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ampleappleamble · 5 months

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—

Very few ships operating within the Deadfire bothered to make the long and treacherous trip to the lonely expanse of open sea known colloquially as the Windless Wastes. Traversing the unnaturally still waters was, after all, a task hardly worth the effort– excepting a direct route south to Naasitaq or the White That Wends, the area held little of value. No whaler was mad or foolish enough to brave the icy depths for a prize that could be won far more easily in safer waters, and cartographers had yet to make an offer enticing enough for any sufficiently competent explorer to successfully chart the place. The only known ports in which one might find shelter consisted of an abandoned Vailian fortress surrounded by shipwrecks and shrouded in a malevolent fog, and an inhospitable iceberg populated entirely by fanatical Rymrgandian cultists. Therefore, very few ships passed that way, and fewer still dared to drop anchor at the lone settlement frozen into the crevices of the Dead Floe, lest the burgeoning ice issuing forth from the winds of the glacial cliffs freeze their vessels in place for good.

Still, an unlucky or incompetent captain finding themselves bereft of the trading companies' good graces– if not a crew still to be paid and fed– might sometimes need plunge into very unfriendly waters indeed if they were to make ends meet. And even oblivion-seeking zealots needed tallow and firewood, needed vegetables and fruit and grain, and if they had coin or useful sundries to trade for it, who was a desperate merchant to argue? And so ships still, on occasion, reluctantly docked at Harbinger's Watch, offloading whatever wares they had before they spoiled: to the brewmaster, the fishmonger, the innkeeper.

But despite the dangers and the difficulties, one plucky young entrepreneur visited on a more regular basis, one who treated exclusively– and secretly– with the High Harbinger himself. And on this visit, much to her chagrin, he was proving to be a very difficult client.

—

"This is it?" Vatnir picked at the thin, shabby fare laid out before him, an unimpressed scowl stretched across his lipless face. "This is all you have on offer?"

"Per complancanet, fentre, do not sound so offended." The merchant fussed with a loose strand of ivy sprouting from her shoulder and strode briskly across the tiny hidden room, as though she were trying to physically distance herself from her own pathetic muster. "Di verus, it is nothing personal. My sister and I, we have merely suffered a... a lean quarter, ac? A temporary bout of poor fortune. You, more than anyone, should understand that." She narrowed her goat's eyes at him, somehow managing to pout condescendingly.

The son of Rymrgand shot the daughter of Galawain a withering glare as he roughly placed a jar of corpsefruit preserves back onto the table with a resounding crack. "And you, more than anyone, ought to understand the incredible risk I take in simply meeting here with you every month."

He folded his hands behind his back and lowered his horned head down between his shoulders as he spoke, sounding not unlike a teacher scolding a bright but lazy pupil. "I am the leader of this clan, Bela, the very beating heart of this community. My spare time is both exceedingly scarce and incalculably precious to me. If it should ever be discovered how I choose to spend that time–"

Bela huffed indignantly. She had come here to do business, not to get lectured. "Postenago, of course I know that–"

"Then why," he hissed, whirling sharply on her, "do you think you can convince me to trade the products of my limited time and effort– painstakingly crafted, authentic, invaluable jommydra– for dross and dregs?" He thrust a bony, accusing finger at the pitiful display of substandard goods cluttering his table.

For a moment Bela was shocked into silence, but if her miserable childhood as part of a traveling curiosity show in the Republics had taught her anything, it was how to recover quickly from an unexpected blow. "Well, you seem to have very easily put a value on them, High Harbinger," Bela spat back coolly. "Over the years we've been doing business together, you've traded away quite a few copies of your precious lore. For food, drink, smoke..."

Vatnir snorted derisively, waving a bandaged hand at her as though to waft away her insinuations. "Yes, yes, good food, good drink, good smoke," he barked. "Rare foreign luxuries that might lift away at least some small portion of the burdens I bear. Things worth the hours I pour into reproducing my clan's most sacred scripture for a profane outsider. Not this... detritus."

"There's plenty here that's perfectly good yet!" Bela insisted, stomping back over to the table and casting her hand in a broad arc above the sad little pile of miscellanea, trying to convince herself as much as her customer. "Madiccho, I thought you Glamfellen were more resourceful than that. Look, here. This whiteleaf–"

"—is naught but stems and seeds," he scoffed, "more likely to clog my pipe than to ease my pain." He coughed, as though to make his point.

"Well," she countered brusquely, "perhaps a man in your condition should not be smoking so much anyway." She snatched up a brown glass bottle from the table, waved it enticingly at him. "Drink, I think, would be much better to soothe your poor throat, ac? Rum, fine rum distilled in the heart of Neketaka, fit for a Watershaper– no, for the Queen herself!"

"Half empty," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. "And nowhere near as good as anything I can already get from Nyvardir. For free."

Really, the worst part was that he was right– her stock was shit, all of it. But unfortunately for her, shit was all she had, and she couldn't endanger her proprietary arrangement with the only priest of Rymrgand in the Deadfire, and one willing to betray the sacrosanctity of his office for personal gain at that. Desperation crawled up inside her guys like a creeping vine. "Gellarde. Fine. Fine! All of it, then! I will give you all of it, fentre, everything you see here, if you'll only–"

"Maribel," Vatnir snapped. "I don't want any of it."

She turned away from him.

With any other client, she'd have probably called it quits by now and referred him to a peer to whom she owed a favor. Part of being a good saleswoman, after all, was recognizing when one was simply the wrong kith for the job, and networking with contemporaries was just as important as pleasing one's customers. But if Marri was right– and being an Endings godlike herself, her "sister" did possess some unique insight into the matter– having exclusive access to authentic Glamfellen holy lore could mean the difference between dominating the market in the White That Wends, or continuing to drag along the bottom of the mercantile social strata as they did now, barely making enough profit for the next job's expenses, servicing clients with her body when her merchandise would not suffice. And if they were successful in using their godlike status to capture the custom of an entire country (or the communities along the northern coasts that deigned to trade with outsiders, anyway), perhaps they could capture the attention of the Songretta as well, convince them and the ducs that godlikes did have a place in the Republics, that they could run magnificent businesses, fill a niche that no ordinary kith ever could. She couldn't just give up on that dream. In fact, she refused to rest until this repugnant, boorish, creepy little charlatan of a priest gave her what she wanted; what she deserved, really, for putting up with him for so long. So she turned away from him, and she uncorked the vial of oil of allure strung around her neck for just such an occasion.

When she turned back to face Vatnir again, her eyes were downcast, her full, glossy lips parted just slightly. She fluttered her long, dark eyelashes, willed color into her cheeks, made her voice smoky and sultry and sweet. "In that case," she murmured, "I suppose I only have one more thing to offer you, High Harbinger."

The dozens of tiny orange flowers that crawled up her delicate antelope's horns and nestled throughout the tight curls of her mahogany hair all slowly turned toward Vatnir in unison, as though he were the sun. Her lichen-pocked hand drifted slowly across her soft, round belly, then up and across the plunging neckline of her dress, tugging at a leather strap tucked between her shoulder and her ample bosom.

Vatnir stumbled a step backwards, a bruise-colored blush spreading beneath his mask, bad memories rising up inside him like bile. "N-no," he blurted, "no, no. None of that. Never again. I'll not humiliate myself a second time just for you to–"

"Cuè?" Bela purred, pulling the strap harder to bring her satchel around to her front. The oil burned as it clung to her tongue, its intoxicating perfume billowing up around her as she spoke. "Sientere, but I cannot imagine what you might find humiliating about being offered a perfectly innocent book, fentre."

Vatnir blinked, eyeing her suspiciously before stepping closer again, his shame quickly and mercifully forgotten. "A book?" he muttered, his tripartite gaze fixed on her hands as she opened her bag and produced a thick, heavy volume bound in skuldr leather. "What, a new one?"

"New to you. And to me as well," she sighed, trying to suppress a grin. He couldn't smell it, she knew, but her oil was definitely working on him, drawing him in. And it was working on her, too, loosening her up, making the right words come to her as though they were being whispered in her ear. "Di verus, this item is not exactly part of my regular stock– it is a personal possession, a... gift from another client. I am only halfway through it myself, but if you insist on driving such a hard bargain..."

She coyly proffered the book, holding it just out of his reach, and as expected, he grasped for it eagerly. For many reasons, physical travel wasn't feasible for the High Harbinger of Dusk, but reading afforded him a kind of escape anyway. While narcotics and culinary delicacies could bring great pleasure and powerful succor, his enjoyment of them was also agonizingly momentary, and he was at the mercy of the gods to decide when an opportunity to endulge might fall upon him. A good story, however, was something he could escape into whenever he pleased, for as long as he dared: he needed only find the time to read it first, and then his chanter training allowed him to easily recall a particular turn of phrase or a favorite quotation and slip into another world inside his mind, a fantasy where he could hide away from the endless, miserable drudgery of his life. They were good for inspiring new ideas, too, new imagery and experiences and characters to weave into his sermons and his "visions", to make them sound more meaningful, more believable to his ignorant followers. If he were to be completely honest, a good, thick book was probably his very favorite thing to find among the vendor's wares when she visited– although, in the interests of trying to lower her prices for the damned things, he'd never admit it to her. Noting with relief that this one was written in a language he could actually read, Vatnir took up the weighty manuscript in his arms and adjusted his eyes and his mind to Aedyran script, drinking in the title.

The New Legends of the Eastern Reach: A True and Thorough Telling of the History of the Dyrwood in Anni Iroccio 2823, Detailing the Animancy Trials, the Assassination of Duc Aevar Wolf-Grin and the Defiance Bay Riots, the Rise of the Watcher of Caed Nua, and the Lifting of the Hollowborn Curse.

He sagged in disappointment.

"What in– for frost's sake, what kind of title is that?" he whined, even as he flipped the cover open and began leafing through the pages.

"One that tells you what the book is about, fentre," Bela deadpanned, smirking. "I know you haven't much use for world news down here in the frozen-over asshole of the southern seas, but let me assure you, the events described therein are as exhilarating and enthralling as any fantasy novel or sprawling epic. And what's more, they actually happened! In fact, if rumors–"

"You said this one was new," Vatnir grumbled, licking his thumb before turning another page. "The title says Anni Iroccio 2823. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the current year in your Vailian calendar is 2828, ja?"

Bela bristled slightly at the priest's constant interruptions, not to mention his choice to smear his stinking slobber all over the book she'd worked so hard to pilfer, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. "I said it was new to you," she reminded him patiently. "And books do take time to scribe and to illustrate, fentre, especially the more comprehensive ones like this. But the really interesting thing about this one is–"

"Ah, so there are pictures," Vatnir mused, happening across one as he rifled through the pages. "And in color, even." Indeed, vivid hues and brilliant goldleaf leapt out at him from the copious marginalia and full-page illustrations, charming and intriguing him despite himself: a Dyrwoodan city district teeming with what looked like the undead, a cluster of adra pillars surrounded by armed kith with painted faces, a bearded meadow folk man in an opulent cloak. He turned another page, and another, searching for more.

He stopped.

There on the page before him was a portrait of an orlan woman in a shining silver breastplate, her bright red hair cascading over her sturdy shoulders, her golden fur glittering against her tawny skin, her long, slender ears arcing gracefully toward the heavens, her violet eyes fixed on a point beyond the edge of the page, piercing and determined.

Vatnir stared, stupefied, powerless to look away. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

Bela, peeking over his shoulder, had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. Oh, she had him now. "Careful not to drool on the parchment, fentre. You'll make the ink run."

The smitten priest abruptly snapped back to reality, blinking rapidly and sucking air in between his teeth. "W-what?" he gurgled.

Now the merchant allowed herself to laugh. "As I was saying," she continued, "the interesting bit about this book is that it chronicles, in part, the rise of a particular hero of the Dyrwood. One who, if rumors are to be believed, has recently arrived here in the Deadfire. And gellarde! You have found her: the Watcher of Caed Nua!"

"Watcher?" Vatnir looked down at the book again, his gaze lingering on the woman's face for a moment before finally spotting a caption woven into the portrait's intricately detailed border, just beneath her clasped hands.

"Axe," he read, then stopped, perplexed. He squinted at the page. "Ocks-ah–"

"Ah-sha, postenago," Bela laughed. "She is Ixamitec. Ah-sha Ma-la is her name."

"Ah-sha Ma-la," he repeated softly, reverently, his eyes roving hungrily over the portrait again. "Axa Mala, of Ixamitl. Who is she?"

Hook, line, and sinker. Now all Bela had to do was reel him in. "To find out, aimoronet, you will have to buy the book," she teased, lightly running a fingertip along the edge of his ear. "Or trade for it, of course."

"Of course," he echoed absently, completely sincere– and then, too late, he caught himself.

Embarrassed, he gritted his teeth and jerked away from the merchant's touch, slamming the book shut. "Of course," he groused, scurrying to the opposite end of the room, the book still in his arms. "Well. You were right about one thing– I have no use for world news. In truth, no one does. So long as the Floe keeps expanding, there will soon be no world, no news. As it should be." The High Harbinger heaved a heavy sigh. "But..."

Bela's grin broadened. "But...?"

He turned his head to peer at her over his shoulder. "But you have piqued my curiosity. You said this... Watcher was here, in the Deadfire, now? What brought her here? I doubt I'll find that out from a book written five years ago."

Bela's golden-green eyes shone with excitement, and she hurried to his side, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You have heard of the giant adra man, ac? The one storming across the archipelago, possessed by Eothas, the dead god, devouring souls and luminous adra wherever it treads?"

A giant man made of adra? This was the first he'd heard of anything like that. "I've heard rumors," he lied. "So it's true, then?"

"Oh yes, fentre, it is true," she chirped. "And this Watcher, this Axa Mala? She is here because she is chasing it. It emerged from beneath her castle in the Dyrwood, tearing away her soul with its rising, and Cirono returned her to us from the Beyond to hunt the giant down."

Vatnir rolled his eyes at the mention of Berath, but pressed on regardless. "Hunt it down?" he muttered. "To what end?"

She shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps Cirono wishes her to reclaim her soul from the dead god, that it might return to the Wheel as is proper. Perhaps she has been tasked with finding a way to stop the giant's rampage, or else destroy it. Whatever her reasons, she has told the Queen of the Kahanga that she intends to sail the seas far and wide, scouring the isles for her runaway god. Who knows? Perhaps one day she'll even pay you a visit, all the way down here. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Bela winked at him, laughing again as the priest cringed and blushed.

"D-don't mock me, Vailian," he grumbled. "I've grown weary of your company. Just... take the jommydra and go. A book for a book– that will have to stand in for a fair trade, this time." He set the thick tome carefully on the edge of his table, snatching up a significantly slimmer manuscript and coughing into his free hand as he thrust it in the merchant's general direction.

Bela clapped her hands together, delighted in her victory, and flounced over to him to collect her prize. "Agracima, High Harbinger," she gushed, gathering her hard-won treasure– along with her unsold wares– into her satchel. "Always a pleasure to do business with you."

He grunted dismissively, and then again in alarm as he noticed what she was up to. "H-hey, wait a minute– what are you doing? You said I could have all of it if–"

"–if you'd trade me what you promised me you would when last we met, ac," she explained, cocking a slim green vine of an eyebrow. "I did not say you could have all of this and my personal copy of a rare and expensive book. It's one or the other, fentre. Do not be greedy."

Vatnir narrowed his cold, beady eyes at her. "Fine," he spat. "But you owe me better, much better than this next time. And I intend to hold you to that."

"I'm certain you will," Bela chuckled, latching her now bulging bag shut. "If you should ever wish to trade it back to me, my sister and I will return in a month, as per our arrangement. Corès for now, aimico. Use her portrait for your pleasure all you wish, but do try not to fall in love, ac?"

