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josefavomjaaga · 3 months

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Dragon AU fluff (involving Mortier)

A rather pointless fluff scene, inspired by @cadmusfly's dragon marshalate AU. Basically a dragonized version of what might or might not have happened in 1798/9 Koblenz. I'm not sure if I've taken too many liberties with the world's rules and general settings, if so, please pretend it's all just a misunderstanding by humans with very little knowledge and understanding of these things.

„Girls!“ Anna-Margarethe yelled, her voice echoing through the house. „Run and hide, girls! The French dragons are back!“

Eva heard the desperation in her mother's words, the tears barely held back. She shooed her younger sisters down the ladder into the basement, where they would be safe until the danger was over. Then she closed the door and went to find her mother in the kitchen.

The inn „Zum Wilden Mann“ was quiet, its rooms empty since the last French troops had moved out. They had occupied the inn for quite some time – and for free, of course - until being called to join a larger army gathering nearby. An army with several dragons, and those, on their arrival two days ago, had scared Eva's poor mother almost to death.

They seemed so much more ferocious. The dragons in the Austrian army they had seen earlier had always been accompanied by several Habsburg Dragon Wardens and had never dared to as much as look too closely at the humans living in Koblenz.

Not only did French dragons roam around freely, often even without any rider, they even held titles and military ranks within the Revolutionary army. They commanded soldiers! One of the dragons had interrogated Eva's mother, and she claimed to still have a headache from hearing his booming telepathical voice echoing through her thoughts.

„Mum? Will you be alright? Are you sure the dragons are back? It's still dark outside.“

„Oh, I saw him well enough.“ Her mother gave a nervous laugh. „He was hard to overlook, the beast must be as big as our house. He's just landed on the pasture, in front of the cowshed. Probably to get the last of our cows, after he devoured the other yesterday.“ Eva saw her shaking.

„Somebody should go out and ask what he wants“, she suggested.

„No. I'm not going out there! Just let him eat poor Gertrud and be done with it!“ She started sobbing uncontrollably.

Usually, Eva was not somebody to take the initiative. On most occasions, she was quite happy to let others make the decisions and to fade into the background. But seeing her mother in tears strengthened her resolve. Without a word, she turned around and left.

There was still one large ham left in the larder. They had kept it hidden from their French guests. But sacrificing it to the appetite of the dragon lurking on the pasture behind the house would still be preferable to loosing their last cow.

Carrying the ham in both arms, she ran out through the backdoor. Morning dawned on the horizon.

Eva stopped hard in her tracks. When her mother had estimated the dragon to be as big as their house, Eva had naturally assumed her to exaggerate. None of the French dragons she had seen before had been much bigger than a horse. Maybe a ´small carriage. A hay wagon, at most.

But this one was … huge. He covered half of the pasture, cowering on four legs and, at least that's the impression Eva had, trying to make himself as small as possible. He had his tail curled up around him and his wings neatly folded on his back.

To Eva, it still looked as if a mountain had grown out of the ground.

The idea to feed this … thing with the tiny ham she carried in her arms suddenly seemed ludicrous. Even a cow could not mean more than an appetizer to him.

„Excuse me?“, she said nevertheless. „May I … uhm … help you … sir?“

He heard a voice calling for him, somewhere down in the shadows. Mortier squinted. It was a young woman, tiny as all humans. Though this one looked small and fragile even by human standards.

Her voice however pleased him greatly. It reminded him of birds singing in the trees in spring. Mortier liked those little birds, especially when they were singing.

He lowered his head carefully, so as to not scare or hurt her – he sometimes found it difficult to correctly estimate the distances when dealing with humans. He once had knocked over half a batallion of grenadiers just because he had not been careful enough with his tail.

Things like that embarrassed him greatly.

Good morning, Mademoiselle. - She had adressed him in French, so obviously she knew the language. - Very pleased to meet you. I hope I did not wake you up? Apologies for calling on you so early in the morning. It was the only time I was free. And, to be honest, a soldier's sleeping schedule tends to be thoroughly messed up. - She nodded, but did not reply. Maybe he had already scared her. Mortier wished he was a little less clumsy. - You see, I've come because of your cow.

Eva was stunned. Never had she expected a dragon to be that … polite. Considerate. Almost nice. As a matter of fact, this soldier dragon seemed a lot nicer than most human soldiers she had met over tha last months! If one ignored his size (admittedly, that was more easily said than done), he did not even look all that threatening. Maybe it was because, while his long body was covered in reptilian scales, some brown, fine fur spread from his long snout over his enormous head and down his chest. The two large horns winding backwards and down from the top of his head gave him the look of a large, floppy-eared dog.

Unlike her mother, she also found hearing the dragon's voice in her thoughts far from unpleasant. To the contrary. It was a warm, guttural … sound, for lack of a better word, that reverberated through her and made her feel safe and relaxed.

The feeling evaporated as soon as the dragon mentioned poor Gertrud.

„Please“, she blurted out, „do not eat Gertrud! She's the last cow we have!“

He seemed astonished, almost shocked. - What? No! I didn't mean to eat your cow. I came to apologize because I ate the other one yesterday.

„Oh. So you did eat Bella?“

The dragon gave a sheepish nod, the movement causing a draught that made Eva's hair and skirts fly. - But merely because it was the only food I could find close by. I have a lot of work to do here, so I need to keep up my strength. If not...

Eva nodded. Everybody knew about dragon stupor.

But I did not mean to cause you any grief. So I wanted to let you know that as soon as we have got some cattle from the Austrians, I shall send you another cow to replace the one I ate.

„How kind of you to care. This would indeed help us greatly. You see, since my father’s death, my mother had to run the inn alone, with only us girls helping. And war has not helped business, as you can imagine.“

I can! - Again the excited nod, this time the draught almost made her stagger backwards. - So you are all alone here, only women in the house? With all those soldiers roaming about? But that will not do, that will not do at all! I’m afraid for your safety. Shall I send you a safeguard? Some trusted men who would make sure nobody bothers you?

The offer rendered Eva almost speechless. This was the nicest soldier she had met so far! „We’ve had some problems in the past, that is true… Could you really do that?“

The girl looked up at his face with huge brown eyes full of trust, gratefulness and … well, something that bordered on admiration. Or at least that’s what Mortier chose to see. It was a very flattering feeling.

What a nice girl this was. Now he felt twice as bad for having eaten her cow yesterday. But he had been so damned hungry. Truth be told, he still was. He always was. Given his size, he could have eaten half a dozen of cattle – but what would be left for the humans then? Resources were always scarce. So he usually restrained himself to what was strictly necessary in order to keep him going. He had gotten used to his stomach constantly growling, and to feeling a little dizzy and sleepy most of the time, because whenever he strained himself even a little too much, he was immediately on the edge of falling into stupor.

But how could he act otherwise, when truly satisfying his hunger meant hurting innocent little humans like this girl?

Of course I can give you a safeguard, he bragged, raised his head a little and carefully clawed at the fur covering his breast. - I’m a general, you know. They gave me a sash and all. I’m wearing it now, but it always gets lost in the fur.

He discovered the large tricolor sash, twisted and out of place as usual. - Could I ask you a favour, Mademoiselle? Would you be so kind as to properly rearrange it for me? That’s the kind of thing I will never manage to do with these claws… Oh, but I see you are carrying something. Is that – is that a ham?

Mortier’s stomach gave a painful little growl.

Eva found her situation rather surreal. Here she was, on a dark pasture with a dragon looming over her, and having a polite conversation. The most surreal thing, of course, being the fact she was thoroughly enjoying herself in the presence of said dragon. His awkward attempt at correctly placing the signs of his military rank on his chest were so cute she immediately would have come to his aid, had it not been for the stupid ham.

„Yes, indeed“, she said sheepishly. „I had brought it out, hoping to trade it in for our cow. Of course I had no idea at the time what a small gift this would mean to you.“

Oh, but it isn’t! - His enthusiasm seemed real. Even the end of his tail, that he had curled up around himself, started to wag up and down, tapping on the ground every time, like that of an excited dog. - What a kind thought of you! If you really want to part with it, I would love to taste it. Is it smoked?

„Boiled actually. Oh, I never wondered! Can dragons even eat cooked food?“

Well, there are of course such purists among us who demand a dragon’s diet must only consist of raw meat. - The dragon general rolled his eyes. - But, let’s be honest, everbody who has been living around humans knows that cooked food just tastes so much better! When we celebrated a victory over the Austrians last, the boys roasted two oxen, only for me. With a filling, made of bread and potatoes! It was heaven!

The dragon tail wagged again and almost made Eva laugh. She could not help but feel that this huge scary dragon general had a lot in common with a hungry stray dog.

I see you smiling, Mademoiselle, the dragon’s voice echoed in her head, but let me assure you, in a soldier’s life pleasures are simple. A good meal, a friendly conversation with a beautiful lady, like we are having right now, this is all we aspire to most of the time. In this aspect, a soldier dragon differs very little from a human soldier, and a general very little from a private.

„Well, in this case I surely shall not be so harsh as to deprive you of this tiny pleasure.“

And tiny indeed it seemed to Eva, as the dragon general eagerly opened his mouth. She prepared to throw the ham over the fence of – stunningly white – dragon teeth but a pink tongue, wide enough for a blanket, slipped out of his mouth, and Eva gingerly placed the ham on it.

The dragon consumed it eagerly and even made a bit of a show chomping on it, despite the fact he probably could have swallowed it whole. Then he gave a deep, content sigh.

What a wonderful treat this was! I have not felt this sated in ages, she heard him exclaim in her thoughts.

„You are very kind, general, but I can tell that you are only saying this to please me. You can hardly have tasted the ham.“

But that was the weirdest thing about it: Mortier was telling the truth. The ham, as small as it was, had really satisfied Mortier’s hunger to a stunning degree. It should not have had such an effect on him. But it had.

Then maybe it was not so much the meat but the conversation with this kind (and pretty!) human girl?

Mortier had never given much thought to the metaphysical background of human-dragon bonding. Truth be told, he did not give much thought to metaphysical stuff at all, at least compared to some of his comrades. Mortier knew there were humans whom he liked, just like there were dragons whom he liked, and he knew that the presence of humans he liked made him feel a lot better, less hungry, less sleepy, sharper and more energetic. More alive, in a way. This knowledge sufficed for him.

Now he realized that he had rarely felt as alive as in the presence of this human lady.

Maybe he should have paid more attention to this whole „bonding“ thing. He only knew about the official practices, standardized by the government of the French Republic, that had young ladies, usually the daughters of politicians and wealthy citizens, function as dragon riders at parades or festivities. These girls were nice enough, and Mortier felt comfortable and somewhat flattered in their presence.

But it was nothing compared to what he felt when the girl in front of him now touched his fur in order to rearrange the twisted tricolor sash. It wasn’t any particular instance he could have put his claw on, no feeling that struck him like a lightning bolt or anything. Yet he started to realize that his body was tingling all over with contentment. If that even made sense.

And she seemed to realize. Or to experience something similar? Mortier almost felt as if he could sense an echo of her thoughts in his mind. He also suddenly realized he had neither introduced himself nor even asked her name yet.

Eva was astonished. She had expected the dragon fur to be rough and scratchy. But it felt softer under her touch than that of a kitten. She could not help but bury her hand in it and stroke it. „What wonderful fur you have!“

Do you like it? I’m rather proud of it, if I may confess such vanity. It’s not all that common for our species to have any fur, and mine surely is not among the worst. If you want to feel, it’s even softer here…

He eagerly started to turn a little to the side to offer her a view of his underbelly. There was a sound, a crash, of breaking, splintered wood, and he froze mid-movement, his eyes bulging.

Oh god! What was that?

„I think it was old Cesar’s shed“, said Eva.

Cesar?

„Our dog.“

I killed your dog? - The dragon almost shouted in Eva’s thoughts.

„Oh, no, no“, she reassured him. „Cesar died last winter, of old age. We have not gotten a new dog since.“

Good. I mean, not good of course, I’m very sorry for the poor animal but … The dragon general seemed equally relieved and confused. His next question came somewhat unexpected.

Mademoiselle, may I inquire: Are you afraid of heights?

„Of heights?“ Eva was too astonished to ponder the reason for the question. „No, I do not think so. I often need to climb the roof of our stables as we have some hens who love to fly up there. It never bothered me.“

Perfect! Do you think you would enjoy flying over your town? I would love to take you. I regularly have riders during military missions but with you it would be a pleasure…

Another sound interrupted him. One by one, the church bells of Koblenz started ringing.

Oh dear. Is it so late already? They’ll start the battle without me! - Mademoiselle, quickly, what’s your name?

„Eva Anna Hinnes.“

Ève! What name could compliment you more! - It sounded as if he tasted her name on his tongue like he had done with the ham, but then the church bells rang again, and he sighed.

I need to leave. - He abruptly unfolded his wings and narrowly avoided taking down Gertrud’s cowshed in the process. - Please do not go anywhere, Mademoiselle Ève!, she heard his voice in her thoughts, as the draught from his wings almost knocked her off her feet. - As soon as we have killed the Austrians, I’ll be back. I’ll bring you cows and oxen and … maybe a new dog? Whatever you like. But please do not go anywhere!

„I won’t“, Eva said silently, somehow convinced that the dragon could hear her even if he was already hovering high above her. She of course did leave the pasture however, once she could not see the dragon general anymore, in order to get back to the inn’s kitchen.

Her mother almost cried with relief.

„Eva! For heaven’s sake, you’re fine! Where have you been, what took you so long? I was scared the dragon had eaten you!“

„Mum?“ Eva said, deep in thoughts. „You know I always wanted to one day take over the inn? I think I have changed my plans. I think I want to become a dragon rider.“

Anna-Margarethe was too stunned to answer.

#dragons as cavalry au #dragon marshalate au #@cadmusfly #napoleonic dragon au #marshalate dragons au

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shiori42art · 8 months

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Royalty AU! AU summary below! ✨

(Royalty AU + Omegaverse + a bit Furry)

Mondstadt. Kingdom of crops, large meadows and good wine. Most of its inhabitants are winged beings (For example Jean is an eagle, Kaeya a peacock. But there are other animals like Diluc who is a lion or Klee a bunny!)

It is ruled by Decarabian (Alpha, bluish black wings) and his wife Istaroth (Omega, white wings) Their heirs are the Bard (Who I call Dorian in my AUs until Mihoyo gives me his damn name) (Beta, tan wings) and Venti (Omega, white wings with turquoise accents) they are twins!

Decarabian was unfaithful, her lover was Amos which caused Istaroth to execute her and leave the kingdom, leaving Deca as a single father, LOL. He totally invested in his little children. Super protective father.

Dorian being the oldest for a few minutes and a Beta was chosen to occupy the throne when Decarabian passes the command or is no longer there. He was raised to be the next king, although he hates the word "rule" he prefers to say that he took care of Mondstadt.

But two years ago Dorian contracted the terrible disease of eleazar, he was on the verge of death then but he survived. He now has to rest a lot, suffers from fatigue and muscle pain, sometimes black scales grow on his body causing numbness.

Decarabian searched for the best doctor specialized in the disease, who turned out to be the Fenec Tighnari (Omega) of Sumeru, where this disease is somewhat more common there. Tighnari travels from time to time to treat Dorian.

When the scales cover a certain amount of his body they must be removed, this is very painful and Dorian spends a lot of time in bed, although when he feels better he usually plays music in the garden.

His personal guard the Red Knight (A lion Alpha, I called him Brend because I don't have his name either) has been in charge of his care since he contracted the disease and spending so much time together sparked the spark of love!!

A secret love, of course, only Venti and some gossips like Kaeya (Omega, Captain of the cavalry and Venti's best friend) know about it.

All this made Dorian unable to govern properly, there is no cure for his disease and they know that if it worsens he will not live much longer. So Decarabian, much to his regret, had to pass on to his second son, Venti.

But since we're in a dumb old monarchy, an omega can't rule by itself! So Deca must make an arranged marriage for his precious omega son (Imagine Decarabian raging here, no one touches his child)

And of the 6 kingdoms that remain, what better than to ally with the beautiful neighboring kingdom? Liyue! A huge kingdom, full of mountains and a booming economy with its huge port. The Liyue royals have money, trade, good relations with the other kingdoms, they are perfect.

Liyue is ruled under the harsh dynasty of Osial (Alpha Blue Dragon) his wife Beisht (Quillin Omega) his eldest son and heir Zhongli (Alpha Dragon-Quilin) his middle sister Ninnguang (Alpha white and gold Dragon) and little sister Ganyu ( Quilin Omega)

Zhongli has a complex because he is the only one who is a mix, he is embarrassed by the soft golden hair on his tail, and his father does not hide his disgust.

