#wisp watches golden wind

[wispisstillverybored67]

Oh my god, them Sex Pistols act like children.

Also I look away for 3 seconds and Narancia starts a dance number with Mista and Fugo.

[fafnir19]

Genie's lamp

Lex strolled along the cobblestone streets of the small coastal town, soaking in the salty breeze that whispered tales of the sea. His summer holidays had brought him here, seeking respite from the bustling city life and his studies that had consumed him for so long. As he wandered, a glint of light caught his eye, drawing him to a narrow side street where an ancient-looking shop stood, its wooden sign creaking in the wind. Intrigued, Lex pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside, the musty smell of old books and incense enveloping him. Shelves lined with peculiar artifacts and trinkets stretched out before him, each item holding a hint of mystery within its aged confines. "Welcome, young traveler," a voice called out, drawing Lex's attention to a figure behind the counter. Declan, the shop owner, stood before him, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Feel free to browse my collection. I must make a quick errand to the post office, but I'll return shortly." As Declan made his exit, Lex's curious gaze wandered over the shelves filled with curiosities from distant lands. His eyes landed on a tarnished Arabic lamp, its intricate designs whispering of tales untold.

As he lifted the lamp, a playful grin tugged at his lips, recalling childhood tales of genies and their whimsical magic. He rubbed the lamp absentmindedly, half-expecting nothing but a puff of dust to emerge. Lex's eyes widened in awe as he watched the ancient lamp in his hands start to emit wisps of smoke. His heart raced with excitement, a smile spreading across his face. The air crackled with energy as the smoke coalesced into a muscular figure, clad in black leather harem pants, standing with their back to him.

"Cool, a real genie! I already know what I will wish for! Ahm… what’s actually your name, genie?" Lex exclaimed, overcome with excitement. Turning slowly to face Lex, the genie's eyes gleamed with a potent mix of mischief and malevolence. "I am Jafar," the genie rumbled, his voice laced with authority "You will refer to me as Master, mere mortal." Confusion clouded Lex's features at the genie's command. "Master? What do you mean?" he spluttered, uncertainty tainting his tone. The genie's next words sent a shiver down Lex's spine. "Kneel before me and submit," Jafar commanded, his voice steely with power. Fear gripped Lex's heart, his instincts urging him to flee as he took a step back. With a shaky voice, he stammered, "I...I have to go." His heart raced as he made a break for the door. But before he could make it, an unseen force lifted him off the ground, tendrils of smoke enveloping him. Panic seized him as he felt himself turning to smoke, his very essence slipping away.

The laughter of the genie echoed around him as Lex found himself being pulled into the ancient lamp. Inside, the world shifted around him, his clothes transforming into exotic harem pants and golden rings adorning his limbs.

Panic surged through Lex as he pounded against the walls of the lamp, trying to break free from this strange and terrifying prison. Jafar, the genie, held the lamp nonchalantly, observing Lex's futile attempts with amusement.

"You're quite the spirited one, aren't you?" Jafar's voice dripped with malicious charm. "But fear not, the lamp's magic will soon calm you and make you more... impressionable." A strange calmness settled over Lex, his mind clouding with a soothing fog. "Relax, kneel," the genie's voice commanded, its tone both hypnotic and commanding. Filled with a strange sense of peace, Lex obeyed, his anxiety giving way to a bizarre sense of acceptance.

Lex's thoughts grew foggy, his will bending to the genie's influence. "It has always been your hidden desire to help others," Jafar purred. "What better way than to serve me?" Finding a strange sense of logic in the genie's words, Lex embraced the idea of serving.

Followed by the genie's revelations about Lex's yearning for confidence and independence hit uncomfortably close to home. "Your struggles stem from your desire to be strong, my dear Lex," Jafar continued, his voice a luring whisper. "You do not need to be strong yourself, but to walk in the shadow of greatness," Jafar's words resonated within Lex's soul. The genie continued, his voice like a hypnotic melody. "Simply follow a strong master, and you shall find your purpose." A revelation dawned upon Lex, a realization that perhaps he had been searching for guidance all along. Lex felt a strange sense of clarity wash over him and gratitude swelled in his chest as Jafar offered his help and guidance. So, Lex embraced the notion of relinquishing his independence and accepted willingly, to follow where the genie led with a newfound sense of purpose.

Jafar's words cut through the haze, revealing a truth about Lex that he had never acknowledged. "All your struggles stem from one simple truth you deny," Jafar's voice carried a weight of finality. "You are secretly gay, Lex." Lex's breath caught in his throat, his mind racing as he grappled with the unexpected revelation. Could it be true? Had he been blind to his own desires all along? “But... but I’ve never...” Lex's voice faltered, uncertainty clouding his mind. Jafar demanded, "Admit it. Say it aloud. Acknowledge who you truly are." Doubt flickered in Lex' eyes, but after a moment of hesitation, he said, "I...I'm..." his voice trembled before he took a deep breath and uttered the words, "I'm gay, Master." Jafar's laughter rang out, a mix of triumph and satisfaction.

"Well done, my obedient pleasure boy. Embrace your new self." Lex felt a strange mix of liberation and vulnerability wash over him as he acknowledged his hidden truth, sending ripples of change through his being. As the words hung in the air, a wave of acceptance washed over him, mingling with the confusion and fear that clouded his thoughts. Before he could dwell on his newfound revelation, Jafar swiftly sprung into the lamp.

Jafar's eyes danced with triumph as he took a step closer to Lex, his movements predatory and sinuous. With a swift motion, he caressed Lex thighs and member through the delicate fabric of the harem pants. A moan escaped Lex's lips as he felt the undeniable response of his body to Jafar's touch. The genie's dark eyes held a predatory gleam as he watched Lex' cock respond eagerly to his dominance. "That's mine now, right?" he purred, his voice dripping with power and desire. Lex's response was a guttural moan, a simple "Yes, Master," escaping his lips as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. Jafar's grip on Lex's chin was firm yet gentle as he lifted his gaze, locking eyes with him in an unspoken command. "Show me your devotion," he demanded, his voice laced with undeniable authority. Feeling a mix of devotion and arousal, Lex knelt before Jafar, his hands trembling as he reached for the genie's leather-clad thighs.

As he sucked Jafar’s dick, his mind clouded with submission, a strange eagerness washing over him. The genie's deep chuckle filled the air as Lex' obedience pleased him.

As Jafar reached the heights of pleasure, Lex obediently swallowed every drop of his master's cum, savoring it with an appetite fueled by his submission. Jafar's dark laughter mixed with Lex's moans, creating a symphony of domination and pleasure within the confines of the magical lamp.  Just when the intensity of the moment peaked, a sudden interruption shattered the moment. The shop owner's return brought a jolt of reality to the surreal scene unfolding before him. Declan's eyes widened in surprise as he took in the sight of the genie and the student, frozen in a moment of twisted bliss. "Ah, Declan, your timing is impeccable as always," Jafar's voice dripped with smooth amusement, his gaze lingering on Lex with a knowing look. Lex's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, unsure of what would come next in this unexpected encounter between master, servant, and unwitting spectator. The air crackled with tension, a sense of anticipation hanging heavy in the magical shop.

Declan's voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade, "Jafar, I wish that you let the boy free!" His words held a tone of authority that demanded obedience. Jafar's eyes narrowed, but he begrudgingly complied, knowing he had to obey Declan's wish. "Your wish is my command, master," he hissed through clenched teeth. In a swirl of magic and smoke, Lex was released from the confines of the lamp, standing once more in the shop, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and confusion.

Declan approached Lex, his gaze filled with sympathy as he explained the gravity of the situation. "I arrived just in time. A few minutes later, and Jafar would have transformed you into a genie for good," he revealed, his tone grave yet comforting. Gratitude swelled within Lex as he realized the extent of Declan's intervention. He had been spared a fate worse than he could imagine.

Lex mind was still reeling from the whirlwind of the events that had unfolded and he felt a sense of overwhelming fatigue wash over him. "I think that's enough excitement for one day. It's time for me to leave," he mumbled wearily, ready to escape the bewildering events of the day. Yet, Declan's words halted him in his tracks, his gaze locking onto Lex with a mix of intent and purpose. "As you have already swallowed Jafar’s seed, you have gained magical powers that need to be trained," Declan explained, his tone unwavering. "You must become my sorcerer apprentice now."

Lex's mind reeled at the sudden shift in his destiny. From a simple student on holiday to now a budding sorcerer under Declan's guidance, his life had taken a dramatic turn.

Though Declan reassured him that Jafar's revelation about his supposed hidden gay desires was part of the genie's corrupting influence, a lingering sense of longing remained within Lex. The memory of serving Jafar, albeit under false pretenses, had stirred something deep within him.

As Lex embarked on this new chapter of his life, delving into the world of magic and sorcery under Declan's tutelage, he couldn't shake off the echoes of his encounter with the genie. The allure of power, the pull of submission, and the whispers of forbidden desires tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

And so, Lex's journey into the realm of mysticism and enchantment began, marked by the lingering shadows of his past encounter and the uncertain promise of what lay ahead as he navigated the path to becoming a powerful sorcerer and, perhaps, mastering the depths of his own desires.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

For Love of the Princess: A Sleeping Beauty Retelling

The court was leaving. A colorful parade of nobles in richly-embroidered robes, with bright banners flying, were abandoning the palace with the king and queen.

And leaving Princess Aurora behind.

"We've no choice, dear," the queen had told her daughter in tears the evening before. "The whole palace will sleep when the curse falls. We've a duty to our people. We can't abandon the kingdom for a hundred years."

Princess Aurora, who'd been fairy-gifted with grace and compassion, had sweetly said she understood.

Margaret, who had no such gifts, thought the queen deserved to have her eyes pecked out by birds.

All of Aurora's ladies-in-waiting had talked late into the night--had been working over the problem for weeks as Aurora's sixteenth birthday drew ever closer with no chance of averting the curse. They had planned and theorized, but all decided at last that there was only one thing to do. They were, to a woman, going to stay with the princess. A hundred years would pass while they slept. They would wake to a strange world where everyone they knew was dead and gone. But not for all the gold in the kingdom would they abandon Aurora to face such a world alone.

Now they stood together at the palace gate. Anne, the eldest of them, with strands of gray in her hair, who had been lady to the queen before coming to serve the princess. Lydia, younger even than Aurora, fair and tall and full of energy. Celia, little, sweet and copper-haired, only a year older than Aurora. Margaret herself--tallest and most practical, with wisps of golden-brown curls fluttering in the wind. And exactly in the center, Princess Aurora, with her fairy-gifted beauty that outshone the sun itself. Margaret had come to view these girls as sisters, but as they watched the courtiers leave, she suddenly realized they were all the family she was going to have--that any of them were going to have--for the rest of her life.

When the last face, the last horse, the last banner, disappeared over the horizon, all five of the women stepped back inside the palace walls.

And were immediately faced with a problem.

"Which one of us is going to close the gate?" Celia asked, gazing up at the wicked-looking portcullis. None of them had ever touched the winch-and-chain that moved it. Who knew if they'd even have the strength to? Five women staying alone in a castle for a hundred years could not leave the palace gate open for any passing brigand to come through.

With a groan and a rattle, the chain moved, the portcullis lowered, and the metal bars fell to the ground with a bone-rattling thump.

All of the women screamed.

Had the curse come upon them already? Were they to be trapped here for a hundred years, never to escape? Margaret's heart raced--she hadn't realized how suffocating the palace would seem.

A man stepped out of the guardhouse. He wore the livery of the palace guard and had the first whispers of a mustache on his upper lip. He bowed to the princess and her ladies.

"My apologies, ladies," he said, in a baritone that sounded surprisingly deep for one who appeared barely old enough for that facial hair. "I did not intend to startle you."

He looked young and strong of limb. He carried himself with the dignity and grace of a much older man--had something in the eyes that made him seem wiser than his years.

Aurora gave a deep royal nod. "We thank you for your service. If we could know the name of our servant?"

He bowed crisply. "William of Avenroth, your highness."

Aurora gave her sweetest smile. "We are pleased to know you, and we beg your forgiveness for our outburst. We had thought ourselves alone in the palace."

"You are alone, your highness," William said. "Everyone left, save for me."

"You did not wish to escape the curse?"

William bowed again. "I have a duty, your highness, to protect the princess. All other considerations fade before that calling."

"Some would say such devotion goes far beyond duty," the princess said.

Serenely, he said, "Perhaps it does, your highness."

Aurora opened her mouth, then closed it. She bowed her head. "I am grateful for your loyalty, William."

She turned back toward the palace, and her beautiful face was pensive.

As Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora back toward the palace, Aurora asked, "Ought I to send him away?"

"Send him away?" Anne yelped. "Why?"

Aurora hushed her, looking back over her shoulder. "I can not ask him to risk the curse for my sake."

"You haven't sent any of us away," Lydia pointed out.

"You all know me well," Aurora said. "He barely knows me."

How little Aurora understood her power. She was princess of the realm, fairy gifted, bright and shining. No person who saw her ever forgot her.

"He has served you from his boyhood, highness," Margaret said. "Though you do not know him, he is quite familiar with you."

Anne said, "He chose to stay, just as we did."

"It is not fair," Aurora said, "for all of you to give up your lives because of my curse."

Margaret said, "It's not fair that you were cursed. You did not choose it--but we can choose to love you. Let him make that same choice."

Aurora stopped, tears in her eyes. "Never has a princess had such true friends. I am afraid I can never be grateful enough."

