#why have the muses forsaken me so?

[vox-monstera]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Oh goodness, is it Wednesday already? Life moves so damn fast lately that I don’t even know what day it is!

I was tagged by the fantastic duo of @wanderingaldecaldo and @theviridianbunny 💕

Thank you both so much for thinking of me!

Been working stupid crazy hours lately, so I haven’t had a lot of free time. And in my free time, it feels like my brain is barely firing, so I haven’t been working on a lot of things lately. 😭

I do have ONE thing I’ve been trying really hard to get done, which is a little smut fic I have in the works featuring my favorite NC himbo, @pozerjacket’s pretty-boy Kauri.

Nothing graphic yet, but the first paragraph will be under the cut (not satisfied with how the rest is coming along, but we’ll get there…) ⬇️

Tagging… @another-corpo-rat @merge-conflict @ghostoffuturespast @pozerjacket @nananarc @gamerkitten @timaeusterrored and whoever else would like to share their wonderful works!

••••••••••••••

FOR • A • RIDE

A procession of chrome dashes across rusty sands.

Like jewels they shine against the midnight sky, mere flashes of sleek metal as the vehicles cut through rock and flora alike. And at the helm, the devil’s ride, a shimmering black monument to speed and destruction. Its imposing silhouette glides over the landscape as if floating on air, a mesmerizing illusion, the swiftness with which it crosses the finish line only possible in the hands of one driver. The Countempierre rushes past the hailing crowd dismissively, disappearing behind clouds of crimson dust as it speeds over the moonlit horizon.

[e-m-p-error]

I have decided to make some muses Discord Only so that I can clean up my muses some! The following I'll still write but they will only be available on Discord.

St. Peter Sera Ace Apple Clara Dodie Fizzarolli Hen Moxxie Odette Paradise Verosika Lilith Cherri Bomb Eve Vaggie

[sad-scarred-sassy]

This is a wild Elucien headcanon…

but please imagine Lucien being in a really dangerous situation with the Autumn court, like something happened and they have him as a prisoner, or unable to leave.

And Elain is there listening to how Lucien could potentially be held captive in a cold cell or even tortured.

And shes there when Eris says the only way to save him is if he has real ties to the Night Court or if he officially becomes a member, and the only way to do that is if he gets mated/married to someone from there, not anyone, but the High Lady’s sister.

And everyone is outraged with what he is suggesting but Elain is suddenly quiet.

And she suddenly says “I will do it” and everyone gapes at her, some try to talk her out of it (possibly Feyre or Nesta) but Rhys just nods.

And they send notice to the Autumn court that they cannot harm Lucien because he is a Night Court citizen, but Beron doesn’t believe it, he demands that Elain goes there so he can determine it.

Chaos, outrage, but she agrees, and she obviously doesn’t go alone. She convinces herself that while she doesn’t owe Lucien anything, she is tired of the bloodshed, the loss, and if she has the power in her hands, she will act. That is all, she couldn’t care less about him. She convinces herself she would be this worried for anyone that is close to her sister, it’s not because shes worried and scared and petrified of something bad happening to him.

They’re in the Forest House, they bring out Lucien who is luckily generally unharmed but Elain looks at the binds in his wrists and her whole body reacts to the sudden urge to protect. Beron takes one sniff at them and knows it is true. They’re mates. But Beron says an unfulfilled mating bond is not valid (listen idk about these fae laws bear with me) they need to marry. Elain declares that was the plan all along. Lucien is shocked. (I just imagine what must be going through his head seeing his mate stand before Beron in the same room where Jesminda was killed)

They let Lucien go with his mate but they have to stay in the Forest House until everything gets resolved. Elain and Lucien are shoved into a room, no more chains on him, but he doesn’t understand any of it.

Both of them are standing awkwardly in the room. Lucien is staring at her as if she has grown ears, still shocked, still reliving moments, furious at them for being so dumb as to risk themselves for him. He supposed he really was a big asset for Rhys to have done this. But her… why was she here? Why did she put herself in this position?

“Did they make you do this?” He says through his teeth.

She muses on what to say. “No” she gets offended with the assumption that she can’t make decisions for herself. “I agreed to this and came on my own free will”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I’m tired of people dying, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I could have done something” A silence and for some forsaken reason Elain has the need to add. “This doesn’t mean what you think it means”

Something irks at Lucien then, and the awoken nerves on his body make him respond to that. “And please tell, Lady, what do I think it means?”

Elain clenches her fists. “That I’ve changed my mind about you… about this” She signals between them. “This is just temporary, out of necessity”

Lucien just stares at her.

“I never entertained that you did, I can assure you.” It is easier to turn on her, on this beautiful female that is putting herself at risk for him, than to be hurt at the continuing rejection from her. “You’ve always just assumed that I’m some brute fae that wants to steal you away, let me tell you now that we’re speaking frankly, that its not the case. I can’t control the pull from the bond, but I have no interest in pursuing a female who doesn’t want me”

That sends Elain to retaliate. “What about the gifts then, was that not pursuing?” She cocks her head arrogantly.

“I was bringing them to Feyre as well. That was me being polite, but guess you don’t know the first thing about that”

“You are one to talk about politeness when I’m here risking my life for your neck and this is how you treat me” She takes one step closer.

“I never asked you to do it” He mirrors her and steps closer with his broad hands clenched in fists.

“I will just let you die next time then”

“Fine by me, as long as I don’t have to endure you shoving it on my face”

“Asshole”

“I’ve been called worse” A sly, angry smile creeps at one corner of his mouth. She suddenly realizes they’re breathing on each other’s face.

“And all this time I thought you were a gentleman” She summons her anger to keep focused.

“You will learn I can be a gentleman, Elain” Her name on his lips, for the first time. “But I can be so much worse too”

His breath is hot on her face, their hearts already beating fast.

“You admit you were pretending then, to win me over”

A sharp breathy laugh from him. “If I wanted to win you over, I would not have tried to be gentle”

Her lips form a thin line as she holds herself, the pull, his words, the sudden effect of his mismatched gaze intense on her face.

“You shouldn’t have done this” He says quietly, roughly, his eyes showing something beyond just annoyance, she sees the fear in them. She pushes it back.

“What’s done is done” She says. “We will pretend, see this through, and then we’re done”

“Alright, dove”

She’s startled. Her nostrils flare. She ignores the outrageous pet name he just used on her. “I’m going to take a bath, I suggest you do the same, you stink” She begins to walk away and stops herself “I mean after I’m done” She frowns as she strolls away.

He watches her with sudden amusement.

He’s scared, hes pissed and hurt. He’s tired. But something inside him sparks, and he can’t really put a name to it.

Oh he’s not alright.

[lunarduty]

Hi!!can you do tension with gaz???

𝙎𝙈𝙊𝙆𝙀𝙔 𝙀𝙔𝙀𝙎, 𝘼𝙍𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙁𝙀𝙀𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿?

☾ reader tends to kyle's wounds, and seems to be the only one worried. | [ TENSION ] one muse is patching up the other’s injuries which leads to intense eye contact,  lingering touches and them finally crashing their lips against each other’s. KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK X F!READER TAGS | f!reader, slight smut WC | 1,127 x

“you know, you’re going to get a scar if you don’t take care of this properly.”

“what? don’t like men with scars?”

in spite of kyle’s attempt to break your composure, a smile did not appear in the wake of his dumb comment. a VALIANT move, on your part - he usually found little effort in getting you to smile. said it would your best feature, and that would only get you to smile more. but knowing that he wasn’t changing the bandages as often as the doctor said, you were able to fight it off.

“not when they’re easily preventable,” you fire back, eyes glancing up to chance a glare. kyle chose the perfect time to give a sheepish tilt of his head to match the SWEET look in his dark eyes - he really couldn’t turn the tactical side of him off. “you could get an infection, you know. price is already looking for a reason to keep you behind on the next mission.”

kyle gives a slight shrug with one shoulder, as to not disrupt your work. “he won’t need to. i heal fast.”

“god, you’re frustrating.”

“and you love it.”

“i love when i don’t have to worry about you getting some weird fucking infection. who knows what you could have picked up in that god-forsaken jungle.” and just for that reason, you give the wound on his arm one final drag of the alcohol wipe to ensure it really was clean. absently, a finger gently caresses the skin around it, as if trying to soothe any pain that the cleaning process might be causing kyle. as much as he can annoy you sometimes, he’s been in enough pain.

a smile is pulling on his lips when you look up, sparing him a glance before turning to retrieve the bandages. “careful, love. i might start to think you care.” he’s teasing, of course. if kyle’s at ease and feels in control, he’s got quite the smart mouth on him - but right now, you wish he wouldn’t. 

“of course i care.” yeah, maybe the words come out HARSHER than you wanted. maybe when you turn back, bandages in hand, you meet kyle’s soft gaze with a hard one. maybe you were entitled to it after he just brushes off his safety so casually. “if the roles were reversed, you’d be just as worried.”

he blinks in surprise at your sudden barrage, and to his credit, seems genuinely remorseful. kyle wasn’t like soap or ghost or even price - you loved all of them, but it seemed their reckless ways were rubbing off on him. getting him to play down his injuries more than he should.

or maybe you were just overreacting. the wound itself wasn’t even that bad. he’s had much worse. so why were you being SO HARD on him?

kyle doesn’t respond, and you silently open the bandage to wrap his arm. without seeing his face, you can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling. maybe you don’t want to look up and risk seeing something close to frustration or annoyance or even contempt. maybe he thought you were coddling him. maybe you were. maybe…

just as you finished wrapping his arm, right before you tied it off, kyle’s hand covered both of yours. stopping your movements, yet you resist the urge to look up. “i’m sorry, okay? i didn’t know you felt so strongly about this. and you’re right - if you were hurt, i’d be just the same. maybe even worse, since i love you more.”

despite yourself, a snort comes up at his words. light and teasing, even when he’s serious. maybe it’s what you needed. “not possible. i love you more.” finally, your eyes slide up to find his. kyle was watching you, dark eyes STEADY but soft. the sight of them made you feel better about saying what was on your mind. “i guess… i don’t know, it made me start to think about things.”

“like what?”

“like…if you never came back one day? today it was a gash on your arm, but tomorrow, something way worse. something you can’t just walk off.”

“that’s not going to happen, understand?” his hand gripped yours tight, and kyle leans forward to keep your focus on him - ALIVE and breathing and warm. your eyes fall down to his lips. “i’ll always come back.”

you scoff again, not nearly as amused as last time. “you can’t promise that, kyle.”

“i am. right now. so stop making yourself sick with all that nonsense. it’s not something you have to worry about.”

you want to keep arguing. want to point out the growing probability that his luck will run out someday. how many old men come from his line of work? you aren’t given the opportunity to - not when kyle moves his grip to your wrist, yanking you closer and leaving little choice but to swing a leg over his lap. thankfully, he keeps his injured arm still - even if it rests right around your waist, more than strong enough to keep you from escaping.

“you need to rest…”

he smiles, and it’s dazzling and warm and you can’t help but reflect it. “but love, i’ve got something else that hurts. need to kiss it to make it better.”

your hands settle on his shoulders, and when kyle is as solid and warm as he is, it’s hard to recall the last time you had real alone time like this. long before the mission, at least. back on base, after you finished paperwork, and he lured you into his room under the false pretense of having a talk. kyle was the only one talking - it’s hard to speak when he’s three fingers deep in you.

and that simple, DISTANT memory resurfaces like a flash of lightning. you exhale shakily, fingertips curling gently into the rough cotton of his regulation shirt. “let me guess - your lips?” right now, you were fully willing to play into kyle’s dumb game. before he could even answer, you close the gap. lips molding together, muffling your involuntary moan from the simple feel of them. chests pressed close, hips gently rocking because this was the day after an op, and sore muscles love to get in the way of a good reunion.

kyle’s tongue follows the line of your bottom lip, a smile pulling on his own as he breaks the kiss with a pant. his hand squeezes your hip - solid and eager - and you wondered why you were ever so scared about a gash on his arm when he obviously lost none of his strength. 

a low groan comes from his throat. your mouth drops down to taste it. “well, i was going to say my cock, but we can start at my lips.”

[freemilkshakesposts]

Draw Me Like One Of Your French Girls

⚠️Warning⚠️: Sexual content (18+ MDNI) + mention of cheating!!

a/n: This is pure filth so be warned!!

Levi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: It's strange enough that you never discovered Captain Levi's secret talent for drawing, but even stranger is how readily you accepted his request to sketch your bare form every night. As your captain, you've clearly crossed professional boundaries. Yet, the most significant boundary you've breached is sacrificing a relationship you had built with your supposed partner, all for Levi.

"Would you kindly shift to the left? (Y/N)," he commanded, gesturing with his pencil towards the spot where he envisioned you, a perfect tableau for his gaze to devour.

I complied, leisurely strolling to the designated spot, assuming the familiar pose: sprawled across his crimson red sofa, its plushness teasing my bare skin, while my gaze, heavy-lidded and drowsy, locked onto his tempestuous eyes.

"Perfect, my pretty girl," he drawled, a smirk curling his lips as he glanced at me, his gaze lingering on my form before returning to his sketchpad, now fixated on capturing my essence. Now that was all left in the confined space of the room, the only sound was the scrape of his pencil against the paper, etching the contours of your body with meticulous precision.

It was a routine as consistent as the ticking of a clock. He'd clutch my hand as practice concluded, not asking, but demanding my presence in his quarters, shrouded in secrecy. There, he'd command me to disrobe, offering my form for his meticulous sketches, each stroke etching my essence onto the pages of his coveted notebook, preserving me solely for his consumption.

So strange, I never once dared to challenge his whims. Why? A rational mind would have, but mine, swayed by an irrational devotion, always ceded to my emotions. In those fragile moments with my captain, I entertained the unsettling certainty that I wasn't just an ally, but a possession—undeniably, unequivocally, his.

His gaze lingered on me once more, a smirk etching onto his cold facade. And then, a transformation: his once piercing ocean-blue eyes dissolved into inky blackness.

"You know what, I'm feeling experimental," he declared, setting aside his sketchbook with a casual flick. "I'll give you a choice, but remember, refusing ends it all."

