#xilonen fluff

“Maybe we should take a break…” she has some ulterior motives in that, tail flicking lazily behind her as the slowly deepening indigo sky makes her want to nap, but she also worries that it’s inevitable for you to fall onto the rocks beneath the two of you and have bruises on more than just your ego. “It takes a bit to learn.”

You shake your head stubbornly, and she exhales softly, a mix of fondness and exasperation. “I can do it!”

“I know,” Xilonen soothes, gently correcting the bend to your knees before tugging you in another slow lap forward. “You’re doing better than I thought.”

You smile, pleased, before her words sink in and your brow furrows as you process it, your offense blooming cutely in a scrunched brow and pouted lips — “did you have such low expectations for me?”

“You trip over air.” Xilonen deadpans, blinking at you. At the very least, she thinks, you look beautiful. You have all the grace of a newborn long-necked rhino, all wobbly limbs you have no control over. But the light catching your hair, and the glow to your skin is beautiful, as are the amber flecks of dying sunlight in your eyes. She thinks she should sculpt something that captures you in a moment like this, sharing a gracelessness and raw vulnerability only she ever gets to see, laughing at yourself as you catch the wheels on a crack again.

“That’s true,” you sigh before gasping, delighted, as she spins you around and tugs you into her, dipping you like you were suddenly dancing a waltz. She smiles brightly when your eyes widen and your arms instinctively loop around her neck and bring her down for a quick kiss before your thoughts catch up with you and you straighten in her hold. “What was that for?”

“Felt like it,” Xilonen shrugs, slipping her hands down to your hips. “You think you could learn to dance on these?”

You snort. “I can’t dance with my feet on the ground normally.”

She laughs, bright and happy. “Guess I’ll just have to lead you. What a chore…”

“Mhm,” you brush her hair back. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Well,” Xilonen drawls. “How about we go to dinner and call it a night? If we’re stuck together, we might as well live comfortably.”

“Might as well. Lead the way.”

“Thinking about something?” Xilonen said, stepping closer. Normally she would open with a grumbling remark about the morning hours or being - as always - the only one she could rely on for the task at hand, but there was no cause for banter. The last thing she wanted would be to get her friend down even more. 

“Every time I am here, gazing out, astonishment and grief fill me.”

Mavuika's voice was unlike her usual, warm tone - she spoke slowly and precisely, clearly having killed over the words in her mind well before that point. She leans away from her ride, taking off the glasses that adorn her face. The black shape of the item turns to gold dust and fades, concealed somewhere immaterial within. She struts over the the cliff edge and lowers herself, taking a seat on a rocky outcrop above the chasm separating her and the architectural moloch. 

“When I ascended to divinity, I thought I would build something more grandiose than the Stadium of the Sacred Flame. Restore it to its former glory, at the very least.”

Mavuika pauses, hesitant. Disappointment is tangible in her voice, blended with a certain longing. A most unusual mix of feelings for Mavuika.

“But wherefrom would I get so much Mora… So many workers…”

Xilonen shook her head. As much as she would like to encourage her, the DJ never believed in white lies. “We cannot afford that. The nation needs those resources to rebuild after the invasion”, she says, ever the voice of reason. 

