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illuminatedquill · 2 months

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Worship Me

A Sabine Wren & Ezra Bridger story

Story Summary: Tucked away inside their watchtower during a snowy night on Lothal, Sabine Wren and Ezra Bridger ponder the future and their relationship.

The beverage dispenser whirred and deposited the last of its contents - sweet, sweet hot chocolate - into the mug; Ezra watched the steam waft up from the dark brown ambrosia, bringing with it the tantalizingly sweet aroma that made his mouth water.

Even with the heating unit at max, the watchtower's interior was still chilly. Outside the temperatures were approaching near freezing and bringing with it fresh concerns of an early, bitter winter with its sleet and snow. But, for now, the snow was harmless and provided an endless frosty wonderland for all the children - and not an insignificant number of adults - to enjoy. Ezra took the fresh mug of hot chocolate in one hand and grabbed another less recently filled one in his other and moved to the watchtower's balcony.

His partner, Sabine Wren, was standing there. Wrapped in a comfy gray shawl - a gift from her departed master, Ahsoka Tano - she leaned against the railing, watching the snow drift lazily down. Just beyond, lit brightly against the snowfall, was Lothal's Capital City with its gorgeous array of spires and skyscrapers. Ezra smiled wistfully, thinking of all the families living in those towers, their children's faces pressed against the glass to watch the snow come down.

He remembered with a pang of melancholy of doing just that with his own parents, Ephraim and Mira, many years ago. Waking up to see the snow, riding a sled down the hills of Lothal's fields, scampering after the loth cats to find their hidden burrows . . .

"Enjoying the view?" Sabine called to him, jolting him out of his reminiscing. He blinked, re-focusing on her.

Even after all these years, she still took his breath away with her beauty. Sabine's hair had grown a little longer, the dyed orange tips just brushing the top of her shoulders now. He knew she wouldn't grow it any longer, purely for practical reasons, but oh how he yearned to see Sabine with longer hair. Underneath the shawl, she wore casual clothes: a bright orange tunic, yellow combat pants, and maroon boots. Once upon a time, he had teased that her outfit was similar in style to the one he wore during the Rebellion and had received a sharp poke in the side for his observation (but he had noted slyly that Sabine was blushing as she did so).

Playing it cool (ha ha), he replied, "Yup."

Smooth, he thought dourly. Very cool, Ezra.

Sabine snorted and took one of the mugs to sip at. "Charming as always, Ezra."

He batted his eyes at her in, hopefully, a smoldering fashion. "Hey, it's a part of the package. Prince Charming, that's me."

She choked on the hot chocolate.

Using his sleeve to dab at her mouth, he said, "That wasn't meant to be a joke."

In between gasps of air, Sabine choked out, "You're going to kill me with any more of whatever this is you're trying to do."

Ezra sighed and took her gently by the arm. "Let's just head inside."

Once Sabine had settled down, they settled onto the couch and wrapped a large quilt - a gift from Zeb and Kallus (with an apology note from Kallus about the quilt's clumsy construction but Zeb tried really hard, and he hadn't the heart to tell him otherwise) - around themselves. Sabine was sipping at Ezra's mug of hot chocolate, since he was the reason why hers had been spilled. Normally he would have protested, especially since it was his favorite beverage, but Ezra had learned long ago that certain arguments were futile with Sabine, so he gladly acquiesced.

They sat there in silence, just listening to the watchtower's gentle mechanical hum and the occasional mewling from Murley, who had taken up the usual perch at his favorite window.

Ezra closed his eyes and took in the ambience, enjoying the simple feeling of being at home and beside the person he loved the most in this galaxy.

. . . And trying to ignore the fact his hands were shaking ever so slightly.

Sabine set down her mug on the table in front of them. He felt her turn towards him, leaning in close, her warm breath tickling his ear . . .

"Your hands are shaking, cyar'ika," she said quietly.

Ezra's eyes opened as he grimaced. "You caught that," he said glumly.

Sabine arched an eyebrow at him. "You can't hide anything from me, Ezra," she replied. "We're partners."

Ezra shrugged off his side of the quilt, glaring at his traitorous hands. "I don't know why they're doing that," he confessed. "It's been happening more and more lately."

She cocked her head at him, thinking. "Not during our missions," she said. "Only when we're home."

"Yeah," he said. "You think they'd be acting up while we're fighting off pirates or negotiating trade disputes or any number of stressful situations we've been in . . . but no. Just whenever we're home."

Sabine gently grasped his shaking hands. They stilled in her touch. "It's fear, I think," she surmised, studying his face. "And something more."

Ezra frowned at her. "What am I scared of when we're home, safe and sound, alone together?"

"Talk it out. Let your thoughts flow along with your feelings, cyar'ika."

Ezra sighed. "Okay," he replied. Closing his eyes, he reached out to the Force for calm and just . . . listened to himself, breathing in and out. He felt Sabine's presence beside him - a constant fierce light, radiating love and belief and support -

The quiet.

He opened his eyes, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck raise unsettlingly. "That's it," he murmured. "That's what it is."

Sabine looked at him, frowning. "What is it?"

"It's the quiet," Ezra said. "It's the peace. I'm not used to it."

He leaned back into the couch, processing this revelation. After a few moments he said, "Sabine, do you realize we've been fighting for most of our lives?"

Her grip on his hands tightened. Ezra looked and saw the discomfort appear on her face. "It's not something I like to dwell on," she said. "But, yeah. I know."

"I think it's come to the point where I feel more at home in a battlefield than I do at our actual home. The peace, the quiet . . . Sabine, it scares me. I'm scared it could be disrupted at a moment's notice, that it could be taken away."

Ezra stared at her, his vision going blurry. "I'm scared you could be taken away. Or me, taken from you. It all feels false, somehow. I can't truly enjoy it."

Sabine reached out and cradled his face to her chest. He heard the gentle, re-affirming beat of her heart. It calmed him a little.

"The galaxy's a scary place, Ezra. We've already lost each other once. I wish I could guarantee that it will never happen again . . . "

Ezra said bitterly, "You can't. No one can."

She turned his face upwards towards hers. "I love you, Ezra. That's all I can promise you. I'll love you until the stars go cold."

"Is it enough, Sabine? Love doesn't promise anything. It wasn't enough for Kanan and Hera. It didn't save Kanan. It killed him." The mention of his former master, Kanan Jarrus, brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He felt awful for saying it, but it held true. Kanan had loved Hera deeply - enough to give his life to ensure hers and everyone else's future on Lothal.

But he had still died. And he knew Hera still felt that loss keenly everyday.

Yes, the love had been there. But it hadn't changed anything.

Kanan still died. Hera had told him of the regrets she felt; things that should have been said but were put aside in the foolish hope that there would be another time to say them.

"You don't mean that, Ezra," said Sabine sharply. "I know you don't."

Ezra turned his face away, hiding his shame. He shrugged in response.

Sabine grabbed his face and wrenched it back towards her. Her brown eyes, normally bright and compassionate, burned with a fierce anger. "Listen to me," she said. "Do not let this fear turn you into something you're not, Ezra. You're better than this. I know you are."

Ezra let out a frustrated breath, bowing his head. "I know. I just . . . I don't know, Sabine. Will this be enough for us? With the lives we lead? I don't want there to be any regrets between us."

"You mean like Hera and Kanan?" asked Sabine. "I get what you mean."

He looked at her, feeling lost. "So what do we do?"

Sabine looked back at him. Then, with a soft touch, she placed a finger under his chin and titled his face up ever so slightly.

"If the love is not enough," she said softly, "then I will ask you for more."

Ezra stared at her, entranced. "What do you mean?"

Sabine leaned in close; the scent of her, a lilac fragrance, filling his nose, intoxicating his mind . . .

"Adore me, Ezra Bridger," she whispered. "Worship me."

His mind went blank. "I . . . how?" he heard himself ask.

With her other hand, Sabine reached behind his head, running her fingers through his hair. Silvery sensations erupted from his scalp; Ezra could hear his heart pulsing loudly within his ears. The fingers clenched, and she pulled him into a deep, searing kiss.

After what felt like an eternity, she let him up for air. Breathing heavily, she placed a hand on his chest.

"I will worship you too," she said huskily. "All of you."

She leaned forward and kissed his chest. "I worship your heart."

His forehead. "I worship your mind."

Sabine reached for his hands, still shaking but for different reasons now. She brushed her lips lightly against each of his fingers. "I worship your hands."

Ezra shivered at her touch. When she was finished, she gazed deeply into his eyes. "Your turn now," she said with an impish grin.

"Are you sure about this?" Ezra asked. "I haven't . . . I mean, this is my first time."

"Mine too," Sabine admitted.

