You could see it all from here. From the green fields in the distance, to the lanterns that decorated the village what seemed metres from your eyes. The low rumble of joyous chanting and music accompanied the bright, colourful explosions that burst into the night sky.
The whole kingdom was celebrating. Every corner was covered with beautiful red and gold lanterns, beautiful flowers and ribbons in respect and happiness that the prince was finally marrying.
“The festivities are beautiful, are they not?”
Lips drag along your neck, a hand smoothing over your bare breast gently simply to touch you. The throbbing in your neck has dimmed to a light hum of numbness, and even as your love thumbs over the bite marks softly, you can’t find it in you to smile.
“Please, tell me what plagues your mind, my queen.” There’s desperation in his voice, and you vaguely register your mind taking a break from the plethora of violent images that wracked it. It’s a breath of fresh air, and it’s evident from how your breathing comes much easier. He can hear it.
He cannot call you that yet — his queen. Because you aren’t, not yet, and if you will be or not relies solely on if he comes back to you. A fear that haunts your heart like no other — that tomorrow, you’ll bid him goodbye, and that will be your last encounter. Werewolves are dangerous, after all, and that’s exactly what he’s going to fight against.
“You leave tomorrow,” you whisper. You don’t look over your side at him, perhaps too scared to face him and instead choosing to focus on the luxurious decorative fabric that draped down, surrounding the bed like a colourful halo. “I… Nothing, I suppose. I am simply worried about your wellbeing. There is no matter.”
“I was not aware that you feared the werewolves so much,” he murmurs after a few minutes. You can only sigh, inhaling deeply as you turn on your side to face him. Even now, in the low light, completely bare, he looks utterly regal. Truly, a king.
“They are powerful, my love,” you remind him perturbedly, clasping your hands with his tightly, tightly, tightly, like this is your last time. And gods know that it might be. “Their bite is fatal to your kind. There is not yet a suitable antidote to heal a werewolf bite—”
“And I have armour,” he assures strongly, composition not faltering when he releases one of his hands from yours, soothing his thumb over your cheek. How, you wondered, could he be so composed? You were sure the anxiety broiling in your stomach was reciprocated — you knew he sometimes feared for his own life — and yet, laying in front of you now, he seems much more level-headed than you could ever be at a time like this. Prince — King — Zitao, indeed.
“If armour protected those who wore it as well as you expect there would be no fatalities in this war,” you mutter to yourself, hating how the word roll over you tongue. You’ve grown to hate the word war, along with many others that never fail to leave Zitao’s mouth when others are around: territory, combat, strategy.
“Our armies are superior to any warriors they can muster,” Zitao continues, “And while they may be brutes, they are not stupid; when they see the battle has been lost, they will surrender.”
And that may be the case. But who’s to say that it would be a lost battle for them? They were too unpredictable, and too difficult to guess their next move. This whole war was, actually. Vampires and werewolves, black and white, night and day. It was near impossible to guess the outcome.
“There should not be a worry in your heart, my love,” he finishes softly. Your silence continues to speak lengths to him, your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes clouded with thought. “I’ll return to you. And when I do…”
“We will hold a marriage fit for the queen you are,” he grins, watching your face light up at the mention. He presses his lips to your forehead, speaking between pecks, “And it will be the envy of all the Five Realms.”
“As long as I become your queen, I have no worries,” you finally speak, surrendering your prying thoughts to him and closing your eyes when Zitao wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. The far off sound of bright explosions and folk songs make your heart flutter, and you doze off to the sound of happiness. This was truly home.
The only thing louder than his footsteps was the sound of the heavy wooden doors being thrown open so hard that they hit the walls beside them, small splinters falling to the floor. There was barely an ounce of regal nature in the way Ghetsis stormed throughout the hallways, just primal rage and the stiff silence of a man scorned and in violent thought. His habit of clenching and releasing his fist had worsened, nails digging so hard into his palms that there were faint traces of blood.
For someone about to boil over with ferocity, his expression was rather stoic, similar to the tranquility as one enters into the eye of a brewing hurricane and looks over at the godforsaken yellow horizon and believes for a second that they have made it. His cloak was shed, falling into a heap on the ground and he stepped out of it. Again and again his hand went to where his belt had been. Each time he came up empty his eyes darkened more and more until any onlooker would say hewas the devil.