The Archon nodded silently, submerged in thought. Her friend joined her on the cliff edge, looking out at the monumental construct of rock, wood and fabric - the very epicenter of Natlan. Constructed on the order of Xabalanque, the first Pyro Archon, it was built with the hands of tens of thousands of Natlanese workers and enslaved dragons. Xilonen remembers the description she read and the drawings she saw on historical scrolls, ones every woman, man and child in Natlan had to study; the reason was understandable. At the time of its construction, the stadium rose high into the sky - so high that, in truth, the floating platform served as a loose cover for the arena below, accessible by simply walking through a bridge on the top level. All those floors, lost to history as of contemporary times, were filled with humans, dragons and others alike well into the night, handling their business, offering wares or simply admiring the legendary structure. Elevators powered by dragon cores carried commoners and nobility alike from floor to floor so efficiently that no staircases were ever built. Amidst the painted corridors filled with gilded reliefs depicting battles waged against the Abyss and the dragons were stalls, filled with wares from all across Teyvat; from sunsettia to lavender melons, from iron to star silver, from plain fabric to elaborate purple dresses - one could buy everything, and freshly minted coins from Liyue were a common sight: so great a hub it was that merchants travelled from the furthest reaches, just to behold the glory of Natlan. It was a city encased in rock, complete with plazas, gardens and countless shrines where warriors prayed to their patron day and night. Its glory spread outwards and, where now are empty fields, suburbs stood, bustling with life and pride in the awesome shadow of the Stadium, where hymns were sung to the Archon as he sat upon his throne, looking out at his dominion. The monument’s glory shook Och-Kan to his core, envious that it did not come to be by his will. His later attempts to tear it down, that symbol of what the people of Natlan can accomplish together against his tyrannical will, would be thwarted by Xabalanque’s successor. 

But times have changed. The Primordial Sun was sealed within the Primal Fire and, with him, grand acts of power slowly fell out of favour. With war about and no successors capable of emulating the strength the first Pyro Archon possessed, Natlan fell ever further into ruin, and so did his Stadium. The times it collapsed under attack or through natural phenomena were uncountable. The grand bridges leading to it collapsed and were later repurposed to repair the structure itself, rope bridges replacing them to this day. The suburbs disappeared, taking with them the life and colour around as people migrated outwards. By now only two floors of the stadium remain intact with the platform above maintained to float where it once covered the fighting grounds, a spot for the generals and the Archon to oversee potential conflicts. The gold from the reliefs and shrines was picked apart or stolen, be it by enemy forces, desperate citizens or servants of the Archon themselves to aid the nation in times of financial desperation. The elaborate depictions of deeds past are long leveled with graffiti, a poor effort at recreating their artistry. 

Even she, Xilonen, a woman who went to the capital only when absolutely necessary, could admit - it was a supremely pitiful sight. Regardless, her mind was unchanged by the melancholy. She never believed monuments to be anything but the whims of despots. 

“He was building it for three long decades, Mavuika.” She starts. “And for what? What purpose does it now have? A meeting point? Imagine how many people such an expenditure would feed? How many roofs would it put over the heads of those in need? How much medicine could it buy, wipe out how many diseases? What use does this grand stone have to us, the living people of Natlan?”

“It has none.” Mavuika replies quietly. She was silent, but her voice wasn't soft. She betrayed no change of heart despite the admission.

“Yes. Have you thought about how much it cost? Not resources, not gold but blood, sweat, tears? How many lives did it take? How many bones are put to rest in its buried catacombs?” 

Mavuika stays silent for a moment before a statement reaches Xilonen's ears. “I did.”

“So would you, Mavuika, like to assert your will similarly? Refuse food, clothes, medicine to your people? Leave them in need of a collection of arranged rocks?” The jaguar gestures widely towards the object of their discussion, putting her other hand over Mavuika’s shoulder. 

The other woman's voice comes back sternly. “You don't understand, Xilonen. It's not about whether it was needed or not.”

She stands up, throwing off Xilonen's hand. It's not a rude gesture, but rather a… Distant one. One reaffirming the gap between them, unchanging despite their friendship. Mavuika’s heart beats faster now, Xilonen can hear. The smith looks up at her Archon from the ground, illuminated by the faint glow of her hair. “It was a statement. Proof that the will of the Archon, once expressed, shall be done.”

No response comes from her friend. It was the right of the Gods to manage their dominion. No matter how much she would protest, Mavuika wasn't prohibited from doing that. Had she wanted, she could force the people to do her will and they would be powerless to resist. For now, it was better to listen. That's what Mavuika seemingly needed - to be heard. 

“Yes, Xilonen.” Kiongozi looks down at her, a passionate smile on her face. “The Stadium is not the throne of Xabalanque. It is the will of Xabalanque!”

