#◉ sunny gleam ( MUSINGS )

[acourtofquietdreamers]

Elain Archeron Week: Hope

Art by Pinkykei.art and commissioned by me 💗

Imagine being Elain Archeron at the end of ACOWAR. She was just turned fae against her will, her body violated in the process and a stranger claiming her as his mate moments after. She’s forced to leave behind the life she was building for herself to live in a land she was raised to fear. She spent months plagued by visions and powers she doesn’t understand, leaving her almost catatonic as she’s trapped in a murky realm she can’t escape. She finally gains clarity on her new powers, but is then cruelly rejected by her fiancé. The same magical pot that turned her fae lures her out of camp under the false pretense that her ex-fiancé came back for her. She witnessed brutal battles that left her retching and then rammed a magical blade through a king’s neck, taking her first life. This same king murdered her father moments before.

After these events, she has every right to despair and crumble, but Elain Archeron chooses a different path. She cleans up her father’s lifeless body, picks him flowers, and tells him she loves him.

“Elain quietly washed his face. Combed out his hair and beard. Straightened his clothes. She found flowers—somewhere. She laid them at his head, on his chest. We stared down at him in silence. “I love you,” Elain whispered, voice breaking.”

She smiles and hopes.

“Elain nodded, smiling up at me, and it was tentative joy—and life that shone in her eyes. A promise of the future, gleaming and sweet.”

She dreams.

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

Elain’s ability to rise above everything that happened to her as she continues to dream of better days shows extreme resilience and I admire the way she looks to find and create beauty in the world, no matter how bleak things look. She’s holding a bouquet of irises in this piece and much like our quiet dreamer, irises symbolize hope and faith. They’re also one of the flowers Feyre painted on Elain’s dresser drawer so I thought they fit perfectly here! Thank you so much again, Pinkykei, for working on this piece for me. Happy Elain is the best Elain and you captured that beautifully 🥹💗

Please don’t repost without permission.

@elainarcheronweek

[mediumgayitalian]

previous

———

“Hm,” Piper says, fingers steepled. She looks very intently at the air in front of her. “Hm.”

Nico scowls impatiently. “Feel free to be helpful at any given time. Now, even, if you’re so inclined.”

“Have you considered that the reason you’re so infatuated with Will is because you may be blessed by Apollo?”

“I’m infatuated with Will because he is the physical manifestation of everything I value in a person,” Nico says automatically. Then he frowns, processing the rest of Piper’s sentence. “Wait, what?”

Nico understands his error as the grin on her face stretches into something truly grotesque. “I was going to make a joke about your drama levels, but thank you for that. I’m really looking forward to telling several dozen people and delighting in the knowledge that you’re going to curl up into a bundle of humiliation under your bunk tonight as you think about it.”

Instead of answering, Nico decides to walk away. Since there is so much blood concentrated in his skull, resting mostly around his face region, he takes two steps and begins to pass out, but luckily Piper has followed him and impedes a head injury by gripping his arm and merrily forcing him forward.

“So,” she says, steering them towards the amphitheatre, “what’s Plan B?”

“Bold of you to assume there was a Plan A.”

“You like Sunny Boy way too much to walk in there blind.”

“…Touché.”

She’s smug enough to be silent, slinging an arm over Nico’s shoulders as they walk. The closer they get, the harder Nico is forced to grapple with just how godsdamn much he’s softened. I want you to be happy, Father had said. Camp will be good for you, Chiron had agreed. You’re a little twit and need socializing, Mr. D had snipped.

Nico needs a better father figure. He wonders if Paul Blofis’ offer is still open.

The amphitheater is not, of course, empty when they arrive, because Nico knows the Fates personally and each of them despises him. The actual training part is empty — unsurprising — but the stands are moderately filled, with people gossiping, braiding hair, and if Nico is not mistaken, a small, pop-up nail painting salon. Mitchel lifts a purple-smeared hand in an absentminded wave as they step onto the packed dirt.

Nico ducks under Piper’s arm, turning to face her. “I need to fight you,” he informs her. “For my own personal pride.”

She nods thoughtfully. “It does indeed need restoring.” He curved, icy blade gleams in the early afternoon sun, mirroring her dangerous smile. “Square up.”

Since honour is for nerds, Nico doesn’t bother waiting. He simply attacks, lunging for the left side Piper always leaves open. Unfortunately for him, her recent meddling in his love life means her mother has blessed her with a little sprinkling of extra verve, and she dodges easily and cheerfully.

He sends a glum mental prayer down to his father.

Anytime you’re feeling generous, Pop, he grumbles, I would love a boost.

There’s an actual rumble to the ground, as his father laughs at him.

“Real kind,” he says out loud. “Dick.”

“I wonder if you would have more success in the wooing department if you had conversations outside of your own head,” Piper says sweetly. She spins her sword in a neat little circle by his face. “All bay brooding makes you look so…broody.”

Nico scoffs at her. “Will seems to like my broodiness. For some reason. So there.”

“And yet…” She trails off, shooting him a teasing look. Nico is unfortunately very easy to tease (thanks, Bianca) (and for that measure thanks, Hazel) (Reyna too, probably) (and honestly Annabeth) (gods, and Percy) (don’t even get him started on Leo) (really, it would be more prudent to name the people who do not take sick pleasure in driving him up the wall) and as such succumbs easily to her tormenting, taking a hard hit to the side when he’s too keyed up to avoid her spinning slash.

“Note to self, don’t let the monsters know about big embarrassing crushes,” she muses. “They make Nico sloppy and will get him killed in battle.”

She mimes writing something down. This, thankfully, leaves her distracted enough that Nico gets his sword levered against hers, twisting until she’s disarmed. She lifts both hands up in surrender when he points a sword at her throat, but remains entirely unaffected by his glare.

“Pride re-instated?” she asks.

Nico huffs. “No.”

…Yes.

“You’re such a grouch,” she says fondly. She tries to ruffle his hair and is forcibly stopped by his jab to her ribs. Unfortunately, Piper McLean takes no shit sitting down, and in a minute they’re on the floor, getting caked in dust, trying to see who can leave the most bruises on the other. Nico would wager that they’re just about tied.

“You have a list,” Piper grunts, muffled as she bites his bicep. He shouts, wrenching his arm away — she is pointy. “I have no idea what you’re all mopey about.”

He digs his knee into the small of her back. “I gave him flowers! He made a poultice out of them!”

“Technically, you made the poultice.”

He elbows her in the stomach. She shrieks and jabs her knuckles right under his eye.

“You’re so annoying!”

“You’re so annoying!”

“Ugh!”

“Ugh!”

Every part of Nico’s body aches. So badly. He’s not sure which one of them won their brawl, if either, but he knows for sure that he is actively turning purple. He feels like the first time his nonna gave him a hammer and a piece of cutlet — he was maybe five years old — and told him to flatten it. (He remembers, now, the look on her face as she wiped pulverized chicken flesh from her eye. Oops.)

“Go to Will and get healed up?”

Nico huffs a laugh, immediately wincing at the strain on his tender ribs.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

The walk is miserable and bruised. And slow, since both of them are limping. Several campers walk by snickering, since apparently Saving The Entire Damn World, For Real And Actually, You Ungrateful Brat, Should I Just Destroy It Again Then earns you no permanent respect.

It’s not too bad, though. Nico would rather chomp on concrete than admit it out loud, but Piper isn’t horrible company, and she hums when she walks. Bianca did the same thing. For once, it’s a pleasant reminder, although he does wonder if Nico will ever be able to look at the women in his life and not think of her.

(In all honesty, probably not. He sees her in the clouds, in the gnarled bark of the trees; feels her in the warmth of the sun; hears her in every snorting laugh. He likes to imagine how much she would love these women, though. If she were alive they would be her friends first. He knows she was happy with the Hunters, however briefly. He thinks he can maybe forgive himself if he thinks of her without weeping.)

“Least it doesn’t look too busy today,” Piper comments. She purses her lips at the Big House, which for once seems quiet. Perhaps Will made good on his threats and finally dosed the Hermes’ table breakfast spread with Benadryl. Nico would be proud. He deserves a day of peace.

“Great. That means we get the full force of Will’s bitching on us alone.”

Piper scoffs. “Please. You like it when he yells at you.”

Nico almost kills her for real. By the time she manages to kick him off of her, still snickering to herself, they both have a new layer of bruises on top of the old ones.

“Gods, di Angelo, you make it so easy —”

“Shut up,” he says hotly. “You are literally the most annoying person in this stupid camp.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He scowls, kicking a rock to avoid kicking her and setting both of them off again. It rolls over the grass, pinging off the side of one of the many braziers and rolling finally to a stop back at his feet. In its new position, it perfectly catches the brightly shining sun, refracting the light in a dandelion-esque burst.

“Huh,” he murmurs.

Wincing at his stiff joints, he crouches, vaguely registering Piper pausing somewhere to the left of him. He scoops the little thing up, bringing it close to his face to inspect.

It’s roughly cut, so it’s not anyone’s jewel or anything. Some of the pieces are textured with tiny little divots, like a regular stone, but some are straight and flat and catch the light. Some kind of crystal, then. It’s dense, about the size of a walnut, and shaped kind of like a brain. It is a very familiar shade of blue.

“Holt Hades, you are sappy.”

Nico flushes, shoving the rock into his pocket. “Nobody asked you, Piper.”

“I asked me! I am always asking me.” She jogs to keep up with his suddenly speedy strides, gripping onto the elbow of his shirt when he tries to move faster. “Is this Plan B? Little gifts.”

“It’s a rock,” he says shortly.

“Diamonds are rocks.”

“I didn’t get him a diamond.” He pauses. “Should I get him a diamond?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. I’m not the one in love with him.”

“Who said anything about —”

“Nico! Piper! Hey!”

“Notice who he called first,” she whispers, right in his ear. She grins over at Will before he can say anything. Or curse her. “Hey, Will! How are you?”

It is unfair for a person to look good in mint scrubs. They don’t even suit him, not really, but he still looks — well, he’s beautiful. His hair is poofier than usual and sticks out like he stuck his finger in a socket, and his beam is so bright Nico has to genuinely squint to look at him, and how is it, honestly, that his freckles look like dappled sunlight? That’s not normal.

“I’m okay.” He waves them inside, not bother to close the door behind them — it’s nice out, and Nico knows he prefers the breeze and sun. “Bored.”

“Not enough ocular surgery to perform?”

Will’s grin turns wry. “Nope.” He reaches out to brush his thumb across Nico’s eye scar. He freezes, holding his breath, hyperaware of those callused fingers as they approach the ever-warming skin of his face, heart galloping in his chest. As soon as Will makes contact — because of course the touch was to get his vitals, c’mon, Nico, head in the game — he frowns.

“Why are so many of your capillaries burst?”

Piper smiles guiltily, holding up a hand.

“I beat him up.”

“Wha — you did not!” He turns to Will, indignant. “We beat each other up! She’s lying!”

Will sighs. He glares at them both for a full forty seconds, then turns his face up to the heavens, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like I do not deserve to be surrounded by this kind of dumbassery. Send lightning through the sky if I should let them suffer.

Nico waits. No lightning comes forth.

Will sighs. “Cot, let’s go, y’all know the drill.”

Piper mouths y’all as she sits down. Nico mouths eat dirt back at her.

“Now, I could hum sum’n and —”

“Sum’n,” Piper whispers delightedly. Nico ignores her.

“— get y’all fixed up good, but y’all’ve pissed me off good —”

Nico takes the initiative to pillow-smack Piper in the face while Will’s back is turned. Luckily, it muffles her shriek.

“— so I’m not gonna do all that.” He closes the cupboard with his hip, hands full of vials. “Ain’t even gonna waste ambrosia on y’all, honestly. Y’get some bruise ointment and a Tylenol ‘cause I know y’all were up to shenanigans.”

He puts a lot of emphasis on ‘nan’. Nico knows he is trying very hard to be stern, but he is in fact very cute, and Nico is putting a lot of his brainpower towards memorizing the specific wrinkle pattern that Will’s nose gets when he’s annoyed. If he says that Will looks like a bunny he might actually get shot, no matter how much Will allegedly seems to like him, so he manages to choke down the sentiment. But it is indeed there.

“— and take it easy, y’hear? Bruises don’t heal in a day.”

Gods, his eyes are really, really pretty. He’s almost tired of thinking it, but they match the sky exactly, all the time. Poets write about sparkling eyes and pretty faces all the time, but all of them can choke because all of them are liars. Will Solace has the prettiest eyes of anyone who has ever lived. They are indeed the windows to the soul, and his soul is just —

“This is for you,” Nico blurts. Essentially acting on its own, his hand slips in his pocket and draws out the blue stone, holding it out. “Um. I saw it and —” He glances at Piper, panicked, and she kicks him in encouragement. “Thought of you. So.”

Will stares at the stone for a moment. Nico sweats.

“Nico di Angelo,” he chides, hands on his hips. The panicked look he flits in Piper’s direction grows tenfold. He is not at all comforted by the grimace she sends back. “Do you think I’m so corrupt as to accept a bribe?”

“Um.” Nico hesitates. Piper smacks her face onto her hands, groaning. “That’s not what I —”

“Well, you would be correct.” Quick as a bird, Will darts out and snatches the stone, sliding it into one of his many (many) shorts pockets, nodding in approval. “I don’t have any aventurine. I’ve been looking for it. Good bribe.”

He sets down the ointment and Tylenol, gesturing for Nico to hold out his hands. Nico sighs, then complies.

“I mean, he didn’t destroy it, this time,” Piper whispers as he begins to sing, enveloping Nico’s body in a warm, golden glow. “So…progress?”

“Progress,” Nico agrees. He glances over at Will, eyes squeezed shut in focus, and rolls his eyes fondly. “Who knew it would be so hard to convince someone who already likes me to go out with me.”

———

next

[cherryblossom-chopper]

》In Danger《

Content: Zoro Fluff. Ambiguous Reader.

————— ୨୧ —————

Zoro’s heart pounds in his chest, sweat slicks his bare chest, and sticky blood stains his cheek. Adrenaline rang in his ears as his calloused hands gripped his sword. A sick, pleased grin curls onto his face at the sound of a defeated opponent.

Sheathing his sword, Zoro's gaze swept his surroundings. The rubble and dust littering the scenery were the results of his recklessness. Such things didn’t concern him all that much; however, it just made finding his way back to the ship more difficult.

Huffing in irritation, Zoro picks a direction at random. He haphazardly treads past his unmoving opponent and toward what he hopes is the Thousand Sunny.

An ear-piercing shriek cuts through the air causing Zoro’s head to jerk up. He tilts his head to pop his neck.

“Nami and Usopp must’ve gotten caught again,” he muses to no one in particular. Those two dorks always needed saving, which was fine by him.

Despite how easily he got lost, the call of combat always seemed to guide his heart. Anticipation churns in his gut as Zoro makes his way over the mound of concrete.

At the rumble mounds peak, Zoro surveys his surroundings. He squints down toward where another distress call is coming from. All his muscles tense, and his jaw clenches together as he spots someone. Zoro shakes his head.

Surely that couldn’t be you down there. Indeed, your frame was getting their ass kicked, and the cries for help sounded like you.

An instinctual growl escapes him as his body moves on its own. His hands snatch the hilts of his blades; the gleam of the metal in the sunlight was the only warning his new targets would ever get, that and the crunching of debris under his boots.

The crunch of bones and groan of surprise from his victims was more than satisfying to Zoro. Though such sweetness was soured as he glanced over his shoulder to a harrowing sight.

Your face is bruised, and your lip spits with blood staining your chin. A thick arm holding you in a headlock. You struggle to elbow the combatant in the gut to get free.

“Zoro,” you wheeze, reaching out to him. Finally, back up came, and finally, Zoro came. You gasp as your body is wanked into the air in front of the masked assailant, using your frame to shield his own.

Baring his teeth, Zoro points his sword toward your chest. “Let ‘em go,” he orders; his fingers are itching for violence, but he’d never put your life at risk.

The assailant pulled you closer, squeezing around your throat tighter. You can hear the ever-wordless attacker breathing heavily behind his animal-painted mask. His arm trembles with nerves or effort.

You struggle and jerk in your confinement, your eyes pleading to Zoro for help. Your lungs burn as your air comes in short gasps. One of your hands reaches out to him as if you could just get ahold of your partner; everything would be alright. Salty tears blur your vision as you struggle.

He didn’t show on his face, but a sickening feeling churned in Zoro’s stomach. This chump would be no real challenge for Zoro, but he’d never wish to risk his partner’s life. Damn it.

“If you let (Name) go, I’ll spare your life,” Zoro snarls, readjusting the grip on the handle of his blade.

You feel the stranger pause, his grip slackening. You take the opportunity to slam your elbow into his abdomen. The man gasps as if the wind has been knocked out of him. You scramble out of his grip towards Zoro when you feel him double over.

The prideful grin returns to Zoro’s face as he takes the opportunity to charge your attacker. He does not spare them. He doesn’t grant mercy to someone who’d dare lay a finger on you.

When he turns to look at you, Zoro’s features soften. He wipes the blood on his cheek with the back of his hand as he returns to your side.

“You came,” you say, grabbing onto his arms. You nearly collapse into him.

An amused breath comes from him as Zoro takes in your features. “Course I came. If you’re in danger, I’ll be there. " Don’t be so stupid next time,” he says, his thumb wiping stray tears from your cheeks.

“It was hardly a fair fight,” you scoff, your eyes feeling heavy, “I could’ve beaten them if they didn’t ambush me.”

Zoro embraces you, pulling you into his chest. “I’m sure you could’ve, little firecracker,” he muses, then scoops you up into his arms.

