#teardrop pendant light

[prettylittlebigliars]

Beach Style Powder Room in San Francisco Beach style green tile and subway tile gray floor powder room photo with flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, gray walls, a vessel sink, wood countertops and brown countertops

#concrete sink #light pendants #subway tile #bathroom #wall mounted faucet #floating cabinets #teardrop glass pendant lights

[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 25)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Eris drops the news to his court that he intends to wed you both, and he also has a surprise in store for you

warnings: heavy feyre slander, brief violence, sexual implications towards the end, eris being sexy af

word count: 6.7k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: ok i think this is one of my favourite chapter's i've written haha. enjoy!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 / part 23 / part 24

read on ao3

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You stood nervously beside Eris’s throne, sweating nervously beneath the heavy fabric of your regal dress. The servants had spent two hours getting you ready, leaving no hair out of place as they dressed you in the most elaborate gown you had ever worn. It was a deep red fabric with off-the-shoulder sleeves that accentuated your collarbones. There was a forest-green underskirt that peeled through the bottom of the dress, with carefully embroidered leaves in the same colour wrapping around your hips and waist before descending the front of the gown. Across your neck was a thick golden necklace with a large ruby pendant that glittered in the sunlight creeping through the windows. Your hair was braided just like Nesta’s coronet, with red and orange leaves woven into the strands. A golden circlet rested upon your forehead with a single amber teardrop-shaped gem in the middle.

The servants had informed you that Eris himself had hand picked these items for you, a shy smile on their faces as they delivered the news. It made you happy to see them smile, if only for a second. It was a sign of the shadow of Beron’s cruelty slowly fading away.

Before he departed your room last night, Eris had informed you with a smirk that today and noon he would make the announcement of the engagements. Your heart had fluttered with excitement and nerves, something that had persisted even now. You tried to remain poised, to not let the growing crowd sense your tension. They stood in before you like a pack of wolves, beady eyes glaring up at you, Nesta, and Eris. While you heard no muttering of discontent, their displeasure was coming off in waves.

You knew they wouldn’t be happy about the announcement. Most males were already pissed that Eris was High Lord now – the fact he would not only be taking two wives, who were also married to each other, but would be making them High Ladies would make steam come out of their ears. Eris had set up a ward around the throne dias, just in case.

The towering wall behind the throne that had previously been adorned with paintings and carvings of Beron and his forefathers had been torn down on the first day. Instead of being rebuilt, Eris had opted to leave it open, using a ward to shield the room from the unpleasant aspects of the outside elements, but still managed to let the warm sunlight and fresh autumn breeze into the room. It brightened the once dark space, bringing new life into the court. The sun was warm on your shoulders, glowing in the distance behind you and casting you, Nesta, and Eris in a sheen of golden light. The mountains could be seen in the distance past the large rocky cliff behind where the throne room wall once stood. To the crowd below, the scenery in behind paired with the positioning of the sun made the three of you look like the very essence of autumn.

You snuck a glance at Nesta at the same time she turned her head towards yours. Leaves were braided into her hair as well, an identical circlet framing her forehead. She had been fitted in a dark red gown with sparkle detailing going from the neckline that covered her throat all the way down from where the fitted waist gave way into flowing skirts. The sleeves were billowy, gathered at the wrists and hanging loosely on her arms. You wanted to stare at her all day long, admiring the regal dress on her tall frame. After a subtle wink from Nesta, you forced yourself to stare back at the crowd.

Fae of all ages were gathered in the throne room. Soldiers, courtiers, tradesmen, much to the visible disappointment of the nobles, who seemed disgusted to be in the same room as those they deemed below them. But they did not grumble, lest they meet the wrath of their new High Lord. It broke your heart to see so many females beside their husbands, heads bowed submissively as if they were no more than an accessory. They looked exactly how Lirilla had looked beside Beron – a shell of whatever their former self was.

Eris’s mother was not in the throne room, something which brought a surprising wave of sadness over you. You did not know how much Eris had told his mother about the announcement he was about to make, if anything. But it was safe to assume he wanted to keep her as far away from this assembly as possible, lest outrage break out and put her in harm’s way. 

Once what you assumed to be the last of the crowd had assembled, Eris lifted his chin, letting a wave of power cascade across the room. Instantly, any shuffling or whispering had ceased, and the assembly before you focused their attention on the High Lord. You stared evenly at the crowd, unflinching as several judgemental eyes flickered between you and Nesta. You would not let them see your nervousness.

“I assume you are all wondering why I called you here on such short notice.” Eris’s voice rang out clear and authoritative, echoing in the large chamber of the throne room. “As you all know, my recently departed father wished for myself and the lady Nesta Archeron to be wed. I intend to honour that wish.”

There were a few nods from the crowd, likely Beron’s supporters happy that Eris was fulfilling his father’s wishes for the time being. But there were also looks of disapproval, males casting seething glances at Nesta that made you want to rip their eyes from their sockets. It wasn’t hard to guess from the younger females beside them that they had hoped Eris would be wed to one of their noble daughters, rather than a female from another court.

To his credit, Eris did not even acknowledge them as he continued. “He also wished for the lady (Y/N) to marry my brother Malgorm. Now that he is dead, such a marriage is no longer possible.”

You cringed as several males in the audience perked up, their predatory gazes dragging over towards you as they stared you down hungrily like dogs salivating over a fresh piece of meat. Eris had been right – an unwed female truly did attract the worst males in his court. One male, a shrivelled old noble with a squashed looking face turned and whispered something to the male beside him, presumably his son. They both stared at you with sick glee on their faces as the older male cleared his throat.

But Eris turned sharply towards the noise, cutting the male off before any scheming words could leave his lips. “If you’re about to propose a foolish idea of marrying your wretched son to Lady (Y/N) in my brother’s stead, Lord Cergon, I suggest you hold your tongue before I have it removed.”

The male’s face twisted with rage, and he spoke boldly. “I knew your father since he was a child, boy.” He spat at Eris. “His Grace would have desired this union if his son could not fulfil it.”

Eris smirked, a tendril of angry red flame curling around the male’s throat. His eyes went wide, and he went utterly still as the fire licked his shrivelled skin. “You dare speak on behalf of my father?” Eris’s voice was cold as ice, cutting through the sunlit warmth of the room as the fire slowly cut off the old male’s airway. “You have no authority here, Lord Cergon. The only reason you even hold your title as Lord is because my father wanted you by his side for reasons that escape me. But I am not my father, and I have no use for you anymore. I hereby strip you of your land and titles, and banish you and your son from this court. All of your assets will be reallocated to the Crown to be redistributed as I see fit. If either of you step foot across this border, I will burn you alive.”

“My Lord…” The male sputtered with his choking breath. “You can’t…”

“I can.” Eris said coolly. “And I will. Question me again, call me ‘boy’ again, and you will leave this room without your head. That goes for everyone here. Those who consider themselves loyal only to my father are urged to swear to me your undying fidelity, or you will meet the same fate as Cergon. My two brothers have already done so, and will serve me just as they served our father.”

Eris nodded at two redheads at the front of the crowd. They were unmistakably Vanserras, one with a short cropped haircut and the other with longer wavy hair. They did not sneer or grimace as expected, but instead bowed their heads. You suspected Eris had already exchanged strong words with them to ensure they would not be a threat. 

As a set of guards hauled the sputtering old male and his son away, the crowd shifted nervously. Some of the males that had stared defiantly in protest while others bowed their heads. With a satisfied smirk, Eris leaned back in his throne and continued. “Now that we have established that, let us get back to the initial purpose of this meeting before more of my time is wasted by pathetic squabbling. With the death of my brother, Lady (Y/N) is without a husband. And the only worthy remaining Vanserra male is me.”

You watched as confusion flickered in, the eyes of the crowd stomach churning as you braced yourself for Eris to drop the bomb.

“To remedy the situation, I intend to take Lady (Y/N) as my wife, alongside Lady Nesta. They are also to be wed to each other, a symbol of our strong union. They are to take their rightful places beside me as my equals, my wives, and your High Ladies.”

The room erupted into a plague of angry shouts and protests, primarily from the males but also from a few of the noble females. You stood tall, letting their words and insults bounce off you like flies on the window. Amidst the chaos, you could make out several screams of ‘whore’ and ‘improper’, all directed at you and Nesta. But you did not cower, willing your gaze to that icy steel that Nesta was currently doing and making sure to stare down each and every one who shouted angrily.

You expected Eris to send an angry wave of fire throughout the room, smiting those shouting angrily towards the dias into piles of ash. When he didn’t, you were confused. While you knew Eris wanted to slowly move away from the image he had cultivated over the years as his father’s perfect son, you did not expect him to simply sit there silently, smirking.

Your eyes flickered back towards him slightly, and he simply lifted one finger from the arm of his throne in response.

Just wait. It seemed to say.

So you sucked in a breath, turning your gaze back to the angry crowd, still shouting. And then you heard it. Felt it. Three differing but all low and menacing growls, sending a vibration through your very bones. They were deep and otherworldly, and accompanied by a tremble of the ground and the echo of mighty footsteps. 

The crowd’s angry yelling began to die off at the noise. They, too, seemingly felt the growl vibrating within them as they shuffled uneasily. Unease began to stir in the air and you smiled as the footsteps grew closer. The chandelier in the middle of the throne room swayed, the candles flickering despite the lack of breeze.

From the rocky cliffside, the three dragons appeared. Morgoth’s bulking form crawled menacingly over the rocks towards the open spot in the wall behind the throne dias. Athariel’s silver form slithered beside him, while Zorzimril’s gold scales shone in the sunlight as she mirrored the other beast. Their eyes were glowing, puffs of smoke curling around their lips that were drawn back in fierce snarls. All three dragons stalked closer, their long necks able to wind their way into the throne room as if the wards weren’t even there.

The crowd had stopped shouting entirely, various exclamations of fear replacing the angry protests. They had shuffled backwards, wide eyed as the dragons crept menacingly into the castle. You could hear a few males frantically trying to get to the door, only to be stopped by Eris’s guards.

The room now reeked with fear.

You felt Zorzimril’s hot breath on your back, her soft growling bringing you comfort rather than fear. The golden dragon loomed her head over you protectively, daring someone to come forward and challenge you. Morgoth did the same with Eris, and Athariel with Nesta, each standing protectively over their rider and baring their teeth. You straightened your spine, standing proudly with your dragon at your back, smirking as the crowd stared up in fear.

“What an abhorrent reaction from you all,” Eris finally spoke, his voice echoing with Morgoth’s low rumbling growl. “I must say I am disappointed. But I care not if you all approve. Because the three of us will be wed whether you like it or not, and you will have your High Ladies to answer to. They are powerful, fearless, and unlike me, merciful. Anyone who dares to disrespect this union or anyone in it will be fed to our dragons. This will be your only warning.”

Malgorm roared, the force of it smiting all the candles in the room and causing the crowd to shrink back further, so much so that a few were pressed up against the walls at the back.

“This is madness!” Came an angry shout from the front of the crowd. “Where is your respect for tradition?”

The crowd parted as a red-faced male stormed through. His dark brown hair was braided back tightly, yellow eyes gleaming with hate as he shamelessly challenged the High Lord. He wore elaborate armour – a noble, one whose uniform had clearly never seen battle.

 “Frankly, I have none, Lord Ashworthe.” Eris said dryly. “Things will change greatly around here. I strongly urge anyone clinging on to the old ways to let go of the past and brace themselves for a new future.”

“You will do no such thing.” The male said, fists curled at his sides.

Eris raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. “I won’t, will I?” His tone was mocking, causing Lord Ashworthe to seeth even more. “And how do you think you can stop me, exactly? I am your High Lord, Ashworthe. You will do as I command and you will do so without complaint.”

“We will not stand for it.”

“Who exactly is ‘we’? I don’t exactly see your supporters flocking to your side.”

Lord Ashworthe whipped around, noticing that everyone had backed as far away from him as possible. He motioned for some of the males around him to join, but they shook their heads and looked away, causing Eris to chuckle. Furious, the male turned back around and spat at Eris. “It is one thing to marry a female with no ties to this court. To take a second wife who is also without any ties to this land is spitting in the faces of those of us who have been here for generations, offering you potential brides of the noblest of houses. Not to mention the fact that it is a vile insult to let your two brides be wed to each other as well. I will recognize no High Lady in this court.”

Eris did not say anything for a moment. His amber eyes glowed with anger as he sat, utterly still as Lord Ashworthe stared arrogantly up at him. The entire room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The High Lord simply waved his hand, and two guards grabbed the male by each arm, dragging up towards the foot of the dias. Lord Ashworthe yelled and writhed in protest, but was no match for the strong guards.

Morgoth’s growl deepened as Eris spoke, feeling his master’s rage. “Yes, Lord Ashworthe, I spit in your face with this action.” He said angrily. “I spit in the face of any male like you who sells his daughters to the pleasure houses because he wants a son. I spit in the face of all you cowards who beat your wives bloody simply because my father and his fathers before him set the precedent that it was ok to do so. I spit in the face of everyone who dares judge me for letting me and my mates’s hearts be free and pursue happiness outside the confines of your prejudices.”

An audible gasp sounded from the crowd at Eris’s reveal. Shocked looks spread between the audience, the word ‘mates’ being murmured like a hushed prayer. 

“Your mates?” Ashworthe gasped, eyes wide and reflecting the surprise of the crowd behind him. “How is that possible…”

“It is.” Eris said coldly. 

The Lord began to tremble. “I apologise, your Grace. If I had known–”

“Save your whinging.” Eris cut him off sharply. “It doesn’t matter if you knew they were my mates. The fact they are going to be my wives and your High Ladies should be enough to keep your mouth shut. And since you can’t even respect that, you serve no purpose being in this court.”

The male blanched. “You’re going to banish me, too? You cannot be serious.”

The smile that spread across Eris’s face was pure cunning as he said evenly, “No, I am not.”

Morgoth snarled, snaking his head further into the chamber and opening his jaw to hiss, revealing more of his razor sharp fangs. You felt Zorzimril’s steady presence behind you, letting out growls every so often at the crowd. The guard threw the snivelling Lord on the steps and backed off, leaving a respectable ten metres between him and the rest of the crowd.

“You cannot execute me!” Ashworthe snarled, despite the tremble in his body as Morgoth loomed over him. “I have served this court for 500 years. If you’re going to throw that away for the sake of your whores, then you are not worthy of the crown you wear.”

Eris fumed, his fingers gripping the throne’s arms so hard you thought they may shatter beneath his grip. A flaming gag appeared around Ashworthe’s face, and he screamed as the fire burned his skin. “You will never speak about my mates in such a tone ever again.” He snarled viciously, raw anger and possession lacing his voice. “Let this be another lesson to all of you. I meant what I said, that anyone who dares disrespect Nesta or (Y/N) will be fed to our dragons. You are a pathetic waste of life, Lord Ashworthe. And I feel no shame in making an example of you.”

Before the male could even protest, Morgoth let out a mighty roar, drawing his head back and flaring his wings. You watched in shock as flame shot out of the dragons’ mouth, going directly down onto Lord Ashworthe. He screamed as the flames engulfed him, slowly melting him away but not fast enough to grant him a quick death.

The crowd screamed as Morgoth reached down and clamped his jaws around the flaming body, a sick crunching sound echoing throughout the space as he ate the Lord in one bite.

Zorzimril and Athariel let out mighty roars, as if cheering the black dragon on for his display. You glanced at Nesta, who was looking down with satisfaction at the ashy spot where the arrogant lord once stood. You never pegged yourself, or Nesta, for the blood thirsty type, but you’d be lying if you said the male didn’t deserve it. And you couldn’t help how your body warmed at Eris’s protectiveness.

The audience watched in muted horror as Eris patted Morgoth on the neck, murmuring something to him as the dragon retreated to his initial position, looming menacingly over the High Lord and daring others to step forth and become his next meal.

“Master Greywell.” Eris called out casually, as if nothing had happened. A few seconds later, an old male with thick black robes stepped forward on unsteady legs, eyes uncertain. “You are to personally oversee the construction of two additional thrones, right next to this one.” He spoke more gently to the old male. “I trust you will make me proud as you have done so frequently in the past.”

Master Greywell bowed low, letting out a breath. “Of course, your Grace. I will see to it immediately.”

Eris nodded, then turned his attention to the rest of the crowd and stood up. He reached out and grabbed your hand with his right, and Nesta’s with his left. You felt him squeeze gently, a reassuring promise that everything would be ok. Your heart swelled with joy at the simple public display, a gesture that proved Eris was not ashamed of the unique situation. That he would proudly let everyone know exactly who belonged to him, and who he belonged to.

“This assembly has concluded.” Eris spoke firmly at the terrified crowd. “Heed my warnings and proceed with your day. I must prepare for the grandest wedding this court has ever seen. Dismissed.”

The second the last word left his lips, the crowd was rushing to the door, eager to get away from the terrifying High Lord and dragons. Your body was jolted forward as a golden head leaned down to nuzzle you, letting out a low purr. You chuckled, stroking Zorzimril’s soft scales before letting Eris lead you and Nesta down the steps.

