#i heart divinity/divine purpose being a curse! i heart it!!!!
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Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.1)
W/C: 3.5k
#full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, soz if anything is clunky asdkjf; i can only reread the same fic so many times for editing sadge
A/N: Decided to separate this into parts since I'm dying to post some of it lol I've held it in a chokehold in the shadows of my WIPs for too long, some of it has to come out before I explode o(--( there is more to come!
tag: @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9
The scripture was incomplete, worn away by age.
…herein lays the God...imprisoned...by...Disgraced One…
Yet the society felt this, the coffin uncovered decades ago, could be an invaluable asset. The vessel was decrepit and ancient, yet still stood strong against the test of time and the wear of nature. Seal papers, no doubt left by a monk of sorts, covered the entirety of its surface, hiding away rotting wood and rusted bands of metal from modern sorcerer's curious eyes.
Few knew why the higher ups kept the vessel under lock and key. Fewer knew why they kept it at all; however, those few understood the importance of such a relic. They'd been the ones to seek it out, to steal it away before malicious forces took it for themselves, warping the supposed deity inside for their own, malevolent purpose, whatever that may be.
And with Ryoumen Sukuna's fingers being found one by one, they could not allow anyone to possess humanity's failsafe: you. A great being imprisoned by the devil.
“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils.
“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him.
Piss off, runt.
“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.”
Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.”
Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper.
Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–
“Huh. Weird.”
Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo.
Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.
They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.
Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.
Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.
So, Sukuna pushed him aside.
[Heian Era]
You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket.
You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails.
Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful?
Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him.
They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him.
Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing.
“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces.
You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud.
What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–
“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.
“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.
"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.
“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.”
The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature.
The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him.
“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make.
Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you.
That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape.
“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”
It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you.
Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace.
But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for.
“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all.
“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes.
Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?”
“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible.
“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”
You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.”
“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.”
“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”
Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted.
“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.”
Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?”
“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”
Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it.
“What more?” He prodded.
Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?”
“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him.
You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else.
You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.
It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted.
“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”
You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight.
Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding.
Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent.
So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard:
You better be here when I get back.
“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.
You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.
Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful.
The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal.
However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it.
But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world.
So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you.
“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine.
“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.”
You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.”
Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.”
You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.”
“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?”
“Of course.”
She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you.
Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events.
You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck.
You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder.
He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted.
Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down.
“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him.
“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.”
“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.”
“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.”
“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–”
You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.
Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–
But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit.
Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges.
He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it.
You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained.
The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale.
“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.”
You nodded shallowly. “Of course.”
Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.
And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun.
“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow.
“Another?”
“Kiss.”
Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.”
“Oh?”
“Give me another blessing.”
And you agreed.
#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x male reader#sukuna x m!reader#sukuna x you#jjk x you#male reader insert#male reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen reader insert#jujutsu kaisen x male reader#jujutsu kaisen x you
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relistening to tma and losing my mind more with each episode. anyways. today we're talking about how there are three characters in the show who are meant to be/groomed to be "the chosen one" for some specific purpose (agnes for the lightless flame, gerry to carry on some esoteric bloodline, jon for the watcher's crown/the web's escape plan) and all three of them have that running theme of being completely powerless in every aspect of their lives despite being made to be something powerful. we never get agnes' own perspective on her own life, gerry dies and is kept in limbo for *years*, and jon is marked to be the antichrist from age 8, like all of them were used as tools rather than people and if you couple that with all three at some point expressing that their fantasy is to live a normal life and be a normal person but they were trapped by divinity......fucked up if true
#tma#sorry we're back in the tma meta era i love writing it#i just listened to the agnes/jack barnabas ep can you tell#i love you agnes girl#now writing an au fic where it's jon and martin instead of agnes/jack and jon is a full fledged archivist........#me halfway through writing this: oh jesus christ. princess zelda of hyrule.#i heart divinity/divine purpose being a curse! i heart it!!!!
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Hiii im absolutely in-love with your writing and I was wondering if you could do Clarisse X daughter of Hecate (ive seen a few fics of this dynamic and as a child of Hecate and someone who has a massive crush on clarisse I love seeing works like those lmao)
THIS IS AMAZING OML. TYSM FOR REQUESTING THIS!! THIS IS SO FUN TO MAKE <33
Black Magic
Clarisse La Rue x Daughter of Hecate!Reader
Summary: Brewing potions and matchmaking is a fun but not much fun as admiring the infallible Clarisse La Rue.
Warnings: KISSING. (i noticed that almost all of my requests had this warning :P )
Author's Note: I'M BACK WITH MY LAPTOP! AND I'LL TAKE A DAY OFF FROM SCHOOL SINCE IM TIRED FROM TRAVELING BUT HERE I AM! I DO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS.
__
You loved the smell of brewing potion.
As a child of Hecate, you and your half siblings were often known as witches and matchmakers at camp. But still, some campers looked you in the eye and would call you a freak, Boasting about how their godly parent were part of the olympians, pointing at your mother's lack of place beside the Olympians.
Still, you've got a queue of campers (Mostly girls) waiting outside your cabin, The first ones left your workshop with a big smile on their faces or clutching their best friend whispering excitedly.
you and your siblings don't exactly share the same power for your mother had blessed you with different, but divine powers, and sure enough, you got foreseeing.
But some also left with a distraught expression and muttering a string of curses at you...It's not your fault that that their crushes aren't interested in them! You're just a fortune teller!
__
"B-but this is a mistake! I love Presley! your magic is wrong!" Cried a girl from the aphrodite cabin, tears streaming down her cheeks, smudging her mascara, You gave her a sympathetic look before sighing.
"That's not what it said here..." You looked down at your cauldron with purple-ish pink bubbling liquid, The Boy, who you assumed was presley, had another girl in his arms, twirling her around as they dance into a romantic song. The aphrodite girl stormed away furiously, purposely knocking down several of your stacked candles and jars full of ingredients.
Then, You saw the girl bump into someone, It was Clarisse. The girl frowned, but then gulped when she saw Clarisse staring back at her.
The moment Clarisse saw you, her eyes soften a little bit, her lips curling into a smile as she watched you get flustered.
"Hey"
"Hey" You blushed as you hid your face in a book.
"Can i try?" Clarisse asked.
"Try what?" You raised your brow, staring at her carefully, The cauldron separating you two in between.
"That fortune potion thingy, I wanna know who i'd end up with" Her words made your heart break a little bit, You had a big crush on clarisse la rue the moment you stepped inside camp, and now here she is, you crush asking you to foresee her future with someone else.
You swallowed your disappointment and anger before nodding, your face frowning a little bit as you set your book down and grabbed a pair of scissors.
"I need a piece of your hair" You said, Clarisse then grabbed the scissors and cut a decent amount of hair.
She watched you carefully, her brown eyes glinting with admiration as you recited latin and greek spells before dropping her hair into the cauldron, the smoke started rising and the liquid started bubbling, at first, you thought your eyes deceived you, you saw yourself with clarisse, sitting under a tree your back leaned against hers as you two laughed, hands intertwined as the sun rays hit you two.
you became breathless, your body stiff, Clarisse was confused, her dark brows raised as she scanned your expression.
"Oh my gods, please don't tell me it's Chris Rodriguez" She said, she secretly hoped it would be you, the thought of chris rodriguez and her being all lovey dovey made her sick.
When she peaked into the cauldron, She felt victory, joy, ecstasy she couldn't describe it. Every happy emotions filling her as she watched herself and you in the cauldron, laughing while kissing each other's cheeks lovingly.
You became speechless while watching Clarisse's eyes beam with joy, You two stared at each other for a moment before the Ares girl took the matters to her hands and kissed you.
It took you a moment to process what's going on. Then you find yourself kissing her back, pulling her closer as her breasts pressed against yours.
You two were then interrupted by the sound of the door opening, you two quickly pulled away and stepped back. Clarisse pretended to look around while you improvised some words to save you and Clarisse from being caught.
Your half sister, Lou Ellen looked at you and Clarisse before going to her trunk, rummaging into her things.
"I'll have your strengthening draught ready by tomorrow" You blurted at clarisse, You looked at her and she stared back before nodding.
"Of course" She whispered.
As she left, You saw her wink at you cheekily before closing the door.
"What's that ares girl doing here?" Lou Ellen asked.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all" You whispered, still feeling her lingering touch.
A/N: THIS IS AMAZING OMG!!! I TRIED MY BEST TO MAKE IT MORE WITCHY AND STUFF BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS!!
#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson#xy/n#clarisse la rue x reader#clarisse la rue#clarrise pjo#dior goodjohn
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˖⋆˚♱ଘ Angel’s Tears ଓ♱˚⋆˖
*cries* I thought I was done with Church AU after Priest! Dottore yet here I am with more unholy ideas. Welp, Guardian Angel! Capitano x Nonbeliever! Darling, here we go (；ω；)
Tw:: yandere, psychological trauma, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, MDNI
Note:: fictional depictions of religion
♡ 3.8k words under the cut ♡
♡ From the moment of their creation, angels are classified into the Nine Orders. This hierarchy determines their role in Heaven and Earth, with higher ranks assigned greater levels of power and authority. A special exception is The Strongest Angel, an individual who is neither a seraph nor an angel from the First Sphere. Rather, the moniker belongs to Il Capitano, the leader of the Powers.
♡ The legitimacy of his title has never been questioned. As a warrior angel, Capitano’s purpose is to vanquish evil. He is the chivalrous knight in bloodstained armor, the nigh-invincible being who strikes fear into the hearts of demons, the ever-righteous angel bound by a paradoxical duty to partake in violence for the sake of everlasting peace.
♡ It is in a small town in Mondstadt, following his victory over a legion of demons, that Capitano encounters you. It is the hour of mass yet you are nowhere near the Church; rather, you have taken sanctuary in a secluded meadow. A book sits on your lap, not a religious text but a tale of dark fantasy. There is a saintlike quality to your countenance, an air of melancholy as delicate as the flowers which surround you.
✿ ⚘
The moment Capitano appears before you, all peace leaves the meadow.
No, this isn’t right. It is normal for humans to feel fear in the divine presence of angels, yet he is donning his human guise. Nonetheless, as soon as his shadow touches your form, you look up and suppress a shriek, your face losing its veil of apathy.
So what exactly did he do wrong?
For your benefit, he remains rooted to his spot. Clarity comes in the form of your gaze flitting to your book, its title printed on the cover in conspicuous letters, the whispers which leave trembling lips.
“I…I can explain! This book—it’s just fiction! There are no real curses or spells inscribed in the text; it doesn’t promote any form of blasphemy!”
Ah, now he understands. You weren’t afraid of him.
Carefully, Capitano takes a step forward and raises his hand in a calming gesture. A gentle expression adorns his false face.
“Be not afraid.”
✿ ⚘
♡ It doesn’t take long for him to understand your wariness. A glimpse into your soul, paired with your quiet explanation, tells the story of an orphan raised by the Church. Only, your Church is one of many founded on distorted beliefs, of violence preached in the name of a cruel god. As a result, your upbringing was marked by strict rules, corporal punishments, and sermons which painted the image of a hopeless child with a weakness for temptation.
♡ Knowing this, Capitano can’t fault you for forsaking God and your Church. Still in his human guise, he promises his silence and leaves the meadow. But once he returns to Heaven, his first course of action is to apply for a position as your guardian angel. It is an easy process—while that role is typically reserved for the lower ranks, there is no shortage of humans in need of spiritual guidance and protection. He only questions why an angel wasn’t assigned to you when you were in greatest need of one.
♡ Henceforth, Capitano becomes a recurring character in your life. Every week, he visits you in the meadow. When you ask for his identity, he claims to be a progressive believer from another town. But rather than enlighten you with the true Word of God, he simply keeps you company and indulges your “vices,” leading to hours spent reading together. Beyond those meetings, he also watches over you to ward off any demons or humans seeking to harm you.
♡ From your end, you slowly warm up to your mysterious companion. He is a man of few words, but his actions always convey a sense of kindness. And despite his faith, he genuinely respects your beliefs and accepts you as you are. At one point, he even gives you a special gift, a quill pen of exceptional quality. The feather, pure white with a soft radiance, must have been sourced from a rare bird of prey.
♡ Over time, however, something changes. Capitano can’t deny that the faults lies with him. His visits, his constant thoughts of you, the ever-blurring line between want and duty…nothing of his behavior can be attributed to an angel’s inherent love for humanity. If that were the case, his love wouldn’t beget heartache. His love wouldn’t beget the temptation to harm others, rooted not in the name of justice but for your own safety. His love wouldn’t beget lust, guilt, dishonor, desires so sinfully evocative of his own infallibility.
♡ The truth is, you were never in need of spiritual salvation. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, what Capitano saw was a pure soul—a good person unlikely to commit evil nor fall into true temptation. Moreover, he knows that your sin of disbelief is forgivable unlike your Church’s sins of violence. That so long as you remain as you are, your soul will not be denied paradise, albeit in a realm of Heaven beyond Capitano’s jurisdiction. So why is he incapable of leaving your side?
✿ ⚘
“I had a long, long dream. I dreamed that you and I met again in the pure white world that we created.”
As you read the final line, your gaze leaves the book and returns to Capitano.
“What did you think of the story?”
Your shoulder brushes against his own, a tempting sensation. It is all he can do to remain still, to think against seeking out more of your touch, to remind himself that your close proximity is a mere necessity for your current activity.
The left side of the book, bearing the story’s ending, rests in your left hand. The other side is held in Capitano’s right hand, a blank page devoid of hope for a happy ending. When he turns the page, you seamlessly catch it under your thumb to show the next page.
Who knew of the casual intimacies imbued in the act of reading together?
“It was a well-written novel,” he says simply. “Though her sins tarnished her honor, Rosalyne’s sacrifice was an act of love. Her loss did not hinder her faithfulness to Rostam.”
“I feel the same way,” you muse. “Now I understand why this book was banned centuries ago. Forbidden love between angels and humans…it certainly goes against what the Church taught us about angels. I have to give the author credit for their imagination.”
It’s just the two of you again, this time in the library. At the start of winter, you invited Capitano to your workplace. There, in your greatest show of trust, you brought him to a secret room dedicated to texts banned by the Church for promoting “blasphemy.” Fantasy, erotica, anti-Church publications, first editions of censored books, stories which merely deviated from the Church’s popular depictions of spiritual beings.
Molten Moment belongs to the last category. Little do you know that it was based on a true story, that the author had really formed a pact with a demon called La Signora. Capitano himself is mentioned in the story under his true name.
He was one of the few angels who noticed the changes in Rosalyne’s behavior. She was once an ophanim, an angel with no connection to Earth nor humanity. Yet by some twist of fate, she laid eyes on a brave knight from Mondstadt and began to meet him in her human guise.
He was the first to hear of Rosalyne’s sin, that being she saved Rostam’s life during a battle. It was a direct violation of God’s orders: Angels and demons may influence humans, but they are forbidden from directly altering a human’s lifespan.
He was a silent witness to Rosalyne’s descent. She fell from Heaven, burned by her own flames, yet she had never appeared more ecstatic. In the following years, she married Rostam and lived a happy life with him on Earth.
He was the last to recognize Rostam’s soul at the pearly gates, forever separated from his fallen lover. Such had been Rosalyne’s divine punishment, worsened by her knowledge of this possibility. But what else was she to do? To let Rostam know of her true nature? To drag his soul down to Hell, where he’d be subjected to an eternity of undeserved suffering?
Capitano is no fool. As he read Molten Moment, he began to understand Rosalyne’s sin in a new light. Half the time, he couldn’t even concentrate on the text, his human eyes repeatedly drifting to your intense reading expression.
He closes the book, leaving it in your sole grasp. But before he can stand up from the sofa, you scoot closer and lean your weight on him. The book is placed on a nearby table, forgotten.
“Do you mind?” you whisper. Your right hand, empty since the prologue, traces his left hand.
A moment of silence precedes his response. “You may.”
Wordlessly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. A gesture of intimacy, an unspoken confession. Yet as he savors your touch, Capitano wonders if you would harbor the same level of comfort around his true form.
He doubts it. As a Power, he bears an inhuman appearance on par with that of his superiors. It is his true image which has earned him the title of monster by witnessing humans.
Still, he allows himself to indulge in the blessing that is your oblivion. When you look into his two human eyes, there is a soft light in your gaze wholly free of fear.
“Spring is coming soon,” you mutter. “I can’t wait to see the flowers again. Come to think of it, there’s a variety of narcissus which grows only in late spring. It’s very pretty.”
Against his better judgment, Capitano strengthens his grip on your hand. “Shall I take it as an invitation to resume our meetings in the meadow?”
“Sure.” That is when you look up, a small smile adorning your face. “And if you can’t visit for whatever reason, I’ll pick a bouquet and preserve it for you.”
For once, Capitano is rendered speechless.
Rarely do you ever smile. Even to him, you retain your listless disposition—whether it is out of habit or lingering distance, he has yet to discern your reasons. But that is what makes it all the more special, those few instances when he is beholden to your expressions.
He wonders if this is what humans feel in the divine presence of angels, when they are borne witness to all things holy and beautiful.
Your smile is a phenomenon reserved only for the worthiest of souls. And in your grace, he has never felt more undeserving.
✿ ⚘
♡ At the end of winter, a religious war is authorized by the Church of Mondstadt. Shortly after the news reaches your town, Capitano informs you that he will be busy with “work.” He says it during another reading date, featuring Heart of Clear Springs. Before leaving, he kisses your hand and gives you a kind smile. There is a sad look in his eyes, but you don’t inquire further.
♡ In late spring, your town is attacked. With the entire area under fire, from your home to the meadow, you find yourself running back to the sacred building which you’d avoided for years. After all, though the enemy soldiers belong to a different denomination, they still worship the same god as you. In the present, the church is the only place on Earth where you can claim asylum and pray for your survival.
♡ Except every entrance is locked, including the doors to the orphanage. As the army reaches the town square, all you can do is bang on the front doors and beg to be let in. From inside, you can hear the voices of the people that luckily attended mass before the invasion. Some tell you to hide elsewhere, others beg you for forgiveness, a few sound like the nuns and caretakers who tormented you in the past.
♡ Before you can think of another sanctuary, a soldier strikes you. Pain…it has never felt more intense. Through your fading consciousness, you register your body falling and your head hitting the concrete. Blood pools from your forehead and trickles down the steps of the church, tainting it red.
♡ Life flashes before your eyes in a blurry sequence. The static images of God, sermons and bruises, unanswered prayers, people who never believed you or simply didn’t care. A birthday celebrated with your departure from the Church. Sanctuary found in the library followed by the meadow. Yet the numbness remained, each day bleeding into the next in a gloomy haze. In all those years, did you ever feel God’s love?
