#• character: aster winters

[makaalpaca]

January vs December artworks of young Aster from this year. Merry Christmas and Happy New Years in advance :) The December one I did today... the background is a photo by Herr Bohn that I edited.

I'm glad I've been trying to do better with coloring this year. 💕

[vampstel]

Oh also, here’s some concept art for a new character I haven’t talked about yet. His name’s Aster and he’s one of Lawrence’s adopted kids :]

You’ll notice I have lil notes scattered about his design. Poppy’s his older twin sister (and yes, I stole her directly from RH. I wasn’t joking when I said on Twitter that I’d yoink her long ago 😭) and I’m currently starting her concept art as well. Unfortunately, I only have her hair drawn and nothing else 💀

Btw, I’m really hoping my sicknesses finally go away so I can record videos… Been dying to record for weeks now but no amount of cough syrup is helping me. Shit’s rough but at least I’m doing a lot of other stuff to make up for it.

[acanthus-aster-sdv]

boop

Woah!

Oh, wait a min, is this the boops? That's neat.

Lemme do that, too. Boop!

[asterofthedeepforest]

I made some changes to my fun little, ever evolving, oc height chart. Like adding nessas shitty brother winter, who keeps trying to take her back home to their closed minded family. Both out of wanting recognition from his family and because he’s slowly being possessed by a blue space bitch tha wants nessas magic.

And Adam, the 40 yr old catboy who is a college professor who can be easily distracted by laser pointers, strings, the sounds o food being opened. Basically his brain sometimes is more cat than boy

And neth’s design got completely overhauled

Do I still have more characters to add? Of course! Will they eve be added here? Mmmmmaybe

[kylobith]

Engraved on my Heart (Éomer x femOC)

Part 5 of 7

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 6 - Epilogue

Summary: Unable to find rest, the prince and the maid meet in the halo of the moonlight. Their closeness inevitably leads them to transgress a boundary from which there is no retreat.

Ship/Pairing: Éomer x Original Female Character

Trope: Prince x Maid, Forbidden Love

Warning: You knew it was coming. It had to. It gets spicy! [NSFW] [NSFT]

(it remains fluffy though)

Word count: 10,500

Read it on AO3 here.

Night had long fallen over Rohan, its ink black mantle, dotted with molten-golden asters that sparkled far above the lands, enfolding the world. Guardian of dreams and protector of dreamers, it had plunged the realm into an undisturbed tranquillity. Predators roamed the plains, shielded by the darkness that Night provided, perpetuating the circle of life. Birds of prey spread and fluttered their wings, fending the air with innate grace, and waiting for unsuspecting rodents to capture their acute eye. Above it all, the moon hung in the sky, boasting its rich silver hues, bathing the mountaintops into its glow; the sole beacon of any soul untouched by the lull of sleep.

Winter had truly begun to take root once the sun had set. Despite having left the earth bare during the day, it now draped its surface with rime. Scintillating opal dust waltzed through the breeze, carrying the serenity of the sky to the wilds below. The blanket it wove upon the ground stifled the steps of the animals seeking shelter in the woods. Deer wandered between the trees, scouring the landscape for a place to settle for the night. Under a pine, a doe curls up around her fawn, letting her brown coat warm up her young.

At the heart of Meduseld, nestled in her bedchamber, Éorhild lay wide awake under her covers. Though her irises faced the spectacle that nature offered, they were blind to its magnificence. Rather, they drowned in brine that trickled down the bridge of her nose and met its end against her pillow. She wept in silence; exhaustion had gnawed too deep in her bones for her to tremble or wail.

Guilt. Remorse. Vile creatures whose claws tore her flesh into shreds, searing her with an agony so profound that she could do nothing but pray that it would pass. By then, she was in a state beyond hysteria. She was carving herself a grave in the ruthless soil of apathy, each shovelful burying her in a void of her heart’s own making. As the clod in her back grew higher by the second, she hoped that once it would shroud her, new life would take root from her despair and blossom into a bed of colourful lilies.

Éomer’s soul-baring confession had shattered her world into fragments too jagged to reassemble. Though she had never questioned his fondness, she never had imagined that it had ripened into love. His revelation had sent her mind spiralling, untethered for reason, her heart plummeting under the recollection of her reaction. Its thunderous rhythm had roared in her ears, drowning every fragment of coherence. Instinct had eclipsed thought, and before she had fathomed a response, she had murmured an apology and fled his quarters. Her mantle, hose, shoes, and veil lay abandoned on his chair, a silent testament to the dismay that had seized her. No other explanation had been uttered; no apology issued. Within a second, she had departed.

Another fainting spell had befallen her, though this time there had been no gallant rescuer to whisk her away on his steed. Mere seconds had passed until she regained her spirits and dragged herself to her washroom, where she poured herself a warm bath to thwart the promise of severe soreness in her muscles and ribs come morning. It had been but a fleeting solace. There she had lingered, with her head underwater to scream her lungs out until they burnt, the water absorbing her anguish without alerting another soul.

Then, she had shuffled the short distance to her bed, clad in nothing warmer than her shift, heedless to the chill that nipped at her skin. Heaving a rattling sigh, she had collapsed onto the mattress and burrowed beneath the covers. For hours she wrestled with the sheets, tossing and turning, incapable of drifting away. Her mind yearned for the oblivion of sleep yet clung stubbornly to the memory of her prince. Each time she closed her eyes, his image rose unbidden, piercing her with a pain radiating from her chest down to her fingertips, where it stung like nettles. Sleep, cruel as it was, evaded her.

And thus, she lay, alert and hollow-eyed, the tears she had hoped would bring release proving futile. They left her drained but long away from the hibernation she craved, her waking sorrow haunting her through the long hours of the night.

In truth, she was utterly spent, her body eroded by heartache and her spirit ravaged by the flames of regret. Mindless chores she could carry out in her room to compensate were unthinkable; she has no more strength to spare. Lifting a finger even felt an insurmountable task. She was an empty vessel adrift in despair. Insomnia was holding her captive in the world of night owls. She was its prisoner, vulnerable to its cruel grip. Too weak to even stand, she lay in the dark, unable to peer through the bars of this cage to glimpse a shred of hope. Escaping this madness seemed a fantasy that only fools could aspire to.

To quell the venom coursing through her veins, Éorhild turned her thoughts to Éomer’s plea, echoing in her mind like a cherished melody. How exquisite it had been! Never in her wildest dreams had she placed herself on the receiving end of such fervent passion, nor as one to whom those infamous three words would have been bestowed. Faintly, she recalled when she was a carefree girl in the Westfold who dared to dream of hearing them, yet never believed they would one day be hers.

His confession, so heartfelt, had unravelled her to her very core, wielding a mastery akin to the realm’s most gifted poets. Every syllable of it reverberated within the cell of her fragility. It was the only balm to the excruciating scorch of her emotions.

Éorhild imagined the life that Éomer had envisioned for them — one unshackled by constraints and etiquette. At its start was a wedding without allegiance to ranks or Gondorian nobility. Above their braided and flowered heads stretched a cloudless canopy of azure, ornate with a single golden disc illuminating the plains around them. In the middle of the Rohirric nature, their hands would join as they would pronounce the most poignant vows their people would ever witness. Better still, their union would be celebrated in solitude, far from the shadow of Edoras, away from prying ears and burdensome traditions. Perched atop a hill embraced by the towering mountains, their promise to each other would only reach the earth and sky. In that sacred moment, there would be no titles, no subjects, no servants, no rulers; only them and a bliss of their own making.

Together, they would raise a home whose walls and hearth would embody their shared spirit and all they could hope for. Behind closed eyelids, she could almost experience it. She could taste the sweetness of calling him ‘Husband’ in the dead of night, for no other reason than to release the same thrill in her chest that had danced there when they shared their first kiss on the hillside. Untainted by the world’s demands, they would do everything that life has deprived them of so far. They would hold each other close beyond the enclosure of their garden, they would touch lips within sight of others. Their only bond would be to each other.

Preventing her mind from painting the scene in richer detail, a sudden chill coursed down her spine, snapping her back to the cold reality of her solitary chamber. With a begrudging sigh, Éorhild pushed herself upright, grimacing from the soreness in her back. Her body, weary from prolonged inactivity, craved some motion. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pressed her feet to the icy floor, hoping that a short midnight stroll would provide her some semblance of peace.

She retrieved a pale candle from the drawer and replaced the spent one in her holder. As she struck a match and watched the flame catch, its glow cast a sharp flicker upon her traits and kindled a heart-wrenching realisation in her mind.

Éomer must have suffered greatly, watching her flee from him in that moment of vulnerability. He had poured out his heart to her, after all; and she had not remained to listen. The thought weighed on her, and the flickering wick seemed to mock her in the stillness of the room. She anchored herself to the chest of drawers, suffocating from the lump forming in her throat.

How dared she run? How could she have deserted him when every oath she ever swore, as maid or woman, was bound to his welfare? In shadow and in daylight, she had tended to his needs with unwavering commitment. Yet, the moment that he confessed his love, she had ceased to listen. In that instant of raw honesty, she had faltered and abandoned him, her loyalty fractured by the terror of such foreign emotions.

She did not resent him for speaking his truth, not for a second, not for a million years. If anything, what invaded her then was an overwhelming sense of being cherished — something she had never known. Long had her childhood blurred into hazy memories, yet none held a fraction of the comfort that his presence provided her. Every conversation they had shared, whether by the hearth or in the corridors of Meduseld, had flown seamlessly. Not all had been easy, but never had she feared revealing her thoughts and heart to him, despite the consequences it might bring. Over the past months, whenever something amusing or thought-provoking passed through her mind, her first instinct had been to reach for Éomer, to share in the joy or laughter with him. Days grew devoid of interest; she had spent each of them thrilled at the idea of warming herself up by his side in the hall come evening. And at night, when at last she closed her eyes, it was his face, his smile, that guided her towards the land of dreams.

She loved him. The certainty struck her with the force of a galloping stallion, leaving no room for doubt. Teardrops formed puddles upon the dresser as they dripped off her cheeks, dimpled by a smile. Her hands fumbled in the dim light for a robe and clutched it around her quivering frame. With the candle holder firmly in her grasp, she yanked the door open and rushed barefoot into the shadowy hallway, her resolve now burning as brightly as the flame between her fingers.

Éorhild halted at the closed door of Éomer’s quarters, her shallow breath forming momentary clouds in the air and her pulse thrumming. Her eyes stared at this gate separating her from the man she coveted, unmoving, for what seemed an eternity. A bleak awareness crept over her — that of her impulsiveness. What had she been thinking? The silence of the Golden Hall, heavy and undisturbed, reminded her that, unlike her, most within its walls were deep in slumber.

Her courage faded and her fingers tightened their grip around the candlestick. Nevertheless, her heart urged her forward, while her brain screamed at her to retreat. When she raised her fist towards the thick wood, bracing herself to knock, a voice interrupted her momentum.

‘Whoever you are, you might as well enter,’ she heard it say, recognising it as the prince’s. There was no use in surrendering now. Éorhild squared her shoulders, drawing in a sharp breath to steady herself as her head extended towards the latch and eased the door open.

Inside, his chamber lay shrouded in obscurity, pierced only by a halo of moonlight that spilled through the window on the other side of the bed. Leaning on one forearm against the windowsill, Éomer was facing away from her. His stance was tense yet contemplative, as though the whirlwind of sorrow had rooted him there. Since her hasty departure, he had undone the plaits she had braided into his hair that morning. Their mild impressions waved his tresses, like ghosts of her touch. He wore a loose white shirt, rolled to his elbows, and tucked into a pair of silk trousers he reserved for the scarce hours of leisure he was afforded in the palace. How cold he must feel, she wondered.

Éomer cast a glance over his shoulder and the sight of Éorhild in her robe froze him mid-turn. His frown betrayed a flicker of surprise, as though he had been prepared to witness anyone in Rohan — but her — stepping across his threshold that night. His lips parted, searching for a pleasant greeting that never came. The shadows deepened the lines of his face, accentuating the vulnerability that etched there, unguarded and unfeigned. The luminescence of the moon did nothing to help the pallor that worsened his appearance.

Oh, how he must have been suffering.

‘It is you,’ he croaked, the unsteadiness in his voice suggesting that she had stolen the breath from his lungs by appearing to him.

Éorhild pressed her back to the door and held the candle aloft. His evident anguish dissuaded her from approaching, out of fear that she might twist the knife into his wounds that her actions had already inflicted.

‘Indeed, your Majesty, it is I,’ she whispered back. ‘I did not think that I would find you awake at this hour.’

‘Can I help you with anything? If it is your clothes you want, I have not moved them.’

Her gaze fell upon the pulled chair, where her forgotten belongings laying folded preserved the memory of her hasty retreat. The sight tugged at her heart — an unbearable reminder of when she both lost her composure and him. She set the candle upon the nearby chest of drawers, shedding a light on the ornate helmet he had worn into battle placed at the centre of the furniture. The biting cold seeped into her skin and she shivered, rubbing her palms against her arms for even a sliver of warmth.

‘Have you not found rest, my lord?’ she spoke again, turning to him again.

‘I am in a state where I have forgotten what sleep even is,’ he scoffed, running a hand over his face.

Silence reigned supreme once more, disrupted only by the occasional crackle of the wick. Éorhild wrestled with her thoughts, embarking on the vain quest for words that would defend this impromptu nightly visit without hurting him further. Potential phrases dissolved on her tongue before she could utter them. No justification could fully encapsulate the truth behind her presence. Besides, his evading, restless gaze suggested that it unnerved him so deeply that he could scarcely bring himself to face her.

