fortheloveofarchons

Here to engage with my fav fandoms! Check out my works on Ao3 such as Jujutsu Spiderverse Scrolls, All About Him, Rapunther (Tangled AU Xiaoaether) and more! My Ao3 Link New chapters will be uploaded irregularly forgive me! (cause I'm a uni student)

[fortheloveofarchons]

Sweet Ruin of Us (A Bruce Wayne/Harvey Dent fanfic)

A chapter where Harvey Dent drunk calls Bruce Wayne

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Harvey Dent doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. 

The glass of wine– No, the two bottles of wine on his desk made him stupid in the way that lust can do.

He’s been on his phone, his index finger hovering over the call button. A man who obviously has too much time on his hands. 

Why? Because for the past thirty minutes, he’s been scrolling at Bruce Wayne’s Instagram page. 

He wants to scream at everyone in Gotham with, “Here he is! Bruce Wayne, my one and only best friend ever!” But that information is for Harvey Dent himself, and he intends on keeping it that way. 

People can speculate that the two of them were just acquaintances, maybe just allies, or just friends. 

Historians and journalists would really say that they are just friends.

The youngest district attorney is enraptured, helplessly scrolling through Bruce Wayne’s catered, luxurious life, his world at the young attorney’s fingertips. 

Swipe. 

Bruce Wayne’s on the beach by himself, sugar sand in his black hair. That hue of black reminded Harvey of the MontBlanc fountain pen that Bruce bought for him on his birthday. 

Swipe.

He’s at a photoshoot with a cologne brand, walking around the soft prairie grass in the summer wind. The singer’s mezzo-soprano’s voice from the video was deep and oh so rich and hypnotic that it flooded out of every part of Harvey’s office at once– the couch, the walls, even the floor.

I wonder if she makes him smile

The way he used to smile at me

I hope she doesn't make him laugh

Because his laugh belongs to me

Meanwhile, in the video, Bruce’s complexion was of a champagne rose in the summer light, his cheeks rosier still. 

Even when Bruce Wayne is not physically with him, the music pours around Harvey Dent. 

Swipe. 

It’s Bruce in motion. He’s talking about the charity that he hosted and organised for donating a large sum of money for the orphanage. Despite the hundred-dollar-watt smile, his smile is comforting, a beacon, a light. 

Swipe. Swipe. Click. 

Now, his finger is hovering above the call button. 

“Fuck, what am I even doing?” He lets out an exasperated sigh, and leans back on the chair. “Here I am, hoping for his voice, his… Harvey Dent, you are a drunk bastard.”

How could an angel break my heart?

Why didn't he catch my falling star?

“I wish…” Harvey’s blush was the colour of a bright, candy apple, and his fingers clenched onto the fabric at his inner thighs. “Damnit.” 

I wish, I didn't wish so hard

Maybe I wished our love apart

How could an angel break my heart?

All it took was one drunken hiccup, and his traitorous finger pressed, and Bruce’s contact was glowing with that horrifying green call button lighting up. 

“Wait… No! Shit shit shit–” Harvey jabbed at the screen, his other hand shaking so badly he nearly dropped the phone. “End call. End call. Where’s the goddamn end call button–”

“Harv?” His voice. Bruce Wayne’s actual voice, slightly confused, a little breathless like maybe he’d grabbed his phone quickly. 

Harvey’s brain short-circuited. He sat frozen in his executive chair, phone pressed to his ear, mouth open but completely empty of words.

“Harv? Is everything okay?”

Say something. Say literally anything.

“I– Well–” Smooth. Very smooth, Harvey Dent. "Bruce. I’m here."

They wait a few minutes, listening to each other breathe. Harvey’s left hand viciously fiddles with the fountain pen, the other cups the phone to his ear like it might explode any second. 

“Sorry, this is random.” Harvey finally initiates the conversation. “It’s been a few hours since your business dinner. Are you busy right now?”

“Never too busy for you, Harv.” He could hear the smile in Bruce’s voice. 

“Actually, I wanted to ask about tonight. How was the meeting?” 

“You know the drill, Harv.” Bruce chuckles over the phone. “Same talking points, same clients who don't listen, same overpriced food that I barely got to eat because I was too busy trying to settle disputes.” 

"Did you at least get dessert?" Harvey initiates another question, something sweeter.

"No! That's the tragedy.” He could imagine Bruce running his fingers through his hair. “I had to leave early for another meeting."  

“What a tragedy.” Harvey couldn’t help but chuckle this time.

“Oh really, I bet you’re happy about this. You have a love-hate relationship with candy.” 

“I have a love-hate relationship with most things.” Harvey pauses. Then, quieter. "But not you." 

Oh, my soul is dying, it's crying

I'm trying to understand

Please, help me

He swallows thick from the five-second silence, and diverts to another conversation. “You have a nice voice, Bruce. Did anyone tell you that?” 

“Well, I’ve seen some comments that said I should try narrating audiobooks.” Bruce’s voice hushed with a whisper of tenderness. “Give myself more opportunities to make more money, and donate it to those who need it.”

“I mean, you could make double the sales if you sold a video recording to go with it.” 

“Maybe, but my stoic image would ruin the story immersion, I suppose.” 

“Oh please. Just watching those interviews of you talking about anything already made me sit up in my chair.” Well, those words just fell out of Harvey’s mouth. They’ve been sitting there in his head for a long time. 

For the past few years, when Bruce Wayne is not within his proximity, Harvey Dent has been thinking about Bruce’s dark, straight hair, with some sprinkles of pepper and salt, his blue, fiery eyes, and his champagne rose skin. To the public eye, Bruce Wayne’s smile could captivate anyone at his feet; but to Harvey Dent, his smile is the sunshine and the birdsong, the silencing of the clocks in all of Gotham. 

It took Harvey a minute to realise that he was still on the phone with Bruce. 

“Harv, are you drunk?” 

“I mean what I said, Bruce… I’ll always be there when you need me, I–” Harvey could hear shuffling over the other line. It sounds like fabric rustling, maybe Bruce standing up, the jingle of car keys. 

“Stay where you are,” Bruce said, his voice taking on that particular tone he used when he'd already made a decision and nothing would change his mind. “I'm coming to get you.”

“What? Bruce, I'm fine–”

“Damn it, Harv. You're drunk in your office at–” A pause, and Harvey couldn’t help but imagine that Bruce is checking his watch. “Eleven thirty on a Friday night. You should be resting at home, not… this. I'm picking you up and taking you home.”

Harvey's wine-addled brain latched onto one word. “Your home?” He tried to make it sound like a joke, light and teasing, but it came out too hopeful from his heart.

Bruce didn't answer. The line went quiet except for the sound of a door closing, footsteps.

“Bruce.” The wine had wrapped him in cotton wool, muffling the sharp edges of consciousness. “Say something, please…"

“I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't go anywhere.”

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fortheloveofarchons]

Commissioned my friend Marshall to draw this because I love Shadow (from Sonic the Hedgehog) and Manato (from ZZZ)

Go support my friend's Kofi if you ever want commissions such as this!!

[fortheloveofarchons]

No thoughts. Just Getian Boss form.

[fortheloveofarchons]

No thoughts, just the bird poets next to each other.

(My fav Reverse: 1999 rarepair)

Source

I wish this happens in game sksksksksk (source)

[fortheloveofarchons]

How to cure and care for a sick bird (A Getian x Zima fanfic)

Where Getian is sick and Zima tries to take care of him

Full chapter is on the link down below!

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Thanks to the Timekeeper, it was easier for Getian to receive medical care much faster. 

While the Mieming birds are said to be immortal and can live longer than humans and arcanists, it turns out natural diseases could affect them too. 

“Seriously,” A young individual with sickly pale skin and white brown hair packs up their things, shoving their medical supplies in their duffel bag. “Miss Timekeeper asked me to check in on a bird. Drats– she should’ve clarified it was a giant bird man, dang it!”  

“Thank…” Getian covers his mouth with his wing as he coughs. “Thank you, Mr… Mrs…?”

“Euugh! Just call me Medicine Pocket!!” That only made the arcanist groan exasperatedly, and put a palm to each eye and dug his fingers into his scalp. “I don’t care what gender you give me! Male, female, non-binary, do I even look like I give a s–” 

Medicine Pocket proceeds to go on a tirade of swear words even Getian doesn’t know about, and all Getian could do was to tilt his head to the side like a curious little bird. 

“Just make sure to rest well and don’t stay up late.” Medicine Pocket lectures him, but that last advice made them rub their forehead in frustration. “Dang it, I can’t say the same for myself. If Madam Lucy was here, she’d call me out on that one. In front of everyone else, no less! Gahhh– That darn tin lady always frustrates me to death!!” 

“Excuse me…” Getian covers his mouth with his wing as he coughs. “How… How did you and Miss Timekeeper know I was sick?” 

Medicine Pocket opens their mouth for a second, then closes. 

It all started… because of someone with white hair. That someone found Getian falling off of a tree and landed on the grass. That someone just ran to him in a panic, forgetting about the parchments and papers that flew in the wind. That someone found him with a feverish face, and tiny feathers fell from his wings. That someone just had to gather all of his own strength to carry Getian to Miss Timekeeper, and then he had to just tell Medicine Pocket not to snitch. 

“It’s… not necessary…” That someone requested. “I… Don’t know… Just don’t tell… Him…”

Medicine Pocket then buries their face in their hands and lets out a frustrated groan. 

“It’s no one, we just found you out like this.” 

Getian tilts his head to the left, suspiciously. 

“...Just forget it, okay!” 

After Medicine Pocket left out of his peripheral vision, all Getian could do was to rest on the newly built nest that Timekeeper and her companions made. The nest was much larger than his whole body, with large sticks and leaves being weaved together. A giant, soft cushion was added in to ensure his comfort, and a large duvet could cover his entire body. 