♡ It doesn’t matter at this point. A small part of you wonders if you should have retained your faith, continued your prayers, sought out salvation in the safety of your solitude. At least then, at the hour of your death, you wouldn’t be confronted with the fact of your humanity. The primal fear of death, the spiritual fear of ending up in Hell no matter Capitano’s reassurances.
♡ Capitano…where is he? Weakly, you call out to him but he doesn’t appear. Of course, why would he? You should feel thankful; it means he is probably safe, wherever he is. Still, you can’t help but wish he were here—if not to save you, as he has done by simply keeping you company, but to comfort you one last time. And those are the thoughts which plague you in your final moments, an unheard prayer on the tip of your tongue.
“I pray that we meet again, myself and the first person who truly loved me.”
♡ ______ died on a cloudy day, one of many people persecuted in the name of God. After the Church was destroyed and its followers slaughtered, their body was buried in a mass grave that once flourished with nature. There was a poignant quality to their countenance, an air of distress as transient as the flowers planted above them.
♡ At least, that is how your story ends from the perspectives of the survivors. But to the angels and demons who witnessed the destruction of your town, your death was only the end of a chapter in your life. In their eyes, Capitano had been present all throughout, an invisible witness to your death, absolute in his refusal to perform an unauthorized miracle.
♡ He remained by your side until the light faded from your eyes. That was when he took notice of the bouquet of narcissus clutched in your hand, tainted with blood despite your feeble efforts to save his gift. A soldier approached your corpse, intending to drag it down the steps for burial; but before they could touch you, Capitano appeared before them.
♡ It was only for a brief second, but the soldier drew back and cowered in fear. In the following days, they were haunted by the memory of the angelic figure who appeared outside the Church of Mondstadt. Or more precisely, the monster who prayed over a bloodstained corpse and took a bouquet of ruined flowers out of their grasp.
✿ ⚘
From the moment you wake up, all peace leaves the meadow.
What happened? Your memory comes back in hazy fragments—death, darkness, blinding light, pearly gates, ethereal figures. Most vivid is the sensation of strong arms and soft feathers, a familiar warmth which accompanied you throughout your journey.
As for your current surroundings, you are in a meadow so beautiful that it brings to mind the Garden of Eden. Flowers of every variety bloom across the scenery, some out of season. The sky is bright, sunless, a canvas of multiple colors. There are no other signs of life.
Internally, too, something feels off. A nearby pond provides a glimpse of your reflection—white garments, gold scars in place of your fatal injuries, your disoriented countenance. If this place is what you think it is…shouldn’t you feel at peace, happy even? And why are you alone?
Your gaze lands on a patch of flowers. Pure white, perianth petals, cup-shaped coronas…the same type of narcissus which grew in your favorite meadow. The flowers point in different directions, as though searching for a sun that does not exist.
“You are awake.”
A shadow touches your form, engulfing you in darkness. It bears a large, unrecognizable shape but such details escape you as you recognize the voice behind you.
“Capitano!” Immediately, you turn around, only to gasp and suppress a scream.
The person before you…can you even call him human? He is incredibly tall, to the point that you must crane your neck to see his face—assuming there is one beneath his iron mask. His body is clad in silver armor, stained blood in some places. A halo, shaped like a crown of thorns, shines behind his head.
But what shocks you are his wings. A single pair covered in radiant white feathers and eerily dark blue eyes. Each eye seems to glow with an uncanny aura.
Dark blue eyes with a striking resemblance to Capitano’s. What more for his long black hair and his solemn manner of speaking?
It doesn’t make your revelation any less unsettling.
“Capitano.” Your voice comes out in a nervous whisper. “Is it really you? You’re a…”
“An angel,” he confesses. He takes a step back, widening the distance between your bodies. “I ask that you pardon my appearance. Such was my sacrifice—for my true form, in all of its monstrosity, to be my sole image.”
His human face comes to mind, along with the kind gaze you fell in love with.
You feel the weight of multiple gazes on you. “What do you mean?”
“Is this realm to your satisfaction?” he asks. “I beseeched God to create a special paradise for you, cut off from the rest of Heaven. The price is that your capacity to feel negative emotions remains in this realm…though that is preferable.”
Preferable? How so? Right now, you can barely process what he is telling you. You are dead. Your companion is an angel. Your soul is in paradise, but not exactly.
After everything you’ve been through, you were still deemed worthy of a place in Heaven.
“I am sorry.”
Capitano’s voice brings you back to reality. He has never sounded more serious, emotional, repentant. And when you look up…
Is he crying?
Most of his eyes remain open, focusing on you with a fervent stare. But others are downcast, as if unable to face you. And a few appear glossy, blinking back iridescent tears.
“I am truly sorry.” He bows his head in shame, wings folded. “What I did to you was cruel, an absolute injustice.”
You don’t know which eyes to make contact with. “You—”
“It must have been painful,” he continues. “Even if I were to justify my actions, the truth lies in the fact that I tolerated your suffering for my own selfish desires. And that is why I ask not for your forgiveness, knowing I am the one at fault.”
Silence. In light of Capitano’s confession, all you can do is stare at him and comprehend the weight of your situation. What exactly are you supposed to feel, knowing his betrayal? Knowing that regardless of your feelings, you have nowhere else to go in the afterlife?
Yet despite it all, your prayer came true. The two of you were able to meet again.
And that is what compels you to take a step forward, to come closer until you are standing in front of him. “Hey, it’s…don’t cry.”
A delicate sensation blesses his wings—your hands carefully tracing his feathers to wipe away his tears. Several eyes widen in surprise, but all he can see in your gaze is sympathy.
“I’ll admit, it was painful,” you tell him. “Dying alone. But maybe it’s…better this way. If I survived, I’d have to deal with the loss of my home. And who knows what kind of living hell the other Church would’ve put me through?”
Above all, Capitano is the only person whose love you can believe in.
Hesitantly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. The next words to leave your lips are spoken with certainty, bringing fresh tears to his eyes.
“I’m sure it was an act of love on your part.”
His reaction is sudden, incurring your surprise. But all you can do is surrender to Capitano’s embrace, allow his free arm to hold your waist and pull you closer to him. His wings wrap around you, caging you in soft feathers and eerie blue orbs.
“Capitano?” You can only look up at him, peering into the contents of his mask.
…It’s like staring into an abyss, a night sky dotted with twinkling blue stars. But in the absence of a human likeness, his words express what a face cannot.
“Never again,” he vows, “shall I allow harm to befall you. That is a promise.”
The hand on your waist moves upwards to caress your face. His touch is light, more hesitant than his previous gestures.
“You need not serve God nor partake in fruitful labor like the other souls in Heaven. All I ask is that you rest, indulge yourself, enjoy this paradise to the fullest.”
A flower is pinned to his armor, right above his heart. You recognize it instantly—a narcissus in full bloom, stained with your blood.
“If you desire a flower, it shall grow at once. If there are any books you would like to read, they shall be brought to you shortly.”
What was the name of that variety again? Narcissus triandrus. Angel’s tears.
“If you are in need of my presence, I shall appear before you, so long as I am not in the midst of battle. And should you ever desire the opposite, I can promise my distance.”
When Capitano looks into your eyes, all he can see is his own reflection. Whatever emotion colors your gaze, it casts his true image in a compassionate light.
“I shall do everything in my power to bring you joy for all of eternity. Such will be my penance.”
“...All right.” With that, you close your eyes and lean into his touch. He feels warm, comfortingly familiar. “I’ll trust you on that.”
Rest in peace, ______.
Think not of your mortal body in the beginning stages of decay.
Think not of your tormentors who are paying for their sins in Hell.
Think only of eternity with your beloved savior.
♡
Note:: Church AU is still on my “will not write” list. I only wrote this because I specifically like Priest! Dottore and Angel! Capitano. Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics.
Aahhhh it's done....this idea turned out much heavier than expected, but I'm glad that I was able to write this!! I hope you all cried over enjoyed the story of Angel! Capitano and his damsel. They were truly a delight to write for~
Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @diodellet @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @harmonysanreads @mochinon-yah @oofasleep @micchikari @whispereons @thescribeoflostmemories
#il capitano#capitano#capitano x reader#yandere capitano x reader#yandere capitano#fatui x reader#yandere fatui harbingers#yandere genshin#genshin x reader#tw: yandere#tw: blood#tw: violence#tw: death#mdni#g/n reader#jessamine-writing
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what would your divine masculine be like as a father
message: I’ve clearly forgotten how to work Tumblr, I’ve had to rewrite this like sixty times but anyway, I owe ya’ll like 600 readings because I’ve been gone but I believe mercury retrograde in Virgo is trying to teach me work-life balance and get me to slow down and reprioritize self-care and rest. I’ve been very unproductive as of late, and I’ve just been trying to be patient with myself and wait until I had it in me to push out any content. Today, or this evening I feel a little pushed or called to do this reading and give you guys something after the drought my blogs and social media accounts have been in, I hope you enjoy the reading and find it fun and entertaining! 💙
***
i.
I’m automatically picking up on a very strong divine masculine here and energy. He’s enlightened, he’s in alignment with himself, his divine feminine, and he’s in tune. To say that he is only one parent all on his own would feel like an understatement as he is very nurturing, protective, and capable of many things, and being all the many people and guides and influences his children will need him to be throughout their lives. I’m hearing the saying “It takes a village.” And this is the type of father who could be the village all on his own if you couldn’t be there. You could have some sort of health issue or have a fear of not being able to be there for your children the way you should be or you may fear not being able to be the parent or the mother that they deserve due to your past and your experiences but this divine masculine is someone who will excel in parenting and raising children. If it so happens that you are not there or find moments where you’re not able to be completely there he would be able to take over and do what was necessary. That’s not to say that anything is going to happen to you or you’ll be faced with blockages that would prevent you from being present but if that were the case you could trust this divine masculine to carry your children as well as you.
This divine masculine loves you. He has a lot of love to give, he may have spent a large part of his life with his heart locked away in a box, or the love and the passion that he’s capable of giving locked away for his own safety so he could be sure he wouldn’t be giving it all away to the wrong person. He loves very deeply. You may know this person already and have a high-level soul mate connection with this person or a twin flame connection with this person. I’m hearing, you know this person's heart. You know who this person is, you recognize their higher self even if they don’t yet or the people around them don’t yet. And I see that he loves you very much, your children will be created out of love, will be well loved, and will be able to see what real love looks like. They’ll be able to see you not just being parents to them and loving them unconditionally but loving one another unconditionally.
You and this divine masculine could come from families with unstable relationships or marriages (ex. Divorce, a lack of marriage, abuse, etc.) and this connection was meant to break a generational curse, it is within your soul's purpose as a unit to break a generational curse and represent true unconditional love and partnership and I even feel called to bring this up because this divine masculine may have childhood trauma or deep wounds regarding his parent's relationship, seeing it be unsafe or unconventional or overall watching it fall away to nothing and feeling like he’s come from a broken family. In younger years of his life, he may run from commitments or run from you for fear that he is genetically cursed and his own marriage or relationship may feel if he were to invest in them. He could also have a very difficult or significant father figure here or a paternal line that holds a lot of weight or holds a lot of masculine energy wounds or wounding here and he may feel that because he comes from his father, he can only be him and that it’s only a matter of time before he turns into someone he doesn’t truly want to be or has had to forgive here.
He very deeply fears the shadow of his father. In earlier stages, this wounding could cause him to be afraid and maybe even pick up karmic habits of his father as if he’s trying to emulate him so that he could quickly become adjusted to who he believes he is going to become despite the feeling deep within his spirit that he wants something entirely different or doesn’t want to be that way. But, I see this divine masculine learning to turn his pain into power and learning to understand that his past circumstances and home life were a very large example of what it is he’s meant to change, break down, or do the opposite of. I’m hearing spirit asking how someone is supposed to make a difference or be the energy they want to be if they don’t see anything wrong within their family dynamics or within their past or experiences. This energy of creating strengths from within or spinning gold out of his experiences is not something he’s mastered yet or awakened to no matter how simple this concept may seem.
If you know this divine masculine already, he could be someone who always seems to be a couple of steps behind you, who may not be spiritually awakened, or who may step in and out of moments of alignment and enlightenment. I’m seeing a mermaid or a siren sitting on top of a rock in the sea just minding her own business and this would be you divine feminine and occasionally he peaks above the surface of the water, looking at you, admiring you, and even reaching his hand up to reach you but he’s quickly pulled down beneath the water by his own fears and karmic cycles. And when you reach your hand in the water or when you’ve reached your hand in the water in the past searching for him or trying to almost put yourself into alignment with him or come down to his level you may find even still that you could not reach him or see him because he was hiding and it wasn’t meant for you to come down to his level and shrink yourself down to fit into a reality or a energetic space you don’t quite belong in here divine feminine. That was really specific, but he will come into alignment and he will emerge from the water in all of his glory when the time is right and when he’s ready.
I’m seeing this divine masculine coming into his power and stepping into his higher self in time to become a father and raise children and him becoming a very gentle and patient father figure whose sole goal is to protect and to nurture his children and ease their suffering. There’s a very rough belief that parents need to prepare their children for the cold nature of the world by being cold to them so they know what to expect but I’m hearing that he’s had enough of the cold energy of the world and he wants a better world. I’m hearing that he experienced that type of parenting as a child and has been awakened to what it does to others and what it did to him and his only wish is to protect his children and to hold them all their lives no matter how big they get. No matter how cold the world gets they can always just come home. That’s what he wants.
He may spend a lot of his time as a father, working on himself spiritually, working through trauma, and reflecting on himself, his shadow, and his experiences and history so that he could be better and do better. When we grow up, we often forget where we came from, what we didn’t like as children, what types of things were hard for us and this constant self-reflection and introspection will make him a magnificent father. Very compassionate and understanding. His kids have a friend in him, a protector, and someone extremely loyal and dependable. I see this divine masculine being very heavy in the energy of protecting his children and shielding them from harm. He may be a father who is the first to stand up for his children and does it in a very outward way when he feels they’ve been wronged or mistreated, he may try to shield his children from social media or from the public if he’s someone who's in the public eye or generally just believes in evil eye and the idea that children and little souls are sacred and meant to be guarded. He is a protector of children. Fatherhood will serve him right.
He will wake up one day, next to his divine feminine, and all his five hunnit and sixty-thousand children, and realize that he wouldn’t rather be any place else and that this was the life he dreamt of, that this life heals his inner child, that this life is peaceful and safe and harmonious. I’m getting he’s going to be the type of man who keeps you pregnant every year or very frequently. He may come from a large family or come from a culture that very heavily values large families and lots of children. But, he will take care of you and make sure that your pregnancies are comfortable and that you receive the utmost care and support. He may even be very intrigued by your diet and wellness and may even educate himself on women’s health and maternity and holistic medicine. He could make a lot of money but be very focused on creating a good life for his children and for his wife. Buying the children's things, investing in his woman and her maintenance (e.g. Beauty, birthing luxuries, etc.) investing in her business ideas and desires, buying and investing money into houses, properties, cars, and the children’s education. He’s very serious about giving you and the children he gifts you with good lives!!!
He’ll learn that children teach you things and as a parent, it is not your job to know everything or shut down your children when they have ideas, differences in beliefs, etc. he will see fatherhood as a learning experience. I’m hearing he’ll become someone who is very strong in his belief that the children are the future and to build a better world means raising your children right and protecting them until the end. His approach to fatherhood and how good of a father is will contribute to his personal idea of success and happiness. When his children are upset with him or if he ever finds that his children dislike him this may bring about a large amount of depression or unhappiness for him. He may have grown up with a lot of conflict or may have had to fight to be treated with respect or be valued and acknowledged as someone who is deserving of peace, space, and good things and I see him passing on this energy to his children. They may grow up to have a way about themselves that’s very protected and serious about their boundaries and their respect. He may also take the time out to teach his children how to fight or involve them in martial arts from a young age.
He’ll always be planning ahead and looking out for these children as they complete him. You couldn’t ask for a better father figure he is the embodiment of the divine masculine, of the emperor. His past experiences will play a huge part in who he is as a parent and who he is as a father. He sees the inner child in everyone and he will most definitely see the inner child in his children. And he will give to them until he doesn’t have anything left. His children and his wife are his main priorities and he gives this energy that if it’s not about his money, about his wife, or about his kids he doesn’t want to talk. Don’t invite him lol.
***
ii.
Pile two, you may be really young when you conceive this baby, I'm hearing late teens or early twenties here. This baby could be a surprise for the both of you. Your divine masculine maybe someone you met and started seeing or talking to and it may have been a very chill connection that was flowing very nicely and creating a safe space for the two of you here. I’m getting very light and airy energy. You could meet this person around the spring or even early winter around Christmas time or around the holidays. You could’ve not met this person yet I’m hearing or you could be searching for your soul mate or for your twin flame or for some sort of divine partnership here that’s going to come in for you when you least expect it. There’s an energy of spirit really giving you the life you wanted, the connections you wanted in a very fast and sporadic fashion. Like really throwing it at you or flipping your whole entire world upside down with drastic changes. You may be an air sign or someone whose life is typically very disorganized or be very hectic and unpredictable. You also could’ve grown up in similar environments and have grown really used to the twists and turns of life.
And I’m hearing spirit saying that they’ll bless you that way as well and these sudden changes will then bring you your wish fulfillment and stability. It’s almost like you and this person had a very casual connection yet you may feel very connected and drawn to this person or feel very safe with this person. This person may travel a lot or be very adventurous or someone who is an earth sign or someone who likes to spend a lot of time outside, who may enjoy hiking, fitness, or sports, or be really into health and wellness and curating a beautiful lifestyle. This person really gives me like American psycho vibes almost but like except the murdering people and the like super over-formal and business-type energy. Like this person could be a little bit of a perfectionist and could be really particular and organized in his life and may be someone who is the opposite of you or reflects back to you the stability that you and your inner child crave. I'm getting “best part” by Daniel Caesar.
You could be someone who is generally very emotionally immature or someone who has a very childlike energy to them and may take that approach in relationships or may have had deep relationships in your past that were very chaotic and had an air of emotional immaturity that may have left you feeling hopeless or even unfulfilled or maybe a little undervalued and undeserving and I think spirit may give this person to you in a manner that’s very casual and immature like in energy and it may blossom into something bigger or you may feel as though this divine masculine is too good to be true and you may run from him or doubt your belonging in this connection but spirit is going to force you to stay with this person and understand what it feels like to be genuinely loved and be with someone who genuinely feels right for you. You could be someone who has to fall a couple of times to really get a lesson or who has to be beaten over the head with your lessons by the universe until you finally get it as well.