With tentative and measured steps, she drew nearer, albeit keeping a safe distance from him to spare his fretfulness. Her eyes, however, held fast to him; it traced the contours of his face, captured the sorrowful depth of his blood-shot eyes.

‘I apologise for running away earlier,’ she blurted out. ‘When you confessed your love to me, I was overtaken by a terror so consuming that I lost the ability to think clearly. My judgement was clouded, my instincts warped, and it drove me away from you, against my will.’

Éomer’s glimmering eyes met hers at last, cautious and uncertain. He merely nodded and stood back against the windowsill. The pale aura of the moon, caressing his skin, illuminated the unshed tears in his eyes. Their sight, unbearable to her, threatened to break her; still she stood firm, drawing strength from the depths of her adoration.

‘Was it me you were afraid of?’

His question sliced her heart with a sharpness akin to Gúthwinë’s blade. Her breath caught and she dropped her hands at her sides.

‘Why would you ever think that I feared you?’

‘You spoke of terror,’ he pressed on, swiftly catching a tear with the ball of his hand before it would fall and observing the landscape again. ‘Was it fear of me? Fear that I would coerce you into my bed?’

Determined to face and confront him on the matter, Éorhild bypassed the footboard of the bed and climbed the short steps leading to the alcove where the window frame would preside their exchange. At her approach, Éomer recoiled yet made no move to elude her. This time, his eyes remained fixed on her figure as she took place across from him.

‘I never feared this eventuality in the first place,’ she intoned. ‘You were not at the root of my dread, and for allowing you to believe otherwise, I owe you my deepest apologies.’

‘Speak to me, then,’ he pleaded in a sob, his voice cracking. ‘Why did you flee?’

Though her heart ached to enfold him in her arms and never let go, she held herself back. No gently gestures, no words of reassurance, could come ahead of the explanation she owed him — explanations she was resolved to provide. It was the least she could offer, and she would not have him bear her withdrawal any longer.

‘When Master Guthláf revealed to me the laws that endorse lords commanding their maids’ bodies, I grasped how brittle my agency was in the eyes of Rohirric lawmakers and nobles,’ she began. ‘The realisation that my autonomy could be stripped from me so easily, no matter what I say, made me understand Lady Éowyn’s rage on a more profound level. For so long, I must admit, I envied her in secret — a part of me I now repudiate. I could not fathom why she, of all people, could consider herself marginalised simply for her sex.’

Her fingers clasped the sleeves of her robe. The shame caused by her mistakes, which she had mulled over for hours, stirred uneasily in her stomach more strongly with every passing thought.

‘I knew, of course, that even among servants, women and men receive different treatments. Even our very oath belittles us. Male servants may bed whomever they fancy within their rank, they may take wives and have children, and still be welcome to contribute to the palace’s upkeep. But should a maid take a lover, she risks banishment. Théodil has paid the price for it.’

A tremor seized her lower lip, drawing the prince’s attention, which had not wavered from her since she had begun to speak. She was unravelling herself before him with as much honesty as he had displayed during their fiery conversation earlier. So, he listened with patience, his senses attuned to her words. In that instant, there was nothing else he desired more than to hear her, to understand her and that turmoil, whose ravages she had concealed to protect him. Or perhaps because she had yet to perceive the extent of its devastation herself.

‘At first, I thought her foolish for so openly risking her livelihood for that guard,’ she confessed in a strangled sob. ‘But now… now I wonder — what did Théodil truly do wrong? She is hardly different from her male peers, after all. She, too, has desires and the capacity for love. Why, then, should she be punished for even a simple kiss?’

Her barriers fell and she wept openly, although she paid the tears drenching her face no heed. Still, she took a moment to gather herself.

‘What I mean to say is that I had always believed my agency over my body to be the one thing truly mine, not for others to control. To learn that I had been misled for sixteen years unsettled me in ways I scarcely knew how to express.’

‘If I may speak candidly, without causing you offense, I care for you far too deeply to risk your safety. Forcing you into anything had never brushed my thoughts, not even a little. My love for you never entailed the corruption of your consent.’

‘I know.’

Éorhild dried her cheeks with a smile that held little mirth, and he, too, echoed it with a brief chuckle. They contemplated each other, the curve of their lips betraying a tenderness, kept at bay ever since she graced his room, blossoming anew. Sorrow had lifted from Éomer’s stern traits, and the glint in his eye was no longer solely that of brine.

‘You look ethereal tonight, Éorhild,’ the prince murmured as he admired the drapes of the white robe around her silhouette. ‘You are more beautiful to me than the Elves.’

‘Do not jest, my lord!’ she chortled, covering her mouth with her hand, hoping that its presence would help dissimulate the hues rising to her cheeks.

‘I never jest!’

The tension ebbed, surrendering to the chimes of their laughter. Their shoulders loosened, and the burden they had each borne lifted higher by the second. The camaraderie that had once defined their evenings — spent by the fire, drink in hand, exchanging words straying between the mundane and the profound — returned, thawing the imperceptible frost that had solidified following their abrupt parting.

Éorhild, finally drawing a steady breath that appeased her frayed nerves now that he knew and understood her dread, acknowledged the collar of his shirt. Between the parted hems, his collarbones and chest offered her a tantalising view. They were not unfamiliar to her; she had seen and grazed them in the bath that morning, yet there was something undeniably alluring about their partial occultation. The contrast of skin and linen sent her heart hammering and provoked a slow-burning ache deep within — delicious but somewhat outrageous.

Trailing along the folds of the fabric where shirt burrowed into waistline only further aggravated the adrenaline rush inside her abdomen. Underneath the garments, there was this body she knew was robust and chiselled, but its waist possessed a narrowness that required her to sink her nails into her palms to refrain from tracing them with her fingertips.

‘You cut a striking figure yourself, your Majesty,’ she complimented him in return.

‘Oh? Thank you. I, um…’

Éomer smoothed out a crease between his dark eyebrows with his knuckle, rubbing quite harshly at his skin as though to steel his mind away from such enticing distractions. Whether he noticed her lingering glances, the subtle tilt of her voice, or the unintentional flirtation woven into her compliment, she could not tell. However, his restraint was palpable, a silent battle against the temptation to yield to such frivolities. In all earnest, it was only fitting; too much remained unspoken between them, too many truths still hung in the air, awaiting acknowledgement.

‘I wanted to let you know that… should you decide to decline the position after such an eventful first day, I would understand,’ his low voice resonated with sincerity inside the alcove. ‘Truly, I would. I would not hold it against you, even for a second.’

He hesitated, his gaze faltering. Obviously, the prospect did not please him in the slightest. Even she could tell that he was setting aside his wishes to value her decision above them.

‘It was a hardship I thrust upon you without forewarning, and I should have handled it differently. Know that you already have my deepest gratitude for even considering it and giving it a chance. I cannot, in all good conscience, ask you for more.’

Another heartfelt expression of the tumult in his spirit, she told herself. One that she had provoked. The muscles in his jaw clenched and, when his lips parted again, his voice carried the raw edge of regret and a tinge of frustration.

‘I am sorry, Éorhild. Truly. I should have discussed it with you, shared my thoughts and concerns, before bringing it to my uncle’s attention. But I was so consumed by the need to keep you close that I let my impulsivity take control. I should have known better. I apolo—'

‘Éomer,’ she interjected with a gentle tone, ‘I have no intention of leaving your service. It was — and it remains — my choice to stay. You must understand, I am not here out of duty alone. Whatever trials have emerged with my assuming this role, they have not deterred me. If anything, they have confirmed that my place is here — with you.’

Shuffling out of the shadow, her bare feet brushing against the cold stone without a sound, she came forward, meeting him halfway. Éomer’s breath hitched, sensing a delightful tension that united them at that second. The moon’s silvery glare, speckled with delicate golden tints, kissed the skin of her neck. It descended towards the lowered hem of her shift, through which he could distinguish a single mole above her left breast. His broad frame, ordinarily adopting a confident poise, shifted and found refuge against the cold wood covering the wall.

But she paid that no mind.

‘Do not shoulder the guilt of offering me this role,’ she continued, plunging her dark irises into his. ‘I am here because I choose to be. Not because you compelled me, nor because I found myself cornered. But should I ever change my mind, I promise that you will be the first to know.’

No response met her attempt at comforting him. Calm reigned as he stood petrified against the wall with flaring nostrils as his chest heaved with laboured breaths. The dim light caught a damp sheen on his forehead, and though his posture remained unchanged, the storm within him remained too evident. Éorhild lingered, her heart fracturing at his reticence to reply yet holding out hope that her presence would coax him out of this stupor. And she waited.

But the seconds dragged on, and he had not made any effort to speak. Admitting defeat, she exhaled in resignation and curtseyed.

‘I will take my leave, my lord,’ she said in forced reverence. ‘I wish you good night; I shall see you in the morn.’

Thought she turned towards the door, each step she took to leave his side was reluctant. Some part of her still hoped that he would call her back. She had not even confessed her feelings in return; perhaps that was just as well.

When her toes grazed the floor at the foot of the steps, she halted. Tears prickled her eyes, and she bit her lower lip, wondering whether to induce further conversation. Deciding in favour of it, she spun to face him again.

‘You know, I would not have been happy in that vision of us you evoked.’

Éomer’s gaze flickered to hers.

‘Is that so?’ he enquired in bewildered confusion, his curiosity undeniably piqued. ‘Then, my perception of our relationship must have been terribly misconstrued.’

Éorhild clasped her hands together to eclipse their trembling.

‘It was an appealing fantasy, without a doubt,’ she continued. ‘But I believe that you have misinterpreted what would constitute a fulfilling life from my point of view. How could I have found bliss if my husband spent his time roaming Middle-earth in search of superficial ways to please me? How could I have been satisfied with constant loneliness in a house where all has been shaped to my taste, without bearing traces of you?’

His chest tightened as he pondered what he had neglected to consider. She was right. He had been distracting by the promise of what he could offer her if they could love freely — riches, comfort, beauty — that he had omitted the one element that was truly worth offering: himself.

‘You thought of all the things I might want,’ she choked up, ‘but you never once realised that all I wanted was you. Not just your love, but your presence. Your time, your hands, your heart. In poverty or in abundance, all I would have wanted was to be with you.’

She retraced her steps and came to stand before him, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from his skin.

‘I do not seek a life without labour, but one in which we would both contribute to establish a home to thrive in. One that needs not correspond to outside standards, but one that is imperfect in all the ways that matter most. We would have built these walls together, without caring whether they are too slanted — we would laugh it off and make it work. But at the end of the day, my only home would have been you.’

A life forged with their bare hands, steered by decisions they would have negotiated and agreed upon… It sounded like the sweetest melody to his ears. The thought of a hypothetical shared future filled him with a sense of peace. He had spent so many years under pressure of external forces and standards — Gondor’s, Rohan’s, his uncle’s, his own. There was a shift inside him. In this moment, the dark clouds had parted and a sun in the shape of Éorhild illuminated his world.

To build this life together, without pretence or outward approval, seemed the only objective worth pursuing. Her vision, so simple yet fruitful, surpassed anything he had ever dared to dream for himself. Genuine companionship, shared labour and tender displays — nothing expected of a king.

To hell with the crown.

Just as he was on the verge of sharing his newfound clarity, a series of soft sobs halted him. She was weeping once more, and the sight tore at his soul.

‘I would have gladly chosen a life in which I would be your bride,’ she hiccupped. ‘In time, when we would have been ready, I would have borne you children. Even though I doubt that I would ever be a good mother.’

‘What in the world makes you question it?’

‘Selfishly enough, I would have struggled with the idea of sharing you. Having desired you for so long and finally earned the privilege to be yours, I could not bear it.’

Muttering an apology, she began to turn — but before she could make another escape, his hand lightly grazed her wrist, breaking her impetus. His fingertips caressed the palm of her hand, and his eyes bore into hers, incredulous yet hopeful.

‘Do you feel the same as I do, then?’ his voice quivered, caught between excitement and dread. ‘Or am I once again misreading your desires?’

She let out a scoff, her tears mingling with a bitter laugh as she returned his stare.

‘Of course I do, Éomer. It is you. It has always been you.’

She swallowed the lump in her throat, summoning every fragile ounce of courage the speak the truth she had silenced for far too long. These three words had longed to flow off her lips and waft through to him. It was the confession she should have offered him earlier that day, when the moment was still opportune. Perhaps then, she would have woven poetry into her proclamation, crafting it with the same methods as the many bards that had enlivened Meduseld throughout the years with tales of passion and longing. Her voice would have risen, ever so sweet to his ear, capturing the fullness of her steadfastness in verses worthy of him.

But her life was not one of great halls and song. Thus, she settled for a simple but sincere declaration.

‘And I love you.’

Uncontainable joy invaded his roaring heart. Thousands of jubilant exclamations clamoured within his mind, each vying for release. Emotion surged through him, constricting his throat and misting his eyes, leaving him on the brink of tears that would attest of his relief and elation.

Sensing that she would not be trespassing any boundary, Éorhild pressed herself against his chest and her arms found their way around his neck, drawing him into an embrace that they had both itched to indulge themselves to.

‘Ig léofie ðe,’ she repeated in their native tongue.

Éomer’s palms cradled her jaw and his thumb traced her rosy lower lip.

‘Ond ðe ealswan léofie ig,’ he cried, ‘o Éorhild, seo dyreste ond seo sweteste in blæd min.’