Getian made sure that he’ll thank Miss Druvis and Miss Sotheby for the work they have done for him. 

The forest in the wilderness this time is a hug of pink and green, a shelter of extended limbs. It’s always been a protective mother, the promise of a holy sanctuary for the hidden arcanists. 

Getian’s head starts pounding in time to his heartbeat. His scalp feels like it’s peeling off his skull. Weird. Unpleasant, too, but mostly weird.

Even with the little trinkets, his nest has never been so empty now that Зима has been in it. Whenever Зима would visit him, he’d stay in the nest alongside Getian just to bask in the leaves and the books around them. 

Getian is acutely aware of the quiet. Of all the voids within his home. Of his own loneliness. Humans often say that being apart makes one's heart grow fonder. Even more so now that Getian has, the loss of Зима’s presence hurts. 

Friends, he insists. They are merely friends. Friends don’t miss each other this much, do they?

No, I must have been desperate to think that way. I must cease such…  desperation.

As he tucks himself deeper into the nest, his ears strain for the sound of absent breath, for the beating of an arcanist’s heart. He inhales deeply, breathing in the remnants of spring rain, and how proud the trees are with their swelling buds. 

He buries his face under a hand-stitched pillow, and a moan spills from his lips. 

“At least… the flowers grew ever more pretty…” He says, as he slowly drifts off to sleep. 

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fortheloveofarchons]

Made a video for Caleb!! Happy birthday to our best pilot in the world!!

[fortheloveofarchons]

POV: MC is guessing Sylus's age (Love and DeepSpace)

Check out this new vid down below! Likes and shares are much appreciated!

And good luck for finals everyone!!!

[fortheloveofarchons]

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(Part 6)

A chapter where it's in Capitano's perspective after the wedding.

Full chapter will be in the link down below!!!

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Ever since that conversation, Capitano has been in a fine line of normalcy and awkwardness. 

Words had spread about his official marriage with Lady Anarkalika Kolkarni Selvadurai, and the whispers have been going around across Snezhnaya. 

This couple is like light and dark.  

Their whispers are like a playful swirl in the air. A casual, mundane thing to happen in Snezhnaya’s weather.

Day and night. Completely contrasting.

One born where lotuses and padisarahs bloom; the other who only steps on ashes and fire. 

One who has never held a sword; the other is a master of many blades. 

Sometimes, Capitano has his moments where he needs to adjust to his surroundings. His new routine. 

Every morning, he would often toss and turn his body– and whenever the thin, white fabric brushed his cheek, it made Capitano immediately turn his body back away, his mind being reminded of a certain someone’s presence in bed. After all, staring at someone when they are asleep is impolite.

Servants would bring breakfast to his bedroom everyday without fail, leaving a large tray behind the door for him. Breakfast for the couple usually consists with plates of sweet and cheesy syrniki that’s usually topped with savoury red caviar and sour cream, steamy buckwheat kasha with creamy mushrooms, a bowl of fresh Tvorog mixed with berries, and sandwiches with smoked salmon and bacon in between the pillars of bread. 

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but steal a glance under his helmet to observe the way Anarkalika chews and eats, how she wouldn’t let one crumble spare on her plate ( she’s not wasteful, he mused), how she’d slowly chew everything to paste ( she knows how to appreciate the food here, he said to himself), savouring everything in her tongue before she swallows ( like a sleepy capybara, he’s amused by this). 

Whenever he initiates a conversation, it was obvious to a pair of eyes that Anarkalika would often fiddle her fingers and fold her hands together whenever she replied back to him. 

“I– Yes, I’m doing okay. I’ve slept well. And you?” 

“I don’t really have any plans. Aside from my usual lessons, that is!” 

“Ah, yes. The weather does look nice and calm, indeed…” 

After breakfast, Capitano would then take his leave for work. Some of his days are spent in his study room, but most of his work days are spent at the Zapolyarny Palace for certain meetings and paperwork with the other Fatui Harbingers. Every morning, without fail, Anarkalika would stand and curtly bow to him, before parting with the same words. 

“I wish you a good day, Capitano.” 

And he’d either reply with a curt nod, or a soft, polite ‘hmph’. 

After his meetings that usually end when the sun sets, his wife would always welcome him back home at the main entrance of his mansion. 

Not a lot of words were exchanged other than the usual greetings during dinner hours. Instead, the two of them silently indulge in the variety of dishes for dinner: Roast young chicken with truffles, pan-seared sturgeon with creamy mushrooms and potatoes, steamy bowls of shchi, two plates of pork stroganoff (originally beef, but changed to pork for Anarkalika’s dietary restrictions). As for desserts, it would usually be either pirozhki with whipped cream fillings, honey induced medovik cakes, and a glass bowl of ice-cream. 

Though, most of them were consumed by Anarkalika. 

Most nights, they don’t talk much– silent like a spine through the new shape his relationship has taken. While Anarkalika would be reading history and medical books on the bed, Capitano would just settle himself near the fireplace, soaking up for warmth while hundreds and hundreds of thoughts seeped into his mind like sticky tar. 

Sometimes, his wife would sit next to him on the chaise, perhaps as an obligatory act of a couple spending time together. They would sit together as silence carried the conversation until she felt sleepy, and Capitano would softly tell her to go to bed, to get some sleep, and would reassure her that he wouldn’t stay up long. 

Even if she doesn’t know about the many nights he’s been sleepless.  

Then, with a soft smile, she'd bid him good night and retire to bed, leaving him alone as the crackling fire became the sole source of sound. 

It’s how this routine should be, and it will be. 

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

A few weeks after the wedding, he leans his body against the window from his bedroom. 

It was just one of the many evenings in Snezhnaya, and he had finished his business earlier back in the Zapolyarny Palace. 

A meeting with the Director of the Fatui Harbingers, Lord Pierro, had been peaceful. Peaceful as in, both of them did not raise their swords or voices. 

Below, in the wintry garden, lies a young lady who is sitting on a wooden bench, eating a sweet tangerine. With how her head is tilted slightly upward, she seems to be soaking up the sun before it finally sets. If Anarkalika were to look in Capitano’s direction, he would only appear as a dark, shadowy figure from the bedroom. 

Whether it’s the flickering sun rays gleaming through the white birch trees, or the clean fresh air filling up her lungs, she seems to be enveloped in an unfamiliar peace. 

Curious, Capitano takes the opportunity to study Anarkalika more closely. She’s all by herself in a land of white, yet… 

A brief smile, a tender sigh, a warm blink… something that Capitano wasn’t expecting from someone who is arranged to be his wife. 

What is she smiling about? Is what he’s asking himself. What is she thinking about that made her face glow? 

At first glance, he notices how she is donned in a fluff of a long, fitted blue fur-trimmed coat, with plush fur accents on the cuffs, hem, and collar. Clearly, she is adapting to Snezhnayan clothing. 

Despite her skin tone, Anarkalika, to a surprising degree, actually conforms to the beauty standards that are prevalent in Snezhnaya: While her cheeks are not milk and roses, they are stout in a healthy way– to which her cheeks are soft, round and smooth. Her arms and thighs are plump and soft, and her eyelashes are long, luscious– clearly in healthy shape, just like her hair. 

Then, his head slightly leans in, his vision behind his helmet noticing that there isn’t a gleam nor a sparkle from her ring finger. 

She must’ve forgotten to wear her ring… He thought to himself, he’ll have to remind her to wear this ring no matter where she goes. 

He’ll have to call her at once. It’s getting a bit late, and it’ll be colder at night. 

Full chapter right here on Ao3!!!

[fortheloveofarchons]

From Dead To Them to Daddy To Me (Overlord Pompey ZZZ fanfic) (Chapter 2)

Full chapter on ao3 with the link down below!!

You don’t know how much time has passed. The only time that you can determine is the window against his bed. 

It’s been a few days since that night, since the day he decided to impregnate you. 

Days before the Tour De Inferno, you’ve been in a very long, passionate session of lovemaking with him. 

Non-stop. 

No breaks. 

It does make you wonder what his diet consists of. 

═════════ 1 ═════════

During those nights… and mornings… and evenings… when everything became a blur to you

“That’s it…” His hand gripped your thighs, pulling them up and apart. 

He pulled one of your thighs onto his shoulders, the other under his butt when he loomed over you, his muscular body dwarfing your body. The lamp on the nightstands flickered across his hairy, beefy chest, and veins bulged beneath his arms and hands. “Be good for me, sweetheart…”

His shaft, thick and heavy, jutted out from his nest of silver and black curls, his engorged head already glistening with precum. 

“Ah– Sir, wait–” You gasped as the thick length of his cock speared into your tight, slick heat from the flex of his hips. Your warm, wet walls instinctively stretch around him, engulfing his thick shaft inside of you, making your body clench and tense on the bed. 

“Overlord…” Your breath hitched. His cock, his hands, the fullness and the stretch– it’s overwhelming. 

A guttural groan tore from his throat as your walls stretched and yielded around him. He buried himself to the hilt inside you, the coarse, bristly hairs at the base of his cock tickled your sensitive flesh. 

“Fuck… Sweetheart…” The entire room is filled with the sound of his shaft squelching inside your damp walls. “You’re so tight around me…” 

He then sets a relentless pace, his hips hammering against yours with bruising force as he took you in a pretzel dip. The bed frames creaked and shuddered under the assault, the headboard slamming against the wall with each of his powerful thrust. 

The slick, obscene sounds of your lovemaking filled the room– harsh pants and grunts, the slap of his balls smacking against your ass, the bed creaking from his weight and his thrusts, and your moans and whimpers as his shaft broke over you again and again. 