You may perceive your fate with this person or your connection with this person to be very unrealistic or again too good to be true but I do see some type of surprise pregnancy here. And you and your divine masculine may feel uneasy about this or as if this is some type of delay or something but this is really a blessing in disguise or a manifestation of what real love is. This child will be the result of real love and genuine connection. This child will be a physical manifestation of the love you’ve been looking for all your life. The stability you’ve been looking for all your life because the stability and the safety that is within your divine masculine will be within this child as well. This child and this connection will be spirits way of forcing you and your divine masculine to open your eyes and think far into the future and have something to fight for and create good lives around.
This divine masculine will take the insecurity and the lack of self-love and feminine power and energy you have within you and turn it into love to give right back to you and he will empower you as a divine feminine but also as a mother. He could see the true potential in you and see magic within you you don’t even see within yourself. This person will love you pile two and they’ll love the baby. They’ve discovered an entirely new world within you and your love, they’ve discovered a new purpose. And because of you and this experience your divine masculine will step into his higher self and truly embody this emperor energy and take care of and protect what’s his. The two of you may be nervous and feel that this level of change could result in something destructive and difficult for you but your minds will quickly change once you come into alignment with reality.
I see this person using all their gifts and talents to approach fatherhood and welcome a new baby into the world. This person like I said before could be really organized or be someone who likes to travel or is into health and wellness and they will apply the things they’ve learned in life to fatherhood this person may also be really smart, really good at math, or something of the sort and this person will teach their children a lot of the things that they’ve learned when it comes to math and academics. Instilling a hunger for learning and expansion of the mind in your children. They’ll be stepping into their power and pouring into your child and their child everything that they have within them. This person will be a young new father and he’ll want to take the baby with him everywhere.
I see him being at the grocery store with the baby in a carrier or taking the baby on morning jobs or on hikes or taking the baby to the bank with him or out to run errands and even taking the baby with him when he goes out to eat or treats himself to meals, all this while the baby is a attached to him. He’ll be the sort of father who prides himself in how much time he spends with his child and genuinely enjoys going on adventures with the baby. He may even be a father who is incredibly considerate of you and how much time you put into feeding and caring for the child, as well as how much rest you get. He’ll take on duties, he’ll feed and change the baby and take him outside to get fresh air when you need to rest. You won’t be a single parent who's married. You’ll be heavily cared for and he’ll make sure to create a safe space for you and honor you as not only his woman but a mother.
I see this baby healing him and healing his heart as well. He may have grown up feeling picked on or feeling like a bit of an outsider or like someone who didn’t feel validated in his ability to do things or in his talents. Nobody ever told him good job or gave him a pat on the back for making good decisions or doing well in things like school, sports, etc he could’ve been someone who took up a lot of hobbies, took up a lot of skills, or did a lot of things so he could get the validation and the attention he deserved and wished for. His background with health and wellness and fitness may have come from this but this baby will heal his connection to his hobbies and to taking care of his body not out of image and for the sake of other people and the way they view him but as someone who does what he does and enjoys what he does out of self-love because he wants to take care of himself, his mind, his body and he able to take care of his child and show up as the best version of himself.
For this baby, he’ll be dropping the remainder of any bad habits , insecurities, self limiting beliefs, and karmic people and cycles. He may even find within him the courage to remove himself from connections with people (family, friends, exes, etc.) who bring him down or make him feel bad or unhappy because he will be all for creating a safe emotional environment for you, for the baby, and for himself. I see a large heart chakra opening. Self-compassion, self-forgiveness, self-awareness, self-reflection. For himself and for you. Everything will align for him because of this baby and because of you, everything will make sense. He’ll be forever grateful and that energy will reflect in how he treats you and the life that you’ve gifted him with because he will grow to understand the significance of a woman in general but of a woman he loves and how much magic she can give him. All you have to do is give him his son and he’ll give you the rest lol. His inner growth will serve as a long-term investment in this baby's life and in your life. He will blossom into someone so enlightened and whole. He’ll socialize and connect with others in ways you haven’t seen before, he’ll be open to receiving and accepting better friendships and people who will contribute to his happiness and support him.
He may also become really involved in what to feed the baby when the baby starts on solids or starts eating real food. He may be interested in cooking meals for the baby, feeding the baby all types of different fruits and vegetables and expanding the palette. And he may also start giving the baby food even before most people say the baby is ready or encouraging the baby to try different flavors. I'm also getting like, do you remember how it used to be a trend to give a baby a lemon. He's one of those dads.
***
iii.
Out of nowhere, I’m hearing “Rock Your Body” by Justin Timberlake. I haven’t even shuffled the spread yet for pile three. I accidentally typed playlist instead of spread and I believe nothing is a coincidence. You may meet this person out dancing or this person may really like dancing or you really like dancing. I’m hearing “Don’t be so quick to walk away, dance with me. I wanna rock your body, please stay.” I’m also hearing the part of the song where it’s like “Talk to me, boy. No disrespect, I don’t mean no harm. Talk to me, boy. I can’t wait to have you in my arms. Talk to me, boy. Hurry up cause you’re taking too long.”
This could be someone you know already. Your divine masculine could be an ex or someone you had a connection with who almost felt like the right person wrong time. You could be secretly in love with this person here or could’ve been in love with this person for a long time and you may not have had the ability to love them the right way or be in a harmonious relationship with them but you always come back to one another and there’s love there but this divine masculine may run from you or be the runner within your connection. I see you trying to get this person to open up to you or to open up to you again here. I don’t know if there’s history here or some energy of you and this person being sweethearts of some sort or loving each other or having a relationship during your school years or during your early/late teens. This is really random for this portion of the reading but you could be really adamant about this child participating in extra curricular stuff like dance or sports. You could be into dance or sports.
The whole entire song, is really on point and I feel it resonates. Obviously, it’s a pop song and it’s very fun and like has a club vibe because it’s Justin Timberlake but if you look at the lyrics it’s clearly an exchange between two people, it’s clearly them talking about love and not being afraid to hold it or have it between the two of them. There could’ve been some sort of break up or some sort of rift between the two of you that caused some sort of space. There could’ve been a third-party interference or someone involved that couldn’t pushed a wedge between the two of you and affected this connection. Idk There’s a lot about this connection and I’m feeling called to channel and pull cards for it even though this reading is about what your divine masculine would be like as a father but apparently all of this is significant to the two of you and your connection.
I feel like the two of you may end up being intimate at an odd time in your life or within your connection and it may result in a pregnancy here. I think this person obviously loves you but there may be some sort of fear or trust issues involved regarding something that happened with a third party or within a past version of your connection but I’m hearing a spirit baby will be sent down to bring the two of you together and mend the connection. You could be a virgin or be someone who is not very sexually active or someone who hasn’t really explored their sexuality and that side of them yet but I see all of this coming to ahead with this person being around and all of this is a part of the divine plan here. This person may be older than you. Be very close to you or be a friend of the family of some sort as well. They may have some type of experience over you as well as sexually and you may end up getting in a habit of being intimate with this person or sharing moments of intimacy with this person and one thing will lead to another here.
I see this divine masculine being a very protective father here. And it is genuinely because they see so much of this child within you and them protecting this child will be them protecting you or loving you through this child even when you’re at odds or even in moments where they feel closed off or distant despite loving you very much and admiring you. I hear spirit telling me that a child with your divine masculine would bring so much needed Justice to your connection and to his world. His love for this child will draw him closer to you and make him love you even more and push him to become awakened to this connection and how much you truly mean to him and how much he needs to heal and let you in the way things used to be. This person may feel that you’re in a love drought or feel that they’re disconnected from you or that you’re generally out of their reach and I see fatherhood allowing your divine masculine to over come this and not feel that way anymore. “Love drought” by Beyoncé could be significant. Also “she’s mine” parts one and two by J. Cole.
All of these memories you have, all of this time you’ve spent together will ultimately come back to this divine masculine and open him up without you having to lift a finger. The formation album is really significant to me right now, the way she goes through these motions, the way she tells this story and talks about her healing journey and the process of healing. I’m not saying we should be cheating on each other and staying married or anything but there is a level of unconditional love and rebirth that Beyoncé is talking about throughout this album. Connections have to go through cycles, past versions of connections have to die, they have to be reborn again, and the people within them have to die again and again and again and reborn themselves so they can continue to love one another as a collective, as a unit.
And that’s why Beyoncé stayed married to her husband after their hardship and what happened because she loves someone unconditionally, even when his karmic cycles and energies come up and push him to make bad decisions and put her in unfortunate situations, she loves him even still, because she grows to understand that his actions have nothing to do with her and her glory, her beauty, and her magic and they have everything to do with the way he feels/felt about himself. The energy you bring to your connection, to your divine feminine/divine masculine is the energy you’re harboring within you. I say all of this because it pertains to your connection with this divine masculine as well. Whatever this was that created the space, that brought death to the connection for rebirth, all of these memories, all of the love, all of the connection and intimacy will give the connection life again. He will pour his knowledge of unconditional love into your child, he will love your child unconditionally as he chooses to love you.
He will be able to let go of self-limiting beliefs and fears and the ego-based energy that keeps him stagnant or keeps him away from you or at a distance. This very well may be a twin flame connection that you have here, this rebirth, this release of co-dependent ideas and limiting beliefs and mindsets are very twin flame connection esc. His self-care and his self-love will be loving you, allowing himself to be truly connected with you, and loving the baby he created with you. This baby will bring upon true rebirth and inner calling. This will be a wish fulfillment for him and he will treat it as such.
I know this message was different from the other piles but I know it was meant.
***
I don't know who needs to hear this but DO NOT SETTLE!!! These divine masculine that belong to you, that you will lives with exist! You need to believe that and be ready to receive them. These people, these divine masculines may still be unawakened or still be sorting through their own trauma and cycles and coming into alignment with themselves and you may feel as though the right person for you, your divine counterpart doesn't exist or isn't out there but that is simply not the case. He is out there but spirit is preparing him for you, getting him ready so that when he comes you may receive each other and live in harmony. Don’t settle. Don’t become discouraged.
#self love#self care#self improvement#self discovery#dream girl#self expression#manifestation#divine feminine#healingjourney#self healing#divine masculine#divine feminine collective#divine masculine collective#pac reading#pick a card#pick a group#pick an image#tarot cards#tarot readings#tarot witch#love tarot reading
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I'm not sure if requests are still open since it's early in the morning where I'm from and idk how our timezones work, please delete this if it isn't orz. If it isn't too much trouble, a dainsleif fic mayhaps 🙏😔? I miss him so much and he didn't come home this patch, can be a short drabble ^^.
Not sure if it's leaning on your "things in consideration" list, but the prompt can be:
You've been under his radar for years but now that he's tracked you down, an unknown child who mirrors his blue Khaenriahn eyes guards you with his small and very fragile life. Those eyes... They're eerily familiar.
(side note: Dain isn't the type who thinks children automatically have a heart of gold lolol. He's kinda a hater when it comes to children cept for Yaoyao /jjjj, maybe that's some extra spice to add for the reason why reader is so terrified and left as soon as she had the opportunity?)
Reconteur
yandere!dainsleif x reader
cw(s) : yandere, implied female reader (the narrative is not gender specific but the word 'mother' has been used once)
wc : 1.7 k
this was an interesting challenge for me because this is one theme i've not done before, with a character i've also never written for! i'm extremely sorry for the wait as i got distracted by hsr :') and thank you so much for requesting<3
a delightful illustration by the loveliest person <3 (spoiler alert!)
Stories are truly spectacular.
They're capable of preserving bygone memories ; changing, adapting and sometimes, becoming far too distant from reality. Like saplings of the tree which extends its roots throughout Teyvat and, their seeds are welcomed by the flighty wind, soon to be cultivated by the torrents of time. The present will one day become history and that history will be archived for posterity to learn and criticize. One such story inspires much intrigue, dressed in charming rhetoric and is thus cataloged among fairy tales : a bittersweet tale of a Knight and an Angel.
And in classic format it goes — once upon a time, a defiled Knight cried out to the heavens, for he could not win against the temptation of seeing the forbidden pearl. This blatant defiance earned him but a curse of eternal agony and soon, he begged the skies for salvation. The clouds softened and sent him a little Angel, who quelled the fires of his pain bit by bit, until it became an infinitesimal dot in the Knight's soul. Brimming with gratitude, the Knight offered his very being to the Angel's service and of course, they lived happily ever after.
Now suppose, fundamentally speaking, if fairy tales are but stories and the retelling of history follows the same pattern — who are the storytellers?
The victors, of course.
The dull thud of pages colliding shut assuages Dainsleif, for the story which now finds itself beside children's bedside tables serves no other purpose than to instigate dulcet fantasies, losing credence before the trials of history. It brews a litany of feelings in his numbed heart until they intertwine and transform into a yarn of befuddling human emotions ; echoing in his ears that this is what his past has become.
Albeit, this hardly astonishes the Bough Keeper. When a war ends and the winners hoist their flags, they'd obviously be privy to recounting their glories — none of them would ever write that the Knight in the story had never begged the heavens for forgiveness and no such Angel was sent. Instead, he'd seen fit to snatch the Messenger that'd implored him to return to his right mind and one would think that Celestia had taken great offense in this act, but no one batted an eye.
That is because the Messenger, too, was forsaken by their home, a fallen angel with no wings and no divinity left. Whose existence became synonymous to that of a firefly and the Knight, became the darkness that allowed it to glow. When two broken individuals unite, they either complete their flaws or destroy one another and sadly, in his case, it was the latter.
But is it such a sin to wish for a normal life? Dainsleif muses as he passes by giggling groups of unassuming humans, desperate vendors trying to sell their wares and many more individuals who might carve their places in the next epics of Teyvat. Often is it said, you only learn to value things after they leave your grasp and while his memory does erode day by day, he'll forever remember that Angel's — your countenance, how the corners of your lips used to curve before they did no longer, how every word of yours bewitched his decaying mind and built it anew.
He was an ant chasing after the fragrance of sugar, a mindless bug blinded by a speck of light, an apophyte clinging desperately to the bough, a sinner. And sinners do not deserve luxuries called normalcy, love or a home. The aftereffects of the Cataclysm that befell his homeland drove uncountable masses to nihility, some embraced their hatred while others rotted in corners of this world. It is testament to Dainsleif's willpower that he'd not been conquered by insanity yet. Indeed, he's always practiced rationale and patience ; which have also aided him in his prolonged search for you.
He investigated till every rock of this wretched world became his acquaintance and he kept on hanging to the last traces of your existence. But, as every expedition led to a dead end, he was forced to accept a lamentable realization, that he missed you. He missed you so much. He'd vowed to never kneel before those who took everything from him, at this point in his life though, he found himself one breath away from begging that floating island — if only it'd bring you back to his side.
Rain. It'd rained before that catastrophic day and on the eve you trespassed in his life as well. Would you laugh if you saw him in this state? Or, would you coax him up from his knees and shield him from the rain? A hoarse chuckle leaves his lips, how shameless does one need to be to still expect comfort from the being they hurt repeatedly? He'd rather not hear the answer.
“Mister?”
The sky growled at his misery but he could not differentiate it from a mocking sneer. He blinked upon feeling the absence of raindrops falling on his person and raised his head to stare.
It is as though the stars gazed at him back, “Why are you kneeling on the ground on a rainy day, mister?”
Dainsleif stared owlishly, his mind momentarily ceased to comprehend the present. The boy that'd reach his knees at most if Dainsleif had been standing returned his gaze in equal interest. Though the man failed to decipher those familiar eyes, it seemed that the boy had reached a conclusion.
“Oh, you must be in pain! Here, take one of my apples.”
The Bough Keeper jolted at the fruit that was shoved to his hand, in the blur of his confusion he'd not taken note of the bag full of apples clutched by the boy's other hand.
“My mother said that an apple a day would keep the pain away—ah, or was it the doctor? Anyway, please take it and don't look so sad. I should really be returning now…!”
Dainsleif opened his mouth (To protest, to question or to thank? He didn't know.) as the boy dashed away, the pitter-patters of the rain lulled his footsteps and left the man a great deal dumbfounded. He looked at the apple, now glistening with rainwater and recalled the boy's words. On normal occasions, he'd be tempted to immediately evacuate the vicinity after that mildly embarrassing encounter but, the memory of the starry gaze that rendered him speechless implored him to follow the boy's tracks.
At this point, his mind was operating on instinct, tracing the footprints of an unknown child without purpose would be the farthest thing he'd put on his agenda in his current state. The dense forest swallowed his form until it finally gifted him with a clearing, a small source of light peeked past a half open window and enticed him closer.
“...re…were…y…?”
The man only came to his senses after hearing muffled voices, standing before what he assumed was the door to the thatched cottage. For a second, he debated whether to continue this rendezvous but resigning that he'd come too far, he decided to take a peek through the window.
The rain lulled just enough to not be an outright nuisance, succinct yet unforgettable — there you were, separated by but a weak wooden structure and Dainsleif's stupefied mind. You are there. Are you really there? Right before his eyes, emerging out of nowhere after he turned Teyvat upside down just to find some reassurance that you're still alive? Your eyes narrowed in that familiar frown and rubbing a towel through a boy's hair—
Wait, what?
Fine strands of blonde clung to Dainsleif's forehead, a few drops of water dripping down to join the small puddle under his feet. He gaped like a fish at the scene and at the boy who led him to this epiphany, completely forgetting vigilance.
“Did you talk to anyone, son?”
Flowers bloomed in his heart at the sound of that familiar lilt and his breath hitched as he processed the contents you uttered. Son. You called that boy son. In the light of your humble abode, he noticed the boy's golden locks of hair that he'd previously foregone and a conclusion crawled its way to his mind. He has a child. He has a child? Dainsleif knew you have a knack for unpredictability but this level of surprise was not what he was expecting upon your first appearance after all these years. He dwelled on the question of how it was even possible for a while, he recalled the boy's eyes ; those characteristic star-shaped pupils would never lie. Voices reached his ear again and he decided to cast aside these questions for a later time.
“I did, but the man looked so sad all alone in the rain! So, I gave him one of the apples because I didn't know what else to do. I promise I didn't talk too much!”
You paused for a while, a cautious query followed, “What did he look like?”
The boy copied your silence this time, finding great interest in your nails before exclaiming, “Pretty ordinary!”
Dainsleif didn't know why but that gave a sting to his heart, he looked back to you to see the unreadable expression on your face slowly shift to a soft smile. You affectionately ruffled the boy—his boy's hair, the action somehow softened the ache in his soul. Until he remembered that he was ignorant of his own son's name. He was one who preferred to form his opinion of everyone from a neutral point of view and while he's not one to excuse children's behavior just because of their age, seeing his own son speak half-truths at this stage raised many more concerns to be dropped in the pile.