Vatnir growled, reaching threateningly for an empty bottle of rymsjódda. But before he could even pick it up let alone throw it at her, the woman gave him a cheerful little wave and vanished in a puff of smoke– her favorite rogue's trick, and an excellent way to return to her ship undetected by any of the other harbingers. She always ended their meetings that way. Annoying, but at least he was finally alone.

Alone with his new book. With Axa Mala, hero of the Dyrwood, and the tales of her great and terrible deeds. His hands trembled as he cracked the book open, letting the pages fall to either side, parting to reveal the orlan's portrait once more, every bit as captivating as the first time he'd seen it. He suddenly felt nervous, nauseated even, as though she were about to march into his quarters in person and demand to know what he thought he was doing. So he closed the book and took a few deep breaths before opening it again, this time to the first page.

"Well then," he murmured, "shall we get to know one another, Watcher of Caed Nua?" And he started reading.

—

#pillars of eternity #vatnir #fanfic wip #working title: hero worship #honestly that'll probably be the published title too #kinda bummed i had to change the Lords of the Eastern Reach reference #but unfortunately it just didn't quite work #anyway this is the intro and first half #the rest will come... uh later #thanks for reading ♡

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ma1dita · 4 months

Text

bedtime stories

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: bitch this was supposed to be a blurb. 2.4k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don't mind at all. You won’t admit a lot of things to Luke Castellan, but perhaps he knows something you don’t. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

warnings: none, banter and fluff on a night shift

a/n: Introducing luke castellan x trouble!reader… this is just gonna be ongoing blurbs and one shots of an idea in my head (and my latest hyperfixation) reader is essentially reformed unhinged bitch now camp mom and it’s enemies to friends to lovers. Working through reading the pjo series hehe

(posted 1/16/24, beta’ed by the lovely @ttulipwritezz @mrsaluado & @lixzey thank you bunches)

—

Dragging your feet across the dirt of the forest floor, you sigh to yourself in the quiet night air. It’s gonna be another long night and with the beep on your digital watch, you blearily peer at the time and sigh. Almost 11. Swaying slightly, you whistle a familiar tune as your nimble hands straighten out the deck chairs near the firepit, pick up trash to toss into the receptacle, and turn off the lights in the dining hall. All on the way to check Cabin 7, mind you, and the Apollo kids will undoubtedly loop you into singing a song with them before you shut the lights off and close the curtains.

Gods, your dad is definitely gonna hear about this in the morning.

It’s not like Mr. D ever really cares, or listens, more focused on droning on about missing his wife and playing pinochle even when you rattle off his…your to-do list for the week to keep Camp Half-Blood running and the younger demigods in mostly one piece. Honestly, he should be grateful he has you, and even if he is, he’ll never let you hear it. At least you’re Chiron’s favorite.

A shadow passes your field of view, and before you can rub at your sleepy eyes, strong hands pin you to the side of a tree on the dirt path you were supposed to take across camp.

Sorry, let’s correct that—you’re one of Chiron’s favorites. The other all-star camper stares at you like you’re a three-headed dog under the beam of his flashlight.

“Just me, Castellan,” you grumble, a bit winded as you blink harshly at the bright light. “Still doing checks.”

“You’re losing your touch. You making a habit of going to bed late?” Luke smirks, and it’s actually annoying how he always looks like he knows something you don’t.

“You always pin campers to trees?”

“Just the pretty ones.” His smirk turns into a sly grin that makes you roll your eyes.

“Okay loser, I’ve got cabins to check,” you drone as you push off from the tree. “6 cut into my time after staying there longer than I had to. The little ones kept asking these otherworldly philosophical questions and Annabeth just laughed at me while I tried to not pluck my eyelashes out one by one.”

Your clipboard taps lightly against your hip despite the aggression in your voice and Luke laughs much like his little sister, a burst of sunlight overflowing into the dreary and mundane. Your lips quirk upward before you can stop and remind yourself of who you’re talking to. The tall boy reaches behind him to scratch the nape of his neck and sighs, sucking at his teeth.

“You’re always doing the most, huh?”

“Who else is going to, my dad? He’s probably already out like a light.” Once, you found your dad asleep at his desk after dinner, snoring loudly instead of keeping watch. You started taking more night shifts after that.

“Well, no. You know I’m here to help you, even if you’ll never admit it.” Luke extends a hand to you so it’s easier to navigate the step back onto the dirt-trodden path, but there’s no fun in that, so you hop around him and start walking away. The sound of his footsteps fall and match yours as he follows you, both in tandem like the sound of a steady heartbeat.

“The day you catch me admitting anything about you is the day the Underworld freezes over. You should know that by now.”

“Woooooow, so I don’t get a thank you for singing the Apollo kids to sleep? You should’ve seen the look on their faces when I walked in and not you. They ended the song pretty quickly after I opened my mouth to croak out a chorus,” he says, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and nudging your side as you both laugh.

He’s a terrible singer, to be honest. Not even the Fates would’ve expected that from someone who otherwise seems like a perfect boy. Sometimes you wonder what he’s done in a past life to have it so easy–to look like he’s been chiseled by Michelangelo, have the athletic prowess of ten Spartan soldiers, and the heart of a hero only legends could get right. He’s probably the closest thing to an actual hero here at camp. You often find yourself looking at him in hopes of finding a crack in the porcelain of his perfection, but any fault of his seems to just build up his endurance in his quest for glory.

Maybe that’s why your dad doesn’t like him, his aspirations for something greater than the camp that’s kept you safe all these years, though the multiple complaints and headaches the both of you have given him as squabbling teenagers must’ve added onto that. Sometimes, though, the way he helps ease your load prods a funny feeling you do your best not to acknowledge in your stomach. Luke walks ahead shining the flashlight onto the dark path so you both don’t trip. It’s there now, at the sight of him offering an arm for you to latch onto to hop over fallen branches.

Mental note: tell the satyrs to move that in the morning.

As you hurdle over the brambles, you let go immediately after you steady your feet, moving his hand that’s holding the flashlight back towards the path with no other words. You are your father’s daughter after all, and he knows this—stubborn and your name have the same face.

Moving further towards your destination, the light reveals a teenage couple entangled within each other’s arms at the base of a tree out there for everyone to see in the moonlight.

“Jeez, guys, alright— pack it up, wrap it up! Could’ve at least found somewhere private… It’s curfew already, if I see you two again it’s a citation.”

The boy blushes and mumbles an apology to you, scurrying back to cabin 7, and you raise an eyebrow at a sheepish son of Hermes who swears they were all in their beds when he was singing to them.

“I don’t wanna go back to my cabin, all the boys are gross…” the girl whines, cheeks flushed from embarrassment as she flutters her eyelashes at you and Luke. You sigh. What has the world come to that young demigods are entrusted to the care of two people who barely consider themselves adults?

“Well, if you’re still in 11 with this one,” you simper, blatantly pointing at Luke, “I can’t blame you. He’s gross. Come by mine tomorrow and I’ll get you privacy curtains, okay? Trust me Yvonne, you don’t think boys are all that gross if you like kissing them.”

She nods, smiling charmingly at the two of you, before brushing past Luke and winking, “See you inside!”

Your head swivels to look at Luke with a coy expression, “There’s no way she’s not an Aphrodite.”

Luke huffs as he clicks his flashlight on and off. His hands are always fidgeting, always searching for something to do. He’s more like his dad than he thinks, carrying the quieter traits of quick fingers and more obvious ones like his constant search for amusement. Talking to you consistently satiates that itch.

“Aphrodite isn’t the only god that attracts attractive people, you know.”

“Oh? Do tell, because if she’s one of you, your cabin’s gonna be extra trouble,” your mouth curves into a smile, and he thinks he likes it more when you’re trying to be mean to him like this because the back and forth between you two is a comfort Luke cherishes. The words have lost their bite over the years, and there are no more cuts and bruises besides an occasional wounded ego, but it’s still entertaining, to say the least. He can’t imagine a day without hearing the teasing lilt of your voice, always easy to prod at and always wanting to have the last word.

“My dad is the god of thieves and messengers. We’re fast, smart, charming, and also good-looking. Do the math.”

“Also apparently the ones with the biggest egos, but okay.” There it is. He shoves you and you trip over your own feet falling fast.

“Hey! Jerk.”

“Definitely a daughter of Dionysus, crazy as always, and clumsy too.” Luke’s nose crinkles at the sight of your crumpled frame.

“Your hand is like the size of my face, what the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

A fleeting thought in the back of your mind reasons that maybe violence is the answer, but he’s still not finished making fun of you even after he helps you up.

“And vulgar! What a shocker.”

“Ugh. You better hope your dad stops populating because if there’s any more that come here and act like you? I’m quitting.”

Luke watches you gaze at the heavens, probably looking for a fuck to give and he snickers at how easily you give in nowadays. Maybe he’s the one losing his touch—usually you’d put up more of a fight to argue.

“You wouldn’t. You love this job. Camp. S’why you’re not as fun anymore, trouble.”

A noise of agreement leaves you as you glare at him and the stupid nickname back from when you used to wreak havoc just because you could, a direct juxtaposition to the honorary position you hold today. Finally following him up the front steps of Cabin 11, Luke opens the door and beckons you in, pushing at your hip with his knuckles.

Checking this place last has become a habit with Luke helping you out, and all the kids—Hermes’, minor gods’, and unclaimed, love it when you come to stop by before lights out. They especially loved the later bedtime, but hugs and cool stories from you were a close second.

“Everyone good and ready for bed in here? Sorry it took so long guys,” you say, visually scanning the perimeter and matching faces to bunks, seeing them all settled beneath their sheets, all except for one Luke Castellan. He’s still leaning against the doorframe, breath grazing your shoulder as he hands you a copy of his log from the other cabins he kindly relieved you from.

“What, no bedtime story this time?” He says through hooded eyes, and though he won’t admit it, he adores the sound of your voice. Luke does anything he can to get your attention to hear it more. It almost has a calming effect on him, and maybe it’s the fact that your dad can cause and cure madness, anxiety, and all alike, so something in him believes you do the same, powers or not. One look from him has you sputtering out snarky remarks; different strategies, same results—works every time.

“Castellan…” He grins at the look on your face, and tiny voices pop up from around the cabin, all asking for a bedtime story. Chris even starts a chant from his top bunk, making you want to hurl your clipboard at his head. Hypnos is calling your name at this point, and you’d do anything to crawl into your own safe haven in Cabin 12, but your heartstrings pull at the sight of the little ones pouting, hoping for you to tuck them in with a blanket of comforting words and stories of something more than what these walls meagerly provide. Camp Half-Blood only keeps them safe for so long, and not a lot of them make it out of here alive. You and Luke both know that being two of the oldest at camp, and his smug expression as he settles into his bed is confirmation that you’re about to give in.

“Fine. One quick story, and then everyone goes to sleep okay? Who wants to sit on the floor with me?”

You take your place sitting on the ground next to the foot of Luke’s bunk as he lays upside down on the twin-sized mattress, peering at you through one open eye as the younger children, mostly the unclaimed ones—drag their blankets and form a circle in the middle of the room, waiting patiently for you to start enchanting them with something to occupy their tired minds. Acting— that’s the gift your father had to give you; this time you decide to tell the story of Atalanta and the golden apples, how she ran from love and it still found her in the end, and how some stories can have good endings, despite what’s often found in Greek legend. Multiple tired eyes droop closed as you finish the story and carry the ones who’ve fallen into Hypnos’ embrace back into their bunks, tucking them in with kisses on their foreheads and it leaves you with a warm feeling that will help you brave the chill on your walk back.

Admittedly, this next part is your favorite part on nights like these. The overflowing cabin of rowdy pranksters and babbling children is as quiet as the secret you hold close to your heart, tiptoeing back towards Luke’s space and draping his blanket over his muscular frame, exhausted from another day of trying to achieve greatness. Your hand brushes a dark curl away from his forehead, fingertips ghosting his pale skin like a kiss you’d never have the guts to give. With everything you have in you, you summon thoughts of serenity and peace, hoping whatever keeps him up at night lets him rest for even a few hours. You don’t pray often, finding yourself spiting your father instead of honoring him on most days, but in the dim light of Cabin 11, you find yourself making time to do so for a pain in your ass called Luke Castellan.

Perhaps he knows something you don’t after all, the crease in his forehead relaxing as you pull your fingertips away.

“Sweet dreams, angelface.”

Mental note: Put his ass to work tomorrow for falling asleep halfway through the story.

It’ll only give him another excuse to ask you to tell it again a few nights later. You find yourself not minding that, a sliver of a smile pulling at your face as you walk towards the door and shut the lights off, a sleeping son of Hermes illuminated by the gentle shine of the moon.

You’d never admit that, though.

—

“you steady me and stir me

all at once.”

-Tanya Wright

ask to be added to luke/general taglist!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo imagine #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan x reader fanfic #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #luke castellan fluff #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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mimimar · 14 days

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finally completed my comic based on the song ivy by taylor swift!✿ please zoom in to read the text and see the details~

✿.✿.✿

you can get the digital zine pdf here! it includes extras like character profiles, costume design, more art of willow and ivy, zine-exclusive sketches and an illustrated guide to the symbolism of all the flowers in this comic.

you can also get prints of individual pages here!

✿.✿.✿

#ivy comic #it's finally complete!!!♡ this was the longest project ever but i really wanted to do my best on every spread #i also worked really hard on the extra pages for the zine. i hope you like those as well if you decide to get it!#i've been wanting to make this comic since evermore came out in 2020 and i listened to ivy for the first time #i posted the first sketches from this comic on my patreon in 2022 and released the first page last year in 2023 #so it's been a loooong time coming working on this in between other art #i was always disappointed that i got a hand injury back when i was making my dorothea/'tis the damn season comic #so i couldn't give my 100% on every page of that one. that's part of why i wanted to go all out for my ivy comic #and it has a happy ending this time!♡#thank you for sticking around if you've been reading since page 1 #and thank you also if you just read it for the first time today!#also i didn't plan it but i coincidentally finished this comic exactly on lesbian visibility week. love that #ivy comic mimimar #oc #ivy #willow #taylor swift #taylor swift ivy #ivy taylor swift #evermore #illustration #illo #comic #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #lesbian visibility week #lesbian art #wlw art #sapphic art

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dumbificat · 2 months

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imagine gambling with aventurine.

you tried to stop him, you really did. he’s got you in his lap, hand wrapped round your waist and resting on your thigh. his other hand is busy shaking the die that will decide his fate. you can feel the stares of the surrounding gamblers, cut the air with a knife the tension is so thick. it’s no surprise: aventurine is gambling his life on a dice throw. he holds the die up to your face, whispering to ‘blow for good luck, sugar.’

with bated breaths, he throws the die with a smirk. there are gasps, but none of it matters when he pulls you into a kiss before the die even land. you can only hope, pray that he won the bet but if he keeps kissing you like this, maybe you should join his gambles more often.