Leaning down, he captured one of your nipples between his teeth, making you gasp. The wet pull of his mouth on your breast echoed the hard grind of his pelvis against yours, the dual sensations causing your hands to brace against his shoulders. 

Sweat dripped down his furrowed brow when he felt your warm, wet walls clamping down around him, fluttering wildly as your climax approached. 

“I need you so much…” He growled, his breath hot and labored against your throat. “Selfish as I am, I must… keep you here… drown you with me together!” 

Pompey pistoned his hips harder, the thick head of his shaft kissing your womb as he fucked you hard, the pretzel position allowing him to plunge even deeper into you. Your body bowed under the force of his thrusts, back arching as he drove you towards ecstasy that masturbation could no longer replace anymore. 

“Overlord–” A choked whimper escaped your throat, your breasts bouncing up and down from his thrusts. “I can’t– Too good–” 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He panted harshly. “Come for me… Scream my name as you surrender me! Let all of New Eridu know your name!” 

The pressure inside you builds, tighter and tighter, until it finally snaps.

“My lord–!!!” 

Your mind shattered, body clenched around him like a vice as your orgasm ripped through you and your cry echoed through the room, making your thighs quake violently. 

A low, primal groan escaped him, the heat of him spilled deep into you, the pulsing of his shaft making your knees weak. 

Your body is then slumped onto the bed, warm with lust and wet from your sweat and his cum. He leaned forward, his fingers card gently through your hair, scraping lightly at your scalp in a way that makes you sink further into him. 

He then pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek.  

“Stay with me…” He said, his voice almost shaky, like the words have been sitting on his tongue for too long, waiting for this moment. 

Your eyes became hazy from his lovemaking, and you could feel your brain being wired in a different wave– thinking differently. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head in exhaustion, and everything became a blur. 

He’d fucked you standing up when he’s washing you in the shower, lathering you with shampoo and bubbles while your breasts are pressed against the cool wall, hickeys and love bites formed on your neck and shoulders like a garden of red irises and purple agapanthus. 

Your toes would dig the mattress when he fingered your pussy on the bed, his other hand flipping through your folder of evidence. He’d chuckle when he flipped the pages, his other fingers pressing against your sweet g-spot in half notes, and the cold bite of metal pressed against your wrists, locked in pace against the sturdy headboard above your head, and you thrashed in your cuffs no better than a hooked fish.

Your body squirmed and writhed beneath his fingers, thighs squeezed together as if trying to trap the feeling inside of you. 

“You really are so adorable…” A deep chuckle escaped his throat, the handcuffs rattled softly with each of your slight movements– squirming, whimpering, moaning as his calloused fingers were deep inside you. “Making this whole folder for me, to protect me from my traitorous subordinates…”  

And the times when he thrusted you in a traditional, missionary style… when all you can see is his face. 

How he bit his lower lip. 

How his groans and breaths are in visible puffs. 

How strands of his silver-black hair fell on his forehead. 

How his beefy, hairy arms caged you in.

How his beard brushed against your skin as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours. Desperate, hurried, hot, and sloppy. 

How he slammed his lips against yours, his tongue plunged into your mouth to silence your moans when he flooded your womb with a torrential outpouring of his cum. How his beard tickled your skin when he pulled away, leaving behind a pleasant scratch where it met the softness of your neck as he trailed lingering kisses down to your collarbone. 

How his breath was warm against your lips, foreheads pressed against each other. 

And how his hand moved to your face, fingers pressed into the curve of your cheek, his voice was nothing more than a murmur, low and reverberating. 

“You’re everything.” 

He kissed you again– deeper this time, to make sure you knew he meant it.

“Pompey…” Your face leaned into his touch, feeling how calloused and rough his hand is. “I… I really… care about you…” 

He stills for a fraction of a second. 

“Say it again,” He whispered, the words so quiet and raw with emotion they make your eyes shoot open for a second. “Say my name, please.”

“Pompey…” You breathed his name like a prayer, eyes welled up with warm tears. “Pompey…”

Your eyelids fluttered and closed, unable to battle against the darkness sweeping in at the edges of your vision. 

“You really are my sweet sentiment,” He murmured, his voice a soothing rumble. “Rest now, you’ve earned it. You’ve been so good for me…”

His words dragged on, a hypnotic litany of praise that made your leaden thoughts swirl further, your last vestiges of sanity betraying you.

With your head adjusted to rest his pectorals, his heartbeat is a lullaby against your ear as you drift to slumber.

To him, you’re his whiskey on ice. 

You didn’t know how much you’ve cooled him down when he’s heated during certain meetings, how you calmed and grounded him with your love and care…

How you’re an essential to his existence. 

═════════ 2 ═════════

Back to the present, in the early morning of the Tour De Inferno, when dawn barely cracks…

You stir slowly, your eyelids fluttering open as consciousness begins to return. 

“Ughhh…” As you try to sit up, you realise two things: Your body aches like hell, and you are not alone in bed. A large, beefy arm was draped heavily across your waist, anchoring you to the warm body that’s being pressed protectively against your back. 

He then shifts you onto the bed, still naked and glistening with perspiration from the intense coupling. You could feel every contour and ridge of his beefy, cakey muscular frame, the crisp hairs on his legs and chest brushing your skin. The heat emanating from his body was palpable, and you couldn’t help but giggle from thinking about how he’d be very cuddly to hug during winters. 

When you turn your body to face him, you notice how he’s still asleep, the harsh lines from the years of frustration and work smoothed away, leaving behind a man who looked… younger, almost vulnerable in his repose.

A lock of silver hair fell across his forehead while his chest rose and fell with each slow breath. Even asleep, his arm is tight around you. 

Your gaze drifts down his body, taking in the sight of his nude form spread out across the fine linen sheets– 

Holy fuck, is he a Greek God in his past life or something?! 

A faint blush colours your cheeks as your eyes linger over to his manhood, remembering how that thick, hard length had stretched and filled you so completely. 

A shiver runs down your spine and you bite your lower lip from the memories: His strong hands gripping your hips, his beard scraping against the sensitive skin of your thighs, his heated words painting you until your body burns with such shameful need. 

You had never known such intense pleasure, such overwhelming sensations…

Masturbation could no longer be a method of quenching your thirst. 

“Pompey…” Your fingers hover over his sleeping face for a few seconds before gently brushing aside the lock of silver hair that had fallen across his forehead. You let your fingers trail lightly down his cheek, feeling how rough and slightly coarse his skin is from his age and from his occupation. 

You make a reminder to yourself to make sure he gets lots and lots of skincare and face masks. 

A faint stubble pricks at your palm, and you could see a faint few lines etched into the skin and around his eyes. 

It’s just a few more reasons why you love him, how he’s been through so much in his line of work. Despite his mask of a stern, scary leader, he’s always been generous and caring to those around him. 

Just then, your heart leaps into a staccato beat for a hot second, realising that today’s the day of the Tour De Inferno. 

The day when Overlord Pompey will compete with Caesar and the other playable characters. 

The day when he got tricked and betrayed by Mors and Lucius. 

The day when he was poisoned, and corrupted into an Ethereal monster. 

The day when he… died. 

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse beginning to race once more at the realisation. 

It’s okay, you made sure he’s okay and safe… 

He can’t be poisoned, I’ve made sure of that.

And he knew… He knew about Mors and Lucius’s shady past, so he’s been on guard longer than I thought.

But why? Why do I still feel scared? 

I don’t want him to die…  I… 

Pompey’s eyes flutter open at the feeling of dampness on his cheeks, your tears dripping onto his skin despite your best efforts of rubbing your eyes.

He blinks up at you, his gaze groggy from sleep for a brief moment before his crimson eyes focus on your face. 

“Hic… Hic…” Unaware of him being awake, you do your best to tone down your cries, your eyes closed while you rub them. 

For a man like him, it was rare to wake and find someone hovering over him with such tender concern. 

Most people in the Vanquishers gang either feared his wrath or sought to curry favour, never just… wanting to comfort him. 

Pompey reaches up and gently brushes away the tears from your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, which startles you.

“Overlord! I–” You let out small coughs, trying to compose yourself. “Good morning…” 

His thick brows furrow slightly, a look of confusion and uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he meets your gaze. 

“Sweetheart… Don’t cry.” He rumbles, his voice still rough from sleep, yet laced with a gentleness you had not heard from before. “I hate to see you cry. Before we leave for the big day, I must… confess something to you.”

“Yes?”

“Sweetheart.” Pompey begins his confession, his other palm cupping your cheek, brushing his thumb over your soft, plump lower lip. “I am a grown man, a leader of the Vanquishers, the current Overlord. Happiness is a luxury I have not allowed myself to indulge in for a long time now.” 

His touch lingers for a moment, savouring the softness of your lips. “You have the heart to make me crave for a domestic life with you.” 

“Oh…?” Your face paints rosy hues from his words.

He rolls onto his back, drawing you with him, his strong arms encircling you and anchoring you against his broad chest. The bedsheets twist around both of your naked limps while his hands gently caress your hair and back.

“I’m much older than you, little one. I don’t deserve your tender protection, your gentle caring. But whoever above help me, I want it.” He admits, raw honesty colouring those probing words. “During the months when you have cared for me, in giving yourself to me so fully and genuinely, you've already made me happier than you know.”

“I know it’s incredibly selfish of me to say this, but please… stay with me. Don’t leave me.” He softly begs, a rough edge creeping into his words. “You’ve eased my lonely nights, you’ve stayed by my side through thick and thin, you’ve always been my comfort and solace, as only a human can be. Please…”

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, making your heart leap. 

“You mean the world to me.” 

“Pompey…” Your eyes glisten with tears once more. 

“The things I’ve done, the choices I’ve made… they’ve left me a lonely man, sweetheart. Surrounded by loyal members and those who were planted as traitors in my circle, I am alone all the same. Alone in the knowledge of what I had to do to become the current Overlord and leader of my gang, having to give up the hunt for someone who could see beyond the title of ‘Overlord’ to the man underneath.”