You're not someone who'd preach dishonesty to a child but considering the situation you are currently in and the things this child must've seen, he found himself understanding. The skies rumbled and Dainsleif barely pushed back the urge to kick down the door and take his family to where they belonged. But seeing the smile that he'd yearned for so many years, he hesitated. You'd fought hard to earn this little happiness and acting on his impulses now, however justified they might be, would be dishonoring your efforts. And judging by your reactions, he can already sense that you won't just sit idly by for him to pounce on.
So, he'll be patient for bit longer and when the time is right, it'll seem as though his family returned to his arms out of their own volition.
#requests: batch two#answered#beloved-brynn#yandere dainsleif#yandere dainsleif x reader#dainsleif x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere#yandere genshin impact x reader#yandere genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#something in my heart tells me that dain gives off girl-dad vibes#buuuut since you mentioned it#tbh dain is so real for that opinion like.. have you seen children these days 💀
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How Finite is Love?
This is a short little piece set in @shirecorn‘s super cool mlp AU! This is just a first pass at it, I’ll definitely refine it if I post it to a fic site. I just HAD to get this out though, the au hits all my sweet spots!
Shining Armor considers the ponies he loves, and how a mortal pony can love goddesses.
Shining Armor held no resentment towards his two favourite mares. It wasn't their fault. They had no choice. Shining wasn't certain he believed in destiny, but whatever happened to his wife and baby sister sure was close.
First it was his wife, and that he could handle. She was an adult. They had fallen in love in highschool, they had grown together, Shining knew how strong Cadance was. If anypony deserved ascension, it was her.
If anypony could weather this, it was them.
He loved his wife with every bone in his body, every fiber of his being, every ounce of magic he could channel. And he knew she felt the same. If she didn't... this never would have happened.
Can love be a curse? Can loving somepony too much damn your soul? Can it save it?
About a month after Cadance gained her horn, Shining Armor decided dwelling on these questions wasn't helpful, and the answers didn't matter. He loved Cadance, and Cadance loved him. He couldn't change the past, wasn't sure if he even would -- but he was dead set on building a happy future.
At least as happy as he could give her. He couldn't guarantee that the love his mortal body held would last into her infinity, but he was determined to try.
He hoped it wouldn't destroy her to leave him behind, when the time came.
He loved her too much for that.
===
He had celebrated when The Sun took notice of Twilight.
The young stallion was oblivious to the looks of quiet worry on his parents' faces, the body language that said they were resigned to a cautious optimism. How could the attention of the source of Equestrian life bring anything but fortune?
He wasn't yet old enough to have heard the whispers. The old fables weren't circulated in school for fear of divine retribution, and Shining Armor was not as studious as his sibling.
Now?
Had he the power, he would have torn The Sun from the sky.
His baby sister, the sweetest and most sensitive mare he had ever known, damned to an eternity of watching her friends die.
She was a child (she was older than Cadance had been) she needed protection (she had brought down false gods) she wasn't ready (The Sun had learned from its mistakes, this new goddess was more than prepared).
She needed him.
Didn't she?
(She did, once.)
He was proud of her, of course. And if he had been watching for the signs, he wouldn't have been surprised.
Twilight Sparkle had always had an innate love for those around her. Before she had locked herself away in that tower amongst the tomes, she had been a kind filly. And even then, she had never quite managed to harden her heart.
She was still openly affectionate with him, with Cadance, with Twilight Velvet and Night Light. She shared her knowledge with them because it was how she said 'I love you.'
Leave it to a goddess to exploit that trait.
When Shining managed to find time to talk with his Twily after she had earned her wings, she had said her job as goddess was 'to spread the knowledge of friendship' and to teach others what friendship truly meant. She sounded excited, happy. She had found a purpose for her research.
Shining Armor wasn't sure if his baby sister hadn't yet considered the consequences of eternal life, or if it simply didn't bother her. He didn't ask.
He realized that while she was still his Twily, and would be until the day he died, she was more. She was Ponyville's friend. She was Celestia's Twilight Sparkle.
She was Equestria's new goddess.
He renewed his vow to remain her BBBFF forever, to keep her safe from turmoil and danger.
He swallowed down his anger and despair that night, in favour of his inevitable role as protector. He had his cutie mark, and he knew what it meant.
===
Shining Armor loved the mares in his life, and he would go to the ends of Equestria to keep them safe and happy, whether they needed him or not.
He was glad, at least, that they would have each other.
#my writing#mlp#fanfiction#shining armor#princess mi amore cadenza#twilight sparkle#dude it took me half as long to get the formatting to work as it did to write what the HECK#i don't know why sometimes i get the text editor with colour and sometimes I don't#anywayyyyyy#i am considering a follow up where he ascends and becomes the god-prince of protection#and the three of them become considered a trifecta#they are the abstractions as opposed to the sun and moon's concretes#i'm usually not into happy endings i'm very into bittersweet stuff#but the tantalizing concept of creating a god. a mythos. well that's something i'm very into#silly shining! just because they don't*need* you doesn't mean they don't *want* you!#and that's why he's not the god of love
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The Balladeer's Regret - Scaramouche x GN! Reader
character : Scaramouche
prompts : 19. “i can’t do this anymore” & 24. “just leave me alone”
summary : loving Scaramouche is hard, and you were aware of it. yet you never stopped loving him. his harsh words may sting, but you know deep down that he was a gentle soul and he never meant those things he said. you fell in love with Kunikuzushi, so gentle and fragile. if only he had noticed earlier how badly he had hurt you. he wanted to turn back time. but he knew that he couldn’t. he had lost everything because of his own foolishness.
- spoilers for Sumeru Archon Quest Act 2 & 3, pure angst/no-comfort, cursing, arguments, scara spitting harsh words, scara’s real name spoiler, scara’s past, not proofread
- word count : 1.8k
~ my entry for @versadies angstober writing collab - farewell, love
“Don’t leave me…”
“Please stay…”
“I didn’t mean all those things…"
These were the words that have been echoing inside his mind now. His mind was begging for him to drop his ego and call out to you, to stop you. He didn’t want you to leave him like the others. Not when he didn’t have anyone else but you.
How ironic of him, to feel distraught when you turned on your heels to walk out the door of your shared home. He recalled the poisonous words that spilled from his mouth, that were directed towards you. The look of hurt in your eyes and the way your expression faltered when he pushed you away and raised his tone at you. He didn’t mean anything that he said.
He swore that he could feel his non-existent heart shattering at the sight of your glistening tears cascading down your cheeks and your hushed whisper of “I’m sorry..” while you backed away from him. He could never forget how your voice trembled when you uttered the words that had Scaramouche breaking down right after.
“I still love you.”
He had taken your kindness for granted. You had always been with him even before he was known as Scaramouche. You had been with him since he was nothing but a broken puppet, Kunikuzushi. You accompanied him and lent your shoulder for him to cry on when you found him cornered by the darkness of Shakkei Pavilion. You saved him from his greatest suffering, which was loneliness and betrayal.
But the greatest pain was being betrayed by his own creator, his mother. The mother who was supposed to take care of her child with care. He never got to feel a mother’s love, for his mother replaced him with another puppet after taking notice that Kunikuzushi was too weak. He cried in his dreams, which showed his vulnerability and his fragility. A puppet that has emotions simply couldn’t be called a puppet, now can it?
Kunikuzushi had always been a gentle being, far from what his creator was expecting for a divine being, a god’s replacement. Yet, he couldn’t do anything as he was created with these human emotions. He swore to lock away all remaining emotions he had in himself so that he could grow stronger. He wanted to show his creator that he is not weak.
That was until he met you. Your existence in his life changed his objective and purpose. Even so, he still desired to claim the godhood he should’ve obtained if not for his stupid emotions getting in the way hundreds of years ago.
You had always loved him, no matter the circumstances. But you couldn’t fully agree with him when he decided to seek help from Il Dottore to achieve godhood. You knew how crazy it sounded and how far Dottore could go to achieve anything he desired. He was the 2nd Harbinger for Archon’s sake.
You weren’t against the idea of Scaramouche reaching divinity, but you were worried about his safety too. But you knew better than to interrupt their plans. You could get your head blown if you try to mess with Dottore, even when you two were quite well acquainted a few years ago when you were still in the Fatui. But that was long ago.
Ever since you both started living in Sumeru, you rarely ever see Scaramouche coming home. He’d either stay in his office or not come home at all for a few days. It was starting to make you worry. A puppet doesn’t need sleep, but he wasn’t completely a synthetic puppet. You had the right to make sure that he’d taken care of himself too.
The clock in your shared bedroom was ticking ever-so-slowly, making you sigh for the umpteenth time. “This can’t keep going on..” That was when you decided to have a talk with him once he really comes back.
You didn’t know how it turned out like this. It was supposed to be a simple talk regarding his absence and his goal to achieve divinity. That’s all. How naive of you to think that he’d apologize just like he always did. You really thought that you could simply convince him when you were talking about the only goal he tried so hard to achieve?
He was starting to think that you were doubting him and his capabilities. He was created to become a god, so why were you against it now? Didn’t you promise him to always be with him until he has fulfilled his goal to become a god? Are you betraying his trust now? How pathetic.
He was losing his temper. He knew that he couldn’t control his anger that well. The way you worded it made him realize that all humans are the same. They can’t be trusted. “Kuni, I’m just saying that what you’re planning with Dottore is quite.. dangerous.” Dangerous, you say? He was a divine being, created with the power that equals those of gods. Don’t you dare spit out those stupid nonsense in front of him.
“Are you underestimating me and my capabilities? Come on, you knew better than that.” The way he glared at you made you feel small under his gaze. It made you feel terrified of the sudden change in his aura. It has become unsettling and dark. You fucked up and there was nowhere you could hide.
"It wasn’t that.. But- You’re going to hurt the people in Sumeru.. Besides, this nation already has its own god, so why bother taking her place?“ You were careful with your words, trying to not worsen the situation you’re in. The atmosphere was getting tenser each passing time that you could barely breathe through your lungs.
“That small kid? She couldn’t even do anything. She’s weak and useless at this point. I’m just doing a favor for her people. I can be a better deity than her.” His tone was no longer the gentle tone that Kunikuzushi always used. It was Balladeer taking over the conversation. His voice was full of venom, and he stared at you with a look that feared you.
A look of disapproval was written on his face. He must’ve hated you now. How stupid you were, to bring up about his purpose of life when he trusted you to always be with him.
It had to be said even though it was going to hurt both you and him. You really didn’t want him to get hurt. It was the least you could do. “How do you know that Lesser Lord Kusanali wasn’t able to look after her people? As far as I know, she’s the gentlest and the kindest Archon.. Please have faith in her. You don’t have to do all this just because of your goal to achieve godhood. Ei had acknowledged your strength so please…”
You almost ran out of breath after holding it in for far too long. You shifted your gaze towards Scaramouche and you were stunned. He was taking quick steps towards you before holding you by the hair. Disappointment and hatred could be seen in his eyes as he made you face him directly.
"What is it that’s so fucking hard for you to understand. I was born as a divine being and this is how I’d get what I deserved. Your opinions don’t matter to me. You’re just a weak mortal who just happened to have some pity for me, hmm? You never cared, didn’t you? I should’ve known better than to trust a mortal.“ He looked at you with pure loathe. You couldn’t bear to see him looking at you as if you’ve been nothing but a burden and a hindrance.
You ignored the aching sensation on your scalp as he was still holding a fistful of your hair in his hand. The sharp pain in your heart hurt more than anything you’ve ever felt. You tried to grab him by the shoulder to make him halt his movements. It hurts so much… “Don’t touch me…” He let go of your hair and took a step away. You dropped onto your knees, hissing from the searing pain as you held your scalp with your hand. It took a lot of strength in you to hold the tears in. This truly wasn’t what you had expected.
You called out his name in a small voice. “Scara-” “Don’t you dare say anything else!” You still continued even though it was clear that he didn’t want to hear anything from you. “I can’t do this anymore..” You uttered while leaning against the wall to steady yourself. He then laughed mockingly at you, showing that he had expected this from the start.
"Are you now? Have you finally realized that you were simply useless? Look at you, pathetically crying over small insults. Humans are weak, they are too vulnerable and worthless compared to a divine being. You were just a pawn in my plan, after all. You meant nothing to me. Your pathetic emotions will only distract me from achieving my goal.“ He was too harsh, but he could care less. These stupid emotions will only drag him down.
“Oh and one more thing,” He continued while taking a few steps toward where you were weakly standing on your feet. His eyes settled on you as he gave you a deadly glare that almost had you shedding more tears. “Just leave me the fuck alone, and never show yourself in front of me again, you traitor."
It dawned on him like crashing waves. He had lost you, the only person who stayed long enough and sacrificed their whole life to be with him. He knew he fucked up. But his ego was too big for him to chase after you and apologize, even though his mind was practically screaming at him.
He never knew warmth and love anymore. His artificial heart was beating frantically in his chest. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… He could never take those harsh words back. You probably loathe him now.
He deserved it. He was the one who had wished for this. He wanted you to leave him alone, so you obliged by getting out of his life completely. He lashed out at you and put the blame on you. He broke your heart. Your gentle and fragile heart that he once swore to protect. Five words were all it took to completely lose everything. He had lost you, his other half. You, who had given him your heart to feel the warmth of love and care.
Now, he felt nothing but numbness and emptiness. You must’ve felt lonely too when he wasn’t home for a long time. The deafening silence in every corner of your home was driving him insane. The atmosphere in your shared room had never felt this cold. The mattress felt hard under his weight. The duvet felt uncomfortable. Something was wrong. No, everything felt wrong. It lacked warmth and love. Something that he could never gain again. All because of his foolishness.
He was foolish to have pushed you away for his own selfishness. He was even more foolish to even think that he deserved a happy ending despite all the horrible things he had done. Especially towards you.
#farewell-love#scaramouche x reader angst#scaramouche angst#wanderer x reader angst#wanderer angst#genshin impact angst#genshin angst#genshin x reader angst#genshin x reader
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29, fluff with Tsu’tey??
GIFT OF SONG
i love my tsu'tey <33 it was nice to write smthn abt him that wasn't complete angst LOL, hope you enjoy bby
You were told that being blessed with the gift of song was a true blessing from Eywa. To sing like harmonies themselves were created within you, it was truly a gift.
Your weakness however was your inability to show it off to anyone. You were reserved, tending to opt for silent foraging rather than large hunts. Or quiet fishing with your bow rather than communal festivities.
Some looked at you poorly for this choice in your activities. But it wasn’t as if you didn’t want to be around your people, you simply enjoyed the solitude of yourself more.
Though recently, the fierce, proud, and strong warrior Tsu’tey was confused but your odd behaviours. As children he never took notice of you, and that habit expanded into his adolescence. But as he grew older he started to take note of the women in the clan. Well, the prettier women.
You were beauty itself to Tsu’tey, truly a blessing to the eyes and to his home. So he was naturally curious to see what you spent your days doing rather than spending it with the clan.
So he followed you down to the river, hoping to spark a conversation with you, get to know you more. You were sat on your knees, picking herbs off the ground into a weathered basket, that had obviously been used many times. He must make you a new one he thought.
He was caught up in his own fantasies as he stared at you, trying to think of all possible scenarios that would occur if he were to approach you. He was obsessing with the thought that you would immediately take interest in him as well. Eywa, he prayed you took interest.
It wasn’t until a divine sound resounded within his now perked up ears. Focusing he realised that the sound was coming from you. Singing as if you were the creator of the first songs. You were magical to listen to.
Tsu’tey wishes he kept his usual composure up for longer, so he could listen to your harmonious voice just a tad longer. He cursed himself for being so impulsive with his actions, it was out of character for him.
“I did not know you could sing Y/N” You let out a loud gasp. Grasping onto your chest in shock, staring wide eyed up at the man towering above you.
Was the Tsu’tey talking to you? Y’know the tall, strong, lean, handsome, fierce warrior that protects your clan day and night. And he caught you singing. You might die of embarrassment. Right here, crumble into the floor and become one with the soil.
“That was purposeful.” You spoke back to him, turning away from his merciless stare, cheeks burning up as he shuffled to get a better view of your face.
“You sing well.” He said it so nonchalantly it made your heart burst, stomach churning as you tried to calm down your nerves.
“Thankyou Tsu’tey.” You were collecting your stuff now, ready to escape this interaction with such an attractive man.
“Why have I never heard you sing before?” You halted in your spot, grip on the basket in your hand tight as you tried desperately to conjure a response that didn’t make you look incredibly odd to the curious warrior in front of you.
“I am not one for performing.” It was easier then explaining your dread of interaction just like this one.
“Hiding such a gift is cruel. You have been truly blessed by the great mother.” Tsu’tey was spilling his thought as if he was the pouring rain, flooding you with compliments. Something about you made his tough composure, you melted it away.
“Thankyou again, but I don’t believe my gift is for the public eye.”
“Can it be for the private eye?” Your eyes widened, shocked at his confidence. To ask such a question. It wasn’t taboo but it was showing a sense of attraction. Was the man you were insanely attracted to feeling the same?
“What do you mean?” An innocent question. Totally not one that lingers for an answer towards courtship, towards the acts of wanting another clan member.
“I’d love to hear your voice again. May I take you on a flight, show you the spots of the forest that have enticed me. Like your voice has. Like you have.” Tsu’tey was courageous, he was charming and his charms did not faulter. Your cheeks were a dark purple, skin hot as your stomach whirled.
“Yes you may.”
#tsu'tey#tsu'tey x reader#tsu'tey imagine#avatar#avatar the way of water#avatar oneshot#tsu'tey avatar#tsu'tey fic#tsu'tey x y/n#tsu'tey fluff#tsu'tey drabble
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judas
summary: who can be blamed for a world wide calamity? the executioner, the judge, or the jury?
word count: ~1.3k
-> warnings: mention of blood, implied death(you, but you revive after), um minor spoilers for inazuma and sumeru archon quest, as well as for kazuha lore
-> gn reader (you/yours) and unspecified traveller (no pronouns)
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr
< masterlist >
to see a god is a feat most strive their whole lives toward. to bear witness to one so much holier than you, to view a deity far beyond your time. mortals pray to statues and shrines, each vying for the eye of the heavens, a select few showing off their rewards in the form of a gleaming vision.
but even those with a vision cannot see the stars. true gods- the true god is a memory beholden to only a few, to those that remember the times prior to the archon war. before the creator lifted to celestia, sequestered away far from the petty meddling of people.
they’re missed. they’re always missed. the gods have a hole their gnoses are too small to fill, a deep ache that beats with their hearts, yearning for the one they called ‘home.’ it’s not unlike the feeling one gets on a clear night, looking up to the stars, knowing the world’s so vast and you are so small, unsure whether to be afraid or comforted.
so they wish their god a well recovery? do they grieve the idea that they may die before that happens? do they grab a bottle from the shelf and bear headaches without hangovers, do they sit at a worn table and drink tea nobody else remembers, do they sleep endlessly, hoping to dream instead? what does one do, when so alone? what does one do, when the stars blanket the sky and they are struck with the remembrance of their finite lives?
mortals get up from their blankets. look away, go to bed, rise the next day with the only star they know being the one that warms the stones beneath their feet. but gods don’t tire easily, and the nights are known for stretching far longer than days.
the unlucky ones die.
the cursed are given a false prophet.