She puts her left hand on her hip, nodding her head. A sigh escapes her lips, rhetoric praise turning to sobriety. 

“He was the greatest. None could compare. Not me, never.” An attempt to refute the statement is halted with the raise of her hand. Xilonen bit her lip, but complied. The speaker was not Mavuika, but the Archon. Her God. She knew better than to disrespect her authority. “I have not achieved anything comparable in the most favourable view, neither in my time, nor now. I have left no unique mark on history. I have not brought anything into the hall of my predecessors.”

Her gaze drifts skyward. “If not for you, the heroes and the Outlander I might have even failed to perform my most fundamental duty. I am like the Archons before me. Ordinary. Mediocre. Indistinguishable.”

“I was even denied a glorious death by that Fatui.” There is no malice in her voice, however. Disagreeing with the consequences as she may be, Mavuika respected the harrowing burden Capitano put on his shoulders. He deserved to complete his journey. Even if it took glory right from under her.

That is too far for Xilonen and she breaks her silence. “Don't say that, Mavuika. It would have been idiotic to die for nothing. Better him than you. We need you…”

She scoffs. “You don't get it, Xilonen. I'm an Archon, and I have the duties of an Archon: to lead my people to glory, prosperity and power!”

“You need a better Archon. One that deserves the title of The Unconquered Sun. I want you to be able to sing hymns in my honour not of obligation, not tradition, but the depths of your respect and gratitude. In whom you see the burning excellence of the Sun.”

Xilonen stands up, approaching her friend. “Mavuika, listen. You're giving yourself far too little credit for what occurred these past dozen months. Of course, others helped - no matter how much you try, you can't exactly be everywhere at once.”

Mavuika looks down, considering. Xilonen continues. 

“You led us to victory over the Abyss. You saved Kachina.” The Archon's mouth opens to protest, but Xilonen stops her. “Ah ah ah. Remember that people don't take this for granted. It's no less your accomplishment because it is expected of you, not in Natlan. You faced the Capitan when he came for your gnosis and showed him his place, only to make an ally out of him later. You faced the Abyss itself, guiding the Traveler alongside you while we held our ground. We…”

Xilonen puts her arms on Mavuika's shoulders, sighing as if she's explaining something obvious to a youth. “We were your spear and shield. Not your crutches, Mavuika. Without your leadership we would have been helpless. The soldier needs his general, for he cannot see the forest - only the trees. Or so it went if I remember correctly… Or was it spears but not a phalanx…?”

A small smile creeps up on Mavuika's lips, much to Xilonen's satisfaction. 

“Ugh, never mind, you get me. Besides, Mavuika… You're young. This is just the start of your reign. Now that the Abyss is gone, can you imagine what we, Natlanese, can put ourselves to? You'll write your autobiography only after your a wrinkly old hag.”

The women look each other in the eyes, smiling lightly. The eyes of her Archon, carrying the patterns of the Unconquered Sun, seem happier than before. Hopeful. 

“Thank you, Xilonen…” Mavuika crashes herself against the jaguar, enveloping her with her arms, locking both into a tight hug. “For being with me. For listening to me.”

Xilonen returns the hug. Mavuika smells of sweet, burnt leather and hair, but she can tolerate the upsetting odor for her friend. After a moment of comfort, they part. The smith bumps Mavuika's arm with her fist playfully. 

“And we'll get you a nice monument, maybe like that statue in Mondstadt. You'll get your pile of assorted rocks.”

Mavuika smirks, rubbing her arm, looking unusually vulnerable. Everybody has their weaker moments, Xilonen thinks, even Gods. 

“Alright, rough rider, let's go check out those geysers. See if we can close them up, yeah?”

The glasses flick back into the Archon's hand, quickly (and stylishly) returning to her face. She gives Xilonen her famous, confident smile. 

“Right. Hop on, kitty cat.”

Xilonen rolls her eyes. She's back to her usual self, it seems. 