His words, laced with venom, seeped into my consciousness. The thought of it ending was unbearable. I craved his attention, his affection, his validation. I longed to be his muse, his 'pretty girl'.

"I'll do whatever you desire, sir," my voice whispered in the confined space that enveloped us. The walls closed in, suffocating any semblance of resistance. I couldn't bear for it to end. I'd forsaken everything to join the Corps, leaving behind family and a partner in pursuit of the hero's mantle I once coveted. And now, I'd sacrificed even more to be by his side—my principles, my integrity.

"Sit up and spread your legs for me solider."

My eyes stretched wide, almost popping out, tethered only by the veins snaking within my sockets. What in the hell did he just say? Did Captain Levi, my corporal, just order me to-

"You promised to fulfill my every whim, didn't you?" His words sliced through the silence like a gleaming knife through silk.

"I did but-"

"Come on darling, stretch those beautiful legs out for me. I want to draw that prized pussy of yours," his voice oozed with a yearning I'd never witnessed. He craved a peek into that sanctified domain, the territory you safeguard solely for your lover.

Fuck it. I've already relinquished too many sacrifices. I've bared my body entirely for my captain. I've shattered all trust with the man back home, who within these walls, thought I'd be the hero. I'm already damned.

I peeled myself off the crimson-red hairs that clung to my naked limbs, their touch like a devoted lover's, tenderly stroking and caressing my flesh. Then, I positioned myself upright, and once more, scrutinized Levi, attempting to dissect the thoughts behind his eyes. His gaze remained impassive, unflinching. Did he really want this? Or was I merely fabricating the utterances that spilled from his mouth?

Then, the signal I awaited emerged: he slid his chair deliberately closer, his face encroaching on my space, the intoxicating scent of him saturating the air around me. "Atta girl, show me it. Show me your cunt."

His words ignited an unbearable heat, a searing intensity capable of liquefying flesh. This was his method, I deduced-a calculated attempt to break any woman, and goddamn, it worked.

I spread my legs apart, exposing the fortress that shields my most precious possession, a coveted treasure glimpsed by few and touched by even fewer.

This is a grotesque twist, a descent into madness.

What would he think, seeing me in such a compromising position before another man—my captain, no less? The very thought is unbearable, a macabre revelation I can scarcely fathom.

A shiver ran through me as I caught Levi’s eyes fixated on my secret grove , his gaze consuming it with an unsettling intensity. Fascination, allure—these weren't the emotions I'd expect from the cold, stoic captain or the quiet artist who sketched my naked form with detached precision. This was a different Levi, a stranger hidden behind the familiar façade, captivated in a way that felt disturbingly alien.

"Is this what you wanted, captain?" I murmured, each word tumbling out in a fractured whisper, my voice betraying the turmoil within. I'm committing a grave, obscene error—a descent into sin, a plunge into wickedness beyond redemption.

He smirked, a fleeting kiss brushing my temple, before shifting his chair away, carving a chasm of space between us. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, an unconscious gasp escaping into the sudden, cold distance.

"You look fucking divine," he exclaimed with palpable fervor.

Rising abruptly from his chair, he was irresistibly drawn to his desk. With eager hands, he yanked open one of the drawers, revealing a long and slender object: a ruler.

What the hell does he need a ruler for? He never used it when he sketched me. Why does he-

"You know," he interrupted, swiveling his body to face me directly. "As an artist, perfection is paramount." He advanced towards me, tapping the wooden tool against his palm. "You don't mind if I measure some dimensions, do you?" His face loomed closer to mine, that damn smirk never leaving his lips.

He's orchestrated this from the start. I should put an end to it now. Any person with a shred of decency would.

"N-no I don't mind," I muttered, my voice barely holding up against his suffocating presence. Damn it, why am I always such a pushover with him?

"That's why you're my muse. Mine." He swiftly knelt beside me, commencing to press the icy ruler against my inner thigh, his gaze unyielding as he meticulously gauged his indispensable dimensions.

This is so twisted. So goddamn twisted. Having my captain-my superior-between my legs, and another man, not my supposed lover, not my partner, but him. Fuck, I'm so sorry. But then again, no, I'm not sorry. I'm assisting with his masterpiece, after all. He only seeks to refine his artistry. I'll do whatever it takes to make it the most beautiful piece ever created.

"Hmm." Levi purred, his vibrations resonating within the claustrophobic confines that isolated us from the outside world. He snapped his head up, locking eyes with me once more. Another glint in those obsidian orbs, and thus, another scheme was born.

He frantically inched the long object closer and closer to that sacred land, his breath ragged with desperation. His face was almost touching it now. I watched his every move, his expression shifting with raw, insatiable hunger. He was ravenous, desperate to devour you until there was nothing left. He was starving for you.

"It smells so good, I wonder if it tastes even better," he muttered, groaning at the thought of his own words.

Levi was desperate-so fucking desperate for a quick taste-his eyes pleading with a vulnerability I had never seen before. Over the years, I had sensed his desire for me, just as mine had simmered for him. It all made sense now: his nightly ritual of drawing my portrait was a prelude to finally claiming me. He wanted to mark me as his own. And I wanted it too. That's why I never questioned his intentions, why I always entered his room with such a skip in my step. I took pride in being part of this filthy act, my captain sketching my naked form. And now, here he was, between my legs.

But then there was him-the man I had woven an entire romantic narrative around, the one I had promised to marry once the world was free of Titans. Had I ever truly loved him?

Reflecting on it now, I realise I never did. The raw, intense yearning I felt for him never surpassed that feeling that I held for my captain. I desired Levi with an all-consuming passion. In those drawing sessions, as he completed each work, all I could think about was him taking me, praising me as his ideal muse, his perfect muse. And now, the opportunity lies before me. I won't waste it. This is what I've yearned for, what I've sought to possess. Finally, I can attain it.

With a sudden, deliberate motion, I brought my mouth to his ear, my breath hot and intense, like the scorch of a furnace. "Go on, Captain," I whispered, my voice laced with a predatory calm. "Taste it. Eat me out until I'm fucking dry and empty."

Those words were the final snap of his restraint, the fragile mask of his role as captain, as a superior. He gripped my thighs, forcing them apart further with a controlled violence, his lips descending to my exposed core, sucking on my swollen clit with a ravenous precision.

"Shit!" I snarled, my fingers entangling in his dark hair, yanking his face closer to my dripping pussy. It was so wrong, so exquisitely perverse, but the pleasure was undeniable, intoxicating. I was pressed against the red walls of the sofa, driven to an internal rapture. His mouth was a relentless, burning brand on my pussy, as if it had been welded there, his lips consuming my swollen clit with a fervor.

It took all my restraint not to scream again, as his tongue traced intricate patterns over the sensitive peak, each flick igniting jolts of electricity through my system. His guttural groans reverberated against me, primal and urgent. He added a finger, then another, both digits curling expertly into that sweet spot, massaging my soft inner walls with ravenous hunger. His tongue and lips moved relentlessly over my clit, each motion pushing me further into an otherworldly abyss. I couldn't believe how close I was.

"Oh shit, oh god Levi-" I gasped, signaling to him, and he groaned against me again, sending electric pulses through my trembling pussy. The pleasure built quickly, the tightly coiled rope in my abdomen unraveling and propelling me over the edge. My thighs quaked, sparks of ecstasy shooting through them, splattering onto Levi's face like paint on a canvas.

I reclined my head against the back of the sofa, allowing the high to wash over me. His tongue, as I had anticipated, was nothing short of phenomenal.

"You did so well, darling." Levi's voice cut through the haze, emerging from between my thighs, his lips glistening with the evidence of my surrender. His movements were calculated, each step deliberate as he settled beside me on the crimson sofa. He grasped my face with a firm hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. The darkness that once swallowed his eyes had receded, unveiling the ocean-blue beneath. "You did so fucking well, (Y/N)," he murmured, pulling me into a ravenous kiss, his tongue invading my mouth, dominating mine. The taste of myself on his lips sent a shudder through my body, prompting me to reach for his belt, only for my hand to be slapped away with a swift motion.

"What the fuck, Levi," I whined. I pressed my lips against his neck, the kisses sloppy and frantic, each one a plea for more. I was the one so fucking desperate now, a mess of need. I wanted him to utterly destroy me, to push me to my limits until I was spent and empty, yet filled with his cum.

Levi rose from the seat beside me, forcefully removing my lips from his neck. "Not tonight. It's late," he asserted, his voice cold and unyielding, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce intensity that brooked no argument. A flicker of panic coursed through me—had I done something wrong?

"Right, my apologies, captain," I stammered, springing up from the sofa. My heart raced as I scrambled to collect my clothes, a frenzied urgency driving my actions. First, I yanked my knickers up over my thighs, the fabric snapping into place with a sharp tug. My shirt came next—I thrust my arms into the sleeves, fingers fumbling as I hastily buttoned it, each button slipping through the holes with a sense of escalating dread. Finally, I ripped my trousers up my legs, the zip screeching in protest as I forced it to close, the metal teeth barely holding together.

"Thank you, Captain Levi, once again," I murmured with a practised smile, watching the back of his head as he returned his sketchpad and art tools to their designated drawer.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge my presence with an indifferent "Goodnight, Y/N." The same flat tone.

It seemed impossible that just moments ago, this man had been between my legs, his mouth working me over with such intense hunger. Had it been a mistake? Had I jeopardised my relationship for a fleeting moment of desperation, craving the warm touch of Levi? Now, he was back to being Captain Levi, as distant and detached as ever.

I moved towards his door, my hand poised to break the seal and release me back into the sterile, indifferent corridors, but there was an unsettled matter—something that should have been addressed at the outset of these nocturnal encounters. Pausing, I turned and fixed Levi with a steady gaze. "Levi," I said, my voice a controlled monotone, "why is it that you insist on depicting me in such an unprofessional manner?"

At my question, he smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. He advanced towards me, each step calculated, until my back was pressed against the cool surface of the door, trapped by the oppressive heat of his body. "Because someone once told me in order to relax before or after a mission is by drawing things I find beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. Then, without warning, he claimed my lips in a swift, possessive kiss before pulling away just as abruptly.

"Now, goodnight, (Y/N)," he insisted once more, a playful flick of his wrist gesturing towards the door. I hurried to comply, grasping the doorknob and casting him one last, gleaming smile before the door closed, sealing off the view of his serene countenance.

It wasn't a mistake. I made the right decision.

[jellybeanium124]

I’m sorry I still can’t get over the “Muse, why have you forsaken me?” scene. The fact that Stede whispers that out loud thinking he’s alone. Stede staring out the window with his lil drink. Izzy standing awkwardly, half obscured by the curtains. The way they don’t look at each other directly for most of it. The fact that they switch places behind the curtains. Just the blocking of this scene in general. The drama of it all. The way Izzy tells Stede Ed adores him while threateningly moving into the translucent curtain. How Izzy manages to be weirdly honest for once, yet still lying. “So if you’d kindly piss off, the Fuckery’s cancelled.” Izzy making a reference only he’ll understand: “perform like it’s your last day on Earth.” Gayest shit I’ve ever seen and 6 minutes prior Izzy had his head between Ed’s legs.

[tinietaehyun]

Forsaken [XIII]

[Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader] [Series] [Chapter Thirteen]

Pairing: Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader [Ft. Sorcerer!Yeonjun]

Genres: royal!au, fantasy, romance, enemies to lovers, supernatural, action.

Contains: profanity, suggestive implications/mature themes, fluff, mentions of poison, implications of blood, injury, death, su*cide.

Links: Forsaken Masterlist || Masterlist

Summary: The tension between the two of you reaches its brinks as it seems he can’t keep his hands off you and well, neither can you. Though, your anxiousness and stubbornness both leave you unable to admit your feelings for one another (despite it being rather abundantly clear).

Meanwhile, your nation seems to spiralling perilously as your tyrant brother seems to facing some rather tumultuous betrayal himself.

With a sigh, you place down the baskets of vegetables you picked with Taehyun’s guidance from his garden. You grimace at the soil and dirt on your hands, particularly under your nails. How grim!

“Toughen up, princess. Getting those hands dirty is where you know you’ve put real work in,” he muses at your rather adorable expression. You huff, “It was fine at first when you helped, but then you made me do all of it.”

Taehyun feigns innocently, “Oh but I cannot bend down, sweetheart? You wouldn’t want my wound to worsen? It’s only been a day since we came, no?” You glare, “I do wonder how long you’re going to keep this up. Surely your mana must have almost recovered? You can heal your wound afterwards right?”

A smirk lines his lips, “Mm, it’s slowly recovering. You’re forgetting how much mana I truly used for our little teleportation trick.” You sigh as he reminds you, “Yes, yes. I am aware. Now, can we sit down? My knees hurt from kneeling down for so long.”

You both sit down on the two dining table chairs. You brush off some patches of dirt on your dress; you had to admit this dress was rather comfy. Cotton was something you did not wear often - this was one of the dresses Taehyun first conjured for you whilst you stayed here initially before heading to Luna.

Taehyun smirks, “You’re quiet, why? Has some digging got your pretty little self exhausted?” You scoff, “Well manual labour is not exactly my strong suit.”

He muses, “You don’t do much work yet you manage to sleep as if you’re a hibernating bear? How fascinating. Yesterday, you slept like a log. Twisting and turning with absolute no regard to your wounded companion; it was rather amusing you know, having you cling on to me-“

“Ah-ah, hush,” you huff with a glare. You do recall you woke up with your arms around Taehyun; but it was not just you- he had his arm around you too, so it’s fair?

“Goodness, I was holding onto you so you wouldn’t fall off the bed, but it seemed like I had to worry about myself not falling off the bed with how much space you took. Practically on top of me,” he teases with a mischievous gaze. You flush embarrassed, “Oh shut it, sorcerer.”

Taehyun had to admit, the sight of you sleeping in his arms was one he relished. Your serene expression, your content smile as you nuzzled against his chest and wrapped your arms around him cherishing his body heat. He really did enjoy it and made no move to fight back.

Taehyun places his hand atop yours with a smirk, “Hm, I didn’t think you were the clingy type in bed.” You scoff, “Don’t phrase it like that. Secondly, I…it’s not like your pitiful little fireplace is enough to warm the entire house. It’s cold at night.”