“if you remember me, then i don’t care if anyone else forgets.”
the greater lord was kind. too kind. beloved. unfairly so. how strange, she wondered, fading to dust, that she did not see her god greeting her. how odd, she thought, that the closest she had come to heaven was within the moments before her death.
it’s not her fault. it never was. the eyes that watched from celestia were hard with iron and not time, cruel with choice and not purpose. so many died, so many didn’t have to, so many fell under the foot of a fraud while their true colors hid behind a mask.
“do you remember me?”
“do you?”
it wasn’t your fault either. it never was. your chosen warrior, your first picked, saved from the grips of the one who had stolen your place. so many people, so many names, so many conversations held within proxy. the earth remembered, the people rejoiced, and yet it was only your golden companion that questioned the sea.
(the waves calmed. eons old bodies finally laid to rest. the abyss itself stilled for just a moment, just long enough to stop and watch you smile, and even now occasionally lent an ear to your pride.)
how unfair, that you once laughed together but now cry alone.
to lay eyes upon the divine is one thing. to view with one’s own eyes even a fraction of true power is enough to blind the commons, and even the most ancient dragon must bow its head. but to touch? to hold, to grasp, to feel universes thrumming beneath your fingers, the power of giants hovering barely an inch away?
“we named a constellation after you.”
you had said hello. a god, a being so far beyond mortal understanding, crouching to one knee and extending a hand to a child that had fallen. you could have walked by. perhaps on another day you might’ve. but you didn’t recognize the world as your home, and she didn’t recognize you as hers, fleeing to the guards the moment she saw something a little too bright in your eyes.
it wasn’t your fault. the ground is stained with blue and that child’s hand burns with the fire found in the core of a newborn sun, hot and new far too much for someone so young to handle. a samurai will never be able to look at his sword the same way again, but you shouldn’t blame yourself for that either. his hand holds the grip as his own shakes, red eyes struggling to take in what he sees.
the human mind reacts strangely when it sees something it doesn’t understand. it fizzles, stops, the wiring going dull as it realizes its neurons are far too small to comprehend the unusual stimuli. unfortunately, this response does not lend itself to survival, and the drive to live overshadows your cries for the same.
he doesn’t like the visit that part of town anymore. he can’t look at maple leaves without remembering how they stuck to the ground, weighed down by blood. he visits a familiar grave, tucked between two sharp cliffs, lingering far past the settling of lavender melon on the ground. he kneels there for a few hours too long, wondering of all the what ifs.
it’s not his fault either. it’s nobody’s. they were given a candlelight and were told it was a star, even as they watched the wax drip. he was doing his best, and it just so happened that in the blind grasp for a handhold, he’d pushed you away. he couldn’t see. it wasn’t his fault.
“don’t blame yourself, kazuha.”
“the tide does not stop rising when asked. neither does the guilt.”
it wasn’t his fault.
you try to remind yourself of this, at times. so does he. the two of you lie awake at inane hours of night, searching the sky for an answer.
what happened? what went wrong? was it me? was it anyone?
celestia looks down with eyes of fake steel, looking between you and the empty throne behind them. they’d finally caved, thrown the one they puppeted for the vishaps to dissect and the hillichurls to pull apart, but now worried. they’d certainly be punished if it was known they’d allowed this to happen… was it their fault, perhaps?
eyes sought out others, the council known as ‘heaven’ lost for what to do. their eyes joined yours, as yours joined kazuha’s, all tilted up and beginning to turn glassy.
the universe is so big, each star their own system, and it’s so hard to feel like any more than sand when it’s displayed so clearly. maybe it was kazuha’s fault, for not recognizing the light you shed as that of the sun. maybe it was celestia’s, for continuing to entertain an impossible fantasy. maybe it was the earth’s, for guiding you where it thought was safe, maybe maybe maybe. it doesn’t matter. did it ever? your heart burns with grief—love—as you go to bed, sheltered within a hilichurl camp. kazuha stays up too late, punishing himself with the fog of sleepiness that lasts a little too long the next day. celestia doesn’t feel guilt, for when did it ever, but the next day is unproductive, something strange taking place of the air there.
maybe it was nobody’s fault. maybe the world was disjointed, unfamiliar with your presence, stuttering for a moment as it collected itself once more. maybe in that moment of confusion, of flickering light and a burnt out flame, tragedy had struck like lightning. the universe was illuminated, bathed in the gleam of your power, able to see what it couldn’t in darkness.
it wouldn’t happen again, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. scars still ached when it rained, and the skies were weeping as it realized what had occurred in shadow.
#sagau#genshin#genshin impact#genshin sagau#self aware genshin#genshin impact sagau#sagau genshin#kazuha#kaedehara kazuha#sagau kaedehara kazuha#sagau kazuha#gn reader#genshin self aware au#written at 3:30-4am lmao#pro of writing at 3am: words!#cons: it’s THESE ones….#i like it when i get all metaphorical and vague like this sometimes; genuinely. it’s a cool facet of my style that i do enjoy#on OCCASION.
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okay if anyone wants an insane amount of lore/conversations about melora, telaine, and aryox, i transcribed these for my own reference. i'm putting them under the cut because by god there's so much.
Mira, c3e53
The story of the Ice Knife is tied to the story of the Feywild. Thousands of years ago, after the Gods abandoned this world, the Material Plane was in somewhat of a magical dark age. But the Feywild flourised. They still had their gods living amongst them: the Archfey.
Now, the Feywild (despite its name) had its own politics, and power grabs, and eventually there were Archfey who used their powers to open gates to the Material Plane. Some to seek refuge, some seeking to rule it. Now, there is some matter of debate over whether the rift in our sky is one of those original gates, but suffice it to say there were gates opened here in the Frigid North through which creatures of the fey entered Bahumia.
Now, there were dragonkin and giantkin that existed on the Material Plane. But the Feywild brought even more of them. And unlike the Feywild, where magic and tricks rule the day, the Material plane has hard rules and can be won by strength and sword. So, the original smallfolk of this world were forced into hiding. Just mere witnesses to a great war between dragons and giants, who fought for the realm.
The Material Plane was threatened with another apocalypse. So, an Eladrin Demigod named Aryox-- Aryox joined the war on the side of the giants. But while some giants believed he would lead them to conquer the realm, he was secretly working to restore balance. Once the dragons and giants were diminished enough that the smallfolk could build their cities, Aryox sealed the gate, stopping the Feywild from invading the Material Plane.
And that is why the Ice Knife was made. So that someday, perhaps, we might open it back up. But originally it was used to lock the rift. [So it's a key?] Indeed.
Now, this quote-on-quote betrayal came as a shock to many of the giants. Except for us. Our ancestors were trusted allies of Aryox. We saved the world from being conquered but at the cost of betraying our own brethren. The specifics of the conflict are largely forgotten and there have since been many wars amongst giants, but still it is said that the cavern where the Ice Knife lies is cursed.
They say that a paladin of Gruumsh killed Aryox with the Ice Knife itself and cursed his resting place. Now, I don't know if all of that is true, but the cavern in which the Ice Knife supposedly lies is definitely haunted. I investigated as a brazen young ranger general. The ghosts warned me not to tarry there without purpose.
[Do you believe it? Did you feel Aryox there?] I do believe it, yes. There are different stories I've been told. But I believe that Aryox came clean about the true intentions of his plan. He was confronted by another party with conflicting views and they… killed each other in that cavern. All I know is I went into the caves there, I followed where I knew the Ice Knife to supposedly be, and I was greeted by a strange specter, who advised me not to travel further. That it was not the time.
Telaine, c1e96
I was in an adventuring party with [Melora] and another eladrin named Aryox. Together, we defeated the goblin god Bargrivyek, and afterwards we were skeptical of creating another god, so we split his divine heart in three. Each of us swearing to protect the realm, without imposing our will on any of its creatures. But in the end, Melora was the only one responsible enough to keep her pact.
But me? I fell in love with the beauty of dragons, and believed the world would be better if it was filled with them. And their numbers were being dwindled by evil giant hunting parties, what other choice did I have? I had to side with the dragons. I-- I sided with dragons in a war against giants, and while we were busy killing each other, humans built their empires and, in the end… defeated us both. And afterwards, Melora banished me here for breaking our pact. And years later, I hear Aryox broke our pact as well, but eventually gave his piece of the divine heart back to Melora.
Telaine, c1e96, confrontation
It is just like the followers of Melora to bend over backwards for the plight of the smallfolk at the cost of everyone else. You come to my home, my prison, you attack my butler, and you want me to give you my heart? The thing that gave me the power to become a gold dragon? A dragon lost because the followers of Melora let the giants kill them off? If you want my heart, you can do what your goddess did and break it yourself.
Telaine, c1e96, defeat
Telaine: You wish to- to borrow a divine heart? And what would all of you do when you had this power? Do you think you would stay friends? Do you think you— you wouldn’t change? That everything would stay the same.
Moonshine: You can change for the better! Change is not inherently bad! In fact it’s inherently great!
Telaine: I agree, and that is why I think Melora’s indifference is wrong. I saw the dragon’s plight and I took action.
Moonshine: We are not necessarily going to do precisely what Melora did. We did not represent whatever she does. Or whatever she did to you in the past. We are going to make our own decisions and decide what to do with this. All we know right now is the only course of action is just getting rid of Thiala.
Hardwon: We’ve got a lot in common with you. You saw the plight of the dragons and you made a choice to defend them. We see the plight of our people— us small folk— and we want to defend them.
-
“I am the one who changed. I changed. She stayed the same.”
Murph, c1e96 short rest
[if you had failed a saving throw] You would’ve gone to the groups old hangout spot in the Feywild. It’s a little like— brook, and a little like picnic area, and she had like painted her and her friends and things like that.
Telaine and Melora, c1e97
“Why didn’t you do this when I was in trouble”
“You mistake me not taking your side for neutrality. I am not neutral. I defend the material plane. I would not kill for the sake of the dragons, nor would i stop the smallfolk from building their empires, but this— what Thiala has done— is an attack on Bahumia itself. Here I must intervene.”
Armory, c3e27
Telaine was an eladrin. She was part of an adventuring party with two other eladrin. One became the goddess Melora, and the other was an eladrin named Aryox. We do have some recreations of spellbooks of druids of Melora here, but she herself didn’t have a heavy hand on the Material Plane so we don’t have much here that’s representative of her combat.
-
(Calder’s eyes are drawn to a giant gleaming bow with blue and white touches.)
This is a replica of a bow that was wielded by Aryox, who was another Eladrin, who would actually eventually battle against Telaine. He sided with the giants in their wars.
[Ultrus: “Yes. Smallfolk but giant heart.”]
-
(Callie looks for symbols on the bow.)
You do see… this does seem to have been wielded by a winter eladrin. But it is very big. The attendant clarifies; “Aryox used his magical powers to grow to giant size, and would use his godly archer skills to shoot dragons out of the sky.” You look at this bow and you don’t see anything from Oberon, but you do see a symbol on it that is a snowflake, and the design of it reminds you of your mothers old family crest.
Book that Callie stole from Glenn, c3e30
Telaine ended up siding with the dragons during the dragon and giant conflicts that happened centuries ago— thousands of years ago, in fact. And Aryox fought against her. He had sided with the giants. And as you’re reading about this, you see that unlike Telaine, who seemed to actually love dragons and seemed to actually feel for their plight and want them to defeat the giants— everything you’re reading about Aryox here is… he was working with the giants as a means to an end. This is someone who saw the ‘smallfolk’ being wiped out by dragons and giants. So he sees this war between the giants and the dragons and he knows that the longer it goes on, the more the giants and the dragons wipe each other out and give the eladrin a fighting chance. So he was actually on the eladrin’s side the entire time even though he was fighting with the giants. And you do know that the end of this age of monsters where dragons rule the sky and giants rule the earth, that humanoids would build up their settlements and everything like that, and the eladrin would flourish in the feywild and humanoids would flourish in the main world. But as you’re reading this stuff about Aryox, it’s not really clear if he’s a good guy or a bad guy. He seems cold and calculating and you get hints of your mother in there.
Murph summary, c3e53 Short Rest
Glen had sort of misread the story of Aryox. Because he knew about how Aryox was secretly helping the smallfolk by turning this big war into an opportunity for the smallfolk to establish themselves in their world. But this was your first time finding out that like, oh, there were a bunch giants that were in on that plan with him. And then a bunch of the giants are from the feywild.
-
So the lore that has been spread out over the two campaigns is that there were three adventures from the Feywild: Melora, Telaine, and Aryox. You found out very little about Aryox in the first campaign, but you found out a lot about him in the third campaign. Essentially what happened is the three of them, during their adventures, killed a goblin god that was trying to take over the Feywild, took his divine heart, spread it out amongst the three of them. They all made an agreement not to get involved in mortal affairs. Melora’s the only one who stuck to that. Telaine joined the dragons, Aryox joined the giants— and then this is the first time you found out that Aryox was killed by a giant. [Yeah, like he wasn’t on the giant’s side, he was looking for balance.] Yeah. [And a paladin of Gruumsh.] Oh yeah, and so Gruumsh is involved, because you also know that— as you guys learned in Molscuriel, Gruumsh and Kord, there are different people that think that he’s “the all-father,” like the one that the giants should follow.
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Calcified Cage.
Yan Bucciarati x F Reader x Yan Fugo.
A glimpse into a "bad end" from Scarlet Ribbons.
Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied power imbalance.
Word count: 1.5k.
Pannacotta Fugo knew on an intrinsic level that nothing good was to come from this private meeting with Bucciarati.
For someone who prefers to make judgments on empirical merit, this odd bout of premonition felt uncharacteristic, further adding to his unease. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Bucciarati often consulted him in private over various Passione concerns.
In private, yes, but never in the total seclusion of his humble home along Napoli’s outskirts.
Fugo can count the number of times he’s been here on one hand. Normally, if Bruno needed to discuss an issue with Fugo, he’d ask him to stay behind after the gang finished eating their meal at Libeccio. The mixing of business and home life is considered taboo in this profession. Although Bucciarati is a bachelor who lives by himself, Fugo figured that he adhered to this unspoken virtue on principle alone.
When Fugo finishes reading the letter in his grasp, it’s no longer a mystery why his leader has taken these precautions. The paper trembles like a leaf in the wind, Fugo’s grasp on it weakening.
“You understand what this means, don’t you?”
Bucciarati’s voice sounds far away, despite his position a few feet across the table. Ringing resounds in Fugo’s ears, quiet at first, yet building in an all-consuming crescendo. The melody it weaves is melancholic at its core. A tragedy cast by the indifferent divine, thrusting him into the spotlight, where he stumbles through his lines as a lead character.
He has to tell himself to breathe.
Inhale.
For if what’s written crawls into reality—
Exhale.
—He’ll no longer have a reason to.
Fugo downs a glass of water his host generously had the forethought to provide. His fingers grip the rim tight enough that his knuckles nearly turn as white as his complexion.
“Are you asking for my legal counsel?” he manages to get out. There’s a rasp in his voice that he can’t hide, regardless of his best efforts. He can feel his collected mask melting from his face like wax on a candle. There won’t be any welding it back into place once it’s gone. It’ll require time to mold one in its predecessor's likeness — time he most certainly doesn’t have.
“No,” Bucciarati gives an answer he somehow already expected. “I want to hear your personal opinion.”
“My… personal opinion? Is that really necessary?”
“It is.”
It shouldn’t be. This is about as black and white as a dilemma can get. Trying to mix the colors on a palette to form gray would be impossible; a fool’s wish. The shades are so diametrically opposed that he’d sooner find success in combining oil and water.
His esophagus burns like he’d just drunk hard liquor instead of water.
“This is… good,” he fights back a wince at the wooden delivery, “For— for her, I mean.”
Something tells him that even if he had put on the performance of a lifetime, Bucciarati still wouldn’t have believed him.
“For her,” Bucciarati echoes dryly.
Fugo inwardly curses his clumsy word choice. There’s no point in concealing his cards, he may as well have just laid them all out for Bucciarati’s viewing pleasure. He loosens his tie. The quiet intensity radiating from Bucciarati is suffocating. He’s reminded then that while he greatly cares for and respects the man sitting across from him, Bruno Bucciarati is, at his core, a mobster.
And there’s nothing more dangerous than a mobster who feels his family is under threat.
You are, in essence, the heart of Bucciarati’s ragtag team.
This letter is proposing to transplant you into another body. An objectively healthier body.
To do without you would be to live as a dead man walking.
Fugo feels the phantom pain as if his chest cavity was being split in half by spectral hands. No anesthetic, no scalpel. Just raw, brutish force. Your nonsensical questions he pretends to find irritating are his veins. The blueberry pancakes dutifully arranged in a smiley face on his birthday, the arterioles; how you reach for his hand in crowded areas so as not to get lost, the capillaries.
You are snowball fights and hot cocoa in the winter, beach trips and shared gelato in the summer.
(“I can’t ever decide which flavor I want,” you’d lament, wilting all the while. It never took long for you to blossom again. “I know! Fugo, get this flavor, and I’ll get this one. That way I can try both!”
He’d sigh and pretend to consider it as if he hadn’t made up his mind the second you smiled at him. “Fine. I’d rather not hear you complaining if you ordered something you don’t like, so… just this once.”
“Just this once,” you repeated.
He’s never turned down your request in the times you’ve asked since).
Bucciarati leans back in his seat. He crosses his legs, folds his hands onto his lap, and smiles. Fugo is so put off by this shift in demeanor, the dissonance both perplexing and unsettling him. He sets the damning paper down for the temporary reprieve straightening it out provides. It points west, toward the window behind Bucciarati, where the sun’s final rays for the day crawl through.
“You love her,” Bucciarati says it as casually as one describing the weather.
Fugo’s entire body goes numb.
“... I do.”
“Do you love her enough to make her hate you?”
He’s been on the defensive throughout this entire interaction. He’ll allow himself one retort, one provocation.
“Do you?”
The softening of Bucciarati’s expression says it all.
“We shouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t.”
Right. Fugo isn’t sure if this is a conversation so much as it is an interview, his most pivotal test since joining Passione’s ranks. For once, he didn’t need to study. Passing with flying colors isn’t the issue. It’s deciphering the purposefully cryptic manner that Bucciarati has been conducting himself that poses an obstacle.
However, when he stares into Bucciarati’s resolute eyes, he thinks he might be starting to crack the code.