So Osial does not hesitate to accept the neighboring kingdom's offer, it is his chance to gain territory and get his son out of sight, leaving his favorite daughter Ningguang in control of the port.

In order not to look bad in front of the other nations, Decarabian throws one of his famous parties, this time with the theme of courting his son. Although he has a contract prepared for Liyue.

At the party Venti is very upset to find out about this whole thing, but he meets Zhongli and they hit it off right away! Despite being a dragon he is not scary like the Kitsune that Ianzuma rules (Ei is here, sent by Makoto, her courtship fails even though she was not interested lol)

Still things are awkward and embarrassing between them! They dance, and Venti is fascinated by the sparkling jewels that decorate Zhongli's horns (He likes things that sparkle, he's a bird) Zhongli gives him one of his chains, making a small bracelet as a courtship gift.

They are cute! Meanwhile Osial only examines Venti with disgust, but approves of his wide hips which will be useful for egg-laying, the contract calls for an heir after all.

After the dance, the next day it is announced that Zhongli was the winner of the courtship and the arranged marriage is official!

Venti wants to run away from all this, and refuse marriage, at least leave it for a few years to really meet Zhongli. But Osial threatens that if they don't get married now, Dorian will have to marry Ganyu.

Zhongli is horrified because his sister is still very young, and Venti does not intend to destroy the life of his brother who is in love with his knight, besides that stress could worsen his illness.

So Venti accepts the marriage.

There is a lot of drama and many more characters here! But maybe one day I'll be encouraged to write fic! For the moment I will continue roleplaying happily with my homie and making silly drawings of this

Thank you for reading!

#genshin impact #zhongven #knightbard #venti #zhongli #nameless bard #nameless knight #decarabian #mpreg #mpreg belly #royalty au

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firein-thesky · 10 months

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Act I, Part I

|| kaeya alberich x afab!reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort/fluff || wc: 13k || ao3 || masterlist || Act I, Part II -> ||

When you, a beloved artist and performer of Mondstadt, attract the attention of the Fatui, there is only one person you seek out for help; the infamous Cavalry Captain of the Ordo Favonius, Mondstadt's beloved bastard.

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+ only

❀ for you are the world (as i am in pieces) - @lorelune ❀

a/n: it is finally here!!! this is apart of a lovely collab with my buddy @lorelune that you should check out!! i've linked their fic above!! thank you so much to @acerathia for beta reading this!!! this is the first act of three that will be posted but this act has been broken into two parts because tumblr hates long posts so i will link that shortly as well! everything will also be on ao3!! thank you so much and i'd love to hear your thoughts!! <33

tags: afab reader (she/her pronouns but is rather gender fluid/binds her chest sometimes and presents both femme and masc), alcohol use, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking/full on stalking from the fatui to the reader, eventual smut (not in this chapter), mentions of heartbreak/abandonment issues, bodyguard au technically, fake dating au technically

SCENE I

Our story begins first in the open night, beneath torchlight and on an ancient, well-loved stage in Springvale. And then our world should open up to the wilderness, to the Mondstadt streets, until we end up in Kaeya’s home; it’s as mysterious and stylish as he is. Everything could or couldn’t tell you everything about him, everything might or might not mean something to the Cavalry Captain.

The night sky shudders into shades of endless plum blue, kissed with silver-burnt stars and the gentle curve of a sweet moon.

Kaeya’s eye catches its brilliance, reflects it back like it was made from the very same moonbeam, the very same starshine.

You roar to life in the darkness.

Fire bursts from your mouth in a red-gold crush of heat, swinging in an arc around your head to illuminate you.

The audience cheers, hollering and clapping, murmuring excitedly at the way you leap from your pedestal above the stage into a crouch.

Your costume twinkles, shimmery and scale-like, jangling like mora in the pocket. It’s slinky, baring midriff and thigh, the curve of your bare feet, ankles and wrists adorned in jingling, scale-like jewelry. Your hair is wild, horns twisting out from your head.

It’s cute, Kaeya thinks, watching with an amused, little smile.

“The dragon careened from the sky and bore down on the knight!” Your narrator exclaims and with a flash of movement, you and the other actor clash in the darkness. Your fire lights up the stage only briefly, to catch another flash of movement, before plunging back into darkness. And then again, a burst of flames in another sharp picture;

The knight’s sword raised above his head to strike you down.

Darkness.

Before your fire explodes out in a plume to make the knight stagger back. The audience gasps.

You twist and turn and move serpentine, fluid like water, or the licks of your flames.

Kaeya hasn’t seen you perform in awhile, perhaps years, but it brings back memories of childhood.

The way you’d light up a room and perform whether it was to sing or dance or entertain.

As a child, you were bursting with it, with freedom and joy. He remembers nights in Ragnvindr manor, tucked away in smoky parlors with adults who cooed to you, who encouraged you to sing for them, to play the piano or violin. He remembers candlelight and the way it seemed to glow brighter for you as you opened your mouth and let all of that wonder out of you.

Your audience adores you here, too, out here in Springville, at this little outdoor theater which is perhaps just a couple half-hazard pieces of wood nailed together. Nonetheless, you make it feel like the rocky terrain of Dragonspine.

And by the end, your audience is hooting and hollering, on their feet, perhaps a little drunk, but adoring nonetheless.

Though it’s nice to see you perform, that isn’t exactly why he’s here tonight.

He sips at the mug of ale in front of him, leaning back in his chair.

He waits until you appear again in plain clothes, changed from your pretty costume, fresh faced.

And my, my are you popular. Everyone stops to talk to you, to snag you, to hug and hold you and laugh with you. He can tell, though, that you’re making your way to him as the night grows later and longer.

He waits.

Until you are in front of him once more, moon a halo above your head.

“Riveting performance.” He purrs.

“Captain Kaeya,” you say his name like it bursts sweet and sharp on your tongue.

He says your name in return, honeyed and slow, taking you in all your glory.

Then you say, “you came,” and your smile is an infectious little twist of lips.

“Of course I did.” He responds easily, looking up at where you’re standing in front of him, and then as if it was innate, only natural of him, “you asked me to.”

Your eyes flicker just behind him, catch someone in the darkness, before settling back on him.

Call it instinct, but he feels his hackles rise, hair on the back of his neck stand up. Kaeya knows danger well and can feel it now, the way you can smell a storm that is approaching.

You offer him your hand, palm up, and in the firelight of the torches around you, it shimmers in his vision, dancing with shadows.

He quirks a brow at you.

“Your place or mine?” He asks.

“You’re not even going to get me a drink first?” You ask, feigning scandal.

Kaeya feels the corner of his mouth tick up, “call me impatient.” He says, but he finally puts his hand in yours, envelopes it in his and realizes he has not taken your hand in many years. Perhaps not since you were children together. Your hands have grown, but so have his. Calluses rough up against your smooth, soft palm.

So untouched. So unscarred. Soft as–

“Yours.” You say decisively.

And you pull him up and into the fray of people, into the sweet night, turning away to guide him but with your hand still in his. He trails after you and if it looks suggestive, if there are some hollers and calls to you–

“The good captain, even?” A fellow actor of yours crows, ale sloshing in his mug, “is there no one in Mondstadt safe from your wiles?”

“Not a soul,” you vow with a laugh and the group roars with cheers, drinks spilling.

“Don’t tell me you two are leaving already!” Another says, “the night is still young!”

“All the more reason to leave now,” Kaeya sings and there is even more uproar, whistles and suggestive howls.

You seize his hand tighter and pull him closer, pick up your pace as if to show your eagerness, leaving all their laughs and hollering behind.

Your shadow persists, though, and Kaeya doubles his step to get closer, to sidle up next to your side. To guard your back.

“Been awhile,” Kaeya hums, “you must be desperate to have reached out to me.”

“Well, in all of Mondstadt, I could think of no one else I’d rather have.” You grin at him and the trouble is, you’re being honest. He can feel it, or perhaps he just wants to, that you would want his presence beyond this, beyond–

As you wander over trails and stones back to the city, hand always in his, he helps you along, or keeps after you like an eager dog. He lifts you off of a stone ridge you climbed, hands fitting along your waist like they belong there. He laughs when you dart away from him, chasing after you only to catch you around the middle, letting you yelp and twist in his hold, tossing your head back onto his shoulder to laugh up into the heavens.

It feels like he’s a child again, a teenager, stepping through time and into another. Nostalgia rips at him, tugs at the seams of him. He wonders if you feel it, too, but doubts it.

Not with the person loping not too far behind, keeping distance but not too much. Not enough.

The gates of Mondstadt are alight with torches.

You walk backwards to face him and for a moment, he really does almost lose his footing, because there is something so bewitching about you. He can’t stop looking, the curl of your smile, or the raise of your brow. It’s a natural sort of beauty, one born from within, he thinks, something in you that’s just so–

Wonderful.

And then you turn back over your shoulder and take off, pulling him after you. Nimbly, he is your shadow. Footsteps on cobblestone, clattering together, until you yank him into a dark little alcove. You press your back up against the stone curve, pulling him by the front of his uniform so that he crowds you, shrouds over you.

“Kaeya–” you say his name a little breathlessly and it echoes in Mondstadt stone streets, voice throwing so that someone could hear you. Will hear you.

He’s quick to catch on, ducking his head into the crook of your neck, though not close enough to touch.

Your follower has paused at the entrance of this alley. Kaeya can see the shadow in the torchlight.

You suddenly pinch his ear hard enough to make him yelp a little.

You laugh, but it’s warm and sultry, head falling back against the stone like you’ll give him more room.

“Right here?” He asks, but his gaze glances past you, at your follower.

You nod to his real question, but pitch your voice up in the charade, “please–”

The sound makes him flush a little.

And it makes your shadow scurry away when he realizes what you’re getting up to, clearly embarrassed, or in the least, shy about being a voyeur. Kaeya fights the urge to snort.

He does realize your hand is still curled in the front of his uniform. And the column of your throat is exposed, pretty, and open for the taking.

He focuses squarely ahead, listening closely to see where the footsteps have gone.

He only catches the grin on your face out of the corner of his eye, before you suddenly let out a louder, lewder moan.

He shushes you, almost reflexively, but he has to fight the urge suddenly to laugh. You do start to giggle this time and although it still sounds deeply intimate, he covers his hand over your mouth so you can laugh into his palm. So that you won’t blow your own ruse.

You keep this up until he finally takes your hand and pulls you away from the wall. You stumble with him, until he’s got you tucked up under his arm.

You’re still laughing a bit, clearly pleased with yourself, as he takes you a strange, meandering way to his own place. Your follower is gone, perhaps for the night off, assuming that you’ll be in Kaeya’s bed. He wonders if your shadow will find you again come morning or if he’ll scout out Kaeya’s own place for the night.

He leads you into his own apartment building, up the wooden stairs, and into his home. For an apartment, it’s rather spacious. Open. There’s a balcony off the bedroom, one that overlooks a great deal of Mondstadt’s streets. The bustling world below and the peaks of Mondstadt’s skyline above. It’s his favorite part.

Once the door is shut and the lock nestled into place, you finally drop the act.

His hand leaves yours, body leaves yours, for the first time that he’s seen you tonight and instantly, he can feel the rush of cold ease in.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, slinging off his own coat, setting his boots to the side.

He wanders in only to collapse on his sofa, eyeing you as you toe off your own shoes and carefully hang your own jacket beside his.

He forgets sometimes, what it's like, to have someone else here.

To have a coat beside his own, shoes kissing his.

“I take it you figured out my letter?” You ask, padding deeper into his home.

Kaeya smiles, “well, you can imagine my surprise when Jean handed it to me.”

“Jean saw that?” You ask, eyes rounding out in horror. “Does she think–does she know we’re not actually–?”

“Sleeping together? Romantically entangled?” Kaeya asks, standing suddenly to move to his office. You follow tentatively after him, only to watch him rifle through his desk and produce the very letter in question.

The envelope is covered in lipstick marks.

“You could’ve been a little more discreet.” He says, before inhaling a little sharply, “did you spray your perfume on this?”

“Do you like it?” You ask in return, “it’s new.”

He laughs, low and soft, “it’s nice. I think you traumatized Jean, though.”

“I wanted people to be too embarrassed to look inside the letter.” You retort, “clearly, I succeeded.”

“That you did.” He agrees, “and even if they did–”

An excited glow comes to your eyes, “did you figure it out?”

“Well, I knew it was some sort of code since the content of the letter was—fabricated, to say the least.”

“What? You don’t remember our clandestine trysts? I’m hurt—“

“You’re very clever.” Kaeya says then unabashedly and he thinks you melt a little at the praise. Or at least, you quiet down. “And it seems you’re in quite a bit of trouble.”

When you speak this time, it’s hushed, like you’re worried someone is listening now somehow.

“Can you help me? I had no idea who to turn to without tipping them off.”

“Well, if it’s one thing I’m good at, it’s dealing with secrets.” He muses, but then he gazes at your letter again, perhaps scouring the contents of it once more.

On the surface, it seems like a love letter, filled with winding, romantic phrases and memories of old; romps under star bright skies and hurried instances in the library. Nostalgic flashes of youth, when you danced the nights away with him. It details a sort of on and off again fling that neither of you can seem to quit.

But beyond that, there are ciphers, a code to uncover. And Kaeya pulls a slip of paper from another drawer of his desk, lays it out on the surface. Your true message reads very clearly in his messy scrawl;

Help. Fatui watching. Must be careful.

Kaeya gestures to the chair across from his large desk. You sink down into it with a nervous little breath.

“How long has this been going on?” He asks and perhaps the air changes, or the way his shoulders settle back. It’s the voice he uses as captain, twinged with authority and coolness.

“I noticed them following me about a month ago. Maybe longer, though.” You answer.

“Do you have any inclination as to why?” Kaeya asks now and he sets your letter aside.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment and Kaeya watches the movement, before you release it.

“It isn’t a secret that I’m not their biggest fan.” You finally answer. “I tend to toy with them if they get too close.”

Much like Diluc, you harbor a deep loathing for the Fatui.

You are a vocal and known defender of Mondstadt’s freedom from Fatui and their meddling hands. Notoriously, you’ve openly mocked them on stage and even worse, outwitted them in social entanglements. At every turn, when they tried to use your family’s name, coerce you financially, or corner you with social politics, you’ve managed to weasel by. They have tried endlessly to get you to bend to their whims, whatever they might be, and you have refused.

For the past few years, they have tried desperately to get someone as loved and known in Mondstadt in their pockets.

And for years, you’ve escaped them.

You’ve done much to outwit them. You’ve caused all out personal brawls between underlings, made a fool of yourself at one of the largest balls between nations, led them on wild goose chases that amounted to nothing, and even gone so far as to reveal salacious scandals to get your way.

Socially, in a battle of wits, you are a wicked opponent.

But physically? You are a sitting duck. And as beautiful as those flames of yours are on stage, you’ve never once used them in battle.

Kaeya remembers you as a child, trying to keep up with Jean and Diluc, well on their way to being knights, and all you did was cry and cry and cry.

It was so clear you were never meant for battle, always been more of a lover, in his mind. Crybaby that you were, you were meant for the arts; your sword a pen, your battle cry a song.

“No,” Kaeya agrees, “but many people are not fans of the Fatui, to varying degrees of vocalness. I can’t imagine they’d be so foolish as to target the very Heart of Mondstadt for no other reason than your disapproval or mischief now.”

The world has coined you Mondstadt’s Heart. It’s Light, it’s Shooting Star. You are as close to an adored princess (—and you’d scoff at the idea of royalty, like a true Mondstadtian—) as you can get in this nation and though you carry the bloodline of Imunlaukr, you have spent your days with the everyday man. You traveled and performed and dined and drank with those far from nobility.

As soon as he and Jean and Diluc had joined the knights, you had already joined an acting troupe. You were already off, free as a bird, to compose and write and perform and sing and dance your way across Mondstadt. Across the world.

But you always flew back home.

At one point, he’d been close to you perhaps, in his youth. You’d grown up alongside him and Diluc and Jean.

He always assumed, actually, that you and Diluc would—

Well, you’re both the beloved figures of Mondstadt.

It’s light and dark, truthfully, blessed by the Pyro Archon.

But everything had fallen apart when—

Kaeya had assumed you’d sided with Diluc and never wished to see him again. Or, in the least, you had nothing good to say to him. You’d never been rude to him, but he’d kept his distance nonetheless.