@ryuryuryuyurboat @imapencil @aventurintus @rainswept (tagged meisha + crow bc i know you love him)

#thank you for reading ♡#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai #aventurine #honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #aventurine fluff #gn reader #fluff #gambling #dumbi’s imagines #hsr imagines #imagines #aventurine imagines

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highpri3stess · 4 months

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Oh my god, they’re…

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

“They ate me alive and left me for dead”

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. And now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

updates: wednesdays and fridays

Series masterlist

mood boards

series content warnings (read carefully): 18+, DARK CONTENT, Tokyo revengers AU, female reader, virgin reader, heavy smut, polyamory, Dark Impulse Mikey, Manipulative Izana, inaccurate/inconsistent university terminology, heavy angst with little comfort, betrayal, misogyny and sexism, emotional, physical and mental abuse, virginity loss, purity culture allusion, mental break, manipulation, gaslighting, sexual harrassment, dubious consent, noncon, drug, alcohol and substance misuse/abuse, extreme violence, use of weapons, torture, criminal activities, PTSD, paranoia, emotional incest, power imbalance, character death(s) (not reader), anal penetration, mention of self-harm, religious guilt and trauma, religious themes, vouyeurism, gangbang, masochism, sadism, hard kinks, strangulation (non sexual), psychological horror (more warnings to be added soon)

Chapter 1: Warning Signals

summary: being friends with emma sano is nice, until you get on the wrong side of the Sano brothers.

word count: 9k

cw: misogyny, alcohol mention, sex mention, rape mention, brief religious mention, reader is called a whore/slut, slutshaming, sexual assault, noncon to dubcon, public initimacy, fingering (fem recieving), dacriphilia, gaslighting, manipulation, mention of vomitting, victim blaming, destructive thoughts, mention of violence (towards reader)

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

summary: izana kurokawa decides he has to teach you a bitter lesson that you wouldn't forget any time soon

word count: 7.5k

cw: smoking, mention of drugs, brief description of child abuse, childhood trauma and sex work, violence (against both character and reader), emotional incest, night terrors, allusions to sex, mention and brief description of rape, asphyxiation (non sexual), manipulation, slut shaming, near death experience, sexual assault, noncon, oral (m.recieving), face and throat fucking, attempted murder

Chapter 3: The Lesser of Two Devils

summary: the two brothers realize that peace with emma is within their grasp, they just need your cooperation

word count: 12.3k

cw: character x character smut - cunnilingus, struggling with sexual attraction, angst, mention of assault, physical violence, slut shaming, misogyny, intrusive/dark impulsive thoughts of murder and rape, manipulation, gaslighting, objectification of reader, mental health struggles, masking, breaking and entering, smut -character x reader, reader is threatened with r*pe, dubious consent, making out, dry humping, cunnilingus (reader receiving), pussy job, terrible aftercare, religious themes and guilt, panty stealing.

Chapter 4: The Calm

summary: emma decided you needed a break from all the stress of life and takes you to her home for a vacation and for a moment, you forget that reality is often disappointing .

word count: 12.5k

cw: male masturbation, academic fatigue, misogyny, objectification, one mention of unwanted pregnacy, implied drugging, age gap relationship, fluff to heavy angst, minor character death, murder, mental break down, panic attack, gang related violence, gun violence, metions of drug related business (c*caine), dubious consent, slight manipulation, mutual masturbation, fingering (fem. receiving), jerking off, nipple sucking, praise kink, squirting, proper aftercare.

Chapter 5: Act on Dark Impulses

summary: you knew better than to trust mikey and izana. yet you fall for their plan hook, line and sinker and live through the worst night of your life.

word count: 22.8k

cw: Dark CONTENT, 18+, NONCON, SMUT, threesome (mfm), implied character x character sex and relationships, violence, misogyny, tinsy but of fluff, heavy angst, dark impulse! Mikey, manipulator Izana, mention of sex work, illegal prostitution, allusions to sex, choking (not reader), bullying, gaslighting, guilt tripping, peer pressure, multiple betrayals, use of alcohol and drugs, drugging, r*pe fantasy, implied orgies, implied cheating, torture, dry humping, reader gets slapped in the face, light bondage, deepthroating/throatfucking, fingering (vaginal & anal) f. receiveing, spanking, virginity loss, double penetration, anal sex, unprotected sex, sadism, dacryphilia if you squint, slut shaming, degradation, dehumanisation, rough sex, overstimulation, mind break, mild breeding kink, facials, sexual torture.

Chapter 6: The Closest you’ll ever get to being in Love

summary: things get sicker and twisted with the two brothers and Emma is none the wiser.

word count:

cw: coming soon

Chapter 7: Trials and Tribulation

summary: You learn the hard way what happens when you refuse to be their stress relief because of your important exams.

word count:

cw: coming soon

Chapter 8: Divine Intervention

summary: You are called home to bury your mother and learn that nothing has changed since you left.

word count:

cw: coming soon

Chapter 9: Lead Me not into Temptation

summary: emma notices that something isn’t right with you when you come visit her in the sano residence.

word count:

cw: coming soon

Chapter 10: Deliver Me from All Evil

summary: you’ve finally broken the cycle, but at what cost?

word count:

cw: coming soon

notes from monica: I do not endorse any of these behaviors or any crime committed in this fic. This is purely for entertainment and introspection, please read the warnings for the series and each chapter and in case I missed anything, please dm me. If you are part of the taglist and you cannot read this fic because of your mental health, please, please and please alert me, I will take your name off. Your mental health first before my notes.

Thank you to my mutuals and all my followers who have supported me throughout and to those who will read this fic and support me. Since I began this account, I’ve made wonderful friends and I’ve been encouraged to write beyond my fears. Thank you, especially Zaya (@manjibunny) ! The mood boards turned out well because of you and all our discussions about the fic helped me a whole lot!

Anyways, enjoy. Asks, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. PLEASE I LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. It goes a long way to know what people think about my fics.

This work belongs to monica. do not copy or steal my work, do not promote my work on tiktok or twitter and do not use my work in any AI or chatgpt program.

divider made by the lovely: @mikeykuns

banners, moodboards, gradient texts were all done by monica.

series taglist (special thanks to): @honeybleed @manjibunny @reiners-milkbiddies @izanaki707 @rukiaslvr @ilovetwodmen @bbykoo-7 @tenjikusstuff4 @cockonoi @koffeenoe2 @kodzukein @lostsomewhereinthegarden @cashout-princess @aliyxh-o @kay-bear200 @iluv-ace @vixensbrainrotts @missgab @urmomsksk @sweeytheart @charcoal-xl @uradveragewhore @wcayaw @blueberry3muffin @haikyuusboringassmanager @diana-005 @perilous-pasta @kokoscutie @kannaaa015 @abadonkori @datura-inoxia @dolledupformanjiro @sugacor3 @marcoswhore @mechamadelargatixa @luminouslaybyrinth @iadoremik3y @lillystar2007 @miinnttyy @naomithenerdgirl @officiallyjaehyuns @kakusimp

Bolded can't be tagged. You can comment or send me an ask if you want to join the taglist.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #mikey x reader #izana x reader #tw. dark content #tw. dark themes #read the warnings #masterlist post #monsters ♡#updates: wednesdays and fridays #thank you to all my moots

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soapoet · 11 months

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describing the dynamic...

...a requested continuation of this post.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

Shufflemancy: First day of my life by Bright Eyes

This feels like home. It is familiar and it is sweet. The two of you create an air of comfort, which draws in various orphans of the storm. Like a safe haven amidst stormy seas. A lighthouse. This has the blueprint of starting a found family. Your union echos with lots of laughter, the kind that brings tears and stomachaches. The joy here is tangible and it is imprinted in everything. Your dynamic is like an evolved version of puppy love. It's nervous, but adoring. Giddy and rosy. It feels like best friends falling in love. They know you and you know them at a deep level. The foundation upon which this relationship stands could withstand hurricanes, though there isn't much to worry about. Most issues that crop up seem a little silly, and you may laugh about them afterwards. Personal doubts and misunderstandings are the worst that can happen here, which are mostly due to the doglike loyalty and care you have for one another. Ever seen the face of a pooch when they've done something they shouldn't have? They appear so sheepish even though their mistake or mischief really isn't all that bad or serious. We often laugh at our beloved pets when they appear so apologetic because it is so often wildly out of proportion for their actual crime. The same applies to this relationship. Doubts may occasionally become bigger in your heads and cause a similar out of proportion shame or guilt or concern about how the other will react. Many inside jokes may stem from these situations, actually. Despite the occasional and shortlived whirlwind of doubt and concern about the status of the relationship, your communication is very good and open and clear. You might both simply have a hard time expressing yourselves when it comes to negative feelings and experiences, likely stemming from your upbringing. Which brings me to the point of healing. A key feature of this relationship is just that. Healing. The two of you treat each other the way you wish you had been treated growing up. As though you are raising each other's wounded inner child in a much better, loving, and attentive environment. There is a lot of validation and tenderness present. The reciprocation is beautifully balanced. When one is feeling low, the other takes on a guardian role, comforting and supporting them in various ways. Need a doctor's appointment but you're too anxious to call? Your partner gotchu. Next time they're ill you'll be making them soup and wrapping them up in a blanket. The give and take feels natural, like neither of you need to think twice about it, and best of all: nobody's keeping score.

02.

Shufflemancy: High heels by Mando Diao

Once this one gets going, it's long distance, not a sprint. Considering the delays this relationship experiences before it begins, however, the steady movement doesn't feel slow at all. And although this relationship is very spontaneous and fun, there is a balancing act at play wherein plans for the future are made early on. They want to make sure you're both on the same page and have an idea of where the relationship is headed right from the start to avoid conflicting ideas later. There are some traditional elements to this relationship because they lead a busy life professionally. Plans may be made to have you stay at home once things get serious, though they are very supportive of any business ideas you come up with or already have when you enter into the relationship. This person values ambition and drive, probably just as much as you do, and is very supportive of any endeavours you decide to pursue, and is likely to help fund or network to boost your success.

Expect frequent date nights. This person enjoys romance and works hard to keep the spark alive, so long as they don't feel smothered. When given the space and time they love to shower you with gifts and make you feel special. Travelling also figures strongly, and you may cross many destinations off your bucket list with this person. They favour quality over quantity, though, and may make it a point to spend big bucks on a resort for an extended period of time to really make the most of the destination and the time you get to spend together. It's possible the two of you eventually purchase a second home somewhere you like to visit. The two of you enjoy a rich social life as well, and may frequently entertain people in your home or at different venues. Your energy is contagious and other people are naturally drawn to the two of you because of the fun and welcoming energy created by your union. I'm not seeing much in terms of issues, mostly because the element of fun is so strong here. It feels very balanced because each of you gets to be in your favoured energy and feel appreciated for what you bring to the relationship. Very strong mutual respect. Each of you seem to succeed in life and your careers and projects better because the other is by your side. Reaching higher and farther because of the support of the other. This has an air of'us against the world', as though you are building an empire together. Your success is very new-money and modern. Flashy and extravagant, but still down-to-earth and humble in a way in which you really count your blessings and have much gratitude for what you have together and where you came from. The two of you may help or give back to your community, or donate to charity. It's possible they pay off your family's mortgage or do some other big financial gesture towards your family after the two of you commit. There is a lot of passion in this relationship. Very flirty, and there is a strong sexual attraction. The two of you make each other laugh a lot and may pull pranks on each other. Check out Destene and Brandon on youtube, because their dynamic mirrors this group a lot!

03.

Shufflemancy: Mary on a cross by Ghost

This is the one that will feel like things are too good to be true. You will want for nothing. The dynamic here is almost that of a knight and the one they have sworn to protect, or the royal and the peasant they chose for love. There is much adoration here, and it feels old-timey in a way. If you have been kissing frogs before, this one will really surprise you. They enjoy traditional courting and may look down upon the modern era of dating and the attitudes surrounding it, and don't like most of the people making them offers. They also appear to compensate for time spent apart through lavish gifts, and making sure you have everything that you need. There are a lot of calls and messages being sent back and forth, especially during their time away. They're very supportive of your studies or the projects you're working on, and will do everything in their power to create a good environment for you to do what you need to do. There is a strong possibility of them asking you to accompany them on their business travels, in an effort to help the two of you spend more quality time together. You have an energy that differs so much from what they have to deal with in their professional life, and they derive a big boost of motivation and confidence from it. It is almost as though they see you as their lucky charm.

The primary cause of friction appears to come from outside the relationship. You may frequently receive strange looks when you're together, or the way you differ somehow causes tension amongst your partner's peers. They, however, are incredibly proud of you and encourage you to speak your mind and stay true to yourself. They think you're perfect and don't want you to change, especially not through pressure from the kinds of people they find shallow or even fake. There could be instances where people try to steal your partner, but they fail horribly because of your partner's devotion to you. This can also go the other way, wherein people begin to pursue you in an attempt to steal you away from your partner, as if to spite them. You may receive invitations, offers, and gifts from people, especially ones you meet through your partner. This reveals a jealous streak in your partner which is very prevalent, but not in a toxic or controlling way. Because they have such social grace and know how to play the game, they never target you with their jealousy and dismay, but those who try to get in between. They are protective of what's theirs, but are very graceful and strategic in their methodology of solving problems. This also lends itself well to any wrinkles that need ironing in the relationship, because they don't appear to get angry and have a mentality that it's not you vs. them, but the two of you vs. the problem.

This dynamic may sometimes lead to waking up alone, but there is sure to be a lovely note left behind, or they may send flowers. They like to let you sleep in, and find you to be at your most beautiful when you're asleep because of the serene look on your face. You really help them feel at peace, which is something quite difficult for them to achieve on their own. They have trouble relaxing or doing things without it somehow boosting their qualifications or adding to their resume. You help them pick out books to read just because, watch movies regardless of their acclaim and accolades, go thrifting for the fun of it or visit the sweet little side street boutiques and unknown cafés. They really just feel like they have access to more oxygen when you're around, as though they've spent their whole life holding their breath and they can breathe easily and deeply around you.

04.

Shufflemancy: Me the machine by Imogen Heap

There is a whole lot going on here mentally. The two of you spend a lot of time talking, for hours upon hours. "Is that the sun?" can become a frequent phrase used when time slips through your fingers as you talk the night away to watch the sunrise. The two of you love to debate, especially in regards to matters you agree on, because it seems you reach the same conclusion from different angles and enjoy discussing each other's detours. They love picking your brain and value your opinions. There is a bit of a hopeless romantic in them, which may catch you off guard every time due to their cerebral nature. They might leave you notes or share songs to express their feelings. To them you are an equal, a missing puzzle piece that helps them see the bigger picture. You two are like the seeker and the explorer. They like holding hands and being close to you, but seem a little hesitant, even months into the relationship. You are certainly the more open and affectionate one, whilst they tend to be a little shy. Their awkwardness is quite charming, though, because they do try their best to show their love and support. Support plays a big role here, too, as they have a lot to teach you in various areas of life and you will grow quite a bit during this relationship. They are an excellent mentor and encourage you to chase your dreams, but are also good at holding you accountable. They can be a little blunt and clumsy with their words, but they mean well and wish for you to be the best that you can be and never sell yourself short. They really won't let anybody talk down on you, least of all you yourself. They have very high standards so any self-loating on your part feels insulting to them. They wouldn't date you if they didn't think you were incredible.

They enjoy your company and express genuine interest in your thoughts and ideas. You share many interests and engaging in them together is a big part of this relationship. You two are stronger together and can face many hardships with greater ease due to how you complete one another. Not in that you aren't whole on your own, but that your individual strengths and weaknesses balance each other out. Where you lack, they're abundant, and vice versa. It really makes for a dynamic duo, albeit one that may from the outside appear mismatched or peculiar. That does not stop you, though, and they especially have very little care for what other people think. The two of you may collaborate on various projects, or work together towards both joint and separate goals. Your minds and talents blend beautifully together, and your relationship is potent with inspiration and motivation. Tackling difficult tasks and the daily grind appears easier when you can delegate things depending on your individual strengths. The source of strife mostly stems from misunderstandings. Both of you value communication, but on occasion words are left unsaid or too much is said without prior thought and one of you gets hurt. This does not seem to ever be on purpose, just accidental slip-ups and thoughtlessness.

05.

