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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

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The Palace

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content Word count: 3.6k

Summary: Benedict makes Sophie’s first royal event one to remember.

Author’s Note: Happy Queen Charlotte release day! Here’s some smut to celebrate 😜 No spoilers for the show in this fic, just some royal-adjacent horny nonsense. This is also my belated birthday gift to @queen-of-the-misfit-toys Enjoy our boy and his talented hands, my dear 💙

Sophie needed a moment to breathe. Between the glare of the sun, the tightness of her stays and the dizzying array of new faces, her head was beginning to spin. Happily, the reception party was spread across both the gardens and two floors of St. James’s Palace, offering plenty of quiet corners where she could rest. Leaving Benedict in conversation with Anthony, she picked her way up to a room on the second floor. Despite its towering ceilings and the endless stretches of halls that winged away from its massive doors, the tapestries within made it feel marginally warmer than the throne and ballrooms below. A bouquet of purple blooms perched on a low table in front of the windows and she stood by it, trying to steady herself as she watched the members of court mingle in the gardens.

It was Hyacinth’s presentation day, but Benedict had wasted no opportunity to remind Sophie that it served as her presentation too. The first year of their marriage had been spent blissfully in the countryside but now she and the whole of the Bridgerton clan had agreed that it was time for her to appear in the London season. Everyone was well rehearsed in Sophie’s backstory if need be. The explanation that she was a distant cousin of the late Earl of Penwood had been carefully worded by Anthony and Violet. All members of the family were instructed to alert them if anyone probed too insistently. They all hoped it wouldn’t cause too much speculation for the second-born Bridgerton son to reemerge from a long absence with a wife in tow, but the ton were fickle and always desperate for gossip.

The morning ceremony had gone off without a hitch. Hyacinth had walked serenely to the Queen, though her family could tell she was fighting to suppress giggles the entire time. Sophie had managed to blend into the sea of ladies in ivory dresses with no one taking notice of her until the reception party began in the garden. Anthony had circled her like a hawk, glowering more than usual at each person she and Benedict spoke to and he only moved away when the attendees queued to greet the Queen. Sophie was buzzing with anxiety, her mind roaring as Benedict guided her forward and introduced her. Somehow she had remembered to curtsy properly and to smile. She had said something that made the Queen laugh but couldn’t remember what, then she had turned away, dazed. Benedict brought her back to herself with a tight squeeze of her hand and an encouraging smile before they separated to mingle.

Now the enormity of the day was weighing on her and Sophie needed this reprieve. How she found herself here, barely a year after selling her hair to a wigmaker and cleaning out chamberpots, was still a turn of events she couldn’t fully believe. As she leaned against the table and enjoyed the fragrance of the flowers, Benedict entered the room behind her. She knew it was him even before the press of warm lips against her neck. She could always sense when he was nearby, attuned to him like the change in pressure before a storm. Her skin would prickle and her mind would calm, steadied by the proximity of her anchor in this new life.

His hands banded around her waist as he pressed himself to her back, murmuring into the slope of her shoulder. “What do you think, my love? Your first royal event.”

Sophie smiled, grateful for the familiar comfort of his arms. “It is breathtaking. I could never have dreamed I would find myself here. Introduced to the Queen of England. Do you think she believed our story? Do you think she knows I don’t really belong?”

Benedict gently turned her chin back to face him with a gloved hand. His brow was creased. “You do belong here. As much as anyone. You are my wife and the daughter of an Earl. I never want you doubting yourself.” His insistent tone reverberated into her back, leaving no space for her heart or mind to argue. “I think she believed us but even if she didn’t, she clearly doesn’t care. You fit in here. Somehow, you manage to fit perfectly everywhere.” The fingers on her chin moved to stroke her cheek. “In our little country cottage, or in these grand halls, looking like a veritable princess.”

He pressed another kiss to her lips and she sank against him, fighting the tears that his words stirred within her.

“I love you so much, Benedict,” she whispered. “You’ll never know how much.”

He tightened his hold, hands splaying across her ribs. “And I love you, darling. You are my entire heart. My whole world.” He paused and let his eyes stray across her decolletage, highly pronounced thanks to the incomparable structure of her court dress. “This may be the most striking dress I’ve ever seen you in. I can’t deny that it has sent my mind in all kinds of…enticing directions.”

The crooked grin that followed was a warning shot.

Sophie sighed, turning back to the windows. “Ben, we really can’t.”

“We won’t.” His mock indignation was completely undermined by the low pitch his voice sank into. His hands traced down to grasp her hips and he pressed himself firmly into her backside, pinning her between him and the table. His words ghosted warm next to her ear, a devastating purr. “We aren’t doing anything. We are just standing, a husband and wife, quietly taking in the view.”

That’s when he pushed her hips forward ever so slightly, nearly imperceptible, but enough for her to realize that the table was at precisely the right height to strike her where sensation would bloom. She let out a small gasp.

Undeterred, Benedict continued. “We are surveying the grounds…” He nudged her against the table edge again. “The people.” Again.

Sophie took a shuddering breath, already knowing she would be helpless against the tingling wave he was building within her. Sometimes she wondered if she had married the devil himself. How dare he act so brazenly in public and in a royal palace no less? But she knew, of course, that it was precisely within Benedict Bridgerton’s nature to do such a thing. And God help her, it was one of the reasons she was so hopelessly in love with him.

Perhaps they could do this undetected. The doors behind them were too heavy to close and they could be seen by anyone passing in the hall, but this corner of the upper floor seemed deserted. And if they were, as Benedict said, just a husband and wife standing by the window, rocking with such small movements, perhaps no one would know what was happening even if they were discovered. Benedict understood her body so well and was rubbing her into the table at such a precise angle, she knew she could finish quickly. A small burst of pleasure would no doubt help ease her nerves, which she surmised was part of his motivation.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her composure. “They are stunning.”