“Come.” He said softly. “I have a surprise for both of you.”

 *********************

“Eris, for the last time, just tell us–” Nesta’s protest was cut off as the High Lord dragged the two of you down the hallway in the direction of the private library.

“You’re an incessant female, you know that, right?” Eris snorted, interrupting her. “If I tell you, it ruins the purpose of the surprise.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and huffed, but didn’t pester him again. Eris had refused to tell either of you what the surprise was, shutting you down when you asked for a small hint. But the High Lord bore a look of glee on his face that he was unable to hide, which made you almost nervous. Several people had tried to stop Eris as he hurried you and Nesta through the winding hallways, demanding his attention on one matter or another. But he had brushed them off, to your surprise. Clearly, he was in too much of a hurry to spare his attention to others. You had never seen Eris so giddy.

As you finally came to the arching doors of the library, Eris stopped and faced you and Nesta. “When I open these doors and show you your surprise, don’t worry – you can figure out ways to tell me how I’m the best mate ever later on.” He said, winking playfully.

Nesta crossed her arms, eyebrows furrowing. “You know we’ve both been in the library, right?”

Eris smirked. “I know, smartass. The library has little to do with the surprise. I just wanted a quiet place for this, where few could hear you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slight pink blush coming across your cheeks at Eris’s words. He noticed instantly, rolling his eyes. 

“Get your dirty mind out of the gutter, (Y/N).” Eris quipped, putting a hand on the knob of the door. “While I know I could positively rock your world and am dying to do so, I think this is something you’ll appreciate more.”

Before you could come up with a response, Eris turned the handle and pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The scent of old books, hot wax, and parchment hit you immediately as the grand library was exposed. Spiralling wooden staircases stretched up and around the mighty shelves, designed to look as if they had carved into the trunks of mighty ancient trees. But it was not the books your eyes landed on, nor the cosy setting of plushy furniture over in the reading nook.

You let out a squeal as your eyes landed on the figures at the table in the centre of the room – two females, one with large wings and one with bright teal eyes. “Gwyn? Emerie?” You exclaimed, frozen in shock. Beside you, Nesta’s hand covered her mouth, which had dropped open in equal surprise. 

It took only a split second for the Valkyrie’s to leap off the table and run towards you and Nesta. Gwyn beelined for you, happy tears lining those bright eyes as she launched herself into your outstretched arms. You began crying as well, clinging onto the slender female as if you couldn’t believe she was really here. Emerie had done the same with Nesta, and the two held each other tightly.

“Oh my god, Gwyn…” You breathed heavily through your tears. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“We missed you too.” Gwyn replied, her soft voice muffled slightly as she had buried her face into your hair. “Gods, it’s been tough without you.”

“You’re here…” You muttered with shock. “You left the House of Wind? And came all this way–”

“It was terrifying, but worth it for you.” Gwyn reassured you. 

You wiped your tears as Gwyn finally let go. “But, how?” You asked.

Emerie had also let go of Nesta, and walked over towards you, wrapping her strong arms around you in a warm embrace. “Eris arranged everything with Azriel, and he brought us here.” She answered. “He wanted to surprise you guys. By the looks on your faces, it seems he succeeded.”

“He sure did.” You laughed. “I was not expecting to see you guys this soon. I mean, I wanted you to come visit, of course. But I figured it’d be a lot to ask, for you guys to come all this way.”

Emerie snorted. “Well, we weren’t exactly dying to stay in the Night Court.”

You and Nesta exchanged a worried glance. “Are things really that bad?” She asked quietly.

Gwyn shifted, the happiness leaving her teal eyes for a flickering moment. You noticed how she no longer wore her priestess robes, but rather an ocean blue dress and a white shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She seemed sullen at the mention of the Night Court.

Emerie, noticing Gwyn’s change, spoke up instead. “Eris and Az can fill you in later. But we haven’t seen you for months. Let’s have tonight be about us.”

Gwyn perked up and shook her shoulders, as if brushing off the topic. “Yes, we have so much to catch up on.” She shot you and Nesta a playful glare. “You both have a lot of explaining to do.”

You snorted, realising just how much you truly had to fill your friends in on. Nesta nodded in agreement but grinned ear to ear, her happiness radiating throughout your chest as if it were your own. 

“The library is yours until tomorrow at sunrise,” Eris spoke up, stepping forward but maintaining a respectful distance from Gwyn and Emerie. “Nobody else will enter, and I have my most trusted guards at all exits. Nobody will try to come in, but the dragons will also be nearby, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Dragons?” Gwyn squeaked, her eyes like saucers.

“You did say we have a lot of explaining to do.” Nesta muttered, shoulders shaking with effort not to laugh at Gwyn’s expression.

Eris smiled gently. “You will be well protected. Should you need anything, simply knock on the main door and a guard will summon a servant. Azriel and myself will be here at sunrise to take Gwyn and Emerie home, but until then, enjoy your night.”

The High Lord snapped his fingers, and the room suddenly shifted. Four large beds appeared in the corner by the hearth, complete with luxurious duvets and pillows. The table in the centre was filled with mouth watering food – pastries, roasted vegetables, perfectly cooked meats, a variety of wine and juices, everything you could possibly think of. The room lit up with dozens of candles, a soft yellow glow cast over the wood of the library corner. 

“Holy shit.” Emerie muttered, jaw agape at the spread of food on the table.

Eris simply smiled as she immediately headed off towards the table, Gwyn and Nesta following. He turned to go, but you ran after him quickly. “Eris?” You called out.

As the male turned towards you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.” You muttered, resting your head against his chest. “I can’t express how much this means to me.”

Eris rubbed your back, holding you closely. “While I know you want nothing to do with the Night Court after everything that happened, I know how much you missed your friends. I knew I wanted you to see them the second things here settled down and it’d be safe enough. I know my court has a lot of progress to make in terms of its treatment of females, but my goal is to make it safe enough that Gwyn and Emerie can live here, if they wish. As can any female in need of safety, just as you wished.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again at Eris’s thoughtfulness. You knew he’d face a ton of resistance changing things, given how archaic the males of Autumn seemed to think. But for you and Nesta, for his mother, for every female who deserved a better life, he would do this. “Thank you.” You muttered quietly, heart bursting.

He planted a kiss on your forehead as you pulled away, stroking your cheek. “You have no reason to thank me. It is the right thing to do. Now go, enjoy your night with your friends.”

Eris lightly smacked your rear as you turned back towards Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta. You yelped, shooting him a playful glare as he exited the library, chuckling. Your face was red as you saw Emerie’s amused expression, and Gwyn’s shocked one. Nesta simply smirked at you, sipping on a goblet of red wine.

“Ok, I really need the full story.” Gwyn said.

 *********************

“Ok, so let me get this straight,” Emerie said through a mouthful of crispy chicken. “(Y/N) is basically some Mother-blessed goddess of life who brought Eris’s mom back from the dead, you each have a dragon to protect your ass, Eris is going to completely remake this court and snuff out the backwards-thinking ways, and the three of you are all mated to each other? Am I missing anything?”

You shrugged, popping another coconut cookie into your mouth and washing it down with a swig of your mimosa. “That about sums it up.”

“That’s insane,” Gwyn commented, swirling her cranberry juice in its goblet. “I’ve literally never heard about a mating bond like this. Or dragons being real.”

“Can we meet the dragons?” Emerie said excitedly, sitting up straight. 

“Not quite yet,” Nesta said. “Maybe next time. I, for one, don’t want to leave this library yet.”

Gwyn mumbled her agreement. The four of you had decided to move most of the food off the table, instead spreading the table cloth across the plushy rug by the warm hearth. The food had been placed atop the cloth in a picnic style as you all laid or sat around it, content to lounge in the warm pyjamas that had been set on each of the beds. Gwyn and Emerie had listened with wide eyes as you and Nesta filled them in on everything, the reality of it settling in like a cold wave. You had been in survival mode for weeks now, not getting a chance to process anything. The more you explained it, the more memories came back. They stifled your throat, closing in on it and slowly suffocating you. Nesta had sent waves of comfort through the bond, putting you at ease.

Luckily, after several drinks those dark memories had long been forgotten hours later. A warm buzz had settled over your body, leaving your lips looser and your mind lighter. Your stomach was about to burst from the amount of food you had ingested, but you couldn’t be happier. Reuniting with your friends was something you had dreamed of for weeks, and you had to pinch yourself to make sure it was real.

“So…High Ladies, then?” Emerie drawled, turning onto her side. 

“I guess so.” Nesta said, shrugging casually. 

Gwyn piped up, “Is that what you want?”

Nesta took another sip of wine. “Yes and no. I’ve never wanted to be a leader or anything, but I’m better suited for this than as a soldier in the Night Court. Besides, at least I will be able to use my position to help others.”

“Unlike your sister.” The Illyrian female said, anger flashing in her deep brown eyes. “She doesn’t do jack shit. She just flaunts her Illyrian wings while we get ours clipped. It’s disgusting.”

You hummed your agreement, adding. “When I’m High Lady, I’m actually going to do shit to change things for females. Unlike Feyre. No offence, Nesta.”

“None taken.” Nesta said dryly. “Trust me, I’m with you on that.”

“Besides,” You continued, your lips letting the words out before your brain could stop to filter them. “Once I’m done changing the backwards shit around here, I’m going to go to the Night Court myself and invite the females who have suffered to come live here and have a better life. The stupid males will lose their minds and start turning on each other. Next thing you know, revolt, uprising, and then boom, Rhysand’s court is just as shattered as mine was when Feyre was done with it. That’s the angle I’m playing.”

When you stopped, the room was quiet. Nesta was buttering a biscuit, unbothered. But Gwyn and Emerie were slack-jawed. You had previously told them that there was more to your plan than just escaping the Night Court, but you had never gone into such detail for them, fearing it was too risky.

“Wait, you’re going to try and rescue the females in the Hewn City and Illyria and bring them here so that the males end up turning on each other?” Gwyn asked.

You nodded.

“Won’t that be considered kidnapping?” Emerie piped up. “Or like, an act of war?”

You scoffed. “I’m not going to force anyone to come. Offering sanctuary is not a crime, neither is protecting those who choose to come with us. Rhys is a shitty High Lord, he has done nothing to help females outside of Velaris because he thinks it can’t be done. That things just are the way they are. Imagine his face when he realises I can do more to help them in the first few years of being High Lady than he can in his centuries of it.”

“Eris is on board.” Nesta added, reassuring Gwyn and Emerie. “He wants this too. And he will make it happen.”

“Damn.” Emerie muttered. “Karma’s a bitch.”

“Can we come live here when everything’s ready?” Gwyn asked tentatively, her voice quieter.

“Of course.” Nesta said, reaching forward and squeezing the priestesses' slender hand. “But it would be a big change. Are you sure you’re ready to leave the library for a whole other court?”

Gwyn nodded fiercely. “After everything that’s happened, my disdain for living under Rhysand’s rule outweighs my desire to stay in the library. Besides, I think starting fresh could be a good thing for me.”

“What about you, Emerie?” You asked, turning towards the Illyrian female.

She rolled her eyes. “Duh. You could tell me to leave Illyria tomorrow and I’d do it in a heartbeat. Just give the word and my bags will be packed.”

You chuckled, resting your chin on your hands. Your voice slurred slightly as you spoke, “I love you guys.”

Gwyn giggled. “We love you too.”

Emerie sat up, swaying slightly. Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she asked, “Speaking of love, has either of you jumped in bed with Eris yet?”

Nesta went red instantly, and you hid your face in your hands, shaking your head at Emerie’s bold, and very drunken, question. Gwyn squealed in protest, “Emerie!”

“What?” She asked, shrugging. “They’re mates. Nesta and (Y/N) are hot. Eris is hot. Just fuck already if you haven’t.”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink!” Gwyn scolded, reaching forward and grabbing the goblet of booze from Emerie’s hand. Luckily, she didn’t notice, just continued staring at you and Nesta, expecting an answer.

But Emerie continued. “So how’s it going to work? Are you going to take turns and watch each other, or is this going to be an all hands on deck situation?”

You hoped beyond hope your face wasn’t as red as Gwyn’s as you lifted your hands, shooting Emerie a glare. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.” You said, but it lacked the ferocity you had hoped.

Gwyn smacked Emerie’s arm hard. “That’s inappropriate,” She scolded her friend, still blushing fiercely. “Besides, I don’t think three people at once would even work.”

“Oh, we’ll make it work.” Nesta said quickly and casually. You whipped your head towards her, face heating up even more. But Nesta had paled, eyes widening, clearly not having meant to say that out loud. 

A heartbeat of silence passed, everyone in the room frozen in shock at Nesta’s words. Seconds later, the four of you erupted into laughter. Your body felt weightless as you laughed, your mind beginning to wander as Nesta’s words swam in your brain.

“I cannot believe I just said that.” Nesta muttered with embarrassment, putting her head in her hands.

“Me neither.” Gwyn chuckled, shaking her head.

Emerie’s laugh was booming, echoing across the chasms of the vast library. She clutched her stomach, tears streaming down her face, making the three of you laugh even harder. It felt like hours before the laughing died down, and you all collectively decided it was time to try and get some sleep. Dawn was in a few hours, and the adrenaline of the alcohol had worn off, leaving you exhausted.

Unsurprisingly, Emerie was the first to fall asleep – or pass out, more fittingly. She snored softly, not having even settled under the covers before closing her eyes and letting sleep take over. Gwyn followed shortly, curled up under her blue bedspread. You sighed heavily, staring up at the arching patterns carved into the wood of the library beams.

It was so beautiful. Everything in this court was. And things would be better once you, Nesta, and Eris had made changes to the ways of Autumn to make things safer for females. It was a thought you had clung onto for weeks, a mere memory of a hope moulding into a very possible reality. Maybe that was why you had a mating bond with both Nesta and Eris – because the universe knew the three of you could challenge the archaic ways of the past and lead the court into a better future.

(Y/N)? Nesta’s voice sounded in your head, breaking you from your sleepy thoughts.

Yes? You replied.

I just wanted to say even though I was embarrassed by what I said about making the three of us work, in bed I mean, I did mean it. It was not a joke.

Your cheeks heated up again, and all you could muster was a pathetically curious, oh?

Nesta’s smirk could be felt through the bond. I’ve wanted to take you to bed for so long. And from what I can tell, Eris has, too. I crave you. More than I’ve craved anything or anyone before. Every time I see you I have to fight the urge to drag you to bed and worship every inch of you. 

Your body felt warm, the sheets too hot suddenly. How am I supposed to sleep after hearing this?

She chuckled. I will leave you to fantasise about exactly how Eris and I are going to do to you.

Not fair.

Rest well, my love.

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#ialtpwf #eris vanserra x reader #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x reader #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #neris #neris x reader #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x nesta archeron #nesta archeron #nesta archeron smut #pro nesta #pro nesta archeron #nesta archeron fic #gwyneth berdara #pro gwyneth berdara #emerie #emerie acotar #autumn court #anti inner circle #anti feyre archeron #anti rhysand #anti nessian #eris acotar #azriel acotar

[r0-boat]

hey :’) it’s my birthday today and i was wondering if you’d write a volo x reader piece, anything you want ofc, just for funsies. noooo pressure ofc and you can also just ignore this ask lol

Happy birthday it isn't much but I gave you a small gift.

Volo's Gift for your birthday

Sfw under cut for length

Volo had never known his family hell; he didn't even know his birth date. He just had a slight inkling or speculation of what month or maybe a week, so he never really had much thought on celebrating one day of birth. However, it did not at all change when you gave him a gift on the exact day he told you when you asked him. Before, Volo seemed unsure, but you still went out of your way to prepare not only a gift and something that it looked like you baked or handmade.

As your birthday drew closer, admittedly, Volo could not stop thinking about that day. His mind wanders of what he should get you in return.

He would tell himself that it was just to pay you back, but he knew in his heart it was a lie. The man who was fascinated and even a little obsessed with you was ashamed to admit that, knowing he hated you before, he knew everything about you.

Whatever pastry you baked for him looked too complicated to copy, but he could cook you at least a decent meal. Volo was clever, but he was not usual with crafting. He could make simple Pokeballs, but that was it, so he couldn't make you anything, even if he tried. So he did what he did best: scoured the lands and ancient ruins of the caves of Mount Coronet. A glimmer catches his eye, tracing his echoing steps to get a closer look at what he caught a glimpse of.

There coming loose out of the rock, it was rough yet smooth polished beautiful.

The perfect gift.

With his dragon-type partner, he broke stone free from the rocky wall easily, using a Dragon Claw attack to strike the rock with force and precision even when the wall came down after, which his trusty Garchomp protected him from.

He didn't think much of it at first, but when he held it up to the light outside the cave, his eyes lit up. That luxurious glimmer reminded him of your eyes and that elegant, almost transparent look, from how round and smooth it was and how small it fitted into the palm of his hand even as he clutched it in his fist.