Shufflemancy: Boys do cry by Marius Bear

Which one of you brought the gasoline? The dynamic here is hot and heavy. Passionate, as though desperation and need is causing you to crawl into each other's skin and wear each other's hearts. It can get a little crazy, fast paced and wild, in most things that you do. And you may get into quite a bit of trouble together, too. When Billie Eilish said 'I'm the powder, you're the fuse; let's add some friction' the two of you were taking notes. There is a lot of push and pull, and the relationship contains a lot of drama. Though I don't feel like that is wholly unwelcome, strangely enough. It seems beneficial for the two of you to keep each other on your toes, like you both crave some explosive feelings to feel fulfilled. This relationship really isn't for the faint of heart. But whilst others watch in horror, you make each other feel alive in this almost feral dance. They are very protective of you, and you of them. It's like you give each other scary dog privilege because nobody else can swoop in to steal a heart while the other stands on watch. You're both a little possessive, but it boils down to the deep connection you have feeling so intertwined with the very cores of your beings that losing the other would feel like losing yourself. Definitely worth checking yourselves for co-dependency to be sure it does not go overboard, but so long as you keep your individuality intact, this one is one hell of a ride. A ride or die, in fact. You are truly partners in crime and feel dangerously powerful together, like you could take over the world and overcome anything.

I won't sugar coat this: there is a lot of turmoil that the both of you conjure up. Most of the issues in this dynamic stem from the heightened emotions you are both capable of, and if either of you start wielding them as weapons it will cause even more explosive emotions. I will say, though, that this only gets physical in the make up part of the show, as the actual strife is emotional and verbal in nature. Because you care a lot for each other, neither would dare lay a hand on the other. The thought of you getting hurt by them or anyone or anything else would upset them greatly, and it's the same in reverse. You mirror each other a lot, and have much to learn from each other. Much of it will feel heavy and burdensome since you will be facing your own demons within the other person, and that's never easy. Fortunately there is a lot of gentle care here, too. Since you both feel things so strongly and have similar experiences in life, it is much easier for you to sympathise with each other and support each other. This is one of those relationships where you truly do not need to hide or be on your best behaviour, because you have both weathered storms and do not easily flinch when the thunder and lightning begin to roar, and you both provide each other shelter when needed.

06.

Shufflemancy: Light by Sleeping at last

I remember seeing a writing prompt once upon a time with the premise of seeing in greyscale until you lock eyes with your soulmate, and this has that exact energy. It really seems as though this person lead a very monotonous life until you barged in, inviting the sunshine into their life. Because in many ways they view you as the light of their life, they are very protective of you. You bring them much joy, laughter, and relaxation, all things they do very little of, at least successfully, and find themselves more able to partake in the joys of life in your presence. You are a breath of fresh air, as though someone finally opened up a window inside a stuffy office. They see stars in your eyes and they want nothing more than to preserve them, and make them shine even brighter. There is a little bit of a saviour complex here. Anything you struggle with they don an armour for to protect and to serve. Because you nurture their soul and heal their wounds with your tender love and care and expand their horizons with your sense of wonder, they feel compelled to take care of you. It feels almost familial, but not in a weird way. It is as if they want to keep your childlike wonder alive and well, and right any wrongs that come your way. They take a load off your shoulders frequently, and may especially take on all your mundane tasks and paperwork. They love your playful energy and can see that the stuffy stressors of life cage that bird in, and they want to see you soar. This is a very healing connection for both of you. You balance each other out whilst being a mentor for each other, teaching each other your strengths so that you two can feel whole and capable all in your own right. You are both willing to bend, to try new things, allow the other to show you new worlds and explore possibilities. Very likely to lead to marriage, and it would be a very happy and functional one because of the growth you inspire in one another both as individuals and together as one. It's like your relationship begins as a little sapling, slow, but once it has been given the space to grow it grows big and strong and will withstand any storm and leave behind a legacy, like your future children putting up a swing for their children on the tree you two once sowed.

#pac reading #energy reading #pick a card #intuitive reading #love reading #love pac #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot reading #soapy.post #thank you to the lovely anon that suggested this ♡

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zu-is-here · 11 months

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whateverisbeautiful · 2 months

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♥️ Ranking Richonne

#1: For The Future (S9E03) 🏆🥳🎉

This is the one. 🥹 The number 1. 🏆 My favorite Richonne scene. 😍 And it's quite fitting on TOWL eve to discuss Rick and Michonne's final irl dialogue from TWD. How lovely that Richonne's 'last' day together was this beautiful. 😭

Richonne's relationship illustrates what I've always felt true love should be like. What the characters of Rick and Michonne have is a radiant, vivid, and undeniable soulmate love. It's earned and organic, it's devoted and deep-rooted, it's heartfelt, it's fiery, it's passionately palpable, it's everything. And genuinely, this impeccable scene has it all.

So I adore this moment to infinity and beyond, especially because in this scene, we truly get to see Rick and Michonne revel in Richonne...

What's clear from my Top 5 is I tend to really appreciate scenes where Rick and Michonne talk about Rick and Michonne, and this scene is one of the best examples of that.

Throughout all these posts I’ve expressed the sides of Rick and Michonne's relationship that I adore - when they're doting on each other, desiring each other, leading together, parenting together, relaxed and domestic, fighting the fight, being playful and flirty, being reassuring, being hopeful, happy, honest, human, wise, vulnerable, encouraging, and enchanted by the other. And pretty much all of this was captured in this scene right here.

So while I have no notes for this scene, my extra self still has a lot to gush over and praise. I mean naturally, cuz this is my goated Richonne moment. 🙌🏾😌

I just marvel at how special this ship is for only continuing to top themselves with golden scenes to the point that Richonne's last moving dialogue irl is my all-time favorite moment between them.

And if Richonne just had to be taken from me for 6 years, then this was an excellent scene to hold onto as I patiently waited for their return. (which is tomorrow, can you believe it!? 🤗) And it's also an excellent moment for Rick and Michonne to hold onto as their paths part for years and they fight with everything in them to get back to each other. 👌🏽

The chemistry and connection between Rick and Michonne have always been so profound to me, and they’ve been operating like one for a long long time. And in this scene, you just see every single reason why they are meant for each other and how they're ready to take their oneness to new levels. 🙌🏽🎉

Also in this episode, it feels like this is the one time when Rick, Michonne, Judith, Carl, and RJ are all in some way involved as we officially know Michonne will be pregnant after this. 😭

Ok, so first we gotta talk about the great Grimes Family 2.0 sequence just before because it's attached to this #1 moment for me. The episode starts with Rick waking up in his bed with Michonne asleep, and I love any time we get to see their everyday life side.

I adore the way Rick immediately places his attention on Michonne when she sleepily tosses to the other side. And then seeing that she may be feeling a bit restless, he gently gives her a calming kiss on the shoulder. Such a sweet silent act of love for his wife. 🥰

And I love seeing that Rick wakes up with this instant affection for her, just as Michonne does in the next ep when she wakes up and adoringly kisses him while he sleeps. 🥹

Also, this moment makes me a bit sad cuz it’s the last time Rick and Michonne will wake up together like this for years. 😢 But thank goodness they will hopefully soon have mornings together like this again. 🙌🏾

And then, after showing love to his wife, Rick hears Judith cough and goes to gently check on her as she also is sleeping in a similar position as Michonne. Seeing Rick in this house with his wife and daughter, you just know these are the two he’d do absolutely anything for. Including fighting every day for years to get back to them. 🥲

And then they gotta get my waterworks going when Rick walks down the steps and touches Carl’s handprint. Oh how I wish Carl was asleep in another room for Rick to check on. 😭 But the fact that even tho Carl is gone, Rick still finds meaningful ways to feel connected to him is beautiful and makes it feel like he really managed to have a genuine heartfelt moment with his wife, daughter, and son this morning. The truest family man. 🥰

Then Rick takes a walk in the lush community and it’s just nice seeing him get to really take in how much life is growing around them with all the plants and food sprouting up. This is so reflective of what he and Michonne have impressively built together, and Rick deserves this satisfying peaceful moment so much.

If Richonne had managed to carve out even a semi-decent life a year and a half after the pain of losing their son and fighting a war it would have been commendable. But for them to have healed to the point where they were living a genuinely happy robust life together, speaks to the revitalizing power of their love.

Everything is fruitful and growing in their community, and I love that just like that ripe red tomato Rick finds, Rick is also ready to be fruitful and multiply. Amen. 🥳

And as if the sequence wasn’t already precious enough, Rick places the red tomato at Carl’s gravesite, and he has this quiet moment with his son which just hits my heart. It's like Rick's letting Carl know he's making his dream real just like he promised. 😭

I love that Rick is so devoted to keeping Carl’s memory and wishes alive, including Carl’s desire for Rick to build a bountiful future - specifically one where “Michonne is happy.”

I’ve always found Rick’s teary smile at Carl’s grave interesting because it makes me curious what they're implying he’s thinking. I personally feel like part of it is Rick thinking about the fact that he’s ready to grow their family and knowing Carl would want that for them too.

So now onto my all-time favorite Richonne scene. 🙌🏽🥳

I truly love that they give Rick and Michonne this at-home, comfortable, living their everyday life moment in bed for their final irl conversation. 😍😭

Where my #2 scene from the season 5 finale was one I really appreciated for depicting Richonne's strength amid tough times, my #1 scene here is one I appreciate so much for depicting Richonne's strength during a time of overall calm. This moment wonderfully and angelically shows how Rick and Michonne's love soars when they finally get to live the peaceful life they fought so hard for.

So I of course love all the scenes where Richonne shower each other in love during high-stakes moments of adversity. But this rewarding scene is so special to me for being a moment of Richonne getting to shower each other in love during a rare time of normalcy after everything they’ve been through.

So Michonne is up in bed and working on the charter like the Get Things Done Grimes she is. And Rick returns to their room and the moment is just so calm and casual as they ask each other how they slept, and Michonne admits her mind won’t shut off. As we know from their canon ep, they’re very good at helping the other just turn their mind off for a bit and so Rick is def about to help her with that. 😋

I love seeing Rick take his boots off and get right back into bed cuz I know that man already had his mind made up to take today off and just be with his girls. I think about how refreshed Rick was in s9 even though so many of his OG friends were all spread out. And a big reason why he can still seem so content is because as long as he has Michonne and his daughter every day then he has everything.

Then Rick is so encouraging when he tells Michonne she’ll have the charter figured out by supper. Like the charter is a big deal to figure out, but he knows his goddess of a wife can handle it, and I love that he always has so much belief in her.

When Michonne smiles and says, "yeah, no," Rick is rightfully in full Michonne-stan mode as he tells her it’s good she's leading this place. I love how Rick knows and is grateful that Michonne is so capable of not just helping him lead but being a leader in her own right.

And I like that Michonne says, "with you" because it just shows how much she truly values their partnership and still only wants to lead if it’s with him. The “Me and you” way. 😊

It’s really sweet the way Rick says, "Nah, I’ve been at the bridge, here it’s you." He’s going to make sure Michonne gets credit where credit is due. And again, his reverence for her has always been so lovely to watch throughout this scene and this series. (Rick Grimes is a 'Michonner,' y'all 😋💕)

Also, it's great seeing that Rick is so comfy as he rests on the bed while letting Michonne know she’s the one whose been keeping this place safe and figuring out how to improve it. After roughing it in prison cells, the woods, and mattress-less rooms during the saviors' reign, it's great to see him get to just make himself comfortable in a warm bed with the love of his life.

And Michonne is all multi-tasking by listening to him, writing notes down, and setting a plan to take their daughter to the doctor. Like truly, Rick,...

But he already knows that. 😊

Then I love seeing this parents moment of them talking about Judith’s cough and taking her to the doctor. Rick assures that he checked on her and it’s probably just a cough but Mama Michonne still wants to be sure so she says she's going to take her to Siddiq just in case. And Rick is immediately on board saying he’ll join them. I love this dad, y’all. 🥰

Like this is what’s important to Rick always, so even as a leader with so much on his plate, being around for his family is always the priority, even for just an unassuming doctor's visit.

And I also love this exchange cuz It’s so clear that Rick and Michonne are equally Judith's parents and obviously have a lot of care for her that they want to take precautions even if it’s a small cough. I'll also just never get over that we went from Michonne saying, "You could've just taken the formula" to now her and Rick talking about Judith as the daughter they're raising together. 🤗

Then my uncontrollable smiling has returned when Rick tells Michonne that they’ll have to promise Judith a Family Fun Day to get her to go to the doctor. 🥰 I love that they’ve coined this term, indicating Family Fun Days are something they do often. They really are such a beautiful caring family, and their eventual family reunion that I've been trying to speak into existence since 2018 is going to be HEAVENLY. 😇

The fact that the word "fun" can even be a part of their lives now is refreshing. And I also love how much this family fun day is something Rick genuinely wants not just for Judith but for him and for Michonne too. Here for it.

Michonne smiles when he says this and then has a realization moment as she asks, "Aren’t you headed back right away?" And Rick says, "I can take the day" and then says “We can.” That man ain’t tell a lie. Rick and Michonne deserve a day off, and I like how this is the beginning of Rick helping Michonne know that it’s okay to take a break in this scene. 😏 And once again, Rick demonstrates that when he's with Michonne...the world can wait. 😌

Rick says the last report was good and “Maggie will be there soon thanks to you.” Which again I love that every chance Rick gets he’s giving Michonne her props.

There's also something a bit sad about this because Rick is so convinced that the others can hold it down for a bit but that ends up not being the case and results in their family fun day getting cut short indefinitely.

I really feel like because Rick values Michonne’s influence and insights so highly in his own life, that’s why he felt so confident that Maggie would have become on board after a visit with Michonne - because he would have had Michonne visited him. He thinks everyone should get in formation when Michonne speaks just like he does, and Rick, sincerely...

Always intuitive, Michonne knows that Maggie is still angry and Daryl too so she tells Rick this and he nods and then he asks, "Well you want me to go?" And I was like now Slick Rick knows the answer to that is no lol.

Michonne places her hand on his and says she wants it to work. And by reaching for his hand it shows that ultimately she of course wants him to stay with her, she just knows how much they’re needed by the others. #SelflessQueen

Also, there's just something so moving to me about the way she looks at him in this moment. Like of course Michonne is known for her only-envision-winning mentality, but here there is also a part of her that needs some reassurance that everything they're trying to do and build really can work despite all the underlying division within the communities and tf.

Needing some reassurance, her husband so sweetly gives her just that when Rick says "It will" in the most comforting tone. And I like how he positions himself to sit up and really look in her eyes as he lets her know that even if everyone isn’t all in yet they will be, “just like we did.”

I love that Rick and Michonne are always a “we”. They’re a package deal cuz they’re one. And that line just felt like a bigger statement to their own journey. How they truly went all in with each other.

And again the way Michonne looks at him is just heartwarming as she expresses agreement. Her love for him and belief is so visible and sincere. The way they can both always resonantly reach and reassure each other when they speak is perfection.

I love that she then says okay and touches his face, and I also was like sis, you know if you touch him like that this scene is gonna escalate lol. 😋

Then we get to one of my many favorite parts of my favorite scene when Rick looks at Michonne with such genuine abundant love in his eyes and tells her, "Thank you." 🥹

The way Rick always tells her thank you since season 3. 😭 I love the way he adores, praises, and reveres Michonne. Like, for Rick, it is always doting over Michonne hours.

Michonne asks, "For what?" which just reminded me of when Rick asks her "For what?" when Michonne said she never thanked him in the s3 finale.

And then the way Rick takes a breath and smiles at Michonne on this bed after she asks this - it literally makes me want to shed a tear. It’s just a beyond beautiful wordless moment that really feels like Michonne taking his breath away as he’s overcome with love for her. And that might sound dramatic but hey...