The promise he made to himself to reprise his role of an obsequious soldato is broken as easily as it was made.
“Forgive me for being blunt, Bucciarati,” he means it too, “But what exactly are you getting at here?”
“I won’t be able to conceal this for long.”
Nausea swirls inside him and bile claws its way up his throat. He swallows it down, despite how dry his mouth feels.
“The way I see it, we have two choices,” Bucciarati takes a deep breath. Pausing like this must mean he doesn’t savor the flavor of what he’ll say next. “Her happiness or ours.”
It’s debt that brought you into Passione and debt that’ll keep you here. Fugo considered how you were taken advantage of in such a desperate position truly unfortunate. Cruel, even. The offer of a loan that’d take considerable financial strain off your family. You didn’t know to look for jargon that’d increase the interest rate to something unholy, Passione was clever like that.
The worst mistake of your life is what led you to be the best thing in his — and so many others would attest the same.
However…
You are bright, but even the most radiant light is destined to flicker.
Living under the same roof as you for two years has taught Fugo much. He sees it, how you hesitate to take the phone when he tells you your parents are on the line. He hears the telling hitch in your voice when you spin another falsehood about why you can’t come home for the holidays again this year. He feels the wetness on your pillowcase when he goes into your room to retrieve a book you borrowed from him.
Your debt is what shackles you here and this letter is offering to break the chains.
You've successfully won over many key individuals during your tenure. The would-be benefactor who penned this letter — Signore Conti — had deep influences and even deeper pockets. His wife had taken a particular liking to you during a bodyguard assignment. She must've caught wind of your predicament somehow and beseeched her husband to intervene.
Fugo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "There's really no other way?"
"I'm open to suggestions, Fugo."
Questioning Bucciarati's resolve is just a weak attempt to stall for time. For Fugo to still be sitting here, even entertaining the possibility of snuffing out your future for the sake of maintaining his, he must've already made up his mind. The mere implication of Bucciarati's designs would've inspired righteous anger in most — not this internal weighing of pros and cons Fugo is neatly arranging on a scale.
"... We'll need to handle this delicately," Fugo says. His stomach feels like it's turning inside out. "We can't outright reject an offer like this from such an influential figure, it'd be considered an insult. Accept it on her behalf. Then... to ensure she can't go anywhere, I'll reach out to our contact in the bank and have her account frozen."
Bucciarati steeples his fingers. "It's a start."
That night, innumerable plans are formed, with you unknowingly starring as the centerpiece.
No matter how cruel, how unfair, it is silently agreed upon that you are their lifeblood, an organ essential to their survival.
And a heart cannot remain in place without the bones that make up its cage.
#bruno bucciarati x reader#bruno buccellati x reader#pannacotta fugo x reader#fugo x reader#jjba x reader#yandere jjba x reader#vento aureo x reader#part 5 x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#scarlet ribbons#my stuff
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Behind the wall of falling snow we love
synopsis: Pierro is a mysterious man, the kind that guards his secrets well. One of them is being you, his lovely wife, his heart, his everlasting lover. And tonight he is finally stealing you from your duties and bringing you to his residence where you can drop the masks you wear for the people of Snezhnaya and be just a married couple.
pairing: Pierro x fem!reader
tw: smut, established relationship, immortal lovers (you and Pierro are Khaenri’ahns), religious themes, sliiiight a/b/o feature, oral, biting, unprotected sex, obviously size difference
word count: 8.1k+ words in total
author’s note: the words of prayer are actually a translated and altered from French song Ave Maria Païen from Notre Dame de Paris musical.
Ave Tsaritsa, please pardon me, if in your house I have come begging.
The Cathedral of Tsar the Saviour is a majestically built and decorated temple, having been honoring the previous Cryo Archon in the past, and now being full of prayers offered to the Tsaritsa. Today the official designation is the only reminder of in whose name it was founded, as every last piece inside and out was completely replaced with symbolism of the new deity, and Pierro personally made sure of it, solidifying her position and showing what a good and valuable asset he was.
And still is.
Ave Tsaritsa, no one ever taught me about kneeling.
Half-truth and half-lie. The people of Khaenri'ah had their ruler, to whom bowing heads and, on occasion, getting down on their knees was an etiquettish must. But they never had a god to humiliate themselves before. Even now, he doesn’t quite do so, always proudly standing akin to a frozen statue near the goddess, that is not his. Nor yours.
Ave Tsaritsa, please will you keep me from the misery, madness and fools, who rule this evil world?
That's what the purpose of the Harbingers is - enlightening the Snezhnayan people according to the wishes of Her Majesty Tsaritsa and ensuring that nothing can undermine their faith in her and push them off the intended path. Who knew that religion can be such a powerful instrument? Too bad it ended up in his and your hands. Of that he also made sure.
Ave Tsaritsa, I'm a stranger and you're my last recourse.
You were strangers to this snowy land; weakened and exhausted by the curse were your bodies the first time you ever saw your future salvation. Back then the kindness in her eyes wasn’t hidden behind a veil, and the heart, not yet frozen, tightened at the display of your tightly intertwined fingers, the stubborn desire not to let go of each other’s hand touched the deepest parts of her immortal soul. Nowadays Pierro may call it a memory that’ll never be proven existent, because the only person capable of telling it has locked herself in the Zapolyarny Palace, rarely appearing in front of anyone, and The Jester, despite the folly of his code name, is not an idiot to go and flaunt around about his dear one.
Ave Tsaritsa, please can't you hear me? Please take down all these walls between us. We all should be as one.
A wall between a follower and an Archon…foolish to try and break it. But the Cryo Archon heeds as she is fond of your singing, and you can hardly call yourself her follower, having willingly become an instrument in the silver-haired wise and cunning man’s hands. You became the holy wonder of Snezhnaya - a maiden, who hasn’t grown older a day over the centuries, and many generations came to witness your divine service and had your voice stuck in their minds, piercing their very souls. And the man could claim with certainty - you were loved by the people.
Ave Tsaritsa, please watch over my life night and day.
She really doesn’t, but Snezhnayans do, however it was by your wish and with your consent, that he put you before so many watchful eyes, and the Archon’s ones as well. But then again, if you want to hide something precious, you should put it right before the seeker’s nose. He made you adored, he secured your safety with the right deeds of yours - all Abyss would break loose if something happened to their cherished high priestess and no one would like to incur the wrath of the Tsaritsa and the Harbingers.
Ave Tsaritsa, oh please protect me. Please guard me and my love; now I pray.
His stone heart flutters for how softly, how tenderly have you sung of who your heart is beating for. Not for the deity, no - it’s pumping blood for the very man who is standing in the shadow of a wide pillar, gazing at you from behind a mask and holding a thick cape similar to his own, with his plans quite evident.
Tonight you are leaving with him.
Ave Tsaritsa. Amen.
You breathe the last words of the song against your hands, clasped together in front of you in a prayer, and the sound seems to infiltrate every corner of the grand catholicon. Your figure is ethereal, kneeling on the steps before the huge stained glass of the Cryo Archon your words were directed to. Basking in the light of the moon, pouring through the glass and painting you in the sacred blues of Her Majesty's robes, you look like a holy being, and had Pierro not known you were a sinner like him, he would've been tricked by your false chastity. Whiteness of the high priestess’s robes is pure, much purer than the snow outside, but now tainted by the colors of the Archon you both swore to serve.
Even if she doesn't, Pierro watches you, and his gaze will never waver.
Your archbishop’s crown reflects the light and diamonds gleam coldly, just like they are. The long veil hides your soft pretty hair he loves running his fingers through so much. It soothes him, reminds him of the times he used to witness you braiding them in the morning and unbraiding in the evening, sitting on the edge of your shared bed and talking about everything and nothing.
Now this became a privilege, one you are granted only once every couple of months. Sometimes separation is unbearable, but the different flight of time immortals experience makes it more tolerable. And you both know - it’s a small price for the power you managed to obtain.
Slowly you open your eyes - breathtaking cosmic crystals, that shine with pretensive innocence and have fooled and enchanted much more mortals you care to count. You are already doing so much for them, no need to try and remember every single one, it’s the clerics’ job and they fulfill it excellently under your guidance.
Pierro thinks this position suits you. You are not stupid, far from it, while leading others along the path he wants, you see right through it, never forgetting your homeland, never forgetting who you are, never forgetting the pain. You always were like this, even half a millenia ago your ingenious character intrigued him and pulled him to you like a magnet. Winning your affections and uniting your destinies by marriage is still one of his biggest personal achievements.
Despite being cursed, he is a blessed man and was one long before the doom was brought upon his nation. You are his eternal blessing.
You descend more gracefully than the deity behind you ever could in Pierro's eyes, because you were descending to him. Robes and the veil flow behind you magnificently - a sight he witnessed thousands of times, yet it still gets to steal his breath away, because you look like a lovely bride to be wed.
And I would marry you again, in every other world or timeline that is existent.
That’s what you told him when he admitted the reason for his awe-stricken expression during your first century of living in the land of snows. Even now, the cold and terrifying advisor of the Tsaritsa feels the same.
“Have you waited for long?” You start speaking not even halfway close to him. The question echoes in the majorly empty space, and prompts the man to step out of his hiding spot, becoming the victim of the moonlight as well.
“No, I have not,” his answer is short, but only because he doesn’t like getting personal before you two are back in his manor, where he knows no one can interfere. You simply nod at that.
“I’ll go and change. Will you wait for me, Lord Pierro?”
Always.
“Of course, Your Eminence,” he doesn’t ask you to take your time, and you know that while he is an embodiment of patience, you don’t have any second to waste.
Putting the crown on the pedestal and laying out your ceremonial clothes for the trusted deaconesses to take care of tomorrow, you can't stop the excitement pouring from your heart. Two months ago you couldn't meet due to the passing of the Eighth Harbinger - you were busy with the memorial service to commemorate La Signora and your beloved was stolen away by his duties and complications, caused by her death. While you did not hold anything against the fair lady, your thoughts were far from mourning, only thinking of the wasted time with an edge of bitterness. It happened before, and you learnt to bear with that, but even with all your practiced patience you'd never want the repeat of that three-year long occurrence when you haven't seen or heard from him at all due to your respective occupations.
You sigh in relief when the heavy fabric and furs are brought upon your shoulders, hiding the elegant, yet simple outfit, reserved for your outings. The weight of his big gloved palms is also welcomed and the deep sound of his voice washes like calming waves over you.
"Should we be on our way?" You don't see him, but you know the glow his eyes possess. Usually unreadable, they glint with emotion, the one - you can proudly declare - reserved only for you.
"Yes, we should, My Lord. We have quite a number of things to discuss and settle."
The staff of the Jester's manor know that their master and the head of the priesthood have business to discuss and under no circumstance should they be interrupted for the night and the next day. Fireplaces are lit and fresh wood is prepared. The room, that became your personal chambers in his estate, is cleaned and readied for your most comfortable stay, and the servants make sure to move as far away from the West wing, where it and the living room you use for your discussions are located. Eavesdropping is akin to a death sentence, but many would consider themselves imbeciles for trying to sneak on the two most respected and praised people in the whole country.
How fortunate it is that the Jester's personal chambers are in the same wing, just at the other end of the corridor? Servants have just one part of the building to avoid during those times, not worried about accidentally doing something wrong in regard to him and you.
Little do they know what exactly happens behind the closed door, since no one is allowed near them during these particular times. They can’t even fathom the sins your bodies bask in, perfect images crumbling down and revealing the real yous, wild and yearning, drinking up each other's touch like a life-saving water of the oasis, work talk replaced with sweet moans and low grunts and long-forgotten names occasionally slipping past your parted lips.
This is why the sheets get burnt after every stay of yours. Staff members know that's being done to prevent anyone from feeling tempted to steal and sell the fabric, touched by the skin of the Saint. In reality no one needs to know of the reasons behind torn holes and stains.
Pierro destroys them personally in the morning, as you calmly sip on your tea, seated in the armchair of his bedroom with nothing but the silk bathrobe covering your body (replaced by just his shirt occasionally). Only then you devote some of your time for actual discussions and planning, while having an amazing supper and regaining your strength for another couple of rounds, that do not even have to include the bed.
Sometimes, though, the discussion starts when servants leave you till the next evening - the time you inevitably shall depart.
"Anything notable on your side?"
You hum, plucking a pristine white petal from the water surface and twirling it between your fingers. The large floor-installed pool is enough to fit at least three people of your lover’s complexion, but there is only you, water up to your collarbones and pleasantly hot against your skin. Hundreds of petals float around you, covering your body from two piercing eyes and occasionally bumping against your bent knees, and you don’t even want to think how many flowers the servants wasted just to “please” you.
“Nothing much, and nothing of concerning importance” you admit with a huff. Church is actually a pretty good source of information; with Snezhnayan being such good believers and followers it is not hard to gather intel through confessions and later pass the concerning ones to Pierro for him to see if it actually can cause harm. But as of later it was very calm.
“Though I must admit, one young lady really caught my interest,” you throw the petal away and sink a bit deeper, water pooling around your neck now. You lift a leg, stretching a little, and from the corner of the eye watch the half-naked man, seated on the edge of the pool, following with his attentive gaze the path the droplets make down your smooth skin before they disappear somewhere at your thigh.
“And that is?” Oh, these eyes. If you were standing, you’d certainly sink onto the nearest piece of furniture, unable to fight its magic even hundreds of years later. His mostly bared body becomes the next victim of your fascination, and you bite the inside of your cheek, feeling that tingling sensation at the tips of your fingers.
“Well…” you hum again, holding his inquiring gaze and slowly, teasingly lowering your leg back into the water. “If you take all of your clothes off right now, I might tell you."
'All of his clothes' is an open shirt and a pair of pants, both made of a very light fabric. He probably abandoned the robe while walking through your bedroom, and the mask was most likely taken off there too.
"Oh?" His chest shakes with a deep chuckle, that has that specific dark edge to it, that makes you aware of why people submit to him. "It seems the information is really not of such a great importance, if you are asking me to undress in exchange."
"Mmm, you saw through my intentions. But can you really blame me? It's been so long…" Your voice trails off and you sigh, diverting your eyes elsewhere, sight quickly obscured with the images of your last encounters, making your heart clench. You must stay unbothered, but this is so excruciating, being trapped in the land of raging blizzards and frozen landscapes and the loving touch becoming not an everyday thing, but a seldom occurrence. The memories of what it used to be like are almost non-existent at this point, having been wiped out of your mind with the new reality.
Gaze falls onto your wrist and a small smile tugs onto your lips. An intricate band of the metal one would never find again and the stones that lie deep down in the mines of the miasm-contaminated homeland, rests against your skin, gleaming beautifully in the light. The same is wrapped around Pierro's wrist, just a bit wider than yours - one Khaenri'ahn tradition you were allowed to preserve - the symbol of your marriage, which in the broad daylight stays hidden under your long sleeves.
The rustle of clothes doesn't register in your brain right away, but when it does your head whips to the side, just in time to see the silver-haired man sit back down, carelessly dumping his nightwear near the side of the tube.
"Happy now?" All sorrowful thoughts leave your mind instantly when all of his body is on display for your hungry gaze. With a soft splash you lift yourself slightly, enough to get on your knees and move closer to him. His braceleted hand immediately takes a hold of yours and you comfortably lean your chest on his thigh, using an elbow to create support for your head to look up at him.
"Yes, I am. Thank you, my love."
My love. Sometimes Pierro thinks you are just a dream, a pretty, nostalgic dream, where love is not just a concept. Snezhnaya and the closeness to the Cryo Archon affected him far more than you. He toughened up, his gaze got heavier and frown deeper, lips are always drawn in a tight line and voice is even and cold, lack of emotion coming straight from his almost destroyed heart. Just one part is still alive, and warm, and capable of feelings.
This part is loving you.
"Do I deserve to be told what caught your interest?"
You smile at that, happy that he is willing to engage in a chat that doesn't relate to your plans at all. It's one of the things that serves as a reminder that you are special to him, more special than anyone and anything else, be it the Tsaritsa or your scheming.
"Oh, that's a funny thing!" Beaming, you trace one of the scars on his abdomen with your finger, noting with a smirk how it tenses under the touch. "One of your colleagues gained a faithful admirer. Quite a hopeful one, if I am being honest."
Pierro hums, showing that he is actually listening, and reaches his hand to gently pat your hair. You are so pretty, leaning on him, breasts pushed against his leg, back arched and fingers caressing his stomach, which soon becomes an absentminded gesture as your unkissed mouth moves in speech.
"She's been coming every week for three months already, lightening candles for his safe return."
'Not Arlechino, not Columbina,' he notes, attempting to distract himself from the image before him, but still noticing every single detail about his perfect wife. Hand slides to graze the side of your face and put a stray lock behind your ear. You glance up at him and, holding his gaze, turn your head in the opposite direction to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, just above the wedding band. Pierro sharply inhales.
"Either way, she's been confessing her affections and, as the priest described it, did so "in a dreamy voice a young girl would talk about upcoming marriage". You think I spoke to my parents the same way about you?"
Your gaze turns curious and the notion of your question finally manages to return his focus. It's not often that you voice the things from the past, but on particularly calm days like today it just slips.
"I don't know. Did you?"
"I don't remember…"
Yes, that is why. And sometimes it just hurts.
"But no matter. Honestly I am quite surprised that people like her are a rare occasion. I mean, all of the Harbingers have qualities that might make you fall in love with them."
"Do many live or get close enough to witness those?" Pierro raises a brow and you roll your eyes, poking his side.
"Fair point. That's probably why she chose to fall for Childe. Young, energetic and outgoing he seems to wear his heart on his sleeve."
"Tartaglia, huh?" Makes sense, if he thinks of it. "But a marriage? Already?"
"Of course not! All I said she sounded like that, the only way the wedding is happening is in her imagination!" You burst into giggles at your lover's silly assumption, not missing him huff and tighten a hold on your hand.
"You are quite talkative today."
"I haven't seen you for four months! I missed you! You can't seriously expect me to be silent just staring at you with wide lovesick eyes."
As the man watches you dig your elbow in his thigh to push yourself off of him to stand up with the most fake offended look on your face, he thinks that his life would've ended had you succumbed to the fall of Khaenri'ah. You are the one keeping the part of him alive, cradling his heart in your loving hands, passing your warmth and aligning his heartbeat with yours.
Pierro loves you with everything left in him, and he himself can't measure if it's a lot or a little. He doesn't remember what it's like being humanly soft - but you tell him he is doing enough. And he chooses to believe you.
When a shadow is cast upon him his attention is stolen back by the present. Even with his huge complexion he has to crane his neck a bit to look at you, standing at your full height and staring down at him.