It was just small enough to make a lovely pendant... now his reputation with his previous connections wasn't as strong as it once was, but he at least knew one person who could carve this into a beautiful necklace...

He could imagine it now, his lips kissing softly against your head, slowly and lovingly gliding the two ends of the rope around your neck, the stone, his gift now carved into a familiar teardrop to match his.

His heart beats into his chest hand covering his mouth to hide the blush creeping across his face as he toys with the smooth gem in his hand. Volo wonders if you would like his gift.

He truly hopes so.

#pokemon volo #volo x reader #pla volo #pokemon legends arceus #Legends arceus volo x reader #pokemon imagines #Volo x reader sfw #pokemon x reader #pokemon legends #Pokemon legends volo #pokemon fanfiction

[cinnaminyoons]

KISS OR KILL !!

!!   pjm x m!reader

!!   wc | 4.0k

!!   tags | murder, attempted murder, guns, poison, heavily suggestive

[ event masterlist ]

assassins after the same target

the ex’s ex

“close the door.”

“love, for you, is terrifying. it’s like a religion. no one will ever want to sleep with you.”

“tell me again how you’ll love me.”

a beautiful man raises names to his face the same way he lifts jewels and gold to his ears. something simple, he hums, setting down a silver earring with a teardrop-shaped pearl. the hotel's bathroom mirror blinks back at him under cold white lights, lovely and sweet-faced with pale hair and pink lips.

he leans in, turning a card of diamond studs this way and that. he purses his lips. he nods, slipping them on. a silver chain cuffs his earlobe to the shell of his ear, and he giggles softly to himself as he moves on to the other ear. diamonds and silver look good with his hair.

he opens a turquoise box, brushing his fingers gently over its smooth surface. nestled amongst white tissue paper and foam are two statement bulgari pieces – because he, whoever he chooses to be, deserves nothing less. he tucks the wave-motif choker around his neck, close against his swan-like throat, and he places the second beneath it. he fingers the round pendant, settling it below his collarbones, and tugs the collar of his shirt down to show it off.

the glittering diamonds and metals hang heavier than their material weight, but he holds his head high, his shoulders set straight and regal. he glances over his figure, slender waist highlighted by high-waisted trousers, and he touches up his makeup once more before slipping a black cross-body bag on his hip. in it, he carries all his necessities – pocket mirror, pack of tissues, his prettiest shade of lipstick, and the night's greatest finish.

he chooses a new identity as he wafts down the steps to the foyer, outside of which waits his sleek black ride. he meets his chauffeur's gaze as he slides inside.

park jimin. he has never heard a prettier name.

—

he's been here before. he's been under this very chandelier, sitting across from someone he would have done anything for, before.

but that was aeons ago. that was before jimin's love was used like a tool in a ploy beyond him, doing whatever was asked of him like a good pup. he put aside all of himself, shredding everything that he was, to chase affection and attention that he needed like air.

once, he knew nothing of pain. now it is all that survives.

he smiles. he laughs. he flutters his lashes and plays up the desperation, the desire, to have adoration on him once more. he's venus, he's sundew, he's the cobra lily rearing its head. touching fingers and brief glances ending in smiles – his meal falls into his hands, lapping up his sweetness.

"crab-stuffed filet mignon and duck confit."

jimin lifts his eyes. he knows intimately what beauty is, and the waiter is it. he knows what danger is, and the waiter is it.

the waiter smiles, charming and handsome, and places the plates down in front of them. he lifts his gaze to jimin's and he stills, his smile bleeding away.

predators know when they are challenged.

linking his fingers on the white tablecloth, jimin hums and leans in, inspecting the dishes with great interest. "looks wonderful. thank you."

the waiter recomposes himself, folding an arm neatly in front of him. he bows his head and takes his leave, each step oozing the same flavour of flawless imitation as jimin's. jimin eyes his target, tearing into the silky duck confit with greasy fingers, even in this ritzy restaurant. his gaze flickers around the large room, taking in the sheer drapes and romantic gold highlights falling across its patrons.

he floats his fingers over a selection of knives and chooses one. he slides his thumb over the serrated edge as he casts his gaze over the room for one set of teeth, all too perfect.

he's looking at him when jimin finds him. he refills a couple's wine glasses, and the sheen of the glossy red liquid seems thicker than usual in his capable hands. he smiles, eyes dark and hollow, and whisks the bottle away with an elegant flair.

duck legs tumble to the floor from loosening fingers. a thump of a body, a ravishing jerking terror. foam at the corners of the mouth, screams falling from too many lips.

jimin stands quietly. the dazzling waiter, all magnificent smiles and gentle words, stares back; his lip curls with satisfaction, and he vanishes behind the crowds as they gather anxiously around the twitching body.

simmering fury grows to a forest fire as jimin runs his fingers over his bag and the pretty steel within. he almost forgets his face – a wavering cry, a covered mouth, a stricken expression as he stumbles away.

park jimin races into the alleyway behind the restaurant and slams the waiter into the brick wall, pressing the cold tip of his pistol into his temple.

the man laughs, breathless and knee-weakening, and grabs jimin's hips, tugging him into his warm body.

"beautiful, wasn't it?" he breathes, eyes glittering even as jimin presses his forearm harder into his throat.

"poison is a coward's game," he hisses, and their breath mingles in the cooling evening air.

"but you can't deny its artistry," he purrs, eyes half-lidded and inviting. "guns are ugly things. so impersonal. a twitch of the finger, a death at your hands. but poison, as you call it? there is an intimacy to creating a single dose, so perfectly measured for weight, for tolerance, for size. too much and it is an unsightly end – lots of guts and stomach acid and retching. too little and all you get is a funny expression. no fun at all."

"you took what's mine." anger flares in his belly. "you ruined it! ruined me!"

"yours? oh, i'm so sorry." you smile. jimin's breath hitches. you lean in slowly, eyes flickering over his features. "i'll help you, gorgeous, as penance. i promise that i didn't know anyone else with a vendetta tonight, and i'm not one to enjoy stealing the spotlight. i'll be yours – if you'll have me."

jimin trails the barrel of his pistol down the side of your face, slipping into the dip beneath your jaw. you tilt your head with a hum and your grip tightens.

"and why would i let you anywhere near me?" he whispers, placing his finger on the trigger.

"because you and i would make a beautiful team. your skills, my expertise – our combined looks." you chuckle as jimin scoffs. "i love the look in your eyes. keep prodding me with that thing and i might do something awfully indecent, pretty boy."

jimin's eyes flicker over your features, sizing you up. you smile. he lowers the gun, but his arm remains hard against your neck.

"so," you say, unbothered by the discomfort against your adam's apple. "what was your plan? blowing brains out in a full restaurant is a bold move."

"i'm very good at getting people into my bedroom," he says nonchalantly. his eyes narrow. "and it was going perfectly – until you barged in and tore it all to pieces. i should kill you for your insolence."

you tilt your head. your gaze burns like hellfire, but somehow, he can't help but lean into it, drawing his fingers through the flames.

"what are you?" you ask, innocently enough. "if we are to work together – if i am to work for you – it would be... beneficial to know your speciality."

he looks you up and down. he answers finally, "i'm a hired gun. i have to survive in this economy somehow, and there's always a niche to be filled regarding sudden death and disappearance."

he wonders briefly why he's still speaking to you. your brains should be splattered on the bricks, but he can't help but open his mouth when you look at him like a lover might.

he tilts his head up. "and you?"

"same general idea," you reply pleasantly. "but this was personal. for you, as well. am i correct?"

"you could say that." he pauses, a calculating frigidity in his gaze. "what would you do for me, as 'penance'?"

"whatever you wish. i can take jobs for you – the ones you aren't so keen on. you will get the majority of the payment: sixty-forty."

"eighty-twenty," he shoots back. you nod with that smile, and his heart throbs. "so, what – you're my lapdog? for how long would this arrangement last?"

"that's up to you, of course. three months?"

"six."

"deal." your gaze flickers down to his lips. "that's a lovely colour on you. complements your eyes."

he clicks his tongue. if he hadn't blown his last paycheck on this chase halfway around the world, you'd have a bullet in your skull three times over by now. but his wallet wasn't bottomless, and his name was nothing without his ex's – especially if he was starting with a clean slate as park jimin.

he shoves you away. you straighten your tie and smooth down your black vest. he watches like a hawk. "try anything funny and you won't get three steps."

you spread your hands in a gesture of peace. "how could i betray a face like yours? i'd sooner cut off my shooting arm."

he slips his gun into his bag, bucking the flap tight. he jerks his head towards the end of the alley where his ride waits. "get in, killer. i've got something in mind for you."

—

over the next month, jimin learns you like the backs of his eyelids. you are quick. you are efficient. and you are deadly silent.

"you look good in red."

he whips around – his tense shoulders drop when he notices you, sprawled lazily on his couch with his pistol in your loose grip. he rolls his eyes and closes the fridge door, popping open a bottle of wine. "keep sitting in the dark like that and you'll ruin your eyes. when did you arrive?"

"a couple hours ago," you say. he feels your gaze boring into the back of his head as he turns to find himself a glass. "your pay's in your room. i took the liberty of taking my share – i hope you don't mind."

he sighs and lifts the glass to his lips. "what are you doing here, killer? i gave you three contracts. even for you, that's at least two weeks' worth."

"i wanted to be with you again, shrike. is that such a crime?" you place your hand around the back of his neck, and he doesn't flinch, even if he can barely feel your presence. you're like a ghost – a cold spot, a radiator that never works. he turns, leaning back against the marble counter, and crosses his arms.

"you should've enjoyed your time in japan," he sighs. "it's early spring. the cherry blossoms should be blooming."

you brush cold fingers against his cheek, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. "no blossom could rival the sight of you." you tilt your head like a puppy, and jimin purses his lips. you try to wriggle your way back into his good graces. "i cleaned your armoury. your little pistol is very cute."

with another sigh, he prods you aside and places his empty glass by the sink. "it fits well in my hand. look, there's a two-man job i've accepted, and it's a black-tie event. do you have a suit that fits?"

you hum softly, a light frown creasing your brow. "i have... parts. i don't have a jacket with silk lapels anymore – i couldn't save it from the bastard's knives. when is this event?"

"two days from now. bit of a rush, i admit, but my contact doesn't trust anyone else to get it done."

"i'll be ready by this time tomorrow, little shrike."

—

you take jimin's hand, helping him from the sleek black car. "stunning as always, my dear."

he rolls his eyes. "you've said that a thousand times."

"doesn't make it any less true." you fall in line behind him, quietening as jimin offers two white envelopes to the man at the bright mansion's door. after opening them and scanning their contents, he nods, stepping aside. "welcome, messrs park. mrs priestly is honoured to have you."

the foyer is as grand as the façade, with a huge diamond chandelier between two curving, seductive marble staircases. jimin navigates the cliques of the rich with ease, a permanently polite smile engraved over his features.

"messrs?" you murmur in his ear with a touch of humour. "you should've told me we were married. i would've matched my cufflinks to your necklaces."

"don't be fucking ridiculous," he says peacefully. "we're brothers. long-lost, estranged, together for dad's funeral, whatever you like. it shouldn't matter."

"shouldn't matter – jimin, i'm hurt. are we not here to work together?"

he plucks a bubbling glass of champagne from a passing busser's tray. "i do the seducing. you do the ending. do you have it?"

"no."

his head whips sharply towards you.

you tut. "i had a colleague drop it off for me. every doorway in this mansion is fitted with a metal detector. after we've said our greetings and pleasantries, i'll retrieve it. such a shame, though – a man like this should see his end coming. he deserves it."

"you say that about every mark."

"this one more than usual," you amend. you pluck the flute out of his hand before he can take another sip and his mouth opens to protest. "clear heads wield the steadiest swords, jimin."

he watches you vanish into the crowds with crossed arms, a put-off pout pursing his lips. he turns away, fingers fluttering over his diamond necklaces.

clear heads... yes. it is better if you are not around to distract him with your gracious smile and well-fitted suit.

two hours later, jimin giggles at a foreign dignitary's terrible jokes. they aren't terrible like yours are, where an uncontrollable smirk spreads on his lips and he shakes his head in disbelief – they're terrible in terms of taste.

he does not want to hear another joke about women anytime soon. he can't help but feel rather relieved that no one else will have to force smiles around the mark.

out of the corner of his eye, a shadow flashes by. showtime.

jimin plays up the charm, the sly bitten smiles and rosy bedroom eyes taking the mark to bed. there's play, there's touching, and the mark takes off his shirt.

jimin pretends that he likes what he sees, but the skin's too clean, too purely aesthetic. while their target was generically attractive, a californian blond-and-blue-eyes, he was too... made up. whitened teeth, rigorous diets, a thousand-and-ten beautification products and almost-invisible needle scars. jimin doubts he could leap a fence without worrying about breaking a perfectly-manicured nail – that is, if he can make it over in the first place.

"close the door," jimin whispers, pressing his lips to the place beneath his ear. he curls his fingers in dirty-blond locks, almost petting them. "wouldn't want anyone seeing what i'll do to you."

he smiles with excitement gleaming in his eyes and rushes to do so, his tie hanging loose around his neck. it's obvious he's rather green, not yet completely grown into his pretty american beauty – or, at least, he's green with men. 

"nobody saw us come in here, right?" the mark asks, moving over jimin's lap.

jimin smiles, empty and wrong. "no one saw."

his brain splatters the floor.

jimin turns his face away in distaste, hot blood dotting his cheek. he pushes the body off before it dirties his clothes. it thumps to the bed, its face lax, and the seeping red dyes its blond hair.

"you couldn't have waited until i was out of the splash zone?" he complains, standing and fixing his clothes. "do you at least have something i can clean myself up with?"

you pluck the dead mark's jacket from its spot over a chair and tug out the white pocket square. you offer it with a smile.

he gazes at you for a long moment, unimpressed. he takes it with a roll of his eyes, stepping past you. "great. let's go – the balcony's open."

"lead the way, my dove."

—

the slow grind of steel on steel flakes in the warm air. jimin's brow furrows and he buries his face in his pillow, sliding his arms beneath it. he cracks an eye open – sitting on the side of the bed in nothing but a pair of briefs is an overly-familiar figure, muscle shifting under skin with each drag of steel.

"god," jimin drawls, "do you have to do this here?"

the grinding stops.

"yes."

the grinding begins again.

jimin huffs and grabs the pillow next to him. the scent of your shampoo is dangerously relaxing, and he purses his lips.

he chucks the pillow at your head. it thumps onto the floor, and you glance over your bare shoulder with a smirk as you lean down to grab it and toss it back onto the bed.

"someone's in a sour mood."

"because you're sharpening a knife in my bedroom when i'm trying to sleep," he grouches, sitting up with a wince. he doesn't think your relationship is very professional anymore – not when he falls into bed with you every other night. "you couldn't have left it until tomorrow?"

"tomorrow is our six months," you reply, turning the knife over in your grasp. you twirl it over your knuckles like a pen. "i can't sleep."

jimin sighs and shuffles closer, pressing his cheek to your shoulder blade. the warmth hums – not like a neon sign, but like a bonfire. "most men would be awfully sleepy after a night with me, killer."

your chest echoes with a chuckle. "maybe you're not as good as you think you are."

in an instant, your hand is empty, and the blade presses below your voice box. he angles the tip into it with a tilt of his head, eyes wide.

"i almost killed you," he whispers wondrously. he lowers the blade, bringing it closer to his face, and squints at it, tossing it in his palm. "it feels... invisible."

"you weren't supposed to see it yet," you say worriedly as a trickle of blood runs down your throat. "it's not finished."

jimin twists away from you, falling back onto the pillows with a soft thump and a giggle as you grasp at air. "i want to see this. did you make this for me, killer? sentimental, much?"

"give it back."

"no."

"give it."

jimin grins and rolls onto his side as you reach over him, grabbing your shoulder to yank you down over him. he's surprisingly strong for one so slight, but neither of you put much effort into it. jimin flips the blade over, letting the silky pattern of watered steel catch the light, dazzling as jewels. it sparks in his eyes, turning his irises into liquid gold for half a moment. he drops the blade with his wrist and you remember how to breathe again.

he glances up at you from the corner of his eye. "is that real pink diamond in the handle?"

you make an offended noise from the back of your throat. "who do you think i am? of course it's real."

with a soft hum, jimin snaps the blade shut, folding it neatly into an ebony handle. he shifts onto his back and swipes his front knuckle over the front of your throat. blood beads again along the same trail and jimin pouts.

"i didn't mean to do that," he sulks.

"i rather liked it," you murmur, and jimin's plush lips part. your gaze snaps down to them instinctively, and they curve up into a tiny smirk. "a sort of christening. may you kill many deserving bastards with it."

jimin presses the soft, warm pad of his thumb against your lips. "you love me, don't you?" he nearly crows, a smug glow in his eyes. "you're adorable. you forget what this is, killer."

"a transaction," you reply, still draped over him, hovering inches from his face by the strength of your arms. "just that i'm not the only one paying anymore."

his smile vanishes. he sits up, his eyes cooled to volcanic rock. "no."