“Yes, they are.” He rumbled low in her ear, his hands tight on her hips, guiding her back and forth, grinding her into the sloped angle of the wood. “The peacocks in particular are an excellent touch, are they not?” With that, he surged his hips into her and Sophie groaned quietly at the stiff length she felt pressing into the cleft of her bottom.

“Yes…” She gasped, eyes fluttering closed as all her focus narrowed to the heat between her thighs and the crush of him behind her.

“Keep your eyes on everyone out there.” Benedict tutted and she obeyed, bracing herself with palms pressed into the tabletop and gaze locked on the oblivious crowds below.

He had found a steady rhythm, pushing her forward with his body and hands, thrusting her against the table with small movements that sent spikes of desire shooting through her blood. Over and over with mechanical precision he maneuvered her in chasing pleasure, the slight quiver of the flowers beside them the only indicator to any passersby that something untoward was happening.

Benedict’s tone was quiet but with an undeniably gruff edge. “I want you to remember this moment. That you are in a palace, looking down on all the ton. You are regal Sophie. You were so marvelous speaking to Her Majesty. I was so proud to show her that I had married the most gorgeous woman in England. A woman that far outshines any of her Diamonds. With more strength and fortitude than they could ever muster. She may be the Queen, but I am certainly the richer of us both.”

Sophie gripped the table and stared, entranced as Benedict set her body and mind alight. His potent blend of arousal and affirmation drilled home the truth of his words. She did belong. She was special. Powerful even. A Bridgerton with a handsome husband on her arm and a formidable family to support her. She wore the same fine fabrics as the ladies in the sunlit hedgerows below and had received the same invitation to be feted by the Queen herself. Sophie Beckett the maid was no longer. Sophia Bridgerton had taken her place and was being ravished in a palace above the heads of the ton by a man they all respected and desired.

When his mouth opened hot on her neck to graze it with his teeth Sophie moaned aloud, unable to restrain herself. He had worked her into a state, humming with arousal, her womanhood engorged and soaking. She was burning and lightheaded and knew that she had more than the strictures of her dress to blame. While his movements made the wave of lust swell within her body, his words made her longing for him swell within her heart. She needed his mouth on hers, his skin on hers. It was the only way she would crest the wave and in that moment, everything else could be damned.

“Ben,” She spun around to face him and crashed her mouth to his, drinking in the taste of him as she tugged off his gloves. He let her do as she wished, sliding his tongue to map the circumference of her lips as she pulled his hand up and under her skirt. Caged though her breasts and consequently her lungs may be, her lower undergarments were still easy to bypass and Sophie was aching for her husband’s fingers.

Benedict paused, face lighting with mischief as he gave her a lopsided smile. “Anyone could see us.”

As if confirming her commitment to impropriety, Sophie smirked and hopped backward to sit on the table, wrapping her arms across his broad shoulders. “Good. Let them watch.”

With something like a snarl, his eyes darkened and he dipped his head to suck at the delicate skin beneath her ear. The hand under her skirt began to quest through the layers of fabric. “You hoping to make them jealous?”

“Yes,” She breathed, leaning her head back and reveling in the pattern he traced with his tongue.

“You want them all to see you getting finger fucked at their stuffy soiree?” His voice rumbled low in his chest as his fingers found her wet heat and brushed gently over her opening.

“Desperately,” She shuddered, breathing heavier as she shot another glance out the window. “I want them to know that I’m yours.”

With no preamble Benedict covered her throbbing center with the whole of his hand, cupping her possessively. He pulled back to meet her eyes. Gone was the sweet, gentle artist, replaced by an imposing seducer who looked about ready to devour her.

“This is mine is it then, darling?” He smiled wolfishly.

“Yes,” Sophie gaped, heart pounding. Only once she confirmed it did his hand start moving, fingers sliding through the slickness he had caused as his palm ground against her pubic bone, giving her the pressure she loved.

He wrapped the fingers of his other hand gently around her neck. Not hard enough to restrict her breath, just enough to hold her in place. His thumb traced languidly over the ridges of her throat above the tiers of pearls that he had gifted her for the occasion.

“And those lips…” He bent and sucked on the lower one, nibbling it before pulling away. “They are mine?”

“Yes,” Sophie’s eyes closed, hands moving to wrap around his wrist. She was growing dizzy with the intensity of the moment. His dominating play made her giddy enough but to unleash it when they were in public and at risk of being caught…it made her lose her senses.

His hand beneath her skirts shifted, aligning the pad of his thumb on her swollen clit precisely where she had shown him she liked to be touched. Then he began rubbing in skillful circles. Two more fingers pressed inside her and slid firmly in and out, probing with clear intention. Sophie hissed, her stomach clenching like a fist, nails digging into his wrist. Her nerves began to sing, the wave rising under his ministrations. This was precisely what she needed.

Benedict trailed open-mouthed kisses over her exposed skin, licking along the neckline of her dress.

“The whole of this incredible woman. She is mine. And how she dazzles. In silks. In satins. In nothing at all. Am I not the luckiest man alive to be tasked with serving her? Pleasuring her.”

His voice was dusky against her flesh and punctuated by her moan when he bit lightly into the swell of her breast. His long fingers continued to tease and swirl, pumping into her and coaxing her to release. Sophie felt her nipples harden as her body relented, lost to any way he wanted to command it, trusting him to bring her to heights she could never accomplish herself. She hooked her ankles around the back of his calves, pulling him closer between her thighs, needing the heat of him to mingle with the one he stoked in her. Clutching one another, they were nearly inert save for the talented movements of Benedict’s hand beneath her skirts. The only sounds in the room were the light rustle of fabric and Sophie’s small, pleasured breaths.