"But you are right," white lashes flutter when a warm palm cups a scarred side of his face, but he doesn't let himself succumb to the peaceful feeling, not yet, "it's time to finish with the conversations for today. Let's move to the bedroom."
Pierro is convinced that your body was created for worship. So soft, skin smooth despite all your hardships, locks thick and heavy, cascading down your shoulders, lips plump and sweet, lower one seductively caught between pearly teeth as you lead him back to your room, holding his wrist with both of your hands.
You are bared to each other, and can sense the space filling with the heat of arousal your bodies radiate. Every step closer to the bed ignites a small fire in the pit of your stomach, fueled by anticipation. Just a couple of meters and he'll push you down and pin with his weight, caging you with no thoughts of letting go for a long while, oh, you can already feel it with every cell.
With an abrupt stop you tug him closer so his body practically bumps into yours, and, releasing his wrist, cup his face instead.
"You are so handsome," you smile, standing on your tiptoes to reach and plant a kiss in the corner of his mouth. "And I bet you'd look even better on top of me."
Tempting, but he has other plans for now.
Your eyes grow wider, but a sparkle of excitement is clear in them, when the tall, broad man slowly, not breaking eye contact, gets down on his knees. Well, he did say your body was created for worshipping, so it makes Pierro your most devoted follower.
His lips are a relief against your heated skin and you sharply exhale, sliding palms to the back of his head. The kiss lingers against your stomach, the only 'ugly' part of your divine body. The place where the curse decided to bloom, circling your waist akin a wide belt, variations of dark splotches creating a bizarre picture on the canva of the skin. Still it is lesser than his is, but the price you paid for it was a devastating one.
"You are beautiful," he whispers, pressing another kiss, and then another, and then some more, leading a path down your pelvis. "So, so beautiful…"
"So now we are exchanging compliments?" Your fingers play with the longer strands of hair at the back of his neck as you are looking down at him, not missing a move, not missing the way his eyelids slide close, when he is almost there.
"Rather speaking truth," is his short answer, before his hands start prying your thighs apart.
"One leg on my shoulder," the command sends shocks through your body and you immediately obey, almost too excitedly throwing your leg over his shoulder. A kiss to the inside of your thigh is your reward.
"Now stand still, and once I secure my arms, put the other one too."
The anticipated display of physical strength makes you lose your voice for a moment and all you can do is quickly nod.
"Words, my dear, I need your words."
"I-I understood."
"Good girl."
The praise makes you blush and is enough of a distraction from what he is in the process of. But not a minute later, both your legs are on his shoulders, their broadness giving you enough room to keep your thighs spread. The globes of your ass are literally resting in the crook of his elbows, arms reaching up your back and palms splaying against your shoulder blades, creating a perfect support to lean into.
Your breath hitches when his warm breath ghosts against your slicked folds and heart begins violently beating with your body realizing the sheer strength of its partner and future pleasure this man is going to provide. And oh Archons, centuries proved how masterful he is in both.
First shudder wrecks your body when his thick tongue traces along your slit, coating it with saliva and teasing you with flicks of the tip. You blissfully sigh, closing your eyes and enjoying the small shocks sent down your spine with every drag of his wet muscle, before he steals your breath away by dipping it inside.
Pierro hums, content with tasting you again after so long, and you are so pliant in his arms, putting an ultimate trust in him, that his own sex swells at the thought. The tip of his tongue catches against your clit, which makes you gasp and tighten your hold on the back of his head, involuntarily bucking hips forward. But he is not going to give you everything right away, no, he is going to show you his faith slowly, so you can understand every single notion behind his actions of praise and worship.
That is why he is drawing his face away, smirking at your needy whine. Attention shifts on your thighs - the last time he thoroughly marked them, so harshly in fact, so you would’ve still had them aching for days to remember the time spent together. Now your flesh is so pristine clean, that he hardly suppresses the urge to bite you right away. Instead he wills himself to plant kisses, sucking the skin occasionally to leave the blooming spots to darken later in beautiful hickies, undeniably hidden by your long and many layered garment. The hairs of his beard tickles you, contrasting with the slight tingles of pain, when he decides to lightly catch the skin between his teeth and urge you to pant and squirm in his hold.
"Stop teasing me…" You try to turn his head back into the direction you most need him in, but yelp, when he digs his nails in your back and bites on your other thigh. "Pierro!"
He only groans, flexing his shoulders to shift you in a more comfortable position, licking the stinging spot he's just abused.
Biting your lip, you have half a mind to reach a hand and touch yourself since he doesn't, but the man knows you well. He glares up at you, the dangerous glint in his eyes doing not much to scare you, but that's not his intention. It's a warning.
"Don't look at me like this," you huff, still taking one of your hands from behind his head, but reaching to cup your breast instead, "I can take a little bit of teasing, but not when you give me a taste and then ignore my aching."
The way you roll the erected bud between your fingers ignites fire in the pit of his stomach, leaving his cock half hard. Who is the one talking about teasing?
A soft cry leaves your lips, when he finally dives back in. Your lover sucks on your clit like there is no tomorrow, pressing the tip of his tongue against it hard. It twitches in his mouth from stimulation and your back arches, fingers grabbing and messing his hair from the intensity he's attacked you with.
Pretty moans and deep groans fill the room as he delves his tongue into the hole - rubbing against your walls deliciously. Slick gathers at his chin and slowly drips down, just a couple landing on his twitching length. You taste divine, in all the years of his life he's never drunk anything that would come close in comparison to your nectar. He grinds his face deeper into your pussy, beard tickling the insides of the thighs and nose nudging the swollen nub, as he savors you.
Your heels dig in his back, your own arches into his arms, and you feel so so heavenly. The palm pressing on his head is as secure as his own hold on you, not letting him back off this time, so unwilling to lose this building pressure in your belly, that'll soon explode, giving you the sweet release you've been yearning for.
Pierro relishes in your throaty whine when he drags the first orgasm out of you, gulping down whatever your spasming cunt has to offer. He feels your legs trembling, but he also knows that this tiny form of relief is nothing compared to how strongly he can actually make you cum on his fingers and cock, when you writhe and thrash under him, begging for no more, or when you are stuffed to the brink and unable to move, weakly clawing at his shoulders to stop. He wonders where tonight will lead you two to.
With an oof your back hits the bed, and his arms slide from under your body. Your hand drops to your side, as the one that was fondling with your chest rests on it, feeling your heart beating against the outstretched palm.
"See, was it so hard?" You smile at him, rising to his feet and wiping his glistening mouth and chin. "Maybe I should sit on your face more. It brings you to action faster."
Wordlessly Pierro grabs your waist and shifts you higher on the bed, climbing onto right after. He lets you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer, slotting your mouths together and sharing a kiss full of unspoken passion. He presses himself on you, pinching your hip and making you gasp, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth. You taste yourself and moan, sliding your own appendage against his, licking at it playfully.
Only you make him feel like this - hot, bothered, desperate, thoughts reigned by you, - everything the Jester is not, but your husband is. Only your touches and your embraces can comfort and relax him, only your kisses steal his breath away and cloud his mind, only your softness against his sturdiness is a perfect match, one that makes so much sense. Only with your heart his agrees to synchronize, sharing one beat, one melody. Only because of you he still knows what love is and that this is the feeling you two share.
When he breaks apart, chest rising and falling in sync with yours, he can't help but focus on your neck - another canva begging to be painted and who is he to decline? Your head falls back as his teeth graze down your throat. Legs, having a mind of their own, spread, and Pierro doesn't miss a chance to use it.
Your cunt is still sensitive when he plunges a long finger inside. Walls flutter and tighten around sudden intrusion, and the skillful thumb starts drawing slow circles on your clit.
"So tight…" He growls into your skin, leaving a tenth hickey on your neck and collarbones. "In four months you must've forgotten the shape of me…"
"I'll be quick to remember, mmm," you bite your lip, when he starts moving and curling his digit, all the while switching his attention to your full breasts. Your moans grow louder than before as he teases your pebbled nipples with his tongue, enveloping them in his mouth, gently sucking and releasing with a wet pop, blowing cool air on them right after only to feel you squeeze his finger.
Pierro is working your open with one and then two digits, not forgetting to play with the bundle of nerves, making the slick gush that soon even you could hear the squelching noise your pussy is making. What would've made you shy and embarrassed on your first couple of nights with him, now turns you on more than anything, prompting you to roll your hips to meet his own movements. Sometimes you feel his hard dick brush against your thigh and you gaze at him in silent question. He shakes his head, declining your help, and adds the third finger.
Now that's a really tight fit and he has a hard time dragging three fingers against your gummy, but resisting walls. You attempt to relax, but there is little you can do with how big everything about him is. Your body grows restless and fingers dig into the pillow above your head, back lifting off the mattress in a sensual arch and feet planting to bend the knees. Once or twice his real name drips like honey from your swollen lips and the man's heart skips a beat or two, your own name whispered between your ribs as kisses are pressed against the skin of your stomach.
When his mouth envelopes your clit again your moans get louder and thighs twitch to close around his head, but he uses his now free hand to push them away and pin you by the lower stomach down. Your fingers reach in his hair again, tugging on silver strands when he sucks particularly hard or curls his digits and brushes that delicious spot inside, that makes you see stars bright enough to outshine the ones in the sky.
Pierro loves when you grab onto him, doesn't matter where or how, he just loves having your hands on his body: holding, caressing, palming, squeezing, cupping… Every single touch makes him aware of your mood and desire to have him, which makes bringing you to mind-blowing orgasm even more satisfying. You inevitably scratch him, leaving a mark of your own.
He softly hisses as you dig your nails in the back of his neck, almost breaking skin to draw blood, and with a trembling scream cum. Pierro fingers you through your high, feeling your walls spasming and slick running down his hand and your thighs, soon to ruin the sheets, and watches you shudder, mouth hanging open and sweet noises creating a pretty melody. Could anyone witness a scene more divine? He can swear he is the only one.
You bite your lip when he plants a kiss to your clit and slowly pulls his fingers out, leaving you so empty, and more yearning than before.
"I want you," is your breathless demand, hands reaching for him. The man quickly grabs them, bringing closer to his mouth to kiss every single knuckle.
"Patience, my dear," is his quiet murmur, which makes you grimace.
"What is here to wait for? I've been waiting for so long, I have patience of a saint!" Literally. "Tonight is the only time I can forget about it, please don't take it away from me, I know you want me too."
And you are right. After having your taste and getting to feel the welcoming softness of your pussy he wants nothing more to sink in and mold you back to the shape of his cock.
Then why wouldn't he do just that? Taking wife's lovely advice never hurts.
He places a large hand above your head to steady himself, preventing him from crushing you with his burly mass. You hold your breath in anticipation, when the big mushroom tip parts your lips and presses against your opening. With a deep inhale Pierro grits his teeth and pushes inside, stomach immediately flexing when your walls swallow an inch. His gaze is on your face, making sure you are alright as he is slowly working his massive dick into your cunt. He knows you can take him, even if sometimes after big breaks your body screams that it can't, but the habit of checking on you just never died.
As he finally fully settles inside, he understands that his ability to move is to be cruelly tested. Your walls have an almost vice grip on his girth and the man above you groans as you tighten even more with sweet moans falling from your lips. Hair disheveled, hands fisting the shits beside your head, legs desperately trying to wrap around his wide waist but to no avail. Your struggle - to embrace his body, to take in his girth, - amuses him, but he has some pity for his dear wife, as his big scarred palms slide down your hips, leaving a trail of fire igniting sensations on your skin, and up to your knees, grasping under them and securing your legs where you want them, where he wants them. You cannot escape, you are his.
"If you don't relax, I won't be able to move."
"But it's-" you mewl when he experimentally rolls his hips.
"Don't tell me it's too much. You've taken it for centuries, don't tell me you can't take your husband's cock now," the man smirks at the way your eyes light up, and the hand with a bracelet on it reaches out to him. He lets himself a moment of vulnerability, leaning forward and into your palm, eyes sliding close and hips stilling, pelvis pressed impossibly close to yours. You feel the hairs of his beard grazing your skin, and softly run the thumb over his lips, usually drawn in a tight line. Breath chokes when he opens his mouth and bites the tip of your finger, gently catching it between his teeth. Your heart skips a beat and you tighten again, eliciting another groan from him and prompting the jaws get a little bit tighter too.
"Relax," sounds more like an angry order, but you know it's just because the man is slowly but surely losing control because of your body.
"What, can't you take your wife's pussy?" You cheekily shoot his words back at him and instantly regret it.
Because Pierro lets go of your poor thumb and launches forward, crushing you a little with his weight, and closes his mouth on your neck. Your whole face goes red from how lewdly you moan when teeth bite hard on that special place that makes you go absolutely wild once stimulated. You still haven't figured out the cause of these, and making you a subject of Dottore's research is the last thing Pierro would do in his life. You discovered it after the curse settled in your bodies and just decided to embrace this new feature, since it proved not to be causing any harm. Quite contrary, it brings you unimaginable pleasure.
Your whole body heats when he tightens his jaws a little more and you claw at his back. You have no idea what you want - him to let go or stay like this, but the unbearable need for him to move gnaws at your insides.
The man smirks when you arch into him, breasts pressing to his chest and pelvises flush against each other. He rolls his hips again, and this time his cock slides smoothly between your walls.
"Good job, love," you shudder and whimper when hot breath ghosts against your ear. Pierro murmurs quiet words of consolation, licking at the bruised place, where the dents of his teeth are already becoming pretty pronounced. He doesn't forget to thrust into you, setting a steady pace and trying some angles to find the perfect one to hit all your favorite spots.
It takes a bit of time, but he figures it out, grabbing you under one knee and pushing it forward to put you in a position that lets him reach deeper, tip kissing your cervix. From now on he grows relentless with only one thought in mind - to satiate you. He fills you over and over with his length, bulging veins caressing your walls, eliciting the sweetest noises your throat is capable of producing, each one sending shivers down his spine.
"More… Please, more…"
You look truly debauched under him, so different from the serene and gentle expression everyone is used to. Only he can see you like this and it feeds his ego, eyes glinting with lust and thrusts growing even more relentless, each bursting pleasure. Skin slaps against skin, sound mixing in you joined noises of bliss. Pierro is grunting above you, pace hard and deep, driving you closer for the third orgasm. He releases your knee, but throws that leg on his shoulder instead, leaning on you even more, so you practically scream when thick hairs on his abdomen start rubbing against your neglected clit.
“Just like that…” he murmurs, both palms firmly planted on both sides of your head as he practically pistons his dick in your cunt. You can only wrap your hands around his arms to steady yourself at least somehow, but it all comes crashing when the tight knot in your stomach snaps.
Your eyes grow wide in the mind-numbing orgasm and your head falls back. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you reached your high this time, your stamina failing you, absolutely destroyed by your husband’s actions. He is still moving inside, helping you to ride it out, snug between your walls, where he belongs.
However you both know it’s far from the end. Suddenly he picks his speed, changing deep and hard pace to a fast one, driving himself into you almost wildly, chasing his own high this time. Your grip onto him only gets stronger, nails biting in his skin as your pussy tightens every time he pushes in. Pierro’s name flows from your lips like a mantra and he lets out a growl-like grunt of your own name. The loud squelches that your recently milked cunt make are clouding his mind and making his reddened cockhead leak with arousal.
Your gaze is hazy from overwhelming pleasure, but even in such a state you could see his tense jawline, blown pupils, drops of sweat sliding down the side of his face and flaring nostrils. The sight makes your pussy contract especially hard, forcing the man to choke and halt in his movements. He feels the telltale signs of his orgasm approaching, and knows, that you are hanging at the brink of yours as well.
“Cum with me,” you frantically nod at his request, heating up from the way he grunts, rutting into you, nudging your pulsing cervix as he fills you with his hot cum. It triggers you and with a loud moan of his name you let the orgasm wash over you again.
Your lover is gentle, grinding slowly, pushing out just a little and then all the way in to keep his load inside. He pants heavily, shoulders dropping and head lowering to press his forehead against your knee, eyes sliding close to catch a small break from the first long-awaited release he’s just experienced.
Moments like this - away from his duties, with you in his arms, filled with absolute bliss, - remind him happiness is possible, that he can rest in your embrace and be caressed by your love, be it in the form of emotional connection or the primal need to mate through sex. Sometimes one thought of you is enough to make his day brighter. Seeing each other is a blessing, since he doesn’t have time to hide in the shadows of the Cathedral to watch you speak to the Tsaritsa’s people, and you have no opportunity to slip out unnoticed and unquestioned to go and visit him. This is why every touch of your hands, every kiss, every thrust, every word exchanged in the privacy of his manor matters, and you try to go as long as your bodies are able to.
Only when you let go of his wrists and relax in his hold, does he stop his movements and carefully drop your leg back onto the bed. Then, ignoring your protests, he slowly slides out, mesmerized by your gaping hole, desperate to be stuffed again by his still hard cock, so wet with your juices it almost shines in the dim light of the bedroom.
You scowl at him for leaving you empty, but your gaze doesn't lose softness reserved for this man only. The amazed way his eyes are glued to you warms your heart and lessens the ache in your core from being ripped of the opportunity to cockwarm him.
"See something you like, my dear?" You flash him a knowing grin and run one of your hands sensually down your body. Star-shaped pupils dart at the movement and immediately sharpen, when two fingers reach and spread your folds. "Do you, perhaps, like the mess you made of me?"
"I do," he breathes out. "Always do."
With a sweet smile you reach to his shoulder, gently sliding an open palm over tense flesh. You are far from satisfied, desire igniting even brighter in you, so you use his moment of distraction, lure him in with your moves, only to gather your strength and roll your bodies, reversing the position. Galactic eyes widen slightly, when his back hits the mattress and your body hovers over his.
"My turn," you lunge forward and bite on his neck, pride stirring in your chest when your lover's self-control slips and he actually moans.
"You…" You hum at his low growl, lapping at the bitten place, knowing that the job to arise his hunger here is done.
"Yes?" With a cheeky grin you face him, closely watching his expression, loving the way his lips parted in silent pants.
"A wicked woman."
"Wicked? How rude and salacious calling a high priestess such names."
"Not her," a big scarred hand reaches forward and cups your cheek. So warm. "But the woman I married."
"Oh? So it's a good thing?" You lean happily in his hold, rubbing against wide palm. Pierro slowly lifts his upper body, steading yours on top of his with the hold on your hip, and takes the sitting position with you settled on his thighs. Hot breath brushes against your lips and you let your eyelids slide close.
"The best."
As he indulges you with a fervor-filled kiss, you reach between your bodies and graze just the tips of your fingers against his cock. Two sets of eyes fly open at the same time, but while he stares at you with yearning, your eyes crease in mischief. Simple caresses soon turn into your palm wrapping around his girth and slowly sliding up and down his semi-hard length. The bite you've granted him just moments ago does it work magnificently, turning him on the same way it was with you. Attempts to restrain his hips from jerking up to thrust into your hand don't go unnoticed by you and you tug on his cock roughly to elicit a groan out of him and bury your tongue in his mouth.