"no?" you tilt your head, following him with a heavy gaze as he swings his bare legs out of bed and crosses the room. "well, i certainly wasn't the one dragging someone else into bed with him."

"shut up," he snaps, shrugging on the nearest shirt. it's crumpled, and he folds down the collar in an effort to neaten it. it doesn't do much. it's not his size, either, hanging from his arms and exposing the intoxicating curve of his neck and shoulders. "i'm not in love with you."

"really, jimin?" you rest against the headboard, tucking a knee towards your chest with a sigh. "all these tiny trinket gifts: watches, bracelets, rings with your initials on them. admit it. you're trying to court me, little shrike," you tease.

faster than you can track, jimin flings the switchblade towards you. you roll your head to the right two seconds too late, half a mockery and half a sweet head-tilt, and reach over your shoulder to tug the blade from the wall. "you dropped this."

"you didn't try," he nearly snarls.

"why would i? we all die eventually, and i'd rather look my ravishing killer in the eye than waste time trying to avoid it."

"if i was in love, it certainly wouldn't be with you," he sniffs, checking his nails in a curled hand. "you'd be a terrible person to do it with."

"'do it'? jimin, dear, love isn't so simple. it's not a task, nor is it a job." the ruffle of sheets. gentle hands around his waist, warm bare chest against his back – warm bare everything. you bare everything to him, and he's certain that you'd split open your ribs to give him your heart if you could. you open your hand, the switchblade laid open across it. "you may use it to kill me, if you like. i've heard i can be rather difficult at times."

he picks it up with three dainty fingers, giving it a spin. he clicks it shut. "you would let me kill you... because you're annoying me?"

in response, you only smile and squeeze his hip, turning away to find your clothes. "how many lovers of yours can say the same?"

he purses his lips. "lovers? is that what we are?"

"well," you tug your shirt over your head, "i'd like to think so."

"you're obsessed with this... idea of us," jimin replies, staring out over the city skyline, twinkling in the darkness as if the stars have fallen to the earth. "love, for you, is terrifying. it's like a religion. no one will ever want to sleep with you."

you glance over your shoulder with a smile and a glint in your eyes. "you are, aren't you? as for religion," you continue offhandedly, "i've always looked great on my knees."

jimin says nothing. he can't; it would be a lie to say he doesn't like it when you worship every inch of him in all the worst ways, wicking the sin off of him like sweat and cleansing him with every white-out daze.

he turns around, as light on his feet as a songbird, and his piercing gaze snaps to yours like a raptor. there's something missing behind those eyes, but his fingers glance over his buttons, and the whole thing flutters to the ground, white as angels' wings, around his bare ankles and marble calves.

he has your full attention. he's shameless, slinking up to you with dancing touches and fleeting glances, and he hums as you place your hands on the pretty dip of his waist. he plays with the hairs at the nape of your neck and smiles at the shiver that courses through you.

he brings your lips to his. "then tell me again," he whispers delicately, rosy and cherubic, "how you'll love me."

#jimin #park jimin #jimin x male reader #park jimin x male reader #jimin x reader #bts x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

Visenya raged.

Rage was all that was left, black and red creeping over her vision as her hands shook with the need to unsheathe Dark Sister and cut down all who stood in the room, their beady eyes watching every twitch of muscle as she paced.

“Would that you could join me,” Rhaenys hummed, leaning back against Visenya’s chest, her delicate hands coming to wring the bath water from her hair, molten gold in the candle light. The steam curled around them, more like smoke than water, and she had never looked more beautiful.

Visenya snorted. “Dorne is too hot for the likes of me.” She rested her chin against her sister’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her, the water sloshing over the edge of the great copper tub. In truth, she did not want her to go, did not want them to be separated. Aegon was foolish when Rhaenys was not near, melancholy and full of malaise. Not even Orys could pull him from his moods.

The younger woman turned her head, pressing her lips to Visenya’s cheek. “Fire cannot kill a dragon,” she murmured, licking at a bead of sweat that trailed down her temple.

The doors to the throne room opened, two kingsguard heaving them apart as Aegon strode through, his head held high even as his eyes were wet.

She wanted to tear the crown from his head, to beat him with it until he was so much ruined meat before her.

Rhaenys' back arched off the bed, her slender fingers pulling at the sheets beneath. The moonlight poured over her skin, liquid silver and shadow, and Visenya had never loved her more. She kissed each scar, each freckle and beauty mark that dotted her soft skin, skin so much softer than her own, tongue laving and teeth nipping until Rhaenys hissed a command. “Kiss me,” she said. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.” Visenya swallowed the words down.

There was nothing that could keep Visenya from launching herself at her king, her brother, her husband. Her hands found the fabric of his doublet and she shook him. His violet eyes, lighter than her own, yet so much darker than their sister’s, looked down at her impassively, as if the fire that roared through her at their loss was a mere inconvenience.

Resplendent in her light armor, red and gold scaled leather, Rhaenys shone like a beacon from atop Meraxes. The Valyrian runes Visenya had woven through her braids caught the sunlight, reflecting it back at them. She pressed three fingers to her lips and Aegon smiled up at her, as if that kiss was meant for him. Visenya tugged gently at the pendant she wore, a single teardrop ruby set in Valyrian steel, twin to the one Rhaenys wore. Her sister touched her own necklace, grinning wide, and bade her dragon take to the sky, to Dorne.

“It should have been you!” she snarled, her teeth only inches from his throat. Visenya heard the clang of metal as his guards stepped forward, but Aegon held up a hand to halt their approach, and all she could do was laugh, the manic sound bouncing between the stone and stained glass windows. As if they could stop her from having her vengeance, as if they could hope to stand against her and the tidal wave of her pain. She would bring that pain down on them like the sea her Velaryon mother commanded, like the dragonfire they inherited from their father. “It should have been you,” she cried again, her voice losing volume, stuck somewhere in her throat. Aegon’s hands came to grasp gently at her elbows and she sagged against him, pressed her face against his chest that still smelled of Rhaenys' perfume. “It should have been you.” She was not the wife he had wanted. He was not the husband she had wanted. All that connected them was lost now. “It should have been me.” The words came out in a whisper and Visenya wept.

#if you see me reposting this because there was a typo in my graphic mind your business #viseyna targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #aegon i targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd fic #fire and blood

[liaromancewriter]

Love Bites

Premise: Ethan and Cassie get a little carried away in their sex capades.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Mature – NSFW. Tropes: Public Places. Gala. Words: 2,325

A/N: This fic is for 2 anon prompt requests. Submission for @choicesprompts Smutember, prompt 10 (caught in the act); for @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 day 21 (kiss). I'm also using @choicesflashfics week 49, prompt 1 and 3 (in bold).

The glittering lights of the ballroom sparkled like stars in the painted ceiling above. Soft music from a string quartet tucked away in a little alcove mingled with the din of a crowd.

The conversations around the room jumped from stock market tips to the vagrancy of the global economy to an auction at Sotheby’s for a priceless piece of art.

Ethan Ramsey eavesdropped on the people behind him and wondered how priceless the artwork was given it was on auction, which, by its very definition, required one to put a price on an object.

He leaned against a column, sipping a passable Scotch, and watched his girlfriend work the room. Dr. Valentine could triage a level one emergency in the middle of the night, but Cassie Valentine was made for settings like this.

A designer gown that teased as much as it revealed, hair expertly styled and make-up that highlighted her green eyes and red lips. She blended in with Manhattan’s glitterati as if she belonged. But then again, this was her world as much as Edenbrook was.

Cassie could, and did, straddle two worlds with aplomb. Ethan envied that about her.

He could schmooze if absolutely pushed under the pain of death, but he always felt awkward doing it. Like he was wearing shoes two sizes too big.

Cassie wore a shimmering black dress with a sweetheart neckline that hugged her curves. Her arms were bare and cuffed with more diamonds. And when she moved, he spied glimpses of silky white thighs. Earlier this afternoon, those same legs had been locked around his ass.

A teardrop diamond pendant was framed between her cleavage, just below the dip at the base of her throat. It caught the glint of the chandeliers. He briefly lost himself in an erotic fantasy where his lips sucked deep at the sensitive spot on the side of her neck as her throaty cries echoed around him.

He smirked into his drink at the thought of crossing the carpeted floor, taking her in his arms and marking her in front of everyone. That would show them who she was going home with tonight.

Especially one of her exes who’d almost ruined the evening before it began with the lascivious way he stared at her breasts and hips. Ethan wanted to applaud when Cassie stared the other man down until he escaped with a flimsy excuse.

Ethan reflected that Asshole the Third, Max’s nickname for the other man, was well deserved.

“Thought I’d find you lurking in the corner,” Cassie said charmingly as she floated toward him on high heels, a champagne flute in one hand.

“Don’t blame me,” Ethan quipped with a wry grin. “Your brother deserted me for a sultry redhead. Or maybe it was the luscious brunette.”

Cassie’s brows knit in annoyance, and she turned around to look for Max in the crowded ballroom. She huffed when her search proved unsuccessful and turned back, moving closer. Her floral scent tantalized his senses, and he inhaled deeply, feeling lightheaded.

“You take my breath away every time I see you,” he murmured into her ear, lightly biting the edge of her earlobe. “My patience is wearing thin. Let’s get out of here.”

Cassie sipped her champagne and threw him an amused look above the rim of her glass.

“All in good time, babe,” she winked. “My mom would never forgive me if we left before the main event.”

Handing her empty glass to a passing server, Cassie nestled against him and hooked one arm around his back. She planted light kisses along his jawline, little nips and bites that she soothed with her tongue.

“I already thanked you earlier for accompanying me this weekend,” she said between kisses. “But I feel this sacrifice deserves an extra spicy reward.” She bit the corner of his lips. “If you’re up for a sexy dare, that is?”

Ethan’s ears perked up at the salacious proposition, and he met the challenge in her eyes with one of his own.

“I’m not the one protesting whenever I fuck you against my apartment’s windows,” he lowered his voice, the words deliberately crude to gauge how serious she was.

She scoffed but didn’t deny the accusation. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was paying attention to them, she placed a hand on his arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Meet me in the corner cloakroom. Five minutes.”

Ethan blushed when he realized she was deadly serious. He watched her hips swing enticingly as she navigated the crowds toward the exit. Suddenly, his collar felt tight, and he tugged it away from his neck.

Anticipation had him practically panting. He started to follow Cassie when Max stepped into his path.

“Have you seen my sister?” he asked, glancing on either side before looking at Ethan, puzzled. “Your face is flushed. You okay?”

Ethan nodded, resisting the urge to tug at his collar again, and prayed the younger man wouldn’t press the issue.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Max said with a shrug, taking Ethan at his word. “Come on. He’s by the bar.”

Stuck, Ethan followed Max to the other side of the room. He glanced at the exit Cassie had taken and sincerely hoped she was still in the mood when he joined her.

Fifteen minutes later, he shifted anxiously on his feet, trapped between Max, the CEO of a new health center focused on diagnostics, and the curse of social niceties. The conversation with the other man was fascinating, and he would have been entirely present in any other circumstances. But not when his girlfriend was waiting to be fucked.

When his phone buzzed against his chest, he reached into the pocket and looked down at the screen. He didn’t need a Cypher to decode the three questions mark in Cassie’s text.

“I’m sorry,” he said apologetically at the two men before him. “This is important.” He indicated the phone in his hand, shading the screen from Max’s shrewd gaze. “I need to make a phone call.”

Ethan hastily escaped, his long strides covering the length of the ballroom, a man on a critical mission. He marched down the long hallway, ignoring the guests mingling in the relative quiet of the foyer.

The corner cloakroom wasn’t being used for the event, and the window was shuttered. It looked dark and deserted.

Figuring Cassie had given up on him and returned to the gala, Ethan started to turn away when a hand grabbed him from behind and pulled him into the darkened room.

“Finally!” Cassie muttered. He could hear the pout in her voice. “I thought I was going to have to handle things myself.”

It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim lighting from the hall coming through the wooden slats of the roll-up window.

“Blame your brother,” Ethan grunted, his hands rough as he gripped her elbows and lifted her against the wall.

“You seem to be blaming Max for many things today,” Cassie said, exasperated.

“Scold me later,” he said, covering her body with his.

His mouth descended upon hers, swallowing whatever Cassie was about to say. His lips coaxed hers open to the thrust of his tongue, desperate in his need for her. With a moan, she pressed against him, her fingers digging into his hips.

Their breathing became labored as their kisses became greedy, hungry and ravenous. Cassie sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, lightly catching it between her teeth. It stung, and he tasted blood.

Ethan cupped her jaw in one hand, gripping it tight to hold her in place, and lowered his mouth to kiss the dip at the base of her throat. He cuffed her wrists in one hand and raised her arms, keeping them flush against the wall. The movement thrust her cleavage out.

Recalling his earlier fantasy, Ethan pushed the top of her dress down and buried his face between her naked breasts. He savored the sexy sounds she uttered as he licked and sucked her nipples, biting the edge just enough for her desire-filled eyes to snap open.

He could feel the tremors coursing through her body and released her hands. He reached under the skirt of her dress to grip her ass, lifting her hips until she locked her legs around his thighs. The fabric of her dress draped over his arms as he shoved the skirt away and stared heatedly at the lacy triangle covering her crotch.

Cassie’s fingers fumbled with his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping him. She thrust her hands inside his underwear to cup him. Her fingers gently wrapped around his thick length and released him from his pants, pumping once, twice, and stroking the tip with her thumb. He rocked himself, sliding into her grasp, grunting his need as words failed him.

He nibbled kisses along Cassie’s jaw and down her throat. Below, his fingers stroked her core, teasing the tender folds. His thumb pressed against the top of her sex, and she squirmed, her hands falling to the side.

“Please, please, please,” she begged, rubbing against him.

Ethan sucked hard on the tendon in her neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin, and she jumped.

“Stop!” Cassie pushed him back as she slapped a hand where his lips had been.

Ethan shook his head to clear the haze of lust clouding his mind. He saw tears prick the corner of her eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“Let me look,” he said gently and removed her hand. “Crap.”

“Double crap,” Cassie said with a dismayed glance.

They stared at the redness on her neck from the hickey and the light impressions of his teeth around its edges. He remembered thinking earlier how he’d like to mark her. But it had been an idle thought. He’d never want to embarrass her in front of her family.

“Ethan, I can’t go back to the gala looking like this,” she cried out, almost in tears.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, placing his palm along the side of her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbones. “I got carried away.”

“We both did,” Cassie said, sighing deeply. “What are we going to do?”

Ethan started to respond, but Cassie shushed him.

They heard voices outside and stared in alarm at the unlocked door. They tried to scramble apart while tugging at the bodice of Cassie’s dress, but the door suddenly swung inward before they could do anything.

For a second, light from the hallway shone directly on their tangled bodies and then two people appeared in the doorway. They wore the hotel uniform and had a rolling coat rack behind them. He didn’t recognize the man, but the woman had been manning the other cloakroom when they arrived.

Ethan pressed himself against Cassie’s front to protect her modesty, but it was obvious from the shocked looks on their faces that they’d gotten quite an eyeful. He realized then that Cassie wasn’t the only one exposed. His dick hung out from the opening in his dress pants.

“Shut the door,” Ethan barked when the pair remained frozen in the doorway.

His shout seemed to do the trick as the two workers hurriedly slammed the door shut.

“Wow. You put the fear of Doctor Ramsey in them,” Cassie said, giggling.

She adjusted the bodice of her dress, shaking the folds of her skirt to remove any creases. Ethan smiled ruefully and tucked himself away, gently zipping up and buckling his belt.

His eyes darkened as they fell on the love bite.

“Do you want to head back to the hotel?” he asked, peering intently at her.

“We can’t,” she reminded him, pushing herself off the wall. “Let me think.”

She started pacing the small space, seemingly in a conversation with herself. Ethan wanted to interrupt, but he knew her well enough by now to not do that.

“Okay, I have a solution,” Cassie said, folding her arms in front of her. “I checked my shawl into the cloakroom when we arrived. I can wrap that around my neck and shoulders. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’m cold. Max will suspect something’s up but won’t say anything.”

“Let’s go get your shawl,” Ethan said with a nod to indicate his agreement with the plan. “Facing that cloakroom attendant again can’t be any more embarrassing than what already transpired.”

“Oh, no, Dr. Ramsey,” Cassie said with a tsk, moving away from Ethan. “You gave me the hickey. Ergo, you’re going to get my shawl while I wait here. I’m not stepping foot outside this room until I’m presentable.”

Marching down the hallway to do as she demanded, Ethan grumbled internally that it was her idea to make out in the empty cloakroom. But, he reasoned, they wouldn’t need to cover up if he hadn’t lost control. So, he owed her.

He and the attendant avoided eye contact during the entire interaction, and Ethan wondered what had happened to his once-sedate life.

The old him would have never been in this situation, pretending the woman across from him hadn’t just caught him ravishing his girlfriend in public with a few hundred esteemed guests mingling close enough to hear but for the music.