Weaving through his untamed mane, her fingers and drew his head closer with utmost tenderness as her eyelids fluttered shut. With a desperate fervour, he clung to her, encircling her waist with one arm, afraid that she might vanish once more. His lips captured hers in a kiss that alleviated the burden of long-suppressed yearning, poignant yet firm. It was the melding of two spirits who had been circling one another, incomplete and hollow, until this very moment.

Her mouth was supple beneath his, their heat igniting a bonfire within his chest whose flames licking the inside of his veins, chasing away all shadows of doubts and remorse. Time came to a standstill, the world beyond them melted away as he deepened the kiss. It was an unspoken promise of unwavering devotion and a future that would be theirs to hold. Each brush of their tongues spoke of the battles they had fought alone in the dark, and the unyielding faith that they would face the rest together.

Love had finally found its voice, and it was the prince and his maid who heard it sing.

Two nights prior, under the canopy of stars on the windswept hillside, they had resigned to the bittersweet comfort of a single night for them to etch in their memory — a fleeting hour to hold onto into the solitude that would follow. Yet here they stood, hearts that had once braced for parting now trembling with the yearning for another.

Their lips separated, the faintest whisper of warmth lingering upon them, and their foreheads rested together. The lovers shared tender smiles, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. Fingers found their way to each other’s faces, brushing against familiar contours in adoration. A featherlight touch, yet charged with powerful emotion, as though they sought to memorise each wrinkle and curve. Shimmering more brightly than ever, their eyes locked in an unbroken gaze, devouring one another with a hunger that words could never aspire to satisfy.

In the silence, their smiles curled, testifying of the elation that enfolded them both beneath its celestial cloak. Its pull proved irresistible, and they kissed once more. Deeper, slower, imbued with sweet indulgence, as though compensating for all the hours wasted from forbidding themselves to love. This intimacy was their sanctuary, where they needed not conceal their affection.

Heat blazed between the pair, each caress fanning their craving into a wildfire that reddened their cheeks. Their kiss grew careless and urgent, their ragged breaths grazing their prickling skins. Éorhild trailed along the curves of Éomer’s shoulders, her fingertips tangling in his unbound hair. His hands roamed her back, halting every so often to pinch her waist or cup the back of her skull.

Soft, breathy moans escaped them like sweet nothings whispered in the night. Éorhild’s belly coiled with molten flames far more potent than the ones that had overtaken her that morning by the bathtub and left her clutching the wall. This was no fleeting spark but a raging conflagration induced by the unrestrained connection they were sharing.

Both knew that this night — their night — was no longer one fated to be a mere pleasant memory but one they were bound to weave. One that was about to change them indefinitely.

Sensing the unravelling of her moderation as her torso shoved Éomer against the wooden panel, Éorhild emitted a sharp gasp that cut through the haze of their fiery endearment. Realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning, and her eyes, widened in terror, mirrored the chaos within. Staggering backwards, she tore herself away from him, the intensity with which she had touched him leaving her ruffled.

Her back collided with the opposite wall, the cold surface grounding her even as her chest heaved with panicked breaths. She raised a trembling hand to her lips, as though to keep the phantom of their kiss onto them. Across the distance that now separated them, Éomer’s stare burnt with surprise and yearning, but he made no move to close the gap. Instead, he simply watched, clasping his knees together and breathing in tandem with her, as though tethered to her every gasp.

‘D-Did I aggrieve you, beloved?’ he stuttered, flattening his hands against the wall as if it was the only way to keep them to himself.

‘N-No, I…’

She twisted a strand of her hair and averted her gaze. Hues adorning her delicate features oscillated between warm and cold tones, attesting of the dilemma that was tearing her apart. Lord Guthláf’s words crept into her mind again.

No amount of earthly pleasure shared with the prince is worth your death.

‘How… are you feeling?’

Contorting his traits into a wince, Éomer’s attention flitted between his thighs, her figure, and the despair in her eyes. A sneer of embarrassment fleeted from his throat.

‘Flustered, I will not lie,’ he laughed, the sound warm but laden with tension and self-consciousness. ‘I thought I had mastered myself, but I find that I am not as composed as I had hoped.’

Though self-deprecating, the smile he bestowed upon her was genuine. Leaning further against the wall, his head tapped against the wood in a soft thud, while his hand burrowed into one of his pockets, an unconscious attempt at distracting himself from the disrespectful thoughts invading his mind.

‘But I do not forget the danger that acting upon my impulses would entail, Éorhild. Rest assured.’

‘Tell me what you are thinking about.’

‘You would not want to hear any of it,’ he responded, his voice quavering as her questions only served to aggravate his state.

‘But what if I do?’

Bashful but bold, her challenge caught him off guard. There she stood, her fists clenched against her thighs in a posture both defensive and daring, urging him to speak the words he withheld from her. In that instant, she transcended her image of a meek and obedient servant. She was a woman asserting her desires, laying her heart bare, releasing hundreds of questions to know whether the man she cherished felt the same yearning deep within him.

‘You would think me depraved,’ he insisted, reluctant to answer her plea.

‘Éomer, please.’

His nostrils flared and, in a wary abdication, he caved in. Despite his acquiescence, a subtle defensiveness crept into his voice, betraying the inner battle he was fighting and failed to spare her from.

‘You truly want to know what I am thinking?’ he hissed. ‘I long to disrobe you and lay you down on my bed. I wish to explore every part of you, to trace your skin by candlelight, hearing your sighs with every kiss I give you like they are prayers lost in the night. All I want is to make you feel revered, though I may not know the way.’

A deep inhale filled his lungs upon the realisation that he had uttered his most intimate desires in a single breath. He shielded his mouth with a shivering hand, ashamed of the impropriety he had displayed in her presence. But she wanted to know, and he had delivered. Now, all he anticipated was her flight — his revelations had this tendency of drive her away. Would she return, this time?

Éorhild straightened her posture, lifting her chin with determination, and spoke.

‘Give me the order.’

Slackening his jaw, Éomer stared at her in stunned silence, his brain hassling to process the gravity of her demand. He tilted his head, attempting to clarify whether he had heard her properly or whether his discomposure had warped her meaning. But when she refused to stand down, it was clear as day — she wanted him to dictate her.

‘Éorhild, you cannot be serious,’ he said, repulsed by the prospect. ‘You are no hound to obey my bidding. You are a woman — strong, precious, radiant, and astoundingly intelligent — and I love you, beyond reason or restraint. Do not ask this of me; I could never forgive myself if I did it.’

The distance separating them dwindled to nothing as she approached to rest a hand on his forearm, demanding his patient attention. There was no surrender to be found in her eyes — no trace of sorrow, nor hesitation. Without the shadow of a doubt, she empathised with his torment as she observed it tearing through him as he grappled still with her request.

Éomer had always held her in the highest regard, admittedly more than she thought she deserved, valued her autonomy and integrity as if they were sacred and as he had so vehemently asserted earlier. That he would deny her, was no surprise. It was as much a testament to his respect for her as it was to the principles he upheld.

And yet, this situation demanded more.

Her expression softened into a compassionate display.

‘This is not about undermining what you hold dear or asking you to betray yourself,’ she explained with such calmness that it unsettled him. ‘It is about what lies between us, what we both feel and cannot deny. I am not demanding you to abandon your conscience for my sake, but to consider that this — us — requires us to make a choice together, no matter how unconventional it may seem.’

Her hand trailed upward, gliding over the sinew of his arm and the breadth of his shoulder, finding its path along the ridge of his clavicle. It lingered there for a few seconds, savouring the warmth beneath the unfastened collar of his garment, before it continued its ascent. At last, it ended its course against his cheek and the pad of her thumb gave a stroke over the plane of his face, light as a feather.

It cupped him there, steadying him even as he faltered under the weight of his concern. She swept away the faint sheen of perspiration that clung to his skin. To him, her gesture held more meaning than words ever could. It was a delicate blend of reassurance and intimacy, one that their laws prohibited — it was already a risk she took for him. In the quiet of that moment, her touch spoke what her lips needed not say — I am here. I am yours. It is us against all odds.

His broad palm rose to meet hers, enveloping it with an affection that belied its strength. He held it there, grateful for her existence.

‘Far be with from me to compel you to act against your will, but I must speak plainly. We have little choice but to navigate this treacherous power play if we wish to remain together — even in secrecy — and to consummate our bond.’

‘I despise this eventuality,’ he sighed.

‘Consider what lies before us. If you command me, it grants us a measure of protection, a shield should our union ever come to light. It would ensure my survival and safeguard your crown, however dreadful you may find the prospect of becoming king. If you refuse…’

She hesitated for a breath, her voice softening yet losing none of its courage.

‘If you refuse, we face a bitter fork in our road: either we surrender to our impulses and I forfeit my life, or we deny ourselves entirely until the day you take Lothíriel for a wife and share with her the night we meant for ourselves.’

‘You do not understand, sunnan scima min. I cannot bring myself to strip you of your agency by uttering such crude words. To command you, especially in this matter, would be to forsake all that I admire in you.’

Éomer placed a kiss upon her brow.

‘Never will I wield my rank as a leash upon you,’ he declared. ‘No one deserves such a fate — least of all you.’

‘Oh, love of mine, you would not do such a thing,’ she responded, peppering kisses along his jawline, causing him to blush. ‘It would be a mere façade, our armour against scrutiny. We would not need to craft falsehoods should the nature of our bond be called into question. Besides, did you not once tell me not to give words more weight than they deserved?’

He exhaled in amusement and disbelief, his eyes rolling in feigned exasperation while his arms encircled her waist.

‘I cannot believe you are using my words against me,’ he jested, delighted by her audacity.

Melodious and gracious, her laughter brushed over him like a comforting breeze on a suffocating summer’s day, disarming the tension that gripped him. Before he could phrase another pleasantry, she burrowed against his chest, and he could do nothing but wind his arms around her. Her fingers threaded through his hair, grazing his scalp in gentle motions, as she rocked him in a slow, rhythmic slay.

‘I want you to give me that order,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘For this and what would follow, you have my full and educated consent.’

Éomer measured the solemnity of her statement for a moment more, his brow furrowing in contemplation. Then, with a heavy sigh, he extricated himself from her embrace. He looked into her eyes, searching for a hint of apprehension, some inkling of qualm, but he found none. He perceived nothing but the depth of her desire for his whole person, and he would have been lying if he had said that it did not stir him.

‘Are you absolutely certain?’

‘I am.’

‘Then, at least, allow me to make things proper,’ he pleaded, the words almost reverent, as though their sole purpose was to right a hypothetical wrong, to give their union the form it had always lacked.

With an expression both earnest and vulnerable, and as the moonlight caressed the side of his face, he lowered himself to one knee in near veneration. Her breath caught in her throat as he picked up her hand and pressed it to his lips. There was a shift in the air, unexpected yet delightful, that emulated the eternal fealty they bore to each other. Uncertainty swirled inside her soul as she tried to decipher his intentions, speculating about the ceremony fastened to his gesture.

‘Éorhild, words fail me to demonstrate how absolute my infatuation is. There is no day worth rising for without you by my side. You have transformed me in greater ways than one, and thus I shall forever lament the time I lost before I saw you, before I truly learnt what it was to be treasured. You are, without question, the most wondrous being to have come into existence and graced this wretched world.’

‘Is such a formality necessary?’ she giggled behind her hand. ‘This hardly warrants a proposal.’

‘Let me finish,’ he insisted, a radiant smile tugging at his lips. ‘And so, at this late hour, I kneel before you not as a prince, but as a man whose every thought you occupy. Since our laws forbid me from presenting you with a ring or seeing you in a wedding gown, I wish to offer you my spirit and my heart through the gift of my flesh, and it is yours to use as you see fit. For when at last you enjoy me, the shape of your hands will forever be carved into my skin, so even when the time comes for me to marry, I will always carry you with me. So, Éorhild, I beg — no, I bid you — to bed me.’

She nodded with trepidation, and they fell into each other’s arms, their lips meeting into a fervent kiss. It struck her then, with startling clarity, how meticulous his phrasing had been — a crafted formulation to bestow her with the illusion of dominion, when reality lay far from it. And she loved him even more in that instant, with the ardour of the lords in the ballads of minstrels who worship the ladies they covet.

No sooner had she perceived the faint taste of wine upon his tongue than Éomer swept her off her feet. However much effort he had granted this motion, his lips remained sealed to hers, as though the very act of breathing without her might undo him. With a knightly grace, he carried her over to the rumpled bed, as though partaking in a solemn rite to translate relics to a sacred altar. Lowering her with tender care onto the bed, he held his breath when her golden hair, tousled and waved, fanned out across the pillow like a celestial crown, its lustre shining brighter even than the surviving candle’s flame.

Inclining over her, he found himself spellbound by her features. He traced the curve of her face, committing every detail to memory. He carved the crescent moon shape of her jaw into his consciousness, dotted each of the small moles he numbered eight onto the canvas, sculpted the aquiline curvature of her nose into marble, blended pigments to achieve the amber reflection in her irises and the fair hue of her skin, so accommodated to indoors settings.

At her waist, he found the belt that cinched her gown, the haphazard bow undoing with the gentle pull of his fingers and stirring the garment underneath. The rustle of the fabric unfastening reached his ears, as intimate as a shared breath. The loosened folds revealed her chemise, like a cloak of modesty, with its unadorned and humble weave coarse under his hand. He hesitated, his gaze searching hers for permission, and she granted it wholeheartedly, guiding him by the wrist to her frame. By parting the hems of her robe in a bolder brush against her collarbones, he was unveiling a treasure he deemed himself unworthy to behold.