—

“It is noon. The ceremony can begin.”

Prompted by her attendant’s words, Mavuika looks up at the sky. There, hovering perfectly above the Stadium, the sun is in full form, delivering blazing heat on the land of Pyro. While the recent war was still on the mind of the people and work was still plenty, the Pilgrimage of the Sacred Flame was an undying tradition that could not be looked past. Even if it was purely sports-oriented these days. As every time before, so too on this occasion the Pyro Archon was to make an entrance and, by delivering a speech, open the competition. 

Mavuika pats herself down, making sure every bit of her outfit is still in place. To affirm the idea that the period of calamity is over, she decided to have a ceremony outfit tailor-made for such outings. Specifically, she decided to reach for the designs of Natlan’s golden age and chose regalia akin to those of Xabalanque, adjusted for the fairer sex. The base outfit was rudimentary - just an ancient kilt, made of two pieces of red satin, secured in place with leather belts, and a similar top piece that simply wrapped around her shoulders to cover her chest. Most citizens could have those, but certainly without the mainstay: the mass of golden bracelets, baubles and feathery accessories - including a small yet tasteful crown of plumes. 

She couldn't say she would wear this extravagant and anachronistic fit every day, but there was certainly a feeling of power coursing through her veins as she stood before her adjutants. The people would be thrilled, for sure. 

Mavuika summons her bike, hops on and throws a thumbs-up gesture towards the staff and cranks up the engine. The device takes off with a roar, phlogiston burning furiously out of the exhausts as she is lifted into the air. One turn of the left handlebar sends her forward, dashing through the air above the bridge that could not hold her mount. She can already see the crowds gathered before the stadium entrance, eyes fixed in her. Yet before she even reaches the outcrop supporting the arena she lowers her course, slowly coming to the ground. She swirls the bike sideways, using both the break and her foot - placed firmly on the stone - to stop her ride. 

Normally she would go in, engine blazing, right into the arena, do some tricks, and speak the words. But Mavuika decided that, to honour those who gave their lives for this moment to be, she would walk in on foot. 

As she makes her first steps towards the entrance, down an empty lane parting the crowds, she notices something is off. People are murmuring as usual, but there is no music. She looks around, slightly unsure of why that is the case. Maybe there was an issue? 

Before that can evolve into worry, a rumble begins to grow amidst the people, soon turning into words…

Praise You, who rises on the horizon And runs across the sky  Praise You, who casts the rays  On our visages 

She blinks a few times, slowing her walk. Was it… A hymn? Mavuika casts her eyes over her people; wherever she looks, everybody is singing. Smiling. Why?, she asks herself, unsure how to react as she ascends the stairs and walks towards the main gate. 

Praise You, who marches  Without pause 

As soon as warriors open the gates, a chorusal shout echoes across the entire valley. 

Oh Sun! 

She continues walking, bypassing hundreds of singers. The low baritones of men, the high sopranos of women, the gravely voices of the old and the untainted tones of the young - all blend in unprecedented praise. Mavuika feels unsure; unsure if she should cry with embarrassment or with joy. Was this genuine? 

Amongst the crowd stands a familiar face; two, actually, though Citlali’s head is hardly visible above the headline of the spectators. Besides her is Ororon, ever her favourite pupil. She looks proud, singing with all her lungs can manage, head raised high as she traces Mavuika. When the Archon steps closer, Citlali bumps Ororon on the side, and the man… Kneels down on one knee, lowering his head before Mavuika, yet still singing. Others quickly pick up on it and join the bow as she passes. 

Mavuika isn't sure if it's her power or the heat getting to her, but her cheeks suddenly feel warm. Her skin crawls with goosebumps. The chanting continues. 

Praise You, who multiplies hours Days and nights  Praise You, who illuminates the land  And your very self!  Praise You, unborn of anyone Giving birth to yourself  Upon the horizon! 