Later, he escorted Cassie back to the ballroom, the shawl firmly ensconced around her neck. It looked strange, given the circumstances, but they had no choice.

“Hey, where have you guys been?” Max called out from a short distance away, clearly on the lookout for them.

Cassie kept a straight face as her brother started toward them. She glanced sideways at Ethan, and they shared a conspiratorial wink.

Ethan grinned wickedly as Cassie walked over to meet Max in the middle. A sedate life was overrated, he thought. With Cassie around, he’d never be bored. She wouldn’t let him. And that was better than any medical mystery he’d ever solved.

-------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @midnightmelodiz

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey @youlookappropriate

#open heart #open heart choices #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices fanfics #open heart fanfics #choices fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine #writers on tumblr

[diamondcrownacademy]

DCA Info Part 39: Meet Sophie Fascinare 💜

Twisted from: Sofia the First

Art colored by @au-ni-ro

Sophie Fascinare (ソフィー・ファシナーレ, Sofī Fashināre) is a 15 year old 1st year student affiliated with the Glastanzerin dorm. Hailing from an isolated kingdom, she has no idea how to fit in the modern society but she will try her best to become a true princess!

History

Sophie was born and raised in the kingdom of Enchantis, a large island with a castle in the center surrounded by other large islands that house villages and towns.

At some point during her life, Sophie’s mother, Queen Meredith married a humble jeweler known as Ryland and in the process became the older step sister to Ryland’s twins, his son Amir and his daughter Jemma. She was very welcoming to her new family members though she has to constantly remind her Amir that being royalty comes with responsibility.

When her enrollment in Diamond Crown Academy was announced, her mother’s council immediately disagreed out of fear of outsiders and reject any idea of outside knowledge ruining their traditions.

Prior to her departure to DCA, her mother entrusted her with a magical amulet that was said could grant powers to anyone who wears it.

Personality

Sophie is diligent and hopeful, never gives up on a task until it is done. Though she needs to learn how to lean onto others for support when she needs it. She has a determined spirit even if she screws up, she just tells herself to take note of the mistake and try again no matter how embarrassed she may be.

Appearance

Sophie is a young girl of average height in her mid-teens. She has fair skin, blue eyes which were later changed to violet, and shoulder-length brown hair that would later include a light purple streak and is commonly shown in a ponytail.

Sophie’s Ensemble in her First Bio

This ensemble takes inspiration from the ensemble of the character Sophie is based on. the details of the ensemble are listed below with the only difference being that the bio ensemble has a purple color palette.

1st School Uniform

The outfit consists of a a bright blue puff sleeve jacket with a crown pattern, gold trim, buttons, a pale yellow ruffle collar with white lace and navy blue cuffs with silver buttons with a flower motif. The jacket is worn over a baby blue dress with the top having gold trim and white lace and also having a light yellow skirt. For footwear, Sophie wears a pair of brown shoes with gold straps with bows in the center alongside a pair of pale yellow argyle socks that have a solid purple color at the halfway point.

Sophie accessorizes with a silver tiara with the center part resembling a heart with a purple gem on top, a purple bow on the right side of her hair, a navy blue sash and most notably an amulet with a purple teardrop pendant set in silver.

2nd School Uniform

Sophie’s ensemble is drastically different from the first one. She wears a light blue puff-sleeved bolero jacket with gold trim and white pearl buttons. Underneath is glittery periwinkle overskirt with gold trim worn over a pastel blue argyle v-neck dress with pale yellow trim which is in turn worn over a white dress shirt with lace trim. For footwear, Sophie wears a pair of dark brown low heeled shoes with yellow ruffle trim and blue-violet bows and a pair of white socks with ruffle cuffs.

Sophie accessorizes with a silver tiara with the center having a heart motif and infinity loops on both sides, a blue-violet ponytail ribbon, a blue-violet ribbon with gold trim and a silver teardrop brooch with a purple jewel in the center, and a blue-violet sash with gold trim and a ribbon on the right side with a silver gem in the center.

3rd School Uniform

Sophie's 3rd school uniform is fairly basic, which makes sense since she’s adjusting to a new environment due to coming from an isolated kingdom. Additionally she was unsure how the uniform commissioning system worked so she commissioned something simplistic.

For her ensemble, Sophie wears a periwinkle puff sleeve jacket with silver trim, a pair of pale blue gem buttons on each side of the jacket, each attached to a pair of silver toggles,dark purple cuffs and the inside has a purple checkerboard pattern. Worn underneath the jacket is a pale blue sweater with a collar and a periwinkle skirt with silver trim and pale blue ruffles. For footwear, Sophie wears a pair of low heeled Mary Janes with silver buckles and bows on the straps. She wears the shoes with a pair of short white socks.

Sophie accessorizes with a silver tiara with heart and loop motif, a silver teardrop brooch with a lavender with a flower in the center and pale blue gems on the top, and a violet belt with a bow in the center alongside a silver buckle.

School Statistics

Sophie is a 15 year old 1st year student. She is classified as Student #3 and is in Class 1-A. She has yet to choose a club, but her best subject is Basic Etiquette. Her favorite school subject is Study of Magical Relics because of she was always so interested in relics, in part thanks to her amulet. Her least favorite school subject is Fencing/Sword Fighting due to her lack of experience with weaponry.

Relationships

Family

Sophie has a good relationship with her family, including her stepfather and step siblings.

Pet

Sophie’s animal companion is a cocker spaniel named, Filly. A loyal dog who always gives advice and encourages her.

During the first few weeks of the school, Filly and the other animals were the only ones she’d talk to.

Voice

According to her bio, Sophie would be voiced by Kanae Itō known for her roles as Amu Hinamori in Shugo Chara!, Ruiko Saten in A Certain Scientific Railgun, and Nana Astar Deviluke in To Love Ru to list a few.

Trivia

• Her birthday is on November 18th, making her a Scorpio. Her birthday is also the same day that Sofia the First: Once Upon a Princess released, as well as being the birthday of Mickey Mouse.

• She is 160 cm tall.

• Her favorite food is Salad and other fresh produce dishes while her least favorite food is Svisker Gröt (stewed prunes). She dislikes huge servings and cutting corners.

• She enjoys derby racing, cooking with others, walking through forests, and watching animals.

• Her preferred Styling Jewel Outfit Styles is Classical.

• For her casual attire, Sophie would mostly wear printed clothes that have cute characters or nice typeface along with a denim skirt to match. She would also wear knee length dresses with simple patterns with low heeled shoes.

• Her favorite color is lavender.

• She is dubbed "Little Guppy" (グッピーちゃん, Guppī-chan) by Floyd due to being a freshman. She shares this nickname with Epel.

• She likes looking at baby animals she sees.

• In the future, while Sophie would become a Monarch she also wishes she could be something else, she dreams to own her dance studio.

• In terms of desserts, Sophie loves anything with chocolates.

• Sophie would smell like the flowers of Enchantis.

• Her signature scent would be a light cologne.

#sophie fascinare #DCA info #diamond crown academy #meet the first years

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Dirty mind

Part Two to Entertainment.

I love this AU way too much, pour one out for our boy LXC who's going through it.

---

Negotiating accords is often a boring affair. It takes a lot of back-and-forth, a lot of figure checking, going over past documents, current events and future prospects.

To be honest, it's got to be one of the most tedious parts of inter-sect politics and the one thing that Lan Wangji dreads most during Discussion Conference week. He knows he must help his brother with this - there are, after all, documents and pieces of information that only the innermost circle of the sect leader has access to - but that doesn't mean he has to like it, or pretend to.

After all, everybody knows he's not particularly sociable and since it's Lan Xichen that's doing most of the talking, Lan Wangji doesn't have to attempt to make himself any more pleasant than he would otherwise be. Which is not a lot.

However, today it won't be just another annoying, entitled sect leader that the Lan delegation will be meeting with. In fact, for possibly the first time in his life, Lan Wangji is looking forward to negotiations - because they're meeting to settle some new trade accords with the Yiling Wei sect.

Which means that he gets to spend the day around Wei Ying, something he hasn't been able to do much lately. Understandable, considering the fact that his beloved is a sect leader now, but that doesn't mean Lan Wangji doesn't miss him immensely the more time they spend apart.

If Lan Wangji could have his way, he'd be negotiating with Wei Ying himself, alone, in one of the guest rooms that the Conference's organizers have provided them with - but since he's not the Lan sect leader, he has to just be happy joining Lan Xichen for the talks and acting something of a glorified secretary during. This is probably the first time Lan Wangji has ever wished he was sect leader instead of his brother - but he doubts he would be able to so patiently deal with the likes of Sect Leader Yao or Sect Leader Ouyang without causing a diplomatic incident.

Anyway, beggars can't be choosers. Even just getting to share space with Wei Ying is a privilege, and Lan Wangji is going to make the best of it - he's donning his best robes, the light blue, embroidered ones that Wei Ying likes (taking off) most, and he's even wearing jewelry. Well, one piece of jewelry, but it's not a random one - it's a fine, silver necklace with a teardrop ruby that Wei Ying's gifted him on his birthday. The chain is rather long, which means that the pendant lands just above Lan Wangji's sternum. There's a reason for this - a reason that has Lan Wangji smile to himself - Wei Ying told him he liked the way the ruby dangles in his face when they-

"Wangji."

Lan Xichen's voice interrupts Lan Wangji's escalating thoughts, and he tries his best not to appear flustered. He knows his brother can read him well, but he still hopes that it's not all written all over his face.

Xichen sighs. "Let's go, I would hate to be late." And he smiles, ever so warm and polite, but his brother can see the mischievous edge. "I know you would as well."

Lan Wangji doesn't reply, picking up the stack of paperwork he has prepared for the meeting and follows his brother out of the room. If his ears are a bit too red, nobody comments on it.

---

Lan Wangji is quite sure he will never tire of seeing Wei Ying. His heart will forever do sommersaults in his chest at the sight of his love, no matter how often it may be and no matter what he might look like.

But Lan Wangji would be a filthy liar if he said the sight of his Wei Ying in sect leader robes is not overwhelmingly attractive. God, he looks good in anything (and in nothing at all), but there's something about the ornate robes, the air of authority, the way he carries himself that has Lan Wangji take deep breaths and swallow hard.

And Wei Ying has decided to impress that day. Lan Wangji just hopes he will be able to tear his eyes away from Wei Ying's tastefully cut robes, the sharp V of his neckline and the way his hair falls over his shoulders, a thin drape over the fine embroidery of his clothing and-

"Sect Leader Lan." Wei Ying greets, respectfully, his eyes moving towards Lan Wangji's, warm, loving and teasing. "Hanguang-Jun."

"Sect Leader Wei." Lan Xichen greets with a smile. "Please, have a seat and let us proceed."

Lan Wangji is going to die some time during this meeting, probably. With the way Wei Ying looks at him, it will be a wonder if he doesn't lose his mind within the next five minutes, let alone the two or three hours negotiations usually take.

Wei Ying's head disciple, Wen Ning, hands him a few scrolls, and Wei Ying casually unrolls them, looking over the writing there for a moment before presenting them to Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji doesn't know why that simple movement seemed so incredibly sexy to him, but he has no time to ponder. He knows he has to provide his own sect's documents now.

Wei Ying doesn't let him lay them onto the table, and takes them from Lan Wangji's hand himself. The touch is tender, brief and electric. Wei Ying smiles at him in that certain way that has Lan Wangji weak and turns to Lan Xichen to discuss it.

Lan Wangji wishes he could be more present. These talks are important, establishing a trade route accord and a cooperation treaty with the Yiling Wei sect is pivotal - the region they reside in is of great strategic value, and the progress Wei Ying has made in cleansing the Burial Mounds is nothing short of exceptional. If the Lan sect manages to establish itself as a primary partner for Yiling Wei, they'll gain a significant advantage over the other sects, economically, politically and in terms of cultivation.

But all Lan Wangji can focus on is how beautiful, competent and, to put it bluntly, hot his partner is. He talks with ease, confidently arguing his points, never raising his voice. He's firm in his demands but not rigid, and he seems to be finding a way to meet Lan Xichen's expectations halfway without placing either of them at a disadvantage.

Lan Wangji is very glad he isn't sect leader now. He would have gotten absolutely nothing done if it had been him to negotiate with Wei Ying. He would have just given him whatever he wanted and then-

"Hanguang-Jun, what do you think of the student exchange initiative?" Wei Ying asks, and he doesn't hide the fact that he knew Lan Wangji has been staring at him, resting his chin on his palm with a poorly concealed sultry look. "Since you're in charge of the teaching at the Cloud Recesses, I figure your input is very important."

Lan Xichen sighs quietly beside him and Lan Wangji feels himself flustered. Still, although he has been thirsting after Wei Ying all throughout the meeting, he hasn't been entirely checked out of the conversation. He's good at multitasking, and he can think with two heads just fine.

"It could be beneficial for the juniors to interact with different kinds of people and encounter new forms of cultivation." Lan Wangji responds, smoothly. "I also believe it would help reduce any stigma about the Yiling Wei sect and its methods among the younger generations."

Wei Ying smiles, fox-like, and Lan Wangji has decided he's had enough of being the only one teased.

So, with Wei Ying's attention still on him, he very casually loosens his lapels just enough for Wei Ying's eyes to catch onto the piece of jewelry Lan Wangji has worn especially for him.

"Not to mention," he continues, "it would contribute to strengthening our sect relations."

Wei Ying's eyes flash red for a moment before he turns to answer whatever Lan Xichen has just asked. Lan Wangji didn't hear it and he isn't that bothered about it - the look on Wei Ying's face is enough for him to know this negotiation won't last much longer.

And if he just happens to busy himself playing with his necklace, that can always be attributed to idleness.

It's a bit funny, watching Wei Ying struggle to pay attention as his eyes follow the way Lan Wangji's fingers trace over the silver chain, and every so often let go in favor of the red jewel, messing with it in a way that shouldn't be so suggestive.

Expectedly, negotiations end shortly after. All vital points of interest have been met, there were virtually no points of contention and the final draft of the document will be signed tomorrow.

When Xichen stands up and bows to leave, Wangji knows he has to leave too, he needs to debrief with his brother and send a few letters back home. He will be visiting Wei Ying later.

However, before he can stand, Xichen places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes a bit too hard. "I will leave you to settle whatever had the two of you so... antsy."

He walks out with Wen Ning in tow, and sets a pace much too quick for the occasion.

He knows the inhabitants of the now empty room won't wait long.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

[fauxraven]

Age of the Wandering Fae [I]

pairing: Dream of the Endless x Nuala of the Faerie

summary: A thousand times of choosing others and the one time she chooses herself.

warnings: spoilers for the comics, only canon-compliant through the beginning of The Kindly Ones, Nuala is underrated.

word count: 5k+

dedicated to @nualaofthefaerie

Enter the Dream, weary traveller

There is a diamond teardrop resting upon her heart.

It shimmers against a sea of new galaxies and supernovas long since imploded.

There is a sapphire teardrop in her eyes.

It glistens like a pebble under the glare of a dying sun. Insignificant, in the infinite scheme of everlasting everything.

There is a ruby teardrop in the throne room. It drops like a dead planet, tumbling off the endless ocean of galaxies shimmering in his eyes.

The ruby bounces off the floors, falls out of her chest, skips across the fabric of the worlds and shatters at her feet.

Her brother had called it World’s End.

This is infinitely worse.

The heavy words linger inside what is left of a heart that’s been trampled time and time again. For the last time.

‘’What?’’ When she finds her voice, the word is small, inconsequential, to her likeness.

‘’Is there anything you wish to take away with you, Nuala?’’ He repeats, as if she could ever forget, ever dismiss the sound of his voice.

She shakes her head feebly.

‘’Very well. I would like to formally thank you for your service, these last three years. Give me your pendant.’’

‘’What?’’

This is not real. This can’t be real. This is a dream. A nightmare. She knows he’s just remade the Corinthian; she knows he would not—could not… let her go?

‘’Your pendant.’’

A slender finger touches her heart. The diamond teardrop sparkles, a pure white light emanating from within. The pale hand falls away with her hope.

‘’There,’’ he says, dark starry eyes sweeping over her own. ‘’For your loyal service. A gift. If in need, hold the stone with both hands and call me. I will come to you. You may have one boon.’’

Oh.

‘’You desire more than that?’’

No.

No, thank you, sire. Very kind of you, sire.

The diamond teardrop tumbles down a steep hill and joins the ruby at the bottom of a winding staircase.

At the very top of those stairs, lays the universe, in all its infinite glory.

At the bottom, lies her crumpled heart, a brother that has never deserved her and a dream lord who has never wanted her.

A dream lord who lets her go, the same way she came into his possession.

A dream lord who, just like everyone else in her life, will not fight for her.

Somewhere deep within the Garden of Forking Ways, Destiny of the Endless startles. A shackled hand flips through an ancient book of endless tales—flips and flips until his fingers smart, and then stops.

This is the moment that changes everything.