“Going with that excuse are we?” He grins rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

Goodness, he’d be the death of you. His piercing eyes meet yours with a playful gleam. He had been in a rather good mood since you both came back to his cabin. You don’t know why, but it felt as though you two were in your own pocket of time, undisturbed by anyone. It felt nice, private, intimate.

Your gaze falls to his rosy lips briefly; the memories of your kiss with Taehyun flooding your mind. Heat rises up your face at the thought; it felt good. So good, that you wanted more. Not that you’d ever admit that, of course!

This action of yours did not go unnoticed by Taehyun who seemed to keenly observe just as much if not more than you did. His tongue briefly wets his lips as his gaze falls to your lips for a moment.

Clearing your throat, you abruptly stand feeling the tension in the room raise. “I shall wash my hands thoroughly and wash the remaining dishes from breakfast.”

He nods wordlessly as you make your way over to the sink with a racing heart. His stare was captivating, it had your knees buckling and made you feel breathless.

As you wash the dishes haphazardly, you continue to feel his gaze piercing your back. Silence consumes the room except for the noise of rustling forest and birds chirping outside.

Meanwhile, Taehyun watches you with an interested gaze, running his eyes from your soft hair down your back to the way the dress cinches at your waist and flares at your hips. It was an incredibly domestic scene that had him feeling some sort of way.

He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to touch you, run his fingers across your silky untouched skin. Press his lips to your neck and make his way down to your shoulders, leaving a mark here and there. Taehyun shudders at his own thoughts; he had to calm down.

You begin drying the dishes slowly as you hear the creak of the floorboards. You feel his presence behind you as he suddenly reaches above you with a wince, startling you. Looking up, you see him reach for another dish cloth and hands it to you, “Use this, the one you’re using is pretty dirty.” You wordlessly take it feeling as though your heart may burst out of your ribcage any second.

Taehyun doesn’t move, rather he leans against the counter watching you do the mundane task. You murmur, “What’s for lunch later?”

Taehyun seems to break from his empty gaze as he responds, “Oh, well, I was thinking of some vegetable stir fry. We have the ingredients for that, I’m unable to go hunting at this rate, either.” You nod deep in thought.

“What are you thinking about, princess? Hm?” He muses. You mumble, “I was thinking about the next course of action. Beomgyu was of no use. I have to somehow get back to the palace. I have to see Sehun directly.”

He nods processing your words, “You know sweetheart, I don’t think going down the diplomatic route is cutting it.” You frown, “Yes, I can see that.”

“Force is needed,” he insists. You question with wide eyes, “You want me to kill him?”

Taehyun snorts at the look of horror on your face, “Well no, I don’t think you’d be capable of such a thing. I meant more, physically take him off the throne. Make him give up his crown. Or we can stop the coronation, something along those lines. We have to pry the throne off him.”

Your fists clench and your gaze hardens; your resolve and fervor growing more determined. Yes, he was right. If diplomacy wouldn’t work, then this was the next step. You’d take your throne back the way he took your rightful place.

Taehyun’s eyes twinkle, “You also have me, what more do you need?” A smirk forms on your lips, “As vain as usual. You are definitely recovering.”

He muses, “You believe in me, that’s all I need, sweetheart.” His words oddly touch you and you smile at him, “Of course.” You hum, “As I’ve said before; when I get my crown back, you’ll get your rightful position back.” Taehyun’s gaze softens as he grins; “I…we don’t need to jump so far ahead. Let’s focus on your throne first, alright?”

You scoff, “It’s only fitting, Yeonjun is where you should be. It infuriates me, how dare he be in your position after what he and his father did?” Taehyun shakes his head with an amused smirk, “Well, it is indeed unfair. But we’ll get to that hurdle when it comes, princess.”

Your gaze gleams, “If you see him at the palace, you better teach him a lesson. If not, I will,” you huff. Taehyun peers at you with a genuine expression of amusement and gratitude. Your anger towards Yeonjun and mannerisms were incredibly endearing. “But of course sweetheart,” Taehyun smirks, “It’s only right, he gets his consequence for his actions.”

He continues to watch you dry the remaining dishes. You’re startled as he suddenly moves a strand of hair out of your face and he muses, “Your hair.” You nod, flustered keeping your gaze averted.

You spot him from your peripheral vision gazing at you once more in silence before he walks behind you. “You wouldn’t mind, if I just…” he trails off as he slides his hands across your waist before wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your right shoulder. You stiffen, “Taehyun?” He hums amused, “Don’t think too much about it.”

You relax in his grasp feeling his warmth deep through your clothes. His soft breaths brush against your shoulder and the base of your neck. You felt a deep warmth inside you feeling his body against yours; it felt right, you felt safe. His thumbs draw faint circles on your waist; you hear his breaths near your ear. It’s a tender and intimate position that has your knees feeling weak and heart stumbling to maintain rhythm.

Why were you both feeling insatiable? This tension was infuriating between the two of you. You thought it would cease once you had kissed but no, no it had seemed to increase. A small flame if adding more firewood would only grow but larger.

The two of you isolated in one cabin was but a dangerous game, something other nobles of your standing would be appalled to hear about. One thing for sure was, neither of you were going to admit your burning feelings for each other but were not going to push each other away either, for you two were irresistibly drawn to each other. Had he cast a spell on your heart?

“Does it hurt?” You murmur. “Hm?” He questions softly. “Your wound? How does it feel?” His voice is rougher as he answers, “Mm, it’s fine. Really, you don’t need to worry. This evening I’m going to attempt a healing spell.” You nod; the both of you drawn back into a heightened silence.

You finish up and turn to face him; peering up at him through your lashes. His expression is focused on you, his hands still on your waist. “This…this is improper,” you croak out, your self-control waning by the second.

Taehyun’s lips quirk up slightly, “Improper? Oh, I think we were far past that when our lips met.” A shiver runs through you, “We’re being hasty, I-I-“

He playfully mimics, “I-I-,” he muses, “Use your words, princess.” You glare shoving past him, “You are so irritating!” You hear a chuckle before you’re suddenly pulled against him, “Don’t act as you’re above this, don’t act like you don’t want me.”

“I don’t, we’re just- it’s expected if a man and woman are together for a while they-“ You stammer breathlessly peering up his glimmering eyes. “They what?” He voices just above a whisper. “They grow to…” You shakily begin. Oh, how beautiful he was.

Oh how stunning you were with your dazed expression, he thinks. “…grow to?”

“Become attracted to,” your eyes flicker to his lips, “to each other.”

“So you only think this is out of circumstance?” Taehyun muses, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Is it not?” You breathe out shakily as his other hand trails up your other arm.

“Why? Can’t it be anything else? Must you always go behind a prince?” He quips with a dangerously sly smile causing you to scoff, “Anything else?” You say as you peer down at your ring glistening as it hangs off his neck swaying against his tempting collarbones.

Did he truly love you? Was it infatuation? Did you love him? Or were you just enamored with the idea of love? You were scared, you were scared because you had undoubtedly fallen in love with the man in front of you.

For his courage, selflessness, wit and bluntness. For the way he treated you so normally, humbled you but cared for you so tenderly at your weakest. Most importantly he hadn’t tossed you aside, no matter how unbearable you thought you were. He stuck by your through every moment. Under that bitter and snarky exterior lies a man who was hurt, betrayed and wants to love. To trust again.

The words were at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to call you his. You were from a different world, only building up feelings for you to marry off to a higher noble later on, what was the point? Couldn’t he just enjoy the fleeting moment between you two? Did he have to ruin it by admitting that he had well and truly fallen for you?

Fallen for your adamance, the way you put up with his jabs and quips, held your ground, remained so strong in the face of adversity. The way you were not like other high class nobles who were utterly self-centered, rather you were empathetic, selfless and held a true love for your nation and its people. It was only right that someone like you took the throne of Fortuna. He would do anything to make that happen.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he rasps out. “Like what?” You peer at him feeling yourself becoming dazed by his proximity. “Like you want to devour me,” Taehyun murmurs shakily, restraint heavy in his voice. You’re startled; were you gazing at him so lustfully?

“I’m not,” you stammer. “If you could see yourself from my point of view,” he leans closer, “you’d not be able to hold back a second longer,” the bridge of his nose brushes against yours.

Your breaths mingle with each other. Lips brush against each other as his other hand finally cups your jaw. You couldn’t resist no matter how much you tried, how much you supposedly wanted to keep your dignity, your noble pride.

Even at the last second, when he gives you one last chance to back out, you can’t help but move forward and clumsily press your lips against his. It was humiliatingly desperate but you didn’t care. Your hands drift to his shoulders to steady yourself. A grunt and wince escapes him as you accidentally press against his wound and you part breathlessly wide eyed, “Goodness- I’m sor-“

He cuts you off pressing his lips against yours again, this time more fervently. A low groan escapes your lips as your arms are now around his neck trying your best to avoid his wound. Taehyun’s lips move with such ferocity, you find it hard to stand. The both of you stumble back as you find your back against the kitchen counter.

His tongue pushes past your lips taking you by welcome surprise; your fingers slide into the back of his hair as you move your lips just as desperately as his. It felt so right, it felt so good. Your mouths slot together lazily enjoying each other’s presence, warmth, taste. His soft lips move passionately against yours in fervent motions that send shivers down your spine.

Any sense of royal etiquette or self control flew out the window the moment his lips parted from yours and slid down your neck alluringly, a sensation you’d never experienced, making your lips release the most sinful sounds.

“You…you truly are so crude,” you sigh breathless, feeling his teeth tug at your skin. He murmurs smirking against the curve of your neck, “Says the person who kissed me first, how hypocritical, sweetheart. You’re not stopping me?”

“Oh shut it,” you shakily say, closing your eyes, relishing his lips against your neck.

Sudden anxiety fills you thinking of what this will lead up to. You peer up at him with worry, “How far are we going…w-with this I mean?” His gaze melts and he caresses your cheek, “We don’t have to go further, if you don’t want to, princess. I never said anything about going further?” His words take you aback. A gentleman indeed.

Taehyun muses, “Having your lips on mine, is pretty fine by me. Hours on end, even. In each other’s arms.” You scoff with a playful smile, “Of course, you wouldn’t mind.”

Relief floods your senses at his words; feeling more at ease. You didn’t want to be too selfish. You still had a mission. To get your throne back.

Gods above, you were in deep trouble. The sorcerer had you falling into the abyss of love. He leans in again, his lips brushing against yours, “Anyway, practice makes perfect, no?” Rolling your eyes, you lean in, “Mm, I suppose so.”

You’d both enjoy this precious moment of solace for a bit longer before hurling yourselves into the turbulent mess of politics and royalty. For now, you were two lovers in each other’s embrace forgetting about the world around the both of you.

——————

Today was the day.

Sehun sits on his bed in his chambers with a distraught expression. “I don’t understand? What do you mean you cannot find them? This is absurd!,” he bellows.

Yeonjun stands beside him with a calm smile on his face and folded arms. Oh, he knew where they had probably gone off to.

The troops had alerted other nations and the pesky two were not there, that foolish Prince Beomgyu was enraged. Throwing furniture, breaking items and such, like a child throwing a tantrum. Truly, he had to laugh. He had to give the two of you credit, you were both making a mockery of some of the most powerful men. Albeit, powerful but stupid rulers.

He had to guess they were back in Fortuna. Wherever they were hiding, it had to be close. Perhaps in the Woods of Mors, not many regular humans could traverse the place without dying within a day. Magic users, however. That was a different story. They are certainly not in the main kingdom, the knights had searched far and wide these last two days.

“What are you smiling about? Do you not see the disaster this is?” Sehun snarls. His face is pale and his locks damp with sweat. His hands were clammy and nervous; paranoia had caught up to him. The people were growing restless and a small rebel group had formed demanding answers about the consequent deaths of the king and queen alongside the sudden disappearance of the princess. It was so sudden, how could they know?

It had seemed more and more obstacles were appearing in front of Sehun and his beloved coronation. He had become delirious these past few days, it was all so amusing for Yeonjun. His plan was coming to fruition. His hand feels for the blade under his cloak with a twisted smile.

“I just don’t see what you have to worry about your highness? The coronation is right around the corner. The palace is ecstatic. No matter where they are,” Yeonjun’s lips twitch slyly, “in Fortuna, in the palace, they will not stop you.”

Sehun lets out a panicked laugh, “In Fortuna? In the palace? Preposterous. They would not dare be that stupid. Do not utter such nonsense again.” Yeonjun hums, “I merely jest, your highness. Even if they were to arrive at your coronation, our troops would overpower and crush them in seconds.”

Sehun’s eye twitches, “Crush them? Coronation? You cannot be serious. They cannot show up there. The people will be enraged at the princess being slaughtered in front of their eyes.”

Yeonjun feigns surprise, “Oh yes, you had crafted numerous reasons as to her disappearance in your speech a month ago? I suppose it would go against that. My apologies for my ignorance, your highness.”

Sehun snaps angrily, “These last few days you have become more and more infuriating! Useless even. How irritating!” Yeonjun hums, “Oh your highness, do relax. I do not wish to intentionally irritate you.”

Sehun dismissively waves, “Be gone, you have done nothing but waste my time. I wish to be alone. The likes of your kind would not understand the immense weight upon my shoulders. I tire of your games.” Sehun stands and stretches his arms.

Yeonjun lets out a chuckle. It truly was funny. He thought he was the one in control. What a fool! “Did I utter a joke?” Sehun snaps low-toned.

“You truly have no idea, do you?” Yeonjun muses with a dark smile. “What are you blabbering about, you fool?” Sehun questions, infuriated.

Yeonjun runs a hand through his pale blonde locks, a sickening smile forming on his lips. He laughs and laughs causing Sehun to stiffen. “W-What’s wrong with you? Have you gone mad?”

A deranged glint lights up Yeonjun’s eyes, “You killed your own parents, because I gave you the idea to use poison. All the suggestions, all my nudges in the right direction, you followed them like a loyal dog thinking they were products of your own minuscule brain?” A cackle escapes Yeonjun’s mouth.