He gently wipes your tears away with the pads of his thumb, letting out a deep chuckle. 

“But you… you see me. You feel me. You give yourself to me without reservation, without any pretenses, with only goals of protecting and caring for me. You make me want to be more than I am, more than the title of ‘Overlord’ and the leader of the Vanquishers.” 

Your heart beats in a rapid staccato, your mind wandering to one thing only. 

Did… Did he just confess to me?!

Yes, he did confess to you. Why else would he fuck and breed you hard for so many nights, you idiot?!?!

But before you could even respond, he captures your chin, tilting your head up so he could hold your gaze. 

“You don’t have to respond to this immediately,” He says, sitting both you and himself up on the bed. “You can respond to me after the Tour De Inferno. And when the day ends…” 

He leans in and whispers in your ear, his voice in a husky tone. 

“I’ll be waiting for your answer.” 

FULL CHAPTER OF THIS FIC RIGHT HERE ON AO3!

[fortheloveofarchons]

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(Part 5)

A chapter where misunderstandings are cleared, and that the act of calling your name made your heart stirs.

Full chapter on the ao3 link down below!

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You’d been ill for many, many nights– seven nights in total, ever since you fell into the cold, icy river. So ill, with scorching fever and bone-numbing chills that you’d yet to leave your bed. You can’t even get out of the door that leads to the hallways. 

Curled up with duvets, you can’t help but imagine your parents gallivanting around Port Ormos or just anywhere in Sumeru City at this time, snacking around plates of Potato Boats ( maybe baba will get fat from eating those carbs , you hoped), eating plates of Tandoori Roast Chicken ( maybe mama will get fat too ), basking in the sun like a lovey-dovey couple ( maybe they will get sunburned and they will have to buy heaps of aloe vera from their stash of mora that The Captain gave ), watching the sunset while kayaking ( maybe they will fall from their kayak ), while here you are cooped in a cold estate, sniffling and coughing like a snotty princess. 

You couldn’t even hold a decent conversation with him, and things have been awkward between you two. 

After all, how does one proceed a conversation when you, the bride, ran away from the night of their wedding, got yourself drowned from a frozen river, and is now sick from the cold? 

“Captain– I–” You babbled to Capitano in a sweaty fit this morning. “About that– night–” 

“That can wait,” He said for the third time, wrapping you in a fresh blanket. “You need to rest and recuperate.” 

You’d have ignored his words and continued your babbling, if only he hadn’t been taking such good care of you. He barely left your side ever since that day: Sponging your forehead with a cold cloth, feeding you dishes that ranges from bone-marrow soup to porridges with sliced gingers and onions, bringing you baggy nightdresses that you can change and hibernate in peace, and enduring your loud sniffling and coughs that happens every five minutes. 

Until the day arrived, when you were fully recovered. 

“Captain…” You try to start the conversation, sitting next to him on the dark blue chaise. 

“Just–” He interrupts, his upper body shifting to face you. “Just Capitano would do.”

“Capitano,” You start again, fingers fiddling with the soft fabric of your nightgown. “I want to apologize… For what I did that night.” 

Courage surges in your veins as you continue. “I shouldn’t have done that… Shouldn’t have left you on the night of our… consummation. I– I’m willing to accept any punishment from you, Capitano!” 

“.....” 

Despite his mask, the subtle shift of his thigh made you assume that you’ve said something wrong, and you immediately avert his gaze to the ground, your head bowing to a thirty-degree angle. 

But what he said next made your heart stop beating for a hot second. 

“Actually, I wasn’t planning to consummate with you.” 

… What?

He stands up and heads to the bed– a bed where the two of you were supposed to share. Getting onto the bed, Capitano reaches up and pulls down what looks to be a veil of the finest white gossamer in between the bed. “The truth is… I was planning to tell you about this during that night, that we would be sleeping ‘separately’. I would not look at your slumber form, and you will not look into mine.”

He steps back on the ground, walking back towards you.  

“My condition…” He lifts a hand to his chest, his gloved gauntlet clinks against the golden chains of his armour. “It’s… complicated, but it is best for you to not see me without my mask on. That includes my body too, for that matter.” 

A soft clink echoes as his fingers curl inward, pressing firmly over his heart. 

“So, the veil was my way of telling you that evening. I would never venture to cross a line without your permission. Also, while you were recuperating from a fever, I slept on the chaise. Figured it was for the best with your health in mind.”

Heat blooms in your face, a realisation dawning on your mind: For the entire time, you could’ve just waited for him to arrive and let him explain. You could’ve just waited for him. You could’ve just– Well, calm down and stop overthinking stuff for once?! 

“Oh archons…” You hug yourself tightly on the chaise, embarrassment clinging to you like a fever. “What have I done? I’ve done it… I’ve made a fool of myself…” 

You dare not lift your gaze, for you feared meeting his eyes– Rather, his whole helmet. You had acted too foolishly that night, spoken too hastily with your apology, your emotions slipping free like a poorly tied kalawa on your left wrist.

While your mind was the kind that stopped all other traffic in the brain, Capitano’s boots made no sound against the royal red rug as he steps closer. 

His fingers flexed at his side before lifting– just barely– towards your open shoulder from your slipping nightgown. 

And yet, just as the warmth of The Captain’s touch threatened to bridge the distance, his hand only hovered there, mere inches from your skin, the heat almost tangible despite that his hands are gloved. 

He retracted, his fingers curling back into a loose fist, retreating to his side before stepping away.

Instead, he lets out an exhale that’s deeper than a bass singer. 

“You need not dwell on it.” He murmurs at last, his voice a low, steady thing– measured, restrained, though surprisingly not unkind. “This does not make me think less of you, and I understand your fear towards… this arrangement.” 

You flinch, just slightly, your fingers tightening in the fabric of your nightgown.

A beat passes before you exhale, deep and slow, and you finally look up at the man with a knightly helmet. 

“Still, I should apologise.” His last sentence strikes something else in your heart. “I chose this arranged marriage as well, I shouldn’t have backed down at the last minute.” 

Before you could say anything more, your throat accidentally lets out a cough, causing you to cover your mouth. 

“You should rest now.” Capitano reaches a hand towards you in a very demure manner. “I’ll have the maid fetch you a bowl of porridge.” 

You blush once more as you take his gloved hand, and he walks you back to your bed. Despite your fever, your nose picks up on his fresh cologne that smells like vetiver and kisses of sandalwood...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60714016/chapters/162250639

[fortheloveofarchons]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(Part 4)

A chapter where his perspective shows before and after the wedding! Full chapter on the ao3 link up!

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One month before the wedding of Il Capitano and his bride, when he found out the news of this arrangement…

It didn’t take long for Il Capitano to arrive at the Zapolyarny Palace, where the northern lights shine the brightest. It didn’t take long for him to find where Her Royal Highness was. It certainly didn’t take long for him to barge in the library of the palace, and not even the guards and the maids could stop a Sentinel Knight of immense force and power, and they could only watch from afar until the heavy, wooden doors closed shut. 

“Your Royal Highness, is this true?” 

Silence follows, just like how snowflakes gently drop on the ground outside of the library. In the library where a Harbinger and an Archon reside, the flickering candlelight danced over the book spines, casting a warm glow against the chill that permeated the walls. 

She sat beside a small wooden table cluttered with scrolls and quills, her slender fingers brushing absentmindedly over the gilded edge of an open book. 

“Yes…” She finally responds, snowflakes clung stubbornly to the glass, shimmering like trapped stars under the pale light of the full moon. “Before you are set out to finish your main goal in Natlan, let this be one last request from me. To live a marriage of love.” 

Capitano’s stomach seized. It was one matter to suspect, but hearing His Royal Highness’s answer so casually confirm his suspicions was another beast entirely. 

This was just like the conflict from Nod Krai all over again, when some of his soldiers tried to shoulder the burden, trying to stop the attack that was instigated by a certain Darknight Hero. Except this time it was the Tsaritsa that made Capitano shoulder an unnecessary burden that isn’t needed for his own agenda. He supposed it was only a matter of time before he got the taste of his own medicine. He just wished that it wasn’t so hot and bitter. 

Right before he was about to set his motion in plan. Save the nation of Natlan, confront with one of the Four Shades of the Primordial One, who is the Ruler of Death: Ronova, and proceed with his final step. 

Her Royal Highness then proceeds to pull out this arranged, political marriage at the last minute. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this? Why let me find this out from my men? And from a mere conversation of idle gossip, no less?” 

“Because I knew you’d react like this.” 

Hardening his resolve, Capitano straightened his uniform. Aside from the cold, the Fatui coat draped over his shoulders served no practical purpose besides the sign of his title as one of the Fatui Harbingers. Drops of melted snow, slow and heavy, dripped onto the carpet from his coat. 

As if anyone in this world could forget his rank. His legacy. 

…His past. 

“You were just going to have me wed someone I don’t even know?” 

Silence. There was no answer. 

Capitano rubbed the top of his helmet and sighed. 

It’s not like it can get any worse. He steeled himself internally. 

“When it is, then?” He then asked another question. “This arranged marriage… What’s the new timeline?” 

Her Royal Highness barely moved her body as her lips spoke. “Thirty days.” 

Nevermind. It just got worse. 

“Thirty days!” Even with the helmet that obscures his face, Capitano’s voice raised an octave. “Your Royal Highness, you cannot be serious about this.” 

“But I am.” She pretended she didn’t look at him, committing to her narrative and sticking to it no matter the cost. “An Archon’s lips is the law, do not ever think about trying to twist it against me. I asked for you to retrieve the gnosis from Natlan after the issue with Fontaine is settled with The Knave, and you dare… to ask for this risky mission. One that could ultimately cost your life, one that could topple the ranks of the Fatui Harbingers, and bring instability to your soldiers and men.” 