Perhaps for fear of your scorn. Perhaps he couldn’t face it. Of all the people who could scold him or reject him, yours felt particularly hard for him. He blames it on your otherwise playful and loving nature; to be despised by one of the sweetest of Mondstadt would be hard to stomach.

You used to write to him, more than just coded letters when you were in grave danger. But slowly, the letters stopped, and he assumed Diluc must’ve said something or—

Your paths were easy to keep from crossing.

Kaeya deals in secrets and shadows and is busy with the knights.

And you deal in brilliant light and open-hearts, your whole life on a stage.

Nonetheless, he’s surprised by your warmth.

“What are you thinking?” You ask softly and the way you’ve said it makes him think you could tell his mind was spiraling.

Kaeya sets down your letter, “that you’ll have to stay here for the night if you’d like your little shadow to believe your ruse.”

You open your mouth, perhaps to protest, to ask again—what are you really thinking about?

But you don’t.

“I suppose I’ll have to crash on your couch.” You answer, before a wry smile curls at your lips, “unless you’d like to stage a grand argument where I storm out.”

“You’re still trouble.” Kaeya hums, eyeing you perhaps more fondly than he should.

“And you were my partner in crime once! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t now—“

“I would, if it benefited us.” He assures you, smiling himself, “but for now, I think keeping up a false relationship for the eyes of others may help us a great deal.”

“Is this your way of asking me out?” You tease.

“I think it would give me an excuse to be around you frequently to protect you. No one would think twice about two lovers recently rekindled.”

“Surely, I don’t need—“

“In the least, I’d like to observe your observer.” Kaeya says smoothly, and then, “you’re not seeing anyone else, are you? We won’t have to worry about your real lover, do we?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, suspended.

“No,” you say then, something strange in your voice, a little shake of your head, “what about you?”

“I’m far too busy with the Knights of Favonius for a relationship.” Kaeya says flippantly, forcing his voice to remain even. “At least that makes things less complicated.”

“Right,” you agree and there is a moment of silence as the situation settles around the two of you. There’s a shyness in the silence, a sudden uncertainty. Kaeya does not do well in it. And apparently neither do you, because at the same time, you both try to say;

“You can take my bed for–”

“I’m sorry to intrude on–”

You both laugh a little and try again;

“You’re not intru–”

“I can’t take your–!”

Silence again.

Your eyes meet and there is a smile in the corners of them, laughing eyes, crinkled with their life.

He opens his mouth to speak again but this time, you lurch forward and beat him to it, “I can’t take your bed!”

“I’ll change the sheets, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He says easily.

“No! It’s your bed and I’ve just–dropped in on your life!” You exclaim, voice pitching upwards. Dramatic little thing that you are.

But Kaeya can’t help but feel as if it’s a little true, not in any horrible way, rather in a way that is worse;

It feels poignant.

Right, even.

To have you fall back into his life the way you used to fall as a child, reckless and with wild laughter.

“Not at all,” Kaeya says and he finds, surprisingly, that he means it, “besides, the couch is comfortable–”

“Then I can take it.” You counter.

“No, I’m afraid it’s my home and I’ve already decided”

“Kaeya.” You say, as if to scold him.

He says your name in return, in the same tone, as if to mock you.

Eyes locked again, Kaeya takes you in fully.

After all these years, you have only grown all the more beautiful. Everyone knew you would be, but somehow you’re more than he remembers, a full bloom, a perfectly ripened fruit. A fledged angel. You’re more than he could ever fathom, somehow in his home, after years, and showing him a warmth and kindness he perhaps doesn’t deserve.

Faintly, he wonders if he should work up the courage to apologize.

For what exactly, he can’t name.

(But for years now, he has felt the urge to apologize. To everyone. For everything. And yet it will never loosen from his throat, lodged there, down deep.)

“Would you like to borrow clothes to sleep in, too?” He asks and if his eye skips down to your body briefly, he is quick to avert it.

Sheepishly, as sweet as ever, you smile and say, “if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he purrs and then he stands, stretches a little, hands raised above his head. “Shall we?” He asks and begins to move towards the door.

You stand to follow him.

“Kaeya,” you say suddenly, his name flying from your mouth like a freed bird.

He pauses in the doorway, the arch between two places; where you are and aren’t. One foot in and one foot out.

He can tell by the look on your face, so painfully expressive, shuddering with several emotions, that you want to say much. You’re like an open book for him to plainly read, so vulnerable.

He hopes you won’t say a thing, doesn’t think he can quite bear to hear it.

“Thank you.” Is what you settle on and it’s soft, painfully earnest.

Kaeya swallows, hides it all behind an easy, flippant smile, “of course.”

And he turns away from you, turns his back on your seeking face because he can’t be what you find, doesn’t want you to pry. Your eyes are too searching and he has to be careful, so careful–

He gives you soft, worn clothes of his. He is careful not to look too long at how you fill their shape, or how you look with your hair undone or your face free of stage makeup.

He is sure all the world wishes to know you this way.

He tries not to make you laugh or smile and is certainly careful not to hold your gaze.

He sleeps with his eyepatch on, shirt carefully buttoned and irritatingly twisted up over his body.

He stares up at the ceiling of his living room as you lay in his bed and he forces himself to think 0f anything but, to think of his duties in the morning, or the look on your face all those years ago.

Why are you being so kind to him?

He turns the question over in his mind like a coin, over and over and over, as if it may land on a side and reveal to him an answer.

He hardly sleeps.

And in the morning, the birds sing and so do you, humming under your breath as you dorn your clothes from the night before.

“My great walk of shame,” you sing with a laugh. “Hopefully all of Mondstadt notices.”

“Wait,” he says and the morning sun makes him lighter, your laugh brightens his whole home, and he disappears into his room momentarily to fetch his bottle of cologne.

If he were a worse man, he would dab it onto your neck with his own fingers.

But instead, he hands you the bottle, “if you’d like them all to really talk.”

You laugh again, full bellied and beautiful. So beautiful that you put the morning bells to shame.

You dab it on your neck, against your pulse points, the smell of sweet mint and amber, something boozy, almost like bourbon, hangs in the air and–and you smell like him. And your own perfume, the crush of vanilla and dark berries.

They’d almost compliment each other.

And then you hang in his doorway like the light beams that linger as the morning turns to day and finally you say, “it was good to see you again.”

“You’ll be seeing much more of me now,” he replies breezily.

“And I’m glad for it.” You tell him, “at least something good has come of this.”

He swallows hard. He averts his gaze from you and onto the Mondstadt streets beyond. The birds that flutter and coo as the day blossoms and grows.

“Go,” he says gently, “and spread your rumors about us.”

You laugh again and promise to do just that, skip in your step, as you turn to take on the world as if not a thing could touch you.

And he shuts the door quickly–to his apartment and home, and to his heart.

He doesn’t dare think about it as he throws the lock into place.

But he’ll hum the tune you were singing this morning for the rest of the day and well into evening.

When he sleeps that night, it is with the thought of your form burning in his bed the night before and he thinks if he prayed much, he’d say oh Archons, what have I done? What have I gotten into?

What does the world have in store for me now?

***

SCENE II

In Angel’s Share, warm and glowing, a love shared between the patrons.

You— have the uncanny, incredible talent of prying open all that is around you, so that it bursts sweet like a ripe fruit into your waiting hands. You have known this since you were a child; if you listen, the world will reveal its secrets to you. If you sang, something sang back. And when you danced, all was moved with you.

And now, all that world seems to hang on your every breath, the tavern hushed as your voice carries over the sounds of a lyre. All the patrons’ faces are relaxed, open for you, as you sing.

Venti plays beside you, fingers plucking carefully, stroking into a fuller sound as your voice carries and rises.

It’s a slinky little song, playful and flirtatious, heart-warming as the room coos and sighs. Not a soul is spared–and they never are, Venti always tells you with a laugh. You can feel it, the energy that simmers, that you manage to reach for and control.

You’re singing about love. You don’t do it often.

But the song is an old one, about young lovers, and petal blossoms. Spring fevers and moonshine. You trill and chirp like a bird, voice soaring and floating above the room.

Until the last note blooms from your mouth and the patron’s of Angel’s Share erupt into applause.

You hadn’t planned on singing tonight, only sitting with Venti and Diluc at the bar. But, as what often happens on lovely, slow-warming nights of spring, the tavern fills and the customers beg for a song as they grow drunker and louder.

You know they will likely ask you for one more—a rowdier one that you will kick up your feet to and dance. You will clap and stomp and pull a drinking man into your arms briefly and everyone will hoot and cheer as you teach someone clumsier than you how to dance to your tune, for a moment so that he might see the world the way you do.

Or hear it with your ears.

They never quite can keep up, but it’s fun nonetheless.

And then, for Diluc’s sake, you will play a slow, soft tune with a violin perched on your shoulder. It will be an old drinking song that you have slowed and made into a minor chord so it rings with melancholy and not cheer.

But it will lull the patrons and urge them to leave for the night, arm and arm, bumping shoulders.

You will help Diluc clean up and he will urge you to head home, too. Venti will linger, though hardly lift a finger.

For now, though, you retreat from your place of spotlight to take up your stool at the bar once more. Venti perched up beside you.

“Another round, barkeep!” He announces.

Diluc looks flatly at you, before his eyes shift to Venti and drawl, “with what money?”

“I’ll pay for it, Diluc.” You pipe up and he sighs and shakes his head like he always does.

(He never charges you for them, anyways. You’ll still try to leave money for the both of you at the end of the night.)

Instead, he says, “that was quite the song.” As he sets a glass of valberry wine in front of you; it is one of your favorites.

For Venti, an ale.

“A love song!” Venti adds, waggling his brows as he loops his hand around the mug of ale. He takes a large sip, throat working, gulping it down far quicker than he should be.

“I was in the mood,” you say breezily, lifting one of your shoulders in an easy shrug.

Diluc cocks an eyebrow but otherwise does not press you. He returns to wiping down the bar.

Unlike Venti, who slams his mug back down onto the bar (sloshing some of the ale and Diluc, the poor man, sighs as he runs his rag over the splash) and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, “you’re seeing someone!”

Now, technically, you are supposed to be sharing this little rumor in hopes of it spreading like wildfire.

But lying to Venti? To Diluc—

About Kaeya, no less.

So instead, you say, “I wouldn’t say that, per se.”

Venti pounces excitedly, “but there is someone! Who is it? Do we know them?”

You swallow. Though you are an actor, you are hardly a liar and even now, it turns your stomach over itself to do it. You’ve never been good at lying; your heart has always been on your sleeve, emotions written so plainly across your face. Lying makes your skin itch, you can hardly ever do it, even rarer can you pull it off.

“Well,” your voice goes high.

“We do, don’t we?” Venti asks, impish grin hooked onto his lips. .

He mistakes you for shyness or awkwardness over a crush, rather than nerves or guilt. You let him.

Venti is a dear friend of yours and has been for several years now. It was a sort of instant connection with him; even stranger and more wonderful than that, once the world had given him to you, it had felt like he’d always been in your life, at your side. Your bard. Your drinking and dancing partner. Your confidant and mischievous accomplice. The games the two of you play are far beyond anyone else; you send each other all over Mondstadt with scavenger hunts and puzzles–for new sheet music he’s written for you to sing or exciting news you wish to tell him– tongue twisters and poems, cherished clues and inside jokes. Your letters are often in code or riddle. The two of you are always disappearing to secret places and hiding spots.

He’s your dearest companion.

Lying to him troubles you greatly.

You’ll have to ask Kaeya if you can tell him, if you could explain to Diluc that–

Still, you swallow, “you do, yes.”

“Let me guess!” Venti then says, tapping his chin in contemplation. And for a moment, you have half a mind to lead him down a riddle, instead of this guessing game. The wine is muddling your head, though. “Is it Franz?” Venti asks.

You laugh, surprised, shaking your head quickly; Franz is a fellow actor. He’s great fun but—

“Franz is seeing Emil!”

“It’s not Rosaria, is it?” Venti then asks, “I thought you said that was a one off sort of—“

“It’s not Rosaria!” You cut him off, cheeks suddenly blossoming into an embarrassed heat as you glance at Diluc. Venti had been the only one who knew about that.

Until now, of course.

You smile sheepishly.

“Rosaria?” Diluc questions, surprised as well.

“It was a one off sort of—“ You begin to repeat Venti, laughing nervously.

“I just had to be sure!” Venti then cuts you off, before taking another long sip of ale. He makes a show of mulling over his thoughts.

“Is it…” He trails off, before his eyes suddenly sharpen and pin you to your place. You swallow because you know him and you know that look. Sometimes, you think Venti knows too much. You don’t know if it’s intuition or–

“…Kaeya?”

You freeze.

“It is!” Venti crows.

“What?”

You wince.

“It’s just—it’s nothing—really!” You squeak out.

“I had heard you went home with Kaeya!” Venti continues, loud enough that, yes, this rumor will certainly spread now.

And more importantly, you believe it’s loud enough to reach the ears of the man who has been following you all day; the undercover Fatui member sits not far off, keeping his eye on you. He pretends to drink alone.

“You went home with Kaeya?” Diluc repeats and if he sounds as if he might scold you, you suppose you wouldn’t exactly blame him.

You lean in towards them and instinctively, they do the same, the three of your heads ducking close to each other.

“It wasn’t like that,” you whisper to them, “but if anyone else asks, it was like that.”

Diluc’s brows furrow and a frown settles onto his lips. Venti throws his head back and laughs.

“What are you two up to?” Diluc asks scornfully, eyeing you.

“Nothing!” You chirp but it isn’t very convincing.

“I knew you had feelings for him,” Venti continues, perhaps a little too loudly again, and somehow, it’s as if his voice could carry. Like he’s thrown it playfully, caught it on the breeze from the open window.

Venti has always been rather magical to you. In the same way it feels as if you’ve always known him, it feels as if he could have always been here, in Mondstadt, even before he appeared. There is something in Venti that sings to you, the way the wind does on a beautiful day, rushing through your hair and into your heart. You couldn’t name it, but you know it as well as you know the streets of your home, as well as you know your favorite sonnet or song.

You make a show of shushing him and he laughs heartily again before he throws you a wink.

You grin mischievously yourself this time.

“Has Kaeya ever taken a lover?” Venti asks now, perhaps wondering out loud.

“Too many.” Diluc grouses.

“He’s strange that way, isn’t he?” You muse, taking a slow sip of your wine. You consider your next words. “He somehow has the reputation of taking countless lovers, but I couldn’t name you a single one.”

Venti’s eyes twinkle, as if he knows something you don’t. Like a child, you sometimes wish to beg him to tell you what he seems to know, what the world has given him, but you know that is no way to learn.

“Diluc?” You question.

Diluc gives you another flat look, “I am not privy to Kaeya’s romantic life.” He puts away a glass a little more forcefully than necessary, the glass twinkling, “and I have no wish to be.”

“You can’t name a single paramour of your brother’s?” Venti presses and the two of you lean against the bar in intrigue now, excited, shining eyes turned to Diluc.

“No, thank the Anemo Archon, I can’t.”

Venti snorts at a joke you can’t seem to grasp.

But then you and he share a look, and this time, you can read very plainly what is in his face. You wear twin smiles, impish, and all trouble.

Diluc shakes his head, “don’t look like that in my bar. If you’re going to cause trouble, do so elsewhere.”

“You’re such a grouch,” you snip back at Diluc, taking another sip of your wine, the sweet burn settling deep in your belly. Warmth blossoms. “You’re not curious at all?”

“No,” Diluc says again quickly.

You narrow your eyes, “liar. I know some part of you cares, no matter how badly you pretend not to.”

Diluc huffs, “if I cared, I’d know.”

Venti hums, “then you do know.”

“I just said–”

“I think it has more to do with Kaeya, don’t you?” Venti then says lightly, perhaps too lightly, “if Kaeya wanted you to know, you’d know. Kaeya keeps his cards close to his chest.”

Another sip of wine has you feeling flushed. Open.

“Well, I’m just going to ask him the next time I see him.” You declare to the two, to the bar, perhaps to the whole world.

As if maybe it was you who asked for the truth, he’d answer.

“Good luck with that.” Diluc says dryly.

“Good luck to you!” Venti cheers, jerking his mug of ale out to you so that you may clink your glass of wine against his. You do so, just as he laughs;

“Good luck on your endeavor to capture our Captain’s heart! If anyone could, it would be you!”