“Every suggestion, every point I made, you took so literally. Did I ever tell you outrightly to poison your parents? No. You did that yourself, I just gave you a nudge. Did I tell you to imprison your sister? To attempt to execute her? No, that was you! Why because I made a few comparisons?” Yeonjun grins manically. Sehun’s eyes flicker back and forth as a dark feeling forms in the pit of his stomach.

“No- no, I will not stand for such insolence. You did not influence me in any such manner. Stand down, Yeonjun!” Sehun bellows.

Yeonjun’s gaze darkens as he snaps, “No, you stand down. You’ve been nothing but an utter idiot from when you were a child. I’ve had to tolerate your foolishness and self-centered idiocy from when we were children. To think I had to befriend you to fulfill my goals.” A mocking scoff leaves Yeonjun’s lips.

“What?” Sehun’s knees buckle as he sits on the edge of his bed. His world crumbles. “Everything you did, everything you felt good about, everything you thought you knew, was because of me. You’re not fit to rule, your own parents saw that incapacity. You’re nothing but a whining imbecilic toddler even at this age.”

Sehun covers his head, “No, no, no. You are deranged. I refuse to hear this nonsense. Leave! Leave at once! I will have you imprisoned- guards! Guards!-“

Yeonjun sneers walking towards him, “Oh no, no. Hush now. There you go relying on others again.” Yeonjun’s wand appears as he murmurs a few words. Sehun suddenly finds himself unable to speak.

“Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that to you, your highness?” Yeonjun grins.

Sehun flails, panicking and reaching for the nearest of the mounted swords on the wall and Yeonjun sighs, “Oh come now, your highness, why must you be this way? A ruler must have more tact.” With another flick of his wand and utterance, Sehun finds himself unable to move as he collapses to the floor.

Fear consumes his gaze as he peers up at Yeonjun. Yeonjun’s eyes flicker to the glimmering crown on Sehun’s eyes. A dark smirk laces his lips, “The rebel group, who claim you’ve killed the king and queen. Who claim you drove your sister out and exiled her. You must be losing your absolute tiny mind over how they could come to that conclusion, hm?”

Yeonjun leans down, “It was me. Sending an anonymous tip to the journalists. Those loyalist peasants ate it right up.” Sehun’s eyes widen as he’s frozen. A horrifying realisation hits him.

“I hate to break the news, your highness, but I’m afraid you will not be making it to your coronation,” Yeonjun mockingly frowns. “What a shame,” he coos.

Sehun silently seethes, unable to speak or move. A cruel spell upon the young prince, indeed. Yeonjun chuckles, taking the crown off his head and placing it on his own. “I’ve dreamt of this crown, wearing this. Doesn’t it suit me, Sehun?”

Yeonjun laughs at the enraged look in Sehun’s eyes. “Oh, I know how possessive you are of your crown. Well, here, take it back. You’re not going to have it for much longer anyway,” Yeonjun muses.

Yeonjun sits down on a nearby chair crossing one leg atop the other with an arrogant expression. Today is the day everything would change, the day he carefully planned for. Countless years of false loyalty.

He unsheathes the blade, tossing it in front of Sehun. Yeonjun flicks his wand allowing him to speak. With a gasp of air, Sehun coughs, his throat intensely dry. He croaks out, “You-you traitor. “

“My, what a hypocrite,” Yeonjun snorts. Sehun brokenly snarls, “You cannot kill me- this is- treason,” he coughs.

“Oh? But I won’t be killing you. You will,” Yeonjun smiles wickedly. “What?” Sehun coughs out.

Yeonjun flicks his wand and murmurs a few more words and Sehun’s eyes widen as his hands uncontrollably flail forward clumsily going to grip the small blade.

“You’ll end your own life, how tragic indeed, no?” Yeonjun hums. Sehun’s lips tremble as tears slip down his face, “No- no, this- we can negotiate, please,” he croakily begs unable to control the way his hands grasp the blade as he hovers it over his jugular. Closer and closer.

“The noble prince, under tremendous pressure ends his own life due to soul-eating guilt after killing his own parents, the king and queen for power, after they chose his sister instead. Nice article don’t you think?” Yeonjun asks, pointing his wand upwards delicately. “I’ve already told some of the council, you admitted the truth to me whilst drunk, quite the story, no?”

Sehun’s hand trembles as tears drip down his face. He was but a helpless puppet. “I’m sure upon hearing your death; your sister will rush here anyhow. With that bastard in tow,” Yeonjun mutters.

“Or…I’ll find them first,” Yeonjun hums with a bright gleam. “Any last words, your highness?”Sehun peers at the ever nearing blade gripped by his own hands, mortified.

Is this what it feels like to be betrayed? By someone he saw who valued him above anyone else? Someone who called as a friend, who he could show off to only receive an abundance of praise. Was that not friendship? No; it was deceit.

Sehun’s mind flashes with images of you. An unmistakeable sickness and nausea fills his mouth and chest. Is this how you felt that day? How you felt when he felt the declaration scroll in hand? After having ripped your position away?

“Oh too bad, you’re usually so talkative,” Yeonjun dryly muses before swinging his wand downwards abruptly.

Blood splatters grotesquely as the crown topples onto the floor beside Sehun’s lifeless body. With a final clink it sits in a pool of blood. A tragic scene, indeed.

Yeonjun sighs, getting up and leaving abruptly. He was just this close. There were only two outliers left who could jeopardize his plan to become king. A king that no one could look down upon.

He’d handle those two himself. No, he wanted to handle those two himself. A smirk laces his lips, oh, how the royal court would be in shambles looking for a new figurehead.

It was only natural who’d they pick.

After all, who was a better option than him?

Taglist: [open]

@royallyjjk @wolfytae-exe @rencarnationofangel @sirenla @matcha-binz @beomies-world @michinri @parkweylyn @kvshzj @hanniehaeeeeeee1004 @elara828 @wonioml @onima-chan @moonekth @glossykai @jjunielvrs @beargyuuzz @cathyun @hanstarrs @m3chigo @vanicogh @baekberrie @nap-of-a-starr

[bakuliwrites]

Video Game Fanfiction Table of Contents

Disclaimer: 18+, Minors DNI!!!!!!

Baldur's Gate 3

Just to Be Held (M): Astarion x Tav, His shoulders slump as he releases a heavy sigh. He’s been worn down by your patience, worn down by years of keeping everything to himself. Here you are, offering up companionship without any expectation. Here you are, sitting in front of him, telling him that you actually, for some gods’ forsaken reason, like spending time with him and you’re not expecting any sort of compensation from him. So why is he trying so desperately to push you away? Astarion and Tav share a quiet, peaceful moment together along their journey. Astarion learns that he is valued and loved. Tumblr, AO3

The Elder Scrolls

Devotion (18+): Cicero x Listener, He worships her, every piece of her. All of his Listener must be worshipped, as ordained. Cicero, sweet Cicero, eager to please. Eager to serve. His lips on hers, his hands roving, searching, exploring. Venerating. He dies inside her, and it is glorious. He would die a thousand times in her, as many times as she wanted. Immolating in her light over and over and over again. Cicero is unsure of this new Listener, but his feelings are muddled and confusing. What will happen when the Listener is forced to choose to take or spare his life? Tumblr, AO3.

Legend of Zelda

Ebb and Flow (18+): Prince Sidon x Reader, “I will not accept that all we’re meant to be are star-crossed lovers,” Sidon states passionately, his tone filled with a steady resolve, “I cannot accept it. Was it not here that I pledged myself to you? And you to me? Was it not here that we promised our hearts to one another? Aren’t we more than just crossing tides?” Sidon is given earth shattering news. His duty as a Zora Prince outweighs all else. But how can he accept that when his love for you is so deep? Tumblr, AO3.

Stardew Valley

Love Letters (18+): Elliott x Reader, My Muse! You inspire in me such vivid dreams that when I wake to find my bed empty, I despair! I ache for you, body and soul. How I long to return to you, scoop you up in my arms, and ravish you from evening until dawn (Beyond dawn! For dawn does not limit my undying love, my eternal passion for you). Though weary from this whirlwind tour, I am never too weary to show you the depths of my adoration for you. I will return to you early next week, and I am beside myself with excitement. Elliott returns home from his book tour and the Farmer has a sultry surprise for him. Tumblr, AO3.

Dark Souls

Lunar Halo (18+): Gwyndolin x OC, Gods do not require witnesses. So in the sanctity of the Holy Church of Anor Londo, Gwyndolin weds a mortal woman, a marriage that takes place with sightless statues and eyeless stained glass figures for guests. Veiled by cloth woven of moonlight, Gwyndolin guides his Beloved Star to the altar. Her robes are redolent of the night that enshrouds the earth, glimmering diamonds and sweeping swathes of indigo pooling around her feet as she glides up the aisle. Iridescent moonstone enamels her hand and with the promise of fealty, of love for eternity, the Dark Sun is wed. And a mortal has been anointed his wife. A tale of how the Dark Sun came to love a woman born of the Dark Soul. AO3

Fire Emblem

Restless (18+): Xander x F!Reader, As leader of the combined Hoshidan and Nohrian armies, you find yourself growing restless one night, plagued with troubling thoughts. You decide some fresh air and quiet reflection under the stars might do you some good; but, you run into Xander, also lost in thought, and decide to spend some time together. AO3

Slip Away (18+): Xander x Gender-Neutral Reader, Xander finds himself unable to unwind at his birthday party, until a certain someone whisks him away. Tumblr, AO3

To Walk a Path of Light (M): Jeritza von Hrym x GN!Byleth, Jeritza’s desire for Byleth was sparked long before the goddess had even conceived of either of their forms. Their fates have always been intertwined... Long after the war has ended, Jeritza seeks out a familiar face, while the Death Knight seeks a battle. Tumblr, AO3

Gentle (18+): Jeritza Von Hrym x OC, "She is soft. And in her softness, she dissolves whatever sharpness, whatever edge I have. In perfumed sheets and gilded sunlight, I am, for a moment, vulnerable. My gentility clambers out from where it's been buried deep for so many years. The Death Knight dies in her embrace, and from him blooms a new creature." Jeritza finds himself drawn to one of Garreg Mach's newest professors. Tumblr: Chapter 1, AO3

[dross-the-fish]

They found the elusive Phantom of the Opera curled up on pages of strewn sheet music, weeping with such pitiful heartbreak that none in the party dared to approach. “Je Meurs…” the deformed man sobbed to himself, unaware or uncaring that he had an audience. Dr. Watson shifted uncomfortably, “Either of you lads speak French?” he whispered to Quincy and Lawrence. Both shook their heads in dismay and Watson gave a resigned sigh, “I guess we’ll have to hope he speaks English.”

Before the doctor could approach the crying figure Adam Frankenstein stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I know French. Let me speak to him,” he said in a quiet rumble. Watson wrinkled his mustache. He was fond of The Creature and thought that after several months in his company he’d learned everything he needed to about him. Not the case, it seemed, for it had not even occurred to him that Adam could be a polyglot. Truthfully, Watson barely understood how a creation who had spent so much of his time in isolation knew English, much less French. Holmes would have had him figured out top to bottom by now, he thought to himself with a pang.   “Fine, but please don’t scare him he seems…vulnerable,” he made a resigned gesture. The volume of the sobbing behind him intensified.   “I’ll try but no promises, I daresay I am an even more frightful aberration than he,” the corner of Adam’s mouth quirked upward in a rueful smile, “Perhaps, from one living corpse to another, we may strike a kinship founded on our mutual ugliness” he mused. Watson’s frown deepened but before he could chide Adam he was cut off by a piteous cry: “Christine!” Quincey perked up, “I know that! That’s a girl’s name! You don’t think this is over a girl, do you, Larry?” Lawrence grimaced at him, “God, I hope not. After everything we went through to get down here our sentient zombie better not be dying of a broken heart.” Adam threw them both a look as if to say. Quiet! You’re distracting me. Once everyone had settled, he approached the Phantom and knelt beside him, addressing him in French. “Hello, are you hurt?” The Phantom started, as though he had been shaken from a dream. A bloodshot eye, as yellow as Adam’s own, peeked tearfully through the lattice of bony fingers covering a pallid, badly deformed, face. “What are you?” he asked, pausing his weeping long enough to be cognizant of the monstrous giant kneeling beside him. He turned away and groped behind him for a black mask that had been carelessly discarded on the floor, putting it back on while The Creature waited patiently. Adam did not answer him at first, after a thoughtful pause he offered: “Someone like you.” That seemed to be explanation enough for the wretched man for he resumed his crying “I am dying,” he said between sobs, “I am dying of love.” Adam nodded sympathetically, “Love, and the want of it, are indeed, powerful enough to die from. What happened?” “I kissed her! I kissed her alive! She let me-she let me! I have never…” he trailed off in a fresh wave of tears. Adam patted his back. “Where is she now? Has she forsaken you?” he asked. “Forsaken? No. Never! She would not…she is a good girl…she would have been my bride! My living bride! I could not keep her, not after she allowed me to kiss her. I have freed her!” the Phantom seemed to compose himself a little and he sat up, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. He seemed to notice, for the first time, Watson, Quincey and Lawrence hanging back watching him. “Who are you and why have you come here? I am in no condition to entertain guests. No guests have ever graced my lair save for the Daroga who shall, no doubt, be very cross with poor Erik, and there was Christine who has taken her little chap and fled forever…” The three Englishmen exchanged confused glances and Quincey offered an apologetic shrug. “He wants to know who you are,” Adam clarified, switching to English. Quincey nearly tripped over himself crossing the floor with his hand extended to introduce himself, “Quincey Harker, very nice to meet you! Sorry about your traps, we had to dismantle them to get down here. They were very impressive, by the way! Adam, will you tell him I’m impressed? I’ve never seen such feats of engineering before,” he babbled grasping and pumping Erik’s hand enthusiastically. Erik froze and replied, in slightly accented English, “Thank you…do not touch me,” as his mind finally began to clear he tensed, realization sinking in that there were four men, one of whom was larger than any man he’d ever seen, who had him effectively cornered and at a disadvantage.   Quincey dropped Erik’s hand with a muttered apology and Watson nudged him aside, “I am Dr. John Watson. We’re supernatural investigators. You’ve noticed, surely, that the undead are rising at an alarming rate and we were hoping that, with you being the only other revenant we’ve discovered to be in full possession of his mental faculties,” he gestured at Adam, who grinned in response, “that you might be willing to come with us and lend us some aid. It is my belief that through researching cases like yourself and Mr. Frankenstein here we can derive a cure or at least a way to restore those inflicted to a sustainable quality of life.” The Phantom looked from man, to man, to creature and shook his head, “You are mistaken. Despite the rumors, for which I myself and largely responsible, I am no corpse. Although that shall undoubtedly change very soon. No, I am only Erik.” Adam’s face fell, “Are you saying that you are…alive?” he tried and failed to keep the disappointment from his voice. Erik gave a biting laugh, “I should not be! Nothing that looks like me should have been able to draw breath yet here I am, living as of yet,” he withdrew a little from Adam, who all at once seemed to him, to be much larger and more menacing than before, “Are you not?” he crept back, his long spindly legs bent at the knees in a half crouch as his hand subtly reached inside of his coat, “Are you in fact, one of the undead?” Black lips drew tight and white teeth bared as the creature’s face darkened, “I am! Whatever you’re about to try, don’t. I promise it will not work and the destruction will be your own.” Watson threw out an arm to keep Adam from advancing, “Steady there! No call for that! No one is here to harm or threaten anyone,” he threw Erik a pleading glance, “Please, we’re no danger to you! We’ve no interest in harming you or forcing you to come with us. I see we’ve made a mistake and we’ll leave you in peace. Right, Adam?” Adam looked from Watson to Erik and forced himself to relax, “Right,” he affirmed, though he did not take his eyes off of the thin, crouched man. Like a caged animal The Phantom regarded them before he followed their example and straightened, “I apologize, I am…unaccustomed to civil company, much less when it presents itself with… such a… creature,” he was blatantly staring in a way that made Adam’s hackles raise. “I hardly think that’s fair coming from you. Living or not, you’re not really much different from him, are you?” Lawrence interjected brusquely, “Let’s face facts here, you’re a monster in your own right even if you are only human.” “I suppose there is no denying that,” Erik sighed, “I suppose we should part ways. I cannot linger here and neither should you. No doubt, after they clean up the chandelier, there will be a mob gathering to come and tear this place apart and thanks to you I no longer have the protection of my traps.” “You could come with us,” Quincey offered, “Even if you are alive, we could definitely use someone with your knack for engineering back at our headquarters in London. We have rooms and we’ll give you free food and board.”