Reaching her out to him, she drew him to her heart, forcing him to kneel on the mattress, and her mouth greeted his in a grand welcome. His lips withdrew to wander along her jawline, peppering pecks against her tingling skin, descending upon her exposed throat. Air flowed and ebbed from Éorhild’s lungs in succinct expirations, evoking to him the waves washing upon the lofty cliffs of Dol Amroth, which he had admired for hours during his diplomatic visit there, finding solace in the unfamiliarity of the landscape and isolation from Imrahil’s court.

Beneath him, Éorhild was overcome with conflicting sensations. The kisses laid upon her neck stirred a shiver that coursed down her sides, spreading like a cold tide meeting the warmth of the shore and crackling away across her chest like seafoam chasing the sand. Each instance triggered cool thrills, yet she felt as though she was melting — an ice sculpture surrendering to the embrace of the sun, fading drop by drop into its irresistible grip.

In return, she wove a hand through his tresses. As his chaste, titillating strokes deepened into firm, open-mouthed kisses, each stoking the embers of her desire and amplifying her sensitivity, she gave a careful tug at their root, muffling a whimper in the crook of his shoulder.

Without thinking, her fingers found his shirt and bunched the fabric between them, yanking it upward and over his head. He complied without protest, assisting her in shedding the constricting garment. Straightening, he balled the shirt in his grasp and hurled it over his shoulder. It fended the air with considerable force and sailed dangerously close to the open flame of the candle, the anticipation of a catastrophe hitching their breaths. A faint metallic thud echoed as the shirt landed and sprawled atop his helm upon the dresser, and they laughed, relieved to have avoided a mishap.

Sparks illuminated her eyes at the sight of his bare torso, as numerous as the celestial bodies he had seen immortalised in Lady Galadriel’s irises. Yet, in the eyes of his beloved, even the legendary splendour of the Trees of Valinor paled before the radiance she brought to his world.

When her fresh palms lay upon the burning expanse of his chest, he yielded to gravity and passion, collapsing onto her with an urgency that bordered on obsession. His head nestled beneath her chin and questing flickers of his tongue chasing the ridge of her clavicle. The gasps he had drawn from her before magnified into strangled moans, ever so rewarding.

‘I want to devour you,’ he groaned against her dampened skin. ‘All of you.’

‘Do proceed, min heortan frean…’

Éomer cradled her chin in his hand, his thumb caressing the groove between her lower lip and her chin. His smile, candid and unguarded, spoke volumes — a quiet declaration of love that required no utterance.

‘May I disrobe you, leofre healsmægeth?’

‘I feared I might never hear you request it.’

She slipped from beneath him with an unhurried grace and rose. Standing before him, she was a vision caught between shadow and light, her form etched in soft luminescence dancing upon her shift. Her wrists moved with purpose, finding the ribbon at her collar, and with a deft motion, she loosened the tie. The neckline dipped to reveal the robust slope of her shoulders. A mere flick made her garment abandon her frame, cascading along the curves of her body before pooling into a heap at her ankles.

To him, she was a masterpiece, sculpted by the hands of the Valar themselves, and Éomer was undone. As he admired her, he forgot to draw breath, and his eyes widened as if the shores of Aman laid bare before him while the songs of the Eldar arose around him. Éorhild was the divine made flesh — there was nothing he could imagine would equal or surpass the vision of her figure in the moonlight, unclad specifically for his enjoyment.

He was unworthy of it all. He was but a flawed mortal, graced by the presence of this entity that, he felt, required of him to kneel. And he would have gladly obeyed, if not for his compulsion to explore her further.

He joined her side, caressing the defined muscles of her arms, chiselled by years of incessant scrubbing, carrying, lifting, swinging and rattling. With her eyes following his every movement, she seemed achingly vulnerable, and her lack of elocution led him to believe that she awaited some sort of approval from him — any sign that proved that her offering of her body had been seen, accepted, and valued.

As though words would have cheapened the reverence he experienced, he stared in sheer awe. But when she averted her eyes, as if doubt was corrupting her confidence, he tilted her chin towards him with a curled finger.

‘You are more exquisite than every treasure ever unearthed, more radiant than the stars that adorn our skies. Béma be damned, you steal the very air from my lungs,’ he murmured. ‘And now, more than ever, I desire you, in a way beyond all reason.’

‘May I undress you?’ she enquired, fragile with longing.

‘You may do as you wish with me. But this — this I long to give you.’

Swelling his chest with determination, Éomer unlaced the ties of his trousers. They slid from his legs, bunching at his ankles until he lifted his feet to ease the fabric off. He discarded it onto the floor and undid his braies with measured gestures, watching for any shift in her expression. When he finally stood before her, exposed in spirit and body, there was no sign of discomfort on her traits — only a flustered blush.

‘Are you still willing?’ he whispered, daring not to even hold her hand.

‘I am. Are you?’

‘What a question.’

Amidst a torrent of kisses, their naked bodies clasped together and came to rest upon the sheets once more. Torrid streaks formed sigils imprinted on their skin, igniting a hunger neither could quench. Exhalations mingled, swirled around their flushed face as their murmured voices, hoarse and tremulous, rose in a hymn to lust that only they could understand and sing.

Éorhild shivered under his hands, two tepid ripples amidst her body now subjected to the crisp wintry air. His mouth journeyed across the contours of her form, mapping every rise and hollow in almost piety. Meanwhile, his fingers traced the gentle curve of her breast, their path inflaming a crescendo of pleasure that unfurled within her core, lifting the banners ever higher upon her hills.

Breaching through the last vestiges of their sheepishness, Éomer descended, nestling his face into the sanctuary between her silken thighs. His nose grazed the curls crowning her mound, and with a devotion deeper than prayers could ever convey, he venerated her in the hushed language of sensuality. At first, in spite of his fervent desire to please, his tongue shifted with tentative hesitance, somewhat inept at procuring her what he believed she deserved. Her gaze drifted to the timbered ceiling above, as though seeking answers among the beams and shadows, striving to decipher the dim sensations prickling her.

‘Guide me, beloved,’ he pleaded, his breath hot against her exposed flesh. ‘Show me how to ravish you.’

‘I know not how,’ she admitted, her tone laced with the unfortunate tint of shame. ‘I have never sought such things before.’

He lifted his head in surprise, while his feet found purchase against the footboard of his bed behind him.

‘Not even behind closed doors?’

‘Éomer,’ she laughed, ‘I have lived nearly my whole life sharing a room with other girls, and even my bath was never a time for solitude. Besides, my days often exhausted me too much to allow such matters to cross my mind.’

‘Then, I suppose we should figure out a way — together,’ he teased with a proud grin before dipping his head back onto her.

He ventured onward in his exploration, each motion of his lips a studious reimagining of his previous attempts, drawing a map of her most receptive areas. The warmth of his breath swept over her, and he noted with great satisfaction how it ignited her pleasure anew. Finding a resting place upon her soft stomach, his hand unwittingly tugged at her skin. Her body responded instinctively — an abrupt jolt, accompanied by a sharp squeal that expressed her surprise and delight.

‘There!’ she gasped. ‘Right… there! Just… gentle…’

There it was indeed — his new treasure.

Her sighed pleas and muttered instructions guided him through the unknown, and in them he found his purpose; in her ecstasy, he found his incentive. Relentless yet mellow, he pursued her rising fervour, his focus unbroken as he listened to her cries of mounting elation. White-knuckled, her fingers gripped the sheets, her back arching into a bow of exquisite tension. Her free hand found the crown of his hair and grabbed a fistful, which she released when she realised the abruptness of her gesture. But he maintained it there, discovering an unsuspected taste for this rough display. At once, her world dissolved as a frigid wave crashed over her senses, dragging her into a rapture that evoked the sensations of simultaneous soaring and drowning.

Her knees enclosed his head in an instinctive embrace, a cry tearing from the very depths of her being. Slowly, the storm subsided, and with a long, deflating sigh, her body sank back onto the mattress. All else faded but the racing cadence of her heart, drumming a rhythm into her ears.

Éomer placed a tender kiss on her golden curls and crawled back to meet her, admiring her undone state. In his eyes, she had never looked more sumptuous —her damp, parted lips, her crimson face, and the wild tangles in her hair formed a vision of beauty that left him breathless.

Éorhild’s eyes fluttered open, drawn to his presence hovering above her. A playful smile dug dimples into her cheeks as she reached up to brush her thumbs against his beard to dry it, while a light laugh rose in her throat.

‘You look ridiculous.’

‘I do not mind it one bit,’ he chuckled in response, his eyes softening at her sight.

Oh, how he loved her.

‘What prompted you to do such a thing?’

‘Tavern songs,’ he recounted with a shrug. ‘Soldiers exchanging bawdy tales while setting up camp. You should remember to thank them for their service when you encounter them next.’

They erupted in laughter, and he sought refuge in the curve of as he breathed in her natural fragrance that clung to her skin. She encircled him with her arms around him and pressed her lips to his temple.

‘I do not know what to do to delight you in return.’

‘Do not trouble yourself over it, my love,’ he intoned, combing a loose strand of her hair away from her forehead. ‘There will be nigh on countless nights for us to uncover such wonders together. For now, I wish to… I wish to give myself to you. If you are still willing, that is.’

She stayed quiet, her stare fixed on some distant point ahead. This was the moment that her body had implored — yet now the leap seemed impossibly high, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. A storm of doubts and fears whirled with fierce violence, threatening to pull her away from the present.

But before the tempest could carry her away, the caress of his palm against her jaw grounded her. His hazel eyes, beacons in the blur, silenced the chaos.

‘Are you afraid?’

‘Never have I lain with a man,’ she confessed, though she knew the admission was nothing new to him. Her voice remained steady, but there was palpable vulnerability in it. ‘I know not what to do.’

‘I have lain with no man or woman. I have kissed other ladies, I will admit, but it has never gone this far. I know not if it eases your mind, but I, too, am untried. What I do know is to be gentle, and that is all I shall be. I promise you. And should you wish to stop, say the word, my sweet, and I will pull away without question or disappointment.’

‘Will you not consider this opportunity wasted on me?’

Éomer cradled her face between his palms, brushing his lips across it, until his gentle exploration came to rest at the tip of her nose.

‘There could be no more meaningful opportunity than this, lufestran. None more loving,’ he said, leaning his forehead against hers. ‘Tales of old tell of first unions as a moment when a piece of the lover’s soul is captured, a gift to carry for a lifetime. Now, I may not be a poet, nor one for grand gestures, but my mother filled my bairnhood with enough ballads to make me believe in such things. And truth be told, I would be beyond honoured to carry a piece of you with me, onto the throne and unto my grave, and for you to hold my heart in return.’

Éorhild’s thoughts turned to the future, to the inevitable day when they would part, and the prospect tightened around her heart like a vice. As she beheld him in enamoured contemplation, a smile broke through, warm and steady.

If the old stories held any truth, then the only one to hold a fragment of her essence would be Éomer. There was no question. She knew it, and deep inside her bones, she had known it for a long time.

‘Then claim it.’

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Book review: Skyshade by Alex Aster

Lightlark 3D: Game Over

Once I had a life! I had dreams! Now I’m just the Lightlark guy!

I’ve done reviews for the first two books in this series, and in the process unfortunately earned myself a reputation as somewhat of an expert. Maybe I could push back against that by not reading and reviewing this book, but where’s the masochistic fun in that? Plus, with the way my life has been going these past few weeks, a new Lightlark book is actually a welcome diversion. 

To be honest, of all the books in this series, this is the one I disliked the least. Maybe I’m used to the pain. Make no mistake, however; it still doesn’t approach anywhere near good.

(Obligatory spoiler warning, though I suspect most of my audience is reading this review specifically because they refuse to read the book itself.)

Synopsis

The book starts where the previous one left off, with Isla returning to Nightshade with her husband Grim, ending the battle. Feeling torn on her loyalties, she decides the best way to help Oro would be to play the part of the loving wife and queen, while secretly relaying information back to Lightlark, which is made harder by the fact that the Nightshades don’t really trust her. Worse yet, she learns that one of the Wildlings is a traitor, poisoning the nightbane flowers and desecrating graves.

She also has a more pressing issue: in the last book, she found out that she was fatally wounded before the events of the series, and only survived because Grim bound his life to hers. Now she’s on borrowed time, and when she dies, he will die with her, killing all of Nightshade in the process. The only way to save herself is to go through the portal on Lightlark to the other world, but if she does this, the island will be destroyed, killing Oro and all of the Sunlings. It’s also been prophesied that she will kill either Grim or Oro herself. She only has until the end of winter to make her choice.

As she tries to prevent her impending death, Nightshade is besieged by massive storms that have apparently been a recurring issue, but which have never come up until now. Isla learns from a visit to a secluded order that these storms are coming from a secondary portal somewhere on Nightshade, which no one knows the exact location of, and would kill her if she tried to go through, as it’s a weaker connection than the one on Lightlark and she lacks the power to use it properly. She vows to find this portal and close it for good.

On a technical level

So the first book is pretty infamously badly written. The sentence-to-sentence prose is better in this, but a noticeable step down from the second book. It reminds me of the unedited stuff I write for fun when I have intoxicants in my system and decide “fuck it, we ball”. The stuff I don’t intend to ever show anyone, let alone publish. I kind of get the feeling that Aster has improved, but her editor sat this one out. Given that she wrote this in only a year and has three books scheduled for release next year, it may very well be the case that the editor is simply not making an effort beyond basic proofreading.