The strain in her voice stopped him short, and Capitano could only press his lips in silence, his mind reciting sentences as if they’re some magical prayer to keep himself guarded from the words of an Archon. 

[fortheloveofarchons]

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(Part 3)

A chapter where the wedding between you and Lord Capitano finally happen! Full chapter on the ao3 link down below!

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Your fingers clench onto the stems of the bouquet as your eyes stare at the large, wooden doors. The entrance to your new life. You then gaze down to your bouquet, which is filled with chamomiles and white roses.

How beautiful, you thought, trying to bring a smile to your face. I thought they’ll use dry flowers as bouquets.

There was some fanfare outside of this church, some cheers and words spoken from the crowd of Snezhnayas’ citizens– personal, lively, interested. There were even a lot of journalists outside, taking bright shots when you stepped down from the carriage and walked to the church, the veil covering your head. 

“Lady Selvadurai! What’s your opinion of being married to the First Fatui Harbinger?” 

“Do you have any plans to stay here after the ceremony? Or are you going to go back to Sumeru?” 

“Tell us! Was it a genuine or an arranged marriage between you two?” 

“Why isn’t your family attending this wedding? Did you forbid them to come?” 

The Fatui’s guards quickly usher you in the church while the journalists’ voices all drown your thoughts. Good thing the church’s door is soundproof. 

You grit your teeth, trying to keep calm as the fear in the pit of your belly became tense, your hands gripping the bouquet so tight that you could feel the stems breaking. You knew there was nothing you could do, but that didn’t stop your eyes from straying over the hallways, searching for any potential exits. 

Before you could take a step back, the echoing sound of the tall, wooden doors slowly opened, which revealed the inside of the church– the altar to your wedding. 

Upon entering, the cool, fragrant air greets you, mingling with the faint scent of polished oak wood and blooming flowers. The aisle stretches forward, lined with delicate arrangements of what seems to be blue and white flowers tied with dark blue satin ribbons. Candles flicker gently in tall, wrought-iron holders, casting warm, golden light over the polished pews.

You look up, gazing and admiring the vaulted ceiling that’s adorned with painted frescoes of what looks to be angels and serene blue skies. The walls are lined with stained-glass windows, each in different poses of Her Royal Highness of the nation Snezhnaya. The dim sunlight streaming through these windows creates colorful patterns that dance on the floors, adding to the ethereal atmosphere of your wedding. 

The choirs of the local children sang in a harmonious choir next to the pews, and you notice that the pews are not even fully filled. Small floral arrangements and ribbons are tied to the ends of each row, adding a touch of elegance for today’s occasion. At most, probably half of each side of the pews are filled. To you left, it’s mostly filled with some of the butlers and maids, most of which you could recognise since they all came from The Captain’s estate. You can’t help but chuckle from seeing them being involved with the wedding too. 

Meanwhile, to your right, it was mostly occupied with some fatui soldiers, politicians, nobles, and– ALL OF THE FATUI HARBINGERS?!?! 

You knew they would be here because, well– this is yours and Lord Capitano’s wedding, after all. But that doesn’t stop your hands from almost slipping your bouquet to the ground from seeing their presence.

You stumble slightly, your white high heels stepping against the red carpet. Try as you may to stare at the ground, but you can’t help but stare at the sight of the rest of the Fatui Harbingers. 

La Signora, a tall woman with porcelain-like skin and high cheekbones, regards you with a cold smirk as her crimson eyes pierces through your soul, puffing up her last smoke from her cigarette holder. Even with her glare, you can’t help but stare at her long, platinum hair and how her light red dress is covered with a long, flowing coat, all donned with glittering jewelry and diamonds. 

She definitely takes on both fights. Your face reveals a tinge of blush underneath your veil.

Next to her, is The Knave, who is literally the opposite of La Signora’s feminine beauty. When your hazel eyes lock with her reddish-criss cross eyes, she gives you a slow, subtle nod of acknowledgement. She wears what looked to be a suit, donned in black and red, and adorned with intricate silver accents and what looks to be Fatui insignias. 

…This one definitely takes on both fights, again. You can’t help but wonder if she was your betrothed instead, but you quickly shake that thought away. 

Begone, fowl thoughts, we are in a church after all. What would The Captain think? 

So far, from what you can see from the women of the Fatui Harbingers, they all look dignified, yet dangerous. 

Beautiful, yet unapproachable. 

That is to say that you haven’t seen Columbina and Sandrone, but because they are much further away from the pews, you could only keep walking forward, and your gaze lands on some of the men of the Fatui Harbingers. 

Lord Childe, a man with the most youthful charm coming from the rest, is the only one that gives what seems to be a confident smile and playful wave towards you. Yet, when he opens his eyes, it immediately makes your smile freeze, as his deep-set, sharp blue eyes are like an endless ocean. You quickly remember that he’s one of the Fatui Harbingers as well, and you immediately avert his gaze. 

Lord Childe’s reddish-orange bangs fall on his eyesight as he watches you from behind. 

Sitting in front of Lord Childe is The Regrator, also known as Lord Pantalone. A man donned with a tailored coat of deep, luxurious hues of black, accented with intricate gold embroidery that traces elegant, swirling patterns along the fabric. It seems that he has never opened his eyes and– Wait, is he blind? Or does he just… not open them? Either way, you can’t help but admire his long, elegant lashes that’s framed behind his pair of gold-rimmed glasses, and his hair is sleek and dark, truly dignified as a Harbinger should. 

Lastly, right next to Lord Pantalone, which is at the front of the pews, is the Director of the Fatui Harbingers, Lord Pierro. 

…Oh sweet archons, what the hell? 

His long silver hair, his well-kept beard, his expression is like a seasoned leader, and his only star-eyed pupil locks with your eyes. Like Lord Arlecchino, he gives you a subtle nod. At this point, is this a nod of preparation? A nod of respect? Or a nod of subtle foreshadowing?  

You internally bite the inside of your cheeks because what in the sweet lands of archons– Why are they all so beautiful and handsome?!?! Ohhh… to be like them, so untouchable and unstoppable. You wish you were them, but you know that you can never be them. There can only be one. And. You. Are. Not. One. Of. Them. 

Your eyes then widen in surprise when you come face to face with… The Captain, Il Capitano. 

Your groom. Your betrothed. Your husband.

“Wow…” You can’t help but whisper it out of your lips, as you take in his appearance. 

While his headgear is still the same shape and colour, his attire consists of an armour that’s crafted from white, matte metal, and a white bodysuit with golden chains and accessories on his chest plate. Although his hair remains untied and unbraided, his black shiny hair remains as silky as always, glistening under the lights from the stained glasses. 

You gaze at him, and notice that what’s draped over his broad shoulders is a long, flowing white cape that pools down onto the floor, lined with golden intricacies that seem to be fatui insignias. 

Before you could continue to gaze at him, a voice echoes through the altar...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60714016/chapters/158486338

Edit: Not sure why but I can't put the link as always from my previous post, will try to fix this issue but for now the fanfic title is just above this post! Sorry for the inconvenience!!

[fortheloveofarchons]

How Pierro gives you salvation

Full chapter is on the link down below!!

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“Look at you, a soldier of faith, letting your guard down while your pretty lips repeat phrases of bliss, over and over, till your tongue weary and the candles burn out.” 

His hands hold your wrists tightly in place, ensuring that you would be placed in what’s about to be a blissful frenzy, never leaving his side. 

“I like the sight of a beautiful woman laying down. For a fatui soldier, you have such pretty little ideas you follow: Boring, so easy to swallow, with no other room of possibilities.” 

For what feels like the next few weeks, your Lord Harbinger has been locking you in his own private quarters, where your own reformation takes place. 

Tonight is just one of those nights. 

“My Lord… Please… Please keep changing me… I want to be adjusted further… It makes me believe in you more and more…” 

His words. 

His prayers. 

His touch. 

Everything.

His left blue eye darken at your breathless admission, the corner of his lip slightly lifting upward. It only serves to stoke the flames of his own desire for you, his cock throbbing almost painfully as it leaks copious amounts of his pre-cum onto your naked, soft belly. 

“Good, we’re just getting started for today after all.” Pierro’s voice is a deep, sensual rumble that seems to reverberate through your very bones. He grinds his hips forward, smearing the sticky fluid into your soft belly, and it slowly drips down to your thighs. 

“Do not take my benevolence for granted, do you understand?”

Before you could even nod or say ‘yes’, he immediately leans down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, tongue delving past your parted lips to claim your mouth with a fierce passion, swallowing down your moans and whimpers. 

Like a man who is desperately craving and starving for salvation. 

While both of your hands mark fresh scratches onto his back and could feel the silky strands of his silver hair, his hands roam over your body, his warm hand cupping one of your ass cheeks and the other holding your back. 

The feeling of his arms around your body should have felt like cages, but they felt deceptively warm. His hard chest pressing against your soft breasts should have made you recoil in revulsion, but it inexplicably beckons you to stay put and near. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, you’re panting harshly, chest heaving with exertion. 

Meanwhile, Pierro’s only pupil is blown wide with hunger as he gazes down at your flushed face and dazed eyes. 

“Beg for it,” He demands. “Beg for me to reform you even further. I want to hear how badly you need my cock splitting you open, how desperate you are for salvation.” 

To emphasize his point, Pierro reaches between your thighs to grasp his throbbing length, giving it a few slow, teasing pumps. His cock is huge, the thick shaft pulsing with need, beads of pre-cum welling up at his tip.