“I was going to wait for death to come and take me but perhaps it is not yet time to bring my story to a close,” Erik considered, taping his chin beneath his mask, “Could I bring a friend? If I am to leave Paris I should not like to go without a companion, though he may finally be through with me after how poorly I have treated him.”

“I don’t see why not,” replied Watson, “We have room and we need as much help as we can get.”

“It is agreed then. I know not what awaits me in London but perhaps it will be better than waiting to die here in this tomb. Allow me half an hour to collect my things and I will join you.”

[morkanslily]

(I.) In the End You are a Shell, and Nothing More.

summary: Two little dolls who lack a heart. While the first believed it was only he out of you two who lacked it in the metaphorical and literal sense, he came to learn that so too, did you.

notes: puppet!reader & scaramouche, where reader dies. In this, the Balladeer harbinger rank actually has two lords, with Scaramouche facing as its face, and you being considered in equal ownership of the role. Basically 2 lords in one

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

He truly did love you.

And oh, how he wished he didn’t.

Prior to this disaster, the herald of indignation was performing his required duties as harbinger. Tasks that were nothing more than mere inconveniences that only served to pull you further away from his grip. Excruciatingly long visits to lands beyond Snezhnaya, such as the country of Freedom and that of Contracts. And even then, these nations felt just as bitterly empty and cold as the former was without your presence. It anguished him to no end, how he agonizingly longed for you by his side. Not only because he yearned to see the way how your lips would curve humorously when your eyes caught his, but also how he found such desires childish—and maybe even embarrassing to an extent. He was a poet of ire, and you, his beloved, were his muse of recourse. After all, he is The Balladeer, is he not? In his long and miserable existence, he had sought solace amongst humans when the gods had forsaken him. But for every time he chose to, it would come back to bite him. What did he even expect, being so naive? Offering your hand to vicious and cruel beasts will only leave you without it.

 Nevertheless, you are an exception it seems. Exceptions… Ah, quite a rare occurrence indeed. For gods see no worth in him and neither does he sing their praises, and humans are too far beneath him to matter. In this perpetual purgatory of living, never once had he expected to come across you. You, yes, you, bear the same mark of mechanical existence as he. Destined to live an outlier amidst gods and men, you are the only being blessed with sentience who he deems his equal—his other half.

It always mystified Scaramouche how even the knowledge alone that you are indeed of his kind brought him reassurance for the eternity he had yet to spend with you. He would never admit it of course, but deep within the confines of his soul, he is elated to bask in your familiar presence and his thoughts of you. Just as a sunflower(despite him being the farthest man possible from said plant)will always bend towards the sun for dear life. To know that there is someone in this world whose touch is as cold and devoid of warmth as his, sends him into repose--where for just a brief moment, he is allowed to forget the veil of his burdens that trail behind. If the people of this world have turned their backs on him, at the very least, he has you.

And even then, you…

…

“God, why me…” the Fatuus underling muttered under his breath.

He tried, oh how he tried his best to not tremble as he treaded anxiously towards his superior. Genuflecting, it took all of his willpower and dried up hopes to not mistakenly stumble and humiliate himself. He would much rather endure the violent winter of his homeland than have to accomplish this task. But can you blame him, really? Nobody, and no one has ever wanted to face the ordeal that is Lord Scaramouche. Especially not this guy, with the message he was ordered to deliver. He couldn’t shake off the memory of those sympathetic looks and shaking heads behind him as he departed. Practically everyone agreed that this mission bestowed unto him was a death sentence. And what was that mission, exactly?

The harbinger donned a scornful look of malevolence as his impatient eyes scrutinized the poor fellow. His head was raised, perhaps to further incise the fact that he was echelons above. The subordinate knelt before him, preparing to deliver the news. The messenger shrank under his senior’s watch, with an unshakeable spine-chilling cold running through him. Though he dared not to gaze back, he felt the crushing weight of irritation scanning him, unpredictable and utterly terrifying. He shuddered to think that if he just so happened to breath, this behemoth of inhumanity could erase him from existence with a snap of a finger.

“Speak.” The Balladeer demanded, narrowing his eyes in anticipation. 

“Yes, my lord.” the subordinate replied. He cleared his throat, and carried on. “Er, one of our m-main base camps in Snezhnaya—specifically one that you direct has… formally requested for your immediate return. They ask that y-you may personally provide assistance."

“...And what for?” the harbinger scoffed. “Are the fools that I specifically assigned to do their own jobs that worthless?” he crossed his arms, clearly exasperated by such an outrageous demand. “Hmph, the audacity to bother me with such menial affairs. I almost feel insulted by their ineffectiveness alone.” The lord fell silent for a moment, which sent the subordinate into panic. What more did his superior want? Was he contemplating, or purposely engraving anxiety onto his soul to taunt him? He cringed, awaiting what would entail from this deathly silence.

The Balladeer turned his back on him, striding ahead, then coming to a halt. All that was left was a silhouette cloaked by darkness in the dead of night, as his diaphanous veil served to shadow his figure further. All the minion could see was the giant kanji on its back, echoing the words in his mind. 悪. Evil.

What a savage man he is, the underling thought. His future would be on the line, very soon. If he wanted to live, he would need to successfully get ahold of his own strings in this puppet show of life and death—and choose his next words wisely. As the sixth slightly turned his head, his veil followed, swaying in the breeze, slow and elegant such as the pirouette of a ballerina. Above all else, the most accurate way one may describe him would be an angel of death. Sent straight from the thunders of heaven, to forever damn and blight Teyvat. The subordinate gulped, and braced himself for the punishment to come.

“You aren’t stupid enough to have traveled all this way to waste my time, are you?"

“No sir. Actually, the camp that called for your backup was ravaged and left in ruin by a currently unidentified criminal. Most of the survivors were successfully evacuated, but the location remains unsafe.” He held his breath. “I’m afraid that… the 'other half’, was last seen there, and went missing.“

Silence, again. The Balladeer turned to face him, the wind coming to a startling halt. In that very moment, the world felt as though it was in stasis. Stasis that hid the imploding pressure underneath the surface.

“What did you just say?”

“The situation is urgent. So far we have not been able to find the ‘other’ Lord Balladeer, due to complications. I will elaborate further, but as of now I advise that you may depart as soon as possible.” the Fatuus finished. The overlord lowered his head, his wide brimmed hat concealing his expression.

“Hmph. Is that so?

“Uh...yes my lord?"

“Oh, but when did you have the authority,” he raised his head, revealing a wry expression. “...to make demands of me as well?” he sneered, looking back at the subordinate.

Shit.

“No, I..."

A bolt of lightning immediately vaporized the ground nearby, almost missing him. The impact left a painful singe on his side, with parts of his garments chipped and burnt off. He clutched his side in pain, fully collapsing to his knees. His ears rang painfully, and his vision blurred as he coughed on the ground. Fire bloomed in the grass, the embers alive and sizzling. Lord Scaramouche’s finger was still smoking, an expression of pure wrath plastered upon his face. His eyes wide, crackled and seethed with anger. Even the wind picked up, furiously blowing at his hair and garments.

“You humans are always so dreadfully annoying.” He muttered, gritting his teeth whilst smoke seeped between. His words were lacquered with acrimony. The harbinger strode forth with celerity, trampling weeds in his wake. “Useless.” he rubbed his hands together to stop the smoke. “Inefficient.” He shook his head. “Ugly, worthless specks of dust.” In his eyes, humans were no more than unsightly weeds that spread too fast and too far in the garden to be plucked. The only situation? To burn it all together. He looked down on the recuperating man, and grabbed him by the collar. “You vile vermin fail to do the one thing you are asked, and still have the impertinence to come back crawling to me for help? Tsk, how amusing.” When the Balladeer raised his other hand to strike once more, the pest scrambled to make his final move.

“ W-wait, my lord-"

Only then did the subordinate truly learn, that sinners never gain redemption in the eyes of gods and angels alike.

@mhiieee @rainxiaower ⭐️

[mismaeve]

Stars of Lasgalen

↳ Stars of Lasgalen, Thranduil x Reader, fluff Warnings: Aside from sickening amounts of fluff, none A/N: As promised, I wrote a little something for my one year Tolkien anniversary. Thank you so much to everyone who has ever bothered reading any of my silly stuff, who have decided to press that follow button and enter the chaos that is my blog. This piece, even though it's short, is dedicated to all of my followers, my darling mutuals and my dear friends. I love you! For the sake of being sentimental and to add a degree of symbolism, here is my first story, written a year ago on this very day.

A featherlight kiss interrupted the blissful silence that gathered and endured inside the four walls of your bedchambers. Your husband’s soft lips lingering on your cheek in his gentle attempt to rise you from your peaceful slumber.

“My love,” Thranduil whispered before his lips found your forehead and graced it with another tender kiss while fingers light as the first snows of winter, brushed and weaved through your hair.

“Is it morning already?” you asked as you shifted underneath the heavy furs, unwilling to bare your naked skin to the cold and gripping morning air.

“The sun has long risen, I’m afraid it does not wait, not even on someone as beautiful as my beloved wife,” Thranduil mused softly while his fingers took the liberty of caressing your features, the back of his hand gliding over the softness of your cheek with weightless grace.

“That may very well be so, but pray tell, why has my husband forsaken our bed and left my side vulnerable to the biting cold?” you teased him with a playful scowl, pulling up the furs to your chin to further emphasize your discontent.

His answer to your growing displeasure did little to brighten your mood, his open amusement mocking you in the face of your misery.

“I am certain you will forgive me my trespasses once you see what I have brought for you, my fairest of all the stars,” he purred as he leaned in and planted a light kiss on the tip of your nose.

“The keeper and guardian of my heart,” Thranduil continued as his warm lips found your cheek and lingered there before venturing to your temple.

“My darling wife and most gracious queen,” his breath was hot against your skin.

“Flattery will not save you now, dear husband,” you murmured with your eyes closed, savoring his kisses while trying your best to remain determined of not giving in so easily.

“Then perhaps this will.”

You heard the subtle shuffling of his robes and opened your eyes, peering downwards to his hands you couldn’t help yourself but blink in surprise. Thranduil appeared to be holding pure starlight in his hands, the pale rays of the morning sun gleaming off it and nearly blinding you with the bright light it reflected. It was light in its purest form, a precious beauty and most valuable treasure beyond any measure.

“What,” you breathed out, mesmerized by what your eyes were struggling to behold.

“Where ever did you get this?” you whispered in honest wonder.

“They are known as the white gems of Lasgalen, fashioned into a necklace by the dwarves of Erebor,” Thranduil explained softly while his fingers peeled the furs off your chest thus exposing your neck.

“It must have cost a fortune,” you sighed overwhelmed by your husband’s generosity and willingness to spare no expense on your behalf. You knew only too well the greed that drove the King under the Mountain and could imagine beyond any doubts the fee he must have demanded from your husband as payment for something as wondrous and masterfully crafted.

“An occasion such as this, the one-year anniversary of our marriage demanded for nothing less than what I am giving you now, my love,” your husband pointed out patiently, his lips wrought into a loving smile, his eyes reflecting every inch and ounce of his eternal devotion to you.

“May I?” he asked as he unclasped the delicate necklace.

All you could do was nod slowly and watch as Thranduil moved to adorn your neck with pure starlight, the ultimate symbol of his love for you.

“I do not know how to thank you, or where to even begin,” you started but were silenced by his finger gently pressing to your lips.

“You being my wife is all the thanks I will ever need from you,” Thranduil murmured softly while his eyes admired the gift he had bestowed upon you.

“Every morning where I wake and catch a glimpse of my beautiful queen, is one that I cherish. I could not imagine life being worth living unless you were by my side, and I pray I never have to.”

You smiled warmly at your husband’s words, emerging from the softness of the furs, the cold no longer bothering you in the least, you moved yourself onto Thranduil’s lap and were immediately sheltered by his strong arms, pulling you close to his chest and shielding you from the cold with his velvety robes.