Ezra's eyes widened. He smiled, feeling surprised - and a little gratified. "You waited for me?"

Blushing, Sabine punched him gently on the arm. "Obviously, goober."

He grinned at her. "So, who will take the lead then?"

"Me," she said bluntly. "Unless the Noti gave you directions."

Ezra laughed, feeling some of the tension slide out of him.

Sabine poked him in the chest. "Hey. Focus. Back to worshipping."

He reached out through the Force and dimmed the watchtower's lights. Sabine quirked an eyebrow at him. "Trying to set the mood?" she asked.

Ezra glanced at his hands - they were steady as a rock.

He slid his hands underneath the quilt, searching . . .

Sabine frowned at him. "What are you - oh."

Ezra gently pressed himself against her and returned her kiss with a fervent ardor that left them both breathless. Blinking at him, stunned, Sabine asked, "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Maybe the Noti did teach me some things," he teased. "Oh, I've got tricks that will blow your mind, Sabine Wren."

A sly smile grew slowly on her beautiful face. "Yeah?" she challenged. "Are you willing to show me some more of these tricks?"

"Certainly," said Ezra. "If you're not busy this evening."

She rolled her eyes. "I've got some free time, sure," she replied dryly.

"Excellent," said Ezra. And he promptly got to work, worshipping her, adoring her.

*Author's Note: One of the craziest lines I've ever heard in romantic fiction is a woman saying to her lover, "Worship me." I immediately knew it was something Sabine would say to Ezra and, well, here we are.

#sabezra #sabine wren #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #ezrabine #star wars #ahsoka show #sabezra fanfiction #natasha liu bordizzo #eman esfandi #this one is a little spicy

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lore-of-throughline · 1 month

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Welcome to the world of of Throughline, every art piece I’ve made for my spider-sona and her story can be found on this blog.

Further Lore Reading:

Setting Lore

Meet the Cast: <1>, <2>

Chronological Reading: Chapter <1>, <2>

Let us begin by introducing the world itself:

Welcome to Columbus, Ohio. The year is 2092, every major city across what remains of America is a towering spire of concrete and steel. Highways choked with exhaust and the sounds of honking echoes throughout every hour of the day, providing a discordant background to your travel around the city.

Persephone Schwartz-Parker’s Apartment.

Most people live in crumbling homes, in the crowded streets of the lower districts. Persephone herself lives with six other people in the second-floor unit suspended beneath a highway overpass.

Art by Icarus

Most of the year the world is cast in shadow by a heavy overcast, only rarely does the sun shine through, usually in the early morning. There are two main seasons: Rainy and Winter: The weather is usually grey and drizzling during the rainy season, and bitter and white during the winter. As such all the cities are surrounded by thick sheets of icy for half the year.

The Infamous Spider-Man (Ken Brooks, @/Howard_Kyron on Twitter), experiencing the joys of the Scioto Bay.

Columbus is divided into districts dedicated to various economic needs. Not everything is doom and gloom, some take the time and money to build spaces for entertainment—despite space being a premium after The Deluge.

…though they don’t tend to last long.

#across the spiderverse #spiderman #spidersona #into the spider verse #Earth 9371

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owlespresso · 10 months

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gloaming. yuri leclerc.

tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality and vague hints of backstory, sfw, pining

a/n: this is pretty self-indulgent. just fluff.

The night is quiet. Snow-covered fields stretch around you on all sides, leading to a distant tree line full of old, stubborn pines. The winter’s frost has grabbed tight hold of the land, blighting everything above the snow in a fine coating of frost. You can see your breath, like a brief curl of dragon’s smoke right in front of you.

One of the month’s many virtues is its distinct lack of insects. No crickets to chirp and no mosquitos to menace any patch of skin you dare leave uncovered. Not that you’ll have many in this weather. There’s quite a long way to go before winter ebbs into early spring. The patch of land Dimitri allotted you so generously after war’s end will remain in crystalline stasis until the season's turn.

In the distance, over the hills, you can see Fhirdiad’s towering silhouette. Its rough lines and pointed domes and salient spires cast an imperious picture on your east horizon. Did the people of the capital enjoy tonight’s midwinter festival? Did friends and family rush onto the crowded streets to partake in merriment and games and fantastic feasts? The streets played host to an astounding variety of breathtaking ice sculptures all around the noble districts. You wonder if any happened to feature the king.

You look away, back to the treetops painted frosty white, glistening in the eldritch dark of the night. The stone building you’ve chosen to occupy was once a manor and a military outpost, created to overlook these very vistas. The honorable members of House Rowe often utilized it to rest their heads when too exhausted too plod back to their hillside manners out west, leaving their gilded, cushioned carriages to wait in the front yard all evening. Heavens forbid they struggle for even a moment with a minor chill.

You shut your eyes and drink deep the wintry air. The icy sting in the air is sobering, granting you clarity. Dinner was spent alone, enjoying more mixes of wines and liquors than you would prefer to admit. Sometime along the way, you even attempted to wrangle the guards into drinking alongside you. It was at that point that one of them politely inquired if you would like to take a walk.

And now, the fresh air pricks at your numbing cheeks. The hazy remnants of your late night rendezvous with the liquor cabinet are battered back by winter’s embrace and your own irritation.

Across the countless times you have imbibed in your short life, you have discovered that being drunk is fun until it is decidedly not. It’s fun until you require your motor skills, fun until your stream of consciousness rolls into a riptide loosening the leash you keep wrapped ‘round your emotions. The festivities are long over. You're not even sure what occasion they had been celebrating. All of these winter festivals blend together after the first three.

You slump over the flat stone of the wall, bent at the waist. Your fingers don’t even reach the edge. Faint footsteps scruff across the old stone behind her. Quiet, but purposefully loud enough for you to hear. That alone tells you who dares approach.

“Do you believe in god, Yuri?” your ragged voice sounds unfamiliar to yourself. You don't budge from your prone position. The stone cools the overheated side of your face, seeps through your layers. You can feel the wild thrum of your heart begin to slow, cooling the agonizing sear of you pumping blood.

“I believe that it’s long past your bedtime,” Yuri says, a broken piece of glass crunching under his heel. “And I believe in the Goddess. How could I not when she blessed me with you?” The mocking drawl in his voice forces the corners of your lips into a deep frown.

He’s not going to leave, anytime soon, so you slide back onto your feet. The sudden change in position has you swaying on your feet, foot stumbling out of place. Before you can take a tumble and make even more of a fool of yourself, Yuri grasps your shoulder, touch grounding. You regard him with as blank a stare as you can manage. Despite the lashing winds and otherwise unpleasant conditions, Yuri is unflappable as always, long locks of lavender laid atop his shoulder. He’s traded his cape in for a dark cloak, sticked lines of embroidery lacing the cuffs and bottom of the garment, dance around its bone white buttons.

He’s still all purples and reds, but the smokey greys you’ve come to associate with his wardrobe have been traded in for darker shades. And he looks good, like he hasn’t lost a night of sleep in his life.

“Can’t sleep,” you mutter, kicking a nearby pebble. It’s sent skittering under a nearby table. Yuri regards you flatly, lips pressed into a thin, straight line—as thin as his petal plump lips can press, anyways. They’re coated in a subtle shade of pink, tonight, just blush enough to look natural. He rarely ever applies any intense, saturated shades of lipstick or gloss, lest it distract from the keen smolder of his eyes and his natural good looks.

Though, it doesn’t matter much what he wears. He dazzles on every occasion, sways swathes of civilians with his silver tongue and striking smile. He’s horribly, magnificently magnetic. Anyone would be lucky to have him, for what he has and what is underneath it all. He would surely make a marvelous spouse—

He flicks your forehead, sending you stumbling backwards. Before you can take a tumble onto your arse, he does you the good favor of snatching you by the arm to steady you. When had he come so close?

Up close, his chagrin is much more obvious. You shift uncomfortably under his stare. You cannot recall what having a mother was like, but you can imagine this is what being scolded by one would feel like.

“Where do you go in that head of yours?” he says with a sigh, wry smile breaking out across his pink petal lips.

“I… I don’t—” you stammer, scrambling for mental purchase.

“You can tell me all about it later,” Yuri takes your hand with a graceful flourish of his cape, drawing you close to the firm, lean line of him. The scent of faint lilac wreaths around you like an old, comfortable coat. “When you’re a little more sober, at least.” There’s a genteel grace to his steps as he shepherds you towards the stone staircase.

“Where are we going?” You’re left to do aught but follow, a sudden, giddy giggle erupting from your chest as you stumble into his side.

He sighs, belied by his wry smile. He relinquished his hold on your hand to wrap an arm around your waist, the stretch of his body so blessedly warm against your own. He chases the clinging chill away, dizzies your thoughts into paste.