You give a half-hearted struggle and protest. “You don’t need to carry me,” you insist, “My legs aren’t broken.”

“Too bad,” Zoro says nonchalantly, smiling, “I need you to be my compass,” His grip on you was firmer but not painful.

You pat Zoro’s cheek with your palm and lean your head against his shoulder. His warmth melts your aching muscles, and his steady breath soothes your heart. His body was a wall muscle that provided an undeniable sense of safety. You’d only need to call out if you were in danger, and he would save you.

————— ୨୧ —————

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[punk-in-docs]

I am OBSESSED with your Prince Paul series. I've been reading and re-reading them. I can only hope there's more coming! Like I'd love to see them dealing with the wedding preparations, all the related stress and Catherine being Catherine. Or the first time they say LOVE? Or the first time they see each other nekkid? Or, or, or, anything!! I just love your writing sooooo muuuuuch. (I am also getting inspired to write fan fic or your fan fic, if that's okay???)

🥀 And The Stars Sighed In Unison 🥀

Authors Note: That’s more than ok my love. I’m so flattered! That’s amazing. I’m so humbled the muse has struck you as a consequence of my foolish little words. So here I give you in no particular order; Wedding day planning. Stag party drunken naughtiness, and in general the excitement of the big day. Hope it meets the mark-

TW: m receiving oral, PIV , dirty talk, clit slapping, much flirting, naughty ren-dez-vous, little dirty in places I mean, c’mon now, it’s Paul x Tsarevna. Don’t be expecting saintly behavior from them (or me) now.

The Palace shimmers. These snake pit halls and cloaking walls, that will never really be home to you, are teaming with bliss. Air full of it. Perched on the precipice of your marital joy.

A royal wedding in December. Anticipation hangs heavy indeed. Heavier than the clouds above distended with snow.

You’ll be married in that snow, Catherine says. Bedecked in white and silver. Because that’s the way things were done here; most babes here learned to keep warm before they learned how to walk.

Lavish affair like no other. It will be ripe with nobility. Snow studded, crept with frost. How appropriate-

The great ballroom is packed with flowers. Crammed to choking. Quite literally. Stuffing the space with pollen and nectar. Outside the trees are thinned brittle with cold. Basked in snow. Icicles on the windows. Inside it’s like there’s been a second sunny waft of spring.

Catherine wanted silver and white inside here. Everything wearing ice. Staining these great baroque halls. A nice occasion that will perhaps wipe through the rusted blood smears, and gloss over her treachery for daring to rob this heaving sow of a country from a man.

Dark walls hung with garlands of scented white flowers, tender tendrils of creamy sweet peas, tulips, and roses. Strung with thick cream ribbons. The best silverware being polished by the servants to a high shine. Flowers wait in vases. The glassware winks like far off stars from the ice smooth linen tables.

You walk obediently alongside her, when she tuts and snaps her fingers at a maid and shoved a poorly polished candlestick back at her, to have it done again.

Her predator eyes on the prowl, nasty tongue in step with it; she never missed a single thing. Countess and you, by her side.

“Do it again. And get it right, or I will have you whipped.” She cuts low. It’s terrifying how calm she is with wintry rage.

Fuck the frost. Catherine’s demeanour bit more than frost could ever dare.

You’re too busy marvelling at the flowers. You’ve never seen the like. Not in the scrappy leaky roofed Manor House you call home in Rostov. This whole environment was groaning with imperial snobbery at a whole new gilded level. Bloated with pomp and circumstance.

Every touch is artful. The flowers, the candles, the feast that’s been planned. Four boozy fruit cakes with hand crafted marzipan icing. Eight types of wine. Shipped from Portugal and France. Vodka unloaded by the barrel full - naturally.

Roast pigs turned on the spits for main, with marjoram, apple and cognac sauce. Haunches of deeply red venison with stewed blackberries and rosemary. The kitchens are fired up night and day for this. The maids on a strict rotation to clean and ready the halls to a gleaming spectacle.

Your dress, Paul’s robes. One of a kind and being worked on by no less than ten dressmakers and tailors, each. It’s all truly beautiful, and mad. And you are struggling to believe - to comprehend - these efforts are being ground to the bone, to satisfy the tune of your own wedding day.

Eyes turned to the ceiling where the flowers are being strung up. Five strands meeting in the gathered centre of the ballroom. Floors being soapy scrubbed and polished to a mirror shine. Every step reflected back. Observed.

This circus court would be watching keenly in attendance. Which makes you want to gouge your eyes out with one of those very spotless fish knives, or a bouillon spoon. Whatever’s closer.

The wedding that is but two precious angst filled days away.

You’ll cease to be a Voronsky. From now on, you’re to be known as the Tsarevna. You turned your nose up when someone tried to call you princess. They quickly found better words in odes to your sharp displeasure.

Call me that again and I will cut your tongue off.

Yes, Tsarevna.

Catherine turns her attention back to you, as you wander along the tables. Drinking in the madness and the beauty.

The Countess is with you and she’s nattering guest lists of who’ve confirmed attendance, at you.

Royal protocol and what that dictates for the drowning numbers of nobles and the statute of those invited to your ceremony.

People will travel in from all over Europe for this. Brave the snow. Nobility came flocking from every corner to pick at the nuptials. Faff over the bride. Congratulate the groom. Throw toasts and hurl wishes. Gorge on the finery.

Then the Countess suddenly sucks air through her teeth seeing a certain princely name appear on her page.

“That will prove tricky-“ She remarks like a vixen, when she comes to the certain name of a royal Swede.

The one who left here jilted, several weeks back.

Catherine is not amused.

“I’m not dancing on eggshells for the ego of one swede. Let the prick come see her happiness. Be done with it.”

You smuggle a secret smile to yourself as you drape your fingertips over the petal of a dainty sweet pea in one of the table arrangements. Fragrance of it so sickly.

“He’s recently engaged, so I’m told. That flame is well and truly doused, I assure you.” You tell.

It never even began to flicker, you think.

“On your side, it may.” Catherine suggests with a pithy smirk. She saw how taken the boy was with you.

“My eyes wander to no other.” You smile at your Empress in law. “And the Countess tells me he was quite struck with that Petrovka girl.”

“Cuntstruck I said. Petrovka had her legs behind her ears since the day she joined court. And she’s sawdust for brains” The Countess took sordid detail in revealing.

Catherine sneered. “Better he found his easy prize. Left us with our Russian gem.” She walks up to you and lays her hand softly on your arm.

You’re not stupid. You know Catherine had her hand on the rudder of your early courtship for far longer than she pretended too.

And well, there’s certainly a great deal more than sawdust between your ears. There’s blade angles of femininity, blazing gunpowder wit, deep unending pools of ideas and intelligence in swathes. Cunning too, some diplomacy, and fistful upon fistfuls of hardy bravery.

“I’m very proud to see you take all this on. My dear. Many would envy you. But do not forget that the task placed ahead is a great one.” Empress reminds you.

“Must run in the family. Rising to greatness.” You answer. Petting her hand with your own. Her draconic red smile widens. Eyes wrinkle pinched at the corners in glee.

“I do enjoy you so.” She chuckles as she pats your hand like you’re one of her little perching obedient dogs. “How do you like the flowers?”

“Divine.” You remark as you wander your eyes around the huge room.

“We can have no less than. Cause people will fucking talk and bitch. They do nothing else when they come to a royal wedding. They want their flawless show of it all and they’ll pick pick pick at it like starved crows.” She comments. Inspecting a polished wine glass.

“You must recall your own.” You ask her as you dance your fingers over a place setting. Gold leaf on the China. Sapphire leaf accents.

“Short, swift. Painless. Much the same to be said for the wedding night.” She mocked. The countess cackled.

Charming.

“Do we need to give you any instruction on the matter?” The Countess winked at you. Dry chuckle as she attended her lists.

“I think I’ve gleaned enough by now. My new lady in waiting, is most vivacious in her manner of stories.” You concede. Lady Dimitrova was as unstinting to talking about sex, as she was formidable. Both were high measures indeed.

“One dare say they contain a prick of truth.” You add in a way that makes them both leer laughter.

“The veritable picture of a modest blushing bride.” The Countess remarks. Preening in delight at you.

“I heartily concur.” Interjects a voice you know all too well.

You turn your head and see none other than your beautiful intended drawing near,

Four male figures darken the golden horizon of this grand room. Paul and his usual party of scurrying sycophants and paper-pushing bureaucrats. Pillars by his side. Minister Panin, stout General Abramov, and a weedy bespectacled civil servant by the name of Berensky.

Paul wanders over to greet you with his party in tow. His arms clasped behind his back. Draped today in his glass green coat, accented with carmine-red. The clack of his boots joins in the wedding hubbub rioting noisily around you.

The red slash of a royal order dangling jewels and honour around his neck and the sea blue silk of his sash running from shoulder to hip. You like it when he’s all shiny and preening in ceremonial garb. Coiffed soldier. Sword swinging at his side all golden. He looks so pristine.

Only you grin because this was the same shiny and polished prince, who had spat in your cunt this very morning, and fucked you as if he were a beast. He went hard. It was bliss.

Handprints blazing their sting on your ass. Bruises on your thighs. Getting you dopey and all cock drunk before you had to scurry on back to your chambers.

Sustaining the false illusion that you’d spent the night there, and not sat on his cock, sobbing his name to kingdom come - as you then did.

Every slam of his hips into you was a fiery agony cracking across your skin - and oh, how it made the pleasure burn that much sweeter.

It’s so decadent a memory it’s got you wet at the mere sight of him. The glide of your chemise and dress on your raw ass cheeks has been a tender and delicious reminder all morning.

And no one needs to know that the cute silky lilac ribbon tied around your neck, dainty sweet, is actually there concealing fingertip bruises, churning to the colour of ripe mulberries.

“How well your bride looks. Does she not? Tsarevich?” The Countess beams at Paul. “All this wedding joy has cast such a lovely glow to her expression.”

“It has indeed. May I please request that you impart even more of it onto her. It becomes her quite dearly.” Paul charms.

“Radiant and pretty as ever.” He added. Overloading you with sickly sugar words. Churning honey off his silver tongue.

He’d said that this morning too. How pretty you look. Especially with his hand viced around your throat, til eyes fluttered, and you nearly passed out.

Catherine looks like she wants to roll her eyes back in her head and come back when this conversation has shifted elsewhere.

“I was warned by my mother that flattery was the infantry of negotiation.” You narrow your eyes playfully. Nothing slips you by. You’re too sharp to let it.

“As a military man, I do have much appreciation for such a diplomatic resource. Gets us out a lot of scrapes.” He explains.

“What cheek.” You surmise.

“Paul.” Catherine bites in her usual tone she reserved for him.

“I would make my goodbyes to your fiancée were I you. For soon we’re going to steal her away and lock her out your sight, until you’re walking to that altar.”

“And I believe, the men of court have planned a similar merry making event in your bachelor celebration.” She tilts her head and rakes her sherry eyes over Minister Panin. In the way she does that drags and curdles blood if anyone dares disagree.

The Minister leaps to words. “Of course. Empress.”

“Get to it. We have the dressmakers final fitting in half an hour, petal.” Catherine waves her hands at you. A warning.

She drifts away as does the Countess. Just enough edge to her sandpaper words to incite action.

Paul strides closer. Plucks a white sweet pea from out the table arrangement vases, and hands it over to you in offering.

“To match that bloom in your cheeks. Though it can seldom be rivalled by anything sweeter.” He smiles. Perhaps giddy. Totally enraptured by you, that was for sure.

Like he’s some stupid peasant boy gifting the girl he’s wooing, a simple picked flower. It’s actually quite fucking sweet of him. Simple things sometimes.

You pluck it out his hand, lift it up to inhale the sickle sweetness off its giving petals.

“You quote a sonnet at me, my love, I will have to go and be sick in the closest corner.” You warn with flirt traced on your lips.

He smiles back. It’s all doe eyed flirt. “Shall I compare thee to a summers day?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You threaten nicely.

“Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under.” He decided instead.

“Much more me, you have to concede.” You state.

You step closer and lean across to peck a sweet kiss on his cheek. Such paltry stuffy affection, but it’s all you can show at present.

His chest bounces with a sudden intake of air. That darkly lustful hunger seizing his eyes. You’re the same. One whiff of his shaving foam cologne and the gut clenching nearness, and you feel slick as ever between your legs.

“I shall see you at the altar then.” You decide when you pull back. Twiddling the flower between your fingertips. Swirling the petals.

Oh no you fucking won’t.

You imperceptibly jerk your head to the doors leading back to the royal chambers. Your eyes flick across and then back to him so suavely it’s like butter wouldn’t even dare melt on your tongue.

“You will.” He answers. Following your gesture.

“Good day. Gentleman.” You say loudly. Turning to his companions. Inclining your head to them. And then him.

“Tsarevich.” You smirk. Running the flower petals across your lips. Saying his full title like a sultry purr like some empty headed courtesan. All wide open legs and easiness.

You twirl on your heel and crossing away to another part of the room.

He watches the delicious drag of your blue skirts sweep the polished floors. All those silken vines laid on cobalt, crowded with plump pink roses on your bodice. The teasing slip of your perfume leaving notes of peaches and orchid musk in your wake. The way your coiled hair lays down the back of your neck. Bounces when you glide away.

“Darya.” You call out to your maid.

She stands to attention with a nodded bob of her linen clothed head. Hands folded serenely behind her back. Walnut eyes whip to you.

“Perhaps some tea in my rooms before the dressmaker comes.” You request.

“Yes my Lady.” And she scurries away to do your bidding. You walk across the room and busy yourself talking to another group of maidens about the flowers.

Paul turns and drifts back to the men accompanying him. Minister Panin says how well you look with the upcoming joy of the nuptials. You sparkle with it. Paul agrees.

They walk along and discuss more treaties and the current state of the affairs in Kyrol.

You watch from the corners of your eyes as him and his entourage leave the room. You smirk.

Leaving it a few moments as you gaze at said buckets of flowers before you decide to depart the room also. Darya returns from laying the tray of tea in your chambers.

“Please inform the Empress I will be on time for the dressmaker.” You beam as you sway to the doors.

She steps to scamper after you. You call back without turning around.

“Unaccompanied, Darya. Go and have some cake or something.” Waft of your hand. You instruct her. Knowing full well you just left her floundering in what to do next.

She notices there’s definitely a sway in your step as you stride away, and out along the echoing gilded halls. She goes and finds something else to do. Keep busy.

You step one foot through the doors leading to the royal chambers. And suddenly arms are snatching you around the waist.

Tugged out the doorway and off path into the snug concealed by the edge of the doors.

“Oh you fucker-“ Is the gasped outburst he’s torn from you in surprise. You told him to go wait for you. You didn’t know he was going to pounce.

“Such an elegant mouth.” He croons. Before kissing you like he’s not taken any single ounce of air since he saw you last.

He walks you back in quick step, shoves your hips painfully up against a table. Clatters the candlesticks stood on it. Hands on your bodice. Smoothing your silk back. Plump lips sweet and hot, seeking yours.

Smothered to him in a hungry slamming kiss. Messy sloppy. When you break away with a moan and the parting sound of wet meeting lips.

“I have a dagger in my garter, careful sneaking up on me, or else I’ll use it.” You threaten with a silky purr.

He paws your ass over your blue skirts crudely to make you squeak.

“I am more than aware of your dangerous inclinations. Should you like to plunge it into my back or my heart, beloved?“ He offers. Eyeing up your lush mouth again. The long doe flick of those carob colour lashes. Fuck, he’s pretty.

You smirk, sharp like rose thorns, all angles and gleaming. You’re so terrifyingly beautiful. So Russian in that regard. You like when others think you dangerous - it means they have grasped the right impression of you.

“Throat. Dear heart. I always, always, go for the throat.” You whisper all flirtily as you lean in and kiss the corner of his pouting mouth.

He finds your mouth again with his. It didn’t take more than a nudge and he’s on you. You whine into his mouth. You wrap your hand around his back. The table scrapes against the floor with a loud scuff. His hips rut to yours.

“Any chance we’ll be caught? What of your guards?” You ask. Desperately gulping for air as he kisses your neck and makes your toes curl in your beautiful shoes.

“Dismissed.” He sighs into a kiss under your ear.

“So you have a few moments?” You seek.

“Yes. Why?” He grunts.

“Because you’re going to spend them inside me.” You fist the front of his jacket and medals bite your palm. You snag your lower lip between your teeth in a positively filthy grin.

You yank him, stumble him in his shiny boots, to an even more discreet corner. Hidden by large waterfalls of draperies. Shadows drawn in baroque arches from the side of a great branching candelabra.

You claw your your skirts into gathered silk fistfuls. Bunched in your hands. Face the grazing threads of the tapestry clad wall. Arch your back. Jut your hips. Pussy just throbbing for the bliss of his touch.

He pasted his body to you, enclosed, and his hand snuck under your skirts. Lips perched at the shell of your ear. He hums all pleased when he finds you sticky wet. Silky and slipping over his fingers. Plump lips grazed between his fingertips.

“Are you still sore from our session last night?” He cooed all low. Cupping you crudely, and enjoying the way you tipped your head back. Pushing into his hand for more.

Your hair catching in his lips. He kisses your neck so sweetly. It belies the way he’s grabbing at your cunt like you’re some common street wench he’d pay pennies for.

That little split of pain - you’re such a drooling whore for it and he certainly knows how to give it. Knows when to knock his hips rougher and truly start to rearrange your guts. Knows when his words need to come out nastier, when he needs to grab and spank, and when to still his hand.

Paul rips at the falls of his own breeches. Messed up all those neat gold buttons. Theres your good toy soldier.