Ghetsis caught sight of his vague reflection in passing and snarled, approaching the obscured mirror with stomping steps. This was no king who commanded an arsenal of gods, this was a man rejected by the divine and fooled by a simple ploy. And in that moment, he hated the man staring back at him. He had rarely ever been apologetic in his striking, but the moment glass shattered and rained down upon the floor with occasional shines of reflective moonlight, he coiled back. His gloves did nothing to shield the fist that had broken the glass, and it ran red with all the tiny cuts that littered his pale skin.
He took the stinging sensation in stride, turning away from the destruction of his fury and walking towards the fireplace. A grunt ran in to investigate the noise, but was chased away when Ghetsis turned and shouted at them, threatening to mount their body on a pike and present it to their loved ones just as it began to decompose.
His bleeding hand was brought up to his neck, and he laid bloodied fingers across his throat, pressing a red stamped handprint light against the skin. The expression on his face was distant and the motion of pressing into his neck seemed to be the only thing keeping him rooted to reality. Eventually, he dropped his arms, watching blankly as enough blood gathered on his pointer finger to form one pristine droplet of crimson and fall upon the floor, caught between the harsh light of the reaching flames and the softness of the moon.
Black*Star dropped his shorts, mooned the lot of them and canonballed into Kid’s pool. Someone whimpered – it could’ve been Tsubaki or Kid, honestly, Maka wasn’t sure. All she knew was that Patti leapt in right behind him, sans clothing and fists high in the air.
Maka slowly shot a glance to her partner. He was not oogling Patti, thank goodness, and instead had taken to jamming his hands into his pockets and looking any and everywhere but the pool, where Black*Star had taken to commanding that they “GET IN THE POOL RIGHT NOW MORTALS” or else he’d “INTRODUCE THEM TO THE WRATH OF A GOD.”
She squirmed where she stood and shuffled closer to the safety of her partner. There was power in numbers, and while Soul might not’ve been the best fighter, he at least looked intimidating. Their friends didn’t need to know that her partner was a closeted lap dog and all around puppy, and that he spent his time lounging on the couch in his pajamas with his head in her lap. For the time being, she’d let them think he was more shark than man, all sharp teeth and frightening red eyes.
Kim dove into the pool and Maka shot Soul another look. If he caught a peek of Kim’s (admittedly) nice ass, he didn’t show it. Jackie squawked and Kim beckoned her in, raising herself out of the water enough for Maka to realize just how busty her fellow lady meister was.
Soul looked particularly mournful, and perhaps there was something to be said about the downsides of being a faithful weapon. He sympathetically watched Jackie swim toward her meister, her bare back slender and regal amidst the moonlight.
The glass door to the balcony of the library was cracked open just a slight, barely concealing the regal woman gazing at the scenery the palace overlooked.
Amethyst eyes peered into the flashing lights beneath her, the hustle and bustle of the city a mere muffling to her as she watched and like figures exploring the terrain in pursuit of pleasure and adventure. Vigna had found a strange fascination in watching the patrons of the city; she had always wondered what sort of shenanigans transpired during the evening hours…
A sudden figure got her attention, but as she was gently pulled back, the gargoyle’s panic died down. She allowed herself to be pulled into a hug whilst she relaxed with a soft smile. “Good evening to you~” she whispered huskily.
This was originally written by me, and I asked illusionaryennui to look it over for me, and she ended up adding much to it and made it so much better.. Thank you so much!!! Hope you guys enjoy (Word Count: 2864) AO3 link
Inspired by thesetwo artworks and a conversation I had with the artist (they have since done Viv too)
Dorian and Vivienne have worked hard to rise in the ranks of Tevinter society after the defeat of Corypheus. and after several long years, Dorian gets ready for his coronation to become Archon where he will bring change to the Imperium, and consequently, the world.
“I’m just saying, why should I wear these infernal ceremonial undergarments if no one is going to see under the robe? It’s just silly” Dorian complained softly, turning from side to side as he admired himself in the floor-length mirror.