She embraced each of them in turn, all of them caught between laughter and tears. Then she turned back toward the guard and invited him inside for supper.

#

In the Great Hall--now echoing and cavernous in its emptiness--they made a merry birthday supper, rejoicing over the coming of the princess' sixteenth year, and not letting themselves think about the doom that came with it. The king and queen, though not staying to celebrate the day, had left a celebratory meal behind them--roasts and fruit and cakes and punch.

Margaret had been afraid that the guard William would be out of place among them, but he blended in with ease. He was quiet, respectful, courteous, seeming to enjoy being in their presence, not minding being on the outside of their shared jokes. He helped to serve the meal, even brought some of Aurora's favorite treats from the palace stores, pointing out that they would not last the hundred years. Aurora was gracious, and, as the night went on, genuinely warm. She smiled at William with the smile she reserved for her friends, even drew him into private conversation once or twice.

Despite her assurances to Aurora, Margaret couldn't figure out why William stayed. Margaret had noticed him at the palace, had seen him serving with distinction. He was loyal, dutiful, diligent--but a man didn't become the only guard in the entire palace to risk a hundred-year curse out of duty.

It puzzled her, but she had to admit that she was glad for his presence. Having another person there made the world seem not so small.

The next day was a tense one. No spindles had been seen in the palace since the day the princess had been cursed, but curses had a way of making themselves come true. Margaret and all of Aurora's ladies stayed with her, trying to keep up her spirits and keep watch for any stray spinning wheels. William kept watch at the gates, hoping that he could fend off any evil that might try to approach from outside.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora into her room in the castle's highest tower. They all sat beside the window, watching the sinking sun, waiting for the moment when the day would end and the danger--so long feared--might pass by forever.

The last sliver of sun sank below the horizon, and all the ladies gave a sigh of relief.

"Could it be over?" Celia asked, with suppressed joy.

"Perhaps the king's plans worked," said Lydia.

Margaret could not shake a sense of foreboding. "The sun is gone, but there's still light in the sky."

Anne rose angrily. The shawl she'd been desperately knitting all day fell to the floor. "We've only a few minutes! What more could happen?"

The ladies began to quarrel--everyone's nerves were tight after the tension of the day.

Aurora rose--quietly, gracefully, but her movements attracted every eye. "Girls, let's not quarrel."

She reached beneath her bed to pick up the ball of yarn that had rolled away from Anne's knitting. "Oh!" she said in surprise, drawing her hand back. "I think I found your knitting needle, Anne."

She drew back the ruffle at the base of the bed. Beneath, they saw, not a knitting needle, but the shining, wicked point of a drop spindle.

Aurora fell onto the bed--lost in a deep sleep.

There were tears, gasps, shrieks--but they fell to work. Margaret could already feel sleep pressing down upon her, but she urged the girls to move quickly. They lifted Aurora fully onto the bed, arranged her limbs to lie flat, put pillows under her head, and covered her with blankets. If their beloved princess was to sleep for a hundred years, they could make sure she was comfortable while she did it.

Celia was the first to drop, falling to the floor in a deep swoon. Margaret placed a pillow beneath her head, and then did the same for Anne when she fell asleep at the foot of Aurora's bed. Lydia fell almost on top of Aurora, and Margaret moved her so she was stretched across blankets on the floor.

All this time, Margaret's eyelids drooped, her limbs became heavy, and her head split with yawns. She fought the curse as long as she could, trying to arrange a hundred years' worth of comforts in a few moments. But at last, even her will could not overcome the magic. Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, with half her body draped across the foot of Aurora's bed.

Her last thought as she fell into a hundred years of sleep was that she'd have such a backache when she woke.

#

Margaret woke to a world covered in dust. She scraped it off her face, shook it off her hands, brushed it from her dress and hair. Around her, the other ladies were waking with similar ablutions.

Aurora's chairs, wardrobe, dressing table, even Anne's abandoned half-finished shawl, were all covered in dust. The windows were covered with rose bushes, so Margaret couldn't see what a century had wrought upon the world outside. On the bed, the other girls were clearing the dust off of Aurora--but Aurora remained fast asleep.

"I don't understand," Celia said, as the hours dragged by with no sign of Aurora's waking. "We're all awake."

"The hundred years has passed," Margaret said. "But the princess has to be woken by a kiss of true love."

"Where's that supposed to come from?" Anne asked. "Any suitors the princess had will be dead and gone by now."

"Maybe one came from this century," Lydia suggested. "It's possible some brave prince grew up with the stories and came to save the sleeping princess."

That seemed as good a theory as any, so after they'd tended to their ragged old dresses as best they could, Celia sat at Aurora's bedside, and Margaret went into the halls with Anne and Lydia, in the hope they could point some wandering prince in the right direction.

The rest of the palace was as dusty and decayed as Aurora's room. Tapestries were moth-eaten. A kitchen's worth of food had decayed to nothing. Suits of armor were covered in rust.

When they found no princes inside, they decided to head outdoors. With all three of them pulling together, the kitchen door came open with a shriek of rusty hinges.

The doorway was completely blocked by a wall of roses and thorns.

Margaret's throat tightened. They had nothing to break through those branches. They were alone in a palace with no food. If Aurora didn't wake soon, they'd all starve.

Looking at their stricken faces, Margaret could see the other girls were coming to the same conclusion.

Then they heard rustling in the branches. The thick wall showed gaps of sunshine. There were flashes of silver, the sound of a man's groans. At last, the branches parted before a blade, and William burst into the kitchen.

His mustache had darkened a bit over the decades, but he still looked as young and dignified as ever. Though his face and hands were bleeding with a thousand scratches, he bowed with his usual courtesy and a hint of a smile. "Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept as well as I did?"

"What's it like out there?" Margaret asked.

"Overgrown," William replied. "The entire palace is covered in roses--a precaution of the fairies, though I'm not certain whether it came from the good or the bad ones."

William cast his gaze across the room, and suddenly became solemn. "Where is the princess?"

"Still asleep," Lydia said, near tears. "It's awful! There's no one to wake her!"

The look of selfless devastation on William's face made everything clear.

"William," Margaret said. "You love the princess."

This unflappable young man blushed and looked at the ground. "It is not my place--"

"You stayed a hundred years for her! Of course you love her!"

"I could never be her true love. I am only a guard--"

"It's been a hundred years! Some other king rules the kingdom. There's no one alive who'd object. You have to kiss her awake!"

William turned white and his jaw fell. "I could never take such liberties!"

Margaret put her hands on her hips. "Look, if Aurora was drowning, you'd jump in to save her, right? Even if it meant touching her without asking permission."

"Naturally."

"This is no different. If you don't try, Aurora will die."

William thought, then bowed. "I will do what I must to serve the princess."

Margaret seized William's hand and led him toward Aurora's tower.

#

Celia jumped to her feet as they entered the room. Her eyes brightened as she saw the guard.

"William! Have you found the prince?"

Margaret and Lydia pushed William toward the bed. "He's right here," Margaret said.

William stood beside Aurora, looking down into her serene, flawless face. "What if she doesn't welcome such an advance?" he whispered. "How could she care for a man she barely knows?"

Anne said, "Why don't you ask her when she wakes up?"

William bent over Aurora--then stood up. "This might not work."

At once, all four of Aurora's ladies said, "Kiss her!"

Ever so gently, with impossible tenderness, William brushed his lips over Aurora's.

Aurora's eyes opened. "William?" she breathed.

William bowed his head. "Forgive me for taking such liberties, your highness--"

Aurora threw her arms around his neck. "I'm so glad it's you."

Caught in her embrace, William stood flabbergasted.

"Your highness," he said. "Under the circumstances, I do not expect you to return my affection--"

Aurora pushed him away and looked in his face. "How could I not? You stayed true to me when every other man in the world abandoned me."

"You do not know me."

"I know that you stayed. I have a whole new century to get to know everything else." Aurora sat up on the edge of the bed. "If we decide that marriage suits us, I have plenty of bridesmaids."

#

With laughter, all of Aurora's ladies embraced her in turn, sharing stories about their hundred years of sleep.

Margaret went last, holding Aurora tight.

Aurora said, "I can't thank you enough. All of you, so true. You gave up a whole world for me."

As Margaret looked around the room at Anne laughing over her ruined century-old knitting, at Lydia and Celia teasing William--the women she loved like sisters and a brand-new brother--Margaret felt justified in saying, "If I lost a world, I got a better one in return."

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄

summary: /ˈɔːrɪeɪt,ˈɔːrɪət/  “of a golden colour or brilliance”

pairing: xiao x gn! reader

warnings: just fluff in the form of my belated new years drabble

genshin impact masterlist

prosperous year of the dragon!! ♡

The sky over Liyue was clear once again, the last lanterns’ glow already a distant memory as the twinkling of stars filled the remnants of the night once more. On the horizon the first sunlight of the new year coloured the wisps of clouds golden and amber, reminiscent of a shooting star’s tail or elegant dragons winding in the dawn of a new day.

For Xiao, it was the cue he could finally rest after defending the nation and its citizens from those that seek to harm them, clinging to the shadows of the night to crawl into the coming year unnoticed. There were no exceptions to his god-given duty, not even as the festive sounds of the harbour drifted up into the mountains and colourful explosives decorated the night. 

No, it was especially because of this that the ghosts of days past could not be allowed to get ahold of the mortal realm.

Green fog parted along the wooden panels of the room he occupied at Wangshu Inn before the soles of his shoes quietly made contact with the solid ground; first his toes before rolling down to his heel, one foot after the other, with a grace befitting that of a dancer, rather than that of a warrior.

What he did not anticipate as he set down his spear, however, was the soft call of his name before a familiar weight flung itself into his arms. Like a warm breeze, your arms wrapped around his neck in a gentle embrace and when he buried his head in the crook of yours, he deeply inhaled the scent of home.

“Happy New Year, Xiao,” you whispered against his skin, your voice melting the tension of his shoulders as it enveloped him, looping around your connected figures like butterflies circling a flower.

“A prosperous new year to you too,” he replied tentatively. As an adeptus, both the concept of time and the importance of this tradition was different to him and he’d never had much reason to celebrate the passing of time in such short intervals. But since he’d met you, you’d not only intertwined both your hands and fates to show him more of your world, Xiao also learnt to cherish what time he could spend with you, no matter how short it may be.

Pulling back just a little, your hands came to frame his beautiful face with delicate care, as if he was not someone to be feared but someone to be loved. You’d watched all night as lanterns had risen into the sky, carrying the wishes and hopes of the people towards the heavens. Yet none of them compared to the amber glow of Xiao’s eyes as they sparkled at you with such fondness it should weigh you down; instead, you felt like you and your heart were light enough to soar high on golden wings, no fear of falling chaining you down if you were with him.

As the sun continued further on its eternal round, aureate rays framed his head in a radiant halo and you didn’t question for even a second that the man before you could be an angel. Risking the accusation of defiling something sacred, you pressed your lips against his plush ones and tasted a piece of heaven for yourself.

When your eyes fluttered open again, Xiao looked as dazed as you felt, fingers brushing over his lips. Then, equally as reverent, his knuckles grazed your bottom lip and you took ahold of his wrist to keep him steady as you pressed a languid kiss to the back of his hand, dusting his cheeks with a light flush, like a painter perfecting their magnum opus.

“I’ve waited quite a while for my new year’s kiss, you know,” you hummed, so entranced by the adeptus in front of you, it was as if time and space around you stood still enough to count the dust particles in the sunlight. “It was worth it though.”

“I see, you are still set in your ways of dragging me into your mortal traditions,” Xiao scoffed, though there was not a single tint of malice in his voice, only teasing affection. If you couldn’t tell by his amorous cadence alone, his actions spoke even louder of his devotion. “Not that I mind in the slightest.”

With practised precision, his lips found yours again as one hand cradled the side of your face and the other pulled you in closer by the waist, as if there was a way to become physically one the same way your hearts had already done. With your attention bound by the flutter of your own heart, you didn’t notice how dexterous fingers discreetly tied a protective charm to your clothes for you to find at a later point in time. 

“What was that for?” You smiled, the distance between the two of you nearly insignificant yet too far all the same.

“I had to get my own new year’s kiss too, didn’t I?” A hint of a smugness tugged the corner of his lips upwards as the corners of his eyes softened downwards while tracing the movement of his thumb against your cheekbone. “Traditions should be honoured after all.”

Your laughter invoked the iridescence of a pearl to brighten his view as you led him over to the balcony railing so you could welcome the dawning year with all its pink and orange hues, arm in arm as the waking birds filled the morning hours with their chirping.

“Speaking of traditions,” you started, transfixed by the sight of the sun rising over the mountains in a vibrant crimson, “there is the belief that the first song you hear in the new year will predict how yours is going to go.”

“Is that so?” Xiao inquired, watching as a small bird hopped onto the wooden railing, careful but curious as it inched closer to the two of you. “It appears nature blesses us with hope and freedom this year.”

“How beautiful,” you mused, as you leaned further into him. 

Turning his head, Xiao studied the way you shone in the morning light before placing a gentle kiss against your temple, light enough you could believe it was the wing of a crystalfly brushing your skin. “Beautiful, indeed.”