There’s the wonderful sting where he palms your ass as he crushes right up to you. His cock finding purchase to slide into your cunt with one breaching snap of his hips. You whine. He sighs. Your fingernails dig into the threaded wall. Snag on the fabric.

God, your pussy is gorgeous. Like wet velvet or warm satin. Or silky creamy peaches and butter sunshine. All good glorious things when he pushes deep into you.

“Fuck, my love, you’re incredible. You feel incredible. Holy god.”

“Don’t let the Patriarch hear you. He’ll have you in that chapel on your knees til you’re black and blue.” You sigh smartly.

Your hand reaches between you to rub slow pressing circles on your swelling clit. It makes his thrusts come harder because you’re throbbing tighter, fist tight, around the girthy drive of him.

“I can’t wait two days. Can’t fucking wait that long to have you again.” He babbles. Cuntstruck by you already.

You huff a laugh. “Mmm. Give me that over a dry sonnet any day.” You plead.

“I can’t go long without you. I walk through my day listening to treatises and proclamations. Yet all I can concentrate on is how you taste, and kiss, and, ugh fuck, how I just want to pin you to the bed with your ankles behind your ears...” He growls with a particularly knocking thrust that makes stars skip on your skin and your belly.

His praise and need cracked a heat over your throbbing hard nipples. Nestled in your stays, swaying and chafing when he fucks.

He tore a shocked gasp right out your mouth when he starts even harder punching thrusts and then bites your neck. Hard.

“More marks a ribbon can’t hide, hmm?” You remark archly. Turning your head to the side. Coaxing out that spit of spoilt fire you adore.

He pulls back and sees the purple-red of blood rushing into the crescents of his teeth marks, welted deep in your skin.

“They’ll look beautiful on our wedding day.” He huffs against your ear.

“Fucker-“ you grin and tip your head back and a loud, a too loud, moan, slid out your throat before you could stop it. Ran away from you.

It haunts the room. Haunts you. Echoing. Humiliating you with mocking. He makes you produce noises like an unbidden harlot.

Paul slams a hand over your mouth. Wet lips kissing your ear as he speaks. “Keep rubbing your cunt. I may not have the time I want to fuck you endlessly. But you will cum over my cock and be thankful for it. Do you hear me?”

Oh you could kiss him.

You nod like a demon is gripping your glass bones and you’ll shatter with it soon.

He felt how those words made you clutch down on him. Pussy choking his cock. Like you never wanted to let him leave.

Swallow him up and keep going til you have all of him. Sinking. Despair. A man whose love struck and who cannot ignore the ocean even as it’s drowning him alive. You are too knotted in everything. Tangled and twisted up inside him with that vital string.

He takes you fast and hard and he doesn’t let up for even a damn second. Perfect boy, he knows exactly what you needed.

Your little gasping cries. His grunts. The smack of hips and skin. The clutch of his palm on your handful hip. The dainty clack of your shoes on the floors. Unable to think about anything but chasing that fiery gut punch of pleasure.

“You like it when I give you orders…hmm” He huffs out suddenly. A statement as opposed to a question. Spoilt mouth at your jawbone. He takes his hand from your mouth to require an answer.

“Only sometimes.” You reply. Mouth slipping into an oval shape. Browns drawn. Searing liquid heat slaps and sloshes low in your gut. Spilling from you and dripping along his cock.

He pierced you so deep it’s like he’s prodding at the back of your throat. Prick of tears is looming in your eyes from this feral fuck.

“You love it when I say nasty filth as I fuck you deep? About how I want to to tie your hands to my bedposts, like a tamed wild thing, keep you edged for hours til you beg to finally cum. To rut you like I loathe you.”

As he whispers to you, his hand drifts and joins yours over your clit. He urges your hand out the way and gives your soaking pussy an open handed tap, that leaves you reeling. Clit stinging.

Your animalistic moan eats into his palm all slippery. Your eyes flutter in your head.

“Or is it you prefer my sweetness? How I would drag you to the edge of the bed, and feast on your cunt for days? Lick you so slow and tender, digging my tongue in you, call you by loving names, hold your thighs open and eat, until you flood my mouth.”

Another moan of yours sinks into his hand. It’s over your mouth once more. It sounds suspiciously like the warbled shape of his name. He tempers you with another little slap that makes you lurch.

He hums against your neck as pleasure begins to bend, and dip, and take him too. Drawing the same opium daze out of him. The ludicrously loud wet squelch of your cunt is signifying your climax is bearing down fast, also.

He buries his mouth in your shoulder as his strokes get harder and faster. Crumpling your body into the wall before you both. Strands of thread plucking under your nails. White knuckles. Drooling in his hand.

He’s cursing, spewing out filthy whispers and groans, because you get so crushing tight when you’re about to cum. Doesn’t relinquish his hand clamped on your mouth. Nor your clit. He’s pinching it and rolling under fingertips and you’re going mindless. Brain wiping out.

“Yes my love. That’s it. That’s it- fuck.” He pants as he feels you spasm and snap down on him.

Scream bitten in his palm. Spurt of your release slicking his cock, rolling down the tight sac of his balls too. He pounds even harder to chase his own release, and tears bite the corner of your eyes. Cock piercing somewhere so deep inside you it’s fiery bliss. Punching a spot that just makes your whole gut melt.

He sinks deep and thrusts hard. Fucking the hard beast of his orgasm so far inside you. You’re held up, back pasted to his chest as you’re licked entirely in sweat and sagging to the wall with a blissed out sigh. Muggy wet across his palm. Cries melt into his skin.

Your nails bite into his coated arm. The other snagging the tapestry. He takes his hand away and his lips retrace your ear. Indulging himself in the last few spasms of your climax as it fizzes away. Slowly dripping the evidence of the encounter down the insides of your thighs, and his.

“Fuck me-“ You rasp out. Voice still laced with pleasure. Airy and dancing on a laugh too. An unbelievable one. He loves it when you go all gooey and soft. It’s so unlike your usual hard as steel state.

“There’s not going to be a room in this palace we’re going to leave unsullied is there?” He asks you.

“I highly doubt it.” You preen. Lower lip caught between your teeth as he finished petting gentle circles around your clit. Cupping your whole peachy shape in his hand. The short fuzz of your curls nestling against the arc of his palm.

“Now I really feel like I should be in church. On my knees. Praying our shared sins away to the Patriarch.” He said. Ghosting his plump lips down your ear.

“You’ll need to be on your knees for eternity for marrying the likes of me.”

“I don’t plan on atoning for anything regarding you. Tsarevna.” He insists as he scoops you in.

Kisses you once before he pulls back. You fight to right your clothes. Feeling him slip further and further down your legs. You fix your skirts. He rights his breeches. And hastily does up all those buttons.

“Enjoy your stag merrymaking.” You offer with a sly grin. “Try not to get carried away with your rutting in those remaining hours of singledom.” You tease, with flirt skated on your voice.

You thumb the corner of his mouth where he’s all spit wet. Looking at you like you’re every sort of devilish temptation he’s been warned to resist.

“Although if you share this gorgeous cock with any of those painted whores. I will have to punish you.” You sharpen your already pointed eyes at him.

“I think my sore head tomorrow will be punishment enough.” He skims his hands over your back. Settling in the slope of you there.

“Good boy.” You wrinkle his coat where you grab it in a fist and drag him in for a kiss. Devouring and sloppy kiss that makes sparks shoot to your knees and throb your veins.

When you’re done with him you rudely pull away and he stumbles. Kiss drunk. It makes you grin.

You slink away. A long straight walk along the corridor, aiming in the direction of your rooms. Best you snap to action before his mother sends someone to root you out.

He watches every step as you leave him aching, heart pounding war drums in his chest for more, blood fired. He wants you again as he admires the sway of your hips that was definitely deliberate.

“I do so enjoy the length of these hallways.” He calls in flirt after you.

You cross your hands behind your back and turn over your shoulder and smoulder at him.

“Careful. Tsarevich. I’m a taken woman.” You purr at him. Laughing as you glide away. Biting your lip.

“So I’ve heard.” He calls at your retreat.

~

He’s so drunk. He’s so beyond drunk he doesn’t think he’s ever felt a sensation like this before. Such a loss of faculties and control.

His head is swimming. A whirling drag that doesn’t keep up where he moves. When he turns his eyes it’s all blurred distortion.

Gorky kept pressing drinks to his hands. Abramov made rousing toast after toast which ended in all the men breaking into jeers, and slamming their emptied vodka glasses on the floor to the tune of his name.

The room is spinning endlessly. There’s bawdy chorus singing of a lewd folk song. The painted whores and their shrill laughter raising to brush the gold ceiling. He watched Count Orlov across the room perch one on his knee. Her dress was petal pink. Undone at the low bodice. Lips cherry red. He stuffed his hand up her skirts as she nibbled on his ear.

They kept smirking at him all night. The ladies. Some of them draped themselves across his lap. He shuffled away and the men roared laughter.

“Saving yourself for that firecracker of a Voronsky you’ve won?” Lord Petrova asks, slurring.

Paul won’t say that actually, yes, it’s something along those lines. He drinks til there’s nothing left in his glass.

“Enjoy the warm cunt of that plump Italian whore before you’re shackled to that fiesty bitch.” He barks out. Paul eyes him tiredly.

“Fetch me another drink, why don’t you.” Paul requested. Shoving his glass at the foul mouthed lord.

“That thing between your Tsarevna’s legs probably bites.” The man claps his shoulder and cackles as he walks away. Stopping to place an open handed slap on the ass of a whore stood drinking with his fellow nobles.

Paul glares. He gets this jagged feeling of protectiveness in his gut. Wants to stroppily tell him to fuck off and that your cunt is heaven and a fat oaf like him could never be so lucky.

Some are dancing to the sharp chirp of music. The air sways with songs. All of the men are as gone on drink as he is. It’s a riot of Russian revelry.

Lord Dymov stumbled up, smirked and clasped Paul’s very unsteady hand as he poured a great shaking glug of vodka into it. Spilled half over his lap and hand.

He tips it down his neck. Warmth fizzes low in his belly. His limbs feel too small and slick and he’s aching for sleep.

And you- he does so ache after thoughts of you. He’s laying back staring at the swirled gilding on the ceiling. How it fractures into patterns; into jewels and precious swirling white and gold. Like gem studded crowns and butter yellow autumn leaves twirling off the trees.

He doesn’t realise he’s speaking, a stream of words just dribbling out his mouth of how lucky he feels, how he’s going to be married. He’s going to have a wife. He’s going to have make heirs and spares, and all of this terrifying icy Russia will be writ into his future. Just like his father before him.

Gorky comes and hauls him up. “Come on my friend. I’d say you need your bed.”

“I need my wife.” Paul slurred with a thick and fat feeling tongue.

“She’s not your wife yet.” Gorky told him. Paul slurred something, snuffled, into his shoulder Gorky didn’t catch it.

He tries to stand. It’s like a newborn deer - knock kneed and incredibly ungainly - in his nice shiny soled boots over glass shards that crunch and crack under his weight. The floor is littered with broken glass from all the toasts.

It’s early by their standards. The party will continue on without its Prince. Slings an arm around his shoulder and dips to lever him off the chaise he’s sprawled on. Wig askew. Coat all rumpled. Vodka stained hands and mouth. They trip and stagger out the hall and along to the Tsarevich’s rooms.

Gorky hauls him through the doors and clumsily drops him on the bed. Discards the wig. Yanks off his boots. Off with the coat too. Leaves him sprawled on the mattress in his shirt and breeches.

“Sweet dreams, dear groom.” He sing-songs as he slipped out the pocket doors. Paul thinks he raised his hand to wave. He can’t be sure. His arms won’t follow his brains directions anymore. There’s fluffy-stuffy cotton where his limbs once were.

He sinks into the bed. The warm, lushness of his luxury bed. Stares at the heavy drape of canopy. It’s crushing sapphire blue weighing down his vision. Drowning him like the sea would. A sea of vodka. That sounded nice. That sounded like his salty, entirely alcohol laced bloodstream at the moment.

A slow knock rams against the inside of his very muzzy head.

He tells the door to go away.

“I don’t want to be disturbed.” Comes melting out his mouth off his tongue with the slowness of hot sticky honey.

The door opens anyway. It closes. He struggled to sit up on his elbows. Slanting vision tipping all over the place shows him the stretch of the door.

And you-

Stood there in a swathing lilac dressing gown. Hair loose. Silk ribbon tied around your neck. You’re stood there looking like some sainted angel whose walked right out a stained glass window in the church.

Botticelli’s Venus climbing out her shell and the waves. Skin stroked in candlelight like a glowing Raphael. La fornarina. La velata.

Paul finds his woolly tongue. “Tsarevna.” He nods his head. Belly erupting into a tangled hot jungle of his feelings for you. The drink seems to have amplified their intensity. His heart could crawl up these very walls it crashes so loud like waves in the cage of his chest.

You look at him with a mild expression of amusement. But there’s warmth there, too. A stunning amount.

“I take it your evening was pleasant?” You ask.

He nods. Taking in the state of your gown.

“Shouldn’t you have….more on?” He asks disguising a drunken hiccup in the middle of his sentence. His voice dips with it.

When he thinks about you walking through the palace for the guards to see you like that, he wants to go and have their eyes put out with a poker.

You smirk. He watches it curl up one side of your mouth. He thinks he hears harps.

“I was just thinking about all that bachelor fun you’d be having tonight.” You say as you reach for the sides of your gown. And slowly open them. Dropping your one item of clothing to the floor.

Paul’s eyes don’t know where to rest on your entirely naked body that you’re offering up to him.

Your nipples are hard. He watches the quake of your plump thighs where you move. The c-bout of your hip to waist.

You’re walking, padding slow, big cat slow, towards the end of the bed. Predator hunger glimmers sharp in your eyes.

“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t spend all night writhing under a painted whore. When you could spend all night under me instead.” You beam brightly.

“Did I make you envious?” He asks in sheer alarm in those big brown eyes. Like he’s looking for the matching puzzle pieces.

You narrow your eyes. Tilt your head. “Maybe a little. I told you. I’m a bitch and I don’t care for sharing my husband-to-be.”

“I didn’t go near them.” He insists boldly.

“Aren’t you sweet.” You coo.

Paul’s certain his tongue has shrivelled to dust. It’s taken his brain with it. And every drop of blood in his body rushed, beating to somewhere entirely south of his head.

You stand right between his legs. Kneeling yourself onto the floor. Soft antique rug catching your knees. Trailing fingers up his thighs.

You rip open his breeches. He squirms. His lungs cease to function. It’s like he’s breathing in claggy sand.

“May I suck your cock, my darling?” You ask with a genuine panthers grin.

He actually shivers when you ruck the clothing down his hips. Freeing that gorgeous cock laying flushed with blood up against his thigh. Head already leaking for you - shiny even in the dozy gold low light.

His mouth falls open when you suck him deep into your mouth. You twirl your tongue around around the swollen pink tip like the taste of him is your favourite thing in the world. It is. You moan at the heat of him. At that taste.

You suck him deep. An obscene gargle where he jams into your mouth. You’re flushed with pride when he bucks off the bed. He cant control himself. He’s humming and squirming from that strong hungry suction.

You pull off him. Lap the head with kitten licks. Then swallow him again. Tears prick your eyes when you relax enough to nudge him right down.

You flick your eyes up at him through your lashes. Lips glossy red. Eyes vibrant and watering with each slide and glug that comes so lewdly out your mouth. Your nose brushing against the short sweat-damp curls of his groin.

He’s jammed his fingers into your pretty hair. He can’t contain himself. He’s a mess.

Laying back on this bed and just sloppily fucking his hips up into your face. Calling for god in every way he knows how. Praying and stumbling, cursing.

“Oh my love. Your mouth, you’re so- better than any whore- even better cause you’re all mine. Christ.”

You pull back off him with a pop before he can spill into you. He follows your pull back with a thrust of his hips. Looking at you with shining puppy puddles for eyes.

You grip him by the base and lick a hot stripe right up him. Collecting one last taste.

You climb onto him and straddle his waist. Run your nails right up his chest. Digging in just a little - for fun.

“I did think you might want to fuck a Voronsky. One last time.” You purr. Sitting on his thighs. Your eyes gleam, it looks wicked. Snake eyes sharp. Sly smile.

He’s definitely fucked.

~

My taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @greenishghostey @callmeloverr

[evanspresso]

Hey can I request sleepy evan you write cozy so good

the puppy named teddy

The morning hustle and bustle from down below pours through the cracked window causing Evan to stir in his sleep. He groans lowly, still not used to city morning’s- regretting keeping the bedroom window open from last night.

Honks, and shouting from people on the streets seep through the frame making Evan hide his head under his fluffy pillow.

With no luck, he sighs in annoyance trying to fall back asleep. His morning grouchiness getting the better of him as he runs his hand towards y/n’s side. 

Evan’s eyes snap open as he lifts his head slowly, revealing the empty space beside him causing him to pout tiredly. 

Where could his y/n be at seven in the morning? 

He yawns loudly, rolling onto his back before stretching his long limbs as his eyes water from tiredness. He reaches for his phone, checking to see if he had gotten any calls or texts from y/n, but there’s nothing. 

Not even a note on the end table. Maybe she’s in the apartment?

Evan sits up slowly and peers over at the window, the morning sunlight peers through the sheer white curtains making him smile in relief knowing that yesterdays forecast was wrong. 

A sunny Sunday, no work, no errands to run, just time to spend with y/n and he couldn’t be more excited. Even though he’s a little bummed she’s not in bed. 

Evan climbs out of the bed and heads towards the living room where he’s sure that y/n would be. 

Of course he’s right, his head flops to the side as she glances around the apartment to see her back facing him as she sits on the couch. 