"M.. more... I... I want..." You could feel his tip gently pressing against your clit. “I want to be good, I want to serve you so much…”

Pierro’s only eye blaze with hunger as your restraints continue to crumble under his ministrations, your body arching up to meet his teasing touches. He could sense that your arousal is spiking, like a tangible thing in the air. 

“That’s it, my dear soldier…” Pierro purrs, his voice a low, seductive rumble for your ears. “Let it go, give in to what your body needs for your realignment.” He shifts his hips forward, letting the blunt head of his cock nudge insistently against your slick entrance. Pierro then rubs the tip up and down your clit teasingly, coating himself in your arousal. 

Pierro leans down to capture your lips once more, as his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, which anchors you in place as he starts to press forward, the thick head of his cock breaching your tight heat. 

“My Lord… My Lord…” You pant against his ear as you feel it sliding inside you. 

“Goodness…” He groans against your lips, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after all those nights, you’re still so fucking tight…” He punctuates his words with a sharp snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing pace as he starts to move, pounding into you with powerful, relentless strokes. 

“Hah… Hah…”

Pierro’s thrusts are deep and hard, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room, the lewd squelch of his cock plunging in and out of your sopping cunt, and your wanton cries of pleasure nearly drowns out of his own guttural snarls. He can feel his cock starting to swell, the thick ridge of flesh throbbing at the base of his shaft as it tugs and pulls at your entrance with every stroke. 

“More… more…” You whimper out the same words over and over again, feeling his warm shaft inside of your entrance, pressing you harder into a mating press. “Lord Pierro… Please…” 

His only eye darkens at the sound of his name falling from your lips like a desperate prayer, your body bouncing and jostling beneath you with each forceful thrust of his hips. He can see the desire and surrender plainly written across your body, the way your body arches up to meet his every thrust. He could feel every inch of his cock stretching you open, molding your tight heat to his shape, and it drives him wild with lust. 

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fortheloveofarchons]

Learning A New Language (A Getian x Zima fanfic)

Where Getian learns a new language to understand Zima better

Full chapter is on the link down below!

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Somehow, against every odds he can think of, the pure Mieming bird, who once only knew one language back in his homeland, manages to sit through the entire reading of old books without twitching his eyes or shutting the books close when he's midway reading them. 

Save the minor matter of his talons tapping against the marble floor with occasional tapping sounds, Getian is still and stately at the moment– shoulders back, his carved bird staff floating and flicking in the air to flip the pages. He even temporarily disabled one of his arcane skills, which is a spell that can allow him to understand anyone’s words without the use of his staff, just so that he could start learning the land of the Tsar’s language from scratch.  

Getian pauses and hums and raises his hand, allowing his staff to flick in the air while the page turns, moving on to the next one, which describes the complicated Russian words in detail. It’s something that he hasn’t read before, and now he has read them several times over. He’d mentally quiz himself immediately after shutting the books down, and would ask himself the definition of certain words. 

Asking someone to help quiz him would mean that he would have to explain his motives to them as to why he chose to learn a new language from scratch instead of using his arcane skills to automatically understand their words universally. The thought of having to explain this, especially to someone like Leonard, makes his ear paint peach hues.

As for his motives for learning Зима’s mother language manually, he had read a non-fiction book that’s titled as, A Guide To Understand Those That You Wish To Understand , and one of the main points that he read is that: 

“Knowing another's language and culture is essential for thoroughly understanding other people's points of view on a variety of issues. As general as it may appear, some global challenges, particularly wars between more than two countries, have been caused by a lack of awareness and understanding from one's own culture. Many cultures have their own set of cultural norms, which govern how they eat, sleep, talk, and even work. If a foreigner violates certain society norms, they will be isolated, humiliated, and labelled as ignorant since they do not comprehend how a new country runs. This can range from a micro conflict between two coworkers from different countries to affecting an entire meso community as a result of prejudices and stereotypes, and then it can escalate into a macro issue in which different countries have different conflicting belief systems while attempting to reach an agreement in order to avoid violating a Human Rights Act. Simply put, when in Rome, do as the Romans do." 

Getian highly doubts it's as serious as the author says, since the storm already puts everything and everyone out of proportion, but it is still something to think of. 

Plus, he couldn't stand by while Зимa struggled to communicate in a different language. Even if Зимa understands English and with Getian's arcane skill, but still… 

Hearing a quiet cough in the library, Getian further engrossed himself by reading the gold-embossed spines of the books where he had picked off a shelf– the latest edition of a Russian dictionary, which has both English and Chinese translations. 

Even better, the Chinese translations were not simplified, but in a traditional version. While the simplified version of the Chinese words were easy enough for him to understand, the traditional words were something that he was already used to understanding them. 

It’s almost like… a sense of nostalgia, from the amount of stroke orders that he wrote on with an ink brush when he composed poems and practised calligraphy. 

He did not realise he'd been burning the midnight oil until his face turned around to face the window, noticing that the light in the library felt a bit dimmer. 

“It’s getting late…” 

He looks down on the pile of books. 

“No, this is more important for now.” 

After reading and memorising the entire dictionary, the desk has become disorganised, with all of those Russian books, essays, and poetry anthologies spread around a wide oak table.

They haven’t spoken in two days, not since Getian woke up in the middle of the afternoon in the forest, his nose buried in Зима’s hair, breathing in the scent of his hair, and the fantasy of his whole body curled around Зима’s. He’d have his wing halfway to cocoon Зима’s body before he remembered how… odd it must’ve been. 

Is it normal for two acquaintances– friends to cuddle each other in a forest? 

And then Getian quite literally thrown himself out of Зима’s proximity, but only after he gently adjusted Зима’s back against the tree, Зимa’s coat covering his own body warm, and little Зима being included in too, tucking themselves in human Зима’s neck with his scarf. 

Now, the only light Getian has is the golden glow of a desk lamp. 

The words on the page– the cyrillic script flowing like foreign rivers– blurs before his hooded and motionless eyes. 

Dostoevsky… 

Tolstoy… 

Chekhov... 

A yawn escapes him, unbidden, his jaw stretching wide as his shoulders sagged. The weight of exhaustion settled in his limbs, heavy as lead. 

Blackness slowly encroaches on the edges of his vision. 

Then finally, his body betrayed him. 

The room is now silent save for the ticking of an antique clock on the far wall. 

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fortheloveofarchons]

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(A Capitano x Reader fanfic)

(Chapter 2)

Full chapter down below with the ao3 link!

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In your dream, you were donned in red and gold. 

Sitting on top of the bed, your smile was one of happiness growing, much as a Kalpalata lotus blooms. 

Yet, the moment you turn to him, your eyes froze. 

He was not clothed in red and gold like a Sumerian’s traditional wedding attire, but rather, is tainted with crimson red from his white uniform. 

At that moment, all you could do was to run. 

Your bare feet steps on the floor, flooded with fresh blood. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the heavy hem of your red gown trailing behind you, already heavily soaked in blood. 

Behind you, The Captain’s armour clinks softly with each step, the sound echoing like a death knell. 

His face is shadowed, unreadable, but the intensity of the way he strides definitely speaks of an unshakable message: To catch you in his arms, to finish what he was about to start. 

Before you turn your head around to see how far has The Captain chased, your barefoot slips onto the thick blood, and you stumble, falling hard to the floor. 

Your hands could only instinctively press into the slick ground, blood smearing across your fingers and gown as you try to push yourself up. 

You didn’t even have time to notice that the fresh blood has covered your henna markings on your hands and arms, as The Captain is upon you, forcing you down on the ground. 

His gloved hands grip and clamp around your wrists, pinning it to the bloodied floor, which further taints the henna marks on your forehead, while his other hand pressed firmly on your waist, and you could feel the strong grip on your waist that you were convinced that it was gonna leave a bruise. 

The metallic scent of blood mingles with the cold steel of his armour, which both scents press into your lungs. 

Your eyes were spilling out of hot tears, locking onto his face– head, lips part as if to scream, but no sound could come out. 

“Please…” 

But before you could even plead further, you feel your lips seared by his. His lips would swallow your fears and useless pleas– like a man starved from years and years of battle, longing for something as mundane as a kiss from his lover. Your body froze and you could only savour the sensation without choice, the way his mouth moved against yours– tasting, devouring. 

Surprisingly, he tastes… 

Warm.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The sunrise, akin to the melted gold foil on a piece of chocolate, spills into the room and faintly illuminates your face. 

With shaky breaths, you wake up with a jolt, sweat trailing down onto your hair and pillow. 

“Wait… where am…” 

After taking a few deep breaths and blinking your eyes a few times, you slowly sit up to find yourself back in your own private quarters.  

You uncover the duvet immediately, looking down and inspecting your body. 

Unscathed. Not a single bruise or cuts in sight. And your lower stomach doesn’t hurt at all. 

You let out a long sigh of relief after finishing inspecting yourself, leaning your body back on the pillows. But that does bring a new question, who exactly brought you back? 

The last person you saw was The Captain, Capitano himself, but… would he really do that?

You shake your head immediately. You know that it would be dumb for him to literally murder his soon-to-be wife a few days before the big day, especially when this is a political marriage. If word got out that The Captain murdered his fiance, who was born and raised in Sumeru, then that would cause further tensions between Sumeru and Snezhnaya, or worse, a civil war. Your family would get caught in the crossfire. 

He can’t possibly kill you. You think to yourself, your mind desperately calming your thumping heart. But… There are other ways for people to keep their mouths shut.

You rise to your bed, feet pressing against the cool marble floor. You bite your nails out of habit, pacing around the room in your nightgown. Just before you could even think of other torturous ways that The Captain would do to you from witnessing a murder, a knock is heard through the door. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

Your legs froze, heart beating even further, because you have already identified what kind of knock does this come from. When the knocks are in two beats, quick and snappy, it comes from the butlers; three, soft and rhythmic knocks are from the maids. 