You hardly hear him ask, “Bed. Yours or mine?” His question rattles you out of your drunken stupor. Your eyes go wide as saucers, palms hot with sweat as you struggle to form an adequate answer. Despite having known him for quite some time, his directness still manages to fluster you—an effect he likely intended, given his devious simper. What’s somehow worse is that you can’t bring yourself to be cross with him.

“Y-Yours,” you hardly realize you’ve spoken your mind until Yuri breaks out in a loud, genuine laugh. It’s unlike his typically tame chuckles, a sound of sheer exuberance that makes the inside of your chest twinge. You like hearing him this happy. You want him to be this happy all of the time.

“Bold. I like it.” he teases, jostling you in his grasp.

“Oh shove it—wait!” you huff, but stay in step with him, struggling not to stumble as he shepherds you down the stone stairs A line of torches straddle the descending path. In your drunken haze, you had forgotten about the two guards posted at the bottom. The sight of them shocked you stiff-still. Your fingers curl into the fine brocade of his black cloak, pulling him flush to the wall. “Wait!” you hiss, voice nearly lost in his many layers.

“What? Did you leave something behind?”

“We can’t be seen sneaking around together!” you insist, and are immediately incensed at the eyeroll he gives you.

“And why would that be? Too ashamed to be seen with a charlatan like myself?” he drawls, yet takes you in closer. There’s a mean glint in his eyes, something decidedly wicked as his breath ghosts over your cheek, teasing your ear.

“Of course not!” you protest, eyes wide, cheeks got. How could you have misspoken so terribly? The last thing you wanted was to make him feel judged for the life he led, for the methods he employed in his occupation. “It’s you I’m worried about. What’ll people say if they saw you consorting with the Mad Witch of the Wend? No one would… would…” You draw a trembling hand over his chest, feeling the cool silk under your fingertips.

“You’re worried about my image? How darling.” Yuri coos, clearly disregarding the seriousness of the situation. People talk, servants talk, guards talk. If you two were to be seen on a random, midnight rendezvous, then word would surely get back to the capital, where plenty of available, valuable bachelorettes could hear.

“Of course I am. You could still marry someone nice and rich from the capital. Someone connected…” you reason. You blink your bleary eyes attempting to clear the blur that sticks to your periphery like stubborn burrs. The world at its edges is opaque and slow as melting candle wax. This is precisely why you typically abstain from the absinthe and fine brandies which tradesmen plod through the outpost. It makes your head dull and your words impossible to find.

“Hm. No. I don’t think I will. Noble life never agreed with me.” Yuri gives your cheek a consoling pat. You get the feeling that he is still, for some reason, very amused. Which is preferable to him being offended, or hurt. You don’t mind him laughing at you, you think, not when genuine mirth flatters him so. “If I’m going to make a difference, it’s not going to be with someone else’s spending money.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He tugs you past the posted guards, ushering you within the hollow halls of the outpost. Torches positioned on the wall shed gentle light up and down the small tunnel. You break beyond the thick walls which surround the inner manor—a proud, brutal building that sits a hybrid between the harsh stone architecture meant to shield from the cold and the slender, elegant cathedrals and house manors found en masse within the capital.

“I know.” Yuri shoots you a conspiratorial, knowing look. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your side. You can feel his touch through the two layers you have on, his arm having scooped beneath your outer cloak with dangerous efficiency. “The fact that you still think I could find some nice, doe-eyed girl from the upper crust to fall in love with is adorable, but I’m not interested in all that.”

He pulls you through the inner sanctum with a self-assuredness that would make you think he owned the place. His strides are slow. His voice keeps his strides slow and his voice quiet, sticking to the walls and where the shadow sinks the deepest. His cape swishes and billows around you, keeps you shielded from prying gazes of glancing guardsmen. Every step he takes is quixotically quiet despite his heels.

“I just want you to be happy. With someone nice. Who can help you make your dreams come true.”

He scoffs. “Ugh. When did you become such a ham?” you shove him again, and he laughs. “If you must know, I’ve already found the person I want to spend the rest of my days with.” He herds you to a nondescript wooden door, jamming a key into the lock before thrusting it open. The room is deathly dark, the only light slipping in silvery through a slit in the curtains.

Incredulous and wide-eyed, you gape at him as he draws you inside, wondering if you had heard him properly. While he engaged with a number of brief romances and paramours, he never seemed entirely beholden to the idea of a permanent entanglement. Which you will not judge him for. Only members of the nobility prioritize marriage so persistently, all too eager to shuttle off their children to new, unloving homes for the sake of power. You can’t imagine Yuri buying into such a sham—even if the court’s coffers could fund his ambitions.

“You are? Who is it?” you finally muster up the gumption to ask. There’s a strange, cold feeling at the pit of your stomach. Burgeoning dread you cannot make heads or tails of.

“Worried they’ll steal me away?” Yuri says with a fond smile. He looks at you while he lights the bedside lamp. He does it with magic, you realize, catching the tail end of his somatic gesture, pointer finger aimed straight at the lamp in question, thumb quirked skyward. You’ve seen him do it a few times before in battle, spells interwoven with fast footwork and flashes of forged steel from underneath his half fastened cloak. “You don’t need to worry your pretty head about all that—but you’ll be relieved to know that they live nearby. Very nearby, in fact.” He said, voice slowing to emphasize a point you don’t quite comprehend.

He unlatches the clasps on his cloak, gently dropping it over a nearby wooden chair. He smooths his hands over the back of it before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. If you were perhaps a shred more sober, you would have immediately looked away. But you watch as he deftly sheds the silken garment, exposing planes of leam, pale flesh to the slight candlelight.

He clears his throat, with a knowing smirk. You pointedly snap your gaze downwards, pretending to find sudden interest in the floorboards. They seem to glow a soft, warm brown, aged polish scuffed and scratched with the wear of time.

Hastily, you follow his example, casting off your outermost layers with great haste. It’s second nature to shift down to your undergarments at this point. Despite his teasing, you’re comfortable with Yuri. Word of his cunning and cut-throated customs is rife in both the underbelly and upper crust of Faerghus, but none of the gossip mongers who gab on about him actually know him.

Years spent at his side have let you understand exactly the kind of man he is. Which is also why you know he would never be interested in someone like you. You’re something broken, something bent, misshapen by the malicious hands which made you. The idea of being coveted, of being loved strikes within you an uneasy feeling of wrongness.

Ah, but you’re sure he’s still waiting for an answer…

“Yuri…” you begin. You don’t quite remember what you had been discussing, you realize with a strong swing of dismay. Yuri, blessed with an unfathomable amount of kindness, is quick to remind you.

“What? Does the honored Marquis truly want to know the sordid details of my sex life? How scandalous!” he exclaims. You guffaw, dropping onto the mattress face-first, still in your boots and trousers.

“I just wanna make sure you’re with someone good.” you mumble, pressing your face into the pillow. It’s cool, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you burrow further into the cushions. The entire bed smells like him, and if you were possessed of but an ounce more of sobriety you would be too abashed to savor it.

“Again. Adorable. But you should really watch out for yourself,” he hums. His footsteps trail away from the bed, and you’re about to look over your shoulder when his hand wraps around your ankle and tugs, urging you onto your back. “I’m surprised you don’t have a line of suitors breaking down your doors everyday…” His fingers run down your clothed leg, to the leather and latches of your boots. You watch the graceful weave of his fingers as he slides them off, one after the other. He’s taken off his gloves, allowing you to just barely feel the fleeting warmth of his hands as they briefly swipe over your skin. “Though, I suppose I should be grateful.”

“That I’m gonna be lonely forever?” you grumble, turning onto your side.

“That I don’t have any background checks to do.” Yuri says, further away this time. You glance over your shoulder to where he’s gently dropping your boots near the door. So much care and compassion for something so small.

“Oh… Does that mean I can ba…background check the person you like?” you ask, and he smiles.

“Of course,” he says. His fingers weave through his long lilac locks, handily undoing his hair tie. He drops it on the nightstand before slipping underneath the sheets to settle beside you. “I have full confidence in your investigative skills, and you’ll quite like the person I chose.”

“That’s because you have good taste,” you mumble, eyes slipping shut. You wait a moment, and then two, and then three before opening one eye to peer at him. “Can I get a hint?”

“Again, don’t worry about it. At least, not right now. I’ll talk your ear off about it tomorrow, okay?” he says, consoling. His hand runs over your hair, fingers sliding down your neck. A flush of heat rolls through your spine, so silken and sanguine that you can’t suppress a shudder. You retreat to the cool comfort of your pillow, letting his touch sap the tension from your sore muscles. “When you have a better chance of actually remembering what I say.” The meat of his palm presses against your upper back. His heated touch saps the remaining tension from your body, soothing you enough to slip into the beginning phases of sleep.