“There you are.” he says groggily. 

“Heyyy!” y/n sings happily, her back still faces her boyfriend as he makes his way into the kitchen to make a fresh batch of coffee. 

“Why are you up so early?” he wonders as he clanks around, filling up the coffee machine. “You know, some people like to sleep in on the weekends.” he chuckles.

Y/n chuckles, shaking her head as she bites her bottom lip, knowing that she held a small surprise in her hands and Evan had no idea. She glances over at him, watching as he pours molten hot coffee into his mug and turns on his socked heels as he makes his way towards her.

Evan gives her a sheepish smile, his hair still messy and eyes still tired as he takes a sip from his coffee and heads towards the living room.

“I had to get up early for something important. You could even say life changing…” y/n says.

“Huh?” Evan chuckles. 

“Don’t be mad!” y/n playfully pleads as Evan approaches the couch giving his girlfriend a funny yet confused glance before he looks down to see what she’s cradling against her chest.

“What is that?!” he gasps.

Evan’s eyes scan down to a tiny puppy, still asleep in y/n’s arms as she shushes him. Evan watches her lips form into a smile as her eyes gleam in happiness as she looks down at what occupies her personal bubble.

He watches as the puppy snores against y/n’s chest and she can’t help but giggle slightly, awing at the bundle in her arms.

“A new addition to our little family.” she muses. 

“Y/n…” Evan says, setting down his mug onto the coffee table before plopping down onto the couch, earning a scold from y/n.

“Be careful! you’ll wake him!”

“Him?” Evan asks tiredly.

“Mhm…” her eyes scan her boyfriends face as he started at her and the puppy. “We got a puppy!” she squeals, trying to keep her voice low as she squirms against the couch.

“You are insane, how did you get a puppy?” he demands to know.

“Well if you must know,” y/n shrugs as she looks at Evan with happiness in her eyes while he shakes his head in disbelief, “I woke up before my alarm and decided to go get some coffee and when I was on my way I passed by this women selling all of these puppies on the street, and here I am. With this little guy.” she says proudly. “Obviously, I didn’t get the coffee, but I think Teddy is better.”

“Teddy?” Evan asks as he bends towards y/n to look at the sleeping puppy.

She smiles, nudging his shoulder with hers as she coos at the little bundle in her arms before sliding the dog into Evan’s muscular arms making his face scrunch up as he looks at the yawning puppy.

“You like the name?” she wants to know.

“It’s adorable… but y/n are you sure? is a dog right for us?” 

Y/n scoffs as she rubs her ringers against the puppies curly fur, “First off, he is not an it. Second, of course! he's a dog not a baby!” she laughs.

“Cmonnn don’t be so serious all the time, baby.” she pouts. 

Evan sighs, his eyes rolling towards hers as she leans towards him, placing her soft lips against his cheek making him smile. “You really want this, huh.” Evan finally says as he looks at his girl.

“Yes. Especially with you.” 

Evan nods before looking down at the puppy. his hand caressing the dog as y/n leans against his side, her chin resting on his shoulder as they peer down.

“Well… Teddy, get ready for lots of treats and love from your mommy.” He chuckles making y/n hum.

“And walks, and cuddles, and toys, and- oh!!! endless amounts of puppuccino’s!!” Y/n adds making them both laugh. 

-

reposts, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated xx

[cactusnymph]

Will you write more Astarion/Karlach/Wyll for the Touches Ask Game? What about #42 for hand-holding ("dragging the other with them, holding their hand")?

"I'm going to fucking melt", Karlach groans, desperately trying to fan herself with one of Astarion's books but the relief it brings is minimal. Gods, she needs some ice cold ale or maybe she needs Astarion to lie on top of her like a living cooling pad.

She doubts that he would indulge her.

"One might think that you'd be less affected by heat than the rest of us", Wyll muses. His beautiful dark skin is gleaming with sweat and Karlach tries very hard not to let her mind wander too much because. That is not on the table at the moment.

"I know right? Fuck Zariel for giving me this stupid engine and it doesn't even make me immune to fucking heat", she says and protests when Astarion pulls the book out of her hand.

"That's expensive, darling", he says, entirely unimpressed by her suffering.

"I'm priceless", she sniffs and Wyll laughs while Astarion raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow at her. There is a twitch in the corner of his mouth though that suggests that he's almost smiling. Karlach loves following the laughter lines on his face when he thinks she's not looking. Or well. Even when he knows she's looking, really.

"Maybe we should just go and take a swim", Wyll suggests and Karlach wants to kiss him.

"Holy fuck, you're a genius", she breathes and goes to hug him. Fuck, they're both so sweaty.

"Oh good. Does that mean I'll get some reading time now?", Astarion asks but Karlach will hear nothing of it.

"No, you're coming with", she proclaims and Astarion blinks at her.

"Uh—", he starts but Karlach is already on the move, grabbing his slender hand with hers and then Wyll with her other hand as she pulls the both of them towards the lake near their camp. How in the nine hells didn't she think of this sooner?

"Skinny dipping", she shouts full of joy and excitement, entirely ignoring Astarion's complains and Wyll's gentle protests about getting naked. It's not like she'll force anyone to undress but fuck, she is going to be so fucking naked. The sun can suck her dick.

When they reach the lake Karlach lets go of her boys' hands and rips off her pants first, then her bra and finally her underwear before turning around to face Wyll and Astarion. Wyll's eyes are very wide and fixed on her face with a look that makes Karlach chuckle.

Fuck, he's so endearing when he's trying to be a perfect gentleman.

Astarion meanwhile has no qualms about looking at her but he still looks as if he's ready to murder her.

"Come on, it'll be fun!", she promises.

"It most certainly will not be", Astarion sniffs. "I'm a vampire, in case you forgot. I can't swim."

Karlach blinks and turns her head to look up at the sun high at the sky before lowering her gaze again only to catch Wyll staring at her tits which makes her feel a rush of delight and excitement. She points up at the scorching summer sun in the sky.

"You sure that swimming is off the table, Fangs? It's pretty sunny and you're totally fine", she says. Astarion huffs.

"Maybe I don't want to tempt fate too much", he says with a dismissive gesture but his eyes wander over Karlach's body as if her being naked is more tempting to him than he lets on.

"Pretty please?", she says and does her best of a puppy eye expression. Maybe this doesn't work as well while she has her tits and dick out, but Wyll at least seems to want to indulge. Karlach tries very hard not to stare when his muscular torso is exposed, revealing the two horizontal scars on his chest and that pretty trail of hair leading into his pants that she keeps staring at while he's wearing his camp clothes.

She can be normal. She can be totally chill about this. And she has to jump into the cold water immediately before her dick gets too excited.

"Last one in the water loses!", she shouts and turns around to run into the water before taking a dive headfirst. Cool silence meets her underneath the surface and man. Yet another awesome thing on this wonderful world. In Avernus she would never have been able to take a swim in a cool lake on a summer day.

When she breaks through the surface she throws her head back and beams, looking to see if Wyll has already followed her. And indeed, his head is floating close by, a soft smile on his face while he watches her.

"That was a pretty great idea", he says and looks pleased with himself. Karlach laughs and splashes him with water before turning her head to look for Astarion who is still standing on the shore of the lake, looking down at his nails as if nothing concerns him.

Patience, Karlach. Patience.

Fuck, she's so bad at patience.

To distract herself from the desperate need to throw Astarion over her shoulder and drag him into the lake she reaches for Wyll, discovering that he is indeed entirely naked.

More patience. Alright. No big deal.

At least she can kiss him so she does, pulling Wyll close while her toes dig into the soft sand on the bottom of the lake. Wyll sighs against her lips and Karlach wishes someone would give her a gold star for not getting a boner right now. She hugs him tight, feeling his naked legs wrap around her waist.

Yup. She can be normal. She can be totally not horny about this.

"Well now you're just both being terribly rude", Astarion complains and Karlach pulls back to look at him over Wyll's shoulder.

"Come in, Fangs", she urges. Astarion huffs.

"I value my life and have no interest in wasting it on a glorified bath that doesn't even have bubbles in it", Astarion says but Karlach is pretty good at reading him by now and she gets that he's scared.

"Be right back", she says to Wyll and kisses him again before detaching from him and walking back onto the shore and towards Astarion who eyes her suspiciously. He doesn't protest when Karlach pulls his white shirt over his head and he allows her to open his pants. She revels in the flush on his cheeks and his stubborn crossing of arms in front of his naked, white chest.

He's much more slender than Wyll and way less hairy and gods, so, so fucking pale in the bright sunlight. Karlach finds him so beautiful she would love nothing more than to fuck him right here by the lake.

But.

Not now.

Now she takes his hand and pulls him towards the water slowly, watches as he stares down at his feet as they touch the surface for the first time. His breath hitches and he blinks before taking another step. He's up to his ankles now.

"See?", she says softly and smiles at him. "I got you."

Astarion glares at her but there's no heat behind it. Wyll joins them and takes his other hand.

"If you let me drown I'll come back to haunt you forever", Astarion warns as he wades in deeper while holding onto both of their hands like a lifeline.

"You're too hot to let you drown", Karlach jokes to give him an opportunity to deflect his fear with flirting and snark like he usually does.

"So true, darling. I'd be a waste of a perfectly handsome vampire", Astarion answers. When he's up to his waist he stops, looking out over the surface as if he's deep in thought and overwhelmed by all the things he can do now that the tadpole has freed him from his former master. Karlach can relate.

"You are so brave", Wyll says softly and presses a kiss to Astarion's temple for which he's immediately splashed with water again. Karlach laughs and allows herself to float on the cool water surface, never letting go of Astarion's hand.

feel free to send me more of these <3

[j4y-lvr]

❝ANGEL GUISE❞ - II … park jongseong

SYNOPSIS. when all seemed to go in vain, he showed up to your avail, the one and only angel in disguise. ACT I

PAIRING. soulmate!jay x fem!reader

GENRE. soulmate au, strangers2lover, angst to fluff.

WARNINGS. mentions and an attempt to su!c!de, quite a lot of crying.

WORD COUNT. 1139

TAGLIST. @in--outer-space @stinkoscope @dimplewonie @jayswannabebae

— ACT II.

Was it a dream? Had you deluded yourself into believing a man had tried to save your life when you were at your worst under the rain as the horn of a truck blared.

Either way, his coat, and pedant served enough evidence to keep you from self-diagnosing yourself as mentally insane.

He left you stranded and alone on the side of the road, merely saving your life with no liable reason for you to believe so. He'd just waltzed in like that and gained such importance in your life though you'd solely seen, no, barely perceived him with your eyes brushing over his features that remained concealed under the lights with his cap tugged down.

He left with you wanting, longing, and craving, for his words, his embrace, and the small yet soft smile he carried with such meaning. You remember everything about him, the masculine scent with the fresh smell of rainwater infiltrating your nostrils as you sobbed pearls.

He had revived your will to strive in this ditch of a world with the pretense that he would manifest on May 18th. To finally unveil the mysterious aura that trudged with the thought of him. An angel appeared out of nowhere and kept you alive. 

The last two years had progressed painstakingly slowly. The pace of every detail could be inscribed on a hand-drawn flipbook. You'd be a fool to think the man would show, yet you carried on, though it sounded ludicrous.

And it got you so far. You walked down the metal rail of steps, your clean footwear clacking against them with every move you took to descend. Your orbs trailed down the spiral rail and onto your left hand, burning holes into the mark engraved on your skin.

"do you like it?" boomed a voice from beneath the elevation, a grin lifting on your front as you responded affirmatively, causing the woman to clap in joy as she handed you the keys. You gripped the metallic piece, bidding goodbye and walking out of the vicinity with the keys jingling in your hand.

You had everything you could yearn for; baffling success with your business and made enough to buy a much better house than your mere broken-down shelter. You repeat your thoughts, analyzing and breaking down your inner voice.

You had everything, yet why weren't you happy? The feeling of pure bliss, visuals of the bright sun beaming down at you, replicating your sunny smile, the fuzzy sentiment and laughter were missing. You shut everyone out, kept to yourself, and lived just waiting and waiting.

You had lost your sense of time, solely living every other second like it was insignificant to you, meaningless almost. It was worthless, one would say.

A few more hours would tell if you lost your motive to live life or whether he proved himself truthful when he gave away the date: May 18th, and 7 hours till the day that held importance.

—

Endless chatter continued, and your head throbbed, the atmosphere was suffocating, and you'd hate to spend it here in this room full of fake happiness and joy. The pedant dangled around your neck, gleaming under the fancy lights that hung above as you mused your way through the bustling crowd with booming music overhead, grinning at those who acknowledged you.

You push the door and exit, huffing a breath and grip the pendant. The night was cold and reminiscent almost, your mind wandering to the anonymous man, and you wondered when he'd show up that day. You walk past the stripped white and black as the light shades red with little to no vehicles adorning the empty roads.

Oh, what you'd give to have his jacket draped around you.

Your eyes settle upon a man positioned in the center of the road, fist clenched as he seemingly struggled and staggered to breathe as if he were nervous. Your judgment, however, wasn't as quick as the man who saved you, watching the truck inch toward the person.

Maybe he heard your thought.

You hadn't arrived in time.

You jumped in front, attempting to block him, but he had other plans, hugging you from the back to protect you. That embrace was familiar, much like the one years ago. The truck fateful dashed into the two of you, rendering you both injured and on the verge of unconsciousness. You mumble in pain, and your eyelid peers at your hand, the mark gleaming red.

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears as tears clouded your vision, panning your head to him slowly, and there he has lain, behind you and unconscious, the mark on his neck faded red. It was him. He was your soulmate. Your cough hitches in your throat, tears escaping from the immense pain. He saved you again.

The thought that you were born unlucky flashed through your mind as you succumbed to the pain.

Click. The sound of videotape revving clouded your mind.

You gasp heavily and heave, eyes frantic, heart erratic. You were back at the building you'd left minutes ago. Time wasn't sufficient for you to ponder over how you got here. You took off sprinting, not bothering to say sorry to those you dashed.

In a frenzy, the door slammed open as you went running to the road you'd seen him. You'd save him this time. The familiar chills cover your skin as you see him on the sidewalk, waiting and thinking long and hard. You sigh in relief and dash your way to him, wasting no time wrapping him into a hug.

"don't go," you express, clutching onto him tight, your heart fervent. His stiff stance loosened, and his arms circled you as he brought your head to his chest, turning his head to your forehead and planting a small kiss. You pull away, your hands still holding onto him as you take in his appearance, smiling.

Trailing from his face to his neck, your hand reaches for a heart-shaped mark, letting the tip of your thumb run over it fondly. You lift your left hand and show your identical one with a grin. He reaches for your hand and kisses the surface of your hand where the mark lies glowing a deep red. The pure bliss and rays of sunlight you had mentioned with the sentiment of happiness had to be what you were experiencing.

A genuine smile.

You lean closer to him and kiss the mark on his neck as it continues to glow, a laugh escaping your lips in contentment. He mirrored your joy as he reached for your jaw, pressing his hand against it as he inclined you near and slotted his lips on yours like a missing puzzle piece.

"thank you for saving me, for keeping your promise, and for your existence."

[pinkpersonsblog]

Title: You Shouldn’t Have

Characters: Ram, Bheem

Summary: It's Bheem's birthday and Ram has a special gift for him. But can he give it to him or will he chicken out? Cute friendship fic.

Words: 2,324

When Ram was a teenager, he’d so cherished the people in his life that he’d jot down in his journal, in vivid detail, every joke laughed at, every complimented bestowed upon him, every minute occurrence. Entire conversations were recorded, word for word. Things others took for granted, didn’t think twice about, were what he looked forward to revisiting on a regular basis. These were memories he latched onto, as if hugging them would make them turn into warm, inviting bodies.

Make them turn into friends.

Ram sat on his bed, holding his journal in his hands, his thumb grazing over its worn edges. A relic from the past had been unearthed today, as he sat there after having considered writing in it for the first time in so long. It was Bheem’s birthday, a day he’d been looking forward to for the past month, just so he could spend it with him. Well, that, and to also hand him the gifts he’d bought for him. He’d considered simply writing about how he was looking forward to giving his friend his gifts and sharing a cup of hot chai with him. But just when he put pen to paper, he’d stopped, hand frozen in place. Something about it didn’t feel right, as though he were about to drop a grape into a bag of raisins.

Ram set the journal aside and checked his watch. It was about time for him to meet Bheem. He picked up the gifts he’d gotten him and felt his heart swell as he examined them.

Bracelets. That was all they were, or at least one of them was. The other was a bit more meaningful than that.

The regular bracelet was beaded with black and silver beads. Nothing fancy, although a few of the beads did gleam in such a way that made it stand out. The other bracelet was threaded and had a fish woven into it. He knew how much Bheem loved going swimming. The symbolism of the bracelet didn’t stop there, however. Ram reached into his pocket and pulled out a third bracelet. A threaded one with the image of a horse woven into it. Ram’s bracelet.

Friendship bracelets.

It was what Ram had specifically been searching for when he was at the stalls on the street, where all kinds of jewelry were being sold. He’d never had the opportunity to buy such a thing before and it was the first idea that came to mind when he’d considered what to get Bheem for his birthday. To be honest, it almost seemed like he was thinking more about himself than he was about Bheem. He had no idea if their friendship meant as much to Bheem as it did to him, so it was a bit risky.

Ram took hold of his keys from the dresser and checked his reflection in the mirror, combed his fingers through his hair. His heart leapt in his chest like it so often did right when he was about to see his best friend. He walked out and was on his way to make his friend’s day.

