tickling his jaw. Instinctively, you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, tucking yourself into him to cover what little could fit underneath his headwear. 

It certainly will be a long journey back to Qingce Village, he muses, gazing beyond the tempestuous storm and the clouds brewing with strobes of lightning. The tenacious glint never leaves your captivating optics even as you inhale and exhale shakily whilst climbing the rolling hills and undulating pathways to your desired destination. Even as your chest heaves under his weight and tracks of rainwater stream down the curve of your cheek, the edge of your chin and the hollow of your neck, your hold is unfailingly firm under his lithe thighs and the broad column of his back and shoulders.

He’ll have to reward you for your efforts later - such chivalrous acts deserve commendation - something that even he is aware of. He acutely recalls how much you you yearn for his recognition - albeit not explicitly, he knows how voicing your merits inextricably affects you. Who is he to deny you your well-earned praise? Who is he to not demonstrate his utmost gratitude of your efforts? He’ll certainly show you his appreciation - he just hopes you’ll be able to bear the gravity of his newfound passion - a sudden onslaught of fervent ardour that consumes him wholly. It would be an expression you would have never expected from him but like your proficiency in wielding the elements, you’ll diligently endure him. After all, that’s what is expected of the partner of the former renowned Balladeer. And he knows you definitely won’t disappoint.

_____

Scaramouche isn’t one for showing his admiration outright - especially not in broad daylight and exposed to the judgemental scrutiny of outsiders who have no right to learn of his ardent affinity for you. He absolutely abhors the idea of anyone seeing how your actions make him putty in your hands. He detests the thought of anyone seeing how a heart manifests in his artificial rib cage, rattling against wire and alive and beating within that hollow shell of his puppet body. 

Under the private gaze of the moon and your eyes only, away from the daunting, captious view of the outside world, he unravels himself to you. His touch is inexperienced, but as his reincarnation’s name suggests, he craves discovery and desires exploration. 

Like electricity, his lips leave supple trails of kisses along your jugular - his actions igniting sparks in their wake and making your skin tingle with a numbing and thrilling static that persists even as he draws himself away from you. Despite the stringent, blunt and yet considerate facade he performs in-front of others, you can taste the lingering remnants of his territorial, cunning and dominant persona through the way he smirks against the expanse of your clavicle, and writes his name with the purple and light red flowers that begin to blossom on your torso. You’re submerged in the palpitating sensation he sends throughout your body, conducting a current of his fervent ardour to every area of your pliant and yielding form. It spreads through the vast network of veins and blood vessels that come to life with every caress of his hands. It jumpstarts an uproar of passion that had once lay dormant deep within the core of your being for so long, awakened by the energy he fuels into you with every movement of his deft digits and the ravenous purple orbs that bore into yours. 

Eagerly and rapaciously, he consumes the sounds that escape your mouth, punctuated by the roaring strikes of thunder that briefly illuminate your entwined figures resting on your shared double bed and guided by the sustained metronome of the rain that continues to fall outside and casts shadows along the mahogany floors of the cottage. Selfishly, he drinks you in like you’re the only entity that will satiate this vehement desire - like you’re the only person to satisfy this intense hunger that ravishes his entire being. He delights in the way you squirm underneath his form, desperate to chase him, to hold him accountable for the pulsating ache he triggered into every single inch of skin, flesh and bone within your body, to ensure he’s responsible for the searing libido that courses through every fibre of your being. 

Even within the haze of frantic, erratic movements and desperate, yearning caresses, he realises that in this moment, you never fail to make him feel like he belongs. Your presence provokes him to feel like he was always destined to be engulfed wholly by your tender embrace. Like he was preordained to be irrevocably tethered to your celestial presence, like he was fated to be loved by you. To return your fervent reassurances that ensure he is more than an just the discarded puppet he was born as, and the comfort you provide by will-fully devoting yourself to guiding him to the future that he deserves, he’ll drown you in his affections. 

Ever chasing the next thrill, the next competition, he’ll see how long you can withstand before he completely overwhelms you. 

After all, he’s grateful for everything you’ve done for him. This is just one of many ways for him to show his appreciation.