The song follows her to the sandy grounds of the arena. There, as inside, everyone bows, the hymn clearly approaching climax as she stands in the middle. 

Praise You, ever-radiant daughter of heavens!  Praise You, Kiongozi-Haborym Kiongozi-Haborym Kiongozi-Haborym!

With the final cry of her name, the chant slowly dies down. The stands fall silent, anticipation boiling amidst the crowd. Mavuika looks around. Should she smile? No, that would make her seem egomaniacal. Should she stay neutral? That would make her look ungrateful… What to do, what to do? Thinking quickly, she draws a small smile and puts her hands outwards from her sides, slowly raising them. When they reach her limit, the crowd erupts into cheers. 

Emboldened, Mavuika begins her speech. 

—

The Pilgrimage proceeded as expected - undisrupted. A new wave of energy seemed to flow within the contestants that, now free of the fear associated with war, could enjoy their time. Mavuika sat on her throne, surrounded by the tribe leaders and her closest friends - Xilonen among them, who fervently denied having anything to do with the spontaneous appearance of anachronistic musical numbers. The 

Eventually, the sun began to set, signalising the fast approaching end of the competition. Just as she was finishing up her closing speech and turned to leave, Mavuika felt her friend's hand on her shoulder. 

“Hold on for a second longer,” she said, “I think they want to send you off properly.”

Kiongozi turned to the crowd again. All stood at attention. Promptly, the booming chant picks up. 

Our Lady, Our Lady Who departs westward  Westward The valley cries for you  Westward 

One of her retainers gestures towards the corridor leading back to the arena. Trusting in her, Mavuika follows. 

Our Lady, Our Lady,  Go in peace, westward, our Lady Go in peace  Westward

She re-enters the arena, and proceeds right, being guided the long way to her chambers. 

We shall see you again, When the day of Eternity arrives For you go to the land  That joins all peoples  Westward To the dwelling of Yohualtecuhtin Westward

The whole way is swarmed with people on both sides of the corridor, carved through them for her. They all kneel, just as during the welcoming ceremony. The headline of the crowd does as low-tide when she passes by, keeping as exalted of an expression as she can. 

You go Westward  The ox that pull  The funeral cart  Westward Departs our Lady Following them

The door to her chambers is now in view, but the people still sing - even as servants open the door for her.

Westward  Westward Westward To the just lands 

For a moment after the gates close, Mavuika can hear the words “westward” and “our lady” repeated in rhythm. Holding her emotions in, she carefully listens until the chant ends. 

Finally, she covers her blushy face, giggling to herself in a mix of embarrassment and joy. 

Despite having countless mentions and descriptions of cults, it plays a very minor role in the world. You rarely see priests, rituals, any religious folk and more importantly a god that is fervently worshipped as a god. Raiden doesn't count because the Shogun is just a shogun with light religious undertones, we don't see Nahida being worshipped, Furina was a celebrity, we don't see that much worship of Morax and adepti and so on and so on. It's probably because the reds dislike religion and focusing on it, even fictional, would attract attention from the fun-killers at Winnie the Pooh HQ. I'm also disappointed that Natlan, a nation based on fire and sun, whose Archon has the constellation name “Sun Unconquered”, has no focus on the worship of sun, or the Archon as the sun. Which is a shame because the worship of sun was the most common in history. Almost every religion has some elements of sun worship, even if concealed by stuff like halos. And Egyptians, Aztecs, Romans, Greeks and countless others have worshipped the sun in different forms - quite fervently at that. And what do we get? Nothing. Mavuika's also got no substance as a character so there's that. Anyway, in this fic, I decided to make some history for Natlan (non-canon of course) and have some fun with it. In short, when Natlan was established, humans worshipped the Pyro Archon as the Sol Invictus, but this practice died off with time (it's in the story but, eh, rationale. So there's the concept. And if anybody wants to hear the original songs I translated and edited/paraphrased, do let me know and I'll give you a link. Though they are sang in Polish.