Sophie clung to his wrist, the pounding blood in her ears drowning out every sense but touch. The expert flick of his thumb against her nerves that caused her stomach to knot delightfully. The glide of his reach inside her, petting the spots that made her clench and evoking memories of his cock and its steady pace that ratcheted her to delirium. All of it heightened by his hold on her neck, the ownership he claimed over the fluttering breaths he was forcing out of her. In these moments her body was his, because she knew that his heart would always be hers.

Benedict marveled at the beauty of his wife lost in the throes of pleasure, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes hazy, fingers flexing each time he pressed against her sweetest spot, right under her clitoral hood. He reveled in her flushed skin and needy noises, the bobbing of her throat beneath his fingers. He would never tire of making her feel this way. In fact, he longed to draw it out, leave her breathless and screaming for release, soaking his hand as he made her come over and over until her knees faltered. But they didn’t have the luxury of time. So he focused his movements, small but incendiary, on the most sensitive parts of her. He grinned, noting how her hips had started to rock, pushing herself down onto his fingers as much as he was pushing up into her. He leaned to her ear and whispered.

“That’s it. You’re beautiful, so beautiful my love.” His lips returned to her neck, nibbling around the elaborate necklace, his breath gusting hot across her skin. “I love to see you choked with my pearls.”

Her whole body stiffened, his words driving her higher. “I prefer your hands.” She rasped, managing to arch a coquettish brow.

The responding gleam in his steely eyes was precisely what she had been hoping for. Spurred on, Benedict tightened his grip, starting to slightly constrict her windpipe as his fingers increased their speed and pressure, pounding into her and teasing her nub viciously.

“I’m glad to hear that, darling.” He growled. “You are radiant with all manner of things around your neck.” He sucked at her collarbone before moving back to her lips, kissing her between each honeyed word of praise. “Priceless. My wife. My queen.”

Sophie could hear how wet she was as he worked her sex relentlessly. The cadence of his fingers was making her delirious. The warm, delicious tingle radiating from his touch was flooding over her. She knew she was approaching the end.

“Don’t…be treasonous…”

He chuckled darkly. “I can revere whomever I want to behind closed doors. Would you want that? For me to kneel before you tonight?”

Sophie’s eyes blazed, enticed by his offer. They had played that way before, Benedict submitting to her wishes, and it always set a fire in her belly. She envisioned him naked, kneeling before her on the floor of their bedroom, skin glowing in firelight that etched the outlines of his muscles and betrayed the leaking of his eager cock. She could hook her leg over his shoulder and command him to feast upon her until neither of them could breathe. She could sink her hands into the waves of his dark hair and press him into her body, riding him mercilessly to her bliss.

It was this imagery that caused her to break, thighs quaking as she bucked against him. Benedict could feel her quiver inside. Throwing her head back, she started to moan his name but he cut her off quickly with a gentle squeeze of her throat.

“Shhh. Don’t scream my name or you’ll give us away.” His eyes were hungry as he continued rubbing her furiously, rocking his hand in and out of her. “Just come for me.”

He felt her hold her breath, then the rippling spasms started to dance down the length of his fingers. She froze, rigid, gripping onto his wrist for dear life.

“That’s it. Come all over my hand.” He goaded through gritted teeth. “Then we’re going to walk out of here as if you aren’t drenched.”

He coaxed more out of her, slowing and curling his strokes as the pulsing continued, fanning out through her body, causing her to jerk. Sophie’s mind floated as the wave washed over her, its epicenter under his fingertips.

Benedict released her throat and held her close in the breathless moments as she shuddered with aftershocks. He withdrew his other hand and Sophie opened her eyes to find him sucking decadently at his fingers, relishing her taste. Lightheaded, she gently palmed the prominent tent in his breeches.

“What about you?”

Benedict smirked. “If etiquette didn’t require me to be in breeches and hose, maybe. But I’ll show you when we get home what an ordeal they are to remove. Let’s just wait a moment, my love. I will be fine.”

She laughed, the room beginning to orient itself around her again, gravity falling back into place.

“Perhaps the dress code was established for precisely that reason.”

—

An hour later at the close of the reception, Benedict and Sophie were turning to walk out through the gardens when they halted at the sight of the Queen approaching, closely followed by her man Brimsley. Sophie’s mind began to whir. She had been so blissful in the wake of their rendezvous that guilt had not settled on her thoughts as it perhaps should have. But now, reminded of precisely whose home she had defiled, she was filled with shame and could only pray that Her Majesty didn’t know the scandalous truth.

Queen Charlotte strode to them directly and they stepped apart, inclining their heads as they bowed and curtsied deeply.

The Queen fixed her eyes on Benedict. “Mr. Bridgerton. So glad you could join us when I have seen you at so few of my events.” She pursed her lips. “Though, I’m sure you are busy with your work. My nephew Friedrich has commissioned you for his official portrait, has he not?”

A bit stunned, Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has, your Majesty. An honor that I gladly accepted.”

“Very good. I’ll wait for his assessment and then see if we cannot use another portraitist for my family.” Her eyes scanned him up and down, scrutinizing though he was not sure for what. With the quirk of a smile, she continued. “We are always looking for those with creativity and…discretion.”

Gobsmacked, Benedict’s face lit up as he bowed again. “Your Majesty.”