The weather was splendid and brightly sunny. Outside the café and on the street, people were bustling and enjoying time with their loved ones. A curly haired man stood near the café’s entrance, attention seemingly elsewhere with his back turned to Ram. Unluckily for Bheem, he had left himself completely vulnerable to Ram’s advances. So Ram grinned mischievously as he snuck up behind Bheem and tapped his left shoulder. Bheem’s head whipped to his left, but Ram had already stepped to Bheem’s right. When Bheem turned towards him, he slapped a hand to his forehead and laughed.

“Happy birthday, buddy,” Ram said as he pulled his friend into a warm hug. Its effect was instantaneous—indulging in a cup of hot chai wouldn’t have felt nearly as good. After they parted, Bheem waved a hand dismissively. “It’s just another day. But thank you.”

Ram followed Bheem inside the café as they sat down on a tattered couch and ordered two cups of chai. He couldn’t help but muse on what Bheem had said. He decided it didn’t sit right with him. “Nothing wrong with having one special day out of an entire year, Bheem. You deserve that much, at least.”

Bheem sighed as the waiter walked up and handed them their chais. After thanking him for his, he said, “I never really cared for birthdays. It’s strange to admit, but I always felt guilty when I’d get presents. And I absolutely hate when people sing ‘happy birthday’ to me. I know…I’m weird.” He looked sheepish as he took a sip of his chai.

Ram swallowed hard as he reached into his pocket and felt the two bracelets, his thumb playing with the one with beads. Was he wrong to have bought him the bracelets? What if it came across too strongly and scared him off? He’d just arrived and was already feeling like an idiot. Maybe a card would have sufficed.

“I’ve never had a birthday party with anyone outside of relatives and Sita,” Ram said. “I actually like getting presents, but I never really received anything I liked. It was usually just clothes.” Ram wrinkled his nose, making Bheem chuckle.

Bheem looked thoughtful for a moment as he tapped a finger against his chin. “What would you want to do if you spent your birthday with me?”

Ram didn’t even have to think about it, but he pretended to take a few seconds to think as he took a sip of his chai. He didn’t want to seem like he thought about this all the time. Because he definitely didn’t. Definitely.

“I’d want us to go dancing.”

His hands began to sweat as he instantly realized Bheem might not feel as eager to dance with him again. Maybe it was just a one time occurrence for Bheem. Maybe he’d felt pressured into it by Ram. Maybe he’d rather do it with Jenny instead…

Bheem smiled knowingly, his eyes so soft they could have made Ram melt into a puddle right then and there. “You liked dancing that much, huh?”

Ram wiped his hands on the back of his slacks, not sure why he was getting more and more anxious. How would Bheem react if he knew he daydreamed about it, was so enthralled by Bheem’s skills on the dancefloor that he’d been practicing in private, lest they have another dance off?

“Yeah,” Ram said.

I loved it.

The admission and Bheem’s nonchalant response helped Ram to work up the nerve to pull out the beaded bracelet and hand it to Bheem.

“Before you say anything—I know you don’t like presents, but it really isn’t much. It didn’t cost a lot. I just thought you might think it’s cool, maybe.”

Bheem frowned as he took the bracelet from Ram and studied it, played with the beads. This was only a few seconds, but it could have been a lifetime as Ram waited with bated breath for his reaction. Bheem finally put the bracelet on and smiled at Ram almost regretfully. “Thanks, Ram. But you really shouldn’t have.”

Ram was fully aware it was only one half of the gifts he had bought for Bheem. But he suddenly felt embarrassed for having gotten him the fish bracelet. Like he’d put too much thought into it, that he obsessed over their friendship like some psycho.

Bheem would probably never buy him something like that. He’d probably buy him a cup of chai or a lassi and call it a day. Although he would ignore the voice of reason telling him it wasn’t because Bheem saw him as any less of a friend. Bheem was just a simple guy who didn’t have much use or desire for material things.

Still, Ram wished he could somehow show him how much he meant to him without feeling ashamed of it. Somehow, even just this beaded bracelet made him feel overexposed…like he’d laid his heart bare for his friend to stomp on.

“If you don’t like it, you can tell me. Be honest.”

Bheem shook his head as he studied the bracelet on his hand, from different angles. “I like it. Really. Just hate that you spent money on me.”

“It was the least I could do to make your day a bit more special.” Ram felt overwhelmed by a torrent of emotion. What he was about to say was achingly true. “I’ve never had a friend like you. I care about you. I lo—”

He stopped suddenly, the words dying in his throat. Was he really about to say that? Did he really feel that way about him?

Bheem waited, then motioned for him to go on. It didn’t appear as though he knew what he’d been about to say. What he wanted so badly to say.

But Ram couldn’t say it. His fear of rejection wouldn’t allow it. He fought for words to fill in the blanks as Bheem was staring at him, confused.

“…Like you a lot,” Ram said, instead. The words were technically true and very nice indeed, so why did they feel so hollow, like a pale imitation of his true feelings? Maybe because it fit more with how he’d describe a plate of warm biryani…not someone he’d forgiven for ruthlessly stabbing him in the chest.

Bheem himself looked unconvinced that that was what he’d intended to say, but he had enough tact to not pry.

“I wouldn’t have even accepted this if I didn’t feel the same way,” Bheem admitted, surprising Ram. “Anyone else and I would have forced them to take it back.”

Ram felt elated hearing this. But at the same time, the fish bracelet was weighing increasingly heavy in his pocket. Why couldn’t he give it to him? Why was he so afraid his friend would reject it? Would it make their friendship any less meaningful if he did? Besides, Bheem had just told him he felt the same way…

Ram took a sip of his chai as he fell silent, looked outside the café window to see a couple walking down the street holding hands. Eager to change the subject, he turned back to Bheem. “So when are you going to brag to me about having kissed Jenny?” he teased.

Bheem arched an eyebrow and looked at him funny. “I did kiss her just the other day. I told you, Ram. Don’t you remember?”

At first, Ram felt indignant because he was certain Bheem hadn’t told him and was just messing with him. But then he vaguely remembered Bheem’s voice over the phone excitedly telling him that Jenny had kissed him after he’d told her she has a pretty smile.

"Right...sorry." Goodness…how could he have forgotten? Well, now that he remembered, he had to plan all sorts of romantic future dates for the lovely couple. Ram patted Bheem’s hand, then squeezed it. “Proud of you, Bheem. I knew you two would make a great couple. Even with the language barrier, you’re making things work. How great is that?”

“All thanks to my best friend,” Bheem said, placing his other hand on top of Ram’s. “And your magic touch, right? She couldn’t keep her hands off my hair. Like it was the softest she’d ever felt.”

Ram leaned back and chuckled at the reference to him giving Bheem a makeover. He was happy he’d helped him leave such a positive impression on the woman.

“Well, now you’re just making me jealous,” Ram joked, making Bheem laugh. It made him feel good to hear that she’d liked his hair. Ram had paid extra attention to it, knowing women, in his experience, loved a man with nice hair. And Bheem’s hair was lovely. Just like…well, him. The familiar sting of embarrassment struck him as he remembered complimenting Bheem’s eyes. He’d never said such a thing to another man. It felt oddly intrusive, like he’d admitted to noticing subtleties about his friend that he shouldn’t. Sheesh… The things he endured for Bheem…

“Someone’s lost in thought,” Bheem said, leaning back, looking amused. Ram hadn’t known he’d been watching him so closely. Sometimes he felt their bond was so deep that they could almost read one another’s thoughts. Thankfully, that wasn’t actually true, but at times like this, he almost wondered if it was.

“Just thinking about what a great guy you are,” Ram admitted. He’d intended to make it sound like he was half-joking, but it came out sounding dead serious. God, if he got anymore emotional, he might actually tell him he loved him…

“Shut uuuuuup…” Bheem looked embarrassed.

It wasn’t just because of the gravity of all that Bheem had forgiven him for. It was also because of who he was as a person. Gentle, quiet, peaceful, strong…he was all of this and more.

But most of all, he was mature. His maturity made him so admirable. If only more people were like him, Ram often thought. Then again, if they were, Bheem wouldn’t be as special.

“Sorry,” Ram said, grinning in such a way that he knew said he wasn’t sorry at all. Bheem simply rolled his eyes, accepting his awkwardness like the good friend he was.

They sat together and chatted for a while longer, simply talking about the women in their lives and more mundane things. Ram knew this was the nicest birthday experience he’d ever had, even if it wasn’t his own being celebrated. He realized he didn’t need to record it in a journal in order to treasure the memory. The memory itself was all he needed to feel content. After all, he was always building new ones with his best friend.

And as for the fish bracelet? He wasn’t going to throw it away. Maybe someday he’d give it to Bheem after all.

When the time felt right.

[shatouto]

my very first dnd oc!!! he's a traveling healer who's also a bard!

i wrote out his backstory, it's under the cut

He was born in the slums of a riverside city, where mostly humans dwelled. A plague struck when he was no older than five, wiping out the poor downtrodden, of which tieflings were the majority. The humans blamed the surviving tieflings for the plague itself and cast them out of the city for good.

Freshly orphaned with nowhere to go, he wandered along the river for a time, begging for food when he could and stole when he must. His memories of this time were blurry; he recalled most the rock-throwing and the beatings, oftentimes by children his age. Grown men regarded him with a sort of disdain, but the young ones who knew no better found a new sport in tormenting a defenseless outcast.

It came a day when the most vicious beating left him unconscious and broken-horned like roadkill by the bushes. Bleeding out and freezing in the cold, he was not to survive another night. By a pure stroke of rade luck, a free-spirited moon elf by the name of Erevan Starflower was traveling through the region at time and stumbled upon the dying boy. He took the young tiefling under his wing, healed him and kept him by his side from then on.

Erevan raised the tiefling child as he would one of his own. He called the boy Ebel by way of childhood name, a loving reminder of the little gap between his front teeth. The boy was mute for a time before regaining speech under his care, though the broken horn never quite grew back. Erevan taught the boy Elvish and music and dance, dressed him in the finest clothes his coins could afford. Their lives were by no means luxurious, but they lived comfortably.

Ebel was under no illusion about their differences. He soon grew to tower over his guardian by a head even in his gangly adolescent years, and as soon as his body filled out into that of a matured man, their roles as guardian and protégé were frequently assumed by strangers to be in reverse. It didn't help that Ebel’s quiet disposition made him appear that much more mature in counterpoint with Erevan’s evergreen sunny mood; that his baritone voice smoothed out to be in perfect harmony to the elf’s sweet tenor. He knew he was no elf – his mistake was thinking that he could ever be Erevan’s equal.

A misstep was all it took, a foolish misstep paid for in blood. Once upon traveling to a mountain range where several human and half-orc tribes were at war, Erevan mused that rare star flowers grew here in thick clusters, or so he had heard. Ebel thought it would be a fitting gift for his guardian, a worthy token of his gratitude, and perhaps a good occasion to declare his coming-of-age. Then, thinking himself strong and adept, he made a decision. As soon as they stopped at an inn, the tiefling wandered off on his own.

No sooner had Ebel entered the trove where flowers glowed blue-white, than he heard an ear-splitting horn. Dark cloaks and gleaming shields and sharply glinting blades and spears flashed. By the time he learned he'd set foot onto contentious land, it was too late. No amount of explanation could convince the tribe he was no spy but a mere hapless traveler. They wanted him dead at the very sight of his fiendish horns and pitch-black eyes. Innocent though he might be, he reeked of death to them, an omen to be destroyed.

Erevan arrived in the midst of it; came to Ebel’s aid while he was bleeding at death’s door just like twenty years ago. He pleaded and begged for his child’s life, sang his most soulful ballads of peace and compassion till blood dripped from his chin. None of it touched the hardened hearts of men at war, so he fought and fought like the valiant warrior he never was. When Erevan fell, Ebel learned what it truly meant to be a creature from Hell.

He stood over his guardian’s bloodied form, squarely in the line of fire. The warriors before him must think him a man with a death wish by then, and they would not be far from the truth. But magma coursed through his veins and his tears were as hot and thick as blood, and when the dozens of arrows pierced him he felt no pain.

The hellfire he unleashed burnt everything to a char: every single tribesman who tried to rob Erevan from him, and every last flower in the grove. The hellish flames left nothing in its path, save for the one elf in his arms.

He carried Erevan out and attempted to heal him with the purest, fiercest songs he knew. In his last moments, Erevan smiled at him and caressed his cheek, called him his dear boy, praised his voice. “My star-eyed child,” he said, his once smooth voice cracking from the smoke. “Do not cry for me. Give me but a moment of rest. I shall rise on the morrow.”

Erevan took his last breath then. Ebel held him in his arms through the night and waited until dawn to weep. His eyes gone dry, he took a lock of Erevan’s hair and braided it into his own, worn over his heart. From that day on his childhood name was forfeit, and he took for himself the name Morrow. He vowed to live life as the gentle person Erevan saw in him, no matter how others might contradict it.

After Erevan’s cremation, Morrow sought to return the ash and his musical instruments to his home. He traveled to the Elven kingdoms, found his way to the moon elves’ dwellings and met with the Starflower clan only to be utterly rejected. Threatened into leaving the region, Morrow found a place to bury both the ash and the musical instruments.

The bitter end to his childhood had concluded. His wandering life now began.

[sunntownn]

To Taste The Stars

Chapter Five: Soulmark Freakout & Government Affairs

hello! little author's note :3

hi! if you didn't already know, my name is sunny ♡ just wanted to let you guys know that ive had such a hard time writting this specific chapter because it focuses more on politics, and I, am in fact, not educated on politics,, at least not make believe alien robot / human affair politics,,,

im literally going to college for art i am so outta my comfort zone here,, so if this chapter seems a little choppy and not as put together as previous chapters, that is why, and im sorry 😭

it has been edited some to try and make more sense, so hopefully its not too bad!

thank you all for reading and the amazing support! your positive feedback fills me with creative motivation and just makes my heart swell

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

          Optimus Prime was having an internal crisis when his degsenation was called, followed by the young translator that looked as if he was dehydrated by the sheer amount of sweating his body was doing. "Igetis ton Autobots, Optimus Prime, pou ekprosopei ta Autobots."

He stood slowly as the peering eyes of Earth's sentient, primary species watched him curiously and skeptically. His chest plates continued to softly ache and almost seemed to be trying to push him in the direction of YN- YN.

That was her name, he mused silently to himself. When they announced her presence the Prime had a difficult time to not gawk at her. He kept his feet planted this time, not willing to have the Mother Stars throw him to the ground once again and embarress Agent Fowler more than he already has.

          As much as the space dietys adore the romance that their gift to the universe brought to life, they were going to wait until after the meeting. He refused to let his optics wander in her direction until he sat back down.

     Several other names were called and Optimus payed upmost attenetion to each human in the room, nonetheless, the Prime still would catch glances of the Greek woman across the room who sported what he beleived to be expensive and elegent, white fabrics- suits, as the kids had informed him once- each time with her gaze either at the person of the name who was called, or at the desk in front of her sorting through various notebooks and files. She was fiddling anxiously, that much he could tell. Perhaps it was because of his meer presence. Humans did have a negative perspective of exterestrail species, via syfi films.

     Miko had made the team watch the film "Alien" from 1979 a few months back, as well as the "Predator" film made in 1987. That, among dozens of other alien-based horror franchises.

Ratchet and Arcee were not amused. Bulkhead and Bumblebee, however, were horrified.

Not to mention "Terminator."

     Wow, Optimus mused to himself, wow, maybe this meeting is not going to work out.

     Genral Bryce stood after roll call had offically been wrapped up, he smoothed out the front of his suit, medals gleaming under the florescent lights above. They made a soft clinking noise as they hit each other with every step he took. He cleared his throat, "Good afternoon gentalmen," he said, peering around the room as he made his way down the isle and to the front of the room.

"As you now know, we have called you all here today to address an exterestrail threat, as well as allies. And before we dive deep into the issue at hand, I wish to introduce you all to a program put together by the United States Department of Defense; the Autobot Protection Program."

     "Thirty years ago, a space craft crash landed into the side of a mountain in Colorado, where a civilian made first contact with Optimus Prime. They were wounded and critically low on supplies. After the USDOD made their appearance, we of cource, had our doubts about the trustworthiness of these machines."

Bryce paced back and forth across the front of the room, making hand gestures that Prime didnt quite understand that point of. The translator kept up pace with the Genral's quick mouth.

     Optimus then noticed, that Greece's repreentives were seated all on the left side of the room, as they all kept their eyes on the translator rather than General Bryce himself.

YN was on the left.

     "There were only six of them at the time. All soldiers. All armed with advanced weaponry and tech. We had every reason to be cautious of these alien mechs. But even after alliences were made, the Autobots gave us no reason to doubt their honor, their honesty, nor kindness, and they most certainly did not give us any reasons to be afraid."

Bryce took in one deep breath. "So, I hope that you all will keep that in mind when making your final decisions on the outcome of this meeting."

     Fowler quickly took the floor as Bryce sat himself down. "The Autobot Protection Program was set in place three months after their crash landing in Colorado. They came here for fuel. Similar to how we, as humans, eat foods to survive, Cybertronians need a specific kind of crystal to survive. A crystal that our planet  just so happens to be rich with. They call it Energon. And while Energon is good for Cybertronians, it is very toxic and harmful to us."

     "According to the Autobots, the Civil War of their planet made Energon rare to come by. They had no choice but to come here to mine and harvest it for their own survival. The Autobot Protection Program was made to let them do just that without being exposed to the public eye. This kept up for thirteen years.

However, when the Decepticons reached Earth's atmosphere, things got a much more complicated."

     Fowler looked to Prime before sweeping his gaze back over to YN, who had a notebook and folder open that she had activly been reading through during the speech. She gave Fowler an encouraging grin and thumbs up. The Greek translator continued to keep up efficiently, only pausing for a moment to breath.