Rick has been in awe of her since literally day one at that fence, and to see seasons later, after getting to know her in the deepest sense, he still has that awe of Michonne but amplified. It's great. And Rick just looks so unabashedly mesmerized by her in this moment which is heartwarming.

Like when she asks 'for what?,' you can tell Rick is just marveling about how incredible she is and how the list of reasons to thank her is miles long.

And this is not really Rick and Michonne's newlywed stage anymore, y'all. This is their married for a while, been through hell and back together after losing our son stage, and Rick still looks at Michonne like she hung the moon and the stars. 😭

And then Rick takes the scene to new heights of heartwarming when he says exactly what he's thanking her for, stating “For everything you’ve done. For everything you’re doing. For you.” Absolutely perfect. 😍😭😍😭

And it's so fitting cuz Michonne really has done so much of value, past, present, and for the future. But the best of the best is Rick saying “for you” because he’s not just grateful for what she does but who she is. And she is someone exceptional.

I adore that in their final one-on-one irl scene Rick is outright thanking Michone for existing and for the lovely gift that she is and has always been in his life. Honestly, Rick's romantic heart needs to be studied because the things he says to and about Michonne are just everything and more. 🥹

Another thing that makes this scene and ep so special is Rick and Michonne don’t know this is their last day together. So for them, this is just another day. And I love it for showing how all this beautiful love and adoration they’re letting out is not because they’re trying to make their final day count - this is just how they are with each other on the regular.

And I love that we get to see Michonne’s reaction to receiving this genuine love and appreciation from her husband as he gives her her flowers. Michonne deserves every bit of this love. 🙌🏾💐

I am so excited that Michonne will get to have this type of love back in her life when she finally reunites with the man who adores her. 🤗 I firmly believe Rick’s awe of Michonne will only be heightened when he gets to learn how resilient she’s been in his absence for herself, their children, and their community. She’s had to be so strong for so many, and I love that she’ll finally be back in the arms of the one whom she can be most soft and taken care of with.

And the same goes for Rick. After being a man desperately looking and longing for his family while so alone for years - I am elated that he’ll be back with the woman who most makes him feel loved, sane, seen, and home.

When Rick and Michonne see each other again you know this is about to be a direct quote from both their minds...

Also, something that’s so sweet about the love story crafted for Rick and Michonne is that adoring each other comes so effortlessly to them. They don’t have to constantly remind or force themselves to be attentive and expressive to each other, it’s the most natural thing in the world for them to love this person in front of them out loud.

So yes it’s an active daily choice to love, but I appreciate that it also feels so aligned with how Rick and Michonne want to naturally operate - head over heels in the most grown, grounded, yet grand way. 🥰

Then, after saying something so authentic, accurate, and beautiful by thanking her for pretty much everything, the two share a sweet kiss. And their every kiss is so special to me. Like it’s always passionate no matter what. And just the way he looks at her after 😭 heart-melting. They're irresistible to each other and always have been. 😍

I especially love that Michonne then leans in and kisses him again as her own thank you for his kind words. Those magnets within them mean we’re always gonna see more than one kiss. 😋

And then she slides her hand down his neck and chest and once again I was like - now sis, you know things are about to escalate if you do that. 🤭

And sure enough…😋

Rick starts closing the books and moving them away as he invitingly says, "Why don’t you take a break?" 😏 I love it. It’s cute that Michonne is instantly tickled by this too. She knows what’s up. And she knows she’s down. ijs. 😋

But first she asks, "You want me to stop working?" and she knows good and well the answer is yes - but I love that Rick has always been a little extra when it comes to Michonne so he doesn’t only say yes. Instead, he takes the pencil out of her hand and flicks it away as he says, "yeah" in a way that will never fail to have me smiling and kicking my feet cuz like...

And Michonne was undeniably amused already, but she got especially tickled when he tossed the pencil. That man always has her smitten. 😊

I adore seeing this playful side of them and this reminder that Rick and Michonne are husband and wife and also best friends who could always make each other laugh.

Even more, I love how Rick fully believes Michonne can do any and everything…but he also knows she shouldn’t have to, especially not all the time. Which is why I appreciate his consistent thing of wanting to give them a chance to have a break and time to themselves.

It's sweet too how, without even fully seeing his face, you can still see from Rick's profile that he has this genuine proud smile upon seeing he made his wife laugh. Her joy is truly one of his favorite things. 🥹

Rick smiling at her here reminds me of how happy he was to have made Michonne smile when he came home with mints to give her in their canon ep seasons ago. #TheirLoveNeverFades

I adore that from season 3 saying "Good, cuz I see things" to this moment in season 9, Richonne stayed flirty with each other, both when strangers and when married. 🥰

And then Michonne teases as she asks Rick, "You want me to stop creating the foundations of a new civilization?"...The questions are just foreplay at this point because they both know what's about to happen rn lol. She and Rick both know that what he wants is in the first three words of her question. 😋

I love the way Michonne talks to him and looks at him and the way Rick can’t help but touch her and study her while she speaks, knowing this is the woman he is so ready to have another child with.

Somehow in this moment, Rick seems to be intently listening to her while also distracted by her all at the same dang time. 🤭

So Michonne is all cutely smiling at him while waiting for his answer... and then Rick gives an unforgettable answer.

(also the way even Rick and Michonne's movement is in sync in this scene is just 👩🏽‍🍳💋. they're magnets fr)

Rick looks right at Michonne and then says, “I can think of another way to build for the future” and it’s just ahhhhhh. The best. 😭 What a great way to reveal that Rick wants to have a baby with Michonne.

The scene organically transitions from like playful causal morning vibes to a huge serious declaration of love and development for their family and I'm too here for it. 😍

Rick wanting this baby is a huge deal, especially just a year and a half after losing Carl. And him being at this stage has everything to do with his belief in Michonne and him together and knowing he's with the love of his life who has in so many ways healed him with her one-of-a-kind presence.

He's seen the way he and Michonne work so well together in any role - parents, partners, lovers, leaders - and Rick has always known that the two of them can do anything, from reordering the world to raising a growing family.

So then Rick passionately kisses her after he says this - but like this is a giant statement and Michonne knows what he’s implying is a big deal, so she has this curious look at him. And then I absolutely adore this next moment of them transitioning to a more intimate position.

The way Rick is ready for her to do this little maneuver always felt like a nice little suggestion that they’ve done this often. And it’s just so sensual and romantic. 😍 But I also love this shift for showing how Michonne goes right out of work mode and wants to be so fully present and focused on him as she confirms that Rick is really saying what she thinks he’s saying. Their consistent ability to be present with each other deserves another shoutout cuz it's gold. 👏🏽👏🏽

Also, the way Rick just stays with his eyes glued to her as he holds her and the way Michonne tenderly holds his face in her hands. They knew they were gonna have little Richonner hearts everywhere doing front flips with this movement alone. And I ain't mad at it. 😋

Michonne looks right in Rick's eyes as she says a hopeful, "Yeah?" Then Rick says such a certain, "Yeah" that lets you know having a kid with Michonne isn’t some out-of-nowhere idea that just hit him but something he’s thought about and is sure about. Rick is always sure when it comes to him and her. 👌🏽

And you just know Rick loves their future baby already too, especially because the baby will be part of the woman he's madly in love with.

Michonne smiles and softly says, "okay" and then I love the way Rick eagerly pulls her in closer to him. 😊🧲

Then the last line of the scene is Michonne so sweetly repeating Rick's words back, as they so often do throughout their relationship, as she says, "For The Future." 🥹

Perfect. x1000.

What a fitting final line and final scene to conclude Richonne's last private exchange like this. Especially for two reasons.

One; thinking about the long-term future used to not be a luxury they had at the start of the apocalypse so it shows how far they've come. Two; Rick and Michonne were two people who, even before they met each other, fought to believe in the future even when others around them (and at times their own past partners) didn't. But in finding each other, Rick and Michonne found the one who could fight to live like them, believe in the future like them, and hold onto hope like them - And now here they are in love and getting to feel so hopeful about their future together. 😭

It’s great that such a major decision like having another kid is one Rick and Michonne were both so quickly on the same page about. They both are ready for this. Both want their splendid love to take form in a new life being brought into the world. 🥹

And again it’s such a testament to their powerful relationship and the way they were able to help build each other back up after losing Carl to the point that they could be healed enough to want another kid. I'll never get over it.

Then I adore this shot of Rick looking up at Michonne with the two bathed in light. It feels so reflective of how highly Rick's always viewed her and how Michonne's been the light in his life. She's his future. And he's hers. 🥰

The scene concludes with Rick and Michonne sharing their last irl passionate kiss as things finally escalate, and they savor each other as they do best. And this whole scene and final moment is just so beautiful it makes my heart hurt. Richonne is stunning and their love is a work of art. 🙌🏾

'Epic love story' really is the best way to describe Richonne, and I love love love that Rick and Michonne always enjoy reveling in Richonne. We have that in common. 😋

I just so appreciate that before he left the show, it was made crystal clear that what Rick wanted for his future was to bring life into this world with Michonne, the ultimate and unequivocal love of his life. 👏🏽 And he’s going to learn that even apart, that dream was still achieved. The Get Things Done Grimes got it done. The baby Rick loved before he even was made, lives. Oh I CANNOT wait for Rick to learn about and meet RJ!!! 🥳😭

Knowing Rick and Michonne's individual journeys, it genuinely moves me that two people who went through so much and lost so much but continued to fight for the people they love got personally rewarded with this gorgeous and deep love that’s just for them. And they didn’t shy away from the love that was there, rather they valiantly and completely embraced it and it’s truly what they deserve. They both deserve to be loved this wholly.

I know this is my undeniable #1 scene because each time I watch it, it warms my whole soul and I get fully enwrapped in it - just mesmerized and overjoyed from start to finish. Watching this #1 scene, during every single part I'm just like...

And Rick and Michonne Grimes bathed in bright sunlight and sharing a passionate kiss while acknowledging they want their future and their love to now take shape in the form of a child is just such a fitting final private exchange between them on TWD and so very special. They're a shining light to each other, to the franchise, and to me, y'all. ☀️

When I say Richonne is everything it’s not just a phrase. They literally have everything going for them and are everything to each other. And every scene from my 30th to this #1 moment masterfully illustrates their resplendent love.

This season 9 scene feels like a love letter to Richonne and it's my all-time favorite for capturing everything I adore about Rick and Michonne’s relationship all in one. Tens across the board.

I look at this whole scene and whenever I see it I just think - This is Richonne. For me, this scene is their definition. ♥️👌🏽

Richonne is truly love incarnate, and this beautiful top-tier moment captured that flawlessly. 👑🤍😌

#richonne #top 2 and it's not 2 #number 1 🏆#from 6 year wait to 1 day away 😭#we really made it!! 🤩🙌🏽🎉#thanks for reading! ♡#it's twd towl eve!#rick x michonne #reveling in richonne #twd towl #twd 9.03 #the ones who live #top 3 #top 30

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silkspunweb · 4 months

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A Gift from Santa

w.c.: 4.2k

it's just delusional fluff. husband!nanami x reader, papamin in his glory. a very late christmas fic.

a/n: As President of the Haitchverse Fanclub, thank you for all you do for us fellow kento/hiromi lovers @pseudowho ❤️

School days were coming to a stop as the days ended sooner, the air was frostier, and the holidays got closer. You mentally scolded yourself for not ending class earlier this week so the kids could finally get some time off when you hear Itadori think aloud, "Ah, we only have a few days of school left before the holiday break, huh."

"Hmm? Oh yeah," Kugisaki responded, "I was going to do some Christmas shopping."

"You're going to do it at peak Christmas shopping time??"

"Why not? Might as well get some shopping done for a new year wardrobe!" She snickered.

Noticing your curiosity, Fushiguro turned to you and asked, "What about you, Mrs. Nanami?"

"Me?"

"Yeah! What do you and Nanamin plan on doing for Christmas?" Itadori perked at the idea of his favorite teacher and favorite mentor doing mundane holiday things.

You responded without thinking much about the question, "I think we're going to work on dinner together and have some family over." Though, as soon as those words came out, there was a sense of deflation in the air.

"Ah, I see." They all shared a look, then Itadori spoke up, "I think this is my first time spending it without Grandpa."

"Now that you mention it, this is my first time spending it in Tokyo," Kugisaki shrugged.

"Usually, my sister plans dinner for us," Fushiguro said.

You could almost hear the lonely sigh they gave out as they tightly tugged their lips into a curt smile. Your heart went out to these kids. 'They're still so young. They shouldn't be spending Christmas by themselves in their dorms.' You frowned, trying to think of ways to spend time with them without making them think it was out of pity. There must be something their teacher can do. After all, what's closest to a parent figure than a teacher? Perhaps this was something your husband could solve.

Your husband. That's it. You quickly packed your bag, waving the kids off as they said their goodbyes and left the room. 'Would Kento oppose this?' You wondered, 'Nah, surely even he can't be that callous.' You headed straight for the door before pausing, "Ah, but he's definitely going to mock me for this."

You got home before Kento and sent him a quick message that you'd be preparing dinner. It was a little crazy, that idea of yours, but the craziest part would be if Ken would actually play along in your schemes (as he would call it).

"You know, you shouldn't poke your nose where it doesn't belong." You remembered him telling you that right before you took up the position to fill in as Gojo's substitute. "You're only going to get attached to them, Darling." Psh, what did he know? Only just about everything about you.

"I'm not going to get attached, Ken, I'm just doing a favor for an old friend. Besides, those kids are going to join us on the battlefield someday, maybe even tomorrow. They need someone to guide them properly, especially when Gojo's not around." You grumbled on the drive home, peering at him from the corner of your eyes as he chuckled.

"Sure love, whatever you say." He remained focused on the street before him, "Ten dollars says you do, though."

"Nanami Kento," you faked a gasp," are you making a bet with me right now?"

"Nothing wrong with a little indulgence, is there?" You turned to him with a raised brow. There was a playful glint to his eye; he knew what he was doing here, baiting you into these childish games. There was no real prize here; the money would stay where it belonged, but he got the right to say he won.

You scoffed to yourself, 'No one would believe me if I said that my husband would partake in stupid bets like this.' You rolled your eyes at him, "Alright, ten if you win. But if I win, I want to change the color of our bedroom."

He raised a brow at you, "What's wrong with our bedroom color?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, our new room color is just going to be a reminder of my new victory."

"You're a little too confident here, don't you think," he chuckled.

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. How dare he be right about everything. You felt the embarrassment on your face as you mixed the curry roux in the pot. Ugh, he was going to be so smug when he heard your stupid plans.

You could back down now, there was no reason you couldn't. Hell, maybe if it was a month ago, you wouldn't even think a second thought about these kids. But Kento, he just had to be good with children. You didn't think much of it when he came to pick you up from your mission with the kids last month. You didn't think much of it when he asked you and the kids if you guys ate yet. You didn't think much of it when he invited them to join you guys for dinner at home, seeing that it was late at night. You didn't think much of it when he offered them the couch and the spare bedrooms. You didn't think much of it when he told Itadori to eat his vegetables, handed Kugisaki a spare hair tie, and gave his seat to Fushiguro at the dinner table. You didn't think much of it when he told them to go relax, cool off, and that he would handle the dishes. But man, you saw the fond look in his eyes when he dropped them off at their dorm the next morning. You saw how happy he was to have them around, to occupy the spaces of your shared home, to relax and share a meal with these kids at the dinner table. Call it camaraderie, mentor-mentee relationship, or authoritative affections. Call it whatever you want, but Kento was meant to be a dad.