My main complaints about the prose: holy shit I get it already, you don’t need to tell me for the 28th time that Isla will either save the world…or end it. Her being a murderous WMD is enough for me to keep that in mind. The sheer number of times that Grim referred to Isla as “wife” instead of her name annoyed the hell out of me as well. Honestly, the dialog overall is a bit clunky. It’s not the worst I’ve read, but in general, I feel like this book would have benefitted from the advice to make characters unable to say what they mean. Holding back some information could’ve helped the tertiary characters feel more like people and less like video game NPCs whom Isla is talking to for quest information, even though that basically is their role in the narrative.

On that note, I had the thought while reading that I would probably be a lot more forgiving of this series’ flaws if it was an RPG? Not only because of the above, but also because the amount of portal usage feels like fast travel. And if this was a video game, the way the whole world is warped around the protagonist might actually be more fun than irritating.

I know many people (myself included) felt that the previous book suffered from Middle Book Syndrome, but this one’s got it even worse. The first two acts are split between romance stuff and Isla trying to figure out a way to not die, and the last one is establishing what these world-threatening stakes actually are and getting everyone into places for the grand finale (the next book). It eventually gets exciting in a bullshit 11th-hour-superpower sort of way, but before it gets to that point, you have to put up with several hundred pages of Spicy Romance™.

Romance

More so than the previous two, enjoyment of this book lives and dies on how you feel about the romance. More specifically, how you feel about Isla and Grim as a couple. The major plot point of Isla “pretending” to be in love with Grim (read: unconvincingly telling herself that she hates him because she feels like she should) means there are countless scenes of them spending time together and him telling her his tragic backstory. And later, fucking. The sex scenes continue to be alright. In the midst of all this, she just kind of forgets that she’s supposed to be spying and reporting back to Lightlark.

After three books of this, I’m still not sold. All their interactions feel like they were written to be quote-mined, the individual sentences taken out of context for TikTok marketing purposes. Every beat in their relationship feels like it was inspired by posts that say “I love it when the enemies-to-lovers do this” but no actual examples of that. Or maybe there are plenty of examples and I just haven’t read them because believe it or not, most of the books I read are ones I expect to like.

Theoretically, there’s a love triangle going on, given that she still loves Oro and thinks about how much she misses him, but he only gets one actual appearance in the first two acts, which is quickly interrupted by her having to go do something with Grim. And in addition to the above bonding scenes, she also has a second, more public wedding with Grim (ostensibly to get the Nightshades to trust her), and agrees that it would be nice to have a child together if she wasn’t about to die. This does not read like a woman who is still deciding between two men. This reads like a woman who has made her choice, but keeps second guessing herself.

In the third act, we finally get to see more of Oro, and the reunion feels mostly like two exes who haven’t quite moved on from each other. What doesn’t help his chances are that an ancient wizened character recommends Isla kill him instead of Grim, since if Oro dies, the Nexus curse that ties everyone’s lives to their leader will be broken. (This curse was introduced in the last book, I just didn’t bring it up because it didn’t feel relevant at the time. Though perhaps I should’ve; making the divine right of kings a literal curse is actually one of the better retcons.) I’m unclear on whether the curse will be broken before or after all the Sunlings die with him.

If there’s one positive thing to be said about this, it’s that Oro’s heartbreak has actually restored some of the traits I liked about him in the first book that were noticeably absent from the second. I suppose if there’s anything that can truly get me on board with the Isla and Grim romance, it’s the fact that Oro is a much more interesting character when he’s sad and heartbroken than when he’s in a happy, committed relationship. If only I got to see much of him in that state this time around.

In general, I feel like my biggest problem with this book is that the author has stopped pretending to give a shit about anyone who isn’t Isla or Grim. It’s not just Oro who gets shafted: Cleo and Azul have practically become non-entities, getting three and two appearances, respectively. This is especially frustrating in Azul’s case, not only because he could be the best character in the book if he got any focus, but because I naively hoped that a book with ‘sky’ in the title would give the ruler of the Skylings more time in the spotlight, not less.

The third act

At the end of act two, Isla finally discovers the identity of the Wildling traitor: Lark Crown, her ancestor who created the island with Grim and Oro’s ancestors. She has been alive this entire time, kept deep underground, bound by Metal That Makes You Powerless, being used as an infinite source of magical energy to power Nightshade. Now she has finally been freed by Grim's surprisingly still alive ancestor Cronan Malvere (who immediately fucked off to the other world afterwards), and she is now raising an army of the dead so she can destroy this world and remake it to her liking. Grim and Oro have both known the entire time that Lark was chained up underground and itching for revenge, and didn’t tell Isla because they were afraid she might want to free her, just to have a family member around (in which case, Grim should have told Isla that his current general is her cousin years ago). Now I remember Oro saying all the way back in the first book that he leaves Grim alone because Grim is holding the line against a much greater evil, but I also remember the later scene where he says “We’ve decided to kill Grim anyway”. Why did he make that decision if he knew that doing so would release Lark and doom the world?

(Also: since Cronan cast the Nexus curse in the first place, killing him would end it. Here’s How Oro Can Still Win!)

Isla also comes to a realization: her true flair is actually the ability to steal the powers of whoever she kills, and her curse immunity actually comes from having accidentally killed her curse-immune father by completely destroying the castle with her cries when she was a baby, which she only survived because Lynx shielded her. Ever since, her guardians have been faking her powerlessness by lacing all of her food and clothing with the Metal That Makes You Powerless. Not only do these retcons feel unnecessary, I’d also bet they would not hold up upon a reread.

In the climax, an overpowered-due-to-serial-murder Isla enlists the help of both Grim and Oro, getting them to begrudgingly work together and wait on standby for her signal to open the portal together and send Lark through. After waiting a long time, the two men realize that Isla tricked them into staying put, and rush to the portal, discovering that Isla opened it with artifacts taken from their ancestors and went through, taking Lark with her. Now the portal is closed, with Isla and Lark trapped in the other world.

Given that my thoughts upon finishing the book were not “are you fucking kidding me”, I’d call this ending an improvement over the last one!

Miscellaneous points

The second chapter contains the line "She remembered the outrage when Grim had announced her as his wife to the court—as his equal—right before they left for the Centennial.” Correct me if I'm misremembering, but didn't he mind wipe her right after the wedding?

The “Starlings getting trafficked and enslaved by other realms” subplot that was introduced in the second book without being mentioned or foreshadowed in the first never comes up even once in this one.

The reveal that the other world is called Skyshade is treated as a big dramatic twist, but that word being the title of the book is the only reason it has any significance at all.

The future

Because a conclusion doesn't quite feel right this time around. This book went a tiny bit off the rails towards the end, and I for one hope it continues down that path. Let me see what crazy shit Isla does when she fully enters Creative Mode. I'm probably setting myself up for disappointment, but that's a problem for next year. But even if the final installment holds back, I'll still hoot and holler if it pulls some Challengers shit.

Yes, I will return for the last book. I will ride this train to the end of the line. If I'm up for it, I may even read the forthcoming side novel. Until then, I'll be working my way through stuff that is (hopefully) actually good. 

[valentine-cafe]

OwO

VAMPIRES!!!

So... the prompts gave me an idea. Not exactly the same as any of them though.

I was thinking about one of the vampires being enough into a human to turn them. However... the human is not really a fan of this. The change was painful and traumatic, and now they are a "monster" who has to live on blood and on top of that a more or less crazy individual insists on keeping them, loving them, taming care of them. So they are silent, pull away, curl up in their room all day (and night) and most importantly they won't feed.

But their vampire is so in love and concvinced it just takes some time, they'll be their sweet, functional partner soon. They shower their chosen with attention, gifts and everything. Getting creative about the feeding problem too, different cups, mixing it with normal food, ect.

I don't have any preference for the vampire though. Surprise me with the one you think is the most likely to do this.

. ˚◞♡ vampire kings x gn reader ꒰ asterism vampire au ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ rinfier, aristaios ( sep. ) / gn reader ꒱ you were their little human lover and they needed to turn you. but what happens when you refuse to accept your new life as a vampire?

𖹭. content warnings◞  dark content . delusional vampires . reader is forced to stay . locking in room . force feeding . yandere behaviour . 0.9k

𖹭. receipts◞  writing for these two was so fun bhjbc hope you enjoy! 

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ RINFIER ꒱

𖹭. he’s convinced that all you need is time. you love him, after all. if you could love him as a human - you’ll love him as a vampire. you are simply adjusting. you need time, patience. and like the ever-gentle lover that he is, he will give you just that.

𖹭. no matter how many times you push him away. how much you detest him. no matter the tears you shed and the words you hatefully spill at him — he’ll brush them away with a small stroke of his thumb to your cheek. whisper sweet nothings to your ear.

𖹭. “it is what is best for you, my darling. will you not watch the winters come and go for eons than let your soul flutter off to whatever afterlife awaits?”

𖹭. of course he makes sure that you eat. rinfier is not one to force you. never one to raise his voice or reprimand you. so yes, he will go through the trouble of mixing blood with the ‘human food’ that you are accustomed to. how will you ever know the difference? and it gives him a wonderful excuse to take care of you even more.

𖹭. a gift giver. name it and it is yours. during numerous outbursts has he hushed your frantic shouts and panicked cries with the promise of whatever it is you wish. even when you sob that you want nothing from the likes of him. he simply assumes you to be humble. jewellery, the finest of clothes, gadgets and gizmos - anything for his darling.

𖹭. you are his beloved. even if you hate him. he will still dance you around with such care. grace. even as you push. cry. even as you throw a tantrum and demand that he release you. let you die. oh, he will simply draw you near. twirl and dip you to the music of grand pianos and violins. you are his and he is yours after all.

 

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ARISTAIOS ꒱

𖹭. what do you mean you need time? is he not your beloved? what do you mean that you are a monster? you are better. stronger. ample times more magnificent than the disgusting human that you were. you should be grateful. and yet here you are, fighting him. the sheer audacity.

𖹭. if you fight him, that is fine. he is stronger than you any way. strong enough to pin your pretty wrists down and keep you still. strong enough to take you hits and claws, until you are all tired out. “how humiliating.” he’ll sneer, a smile clear on his pale lips.

𖹭. aristaios will simply lock you up in his room if you keep at it. you’ll learn to accept your new life and love him. love your life with him. if you don’t? well, that’s fine too, he’ll make you. if you wish to play rough, well he is all for it.

𖹭. as the vampire who invented and refined the art of telepathy - he will roam your mind. make it so that you have no safe space from him. why should you need one anyway? he is your beloved. you are his. it is how he will slither his way in. whisper things to your mind even when you sleep. engrain it into your very soul. make you feel as though you are losing your very mind if you so wish to act like it.

𖹭. to make matters worse. you will only be allowed vampire blood. as though the idea of drinking blood in general had not already made your stomach churn. what’s more when he’s pushing your head to his shoulder and demanding you drink? what more when he is prying your mouth open and forcing you to take in vials of his blood? he does not care if you are nauseous. you will eat.

𖹭. if you behave and comply he can be the most tender of lovers. the most passionate, devoted. all you have to do is stop fighting him. all you have to do is accept eternity with him. and he will reward you will all the splendour that a vampiric king can. what, with you at his side as you both rule the carmine lands - you would be unstoppable. and you would be together. forever.

𖹭. taglist◞ wanna join the taglist? fill out this form

𖹭. remember◞ you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please considering doing so<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔��𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[mouseycometz]

(Art by wing-locked)

I’m an adult, female self-shipper who’s eagerly sharing content through writing and more!

Writing Commissions

DISCLAIMER: All the art that I post are not made by me! I give credits and links to the artists in the captions of the post!

Ship Tags

TFP - Starscream x Juniper: #🐭 scared of the dark 🕊️

TFA - Starscream x Willa: #✨ seeing stars 💫

TFE - Starscream x Piper: #✈️ unpack your heart 🪶

TFA - Prowl x Terra: #🌹someone to you 🍃

TFIDW - Fortress Maximus x Robin: #🦋 tbd 🌗

PatB - Pinky and Brain x Maisy: #🐁 kaleidoscope 🌎

BLoSC - NOS-4-A2 x Aster: #🌕 tainted love ⚡️

BLoSC - XR x Aster: #🤖 tbd ☄️

TFRB - Heatwave x Billie: #☀️ tbd 💢

TF One - Starscream x Penny: #🌌 resonance 🌃

TFIDW - Starscream x Selene: 🌠 dream a little dream of me 🌙

TF Armada - Starscream x Celeste: #🌼 little wonders ⭐️

G1 - Starscream x Melanie: #🎤 digital affection 🌟

Cuphead - Devil x Bluebird: 😈 tbd 😇

AU Ship Tags

TFRiD15 - Starscream x Juniper: #💔 silence ❤️‍🩹

Merformers! TFP - Starscream x Juniper: 🌅 island in the sun 🏝️

Dino! TFP - Predaking + Juniper + Starscream: #🦖 ends of the earth 🌺

Vampire! TFP Starscream (Skylar) x Juniper: #🦇 fly for your life 🩸

Dragon! Armada Starscream x Celeste: 🐉 tbd 🦋

Sona Intros

Juniper Redthorne (TFP)

Character Dynamics

Juniper/Starscream (TFP)

Fics

Heartbeats and Sparkbeats (TFP Starscream/Juniper)

Solace (TFP Starscream/Juniper)

Surfboards (TFP Merformers! Starscream/Juniper)

Winter Fluff (TFP Starscream/Juniper

Overworked Smooches (Pinky/Maisy/Brain)

Wipeout (RiD15 Starscream/Juniper)

Catwalks (TFE Starscream/Piper)

Drunk Songbird (TFP Starscream/Juniper)

Starscream’s “Biggest” Fan (TFE Starscream/Piper)

A Dragon’s Warmth (Armada Dragonformers! Starscream/Celeste)

Books and Bats (TFP Vampformers! Starscream/Juniper)

King and Queen of the Skies (TFP Starscream/Juniper)

Fics for Pals

Ocean Wonders (TFP Ratchet/Kaiju)

The Sky's the Limit (TFP Starscream)

Midnight Sparks (TFP Ratchet/Cori)

Melodies (TFP Megatron)

Flight Repairs (TFP Ratchet&Concorde)

Define Dancing (TFP Ratchet/Concorde)

[noh07]

updated list of mixed name ideas (jan 30, 2025)

in this list, there's any type of names (mostly for english-speaking people though): typical first names, noun names, mythology names, etc.

i sorted them into three categories: androgynous, feminine and masculine.

if you have more ideas of names for trans folks, writers, etc, just lemme know! (Can also be not-so-cool names for the writers, we need them for the asshole side characters :3)

i will update the list every time I have a lot of new name suggestions. you can always find the newest list under the tag #updated name list on my profile, which is currently this one.