     "The Decepticons, led by Megatron, had and have very little regard for human life. They see us as inferior. They do not care for keeping themselves unseen by human eyes, which had been leaving the USDOD very busy cleaning up their messes. The Decepticons are not few in numbers. They came here with a war ship and an army."

     "These sentient exterestrails are much bigger than us, they have advanced weaponry, and their intelligence outways ours over seven hundred precent. The Decepticons will eventually become desperate to execute the last of the Autobot's Resistance, and will most likely endanger civilians in order to achieve that goal. They have already started targeting children. But the Autobots are here to protect us. Optimus Prime made a vow to do so. They did not intend for Earth to get involved in their civil war and are here to put a stop to any schemes Megatron has to harm Earth and it's inhabitants in any way. And I must say, he has proven himself time and time again to be capable of doing so. He has saved my life more times that I can count." Folwer took a breathe, watching.

     Whispering unease and silent panic warmed the room with the fact that these aliens were targeting children. The same children who are the lifeline of their futures and their planet's future. Innocent children. How many? Why?

     "If you'd all take a look at the files that have been left infront of you, you can skim through mission logs, team roles, and the children that are involved's personal files. We assure you, that these kids are safe. The Autobots take them to and from school, extracurricular activities, jobs, and they spend most of their free time at the Autobot secret base. While yes, they are in danger of encountering Decepticons, they are fully protected with individual guardians- soldiers who are more than capable of taking down a few Cons and getting their charges to saftey."

     YN had flashed him a horried expression at the mention of kids being involved in a fucking alien war. That had not been mentioned in any files he gave her before hand or mentioned during they're catch-up outings. Her glare calmed throughtout the explanation, but Folwer still flinched under her hard stare.

     William forgot to mention it, obviously, too busy trying to both prepare a room of people to meet a giant metal alien, along with making up from lost time with his old University buddy, because, ya know, he faked his death.

     He's ganna have to add another thing to his interal list of reasons he's pissed off YN. Yikes.

     "The Autobots have been our only line of defense for the last thirty years. But we can no longer operate in secret. Which is why the United States Department of Defense and Optimus Prime have asked you here, in hopes of signing a treaty that will allow Autobots to operate in your country and retrieve one of their ancient alien relics, to which we have evidence of being in your lands."

     The room regarded this information cautiously.

     Optimus caught the anxious glace he sent to YN across the room, who, under further investigation, seemed to be murdering him with her optics.

     The room was hushed with whispers and judging expressions. Perhaps mentioning the kids wasnt the best idea, but they were already on the mission files in front of everyone, so there was no point in ignoring the subject. Fowler waited patiently in front of the room while the crowd spoke in a language he didnt fully understand.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     After forty long minutes of various questions being tossed around the room with both frightfull and genuinely curious tones, a break finally put a pause on all current activities and allowed everyone to stretch their limbs and roam around.

I had marched straight to the nearest restroom before William could catch up and give me a worse headache then the one already making my forehead throb.

     I really needed a brain break from politics and aliens, trying to force myself to think of other things while I rubbed at my palms.

     Virginia is nice, I suppose. The beach is not nearly as clean nor clear as the one outside of my house. The humity makes my hair frizzy and makes me sweat in temperatures I should be used too. There are many historical sights, some I plan on seeing before my departure back to Greece. One of the first thirteen colonies and all that jazz.

     On the ride from the hotel to the Pentagon I saw a mother and daughter walking out of a bridal shop holding into a protected wedding gown with the goofiest and most joyful smiles I had seen all week. She had found her soulmate and witnessing such a sweet moment brought a smile to my face as we road past.

     I was hungry, too, daydreaming of soups and sour breads. Perhaps I'll look around near my hotel for a restaurant and grab something to eat before my plane ride home tomorrow. But I did see some goodies on a table right outside the room were having the meeting in. I could snatch a few of those before this little break was over.

     I missed my own bed, five star hotel or not, I preferred my own mattress and my own blankets. I specifically missed the calming sound of ocean waves crashing onto the shore right outside my window. I also missed my cat, and all her mischievous glory. I hope shes not scratching the doorframes again. I'll have to call Mom later to see how everything is going over there. I should bring her something back from America, as a thank you for watching my house and evil cat and all that fun stuff.

     Turning off the tap, I flick my hands to get the access water off before grabbing a paper towel and drying off.

     Fowler had finished explaining everything. The aliens, their cause, their war, their alliance with the United States, the child endangerment, he explained "Groundbridge"s, of which I'm still not positive is actually a thing, and he explained why they believe that the object they're looking for is under Ancient Greece.

     Now it was my turn. Well, not now. But when this pause was over, I was to take the stage and convince my country to allow exterestrails to dig through our history to find. And then I have to explain the object, of which I was given limited intel on. Fun times. Coolio. No stress. Of course, I have my own qualifications that I can use to sway the majority. But this is still a room of men. Old, white, cranky men, who think women belong in the kitchen and a buncha other mysonistic bullshit.

     The tile floors are squeaky clean and the white noise of the restroom is sort of calming However, that calm did not last long.

Tossing the crumpled up paper in the bin, I go to pull my sleeves back down before the expensive fabric starts to wrinkle. This suit was a rental and I didnt feel like messing it up and having to pay extra.

     "Holy hell," I squeaked.

     Damn!

     Shit!

     Fuck!

     I hadn't been paying my wrist any attention for the past couple days, rightfully so. Too stressed to pay anything else any attention. I mean god damn! I'm in a meeting with a fucking alien car. I'm a little preoccupied.

     My timer is gone.

     Looking up from my wrist, I catch my own panicked face in the mirror. Eyes wide and jaw slacked. Now? Of all the times for this to happen, it had to be right now?!

     Trying to recall the last time I remembered seeing it clearly on my wrist, biting my lip and pulling down my sleeves.

It was on my wrist when I was putting on my suit this morning. I believe it was there when I grabbed breakfast in the hotel lobby. But that was the last time I remember have a countdown on my person. At least, one hundred precent sure.

     So, from leaving the hotel at eleven in the morning, to now, sometime around four in the afternoon, I have either walked passed or have had contact with my soulmate. And I didnt even notice.

     Fuck.

[polyodynos]

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Grimscribe. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, gore, nihilism, unreality, body horror, clowns, and insects.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Muse: Yumina Tagged by: Me, myself, and I Tagging: @dupliciti @backwaterscum @trlblzd @deputyrabies @vancreux

——–

 The Last Feast of Harlequin

A place behind the clownish mask / an enthusiastic urgency / sunny fields and farms / steeply roofed houses / a weird distortion of perspective / an album of old snapshots / a pointed hat jauntily askew / a billboard displaying a group of grinning vegetables / a neutral, bureaucratic voice / blue-green ink / a brilliant and profound circus of learning / a quotation from Poe’s “The Conqueror Worm” / a feeling of frigid numbness / dull, earth-colored scenery / the snowfalls of late autumn / black, ragged clumps of abandoned nests / the thin light of a winter afternoon / poles raveled with evergreen / holly wreaths / green lights / green streamers / peacock green floodlights / an eerie emerald haze / chthonic divinities / miniature candy canes / colored lights that bloom out of flower-shaped sockets / a chilling brilliance of manner and expression / sea-green lights / the face of an adept clown / a heart bathed in green / another coldness within the cold / warmly wrapped bodies and green-scarved necks / worried and guilt ridden glances / a wormy mass / the black void of winter / the brightness of an artificial spring / a great green rainbow / green gleaming streets / the dark immensity of a winter night / an effect of stricken horror and despair / an inhuman likeness more proper to something under the earth than above it / a festival within a festival / depressingly pallid clowns / the particular kind of hatred of resulting from some powerful and irrational memory / optimistic greenery in a period of gray dormancy / a kind of obnoxious intelligence / freezing atop an icy throne / commitment to a meaningful mania / bodiless invisibility / seeing without being seen / a sea of zigging and zagging celebrants / the darkness of narrow country roads / innocent normalcy / icy wind / trembling with cold / lanterns that beam with dazzling and frosty light / cadaverous clowns / the apex of darkness / a long snowy robe / moody malignancy / pure unlived lives / all the many shapes of death and dissolution / a dirge for existence / a sea of thin, bloodless faces / icy beauty / a moment of frozen trance / the death known to those whom the gods have first made mad / the welcoming glow of green / slow and silent and entrancing / a velvety white abyss / the paradise of the unborn

The Spectacles in the Drawer

A double-handled dagger with a single blade of polished stone / tall cabinets / ceiling-high shelves / tantalizing arcana / glistening fog / a tedious clarity / a cyclone of strange patterns and colors / spasms of sardonic hilarity / a pale-blue blade / stiff, crackling pages / a seeker of recondite knowledge / undying hope / a gutful of shame and regret / a small and silvery knife / a razor-sharp letter opener / a pair of old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles / everything that fascinates / the wish to look away / an infinite and overwhelming scene / the dazzling diffusion of all known universes / landscapes without end / landscapes that are themselves alive / a life unknown to mortal eyes / form and motion / design and dimension / cilia wriggling / mammoth shapes lurching in outline / an obscure oceanic niche / a mere fragment of all that there is to see and to know / labyrinthine astronomies / constant transformations of both appearance and essence / a witness to the most cryptic phenomena that exist or could ever exist / the ultimate thing waiting to be born / still greater visions / a cataclysm which will be both the beginning and the end / unbearable anticipation / ecstasy and dread / the ultimate source of all manifestation / the absolute and the wholly unknown / a revolution of all matter and energy / the visions remaining active inside you, deep in your blood / to be dazzled in the worst way / the total substance of things / an occultist auction / a disreputable quarter of a foreign city / a student of the Gnostics / artificial eyes / a malicious aim to undermine / a child’s awkward embrace / rusty scales / cockeyed bookcases / broken toys / standing ashtrays / desolate bazaars / the charm of disenchantment / a tilting mirror / a climate of dull horror / sinister whispers that make no sense yet seem filled with meaning / sensations of infinite expansiveness and ineffable meaning / astronomical emotions / a mutilated carcass / something of terrible rawness / a torn and flayed thing / microscopic precision / twitching and quivering like a gory heart / hellish giggling / a haunting, lifelong memory / unfathomable depths of feeling / to suffer over and over / a way to kill a dream / the sheltering shadows of one’s home / sobering shadows / a cold and stagnant peace / esoteric ecstasy / vulgar pain / a broad expanse of empty field / a mosaic of mirrors / a shocking galaxy / redundant reflections / dark stars on a silvery firmament / to see with countless eyes / a body ripped raw / a gallery of glass and gore

Flowers of the Abyss

The first rank scent of autumn / a glass of water / a thirsty walker of the woods / a pale flower amongst the dark summer trees / a ghostly flower of autumn / grayish planks / a pallid lily / a pulpy toadstool / a roof of rippling shingles shaped like scales from some great fish / sea-green and sparkling / attic gables with paned windows / the tip of a tear / hundreds of raindrops / light rain / an icy autumn storm / a fragrance damp and decayed / walking ahead of the clouds / the echo of hollow words / a long crooked arm / malodorous gardens of misshapen growths / an oval mirror in an ornate frame / cobwebbed corners / tilting books / something shapeless and nameless / something dampish and submerged / something swampy and abysmal / the pure cold of an autumn storm / a dusty green bottle / a sparkling glass / a world of frozen light / cool and limpid water / the hardness of a jewel / a small music box / stars of sound / twilight shadows and silence / infinitesimal flakes of light / barren decor of dead days / yellowish haze / silvery tones / a tenebrous expanse / unknown exploits / the madness of things / a vagabond of the universe / a drifter among spaces / a mess of hacked pieces / dark horizon meeting dark horizon / a universe of darkness / a convulsing tangle of shapes / the radiant entrails of hell / rain-softened soil / parted waters rushing to remerge / corrupt waters / sticky and pumping veins / slimy tendrils / aberrations of the abyss / a night-gowned figure / a crowd carrying lights / lamps and lanterns bobbing in darkness / clusters of flames / buried like a forgotten dream

Nethescurial

Delicate, crinkly script / greenish-black discoloration / dark waters / moonlit skies / earth mounds / mountain peaks / northern leaf and southern flower / each star and the voids between them / blood and bone / watchful winds / murky waters below / contorted rock formations / pointed pines and spruces of gigantic stature / sea-facing cliffs / stagnant fog / an omnipresent evil / a sleeping sense of doom awakened into full vigour / evil, beloved and menacing evil / sunshine and flowers / darkness and dead leaves / some shaping force of demonic temperament / wartlike hills / tumorous trees / oil lamps scattered about / a sacral glow / a degree of mutual ease / the verdigris of centuries / decomposing jade / pandemonism / cold gray waters / a mere mask for the foulest evil / an absolute evil whose reality is mitigated only by our blindness to it / the universe as a dream / the feverish nightmare of a demonic demiurge / an abstract monster of metaphysics / an altar of coarse stone / skinny shadows / to be actually bound in blackness / white-faced shadows / luminous smoke / glowing, ectoplasmic haze / something thick and oily and strangely colored / an ancient anonymity / spirits beyond all hope or consolation except in the evil to which they would abandon themselves / a ceremony of the chosen / an ancient, darkened mould / petrified lichen / wrought iron tracery / great overgrown gardens of writhing coral / a chaos of little carvings / a world of demonic faces and forms / oneiric visions / inkish waters / an infinitely extensive body of evil / the gods of the ordinary world / dream-induced illusions / visionary intrusions / a banquet of fear / what is squirming beneath every surface / penetrating the usual armor of objects / dark and greenish / garbled whisperings / an island of grass and trees in the middle of the city / globes of light balanced on slim metal poles / a glowing orb / set in the great blackness above  / trees swishing overhead / muddied green / walking some indefinite time along some indefinite route / strings of colored lights / a tall, illuminated booth / clownish creatures / expressionless faces and dead puppet eyes / slow, monotonous phrases mingling like the sequences of a fugue / the faces of the living and the dead / wind-blown trees / the greenish darkness of the night / mold-colored smoke / a squirming, creeping, smearing shape / a great deformed crab / the black oceans of infinity / the island of the moon / the cancerous totality of all creatures / oozing ichor / dying in a nightmare

The Dreaming in Nortown

A solitary perdition / a mind to remember the stages of their downfall / a mirror to multiply their abject glory / a memoir of dreams / peculiar powers of sympathy / a decaying and spacious apartment / an ill-mapped world of dreams / a slightly infernal aroma / an acrid combination of tobacco and autumn nights / a small red glow / a long threadbare overcoat / many pungent Octobers / the remote heights or depths of an artificial paradise / the stumbling words of a returning explorer / a stuporous and awed voice / midnight assemblies / in the grip of strange mystical ecstasies / long red hair / esoteric development / a general tenor of chaos / a quality which may or may not make for good company but which always offers promise of the extraordinary / a contrived noisiness / a strange catalogue of sounds / low moans emanating from the most shadowy chasms of dream / sudden intakes of breath / the suction of a startled gasp / abrupt snarls and snorts of a bestial timbre / expressions of unknown turmoil / the calm darkness of the night / staccato groans / the entire audible spectrum of nightmare-inspired terror / mingling overtones of awe and ecstasy / a willing submission to some unknown ordeal / the deeper registers of somnolence / the smell of a freshly lit cigar / the dun colors of dawn / a flood of eidetic horrors / fleeting scenes of nightmare / a reverberating slam / a note scrawled upon a slip of paper / a disproportionate anxiety / the imagined threat of a reprimand / the frayed end of a disciplinary whip / colors twisting in blackness / a tentacled abyss / bone-colored stars / a dream-distorted voice / a spiral notebook with a cover of mock marble / mystical masochism / feats of occult daredevilry / glimpsing the inferno with eyes of ice / a doomed determinism / the striving for horrific dominion over horror itself / wobbling glitter / a field of venomous colors / the glistening inner skin of deadliest nightshade / the entrancing fragrance of fear / the city’s lurid glamor / cryptic badges whose significance is known only to the initiated / comic colors from an electric spectrum / a chilly autumn evening / engraved brass / dingy neon / a black autumn sky / scattering sparks across the sidewalk / flea-market antiquities / calling feline-voiced / colorful chaos / neon signs streaming across the night / clothed in flashing colors / a many-hued phantasmagoria / a flickering and disorderly rainbow of dreams / a multitude of indecisive thoughts and impulses / a brick and neon landscape / a frigid and fragrant October night / darkness and a voice / a coarse scream / a pulsing opalescent aura / a delirious blend of images derived from nightmare/ an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon / a field of fear / a painfully lush iridescence / a burnt-out patch of earth / newspapers mutilated by time / two fresh cigars / a thin book-like box / a scene from some Boschian hell / a hideous series of transfigurations / the screaming mass of a damned soul / an abyss of nightmares / explorations in a hell of one’s own choosing

The Mystics of Muelenburg

Trees made of poster board / houses built of colored foam / mud and dust and ashes / a nightmare of nonsense / fantasy, that misty domain of pure meaning / dim and empty storage space / an ancient armchair / reposing far beneath crumbling rafters / surveying remote worlds / a burst of fireworks / buzzing like flies in the blackness / glow worms flitting in the blinding sun / to keep the sun in the sky / to keep the dead in the earth / a universal vice / a parasite of chaos / a maggot of vice / the prospect of absolute terror / men in the mouths of demons / withholding heaven’s light / the pointed shadows of peaked roofs and jutting gables / faded artifacts of a dead town / high castle turrets / grayness undisturbed / ashen twilight / the yellow light of lamps / sumptuous chambers / humble rooms / the lost luxury of shadows / an infinite vault of glowing dust / a deception by demons / old deities formerly driven from the earth / shadows streaming horribly / the twitching light of a thousand candles / prismatic jewels / a greyish whirlpool / indefinite twilight / the blackness which is the domain of death / necromantic learning / drunken dialogues / unparalleled credulity / fluidity, always fluidity / an ornamented void / the stars and moon / the legions of the dead