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[assortedseaglass]

A History Not Repeated

[Masterlist]

Request: Could I please request Aegon taking Jaehaerys on his dragon, and Aemond taking Jaehaera, perhaps? Maybe from Aemond’s perspective of being cautiously optimistic that these children will be happier and safer than he was? Fun uncle bonding time with quiet niece perhaps? <;3 @ellrond

Content Tags: Drabble, Fluff, A Teeny Bit of Angst

It was hard not to out-fly the others. Vhagar just did it so effortlessly. Her great bulk overtook everyone when they flew as a clutch. Dreamfyre and Sunfyre became mere specks beside her.

Not today. High above where Aemond flew, Aegon and Sunfyre skirted the clouds. The perfect image of golden glory, they danced amongst the wisping cirrus. Occasionally the elder prince tore sideways, Sunfyre lilting gracefully as his bat-like wings sliced the sky. Aegon’s white hair caught in the early evening light, and so too did his son’s, and Aemond smiled. Loathe as he was to admit it, it made Aegon look handsome, and he knew that he too looked the same. Better, most certainly.

“Ilagon, Sunfyre!” In high spirits, Aegon was almost tolerable. Indeed, it had been his idea for all five of them to ride together. Exhaust the children before sleep, he had said.

“Ilagon, Sunfyre!” The copycat little voice was barely audible over the rush of wind and the beating of Vhagar’s wings.

Sweet Jaehaerys, not long since his fourth nameday, giggled as Sunfyre passed Vhagar on their descent towards Blackwater Bay. Aemond watched as the wee prince held his arms aloft, his father’s wrapped tightly around his waist.

A born dragon rider, that boy. Aemond looked at the blonde bundle in his lap. Wrapped in blankets, little Jaehaerya’s eyes watched wide as Vhagar flew in a straight line. Two fat fingers were coiled around Aemond’s leather gloves, and even through the fabric he felt how tightly his niece clung to him.

As bored as he was, Aemond was mindful to keep a steady course. Every now and again, Vhagar grumbled. She didn’t mind these simple flights. At her age, a gentle trip along the coast was all she needed to stretch her wings, content to spend the rest of the day sleeping. It was the company she loathed. If she could just take Aemond up above the clouds…

She grumbled again and Jaehaera squeaked in terror.

“It’s ok,” Aemond patted Vhagar’s scaled side and brought his hand to brush over his niece’s hair. “I’ve got you, byka mēre.” She whimpered a little and shuffled closer to her uncle. The chuckle that rumbled through Aemond’s chest seemed to soothe her and she tipped her head back to look at him.

A few unshed tears whipped sideways across her cheeks as the wind changed direction. His heart tightened. In that moment, looking up at him, a little frightened, a little excited, a little awed by everything around her, she looked just like her mother.

About half a mile ahead of everyone, Helaena and Dreamfyre were weaving with the wind, drifting dreamily across the sky. Unlike Aegon, Aemond could not see her clearly from here. He didn’t need to. The way Dreamfyre lilted across the horizon told him everything he needed to know. The flight had eased her.

Aegon had been right that a flight would do them all good. It had been a hard day. Especially for Helaena. Their mother had tried too hard. It hurt Aemond to see it. To watch the two women, the two people, he loved most in the world fail to understand each other. Watch Helaena become despondent to the world that their mother and father had constructed for her. Watch his mother struggle in vain to be the parent she never had.

Now, here Helaena was, drifting on the back of Dreamfyre with a lightness that Sunfyre and certainly not Vhagar could ever achieve.

Aemond watched as, below Vhagar, Sunfyre and Aegon made their way towards Helaena and Dreamfyre. Jaehaerya would not even glance, her eyes tightly screwed shut as they were. Aegon kept his distance from his sister-wife. For a while, they flew side by side, one hundred metres or so between them. After a few minutes, Dreamfyre veered gently towards Sunfyre, their snouts bumping together before moving back to their own course.

It struck Aemond then that Aegon may not feel like Helaena’s husband, but he still felt like her brother. How tenderly he was letting her know he was there, he was close, he cared.

It was a miracle, truly, that the three of them were still this close. Of course, he and Aegon had their moments. More than a few. The greys on his mother’s otherwise auburn head were proof of that. But years of infighting, war and familial heartbreak had somehow left the bond the three of them shared intact.

Aemond absentmindedly patted Vhagar’s side, not noticing how Jaehaerya held is harm tighter around her. How had they remained together so entwined? It was a question he had thought on often, and one to which he knew the answer.

All three, outcasts. Four, if he included their mother. Destined for a life of second best. Or third, or fourth. The root cause? Their low-life, festering excuse of a father. A man not fit for kinghood, let alone fatherhood. Thank the Seven he was gone.

Aemond could count on one hand the times his father had been attentive towards him. On one, damned, finger.

“You have the histories I asked for?”

“Yes, father.”

“Well then, bring them here.”

Round that ridiculous model city. He was already rotting by the time Aemond reached ten years old. The smell was disgusting. Spirals of incense smoke swirled and in the dark, his father sat like a gargoyle.

“You know the stories of our ancestors, Aemond?”

“Yes, father.”

“Of Aegon and Visenya?”

“Yes father, mother and Septa Sybyl taught us.”

“Good. Good-” His father held his hand out for the book, eyes still focused on the miniature city.

“Father?” Aemond had been hesitant then. Viserys spent so little time with his children that Aemond still saw him as king first, father second.  

“Yes, Aemond?”

“Which is your favourite? Your favourite story of our ancestors?”

“Well, that would be of Aegon the Conqueror, your brother’s forebear. Come here, my boy.” Viserys had indicated the chair beside him. Aemond almost felt that had he been younger, more whole, Viserys would have invited him to sit on his knee. For an hour or two, they sat together, Viserys telling Aemond enchanting stories of Visenya and Vhagar.

Once. Just once had Aemond felt like his child. His adored son.

“You tell me boy, where did you hear this lie?”

“Uncle?”

“I asked you a question!”

“Uncle?”

“Your King demands an answer!”

“Uncle, please.”

Aemond looked down. Jaehaerya was shaking, eyes clapped on her parents’ distant figures. The wind had picked up and his little niece’s round cheeks were red with cold. Her eyelashes fluttered in the gale and up ahead, the clouds hard darkened from rosiest pink to oppressive purple. Rain.

“Up we go,” Aemond tried to say it as reassuringly as possible, but at the prospect of flying still higher, Jaehaerya wailed.

Up and up they flew, Vhagar’s great body beating in time with her wings as she approached the clouds. The first whisps pf damp air kissed Aemond’s cheeks and he breathed in great lungfuls of cloud. After days in the stuffy halls and chambers of the keep, no fresher air could be found than up hear on the back of Vhagar.

Freely, whole-heartedly and not without pleasant surprise, Aemond laughed. The loud and giddy kind when you hear an unexpected joke, feel pride, catch sight of a lover. Tucked against his chest, gripping tightly onto his arm, Jaehaerya did the same. A nervous, hesitant little tinkle of noise, but a laugh nonetheless.

Aemond looked down. “It’s nice isn’t it? The clouds.”

“Mhmm,” Jaehaerya was blinking rapidly against the damp air, trying desperately to see through the fog.

“Almost there, little one.” And true to his word, as he always was, Aemond, Vhagar and little Jaehaerya broke through the cloud. Jaehaerya gasped.

The air was utterly still, the whistling of the wind gone. Beneath them, the purple clouds glowed garishly as the sun set below. A few bright stars freckled the sky, and Vhagar roared happily. The great noise vibrated through her belly and Jaehaerya laughed. Truly. Aemond did too at the sweet sound. When Jaehaerya tipped her head back again to look at her beloved uncle, he saw her tears were gone. A bright smile spread across her face.

“I like it here,” she said gently.

“Me too,”

With nothing but the quiet hush of air and the drum of Vhagar’s wings to hear, Aemond and Jaehaerya flew. Dreamfyre appeared through the cloud up ahead.

“Mama!” Jaehaerya called across sky, one pudgy hand daring to let go of her uncle and wave. In the distance, her mother waved back and dipped back blow the blanket of white.

Again, Aemond thought of his childhood. Of his parents. He wondered too, had his uncle dared with familial life rather than seeking his own warped glory, would he have taken Aemond flying on Caraxes?  Of course not, he didn’t do it with his own children.

Beside them, Aegon broke through the cloud and glided silently in tandem with his brother. Jaehaerys was sleeping in his arms, a little blond bundle. The brothers glanced at each other, and Aegon smiled awkwardly before turning his head forward. And Aemond, in that moment, with his siblings beside him, thought that these littles ones might just have a better childhood than he. In fact, he knew it. Afterall, Aemond Targaryen was true to his word, as he always was.  

Note: Wasn’t sure what plural noun to give dragons so I settled on “clutch” as it emphasises the familial nature of the three Targaryen siblings in flight.

Writing requests while I have a break from publishing my series.

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @babyblue711 @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @cyeco13

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Sunset Ombre (Vil x GN!Reader)

Your ears were filled with the sounds of crashing waves. The golden grains of sand crunched against your feet as you walked along the shore, eyes cast out to the sea beyond. The sun had begun to set upon the horizon, casting the sky in beautiful, soft, colorful hues. You sighed as another cool breeze swept through, tossing your hair in wisps a second time. It was surely time to go back to your room, but you didn’t want to leave! The scenery was just too breathtaking to leave behind. 

You heard a sigh so soft from behind you that you almost mistook it for the wind. The soft crunch of steps upon the sand told you otherwise. Before you could even turn around fully, the glimpse of purple-tinted shades let you know who had come to find you. 

“There you are.” Vil took a few steps more towards you before he stopped, hand rested upon his hips. “You do realize everyone else has gone back to the hotel, yes? Do you wish to catch cold out here?” 

“I’m sorry.” There really was no reason to apologize, you were free to do as you pleased - but you did realize you could have let someone know you’d be out here a while longer. “I guess I just lost track of time. It’s been so long since I last came to a beach; even then, it’s nothing compared to this.” You turned your gaze back out towards the waves, a smile stretched across your face at the sight. “It’s so beautiful here.” 

Vil followed your gaze, then gave a nod in affirmation. “Yes, it is quite the view.” He turned his head slightly to glance over at you. “But you can admire it more from your hotel room window. If you like, I wouldn’t even mind if you chose to visit my condo for an even better vantage point. Just come inside before certain people start to throw a tantrum - and before your skin dries out.” 

Ever the maternal one, Vil Schoenheit, whether or not he admitted it. There was no way he’d leave you alone until you did what he wanted. You weren’t exactly annoyed…just taken aback by his care, sometimes. You chuckled as you gave a little nod, “Alright, alright, I’m coming!” 

“You better,” Vil sighed. “My patience for Grim can only stretch so far.” 

“Oh, trust me, you’re not the only one.” 

Before you could turn to head back to the resort, your eyes caught something interesting - eye-catching. The sky had taken on a soft purple hue; golden rays of setting sunshine highlighted the expanse quite spectacularly. In your line of sight was also Vil’s hair, still tied in an elegant braided bun (at least what you could see from under his wide-brimmed sun hat). The blond of his hair, the purple ombre that faded in at the ends…you couldn’t help but release another chuckle. 

“I guess you made the sky jealous.”

Vil raised an eyebrow as he glanced your way again. “Hm? What do you mean?” 

“The colors of the sky match your hair,” you replied. “It’s beautiful.” You watched Vil’s eyes widened at your comparison; the sudden pink tint to his cheeks must’ve been a reflection of the setting light. Your brain began to scramble itself in worry and regret. Was that the wrong thing to say? Did you…oh shit, it sounded like you were flirting, didn’t it? “S-Sorry, that sounded weird, I didn’t mean to-”

The small laugh Vil let out caused your words to stop on your tongue - your heart to flutter. His eyes were closed in glee, mouth opened in a perfect smile. His pointer finger and thumb came up to hold the right temple of his sunglasses, then lifted them up to reveal his twinkling violet eyes. He looked genuinely happy. 

“No, no, do go on!” The Pomefiore housewarden gave you a little wink. “I would love to hear what else is on that silly little mind of yours~” 

Your heart pounded in your chest, your blood pumped in your ears, your face felt hotter than it did before. Vil simply chuckled at your embarrassment, setting his shades back in place before he began to walk forward, back towards civilization. He glanced over his shoulder at you; his finger curled in a ‘come here’ motion, enticing you to follow. Like a lovesick fool, you did so without a word. 

As if to sink further into whatever hole you got yourself into, when yet another breeze blew through, you tucked a stray lock of Vil’s hair behind his ear. 

[apoptoses]

Venice in winter is nothing compared to his homeland, but it’s still damp, oppressive. Outside the sky is a pale shade of grey and the wind must be blowing something fierce, as the little roundels of glass rattle in their iron panes.

But Bianca’s chambers are a hot house. Heat crackles in the fireplace, from the candelabras that dot the walls and tables. Steam curls from the surface of her bath and Amadeo watches the way the wisps of blond hair that surround her face curl with it. She tips her head back against the rim of the tub to look at him. Her cheeks are flushed as rose petals when she smiles, gone pink from the steam.

“You’ve made a terrible mess of my bed,” she says.

And so he has. Having no spare clothing here he’s had no choice but to yank the velvet covers free and wrap himself in them. He’s lying the wrong way, his feet peeking out near the head of the bed. He pushes them into a pillow and grins behind the auburn curtain of his hair.

“And what of it?” he asks.

“Does your master let you get away with such things?”

“No. He beats me terribly. I’m a victim of his punishments almost nightly.”

Bianca rolls her pretty blue eyes. “And you enjoy it, don’t you?”

He does. But she needn’t know that.