(alphabetical list with 806 mixed names under the cut)

--- androgynous ---

Addie/Eddie

Aki

Alex

Alexis

Alix

Alli/Allie/Ally

Am/Em

Amethyst

Archer

Ares

Ari

Artemis

Ash

Asher

Aster

Azure

Basil

Beluga

Bennie/Benny

Bermuda

Bev

Beverly

Billie

Blair/Blaire

Calypso

Caramel

Cat

Cave

Celeste

Charlie

Chrissy

Clay

Coco

Crimson

Crow

Diamond

Edie

Eli

Ellori/Ellory

Emerald

Emerson

Emi/Emmie/Emmy

Evie

Ezra

Fern

Finn

Flo

Forest/Forrest

Frances/Francis

Garnet

Gem

Goldie

Gray/Grey

Harper

Hayden

Hunter

Indigo

Jackie/Jacky

Jade

Jamie

Jess

Jessie

Jupiter

Kai/Kay

Lark

Lenny

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Lou

Louie

Lyle

Mag

Maggot

Marcy

Mars

Mauve

Max

Meadow

Maple

Mercury

Mika

Miko

Mizu

Mo/Moe

Moss

Neptune

Noah

Nori

Nyx

Ollie

Onyx

Opal

Paris

Quinn

Rafa

Rain/Raine

Raven

Reg

Remi

Remu

Robin

Rocky

Ronni/Ronnie/Ronny

Sage

Sammy

Saturn

Shilo/Shiloh

Silver/Sylver

Sky/Skye

Skylar/Skyler

Snow

Summer

Val

Venus

Vin

Vinny/Vinnie

Wilson

Winter/Wynter

Wither

--- feminine ---

Abby

Abigail

Adelaide

Adeline

Agatha

Aileen/Eileen

Aimee/Amy

Alana

Alena

Alessia

Aletha

Alexa

Alexia

Alexandra

Alice

Alissa

Alli/Allie/Ally

Alura

Amalia

Amber

Amelia

Amelie

Amethyst

Amity

Andromeda

Anela

Angela

Angelina

Angeline

Angie

Anika/Annika

Anisa

Anita

Anna

Ann/Anne

Annie

Anastasia

Andrea/Andreea

Antheia

Arabella

Aria

Ariana

Artemis

Ashley

Astra

Atlanta

Audrey

Aurelia

Aurora

Autumn

Azura

Bailey

Becky

Bella

Belle

Beluga

Bernadette

Beth

Bethany

Bettie/Betty

Bettina

Beverly

Billie

Brenda

Brie

Calypso

Candace/Candice

Caramel

Carla/Karla

Carmen

Carol

Carolina

Caroline

Catherine

Celeste

Celestia

Celina/Selena/Selina

Celine/Selene/Seline

Charlotte

Christina/Kristina

Christine/Kristine

Claire

Clara/Clarah

Chloe/Chloé/Cloe

Cindy

Cissy

Cora/Corah

Courtney

Dana

Daniela/Daniella

Danielle

Dalia/Daliah

Daria

Darla

Debbie

Debora/Deborah

Delilah

Diamond

Diana

Dianne

Dora/Dorah

Dorothy

Eburia

Eclipse

Eda

Elena

Eleanor/Elenor

Elina

Elisa/Eliza

Elise

Elizabeth

Ella

Elodie

Eloise

Ember

Emerson

Emery

Emi/Emmie/Emmy

Emilia

Emilie/Emily

Emma

Esme

Esmeralda

Euphemia

Euphoria

Eva

Evie

Evelyn

Felicia

Fenya

Finya

Fia

Fiona

Flo

Flora

Florencia

Florence

Florentine

Florida

Francisca/Franziska

Freya

Fuchsia

Gaia

Georgia

Gina

Ginny/Jeanie

Hanna/Hannah

Harmony

Harper

Hayley

Hazel

Heather

Hecate

Helena

Helene

Hera

Hestia

Holly

Hope

Iana

Irena

Irene

Iris

Isa

Isabel/Isabelle

Isabela/Isabella

Ivonne/Yvonne

Ivory

Ivy

Izzy

Jade

Jane

Janice

Janine

Jasmin/Jasmine

Jenna

Jennifer

Jenny

Joelle

Joelina

Jolene

Julia

Julianne

Julie

Juliet/Juliette

Juniper

Kahlani

Kaia/Kaya

Katarina/Katharina

Kathy/Katy

Kelly

Kira

Kristen

Lana

Lara/Larah

Laura

Lauren

Laurel

Lavender

Lea/Leah

Lena

Leia/Leya

Leona

Leonie/Leony

Levina

Levinia

Lia

Liana

Liara

Lilac

Lili/Lilli/Lilly/Lily

Lilian/Lilien

Lilith

Lisa

Liv

Livi

Livia

Liz

Lizzie/Lizzy

Loanne

Lola

Lorelei

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Louisa/Luisa

Louise/Luise

Luce/Luz

Lucy

Luna

Lydia

Maggie/Meggie

Meg

Madeline

Maira/Myra

Malia

Mara/Marah

Margaret

Marge

Marla

Marlene

Maria/Mariah

Marie/Mary

Marina

Martha

Mauve

Melanie

Melissa

Mellie/Melly

Meryem

Mia

Michelle

Milly

Mina

Minerva

Minnie

Miriam

Molly

Mona

Monica

Naira/Nyra

Nancy

Natalia

Natalie

Natasha

Nellie/Nelly

Nessie

Nina

Noelle

Nora/Norah

Nori

Nyx

Oliv/Olive

Olivia

Ollie

Ophelia

Paige

Paris

Pascale

Patricia

Paula

Peggy

Penelope/Pinelopy

Penny

Petunia

Philippa

Pia

Piper

Pippa

Polly

Poppy

Queenie

Ramona

Rania

Rebecka

Regina

Robin

Rose

Roxana

Roxanne

Ruby

Sadie/Zadie

Safira/Saphira

Sandra

Sauntheria

Sara/Sarah

Sari

Serena

Silvia/Sylvia

Skyla/Skylar

Sofia/Sophia

Sofie/Sophie

Soraia

Stella

Stephanie/Stephany

Summer

Tara/Tarah

Tatiana/Tatyana

Tess

Tessa

Tia

Tiffany

Tiana

Tina

Valerie/Valery

Vanessa

Vela

Velina

Venus

Vera

Veronica

Victoria

Viola

Violet/Violette

Viona

Vivian

Viviana

Willow

Xandria

Xenia

Yana

Yasmin/Yasmine

Zehra

Zoe/Zoé/Zoey

--- masculine ---

Achilles

Aiden

Aion

Alex

Alexander

Alvin/Elvin

Amon

Andrew

Angelo

Angelino

Anthony

Anton

Arcturus

Ares

Arian

Ariano

Asher

Audrey

Ben

Benjamin

Bennie/Benny

Benson

Bill

Billie/Billy

Bob

Bobby

Brendan/Brendon

Brian

Bruno

Calvin

Carl/Karl

Chad

Charles

Charlie

Chase

Chester

Chris

Chrissy

Christopher

Conan

Cosmo

Damian

Dan

Daniel

Dave

David

Davon/Devon

Dionysos

Don

Donald

Dorian

Dylan

Elia/Elijah

Elio

Eliot/Elliot/Elliott

Emerson

Emilio

Eric

Erion

Evan

Ezra

Felix

Flo

Florent

Florian

Fred

Freddie/Freddy

Gian/Jan

Gus

Hannibal

Hansjoerg/Hansjörg

Harald/Harold/Herald/Herold

Harry

Hendrick/Henrick

Henry

Hunter

Ian

Icarus

Jace

Jade

Jack

Jackie/Jacky

Jacob/Jakob

Jaden/Jayden

James

Jamie

Jasper

Jay

Jeremy

Jerry

Jim

Jimmy

Jimothy

Joe

Joel

Joey

John

Johnny

Jona/Jonah

Jonas

Jones

Julian/Julien

Julius

Jupiter

Justin

Kai/Kay

Kevin

Lance

Larry

Laurence/Lawrence

Lee

Lenny

Leo

Leon

Leonard

Leonardo

Linus

Logan

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Louis/Luis

Louie

Lucc/Luke

Lucas/Lukas

Luigi

Malvin/Melvin

Marc

Marcel

Marco

Mario

Mars

Max

Mercury

Michael

Mickey

Mike

Milo

Nathan

Neptune

Nick

Nico/Niko/Nikko

Nixon

Noah

Noel

Oliver

Ollie

Orion

Paris

Pascal

Patrick

Paul

Pete

Peter

Philip/Philipp/Phillip

Ray

Raymond

Reg

Reginald

Regulus

Remi

Remus

Rick

Ricky

Rob

Robbie/Robby

Robin

Ron

Ronald

Ronni/Ronnie/Ronny

Rubeus

Sam

Sammy

Samuel

Saturn

Sean/Shaun/Shawn

Sebastian

Simon

Sirius

Skyler

Stephan

Steve

Steven

Theo

Theodore

Thomas

Tim

Timmy

Zimothy

Toby

Tom

Tommy

Tony

Valentine

Victor

Vince

Vincent

Wilson

Xaver

Xavier

Yan

Zach/Zack

Zeus

If you want me to add meanings, origins, etc., just tell me ^^

[bluestarlett]

Do you have any tips to give when it comes to designing characters? Especially regarding clothing?

oh my goodness okay so… first of all, keep in mind your character’s setting, personality, their culture, et cetera.

Is the area they live in warm or cold? Do they prefer to be warm or cold? Are they insecure about their body or do they just prefer to dress more modestly? Are they willing to show off some skin?

do they like tight, thick clothing or do they hate feeling restricted? Do they want stiffness or do they want to feel the wind blow through their sleeves and pants? Keep in mind your characters abilities/hobbies/job, et cetera! If they do a lot of things that require agility and mobility, make sure they don’t wear anything that could restrict their movements. They need to be able to move quick and freely.

finally, shape language! Do you want your character to feel stiff or loose? Soft or rigid? Somewhere in the middle? Do you want your character to feel strong? Shy? Gloomy? Approachable?

For stronger, firm characters, I recommend angular, boxy clothing. Padded shoulders and straight slacks and skirts are good for portraying this! For approachable, kind characters, loose fabric that is light and flows with the breeze is good, and long, heavier fabrics are good for shy or gloomy characters. Here’s cosmic as an example and then a few other characters!

Note how Saturn’s coat takes up a lot of space, makes their shoulders seem squared as if they’re holding their head higher than the others. It makes them seem firm and bold, and confident! They also stand out more because of the contrast of the cooler blue hues in their arms(legs?) against the warmer, beige tones in their coat and the warm brown in their hair.

Seraph’s clothes are loose and lighter, don’t take up as much space as Saturn’s—however some parts still do! His wings, halos and his sleeves, for example, are extremely long! This is because while he is not as bold and loud, as strong and confident as Saturn, he still carries himself with a lot of comfortability and pride. His design also is more eye-catching because of the stark contrast between the dark purple of his belt, the white in his toga and the browns in his skin and hair!

Aster, meanwhile, is generally much smaller than the other 2 and gets drowned out a little bit by the weight of her hair and clothes. Her skirt also pools around her feet, tethering her to the ground almost! Shes got much softer edges than the others 2 and takes up as little space as possible—her clothes are also much darker and muted compared to the others 2—also, all her clothes are much heavier and weighed down, they’re very droopy which portrays a much more gloomy vibe.

*edit, playing into the temperature thing; Tycho is super cold! It’s always snowing there. Saturn is cold-blooded so they have to dress warmer, whilst Seraph is somewhat of a walking space heater. Aster might not look too dressed for winter but her skirt is removable and doubles as a cloak! She has pants underneath. :]

other examples include!!

Misery from Ruby Gloom! Misery is a very anxious and melancholy character, and she’s very hesitant to do anything out of fear of causing problems. Her clothing design reflects this! She’s much darker compared to the rest of the cast and almost all of herself save for her face is hidden. Her colours are also much more muted and dull, and there isn’t as much contrast between them as there is with characters like Ruby or Frank and Len. All of her clothes are long and hang down and, much like Aster, tether her to the ground. She also takes up a little less space than almost the entire rest of the cast.