But this… is different. 

Heavy, loud, and slow three knocks. Definitely not from the maids and butlers of this place. 

You instinctively grip your nightgown, twisting the fabric. Your lips part, but no words came. Instead, you could only stay still from where you are, hoping that the Captain would understand that you are still asleep despite the sun– if the hazy, clouded light outside of your window even constitutes actual sunlight. 

Behind the heavy, wooden door that is carved with fatui insignias, you can’t help imagining Capitano’s towering frame, clad in his usual winter cloak, just standing there… menacingly. Your mind can only picture his gloved hand clutching onto his cyro sword, preparing… for anything. 

You imagine that his eyes, whatever colour they may hold, are as sharp as the blade he carries. 

With the silent pause that stretches unbearably, you press your hand to your chest, still trembling while you are trying to still the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. 

You tentatively take a few slow steps, your hands about to reach for the doorknob. 

Then, faintly, the sound of his armour boots shifts. You knew that he was waiting– waiting for your next move. Would you open it, or would you just say something through the door? 

And what would you even say when the barrier between the two of you falls away?

“I trust that you have slept well,” He takes the initiative, his tone as deep as always. Your hands pause at the doorknob, listening to his words. “And that your health is alright.” 

“I…” Your lips part, trying to form a coherent sentence. “Yes, I am… fine. Both physically and mentally. Umm… aren’t you going to come in?” 

Silence came for what felt like seconds. 

“It is rude and impolite for a groom to meet his bride before the big day.” Is what he replies. 

Your lips are about to part and say, Ah yes, that makes sense. 

But your mind recalls back to last night, when he already saw you, and vice versa on your part. Your lips thin with embarrassment, remembering that technically you were the one that broke the rule since you snuck out without permission. 

Instead, all you could say is this in a shaky breath. “I… I’m so sorry--” 

“While we should discuss about you breaching ground rules of my estate,” He says. “This can wait until the night of our wedding.” 

You swallow your saliva, letting out a deep breath. 

Before your mind starts to imagine the worst of what he meant by that sentence, he interrupts your train of thought. 

“Knowing that you are safe already puts my heart at ease,” You didn’t notice how his tone, low as it always is, is subtly soft like flower petals. “Then, I shall not linger any further. I look forward to witnessing your presence and beauty on the big day.” 

The clink of his armoured gauntlet as he adjusts his grip on his helmet concludes his visit. Slowly, he turns away, his heavy boots echoing against the marble floor as he walks away from your door. 

You stand frozen, your fingertips still grazing the wood. The receding sound of his steps feels like a bitter melody. You don’t want to see him, yet… his arrival and departure just feels so underwhelming that you rather that he opens the door into your private quarters, making his own dramatic entrance. 

Alone now, you sink to the floor, your shoulders trembling, letting out heavy breaths of relief. You lean your back against the door, your unbraided, wavy black hair spilling onto the floor. 

He chooses to not kill you, but what will he do on the night of your marriage? 

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fortheloveofarchons]

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(A Capitano x Reader fanfic)

Full chapter down below on the Ao3 link!!!

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“Remember, it’s all for him. For them. For… yourself.” 

It should be an honour to be selected by one of the greatest harbingers, The Captain.

A recognition. 

A sense of gratitude that someone out there decided to choose someone like you. 

However... What made him feel proud? Why would one of the most powerful Fatui Harbingers in Snezhnaya, The Captain, would pick someone who lives outside that frozen realm? 

He had never come across someone like you, so how could he be pleased about choosing you?

Nevertheless, arranged marriages usually come about as a result of elders' obligations or business.

“Mama? Is it true?” 

“...Yes, it is.” Your mama’s words ring in your ears, which serves to further unsettle your stomach. “Out of all the beautiful maidens in Snezhnaya, he has chosen you.” 

“But… I’m from Sumeru.” The sunlight from your window kisses your dark tawny skin, as sweet as chocolate and as solid as oak. “Why would he choose someone like me? I don’t even know if he has ever been to Sumeru before.” 

“Perhaps it's due to after everything The Doctor, Dottore, did to damage the Akademiya’s reputation and harming the livelihood of our people.” Your mama folds her clothes on the floor, tucking the sari neatly to ensure that there aren't any wrinkles. “Aside from rebuilding a part of the Akademiya and importing new goods to Sumeru, marrying someone from this land would be some kind of a peace offering. As odd as it is, think of it as a trade tactic.” 

“So I’m just some scapegoat to them?” You fold your arms. “Figures, it’s always been that way.” 

“Now, now. Don’t be like that.” Your mama finishes folding all of the clothes. “I know it seems scary to you, but I assure you that you are in good hands. The Captain, arguably, is much better than half of the Fatui Harbingers.” 

“And how would you know that, pray tell.” 

“Well,” Your mama turned her head around to face the wall. “Your father and I have met him before. A meal, actually.” 

“You’ve met him?!” You immediately sit down next to your mama, taking her arms to inspect them. “Are you both okay? Are you hurt? Is baba hurt? Did he do anything? Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“Would you stop that!!” Your mama slaps your hands. “Of course we are okay. If we’re not okay do you think I will be sitting here talking to you so nonchalantly, ah?” 

“...What’s he like?” Your eyes subconsciously twinkle from curiosity. 

“He’s quite a gentleman. A polite, yet strong man.” Your mama couldn’t help but chuckle at the past memory. “At first, we were both hesitant to meet him when he sent in a letter of arrangement, but after meeting him all of our expectations were demolished. Though, I wish he would have worn something lighter and… less darker. Knowing how humid it is everyday, I’m surprised he didn’t break a sweat. Just watching him wearing that large coat made your baba sweat. Plus, black is bad. It's bad luck, after all!” 

“What do you mean by ‘expectations were demolished’?” You curl the two fingers at your hand, making air quotes. “What did you even expect from him? And what did he do to demolish them?” 

“Admittedly, we expected him to be more brute and intimidating.” 

“And then…” 

“When we meet him for the first time, he is exactly brute and intimidating.” 

You throw your hands in the air, exasperated by your mama’s audacity. “Oh come on! What’s even the point of–” 

“But,” Her words cut you off. “The Captain is also very direct and straightforward with his intentions. He was also very considerate and polite too, he told us that should we ever need anything we could just write to him, and that he will take good care of you under his arms. Plus, he told me that a wonderful mother like me has raised you very well~ He certainly is knightly~”

“Mama…” Disgust danced in your eyes in silent judgement. “You’re married.” 

“Ah, an old woman like me can still dream~” She playfully smacks your arm. 

“Still… Do I really have to go? I guess if I refuse this, he’ll kill us?” 

“About that, now that’s what surprised us.” Your mama explains. “He told us that it’s okay for you to reject the offer, and that there won’t be any consequences for it. Although he chose you out of anyone else, he said he’d understand if you refuse.” 

“Wait… what? Really?” 

“ Meree jaan, ” Her hands on your cheeks feel warm. “I understand if you don’t want to go, but I can tell that he really cares about you. If he didn’t care, he would’ve just swooped you away before you could ever see your home again. The Captain… is much better than all of the people that you have dated before. I’m sure that he will make your life much more contentful than before.” 

“Mama…” 

“Yes, sweetie?”

Like a vinyl player being halted to a pause while rolling the music, the moment between you and your mama dissipates. 

“How much did The Captain offer you?” 

~~~~~~

“That… was a lot of money.” The pride that had reverberated in your baba’s voice when he told you the amount of mora that The Captain sent nearly made you spin. Though, it doesn’t really unsettle your stomach. It made your parents happy, after all. 

“ I’ll miss you.” You mutter. “I’ll miss home.”

Her kiss on your forehead reassures you a response. 

It’ll all be okay.

A stuttering breath slips past your lips as your eyes drop to the ground. 

Looking outside from the plain looking carriage, where the trees and grass were kissed white, and rivers run beneath deep set icy. The more you look at this scenic view, the more they remind you of those landscape paintings from the cover of the old puzzle boxes.

You notice that your entrance to Snezhnaya has been… very quiet. You can only assume that The Captain, despite his status, wasn’t much for personal fanfare, understandably so. 

At least you are betrothed to someone who values privacy. Your heart makes excuses for him. 

You let out a sigh of relief. 

No ostentatious carriages or trumpets announcing your arrival.

No people swarming in to ask you many nosy and invasive questions. 

No sight of him… for now. 

You are surprised that despite The Captain's good reputation, there is little interest in his affairs from others. Perhaps the people of Snezhnaya know better than to pry in confidential knightly affairs, or perhaps they were scared upon being found out snooping into his business. 

“I guess someone like him would rather be covert than flaunt like a peacock...” 

After slipping and bouncing the carriage against the freezing streets, you stumble out of the carriage like a ball hurled from a tin cup. Upon your arrival, you are greeted by a couple maids and butlers who lead you inside his private estate that’s east of the palace’s direction. You didn't even have time to take in the cold wind and what his estate even looks. They rush you in his estate, voices from both sides drowning out your thoughts. 

"Please, allow me to help you with your attire. Goodness, it's soaked with melted snow."

"Remember, do not stroll out at night. It is unwise to do so." 

"Make sure to take all of your meals when the servants send it in your room."

"Your wedding dress is already prepared, we'll send it out to you the day before your married day." 

...Perhaps, in your baba’s words, The Captain wanted you happy and well.

~~~~~~

Days passed by, and the most you’ve ever done is being kept inside his estate. You were left alone in your own private quarters of the estate, windows sealed shut so the wind can't intrude and that you couldn’t escape. 

Every day, when the clocks struck at nine, two, and six, food would be brought in by the maids, all in perfect portions on plates and bowls. Though lacking in spice and herbs, the flavours were adequate and delicious enough for you to ask for seconds. 