Before she departed, the Queen pivoted to Sophie with the same small, enigmatic smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

Sophie nearly stumbled in her rush to curtsy again, overwhelmed by the entire exchange. Rising, she saw the Queen was gone but Brimsley had lingered and was staring at her pointedly. With a quick gesture he motioned toward her neckline. To her horror, she looked down to see bruising teeth marks on her breast peeking just above her bodice. She scrambled to conceal it and looked back at the Queen’s Man, blushing crimson. She did not know whether to feel relief or mortification as he shot her a wry smile, winked, then turned and caught up to the Queen, five paces behind as always.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

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SOUR CHERRY

Luke Castellan x OC

"Fuck the God's, angel, your mine."

Main Paring ~ Luke Castellan x Daughter of Oizys!OC

Warnings ~ Depressing themes, failure, anger, and anxiety.

Spoilers ~ A Ton‼️

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No beta lmao)

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Chp Summary ~ The God's were supposed to be all knowing. They knew everything about anything and their glorious army for children. They chose when they claimed their children, when they felt their offspring had deserved their presence. Oizys claimed Nisha since the day she was born, it was just a matter of when Nisha would embrace being the daughter of miseries.

Chp 2 ~ Failure is Success (Nisha's Version)

Nisha breathed in the Hermes son's scent of sour cherry juice and wished for the smell of fruity nectar to return.

Fists formed at his sides as the God's argued, veins of powder blue and seafoam green straining through his tanned skin. Dark geode eyes were throwing daggers of celestial iron at the ignorant God's, his brows scrunched slightly with anger.

Chiron waited for the last two students of thirty selected. One suspiciously glaring at the Gods still present from the council, the other with trained eyes on the angry boy. Chiron didn't seem to notice Luke's odd behavior; the centaur eavesdropped on the gods speaking in his mother tongue.

“How could you not foresee a travesty as great as this?!” Zeus thundered, veins drawing lines in his dark-skinned neck as he tantrums.

All of Mount Olympus shook. Nisha could smell electrifying ozone, balsamic grapefruit, burnt soil, and dark oil. She resisted covering her mouth to stop a gag, only swallowing with a grimace on her face.

The God of all God's smelt absolutely horrible like nothing Nisha had ever encountered. His wounded pride filled her nose and sent her senses to go haywire. Something in her ear whispered for her to absorb his misery, his frustration; to transform it into sadness and watch Olympus crumble at her feet.

Her heart screamed for the smell of organic cherries, attempting to focus on the main smell of the fruit, instead of the sharp tang of underripe sourness.

The Hermes cabin counselor smelt intoxicating like an exotic drug. It was like his smell was addicting, swirling above her head.

Nisha salivated at Lucas Castellan's smell. She ignored the thoughts of darkness that creeped into her mind. The intrusive thoughts were common, as she is her mother's child. Unlike her mother, she refuses to sit and watch as she causes destruction only to pity herself for it later.

She had to try and overcome the dark cloud looming over her head; she had to avoid the storm that was Zeus.

“Watch them fall,” a masculine voice whispers in her ear. The tone promised success; the smell consisted of spicy bergamot, heady alcohol, fresh ginger, and sweet strawberries.

He smelt like home, he smelt like her, he smelt like her damned mother; he smelt like greatness and failure concocted into a mix of destruction, and Nisha wanted more. The tantalizing smell taunted her, reminding her of both the fresh poison of failure and sweet aroma of success.

Nisha knew it was right there at the tip of her tongue. She'd never done it to a God, but she could; she'd absorb all the distress out of Zeus with one touch and leave him wallowing in ignorant self-pity.

She could watch Olympus burn and achieve the smell of candy factory glazed strawberries right there. He let his guard down enough for her to do it. It would be as easy as Hypnos lulling the man to sleep on Hera's orders.

Nisha blinked the temptation out of her eyes, hyacinth purple swirling out of her focused amber-brown irises. The eighteen year old pressed her thick lips into a thin line and tried to focus on sour cherries; it made her mind woozy. At least it didn't make her vision blur like Zeus’ intense stench.

The daughter of miseries and failures tugs at the sleeve of the son of travelers and thieves.

Luke's obsidian rocks for eyes soften into boba pearls as Nisha tugs at the sleeve of his orange camp shirt once more. Confusion creases at his brow, and a frown tugs at his mouth rather than a venomous scowl.

The man smelled tart, he was sad, he was lost.

Brushing the tips of her finger against his bicep, she decided to try and absorb the adrenaline from his soul instead. Feeding on his anger makes lava burn in her veins instead of blood and fire lick at her skin instead of air. Replacing his anger with even more sadness mutes him temporarily.

Thank the God's that anger didn't fuel her like sadness did. His body alone was comprised of so much of the reddening emotion, she was sure he was close to exploding. His darkness, however, was wavering. She didn't dare touch that.

Zeus gave another holler that made the claimed Hermes boy flinch instead of glare. His strong backbone melted into jelly, and only a shell of Luke Castellan was left. Only the boy in him was present.

Nisha's breath got stuck in her throat as she tried to breathe in tart cherry. It made her soul scream for more, but heart ache simultaneously.

The negative emotions surrounding Olympus, home of the mighty God's, was overwhelming every time she went for the Solstice event. Only just then, the miseries in the God's safe haven threaten to suffocate Nisha into a fit of destruction.

Nisha is not her mother, she will not break down in the hall of Olympus. She will not be the one to make Olympus crash because their miserys give her power.

Power was primitive. What power did she really have? Her tongue could taste strawberries, and she almost hated it.

Glory, power, and greatness; it all tasted overwhelmingly sweet when a residue of the flavor swirled around her taste buds. It would disappoint her if she was not her mothers daughter, born with disappointment embedded into her bones.

Her fingers yanked around the older teens shirt, and her fistful practically ripped the counselors sleeve off.

Dragging him with her to the elevator, she couldn't help as he had to bend at the waist to prevent his shirt from ripping. Nisha couldn't help her rough reaction as panic dug into her skin with the lingering smell of molding strawberries and rancid pine sap.