This room with all of its delicate things- perfume bottles, silk ribbons draped across her vanity table, Bianca’s little shoes and her combs for her hair and her vases of flowers- it’s not the place for that sort of talk. It’s like being inside a jewelry box. Like being beneath the sea, with the way the steam has collected on the windows and left them shimmering and wet.

Bianca toys with the golden end of her braid, searching it for split hairs. The pearl strands woven into it click softly as she twists and turns her hair.

Amadeo lives in a beautiful palazzo of unruly boys. He sleeps in his master’s strong, imposing bed. He’s been to brothels of all sorts, enjoyed their lurid sort of appeal but this place, this woman’s chamber- it holds such fascination. He watches her in awe as she lifts her feet from beneath the water, rests them on the opposite end of the tub, and he feels as though he’s under a spell.

“You look like a mermaid,” he mumbles.

Water runs down her legs. They’re pale, slender, and Amadeo wonders if he grasped her by the ankle if his fingers would touch where they encircle it. Pressed together as they are, water and soap bubbles clinging to her skin, they look like the appendage of a sea creature. If he blurs his vision the fine golden hair on her legs becomes scales.

“Oh?” Bianca flicks a bit of water at him. It lands on the tip of his nose. “And were I a mermaid what would you be? Some fisherman come to capture me? A prince lost at sea, desperate for saving like Odysseus? Come, wash my back and tell me.”

Amadeo rises from the bed. He leaves the safety of the blankets behind and drags her carved wooden stool over to the side of the tub.

Funny how they’re both naked and yet he feels all the more vulnerable for it. Bianca is otherworldly with her hair swept aside, her head tilted to expose the line of her throat, her shoulder. He takes the wet cloth, rubs the perfumed water into her skin, and wonders what a crude being he must be in comparison.

“Perhaps I would capture you and travel about with you, keeping you on display. I could charge a gold coin just to look upon your beauty,” he says. “You’d make me a rich man.”

He drags the cloth over the delicate ball of her shoulder. It’s white as a porcelain doll, soft in a way none of the other boy’s flesh is. Amadeo massages at her skin and takes in the musicality of her little groan.

“Mm, and would you keep me in a cage? Would you be a very strict master, one who never lets his little captive out?” she teases.

Amadeo nods. “A golden one, so that I might hand feed you through the bars. I could charge another coin for that, I think. Plenty of men would pay for the pleasure of passing you a little bite of fish.”

He washes her scapula when she leans forward, the ball joint at the base of her neck. Her breasts bob in the water, slick with soap, flushed pink with the heat,  and Amadeo can’t resist running the cloth over her clavicle. Down and down until his finger slides into the valley between them where her sternum rests. Her laugh vibrates beneath the bone as she slaps at his wrist.

It’s a half-hearted protest. Splashing just for the sake of getting him wet, and as Amadeo dodges her hand he pretends to accidentally grope her. The entirety of her breast nestles perfectly into his hand.

“You’re such a predictable boy. Would you have them pay to do this as well?” Bianca asks. Her voice rises into a gasp when he catches her nipple between his finger and thumb. “How many gold coins to molest your captive mermaid?”

She’s soft. Not like his master, who’s like caressing one of the marble statues that lines their courtyard. Bianca has warm breasts to squeeze, a roll of flesh that appears above her stomach when she sits hunched and naked like this. Amadeo rubs his palm over the swell of her stomach, his fingertips brushing the gold curls that cover her mound, and curls his other arm around her shoulders to clasp her wet back to his chest.

“None,” he says. “I wouldn’t charge them any, because this I would keep all for my own.”

The wind rattles the shutters of the palazzo. Rain lashes at the windows. It’s freezing outside but in here Amadeo is sweating. It trickles down his back as he grazes her thighs with his fingers. He’s damp under the arms, too warm from the fireplace, from his desire. Just like with his master, he feels monstrous from it. Lesser for the needy thing between his legs. An animal driven by lust.

Bianca struggles in his grasp. Not to get free, to rise up toward his wandering hand. But the position is awkward. Her ankles, perched as they are on the edge of the tub, they don’t give her enough leverage to lift her hips and so she’s trapped there; wiggling like a fish. Amadeo teases at the crease where her thighs meet. He traces it from knee to pubis and back again and listens to the quickening of her breath.

The cleft of her must be slick. She’s probably flushed pink down there as well but he can’t see it through the water, the way her thighs are clenched together.  But that’s alright. He’s submitted to his master, to the workers of the brothels. Amadeo’s not had anyone squirm for him and he’s finding he likes this game. Her shiver when he rakes his nails through her curls sets his blood alight.

He works his finger into the tight crevice where her thighs meet. He seeks out the sensitive nub between her legs and he knows he’s found it by the way Bianca tips her head back and inhales a sharp breath.

Amadeo tries to picture her as a sea creature. What folds she might have here, in this secret part of her. Whether she’d be warm inside or cold, slimy like the belly of a fish. He forces his finger further down through the squeeze of her thighs and teases at her entrance.

It’s torment, being outside of this bath, unable to plunge into her. In the excitement of the previous night he’d finished all too quickly, and it’s embarrassing, really. He’s dying inside to repeat his performance, to do better this time. But he owes her. Pleasure is the only way he can pay her.

Bianca’s hands grip his forearm like a vice. They’re slender, like a doll’s, and he likes to feel small but she’s the first to make him feel powerful. He rubs tiny circles at her and her nails dig into his skin. Glides his finger up and down and watches through the distortion of the water the needy thrust of her hips.

“Amadeo-“ she gasps.

Her knees fall apart. He clucks his tongue at her, stills his hand.

“You’re a mermaid, remember? Your legs should stay together, yes, like that.”

She lets out a whine, clenches her legs back into place. Amadeo touches her again, slow, teasing, and bites back a hiss when she claws at his wrist.

This is new, having someone fall apart in his arms. Taking her apart little by little with his fingertip alone is a rush that goes straight to his head. Like being drunk only better, because instead of a headache there’s a reward at the end. Falling upon her in her great golden bed. Or perhaps just the satisfaction of seeing her shake with pleasure. That alone might be enough.

The pearls in Bianca’s braid click when she tosses her head. Amadeo strokes her, up and down, again and again. Runs his finger along her folds and watches her toes curl at the edge of the bath. He presses at her entrance. Makes as if he’ll let his fingertip in and her toes point with anticipation. Then go lax again when he takes his fingertip away and seeks out the sensitive nub of her again.

“You’re a horrible tease,” she complains.

Amadeo laughs. “I’m your captor, aren’t I? It’s my right to tease. I trapped you for my own pleasure, after all.”

He traces a little circle over her clit. Bianca presses his cheek into the crook of his elbow, as though she means to hide her face.

“Most men would take their pleasure in other ways.”

There’s no hiding herself, though. Amadeo tilts his head, ignores the pain that comes with straining into such an awkward position, and takes in the way she’s panting. The rush of color to her cheeks, how she bites her lip when he touches just the right way. He keeps on that spot, repeats the motion, and he can tell by the way she squeezes her thighs that she’s squeezing tight on the inside too.

“I’m unlike most men,” he says, and kisses at her throat.

Her skin tastes like the perfumed water. Like salt because she too has begun to sweat. He rubs over and over, feels the rush of her pulse, and wonders if this is what his master feels with him. Whether making him squirm, helpless in his arms, makes him feel indomitable as well, and for a second he wishes he could rend her throat with his teeth. Amadeo wants to feel the stitch of her heart the way his master feels his whenever he bites into his flesh and takes his blood.

Slow circles. Over and over he spirals his fingertip. No change in the motion, no teasing now. There’s only one end to this and he means to achieve it as he drops kisses along her neck. Amadeo picks up his speed bit by bit until she gasps. There, there- the words are muttered out over the slosh of the bath, and he listens. Takes her advice even though his forearm is screaming at him, and-

Bianca kicks at the edge of the tub. Her cry sounds surprised, like she didn’t expect to be wracked with this much sensation, and she shakes with it. Her thighs squeeze so tight around Amadeo’s finger he couldn’t slip it inside her even if he wanted to.

And that’s fine. Good, in fact. This pleasure is for her sake and even if his cock is throbbing its need between his legs it can wait. Must wait, he decides. His master would scold him for taking her like a street ruffian not once but twice.

She’s lovely when she goes slack. Bianca’s hair is mussed from rubbing her face against his arm, a gold curl come free near her temple. Amadeo goes to tuck it back for her but she shakes her head.

“My hair will have to be redone entirely.” She plunges her wet fingers into his auburn hair and drags him down for a kiss. Her body is uncomfortably hot, sticky against his. “You’re right, you know.”

“About what?”

She nips at his lip, hard enough to leave it smarting. While Amadeo is busy rubbing at his mouth she rises from the tub like Venus from her shell. Arm covering her breasts, she reaches with the other hand and gestures for him to hand her a dry sheet.

“You’re like your master,” she says.

Amadeo cocks his head. He hands her the sheet without getting up from the stool, suddenly embarrassed of the thing throbbing between his own legs. He aches to throw her to the floor and take her.

“How so?” he asks.

Bianca enshrouds herself in white fabric. One neat movement, so well practiced that she hardly drips water onto the floor, and she’s perched on the edge of the bath rubbing herself dry. Arms first, then legs. She brings her ankle up to rest upon her knee and Amadeo can’t help but stare at the bone white jut of it. She’s pale as his master there. Her ankles never see the sunlight and so he can see the blue veins through her skin, and he wonders how they’d taste.

“Both of you are entirely unlike other men,” Bianca murmurs. Her foot with its pale sole, white as the belly of a fish, lands suddenly in Amadeo’s lap. She grinds her heel down and draws a gasp from him. “Now come to bed, Amadeo. I believe it’s time your captive takes her revenge. You’ll allow me some fun, won’t you? Before I release you back into the waters to swim home to your master?”

The pearls in her braid are loose. He ruts up against her foot and hears them rattle when she tosses her head back and smirks.

Amadeo is hooked. How easily he swings between such extremes. Misery and ecstasy. Dominance and submission. Shame and desire. He’s a being made of contradictions, and as he follows her to her golden bed he thinks he’ll do anything she wants so long as it keeps him here a moment longer. Safe from reality in her jewelry box room.

Safe from his sadness so long as he remains trapped in the net of want.

[sunaluvs]

Another line of sweat begins to bead along your hairline as the late summer heat stifles each breath you inhale.

“This was a bad idea,” you sigh as you lay on the blanketed ground on your back, eyes squeezed shut against the sun’s merciless glare and arms outstretched to their fullest extent as if asking for the wind to take you. You hope it does. At least then, you might not feel like you’re being cooked alive.

“‘S not that bad.” Atsumu yelps and twists his torso to the side when you swipe at him with a clammy palm. The red-orange haze of your eyelids turn blissfully dark when he leans over you, his body blocking the sun’s attack on your eyeballs. “Hey! Don’t be mean.”

“Shush, don’t move,” you mutter, gingerly sliding your eyes open to look at him.

“‘M breakin’ up with ya.”

“Weren’t you just rambling about our future kids this morning?”

He huffs pettishly, and your lips curve into a wisp of a smile. Atsumu’s golden hair encircles your vision, the sweat gathering in his roots rendering the gel he’d used to style it absolutely useless. The man in question grins down at you. The outer corners of his eyes crinkle as his cheeks bunch up, his tanned skin flushed strawberry red from the summer heat. Theoretically, he should look like an overripe tomato donning a shitty blond wig; anybody else would. But with a nimbus of sunlight and the clear blue sky as his backdrop, he looks frustratingly, maddeningly, beautiful. Nobody should look that gorgeous from this angle, you think. Or in this heat.

“Yer starin’.”

“No, I’m not.”

Atsumu’s beam grows wider when you instantly look away at his words, your gaze falling to the leaf clinging to the cotton of his shirt. You convince yourself that the sudden rush of heat through your face is because of the sweltering weather, rather than a manifestation of any sort of embarrassment.

“There’s no need to deny it,” he leans closer to you, noses briefly brushing as his smile turns smug. “‘M yer boyfriend, you can stare all ya want.”

You snort and tilt your head back, ignoring how it makes his gaze drop down to the column of your throat before it comes back up again, “thanks for the permission, sweetheart.”

His nose scrunches up at the nickname to feign displeasure, but you don’t miss the way his head drops a little to avoid your eyes, nor the way his fist slightly twists the blanket in its grip. You grin.

“Why don’t you take the food out, baby? I’m getting a bit hungry.”

You watch as Atsumu’s eyes widen, but before you can take a closer look he’s pulling away, turning his back to you and shifting to the basket of food you’d brought along. The sun wastes no time returning to its assault on your vision, and you hiss, bringing an arm up to shield your face.

Mentally, you curse yourself for giving in to Atsumu’s request (pleading) of an outdoor picnic. You need to start building defenses against those ridiculous pouts of his.

As he busies himself with plates of fruit and sandwiches, you push yourself up to your elbows and closer to him, squinting when you hear him grumble under his breath, “...don’t even remember the last time ya compliment me, then all of a sudden ’s ‘sweetheart and ‘baby’; wha’sat about?”

“Why, you don’t like it?”

You breathe a light laugh when he startles at the sudden proximity of your voice, head whipping back to see a teasing smirk adorning your features. He blinks rapidly and your smirk widens at the vermillion that spreads over his ears.

“No,” he blurts out. “I-I mean, yes, I don’t—do! I do, uh, I guess.”

You blink.