In the Shadow of Another World

Walking down streets at twilight / watered lawns / the edges of leaves / pale specters within a fog / the infinite sky itself / gently stirring trees / old silent houses / strange cities disguised as clouds / the depths of a vast, echoing abyss / a blurry little window with a crack in it / a tree-lined street / a pale sky at dusk / peaks and porches / worn wooden steps / dreams and vapor posing as solid matter / a fabulous overlap of properties / petrified flesh / gigantic bones from great beasts of old / chimneys and shingles / a shadow on the horizon / a thing of nightmarish beauty / impossible hopes / a kind of ceremonious desolation / translucent festivals / the faraway sounds of mad carnivals / an instinct for mystification / dubious spectacles / trumped-up histrionics / immaculate to the point of being suspect / a plush and well-tended mausoleum / where the dead are truly at rest / oppressive awareness of other times / secret conspiracies with departed spirits / the unnatural mood of twilight / sinister echoes / dark, polished floors / lofty, uncobwebbed ceilings / a malign presence in the cellar / an insane shadow in the attic / thaumaturgic curios / a hermetic chant of the heavens / no hint of hauntedness / an innocent ambiance / a spiritual wasteland / spiritually antiseptic surroundings / a twisting and tenuous stairway / shattered panes of glass / misshapen glyphs / the shadowy nuances of clouds / a twisted kaleidoscope of colors / the aura of stained-glass cathedral / some obscure desecration / prismatic lenses / that of the dead or the demonic / an eclipse of this world’s vision / a quivering translucence / iridescent sterility / the aftermath of a strange exorcism / neither hallowed nor unholy / a pristine laboratory / a science of nightmares / a small, lamplit library / night’s darkness / a voice that’s accustomed to speaking of miracles / mystical freakshows / a grave sincerity / dissonant overtones of fear / the shadows of another world / forms of specter or demon / the eyes of the flesh / a luminous hell / psychic survival / hopelessly dreaming / terror recollected in tranquility / mazy trauma / the sensations of the soul / a monstrous mystery / a theoretician of nightmares / crude and cryptic designs / a remote and shadowy stage / an adept of pasteboard visions / mucilage and gauze / pulling the strings of light and shadow / shadows gathering / a strange radiance / phosphorescent panes / superlunary light / some cosmic tapestry / a haunted world / the marriage of insanity and metaphysics / a spectral ontogeny / a pageant of nightmares / sunlit bazaars in exotic cities / transparent masks / insectoid countenances / moonlit streets in antique towns / a strange-eyed slithering / dim galleries of empty museums / a ghostly mold / the sullen hues of old paintings / sticky luxuriance / pulpy warmth / an uncanny flux of sounds / cadaverous generations / sculptures of human coral / bodies heaped and unwhole / limbs projecting without order / eyes scattered and searching the darkness / a monument to Terror / a maze of interconnecting doors / spectral monstrosities / the cover of masks / the concealment of stones / feverish properties and intentions / a framed phantasmagoria / grotesque transfigurations / a systemless cosmogony / the caprice of the immaterial / weirdly lucent rooms / chaotic fantasies / narrow, spiraling stairs / the gazing eye of some god / a pyrotechnic craze of colors /  a vibrating echo of vocal utterance / swirling sights / a vacuum and a void / doubtful strategies / unknown and extravagant possibilities / occult theories / arcane analyses / the irreducible certainty of nightmare / great shadows in the stars / an infinite catastrophe / protective sigils / the full glare of starlight / stars and shadows / privileged arcana / the enchantments of hell / cold sunlight / the visionary time of twilight

The Cocoons

A gloved hand twitching / a rather unapologetic tone / egg-shaped pills / a half-glass of water / a soft grinding noise / a quietly urgent voice /  blotched vapors /  a growl of exasperation / unpeopled avenues / a mass of shadows / a landscape without pattern or substance / the moon shining / a doubtful glance / a devastated plain / an open field heaped with debris / bits of glass and scraps of metal / lunar spaciousness / a skeletal structure with all markings of identity scraped off its bones / a densely tangled nest of houses / the dull light of the moon / a yellowish swatch of illumination / high wooden fences / a ruined turret grazed by moonlight / a minor mania / a cobwebbed corner / a blank battered wall / warped floor moldings / a watery light / the quivering light of candles / an old-fashioned film projector / the whirring of a projector / a visual record of a scientific experiment / dark wiry appendages /  a pair of slender snapping pincers / tiny translucent wings / glistening but useless / malicious eyes / a dubious look / candles flickering like fire-flies / a cold swamp of shadows / a collection of bones / dazed silence / a clockwork world / sunrise schedules / lunar routines / a pandemonium of forces / a phantasmagoria of possibilities / the shadow of a laugh /  a curious hedonism that can’t be controlled / the vagaries of omnipotence / breeder of indulgence / languorous exhaustion / a psychic matter / unheard of habits / a clown’s oversized grin / bliss on the brink of apotheosis / a universal process of transfiguration / restless skittering / a pitiful delight / giddy pride / demoniac undercurrents / the grotesque ultimatums of creation

The Night School

A high, full moon shining among the spreading clouds / shadows singing with the clouds / a slowly flowing mass of mottled shapes / a kind of unclean outpouring / the black sewers of space / the wall of night /  smoke, dense and dirty, rising up to the sky / the spastic flames of a small fire / a slender gentleman / a dark suit / broken bones / the process of degeneration / the mulchy rot of autumn or early spring / yellowish light / dark scabby bricks / ruined factories / ravaged mausoleums / abandoned orphanages / a blossom of the cemetery or the cesspool / guttering candles / blurred remnants of past lessons / cloacal forces / time as a flow of sewage / drowning in the pools of night / a thousand molting autumns / the melting soil of spring / a pair of yellowish eyes / undiluted darkness / a darkness far greater than the night itself / consolidated darkness / the science of a spectral pathology / a philosophy of absolute disease / the metaphysics of things sinking into a common disintegration or rising together / dark rottenness /  filthy smoke from some smoldering source of expansive corruption / the scent of corruption / the nostalgic perfume of autumn decay / the feculent muskiness of a spring thaw / smoky blackness / the offal of worlds in decline / the dark compost of those about to be born / the primeval impurity in which all things are founded / native putridity / pieces of paper with strange symbols on them / the very face of a plague—pustulant, scabbed, and stinking terribly / a black fog / many voices crying and calling from total blackness / tightly packed earth in a grave / the disease of the night / bright flames / the noise of a fire and the wind / a full moon / shining bright and blurry / a luminous mold / the great sewers of night

The Glamour

A fine aura of fantasy / both blurred and brightened / a starless evening / diamonds of plate glass / old buildings of dark brick / the display window of a toy store / a chaotic tableau of preposterous excitation / mechanized monkeys / fated antics / tiny cymbals / the destined pirouettes of a music-box ballerina / a newly sprung jack-in-the-box / strangely picturesque / dreamily illuminated / sculptured frosting / a winter landscape of swirling, drifting whiteness / snowy rosettes / layers of icy glitter / a glacial kingdom / a brilliant arctic scene / a vitality of enterprise / a glossy light / the placidly enigmatic expressions of a different time / faded lighting / an old photograph / the kind of acute anticipation that a child might experience at a carnival / a possessing impulse without object / wretchedly aglow / a long, narrow corridor with a single light set far into its depths / a strange shade of purple, like that of a freshly exposed heart / a purple lamp / arterial light / a deep pink / a richly blooded brain / a beating heart / wispy shrouds / sparse hairs sticking to the scalp of an old corpse / purple-tinted glass / the darkness of a theater / a swarm of filaments / an elaborate chandelier / a sickly, liverish shade / an operating room where a torso lies open on the table / a palette of pinks and reds and purples / diseased viscera imitating all of the shades of sunset / headstones in a graveyard / endless filthy alleys / long desolate corridors in an old asylum / the dripping passages of a sewer / a dust-blinded window / a dark unvisited cellar / a mirror gone rheumy with age / facets of murky crystal / cobwebs / long pale threads / hazy purple light / the slow curling of thin smoke / a great rectangular web / the ever-mutating images of clouds / a surge of dark elation / a sudden chill announcing bad weather / a vibrant presence / an expression of avid malignance / inner webbings / swirling fibers / wild shocks of twisting hair / a portrait of atrocity / lust for sites and ceremonies of mayhem / writhing cobwebs / reaching tendrils / graveyards and alleyways / a joyous hysteria / a pale purple / sinister and seamy regions / spectral ambiance / all pervasive purple coloration / the labyrinth of a living anatomy / palest pink / a purple light / putrid chambers and cloisters / an infernal land / fleshy, gelatinous integuments / translucent tissue / the theater of a mad surgery / hair-thin sutures / unseen hands designing unnatural shapes and systems / weaving a nest in which possession would take place / the weaver and web-maker / an old puppet-master / setting a helpless creature with new strings / through eyes unknown / purple shadows / a type of degraded rapture / a seizure of debauched panic / webs of hair / great evil / an appeal for deliverance / eyes that would see what should not be seen / stray threads pulled from a sleeve or pocket / a paralytic silence / eyes gazing fierce and malignant / a purple glow / two shafts of the purest purple light / an old woman with glowing eyes

Father Sevich’s Visit

A manner at first vaguely troublesome and afterward rather attractive / the arrival of a priest / the very echoes of the air / mellow afternoon sunlight / dark wooden floors / pale contortions of ancient wall paper / invisible games / abstract dread and a bizarre sort of indebtedness / a thick maze of propositions / a well-made bed / a relentless failure / cloistral tunnels / vaulted penetralia / a single column-clutching hand / the necessary features of fear / a maddening task / a series of completely irrelevant expressions / misty-eyed wonder / cretinous bafflement / smiling in an almost amiable way at one one’s impending doom / the trap of expectation / a sleepy whisper / the sound of soft conversation / the world of good manners and polite talk / a look of incompleteness / some unfinished effigy in a toy maker’s workshop / something vital to expression / the purple-robed mysteries of priesthood / animated eyes / withered things reeking of medicine and prayer / a painfully delicate subject / varnished wood / salvation through suffering / sacred horrors / the divine destiny toward which the paths of anguish have always led / volumes of blessed agony / an attitude of prayerful pleading / torturing demons / a single squatted devil / bristling lashes that sprout like weeds / an explosion of miniature grotesquerie / a brief and calculated absence / a modest fund of moral energy / a macabre icon / profane lessons / a countenance of true terror / a ridiculously empty slate / an off-stage atrocity / a cycle of mute, incredible lore / anthropomorphic mist / an eerie lividity / unconscious hours of darkness / a chronicle of truly unspeakable things / the light of every constellation in the visible universe / the oppressive mysteries of the autumn season / thick orange crayons / black cats / black paper / a hopeless urge for innovation / a tiny white collar / dripping with fever / hat and cloak and walking stick / narrow, nocturnal streets / a fairy-tale vision / serpentine lanes / the distorted glow of street lamps / the thinnest blade of moon / a narrow niche / an unpaved lane / a small courtyard surrounded by high walls / the stars above / jaundiced lamplight / a stairway of cut stone / the earth and absolute blackness / tiny lights glimmering like stars / clouds of shadows / some golden metal / a caricature of serenity / a hand as white as the whitest glove / chaotic rays / underworld starlight / a certain expression of rarefied scorn or disgust / indignant shadows / black, ankle-high shoes / the natural nightlight of the moon / an infernal aura or an angelic halo / a planet revolving its unspeakable tonnage in the blackness of space / a small bottle of holy water / secret denial and privilege / a smile of deep contentment

Miss Plarr

Misty, drizzling days / sharp, urgent rappings at the front door / a world of darkening mist / mist-covered locks / listening with intense expectancy / the world’s chaos of faces / a seething luxuriance / dark battlements of clouds / a mute and sullen twilight / a stone-gray sky / those days all shackled in gloom / a fugue of noise / the livid radiance of moonlight / the wild shape of some night-blossom / some strange and cruel kingdom / an intimate dungeon cell reserved for the most exclusive captivity / constant, noisy marauding / sedentary or stealthy rituals / an abyss of unspoken reproaches and suspicions / some ancient seagoing vessel / an old oil lamp / a series of quite fascinating lectures / a kind of brutality and an air of exile / deliriums of earth and sky / fog-bound islands in polar seas / shadowed realms littered with dead cities / peaks lacerated by unceasing winds / a bluish slime / the proper way to behave / the great mists of spring / murky sheets of ice / a world of shadows bound in place / the sound of something that stings the air / the hissing of rainy afternoons / immense blades sweeping over vast spaces / expansive wings cutting through cold winds / long whips lashing in darkness / intangible sympathies / a dark mesh of nightmares / a foul nest in which one’s own suspicions are swarming / links to a strictly mundane order / a briskness that seems to be an effort / a heavy spring dampness / lost to the world of wholesome practicalities / a hypnotic and fateful determination / a child’s weakness for prospects of misadventure / a fog-smothered landscape / a pale, floating web / an immense and awful kingdom / a patternless conglomerate of crystals / a misty graveyard / angular and many-faced monuments / the mountainous and murky thunderheads of a rainy season / the very essence of a storm / a matter of suspicion and conjecture / atrocious potential / fogs and mists and gray heaping skies / a conspicuous stridency / a dour mystique / a gray mist / skies of hissing rain

The Shadow At the Bottom of the World

Some feverish intent / sheaves of cornstalks standing brownish and brittle in a newly harvested field / a sky of empty light / fiery leafage / something dark, something abysmal / small shadowy voices / sweet wine turning to vinegar / a hysteric brilliance / displays of thorn apple, sumac, and towering sunflowers / crooked roadside fences / a moonlit field / a bright round moon / nocturnal solitude / patched-up overalls / worn flannel / the withered leaves of cornstalks / moonlight spread across a dead field / a great idol in shabby disguise / a sacred avatar out of season / fidgeting bemusement / a leaden vault of clouds / pure sunlight / misty dreams of the past night / a vine-twisted stone wall / dormant vines / a strange network of dead veins / calculated grayness / radiant leaves / legions of local cicadas / a dark fungus / of the blackest earth / a rich loam / a bog of shadows / an abyss in the outline of a man / the feel of wind and water / a few shifting flames / flames of only the slightest warmth / black flames / the molten texture of spoiled fruit / a shriveled scarecrow / an armory of axes, shovels, and other implements / an eccentricity of the harvest / a viscous mire / innumerable insects laughing / sprouting blackness / a perverse reluctance / the great shadow of a moonless night / the dark rustling depths of the season / the glass globes of streetlamps / the dense leaves of elms and oaks and maples / blazing auras / the frigid aurora of dawn / frost-powdered earth / shadows and corn shocks / countless insects chattering unseen / the feverish life of the earth / the wrinkled grimace of decay / corrupted by vile impulses / a mound of soft dirt / the darkish grooves of ancient bark / the mottled complexion of old flesh / a multitude of crooked smiles / a freakish mask painted with russet, rashy colors / a virulent intensity / an autumn night when fields lay ragged in moonlight / moist and fertile shadows / a hollow-eyed howling malignity / the cold emptiness of space / the pale gaze of the moon / the depths of an extraordinary harvest / insecure hints and delvings / the luxuriant shadow of trees / the mocking plumage of a strange season / an array of whims and suspicions / scraps of lush color / gold and crimson hieroglyphs / deathless leaves / an ill-formed village / a hideous impersonation of a face / leprous masks / knotty shadows / a subterranean craze of roots and tendrils / an underworld riot of branching convolutions / gnarled ornamentations / autumnal decay / knives and axes and curving scythes / countless colored leaves / pronouncements of dire or delightful curiosity / a dull trance / a wild luminousness / a diamond-bright fever burning within / perennial strangeness / tenacious foliage / softly glowing against a black sky / an untimely nocturnal rainbow / a harvest of hues / peach gold / pumpkin orange / honey yellow / winy amber / apple red / plum violet / the pyrotechnics of a new autumn / a thousand glittering dreams / a rigid scarecrow / a patchwork of shadows / a quivering glow / a premature craving / an expertly whetted blade / a betrayal or deception on the part of creation itself / something buried deep within appearances / something that wears a mask to hide itself / holding a spatula like a weapon / moldering shadows / a dreamless sleep / a sudden rage of mortification / the remains of a dismantled scarecrow / an ashen autumn morning / the feeling of blood / a bottomless grave

[feyresdaughter]

A Court of Wings and Ruin, chapter 80:

I told them my story. All of it. I told it to the strangers who did not know me, I told it to my friends, and I told it to Tamlin, hard-faced by the distant wall. I explained the years of poverty, the trials Under the Mountain, the love I had found and let go, the love that had healed and saved me. My voice did not quaver. My voice did not break. Nearly everything I had seen in the Ouroboros— I let them see it, too. Told them. And when I was done, Miryam and Drakon stepped forward to tell their own story.

Another glimmer of proof— that humans and Fae could not only work together, live together, but become so much more. I listened to every word of it— and did not bother to brush away my tears at times. I only clutched Rhys’s hand, and did not let go.

Plssss I love them so so much

I recognized his scent before I heard his easy steps approach. “Where do you go now?” I asked without looking over my shoulder as Jurian paused beside me and stared into the darkness. Jurian leaned against the opposite door frame. “Queen Vassa offered me a place within her court.” Indeed, Vassa still remained inside, chatting with Lucien animatedly. “Are you going to accept?”