For the first time in the history of Time, Nuala of the Faerie decides to fight for herself.

‘’That’s all?’’

‘’You desire more then?’’

‘’Screw you.’’

She can barely see Dream’s eyes beneath the heavy bangs shielding his deathly glare, but the single star twinkles, twinkles against her odds.

Beside her, an unworthy brother stifles a laugh.

‘’Nuala, you jest! How I’ve missed this. But do leave some for—‘’

‘’No,’’ her voice has never been this stern, this cutting. Her cold eyes briefly find his dilated pupils. ‘’You left me here. No, you traded me. Offered me up like I was some sort of jewel. Less than—a… nothing. I was nothing to you. I always have been. Screw you.’’ A daring faerie finger jabs the Dream Lord in the chest. ‘’And screw you.’’

‘’You forget yourself, Nuala.’’

‘’I don’t even know who I am,’’ she replies quietly. And then the rest of the world falls away and Cluracan’s lulling voice disappears. In this new sheltered universe, there remains two people, huddled under the blazing light of a thousand stars. She isn’t even half of them. ‘’I warned you. I kept telling you but you wouldn’t listen. Was this really worth it? Was she worth it?’’

She recalls weeks of endless rain and aimless walks under his bedchambers, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of him. Tucked in a corner of the Dreaming, standing in all his ethereal glory on the highest balcony of the dream world, brooding as he's always been, she’d still spent hours watching him.

But in mourning, he’d seldom looked at her even though she’d only ever had eyes for him.

She’d visited the witch’s quarters many times after that, before they were erased, just so she could feel even briefly what it meant to be loved by him.

And he was sending her away.

She was tired of being ignored, she was tired of constantly fighting for someone who had no wish to fight for her. The worst of the worst: he had no malicious intent; he was simply doing this because it was all the same to him.

She wished it were all the same to her.

‘’You are out of line.’’

‘’I am not anything. To anyone.’’

She is testing him, she realises that, but she also longs for freedom, and she learns that she cannot have both. It had never been him and freedom.

Him or freedom. Always.

She thinks it’s funny; how she doesn’t realize it until after the words have left her mind but before they’re out of her mouth.

She wants freedom.

She wants to be liked, to know love. To be worthy.

She should have written that letter. It would have hurt less.

‘’I’m not leaving with you, Cluracan,’’ she says, still hanging on to Dream’s eyes. ‘’But I’m not going to stay where I’m not wanted and watch you destroy yourself.’’

She is crying now. The diamonds tumble and tumble across the rolling expanse of a hill, steeper still.

‘’I can’t do it. I won’t. I won’t do it—not when I’ve spent every day of the past three years completely in love with you.’’

The final diamond falls, plucked from her heaving bosom.

It shatters on the cold floors of the throne room, its deafening crack resounding in the empty room long after she’s vanished into the ether.

⬗ ⬗ ⬗

Cluracan is looking for his sister.

Titania, Queen of the Faerie, is scourging the planes for her loyal servant.

The Faerie Folk of all worlds are calling out to their kin.

The Dream King sits upon his throne, thinking.

Around him, all is utterly still.

The Dreaming is quiet, save for a few whispers and the occasional side-eye glance of a beady eye. Nothing has changed much.

In fact, nothing has changed at all.

Nuala of the Faerie-Folk has come. Nuala of the Faerie-Folk has gone. Everything that’s happened in between is nothing more than a fuzzy dream.

With a weary gaze, he glances at the growing pile of books gathering dust by a leg of his throne.

The Corinthian, in three old novellas, and two new tomes.

Mazikeen of the Lilim—her volume is thinner than the others, her dream web having only been activated some time during the weeks that followed Morningstar’s vacancy; thin, but incredibly insightful, for a demon at least.

The One Who Broke His Heart. Naturally, it isn’t what the title says but the matter is currently open to interpretation. Unfortunately, he knows that refraining from speaking her name will do him no good—she is only the latest in a long everlasting series—but he needs to feel the heartbreak, to mourn for a while if not forever.

His trusted librarian finds him neck deep in the thoughts of others. She carries a hefty pile of leather-bound volumes.

‘’My lord?’’

‘’Lucienne,’’ he sits up, surveying his friend with grave eyes. ‘’Is something the matter?’’

‘’I can’t be sure. These are all the books that Nuala has read, and those she planned to read. Where shall I put them?’’

The Dream King finds himself frowning. ‘’Whatever for?’’

Lucienne’s bespectacled eyes give a single blink. ‘’The search, sir.’’

He says nothing.

‘’Or—not? Forgive me, I was under the impression that we all missed her dearly. The Committee—‘’

‘’What committee?’’

‘’Well, not a committee per se but a few of the Dreamfolk have arranged to look in their own time. We all just assumed that’s what you’d want… be doing.’’

‘’Nuala has made her choice. She has left the Palace and the Dreaming. Willingly. The best way to care for her is to simply leave her be.’’

‘’But if even the fae cannot find her on this plane, surely—‘’

‘’That will be all. Thank you, Lucienne.’’

Lucienne bows and retreats to the library, leaving only her books behind.

The Dream Lord stares at the second pile for a long moment, long after the Whimsical Wind has settled in the Dreaming, long after the Gatekeepers have clocked out and the Palace remains silent still.

Nuala’s books are different, because he hasn’t read any of Nuala’s books for the simple reason that he has no idea what Nuala likes to read.

He doesn’t know anything about her.

He knows that she is faerie-folk. A fool’s sister.

He knows that she cleans the wide window panes of his throne room with a renewed dedication at least four times a day.

He knows that she tends to Fiddler’s Green sometimes and all that lay in his dominion.

He knows that she thinks she loves him. He knows that she is gone now.

But he doesn’t know where.

In the weeks that she has been gone, he’s chastised himself for not paying attention. For turning a blind eye to her feelings. He would not have returned them, but he would have been kind, understanding. After all, he was no stranger to heartbreak.

For an Endless, a supposedly omniscient being, he tended to miss the sign of the times.

Every. Single. Time.

The first book he thumbs through is nothing extraordinary. It’s a women’s magazine, with a few dog-eared pages on trendy hairstyles and photo shoots of film-stars who would not outlive the decade.

The second and third books are slightly more interesting. The Man who was Thursday, The Napoleon of Notting Hill, The Collected Works and Essays of Chesterton… most likely commissioned by Fiddler’s Green himself. She liked to read to him in the quiet hours of the morning—another thing he did not know.

Next come the classics: Jane Eyre, followed by its modern take Rebecca, the first edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream which he’d commissioned, Orlando…

He flicks through these volumes like he’s read them a thousand times over. He probably has.

In the 2028 Edition of Moll Flanders, he stops.

On page 95, a feebly curled penmanship has carved a note below a bright fuchsia section.

Pretty.

Really love?

He understands what she means; he finds it strange, surely, but he understands nonetheless. He wants to give her the answer.

No. No, he does not love her. He lusts after her.

He feels sorry that she cannot tell the difference.

The last book is not a book at all.

It’s a collection of excerpts from Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar, tiny pieces of paper stapled together without a hardcover.

Inside, he finds a world of notes.

He remembers thinking that Lucienne could not know, lest she be furious and calls off the search. He doesn’t remember much of anything else after he reads through the faerie’s thoughts.

There are many-a-quote, by many authors, that he has remembered along the years. Words are dreams that remain long after the rest of the world has awoken.

For under a quote by Plath, lays a single word, a word that has never had much meaning to him to begin with. A word that could make or destroy him.

I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

The tiny penmanship writes a single, hesitant word in the margin.

Dream?

Never, in his life, has he been more insulted. Never in his life has he been more understood.

Another similar instance draws his attention.

The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn’t hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me.

Nuala?

Thessaly tried.

But Nuala of the faerie breaks him.

⬗ ⬗ ⬗

The Twilight Realm pales in comparison to the world she’s made of it.

Memories become stories become something else entirely, and Nuala has perfectly conveyed her memories through the glamour of her quarters.

He’d gifted her the piece of land the day he’d realised she could not leave. He’d crafted a small patch of greenery, but she’d cultivated the earth herself, coaxed the fauna into establishing residence and planted a lush garden in a greenhouse the shape of a heart. It was perfect. Beautiful. Peaceful. One of the most breathtaking places in the Dreaming. And he had no use for it.

Memories become stories. And he remembers a story about a lonely King on a throne of stars. A trusted librarian and the comforting hand of a friend on a cold shoulder.

What shall we do with her rooms, my lord?

The king’s pain, felt through the pelting rain: Erase them.

‘’Boss!’’

He’s never whipped around so fast in his entire existence.

He deflates; it is only Mervyn Pumpkinhead trampling on violet flowers.

‘’You are hurting them.’’

‘’Uh?’’

‘’The lilies.’’

As if on cue, a thousand petals unfurl and two thousand cries break free.

Merv clamps his ears shut—he doesn’t have any but the sentiment is certainly there—and sidesteps the clinging stems, desperately hanging on to his knees.

‘’That’s whack! Where’s all that energy when we need something done around this place?’’

The wailing only intensifies. They miss her, nearly as much as they all do.

‘’Enough.’’

The deep baritone is enough to send shivers down their stems; the flowers still, fussing quietly as they turn away from the Dream Lord to seek more sunlight.

To Merv, he offers his undivided attention.

‘’You requested an audience.’’

‘’I did? Oh, yeah, yeah, I definitely needed to talk to you, uh… where did I put the…’’

‘’Mervyn. State your business and what is has to do with me.’’

‘’I ain’t got any business with ya, honest. Uh, why do I keep losing everything, beats me. If these winged rats nicked it I’m gonna find tweezers and—there it is!’’

The gloved fingers of a dream find a box of night itself. The box is in the shape of a tiny rectangle that fits perfectly in Mervyn’s scarecrow hands. On the side he’s presented the king, a silver thread curls in on itself, spelling the letter M.

Wholly unimpressed, the king’s cool gaze sweeps over the object.

‘’What is this?’’

‘’A box? A gift, I guess. The kid’s been working on it since you lost the last one. Not sure how it works ya know—pixie dust or whatever.’’

‘’A gift?’’ Echoes the Dream King, midnight brow furrowing. ‘’Her kind are not known for their generosity.’’

In his experience, faeries’ gifts always came with strings attached. Conditions, prices, eternal damnation.

And yet out of all the faerie’s gifts, Nuala had turned out to be the most deceiving.

‘’I shall accept it.’’

The case falls open through no fault of his own—or Merv’s. It simply reacts to a series of words; a thought, long before it’s even been articulated.

And inside the box lays Nuala’s parting gift, a single gemstone encased in a gold pendant.

A ruby worthy of dreams.

⬗ ⬗ ⬗

On the day that marks the first year without her, the Dreaming rejects every dreamer from every realm known to man.

Its heart shifts—Fiddler’s Green, then the shores of Dream Country and a thousand grains of golden sands. From the Library of Dreams to the House of Secrets and the Cave of the First Woman; the heart of the Dreaming shifts and shifts, blurs and flies by in an ocean of light and unabridged colours. Its inhabitants grow restless as a flurry of landscapes keep disappearing, reappearing, vanishing and melting altogether in an endless loop. And still—no dreamers in sight.

He is indifferent to it all.

In his idle alcove above the worlds, the Dream Lord sulks.

It is his saddest anniversary yet.

It has been less than a turn of the Earth, but he feels her loss as though she has been gone for aeons. As do they all.

His subjects are not happy; he knows this. They haven’t rebelled, because they aren’t unhappy enough to attempt the unforgivable, but oddly enough, he wants them to. He wants them to take up arms and request audience—No! No more audiences, he can’t bear any more. He wants them to be angry enough to shake some sense into him; to force him to go after her, find her, convince her, bring her home. But they don’t. Because they care about her but just as all things—love dies out. Everything ends and time heals even the deepest wounds.

He has always been impervious to Time.

Ancient eyes trail over the silver trees below. The window is dirty, fogged over with aeons of neglect and frosty winds whipping over the glass, succeeding pelting rain and sparkling rainbows.

The change in his humour has done nothing for the Dreaming.

The winds come and go, briefly clearing the skies for five glorious burning suns, and then finally bursting into fat droplets of bloody monsoons.

Undecided is the weather, a pattern it’s inherited from its creator.

The rainbow appears again, a quick flicker of warmth in the winter landscape. He feels the warmth from within. It takes the shape of a ruby, gleaming against his dark robes. It hums a soothing lullaby that only he can hear in moments of doubts. It stills his nerves and fills his heart with joy.

He does not remember when it started.

He does not remember many things about her at all.

But he remembers the feeling bubbling in his chest. A passion of some sort; probably anger, quite possibly anguish, had overwhelmed him. He remembers the new new Corinthian and a mishap that oddly resembled the old old article. He remembers the rage, the darkness, the light. The shimmering light of a thousand suns, hot as an iron in the palm of his hand, burning through his anthropomorphic personification, through the heart of an Endless and obliterating his burgeoning ire right in the bud.

The Corinthian had first learned about clemency that day; he applied it himself many times since then.

It had happened again. Once in the library, when he’d caught one of Mervyn’s unsavoury spiels. The Pumpkinhead was sent on his way, unharmed.

It wasn’t until a most incredulous episode that he'd acknowledged the truth.

A black bird in the shape of a blonde-haired little girl had trespassed on the dreams of a fat burly god.

The god looked upon the freckled little girl with glowing eyes, distributing candy like curses on Walpurgis Night.

She held out a red plastic bag, marked with the generic brand of a human supermarket and the burly god grinned and let a handful of sweets fall into the bag.

The girl suddenly reached up and pulled his white beard.

‘’Trick or treat or trick, Mr. Claus?’’

‘’That is enough.’’

The bearded god stilled, spun and found the shadowed figure of a brooding Endless.

‘’Untamo?’’

But Untamo was not looking at him. The gaze of the God of Sleep was cast past him, upon the fiddling little girl.

‘’What is your business here?’’

‘’Just—wanted to meet him.’’ The Cuckoo shrugged, clinging to her plastic bag.

‘‘He ought not to be disturbed before the season.’’

‘’But-but it’s All Hallows’ Eve! Barbie has always loved All Hallows’ Eve!’’

‘’Barbara is no longer part of you. Per your choosing.’’

‘’You’re not fair! You’re the meanest meanie, mister!’’

‘’Untamo?’’ Interrupted the bearded god who’s only ever a god once a year, as he scratched his bearded chin. ‘’I feel I should not be here.’’

‘’Indeed you should not; off you go, Pukki.’’

The bearded man disappeared; the house of gingerbread remained, and the Cuckoo and the Dream Lord, making good of the scenery. They fell inside the house somehow, shielded from the frost by thin windows and a crackling fire. The Cuckoo sipped on a hot chocolate mug, lounging in a sofa by the Christmas tree, watching the Dream Lord as he surveyed the fire burning up in the hearth, hands firmly clasped on the armrest of a wooden chair.

‘’You have chosen to remain a child.’’ He observed after a quiet moment, eyes still trained on the burning wood.

‘’I wanted to see Santa,’’ she argued. ‘’I don’t always look like this.’’

‘’And yet you have the mannerism of a child.’’

She took a gulp of her lukewarm drink.

‘’You vowed never to return.’’

‘’I haven’t! This isn’t the Dreaming, silly! You’ve closed off your realm to the humans. Better off, methinks.’’

‘’The Dreaming isn’t locked. Admission is simply… pending.’’

‘’Waiting for your little lady love, perhaps?’’

The Cuckoo remained insightful, even from the body of a child. An insightful and evil spirit that had only ever longed for freedom, for recognition. A mirror of her. It’s only the little things that remind him of her.

‘’She is not my love.’’

‘’Who’s the child now?’’

And then, he spoke the words that had weighed him down for a year.

‘’I am looking for a faerie. Do you know where she might be?’’

‘’Why should I?’’

‘’You have left the Dreaming. You have carved a path of your own, severing your physical as well as spiritual form from the place in which you were born. You know how she feels.’’

‘’No one really knows how she feels. I’ve never been slighted like an old sock before.’’

His jaw ticked.

‘’But my question was really: why should I tell you?’’

He leaned forward, eyes shining with renewed interest. ‘’You know, then?’’

‘’The Cuckoo knows things. Things that were told to her. Whispered by the wind and… other things. I might tell you, for a price.’’

He didn’t hesitate. ‘’Name it.’’

The Cuckoo grinned. ‘’Martin Tenbones.’’

And so, he granted the Cuckoo one final boon.

She did not know—not entirely. She redirected him to a hobgoblin huddled under a mossy bridge in a humid part of Ireland, buzzing with tourists.

Many riddles and a clipped lock of Endless hair later, and he’d found himself on a wooden deck at the end of the world. An enchanting creature beckoned him closer with a crooked finger peeking through a sturdy nest of wet rope. He set her free in exchange for knowledge.

His road was paved with many more such instances, but none of them led anywhere. None of them led to her.

They’d all seen her in passing, a mere peek from a tiny hole in an old brick wall, but none of them knew where she was, how she was faring. If she was happy and thriving or just as miserable as him.

