Arcaea



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  1. Public Bookmark 1

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    Morax, King of the Summer Fae, wants an heir so he can finally retire. After twenty-seven failed marriages, he entertains his nemesis the Tsaritsa's wager and takes Tartaglia as his consort.

    At a low table set aside for refreshments and entertainment, he folds his legs under him and plants his palms in his lap, the picture of practised elegance were it not for the sly grin that splits his face and gives him the airs of a self-satisfied fox.

    "I've heard my husband is a fierce tactician," Tartaglia says, curling his words into the shape of poisonous flowers. He tilts his head, and the fringe of his fire hair only half hides his mirth. "My enemies call me one, too. Care to join me for a game?"

    His long, soot-tipped fingers skip over boundaries of twinkling nacre. He drums his tidied, manicured nails upon the lacquered sandbearer board before him, and Morax, for reasons unknown—reasons he will not ponder—goes to him as a moth does to flame.

    Or, eight thousand words of one man seducing his husband.

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    18 Jan 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 15

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    While Mydei had been smiling at the camera, Phainon’s eyes were glued to Mydei’s face, an adoring smile on his lips. It amazes him sometimes, how obvious Phainon’s affection for him was.

    “And miss out on one of Amphoreus’ top ten most beautiful faces?” Phainon teases, pressing a kiss on Mydei’s cheek. It’s Mydei’s turn to be flustered it seems, a reversal of the flirting Mydei had initiated earlier. “No thank you.”

    “HKS,” Mydei huffs, then bends down. Phainon watches curiously, but he catches on quick when he sees Mydei scoop up enough snow to roll into a ball. “You have five seconds.”

    “Wait!” Phainon laughs, already running for shelter. He runs in front of a wall and his eyes widen when Mydei throws the snowball so hard that it explodes on the wall next to Phainon’s head, leaving smoke behind. “Holy Kephale—that could’ve killed me!”

    “No, it couldn’t,” Mydei denies calmly, readying his next snowball. Phainon eeps, rushing to hide behind a tree trunk this time. “Brace yourself, husband. We shall have a duel to the death.”

    ——

    or: mydei and phainon enjoy their first winter as a married couple.

    written for phaidei secret santa 2025!

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    17 Jan 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 47

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    If you were to ask the merfolk of Kremnos who is the strongest mer in the reef, you’d get one unified answer.

    “Definitely His Highness.”

    And yet, when a brave soul—a merling of only twelve migrations—asks the strongest mer the same question, the ocean itself seems to pause out of bewilderment.

    “It’s Phainon,” Mydei answers without a lick of hesitation.

    Phainon, a forager of no particular lineage. Not one heart still swimming has ever seen that mer hold a weapon sharper than blunted shell sickles to harvest kelp with.

    Or, Phainon is gentle until he isn't.

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    17 Jan 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 86

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    “Um, Mister Flins isn’t moving. Or… responding. At all.” A tentative pause. “Is that normal?”

    Shit.

    Aether whirled around, and, at the sight of Flins crumpled on the ground, unmoving, his stomach dropped like a stone.

    ~

    Or: The battle with Rerir goes much worse.

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    10 Jan 2026

  5. Public Bookmark 26

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    Only minutes ago, one of his guards had burst into his office, nearly hysterical with fear, wildly explaining to him that they’d spotted a monster in the depths outside the Fortress.

    It was no monster. That, Wriothesley knew.

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    09 Jan 2026