***

SCENE III

The Mondstadt streets, early morning; bustling and lively. A flourish of colors as people pass to and fro. Our lovers meander, as if in another time entirely. Kaeya is often shrouded, by people, by vendors, by the world.

You walk beside Kaeya, shoulder to shoulder, past vendors of food and flowers and jewelry. Children yell and chase each other past you, mother’s hollering after them. The smell of fresh food and perfume floats on the breeze.

Kaeya swaggers beside you, sword at his hip, in his full knight’s uniform. You, on the other hand, are in simple skirts; white ruffled fabric beneath an outer layer of peach. A corset of flowers, woven, but hardy and loved, with silk ribbons in the back all tied up and tangled in your hair. Despite the dress, you’ve decided today to bind your chest. Some days, you bind, some you don’t. Some days you are more masculine and others feminine.

And often, you live in between, perhaps around the two. Both and neither all at once.

Heads turn as you pass but this is what Kaeya wanted.

He ducks his head now to say, “your shadow is certainly persistent.”

His voice is low and soft, kept hidden from prying ears.

You look up at him, “they always are. I swear, one day, they’ll follow me into the bathroom–”

Kaeya snorts, casting his eyes back outwards at the moving streets.

Now, he says, more obviously, “what have you got left on your list?”

You look down into the basket on your arm; the loaf of bread that is still warm, the couple of fruits and vegetables that fill in with color around it like large jewels.

“Milk and eggs,” you respond, “but I like to look at the flowers, too.”

“As you wish,” Kaeya smiles and you feel his hand at the small of your back, leading you through the crush of people, towards where you will find your milk and eggs.

“Kaeya,” you say, soft as the breeze.

“Hm?”

“I have questions.”

He quirks a brow at you now, intrigued, perhaps even wary. It’s hardly a flicker of his expression. But still, he asks, “of what kind?”

“Mostly the secretive kind.” You answer; you’d like to ask who you can share this false relationship with. You want to know if he’s informed Jean.

You step up to the vendor for milk and eggs with Kaeya at your back.

“You should save those for later, when you’re in my home.”

“Oh?” You ask, head turning over your shoulder to look at him,“I’m coming over later?”

Your eyes meet and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the tension is real, the little fissure of heat that kindles inside you makes you flush with warmth in the face. Along the tips of your ears.

Kaeya really is handsome. A true knight in shining armor or–he looks like a prince from a fairytale, you think. The regal line of his nose and pretty dip of his cupid’s bow lip, the depth of his blue eye; you swear it could be a shade of blue you have never seen before. One that you could give a new name to.

“If you’d like,” he says breezily, his smile sharp and handsome, “I’ll provide dinner.”

“And wine?” You ask, a smile of your own tipping up into a mischievous curve.

“Always wine.” He agrees and this time, you think his smile is more sincere.

You purchase your eggs and milk with twinkling coins that you press into the warm, wrinkled hand of the old farmer who sells them. And then you are on your way again, meandering the streets at Kaeya’s side.

“I do have a question that can be asked now, though.” You return, cradling the basket on your arm filled with your goods, letting it rest against your hip.

“By all means,” he replies, as if he’ll be that easy to give you an answer. He gazes back outwards, at the world around him.

And before you can lose an ounce of courage, you look up at him and simply ask, “have you taken many lovers?”

He laughs, surprised, and his head turns sharply to look at you again. “Is this a trick question?”

You laugh now yourself, “not at all! I’m being earnest.” You implore him with your eyes now, expectant, and honest.

He laughs again, softer, shorter, as if he can’t believe you. He returns his gaze to the street in front of him. “I’ve had a few.” He answers simply.

“A few?” You prod.

“My, you’re nosy.” He teases.

“I’m curious. I want to know!” You defend, nudging him a little, “I want to know more than just the elusive rumors about the casanova of the Knights of Favonoius.”

“Is that what I am?” He purrs, “a casanova?”

“Don’t change the subject!” You respond with another laugh and it’s almost a little dizzying, watching him work in real time to slip from your grasp. You feel heat in your cheeks, up along the nape of your neck.

But you adjust your grip, you try again.

“I’ve had quite a few.” He amends sheepishly, boyishly. “I hope you’re not the jealous type.”

“I am.” You snip back playfully, honestly, but still, “were any of them serious?”

You can tell he is weighing how to answer as he lapses into a brief silence and then, as if he’d manufactured it, he urges you suddenly to a vendor for flowers, with her large bushels of them, beautiful and bright and fragrant. He ducks behind a burst of them, appearing around the other side with one in hand, which he offers to you.

His grin is lopsided, handsome. “For you, my lady.”

It’s blue and beautiful, full of fragrant petals and blooming a deep purple at the center.

You snatch the flower from his grasp, “you’re avoiding my question.”

Still, you bring the flower up to your nose and inhale deeply.

Kaeya meanders around the other bunches of them and you follow after him, keeping the one in your hand close to your face, by your nose. It’s sweet smelling, soft and mellow, and fresh.

“What do you define as serious?” He returns your question with one of his own finally.

“Have you been in love?” You ask now.

“Sure,” he answers with a secretive slip of a smile.

You don’t know why, but you almost think he’s bluffing.

“So it was serious?” You encourage, trying to ease more out of him.

He shrugs gracefully now and gives you another, “sure.”

“Did you think you would stay with them forever?” You pivot now, knowing you have to be specific. The question bubbles from you without thought, as if you are asking if the weather is alright, or if he’d prefer the red or gold flowers this morning.

He stops up short.

He looks at you very strangely for a moment.

And perhaps it is one of the first straightforward and honest things he’s said to you, “nothing lasts forever.”

“No, but you could promise your own forever to someone.” You respond, letting the petals of his flower brush up against your cheek, soft and silky.

“Well, what about you?” He returns smoothly, carefully avoiding what you’d just said.

You smile, because you know now, you can tell he is an expert of avoidance. You smile like you’ve caught him.

And as if to teach him, you answer very honestly, “I have been in love many times, but I only promised forever once to someone.”

Now it’s your turn to meander around the flowers, turn over your shoulder and wander away from him a little.

He follows tentatively.

“And what happened?” Kaeya asks carefully.

You pull another flower out of the bunch to admire it next to the one he gave you, a wispy white one, twinged peach at the edges.

“I got stood up,” you admit and pick your head up from your flower searching to look at him briefly, “we were going to elope.”

The look in his eye is perhaps a little too delicate for your liking.

You return to fiddling with the flowers, pulling another, and another, to create your own, small bouquet of them. It’s easier when your hands are busy to speak about this still, which even years later, feels raw and prickly.

“It was while I was touring in Liyue–we were supposed to meet at some old ruins–an altar– and be married at dawn. I was going to leave the acting troupe, leave Mondstadt behind forever, and disappear with him.” You say, carefully arranging your flowers, delicately shifting and changing them. You offer a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and try to joke, “it was all very romantic at the time.”

You let out a breath, admiring your bouquet, “I waited all morning. And then all afternoon. All night. I thought something horrible happened to him but–”

You pick your head up again and this time Kaeya offers you another flower; one to match your bouquet. You accept it and it fits beautifully into the bunch of them, carefully placed at the center. It’s another blue one, soft and lovely and full to bursting.

“It turns out he just got cold feet. He married a Liyue girl a year later.”

“And what did you do?” He asks softly.

“I went on to perform in Sumeru, Fontaine, Natlan, and Snezhnaya. And then I came home to Mondstadt, licking my wounds, and haunting poor Diluc and Venti at the bar. Singing too many heartbreak songs, drinking a little too much–you know, the whole spiel.” You say and this time, you do smile, because despite how hurt you were, memories of Venti trying to cheer you up, causing a ruckus, and poor Diluc trying his best to help you as well flood to you.

Jean taking you out on girls’ nights and your fellow artists banding together to keep you afloat. Lisa finding beautiful copies of your favorite plays and stories. Good people who came back into your life and tried to put you together again. Good moments, despite it all.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Kaeya begins smoothly, reaching out to smooth a petal a certain way, “I think that is perhaps the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of any man doing.”

You snort and Kaeya continues, “I’m serious.” But you can’t tell if he means it or not, “Imagine losing the very Heart of Mondstadt.”

He suddenly takes the bouquet from your willing hands and goes to pay for them with shimmering coins. He returns the flowers moments later, settles them into the crook of your arm, but not before stealing one and tucking it carefully behind your ear.

“There,” he murmurs, eye flickering over your open face, unreadable as always, “perfect.”

And with that, he saunters away and you are left staring after him, on his coat tails for a moment.

But he pauses, he waits for your skip of a step to come back into place at his side.

The flowers fill the space of your kitchen with the color of blue you can’t name, the one that is caught in his eye, and the one you dream about in Mondstadt skies.

***

PRELUDE TO SCENE IV

Late afternoon. Outside the monumental Cathedral. Once inside, light pours from stained glass windows in a kaleidoscope of color. The way it touches you is almost a mystery, a vision. The audience should never fully see Kaeya’s face as he turns and moves, always partially shadowed.

“I need to check on something before we see Jean.” You tell Kaeya and he hustles to keep up with your steps.

“In the Cathedral?” Kaeya asks, brows rising over his face in surprise.

“Sort of!” You chirp and then you glance over your shoulder, throw him a smile he knows means trouble, and say, “it’s a secret.”

Kaeya masks his face well as he follows you around a sudden stone bend that veers away from the main room. He assumes it will go up, to the spires, but instead, it goes down. He stares at curled stone steps that lead into darkness. He glances around for a moment as if someone might stop the two of you, but no one does.

You disappear into the shadows and Kaeya follows behind quickly.

Now at a door, you turn, press your back to it and Kaeya comes up short. It’s a tight space, this narrow crook, and if Kaeya were to step away, he’d have to take another step up above you.

“Will you guard the door?” You ask sweetly.

Kaeya can’t help but laugh, a little surprised, “are you supposed to be doing this?”

“I have a key.” You protest, fishing out a necklace from beneath your buttoned up shirt–today you are in trousers, with your chest bound, but a pair of heeled boots. You hold it up and a gold key shimmers in dull light. It looks old and perhaps once illustrious, with a whirling, intricate design.

“Who gave that to you?” Kaeya asks.

You look perfectly innocent, “I found it myself.”

Kaeya can’t help the smile, “does anyone know you have it?”

You narrow your eyes, “you’re not going to tattle on me, are you?”

His smile turns into a fond laugh, warm and softly echoing in this little hallway, the arch of the door. “No. Should I be worried?”

“No,” you respond and he’s fit to believe you as you turn back to the door and fit the key into the lock. With a gentle, easy click, the door creaks open. “I’m just going to fetch my diary.”

“Your diary?”

Without an answer, Kaeya watches as you disappear behind the door, which leads to another, darker hallway. You lift your hand and light fills the space, a flame of yours licking to life. There is another door at the end of the hallway. He assumes you’ll go on, push through that one as well.

But instead, you turn to the side to face a bookshelf lining one of the hallways. There’s plenty of them. You push on what appears to be a small statue fastened to the shelf and use it as leverage to begin sliding it over.

Your eyes flick to Kaeya only briefly and you lift your finger to your lips as if to ask him to keep your secret.

The door shuts before he can stop it, sealing him away.

Instantly, he frets.

He pushes against the door but it’s locked now. And you have the key.

He tries to remain calm. He feels suddenly foolish or tricked. He just thought–

Well, he assumed you were a goody-two-shoes. Mondstadt’s proper, most beloved girl. He thought you didn’t have a rebellious or secretive bone in your body. He assumed, for all intents and purposes, that you were something of a prude in this way. A rule follower.

Huh.

Kaeya glances back from the way he’d came, to the door.

Perhaps he doesn’t know you as well as he thought.

He tries not to worry the longer the minutes grow.

He doesn’t want to call for you because he doesn’t want to attract attention but if you don’t return shortly–

The door suddenly creeks again and Kaeya has to step out of the way as you reappear behind it.

And in your hand is a small, leather-bound notebook.

You shut the door behind you, sealing your secrets away.

“Diary found.” You tell him with a smile, holding it up. Then, you tuck into the crochet bag on your shoulder.

He stares at you, still rather surprised.

“What?” You ask, brushing past him, to head back up towards the curved stairs.

“What secrets do you have in that diary that warrant such a hiding place?” Kaeya asks, still astonished.

You laugh, warm and bubbling, as you return to the main floor of the Cathedral. The colors of the stained glass in the afternoon sun shimmer on you, dancing over your skin in a wash of violets and peaches, blues and crimsons. Emerald colors your shoulders. Gold along your face. You look like a wonder. A fairy. Part god–

“Nothing so important–just my feelings. Songs I’ve written. Snippets of poetry.” You tell him and he wishes he could believe you. You say it so earnestly. “Secrets of the heart, I suppose.” You joke.

Kaeya glances behind him, then back to you, “and where did you–find that place? How did you–?”

“I know many places in Mondstadt that others don’t. I’ve stumbled upon them ever since I was a child.”

You catch his gaze over your shoulder, shimmering in his vision, and smile, “maybe I’ll show you more of them sometime.”

The afternoon light almost blinds him as you swing the massive doors open once more. He dumbly follows after you, taken aback, enamored, in awe.

“Come along, Captain!” You sing like a bird, “Jean is waiting!”

***

SCENE IV

Jean’s office. Golden hour. The light turns the wood of her desk and floor and the walls bronze. Papers are scattered around her desk, haphazardly organized. Her hair is a halo glow in the last rays of the sun. Kaeya’s back is turned, towards the bookshelves and away from the audience, like he might be searching for something. He is careful not to look at you.

You sit across Jean’s desk as the afternoon wanes into evening, the sun dipping you in honey rays, soft and dreamlike. Kaeya busies himself with the rows of books, keeping his back carefully turned away from the two of you. He listens closely, though, even as he pretends he doesn’t.

“So you’re not actually…seeing each other?” Jean asks.

“No,” you laugh, “did I scare you with my letter?”

“Yes.” Jean says seriously.

Kaeya fights the urge to turn and offer her a cold look. Still, she continues, “I thought I was going to have to lecture one of you. Though, I’m not sure which one–”

You laugh now, fuller, warmer.

It’s a lovely sound, it fills the space with warmth.

“Who else knows? Kaeya, I don’t appreciate you withholding this from me at first.” Jean says and Kaeya can feel her eyes touching the back of his shoulders like the tip of a sword might.

“You know I deal in secrets.” He responds flippantly.

“This is different.” Jean responds and perhaps he does know that.

You and Jean are childhood friends, he knows Jean cares a great deal for you. Or harbors some sort of over protective, sisterly feeling towards you. And even when you went away, even when you hardly saw each other, he knew the feelings didn’t wane.

No, he knows how childhood bonds are.

“It’s alright, Jean, we’ve had to be careful. We needed to establish a believable cover.” You are quick to mediate, perhaps defend him. “I started this, anyways.”

Jean won’t get mad at you, nor will she blame you for much.

“Currently, we’re the only three who know.” Kaeya pipes up, allowing his finger to trace over the spine of a book gracefully.

“I’m trying to convince him to allow me to tell Diluc and Venti.” You quickly add and Kaeya knows now that he’s lost that battle.

Jean will side with you.

“Diluc doesn’t know? Wouldn’t he be a useful ally now? She spends a lot of time at the tavern; he could keep an eye on her when you can’t.” Jean says.

Kaeya takes a moment too long to respond, he knows it, senses his mistake, because Jean pounces–

“You two are a pain.”

“Now, now,” Kaeya begins smoothly, “I just think the less people know, the better.”

“You know you can trust Diluc.” Jean scolds.

“Diluc is a terrible liar.” Kaeya snips and his head snaps to the side to glance at Jean over his shoulder. He quickly rights himself and shields his face once more, returning to his perusal of books.

“I’m sure if he knows what’s at stake, he could keep it together.” Jean responds, tone firm and unmoving.

Kaeya sighs heavily, but his next reply is cut off by your own voice, “I don’t like lying to him or Venti.” And then, because you’ve never been one to shy away from the truth, you add, “especially about you.”

“I think both would readily help us. The more eyes on her, the safer she is.” Jean agrees.

Kaeya can not explicitly express why this makes him bristle— or perhaps he simply doesn’t want to admit it. He knows it, somewhere inside of him, knows that the thing that claws and scratches looks a little too close to jealousy. It is perhaps just a little too green. Maybe, he wanted to keep you to himself just a little longer.

But he knows, logically, Jean is right. And if it’s for your safety–

Kaeya finally turns to look at the two of you. Which is foolish, because the sun is setting, and you are in its window. You are caught in its light, warm and relaxed, with your chin in your hand as you turn to look at him.