The hot afternoon sun dips just enough, at last, to allow a cool breeze to pass over you. It's soothing at first, before you step out of the light and into the shade of the Children of Echoes cliffside. With a basket in your hands, and a pleasant demeanor about you, you approach Xilonen's workshop. The forge sits quiet, but not neglected. Heat still radiates from the furnace and tools lay only somewhat haphazardly around. Rather than entering the workspace, you instead approach the more secluded office area, closed off by a shut door. You rest your hand on the door, just short of pushing it open, lest you interrupt her deep focus - or worse, her nap. With resistance due to stacks of scrolls and books, you quietly push it open just enough to slip through. Her golden hair falls across her shoulders, blocking her face from your view, as she leans over her desk.

"Xilonen?" You ask, softly. There is a pause, and you wonder if she may be asleep, before you hear a slight hum of acknowledgement. You step fully into the room now, avoiding papers strewn about. Her desk is covered in blueprints, commission notices are tacked to the wall. Books marked with tabs and folded corners lean in a stack below her chair. You have half a mind to scold her, but you know it’s just how she works.

"Since the work day is over I thought I'd come pick you up," you say with a smile. "I thought maybe we could go for a walk before dinner."

"Can't, I've got to finish reading this. Then a number of commissions to start. Sorry hon'" She replies. It's short, but not hostile. If anything she sounds exhausted. You grimace a little at her words but come to lean on the desk beside her. You spot the tension in her posture, hear the ache in her voice. Glancing at the disorder she calls work, you sigh.

"I'm so proud of you, y'know?" You start, making her look up at last. Discreetly you shift the basket behind you, out of her view. "Not just me, but everyone else too. You do such hard work and everyone knows it. No one is pressuring you to have it all done know." You reach one hand towards her, and she takes it, immediately giving it a squeeze.

"I know, I know… you're right. But still..." She trails off, looking back down at her work. She rubs her thumb across your wrist before retracting her hand. "I just wanted to get a bit more than this done. Could you give me another hour?" Her request is all too familiar to you, and normally you'd oblige. But you're determined to let her know that taking some rest isn't the end of the world.

"No can do, Xi." You reply, a cheeky smile pulling your cheeks. You don't want to give it away, but the thought of the evening you planned makes you giddy.

"I beg your pardon?" She scoffs with amusement, turning to you again and setting down her pen, clearly interested in where you might have found the audacity to refuse her this time.

"I actually have plans for the next hour. And so do you."

"Is that so? You know I normally keep a tight schedule, I would know if I missed something." You try to keep a somewhat scolding look on your face, but your facade slips.

"Well, something just came up. And it requires you to stop working and follow me." She smiles, but hesitates, glancing back at her blueprints and texts once more. Shoving them to the back of her desk, she stands, and takes your hand once more.

"Alright, where are we going?" You give her another cheeky smile and pull her out of her office. As she locks up, you eagerly go on ahead, away from the tribe and towards the cliffs near the statue of seven.

"Hey, wait up!" She calls, quickly catching up to you. "What's got you all giddy, huh?" Her amusement is evident by the small laugh she graces you with, and the way she links her hand with yours yet again as she reaches your side. "Hey, what's that?" She asks, finally noticing the basket. You keep walking.

The sun is beginning to disappear beneath the horizon now, turning the sky orange and the clouds pink. The warm breeze ruffles the gold-tinged grass beneath your feet as you approach the cliff that looks over the rest of Natlan. With a content sigh, you stop.

"Here!" You exclaim. Xilonen opens her mouth to question you, but you immediately open the basket and take out a blanket. Laying it on the grass, you motion for her to sit. "M'lady." She laughs at the title.

"What is all this?" And despite the smile on her face, she feels almost like tears might form from the gesture. You keep pulling things out of your basket, fruits, foods, a small vase of flowers. Once it's all set out you look up at her, as she's still reeling. You smile.

"You're so beautiful," you blurt suddenly, noting the way the sun makes her hair and skin glow in the most radiant way.