Her black, calf height, combat boots clicked against the pearlescent marble tile of Olympus; Luke's red, converse, sneakers squeaked pitifully as the girl walked him out like she owned him. Nisha made sure to keep him sated on his own sadness and frustration so that he wouldn't tear her a new one.

He may have smiled softly at the campers and lent a helping hand more times than not, but she didn't forget his scowl of anger. She was sure Lucus Castellan would've struck the God's where they stood if he had the power to do so.

“I can't see everything, Father! It doesn't work that way,” screams Apollo in the distance. He stunk of sun-dried mandarins, rotting currant fruits and stamped out sage. The God's frustration morphed into anger and dimmed her bloodlust in the slightest amount.

Zeus’ despair was just right there, though. He was angry, but his pride took a loss, he was frantic.

“Are you alright?” Lucas Castellan's voice rang out raspy. The pair waited for the elevator to come back up next to Chiron.

Chiron smelled like dark oak wood, sizzling brown sugar, dry rotting leather, and literal horse hair. His disappointment, concern, and frustration made Nisha want to squeal out in delighted anger.

She could have taken all their misery right then. She could have made them all drown in it.

Back at camp, where it wasn't enclosed and there wasn't Godly drama running around, she almost never felt such surges of overwhelming temptation.

Nisha craned her neck up to look up at Luke, who stood a foot taller than her humble five foot one inch height.

The boy was practically pressed against her back dumbly. Nisha assumed it was thanks to her abilities temporarily removing his rage, and apparently sense, from his body. The teen boy's hands clenched at his sides nervously, and eyes were glazed over with a mist of tears.

Lucas Castellan was many things. Publicly emotional was not one.

Nisha ripped her hand off the teens' bicep and shirt, realizing her damage. She allowed his true nature of anger to return.

There was still nothing but tart cherries filling the air around them. She'd made him feel misery, and she felt no better than her mother.

The elevator dinged, then clicked open, “Are you?” Nisha questioned back rhetorically after a moment, her voice monotonous and head swimming with guilt.

Regardless, the boy's red-bitten lips dared to open, a rumble cut him off.

“You!” Zeus screeched. The lights around Olympus flickered, and the windows reflected nothing but stormy rain outside.

“Who?” Luke accidentally blurted out, still recovering from the bipolar loss of anger. Nisha pressed her heart-shaped lips into a line and wished for a God to open up a crater in the ground to swallow her whole.

“Shut up,” Nisha hissed, lacking anger. She stepped her foot outside of the opened elevator at the storm God's attention. Chiron smelt of burnt brown sugar, melted plastic, and burning forest fire.

The centaurs' driven concern put Nisha on edge as she looked up at the Lord of the Sky. The God of God's had an expression as dark as a thundercloud etched onto his dark teak skin. His electrifying blue eyes practically glowed with lightning as he stared at the girl and his centaur half-brother down.

Luke's presence was promptly ignored. It was as if he wasn't worth the God's attention.

“The unclaimed child, come forth,” yelled the storm God from the council table. Mount Olympus began to shake again at his bellows, and Nisha could feel anxiety swell inside her brain.

Nisha inhaled the smell of worried molding cherry and rancid nuts, then held her breath. Zeus needed to blame others for his own incompetence; he was faltering with his strength while she festered with blood-lust.

She almost wanted to watch Olympus burn beneath her feet. That taste of success would've been sweet if she did.

“They are so ignorant,” Thinks the girl, blinking slowly. She looked between Hermes' claimed son and Chiron, the Trainer of Heroes who gave side glances at her.

"But nobody knows," She thinks, leaning back in realization at her situation. Both were looking at her to answer.

A flat expression painted her face darkly; worry washed over by the Hermes cabin counselor and the planner of camp activities. Nisha swore she heard something akin to a pitiful whine being coughed from the back of Luke's throat.

Her nose begs for another whiff of cherry. She defies Zeus and takes a step backward to the teen whose brain finally begins to restart. His eyes are wide, and his anger is ever coursing through his veins.

She hoped dead willows were not present in his scent of mainly fruit. His resentment was powerful, intoxicating. His wrath was forceful, festering. He would fail himself going down a path that made him sour.

“Child!” Zeus screeched, and Apollo took a step away from his father. The sun God's ash blonde blonde locs were pushed back from his face with one hand. The handsome God's tan-brown skin started to lose its gold luster at his Father's screams.

Apollo looked straight at Nisha with his diamond blue orbs observing her face. Gleams of gold started to disappear in them as he soaked up her presence.

She did not need to breathe to know that his smell of sandalwood, unripe mandarin oranges, decaying red currants, and burnt moss had returned. It was probably even stronger than before when Zeus' focus was trained on him.

When anger dims, frustration lingers, after frustration passed, sadness was present.

He must've smelt like greatness to her, the daughter of distress and miseries. Failure made her smell sweet; failure made them smell vulnerable, impressionable, and destroyable.

“Watch them fall,” a man chanted in her ear suddenly, his voice distorted and growing louder as she attempted to contain her breaths. Fresh ginger of death, sweet strawberry of success. Her brow furrowed in annoyance. She assumed it was a manifestation of the darkness around them.

“Who could you be talking to, my lord?” Nisha asked with a lith of condescension to her naturally soft spoken tone. Zeus glared at her audacity, blue eyes of electricity clouding over into a blue-gray whirlwind.

His trimmed black beard was salted with streaks of gray. Nisha wondered when he officially stopped aging, if he was old enough for him to lose his wisdom.

“You, unclaimed Demi-God,” the man angrily hissed. His sleek dress shoes stomped against the perfect marble of the council hall as he bounded closer.