He buries a groan into his hands, and you bite down on an endearing smile. Affection blooms tender and warm in your chest, rich in adoration for the man in front of you. You watch as he lifts his face up, sweet with embarrassment, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, and do nothing as your fondness swells. 

“‘S jus’ weird!” is what he finally settles on. “‘S like if Omi started callin’ me ‘Tsumu or somethin’.”

Your mouth falls open.

“Am I really so bad that you’re comparing me to Sakusa?”

“No! Tha’s not”—he flails his hands around—“yer fine! More than! “It’s jus' a bit weird, y’know, like, like—” he huffs an irked breath. “You know what I mean!”

Oh my god, he’s pouting.

You purse your lips, forcing a slow breath through your nose to stop the laughter struggling to burst forth. A beat of silence follows his words. Atsumu stares at you. You stare back at him. His eyebrows furrow the longer you stay quiet.

“What?” he finally says, his bottom lip jutting out further, “wha’s with that look?”

“What—what look?” you cough out, looking away and pursing your lips harder.

“That look!” He rudely points at you. “Yer tryin’ not to laugh! I know ya are!”

“I-I don’t—” you snort—shit—immediately covering your mouth with a hand, “I don’t know what you mean.” Your voice shakes with barely restrained laughter.

“‘S not funny!”

And the dam bursts. You double over in loud, boisterous cackles, Atsumu’s whines accompanying your glee in the background.

“It is so fucking funny,” you gasp, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Atsumu, fully pouting by this point, crosses his arms and turns his back to you once more in a childish attempt to ignore you. The sight makes you hiccup another laugh, that ball of adoration swelling to burst in your chest at the sight. You just barely suppress the “aww” that wants to slip out.

You’re still chuckling when you move forward to wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him back into your chest. Despite his earlier protests, he, unsurprisingly, offers no resistance whatsoever and falls easily into your arms. Settling your chin over his shoulder, you tilt your face and bury it in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of your body wash radiating off his skin like ripe fruit beneath the sun.

(“Whatcha think?” he’d asked cheekily the first time he used it, jumping onto your bed and shoving his arm under your nose.

“What—“ you’d jolted away, before the fresh fragrance hit your senses and froze you in your place. You’d swallowed, and carefully asked, “Is that—is that my body wash?”

“Yessir,” he replied, smirking his typical irritatingly attractive smirk. “How ‘bout it?”

You'd put on your best annoyed expression and lied through your teeth, “Stop using my things, moron.”

He never did.)

Blowing a raspberry into the golden skin, you grin, “Sorry, baby, you’re just too cute.”

Atsumu sinks further into your chest and tilts his head back to see you, “Meanie. Only kisses will save you from the doghouse now,” he puckers his lips for emphasis.

Your grin widens, and you cup his jaw to smack a big, noisy kiss on his lips.

“Am I safe now?"

"Not yet."

Another kiss.

"Again."

Another kiss.

"One more time."

You laugh, and kiss him once more.

[mayhemscorner]

Middle of the night

Gaara x F!reader

(Seeing as Gaara and Itachi already have a strong lead in the poll, I will be releasing this fluffy one shot early as I have a few Gaara fics on standby that I wasn’t ready to post. Itachi will also be dropping within the week)

Summary: two insomniacs in love. Gaara watches reader at night when she returns from missions. Reader gets home late to finally catch him, FLUFF

The sand village was always near silent when I returned. The dark sky cascaded against the twirling sand in the wind, creating sparkling masterpieces under the street lights. It was peaceful, serene even. After being away so long in the leaf village to help proctor the chunin exams, it was bittersweet to admit I had missed the sand sneaking its way between my toes when I walk. Or how it would always find its way in to my hair just to be washed down the drain in the shower. 

“You’re going to miss your stop if you keep day dreaming, Y/N… And I thought Shikamaru was bad.” Temari chides, bumping me in the direction of my door. I can’t help but smirk when turning slowly to her,” I just missed the sand.”

“Sure. Say that to me again during the next sand storm.” Temari grimaces, already shaking light brown speckles from her shoulder. 

“You just want an excuse to go back to the leaf and see Shikamaru.” I arch my brows as I watch the tint of red creep like a vine up her neck and her failure to turn away in time,” as if. His intelligence hardly makes up for his lack of motivation... Don’t even get me started on how he thinks everything is a drag.”

Temari crosses her arms and hops down from the stone doorstep,” besides, I don’t have time for anymore men. I already have to make sure my siblings didn’t burn anything down or die of starvation. Such a drag.”

“Ha! You’re even starting to sound like him. Admit it, you’re in love.” I gasp almost a little toodramatically at her turned back, causing her to stop in her tracks as the anger bites in her words,” goodnight Y/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow Temari.” I finally give in, turning to unlock my weathered door and mumble a slight victory,” she didn’t deny it.”

My little apartment was dull from my time away. Empty and dark except the golden sand pooled into little masterpieces at the door from blowing through the slight crack, leaving its unique mark and greeting me back home. Taking my time to light the candles to avoid turning on the lights and brew some tea, I lose track of time. Finally I find myself draping across the couch, glancing at the clock on the wall saying it’s almost two in the morning, but my mind and body say it’s barely noon. After cleaning up and getting my training clothes washed, I finally trudge up to the bedroom to convince myself I’m tired. 

“I could’ve swore I closed all the windows before we left.” I mumble to myself skeptically, deciding ultimately to leave it open and let in the cool breeze for the night. Early spring drafts were heavenly, but they came and went too fast before the desert heat of summer dragged in. As I lay down in bed, I can’t help but face towards the window, watching the moon peacefully laze around in the sky and the clouds drifting slowly. After several moments, the soft wisps of sand dancing against the window frame catches my attention. The breeze was low, not even enough to pick more than a few grains of sand up, let alone strands. My feet carry themselves to the window in a sleep drunk stupor, then my body moves on its own to climb in to the frame, looking around. If anyone were to break in, they would’ve used the easy route of the balcony door, literally two feet from the window. I finally turn to look on the balcony, seeing the all knowing flash of vermillion, trying hard to conceal themself against the shadows on the wall.

“For Kazekage, you’re horrible at hiding yourself.” I yawn, jumping the distance from the window to the balcony railing, perching myself in perfect view of the moon and letting my feet dangle in the open air.

“I just wanted to be sure the two of you made it home safely.” Gaara mutters out, taking his time to walk up and slouch his arms over the railing next to me.

“Gaara, Temari and I have been back for hours. What are you really doing outside of my house in the middle of the night?” I ask, draping a hand on to the top of his head. He careens into the touch, his whole body following the inward tilt of his head at the feeling,” I wanted to make sure you got to sleep alright.”

I can’t help but chuckle, caressing my fingers through his locks as he sighs peacefully,” do you do that for all the sand shinobi returning home?”

“Only you.” He admits sheepishly, finally allowing his head to drop in my lap and his arm to wrap over my legs in exhaustion. 

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or concerned for my safety.” I huff out jokingly before continuing,” seems like you do it an awful lot Lord Gaara.” 

“Y/N. I believe we’re at a level of friendship where you can drop the Lord. And you aren’t the most attuned with sleeping normally.” Gaara sighs out, burrowing his head deeper against my legs in comfort. My other hand dances lazy circles against his tensed back, instantly relaxing his posture and causing a sigh of relief. 

“I think you’re the last person who should be scolding me on my sleep schedule. I also thought we were at the level of friendship where you use my front door instead of stalking me from my own balcony.” I say in answer, feeling as his body tenses again.

“That’s not- I was only- I didn’t want to bother you.” Gaara stumbles out, shooting up quickly to defend himself as he fumbles backwards and lands against the balcony floor. He slopes his arms over his legs, curling in on himself in defeat and embarrassment. A yawn sneaks it’s way out as I push his legs down and take my turn to rest my head in his lap,” I was only joking y’know? I don’t mind. It gives me a sense of safety, honestly.”

His arms curl around my frame, pulling me upwards in to a tight and what felt like a much needed hug, head nuzzling comfortingly in the crook of my neck and his arms refusing to let go.  I melt around him, giving in to the needy touch, letting our inner children heal with every second of embrace that we both were robbed of for so long. 

“I can’t bring myself to rest when I can’t feel your presence in the village. It’s as if you keep my demons at bay. I can’t help but to make sure you get to sleep every night before I can finally rest myself.” He whispers, wavering tears present in his shaky voice. His words make it seem like I was gone for years and not days, and in his touch, it was starting to feel that way. Our closeness had come on suddenly after last summer. Kankuro had pestered Temari on not having friends so much that I was the unlucky stranger she dragged home for dinner after training. Awkward dinner conversations revealed trauma within one night, we all realized our similarities in not having stand up parents, but persevere regardless. 

“Y/N?” Gaara asks quietly, shaking me lightly to make sure I’m still conscious,”hmm?”

I can only manage to mumble against his tight grip even if I am fully awake.

“Do you feel any sort of affection towards me?” He continues shyly. I weakly attempt to catch the laugh that bubbles up my throat,” if I didn’t, we wouldn’t be here right now, Gaara. I wouldn’t subject myself to you and your siblings at one dinner table at the same time. The question is, do you like me… or do you find comfort in me?”

“Is it selfish of me to say both?” He questions, raking a hand gently through my hair. I shake my head softly,” as long as you come to bed with me, I might forgive you for keeping me up so late.”

Without another word, he lifts us both effortlessly from the patio floor and ushers us through the door. His gourd clanks against the door as he tries to shut it, causing him to wince slightly. He never once lets go of me, even wrestling with the bedding. Even when he slides the gourd off his back, and shuts off the light. Gaara is stiff as a board beside me, causing me to climb on top and rest on his chest, listening to his frantic heart beat slowly become steady,” let’s get what sleep we can before your sister busts down my door in the morning.”

“If I had to stay awake for eternity to usher the moon and sun across the sky, just to make sure you slept and lived peacefully, I would without question. A night without sleep is nothing new to me, neither is my own sisters temper.” Gaara speaks lowly, finally relaxing. His arms find their way around me once again, resuming the grip that felt as if he let me go, I’d blow away as easily as a piece of paper. I lazily lift my head to place a chaste kiss to his lips that’s broken by another ebbing yawn,” you’re sweet… but you can speak poetically in the morning, after we’ve both woken up.”

My tiredness finally overcomes my strength, drooping further down and giving in to the clenching hands of sleep as his chest becomes a rhythmic melody to ensure my rest was peaceful. 

Sleep was never the problem. It was the disorientation and grogginess of waking up that bothered me, the crashing reality of all of life’s regrets hitting all at once as the sun burns your eyes and the heat drys your throat. This morning was different. My mind was alert with full clarity, a glass of water also sat waiting for me. Then the anxiety of the thought of oversleeping hits. My body spasms, shooting upwards in a panic to reach the dresser before Temari has the chance to reach for the spare key in the cactus pot by the door. My heart clenches as the arms that subdue my panicking body snake around my torso, stopping the race against the clock. Red hair brushes against my shoulder as Gaara rests his head against me in a groggy yet, still alert haze,” Y/N, take a moment to look at the time. Temari won’t even be up for another hour.”

My fingers wrap around his own that rest just above my naval in a protective embrace, breathing deeply before sighing,” force of habit.”

“I guess we both have habits to break.” He yawns, squeezing tighter. 

“Maybe that’s something we can do together?” I question, leaning my head back to rest in to him.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing it any other way.” He answers in a whisper, broken by the familiar scuff of a foot against the window frame.

“It’s not usual for you to leave a window open for anyone to sneak in, i thought you were trained better than that. I noticed it last night and hoped it would be open for a rude awakening.” Temari chides, looking at the empty bed, most likely assuming I’d still be asleep. Gaara doesn’t release me, only turning us so he can face his sister,” and here I thought we agreed as a family, it was best not invade others privacy, Temari.” 

“Please, I hope you know the open window wasn’t the only thing I noticed last night. You truly are awful at camouflaging yourself for someone that’s supposed to be Kazekage.” Temari scoffs back, dropping effortlessly from the window sill to saunter smugly over before glaring at me and continuing,” and you give me shit about Shikamaru.”

“S-Shikamaru?” Gaara asks in disbelief as Temari shrinks in embarrassment,” as if! I have full grown adult brothers to worry about who still think they have to sneak out of the house to go anywhere, let alone creepily wait on a poor girls balcony to watch them sleep!”

“Shikamaru?” Gaara says again, finally releasing me as Temari turns so red, the sunset would be jealous of her new hue. He slowly stalks towards her, sliding his gourd on to his back as she clumsily retraces her steps back to the window in horror,” Gaara, let’s calm down here. We’re obviously both at a misunderstanding here. We’re adults now. We can talk this out.” 

Her leg stretches for the window, not wasting a second to clamber out and jump for the nearest roof as Gaara quickly follows,” Temari!” 

“Adults…Still kids if you ask me.” I yawn, diving ungracefully back for the bed, knowing I’d lucked out in not having to train today. They’d be chasing each other around the village for hours. Or so I’d thought, until a brief guest of wind signals one of them dropping back through the window. Gaara hastily plants a kiss against my forehead and huffs,” family dinner same time as usual tonight.”

“Got it.” I mutter, tossing a pillow at him as he quickly reaches for the window once again as i giggle to myself, enjoying the moment.

Life isn’t about happiness, it’s about finding the happiness in mutual struggles and awkward situations with others. It’s about finding peace in something that was once deemed hateful and soulless. It’s about creating a future in something you’d never thought had a chance. It’s about coming to peace with the demons you no longer fight alone in the middle of the night. 