"You- stop- all this?" Words fail her, so she pulls you in for a kiss instead. When she pulls back she leans on your shoulder. "I love you so much. I hope you know that. You are just so.. incredible." She confesses, looking out to the horizon. She's sure if she looked at your sunlit face right now she would actually burst into tears.

"You really do work too hard Xi, and I care about you so much. I thought I could do something a little special to remind you of that." You run your hands through her hair a bit, leaning your head on top of hers, before pulling back. “Try not to work yourself so hard yeah? I see you come home with aching shoulders and heavy feet, it’s not good for you!”

“Hey, you make it sound like I work myself to the bone!” She looks at you, only to be met with a raised brow. “Alright, alright. I don’t mean to worry you. And if it means spending time with you like this, or spending any time with you at all, I suppose taking breaks isn’t so bad now and then.” Her tail comes up to lightly brush your arm. You give her another peck, right on the cheek.

"Now, time to eat! You did have lunch today, right?"

“Your hair is so pretty.” You mumbled, running your fingers through Xilonen’s silky locks as the two of you were cuddled together in her bed.

She laughed, her thumb softly rubbing against your cheek. “Thanks, my star. Your hair is rather pretty too.”

“Yeah, but yours is even more pretty.”

“Do you actually mean that or are you just fishing for compliments?”

A pout tugged at your lips. “If I was fishing for compliments, I wouldn’t make a comment on your hair. I’d actually bring up something I’m insecure about.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Besides,” you continued, “your hair is so very pretty. And it makes you look insanely attractive when you’re napping or crafting in your forge. You always draw my attention in some way, shape, or form.”

She smirked at your words. “That’s good to hear. I try to be the center of attention at all times of the day.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, yeah, sure. Way to be humble, my love.”

“You know it.” She chuckles, rubbing her nose against yours. “But when I’m with you, you’re the center of attention for me.”

Pushing her away, you make a face. “Jeez, now you’re just being sappy and gross. All I said was that your hair is very pretty. I also want to take a moment to say I never want you to change it.”

Xilonen hummed in response and propped her head up with her hand. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it’s so.”

“See and here I was thinking I was going to cut it short, like pixie cut short.”

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. “You better be joking.”

She laughed at your response. “And if I’m not?”

You punched her in the shoulder and shouted, “I MEAN IT XILONEN! YOU BETTER BE FUCKING JOKING!”

“Jeez, star!” She whined as she attempted to block your assault. “You need to relax!”

Not stopping, you continue, “I SWEAR ON MY LIFE, IF YOU GO ANYWHERE NEAR SCISSORS, I WILL HURT YOU WORSE THAN YOUR IMAGINATION CAN COME UP WITH! I WILL ACTUALLY KILL YOU!”

“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY!” She shouted over your threats, as she finally grabbed your hands to stop you. “I hear you. I won’t cut my hair. Although you’re making it sound like you only like me for my hair.”

Your face fell at her words and you broke your hands free from her grasp to hold her face. “No, no, no! That’s not it at all! Does your hair make you look insanely hot? Oh, absolutely. But that’s not the only thing I like about you! You’re funny and kind and passionate and considerate. I love everything about you, Xilonen! I just happen to think your hair is your best physical feature.”

With a small chuckle, she grabbed you around the waist and pulled you close to her, resting her head on your shoulder. “So you think I’m passionate, hmm?”

Again, you rolled your eyes. “I mean when you're working in your forge. Yes, you’re a great girlfriend, my love, but I don’t need to stroke your ego anymore than it needs to.”

“Still, you love me.” She removed her head from your shoulder and kissed you on the nose. “And I love you too.”

Pressing your lips to hers, you say, “You are one lucky woman for me to love you as much as I do. Although I do have one request…”

She hummed against your lips, “What might that be?”

“If you cut your hair, you’ll have to find someone else to kiss until it grows back.”

“Seriously?”

“So serious that I’m hiding all the scissors when we’re done.”