The ruby was his only constant companion, trailing like a burst of light in a sea of darkness.

And that is when he finally understood. In his search for her, of all things.

Distress was something the Dream Lord knew by heart, and she’d offered him a way out. She’d offered him a piece of her soul, perhaps without even meaning to. Without consent nor want—only with love.

In the here and now that separates the Waking from the locked gates of the Dreamworld, he glances out a window and holds the ruby to his chest. It hums in his hold, whispering soothing nothings to him.

He lets his eyes drift shut. And tries, one last time.

‘’You called to me?’’

He remembers saying those very words once, in a different setting, more monotone, more assured, but he had not felt this relieved.

He turns to her, sees her, and breathes in. She stands in his chambers, a year later, summoned out of desperation and longing. His own desperation and longing.

‘’Nuala.’’ The way he says her name nearly breaks the whole of the Dreamworld. Outside, whipping winds blow through the trees, slacking against the window. He takes a moment to observe her. He’s been looking for her in the dreams of others; never to find her. But she is here now and he can see her and realise that she looks different. Prettier. ‘’You’ve changed your hair.’’

‘’It’s called a haircut, you should try it sometime.’’ She shrugs. ‘’I don’t use the glamour anymore if that’s your question.’’

‘’It wasn’t. I am pleased to see you.’’

‘’You have summoned me.’’

She stands too far away. Out of reach. The closest he’s been to her in a year.

‘’So I have,’’ Her brown hair barely brushes her shoulders in shining locks of varying lengths. She is dressed in a simple cotton shirt and silk shorts, of the latest human fashion. Sleepwear, he notes with a melancholy grin. ‘’Much has happened in your absence and I merely wished to—‘’

‘’What do you want?’’

He blinks, stopping just shy of her. He lowers his treacherous hand—yet another thing that has escaped his notice—and stares at her.

You, a voice whispers in the back of the ruby.

‘’I do not understand.’’

‘’The ruby,’’ she reaches up and rests a small hand over his aching heart, drawing a sigh from his chest. ‘’It grants you one boon. In return for the kindness you have offered me. I shall grant this boon now.’’

In the quietness of his chambers, he frowns. ‘’I do not want a boon. I want you, Nuala.’’

He searches her dark gaze with his own. He had never realised just how dark her eyes were.

‘’Is this your wish, Dream Lord? For me to come back to the palace?’’

‘’It is.’’ he squeezes her hand over his heart. ‘’More than anything, it is.’’

She averts her gaze for a moment. ‘’Anything else.’’

‘’Pardon?’’

‘’Choose anything else and I shall grant it.’’

He blinks again. She finds it fascinating, the way his starry eyes twinkle with confusion, the way he looks at her now, as if seeing her for the first time. It breaks her heart.

‘’I do not want for anything else.’’

‘’Choose.’’

‘’I won’t choose.’’

‘’Then I’ll choose for you,’’ she breathes over his lips. ‘’I believe in free will, do not make me a hypocrite, Dream Lord.’’

‘’I was under the impression this was what you wanted. Forgive me.’’

‘’No. I can’t. I haven’t. I stand by what I said, I deserve better.’’

‘’You do. You deserve the world.’’

‘’Then let me have it. Coming back to resume my duties would only kill me again.’’

He smiles then, a true smile that shines through dimensions; because he’s found the flaw in her design, and she would not dare refuse him now.

‘’You misunderstand me, Nuala. I wish for you to return, yes, but you would not be resuming your duties in my kingdom.’’

‘’What then?’’

‘’You would be mine.’’

She frowns. ‘’Your servant?’’

‘’My lover,’’ he hangs on to her hand, so tiny in the palm of his. ‘’My partner. My everything, if you so wish.’’

Nuala of the Faerie has learned much in her year of self-discovery.

She’s learned that the world is so much brighter and bigger that she’d imagined. She’s learned that humans aren’t as terrible as their dreams. She’s learned that they can be kind and welcoming. She’s learned that she can be confident and beautiful in other people’s eyes with no need for deception. She’s learned that she’s free and funny and she looks pretty in the mirror and clever and like she knows what she’s doing. She’s learned that she can be enough for someone.

‘’Are you mocking me?’’

‘’I would never,’’ he replies, solemn in his claim.

‘’Why are you doing this?‘’

‘’Nuala, I would never.’’

‘’No, you would not. But Cluracan would. Has he sent you?’’

‘’Your brother worries for you; as does your queen.’’

‘’Titania is my queen no longer. But Cluracan’s sent you then?’’

He grips her hand tighter. ‘’No. No, I am here of my own volition. I have called you here to share my feelings. Because you deserve that much from me. Because I—‘’

‘’You didn’t fight for me. I fought for myself.’’

‘’You did. I am so proud of you, Nuala. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.’’

She wants to pull away. She really does but he holds her tight and his gaze holds her even tighter.

‘’I’m not alone. I have friends. And a landlord. And a dog.’’

‘’A dog? We could have a dog.’’

‘’I don’t want your dog.’’

He draws even nearer, until her breasts brush against his hard chest. He is here, real and he’s just told her he loves her, so why can’t that be enough?

‘’You could have me.’’ His lips graze the shell of her ear and trail over the pale skin of her neck, lingering on her cheek. ‘’Let me fight for you. Let me protect you. Let me love you.’’

His lips find hers; she does not fight him. She lets him love her. Again and again. And again.

She lets him in greedily, swallows his love and his sighs, scratching his scalp lightly with her free hand, wanting, needing to draw more from him. He’s a reserved being, her dream king, but he moans reverently into her mouth and she kisses him deeper.

He wants her on the bed. He wants her on his lap. He wants her on his throne. And above all he wants her in his life.

She wants him too, badly.

She licks into his mouth—he tastes like he smells, sparkling stardust and the sweet sour taste of a burning nova.

She tastes like herself. Candy floss and roses and love love love.

It’s been a year without oxygen. A year without worries. A year without her. It’s both the best and worst thing that’s happened to him.

But she has changed. She has learned to stand up for herself. She has learnt more than in a millennia.

He loves her for all that she was before; he loves her for refusing her fate, changing her odds. He loves her for who she is today and her lips and her caresses and her tongue—

‘’I adore you, Nuala. Stay here, with me.’’

She swallows his plea. She swallows his hopes and dreams and his heart. His own hand lingers over that very spot, long after she’s vanished again, leaving him alone in his empty quarters.

In the end, she chose herself.

A/N: I could not fit the smut so… part two 👀 ?

I couldn’t fit the smut so… this might just turn into a two-shot ;)

Nuala is such an interesting character, but so underrated (and for what?)

She’s kind and devoted and really just wants to be loved!

#dream of the endless #morpheus #lord morpheus #the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless imagine #the dreaming #morpheus imagine #one shot #dream x Nuala #endless x faerie #sandflower #Nuala x Morpheus #the sandman comics #Titania #fairy #faerie #fay #fae #fantasy #Netflix #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x oc #tom sturridge #nuala sandman #nuala of the faerie #kindly ones #cluracan #thessaly #romance

[minutiaewriter]

Hera: To Touch the Heavens First Look - Chapter One

       The release of Hera: To Touch the Heavens is right around the corner, so as a little thank you for your support I'm releasing the first chapter below the cut!

© 2023, 2024 S. M. Campbell All Rights Reserved

A tear slid down the old woman’s cheek, illuminated like a drop of sunshine in the light of the lanterns. Her gaze passed from Rynn to Kilderan, and that was when she had begun to weep, otherwise silent in the wooden chair she had seated herself in.

         Rynn reached for Kilderan’s soft hand and felt reassured when his brother clutched his hand back.

         The four of them bowed low and silent as the high priestess’ gray eyes flooded with tears. Her breathing was faint, and she never removed her gaze from Kilderan.

         Rynn did not understand why she was staring so intently at Kilderan, but he felt even more confused watching them; so he instead studied her robe and the string of glinting beads around her wrist.

         She muttered something Rynn did not hear, but Kilderan dipped his head further behind the boy.

         Velle Deka then spread her arms and looked up at Aome.

         “Mother Deka,” Aome murmured, falling into the woman’s outstretched arms.

         Though she embraced the young woman, the high priestess’ gaze bore into Rynn. When Aome pulled away, Velle Deka spoke. “Daughter...Aome… We thought your mission went awry. When we didn’t hear word… Ah, well, no use dwelling on what didn’t happen. Have you come all this way with the celestial children?”

         The priestess began to nod but then halted. “Well, almost.”

         “Wait,” Yojackson said. “You know that Kip’s also a celestial child?”

         Velle Deka nodded solemnly, dabbing at her eyes with a cream-colored handkerchief she produced from the folds of her garb. “You have united the two celestial sons.”

         Aome’s lips parted. “Kilderan found his brother and brought him away from Arsteine.” She lowered her gaze. “I was the one who told them about you and encouraged them to return.”

         Velle nodded in understanding. “Show me the blood,” the old woman muttered, turning to Rynn. “Let me see the luster.”

         Rynn swallowed and glanced over his shoulder up at Kilderan, who pressed his lips into a firm line.

         “Is that really necessary?” Kilderan asked faintly.

         Velle Deka eyed him and then held out her hands towards Rynn.

         The boy turned to his brother. After a few heartbeats of morose hesitation, Kilderan bent, brandishing his dagger. He gingerly clasped Rynn’s wrist and pressed the cold blade into his flesh.

         “Ow,” Rynn whimpered. He looked up at Kilderan, whose eyes had flashed.

         Soon the pale skin was broken, but as little as possible, and a flood of deep crimson blood, faintly glittering, gushed forth from his arm.

         Rynn had forgotten that the blood of the stars flowed in excess, and once he remembered, he winced.

         Kilderan’s fingers lingered on Rynn’s arm and Rynn continued to look up into the wide, pale blue eyes that stared upon him before turning to Velle Deka.

         She sighed contentedly and took his arm in her ancient hands, studying the celestial blood. Her eyelashes were dotted with teardrops, minuscule diamonds twinkling in the light. She looked up at Kilderan again. “After this, never let those veins bleed again.”

         Kilderan frowned, which diminished his now-soft expression.

         Yojackson shoved past Kilderan and placed his hands on his hips, staring down at the seated priestess. “We need to know where the celestial spring is in order for that to happen.”

         “You have the pendant?” Velle Deka asked.

         Aome promptly lifted the silver chain from her neck and handed it to the elderly lady.

         Rynn studied the ivory pendant that was carved with an image of the galaxy’s three suns. He wondered how the high priestess would be able to use it to disclose the location of the spring that Kilderan so desperately needed to take him to.

         The high priestess turned the pendant in her hands, examining it sentimentally and almost lovingly.

         “Aren’t you going to, I don’t know, read the necklace or something?” He had meant no offense, and his eyes were round in innocence. “We need to know the spring’s location as soon as possible.”

         The woman used her handkerchief again before her eyes brightened and she began to chuckle at Yojackson, the cracked sound filling the small safe room.

         The criminal frowned and glanced at Aome.

         Velle Deka continued to laugh for a long moment and eventually she said, “The pendant has nothing to do with the location of the spring.”

         Yojackson’s mouth fell open. “You mean to tell me that we just risked our necks in that blasted palace to get a worthless piece of junk?”

         Aome glared at him and then said, “Mother, there has to be some explanation.”

         Velle Deka blinked. “I need that pendant as much as you need me to divulge the location of the celestial spring. That pendant is the only way I can be certain that I will be safe when I reach my next destination.”

         Aome’s brow creased. “You’re not staying in the hiding place? What about…about the temple?” She grew somber.

         Velle tilted her chin towards the priestess. “This is only a temporary safe place. I cannot stay here forever. But there is somewhere, someone, who will allow me to take refuge with them if I show them that pendant.” She tapped a frail finger to the necklace in her palm.

         “Will you tell us where the spring is? We can’t stay here either,” Kilderan said.

         Velle Deka brushed her long, silver waves over her shoulder and pulled back the sleeve of her robe, revealing her fair skin.

         Rynn squinted. Tattooed on the high priestess’ arm was a curious cluster of stars and planets. Altogether it was a brilliant, intricate masterpiece that was stitched into the old woman’s skin, but he did not comprehend its significance.

         The elder ran her finger along the tattoo until she reached a constellation sitting amongst legions of ink specks, fainter than the rest of the design. “This is the constellation, Ormena, over the celestial pool. This is what you’re looking for. Reach Ormena’s lucida and you’ve reached the spring.”

         Rynn turned to look upon Kilderan, whose gaze had become distant, pondering.

         “The most highly guarded secret in the entire galaxy and it’s tattooed on your arm?” Yojackson asked rather curtly.

         Aome made a face at him. “In plain sight,” she mused, “where no one would ever consider. This whole time…”

         “How far is it?” Kilderan asked, stepping closer to the priestess, though he limped. “How far from where we’re standing right this instant?”

         Velle Deka shook her head. “No one knows where it is, no one has ever been able to locate it.”

         “Then how do you know it even exists?” asked Kilderan.

         “Because of you and your brother.” Velle Deka’s eyes shone.

         “Forgive my ignorance,” Yojackson began, milder after two glowers from Aome, “But what exactly is this spring anyway? I’ve heard the stories, but always sort of believed them to be just that. —Until I met Kip, of course,” he quickly added.

         The high priestess folded her hands. “The celestial spring is a mystery I believe not even the goddesses understood. It is the gateway between the world of light and stardust and the world of flesh and blood.” She glanced at Kilderan, and then at Rynn. “It is what allowed the goddesses to assume their mortal forms and rule over the planets in the first place. By delivering Rynn to the spring, you are enabling him to pass into the realm of the stars.”

         Yojackson scratched his chin and inhaled, preparing to speak, but Velle Deka silenced him, peering at the criminal as if she knew what he was about to say.

         The high priestess stood and began to rummage through the charred satchel sitting against the wall. Soon she turned back to them with a small pot of ink and a slender brush. She beckoned to Kilderan, and he sidled up to her, dragging his injured leg behind him.

         Rynn watched as the old woman rolled up the sleeve of Kilderan’s shirt and swirled the brush in the ink. He glimpsed the faint bruises on Kilderan’s wrist, as well as the staining bandage. Velle Deka brushed one of his bruises gingerly with the pad of her finger, and she gazed empathetically into his eyes. “You’re safe now.”

         Rynn found himself pinned under the stare of his brother’s cold blue eyes, and so he stepped towards Kilderan and watched as Velle Deka painted the image of the constellation Ormena onto Kilderan’s skin with the dark ink.

         After she had finished, Kilderan’s forearm bore the lines and dots of the constellation’s peculiar arrangement. “The constellation, as I said, has never been found in the sky by the priestesses, by anyone. But when you see it, it will be unmistakable. But do not go at this moment. Rest here for the night and in the morning, leave as soon as possible,” the high priestess instructed them.

         Aome approached the high priestess and the celestial children. “Thank you, Mother Deka. We’ll never be able to repay you.”

         “Honoring the goddesses’ memory is enough, Daughter. What have I been telling you your entire life?” She smiled at the young woman.

         Aome lifted her head and a smile came to her lips before she dipped her head to the celestial priestess and joined Rynn, Kilderan, and Yojackson in settling into the small room.

         Rynn’s eyes shot open, though he was still half asleep. His ears were filled with a furious pounding overhead that was coming from the world outside the hiding place. He believed it to be torrents of rain, but a dizzying sensation seized his head and his veins pulsed, making it seem otherworldly. Rynn swallowed and gripped the thin blanket Velle Deka’s entourage had provided for him.

         The storm continued to assail the roof of the tunnel—which was really the ground—with heavy raindrops and pieces of debris that made an awful clamor when they collided with the hidden tunnel.

         Rynn sat up, fearful. His veins seemed to writhe beneath his flesh. He glanced over at where Kilderan was sleeping on the floor, with Yojackson and Aome lying in their respective bedrolls a little ways away—Rynn had been given the cot. He started when a loud clang sounded overhead.

         Rynn swung his legs over the edge of the cot before tearing the blanket off of them and slinking to the other side of the small room.

         Quietly and carefully, he spread the bedding next to Kilderan, whose face was drowning in his long, mussed-up hair.

         Rynn glanced up at the ceiling when the thunder shook the ground above them, but he felt safe sleeping closer to his companions and his brother.

         “Rynn,” Kilderan whispered, though his eyes were still closed.

         Rynn jumped before rolling onto his side to face Kilderan. “I can’t sleep. It’s too loud out there.” He did not want to tell Kilderan that a storm and the unfamiliar crumbling tunnel frightened him, if only slightly. Because despite the eerie phantasms that sleep twisted the shadows and the rain into, Rynn knew he was undoubtedly safe here.

         “All right,” Kilderan muttered. “But try to fall back asleep. We have to leave very soon.”