You smiled at the pot of curry in front of you. You knew he was going to mock you, but you couldn't help but wish that you were making this dinner for five right now instead of two. You knew that even though he was going to tease the hell out of you for feeling this way, the feelings were mutual and he wanted them around too. So, you sucked in a deep breath when you heard his car pull up in the driveway, turned off the stove, and made towards the door to welcome him in.

You opened the door before he could even pull out his keys, throwing yourself into his arms as he walked in.

He leaned in, putting his face into the crook of your neck, “Well hello to you, too.” He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, taking in the little things that made his home whole.

“Welcome home,” you pressed your face into his chest, unwilling to let him see the look of defeat evident in your eyes.

He pulled away to look at you, your eyes downcasted and a slight puff in your cheeks. “What sort of trouble did you get into this time?” He mused.

“I need your help, Kento.” He quirked a brow at you as you suddenly helped him take off his winter coat and scarf. “There's something bothering me at school.” A light tug to loosen his tie, “It's been killing me all day,” another tug, “and I just don't know what to do.” You glared at the offending piece of fabric as if it was the cause of your demise. “Will you help me?”

“That depends,” he hummed, “what's got you so worked up that you need my help at school?” You gave out an exaggerated sigh, walking back into the kitchen to plate him his dinner. He followed, washing his hands and setting up the table. “Is this about the kids?” He doesn't even look at you, knowing you'd do anything to deny it. It was childish, you both knew it, but you couldn't help the heat creeping up your back. How does he always know? There was a pause, then another. You placed two plates onto the dinner table, sitting down without another word, red staining your cheeks as you flushed in embarrassment. He sat down and chuckled, “I'm right, aren't I?” You scrunched your nose at him, debating to deny it or admit your grievances. “Darling,” he reached his hand across the table for you to meet his in the middle, “is this about the kids?”

Another deep sigh, “Yes Kento, it's about the kids.” You rolled your eyes, slipping him a ten dollar bill across the table.

He chuckled, “You know that's not what I wanted in the first place.”

“Ken, really?” You frowned at him, placing one hand on top of his. His brows quirked up, making you run your other hand through your hair. “Alright, alright. You were right. I grew attached to the kids. I said I wouldn't, but I did. You warned me and you told me so. Now stop being a butt head, and help me with this.”

“I was going to tell you to say, ‘please,’ but this'll do too,” he gave a gentle squeeze. “Now, what did you have in mind?”

“I need you to dress as Santa.”

“No.”

“But—

“Absolutely not.”

“Ken—”

“Nope.” He met your offending glare with indifference on his own face. “Why on Earth would I dress as Santa.”

“It's for the experience.”

“You think I should experience wearing red velvet and a—”

“No, not for you! The experience is for them.” His face deadpanned. “I'm serious, I think you should dress as Santa, like when dads pretend to be Santa for their—”

“They're not our kids.”

“You don't mean that.”

“Of all things you want me to do—”

“It'd make a fond memory for them!”

“To put me in a big red coat and that ugly—”

“You wouldn't even have to wear the beard!” He gave you a pointed look. “Okay, the beard would help a lot, but Ken—”

“No.” You opened your mouth in protest, “Absolutely not.” A pout formed on your face, cheeks starting to puff in frustration. He gave out a big sigh, “I'll get them gifts to open for Christmas. Won't that suffice?” He poked one of your inflated cheeks. “We can even head over to celebrate with them if it'll make you happy.” You refused to look at him at this point, disappointed in his lack of enthusiasm for your plans.

Getting up to clear your dinner, you grumbled as you walked past him to the sink, “They don't have anyone to go home to like we do. I just want to give them something happy to remember.” Your words hung uncomfortably in the air as he stared down at what was left of his dinner. He heard the tap turn on, then off. You left him to simmer in his thoughts. Another big sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, he quietly pulled out his phone and made some orders online.

“They're not our kids.” Why did he say that? He knew you saw how happy he was whenever the kids were over for dinner.

“You don't mean that.” You were right. He didn't mean it. He loved every minute of it when the kids stayed over, even if dinner time was rowdier and messier than usual. Even if he had to give up some of his comfort and private space to have these kids around. Even when he had to scold them for something as miniscule as eating their vegetables out of his work hours, for goodness sake. “I just want to give them something happy to remember.” He frowned. This could've been a happy memory for you, too. After all, it was just one day, probably not even the entire day in a stupid red suit. So what if he thought it was ugly, that dumb suit could've really made his wife happy. He groaned, opening his phone once again to make another impulsive purchase. He may have won your little bet, but it seems like you won something else after all. Even if you didn't know it yet.

After he cleared his own plates, he made his way to get ready for bed so he could return to you. He walked through the bedroom door, disappointed to find you facing the other way. You weren't even sparing a glance at your husband nor making any cheeky comments about how wet he looked and how low that towel hung around his waist. Nothing, zilch. He sighed again, throwing on a pair of checkered pajama bottoms before making his way next to you. He had his arm over your waist, testing the waters, and a little glad that you hadn't shaken him off.

“Good night,” you grumbled.

He pressed his own “good night” into the crown of your head.

You woke up a little earlier than usual with your husband's arms around you tighter than it was last night. With one arm across your chest and the other around your waist, he had your hips flush against his. It was so pleasant, you almost forgot why you had your back facing him to begin with. You blinked the sleep away, mentally at war with yourself to either stay or to forcefully peel away from his embrace. You shouldn't, ‘He doesn't deserve it,’ you pouted. ‘Even if I reaaaallly want to, I should be firm about this.’ You tried to reason yourself as you felt him shift from behind, only pulling you in closer, tighter. His face was in your hair, his puffs of breath tempting you to go back to sleep. You mentally screamed, ‘Damn him! I need to— ugh. It's so comfortable.’ You wanted to cry. This was the ideal morning, but you had to get up now if you wanted to work on setting up the classroom for the kids. Time was of the essence, and since somebody denied you of some good, fun Christmas spirits, you just had to make up for the non-participating party's lack of enthusiasm.

You willed yourself to pull away from your husband as you slipped out of the comforter, not making it far before he had his arm around you again. “Stay.” You didn't realize he had sat up when you tried to sneak off. If not for the arm that wound around your belly, you would've mistaken his low morning voice for something else. It was something akin to dark chocolate and warmed honey, running deep and slow; it woke you up in the morning. You wanted to whine at how unfair he was being. How affectionate and cuddly for someone so stern and callous last night. You shook your head and quickly pulled yourself out of his arms and into the shower.

‘I have to stay strong,’ you repeated to yourself under the freezing water. After getting dressed, you went to the kitchen where you found your distracting husband in just his checkered pajama bottoms. ‘Oh, dear lord, I am not your strongest soldier.’ He gave a soft smile, his hair sticking to one way and the other. You wanted to run your hand through it so bad, but if you got any closer, you might not leave as early as you had hoped.

“G’morning.” There he goes again. Him and his stupid, perfect face, and his stupid, perfect— “I made you tea and breakfast.” Oh no.

You forced yourself to grab the coffee pot instead, “No thanks, I plan on leaving to work earlier today.” You didn't even bother with the cream and sugar, needing the bitter taste to jolt you out of this domestically inviting scene. Nope, nope, nope. You grabbed a piece of toast, gave him a quick peck on the cheek for good morning, and rushed to the door before he could stop you from leaving again. He blinked at the whirlwind that was his wife, frowning when you slammed the door. The door opened again, “I'll be a little late today! Don't wait up!” His frown deepened at the second door slam. Knowing you, you were probably going to set up some lights and a small tree in the classroom or at the dorms just to make it a little more festive for the kids at school.

“I must've really messed up,” he scratched the back of his neck, “No use in moping about it now.” He sighed and eyed the unwanted cup, then went to check his phone.

You were quieter than usual for the next couple of days, not so much as being upset with him, but more distracted with your thoughts. You already had the lights up to the kids’ surprise that one morning and promised them that the tree will have more ornaments the next day. They tried to wave you off, saying, “No need ma'am, you already do enough for us,” and “Really, we're fine, it's just Christmas.” You hushed them, something about ‘the presents are already wrapped’ and you ‘already mailed Santa for them’. You knew they were old enough not to believe in some merry folklore, but you wanted them to look forward to something this week. You checked your phone to see if the surprise was going to arrive on time.

‘Today's Wednesday, and the package is going to come tonight. Then break starts…Friday?’ Your brows furrowed, ‘Would I have time to get dinner for them too? Ugh, I should've told Kento to prepare food instead of wearing a Santa suit or something. That would've been smarter. Ah! What about the second years? Did I buy their gifts yet?’ The day ended, leaving only two days left for you to prepare, so you hurried home to think of gift ideas for the others. ‘Socks are only cool when you're in college and realize you need to appreciate useful things, like parents who provide socks,’ you scoffed to yourself. ‘What would high schoolers even like? Are CD albums still cool? But what do they listen to? Do they even listen to TommyHeavenly6 or L’Arc-en-Ciel? Oh god, am I outdated now? Are Scandal still cool??? Ah, focus! Now’s not the time. What would these kids like for Christmas?”

You pulled up into your driveway, making your way to your front door, brows still furrowed as you nearly walked into your husband, “Oomph.”

“Welcome home,” he said warmly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he helped you out of your work shoes. “How was work?”

You eyed him momentarily before speaking, “It's going well, I think. The kids are…Well, they're losing focus now that break is just two days away, so it's hard to get them focused on the lesson. Itadori nearly ran into the door this morning because he forgot about doors.” You chuckled fondly, “Though I suppose that's my fault for putting up all those Christmas decorations. I probably got them excited and whatnot.” You tiptoed ever so slightly to kiss him on the cheek, “What did you do today?”

“Had a mission that ended early, so I made dinner,” he said. It wasn't a total lie, he did make dinner, but instead of a mission, he actually drove around town, picking up what you missed on your not-so-secret Christmas plans list. He knew it wasn't going to fully make up for his harsh words, but you were going to appreciate it either way.

Dinner went smoothly. Better actually, now that you were both hip to hip at the sink, washing dishes together. You two were back to your usual routine; he connected Bluetooth to your phone, and you got to play music that made you nostalgic for your teen years again. He rolled his eyes when you blew sudsy bubbles at him, “Real mature,” he hip bumped you before flicking water onto your glasses. His heart swelled seeing you look at him, like it was his first time again, seeing how your smile widened the slightest of increments or how your eyes darkened a little more with mirth. With another nudge, he insisted you showered and got ready for bed, “I can handle the rest,” he waved you away.

After you showered, you went to bed, tucking yourself underneath his chin, and pressed a kiss to his sternum for “good night.” He could've melted right there and then under your touch, but instead held you close, hoping the next few days were going to be to be easier for the both of you.

Thursday went by fast, and all of a sudden it was Friday. ‘D-Day’ as you'd called it in your head. ‘Kento’s gonna be at work, so he probably won't make it to see the kids open their gifts.’ You frowned as you remembered the shaky handwritten cards you wrote for the second years, embarrassed that you had to stick to gift cards in the end. Nothing wrong with gift cards, but you would've liked to be as personal with their gifts as you were with the first years.

It was a bit before lunch that you decided to give them a short break, and quickly made your way to the bathroom to change into your outfit. It was a silly oversized red coat, and you realized why Kento had been so stubborn about wearing such a thing. You laughed at yourself in the mirror, ‘Okay, I get it, it is ugly.’ You made a beeline for the staff room, imagining Kento’s reaction to you and the hideous outfit, but nothing could've prepared you for what you saw next. Your husband, the love of your life, the most stubborn man on Earth, stood before you in the same exact outfit. You could've sworn you were in the soda can commercial with how cold and stiff his face was.

“Kento.”

“Yes?”

“What on Earth are you wearing?”

“I could say the same to you,” he raised an eyebrow, eyeing you up and down.

“I thought you didn't want to,” you trailed off, not sure if you should be pointing and laughing or crying over your husband in those ridiculous clothes.

“I didn't.”

“Then why are you—”

“You were right.” You stared at him with your mouth wide open, “The beard does help a lot.” He offered a taut smile and you jumped into his arms, happy enough that you could have married this man a second time.

“I can't believe you,” you buried your face into his neck, “you silly, silly man.”

He let out what sounded like a small laugh, “Let's go before I change my mind about this outfit.” He gave you a peck on the forehead and went to pick up the bags off the table.

“You got them gifts???” He raised his eyebrow once more, opening the bag to show you the contents. Your face fell at the trays of food, “Really??”

“Hey, these kids are big eaters, and besides, you left food off your list.”

“Ah! You saw that?” You flushed, unable to contain the smile growing wider on your face.

“Of course I saw it, it was the only thing you looked at all week,” he rolled his eyes, taking your hand in his free one as you both walked back to the classroom.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Dunno, but next time, how about you don't reject my—”

A water bottle fell to the floor when the door opened.

“Na-nanamin?”

“Why are there two Santas?”

There was a camera shutter click. “I'll send this to you guys later,” Kugisaki smiled.

“But seriously, what are you two wearing?”

Kento sighed, “There was a little mix up. Mrs. Claus here almost left some of the gifts back at home, so I'm here to deliver the rest of the presents.”

You smiled at him before turning to them, “You should go call for the second years, tell them to come inside for lunch.”

The kids immediately rushed outside to bring the upperclassmen in. Something about, “Hurry up,” “Food’s here,” and “Forget the food, hurry before he changes out of those clothes!”

No one understood why Kento was dressed as Santa. After all, he wasn't technically their teacher. Sure, they’d had dinner with him a few times, but did that really warrant buying them presents and helping them celebrate with a Christmas meal? Or maybe he lost a bet? No, Nanamin would never take part in bets. Then what was it? They weren't exactly sure. All they knew was that the way he smiled at his wife was the same as when he sat at the dinner table with them at home. The Nanamis sure love Christmas, they joked. You watched all five kids lean in towards your husband as Kugisaki whipped her phone out for a selfie with Santa. It reminded you that you ought to capture the moment while Kento was still willing to participate. With another click of a shutter, you took the picture of your smiling husband and your kids.

“Darling,” he gave you a warning glare.

“Oh, c’mon Santa, lighten up,” Maki joked and the others giggled.

You poked his side, “Yeah, Santa, who knows when I'll get to see you like this again.”

Nothing could have prepared you for his response; he gave you another flat look, then replied, “Probably when we have our own kids.”

credits to @cafekitsune for the beautiful Christmas banner

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #papamin ♡#everyone needs to read pseudowho's work #gotta post this before someone takes my crown title #thanks to my best friend too cuz she's been pushing me to write and post for years now but she's not on here so it's hard to tag her #thank you to the two who supported me ❤️#and thank you for those of you who are reading ❤️#stay warm and safe :)#silk spun tales

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naelmasn · 3 months

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"Midnight Waltz"

#my art #midnight waltz celebrates 1000 hits!!!#thank you everyone SO MUCH for showing interest by reading it!#I have never had so much desire to write a story more than this #and it makes me really happy to see so many people interested in it!#so thank you thank you thank you thank you!! ♡#ff14 #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #themis #elidibus #erichthonios #erichthemis #temieri

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ampleappleamble · 4 months

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part 1 here

content warning: (imagined) dubiously consentual sexual activity, blood, consumption of gore, vomit

—

By the time he climbed into bed that night, Vatnir had read the chronicle thrice, cover to cover, and the sections concerning the Watcher of Caed Nua at least ten times over. It had been a simple matter to feign a debilitating episode of some vague malady during his midday sermon and thus forge an excuse to sequester himself in his quarters to "rest" while he devoured the book whole, over and over. He'd even gone so far as to forego his evening meal in favor of another reread, although he was too giddy to have much of an appetite anyway. Bela had spoken true for once– it was a fascinating tale, full of tragedies and triumphs and stakes that rose ever higher. Evidently, Dyrwoodan politics was much more dramatic and wrought with intrigue than he'd believed possible from a backwards nation full of hot-headed hayseeds.