“...Fine.” you huff, but there’s no real bite behind it. It’s half muffled into the pillowcase. You know Yuri likes being a man of his word, but he’s also a man in demand. There’s no telling if one of his gang members will burst through his door and announce a sudden tragedy that demands his attention. There’s no telling if he’ll be gone in the morning, a note left in his place written in that familiar, tidy cursive.

His roaming touch wanders upwards, warm fingers spanning across the nape of your neck. His thumb rubs soft circles into the skin together, and the touch alone would keep you awake if not for the alcohol muddling your system.

“And I’ll be here when you wake up,” he continues, as if sensing your apprehension. “You have my word on that.”

#fe3h x reader #fe3h/reader #yuri leclerc/reader #yuri leclerc x reader #yuri/reader #yuri leclerc #oz write #featuring fe3h

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bottomlouisficfest · 5 months

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We hope you’ve enjoyed the fics from week 11 of the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2023! Every two weeks, we’ve compiling all of the fics from that period into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Since this is the last week of the fest, we just have one week's worth of fics. Please enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

Wait until you're sure

A fic by tommilfson on AO3 | @tommilfson on Twitter

13k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 465: Louis and Harry are best friends who made a pact. If neither of them has found love by the time they’re 30, then they’ll get married. It was all laughter and fun until Harry realizes they’re celebrating his 30th birthday and in a few months, Louis is gonna be 30 too. So, he struggles to find someone for Louis to avoid being together, but Louis just keeps rejecting all men Harry introduces to him (because he has feeling for him, of course), which really upsets Harry. They argue about that and Louis says something like “wow, it’s that bad to be with me?,” accepting that Harry simply doesn’t feel the same. Louis moves for a couple of months with another friend and Harry has all this time to understand his feelings, realizing that he loves Louis too and wants to be with him. But when he goes to tell him, Louis is already seeing someone else. So what’s Harry gonna do to get Louis back?

Wedding Bells Will Never Ring For Me

A fic by lousmoonshine on AO3 | @lousmoonshine on Tumblr | @lousmoonshine on Twitter

15k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

After a failed proposal a few years back, Louis gets an unexpected invitation to his ex - Harry’s – wedding

Your name is tattooed to the bottom of my heart

A fic by meloummy on AO3 | @meloummy on Tumblr | @meloummy on Twitter

7k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 114: a PWP where Louis gets an arse tattoo with Harry’s name for his birthday. Or where Harry likes to mark what is his and receives a very special surprise fulfilling one of his fetishes; to see Louis marked for life with something related to him and in one of his favourite places.

with gilded wolves on the wall

A fic by bruisedhoney on AO3 | @yvesaintlourent on Tumblr | @bruisedhoney on Twitter

13k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

The night was cold and bitter, much as he was. Though it was only early evening, darkness had already fallen over Winterfell, the snow a thick white blanket coating the grounds and the spires of the First Keep. It wouldn’t be Winter for a while according to his father, but Harry could tell that it now felt like it was on its way. The cold wind whipped his dark, tousled curls back and forth, biting at his cheeks until they were pink. He wrapped his fur lined cloak tightly around his tall frame to keep out the cold. It worked for the most part. “I won’t marry him,” Harry said into the night, his voice steady and confident; the exact opposite of how he felt. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she left since he was only met with silence. Dead leaves rustled in the trees below like they were whispering their approval of his defiance against his family’s orders. “You will,” Anera replied calmly, her expression neutral. Or, the Game of Thrones ABO AU where Harry is of the North, and Louis cannot be burnt.

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#blff 2023

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lieutenantwilliamrusso · 1 year

Text

The Ivy Crown

A/N: I'm baaaaaack with my first ever Aleksander fic!!! I've been reading a lot of dark academia and finishing up my degree in literature, and this is my outlet for all of that pretentious, wonderful stuff I'm immersed in these days. The poems mentioned are wonderful and full of gorgeous language, so I'm giving you homework straight from the desk of professor Morozova-- read one and tell me if you liked it!

Dedicated to the sweet and wonderful @idaofinfinity for her patience every time I disappear. I appreciate you so much.

This will be a few parts, but not big like IWCB. Little bites, people, little bites.

Summary: It's your final year at the University of Ravka, and the end is in sight. Under your literature professor, Aleksander, you've risen to be a star pupil. Then one night, you're forced to make a decision that will change everything. Will Aleskander be on your side?

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, murder, sex, drinking, (will add as we go)

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"Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in storytelling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes."

-Plato

Republic, Book II

Book I

Your first semester at the University of Ravka began the way most do. The young, impossibly curious first-years huddling up to the glistening spires and towering porticoes of the main hall. The hall, called Lantsov Hall after Ravka's longest line of rulers, filled you with excitement. The need for knowledge and exploration filled you, expanding until it bumped against your insides, prodding and shuddering until it was released.

You were 18, full of life, full of wanton desire to grow, to peel back the curtains and see the answers of the world.

You didn't grow up poor, no, you were from a solidly middle-class family of merchants. But the opulence, the ostentatious identity of the Ravkan elite became clear almost immediately. Your first week, your peers would ask where you summered, what sports you preferred in the winter season, what breed of horse you deemed adequate for Caryeva, none of which you had answers for.

So you adapted, sharpened your edges and preparing to compete with the toughest competition the country could offer, until you arrived, three years later, a top of your class literature student in professor Aleksander Morozova's classroom.

The man was imperious, gilt from hard stone or sheets of silver it seemed. The light of whatever room he was in seemed to avoid Aleksander, circling like a dog trying to find a place to sleep, willing to leave him alone.

Among other things he was also gorgeous, ethereal and lithe, towering over his students, passionately gesticulating over works by T.S Eliot and William Carlos Williams. You were enraptured there, front row in his early afternoon modern poetry course, watching his eyes flicker with the kind of life only an academic could have when biting into something juicy, some brilliant amalgamation of language that won't let them go despite a decade of repeating the same lines to young faces.

"Tell me." He begins, eyes flickering to each face in the room. "What did Eliot mean when he opened The Wasteland with, 'April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and Desire…'"

On the last word he looks to you, black eyes pinning you under their gaze like a butterfly on a display.

You clear your throat.

"Miss Y/L/N?"

You're ready for him.

"Well, in invoking the first line of The Canterbury Tales, Eliot reveals the beginning of a journey. And when we think of spring, we think of rebirth. This poem is the lack of that, it's the breakdown of… everything. So here, spring is a mixture of things, it is the beginning and the end and we are left with only memory and desire. What we know and what we want to be true." You finish, watching him closely.

Aleksander grins, a slow, incandescent spread of his lips until his face is alight.

"There she is. Excellent, Y/N. That's how it's done, everyone."

You duck your head to hide your blush, and the lesson goes on.

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Each day after your classes you wind across the green, crunching leaves under your feet as they fall from the oaks and yews lining the tract of land. Today, your destination is the cafe you meet your friends at on Wednesdays, when the lemon curd scones are freshest. You're the last to arrive, hair swept around your face by the wind.

Nikolai, Zoya, and Genya are seated around the old wooden table in the far corner, mugs of steaming teas and coffees strewn about around a plate of your favorite citrus pastries.

"Look who's arrived!" Nikolai exclaims. "Did your sweet Byronic hero keep you?"

You roll your eyes, ignoring the comment. Sure, Aleksander was pensive and gorgeous, but he wasn't doomed. At least you hoped not.

You sit, nodding at the other two women and picking up a scone to bite into. The flaky crust gave way to the plush, spongy inside, causing you to sigh in contentment.

"What are you brats talking about?" You tease, taking a sip of Nikolai's tea.

"We were just discussing the fête." Zoya answers.

"What about it?" You ask, preoccupied with getting the waitress' attention for your own tea.

"We're all going, yes?" Genya cuts in.

"I hadn't really given it much thought." You ponder. Would Aleksander be there? In a suit of all things? The thought made you blush, and you ducked your head to hide from the eyes around you.

"Well…I think we should go. One last hurrah before we're done here." Nikolai reasons.

You nod in agreement.

"I suppose I ought to find a dress."

Zoys hums, sharing a look with Genya, a glint that made you nervous in her eye.

"You could…let us take care of that." She offered with a smirk.

"Absolutely not, I'd be naked save for a scrap of lace." You bite back.

"Saints, it was worth a try."

It was Friday and you were back in Aleksander's class, excited by his words but more than a little eager to begin your weekend. You and your group of friends had plans to head to Sturmhond that night, a bar off of the university's campus. It was dark and grungy, with mahogany furniture and paintings in gilded frames on the walls. It made you feel like you were in the belly of a ship, ready to take on a new land.