Most of all, it’s about enjoying siblings that chase each other across a village so you could get another half hour of sleep. 

[yanderedbdimagines]

I like your writing! You are a rare yandere writer who actually writes yanderes that they actually have to work for the person they want and where things sometimes wont turn out well! I like that frustration that they must feel! Can you do separate scenarios for Joey trickster and deathslinger where they end up stuck in something while being very close to capturing their obsession for their wittle selves while they are the last one alive? Kinda like what ya did with the locker one only reverse?

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

Thank you kindly! And I agree. I secretly wish there were more yandere fics that focused on rivalry and/or things not going their way as well. But ah well. We sometimes have to row the boat with whatever it is we have at the ready. xD

I really like the idea of them being stuck on something instead! For fun, I tried to find maps they are most probable to get stuck on something, and I think I found three of them that did the trick.

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The Deathslinger

At the Yamaoka estate, as he chased you through the dense bamboo brush, the Deathslinger was very close in capturing you. However, the Entity had other plans for him. His foot suddenly slipped and lodged itself between the bamboo he tried to chase you through, causing him to lose his balance. Desperate to stay upright, he reached out for one of the vines hanging from the wooden railing of a nearby Japanese platform. But the vines proved to be brittle, snapping under his weight and causing him to fall back with a loud thud. The impact caused his harpoon gun to fall between the tall grass and young bamboo sprouts, and he grunted in pain as his tall frame collided with a sharp edge of the platform's wooden flooring.

Caleb quickly tried to regain his composure, balancing himself into an awkward sitting position as he quickly turned his head towards the direction he just saw you rush to. Within a second, he watched you dart away from his line of sight from between the wisps of black smoke that’s rising from the surrounding vegetation. The Entity had intervened, fastening him in place with a cruel trick.

The bamboo stakes pressed around his leg, holding him in position as he struggled to break free. The vegetation was so dense and tangled that it actually seemed to have a life of its own, resisting all his efforts to escape as he restlessly pulled at his leg.

Caleb cursed from underneath his breath as he realized the full extent of his predicament. He was trapped, while his obsession has long since slipped away into the darkness. He knew that the Entity has intervened, and that it’s well aware that he was planning to kidnap you back towards his territory- defying it and the duty he was supposed to perform.

A blare echoes through the arena- indicating that enough of the generators have been repaired.

With a renewed sense of urgency, he redoubled his efforts to break free just after he’d reequipped his harpoon gun. He hacked away at the bamboo stakes with the blade, each blow ringing out through the Estate's grounds. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the stakes gave way, and he was free.

But deep down, he already knew he was too late to reenter the chase, for you most likely already left through the gates during that time he was busy freeing himself from the hard greenery.

The Deathslinger limped away from the bamboo brush, nursing his wounds and his wounded pride. Still, Caleb promised himself that he would never give up. He would continue to pursue you, no matter the cost, even if it meant going against the Entity's wishes. For the Deathslinger, the thrill of this particular hunt was worth any punishment.

The Legion (Joey)

Joey's heart raced as he chased after you through the golden sands and the winding paths of the Forsaken Boneyard. He had been after you for what felt like hours, driven by an insatiable urge to catch you and to claim you as his own.

But as he chased you through a narrow opening between a stone sarcophagus and an above ground burial tomb, Joey realized too late that he had made a grave mistake. The opening was proven to be too small for him to pass comfortably through, and the wooden vines that grew between them had soon ensnared him as he tried to snake his way through, trapping him in their grip.

That wasn’t all. As you turned away and out of view, he noticed black smoke drifting up from the vines that also could be seen at the exit. A darkness that behaved vastly different from the constant stream of black liquid that seemed to be seeping upward into the sky from many spots that could be found around the map.

He growls- pent up frustration getting the overhand. The Entity’s actually trying to stop him from getting to you.   

Joey struggled against the vines, his panic appearing and rising up with each passing moment. He could hear his obsession's footsteps fading completely in the distance, and he knew that if he didn't free himself soon, he may lose you. Maybe even for good.

As he fought against the vines, Joey's mind began to race. Out of the four Legion members, he was the one who had always prided himself on his speed, strength and his ability to overpower his victims, but now he was helpless, trapped like an animal in a snare.

But then something shifted inside of him. A sense of determination, a refusal to give up, took hold. With a primal roar, Joey summoned every ounce of his strength and pulled his weight against the vines with all his might.

Slowly but surely, the wooden vines began to give way, cracking and splintering under the force of his efforts as he finished the job with the added stabs of his blade. With one final burst of energy, Joey broke free, tearing himself loose from the wood that had held him captive.

Breathless, Joey stood up, his eyes blazing with a newfound sense of purpose. As he resumed his hunt, he did so with a renewed sense of determination, ready to claim his prize no matter what obstacles lay in his path.

The Trickster

The Trickster chased after you through the darkness of the Backwater swamp with a jaunty tune on his lips, reveling in the thrill of the chase. He savored the sound of your gasping breaths and the feeling of control over your fear. However, his arrogance was about to be his undoing.

Something unexpected happened. You suddenly jumped, and the Trickster realized much too late why that was. He had been so focused on the chase that he hadn't been paying good enough attention to where he was going. Now, he found himself waist-deep in a muddy puddle, one foot sunk halfway down and the other going in by a quarter.

Ji-Woon tried to wade himself free, but the muck acted like quicksand as he felt himself sinking deeper into its rather cold embrace- pulling him further down with every movement.

He clicked his tongue as you disappeared through the reed patch. Such a shame... Something else then catches his eye.

He hummed softly to himself in feigned curiosity, his bright yellow gaze soon set on the plumes of dark smoke drifting up from the watery grime found before this particular patch.

He then peered up at the misty sky above with a weakened, darker grin, the clouds swirling in a dizzying pattern. It was almost like the Entity itself was mocking him, laughing at his predicament. Of course the god’s decided he wasn’t allowed to have you, and taunting him in a way he didn’t exactly appreciate.

The grip on his bat tightened for a heartbeat. It loosened just as quickly.

He knew he had to free himself from the mud before his favorite fan would manage to escape through the hatch, slipping away from him once again.

The Trickster struggled for what felt like an eternity, fighting against the unyielding grip of the disgusting muck. But he refused to give up. With a final burst of strength, he managed to pry himself free, his body slick with mud and filth.

As he emerged from the swamp, he paused for a moment to take stock of his surroundings. His beautiful clothes were a mess, a dark brown that obscured their once-vibrant colors, but he didn't care at all anymore. He tightened his grip on his trusty bat, feeling its reassuring weight in his hand. With a single solid swing, he removed the blobs of mud from his weapon in tiny, satisfying arches. He was single-minded in his pursuit, and nothing would stand in his way. He proceeded to move through the swamp with a grace that belied his earlier struggles.

Sooner or later, he’ll get to his little survivor. He’ll even crawl his way towards you if he absolutely has to. But he’ll make sure that nothing will get in his way in trying to claim your love and your body. Even if it meant defying the Entity itself.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Silver eyes tell no lies

<<<Prev (a thousand crowns)

(a surprising ally) Next>>>

Pairing: Buggy x female mermaid reader

Word count: 2000

Warnings: none

---

Buggy was asleep next to you, almost as if he had dosed off trying to keep watch, when you looked at the time. It was quarter past the hour Helge usually called you for tea. Today he hadn’t. You should have felt relieved but instead you felt a tiny stab of guilt. All he had done since you had arrived was try to understand you better or win you over in his materialistic extravagant ways. But when you saw him leave this morning after you had come back to your senses, he had looked troubled.

But the moment you stirred, Buggy awoke too, his sleepy eyes immediately opening to make sure you were next to him. You held onto his hand as a means to tell him that you were still here. He visibly relaxed, as his fingers held your palm firmly within his. He rested his eyes again as he leaned his head back on the board, feeling the warmth of your hand in his.

“I’m here.”, you reassured him again as you scooted closer. He hummed in response to it but all you could do was wait till he had sorted the thoughts in his head.

“I just need a minute.”, he said, his voice groggy and husky. You settled next to him, getting closer to rest your head on his thigh in the hopes his panic subsided.

He used to get these often, when his fingers would crave the friction of your skin to find comfort even as he slept. So you didn’t disturb him, you gave him the time he needed but you felt his fingers rake through your hair to pull it back as heard him sigh.

“Nightmares?”, you asked, to which he hummed again, now leaning down to kiss your exposed cheek as he stayed there for a second before he moved.

“Nightmares where I wake up to see you had disappeared.”, he spoke against your skin and as he pulled away you turned to face him. His hand still holding onto yours that you brought it closer to your chest when you found his eyes. He had dark circles under them, the anxiety he had endured would not have allowed him to rest well.

“Do you need to get back to the circus?”, you asked to which he gave you a smile shaking his head.

“Shows have been sold out by the townsfolk that my crew have been performing well on their own. They have no need of me for a while.”, he said but looked away.

You caught onto the exact fear he was trying to hide.

“They will always need you.”, you tugged on his hand to get him to look at you.

“You’re their Captain.”, you said and kissed the back of his hand to see the storm clear up in his eyes.

The sun had begun it's descent, drenching your room in a golden glow that made the iridescent pearl finish on the floors and walls to make it look more ethereal.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”, you heard him whisper but when you caught his gaze, it was on you. Your face was in the light and his was in the shadow. You let go of his hand to rope it behind his neck and guided him forward, till the golden light lit up his sea glass eyes and wisps of blue hair making him shine like a jewel even the sea could never satisfy you with, only he could.

“Neither have I.”, you said and watched his eyes widen.

It did something to him, every time you told him he looked beautiful in different ways. You, a mermaid, known for your alluring elegance holding him, a deformed fool, like he was special. His heart turned to goo, his body falling over you as he placed his lips on yours. He had to, it was the only way he could convey everything he was feeling without having to use words. He heard you hum and it felt like when he stood at the edge of his ship while it sailed, feeling the wind against his skin. Unbridled and free.

“If you keep sneaking in these kisses, we’ll never get any work done.”, you smiled against his lips and it was intoxicating than any drink he had ever had.

“Boring.”, he smiled too as he sat back, his fingers playing with you hair as he took in the sight, you laying on his lap with flushed cheeks, the very essence his dreams were made of. Giving in to your pouted lips and dark eyes, he conceded.

“Fine, let’s talk business.”, he responded to which you got up.

He had always wanted to have large mattresses. There was just someting about them. Now to watch you escape out of the tangled sheets to go grab a robe to battle the evening chill, he had to restrain his hands from grabbing you and pulling you back.

He wanted to renovate his quarters, to lay out a mattress covering the entire room. In that way when he had you with him, he won’t have to let you leave. All he would have to do would be to snake his arms around and wrap you within his limbs to waste a day by laying together. To be sprawled out and entangled in eachother's arms, confiding your love in whispers and dancing fingers that caught the light, that was how he had always envisioned heaven to be.

He heard you clear your throat as you stood by the open window and he broke away from his daydream. Your doe eyes were gone, now they were siren like. Pinning him down with all that mystery that radiated from within you, it set his soul on fire.

“Oi lover boy, I need you to be present.”, you whistled as you snapped your fingers at him when his eyes wandered to your robe.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, as he got out of the bed shuffling his quick feet. He chuckled as he approached you, it felt good to know you still had the mouth of a sailor.

“Believe me, I’m trying, baby doll.”, he charmed his way to you again, he slid his arm around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips touching your ears as you felt the chill of the breeze and his proximity.

“Tell me what you wanted to discuss.”, he said mischievously trying to see if he could get you to break and succumb to his taunts.

You leaned back into him but retained your composure. Either one of you had to have their feet on the ground, it had always been you, being the rock that grounded his clouds. So you wrapped your arms over his.

“What did you think of Helge?”, you asked as you both enjoyed the view of the sun glistening over the horizon.

“He’s not your type.”, Buggy mumbled to which you laughed swatting at his hand.

“Be serious.”, you quipped back to which he settled again.

“I don’t like him but that might just be because even though he and I are vastly different. The longing he has in his eyes for you is the same one I had for years.”, he spoke like it wasn’t easy to admit.

“I know how that pain feels, besides, that kind of yearning could be used in your favour.”, he grinned.

“Which makes him a suspect behind all the politics? Doesn’t it? The moment I break his heart -”, you question him but he cut in

“If you broke his heart, he’s the kind to drown himself in his money to forget you. He clearly has the resources for it.”, Buggy answered.

To which you cast a side glance at him before looking away, trying to gauge he was talking about an observation or projecting his own thoughts.

“You did the same didn’t you?”, you asked to which he pursed his lips.

“Tried and failed.”, he sounded serious as he planted a kiss on the side of your neck.

“But I would hear in passing about pirates during meetings, so I knew you were out there somewhere, causing chaos.”, you admitted and he held his breath.

“So you have been keeping tabs on me. Ever the spy.”, his fingers slipped beneath your robe to touch your skin through the gap in your clothes which caused you to break and giggle. He lifted you off the ground from behind as he continued while you fought his hold but he didn't.

He let you go when you told him your stomach hurt from laughing and when his eyes found yours, it couldn’t hide the sparkle.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but go easy on the poor guy. While I keep an eye out on his mother.”, Buggy pointed to his eye as a means to emphasize his word play and you couldn’t help by dip your head to hide your smile as you caught your breath.

“Alright then, I do have to meet him now.”, you said as you moved away to fish for a new dress.

“I’ll meet you at the archives once night falls.”, you told him to which he nodded.