Another example is Hobie Brown/Spiderpunk! His clothing is all very angular and dramatic, with a lot of rigid lines and sharp edges, as well as stiff, heavy fabrics like leather and denim. Hobie is a very unapologetically confident character! I won’t go into too much detail because I’m quite sure everybody knows who he is, but he’s extremely nonconformist and a complete anarchist, and is quite proud about it. Even though most of his clothes are in darker, muted hues, his design is very loud and hard to ignore. Also the classic blue and red of almost every Spider-Man design is just as smart, as they’re (almost) completely contrasting colours, so they still catch your eye.

Lastly is Darryl from TGaMM! While he’s a little shit sometimes, he’s ultimately still a good friend and brother to Molly, and is generally just having fun without any malice in mind. He’s very laid back and approachable, but not as excitable as Molly! (Important; Molly's design is much more rigid and high-contrast compared to Darryl’s! Darryl’s colour palette is more muted and harmonious while Molly’s is a little more all over the place, though it’s still not an eyesore. You feel me?)

I hope this helped! If you have any more questions that I didn’t answer or if you need me to elaborate on something feel completely free to let me know!!

[taocc-updates]

”Oh, you like Taocc? Name every character.”

BET.

edit: I added the vague number of total characters listed. We’re at about 270, and I’m still adding characters.

(*By technicality

**formerly/no longer active/no longer acknowledged by the narrative as existing

***exist as of like ten seconds ago

I will only be including characters recognized as part of Taocc by more than one person. Characters will be vaguely grouped together however the frick I feel like and with only the vague suggestion of transitions. A character must have a tangible role that still has effects at the time of posting to be counted. I’m not counting all the deactivated characters from OG Taocc, for example. I am referencing the updates blog list as well as my following for this, because the challenge is to name them all, not to name them all by memory. Animals barely count sometimes when I feel like it.)

Gangle, Ragatha**, Pomni**, Kinger**, Zooble**, Caine*, Bubble**, S-Gangle, Shadow, Kaufmo, Sproingle, Unnamed Abtractions*, Easton West, Northa West, Lonn Gitud, Lattia Tudor, Felicia, Caleb, Zachariah Woods, Zombie anon, Simon Mallory/Silhouette/Aleksander, Isaac Brennan/Mix, Elida Doyle, Alice Mallory, Nikolai Harrison/Carbine, Artemis/Kepler, Calamity/Cassandra, Remnant, Sami Harrison, Yelena, Daniel, Artem, Charles/Plague Doctor Anon, Dialtone/Drias, Ilas/Amalgam, Trevor***, Archie***, Abigail***, Stella***, Paisley***, Espresso the Cat, Edward/Pharaoh, Abayomi, Clown Anon, Colorbine, Helpful Anon, Waffle Anon, Sparkler Anon, Kumo, Kopi, Violet, Stitch, Chance, Nightmare, Arthur Pendragon, Verie Pendragon, Mercutio, Juliet/Assassin Anon, Aokigahara, Dunite, Rocky, Rusty, Ryan, Dunite’s Parents, Deedee, Usagi/Usa, Icia/Ice anon, Fred, Odette/Odysseys, Samuel, Mytha, Celio, Basso, Vaga, Nova, Hexe, Slynn, Yume, Yume’s Mother and Father, the Protector, Ramona/Rae, Mirobelle, Ramiro, Achilles, Dime, Aklatan, Latte, Alexander (kingdom edition), Mocha, Switchboard, Ace Zeppelin, Damsel, Levi, Nathan, Myau, Nya, Mynou, Dusk, Jessy, Amelia, Jessy’s mother, Fynn, Joy, Ciana, Apollo, Virgo, Aster, Lance, Raina, Flare, Citrina, Citrina’s sisters (the only named one is “Jade”), Nymn, Nymn’s ex, Fae anon, Clara, Chip, Alpen, Unnamed Zodiac Angels, Kade, Feris, Pixel, Vanessa, Unnamed Arcade Worker 2/Mike, Conny, Shairo (deceased permanently), Hans, “John Smith”, Gun Pirate (lol), Unnamed Drunk Pirate, Unnamed Jar Lady, Unnamed third pirate with a gun, Dalia, Mikey, Anderson, Toga, Abstraction Anon, Quin, Blaze (Squiffer edition)/Zephyr, Skeleton anon, Mage Anon/Tanya, Camara, Avian, Sign Anon/Steven, Origami Anon/Octavia, Tea Anon/Kitsune/Katrina, Simon (Bookend), Seer anon/Sarah, Umbra, Arrows anon, Bow Anon, (Other) Bow Anon, Hex, Sun, Moon*, Sigil, Insanity, Dusty, Lantern/Eternal Flame, Eternity, Darkis, Infinity, Entity, Ember, Unknown, Juko, Lilo, Bob, Hammer, Mallet, Fox anon, Teleporting anon, Nuffle, Pyxel, Thanatos, Tiger, Siam, Sabrina (Sun’s daughter), Taika, Sisu, Quest, Tip, Stranger, Radio, Shelly, Astrion, Gaia, Aella, Electricity anon, Conspiracy anon, Bap Anon, Eve.chr, Phoenix*, The Dragon of Abyss, The Dragoness of Sky, Lemonade/Lewis, Reverie/Guidance anon, Unnamed Autumn Season, Unnamed Winter Season, Neb, Cardlan, Minimi, Entity (Backrooms edition), Casper, Manna, Pamela, Eden*, Grif, Trudy, Pen, Paper, Sophronius, Acacius, Milo, Drunk anon (deceased), Scissors anon, Thief Anon, Void anon, Cupcake anon, Chaos Enjoyer Anon, Thyme, Angst anon, villain anon, “Lucy”, Simp anon, Comax, Pickle gifter anon, pickle stealer anon, fish anon, deus ex machinanon, mail anon, foundation anon, lost anon, dropkick anon, Bug anon, Paranoia Anon, Rocket launcher anon, Kyubey, Mimic, Rodger, Ludvic, sunshine anon, anger anon, Frazzle, Wade, Loyal anon, Loyal Servant anon, the cookie run cookies lol, Felicia (top hat edition), Tophat, Greenie, Red(?), The Polygon Bees (TM), Eepy anon, Ethan, Dark, Void/Ollie, DJ, Star, Mercury/Marcus, Elysia/Evangeline Elizabeth Ambrosia, Blaze (Planetquest edition)/Brandon, Jasper, Callista/Leilani, Ursula, Ari, Lumiel/Lark, uhhh…I think that’s it

did I do it do I freaking win

Someone please count how many characters there are (there should be one comma per character if that helps)

Edit: Nevermind, I did it for you.

This is a vague number, the actual number is higher than this, maybe about 270-300

[nerditudes]

Tis the season so here's a full comprehensive list of all my Rise of the Guardians / Guardians of Childhood characters on this blog! I've got ten different characters from the books, film, and a couple of my own design. Just a quick reference for folk lookin for interactions with them.

The Man in the Moon - Previously @omnipotentmoon. I threw together my own interpretation of him [for a friend's au jack frost ironically] and he grew into his own character. He's stoic but kind hearted-- he struggles with facial expressions sometimes, and tends to have resting moon man face. The Guardian of Children.

Pitch Black - Previously nightmarekiing [now defunct]. This interpretation is HEAVILY book based-- but I use the movie version as a FC for ease of use. He is a pirate, criminal, general, and boogeyman. He has no heart, the Fearlings swallowed it long ago.

Katherine Shalazar - Aka Mother Goose. Katherine is only a character in the books, and is very 'Wendy' coded. Nightlight [and subsequently Jack Frost] are EVERYTHING to her. She's the main character of the books and the Guardians of Childhood wouldn't have formed without her. She's also the one Guardian that Pitch is remotely kind to-- mainly due to her reminding him of his lost daughter. The Guardian of Stories.

E. Aster Bunnymund - The last Pooka [as far as he knows]. Again we have a book based interpretation using movie icons. Though I do adapt the events of the ROTG film to the book Guardians. Bunnymund is a chocolate-obsessed nerd, a far cry from the Australian jock we see in the movie. He made the planet Earth long ago-- and wanted to make it egg shaped [eggs are his special interest.] The Guardian of Hope.

Nicholas St North - Former bandit king turned guardian of childhood. He's Santa. A master in combat and raised by Cossack, he is a force to be reckoned with. North's growth is plastered throughout the books, as he serves as the deuteragonist of the novels. The Guardian of Wonder.

Jack Frost - This is my own Old Man Winter interpretation of Jack-- and he doesn't follow movie or film canon. He did save his daughter from a patch of thin ice-- and it cost him his own life. The heart of a star fell into him-- bringing him back as neither Nightlight nor Frost-- but both blended together. He can shift his age around to appear younger, but enjoys his original form especially. He is the spirit of winter personified, and The Guardian of Fun.

Lord Darkside - Darkside is the result of unintentional magic done by a lonely little Tsarling who desperately wanted a friend like him. Mani turned his very shadow into a playmate. He serves as MiM's bodyguard, though he and his charge are as opposite as two people can be. Darkside is mischievous, puckish, genderfluid, and sassy. While not a Guardian of Childhood, he is The Guardian of the Moon and the Tsar in particular.

NPCs [Characters that aren't main muses but available for interaction nonetheless]

Clipper - Given the name Cieza by @easterelf, this little moonbot is a special sort of creation. She's the artificial intelligence of the Moon Clipper [aka MiM's moon]. She is a reflection of the ship itself, and is rather small due to how old and damaged the Clipper has become over the centuries. She's very small-- standing under three feet in height, and may be more than she seems.

Haru - A Pookan runt. Haru wasn't even intended to survive past childhood. He crash landed on the moon when MiM was a teen-- and devoted himself to MiM since the Tsarling had saved him. He is where most of the rabbit in the moon stories come from. His passion is food and he serves as the ship's cook [and on occasion, the Tsar's tutor]. He is not a Guardian of Childhood-- but he often jokes that his title is The Guardian of Cooking.

Ombric Shalazar - Aka Father Time. He cannot physically interact with the Guardians anymore [read the books for the lore on THAT!], but he still serves as a Guardian. He has full and complete control of time, and can manipulate it to a degree. He's the reason Santa is able to deliver all those toys in one night. He's also Katherine's adopted father. The Guardian of Time.

[vampstel]

It’s the funny autism man,,

Little bit of an infodump on Aster:

As I previously mentioned, he’s Lawrence’s adopted son! He’s the younger twin brother of Poppy (who I’m still working on) and he’s meant to be Filipino. He aspires to be a paleontologist when he grows up and he has a huge fixation on dinosaurs and legos (which he has a huge collection of thanks to his dad)

He’s dumb. He’s silly. I hope he explodes out of nowhere one day ໒꒰ྀི ˃ ᵕ ˂ ꒱ྀི১

[acanthus-aster-sdv]

Hey, guys! So, it just got really cold outside and I was probably close to freezing myself to death.

Ahem, sorry, that was kinda dark. Anyway, here's me for winter season! I like to get myself comfy, especially with my hair out of the way.

[twstbookclub]

Petals of Poison

TW: Blood and major character death/s

Summary: Hanahaki Disease. Taking innocent, unrequited love and crushing the life of the unfortunate. This is not a happy story. Don't expect a good ending. POV: 2nd Pronouns: Gender neutral Admin/Writer: Kai⚔️ Tags: Epel Felmier, hanahaki disease, star tear disease, heavy angst Word count: 2,958

Being 100% truthful... I cried writing this, and I got super depressed after lol. I've never done Hanahaki disease as a trope but I've read about it. I've only heard about Star Tear disease and it's very rare to use, but it's a sister trope to Hanahaki.

The person afflicted with Star Tear will cry stars, and slowly become blind, but it isn't like Hanahaki where the affected goes back to normal. No. The person keeps the damage.

I hope you all enjoy this Epel angst and trust me, this is still pretty light, even with a character death. This one didn't take me too long but it took a lot of planning and adding, truly one of my proudest works.

Petals of red carnations and aster spilled onto Epel’s hand on such a bright morning, the sun shining through his windows and lighting up his room beautifully. His face looked shocked and panicked, but he wasn’t in an urge to figure out what was wrong. He dropped the petals out of his hand and saw a small splatter of blood in his palm, but once again, no immediate reaction. He only sighed and got ready for his morning.

It was never like this, but not uncommon to one’s knowledge, either. In this world, magic and myth were big things, and the Isle of Sages was no stranger. Recently, the town had been talking about cases of victims who had recently passed away due to unnatural causes. Unnatural, being that their lungs were filled with roots and flowers, marking their deaths as undetermined in autopsy reports. 

Rumors had been circulating that these victims were in love with others, but never received the love back, then were found dead just days later with the same scenes as the others. The Isle began to find death as common as finding a penny on the ground, but still as tragic as ever for these young lives. Epel could be the next.

He did have someone he loved, but being in the same year as you meant nothing. You barely looked at him, only hung out together when he was invited, and you were completely out of his league. Not even close.

This had started months ago. Epel had met you at the mirror chamber on orientation day, and he became pretty curious. You weren’t from this world, yet you looked like you fit right in, too. You were quiet and confused, which he found interesting, but he would only see you from afar for now.

He was finally able to get close to you, but his attention was easily taken when Deuce started calling him a girl. At that moment, he heard your laugh. It was a beautiful sound that he had no idea would bless his ears the way it did.

One day, you came into the Pomefiore dorm, catching them teaching him about proper tea etiquette and rules. When Rook corrected him, he quickly grew embarrassed and stuttered slightly before fixing himself, hoping that you hadn’t seen him mess up. He didn’t need you to not find him able. He wanted you to like him.