And the drinks were especially strong.

"Who wants to tell me why Carl Sandberg's "Subway" is so effective in its brevity?" Came Aleksander's voice from the front of the room.

For once, you weren't quick to answer, your mind on other things today. When you did finally look up, the silence of the rest of the class beating down on you, Aleksander's eyes were already on you. His brow ticked up, lips quirking.

"No thoughts for us today, Y/N?"

You sigh, frowning and sitting up straighter.

"The poem represents the working class, the ones who are building this great feat of transportation. They are tired and hungry but it doesn't matter. They know the importance of their work and they enjoy it. All that in 6 lines." You rattle off, remembering your notes from the night before.

"Thank you." Is his reply, quiet and pensive as he watches your face.

You nod, going back to your slouched position, eyes downcast.

When the class ends you attempt to exit into the crisp twilight like the rest of your peers, but Aleksander stops you.

"Everything all right today? You seemed off." He asks, leaning back against the large desk in the front of the room.

Your eyes widen a little, surprised he had been watching you so closely.

"Thought I'd give everyone else a chance to catch up today." You joke.

Aleksansder chuckles, then he tilts his head a little and you feel as if he's dissecting you, pulling apart your base components to see what he wants to keep or throw away.

"Is that all?" He murmurs.

"I'm just ready to end the week. It's been long." You say honestly.

"Hm. I can't fault you for that. Any plans for your time off?" He inquires.

"A few." You tease, unwilling to tell him your plan to get trashed later.

"She keeps her secrets." He answers, smiling warmly. "Well, let me know if you need anything. I wouldn't want my best student falling behind." He runs a hand ever so softly across your shoulder, hidden by your thick sweater, and then he's pulling away and gathering his own things.

"Thanks, professor Morozova." You reply in a daze, turning to go.

"You know it's Aleksander to you." He reminds you with a teasing lilt in his tone.

You nod, smiling a little, and stride to the door as fast as possible.

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You arrived at the bar with Zoya in tow, approaching Nikolai and Genya who were already inside. You had on a tight pair of black jeans and your favorite lacy black bralette as a shirt. You looked good and you knew it, eyes roving the bar for anyone you might be interested in talking to.

You sit with other two and order a round of shots, ready to go hard and fast into the night. On your third shot of kvas and your second Old Fashioned you look up from your friends once again and spot him.

Impossibly dark hair and eyes belonging to your favorite professor. He was in a deep emerald sweater, sitting across from another man, listening intently to his words, a deep gold liquid in his glass. You were openly staring, taking him in as you realized just how drunk you were becoming.

Nikolai is the first to notice, his eyes following yours across the bar.

"Well Saints, if it isn't your boyfriend."

This gets the attention of the other two, their eyes searching for subject of Nikolai's words.

You and Zoya exchange a glance, and you catch that dangerous spark in her eyes again.

"You should send him a drink." She suggests coyly.

"You send drinks to people you want to fuck, Zoya." You reply exasperated.

"Yes, I am aware." She shoots back.

Your friends burst into laughter, catching Aleksander's attention briefly. His eyes flit over, widening just a touch when they realize who he's looking at. You throw him a smile, suddenly nervous, but he returns it, tilting his head in acknowledgement, and you decide resolutely to continue your night.

It's only later that you're made aware of the situation.

"Your dark prince has been eyeing you since he saw you." Nikolai murmurs in your ear.

"Oh, please."

"We've all seen it. He's quite interested in the area right below your neck." Nikolai chuckles, raising his eyes to yours.

You tilt your head just a little, just enough to scan the bar from the corner of your eye and there he is, head tilted towards you just enough to do the same.

"Saints." You gasp out quietly.

"Told you."

"Well…it's irrelevant now because I have never had to pee so badly in my life." You declare, standing on wobbly legs.

Your friends laugh, and Zoya's hands point you in the direction of the bathroom.

The cool porcelain of the sink under your hands grounds you a little, and you look into the mirror. Was Aleksander checking you out? The thought makes you giggle quietly to yourself. There was no way he was into you. He wasn't married, but he must have a girlfriend or something, right?

You've decided to brush the whole thing off when you exit the restroom and knock right into a wall of a man.

"Oh! 'M sorry!" You slur a little, still quite far gone.

"No need to apologize, Y/N." Aleksander's voice rings out from above your head.

"Aleks- I didn't even see you there!" You giggle, hand coming up to trap the sound in your mouth.

He chuckles, laying his hands on your upper arms to steady you.

"You okay there, milaya?

"I'm okay. I'm just, uh…"

"Sloshed." He finishes for you.

"Yeah…"

"The mysterious weekend plans." He teases.

Suddenly a thought brews in your mind and you can only blurt out, "Green is a good color on you!"

Aleksander grins, rubbing your arms and causing you to shiver, his touch electrifying your skin in small sparks.

"You think so?" He drawls.

You nod, eyes locked onto his gorgeous face. Maybe he was a dark prince, something fabled and powerful.

"Well I think lace is a lovely fabric choice for you." He complements, and it takes you a moment to grasp his meaning before your face is heating up, blush spreading.

"I-I-" You stutter as he watches you with gentle amusement.

"Shall I take you back to your friends, Y/N?"

"Please." You reply, realizing the walk might be harder than you realized.

He guides you back, your hand now in the crook of his arm like some kind of Victorian gentleman, before he deposits you in your seat with gentle hands.

Your friends gape at him, and you fail to notice Aleksander's amusement.

"Have a good night." He wishes, and then he's gone, disappeared into the growing crowd.

#aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #my fics #the darkling x reader #the darkling

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quietninjakitty · 1 year

Text

Okay, at the beginning of TTM, Rayla mentions that the new moon is only three days away. If the full moon was on July 14 (aka, the day before Callum's b-day), then what was the date at the beginning of the book? Because if it was very early July, then...

What if Rayla stayed up late thinking because it was her father's birthday? (For anyone reading this who doesn't know, it's July 2.)

When Runaan was doing the binding ritual (in May), he said that Thunder was killed "four full moons past", which I believe translates to four months ago. Which would make the attack on the Storm Spire in January. (I'm not entirely sure how the timing of that works, since they called it Winter's Turn, and it was still very cold, but that isn't the point of this post.) And it's canon that Zym was supposed to hatch the day of the attack.

Tiadrin's birthday is December 23. No matter how the timing of the attack works, it still would've been spent at the Storm Spire.

And we already know that communication between the Spire (and Dragonguard) and the Silvergrove is possible (see the post on the official TDP website for Rayla's birthday traditions.), so wouldn't Rayla have gotten some sort of notification that the Dragon Prince was close to being born and her parents would be coming home soon? And depending on how early that was sent, then they would've known that one of her parents' birthdays would be the first one they spent together. And I think it's reasonable to assume that it was something along the lines of "we might get home for Tiadrin's, but we'll definitely be there for Lain's".

And they would've gotten home for Lain's. Zym would've been hatched half a year before, and they would've been completely relieved of their duties by then. And despite the way things turned out, Rayla still knows what they were supposed to be doing during that summer and spring. What they were supposed to be doing on her dad's birthday, and later, hers.

And literally the only reason that they weren't is the man whose body had (extremely suspiciously) disappeared, sending all her assassin's training and common sense to one simple conclusion. That something was off and required further investigation.

Bodies don't just disappear.

#tdp rayla #tdp tiadrin #tdp lain #tdp musings #tdp analysis #tdp angst #angst #the dragon prince #mystery of aaravos #the mystery of aaravos #tdp #moonfam #moonfam angst #wow that's dark

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raayllum · 2 years

Text

based off the new tdp short about callum

They get in the habit of lying on the floor of the king’s chambers once Ez has taken his crown for the day. The stone is cool against Callum’s fingers — especially now in early winter, even if servants have lit the fire — and he tries not to think about how they might be lying in the same spot their father died.

Callum never thought he’d be sick of being referred to as a a mage, but if someone calls for the High Mage one more time—

“Long day?” Ez asks after he sighs, breaking their stretch of silence.

“You could say that.” He glances over, knowing he’s lucky that he got to dip out on diplomacy that afternoon (unlike his brother) and spend hours codifying spells into human languages to the best of his ability. It’d be a lot easier if they had someone who knew more Ancient Draconic, but he quickly squashes that thought. “Those Evenerean dignitaries were pieces of work, huh?”

Ezran cracks a tiny grin. “I don’t think Soren mispronouncing their kingdom name really helped.”

Callum tries to smile but can’t quite manage it, too weighed down by fatigue. He always feels tired nowadays.