“My sweet love,” you mumbled against the crook of his neck and cuddled closer to your king, clinging to him like the early morning frost clings to the petals of winter blooms.

Your husband hummed his content, resting his chin atop your head while his arms cradled you with his fierce love and dreams of your bright future.

“I believe my trespass for abandoning you this morning is forgiven?” he asked after a while, making you snort in amusement.

Gif by @jeniferdasilva07 Taglist: @heilith @kanafinwe-makalaure @i-did-not-mean-to @eunoiaastralwings @coopsgirl @aduialel @deep-space-elf @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @augustwithquills @warriormirkwood @missymoo02 @mxmia @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @sotwk @dawn-petrichor-world

[thegoatsongs]

She is calling to me

AO3 link

-

The sun was setting, and she was calling to him.

Jonathan rose from his chair, abandoning his journal for the day. No sound had come from inside their room at the Asylum.

But he had understood that ever since the night she was marked by the Vampire, he could sense her unspoken pleas.

He’ll always answer, whatever she may ask of him.

“Mina,” he said as he entered their bedroom. “I'm here.”

He found her out of the bed, standing by the window in her nightgown with her hair loose, looking at the autumn evening outside, her back facing him. She turned around with a soft gasp as if taken by surprise from a deep thought, but soon the dimming sunlight revealed a wide smile.

Her eyes are like pole stars in the approaching dark, he mused as he approached her by the window.

“Do you wish me to bring Doctor Van Helsing?”

She shook her head. “I know it is too soon yet," she said, eyeing the clock on their bedside table. "I will ask of you to seek him in a few minutes.”

“Why do you seek me then, darling?”

She looked up at him to protest. But she saw his sure eyes, and his face calm with a soft, sad smile. He had let her suffer in silence before, not asking her of what she herself had wanted. Out of all the sins in the world, he felt that back then, he had committed the deadliest. He could do nothing but try to atone.

“You can sense my thoughts too, then,” she reluctantly stated, as if having a suspicion confirmed. It must be a terrible realisation, that her husband is able to understand her through the tainted bond she now had with the Vampire.

He turned his gaze at the reddening sky outside the window and took her hand in his with a steady touch, to let her know that it was okay. “I do not understand it myself. Just like I could never understand how I sensed that foul presence in Piccadilly, or in Carfax.” He didn't mention how strongly he had felt them both that dreadful night, in their bed, while under His trance. Thrashing, burning. Useless.

He noticed her shiver, so he reached his free hand out to stroke her hair. She closed her eyes under the tender, resolute touch. Soon he felt her squeeze his hand, as if telling him she had grounded herself, and returned the gesture; taking a few strands of his white hair between her fingers the way she knew it always soothed him.

“You’ve been more lonely than afraid, haven’t you? I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Do not blame yourself, dear. This is but my own mind’s fault, roaming into forbidden places, whispers of the Devil… That the Almighty has indeed forsaken me from His creation.” 

Her gaze wandered down to the darkening floor. “Cast amongst the shadows that hurt you most, what you fear most. And it made me feel so, so alone…!”

Jonathan’s hands slid away from her hair and hand to cup his wife’s face and lift it up just so. She looked up at him with eyes that held tears she always hated shedding, as he gazed at the scar on her forehead.

When he had seen the blessed object hurt her, his hatred for it and its holiness, just on that second, had only matched his wrath towards the Vampire.

Yet, he leaned in and kissed, in reverence, her scarred temple. Her sigh was holding the weight of the world.

“I’m here,” he answered once more. For if the Almighty has forsaken you, I do forsake Him, left unsaid.

[pacifymebby]

t r o u b l e / chapter twenty eight

Sylvie

We stood outside Alfie's office in a cold silence. Isaiah refusing to look at me, his eyes burning holes in the wall opposite him. Stubborn, livid but more than anything else disappointed. He was trying to hide it but I could see the hurt he was feeling plain as day on his wounded face. His lips were sullen, his eyes were shadowed. They weren't teary but they were thinking about it.

I wondered what it was that had hurt the most. The way I'd commanded him not to defend me or the way I'd let him stand on the recieving end of Alfie's wrath, not batting an eye when his life was threatened. The way I'd stood calm and still and smirking in the face of my friends imminent death.

I considered reaching for his hand, whispering to him that it was all an act. That I'd been scared too. But I didn't because I didn't want to lie to him.

Ollie stood quietly next to us, his hands resting over one another in front of him. I considered the weapons which would be hidden away under his clothes. I wondered why they hadn't stripped us of ours. Why they'd let us walk into Alfie's office without an amnesty. I could only presume it was because they didn't perceive us as a threat or, that Alfie didn't intend to give us reason to use them.

"You gonna tell me what kind of game you're playing now Sylvie or..." started Isaiah, speaking to me quietly, his voice tight and controlled in such a way that I could tell he was holding on for life.

"Not here Sai..." I sighed looking down at my nails, ears pricked trying to listen through the door to the conversation we'd been shut out of. The one which would decide my sister's fate and mine too.

If Alfie handed us back over to my brother a second chance at escape would be impossible for both me and Sunny.

But when the door finally opened Alfie Solomons was all but doing his best to conceal a smile, a warmer smile than perhaps he should have been letting me see.

"Oh dear little Shelby," he said shaking his head, his eyes dark, a patronising tsk tsk reserved only for me as he passed Isaiah and stood looking down at only me, "he's not happy with you poppet, no he ain't..."

"You needed to call him to reach that conclusion?" I asked plainly, leaning back against the wall like the insolent teenager my brother would expect me to be. An act which didn't seem to wash with Alfie.

His brows tugged together, his eyes flickering over me.

"Come on little dancer stand up straight..." He chided me, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger adjusting my gaze so that I was stood a little straighter, looking up at him with that stubborn glaze he almost seemed to admire. "No," he said a little softer then, "no I did not need to phone him to know that little gypsy girl..." he mused, a small smirk tugging at him lips momentarily, "what I needed to phone him for yeah... What I needed to phone him for was to let him know that his darlin little sister yeah, that's you by the way poppet, is safe and sound... Safe an sound here in my bakery in good old Camden Town, only place left in this god forsaken, cesspit of a city where there's any good men left yeah?"

"Thats you yeah?" I asked drly, dragging my voice though it was quieter now. It was harder to be fearless now.

He stroked his thumb over my cheek and held my gaze, his fingertips a little rough against my skin as he held my chin in place. I did my best to focus on my teeth in my mouth, ran my tongue along the backs of them and counted so that my mind didn't quiver, so that I could hold the tremble back.

Alfie shook his head.

"Yeah poppet," he said, his words surprising me, "when it comes to you it does mean me right... You should remember that too right, very important... You wanna write it down or somet yeah so you don't go forgettin it..."

He let his hand fall away from my cheek then but I remained looking up at him, remained watching him as he stepped away, walked a small contemplative circle as he dictated to me. Not a thought for Isaiah, all his attention focussed solely on me.

"An I'll say it again for you yeah, make sure it sinks in properly alright.." he said tapping his temple with his finger, turning to me to hold my gaze again. "When it comes to you little Shelby, I am a good man."

I didn't know what to say to him then, bottom lip stuck out as it was in a simmering pout, my eyes sullen and ungrateful for the mercy he was showing me. I should have been on my knees thanking him for having spared Isaiah's life, for having shown me forgiveness, but I wasn't stupid.

I wasn't going to crumble at the first display of kindness, wasn't going to show weakness in the face of a man I knew was still trying to get my measure.

"Now your big brother, belligerent old miser that he is, reckons he's gonna drive all the way down to London tonight to come collect his lost and found - that's you poppet..."

"For fuck sake..." I heard Isaiah breath next to me, the words quiet enough that I hoped he'd get away with them but of course he didn't.

"Oi you uncooth little prick, ain't you supposed be the son of preacher, swearing like that in front of a girl... Fuckin disgusting that is..."

When he caught me smirking I thought there'd be another scathing line saved up for me but instead Alfie let a little wink slip my way and it took everything in me to make sure my smirk didn't grow to a smile.

"I won't go home Mr Solomons," I said finally, so certain in my heart of that fact that I could say it calm enough to leave them both captured quiet. Though Alfie's silence didn't last very long.

"Well yes little Shelby it would appear that you and I already know that wouldn't it..." he said pacing ahead of us, his hands held behind his back, head bowed thoughtfully as he appeared to ruminate on a decision I knew he'd already made, "but I ain't goin to war with your brother just because you'd make a very lovely Odette..."

"That's..." I started stunned when he silenced me, one finger raised, his eyes locked on mine with his wordless command.

"Alright poppet I'm talkin now ain't I.." he said, his voice low, a resonant warning tone which left a shiver run down my spine. I felt Isaiah bristle beside me, saw him suck in on his cheek and bite down anxiously. When his eyes flickered to meet mine I met him with a steely glare wanting to remind him that we weren't supposed to look nervous.

"Now, I ain't an expert on teenage girls alright, in fact I have very little to do with them Sylvia but it seems to me yeah, I reckon I've got your measure... Reckon I actually know you quite well little gypsy... Cause right, I reckon you think you're very clever yeah? Got this shvantz wrapped round your finger haven't you but I'll tell you this for nowt as your big brother Tommy would say right, manipulating a lout like that ain't hard sweetheart, and that don't mean to say you ain't very clever yeah, cause see I think perhaps the apple don't fall far from the tree with you yeah Sylvia, but brains yeah, brains ain't enough to manoeuvre successfully through the society you seem so determined to acquaint yourself with... All that been said however it occurs to me right, and this may be of some interest to you too yeah because it seems to me that for all those wits you've got about you, you ain't deduced this interesting little detail just yet alright... You've come down here right, to ask me to help your sister, but the starlet Sonya Gray is nowhere to be seen... You're the one who came to dance the Dying Swan on my antique rug yeah... You."

"Odette is Sonya's part Alfie I didn't come here for..."

"Now what did I just say?" He snapped suddenly, his eyes burning, teeth gritted as he slammed his fist against the wall to shut me up. I managed to hold back my flinch, managed to remain muted as if I were merely observing the scene and not a part of it. When he simmered I could see the anger behind his irises. "I'm talkin now... You, little gypsy, are listening."

So I swallowed down and kept my mouth shut watching him steadily as he started up again.

"You are very clever yeah Sylvia, but you are very naive, and that's alright yeah? You are very young so that my dear is al-right, it's forgivable, yeah, completely understandable, truly it is forgivable that you ain't realise this already... But you need to realise it now yeah, you are the Gray who stole and deceived her way into my Bakery, to dance the Dying Swan and ask for my protection, so you are the Gray I'm going to offer my protection to... So long as she promises to dance the Dying Swan on that Opera House stage for as long as I'm protecting her..."

I looked back at him blankly, confusion swirling inside me, a sharp kind of sting in my throat as I fought the urge to cry or lash out at him because that wasn't the deal. That wasn't what I'd wanted at all. Hadn't been my intention to betray my sister and yet here he was dangling the only thread of hope in front of me, arrogant enough to know I would take it.

"It's not my part..."

"Ain't hers either whilst she's locked away up north is it Sylvia..." he said stepping closer to me, close enough that he came between Isaiah and myself. Close enough that he cut me off from the rest of the room so that I was forced to look up and see only him.

"With that little display Sylvia my poppet, you really got my hopes up... Now I sincerely hope you ain't about to let me down..."

I tried my best to remain still, trapped between him and the wall, the little space between us knife edge prickling as I held my breath and tried to hide the anger from my eyes.

I opened my mouth to deny him a third time but as though he read my mind, as though he was moving to stop me from doing as he suspected - letting him down - he turned away from me briskly, dropping the expectancy and the subtle threat from his demeanour. Turning the conversation towards killing time instead.

"Now where are my manners eh? You two'll be all but knackered I should imagine... Dead on your feet some might say," he cracked a laugh as he clipped Isaiah round the head lightly. It wasn't hard enough to hurt him but that didn't stop it adding to the emotional wound which had been festering since the day before when I'd first forced the older lads hand.

"Gonna set you up nice and cosy yeah, very generous me yeah, if there's one thing people always say about the terrible Alfie Solomons yeah, it's that he's nothing but generous and hospitable, a real gentleman me right? Now I assume Khamer here ain't gonna let you out of his sight yeah, not even to get your beauty sleep yeah?" He said vaguely gesturing to Isaiah as he clicked his fingers for us to follow him down the hallway towards the back doors and into a garage.

"Yeah reckon we'll keep you safe an snug in the East Wing," he said chuckling to himself as he opened the passenger side of a blacked out four wheel drive. When he gestured for me to step up inside I resisted the urge to look back at Isaiah over my shoulder.

I sat down, leaning back into the plush chair, flickering my gaze over the dashboard as Alfie tried to rile Isaiah even more. I heard him bark something about how the children sit in the back before he came round to the drivers side and shut the door behind him.

"Now then poppet," he said as he started the engine, "time for you to see how real royalty lives..."

And when we pulled up outside his "house" I understood what he meant because although his house might not have been as big as Arrow House, it was certainly worth ten times as much. One of those grand old townhouses on a private road, a mini mansion really.

Behind me Isaiah opened the car door, got out and let it slam. To my right Alfie remained still, drummed his fingers slow and rhythmically on the wheel.

Suddenly I wasn't sure how much of his "east wing" comment had been a joke.

We'd spent the whole drive in silence, the heavy kind but now it seemed Alfie had grown tired of listening to everyone else think. I'd say solemnly, trying not to show my apprehension, trying not to show my distress. The deep cut inside which ached like still open wound, the blade the betrayal Alfie expected of me. I'd thought in ever small circles about Sonya, about her hopeless forlorn features the last time I'd seen her. When she'd fled our brothers study in a heartbroken flurry of tears. I'd been determined to save her, I'd come all this way, looked a deadly man in the eyes and danced for him, with the intention of saving her. Now as Alfie cut the engine I was realising all too late that perhaps all I'd really served to do to poor Sunny was dig the knife in deeper.

"Well," he said turning to look at me, "ain't you going to get out little Shelby? Or have you even trained him to unclip your seatbelt?" He asked letting out a low self amused chuckle as he reached for the door on his own side. "Really though poppet, now that it's just me an you yeah... You're gonna answer me one more question right, one more yeah, nice an truthful for me yeah?"