He'd been surprised, too, to see a familiar name amongst the motley cast of farmers, tribals, diplomats and animancers: Glasvahl, the very man whose pilgrimage to Eir Glanfath had inspired him to sail to this deplorable iceberg all those years ago. He was just as shocked to find that Glasvahl's story was not only completely factual, but that the Watcher of Caed Nua had been directly involved in thwarting his clan's long anticipated passage into the White Void, as it turned out that she had personally sealed the Frost-Hewn Breach with an artifact bestowed upon her by Rymrgand himself. That little detail must have gotten lost somewhere between mouth and ear and had never quite made it to him in the version he'd heard, or else he simply hadn't thought it terribly important at the time and had forgotten it. He certainly wouldn't have let it slip his mind had he known then how important this Watcher really was, how powerful.

How beautiful.

He settled back into the fur-laden canoe that served as his bed and held the book as close as a lover, open facedown on his chest. There had been a few other illustrations of her throughout, depictions of her and her retinue performing various incredible acts of heroism, but it was the portrait, of course, that he pressed now to his heart, the portrait that made that heart leap and flutter inside him every time he looked at it.

Gods, what had gotten into him? His winters in this world spanned a century and then some, and here he was, lusting after some pretty young thing like a boy who had just sprouted his first wispy beard. It was utterly unlike him, and so he felt obliged to try to make sense of it. Much of her appeal, he figured, must lie in her exoticism– he'd only ever seen a handful of orlans throughout his life, and he'd had never actually had the opportunity to interact with one, so the air of mystery made her that much more alluring. Her coloration was enticingly evocative of the heat and brilliance of an open flame, a welcome change from the tedious blues and greys to which he was so accustomed, and he couldn't help but wonder how it might feel to run his hand over living fur for a change. Even putting aside her physical assets, if she had truly performed even a fraction of the deeds ascribed to her in her partial biography, then she was not only a woman of exceptional beauty, but one of strength, cunning, and bravery as well. And he couldn't help but be impressed– to the point of intimidation, even– by her many laudable accomplishments: she was a scholar, a chanter, a thaynu (whatever that meant), a warrior, a walker between worlds, a champion of the common kith, a woman who had treated with the gods themselves, a dragonslayer–

Phlegm rumbled in Vatnir's throat as he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew that on some level, this childish infatuation wasn't about her, not really. It was about the idea of her, of a person with the potential to change everything for him– if only she should ever have a reason to. He didn't want her so much as he wanted her strength, her courage, her help in unraveling the twisted mess he'd made of his life. To him, she wasn't just a woman, she was a way out.

He chuckled wryly to himself as a ridiculous idea struck him. Ha! Maybe I ought to write to her. "Dear Watcher of Caed Nua: I have read of your many magnificent feats, and verily have you enchanted me. I would seek your assent to bond yourself to me in your Dyrwoodan custom of matrimony, but first I wonder if you might assist me with a small problem I have regarding an undead dragon..."

But no sooner had he dismissed the prospect as laughably absurd than he started to seriously consider it. What if, despite the puerile waste of time he knew it to be, he wrote to her anyway? What if, against all odds, she should actually answer such a missive? Gods, what if she came? What if she actually sailed to the Floe– doubtlessly in a majestic Vailian three-master that bristled with cannons and swarmed with servants– and she somehow used her incredible Watcher abilities to locate the dragon's lair, marching straight to it and boring into the very core of its monstrous soul with her piercing violet eyes before lopping off its head with one deft swing of her mighty sword?

And... what if he could then manage to convince or beg or cajole her into taking him with her when she left again? He imagined her leading him by the hand up the gangplank to her ship, inviting him into the captain's cabin for a welcoming libation. She'd pass him a bottle, take a drag off of her pipe and pass that to him too, still moist and warm from her mouth. And then... oh, then she'd smile at him seductively, her full, glossy lips parting just so, and she'd unbuckle her shining silver breastplate and let it fall, revealing the curves of her body underneath... and then...

The bandages wrapped around his hips suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.

Well, now. Not about her, is it?

He groaned miserably, the yawning void inside him aching now with want, and he cursed himself for his foolishness. No, it was not about her. It was about him. About his cowardice, his selfishness, his ineptitude. He was the reason everyone who came to this gods-cursed iceberg was going to die, crushed underfoot or blasted apart or torn asunder in the dragon's jaws– Hel, he was the reason they kept coming here in the first place– and he was too craven and pathetic to even allow himself to accept responsibility for the ceaseless slaughter, let alone try to put a stop to it. So he soothed his guilty conscience by indulging in a juvenile fantasy wherein he would somehow facilitate some impossible scenario that miraculously absolved him of all duty, all effort, all accountability, and then he generously rewarded himself for his ingenuity with a woman to gift him his heart's every desire. In reality, she'd probably sooner run him through than even think of permitting him entry into her cabin, and dying on her sword was one of the better possible outcomes of such a preposterous, futile scheme. It was far more likely he'd just get her killed too, if she bothered to answer his summons at all, and then he'd be right back where he started, his will to carry on depleted just that much more, another small part of him dying along with that distant, desperate hope.

So he clenched his jaw and tried to forget about it, tried to ignore the lingering arousal that still clung to his body like wet clothes, and he hunkered down in his little canoe, seeking solace in sleep.

He'd almost drifted off when he heard the distinctive click of the door to his quarters latching shut.

In the Land, living tended to be communal in nearly every aspect. Everything was, by necessity, shared– food, tools, medicine, fire– to conserve what scarce resources the clan managed to wrest from the ice or pluck out of the sea. This attitude extended to living spaces and clanmates, too, so no one walked alone, ate alone, bathed alone, slept alone. No one but Vatnir. He was special, different, leader and teacher and speaker for their god. It wouldn't be proper to treat him the same as any other ordinary elf. And of course, there was a practical angle to consider as well– it did no one in the clan any good to eat or bathe or sleep next to a man who turned stomachs and stoked fever simply by virtue of his presence. So it was only natural that he stand apart from the others, exalted and exiled both. In his younger years it had tormented him, this glorified ostracism, but with age had come grudging acceptance and eventually, wisdom. He had learned to cherish the privacy he had that few others did, to use it to his advantage, and so he had known that when he'd requested his personal quarters be fitted with a door, there would be no objections. In fact, he'd been given the very best door scavenged from the boat they'd used to sail to the Floe– the door to the former captain's cabin, one with a simple latching mechanism connected to the handle. But it had been installed before they'd known the severity of the iceberg's constantly growing and changing geography, so eventually the floor of the settlement warped, causing his door to latch only when very forcefully pulled from inside the threshold. So to hear his door close and latch, he knew, could mean only one thing: someone was in here with him.

Everyone in the clan had been in his quarters at least once– it was practically a rite of passage for fresh arrivals to the Watch to assist the High Harbinger when the time next came to clean his wounds and change his bandages, to acquaint themselves personally, intimately, with the living proof of Rymrgand's dominion over all. In lieu of any newcomers, the task usually fell to Valbrendhür, but Hafjórn filled in most of the time when the old man was unavailable, although everyone in the clan had done their duty. (He still cringed to remember when it had been poor, innocent Brythe's turn, how the girl hadn't been able to look him in the eye for weeks afterward.) In any case, a clan member joining him in his room after dark with neither permission nor forewarning was unprecedented and not a little alarming, so he quickly tucked his book behind him as he sat up to see who it–

Who–

Vatnir froze. It was not Valbrendhür or Hafjórn or Brythe. It was not a member of his clan at all.

A woman stood at the door to his quarters, an orlan woman with tawny skin and golden fur and fiery red hair that, bizarrely, floated about her as though she was underwater. He gawked at her, utterly stunned, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, his breath quick and shallow.

She was completely naked.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be. This couldn't be happening, it was impossible, made no sense whatsoever. This must be a dream, or a hallucination, or– or a vision, oh, gods, a real one? But what could it mean? Why her? Why–

He watched as the woman's hand slid off of the door's handle and fell to her hip. She turned slowly to face him.

And when she saw him, she smiled.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh–

It all certainly felt dreamlike, what with the eerie way she glided gracefully across the room, gradually closing the distance between the two of them. But it felt too real to be a dream, although not quite real enough to be real. Her form seemed to shimmer and shift before his eyes, and the dim light from his hearth didn't quite correspond with the shadows on her body, as though she were instead illuminated from within. Her hair drifted and swam in the air, hanging like a cloud of red smoke around her head and shoulders, mercifully obscuring her eyes, sparing him the terrible brilliance of her gaze. He could only just barely endure beholding her as she was, if he had to see those striking violet eyes looking at him, into him– oh, gods, he couldn't bear it.

A moment passed, and suddenly she was standing before him at the foot of his bed, close enough for him to reach out and nudge her with his toe– if he could actually bring himself to move at all. The most he could do was stare in abject fear and awe at the otherworldly spectacle before him, trembling in every limb.

"Vatnir."

Her voice was smooth and hot and slick, like fresh blood gushing from a slit throat.

Pleasure and terror entwined shot throughout his body like lightning, electrifying every nerve ending in him, and he shuddered obscenely in response. He did not, could not answer her.

Her smile broadened slightly, and there was something dangerous behind it, something cold and predatory. She laid her hands against her sternum, pressing them between her perfect breasts.

"I know your heart, child of dusk. Long have you yearned for the warmth of another."

A great plume of steam gushed forth from her mouth as she spoke, and it cascaded over the bewildered priest, obscuring his vision. When he could see again, she had produced a living heart, held like a sacrificial offering in her upturned hands. It burned with a flame that spat and sparked, hotter and brighter than any torch.

"You would have my heart beat next to yours. And I would have the same."

She thrust the flaming heart at him, and instinctively, he flinched away from it. Her soft laughter was like broken glass scraping stone.

"But wisely, you see that if I were to place it beside yours as it is now, it would reduce you to cinders."

She shifted slightly, and before he could blink she was in the canoe with him, one foot on either side of him. He knew orlans to be small in stature, but she seemed to tower over him as tall as any adra titan.

"You know what you must do, then, if you wish for my conjugality."

She shifted again, and suddenly she was on her knees, straddling him. This close, he could feel the blistering heat radiating from her, from the heart that lay in her palms, but the breath that brushed across his chin and naked gums was as cold as the winds of the Void. He dimly felt his teeth start to chatter.

"Smother it in the snow. Purge its impurities. Extinguish it, and my heart shall be yours, as shall I. Until the end of all things."

She forced the burning heart into his mouth.

He tried to scream, but only the hiss of sizzling flesh issued forth from him. The pain was blinding, but oddly, it only lasted an instant– and then the taste of blood filled his mouth, rank and coppery, and he choked and gagged on it as he writhed beneath her. Despite his best efforts to reject the foul meal, his body turned traitor and he swallowed against his will, a liquid warmth flooding into him, burning all the way down his throat, tingling in his joints and extremities, throbbing in his belly, leaving him feeling drunk, disoriented, sick. She cupped his face in her hands, ember hot and sticky with half-dried blood.

"You understand now the risks. Do you accept my terms, child of dusk? Will you treat with me?"

It was phrased as a request, but it was definitely a command. Her voice thundered in his ears, shook his bones, drove tears to his eyes. She gripped him by the horns that jutted from his jaws and pulled him close, closer, ever closer.

"Yes," he breathed. There was nothing else he could say. The heat of her heart inside him roiled and swelled.

"Then," she whispered, her chill breath raising goosebumps on his neck, "beg for me."

He swallowed again, thickly, choking off a groan, gasping for breath like a dying animal. She was so, so close now...

"Please–" he managed.

It was enough.

She did not fall onto him so much as into him, her body slamming into his with the force of a burning building collapsing into itself, pressing the breath from his lungs. She drove herself against him, her thighs sliding against his crotch, her belly filling the hollow of his own, her wild hair lighting on his face and crown and horns like drifting embers. She lifted her face to meet his gaze– he caught a glimpse of blue, ice blue glinting beneath the fiery locks– and then wrenched his head down to her level, crushing her mouth into his, forcing his jaw open, her breath still ice cold but her tongue red hot inside him.

And he moaned at last, sweat beading on his brow, heat and chill churning within him like a fever, the molten heat of her mouth crawling down into his stomach to mingle with the fire of her heart, and then back up through his veins to ignite the very tips of him, like how it felt when his fingers regained feeling again after the numbness of the cold had worn off. He was suddenly very acutely aware of what felt like a long, hot stone pressed into the flesh of his inner thigh, and his knees trembled as he thrusted timidly but insistently against her, his whole body aching for release, her horrible, haunting laughter ringing in his ears–

And he jolted awake as a pair of strong, heavy hands shook him hard enough to make his teeth rattle and his head snap painfully back and forth on his neck.

"High Harbinger! The Messenger! The Messenger is here!" Hafjórn's voice rang out far too loudly in the tiny room, his pale grey eyes glinting with fervor. Vatnir bit back a cry of shock, managing to only sputter and cough instead.

"What–" He could still taste her blood in his mouth, could still feel the warmth, the yearning ebbing throughout his body. "The– what? Who? The–"

Hafjórn looked at him as though he'd just asked what snow was. "The– the Messenger! Did you not feel his holy presence?" As if on cue, the structure shuddered around them as the ground rumbled and quaked from an incredible force crashing into it.

Oh, gods, it's back.

"I– y-yes, of course," he stuttered, panic rising in his gullet. "I just– I was just dreaming, just now, of... his resplendence. It– it must be a sign. A holy premonition. Of course."

Hafjórn's eyes widened with awe, then shone with admiration for his blessed leader. "Of course!" he cried, clasping his hands together in front of himself, enraptured. "Oh, glory be to Rymrgand!"

"Glory be," Vatnir echoed numbly. "G-go forth, brother, and meet our lord's servant. I must–" skyt, he had to think of something, quickly– "I... m-must tend to myself before I join you. My dream was... powerful, vivid. It... affected me. Physically." He hunched over, clutching at his stomach and throat, and gave a very convincing performance of a dry heave, praying that Hafjórn would take the hint and leave instead of, gods forbid, offering to help.

The other man winced beneath his roughly stitched-together hood– gods, did he sleep in the thing?– and hurriedly rose to his feet as the ground shook beneath them again. "Oh! Uh– certainly, High Harbinger. By all means, take your time. I, uh, I'll just... make sure the others devote themselves properly to worship until you arrive!" He shuffled awkwardly backwards to the open door, bowed his head quickly, and retreated into the hallway.

Vatnir waited for Hafjórn's footsteps to fully fade before he scrambled for the switch hidden inside the aurochs skull above his bed.

He managed to hold it together until after he'd gotten the sliding wall back into place, until he was safe, alone in his hidden room. He'd been numb and detached, his mind shocked into merciful silence and his body relying entirely on muscle memory– right up until he noticed that in his stupor, he'd unconsciously taken the fucking book with him, was cradling it against his chest again, like a child with a security blanket. His hands spasmed and he dropped it on the floor, staring vacantly ahead as the full horror of the harrowing experience struck him, little by little, piling on more and more, like a burgeoning avalanche, just waiting for something to give way–

He glanced down to see that the book had landed on its spine, had fallen open to display the portrait of the Watcher of Caed Nua.

He staggered to the other side of the room, fell to his hands and knees, and vomited.

And when he'd finished, he crawled beneath the table, thick cords of drool laced with snot and bile trailing from his ruined mouth, and he curled up into himself, shaking almost as hard as the walls around him were. What was that... that waking nightmare, that mad, spiraling delusion? It was unlike any dream he'd ever had, and Nyvardir allegedly kept his beer free of hallucinogens. He could only conclude it must be a vision, but Rymrgand had never seen fit to send him visions before, and if that was the first, he never wanted to go through another. What kind of lesson was he supposed to derive from that? What did it all mean? Was it a warning of some sort? An omen? A–

–I know your heart–

A punishment.