Hera: To Touch the Heavens releases THIS SPRING! Reblog to spread the word and stay tuned for more updates and pre-release content <3

#writerblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #hera trilogy #authorblr #books #writing #hera: to touch the heavens #novel sneak peek #wip sneak peek #sneak peek #book sneak peak #book snippet #indie books #indie writers #indie novel #indie authors #indie writer #coming soon #tbr #tbr list #tbr pile #to read #to be read #read #novel excerpt #fantasy novels #fantasy writing #sci fi novels

[ibikichi]

Gay people real!! (Image IDs under read more! They got pretty long)

[First image ID: Digital art of Sigma and Nikolai Gogol from Bungo Stray Dogs. They're inside a blanket fort with pillows covering the floor, and Sigma is sitting in Nikolai's lap while the latter is rambling about something. A rabbit-jester plushie is leaning against them. Sigma is wearing Nikolai's hat, golden earrings, a purple sweater, a golden necklace with the letter "sigma" as a pendant, black pants and mismatched socks with a rhombus checkered pattern. The right one is black and white, the left is red and white. Nikolai is wearing an ace of hearts as an eye patch on his right eye, winged eyeliner, black lipstick, earrings with die attached to them, black nail polish, a white button up shirt with frills and golden buttons, black and white striped pants, and mismatched socks that match Sigma's. His braid is hanging over his left shoulder, and is tied with an elastic decorated with a rose and two golden leaves. The plushie has a bunny nose and mouth, and vertical scars slitting through both eyes. Its right side is white, with a yellow eye and a purple teardrop on its cheek, while its left side is black, with a purple eye and a yellow star on its cheek. It's wearing a jester hat decorated with frills, both ends culminating with a red pom pom. The right side is purple, while the left one has white and black stripes. It wears a white frilly collar, white sleeves, and a dark vest on top. It has two red pom poms that act like buttons. Its right paw is black while the left one is white. There's yellow string lights hanging behind them. END ID.]

[Second image ID: a collection of doodles depicting the previous characters. The first one shows Sigma holding the jester plushie in his hands with a deadpan expression, saying:"My son." The second doodle depicts Sigma holding the plushie while Nikolai holds its paw, saying:"greetings!" The third one depicts Nikolai sleeping while holding the plushie. The fourth doodle is of Nikolai and Sigma kissing in the blanket fort. END ID.]

#bungo stray dogs #bsd fanart #nikolai bsd #sigma bsd #gogsig #gosig #gogsigma #siglai #sigolai #nikosig #i like that plushie a lot i want one #id in alt text #id in caption #ibikichiart

[keepingeahalive]

She’s an Ally

She may be vicious, but she’s no homophobe.

Duchess Swan

~~~~~

[ID: A full hand-drawing of Duchess Swan holding the straight ally flag.

Duchess is a tall, teenage, East-Asian girl with pale olive skin, black hair dyed white with black and lavender streaks pulled back into a bouffant ponytail, and dark smoky eyeshadow.

She is wearing a sleeveless white tutu dress patterned with light gray feathers and light lilac trim; a loose black corset; white pantyhose with grey feather accents; black platform ballet shoes with dark violet ribbons; a black choker necklace with a purple teardrop gem pendant; a pearl headband with a silver hairpin, a black feather emblem, and two violet feathers; and silver earrings in the shape of arrowheads.

Duchess stands in a passé pose with her right hand holding the flag up. The rest of the flag is held up off to the right. END ID]

#eah #ever after high #ever after high headcanons #duchess swan #eah duchess #lgbtq #lgbtq pride #pride month

[belaephemeral]

月が綺麗ですね (tsuki ga kirei desu ne).

Pairing: Kazuha Kaedehara x Reader (gender-neutral)

Word count: 812

Summary: Your dejected demeanour does not escape the notice of the ever perceptive and observant wandering samurai. 

In which, Kazuha provides comfort for you during a challenging time and reveals a bit more than he should. Though, he’ll tell you the full truth in due time. 

The moon is beautiful tonight.

The stars string themselves to form constellations and glittering pendants of light, illuminating your form and dousing your ethereal beauty in the glory of starlight. Kazuha can’t seem to focus on the scenery around him. He can sense the direction of the wind and the soft rushing of the ocean waves beneath the ship.

But tonight, he can’t concentrate.

Tonight, he doesn’t know what to think when you’ve languidly crawled into the crow’s nest to sit solemnly next to him. Underneath the same constellations that peer through every night, he doesn’t know how to react when, despite sitting so close to him, your mind feels miles and miles away. Desperately, he wants to chase your thoughts, immerse himself in them to understand the countless motions running through your mind or the emotions rapidly coursing through your veins. Resolutely, he wishes to bring your soul back to this moment, back to this stunning night of meteor showers, and back to him. Bringing you back right by his side where he’s always yearned for you to be.

Briefly, he catches a glimpse of your eyes shimmering, the warm (e/c) he’s so fond of gazing into is swiftly engulfed in crystalline layers. He feels powerless as your lips begin to tremble, quivering with a melancholia that he’s experienced all too often, and your chest subtly surges as you release a soft whimper, heaving with a pain he’s all too familiar with. The corners of his mouth turn downwards, his brows furrow and he clenches his hand, fingers burying light red crescents into his palms.

The form drenched in starlight, the muse of the sonnets he pens in the presence of the moon and the figure depicted in little sketches he litters his journal with. His heart aches at the sight of your dejected demeanour, squeezing within his ribcage as he inches his fingers towards your shaking hands.

He doesn’t like seeing you like this. You’re ever so breathtaking even when teardrops escape your eyelids and your heart is slowly crumbling and breaking in two.

Kazuha knows this pain. But he doesn’t like it’s look on you.

You shiver as a cold, crisp draft of the chilly night weaves across the space between you and Kazuha. Swiftly, with measured movements and with the dexterity he’s amassed in his years of wielding a blade and calculating his every movement, he unravels the obsidian and vermillion scarf around his neck. Round and round, you witness the fabric adorned with golden embellishments wrap around you. Out of instinct, you melt into the lingering fragrance of petrichor, spice and earth. The samurai’s distinct and comforting scent lulls your previously thundering pulse into a rhythmic heartbeat that mirrors that of the ocean’s waves that surround the Alcor. 

Carefully, he tugs on the ends of his signature scarf, pulling you closer to him. 

He doesn’t like the distance between you, he never has. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he earnestly meets your teary ears that stream with tracks that reflect the stars in the sky. Lightly, he brushes his nose against yours. Despite being the one taking the initiative, you still take his breath away. His eyes dart downwards but he doesn’t want to take advantage of this moment. Not when you’re so vulnerable. He could never. He cherishes the you who is independent, tenacious and headstrong - he couldn’t dream of crossing your boundaries when your feelings unravel before him without your control. 

His breath caresses your check as he asks: “What’s on your mind, my little starlight?”

Once you’ve told him of your woes, he holds you closer, allowing his touch, his embrace and his presence to affirm you that he’s here for you. And he always has been. He wants you to forget about your pain for a while. To keep your intrusive thoughts at bay, and he tells you little stories of his childhood, his training and his past. Sonorously, he recites sweet haikus that paint pictures of lovers in clandestine encounters, of celestial figures that traverse the magnificent scenery of Liyue and Inazuma, and of grand adventures shared by a virtuous and honourable duo. Although, he leaves out the part that all of them are secretly about you. He whispers sincere words of affirmation, uplifting remarks and charming compliments into your ear. In response, you shiver but it’s no longer because of the biting cold anymore. 

You have both been conversing for hours, but with the moon so stagnant in the starry sky, he feels that the night has encased your figures in a pleasant and serene reverie. Here, it seems time stops - it stops long enough for him to revere your being and appreciate the beauty that emanates from your form. 

Eventually, he sets his eyes on the crescent that glistens against your heavenly features and then peers down at you, gently declaring: “月が綺麗ですね (tsuki ga kirei desu ne)”. 

#kaedahara kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #kazuha kaedehara #genshin #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin headcanons #belawrites #kazuha fluff #genshin impact oneshots #genshin x you #genshin kazuha

[arcanarubinaito]

That Unexpected Conversation

On a whim, Auric manages to connect with Asra through the fountain water. However, a casual conversation quickly turns tense as Auric discusses his current situation.

(Part of a rough draft; unedited and full of comma splices.)

Their eyes lock, and Asra lets out a high-pitched squeak of surprise. “Auric?” The magician rubs his hand over his mouth to wipe the water away from his lips, purple eyes widening in surprise. “How did you even…”

Auric’s eyes widen, leaning forward until his body is barely held back from falling into the pool by the rim of the fountain. “Asra, is it really you?” He reaches his palm out and hovers it over the water, Asra’s aura rippling off of it in soothing lavender waves. His fingers twitch, lightly grazing the still surface and watching the water respond in slow motion, barely giving off any waves. “I can’t believe this even worked, oh my gods…” He whispers to himself, flicking his gaze up to meet Asra’s.

“This is—this is amazing, how did you manage this?” Asra’s laugh bubbles from the water with a soft echoing quality to it, and Auric watches the magician hold his hand to the water to mirror Auric’s palm. Neither of them dare to try and push through to the other side, in fear of disrupting the connection before they were ready. “Scrying magic is enormously complex and difficult, and yet here you are…” Asra’s lips twitch into a fond smile, and he reaches up to lightly touch the teardrop pendant hanging from his neck. Auric can see the teal stone shimmer with pale pinks and yellows before fading back to normal.

“I don’t even know how it happened, it just did.” Auric laughs slightly, drawing his fingers away after a moment. He can still feel the ghost of Asra’s palm pressed against his, before the feeling fades and he finds himself alone on his side of the pool once again. “I just… I really wanted to talk to you and here we are.” The apprentice murmurs. Asra’s expression softens, taking on a more serious edge now. “It’s good to see you, there’s so much that’s happening and I—I really could use your guidance.” Auric confesses softly, and Asra tilts his head slightly.

“I can see that.” Asra’s eyes flicker around Auric briefly before his gaze settles back onto the other. “I mean for one, you’re in the palace gardens aren’t you? What’s going on?” His voice is light and airy, though with concern genuinely creeping along in his words. Auric furrows his eyebrows slightly at that, but ultimately decides against asking. There were bigger fish to fry than to ask Asra questions he wouldn’t answer.

“It’s complicated.” Auric clicks his tongue and moves into a more comfortable position. He crosses his arms over the rim of the fountain and rests his head over them. “But to make a really long story short, the Countess has asked me to investigate Count Lucio’s murder and figure out if Doctor Devorak is really the culprit.” The apprentice surmises as quickly as he can, watching the expression on Asra’s face flicker and change. He can make out surprise, intrigue, disgust, frustration… and then nothing as Asra masks his face over again.

“Well that’s certainly…” Asra trails off, pursing his lips and looking askance. Something heavy settles in his expression, staring off to the side at nothing in particular for a moment. “I should’ve stayed, you needed me.” His tone is low and mournful, twisting at Auric’s heart slightly. Any remaining anger Auric had felt towards the mage for leaving seems to melt away. “How are you handling this?”

Auric can’t help but puff his chest out with a proud, slightly cocky grin now as he regards Asra. “I’d say I’m doing pretty well, all things considered.” He wasn’t about to confess the borderline panic attack he’d faced earlier, or the stress that was starting to build on him. A part of him deep down knew that Asra would drop everything and come running if he thought Auric was in distress and while he missed his mentor terribly, he was genuinely eager to prove himself.

Asra studies him intently, lips tugging downwards. “I’m going to start heading back.” Auric stifles a groan, pressing his mouth to his arms with a brief scowl. “I know you’re more than capable of handling this yourself,” Asra continues quickly, leaning forward and giving him a pleading look. “But this is more than I think you realize.”

Auric’s eyes narrow slightly, peering through his lashes at Asra’s reflection in the water. “You know something.” His voice is quiet, but the words are pointed. Asra winces and looks away from Auric for a moment, lifting a hand and biting down on his thumb briefly with a deepening frown. “You were working at the palace around the time of the murder, weren’t you?” Auric’s gut twists, and he stares at the water intensely. There were implications starting to emerge here that Auric wasn’t liking.

#arcanarubinaito #rubin’s writing #auric the apprentice #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana asra #asra alnazar #asra the magician

[clumsycryo]

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐓𝐎𝐀 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥

The elusive songstress hasn’t been to something akin to a ball in ages. Her last dance that was exposed to many eyes was her performance at the Opera house. Similar to that night, she adorned her the same outfit that so carefully concealed her identity. Delicate, violet fabrics drape along the curvature of her hips, dancing around her legs as she walked, similar to a jellyfish. The darker purples and blues help are contrasted by golden jewelry and ascents that gleam in the ball’s light.

For those who didn’t recognize her from the start would be further thrown off by the thin covering that veiled her face behind a sheen of darkness. The only recognizable trait of herself were the long, curtain of blue hair that flowed freely. As assigned, the 𝙏𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥 𝘾𝙧𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡 pendant presented itself proudly upon her chest.

Considering Azura’s rather reclusive nature, it was a bold step of faith to attend the ball at all. Finally entering, the atmosphere instantly washed away any sort of regret that social anxiety might’ve whispered during her walk there. The orchestra’s melody was enthralling, easily drowning out such thoughts with a sweet melody. Many dancers had already taken to the floor, pairings coming together as one, their movements matching or complimenting one another beautifully. A faint smile crossed her concealed lips. Perhaps this would be an edifying venture yet.

Brooch Tracker:

Decorations

Black Feather:

White Feather:

String of Pearls:

Small Bell:

Teardrop Crystal:

Art credits: https://www.deviantart.com/kohiu/art/fire-emblem-hitori-omou-768270362

#toaball2024 #//HELP IM EXCITED

[moonluringfrost]

13: The Fire 

This spotify ficlet is set in the "A Viscous Curse" universe. King's point of view. Content warning for: a character receiving a burn but not caring due to the influence of a cursed item. could possibly be considered self harm. Requested by @crowandmoonwriting! (sorry this one's a little dark, the song demanded it)

You can’t be completely sure that this treasure map isn’t cursed. It definitely wasn’t when you first saw it, but… Who’s to say it wasn’t the sort of curse that only activated after an item is stolen? 

That would be just your luck, huh? 

Or maybe it’s the woods that are cursed. Because you’ve been going in circles for hours and you’re usually pretty good at navigating so long as you’ve got a map. 

Heaving a heavy sigh you continue to trudge along. Being lost is more boring than anything… 

You stop moving before you consciously register why you stopped. There’s a sound that’s not quite right. Instead of the rustle of wind through the leaves and the song of birds, the ambient noise has shut down to only one sound. 

It’s a crackling noise with an almost imperceptibly low rumble accompanying it. 

Fire. 

Normally this would be your cue to turn right around and go the opposite direction. 

You don’t have much elemental resistance to fire with your equipment as is. 

But… 

Looking at the map, at your surroundings, at the map again. You’re pretty sure the fire is in the same direction the X is supposed to be. 

Maybe the treasure is guarded by an elemental? 

If so, you might as well check it out. All this time won’t have been wasted if you can at least get some recon in. 

Devise a plan to tackle it. 

Maybe pick up some disposable help…

You’re wrong, though. 

There’s no elemental. 

It’s really just a flame, floating there burning nothing in the middle of a perfect circle of ash. 

No, that’s not true. 

In the very center of the flame there’s a flash of gold.  

A grin creeps its way across your face unbidden. 

There we go, that’s what you were after. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, an alarm sounds. 

You pay it no mind. 

Your deity wants you to walk away. 

But there’s no way you’re going to do that. The treasure is right there. 

You make it all the way to the very edge of the circle before you stop. 

Your deity can’t keep you from getting the treasure you deserve, but it can suggest you be smart about this. 

If the circle is rigged, you’ll just have to move faster than the trap. 

You down a potion of speed enhancement, then another, tossing the bottles into the circle just to see what will happen. 

They begin to melt after a few seconds, glass not particularly prone to outright burning. 

Well then. Your boots give you a speed boost on top of the potions, and you have the light-step skill… That should be enough to get in and out before it gets too bad. 

You take a deep steadying breath before you dash in, snatching the glimmer out of the flame and running out the other side before the trap can fully activate. 

Your clothes are smoldering. 

More importantly, your hand is burning. 

There’s a delay to it, seconds passing before you realize how much it hurts. Your eyes water and a strangled sound works its way out of your throat unbidden. 

Still, you don’t drop the item, clutching it tighter instead.. It’s a gold necklace. You’re sure it will be worth a lot. The pendant searing into your hand is pretty big.

It hurts, searing into the palm of your hand. And then it doesn’t. 

You pull the pendant away, revealing the teardrop shaped burn it left and revealing the blood red stone set into the pendant itself.

The necklace is now only pleasantly warm, and you put it on. After all this trouble, you guess it would be dumb to sell it.

Your deity goes from angry to pleased. 

It seems this necklace gives you all sorts of bonuses if you have it equipped. At the cost of a permanent brand and a compulsive desire to steal and betray people for money. 

Ah well. 

You were planning on doing that anyway. 

Still, you should probably head back to town. Do something for this burn. It’s starting to hurt again, this time like a normal burn rather than magic. 

You won’t complain, though. This was definitely worth it.

#prompt ficlet #potion tester