“As you wish, Acting Grand Master.” Kaeya says evenly and offers a (frankly) rude little bow. Jean will know he’s mocking her a little and that he doesn’t particularly like the decision made. And then he says to you, “shall we? I’d like to get you home before sundown.”

You prick your head up, concern and surprise on your face, “am I staying with you for the night?”

Kaeya is careful to let the tone of your voice roll off him and not take it or covet it.

“No,” he muses, “I thought I’d stay with you for the night.”

He pretends he doesn’t notice the way you brighten or the way you jump up from your seat to follow him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, but he hears your soft goodbye to Jean, and her murmuring something in return. Your sweet little laugh. And then your quick steps to catch up to him once more.

When you exit the Knights of Favonius headquarters, taking the steps with a little skip, you suddenly sidle up to his side.

Right underneath his arm, attaching yourself.

He is careful to school his features, dropping his arms around your shoulders easily. Yes, he supposes it’s wise to look like a couple heading home together.

“Sorry we ganged up on you,” you say and the way you peek up at him would be enough to send any foolish man’s heart into a tailspin.

Kaeya is desperately lucky he’s never been a fool.

“No,” he soothes, “Jean is right. And you shouldn’t have to lie to your friends.”

He feels your fingers flex at the bend of his rib, in the fabric of his clothes like you’re tightening yourself to him. He walks in step with you, with your side pressed to his.

Has he ever done this, he wonders, so openly with someone? Walked through the cobblestone streets with a lover under his arm? Or has he kept everyone in shadows and secrecy?

It doesn’t matter. This is a secret, too. It isn’t real.

And still, the question flies from his mouth before he is prepared for it, “why didn’t you ask for Diluc’s help?”

You stop walking and as he continues for a moment, you slip from his embrace.

He turns to look at you. The sun is a crimson flare, catching on your ruby Vision, on the look in your eyes.

You smile like a cat that’s caught a canary.

“Kaeya,” you say his name like a melody, “are you the jealous type?”

For a heartbeat, he almost feels harpooned, caught, suddenly struck in place. It’s frightening to be picked apart so effortlessly, with that smile on your face. Earnest. Horribly lovely.

What a strange creature you are, he marvels.

But then he laughs and lies, “not particularly.”

You hum and begin to saunter towards him, walk on past him, and he is caught in your shadow. He follows.

“It would’ve made sense to ask him.” Kaeya continues.

“But I asked you,” you say simply, “you’re who I thought of.”

Carefully, he reaches for your hand, the brushing of his pinky to yours. As if to ask, may I play pretend with you? As if to ask, may I take up the role of the one who gets your hand?

You readily accept it and the part, too. And then you smile at him again, impish, filled with mirth;

“Besides–can you imagine how scandalized Diluc would’ve been if I’d given him the same letter I gave you?”

Kaeya truly laughs now, deep from his belly, and you laugh with him as you pull at his hand, as you press up against his side. Your fit of giggles fills the sky.

And the world must watch as you stroll through Mondstadt together and wander up to your home on the hill. He thinks the world must watch as he slips through your door, through your fingers, like a serpent in a garden.

Like a sweet sinner, a non-believer, slipping into the back pew in the house of a love-spun god.

***

SCENE V

The trail from Springvale to the main city should feel familiar to us. Though lonelier now, shrouded in darkness that was easily chased off with two. Later, Kaeya’s apartment; a rapidly growing safe haven.

After your rehearsal on the stage in Springvale, you meander back to the city. Kaeya said he would meet you halfway, but currently there is no sign of him. As the hush of night descends, a feeling of wariness overtakes you. You hear the owls begin to hoot and the distant, far off call of a wolf. The wind rustles the bushes.

You turn to glance over your shoulders, again and again, half afraid that one of the times you may find someone staring back.

You try to calm yourself. You swear you’re being paranoid; you have taken this road countless times. There is little to fear.

And still, the feeling persists. It grows.

You turn fully to look behind you, allow a burst of flame to erupt in your palm to illuminate your darkening world.

“Is someone there?” You call out.

With everything in you, you wish to hear Kaeya’s voice reply. Or Diluc’s. Maybe a fellow actor lollygagging behind?

Your heart thuds hard in your chest, quickening.

And even before you see the rush of a shadow, something instinctive, something ancient in you, tells you to run–

You take off as you plunge yourself into darkness, fleet-footed and desperate.

You run hard and know certainly now that someone follows. You can hear it, feel it, the press of them behind you. The city lights of Mondstadt in the night sky are your beacon.

If I can just get to the city, to the light, to my city of light–

You run harder, more wildly. Fear sharpens and quickens you.

A flash of silver ahead of you.

Your heart knows it before your mind;

“Kaeya!”

You nearly collide with him but he’s got you, hands on your shoulders to steady you, eye flying over your face desperately.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” He asks before looking past you.

“There’s some–” you turn to look with him.

But the forest behind you is quiet. The darkness is hushed. Almost unnaturally so. Goosebumps erupt over the nape of your neck.

Your words die, dwindle in your mouth.

You swore–

You try to catch your breath, try to quell your racing heart. “I thought there was something behind me.”

Kaeya has gone inhumanly still, too, listening, watching. You think he senses something, too. He must know danger, know its call, no matter how silent.

He’s got his hand on your lower back, corralling you closer to him protectively. He doesn’t stop eyeing a spot ahead, though, in the darkness.

He hums. “Perhaps it was an animal.” But he seems to know differently.

After a moment, when you have your breath under more of your control, you manage to get out, “must’ve been.”

“Let’s go,” Kaeya turns you away, hand slipping around your waist for support.

You lean into him.

Belatedly, you realize you’re shivering. Hard. Trembling all over.

He ushers you into his apartment above the city once more. The moment the door is shut and locked tight, he moves with more urgency to guide you to his couch.

He disappears momentarily and you almost want to call him back, like a child, you want to reach for him. He returns with water and sets it on the coffee table.

He kneels in front of you now, like the knight he is.

“Are you okay?” He asks first and again, he searches you. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, the movement jolted, unsteady.

“I just feel–strange.”

Kaeya’s eye softens fractionally, “probably an adrenaline crash. I’ll grab a blanket.”

Again, he disappears and you want to stop him. You want to grab his wrist before he can slip from you, you want to sink into his arms. You want to be held.

But you sit and you tremble.

When Kaeya gently fixes the blanket to your shoulders from behind, you jolt, startled.

“I’m sorry,” he says then, “it’s just me.” He comes around again to kneel in front of you. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders, affixing it to you, bundling you in it.

It smells like him. You try and take in a deep breath to still your trembling.

After a moment, you say, “there was someone.”

“I believe you,” Kaeya agrees softly, “someone was chasing you–I heard the second pair of footsteps and came running.”

You inhale shakily. Tense silence fills the space.

You can hardly speak, “do you think–do you think they were actually trying to–?”

Kaeya inadvertently answers your question, “I think we should be more careful from now on. I want eyes on you always from here on out.”

“I thought it’d be fine–I always walk home from rehearsal and–”

“I know,” Kaeya soothes, “I thought I’d get to you sooner. I should’ve been. I’m–”

“They’d just followed me around before.” You say uselessly, almost in disbelief, “why would they–?”

“We’ll find out,” Kaeya says gently, “but for now, you should rest. How do you feel?”

“Shaky,” you answer, “I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll be right out here,” Kaeya promises, “they won’t try anything now. It’s clear they’re waiting until you’re alone.”

You want to beg him to allow you to stay on the couch with him, or for him to sleep in bed beside you. You feel needlessly clingy, like a scared child. How silly, he must think of you, to be so frightened of a little chase. You’re sure he’s seen so much worse, faced danger you can only conjure in storybooks.

You bite your lip, catch between your teeth so it won’t wobble. You nod.

Kaeya studies you for a long moment before you feel the careful press of his hand on your knee, the delicate swipe of his thumb in a soothing caress.

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” Kaeya asks softly.

For a moment, you’re surprised by him or perhaps his attempts at soothing you. A bath does sound appealing though being alone doesn’t.

(Instantly, an image flashes hot in your mind, of you in the bath, and Kaeya leaning against the counter to chat idly with you. Or seated beside the basin, his sleeves rolled up, or–)

“No, I don’t need–” you’re quick to try and assure him.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he stands with grace and ease and makes his way to his bathroom. In a moment, the water is running and steam is filling the small space. The scent of iris and eucalypts.

You force yourself to stand on trembling legs, astonished with how thoroughly adrenaline has riddled your poor body. You’d think you’d be used to adrenaline in some way, the sharp plummet of your heart because of stage fright.

But performing dangerous tales is significantly different from being a part of one.

“Thank you,” you say gently, catching Kaeya’s hand to squeeze momentarily.

“It’s nothing,” he brushes you off and slips from you, allowing you to disappear behind the door to the bathroom.

All alone you can hear the drum of your heart again.

Your reflection looks strange to your own eyes in the mirror. Everything feels different; unreal, almost. You look away quickly, towards the running water, the filling bathtub.

You try not to think, to strip yourself bare, and to leave the jitteriness on the floor with your clothes.

You slip into the warm water.

Kaeya left you clothes of his, a towel.

You want to call for him. You want your heart to quiet. You want your fear to dissipate like the steam.

You force yourself to take deep breaths. You force yourself to wash and scrub at your face and neck. You are okay. Kaeya is outside the bathroom and you are safe.

Still, your feeling of unease doesn’t leave you.

Even after you have donned Kaeya’s clothes and stepped from the warm bathroom.

You linger in the archway of his bedroom.

He looks like he’s about to speak but you beat him to it, “will you stay with me? In your room?” In your bed?

You watch Kaeya’s brows raise in surprise before he quickly schools his features. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“I’m asking you,” you respond and perhaps there is a note of vulnerability, perhaps there is a wobbling, small part of you that sounds a little too desperate to his ears.

You find some form of embarrassment in the press of heat in your face. But you don’t retract it, let your honesty hang between the two of you like a pendulum.

“I’ll sit on the armchair in there until you fall asleep,” Kaeya compromises, “how does that sound?”

Relief is sweet and cool and winding around you. You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding tightly to.

“I’d appreciate that.” You say and you turn to try and make yourself comfortable in his bed once more.

There has been several nights now where you have slept in his bed alone while he sleeps on the couch. Each night, you offer to take the sofa, and each night, he denies you.

Tonight, he drapes himself over the lovechair in the corner of his room.

He settles deep, eye flickering over you as you turn the covers over and crawl into bed.

In the silence, you can hear your heart again, “I’m sorry for making you do this.”

“There’s no reason to apologize,” Kaeya says smoothly, waving away your concern, “I’m glad I could help.”

You wonder if he means that or if he’s saying it because it is the right thing to say. You don’t dare ask him. You don’t dare press; some truths you would rather not be revealed to.

“You look like you’re about to tell an incredible bed time story in that arm chair.” You joke instead.

Kaeya snorts, head rolling a little onto his chest. He looks tired, too, disheveled a little in a way that he rarely is.

But he’s still so buttoned up; you wish he’d show you the defenseless side of him. The one not in perfect ruffled blouses or knights’ coats. The one without the eye patch or the carefully charming smile.

“Would you like me to tell you a story until you fall asleep?” He asks dryly.

But when you laugh a little and say, “yes, actually,” you mean it.

Kaeya’s brow quirks upwards.

“I don’t have many bedtime stories.” He tells you.

“That’s okay,” you reply, “I’m going to fall asleep soon, I’m sure.”

Kaeya hums lightly, letting his head fall back against the back of the chair. He hangs there for a minute, revealing the lovely brown shade of his exposed throat.

Finally, he says, “I’ve got one.”

“Please share,” you encourage.

Kaeya draws in a slow breath, allowing the silence of the room to be sucked in, too. He holds it so the only thing you can do is wait, watching him in the near-dark.

Finally, he speaks and his voice is nothing like you’ve heard it before;

“Once, there was a prince from a far away, forgotten land…”

The soft cadence of his story, hushed, and almost tentative, lulls you. It eases your heart and your mind. It reminds you of the wash of the waves against the shore or the wind as gentle as can be.

In no time at all, you are drifting off into strange, plum-darkened dreams of lost princes and beasts in the night.

And unknown to you, Kaeya gently pulls the covers of his own bed up over your shoulders. Gingerly, he tucks you into bed and watches your sleeping face for a moment.

With a breath loosened, he finally leaves your side and finds his place on the couch.

And in the morning, for once, you are awake before him and find him on the couch.

Carefully, you tuck the blanket he’d thrown over himself up around his shoulders. You brush a strand of his long hair from his face. You let loose a quiet breath.

He sighs in his sleep and turns towards your touch, chases it in his dreams.

And though you linger, you don’t bother him again, but turn to begin making coffee for the two of you.

You hum softly, an ancient little melody from a faraway land, and it stays in your head the entire day, with thoughts of a lost prince who, in your mind, surely looks like Kaeya; handsome and refined and beautiful. He must be noble and kind and charming like him, too.

And more than anything, his eyes must be stars like his, too, and his hands must be calloused and gentle.

And his voice must be like his, too, when he murmurs sleepily, rubbing at his eye, “where did you learn that song?”

“I don’t remember,” you reply and you set a steaming mug of coffee on the table beside him, “I think from a traveler, a long time ago.”

“I haven’t heard it since I was child.” He admits.

“You know it?” You ask.

“Thank you,” he says softly, voice still rough with sleep, “for the coffee.”

“Thank you,” you respond, “for staying beside me last night.”

“It was nothing,” he assures gently. And then he finally answers you, perhaps in a way that you know is personal to him, “it’s a lullaby.”

You smile behind the lip of your own mug, gentle and sweet, and say;

“Then the coffee is nothing, too.”

***

Act I, Part II –>

#kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya alberich x you #kaeya x y/n #kaeya alberich x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impct x y/n #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!#cielo collabs!

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hongssami · 9 months

Text

Intro: Long Journey (From Mist to Wave) [TEASER] - Seonghwa

Pairing: Dragon Shapeshifter! Seonghwa / witch apprentice! Reader Genre: Fantasy, Dragon Shapeshifter AU, Adventure, kind of Comedy Fluff and a bit of Angst i guess Synopsis: After the ambush led by the notorious dragon tamer group, Dreamers, brothers Seonghwa and Yeosang get separated from the silver dragon clan’s lair, Mist. In his attempt to regroup with his dragon clan, Seonghwa stumbles upon you, the Witch of the Woods’s curious yet clumsy apprentice. He finds himself falling behind schedule with a sprained foot and a broken wing; and with a suspected rising threat, he figures he should remain in his human form in the meantime, so no flying. Would he be able to heal his broken wing and warn the other horned clans for the rising threat in time? Warnings: So Much Worldbuilding, white haired hwa, hwa's clan being attacked (not in detail), probably not-so-good pacing Teaser Word Count: 999 Projected Word Count: ~10-12k Release Date: tba 🧍‍♂️

A/N: ahahah hi here she is ! Part 1 of an untitled series (help me come up with a title for this AU!), naturally the next part will be Yeosang's. Please note that contents of this teaser may be subject to change in the final fic as I am still writing it (unfortunately) 🧍‍♂️ Hope this gets you excited for this universe !!

Taglist is open! Send an ask to be added :^D !

“FLY EASTWARDS AND DO NOT TURN BACK UNDER ANY CONDITIONS. I WILL FIND YOU ONCE IT’S SAFE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, YEOSANG?”

The chaos and shouting spreading amongst their clan does not waver Seonghwa’s stern voice as he addresses his brother. Yeosang has only ever seen him this serious after a disruptive stray drake had wandered up their mountain.

“Take care.” Yeosang nods, silently leaning his forehead on Seonghwa’s before he hesitantly takes off. They will reunite again soon, he’s sure of it. A flock of younglings follow him, their mothers undoubtedly telling them to leave for their safety as well.

On the ground, Seonghwa smells the human enchantments on flaming boulders before he even sees them. This was clearly foul play, and very unlike their neighboring human settlement. No man in his right mind would dare to face a whole clan of horned dragons, even if he had a whole army with him.

Unless they had found a weakness.

Another whiff of the air confirmed their enemy was not in fact their neighbors. Nobody would dare carry gunpowder on them around dragons unless they wished to coerce them to submission.

Of course, these were the so-called “Dreamers”. Dragon tamers.

The elders were right to be wary for today.

The lindworms of his land, always at the forefront of their battles, fought tooth and claw to ward away as many intruders as they could. A troublesome task since the tamers had put forth their cavalry first.