I remained quiet, still looking straight ahead, studying the front of the building, trying to date it, estimate a value if not just so that I had something else to focus on beyond the imposing man sitting beside me.

"You trust him yeah?"

The question seemed redundant to me. Stupid even. I couldn't help but smirk, struggling to bite back the laugh which escaped me.

"More than I trust you Mr Solomons," I said, "naturally..."

And when I sealed my smirk, lips a thin and unamused line etched into my expression, I left us bristling in silence for a moment. Left him looking between me and Isaiah who was waiting just outside the passenger side door.

"Well," Alfie dragged the word out, relaxing suddenly as he opened his door, "ain't that sweet eh, ain't that just lovely..." And when he got out of the car and closed the door behind him Isaiah moved to open my door, leaning in to undo my seat belt, holding my hand to help me down. Leaving my cheeks burning because he'd proved Alfie right.

AN// sorry this update has taken so long it feels like it's taken me absolutely years!!! And then when I finally post it it isn't even that long 😭💔 but j hope you enjoy it all the same and I hope I stop struggling to write very soon haha <3

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[justaduckarts]

Where You Belong

“What if you ran away?” Eclipse’s tone remained pleasant. Your mouth fell open and you nervously clutched the golden sun pendant hanging from your neck. 

“I- You couldn’t seem to pull together a cohesive response, though. It was as if Eclipse had looked into your heart, seen your desires, and laid them upon a table in front of you. You wanted to. You wanted to run far and fast. Till you were lost in an endless sea of long grass and winters by the fire drinking cider. 

Still. Eclipse’s smile seemed less inviting now. A trick. A test. Yes, that had to be it. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to goad you into saying something blasphemous, only to punish you when you agreed. You steeled your resolve. 

“I cannot abandon my duties,” you straightened, folding your hands politely, “my responsibilities as the star holder are important. I have given the sun god my solemn oath, and I intend to keep it.” No matter how much it may pain you. Eclipse’s smile faded. He looked perplexed a moment before shrugging softly. 

“Well, your loyalty is admirable,” he set a hand on the small of your back, “I certainly hope that Sun recognizes your devotion... You said he would be arriving to retrieve you soon, yes? Why don’t you have some tea while you wait?” Now you were confused. Did you pass whatever test Eclipse was giving you? 

“Thank you for the offer, but- 

“I hope you aren’t about to refuse,” Eclipse said warmly, “I was hoping we could talk a little longer.” He gingerly nudged you forward, guiding you back down the winding halls of the temple. You followed, mystified. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t get a read on Eclipse. What was his goal? He summoned you here to heal someone. You’d done that. And now... he was just being nice to you? Didn’t he have work to do? Sun certainly never had time to spend with you like this. 

As you were lost in your musings, Eclipse was equally contemplative. What were they teaching you at that forsaken temple of light? He could tell you were dreading the return, but you seemed equally frightened at the prospect of rebelling. You’d seemed terrified to even voice that you might want to leave the service of the sun god. 

“Here we are,” he hummed, pushing open a door. 

This room was slightly smaller than the office. Just a small parlor; a place for guests to sit and chat while they waited to be called further into the temple. Silky black curtains covered cold stone walls. They were embroidered with fine gold thread, depicting many constellations. And of course, at the center of it all, an eclipse. A table was settled at the middle of the room with a few chairs around it. Already, a delicate tea set had been placed upon the table. There were even cookies. 

“Help yourself,” Eclipse patted your back before taking a seat. He watched, amused, as you sat in a chair much too large for you. You looked so small he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“How long have you been serving in the sun temple, dear?” Eclipse plucked up the tea pot and poured two cups. You watched steam curl up from the tea. The smell of the cookies wrapped around you and made you feel strongly tempted. However, your hands remained folded in your lap. 

“Fifteen years,” you supplied. Eclipse nudged one of the tea cups in your direction. Hesitantly, you took it up. 

“Thank you,” you glanced between Eclipse and the tea. There was a charming little sugar dish on the table, and even a jar of rather tempting looking honey, but you refrained. Eclipse, however, took a generous spoonful of honey for his tea. 

“Fifteen years,” he hummed, stirring his cup, “that is a long time for a mortal, isn’t it?” He let go of his spoon and it continued to stir by itself. 

“I would think so,” you nodded, “however, the moon god has informed me that the nature of my gift may have effected my lifespan. So I suppose I am not sure how long fifteen years will be, in the long run.” You did your best not to make a face when you sipped at your tea. It wasn’t terrible. Just. Bitter. 

“Would you like some honey?” Eclipse nudged the jar at you. 

“...The temple maids say that sweets are a gateway to stronger temptations,” you eyed the jar warily, “I’m not supposed to partake.” 

“Really? I wonder if Sun knows about that,” Eclipse mused, “he has quite the sweet tooth, you know.” His grin returned, “I’ve never known him to leave home without some kind of sweet on him.” Was that true? All these years and you scarcely knew a thing about the god you were serving. But wasn’t that expected? It was not like the gift you’d received had somehow made the two of you friends. Even though, at one time, you’d foolishly hoped that would be the case. 

“...Is this a test, your grace?” You felt foolish for having to ask. But to your surprise. Eclipse shook his head. 

“What would I be testing you for? I’m just being a good host,” Eclipse nudged the jar of honey towards you once more. A conspiratorial grin stretched across his face. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he winked at you. You felt that earlier fluttery feeling return and heat flared through your face. Shyly, you collected the honey and a spoon. 

“I can’t remember the last time I had honey in my tea,” you furrowed your brow as you stirred, “mother used to make it when one of us felt ill.”

“One of us? You have siblings?” Eclipse sipped at his tea. The cup seemed so small compared to him. Comically so, in fact. But he hardly seemed to care. 

“I do. Or at least, I did,” you nodded, “I’ve no idea where life has taken them now.” Eclipse glanced up at you. 

“You don’t? They don’t write to you? Or visit?” Eclipse already knew the answer to this one. But he had a goal in mind, and getting you to see the writing on the wall was part of it. 

“No,” you shook your head, “they were asked not to. Distractions may cloud my mind and prevent me from fulfilling my duties. And... Sun believed that staying in contact with them could be risky.” You set the tea cup down. Eclipse’s gaze seemed to burn into you. 

“That’s very unfortunate. I hope someday you might be able to reunite with them,” Eclipse patted your hand, “why don’t we discuss a lighter topic? You speak about your duties often. Surely you must be doing something when you aren’t working, though. Do you have a hobby?” Eclipse smiled, watching your expression brighten just a touch. 

“I do like to read,” you admitted, “it’s a nice escape from the monotony. I’ve also taken up sewing, though I’m truthfully not very good...” You felt the conversation had become one-sided in some way. Hesitating, you looked at Eclipse. “...Am I allowed to ask if you have a hobby?” Eclipse perked. 

“I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t be,” he smiled, “since you’re curious, I quite like reading myself. Though, I don’t have as much time for it these days as I’d like. What sorts of things have you sewn?” 

“Mostly pillows,” you picked up your cup once more, “I have sewn a doll or two, but the temple maids say that I’m too old for toys.” Was this what normal people did when they spent time together? They just sat and... talked? It was so relaxed. So different than what you were used to. And with someone so much larger than you, in a literal and figurative sense... 

“Your temple maids should really learn to keep their thoughts to themselves,” Eclipse clicked his tongue, “there is no age limit on enjoyment.” He paused, looking up. 

“I need to go attend to something, dear,” Eclipse rose from his seat, “why don’t you wait here? Sun will be here soon, I’m sure. Have a cookie. No one’s going to get you in trouble for it.” He patted your shoulder lightly as he passed you by. The door shut. You looked at the plate of cookies. You were already in over your head. What could a little indulging hurt? 

The sound of a boot tapping impatiently against the marble floor filled the entryway. Sun stood, arms crossed, foot tapping. He was on the verge of shouting for Eclipse when the dreaded god of darkness materialized from the shadows. 

“Hello, dear brother,” Eclipse smiled, though he was not at all happy to see Sun, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Hello, Eclipse,” Sun took a breath, “I am here to collect the star holder. Whom you sent for without my permission. You know I don’t want them travelling a lot. They could get- 

“Kidnapped or killed,” Eclipse nodded, “they are safe. Relax. We were just chatting.” Sun narrowed his brilliant white gaze on Eclipse. 

“Why did you call them here?” 

“Goodness,” Eclipse pressed a hand to his heart, “you think so little of me. Is it so hard to believe I needed a healer? One of my best servants was injured. Nothing more.”

“...Of course,” Sun’s fingers dug into his arms, “well. You know the rules as well as I. May I enter?” Eclipse stepped aside. 

“Please, enter.” The moment Eclipse granted Sun permission, Sun zipped past Eclipse and straight into the suffocating aura of the temple of darkness. Eclipse grinned, turning and following after him. 

It was quite amusing to Eclipse that Sun had to wait for his permission to enter his temple. Though, all gods were bound by this rule. They could not enter the space of another without permission. Something decreed in order to prevent anymore conflict than there already was brewing between them. 

Sun, so anxious to ensure his most valuable servant was safe, made a crucial mistake. He walked without stopping, without asking for directions. Eclipse watched with interest as Sun stormed straight for the parlor and threw the door open. 

And there you were, half-eaten cookie in hand. Mouth full and looking quite surprised. Scrambling to look more presentable, you got to your feet and swallowed hard. 

“Your grace!” You eyed the rest of the cookie in your hand before quickly setting in down on the table, “forgive me, I didn’t know you had arrived! I would have come to greet you...” You folded your hands, looking at your shoes sheepishly. 

“Star holder,” Sun sighed, setting hands on your shoulders, “you’re alright. That’s a relief.” You glanced between Sun and Eclipse. Sun looked genuinely relieved. Eclipse grinned at you. You felt your lips twitch. The urge to smile back was there. But you refrained; you didn’t want Sun to think you were amused by his worry.

“I’m grateful for your concern, your grace,” you said quietly, “however, I assure you that Ecli- That his eminence has been a cordial host.” Sun glanced at the tea and cookies and nodded slowly. 

“Of course he has,” Sun straightened, “come along. It’s time to return home.” Could it be called home? All the same, you followed after Sun. He stopped at the door to frown at Eclipse. 

“I hope that you will get the proper permission next time,” Sun’s eyes were narrowed in blatant distrust. Eclipse nodded. 

“I hope you’ll forgive me for overlooking the rules. As I mentioned, it was an emergency... As for you,” Eclipse turned away from Sun to smile at you. He reached forward and boldly took up one of your hands, “I rather enjoyed our time together. I look forward to seeing you again.” And then he bent and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. You let out a tiny squeak, you were so surprised. Heat filled your whole face and suddenly you felt dizzy. A kiss. A kiss?! From the god of darkness? The supposed enemy of the god you served? Your head spun. 

“That’s quite enough,” Sun grasped your wrist and carefully tugged your hand free of Eclipse’s, “we’re leaving. Good day.” Sun tugged you along, eager to be out of the presence of his mischievous younger brother. 

“So long, Sun. See you soon, dear.” Eclipse waved, watching Sun tug you away. You waved with your free hand. 

“Goodbye, Eclipse...” You called, so lost in your fluster that you’d forgotten to be formal once again. 

Once you were tucked safely into the carriage with Sun, he let out a loud sigh. His foot tapped anxiously as he glared at his lap. You were seated across from him, hands folded in your lap. You’d never been more nervous to be near him.

“What did he say to you?” Sun looked at you, “did he do or say anything you might consider suspicious?” You considered Sun’s question. 

“Not that I can recall,” you shook your head, “oh. Well...” There was one thing. 

“Go on.” Sun nodded. 

“He did ask if I wanted to run away,” you admitted, “but my convictions did not wane, your grace.” Sun leaned back in his seat, dragging his hands down his face. You’d never seen him like that. He was usually so bright and friendly. Composed, too. 

“Alright,” Sun straightened, “I suppose this is my fault for not considering that he might try something... How do you feel? Are you ill at all?” He glanced at you. 

“No, your grace,” you shook your head, “I feel healthy.” Sun nodded once more. 

“For now, we’ll return you to where you belong. Perhaps Moon will be able to make more sense of what Eclipse is up to,” he mused. 

Where you belong.

You dug your fingers into your silky white robes. 

“Your grace,” you glanced up at Sun, who seemed to be deep in thought. He looked at you, brow raised. 

“Yes, star holder?” There it was. Your title. Had you ever heard Sun say your name? 

“While I was there, Eclipse mentioned you like sweets,” you shifted, “is that true?” Sun’s expression twisted with confusion.

“It is,” he nodded, “but I hardly think that we need to discuss my preferences right now.” 

“Forgive me, your grace,” you glanced off to the side, “I was merely curious about you.” Sun sighed softly.

“Of course he did...” He shook his head, “Eclipse may seem kind now, but I assure you, he has ulterior motives. It would be in your best interest not to let him too close... I would think the people at the temple had taught you that.” He frowned.

“They have,” you quickly nodded. The last thing you needed was to be punished because Sun said something to the temple monks, “forgive me. I... I suppose I was weaker in my convictions than I thought. I won’t let him sway me again.” Even though all you wanted was to let Eclipse sway you. 

But that was a dangerous road to dream of travelling. It was one thing to wish for a life free of your duties. But to wish to be closer to Eclipse? One whispered about in fear? It was foolish, at the very least. 

The carriage rolled to a stop. You knew this ride would take days in ordinary circumstances. But the gods didn’t have several days to travel around. They could, of course, travel through their individual influences; Sun, for example, could shift into the sunlight and move wherever he needed to go. So long as there was sunshine there. 

Alas, humans cannot be converted into pure light and back. Not without potentially leaving some pieces behind. So, Sun had had this carriage built by a lesser-known god. Specifically to cart you around anytime the two of you needed to travel together. Which wasn’t terribly often, but often enough that the carriage was useful. 

“Wait,” Sun set a hand on your arm as you started to get up, “I’ll escort you in. I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep my brief interaction with Eclipse to yourself. In fact, tell no one that you’ve met him. It will rile people up. The last thing we need right now is a mob of panicked mortals.” You nodded slowly. So today was going to be a secret now. Peachy. 