Darkness swirled in Nisha's vision, only visible to her amber orbs and invisible to everyone else. Swirling wisps of shimmering starshine black curled against her shadow and grasped her shoulder tightly.

"I'm very much claimed, so I'm confused,” Nisha replied plainly. Doubt circled the room quickly from every corner.

Zeus had a laugh that boomed and bubbled from the back of his throat. It caused thunder to crack past the window. Crows' feet crunched at the corners of his almond-shaped eyes, and a humorless smile slipped on his face dangerously.

Luke took a step closer to Nisha. He was placed right before where darkness lingered; it was behind her back and swept at her spine. His entire broad body shadowed the literal dark shadow behind her.

Zeus took another step closer, ignoring the concern of the centaur and Hermes' child. “I have allowed you to enter through the doors of Olympus during the Winter Solstice as an unclaimed child ever since you were dropped off here,” He sneered. Nisha knew that, and she shrugged dismissively.

Her head tilted boredly as she listened to the angered God. His anger wouldn't tempt her. His smell couldn't as she kept the smell of odd cherry in her lungs.

Zeus’ hands were clasped behind his back, his frame appeared larger as his muscles bulged from beneath his blue pinstripe suit.

The God's were supposed to know everything. They were glorious and powerful. There was no glory in Zeus' smell like there was in his powerful stance. He was just angry.

Nisha couldn't walk out Olympus without burning it to the ground if she was consumed by their misery; she'd make the God's just plain angry instead.

“I have had speculation of why and how you were brought directly here,” He stated strongly. It was as if he wanted to hear her question his integrity for extra pride points.

Nisha swore she could taste sweet strawberry faintly in her mouth. Zeus’ ignorant thoughts and arrogant conundrum was her success, how fitting for a tragedy like her.

When Nisha was born, she was placed at the edge of the Olympus elevator by someone unknown to, even the all-seeing God's. She was swaddled in blankets of various shades of purple and placed in a black baby carriage. She was found by Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt.

A stygian iron and celestial bronze nameplate with a thin imperial gold chain necklace was found at the foot of the baby carriage. It scorched the hand of Zeus when holding it. Nisha saw the scar that looked like a smoothed over lightning strike burn every year, the God's teak skin scarred a stark white.

The brown skinned girl could've sworn the man had it out for her since then. She couldn't have been more than five months old.

Also, her mere existence caused Hera to lash out in anger. “Zeus practically kneeled to her,” Slurred Mr. D when she asked him how the Olympians brought her to Camp Half-Blood. He was inebriated with a wine she bought on a trip to the human realm mixed with crushed berries he refused to tell her about.

Talk about straight priorities.

The girl could smell rich fermented grapes, buttered focaccia bread, cracked cashews, and sweet honey waft from his skin as he told the girl of her own origin story years ago. She could practically taste Dionysus's pride, his satisfaction, at his Fathers intense frustration and rotting ego from the incident that was her existence.

No God wanted to claim a mystery child; the majority of the God's barely wanted to claim their own known children as it was.

The fact that Nisha was left on the God's doorstep and was turned away was all telling of their character and her fate.

Apollo took a hesitant step closer from the thrones in the council hall, pulling at his long blonde locs with a scrunch between his pale blonde brows. His fingers flexed harshly; beneath his gold-brown skin, his veins strained from the force he pulled his hair at.

“Have you come to spite me, child?” Zeus spat rhetorically at her as she didn't answer him previously. He spoke as if he knew the answer. He appeared almost just as smug as angered, but Zeus knew nothing, at least nothing of her.

A God that was full of himself was no God at all, just a man, practically a mortal.

Nisha shook her head softly. Her black tresses were tied up high on her head and braided down neatly to brush over the small of her back.

“No,” She said plainly, linking her fingers in front of her and circling her thumbs against each other. Her gold-brown irises never strayed from Zeus’ stormy gray-blue glare.

Chiron trotted forward on his four horse legs, “Enough, brother, Nisha is but just a child,” He argued with a disappointed look of dower on his face. The man's strong jaw clenched furiously.

Nisha huffed as the Centaurs hand curled against a shoulder that darkness fluttered around. The girl worried for a second that the dark glowing mist would attempt to harm him, but it didn't. It just disbursed from the area he touched.

Leaning into his warm palm slightly, she could feel the older squeezed the brown skin once, conveying a message of silent support.

Luke continued to remain quiet. His rage almost deadly as he practically hovered over her like a second, technically third skin, as shadows tingled her body.

The daughter of Oizys could sense Luke's frustration flowing into his veins even stronger than before, but did not breathe in. She wanted to see how long she could go without the lust to feed from miseries.

The pure warmth from his bubbling wrath, however, felt like a furnace heated by lava against her back. His body was just an inch from being pressed directly against her.

At least Chiron had the decency to back away from her and step in front of them several paces. However, Chiron didn't get his anger absorbed from his body, she supposed.

Luke was definitely lost somewhere inside his brain.

The shadowy mist that attempted to cloud at her skin started to crawl up her fingertips experimentally. It felt like there was a cat's fluffy tail being brushed over her body.

“What am I being accused of?” The supposedly unclaimed child asked, just to hear the immortal man's theory. Pressing her lips into an unimpressed line, she cocked her hip, almost exhausted.

Zeus thundered, “You, Nisha,” He paused for a cheap attempt at a dramatic effect. Apollo actually stiffened in fear as his eyes surveyed the girls' traditionally feminine features. He heaved a gasp in anticipation.

“Are the the lightning thief,” Zeus boomed, making Chiron scrunch his features up in disbelief. Behind her, Luke heaved a sigh that sounded oddly relieved but frustrated.