Gifts were brought in too: Exquisite jewelled gowns made by the finest tailors in Snezhnaya, fresh and luscious bouquets grown from Mondstadt, sweet, flowery perfumes being concocted in Fontaine, vials of cream and soaps and herbs from Liyue, all anticipating for your acceptance. 

You accept them, of course. Though partially overwhelmed by such luxury being handed to you casually, you can’t say no to free stuff. 

When night falls, you’d lay in a giant bed, with white sheets like the colour of snow and a red velvet lace canopy. At first, you couldn’t sleep, petrified that The Captain would barge in the dark and rest his body on you. But thankfully he didn’t come, though your heart tinges with a bit of disappointment from the fact that he hasn’t even bothered to come and visit you before the big day. 

Apparently, from what you overhear from the butlers, The Captain is still on an expedition in Dragonspine so he won’t be able to return to his estate until a week later. Then again, you’ve also heard that he doesn’t stay in his estate much, other than to rest and rejuvenate from his missions. 

“Excuse me,” The intrusion of a soft voice broke your train of thought about him. You flinch slightly, your heart leaping at the thought of being found lost in your thoughts despite that it isn't a crime to do so. The doors to your private quarters had opened, and in the space between them, stood a smaller lady in a maid uniform. She gazes at you with a rather curious expression, and you can’t help but avert your eyes to the window. 

“Apologies,” You turn back to find the maid’s cheeks burning with embarrassment. “My Lady, I– this maid is wondering why you aren’t in bed yet. The other maids could see light leaking out of your room…” 

“Sorry, I just couldn’t sleep well.” You shake your head in response. “If… If it’s possible– Could I go out for a walk?” 

“Tonight?” You could tell she’s hesitating from the way she clenches her dress. “But it's a bit late…” 

“I will be outside for just a moment. And I’ll be back in here.” You reply bluntly, with only a little room for bargains. “I promise.” 

You assume that your request, something as simple as a walk within the estate grounds, would be rejected. But the maid turns her head left and right, and then speaks in a hushed tone. 

“If someone else found you, please don’t tell them that I allowed it.” 

Happiness swells in your heart hearing her words. 

“Thank you so much!” 

~~~~~~

“It’s really cold…” Even with the heavy, dark blue coat that was gifted to you, it still doesn’t change Snezhnaya’s temperature. Still, you were surprised at how long these coats are, as it reaches down to your ankles. 

And how heavy it is… since it’s made from thick wool. You hypothesised that this coat is lined with fox fur, a touch of luxury for sure. 

You thought that winter would be pretty like those fairytale books that you read as a kid, but perhaps looking at it at night feels… different. 

Outside of the estate’s garden, or if you’d even call it a garden– The winter trees shiver in bitter wind, naked branches adorned with snow. The clusters of twigs, gnarled and twisted, extend like the hands of a writhing old man. 

You snug your head in between the high collar that is trimmed with fur, exhaling mists out of your plump lips. 

When is he coming back? 

Is he… really a good partner for me? 

Thoughts swirl in your mind, and all you could do was to shake your head in resignation. 

Sitting on the bench, you fiddle with your gloved fingers. Your heart is already content with the idea of a loveless marriage. As long as he doesn’t cast permanent scars on your body or even ask you to conceive a child for him, that’s fine, right? 

…

What a bare minimum. 

“Mmmph–!!!” 

Just as you are about to head back, the sound of what sounded like a muffled scream made your blood run cold, and your body froze. 

“What the…”

As much as you know the best decision is to immediately run away and hide in your private quarters, you know that whatever it is… will haunt you in your sleep if you don’t satiate your curiosity. 

The crisp winter air bites at your cheeks as you carefully crouch and tiptoe through the snow-laden garden, the soft crunch beneath your boots muffled by the thick, frost-covered ground. Your eyes flicker to the ground and to the scene of the moment, trying your best to avoid the crunch of broken twigs or frozen leaves that might give you away.

As you slowly round a frozen fountain, your eyes catch a faith glint of steel ahead. 

“Is that…” 

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fortheloveofarchons]

Outside, before the sun shines (A Getian x Зима fanfic)

Special thanks to @fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuc-k for giving me motivation and for showing me your adorable Getian x Зима fanart!!

(Full chapter in the link down below)

The wilderness has been chosen in the season of spring, one where the crisp air and the cool breeze could be arguably colder than winter itself. Зима knows it all too well as someone who was born in the land where the Tsar was born. 

He’d usually come to the wilderness to gain inspiration, sometimes encountering different acquaintances along the way. Moreover, he’d usually hide himself by the foliage that Vertin, the Timekeeper, had chosen to allow certain arcanists the choice to remain hidden from the rest of them.

Though this time, he brought someone else. 

As night falls, the place is cool and serene, a complete opposite to the whirlwind brewing in his heart. 

The tall, pure-blooded Miemeng bird sits next to him, which may seem imposing given it’s tall stature, especially when Зима sits down on the grass, leaning his back against a tree. 

Beside Зима, some thin parchments, a small ink bottle, and a quill are laid out.

Meanwhile, the little Зима flies over to bury itself into human Зима’s neck, rustling its feathers as it makes itself comfortable. 

Usually, for normal humans or arcanist interactions, they’d make some small talk or discuss a bit when they are about to do a task together. 

However, in this case, the two of them immediately fall into comfortable silence as they begin their work, broken only by the scratching of Зима’s quill and Getian’s inkbrush. 

We do not walk, but are driven; 

as things float, at the moment yet leisurely, 

and then whirl and stir, all depending on whether the tide is calm or turbulent.

“.....”

“.....” 

Both of them do not reply, and when Зима’s eyes flicker to his left, he could only see Getian being too busy painting something on his parchment. 

As they continue occupying time together, the sun rises slowly, taking its sweet time. 

What time is it? 

It’s been a while since Зима dreamt. Most of his dreams are either nightmares or dreamless slumbers. 

The dark night remains dominant, making it difficult to read the time. 

Is it four, five, or six in the morning? In the words of the Timekeeper, the wilderness in the suitcase would mimic the outside world. 

“Зима, you look quite tired. When have you last slept?” 

The voice of the half-bird, half-man is more distinct and clearer than it was previously. The manner in which his question made Зима almost drop his quill, because if there’s anything as bad as admitting to his lack of sleep, then it was admitting that he had slept, though only a few hours. 

It was always hard for Зима to find comfort in laying himself to rest. Resting within the institution was hard with the deafening silence each night. Even with the comfort of the other animals back when he lived on an abandoned island, he could not bring himself to forget the cries and wails of those prisoners who were also thrown in there: Fighting, turning against each other, killing… he could not bring himself to erase those memories. 

At most, all Зима could do for them was to bury their bodies beneath the soil, putting them to rest. 

At least, resting in the wilderness made his heart steady. The sounds of birds chirping, the night air cooling his body, the sound of leaves rustling– all of it brings a soothing ambiance. 

“I… have slept.” He settles on the oldest reply in the book. 

“You are a mortal. Younger. Fleeting.” Getian replies bluntly. “You cannot continue like this.” 

Зима is about to ask how Getian has slept, but his gaze wanders down to his strong talons, remembering that he’s part bird. Birds would definitely have enough sleep. Though, that does question a lot of things. 

Does Getian sleep with one eye open like an owl? Does he have shorter sleep cycles?

Does he sleep while hanging upside down?

Does he enter into a state of torpor instead of hibernation? 

Still, he can’t avoid Getian’s question and remark. 

Instead, what Зима does is reach his inner coat, and brings out a small, worn out pouch, with simple designs of woven, blue-white snowflakes. He opens the pouch, and brings up a few red, ripe berries. 

“Here…” Зима hesitantly reaches his hand out. “Berries… for you…” 

While it isn’t obvious, Getian's heterochromia eyes glisten for just a moment. 

“Thank you. I haven’t felt the need for food for a long time.” Another tactic from the old book: Food. “But these red berries are… indeed appetising. Please pass me the little red, round berries. Yes, just put them on my wings.” 

Meanwhile, little Зима chirps out in frustration, his tiny beady eyes narrowing to a sulky look as if human Зима had stolen little Зима’s food. 

“Chirp! Chirp chirp!” 

“You… can have some…” Зима brings one to the little Зима’s beak, and it swallows the small juicy happy with a content expression. 

“Chirp~” 

“Though, this doesn’t avoid my question.” Getian swallows the berries after he chews them. “You really need lots of sleep.” 

Oops.

“Once… I’m done…” Зима concedes, turning to face his half-written parchment. “I apologise…” 

“Don’t be. You are tired, Зима.” 

“Not enough to–” 

Зима was then shifted from where he’s seated, and he could feel a large wing pulling him out of his train of thought. As he lets go of the quill, it clatters, and he feels the soft yet very powerful wing pulling him closer to Getian’s body. It was a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

Зима looks up to meet a pair of piercing heterochromia silver-black eyes when Getian gives him an unimpressed look, which looks a mix between greatly concerned from Зима’s weakened accent and stutter, and mildly annoyed from Зима’s flimsy lies. 

Finally, after what must be a minute or so–

“Rest. Sleep.” Getian says, his right wing embracing Зима, covering his face and body. “The sun will rise soon, which is a sign for humans and mortal arcanists to wake up and work. I will hide your face from the sun, so you can pretend it’s night through your eyes.” 

When was his ink bottle already screwed shut? 

Зима opens his mouth, then closes it and looks towards the little Зима already sleeping within his smooth-stitch scarf, then turns to Getian, his head subconsciously resting on his shoulder. 

“Alright… I’ll do… as you say…” 

Slowly, his tired green eyes close, already embracing this warm darkness. 

While his sleep is a dreamless slumber once more… 

At least his heart is in a steady rhythm. 

And… this bird smells like petrichor.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works