I love their friendship

“Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.” - “Too bad indeed,” I muttered. Jurian grunted his amusement

Cute

“Do you think we stand a chance ?” I asked, motioning to the human figures still walking, far away, back toward the camp. “Of peace between all of us?” Jurian was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said softly. “I do.” And I didn’t know why, but it gave me comfort.

Sunlight still leaked in through the windows of the town house . The scent of citrus and the sea and baked bread still filled every room. And distantly … Children were still laughing in the streets. Home. Home was the same— home was untouched. I squeezed Rhys’s hand so tightly I thought he’d complain, but he only squeezed right back.

“The new Amren is even crankier than the old one,” Elain said softly. I burst out laughing. The others joined me, and even Elain smiled— broadly

Aww Elain is so proud

It is real, he purred into my mind. I’ll prove it to you later. For hours. I snorted, and watched as he made an excuse to no one in particular about finding food and sauntered down the hall, hands in his pockets.

The hand in his pockets show that he's thinking

Even for an immortal, there was not enough time in life to waste it on hatred. On feeling it and putting it into the world.

YES BABY YOU'RE RIGHT FEYRE

Elain nodded, smiling up at me, and it was tentative joy— and life that shone in her eyes. A promise of the future, gleaming and sweet. “What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.” My throat was too tight to immediately reply, so I just kissed my sister’s cheek before I said, “Yes— I think it does.”

Feyre and Elain are so cute I can't wait for acowar I need more of them

[scftglows]

(   jennie   kim,   cis-woman,   25,   she/her   )       ⎯⎯⎯⎯       welcome   to   sunny   los   angeles,   𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄   𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈   !       we   heard   you’re   quite   + 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒,   but   at   the   same   time,   you   can   be   a   little   - 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄.       i   hope   it   doesn’t   impact   your   job   as   an   𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒   too   much.       either   way,   kick   your   feet   up   !       we’ll   see   you   around   town   ―   especially   at   𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀   𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀   𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇.

                                                  introduction.                                       tw:  pregnancy   +   miscarriage.                                 pinterest   ▪︎   spotify  ▪︎   musings   ▪︎   connections

━━   𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

gleam   of   moonlight   on   light   brown  hair;   the   sound   of   une   barque   sur  l'ocean   echoing   from   another   room;   rehearsed   smiles;   scribbles   over   sheet   music;   rolled   up   sleeves   of   oversized   sweaters;   a   spot   of   sunlight;   tear   soaked   pillows;   tangled   knots   of   headphones;   a   collection   of   stashed   away   polaroids;   empty   streets   in   autumn   nights.

━━   𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂   𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

full   name:   josette   ann   choi.     nickname(s):   josie.     age:   twenty-five.     birthdate:   december   13th,   1996.     zodiac:   sagittarius   sun,   virgo   moon,   pisces   rising.     gender:   cis-woman.     pronouns:   she/her.     sexual   +   romantic   orientation:   bisexual   +   biromantic.    marital   status:   single.     birth   place:   miami,   fl.     current   residency:   los   angeles,   ca.     occupation:   actor;   buffy   summers   in   hbo’s   hit   reboot   series   ‘buffy   the   vampire   slayer’   +   luna   snow   in   marvel’s   upcoming   film   ‘agents   of   atlas’.

━━   𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.

the   choi   family   comes   from   a   line   of   success;       her   father   was   a   renowed   oscar   winner   film   director   whilst   her   mother   was   a   famous   actress.       thus,   when   josie   was   born,   her   whole   life   was   already   mapped   out   for   her.       

they   were   good,   loving   parents.   they   simply   had   high   expectations   for   their   only   daughter.   they   wanted   josie   to   live   up   to   their   name,   and   she   never  disappointed.       a    child   prodigy   in   every   sense   of   the   word;   from   the   grades   she   got,   to   the   natural   gift   for   the   piano,   to   the   scripts   she   could   memorize   within   minutes,   to   the   friends   she  kept   and   the   way   she   presented   herself   in   public.       she   was   perfect   and   she   played   the   part   well.

at   the   age   of   fourteen,   josie   already   knew   what   she   wanted   to   do   for   the   rest   of   her   life   -   acting.   she's   aware   of   her   nepotism   privilege,   that   she   received   far  more   opportunities   than   any   other   teen   actor   at   the   beginning   of   their   career,   but   her   hard   working   and   kind-hearted   nature   shows   she   doesn’t   take   it   for   granted.

josie   starred   in   a   few   short   films   throughout   her   teenage   years,   appeared   in   the   newest   installment   of   the   horror   film   fear   street,   had   a   supporting   role   in   an   oscar   winning   film   directed   by   her   father,   and   currently   plays   buffy   summers   in   hbo's   reboot   series   buffy   the   vampire   slayer   (i’m a huge btvs fan dont @ me).       she   was   recently   cast   to   star   in   marvel's   agents   of   atlas   as   luna   snow.

in   2018,   during   an   after   party   her   best   friend   dragged   her   to,   she   was   introduced   to   a   boy,   whom   she   connected   with   instantly.       he’s   sweet,   and   he’s   kind,   and   he’s   in   a   band   and   that’s   so   hot,   and   he   collects   comic   books   and   that’s   so   endearing,   and   they   spent   the  whole   night   with   one   another,   getting   to   know   each   and   every   little   aspect   of   each   other.

love   happened,   she   fell   for   him   hard   and   fast.       he   was   healing   from   a   broken   heart   and   she   was   experiencing   being   in   love   for   the   first   time.       their   fans   absolutely   loved   them   together;   she’d   go   to   his   concerts   and   blush   furiously   whenever   he   sang   josie   by   blink-182,   he’d   be   her   date   for   every   award   show,   film   festival   and   promotional   event.

they   were   happy   and   in   a   healthy   relationship,   and   near   their   first   aniversary,   they   found   out   she   was   pregnant.       they   only   told   their   parents   and   their   closest   friends.       seeing   as   they   shared   so   much   of   their   life   online   already,   they   wanted   to   go   through   the   beginning   of   the   pregnancy   by   themselves,   without  the   stress   of   paparazzis   or   other   people's   opinions.

but   life   threw   a   curveball   and   she   miscarriaged   during   the   first   trimester.       the   pain   was   too   great   to   bear,   and   as   much   as   they   loved   each   other,   love   wasn't   enough   to   keep   them   together.       they   went   their   separate   ways   and   never   announced   their   breakup,   to   this   day   they're   tagged   in   photos   together   on   instagram   and   in   long   twitter   threads.

more   than   ever,   josie   immersed   herself   in   work,   often   neglecting   friends   and   family   to   prioritize   her   job.       she   still   needs   to   heal,   but   she   doesn’t   give   herself   time   to.

━━   𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

     ✔     courageous,   energetic,   passionate,   ambitious,   versatile.

     ✘     sensitive,   stubborn,   confrontational,   ruthless,   straightforward.

━━   𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

vienna   by   billy   joel   pretty   much   sums   her   up   </3

kinda   has   a   really   soft   voice,   and   if   ppl   say   "can   you   speak  a   little  louder?“  it   makes   her   want   to   die

idk   why   i   always   feel   compelled   to   say   this   but   she’s   5'4’‘   <3

t-swift   stan  !

obsessed   with   animals   +   if   ur   muse’s   got   a   pet   she   inevitably   loves   them   and   their   pet   <3

kinda   dabbles   a   lil   bit   in   writing   lyrics

plays   the   piano  like   a   pro

has   a   finsta   <3

yoga   wh*re   and   will   drag   ur   muse   to   classes   if   u   let   her

she   was   a   guest  to   the   late   late   show   with   james   corden   once   and   played   spill   your   guts  /   fill   your   guts   and   when   james   asked   the   reason   behind   her   and   alex’s   breakup,   she   ate   bull   penis   </3

balenciaga   brand   ambassador   <3

[who-is-muses]

—    bold  all  physical  traits  that  apply to your muse.

eyes (general): large / small / narrow / sharp / squinty / round / wide-set / close-set / deep-set / sunken / bulging / protruding / wide / hooded / heavy-lidded / bright / sparkling / glittering / flecked / dull / bleary / rheumy / cloudy / red-rimmed / beady / bird-like / cat-like / jewel-like / steely / hard / long lashes / sweeping eyelashes / thick eyelashes

eyes (color): chestnut / chocolate brown / cocoa brown / coffee brown / mocha / mahogany / sepia / sienna brown / mink brown / copper / amber / cognac / whiskey / brandy / honey / tawny / topaz / hazel / obsidian / onyx / coal / raven / midnight / sky blue / sunny blue / cornflower blue / steel blue / ice blue / arctic blue / glacial blue / crystal blue / cerulean / electric blue / azure / lake blue / aquamarine / turquoise / denim blue / slate blue / slate gray / storm blue / storm gray / silver / silver gray / chrome / platinum / pewter / smoky gray / ash gray / concrete gray / dove gray / shark gray / fog gray / gunmetal gray / olive / emerald / leaf green / moss green

eyebrows: arched / straight / plucked / sparse / trim / dark / faint / thin / thick / unruly / bushy / heavy

skin (general): lined / wrinkled / seamed / leathery / sagging / drooping / loose / clear / smooth / silken / satiny / dry / flaky / scaly / delicate / thin / translucent / luminescent / baby-soft / flawless / small pores / large pores / glowing / dewy / dull / velvety / fuzzy / rough / uneven / mottled / dimpled / doughy / firm / freckled / pimply / pockmarked / blemished / pitted / scarred / bruised / veined / scratched / sunburned / weather-beaten / raw / tattooed

skin (color): amber / bronze / cinnamon / copper / dark brown / deep brown / ebony / honey / golden / pale / pallid / pasty / fair / light / cream / alabaster / ivory / bisque / milk / porcelain / chalky / sallow / olive / peach / rosy / ruddy / florid / russet / tawny / fawn

face structure: square / round / oblong / oval / elongated / narrow / heart-shaped / cat-like / wolfish / high forehead / broad forehead / prominent brow ridge / protruding brow bone / sharp cheekbones / high cheekbones / angular cheekbones / hollow cheeks / square jaw / chiseled / sculpted / craggy / soft / jowly / jutting chin / pointed chin / weak chin / receding chin / double chin / cleft chin / dimple in chin / visible adam’s apple

nose: snub / dainty / button / turned-up / long / broad / thin / straight / pointed / crooked / aquiline / roman / bulbous / flared / hawk / strong

mouth / lips: thin / narrow / full / lush / cupid’s bow / rosebud / dry / cracked / chapped / moist / glossy / straight teeth / crooked teeth / gap between teeth / gleaming white teeth / yellowed teeth / braces / overbite / underbite / dimples

facial hair: clean-shaven / smooth-shaven / beard / neckbeard / goatee / moustache / sideburns / mutton-chop sideburns / stubble / a few days’ growth of beard / five o’ clock shadow

hair (general): long / short / shoulder-length / loose / limp / dull / shiny / glossy / sleek / smooth / luminous / lustrous / spiky / stringy / shaggy / tangled / messy / tousled / windblown / unkempt / straggly / neatly combed / parted / slicked down / slicked back / cropped / clipped (sides) / buzzed / buzz cut / curly / bushy / frizzy / wavy / straight / lanky / dry / oily / greasy / layers / corkscrews / spirals / ringlets / braids / dreadlocks / widow’s peak / bald / shaved / comb-over / thick / luxuriant / voluminous / full / wild / untamed / bouncy / wispy / fine / thinning

hair (color): black / blue-black / jet black / raven / ebony / inky black / midnight / sable / salt and pepper / silver / silver gray / charcoal gray / steel gray / white / snow-white / brown / brunette / chocolate brown / coffee brown / ash brown /  khaki /   brown sugar / nut brown / caramel / tawny brown / toffee brown / red / ginger / auburn / copper / strawberry blonde / butterscotch / honey / wheat / blonde / golden / sandy blond / flaxen / fair-haired / bleached / platinum

body type: tall / average height / short / petite / tiny / compact / big / large / burly / beefy / bulky / brawny / barrel-chested / heavy / heavy-set / fat / overweight / obese / flabby / chunky / chubby / pudgy / pot-bellied / portly / thick / stout / lush / plush / full-figured / ample / rounded / voluptuous / curvy / hourglass / plump / leggy / long-legged / gangling / lanky / coltish / lissome / willowy / lithe / lean / slim / slender / trim / thin / skinny / emaciated / gaunt / bony / spare / solid / stocky / wiry / rangy / sinewy / stringy / ropy / sturdy / strapping / powerful / hulking / fit / athletic / toned / muscular / chiseled / taut / ripped / herculean / broad-shouldered / sloping shoulders / bowlegged

hands: delicate / small / large / square / sturdy / strong / smooth / rough / calloused / elegant / plump / manicured / stubby fingers / long fingers / ragged nails / grimy fingernails / ink-stained

[writingratthings]

The Smartphone Snail: A Lesson in Slow and Steady Tech

In the heart of a lush garden, where colorful flowers bloomed and gentle breezes whispered secrets to the trees, there lived a snail named Simon. Simon was no ordinary snail; he was known far and wide as the "Smartphone Snail" due to his unusual fascination with technology.

While other snails contented themselves with nibbling on leaves and enjoying the simple pleasures of the garden, Simon was often seen with a tiny smartphone strapped to his shell. He would navigate its touchscreen with his delicate snail's pace, responding to messages, scrolling through social media, and even playing games with astonishing patience.

Simon's fellow garden inhabitants couldn't understand his obsession with technology. They would jest, "Simon, why do you bother with that gadget when you move at a snail's pace already?" But Simon paid no heed to their teasing. He believed that technology had much to offer, even to a slow and steady snail like himself.

One sunny afternoon, as Simon tapped away on his smartphone, a wise old tortoise named Thomas approached him. Thomas was known for his years of wisdom and experience, and he had seen the rise and fall of many technological wonders.

"Simon," Thomas inquired, "why do you spend so much time with that device? Is there something you hope to find within its digital realm?"

Simon looked up, his eyes gleaming with the soft glow of the screen. "I believe that technology, like life, has its own pace and rhythm. It may move faster than I do, but there are valuable lessons to be learned from both its speed and its stillness."

Intrigued by Simon's perspective, Thomas settled down beside him. He listened as the Smartphone Snail shared his thoughts on the beauty of patience, the importance of balance, and the wisdom of knowing when to disconnect from the digital world and reconnect with nature.

As days turned into weeks, more creatures from the garden gathered around Simon and Thomas. They came to listen to the Smartphone Snail's musings about the benefits of technology, as well as its limitations. Simon emphasized that while technology could connect people across vast distances, it should never replace the simple joys of face-to-face interactions or the wonder of the natural world.

Simon's wisdom began to spread beyond the garden. People from the nearby town heard about the Smartphone Snail and his unique perspective on technology. They visited the garden, seeking to learn from Simon's example. They marveled at his ability to find a harmonious balance between the digital realm and the physical world.

And so, in the heart of the lush garden, Simon, the Smartphone Snail, showed the world that even in the age of fast-paced technology, there was wisdom to be found in embracing the slow and steady pace of life.

[beautybuzzmagnificent]

Enchanted Brushstrokes: A Love Story in the Woods

Once upon a time in a quaint little town, two strangers found themselves drawn together by fate. Sarah, a vibrant and adventurous artist, had just moved to the town seeking inspiration for her work. Ethan, a kind-hearted and introspective writer, had lived there all his life, often finding solace in the beauty of the surroundings.

One sunny afternoon, Sarah decided to explore the nearby woods, hoping to capture the essence of nature in her paintings. As she wandered deeper into the wilderness, she stumbled upon an old, forgotten treehouse. Curiosity got the better of her, and she climbed up to see what secrets it held. Little did she know that the treehouse was a place Ethan had frequented during his childhood, a sanctuary where he sought refuge from the world.

Just as Sarah admired the view from the treehouse, Ethan happened to be walking by. Seeing her up there brought a smile to his face, reminding him of the innocence and wonder he once possessed. Intrigued by the mysterious newcomer, he approached the treehouse, and their eyes met.

"Hi, I'm Ethan," he said warmly.

Sarah introduced herself, her eyes gleaming with excitement, "I'm Sarah. This place is magical!"

They began to talk, sharing stories of their lives, dreams, and aspirations. A deep connection formed between them as they discovered shared interests and values. As the sun set, painting the sky with a stunning array of colors, they realized how effortless it felt to be in each other's company.

Over the following days, Sarah and Ethan spent more time together, exploring the town's hidden gems, laughing, and uncovering parts of themselves they had long forgotten. They admired each other's creativity and encouraged one another to pursue their passions wholeheartedly.

As the weeks passed, their friendship blossomed into something more profound. They found themselves longing for each other's company, cherishing every moment spent together. Their hearts opened up, and they fell in love, embracing the vulnerability that came with it.

One evening, beneath a starry sky, they stood at the edge of a shimmering lake. The reflection of the moon made the water look like a canvas painted with silver strokes. There, amidst the serenity of nature, they confessed their feelings for one another, the words flowing from their hearts like poetry.

Their love grew stronger with each passing day. They became each other's muse, inspiring creations that captured the essence of their affection. The townspeople noticed the newfound radiance in Sarah and Ethan, and they too were touched by the love that seemed to fill the air.

As the years passed, Sarah and Ethan's love endured through the seasons. They continued to support each other in their artistic pursuits and personal growth. Their story became a legend in the town—a tale of love that had enriched the lives of those who witnessed it.

And so, in this small town, where strangers had become soulmates, Sarah and Ethan's love story continued, a beautiful journey of two hearts intertwined, forever grateful for the day destiny led them to that magical treehouse in the woods. Click For more Like this