Palm which was resting on your cheek up to this moment abandons its place and drops to your other hip. Thumbs smooth over the night sky painted skin of your waist, soothingly rubbing. It makes you hum in content, caressing the cavern of his mouth languidly.
Palming and groping continues for a while, shift in pace obvious after the previous round (if you were to count by the times your lover came). His cock finally stands proudly against his toned stomach once again and you lift yourself with his help, lining the tip to your hole.
Pierro feels how his own semen drips down onto his length as you position your body the most comfortable way possible given the challenging stretch your thighs have to endure because of the wideness of his figure, including the hips. Pussy inevitably releases thick white substance, coating him and surely ruining the sheets even more.
Your walls show no resistance when he slides back home. How fascinating this part of your body is - molding to his shape quickly no matter how much time has passed since the last time. He knows he is big, he's made you drool and cry and mindless plenty of times in the past (he still can, but it takes more rounds and much rougher behavior), yet your pussy always takes him.
As if to prove the statement, you press a palm against your stomach and feel an outline of him, nestled deep inside your heat, a prominent bulge appearing whenever he shifts.
"I missed this…" You admit with a smile, rubbing up and down, absolutely enjoying the view of his greeted teeth, heavily rising and falling chest. “Mmm, I can feel you twitch inside…” Your teasing voice is so beautiful and the man can’t help it but lean forward and kiss the column of your throat.
“I missed this too…”
“Then let’s take the most we can from this night, shall we?”
As your lips meet in another kiss and hips start rocking again, Pierro silently agrees, secretly, just like every time, praying to no one in particular for the night to never be over.
taglist: @we-wo-we-wo, @secretartisanclodhairdo, @eiscoathanger
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#pierro x reader#pierro x fem!reader#jester x reader#pierro genshin#genshin impact smut#moonlit pearl stories#my longest fic so far
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how do you think kavehs child obtain the vision? been thinking bout it and now its just like an itch on the back of my no existent brain-
how does [name] get their vision?
summary. kaveh's child is blessed with a hydro vision... or cursed, rather.
trigger & content warnings. referenced past trauma, depictions of a panic attack, etc.
tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort. collei & reader, implied adoptive dad!kaveh & reader. 0.7k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this post is an expansion of what if kaveh adopted a child?
author's thoughts. OMG ANON thank you for giving me an excuse to ramble about this!! i have been thinking so hard about this ever since my last adoptive dad!kaveh post. anyway i try to avoid talking about fontaine too much, but it was inevitable in this post, so please remember that this was posted before fontaine's release. some details may not be lore-accurate because of that.
kaveh's beloved child, [name], recieves their vision in a very mundane way, but the feelings associated with the event are anything but.
it's in their early teen years, perhaps somewhere between twelve and fourteen, that their ambition reaches the point of being acknowledged by the gods above, resulting in them being blessed with a vision of their own. they aren't at kaveh and alhaitham's shared residence when it happens (they haven't had any reason to permanently move in with them yet, given the fact that they aren't old enough to enroll in the akademiya yet), nor are they at gandharva ville.
in fact...
they're at the palace of alcazarzaray.
kaveh is very much proud of his magnum opus, even with all the problems it caused him (they're smart enough to know why kaveh couldn't raise them by himself in their earliest years; nonetheless, they still love him, and hold nothing against him because they were still raised by wonderful people in spite of kaveh's financial issues). knowing this, it's with gentle and purposeful strokes of their paintbrush on the canvas that they sought to encapsulate its beauty in another light. the painting would have been a gift for kaveh.
it isn't uncommon for scholars and other bystanders to visit the palace. many scholars who do so often know who they are; those from amurta know of them through tighnari, those of them from kshahrewar know of them through kaveh, so on and so forth. some whisper fondly at the sight of them painting so intently, gaze sharp and lips slightly bitten due to the intensity of their focus, while others scoff but move on without pointing anything out.
ultimately, everyone knows it's best to leave them alone, either out of fear of disrupting them or out of fear of angering their influential family members.
it's sudden when they get their vision, the little gem sitting in their lap after a momentarily blinding flash at the most unexpected of moments.
it takes them a minute to come out of their artistic haze, blinking slowly at the sight of the unmistakable deep blue stone in their lap. they raise it to the sun. the symbol for hydro glares back at them.
that's when they panic.
their heart lurches into their throat as they quickly pack up all of their supplies, pupils blown wide with the rush of adrenaline and cortisol in their bloodstream. it's hard to breathe all of a sudden.
getting a vision is generally regarded as a good thing. some may say that it's something to celebrate. people have compared their visions to being warm gazes like those from mentors looking at their students, loving looks from a parent to a child, but to them? oh, no. their's is something much more sinister than that.
it is the sharp, calculated gaze of a divine oppressor glaring at the poor, weak mortals at her feet.
if it had been any other element, they might have been excited, but...
hydro is the element of their homeland. nothing good came from their homeland. focalors virtually forced them out by taking their parents, forcing them to wander aimlessly through the sumeran deserts, ridden with heat stroke and exhaustion. their weak lungs as a result of fontaine's polluted state had a hard time supporting their journey. they were on the brink of death more than once. they had to go through all of that just to find a new home, a place to survive. nothing good came from their homeland.
nothing good came from fontaine. at least, not when they lived there.
so naturally, they flee, darting through the expansive rainforests of sumeru, vision clutched in one hand while the other carries a bag with all their supplies messily shoved in. after being with the forest rangers for so long, they know how to handle themselves. navigating the forest is second nature at that point.
the air is much clearer in this nation, they think. it's nice.
when they get to gandharva ville, all they can manage to do is break down sobbing into collei's arms. she doesn't know what's wrong, but she knows that something is wrong. she does tend to flinch away from sudden touches, but she's known [name] for so long now. it's genuinely hard for her to feel uncomfortable. sometimes she does, though. even so, the sight of their tears seems to drown out any discomfort she may have felt. she knows they would never hurt her.
she loves them too dearly to even consider pushing them away.
when they're calm enough to talk about it, quietly murmuring something about not wanting that stupid god's blessing, she offers to escort them back to alhaitham's house, because ultimately...
this isn't an issue she can handle.
they need kaveh.
they need their father.
please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! adoptive dad!kaveh taglist: @kaoyamamegami, @zeldadou, @bebobeboben. send a non-anonymous ask to be added.
#aphelion brainrots 🌸#: [ adoptive dad kaveh! 🌸 ]#favoniuslibrary#astronetwrk#platonic genshin impact#platonic genshin#platonic genshin impact x reader#platonic genshin x reader#kaveh x reader#platonic kaveh x reader#collei x reader
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📖 Hi! I love your writing you are really really talented. If you don't mind I would love to request numer 12 and I was really curious how would Tom react seeing reader really hurt for the first time - like you know it's the first time he comes to see her play and something bad happens. But of course i would love to read everything you write! Congrats on 1K!!!!!!
📖𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝐻𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 24/7
A/N: Yesssss! I love this idea! Thank you for the request! The 1K Celebration is now closed, so thank you so much for your patience!
The crowd erupted into an excited roar as you stood on your hand on the broom, and swung in 360 to catch the quaffle in your other hand. With agility only comparable to that of a feline, you landed on your broom, navigating it with the twists of your body.
There was perhaps a single person in the entire Quidditch field who did not cheer for you. Tom Riddle stood crossed-face, his arms crossed in irritation as he narrowed his eyes up at you.
“Show off,” he mumbled against the wind and the zealous of his housemates.
One would say, you were truly in your element as you rode the wind, as if you commanded the wind god Boreas himself. The wind swept through your hair. The sunlight’s only purpose to shed light for you to bask in your glory. Your eyes shimmered in excitement, and your lips smirked triumphantly as you tossed the quaffle into the goalpost with elegance. Tom had to admit, you were magnificent.
You were driving him absolutely insane as you precariously balanced yourself on the stick. His grips were tightening on his robe. His eyes anxiously following your every movement.
The same eyes saw the terror in your eyes, when a bludger rammed into you, and you no longer felt the stable broom underneath your feet. All colour drained from Tom’s face as he stood there amidst the cheering crowd, the only one to notice what had happened.
It was all a slow motion. Tom heard himself whisper a muggle curse word instead of the wizardry ones that he had trained himself to do. Before he realised, he was scrambling to his feet, pushing everyone else out of his way to reach you.
He pointed his shaky wand up to the air and murmured a spell.
You were in a more horrible state than he’d expected. You’d lost consciousness from the pain by the time you were carried into the Hospital Wing. Your cheeks had grown pale, so unlike the solar divinity that you were. The only sign of your life was the puffs of shallow breath as your chest rose and fell.
Tom followed the stretcher, his eyes trained on you. It was obvious from the asymmetrical concave of your torso that you had broken a rib. Tom wondered if the bone may have punctured an organ, causing you to bleed out and lose all colour of vigour that you held. Or perhaps you had gone into a shock from the pain. If it had punctured your liver…
Tom felt his head grow lighthearted at the thought. You being a Quidditch player was not good for his heart.
Tom resisted the urge to swat away the hands of the nurse. She was being too rough. She was being too slow. The complaints were ready to pour out lest he bit down on his lips.
Tom was finally able to breathe when the nurse announced that you had not sustained any grave injury; the bludger having hit you from a miraculous angle. She performed a simple bone-mending charm and left you to rest.
It had been hours of him sitting by your bedside, well past curfew. Frankly, he did not care he was breaking curfew. If not now, he wasn’t sure when to exploit the Head Boy privileges. Your teammates had come and gone, informing him of the result of the match. Tom, again, resisted the urge to throw your broomstick at them and bark at them that the match was the least of his concern. And that he would have never cared for quidditch if not for you.
By the time you awoke, Tom’s eyes were twitching – whether from exhaustion or irritation, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. All he knew was that the moment you awoke, he was going to make you promise to never play quidditch again.
But, it never went like that. Not with you. Tom should have known.
You stretched your arms, smiling. And you opened your eyes as if you had awoken from the most pleasant nap.
“Oh, hi Tom,” you smiled dazedly up at him, unaware of his alarmed state as he jolted up at your stirring. “Where am I?” you rubbed your still groggy eyes.
Tom took one long breath before he spoke again, careful not to agitate you. “You are in the Hospital Wing,” he explained calmly. “You fell off your broom,” he said darkly, not caring to mention that he practically saved your life with an ‘Arresto Momentum’.
“Shame,” you shrugged, a display of nonchalance at such a traumatising moment to Tom’s disbelief. “Did you enjoy the match?”
Tom blinked his eyes rapidly. “Did I enjoy the match?” he repeated vehemently at your ignorance. “Did I. Enjoy the match?!”
He felt his hands shaking, not being able to hold himself together anymore. “I was worried sick that you might die! I was going half mad, pacing back and forth in front of your bed, wondering when you’ll awake! The things you put me through just to be with you!”
Tom turned his enraged eyes to you once more. “So if you’re asking, did I enjoy the match? No, Y/N. I don’t think so.”
You merely giggled softly at his outrage, as if to suggest he was the one being ridiculous. “Only five people die from Quidditch per year, Tom.”
Tom dared to wonder how you came to a conclusion that that statistics warranted the word ‘only’.
Tom dragged his feet back to the bedside and slumped down on the chair, rubbing his cheeks.
Your voice sounded a bit more timid this time, sensing that you’d made him upset. “Do you know who won?” you still asked.
Tom only groaned, wondering if this was how it felt to be your mother.
Still, he peeked his annoyed eyes through his fingers at you. “230 to 180. You would have won had it not been for the opposing seeker,” he recited the information that the captain had babbled about. It was no longer surprising to him that he retained the most useless facts even when he was trying to draw them out.
“Rats,” you swore under your breath, punching your fist into the cover.
Tom stared as the rosy red returned to your cheeks in a fit of irritation. Against his will, he felt the corner of his lips curl into a smirk at the sight. He parted his lips, but thought against it. As always, you had somehow managed to convince him that maybe he wanted to continue seeing your passion in Quidditch.
Even if it meant his life will be shortened at every match, perhaps it was worth seeing your smile, excitement, and frustration.
Tom shook his head, trying to hide his smirk in the shadow of the night. “You’ve driven your boyfriend mad with worry, and all you could do is pout about the match.”
Tom raised his eyes when he felt your hand wrap around his.
“Come on,” you flashed a smile – the same smile that Tom could never say no to. “You loved seeing me up there.”
Tom’s eyes remained cool and indifferent. “I will say,” still, Tom turned his hand to lace his fingers with yours.
“You were in your element,” he admitted, knowing he won’t live past 40.
#1k celebration#1k event#1k milestone#1k followers#1K follower event#harry potter#1k follower celebration#tom riddle#tom riddle jr#tom marvolo riddle#tom riddle fanfiction#tmr#tom riddle fanfic#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle imagine#tom riddle x you#tom riddle headcanon#tom riddle headcanons#tom riddle fic#tom riddle x y/n#harry potter fanfiction#tom riddle au#tom riddle fluff#tom riddle humor#tom riddle funny
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─୨MISS PEACHES '57୧─
(18+)//tw: drinking, pranking, cursing, light stuff//part 1
The horse trotted to the rhythm of the drums, the festival rumbled in the middle of the dusty nothingness, and the lights illuminated the stadium that seemed to be swallowed by the darkness of the warm night. The moon was hidden by the black clouds that threatened to break, lightning illuminated the mountains in violet, and the smell of a storm was approaching.
Jungkook encouraged the animal to go faster, clicking loudly. Jimin was behind him, with one arm he held onto the younger man's chest, and with the other, he took a long drink of the stolen whiskey.
The night called for things to fall into their hands, the purpose being to create a scandal and wake up that city girl who comes to Rivermouth thinking that she can devour them.
The apple of the Bell Ranch's eye, the star child, the one who left Rivermouth at nine to bring home a crown every couple of months.
The apple of Rivermouth's eye is back, wearing the brightest crown she's ever had. And the Hillside brothers plan to enjoy the show tonight.
With a spontaneous brake, both boys jumped off the horse, pushing people in the audience. Alcohol immunizing insults and judging looks.
"C'mon, Jimin. Hurry up!"
"Fuck off. I told you to bring something gross, ain't you working on Millie's butcher shop?" Jimin opened the lid.
"Ain't your dad a fucking shepherd?" Jungkook spat, tongue heavy with only a few sips.
"What should I bring? Wool? You fucking idiot." The blonde laughed, grabbing the last drink ready on his strap.
The crowd started getting busier, the lights fading.
The music started out of nowhere like the first trumpet of the apocalypse, announcing your arrival on stage.
And indeed, there was no prettier girl in all of Rivermouth.
With your pearly smile, high voluminous hair, perfect hands, and the sweetest smile Jimin had ever seen. Not even his mother looked so beautiful, nor did the statue of the Virgin Mary in the church. You were divine, a torment, taken from the same city hell.
"Take more." He heard himself say. Jungkook put his hand into the jelly jar that Jimin was carrying in his trembling hands.
Park's rebellious heart fell into his stomach as he saw you emerge completely from the curtains, materializing from the yellow dust that rose from the arid floor like a Las Vegas show. With smoke and lights and the Bell Ranch's girl dressed as a coquettish sailor. The lights are brighter than before, the sparkling shine of your glitter bow, your freshly painted nails, the sash around your body: MISS PEACHES 1957. Everyone applauded when they saw your hands rise and jump elegantly across the creaky floor.
Jungkook held the slimy mass in his fingers, gaping and wondering.
"Are you sure that's the right girl, Park?"
"Sure as hell." Jimin licked his lips, feeling a sudden thirst.
Thunder exploded in his ears just as your smile caught a glimpse of him. Like a sign from the Lord of your arrival, he was sure as hell that you were the right girl. "Why, are you scared, little church boy?" Teased, Jungkook clicked his tongue.
Was that what girls were like outside of Rivermouth? With long legs and an apotheotic smile?
"Aim..." Jungkook murmured coming out of his stupor, raising his arm, the reddish juice dripping down his wrist and onto his shirt.
It's not that Park felt hungry or wanted to go to the bathroom, nor that he has a fever. He wasn't nervous either, of course not, the alcohol helped him with that. But the southern heat was so strong from your presence that he felt like he could faint if he blinked and missed one of your steps, steps, steps, turn, one, two, one, two, three, four, CLACK! LIGHT! THUNDER!
Jelly spilled from Jimin's fingers, and his heart drummed to the sound of your patent leather shoes.
If he had known that the Bell Ranch girl was going to be you, maybe he wouldn't have stolen his mother's jam, maybe he wouldn't have called Jungkook that night. But it was already late, and his fingers were tickling, his nose was beginning to despise the smell of strawberries that filled his space.
"FIRE!" Jimin yelled as the clack of your feet made his throat burst.
The sweet rained down until it reached your beautiful face, your delicate costume.
A collective gasp landed Jimin on his feet, at what he had caused. Your smile was gone, your long eyelashes raised above the red. Both boys remained static, confused; as if they had desecrated a religious image.
"Oh, fuck. Fuck! We have to go." Jungkook mumbled hands into fists, eyes on the prize.
Jimin's eyes were bright, the corners of his lips tremblingly raised as he watched you cry in the center of the stage, the unbearable white lights made your translucent tears shine, and the sweaty makeup made you look like a ruined wax figure. The women who surrounded you to protect you from so much shame. Oh, it was a sight.
If your father wasn't screaming, if Jungkook hadn't grabbed his arm, and if his mother hadn't screamed his name from afar. Jimin would have stayed until his feet swelled just to see you, to admire you until he grew weary.
It wasn't the first time he had made a girl cry, but making Miss Peaches '57 cry had been the greatest achievement for 18-year-old Jimin. Best of all, he didn't even have to move, yell at you, or even pull one of your perfect curls.
The mere fact that he came close to you caused tornado damage to such a wildflower.
They had to run through the blue night, ride through the cold drizzle, and disappear for hours until the festival and you were an intelligible echo behind their cruel, childish laughter.
Jungkook licked his sticky fingers while he looked back. Looking for your silhouette coming down the stairs, defeated in the worst way for a girl: when she thinks she looks her best.
That night, both boys slept in the hayfield of an old cabin, drunk and sticky. They both dreamed of the same girl, and both woke up with goosebumps from the dew of a wet morning and a mischievous smile.
One of them dreamed of stealing a kiss from you, the other of making you cry again.
#—📃: an ewe and the captive bolt#bts imagines#bts fanfic#jimin imagine#jimin smut#bts smut#jimin x reader#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x oc#jimin bts#jimin fanfic#bts#bts jungkook
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