“As you wish, your grace,” you looked up at him, “I will keep today’s events to myself.” Not like you’d intended to brag or anything anyway. 

“Thank you.” Sun rose and opened the carriage door. He stepped out and reached in for your hand. It was all for show, of course; the temple rather liked the idea that you were some kind of special to Sun. That the two of you were close. But in reality, you were just bearing the weight of Sun’s greatest secret. And holding a gift that had never been intended for you. 

“Your eminence,” the high priestess bowed her head as the two of you entered. You did your best not to acknowledge the way she glared at you. 

“So good to see you!” Sun smiled brightly, “if you would ensure that our dear Star Holder does not leave this temple unless I have given my express permission, I would deeply appreciate it. I am not sure who sent them out without my saying so first, but if something had happened...” The priestess nodded earnestly. 

“Forgive us for this grave oversight, your eminence. I will ensure it does not happen again.” She glanced at you. Your whole body tensed. Great, now it was somehow your fault for doing what you’d been told? 

“Thank you!” Sun turned to you, still smiling brightly, “I’m afraid I can’t stay now. However! I will return tomorrow evening,” he patted your shoulder, “take care, star holder. We’ll meet again soon.” 

“Thank you, your grace. Your presence always brings me comfort,” you nodded. You thought people were supposed to smile when they talked to people they were close with. But you didn’t. The priestess eyed you. Sun nodded, patted your shoulder once more for good measure, and then departed. 

The very moment he was gone, the priestess closed the distance between the two of you and grasped your wrist harshly. 

“How are you constantly embarrassing us?” She hissed, “come along. You need to wash the filth of the dark one’s temple off of you. And then you can go to bed.” There was no point in arguing. You only nodded and followed along. 

Late that night, as you were laying in bed, you wished you had run away when Eclipse suggested it. Maybe it would be lonely, but at least you’d be free. You glanced at your hand. Heat crept back into your face. Hopefully you could meet him again. 

The sound of sand falling in an hourglass filled the silence. It was drowned out by a heavy sigh just moments later. Long fingers came up to rub at temples, trying to push away a quickly forming migraine. 

“So Eclipse has set his eyes on the star holder,” Moon sighed again, “that doesn’t bode well for us.” 

“I’m concerned that he may have had quite the impact,” Sun said, continuing to pace the floor of Moon’s office. 

“What kind of impact?” Moon twisted his quill in his hands, agitation mounting. Eclipse had been a thorn in his side for too long. 

“...The kind that gods should not make on mortals,” Sun sighed, rubbing at his eyes in aggravation, “the star holder certainly seems enamored with him.” Moon groaned. 

“It makes sense,” he stood from his desk, “the star holder is old enough now to have those kinds of interests. They’ve lived very sheltered. Perhaps too sheltered. They probably aren’t used to such attention...” Moon folded his hands behind his back, looking out of the window. 

“What would you recommend I do?” Sun stopped pacing, glancing at Moon hopefully. 

“You have options,” Moon mused, “you could try and find the star holder a more suitable companion. Or, you could try getting them more socialized... let things happen naturally, as it were. There’s a third option, but you won’t like it.” Moon frowned at Sun. Sun clenched his fists and shook his head. 

“No. I told you before. They shouldn’t die because of my mistake- 

“At this point, wouldn’t it be a mercy? What kind of quality of life does the star holder have, wasting away in a temple like some kind of relic?” Moon’s aggravation was plain in his tone. He still hadn’t forgiven Sun for messing up such an important task. The star being dropped. Bonding to a random child. And now, the only options they had were to try and keep you under close watch or remove the star... which would end your life.

“Perhaps... we could hold a ball. Or a festival? Something like that might work,” Sun tapped his foot. 

“Assuming the star holder knows the first thing about socializing,” Moon quipped, “have they ever been to a public event?” 

“No,” Sun sighed, “and it was for exactly this reason. They are too kind- too naïve. They could trust the wrong person and then we would all be in trouble.” 

“Well, while you work on that... I will have someone from my temple keep a close eye on the goings on in Eclipse’s. I’d appreciate if you could bring the star holder here at some point. It’s about time I checked on the star, anyway.” Moon turned from the window to glance at Sun. Sun put his hands on his hips. 

“You could come down from the heavens and see the world you’re working so hard to take care of,” he cocked a brow at Moon. Moon huffed. 

“Is it not enough to pull the tide? Is it not enough to pour my soul into my work? Now I have to leave the comfort of my home and walk among beings who will live a fraction of my life and let them gawk at me? No thank you.” He shook his head. Sun softened. Moon hardly left home. He would sometimes visit his own temple to keep up appearances. But since the death of his beloved adopted child, he’d hardly had any desire to see the world. 

And that was part of the reason gods did not attach themselves to mortals. Emily had lived a full, happy life. But her loss was still devastating for Moon, even two decades later. 

“I understand,” Sun sighed, “I won’t press. You take your time, Moon... I intended to meet with the star holder tomorrow to have dinner. Mostly to ensure that they’re really alright after their visit with Eclipse. I could bring them here?” 

“For dinner?” Moon’s hands fidgeted. He didn’t enjoy socializing as it was. The thought of hosting for dinner made him feel anxious. 

“It’s one meal,” Sun said gently, “it will just be the three of us. But you can say no, if you’re not ready.”

“...I can host. But you’d better bring good wine.” Moon waved a hand dismissively, “now shoo. I’ve got work to do. The night has just begun.” 

[kiealer]

Truth + Nina, why don't you tell us -- in detail -- how you feel about Goku Black?

Send me 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷 + a question or 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙴 + a command to get my muse's honest answer or see them do something out of character for them! // accepting

Her lips purse. Tense. The barest sound of a swallow is the only one heard for several stifling moments.

It feels as though this question has reached her ears a thousand times, and yet, she could never bring herself to reply truthfully -- not the entire truth. What use is there running if she hits a wall and it simply catches up to her? What would she do if it trapped and ate her whole? Admittedly, she fears this, but she has to speak.

❝… I hate him.❞ Her heart races, an alarm begging her not to speak further. Leave it at the simple answer, it begets, even pleads. Because the true one is far more complicated and more confusing. ❝I hate him so much. I hate him for what he's done to everyone, for what he's taken away, for what he tried to do -- but, most of all, I hate what he's done to me.❞ Her hand hovers above her heart, fingers gradually grasping at the fabric draped above it until they fully grip and quiver.

❝I… don't know how, but… I…❞ Her tongue feels heavy, like lead. To confess anything is admitting guilt, but the weight by now has been far too heavy for her to carry. Though, would speaking of it lessen the burden at all? Or would it worsen it? She isn't sure she wants to find out, but in this case, she is given no choice. ❝I care about him.❞

Those few words unleashed the floodgates. Emotions of all kinds and calibers fill her fragile heart, overwhelming her almost instantly. Were she not braced for impact, she would have fallen already. Unfortunately or otherwise, this isn't her first time experiencing a tsunami, though now that she has to speak through it, she feels the waves are a tad too much.

❝I can't forget him. No matter how much I try, he doesn't leave my god damn mind. Sometimes it feels like I don't even want him to. Like I like his infuriating presence being with me all the time. I'll forget for awhile, go about my life as it is, but… he shows up, out of nowhere, at the slightest thought. And he's there. Like he never left. I feel like-- like I've lost control of my own brain.❞ Shamefully, she adds, ❝And… my body, to an extent.❞ Her cheeks burn hot, a setting sun embedded in her features. Where one hand grasped at the heart, the other moves to grasp the fabric above her hips. It wouldn't take a trained eye to notice her squirming thighs, though she forcibly ceases the movement upon her own realization. Her cheeks become a little more saturated. The significance of this involuntary movement is not at all lost, and only serves to embarrass her further.

❝I'll spare you the details and just say I've thought of him often. That's enough, isn't it?❞ Some truths were simply too heinous to leave the vault they were trapped in. She maintains some pride, and she would not forgo that. Besides, she didn't have to divulge any libidinous details -- the question didn't specify enough. All that's left is her grief.

❝And the worst part about it? I know he wouldn't give a damn. I know whatever crevice he's carved himself out in my brain is something he wouldn't give a second thought to, let alone even a single one. Maybe he'd hold it over my head, gloat that he's consumed me entirely. Boost his ego a little. But that wouldn't matter. I'd still be in his crosshairs, and he'd still get rid of me when the time comes. I'm a drop in the ocean to him. I don't matter.❞

As if all the weight has finally taken its toll, or perhaps it's been lifted, Ninazu practically collapses, unceremoniously plopping onto the nearest seat. Her head hangs in her hands, either in defeat, or in shame. The consequences of this rant hardly matters, though she is well aware of them. They, too, plague her.

❝For some god forsaken reason, I'm drawn to him. I mean… I guess it was obvious why at first, right?❞ She chuckles dryly, but it quickly peters out. ❝I… want to see him again. I'd give anything to see him every day.❞ Barely above a whisper, her voice cracks, and she finally confesses, ❝I think I love him. But because of that, I hate him. I'm so tired, but I can't… let him go. I don't know what to do…❞

[bloodskinandteeth]

✦ — OCs as CHARACTER TROPES

was tagged by my beloved @jamessunderlandgf to take this uquiz for some ocs! shoutout to hev and rum for giving me suggestions on which ocs to do, this unintentionally became a long post bc each one got a different answer oops. tagging literally any of y'all who wanna do this.

the icarus

[noun, greek origin] refers to a character, first curious and childish, who got so bored of the world's rotten nature they lost all hope in living. as the last resort to find the spark in the world of dying stars, the icarus may have attempted numerous times to touch the blazing surface of the sun, hoping to see any kind of redemption in the reflection of their face in the sun's flames. as a result, their wings were melted down and their bones broken by the harsh landing, yet that still didn't stop them from trying all over again. the people of icarus' nature often believe their place is with the stars and their desire to burn amongst them causes them to forget the beauty of the land they've abandoned, merely flying over it - the world has stored so much beauty for them they often struggle to see through the rays of sun and yet, it is still there. the most beautiful of flowers grow upon the lands their feet haven't even touched and maybe, just maybe, if they spared a bit of their time to give the (them forsaken) world another chance, they'd see that sky might not be the home they truly desire, but one they've seeked just because they have seen only the worst of the world.

the false muse

[noun, latin origin] refers to a character that attempts to be perfect in order to receive certain amount of praise, or to inspire others to go in their footsteps. they tend to seek the spotlight, the podium, the gaze of the people looking up to them, with praise and validation being what keeps them pursuing the way of living they did before. the false muses surely have their goals, but the biggest one is to simply be better than yesterday and worse than tomorrow, to be in a constant state of self improvement they'll never deem enough. this is what leads them to the ocassional state of burnout, state one may describe as trying so hard to please the artist you become the opposite of a muse - hence why they're called false ones. the false muses might be tempted to think that they've never achieved perfection, but the truth is, there's no such thing as perfection, nor is there a way to achieve it. all muses could long for is merely the perfect version of themselves and they've achieved that already, over a thousand times.

the saint

[noun, latin origin] refers to a character that has taken upon themselves the role of saint via listening to prayers, concerns and troubles of others. characters falling under this cathegory are obviously merely metaphorical saints, which is a quality many people struggle to realize. the saints are said to be helpful and caring under any circumstance, believing that making themselves useful increases their self worth in the eyes of people they care about. they often forget that they are indeed humans in roles of saints, that they still have human limitations and problems that can potentially pile up until they fall from the metaphorical heavens they occupy...yet mostly, this doesn't stop them from taking burdens from people and putting it on their own back in hopes of being more responsible in taking care of them. there's strange naivety in the good they do, slight hope that they can take everything and anything they try to fix and help out with. this naivety is often replaced with denial and regret as soon as one realizes that sometimes, it's impossible to pose as a saint. but that's just the tragic cycle of them - trying to help out, getting dragged from heavens by the burden they voluntarily stole, falling, laying on the ground wide-eyed and tired before climbing back into the clouds again. as of now, there's no cure to being one of the saints - it is up to them to realize that they are not responsible for anyone's happiness apart from their own and that it's not selfish to put them before others. it's natural and - as much as they want to stray away from it - human. 

the tide

[noun, german origin] refers to a character that considers silence the most powerful weapon of them all. they believe that in silence, there lies no agreement nor disagreement, simply the passive ability to listen. the tides are the ones to believe that there's no use in fighting for their opinion and consider the opinion as itself vastly unimportant in comparison to the rest - they are calm, collected and never let emotions overtake them, at least, not in front of others. some would call them cold, yet that'd be a mistake - there's a great fire that lies behind the facade of the nature of the tides, fire that someone, something set off in them long time ago that refuses to die down. this fire only grows stronger with each minute of the prevailing silence they pretend to thrive in and it is only a matter of time this fire burns them to their core and then...well, only tides know what will happen then. perhaps they'll scream, perhaps they'll cry, desperately trying to tell the world what misery lies in their silence that is not to be broken since no-one would listen to them either way and still, they'd be so beautifully incorrect. there's plenty of stories tides have to tell and even more that shall be listened to - they just need to let people submerge in their water.

the disqualified

[noun, origin unknown] refers to a character who's became too numb to the concept of the world, to the point of deeming oneself not able to express any sort of emotion, whether positive or a negative one. this state is usually the one to follow after feeling too much, as if to balance out the overwhelming sensation of human emotion. living up to their title, they often consider themselves 'disqualified' from being a human, forsaken and unloved, abandoned by the world they've never had interest in. they don't know where they belong or where should they go - every second of breathing air is a waste of oxygen someone worthier could use. the disqualified symbolize the constant state of feeling nothing but tiredness, state where all is merciless but the end. this is the one and only test outcome where i as the writer shall personally interfere - please, my most beloved disqualified, keep longing to feel again. there's so much you've never felt and so much you'll desire to feel again. in the words of Osamu Dazai (who's the creator of the title 'the disqualified' I so happily stole) - "Everything passes." a statement as short as it is true - everything passes, even the numbness. after it, you'll experience so much more beauty of the world - beauty that might pass just as the numbness did, but in it's temporary and unique nature lies the reason why it's to be cherished. so, please, try to hold on a bit. sometimes, holding on is the best we can do and most of the times, it's just enough.