What they had not yet figured out was that the greedy humans did not mean to conquer, only hunt their horns for sport, as if to mock them. So, as the lindworms and wyrms and other flightless kin flung themselves bravely as the brunt of defenses for the lands of Mist, the winged all gathered to exhale a paralyzing gas designed to stun.

A cold silence was cast over the foot of the mountains. The cavalry had frozen. The warriors at the forefront slowly make their way back up the mountains to counsel with the others, albeit still cautious, they turn their back from the chaos.

That is when the silver-horns start to collapse. For when the final wyrm had cast her eyes away from the battlefield, another wave began with their long-range attacks. Archers, and trebuchet projectiles, and enchanted flaming boulders fell upon the mountains of Mist.

Their flightless had already taken cover after the first wave of intruders. They shook the ground enough for trenches to form at the foot of Mist, keeping out as many intruders as they physically could. The winged had taken their spot as defenders while the rest of the children and elderly had no choice but to flee before the rain of arrows and boulders caught up to them.

Those few who lurked in the waters were not as fortunate - the sole lake in Mist was inhabited by the ancient and well-respected water snake, but he was not too kind on visitors.

The once united community of dragonkin on Mist had shattered almost instantly.

Seonghwa was lucky he even made it out with only a broken wing to remember the day of his clan's fall.

... ..

THE FIRST THING SEONGHWA REMEMBERS WHEN HE COMES TO IS YEOSANG’S VOICE TELLING HIM HE’S SAFE. SEONGHWA HEAVES A SIGH OF RELIEF BEFORE HE DISCOVERS HIS UNINTENTIONAL SOLITUDE.

It’s close to nightfall. He knocked down a few trees when he crashed, heavens knew how long ago that happened. It seemed like the crash had done more harm to his already broken right wing too — the cartilage between his appendages ripped and the lower portions burnt and bruised.

The pelting rain against his scales serves him nothing but a calm distraction from the aching in the appendages of his right wing. He does not have any idea where the winds have taken him, only that he is under a dense overgrowth.

He blinks slowly, the rain winds threatening to shake him to his core if he did not seek shelter any time soon. Upon closer inspection of the plants and trees around him, and a quick glance at the setting sun, Seonghwa deduces he’s landed himself somewhere in the East.

Hopefully not too far from the bronze-horns. The faster they’re warned of the threat the better.

A glance above the treetops grants a peak of a small human town, their streetlights shine like little fireflies against the darkening horizon. He spots people donning raincoats and carrying umbrellas as they go about their last minute errands of the day. And if he leaned a little closer, he would hear the overlapping conversations from where he had rested his head on the crown of a particularly tall tree, but he chooses not to.

It was far too risky to parade as a dragon after that raid.

So he sinks into himself, willing himself to at least take a few steps toward the nearest tree so he could lean on it. Polymorphing into his human form hurts more now that he’s essentially injured his entire arm, but he endures it with a few hisses and groans escaping his chapped lips. It has been quite a while since he’s done this.

He didn’t really have the need to be in his human form back in Mist. Everyone had always been more comfortable living in the hides and scales they were born with, although the children would have a period of their lives where they just loved shifting from dragon to human. He supposes it’s for the best that he had not shown himself as human publicly after his turning of age now that a danger was looming over the heads of the horned dragons.

He’s exhausted. He does not have the faintest idea where he is or how he’s going to find Yeosang. His arm hurts like hell and he makes his way toward the human village cradling it close.

At least this way he won’t fall over trying to balance himself with a broken wing.

(note: next update for this fic will be character sheets and a map :O, the same map in the header!)

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #park seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa imagines #seonghwa imagines #atz scenarios #atz imagines #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez fantasy au #hwa long journey #hello again i am writing for ateez now ?!??!???!?#anw if this interests you just WAIT for the character sheets/lore drop 🤩🤩🤩#watch as i give up on writing this in paragraph form and switch to bulletpoint gdsgdfg #chips and chunks

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imelht · 3 months

Note

Bro pls tell me more of your Meta Knight Vampire AU i really like it

Sure thing. I appreciate the interest.

So, in my Vampire!Meta Knight AU, there is one major focus which the AU encapsulates: The internal clash between Meta Knight’s vampiric nature, and his knightly one.

(I should mention that there are also heavy themes of metadede present in the AU’s plot. Their relationship (slow burn in nature) is that of a vampiric knight’s and a mortal monarch’s, and it delves deep into the dilemma the pairing of a vampire and mortal and or knight and king may have caused at the time period of the AU (middle ages). (To note, whether it be romantic or platonic, it is no exemption as I am simply an enjoyer of this trope. It has my heart.))

(Additionally, if you are interested in hearing about my headcanons regarding (Vampire!)Meta Knight, King Dedede, or their relationship you are free and welcome to send an inquiry.)

Though I digress. The AU incorporates medieval elements. To clarify, Dreamland acts as one large province which makes up the other kingdoms of Popstar within it. The AU still keeps Popstar’s respective and canon locations, and as far as medieval elements go, the kingdoms of Dreamland are large and obviously medieval in nature, though, it goes further as to add specific traditions, social aspects and elements in medieval culture such as castles, caste systems, middle age hierarchy, dungeons, mills, grindstones, horse riding, cavalry etc etc while also including more specific elements from the cultures of the middle age such as the values treasured in said cultures, the oral passing down of tales, grand halls for celebration, (think the Anglo Saxon’s mead hall), medieval cuisine and mythologies present, branching back to kingdoms of a distant past. Most if not all of this finds its way in the AU.

Speaking of, Meta Knight’s vampirism stems from the mythological aspect of the AU. Though, this is not exclusive to vampires. Werewolves, necromancers, dragons, wyverns (like Landia), demons and a plethora of undead species also come into play in the AU. There are also bandings of hunters that actively work against Meta Knight as an external antagonistic force.

In vague short, Meta Knight found himself attacked, put at the mercy of his assailant, and felled for three days before he rose, turned by an unknown perpetrator. He spends his undead days seeking the malevolent force out, all while striving (and struggling) to acclimate to his newfound nature. Meta Knight struggles as his savage vampiric nature claws at his conscience, that very same conscience that was brought up and born in the disciplined knighthood, an order that puts first the upkeep the innocent first while his vampiric one seeks to do the opposite of just that. Much happens between these points. (It is an AU with much to unpack.)

There it is. A few key concepts in regards to the AU. Thank you for your interest, and a good-hearted thank you to anyone who stopped to read this. Have a good one.

#spent way too long typing this up just for my tumblr to crash. saw my life flash before my eyes as my work was gone #sobbing #i just retyped what i could recall though #this au is just an amalgamation of the things ive a passion for and or interest in #apologies if some things have changed. it has been awhile since i have spoken on the au #this is a solid overview though #i have fanfiction relating to this au but i just need to gather the courage to get it posted to archiveofourown #goodness ive much to say on the in betweens of the au. so much i am excited to tell via fanfiction #writers block. go away #vampire meta knight au #IMELHT’s asks #helpmeiminthevoid #long post

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felikatze · 2 months

Text

copy pastes my isat engage crossover shit here bcuz i can. ya

so. so.

Marth = Siffrin

Sigurd = Euphrasie (the "Euphie is Sif's Mom conspiracy" lives on. why yes i'm CEO of the conspiracy.)

Celica = Mirabelle

Roy = Bonnie

Lyn = Odile

Ike = Isabeau

Lucina = Loop

idk king doesnt replace anyone in specific but he's here somewhere

[skip me rambling abt divorce au]

kana suggested siffrin's timeloop ability be incorporated so he FOR SURE gets divine pulse+ bcuz it's the exact same principle (reroll attacks to hit after missing via jmplied rewinding of time)

and since odile's gimmick is that she has effective damage against all enemies, right, so i'd imagine her rock/paper/scissors spells get translated into the three types of anima magic (since she's the spellcaster analogy and her weapon is a book)

to keep the "effective against EVERYBODY" gimmick her spells would work on tellius logic, fire = beast/cavalry, thunder = dragons, wind = fliers

I'd also imagine that some skills need to be translated into engage weapons. it's really convenient for me that everybody already has special attacks since that makes engage attacks vry easy

mechanically odile is the most baked cuz. well she's neat!

her super skill is Craft Break alpha, which makes an enemy weak to ALL craft types for three turns, so i'd imagine in terms of engage mechanics it means the enemy will be broken by all attacks for a single turn. situational esp cuz single target, but MAN you could wreck bosses with this

Isabeau's super skill WE WILL WIN!!! gives all party members an omniboost, so i'd imagine it's essentially army wide rally all for a turn

Mirabelle's Holy Care Shield makes all party members invincible for a turn, so you can keep that but nerf it to just adjacent allies

Siffrin just does Big Damage. King does Big AOE damage.

[here i lament that i can't talk about euphie and loop because SPOILERS]

King in addition to Big AOE Damage would also just keep the ability to freeze enemies, like Corrin's. I don't know what the english name is. Fearful Aura. smth that prevents movement on hit

he can also cast Slow (as can Odile), so maybe both of them can do speed debuffs?

In addition to her Rapier (this is why Mirabelle is a FE lord) she'd also have staff access cuz of her many healing skills

...maybe euphie gets lances cuz nobody else does? at least daggers are separate weapon type, so mira and sif don't overlap

isa and the king do, though. they both just smash shit with their firsts. rock type moment

maybe loop can have bows. just bcuz nobody else does.

and that's all i have from the discord dms soapbox thank you and good night

#feli speaks #isat emblem

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observeroflaplace · 6 months

Text

Grail War AU 2

Clash

Standing atop a many-headed beast, a stocky figure clad head to toe in armour, save for bare her left leg, peers down at her foe. Her monstrous steed, clearly not of this world, beats its wings to remain airborn despite its size and clear ferocity.

Her foe glares up at her. She is a tall woman with short, braided hair and golden regalia reminiscent of the Roman imperial armour, accented by a bright red cape. Cavalry sabre and shield in hand, the surface of the water ripples beneath her despite supporting her weight.

“Interesting.” The warrior mounting the demonic beast mused; 15 snarling faces of her steed glaring at her foe as a predator sizing up its prey.

“You are blessed by water it seems. A trait not unheard of, but a rarity nonetheless. Perhaps you have shown your hand, Saber.”

‘Saber’ scoffs.

“You are no closer to comprehending my greatness for it.”

“And you, no closer to reaching me. Without your trump card, what hope does a servant summoned to the Saber class have of reaching me in the heavens?”

With haughty irritation, Saber points her blade towards her foe. With the distinctly resounding bang of a ship’s cannon, a burst of golden light bursts forth from her blade towards the offending beast’s wings, in order to ground its rider.

Though supernaturally nimble, not least due to the inhuman skill of its rider, the great beast is unable to evade entirely; though rather than tear through its wing, the armoured woman guides the winged monster such that its hide is grazed and not struck head on.

Saber’s assault continues; an onslaught of magical radiant blasts, suppressing the movements of even the supernaturally swift monster and rider. Still, though three of the 15 faces of the monstrous mount are seared away by burning radiance, several heads lunge with gnashing fangs and stretching necks, akin to great serpents, the hydra, or even dragons.

Saber is caught momentarily off-guard, barely fending off the many vicious maws seeking to tear her apart with her blade and hoplite. As the beast begins to reach her armour however, Saber shines a brief but intense flicker of red, and she smiles.

“Very well, master.”

Golden light erupts from the taller woman’s body, enveloping her in a blinding pillar. Such was the intensity and sheer force that the monster’s heads were forced away and burned to ash and mana. Still, the monster possessed awareness through faces on its scorched wings, and took flight for what appeared to be the rider’s desperate attempt to retreat and counterattack.

The scope of this attack, capable of razing a fortress and the forces within would not allow such an easy escape.

[Victoria Brittanica - Embodiment of Promised Victory]

Saber gathers the flowing magical energies freely surging from within her through her blade, holding it high. With a great one-handed swing, she brings it down in a vertical arc; wherein the concentrated mana explodes outwards, parting the lake for a time and engulfing the fleeing rider and beast.

With a bright flash and the gradual flow of displaced waters finally returning to place, Saber slumps in momentary exhaustion, catching her breath. The attack, though certainly fatal, not only exposed her true identity, but also greatly taxed her and her master’s reserves of magical energy.

Yet, to her horror, her foe stood before her, in what little remained of the parted lake’s bed that had not yet been reclaimed. The woman’s armour had changed, with a burned greave depicting wings and a few small mask motifs now on her formerly bare leg, and her helm briefly floating above her, as the grotesque face of a beheaded demon.

“It appears you win this round, Saber. However, know that an empire of recent history is nothing before a king of the age of gods.”

Taking advantage of Saber’s evident exhaustion, the other woman and her leering companion vanish into glittering particles of mana, and the water displaced by the final blow swallows their former foothold.

In the distance, gazing at the scene through binoculars, a tall and lean man with dark hair scowls. He grips his fist in frustration, revealing the faded red brand; one of three command seals wasted.

#fate series #fate au #grail war au #fan servant #writing #Gansetseg Oronir #yes I’m tagging the FFXIV OCs used as a base for the personality/loooks of these servants #though the servants themselves will be loosely based on figures from legend etc #though saber here is the manifestation of the former military might of the British empire #I thought having a not-Excalibur would be on the nose but in the spirit of things

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seokiloquy · 2 years

Text

Paperwork - Iwaizumi Hajime

Au: Royal Knights (?) royal fantasy?

Requested

Tags/Warnings: GN!Reader, No big plot, just a concept really.

Word Count: 2.4k

You watched the knights as their blades clashed against each other with a rattling clang before swinging out in wide arcs and coming in to make contact again. The sunlight bounced off the sharpened edges of their weapons, flashing like erratic stars. The arrows, in particular, were very blinding, as they flew at remarkable speeds towards the centre of their targets in rapid succession. Their glares were eager to pull you out of your pensive gaze at the grass patched dirt the knight's feet danced across.

Your stare tried to follow the last arrow as it zipped to the training targets where a woman, standing tall in her leather boots stared downtown at the two men before her with her arms crossed. Dubbed “Slingshot” this woman was the best in the cavalry for her bow skills, many of your co-workers thought she was better put to use on frequent expeditions, but Slingshot refused many, choosing to train recruits more often than not. “Teach a person to fish,” she’d say.

Who seemed to be the youngest of the three, squirmed against the arm that was wrapped around his neck, bow a quiver dropping in the process. He must’ve been one of her many trainees.

The man that held the boy in the position spot to Slingshot with an unchanging irked expression, mouth slightly downturned and eyes pinched. He wrestled the kid under his arm as he spoke, not taking his eyes off of the taller woman as he did until the blonde kid slumped into a hunched stance, fists clenched at his sides. The man’s black hair looked as if it spiked straighter once he could relax his posture.

Whatever he was saying to Slingshot, seemed to amuse her though, as her head flung back with her mouth wide and eyes closed and smacked and partially leather-covered hand onto his shoulder.

Letting the boy go, the spiky-haired man let the boy go, gesturing to the dropped weapons before walking off. The boy picked the tools up, shoving them into a still laughing Slingshot’s chest, before running to follow the man that held him in a chokehold. His jaw dropped, yelling something you couldn’t hear as he ran.

You sighed, dropping the hand from your cheek and looking at the paperwork that was piling up on your desk. You sighed as you caught another page as it fell off the edge.

There was a knock on your office door, making the tick old wood rattle on its hinges and echo through your room. Your fingers were light on the papers as you hurried them into a more presentable pile. Picking up your quill, you brought it to an already signed paper feigning being busy as you called for the visitor to come in.

The door swung open, making a frightening cracking sound as it hit the wall. Slingshot stood on one foot, the other raised in the air as her braided hair swung behind her back from the harsh movement.

You blinked at her. “You broke my door.”

“Ya, so what?” She waltzed over, hip jutting out as she bent down and leaned her elbow on your desk. “Boss wants you in his office, you’re going on a mission.”

Raising a brow, you leaned back in your chair and swung your left leg up onto the desk. A thump made the desk shake slightly before you knocked on the metal limb with a light fist. “Afraid I can’t do that, remember?”

Slingshot rolled her eyes and shoved the prosthetic limb off the desk, taking a loose paper with it. You didn’t feel a thing. “It’s not an expedition or battle. You just have to gather reports from the other captains while Hajime takes over some of the training at one of our ally’s kingdoms, one of them is on bed rest right now.”

You heard that news, Tsuhashi had come down with Dragon flu. Not pretty.

“Hajime? Who?” You grimaced, picking up your quill again.