Vatnir twitched, and his gaze fell again on the book, still lying open on the floor where he'd left it. Of course that's what it was. Divine retribution. He had profaned this holy place with his lies, spilled the blood of his kin, traded away sacred scripture for worldly frivolites. And now he was reaping the rewards of his blasphemy– a vicious, sinister mockery of his deepest and most secret desire sent to humiliate and torture him, a message that his transgressions against his clan and his god had not gone unnoticed. Something between a sigh and a sob shuddered up out of him, and he pressed his masked face into his hands, as though he could hide from the revelation.

–smother it in the snow–

And then anger, righteous and indignant, boiled up inside him.

He had never asked for this, this clan, this body, this life. And yet, because he bore the Beast's mark, he was expected to endure without complaint, without even the most remote hope of the smallest sliver of relief, ever? That he was, in fact, expected to rejoice in his curse, to celebrate the fact that he would suffer, more and more, every day, until his inevitable death? He couldn't accept that, couldn't bear the notion that to live like this was his fate, indelible, inescapable. And as for his clan's jommydra, what else was he supposed to trade with? He had no other bargaining chips, no way to earn coin by laboring or stealing or fighting. He'd even gone so far as to weave flaws into his copies, glaring omissions and outright falsehoods to throw anyone who might actually be able to read it off his trail, to obscure and protect his clan's true lore. It wasn't as though Maribel or her customers would know the difference. And even if he hadn't, wouldn't that have been a small price for the clan to pay to afford him, their beloved scapegoat, the briefest reprieve from his constant agony? He had nothing else, barely even had the faculties to enjoy what little he could get his hands on, and now the Beast would deprive him of even his fantasies? How dare he try to take this from him, how dare Rymrgand send him a vision like that when all he had ever done since he'd first drawn breath was serve to the best of his ability, whether he'd wanted to or not–

–will you treat with me–

Vatnir sat a while, rage and fear and frustration washing over him in great waves as the tremors that shook his walls slowly grew fewer and further between. And when they stopped at last, when the dragon finally ceased its assault and again retreated back to wherever it had come from, he slowly clambered out from beneath the table and rose to his feet, his hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides.

A plan was forming in his mind.

Maribel and her sister were at least punctual, if little else. They would be back in a month. That might be enough time to come up with something. A story, backed up by some obscure myth or fable that he'd not used in any sermons yet, something to explain why this outsider has come to the Watch, why she must do battle with the Messenger. He was reminded, vaguely, of a half-remembered tale he'd once read about a messianic figure of some sort, a warrior who had befriended death and walked hand in hand with it, bringing cleansing oblivion wheresoever they trod–

–child of dusk–

Yes. Yes, he could work with that. He'd have a lot more planning to do, a good bit of reading, a little serious acting. But he was practically an expert at all that by now.

Reluctant but resolute, he plodded over to the book and rescued it from the floor, handling it with as much care and respect as his shaking hands could provide. He carried it to the table and propped it up, still open on the Watcher's portrait, so that she could inspire him as he sat down across from her and got to work, rummaging through his things for his writing kit.

It could work. It would work. He'd make it work, no matter how much he had to lie and cheat and beg. He lit a stumpy candle and fitted the heating dish for his sealing wax above the flame, carefully spread a thin slice of cream-colored leather out in front of him, and with a practiced hand and a jagged fingernail, he opened an old wound and dipped the nib of his quill into the blood that welled up from it.

The first step in his plan, he'd decided, was to write a letter.

—

"You're sure it's hers?"

Marri squinted at the vessel she'd pulled up alongside, her ledgers and cargo manifests forgotten for the moment. The enormous galleon dwarfed her tiny sloop, and although her eyesight wasn't what it used to be, she could still make out the name painted on the side of the hull: Hyridh ix Ensios.

Bela didn't bother looking up from her recently returned copy of New Legends of the Eastern Reach. "It's hers," she assured the Endings godlike, casually turning another page. "Zamar may be old, but his memory hasn't failed him quite yet. She commissioned it right after her return from Hasongo, he told me, and now it's just about finished. Distinctive name, isn't it?"

Six beady magenta eyes rolled in unison. 'It's nonsensical," Marri grunted. "And it doesn't tell us where the captain of this newly commissioned ship is, either."

With a huff, Bela slammed her book shut, shooting a glare at her decrepit sister. "You truly do think me a fool, don't you, Maribel?"

"Can you blame me?" Marri snarled, glowering right back at the bigger woman. "First, you let that horrible priest have that precious book of yours that you keep boasting about having lifted from that Waelite temple every chance you–"

"I lent it to him!" Bela protested. "And in case you haven't noticed, I got it back. And I wouldn't have had to lend it out at all if someone hadn't smoked all the good whiteleaf before we got to–"

Marri swatted at her dismissively. "Bah! You're lucky he gave it back, postenago, and luckier still he managed to restrain himself from befouling it with any of his myriad discharge." She shuddered with disgust, spitting a wad of phlegm on the floor of the cabin at the mere thought. "And then, you accepted his request to deliver this ridiculous thing to the most sought-after kith in the Deadfire– and for no extra charge!" She held the aforementioned burden aloft in her gnarled hand: a thin scroll of tanned hide, sealed with azure wax that had been stamped with the emblem of the aurochs.

Bela pouted, twisting a thin, wiry flower stem between her forefinger and her thumb. "I... oh, I felt bad for him, serre," she mumbled. "He looked worse off than usual this last time, all pale and haggard. And when it comes to him, that's saying something." She winced and lowered her voice, as though discussing a deathly ill family member just outside their sickroom: "He said the dragon came again. Killed eleven of his followers. And there I was, come to snatch away the only token he had of his sweetheart..." She smirked and gently patted the book's cover, unable to help herself.

"You're a child," Marri snapped, "and so is he. And you still haven't told me how we're supposed to track down this Watcher he wants us to give this stupid thing to." She sneered down at the little scroll, scratching at an open sore beneath one of her curving black horns. "Doubtlessly it's just some insipid love letter anyway. We should have thrown it into the sea as soon as we–"

"Calloste!" One of Bela's long doe's ears twitched, and she rushed to the cabin's open door, listening intently.

A woman's voice raised in song, clearly well-trained... a shanty, one known to be a favorite of–

Bela laughed triumphantly. "We will find her," she chirped as she yanked the scroll from her sister's knobbly fingers, "by finding her ship first, of course, and waiting for her to return to it. As she is now." With that, she rushed out of the cabin, bounding eagerly after her quarry, and Marri only sighed and shook her head as she turned to the cabin's tiny window and watched her sister flounce up the pier.

The Watcher was not difficult for Bela to catch up to, and she seemed pleasant enough, despite displaying the slightly stiff and formal demeanor befitting a woman of her station. She accepted the scroll graciously, and although her eyes hardened a bit when she noticed the symbol of Rymrgand embossed in the wax seal, she still thanked Bela, tipped her generously, and then continued on her way like any other customer. Marri noted with glee how the orlan stood just a bit too close to the dark-haired elf accompanying her, and laughed out loud when she slipped an arm around his waist after Bela had turned away from them. Ha! Serves that priest right, the little creep.

As soon as Bela stepped back into the cabin, Marri turned to her, her snaggletoothed mouth twisted into a petulant scowl. "You're splitting that money with me," she demanded.

"I wouldn't dream of keeping it all to myself, dear sister," Bela cooed, snapping a bronze ōa in half and tossing the skinny woman her share. "So you saw her? She's a magnificent little woman, ac? And her beau! So handsome, but so austere." She laughed as she stuffed the money into her coin pouch. "Poor Vatnir! Cuckolded before he could even introduce himself to her!"

"Yes, yes, it's all very amusing, I'm sure," Marri grumbled, cramming her paperwork back into her desk drawer and taking up her spyglass and sexton. "Now, if you're finished playing errand girl, can we get back to building our trade empire and earning our tickets back to the Republics, if it's not too much trouble for you?"

Bela rolled her eyes and shouted the order to lift anchor, and in minutes, their little sloop was in open water again, speeding off toward the next opportunity.

Nothing holding us back now, she thought, and a chill wind filled their sails, carrying them off into the blood red horizon.

—

#fic wip #i'll almost definitely agonize over i mean uh edit this further #and add an extra lil epilogue before posting to ao3 #but i wanted to get it out here already #so uh here's the rest of this one!#thanks for reading ♡#pillars of eternity #vatnir

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ma1dita · 3 months

Text

a wish your heart makes

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.4k

summary: (established relationship) The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. You try to do something nice for your boyfriend and everything goes wrong, or so you think. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: I thought about May Castellan, alone in her kitchen, baking cookies and making sandwiches for a son who would never come ho—OH FUCK OFF, UNCLE RICK. sidenote this haunted me.

(posted 1/26/24 unbetad)

—

Luke’s dreams were always different from yours.

Both when he’s awake and holding your hand up until sleep finally rips him away from your earthly embrace, he’s always been certain of who he was and what he wants to achieve. To be a hero providing salvation for the needy, to be a half-blood son worth the love of a god, and to be a fierce soldier, leading his troop into battle for glory. These are the thoughts he routinely pounds into his brain, so much so that anyone who knows him knows of his aspirations.

You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone so insistent on wanting to be remembered. Luke wants to leave a legacy worth dying for, worth talking about for millenia to come. And your boy persists, despite the trials of life, the ignorance of his father, and the strings of the Fates.

Your dreams, however, were always much simpler.

Cuddled under your covers and brushing your lips against Luke’s forehead to quell the growing unease that occupies his brain, you whisper what you deeply wish for.

“We’re getting old,” you mumble, and the breath of his laugh tickles your ear. He lazily runs his nose against the slope of your collarbone, sighing when he finally hears the steady beat of your chest, “We’ve definitely surpassed the average life expectancy of a typical demigod. Look at us…” he jests.

Your breath jumps in amusement as you feel his lips against your sternum, and then your boyfriend is smiling against your heart, using you for comfort as you both pass the time waiting for Hypnos to come calling.

“In a year, we’ll be nineteen…And I know you never wanted to stay here forever, so… What’s next?”

You hold in a bated breath, always unsure of where to place yourself in rank of his priorities. Who were you if not his biggest supporter?

Luke contemplates for a moment in the silence of your bedroom. It’s much easier to think and have more adult… conversations… without the many meddling children of cabin 11 always asking for one more lullaby, one more glass of water, and one more tuck-in goodnight. Here in the privacy of your room, he gets to be a boy void of his responsibilities besides hiding under his girlfriend’s duvet, giving her another shirt of his to wear, and kissing her until Apollo’s rays of light gently help you wake.

“You tell me, trouble. What does the future have in store for us?”

Us.

He’s sweet to indulge in your fantasies like this, and you stroke your fingers through his curls as you speak, ‘I think it’d be nice to go to college. Made it this far, so maybe being normal won’t be so hard…”

A soft noise leaves his throat, urging you to continue as you bite your lip and smile.

“Maybe someday, we could get a house. One on top of a hill. I don’t need much, something like the Big House, but one we can call home.”

You can feel the teeth of his sleepy grin against your skin as he whispers the next words into your heart.

“We could do that. House with big bay windows, and the smell of my mom’s chocolate chip cookies in the air. Sounds nice, baby.”

And it does.

Luke’s eyes flutter shut shortly after, but your mind is awake with how to make the dream you now share a reality. Perhaps you couldn’t give him glory, or pray hard enough to Hermes so that he’d talk to his son, but you reckon that chocolate chip cookies would be easy enough.

—

At least, it was supposed to be—until you set off the smoke alarm again.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

Clouds of grey are billowing from the communal kitchen oven after your multiple attempts of trying to get this right. The dryads had both partially given up on the havoc you wrecked upon their workspace as well as your increasing frustration towards them. It wasn’t their fault, you knew that—but as a perfectionist who followed the recipe to a t, how was it possible that everything was still going wrong? The first batch, you got too excited and mixed all the ingredients together, making them lumpy and inconsistent. The second batch was over-creamed, and you had to scrape them off the tray, and with this one… well you had the oven setting on a bit too high.

You sigh deeply, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes as you try to will away the mania creeping up your neck. Being the daughter of the god of insanity was hard, having to consistently control your emotions for the sake of others. Taking a shaky breath, you stare blankly at the darkened cookies, close to being burned to a crisp. The jingle of the windchime against the door rings across the room and you barely hear it until you feel Luke’s hands skate past your waist to go open a window.

“What’d you get into now, trouble? Been looking for you,” he says, coughing lightly from the smoke.

You groan, trying to cover the mess behind you on the counter and accidentally catching your arm on the hot tray, making you flinch.

“Ow! Ugh, babe, you’re not supposed to be here yet! I thought you were still sparring…”

Your boyfriend approaches you, squeezing your arm to examine if you’ve gotten hurt and tugging you towards him.

“That was an hour ago—how long have you been here, baby?” Luke pulls you into his arms, placing a kiss on your warm wrist, instantly soothing your anxiety until you see his eyes meet your latest failure.

“You bake now?”

“Clearly not, Luke, I’m sorry…I tried but I kept getting it wrong and then I got mad at myself for fucking up something so…” your voice weakens, tears welling in your eyes again thinking you’ve disappointed him.

Luke steps away from you and towards the kitchen counter, warm cookies browned to a crisp. He reaches out to pick one up before you can stop him, crunching down on it, the bittersweet taste filling his mouth as he sniffs.

Just like his mother would make them, through her madness and all.

He’s transported back to a memory of a house with big bay windows, kind of like the one you two dreamt up last night, but he’s nine and sitting at the kitchen table drinking Kool-Aid while his mom makes peanut butter sandwiches. May Castellan forgets the cookies in the oven again, and for a moment, Luke forgets that the last time he saw his mother was a lifetime ago.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels your fingertips brushing away the saltwater from his cheeks.

“Didn’t mean to make you cry, angelface, I’m sorry…” you mumble, but stop speaking when you see him take another bite.

“They’re great.”

“What?”

He chomps on another singed cookie, his lips quirking into a soft smile. Luke’s not going to let you throw the rest of this batch out. Chuckling weakly, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter as he slots himself between your legs, rough hands patting your thighs.

“Well, they’re not great. But they’re perfect. Just the way I remember them,” he smiles, kissing the furrow in your brow. You don’t bother trying to comprehend his statement, happy that you didn’t mess up a memory he holds dear.

Luke wonders if maybe he’s been blessed by his father after all, to have such extreme luck to exist at the same time as you. He doesn’t answer to the gods, to fate, but he does answer when you call his name, and settles into your arms. Love is an action after all, uncontained by just words, and he knows you tried your best, which makes it more than enough.

“She would’ve loved you, I’m sure of it,” he says rubbing his nose against yours before you can interject again, “I love you, so I know she would’ve too.”

Luke presses a tender kiss against the palm that caresses his jaw, before meeting you in the middle and finding your lips. It’s a dance you two have memorized, sweet and breathless as you meld both of your grins together. To him, you taste like chocolate chips and feel like home.

“I love you too, angelface. Almost burned the kitchen down for you,” your chuckle is cut off when he goes to press against your pout again hungrily, tracing patterns against the soft skin of your thighs as he just eats you up. The sound of your moans escapes between kisses as you wind your legs around his waist and it dampens the sound of the kitchen timer when it goes off.

(You forcibly have to detach from Luke’s embrace, much to his displeasure so that you don’t burn the next batch too.)

—

"Your name is humming inside my chest. I think this is what it means to love. I think this is what it means to be living." -Emma Bleker

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#luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader fanfic #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan fluff #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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