Both men were silent; one from disbelief and the other from rage. “And why exactly would it be me?” Nisha attempted not to laugh, picking at the plum colored varnish polished on her long nails.

An angry God was still a God, Nisha played into his hand with the intent of not choking someone on their suffering. They'd always come back, but she would be imprisoned for killing a literal Greek God.

“As my unclaimed child, you come to spite me. Only a child of the The Big Three has capabilities of such a task,” He stated with a confident brevity.

Apollo's jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief.

Chiron scowled with a frown of frustration at his lips.

Luke pulled her a step away from all three of them, uncharacteristically protective for someone who'd never looked at her before.

“Watch them fall,” the gravely voice hissed in her ear again, and Luke flinched slightly next to her; his dark eyes hardened into obsidian once more. It was as if he heard the hissing as well.

The dark mist, the color of night, shimmered against her skin and wrapped against her hands. Nisha did not need to breathe to smell fresh ginger, sweet strawberries, steamed lavender, and dark chocolate.

“Miseries are unavoidable,” her mother whispered in her head, a gentle reminder from a not-so-gentle woman.

Nisha huffed a deep sigh.

Oizys was a primordial goddess that represented all mental harm within every living being. Her mother was anxiety ridden, depressed, and in retrospect, saddly a better parent than most God's.

Oizys knew who she was. She knew what she was, and she knew she was not going to be a good mother.

Oizys may have been the embodiment of misery, and her child too despite others' neutral opinion on her currently, but there was one thing other than miserable she was.

Powerful.

Either way, Nisha played her hand. She was doomed to fail. She knew that, but she still tried. She tried to deny her mother's claim, but failure was unavoidable.

Nisha didn't like public displays of power, personally. She didn't have power systemically in both the mortal and mythical world, but she certainly more power biologically compared to everyone in the room.

Zeus could make her life a living hell; Nisha could watch the world burn like the mysterious temptation was whispering; or she could do the responsible thing for others. The right thing for others.

Make her own life miserable.

Failure, disappointment, frustration, depression; all part's of misery that was undeniable, expected, unavoidable, and bound to last forever for her. Failure for Zeus would be better than falling, it would be temporary. He would eventually find his lightning thief and prosper.

If he fell and Nisha killed him, then returned as he was immortal, it was a definite that others would try and challenge the power in Olympus.

Nisha may have hated most God's, especially pretentious ignorant ones like Zeus, but she didn't want that fallout on her.

Unlike other Gods sectors and specalties; Oizys was quite literally the cause of tears, sadness, and everything miserable with living things. Nisha's failure would last forever in favor for the world, for the Gods, and somewhat for herself.

Failure was her success.

She would never actually taste sweet strawberry that tasted better than fresh fruit if it were in her hands.

Nisha still decided she would not live up to her mother's name that day. She would not cause misery to others. She would only claim misery as her own. Wear failure with a badge of honor as she tried to deny it before.

"How ironic," She thinks, defeated.

Her mother hums from somewhere within the dark mist, and the darkness around her swirls and shimmers. It attempts to cover and drag her into the dark where she belonged.

"I'm claiming you instead of you claiming me, who would've thought?" Nisha rhetorically questioned internally.

Unfortunate feelings of belonging weigh heavy on her heart as she tilts her head slightly; leaning into her mother's control of the dark mist against her cheek.

This time, the teenage girl really couldn't help but giggle.

Disappointment was always sunk deep into her bones, as expected. The shadows of her mother warmed her skin in the winter cold. Miserable but prideful, feelings erupted on her mother end.

Her sweet strawberries, her mothers fresh ginger; the smell she doesn't breathe in, but it pools on her tongue.

Failure is her success. That was both the mother and daughter's fate. It was time for Nisha to own it.

#luke castellan x fem!poc!oc!#kinda dark luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x oc #percy jackon and the olympians #the lightning thief #percy jackson #zeus #apollo #oizys

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dessicus · 4 months

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just finished binging the entire The Guy Upstairs webtoon. i genuinely think this is in my top 3 favorite webtoons ive ever read, right behind Purple Hyacinth and Schoolbus Graveyard.

one thing i feel like i care about in a story more than the average person is how well the author covers plot holes and keeps the story watertight, and i think this webtoon does that really well. throughout reading the story, whenever i start thinking about how a situation could have been prevented, i find myself realising that realistically, it kind of couldnt have? like there isnt a single character in the story who does anything really stupid or out of character to force the plot forwards in any way, and i really like that.

*SPOILER ALERT FOR EP 41 OF THE WEBTOON*

at this point in the story, hawa is pretty weirded out by how rozy really doesnt want her to be in a relationship with adam, and yet she STILL remembers and takes into account rozy’s advice telling her not to be alone with adam.

i love that.

in a lesser story, hawa at this point would already have forgotten rozy’s advice and be head over heels for adam to increase the drama in this story.

and yet, the author of this story knows theyre writing 3-dimensional characters and doesnt just make hawa throw aside a years long friendship for a month long relationship.

in the end the advice doesnt really end up mattering cus adam manages to convince hawa to stay anyways, but thats fine cus its also realistic that she’d fall for his pressuring and for me its the fact that hawa even thought of the advice that counts.

also, MALAYSIA REPRESENTATION RAAAAAHHHHH 🇲🇾🇲🇾🇲🇾🇲🇾🇲🇾🇲🇾🇲🇾🇲🇾🇲🇾🇲🇾WHAT IS A STABLE POLITICAL PARTY 🐅🐅🐅🐅🐅🐅🐅🐅

#the guy upstairs #rozy #hawa #adam #adam bahri #webtoons #webtoon #hanza art

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most-tragic-character-tournament · 7 months

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PROPAGANDA UNDER THE CUT: [SPOILERS AHEAD]

RICK SHADES:

KIERAN WHITE:

#Rick shades #Kieran white #epithet erased #purple hyacinth #most tragic tournament #polls #most tragic round 1

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frostedfrog · 1 month

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Fanart for Chapter 17 of The (not so) perfect pair by @silawastaken ! i actually had a lot of fun drawing this but also sad because i made dazai sad😔

Here’s some artist notes!!