“Hajime! Your subordinate and predecessor? The one who took over claymore training after you retired.”

“Decommissioned,” you corrected. “And I still don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Slingshot threw her head back, groaning as she lifted herself off your desk and strutted to your shelves. Her hands flew in the air as she screwed them. “Aren’t you supposed to be overseeing recruitment now? You must have looked at the list at some point.”

“There’s so much paperwork, I could hardly bother.”

“Ugh! Where did you put it! The scrawny kid! The scrawny kid with the spiky hair!”

Sighed, you rubbed your forehead and tried to think back to all of your trainees, scrolling through their faces like a catalogue. You never had too many subordinates. The least amount of every group in the order besides the shields, for just like the barriers, the claymore wielders had to be sturdy and strong to hold their weapons, so many instead went for the other positions. Your group had promising knights, but which of them was developed enough to take on your position.

“Are you talking about Iwaizumi? Did he bulk up?”

“You bet he did! As soon as you got your leg torn off he trained himself to the brink so that he could follow through.”

“So he wanted to steal my position.”

Slingshot balked before bursting into hysterical laughter. “No way! That boy is in love with you! He wanted to make good on your training!”

You dropped your quill, too tired to sign any more papers, even if you had barely made a dent in the pile. Pushing off from your chair you got to your feet, slapping away Slingshot’s hand when she rushed over.

“I can walk.” You rolled your shoulders and limped to the door, staring at the large fracture in the wood.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered from your eyes to your leg before flicking back again. You shut your eyes, sighing as you crossed your arms. The two carriages that were stopped at your sides pulled away and hurried down the bricked road. The horses’ hooves made a rhythmed clopping sound as they made contact with the stone.

“I’m not a carved statue.”

The man straightened his spine quickly. “Of course not, Captain. I’m just surprised to see you. Relieved even.”

“Relieved? You haven’t changed too much then.” Your eyes tracked his uniform, falling to his unbalanced sash. You huffed, stepping forward to adjust it back in position before patting his shoulders enough strength to make him hunch under the force. “Even if you have bulked up.”

You slapped his back, giving him one last pat as you limped in front of him, walking through the gates as you entered. “And I’m not your captain anymore.”

Knights in heavy armour waited on the other side, surrounding a familiar face that was smiling on the other side. Hayami, greeted you with open arms sure to hand his halberd over to one of his trainees before pulling you into a hug.

“Oh, it’s been so long! I’m so glad you’re alright. And you must be Iwaizumi. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Now, hurry up, We must get you settled before starting anything.”

Hayami’s hands flew in the air eagerly as he spoke, jumping around like a fruit fly surrounded by a feast.

“Hurry along! There’s no time to waste!”

The sun was playing peekaboo with your eyes, ducking in and out from behind the clouds. You stood to the side out the training field, marking off the number of trainees in each squad. The swords, unsurprisingly, had one of the largest numbers. But unlike the archers, who were standing in neat rows, the thin blade-wielding knights were running around, swinging their weapons. With the added addition of the sun deciding to blind you every few seconds, getting a count of their numbers had become increasingly difficult. Leaving you to turn away from the large group, and debate counting the spear wielders.

“Excuse me.” A girl came up from behind your shoulder, lugging a hefty weapon on her back. “You came with Captain Iwaizumi, right? I was having some trouble with the footwork he was demonstrating. Would you be able to help me?”

You glanced down at your metal foot, kicking it out with an uncoordinated swing. “I can help a bit. I’m tired of doing these headcounts anyways. But don’t expect me to give you a good performance.”

The girl laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s alright. Even a bit of guidance is fine.”

She showed you her positioning upon request, setting one leg in front of the other in a deep lung and she pulled her claymore off her back and into a ready position for swinging.

“Turn your foot to the side.”

She twisted it, only for her knee to buckle before her weapon crashed to the ground, nearly taking her with it. “Every time!”

You pulled on the back of her shirt, getting her to stand straight again.

“You’re moving only your ankle. Your knee has to turn also, or else the support is gone.”

Your metal knee creaked as you bent it under your weight, pushing into a rough mimic of the lunge the girl had shown you. Pushing your good knee, you twisted your leg from the hip to point your toe and knee out to the side. “This is how your back leg should look.”

You swatted your hands in the air, motioning her to step closer. “Now help me up.”

“I’ve got you, Captain.”

A pair of hands appeared from beneath your shirt’s billowing sleeves, supporting your weight until you were balanced to your full height. You spun.

“Iwaizumi. You should be training your group.”

“Water break.” You glance over his shoulder, only to see discarded claymores strewn across the field.

“That’s poor weapon management.”

“It’s only for a moment.” Iwaizumi looked to the girl who held the hilt of her claymore tightly. “Go take a break with the rest, you’ve done well.”

She scurried off, making your brow furrow.

Your arms crossed. “They’re intimidated by you.”

“I was intimidated by you, too.”

You nearly stumbled back, chin leading the way as it jutted as close to the back of your neck as possible. “Really?”

Iwaizumi laughed, hand patting your shoulder before sliding to our back so he could guide you easily in the direction of the barracks where the knights all stood in the shade of the building, chugging back their water. “Absolutely. You still do. But I’ve learned over the years that it’s not your intention.”

“Have you really been in my squad for years? I’m sorry to say that I don’t remember.”

Now that all the knights were calmly organized in one place, you quickly made a count of all the bodies while listening to Iwaizumi talk at your side.

“Not many years, but I spend most of that time hiding behind many of the knight’s shadows. I never wanted to be heavily scrutinized by you. You have a way of pointing out every flaw without making note of the positive.”

“Perhaps that’s why the claymore trainees numbers have gone up since my decommissioning.”

“Are you upset about that?”

“About what? Having smaller numbers? Not particularly.”

“No, no. Being decommissioned. It’s not as though it was voluntary.”

You balance on your good leg to watch your metal one kick out in front of you. “I suppose, yes. I don’t like the paperwork that much, and as cool as the leg is, I can’t walk like I did before, plus it’s really heavy. I suppose the biggest issue is not being able to use my weapon. Slingshot tried to train me with a bow for a while afterwards, but I kept breaking the string by accident. But I don’t want to change how I am now either.”

I whistle blew over the crowd of knights, making them rush to their feet and back onto the field.

“It seems I must get back. If you’re done you should take a break of your own.”

“I’ve got everything, for now, see you.”

You waved Iwaizumi off watching the ends of his hair bounce as he jogged back to the discarded claymores.

Hayami, although a captain, often forgot his duties outside of combat and training. So even if there was a moment where the man managed to sign off on documents, the papers were often strewn about, in places that they shouldn’t be.

One such place was your temporary office. Where Hayami ever so kindly left a stack of his unsigned paperwork on the corner of your desk. You were sure he planned it, likely hoping it would be packed along with all your other papers when you left the next day.

Sadly, in having to run out to one of the barracks and back to your room, you found yourself out in the training field while it rained. Furthermore, someone had left their claymore out to rust.

You unsteadily lifted the weapon over your shoulder, unsure if you’d be able to carry it to the shed with only one good leg. Not even halfway there the pain in your thigh where the metal started, was reaching unseen levels. It wasn’t meant to hold this extra weight

Gripping the hilt, tighter so as to not let it slip through your wet fingers, you swung the weapon in a large arc into the ground before your feet.

“Captain, as much as I admire your strength, I can see how much difficulty wielding it causes you,”

You looked over your shoulder to see Iwaizumi, hair dropping from the weight of the water.

“Let me get that for you. The trainee that left it got a heat stroke, so it’s my own fault for leaving it to rust.” He took it from your hands, easily swinging it to balance on his shoulders. “Why are you out here anyways?”

Your hands, now free from carrying the weapon, immediately went to massage the muscle of your thigh. “Hayami left me his paperwork, I had to bring it back before we leave.”

Your steps took a skipping pattern as you followed Iwaizumi to the shed, keeping as much weight off the metal leg as possible.

Iwaizumi dropped the weapon in with the rest before offering a supportive arm for you to latch onto. He seemed unfazed by the added weight.

“Let's get us both dry, hmm?”

This has absolutely no substance but it’s something I guess. I’m still tired from that Natsu fic. Which sucks cause school starts again in 2 weeks and I’m already crying. - Bacon

Posted: 02/01/2022

#Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #Haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #haikyu x reader #anime x reader #anime

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cadmusfly · 2 months

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Dragonssss

napoleonic marshalate dragons au chronological tag

wanted to get them done during cny because year of the dragon, happy year of the dragon~

in order: bby Napoleon riding dragon Junot, bby Napoleon riding dragon Lannes, Eugène riding dragon Bessières and Louise Berg riding dragon Soult

i felt lazy about actually colouring in the humans and then decided that this looks artistique

#cadmus rambles #cad rambles about dead frenchmen on main #marshalate dragons au #dragons as cavalry au #cadmus draws

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josefavomjaaga · 3 months

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When writing Soult I’d like to mention and write his aides as well, but I don’t think I have a very good grasp on their personalities rather than treating them as a collective excitable drunk blob - if you had to describe each of them in a few words/traits, what would that be?

That's a harder question than I thought because "collective excitable drunk blob" is precisely how I see them, too, most of the time. 😁

So, looking at them a little more closely:

Saint-Chamans: not exactly the brightest one, stubborn, feeling rather entitled, more adventurer than soldier, childlike to the point of childishness

Petiet: similar sense of entitledness, but whinier and somewhat insecure, often feels like he's left out, the "silent kid" (?), loves getting presents, extremely proud when he feels Soult is pleased with him

Lameth: outspoken, rather clever, ambitious and courageous, great sense of humour, also the least scared of his imposing marshal/dragon, dares to contradict him on occasion

Brun: the "good kid" who feels he needs to clean up after his unruly siblings and occasionally even his marshal/dragon, good education, silent, independent thinker, hard worker

That's the main four during the imperial period, I guess, of the others I do not have a very clear picture myself. Little Anthoine de Saint-Joseph seems to have been the Benjamin of the military family, the little one everybody felt they needed to protect a little (and who probably was very proud when the "big brothers" included him in their shenanigans). You could also include Bory de Saint-Vincent as the guy who is always off doing stuff that has nothing to do with the campaign, like collecting plants or drawing landscapes. Not sure what you would do with Pierre Soult and Coco Lefebvre - in your AU, they would need to be dragons, I guess?

Then there's of course Franceschi who started out as Soult's aide but had moved on to become a cavalry general and aide-de-camp to Joseph Bonaparte. He seems to have been very brave personally, but also a very affable, accomodating character, often trying to mediate (between Soult and Saint-Chamans but also Soult and Joseph). As a painter and close friend of Dragon!Soult, maybe Soult would put him in charge of the painting collection?

(And now I have an image in my head of the ADCs clumsily hanging up Soult's treasured hoard of human artwork in whatever place Soult dozes in, with Soult barking orders because the paintings are not placed correctly, are crooked, Louise trying to calm him down and Franceschi finally taking over and arranging the collection as it should be.)

#napoleon's marshals #and their aides #napoleonic dragon au

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amymel86 · 3 years

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Sooo.... I’m gonna share the first part of my ‘Jon was raised in Essos’ au because a) @vivilove-jonsa made me this gorgeous pci set (thank you so much, my lovely) and b) I cannot help myself....

(translations at the end)

(things may get changed)

Sansa sat straight-backed on her steed as she, Lord Royce and a few of her Valemen watch the bloody battle below. From their vantage point, up here, high on the ridge, the men look like warring insects - a scurry of territorial ants defending their nests. The noises though – that doesn’t seem insect-like at all. Battle-cries, bellowed commands, the screams of the dying – they all made their way up to them on the breeze.

Horridly human noises.

Sansa’s mare, Jonquil shifts her hind quarters, whether sensing her mistress’s emotions or simply spooked by the songs of battle, one could not be sure.

“He will live to see you again, my lady,” Lord Royce comments beside her.

No doubt he is speaking of his liege lord, her husband of seven moons, Harrold Hardyng. Sansa gives Yohn Royce a tight smile. Gently tightening Jonquil’s reigns, she urges the horse to calm her jitters and be still. “I am sure he will, Gods be willing.”

A murmuring chorus of “Gods be willing,” echoes through their little group as they continue to watch the battle unfold.

Truth be told, it had not been her husband’s face that had flit into her mind when fearing the lives of those little ants down there. It had been her brother’s. Robb’s war for a free and independent North had started against the Lannisters, sparked by the rolling of their father’s head, but now it continues after the invasion of dragons.

A newcomer on a dark gelding approaches Sansa’s right, coming to a standstill to view the chaos below. “We shall see if your invention saves us all, Sam,” Sansa smiles at the black brother beside her. Samwell Tarly had travelled to The Vale at the behest of The Night’s Watch with instructions to negotiate for supplies from their rich and fertile lands. Clear that the large man was not keen on the thought of his return, Sansa had grown fond of him and insisted on extending his stay. His fellow Nightswatchmen were not under any urgency to welcome him back.

“W-we can only hope, my lady.” His pale face was clammy as wide eyes took in the fighting below. The shouts, cries and screams met their ears making his horse even more skittish than her Jonquil.

Samwell was a very learned man, that was immediately clear. Sansa had appreciated his love of book, songs and arts but once she realised that within his fantastic mind there lay an idea that could finally get her husband to join her brother’s fight against the Targaryens, she had been even more pleased to have kept him close.

Oh, Harry had been keen on taking up arms – as keen as any young lord is to prove his skills on the battlefield and emerge victorious. He- of course – was most taken by the idea of winning The Vale its independence and ruling as King of Mountain and Vale. His kingdom may have warred against the Kings of Winter for a thousand years but together, he and Robb Stark might work together against the dragons yet.

But that had been his advisors main objection; how exactly does one win a battle against dragons?

Sansa still thanks The Old Gods and the New for sending Sam to her. Without his invention, she’s sure she would still be awaiting any and all news of her brother’s war from ravens and travellers in her high towers at the Eerie. Sam had no enjoyment for weaponry and warfare but he very much liked to solve problems and his huge Scorpion crossbows could be the answer to how it is they can kill a dragon.

Once she’d had that – once Sam had drawn up his plans and they were sent with a trustworthy messenger to Robb, then Harry’s advisors thought the scales may very well tip in their favour.

Sam takes a big gulp beside her. The leather of Sansa’s gloves creaks as she squeezes her fingers around the reigns. All eyes are affixed to the conflict below where tiny bodies mingle and crash against one another. A direwolf on a waving flag falls to the ground as its bearer screams and gurgles. Horses hooves thunder around the far outer edge, both cavalries clashing with shouts and whinnies. Jonquil whickers and claws her hoof into the soft peat earth. Sansa leans down to pat at her neck. “Shh, girl. It’ll all be over soo-“

A piercing screech comes from behind their ridge and beats from a monster’s wings stir the air enough to whip Sansa’s braid along with it. The men duck their heads, some horses rear and bolt. A huge, grey dragon flies directly over them, swooping down, heading toward the battle.

Sansa’s heart is trying to escape her body. “Which one is that?” she asks, head turning this way and that. Sam looks too shaken to form words and –along with most of the men – was trying to keep his steed under control.

“The-the grey one,” he finally says as they watch below, “there’s been no accounts of it breathing fire, my lady. S-some say it-it cannot.”

Yohn Royce pulls closer. “No accounts of it breathing fire yet,” he says, giving her a pointed look. Very true. A dragon cannot be trusted. And still – she squints her eyes, trying to focus in this grey autumn sun – it has a rider. What will he or she command of their beast?

Below, she sees their forces rolling out the three hefty Scorpions that had been hastily made. “Time to see if Tarly has saved us all or condemned us,” Royce mutters. Beside her, what little colour left in Sam’s round face drains completely. He looks as though he may well fall from him horse and empty his stomach. Two more dragons join the fray from the opposite end of the battlefield – the golden and the red, both bigger than the original grey, and both more deadly from all accounts. They screech at one another as if in excitement.

“Which is the king’s?” Sansa asks. If they can kill that one at least, surely their plight for independence will be taken seriously? Or it shall enrage him further and they shall be punished for it.

“It is not known for sure, my lady,” Lord Royce answers, eyes following the beating of great monstrous wings as they circle. “The golden is without a rider,” he tells her, narrowing his eyes and watching the others. “The rider on the red has a head of silver-white hair. I would surmise that to be Viserys while his sister-queen is safe at the Red Keep.”

“And the dark-haired rider on the grey?”

“Their War General; some bastard nephew loyal to Viserys’s crown.”