They’ve been busy preparing for the Harvest Festival that’s arriving in three weeks. Ezran had to fight his advisors to use the castle as a free inn for all the travellers and commoners coming in from all over the broader kingdom borders; Callum had had his own reservations. But Ezran held firm, not only morally, but also politically.

“Lots of people in Katolis lost family members at the Battle of the Storm Spire. We need a way to re-incentivize their trust in the crown.”

Trust.

Just thinking about it — not even about Rayla, but just adjacent to her, the way everything in his life feels these days — makes a lump form in his throat. They don’t talk about it, because what is there to say, after that first week when Opeli had shut down any plans to go looking for Rayla with a decisive, “You’re the crown prince, you can’t just go on a wild goose chase across Xadia—”

He didn’t feel like pointing out he already had. They both know it probably won’t work out ‘as well’ a second time.

Now Callum just does his best not to dwell on it, even if he and Ezran both know that without her, every day will feel like a long day for him.

The Harvest Festival was one of the things he’d been most excited to show her; Katolis is beautiful in the fall with its changing leaves, and the street performers step up their game, more goodies and pastries and fresh fruit in the market place—he’d been able to picture it so perfectly, her hand, swinging and clasped in his, flushed smiles on their faces—

His eyes burn and Callum turns his head to bury his face in his scarf-covered shoulder. It’s soon wet against his cheeks and he wonders when Ezran’s small hand started feeling so steady, when he knows Ezran is as worried about Rayla as he is. His baby brother grasps his free hand and holds on tight, squeezing.

There’s nothing to say.

They’ve gotten in the habit of this too.

#rayllum #post ttm #tdp shorts #my fic #ficlet #broyals #two pillars #caylangst #ur welcome i am also crying #tdp callum #arc 2 #s4 #death by a thousand cuts era

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myrfing · 7 months

Note

idk if you're still taking those wol questions but 1 for the xiv questions mayhaps?

YES ! THANKS FOR THE ASK & APOLOGIES I just get sidetracked ):D

1. Where were they during the Calamity?

In the Dravanian Hinterlands! If you look down on the map, you’ll see a huge expanse of wilderness below with the thaliak running through it; somewhere down there. He was around 16. the spires took winter base up there because they were wanted in 2/4 citystates in eorzea and by Sharlayan, and it turned out to be clever to hide under the nose of their abandoned city when it became difficult to travel and when work became scarce. they would usually stay put the entire winter, but in my timeline, the Calamity hits early in the season (nov in actual time so yay works4me). All of the older Spires leave to fight at Cartenau and they leave behind Gourd & the second youngest, Teqs (Teq’sae) to hold fort. They watched Dalamud fall from their little hunter’s cabin and Teqs leaves the next morning to find out what happened.

Gourd would have gone with them, but one of the agreements for him to stay with the band was that he was not to fight in wars under the direct alleigance of a nation-state until came of age AND lived his own life for a while. the spires are not typically aligned but they had registered under the ul’dahn banner as official mercenaries for strategic reasons for that particular campaign. So he pretty much stood around in the cold and watched the sky fall for a while 8|…

#TY FOR THE QUESTION IT HAS BEEN SO INVIGORATING TO ANSWER THESE #he and teqs had planned to go on a coming of age journey together come spring #narrow missed the mark for…something

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

Text

Solstice Ballet Date (Nessian) 🎁

Summary: A series of fluffy/smutty ACOTAR winter one-shots! 12 stories for the 12 days leading up to Solstice (December 21).

Nesta and Cassian pay a visit to Velaris's renowned theater for a Fae rendition of The Nutcracker.

Read: Masterlist | AO3

“I still don’t know why I’m getting all dressed up for a date,” Nesta grumbled as Gwyn and Emerie fussed over her hair and makeup. Cassian had cryptically told Nesta last week to clear her schedule for a date, but did not tell her what exactly the date entailed.

“It’s important to take time for each other,” Emerie reminded Nesta as she straightened the ribbons in her hair. “You and Cassian have been so busy these past few weeks: you with the new Valkyrie legion, Cassian with the new leadership in Autumn Court.” Emerie had arranged for Nesta’s golden-brown locks to cascade down her back tonight, deviating from her usual braid. It really must be a special occasion, Nesta thought, for the only other time she had worn her hair down was during her mating ceremony.

“But isn’t this a bit excessive?” Nesta glanced down at Gwyn, who was smoothing the skirt of Nesta’s slinky, crimson-red dress. Mor had lent Nesta the dress, adding that she didn’t mind if the dress came back in pieces with a wink. The garment was certainly sultry, with its leg slit and cinched waist. But it was also modest, with its high-necked collar and long sleeves. “And can’t you both give me a hint as to where Cassian is taking me tonight?”

“All set!” Emerie clapped her hands, wholly ignoring Nesta. The Illyrian female glanced at the clock and threw a fancy shawl over Nesta’s shoulders. “Go, go, go! You’re going to be late.” Emerie and Gwyn hustled Nesta out to one of the House of Wind’s private balconies.

Nesta was about to complain again, but the sight of Cassian waiting at the doorway left her speechless. Her mate was all sharp creases and clean-cut corners. He had ditched the Illyrian leathers he usually wore, opting for a fitted black jacket, black pants, and a crimson silk shirt. His shoulder-length dark hair had been combed and swept up, revealing a handsomely rugged smile.

“Cat got your tongue, Nes?” he teased, watching Nesta’s slack-jawed expression.

“You…you’re so dressed up!” she exclaimed, breaking out of her spell. Nesta sniffed the air delicately. Cassian had even put on cologne. “Where are we going?”

“You look beautiful, too,” Cassian gave her a light kiss on the lips and curled his arm around her waist. “It’s supposed to be a surprise, but you’ll see soon. Now come on.”

Azriel, Gwyn, and Emerie gathered at the balcony to wave goodbye. Azriel leaned in close to his brother’s ear. “You’ve got the tickets, right?” the spymaster asked under his breath.

Cassian discreetly checked his breast pocket. “Yes sir. Safe and secure.” He gently picked up Nesta, her fluffy winter shawl tickling his nose. “Let’s go, Nes.”

Though the winter air was icy, Cassian’s glowing red siphons generated a force field that prevented the wind from blistering Nesta’s face and tousling her hair. Below them, Velaris glowed with warm hearths and faelight and its citizens looked as small as ants.

Cassian landed softly in the heart of the Rainbow of Velaris. It was early evening, just after the dinner hour. She could hear the faint sound of carolers in the distance, could smell the delicious food wafting from the restaurants nearby. Nesta clutched Cassian’s warm hand as they made their way through the snowy streets on foot. She had half a mind to ask where they were going, but he would probably answer vaguely again.

The city’s main theater emerged as they rounded the corner, stone-hewn columns and gold-topped spires stretching into the sky. The renowned establishment was home to the Night Court orchestra and wind ensemble, the Velaris Actors Guild, as well as various dance troupes. Well-dressed couples were walking through the theater’s ornate wooden doors, chattering excitedly. Nesta blinked, putting two and two together. “Are we going to the theater?” she asked.

“Bingo. I got us tickets to see a show.”

“What kind of show?” Nesta hadn’t ever been to a Velaris show before, though Feyre was always recapping the performing arts highlights.

“A show that has dancing.” They walked up the snowy steps.

Nesta’s jaw dropped when an attendant handed her a program at the ticket stand. The show was a ballet that told the story of a female befriending a nutcracker prince and their subsequent journey through the sugared realms. An old folk tale. “Have I told you about how much I love you?” Nesta glanced up at her mate’s handsome face adoringly.

“Yes, but I’ll never tire of hearing you say it.” Cassian kissed Nesta on the tip of her frozen nose. The tickets were received without a hitch, and the two stepped across the theater’s toasty threshold.

Nesta’s icy blue eyes widened in wonder. The inside of the theater was lavishly decorated for the upcoming Solstice holiday, but decorations aside, the space was still opulent. The lobby was lined with beautiful paintings of past performances and illuminated by golden light. Soft, wine-red carpet cushioned her feet. Nesta made a beeline for the open doors leading into the theater, but Cassian tugged her towards the right.

“A balcony seat?” Nesta whispered to her mate as he held her hand, leading her up a curving staircase. They strode down the hallway to a small alcove that overlooked the theater. “Cassian, just how much were these tickets?”

“Not that much.” The general shrugged, guiding Nesta to one of the plush velvet seats. “I have 500 years of savings, you know.”

“Cassian! You shouldn’t have.” Nesta’s nose burned with emotion as she stared down at the curtained stage, the moving audience down below. Even at the height of her father’s wealth, the Archerons could never afford balcony seats at the theater. She threw her arms around her mate, burying her face into his chest. “I would have been happy with even a seat in the very back row…this is amazing.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Ever since I learned you loved dancing and music, I’ve been wanting to take you to one of Velaris’s theater shows.”