You slipped behind the divider to change your clothes when you caught glimpses of him through the cracks, his eyes trying to catch a glimpse of you but instead he clenched his fists and turned away. It was admirable when he was stoic, you admired him for it. Because as much as people had painted him to be a moral-less pirate as though he was the scum of the sea, he wasn't.

You smoothed down the edges of your sleeves and walked over to the mirror to pin up your hair. But now he had made his way to you, like he couldn’t be away from you too long, as his fingers picked up the ends of the ribbon from your untied lace in the back of your dress.

“You are meant for this place, fishtail.”, he said as he tugged on the ribbon, having seen you in silk gowns since he was here. The touch of the fabric was exquisite as he held it while sealing your dress.

“My heart belongs elsewhere.”, you replied, letting your eyes catch his for a second through the mirror, to see his lip tilt up.

He pulled on the ribbon again till he knew it was secure enough but his mind wandered again, as he watched you put on crystal earrings. He knew what you meant by that statement. That if there was a choice between him and the land you needed to rule, you would choose him. And as much as that inflated his sense of self, he also knew that would be reckless. He was a pirate but he knew about honour and duty. He had to come up with a plan to not let you give up a nation just for him.

And that began to worry him when he sent you off, kissing you once more before you stepped out the door and into the hallway.

-

Helge's residence was in the other wing of the castle that was set apart for the Slyvester’s. It was much more exquisite than the wing that belonged to your family. There were collections from different historic periods and valuable relics that decorated the walls. Helge was a collector and with what Buggy had said. Maybe the love in his eyes was a different kind of adoration because you were a living fossil within these walls. The most valuable trinket of the past.

The guards in front of his door made way when they spotted you. The doors opened and there he was, lounging by the window watching the setting sun in a melancholic state. He turned to see who had entered and when he saw you, he sprung up saying your name as though he had seen a ghost.

"You didn’t call me for tea today.", you said as you held your hands behind your back.

"I thought you would have liked to rest.", Helge responded with a soft smile.

His room was filled with all sorts of things but when you took a step back to see him in his environment, it felt quite and lonely.

"Besides, now you have better company than me.", he shrugged shoulders as he turned away, hinting at Buggy's presence in your life.

You didn't have a response to give him, agreeing with him would make Buggy look like a cheap replacement and denying his statement would make Helge believe you harboured a soft spot for him.

"But now that I'm here, would you prefer it if I went away?", you asked him to which he held his hands together to think of an answer.

Strange, he would have jumped at the opportunity to ask you to stay before.

But he didn't ask you to leave, he obliged as he walked towards the table that had been set to pull out your chair. You took a seat and he moved to his seat in front of you. His actions however were more anxious. He fidgeted with the ring on his finger, his eyes darted between you and the guards, he leaned forward on the table as though he had something to tell you but then paused. It was unlike himself when usually nothing could get him move away from plush cushions, here he was sitting up straight.

So instead of troubling him, you picked up the hot tea pot and filled both tea cups with the warm liquid.

You wait for him to start a conversation but instead you noticed how his breathing seemed more rapid than usual with every moment the distance between your lips and the cup lessened.

"Guards, I would like for some privacy.", he burst out making you almost spill your drink.

It takes a minute for the guards to shuffle out and for the silence to flood back. You looked towards Helge to now see him rake his finger through his hair as though he knew the world was about to end.

You sit back, the cup warm in your hands, his eyes fixated on the drink in front of him.

"Is everything alright?", you ask nervously, bringing up the cup to take a sip when he reached out to stop you. His finger gently pressing down on your wrist, his eyes flitting from your lips to the tip of your cup.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you.", he said, his eyes trailing up to catch yours.

"Why?", you asked, your heart begining to race as you narrowed the reason.

"Because it's poisoned.", he said quietly, his silver eyes looking vulnerable for the first time that you knew he wasn't lying.

---

Tags:

@lotr-got @wooyoungsrightsock

[wispisstillverybored67]

Leone shut the fuck up.

[actual-changeling]

Seasons pass and wither, and hidden within the slow, wet drag of London is a flame which remains unchanged in the face of winter. The heat leaves with a quiet exhale, and takes the colour of the world with it, stealing first green, then golden-browns from the trees, eternally growing.

As the winds pick up and uselessly attempt to erode the blue-white memory burned into a cream patch of carpet, the flame flickers despite them, growing and shrinking, defying the constant fall of rain. The sky opens above them over and over again, the lightning seen from the window a message, a plea. Painting condensation onto the glass, the flame watches the violet violent flashes with melting disdain and growing regret.

There has never been a path carved into the heavens they could have walked without extinguishing themself and being lost to the wisps of smoke drifting towards earth. Yet they breathe until the window clears and they can recount the song of a nightingale between lightning and thunder.

Storms pass, return, linger for hours and days, and the flame lives it through it all. Light comes in many shapes, they relearn, caught in the company of a tentatively flickering golden glow that is still adjusting to sharing space with more atoms and electrons than themself. They carry no warmth, only a probing curiosity for the charcoal smears the flame leaves on everything they touch.

I'm burning myself up, they say, flickering red, orange, blue.

Does it hurt?

Only if I let it.

Silence fills the smoke-riddled air after that, heavy with confusion and pity, blackened by the residue the flame grinds into the carpet whenever they try to extinguish themself. Waiting, waiting, waiting, through passing storms and snow, through melting frost and the return of sunshine.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, the flame flickers through it all, hoping for the return of their spark before they are nothing but smoldering ashes and slowly dripping wax.

[sqarletsworldlesswandering]

The Old World

Some lore/timeline, bordering on a drabble:

The "Old World" was a nebulous period between the Old Ones and the current conflict. Think of it as a time when The Ones from Above had wiped the world and launched another starburst of creation, thus bringing the Starfolk into existence, but hadn't yet tampered with this new creation. A sort of... "watch and see what happens" stage, just to see what sort of environment sprang up.

In the onset of the Old World, there wasn't tons of cross-talk between the sophont Light and Dark. They mostly remained separated - different cultures and different development. The more ambient, critter-like Starfolk without sapience sometimes mixed - such is the way of an ecosystem. The sapient starfolk kept to themselves, though. This wasn't out of any animosity or isolationism, just a contentment to stay in the starfields where they naturally landed.

This period of separation remained peaceful, and is where most of their steadier development happened - a lot of their structures, some established travel paths, settlements, etc. The platforms and launchers in the Overgrown Sanctuary are one such example, as are the scaffolds and pillars of the Scarlet Ravine. When Light and Dark start interacting, they experienced a brief period of economic and cultural boom – an explosion of travel, trade, cross-settlement, art, and prosperity. It was their Golden Age, but one of the shortest Golden Ages to ever exist. Once this collaboration gathered significant momentum, THEY started getting scared. It wasn't even the idea of transcendence that scared Them – absorption wasn’t necessary, and in the rare cases it happened it was the result of a close bond, not conflict. No, THEY simply feared the collaborative potential the Starfolk displayed while working in tandem. The Stars were getting too smart, getting along too well. The Ones from Above started to worry that these creations would spin out of THEIR control somehow. THEIR paranoia dreaded a Tower of Babel, even though the Starfolk had little to no concept of aggression against THEM, or even a notion that THEY existed. In the end, THEIR fear – almost entirely unfounded – drove everything downhill. THEY started the Conflict, initiated a "reprogramming" of nature. Polarities turned from a culture into a compulsion to antagonism, and anything remotely capable of fighting began to. Anything that wasn't them and theirs was the enemy. Violence and anger became the universal blinders welded into their very minds. The only escapees were the especially harmless and easily dismissed Starfolk, and even that was inconsistent at best. 

The Conflict started and the Golden Age nothing but shimmering dust in the wind, THEY retreated back to THEIR cloud-covered safety, thinking THEIR creations would be too busy fighting each other over balance and territory to pose a threat to THEM.

And with that, The Ones From Above stole away the Starfolks’ very sapience – at least, any meaningful sapience. The shells wandering the land still desplayed a veneer of personality, but even that meager shred withered under the strict confines of their new compulsions. They could reason, even carry on conversations verging on thoughtful and express something close to emotion, but nonetheless they couldn’t reason away from their new natures – their free will had been stolen and locked away.

And then the first Transcendence happened. The first glimmer of green that spread fledgling wings and soared to the radiant precipice of perfect balance. 

THEY watched in morbid curiosity at this abrupt and far too rapid development, both dreading its consequences yet craving an unnamable something. THEY watched as more little green flares sprung into existence, none quite so perfect as the first.

Then THEY saw something strange. An awkward little wisp of green that burst into existence, and just as quickly lost its footing like a newborn foal. A wisp that chased itself in circles and danced through the stars, and then settled. Calmed. Combined. Found peace. Then it started growing exponentially stronger, fueled by its new balance, carried upwards towards that same edge of perfection to collide with the waiting wings. In a blinding implosion of wills, a new being finally crossed the edge of perfection. 

Perfect Balance. 

THEY suppose THEY should have expected the outcome. In a way, THEY did. But just once, just once in THEIR existence, THEY were more curious than afraid, and found the very force THEY had used to unmake the world turned back on them as a new force entirely took over THEIR senses. 

THEY knew no more.

At last, a new Eden began to bloom.

[florencemtrash]

The Wisp Between Worlds

CHAPTER ONE: BLACK WATERS

Acotar fanfic/rewrite. Inner Circle x OC. Eventual Azriel x OC.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Warnings: None for this chapter that I can think of, but expect angst, death, and sadness in the future.

Masterlist

________________

She needed to get outside. Callahan Barge was too tall, too sweaty, and too business casual for the kind of night she wanted to be having. Makeup swam down her skin cutting brilliant blue rivers down the tan of her cheeks. When she’d last caught a look at herself in the dusty bathroom mirror she’d been shocked and intrigued at the wide, kohl-lined eyes that stared out from beneath the glitter and paint. Lauren had decked her out in a skimpy, shimmering black dress, fish-net stockings, and the accompanying makeup to “let her live out her party fairy fantasies.” After all, she deserved to dress the part for her first Halloween as a 21-year-old. But that well-deserved fantasy took a hit when Callahan, cosplaying as an aspiring accountant (as per usual), started flirting with her at the bar.  

“Why don’t I buy you a drink?” his perfect white teeth gleamed in the UV light of the club glowing almost as brightly as the white button-down shirt he wore.

“I’ve got one already.” She stared directly in his eyes, taking a sip of the fruity mocktail the bartender had shaken up for her. He eyed the drink in her hands and she raised her eyebrow, daring him to make a comment. She was the designated driver for the night and the strongest liquid currently sloshing around in her cup was lemonade, but he didn’t need to know that.

“A second drink then?”

“No.”

He fiddled with his wrist watch, visibly flustered. “So about your thesis-” He began, desperately trying to spark a conversation.

“I have to go find my friends.”

“Oh right,” he pushed back his golden waves, “well hey, if you’re free after-”

Nora ducked behind the body of a passing security guard who’d been alerted to the sound of retching towards the right of the bar. Slipping nimbly through the crowd she tried to ignore the prodding of elbows and the occasional misplaced grinding of hips. Callahan was a nice guy, the kind that would have a position at Goldman Sachs by January and a 401k set up by May. The problem was he didn’t seem to understand why being randomly partnered with Nora for a creative writing assignment was enough grounds for a relationship. 

Fuck this. Nora thought to herself after five minutes of circling the lower and upper levels of the club. It would be impossible to find Lauren and Garett in this crowd and calling was pointless. The music raged from the speakers so loudly she could feel the bass rattling her bones.

She made her way towards the back doors, pressing against the sticky handle and sighing when the rush of cold, autumn air whisked the moisture from her skin. The wind carried the scent of the sea across the boardwalk. She breathed it in, having forgotten what air smelled like when it hadn’t been circulated through hundreds of drunken, jerking bodies. 

I’ll be outside for a bit. Let me know when you guys are ready to leave. 

With a whoosh the message was sent and she tucked the phone back into her pocket, wrapped her arms around herself, and made her way down to the pier. 

Aside from the handful of people smoking around the lamp post’s pool of light and the couple grappling at one another on a bench, the pier was empty. Nora kept her head down to give them all their privacy and walked to the edge, staring out at the inky black waters. She couldn’t see three feet past where the last lamp post feebly flickered, but she heard the licking of waves against the rocks, growling and slurping like some hungry creature.

Salt opened up her airways, leaving its distinct taste in her mouth and a faint burn in her lungs. It was in moments like this where she let herself wonder, truly wonder, about what would happen if she simply stepped over the edge and let herself get swallowed up.

You’d probably break your legs against the rocks you idiot. 

The thought of flailing about in the cold waters waiting for someone like Callahan to fish her out like a wet rat made her cringe.

I’d never actually do it. Stupid Freudian death drive.

It was just something she wondered about. What if there was something that was waiting for her? What if she was just wasting time waiting for the big thing to come along?

And what would that big thing be? 

Who knows.

And if it never comes?

Shut it.

Nora scolded her midnight thoughts. This was supposed to be a night of mindless fun and dancing and here she was standing alone in the cold being philosophical. But just as she turned away from the water a gust of wind brushed up against her back. No, not the wind… something else. A presence hovered over her shoulder, calming but unfamiliar as it traced down her spine. 

She froze, too scared to scream and too curious to move. Squinting her eyes she couldn’t make out any figures on the boardwalk or along the pier. She was alone.