Jonquil shifts her weight and stomps at the soft earth again. “Another Targeryen?” Sansa asks. “Do they sprout up like mushrooms after hard rainfall?”

Sansa’s eyes follow the rider on the smaller grey dragon. Together they swoop low over the black troops of the Targaryen army. The War General bellows some command and the dragon forces scream their battle-cries with renewed vigour. A bolt from one of the Scorpions flies just to the left of the dragon’s head. It rears up, unfortunately unscathed. Sansa’s breath is held captive in her lungs as she continues to watch. A second bolt is loosed just as suddenly as the first, this time seeming to tear through one of the golden dragon’s wings. It crashes devastatingly to the battleground below, skidding to a halt and taking hundreds of lives with it. Valemen behind her cheer. But it is not dead. The beast lifts his great head and screeches into the mournful sky – a sound so loud and abrasive it makes Sansa wince. The rider of the grey doubles back towards the fallen monster and circles above – round and around he goes. They are too far to be able to hear, but Sansa wonders if this bastard dragon lord of theirs is commanding the animal to move. The golden beats his wings – once, twice, thrice, then screeches again for good measure. It does not seem to comfortably fold up its injured wing against its body as it holds it outstretched, somewhat awkwardly-looking. Another bolt speeds past them both. The rider of the grey bellows something very loudly, finally making the golden take action. It leaps forward, back toward the Targaryen line of defence, turns its head and belches out a huge hiss of flame that engulfs all it touches. Sansa can hear the screams from where she sits high on the ridge. Finally, the gold dragon leaps into the air, clumsily flapping its wings. It does not get far, only managing to land on a nearby rocky outcrop, out of reach of the Scorpion’s range.

“That one won’t be in battle for quite some time,” Royce comments beside Sansa, bringing her back to herself.

“We need to kill, not maim,” she reminds him. “If it still breathes there’s a chance it will heal.” She looks to him and he nods reluctantly. None of them have warred against dragons. They know not what to expect.

Sansa’s eyes return to the grey – the War General. Perhaps his is the one they need to eliminate?

Currently, it is circling with the giant crimson winged beast – they seem to be engaged in some sort of push and pull. The red screeches and pulls forward, spitting flame with every exhale – but the grey looks to Sansa to be trying to calm its companion – or the one rider is trying to dissuade the other. The scarlet dragon pushes forward heedless of the grey’s protests and Sansa watches in horror as it heads swiftly with every beat of its wings towards their weapons – towards the Scorpions, burning a path of flame as it goes. A bolt is losed, skimming passed the monster’s shoulder, but judging by the way it shrieks and pulls up, up, up until it disappears into the clouds, they had succeeded in injuring it at least.

Too busy staring at the sky to try and see where the red dragon went, Sansa’s attention is suddenly drawn back down to the battle when the grey dragon screams. It hovers where it is, clearly in distress. “What happened?”

“We-we shot at it but it swerved,” Sam tells her, “I think the rider fell off.”

***

Sansa and her retinue made their way down from their ridge when it was clear the Targaryen’s were retreating for now. It took a good while to manoeuvre the terrain and by the time they’d reached Robb’s and Harry’s battle line, many of the injured were being cared for and the dead being mourned. Perhaps she should have moved toward the tent heralding the falcon on blue as well as the red and white diamonds of her husband’s house. Instead, she urged Jonquil’s hooves toward the one beneath the wolf. Every now and again, the grey dragon screeched from above. Sansa told herself to be brave and found comfort in the thought that the other winged beasts seem to have left the battleground completely – leaving their fireless sibling behind.

Robb’s war tent is dark as Sansa enters. It takes a second or two for her eyes to adjust to the dim. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, mud and the metallic bite of blood. “You’ve seen what we are capable of now, at least,” Sansa hears her brother’s voice before he turns to see who had entered.

She runs to him, arms outstretched, not caring for the muck coating his armour. “Robb!”

“Sansa!” he is surprised to see her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“They have retreated, have they not?”

“We do not know for how long,” he says, pulling away from her embrace. He smells sweet – too sweet – sweet and earthy and... wrong. Her brother gives Lord Royce a scolding glare over her shoulder and as if to serve as a reminder, a guttural shriek is heard from above. “And there’s a dragon still hanging around. Go on – go.”

Then came a gruff and unexpected voice. “Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon aōha Vesterozia jaesa morgho naejot sagon sīr gevie.” The Valyrian was spoken by a man that Sansa had not noticed before – a man wincing in pain as he spoke. He was bloody and bound to the central tent pole. Sat with his arms tied behind him, his legs stretched out before him – one looking rather injured and shoddily seen to with a crude sort of splint at his shin. Sansa steps back and takes in Robb’s prisoner. His hair was raven black, his skin had known the sun. His face was handsome, yet scarred and he wore a patch over one eye – the uncovered one, as grey as a winter’s day and very interested in Sansa. He sits up straighter, staring at her. “Lo ēdan, nyke would emagon pȳdan hen ñuha zaldrīzes hae aderī hae īlon jiōraton kesīr,” he says as though talking to her alone. It has been many a year since Luwin’s teachings on High Valyrian and Sansa did not catch the meaning.

“Who is this?”

“The Targaryen War General,” Robb answers. “The rider who fell from the dragon.”

Fascinated, Sansa crouches to the prisoner’s level. He looks so... ordinary. Granted, he’s a handsome man, but all tales of Targaryens speak of their unnerving, otherworldly beauty – of fair skin, of silver hair or violet eyes. Leaning closer, there are a few flecks of violet she thinks, in that one eye of his.

“Drējī gevie,” the man whispers almost in reverence and Sansa only now realises how close she has gotten from how his breath stirs strands of her hair.

“Can you speak the common tongue?” she asks.

The man’s lips twitch upward. “Aye, I can.”

Sansa stands, taking a step back. The prisoner’s eye follows her. “You sound northern.”

He nods. “My mother.”

“He claims to be the bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen and our Aunt Lyanna,” Robb supplies.

“Aunt Lyanna?” Sansa’s mind felt like a snow storm. She looks to Robb. “Can it be true?” Her brother only shrugs. Crouching down again she assesses this Targaryen War General with a gloved hand beneath his chin, turning his face this way and that to better see his features.

He looks like father.

“Hae skoros ao ūndegon, dārilaros?” he says, voice low and it takes Sansa a moment or two with his face in her hand for her to translate. Like what you see, Princess?

“Speak the common tongue!” Robb commands, giving his prisoner a swift boot to the thigh, making the man wince.

Sansa stands again. “Robb, if this is true then he is family.” If this is true then perhaps his loyalties can be swayed. With a dragon on their side, they may be able to get Viserys Targaryen to concede the North and the Vale yet. “What is your name?” she asks this would-be cousin of theirs.

“I have many,” he grunts, trying to shift his painful leg. “My mother wanted to name me a Stark but that could never be. Am I a Sand? A Snow? Viserys used to refer to me as Nādrēsy when we were boys. Many of my men call me Morghe Vala.”

Nādrēsy... Bastard.

Morghe Vala?... Dead Man.

“And what should we call you, cousin?” Sansa asks.

Before their Targaryen prisoner gets the chance to answer, the tent’s entrance is a flurry as more come to join them. Around four or five Stark men enter and amidst them is the most welcome sight of her mother.

“Sansa!” she greets, reaching her quickly, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Sansa, I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. Sansa is not sure what the apology is for but does not question it straight away, too glad to be in her mother’s arms.

Theon Greyjoy comes to her side, putting a gentle hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “My condolences, Lady Sansa.”

“Condolences?” She says, retreating from her mother’s warmth. She looks to Theon in askance, and then to the other eyes on her from around the tent. Oh. “...Harry?”

The quiet was deafening. She should have thought of him... why had she not thought to check on him?

“His wounds look deep and clean,” Theon tells her. “His death would have been swift.”

Sansa feels a little numb as her mother cradles her face with both hands. “The Stranger has him now, child. He is not in any pain.”

She blinks – feels like she should cry. Why is she not weeping? There was no great love between them yet but he was her husband and there was at least a companionship of sorts between them. Should she not be feeling the gnarled fingers of grief creeping up her throat?

The grey dragon screeches high above them making everyone look skyward as if they could see through the canvas of the tent. Sansa’s hand goes to her stomach. Harry had bedded her last night and she had washed him off of her as she’d bathed afterward. If she hadn’t – perhaps there would be more chance of a babe. They’d been trying for one for the entirety of their marriage with barely a glimmer of success throughout.

Is she callous to feel more melancholic over an empty womb than a dead husband? There is no time to ponder it and it is something Sansa does not wish to look too closely at.

When she looks to their Targaryen cousin he is already staring at her intently with his one eye, still sat there, bound on the floor. “Robb, untie him. Let him up.” Her brother glowers at her. “He is surrounded and unarmed, what harm can he do?” Sansa reasons.

“Theon,” Robb instructs with a nod of his head towards the prisoner.

Sansa steps closer to Robb as Greyjoy moves to sever the War General’s bonds. She ducks her head and lowers her voice. “If he is family, perhaps he can be swayed? If he joins us, we will have his dragon.”

“He is loyal to his kin,” Robb murmurs. “And besides, what use would his fireless dragon be to us?”

“We are his kin. Robb, if we can-“

“She is almost blind, too,” the deep voice of their prisoner says, interrupting. Sansa turns to see him now standing uneasily on his injured leg, rubbing at his wrists and still staring at her as though no one were here.

“Pardon?”

“Zokla,” he says, “my dragon. She is almost blind. It is why she’s still circling. She needs me.”

“Zokla?” Greyjoy repeats.

Sansa is quick to realise. “It means wolf.” She looks to Robb. Surely that must mean something? Surely, this cousin’s loyalties can be pressed upon? Surely, he wants to honour his mother’s family?

She’s about to say as such when their new cousin closes his one uncovered eye. “Issa jēda,” he says quietly, calmly.

‘It is time?’

Time for what?

The answer comes with another almighty shriek and a ground shaking thud making men shout and clamour. Outside the tent, a dragon roars for her master.

Robb draws his sword, his men follow. All weapons point at their captive who stands there with a small but defiant smile on his lips. “Call your beast off!” Robb commands.

“Let me go,” he counters.

“Call the dragon off or we’ll see to the thing ourselves!” Greyjoy demands, shoving his sword forward, the point of his blade lifting the man’s bearded chin. Their supposed cousin does not answer. A menacing growl vibrates through Sansa’s ribs from outside. “Send it away!” Greyjoy bellows while some of their men outside shout and holler for their King and others flee.

“She may not breathe flame, my lords, but how much damage do you think she could do to you and your camp before you manage to load those dragon killing weapons of yours? ....Let me go.”

Robb’s jaw tenses. The air is thick and waiting. He lowers his sword with a reluctant grunt. “Let him go.”

“And I’ll be taking her with me,” the Targaryen juts his chin in her direction. Sansa’s eyes go wide.

“No, you won’t!” her mother growls beside her, her cold finger slipping around Sansa’s wrist like and anchor. Their cousin watches the movement. He watches everything.

“Zokla,” he says and moments later a huge grey snout clumsily emerges through the tent’s entrance making the men closest to it leap away and cower. Her mother’s hand tightens on her wrist. The beast almost looks as though it smiles with that monstrous mouth and its forest of dagger teeth. It inhales, sniffing at the air within the tent, its snout taking up the whole space of the entrance. Maybe it can scent the tension or the blood still plastered to the armour of the men and slicking their swords. She growls. Low and dangerous.

Their new cousin moves closer to his beast, limping a little on his injury. “Easy, girl. Easy,” he coos, smoothing a palm between the dragon’s flared nostrils. She nudges into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He chuckles. “Hello, bump,” the man murmurs warmly to his monster. He then turns back to face the rest of the tent, uncovered eye finding her instantly. “Lady Sansa,” he addresses, voice low and honeysuckle-sweet “you will come with me.”

“Take me instead.”

“Robb, no!” her mother gasps beside her, fingers slipping from around her wrist. “If they have you then all is lost.”

Sansa knows her mother means their bid for independence. Robb has been the figurehead for this plight and the cause has been rallied behind in his and father’s name.

She must be brave.

Glancing at the Targaryen, it is the first time she finds him with his eye not affixed to her in some fashion. He seems to weigh and measure Robb’s desperate offer. He is a War General, he knows capturing Robb Stark, King in the North would surely spell victory for his uncle, she can see it written on his otherwise stony face in the way his brow creases momentarily before looking to her again, his gaze burning straight through her bones. “No,” he declares gruffly. “Jaelan ao.” I want you.

She must be brave.

The captive-turned-potential-captor offers Sansa an outstretched arm and open palm. “Māzigon, Dārilaros.” Come, Princess.

His expression is so earnest and resolute. As though nothing would sway him from taking her. Not even certain victory. Not even cutting short a war.

She can be brave.

Maybe he can be swayed yet? Maybe she is the one to do it?

“I will go,” she says.

“No!” her mother cries. “No, Sansa not again. They won’t take you from me again!”

Clutching her hands, Sansa barely notices as the dragon’s snout disappears and her Targaryen cousin waits in the entranceway, illuminated by the cold light from outside. “It is alright mother,” she whispers, “It will be alright.” Reaching over she takes Robb’s hand too. “I will bring him to our cause.”

“Sansa-“

“I will do it, Robb. Trust me.” She has been known to tame other beasts – why not a dragon?

She does not wait for her brother’s reluctant agreement, nor more of her mother’s pleading, instead she walks out with her spine straight, ignoring her new cousin’s offer of his arm as she goes. He chuckles darkly at that. “What am I to call you?” She asks as he follows close behind her. Sansa would rather engage in conversation than show her fear as they approached his dragon – his Zokla.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” he says. “Though most call me Jon.”

Jon? Such an ordinary name for a man who rides on the back of a dragon. The animal in question turns her huge head towards them, those smiling teeth and her hot breath a truly terrifying sight to behold. Sansa’s boots come to a halt and refuse to move. A warm hand is placed at the dip of her spine and suddenly she is alight at the touch. “She will not harm you, cousin,” Jon whispers in her ear. “Kostas ivestragon jaelan ao ȳgha.”

She’s trembling. Too focussed on the slow blink of the dragon’s golden eyes to try to translate. ‘Safe’? He said something about safe.

Jon says another command to his animal and it lowers its neck and shoulder in invitation. Her cousin helps her up. The beast’s scales are the size of her palms and warm to the touch. Sansa does not quite know how one seats themselves upon a dragon but she finds herself gripping onto two huge thorn-like scales that ridge along Zokla’s neck.

Even with his injured leg, Jon seems nimble enough to climb his mount. He settles alarmingly close behind her and slips a strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer still. Everyone has vacated the tent to watch them go. Her mother has tears in her eyes. Robb looks unsure and set-jawed.

I can be brave.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights, Princess?” Jon murmurs low at the shell of her ear. The downy hairs on the back of her neck prickle. He holds her even tighter. “Zokla, sōvegon!”

Fly!

***

Valyrian sections translated:

Then came a gruff and unexpected voice. “Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon aōha Vesterozia jaesa morgho naejot sagon sīr gevie.” (I did not know your Westerosi goddess of death to be so beautiful)The Valyrian was spoken by a man that Sansa had not noticed before – a man wincing in pain as he spoke. He was bloody and bound to the central tent pole. Sat with his arms tied behind him, his legs stretched out before him – one looking rather injured and shoddily seen to with a crude sort of splint at his shin. Sansa steps back and takes in Robb’s prisoner. His hair was raven black, his skin had known the sun. His face was handsome, yet scarred and he wore a patch over one eye – the uncovered one, as grey as a winter’s day and very interested in Sansa. He sits up straighter, staring at her. “Lo ēdan, nyke would emagon pȳdan hen ñuha zaldrīzes hae aderī hae īlon jiōraton kesīr” (If I had, I would have jumped from my dragon as soon as we got here,) he says as though talking to her alone. It has been many a year since Luwin’s teachings on High Valyrian and Sansa did not catch the meaning.

***

“Drējī gevie,” (truly beautiful) the man whispers almost in reverence and Sansa only now realises how close she has gotten from how his breath stirs strands of her hair.

***

The animal in question turns her huge head towards them, those smiling teeth and her hot breath a truly terrifying sight to behold. Sansa’s boots come to a halt and refuse to move. A warm hand is placed at the dip of her spine and suddenly she is alight at the touch. “She will not harm you, cousin,” Jon whispers in her ear. “Nyke ivestretan zirȳla naejot gaomagon ao ȳgha.” (I told her to keep you safe.)

#jonsa #jon x sansa #wip wednesday #zokla

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