Because they were the only two patrons in the balcony, Cassian and Nesta were able to raise the arm rests to snuggle closer to each other. Nesta loved curling up against Cassian’s broad chest and having his velvet wings wrap around her, keeping her warm. Cassian loved resting his chin on Nesta’s head and cradling her soft curves against him. Though he would never tell her this, she was like a comfortable, weighted cushion.

The theater’s domed ceiling appeared to be a fresco of the night sky. Thick indigo drapes kept the stage closed off from the audience, but from her vantage point, Nesta could see the musicians setting up in the orchestra pit. Fae of all shapes and sizes were in the audience, their soft murmuring was a comforting white noise.

When the lights dimmed, a hush fell over the theater. Nesta leaned forward, tense with anticipation. Clapping arose as the stage curtains drew apart with a swish, revealing a singular dancer. The beauty was poised against a Solstice celebration backdrop, her neck long and elegant, her limbs utterly still. The flowy white dress she wore resembled a nightgown, though Nesta could spy sheer tights and flat, satin dance shoes on her feet.

Cued by the orchestra’s hidden conductor, violins and woodwind instruments launched into energetic song. The female leapt into dance, gliding over the floor with delicate steps. Her arms gestured effortlessly, her skirt swished gently around her long legs, and her expression was one of placid, professional grace. But Nesta knew from the shining look in those emerald eyes, that the female was overcome with wild joy.

The female was joined by a throng of other dancers, all adorned in their own costumes and makeup. Nesta had never seen anything like it: a choreographed story, each dancer with their role to play. All her previous theater experiences were for singing, or acting. Never dancing. The sweet music filled the crevices of Nesta’s soul, stirring her instinct to fly away with the melody.

While Nesta was engrossed by the dancing onstage, Cassian was captivated by the delight on his mate’s face. His hazel eyes regarded how her blue-gray eyes tracked the dancers’ movements with precision, her cheeks were glowing in the dim light, and her rosy lips were slightly open in pure awe. The queen of dance was fascinated by the machinations of her fellow artists on the stage.

As the show progressed, the mates collectively gasped during tense scenes, their hearts thrumming wildly with the dramatic music. They sighed with wonder at the efficient changing between the sets, and “oohed” and “aahed” at the impressive formations on stage. They pointed out little details of the costumes and dance by whispering into each others’ ears.

Though unexpected, the night was truly Nesta’s idea of perfection: leaning against Cassian, his hand gently stroking the back of her’s, with exquisite music and incredible dancing before her. Immortality, with its promise of endlessly beautiful nights like this, certainly had its perks.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #nessian fanfic #nessian fluff #nesta x cassian #acotar solstice

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ruthbancroftgarden · 1 year

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Aloe reitzii hybrid

When making this hybrid, I wanted to create a modest-sized plant with prickly leaves that would flower before the cold of winter sets in. Aloe reizii has prickly leaves only at the juvenile stage, but it has beautiful spires of flowers in late summer to early autumn. I crossed it with one of my humilis hybrids to get a smaller plant with enduring prickles on its leaves, and I am happy with the way the hybrid came out, although it flowers later than what I was hoping for. It is planted out at the Ruth Bancroft Garden.

-Brian

#Aloe #Asphodelaceae #Ruth Bancroft Garden

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nesonkin · 1 year

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Things I've learned from my current Sims 3 playthrough:

Like in Stardew Valley one of the best ways to get some money during the early game is by foraging. Flowers are especially a good option because there's a lot of them everywhere. Some flowers can be sold for hundreds of simoleons so that's a good way to pay the bills when you're still broke.

If you're pursuing an inventing skill/career it's useful to have a miner that your inventor sim can build. Keep making holes in the ground with it and you'll find all sorts of materials. From gems to furniture. There's one gemstone in particular that we're going to talk about. It's called Tiberium. It's not worth much in it's raw form but once you have it, use the cutting machine to cut tiberium into a spire. Then put the spire somewhere on your lot and wait for it to grow. When it's done you can sell it for around 40k simoleons. I definitely didn't know about this when I was playing this game many years ago but holy shit.

In the University when your sim has to go to many different classes in one day it's hard to keep your sims from experiencing extreme levels of stress. Especially when you need them to work hard in every single class they attend. Well, if it's winter just make your sim make a snow angel after class. Their Fun needs will replenish itself instantly. Pretty big W for winter in this game.

Pretty obvious one, but adventuring in this game also pays off greatly. All the gems, relics and nectar that you find in dungeons will make tons of money unless you want to collect those.

Another obvious one but I have to include it because my friend didn't know they could do that. You can still do gardening during winters. Just get the indoor pots and your plants will grow regardless of the season. Also keeps them away from zombies. My witch sim didn't use cars so I turned the garage into a little indoor garden area where she would grow ingredients for her potions.

That's it for now. I hope some poor soul finds this helpful :)

#ts3 #the sims 3 #sims 3 tips #video games #sims 3 simblr #simblr

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timeforelfnonsense · 7 months

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Dafni of Gwynneth

Dafni’s Playlist || Sunshine & Starlight (Dafni x Astarion) Playlist || Bg3 Ao3 series (EA Content) || Sunshine & Starlight Ao3 || D&D Beyond || Artwork of Dafni

I decided to make a new pinned post for my Dafni lore document. With more people joining the fandom, I figured I'd reintroduce her. She's been around since EA and has gone through some changes here and there. Some have stuck, and others that ended up getting cut.

Hopefully, this will be her final big lore update. I am happy with where she is now and how she's fitting into my new drafts for Sunshine & Starlight. If you've been around for a bit, you might notice I landed on a version of her story that is close to my early drafts of her backstory in the end. So this is my PSA to writers to always hold on to your content, even stuff you cut because you never know what you might end up using.

Dafni Ríwen

Alignment: Chaotic good

Race: Eladrin

Class: Cleric of Corellon Larethina || Fey Wanderer Ranger

Background: Outlander

Age: 160

Birthday: Ches 19, 1332 DR

Sign: Pisces, ESFJ

Home: Peleira, Kingdom of Sarifal, Gwynneth’s feywild.

Nicknames/Other names: Daffodil (Astarion), Sprout (Her mother and older sisters), Kora (Childhood name), Despoena (True name)

Traits:

I was driven by wanderlust to travel far from home

I am tolerant of other faiths and respect the worship of other gods

I approach everything with enthusiasm, even the most mundane chore

I can’t stay still. I’m always picking things up, absently fiddling with them, and sometimes accidentally breaking them.

Ideals: Nature, Charity, Change, Creativity

Flaws:

I put the wellbeing of others before myself

I don’t fully grasp customs and niceties outside of the wilds

A pretty face infatuates me in an instant, but facies can fade just as fast.

There’s no room for caution in a life lived to the fullest.

Bounds:

I hold all varieties of elves in tender regard.

I protect those who cannot protect themselves.

I never leave a friend behind.

Appearance:

Dafni is a petite, chubby elf with curly hair and wide mossy-brown eyes. Like most Fey eladrin, Dafni’s appearance changes with her emotional state.

Spring/Light Form

Complexion: Light sage green skin with golden freckles

Hair: light, dusty pink

Faerie fire Illusory butterflies (Morpho aurora)

Flowers for Moods:

Snowdrops & Lily of the Vally: Happy

Foxgloves: Anger, feisty, protective

Ivy: Envy

Daffodil/Narcissus: Flirty, affectionate (Astarion only)

Wilted flowers: Sadness, low moods

No flowers: Trying to hide her fey nature

When she is particularly happy or using her cleric powers, she glows slightly

Winter/Shadow Form

Complexion: Pale pinkish gray

Hair: Light pinkish lavender

Faerie fire lunar moths

She radiates wisps of shadow when she is particularly sad, serious, or using her shadow-touched abilities.

Dafni was born on the spring equinox to Thesmia, a very old and powerful eladrin druidess and bladesinger. Her home, Peleira, is hidden deep within the feywild of the Lylarth Forest. It was built around an ancient oasis created by the first elves to come to the Feywild. It is a place shaped by sylvan and elvish magic, with spires and structures of flawless marble reflecting the breathtaking, everlasting sunset’s burnt oranges and vivid violets.

Hundreds of years of loving restoration returned the oasis to its former glory. Thesmia has made Peleira a paradise and refuge for elves, nymphs, and other fey. Peleria is a vassal of the Kingdom of Sarifal, part of the Court of High Lady Ordalf. The village is the island’s primary source of food and medicinal vegetation. It is also home to Thesmia’s Spire of Laural, one of the most vast collections of elven history and artifacts outside of Evermeet. Thesmia had taken in several wards over the centuries. These women help Thesmia run the village.