This has dark shading on the entire thing but no light shading…also this is more to be symbolic than actually drawing a specific scene so I hope its not too spoiler-y to anyone who hasn’t read chapter 17…though it is based off a scene in the chapter so😭

Each thing(other than the flower) symbolizes a character! the plushies are meant to resemble Elise and the ring Ango.

Can you tell I never draw flowers😭, they are supposed to be purple hyacinths due to what they mean but also i have zero knowledge on flower language so if i got it wrong blame Google

I also never drew graves before i hope its not too bad🙏🏾

GO READ THE FIC TO ANYONE WHO HASNT ITS AWESOME

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #cat art #art #i thought of this and knew i had to draw it #but yeah i actually enjoyed drawing this a lot #maybe i wont make him sad next time no promises though #i like the angst😈

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author-a-holmes · 8 months

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Hi detective

Your ocs are now flowers in a bouquet. Tell me about it/them.

I'm going to do some fast googleing on the Victorian Language of Flowers to answer this ask, but since I'm not particularly confident in my googling powers, I'm going to put the meaning I've found under each one as well. So potential... hints? of spoilers? beneath the cut :D

From Fey Touched there's...

Lizzy Hail: Brugmansia aka Angel's Trumpet

Vivacity, vibrancy, health, danger. The flowers which grow on the brugmansia are part of the nightshade family, meaning that they have slightly toxic properties. Because of their size and unusual shape, the angel's trumpet represents vivacity and vibrancy.

Booker Reed: Queen of the Night

"Enjoy small moments because they do not last". The symbolic character of the epiphyllum is its short flowering time, therefore, people commonly used the blooming epiphyllum as a metaphor for how good things don't last. On the other hand, because of this rarity, it's also a sign of luckiness for those who see its bloom.

Andric Roche: Protea

The primary symbolic meanings of the protea flower are strength, courage, and resilience since the plant survives in extreme climate conditions. Proteas also symbolize diversity, due to the hundreds of variations in color and shape found within their genus.

Cara Evelyn: Pansy

"Thoughtfulness, remembrance, you occupy my thoughts". Pansy flowers are known to symbolize several things, including love, affection, free thinking, and happiness. The pansy's heart-shaped petals and bright, bold colors are often associated with love and affection, and the flower is often given as a gift to express these sentiments.

Mia Harris: Morning Glory

"Love in vain; affection". Morning glories have symbolized love that was never returned, but have also been seen as a sign of undying love.

Nameer Khatri: Violets

Violets signify wisdom, loyalty, hope, and faithfulness. Giving someone a violet let's them know that you'll always be there for them.

From The Stolen Stories there's...

Stella Korazon: Aster

In Victorian culture, the aster represents daintiness, patience, and charm. Aster meanings include love and wisdom. With a rich history in Greek mythology, it’s said that the aster was created by the tears of the Greek goddess, Astraea. One day, she was so upset by how few stars there were in the dark sky, that she began to cry. As she wept, her tears fell to the ground and turned into star-shaped aster flowers. Thus, the flower was named after her, with aster meaning star.

Reilly Mosswolf: Sunflowers

Sunflowers symbolise loyalty, adoration, a long life and lasting happiness, also good fortune and positive opportunities. Sunflowers symbolize unwavering faith and unconditional love.

Eryn Mosswolf: Purple Hyacinth

Purple hyacinths can symbolize multiple things, including sorrow and a desire for forgiveness. The fragrant purple blooms could be a way to let others know you're thinking about them after a death in the family.

Dara Brookor: Zinnia

While zinnia has many different meanings, it is usually associated with friendship, endurance, daily remembrance, goodness, and lasting affection. Zinnias are one tough bloom! Zinnias also symbolize a “joyous endurance.” They are happy to bloom in the steaming heat of summer and really any other trials it encounters, such as drought and bugs, yet they never fail to produce vibrant, beautiful blooms!

Tanar Orinan: Gladiolus

The gladiolus flower typically symbolizes honor and remembrance, but it has many other meanings too such as: Strength of character. Faithfulness, sincerity, and integrity.

Myris Orinan: Blue Daisy

Blue daises have a meaning of long-term loyalty and trust so you can send them to a friend, a long-term partner or a family member who you care very much for. These daisies are pretty rare to find but not impossible.

Nillion Kurez: Dahlia

Finding inner strength, graceful, dignity and commitment. Also embracing positive changes. Some colours of Dahlia display negative connotations including instability or dishonesty. Dahlia make good gifts for someone you admire or percieve as a strong person.

Indre Larieth: Rhododendron

Victorians sent the flower as a warning or with the meaning of ‘beware.’ It was commonly used to indicate that you were worried someone was making the wrong choice, especially when dealing with potential romantic partners.

Lauralai Morten: Cypress

Signifies death, mourning, and despair. In the language of flowers, cypress flowers may also stand for eternal love, memories of past love, or even unrequited love in vain.

Disclaimer: Answered August 10th. Scheduled for September 2nd

#Asks #Asks Answered #Ari Speaks #Arista Speaks #Sleepy #Sleepyowlwrites #Writeblr #Writeblr Communty #Writing #Writing Community #Flowers #Language of Flowers #Characters As Flowers #Fey Touched Trilogy #Stolen Stories #Lizzy Hail #Stella Korazon

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