Coming back from winter break, Epel hadn’t stopped thinking about you for any moment of the day. He began to doubt if you liked him, especially after seeing him mess up during classes and after-school clubs. As soon as he arrived back, he was met with more flight training and prim etiquette.

He was running through campus while trying to run away from his housewarden and vice-housewarden, not exactly caring where he was running. Suddenly, Epel felt a hard chest and fell over with a loud wham to the ground. He could only sniffle and rub his head from the pain. When Epel looked up, he saw your eyes on him in concern, and he felt himself become frozen, frustrated with himself about the situation before him. 

Deuce offered to help him, but Epel looked away and mumbled “dagnabit” under his breath. The other first-year grew confused and repeated what Epel had said, but Felmier felt embarrassed for looking so pathetic in front of you. Before Deuce knew it, Epel ran off and disappeared just as quickly as he appeared.  You were left with confusion and questions but didn’t pay much attention to it once he was gone. 

Once he was gone and in a place where one could see him, he felt a slight clog in his throat and coughed, surprised to see a few petals of aster and white carnations fall onto the ground at his feet. “Flowers? What in the…” He whispered with a confused tone, and he didn’t know where this had even come from. 

Soon, he was singing to practice for the Song and Dance Championship behind some bushes, but he coughed and sighed when he couldn’t reach enough, causing some small petals to spill onto the grass. When he heard the voices of others, he perked up and turned around, his eyes landing on you. 

Did you hear that? Oh, for the love of the Seven, please tell me you didn’t hear that.

You only stared at him as he interacted with your friends, but the thought of you finding him in such a pathetic scene lingered in his mind. He didn’t need you to look at him and laugh, especially not after everyone else found him cute and small. After witnessing how his housewarden kicked the asses of the other first years, Epel took a glance at you before being dragged away into more practice.

As soon as he entered the door to Pomefiore, he covered his mouth and coughed up more petals, the sound grabbing the attention of Vil and a few others who were in the lounge. Aster and… Red carnations. This one was new, but his heart did ache. It ached with a pain that poked in his chest, yet the bright red mixed with the purple and pink petals of aster felt comforting.

He felt something for you. He knew you probably wouldn’t like someone as pathetic and hard-driven as he was, not with this small body and cute face. He couldn’t get his hopes up.

Epel had caught himself coughing these petals now and then, but on rare occasions, a few of them had blood spots, nothing too concerning. At the same time, more and more cases of citizens being found dead, surrounded by flowers and roots, were becoming big online. Everyone made this phenomenon have a name, Hanahaki Disease, and it was spreading like wildfire. 

No one could figure out its symptoms. Other’s tried, but would get shut down about their theories. One person, at least every week, was in the headlines about this. Police thought it was a serial killer laying down his victims in a beautiful way, and citizens thought it was karma towards the person who died.

Epel’s symptoms only got worse the more you were around him and looked at him. You spoke to him in such a kind way, treating him as your friend. He noticed that your uniform and face had different sizes and colors of stars. He found it cute and it suited you, at least in his eyes.

Right. Only a friend.

He kept his feelings hidden, and it was only right. Epel knew the situation, and he was okay with it. You didn’t belong in this world in the first place, nothing wrong there. He had a life and family waiting for him in his hometown. He had to get over this.

But the world gave him no time.

Crowley had summoned everyone to the mirror chamber to bid you farewell. You were leaving. No warning. No time. Something felt wrong, and Epel ran to be able to hug you first. Everyone surrounded you two after that. 

Epel heard a twinkling sound, so he looked at you and noticed how small stars were on your cheeks. He was confused, what was even happening? He noticed these stars before, but they came from your eyes this time? He couldn’t ask, not before Crowley had to break it up before the portal closed.

As you looked at everyone one more time, “Come back here soon!” Epel screamed, making everyone slowly begin to agree with him. Then, you left. That was it. Your presence was there, but not your body or soul.

It was a moment of sorrows and grief, which only equaled to Epel coughing up blood-spattered petals of marigolds and purple hyacinth flowers into a napkin. He could tell that this was getting worse, but what in the world could he even do?

Epel spent that night trying to distract himself by researching everything he could about this Hanahaki Disease, coughing up occasional petals. He had found a few stories of victims who survived the disease, reading about how the symptoms stopped after they got together with the person that they loved. 

Reading more about how it got worse if one believed that the other didn’t like them back, but after a certain point, even thinking about the person they loved made the symptoms dire. There was no natural cure, at least not from what was written, but Epel did find something.

Surgery.

Getting surgery to make it go away. 

No.

That’s all Epel needed to read. He wanted nothing else about that subject to come up. It was absurd, even for the most desperate of people. Brain surgery to make the symptoms go away, but you’d forget about all the feelings you felt for the person. He could never, not when it was about you. 

Suddenly, he became curious. The scene from earlier crossed his mind.

Why does someone cry stars?

He searched it up, but… Nothing. Unknown. Sites to just people boasting about how their tears have the sparkle of stars, but it wasn’t the same. You had the shape of stars coming out of your eyes, and they were beautiful.

Epel sighed and shut his phone off. He didn’t need to see anything else for the rest of the night.

For a few weeks, the campus was in an awkward atmosphere due to your leaving, but soon enough, everyone began going back to normal. Not Epel, though. He missed you the most when he sat on his bed after school. He constantly thought about how you could be doing and wondered if you were ever thinking of him. 

He began to smile while thinking about you, remembering every moment he did get to save with you. His birthday, campus traditions, especially being there to watch him perform for the Song and Dance Championship. Thinking about everything made him suddenly gag and the next thing he knew, a pool of blood and different petals were at his feet.

His eyes were wide, but he vomited more blood, less petals. The puddle was red but cluttered with red and white carnations, mixes of purple and pink aster, yellow daffodils, and violet-blue salvia. This was the worst that his condition had gotten. Epel fell back and clutched his chest, trying to breathe silently but with enough force to get himself back on track. It was a silent night after that.

Time would come to take their youth, and before any of the first years knew it, it was graduation day. The day was bright and looking pretty on a day like that, and it kind of made the day better.

The ceremony had gone well, with old students coming back to congratulate and celebrate with the other students, and professors even admitting that they’d miss some students.

After all celebrations were over though, Epel stayed on the campus grounds, standing at the well that caused him the most time with you. He simply stared down the well, letting the sunset almost blind his vision. One memory of you caused a loud cough and blood to spill from his mouth, petals following after. 

It hurt. The pain grew worse than ever before. He’d rather suffer than forget the love he felt for you. His body was falling, faltering to keep itself up, and he landed on his back against the ground.

“The love I feel for you… Is so beautiful, but—” He whispered, petals of sweet peas falling from the sides of his mouth now as his coughs got shorter and harsher. “I can’t breathe.”

Epel could only clutch his chest as he tried to find the proper breathing pattern. He looked up at the sky and wiped the excess blood from his mouth. He smiled. Like he always did when he thought of you.

Epel could cry. He could feel it. You were so close. Just a little farther.

The sounds of struggling became quieter, and a bed of flowers grew. Cyclamens, sweet peas, heliotropes, white carnations, crimson roses, forget-me-nots, and black roses all grew from the ground. Its roots and vines surrounded the body of a recently graduated boy, who simply loved someone that he knew he couldn't have.

Epel looked like a charming prince with how peaceful he looked.

The world was cruel. Too cruel even.

Those young adults, now grown up, were gathered in a reserved restaurant. They all stood up when they heard the door, Silver bringing you in.

You carried a white cane and carefully moved it around, your eyes staring forward with occasional blinks. Everyone knew the situation, but there was still a tension that you could feel by just sensing it.

Your irises were close to white but had a faint hue of your original eye color. You were blind. You had explained to everyone before that you had “Star Tear Disease”, which explained why you cried stars when you left the world of Twisted Wonderland that day.

It was rare. Only a few had it, and you were the unlucky one that did. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you smiled nonetheless. It had been years since you had last been with the boys, and you were quite excited to meet them again.

“I'm fine, guys. It's just a little impairment, but I'm still me.”

The room stayed quiet, and slowly, one by one, they all came up to let you touch their faces and reintroduce themselves. Ace tried making you laugh by contorting his face, but you hit his shoulder. “Hey! Quit that. I'll pull your ear if you keep doing it.”

Goofball as always.

Once everyone had a turn, you felt weird. Someone was missing, and you slowly made your way around the table. An empty chair.

“Who's missing?” You asked, clutching the arm of the chair.

Silence once again. No one wanted to tell you, so you remembered everyone to figure it out.

Your body froze as you realized it, but you could feel your heart drop. “Epel.”

Tension grew in the room again and you could hear a sigh, then followed by Leona. “He's dead.”

Whispers with the others calling out Leona for saying it, but he simply grew irritated with their lack of sense. “Oi, what the hell are we supposed to do, eh? Keep it from them? They're blind for Seven's sake!”

“You didn't have to say it so bluntly—” Followed Lilia, not wanting everything to become a problem.

“All of you, shut up!” You yelled, the starry tears forming in your eyes as you clutched the chair harder, digging your nails into the wood.

Everyone went mute. You couldn't even believe it. 

“How...” You whispered, the sound of twinkling from your tears filling the eerily quiet room. “How did he die and when?”

Deuce stood from his chair this time. “On our graduation day. He died of some… illness called Hanahaki Disease.” 

Your world was crumbling. Hanahaki Disease. You heard of it in your world. It was made of fiction, but who knew it'd be turned into reality. The same could be said for Star Tear Disease, but you developed it here, and it followed you into your world.

You let out a few tears as you kept thinking, your arms practically wrapped around the chair. “Who was the cause? One of you knows.”

Vil spoke as he moved closer, trying to be careful with you. “That part isn’t necessary for you to know—”

“It was you. Vil told us all after he died.” The gruff voice from Malleus filled the room with those three words, and they somehow sounded painstakingly beautiful. Vil’s breathing pattern changed once the truth was revealed. You knew those words were true.

“... Take me to his grave.” You asked after a short moment of silence, sounding like you were pleading, so they took you.

Standing in front of it now, you gently touched the tomb, then the texture of the cement, until your hands touched the lettering.

“E P E L   F E L M I E R”

It had his dates, a small obituary, and designs of apple trees. It all felt cool to the touch. You could only imagine it, but then you remembered that you brought something.

A flower bouquet. Baby's breaths, blue salvia, lavender roses, and cyclamens were composed neatly, you could feel it. Anything for him, especially since he meant so much.

“Hey Epel…” You whispered, kneeling down in front of the tomb. You took a breath and it was already hard, the disease making your eyes sting. “You know, you're the only one I didn't get to touch today.”

“I'm sure you look the same. You never changed.” You said with a smile, gently feeling the cold cement under your fingers. You heard his laugh in your ears, imagined his smile, and you felt a warmth on your hand. His warmth. You knew it.

At that moment, you began to cough really hard, blood spilling onto your hand and petals came out of your mouth. You were unfazed. You knew what this was. 

You set down the bouquet and moved to sit on top of his grave, leaning back against the tombstone as you felt a sharp pain around your ankles.

“Why didn't you tell me? I loved you too. That's unfair…” You whispered softly, feeling your eyes close as your breath struggled slightly.

“We could've survived together.” You said with a faint voice, your body becoming lifeless as your hands and ankles were tied down with vines.

Red roses, carnations, and aster grew on the vines. The twinkling of your tears filled the soundless cemetery, stopping with a drop of a star on your clothes.

[kingsillysmilez]

If you ship your characters together who would it be?

I have a lot I love making gay people kiss eachother

My oc x My oc - Space x Gary [Married] - Furry!Space x Starbit [Dating] - Truffle x Yuzu [Friends w benefits] - Royalty x Yuzu x Truffle [Friends w benefits] - Angel x Fondue [Dating] - Miitopia!Truffle x Miitopia!Caramel - Miitopia!Truffle x Miitopia!Yuzu [friends w benefits] - Aster x Liam [friends w benefits] - Nova x Oreo [Dating] - Pastry x Puddle - Alex x James [dating] - King x Bunnie [dating] - Koa x Orion [dating] - Arc x Aki [dating] - Noah x Nathan [dating] - Citra x Phin [dating] - Blaze x Winter x Watt x Fae x Moss x Toxin x Alex x Skyler x Stell x Clay x Finn x Forest x Aura x Shadow x Spirit x Wyvern x Terra x Valor [yes thats an 18 character polycule] - Vortex x unnamed character - Ascii x Chip x Sparky [dating] - Kai x Rhoe [slowburn-- end up dating] - Choki x Chase [dating] - Trixy x unnamed character [dating] - Citrus x Grape x Mango [dating] - Aurora x Horizon [dating] - Joy x Selene - Buoy x Brine - Dew x Fizz [dating] - Sekai x Miracle [Dating] - Storm x Havoc [slowburn-- end up dating] - Solar Spirit x Golden Wing [slowburn-- end up dating] - Solar Saddle x Luna Pegasus [dating] - Lucie x Liane [dating] My oc x others oc - Bear x Starburst [dating] - Flop x Greenspell [dating] - Willow x Dawson [dating] - Stella x Red [dating]

My oc x cannon Space x any of my fictional significant others Lumi x Callie Splatoon [dating] Blaze Glaze x Rainbow Dash x Pinkie Pie [dating]

OK so I got to page 12 on my th and then realized i have like 57 more pages and this is already a lot lmao,, plus its mostly of the characters that I've posted about the most so these are the more main guys anyway.

If you want more details about any of these guys then let me knowww I am happy to provide more info... :3