Dafni’s father is a shadar-kai knight and servant of the Raven Queen, whom Lady Ordalf has been in conflict with due to a shadow curse taking over one of Gwynneth’s forests.

When Thesmia grew tired of her life in the court’s capital, Caspian granted her the memory of Peleira in the form of an enchanted compass that would always point towards it. A gift Thesmia has since passed on to her daughter.

Due to her shadar-kai, linage Dafni’s seasonal affinities manifest differently than most eladrin. She only has two forms: Spring (Light) and Winter (Shadow). Dafni’s dubious paternity is an open secret at court and has led to some unkind treatment outside her village.

Thesmia is a loving but overprotective mother who sheltered Dafni for most of her life. Dafni was allowed much less freedom than her older sisters growing up, creating friction between herself and her mother.

Starting at age 17, Dafni began training as her mother’s apprentice. While Dafni excelled at druidcraft, she was somewhat inept with wizardry and complex magic. By age 30, her mother had released her from the apprenticeship. Despite never fully mastering the tradition, Dafni still incorporates many bladesinging techniques into her fighting style.

Cleric Calling:

Dafni’s soul holds an extra spark of the divine. She was among the few elves who chose not to take a fixed form and thus was not cast out from Arvandor. This is her first mortal lifetime.

The elves believe that to truly feel Corellon’s presence, they must seek to know themselves. Much of the work Corellon wants her to do as a mortal is centered on her learning to trust in herself more and to make her own choices for her own reasons, not because she thinks it is what is expected of her by external factors, even him.

Dafni has always tended to wander off when something catches her attention. As a small child, she followed a whips deep into the woods surrounding her village.

Unbeknownst to her, a drider exiled from the feydark had taken up residence in the forest. Perhaps sensing her dormant divine power, the creature planned to sacrifice her to win Lolth’s favor. As she was dragged into the heart drider’s den, an enchanted arrow buried itself into the creature’s skull.

A wandering Corellite had saved her. Dafni didn’t recognize him from the village, but he seemed incredibly familiar. He comforted her and headed her injuries.

He took her hand and guided her through the forest. Once they reached the border of Peleira, the man crouched down, placing his quarter moon amulet around her neck.

When she asked why, he smiled and told her it had always been hers and that he had only been holding onto it for her. He told her he had to leave but promised they would meet again.

Corellon has been known to wander the multiverse incognito, seeking new magic and ideas. Despite encouraging self-reliance among his followers, Corellon is a relatively involved deity. Dafni is entirely unaware of the true nature of this encounter. From her perspective, she was simply saved by a cleric.

After her mother released her from bladesinging apprenticeships, Dafni felt lost and directionless. She had never wanted to be a wizard, but she had seen it as her only path for the first 30 years of her life.

She had, at least, inherited her mother’s green thumb. Nature had always seemed to sing in her presence. Her inherent fey magic could coxing even the most wilted plant into bloom. But, her’s was the power of springtime, wild and unbound. She could manage a small garden well enough but was ill-suited to the organized work of yielding crops.

She became depressed and sulked around her mother’s tower in her shadow/winter form for a few months. She had to sit with herself and figure out what she wanted out of her life. Dafni had always had an affinity for the divine. Still, she never pursued it beyond a hobby out of fear of disappointing her mother.

She thought of the cleric who saved her from the drider as a girl. How brave and kind he had been. She realized that that was her calling. To nurture and protect her people.

Although she never received formal training through a temple, her mother’s library was fast and contained many resources on elven theology. Additionally, she still had some access to her primal memories. Allowing her to tap into her knowledge from her first lifetime as a priestess in Arvandor.

BG3 Set Up:

Dafni lived alongside the wood elves of Lylarth Forest in the material plane for a few decades. During those years, she began to come into herself.

She began to feel a pull toward Bauldr’s Gate following a brief adventure with a group of shipwrecked adventurers. She has taken up residence in the Twin Songs neighborhood of the outer city. She rents a townhouse out of which she runs a small clinic, providing both traditional and magical healing.

The Ancunín family owns the townhouse she lives in. After the death of their son, they moved to their country estate full-time but retained their properties and assets in the city. Dafni has never met the people who rent to her. Minimrie Virra, an elf from a lower noble family, manages the building.

Dafni was on her way to the Cloak Wood Forest on the city’s outskirts to treat an outbreak of fever in one of the local wood elf clans when the mind flayers took her. She planned to stay with the wood elves for at least a tenday. She was relatively well packed for her adventure, having her medicine chest, adventuring supplies, etc. on hand when abducted.

The feywild seeps into the material plane on Gwynneth significantly, with some locations existing both planes at once. Her only knowledge of the world beyond the island came from a group of adventurers she had aided following a shipwreck and courtly gossip. She often struggles with the customs and decorum of the material plane.

Gear & Notable Items: Long sword, Oathbow, A golden compass that points towards the nearest portal to the feywilds within 10 miles, A holy amulet of Corellon, lyre, Feywilds & Shadowfell shards, moon sickle, Medical chest & herbalist tools.

Fun facts:

Her favorite treat is lemon bars and honey cake.

She likes romance novels.

She has kept a diary most of her life. She has a century of filled journals in her room.

She loves tea and has a collection of teacups at home.

She plays the lyre & harp.

She’s an Arachnophobe

She can spin and weave.

She is vulnerable to cold iron because of her fey ancestry.

In addition to her cleric abilities, Dafni has studied nonmagical medicine and is a talented surgeon and healer.

Despite being a faerie, she can technically lie. However, the lies taste like soot and bile in her mouth. The taste is more pungent the more significant the lie, so she tries to avoid it.

She thinks she can bake, but it always turns downright awful.

Past life:

Warning: this section has spoilers for a few story elements for Sunshine & Starlight.

Despoena served as a priestess of Elyadia. The acolytes of the temple were sworn to Corellon, Creator of the Elves. The priests were healers and warriors who served as liberators to those stripped of their freedoms. Elyadia offered refuge to elves who had experienced trauma and needed rehabilitation of both physical and emotional wounds.

Reincarnation:

After the war, all but the few elves who didn’t take fixed-physical forms were cast out of Arvandor. Despoena, ever loyal to her god, chose to remain in Arvandor.

She grew restless without a purpose, wandering the empty halls of Elyadia until the temple became overrun by nature. Tired of watching her talents go to waste, Corellon began sending elven souls afflicted by malevolent magics or wounds of the heart and mind to Elyadia, along with elven clerics who accomplished great acts of healing and magic in their mortal lives who wanted to continue to serve their people during their time in the afterlife.

When she first came into being, she had felt limitless and free. She had lost herself in her grief and out of a misguided desire to please Corellon. It became apparent to her that self-discovery would likely need to happen outside of Arvandor. She implored Lord Corellon to allow her at least one mortal experience. Much to her surprise, Corellon was in favor of her request.

Corellon hopes for her to discover that while her kindness and love for her people are great strengths, self-sacrifice to the point of living for other people’s happiness hinders her potential. She’s finding balance and learning that being your person doesn’t have to be at the cost of compassion and community.

Thiramin:

“Like most other important things in their lives, elves describe this mystically. They believe that a person’s spiritual progress is unknowingly intertwined with that of another. This soulmate is called a thiramin.”

Dafni and Astarion are fated mates. They were friends and lovers in their original lifetimes. Free will and self-determination are central to the elven existence. The souls bound simply pulled them together. They have to choose what to do with it.

For Aidon (Astarion), it was love at first sight; he saw her gathering flowers near the temple. She still burned bright with magic lost to the majority of their people. Being near her felt like the wild, endless possibility of spring had taken root in his soul.

Knowing he would not be permitted to approach the temple grounds, he watched her from the shadows for a time. Aidon had a clever mind and a talent for creating loopholes in any rule between himself and his desires.

Despoena was curious by nature. When a strange trail of snow-white daffodils appeared at the edge of the temple grounds, she could not resist the urge to see where they might lead. At the end of the trial, she found a shaded meadow and a masculine elf with a pleased grin.

He was irreverent, flirtatious, and unlike anyone she had known before. He was fiercely independent and sure of his desires. His sharp wit and easy charm had taken Despoena.

Over the centuries, they often wandered back into each other’s lives. They are echoes of each other in many ways, creatures of opposing but complementary nature. This was the source of the occasional falling out, though they always reconciled.

Despoena never stopped mourning the loss of his company following the events of the war of the Seldarine. She thought of him often and even occasionally, looking into his mortal lives.

#dafni of gwynneth #bg3 tav #bg3 oc #tav #bg3 #baulders gate 3 #d&d oc #eladrin #Dafni's Lore Doc #tav x astarion #long post under cut

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