Before she could make the executive decision to start sprinting back to the club, she heard it. Faint whispers curled around her ears, wrapping her in phantom arms until she could no longer feel the chill. Through the dozens of voices that called out to her in a mess of sounds and unintelligible words, one stood out. 

Low and silky and sensitive it asked, Where are you? Tell me where you are. Please.

Nora blinked.

The boardwalk faded away from her. She could still catch the faint outlines of the lamp post and railings, but more concretely she saw a room. Thick black curtains drifted along some invisible wind framing a brilliant city beyond that glowed like a thousand candles. The night sky was so crisp and clear she could make out every star.

She blinked again, readjusted her contacts, and it was gone. She was still on the pier alone and her vulnerability sent a shiver down her spine. 

The presence remained with her, breathing down her neck. She still couldn’t decide if she was afraid or not.

Wait… Run. RUN! The voice commanded her, barely a whisper in her ear despite the urgency of its words. 

Somewhere in the water far beyond where the light could reach, she felt a stirring, like the earth was rolling onto its side beneath her feet. A loud, low moan pulsed through the air and the pier’s wooden beams groaned in turn, protesting whatever force had begun to bend and snap them like toothpicks. 

Nora turned on her heels and started to run.

Fifty meters later and she was cursing her body, feeling the warmth in her legs build as she forced them to go faster. Breathe along to your favorite song, Nora. Dad had said that to her before every cross country race in high school. She was a shit runner then and she was a shit runner now. 

God I wish I kept running in college.

Another beam closer to her broke with a scream and Nora was thrown to the ground, landing awkwardly on stinging hands and knees as the water split open and began swallowing the pier. Like a beast it chomped at the wood, slurping the contents down into its throat. She dared a glance behind her and gasped as cracks formed along the surface of the ocean, blue-white light spilling outward. 

Scrambling to her feet she continued to run feeling the ground beneath her tilt further and further backward. The cracks deepened, crashing against wood. With a final sigh the last of the beams beneath her feet gave away, sinking into the mouth of the blue chasm below.

Nora screamed, lunging to the side to avoid the spear of wood that erupted by her legs. Cold water drenched her clothes, weighing her down as she was plunged into the frothy, glowing water. 

The pier had snapped in two. 

What are you doing you fucking idiot? Scream. She thought to herself. But even though she screamed, first in fear and then in frustration, no one heard her.

Nora gasped as the blue light finally reached her, wrapping around her body. She wished she had the mind to appreciate its beauty, but all she could think about was the terror that fueled her muscles to keep swimming, even as the current dragged her further down.

“HELP!” 

She begged anyone who might still be on the pier. She prayed to God, pleaded with the voice that had tried to warn her. 

No one’s coming to help. No one could help even if they wanted to.

Nora looked back, helpless as the water consumed her.

When her body had sunk beneath the depths - deeper than anyone could fathom - the portal sealed itself and there was nothing left but the ruined pier and the silent lamp posts as witnesses.

________________

Author’s Note: Hi! As the summary already mentions, this is going to be an acotar rewrite with an OC that’s really just a cooler, more competent version of myself that I like to insert into every book I read. It’s been over a year since I finished reading the main trilogy so apologies if I don’t get the plot/plot elements exactly right (but also I might change the plot to better suit the story). I don’t know how many chapters this will be yet, but I have a small chunk of it already written and am hoping to get some regular posting schedule worked out. Thanks for reading this little blurb and I hope you enjoy! 

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Don't Deserve Love: Reaper x Reader

The light hit your eyes before the headaches did. You didn’t dare open your eyes at first, but the looming sense of sorrow in your stomach only buddied up with the rumbling of hunger had forced you to open your eyes.  The pale, crusty yellow sun filtered through the window panes in thick rays, showing off the dust that had gathered in your house for some time now, the rays not hitting your face but at the foot of the bed. Your fingers wrapped around the quilt, thin and old, the cotton stuffed inside now flat and barely padding comfort to you anymore, but… you kept it on the bed like how you kept the left side of the bed empty for the past ten years.

Slowly, you started to feel the emptiness in the room, how cold it truly was to lay on the old mattress in the same old house on the same old road. The cold shot right through you, shocking your nerves into sitting up, allowing the quilt to fall off your person, bunching up at your stomach and thighs. Your arms crossed over each other, as you looked out the window, your legs never leaving the bed to hang off of the side.

Snow bunched up on the bottom of the window, frost curled on the edges of each pane as wind rattled them in their slots. They were yellowed from age, needing to be changed, some were even starting to crack from the last hail storm. The large glass-paned doors before you only gave you glimpses to the large clay pots still stuffed with good soil and fertilizer now overflowing with dead weeds and snow packed on top, reminding you of better times when they were full of beautiful golden marigolds and bright purple tulips so long ago. You longed to smell those flowers once more, you longed to see him bent over the pots, digging around in the soil and plucking out weeds while whispering sweet nothings to the flowers like he did to you. You would remember how he would always pluck one flower and lace it over the shell of your ear, smiling warmly.

But now, you felt as dead as the flowers ten years long gone.

You looked away from the doors to the end table, your eyes spotting a large glass lamp that was unplugged from the wall socket, your phone turned over so you wouldn’t see the lock screen, the turned over empty bottles of alcohol and thick orange tubes, some pills spilled around the surface of the end table. Your eyes closed, you winced as your temples pounded, the back of your head feeling as though you were being stabbed repeatedly. You whimpered, opening your eyes as a single tear dragged down the curved surface of your cheek, only to soak into the old, dingy thin pillow.

You turned your body towards the locked doors (to which you don’t even remember where the keys were as you had locked it upon hearing about him), your legs dragged the quilt over to spill at your dangling feet, your back hunching, elbows digging into your knees as you stared off into the far distance, past the doors.

Little did you know about what lurked in your closet, nor the small wisps of black smoke murmuring and moving around the flanks of the wooden closet doors.

He watched you carefully between the hangers stuffed with clothes that mainly belonged to him. Suits, jackets, boxes of boots and sneakers that went unused even though he promised he would wear them (and yet he only stuck to the usual work boots he wore even if they were falling apart as he walked), and a few tuxedos and a spare Blackwatch uniform complete with armor. He had snuck in not too long ago, but just before the sun had peaked out over the horizon, locating the old key under the fake rock in the back garden (that was a complete disaster, rambled with dead flowers and overgrown tree roots), and sneaking inside with the intent to finally give you peace and to finally say goodbye forever…

You didn’t need him. He didn’t deserve you.

You didn’t need a monster in your life…

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be crammed into the closet, he shouldn’t be hunched over to look through the wooden flanks just to see you sitting hunched over, looking out the window. He could smell the alcohol, he could see the pills spilled everywhere, he could feel the aches your body was being put through. He hated that you were suffering, he hated himself for putting you through such a thing. He was mad at you for still waiting for him to come home as if it were just another day.

The air was choking him, tension thick and heavy, weighing down his shoulders and making his knees wobble and making his stomach twist in knots.

It was a big punch in the gut to see that the left side of the bed was empty. The pillows undisturbed, and sheets underneath the quilt pulled tight over the corners of the mattress. You kept everything the same, everything that he did, you kept it the same.

His mask silencing his heavy breathing, his clawed gloves making gentle scratches on the closet door as his fingers twitched, wanting to so desperately to rub your shoulders and hold your hands and… love you.

Oh, how the golden marigold in his pocket felt like a ton of bricks, the paper envelope feeling as though it was poison simply slapped onto his skin, eating away at his insides.

He watched you sit there, doing nothing but stare out the window as if it were the answer to all of life’s questions, as if it were a complex math equation you were trying to figure out without writing down anything. You didn’t move, didn’t flinch, sniffle, whimper, murmur, speak, hum… You did nothing.

You didn’t even flinch when your phone started to blare out the loudest alarm he had ever heard, you most likely picked it to wake you up from your drunken, drug-induced sleep from last night. It seemed like you weren’t even inhabiting your own body, it took you so long to even snap out of your trance to look at your phone blaring on the end table.

He watched as you slowly extended an arm, shaking fingers lifting your phone up and quickly turning the alarm off before just tossing it onto the bed carelessly and standing up. He heard the series of pops and cracks from your back, wincing as you only stumbled away from the bed and caught yourself on the wall when you nearly fell. He heard you heave, watched as tears fell from your cheeks and hit the dusty hardwood floors as you stayed stuck to the wall, shaking as if you were a leaf in a hurricane.

He did this to you… He ruined you… He turned the light of his life, his beautiful marigold in a field of boring daisies, to a drunken mess that couldn’t walk five steps without breaking down.

Eventually, you hauled yourself up to stand up straight and slowly started to walk across the room and into the hallway, the floors creaking with every step you took. He waited until he heard the stairs to start to crack and settle like they always have done to slowly open the closet door and sneak out. He chuckled emotionlessly as he remembered he always would promise you he would rip up the flooring and fix the creaking problems after he woke you up too many times in the middle of the night by trying to sneak into bed.

He followed behind you, being careful to duck away from any corner, moving around in the shadows of your home until he heard the bathroom door shut and the shower turn off.

He carefully pulled out the paper envelope and walked up to the kitchen table, noting all of the bills stacked up in large piles (some were really checks on his death to you), some papers opened, addressing you for certain items like a recall on your car, a letter of warning that construction would be happening soon down the road, amongst other items. But what really tore at his insides was the photograph frame sitting where you normally sat at the table. Ornate brass coils framing a thick brass oval, encircling a black and white photo of the two of you before everything happened. He was actually wearing something other than his Blackwatch uniform which a rarity of its own, instead, a tight black sweater now, but his beanie still sat on his shaven head. His smile haunted him, the warm in his eyes genuine, his love for you showing as you were pressed to his side, smiling brightly at the camera.

“Oh, (Y/n),” he grumbled.

He placed the envelope down on the table only for his clawed gloves to gently pick up the picture frame, the tips of the metal claws rolling over the ornate curls and coils as he now stared at your face.

He wished he could see you smile like this one more time before he truly said goodbye.

He placed the photo down and reached into his pocket to slide out the marigold, all of its golden petals still in place as he gently laid the flower down in front of the envelope, his eyes tracing over your name he carefully wrote down. You always loved it when he wrote your name in calligraphy, the curls of the black ink dancing on the papers always caught your attention.

The shower hadn’t stopped, he could still hear the water running away, pattering on the bathtub’s porcelain floor. You wouldn’t hear him leave through the back door, walk out forever over the shower…

But something kept him from leaving, tethering him to the insides of the house he too once called home. He looked away from the back door, back into the kitchen and to the living room not too far away, through the archway.

The kitchen looked the same. Same tiles below his feet, same stains neither of you could scrub out between the grooves, same appliances surprisingly (you may have just replaced them with the same things). The paint on the walls was still the same shade, but now it was chipping away, needing a new coat. Dishes were piled up in the sink, waiting to be cleaned. The walls were littered with photos of the two of you still together. Most of them when you two were on vacation, or really just him taking you places that required undercover surveillance, you acting as the perfect coverup.

He took long strides into the living room, his boots scuffing against the hardwood planks, squeaking a bit. His eyes scanned the walls, following the new wallpaper you must have had put up as the walls were no longer painted a pretty ashen gray, now covered in flowery paper. The photos were still hung up in the same places, small statues still sat on top of the same fireplace mantle. The same sofa sitting in front of the same flatscreen tv, his recliner sitting next to your overstuffed armchair, overlooking the large windows that had the white curtains drawn shut. His recliner looked to have not been sat in for so long, your armchair acting the same way as the cotton inside both had puffed up from not being used.

Something caught his eye, something on the large table that certainly was not there when he still lived here. Pictures thrown about on the wooden surface of his face, lists of contact information as stickers, maps of where the old Overwatch base used to be, amongst other things. They were missing posters, you still never gave up on him.

You still thought he was alive, out there somewhere.

You still cared about him.

“How could you care about a monster?” he found himself murmuring, his dark eyes leaning over to catch a glimpse of your bright smile and warm eyes. “I don’t deserve you.”

Gabriel wandered over to his recliner and slowly sat down, not caring for the dust staining the leather of his trenchcoat. A soft groan left his lips as his body was quickly encased in the overstuffed recliner as he leaned back into the comfortable fabric. His clawed gloves scratched at the armrests of the recliner, his fingers twitching, wanting to reach down and pull the lever to recline back like he used to always do with you by his side. He always loved how you two would always sit here late at night, watch the village not too far down the hill slowly die out and the sunrise and watch the same village come back to life.

He loved doing this with you.

He was deep in thought, so deep he didn’t hear the shower stop nor the door opening or your soft gasp.

“Who are you?” your voice shot right through him.

He stood up quickly, the recliner rocking back and forth behind him as he quickly turned to you. He watched you recoil, take a step back only to have tears stream down your cheeks, your eyes widening and jaw unhinging. 

You were dressed in a towel, your hair clinging to your neck in wet strands, matting to your face. Your eyes were red and puffy, lips were swollen, the dark bags under your eyes seemed darker than when he saw you still in bed.

“Gabriel?” you whimpered. He stayed silent, not knowing what to do. What could he do? Walk out? Not come back? “Gabriel, is that you?”

“(Y/n),” he murmured.

“Oh, Gabriel,” you sobbed, rushing forward and lunging for him, encapturing him in your arms.

You sobbed into his chest, and all he did was stand there and stroke your shaking back, stuck in his thoughts of how you could simply sob into this monster’s chest, holding him just as tightly as you did ten years ago.

He didn’t deserve you.

He didn’t deserve love.