#♔ — ( all of your attire )

[andthemouseroared]

☼ How does your character usually dress in daily life?

👠 What kind of shoes does your character usually wear in daily life?

♔ What (if any) jewelry does your character usually wear?

Ashley is a bit dressy. She's so used to having to be professional she hasn't really had time to develop her own casual style. She likes the layered look with a jacket and top, and often pairs them with stockings and boots. Sometimes even pumps.

Moving to Venice has forced her to adapt some, because it's way too hot to be wearing formal attire all the time, not to mention the fact she'd probably look a bit out of place, at least in her mind. She'd probably take some cues from Crockett and Tubbs on Miami Vice: lighter material, maybe a tank top under a thin dress jacket and brighter colours.

Ashley has an entire drawer in her vanity full of necklaces, earrings, bracelets and bangles. She will wear them in combination with her daily coordinates, but again, given where she lives and the fact she's S.T.A.R.S. now she's gone a bit easier on it since the move. Maybe a necklace, but little things like that have a tendency to get lost in waves and sand.

[sereinegemini]

Intentions & Tiaras

— Prologue

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Princess F/n of Prussia travels to London in hopes of finding a husband in this year’s season.

Warnings: This fic takes place during season two of the show

The Season of 1814

F/n’s POV

“Sister, are you quite ready yet?” Friedrich called through the door. His impatience implied the ball would be starting soon, and your nerves buzzed with anticipation.

“Just a moment!” 

Alice, your lady-in-waiting, was fidgeting with your ice-blue gown and winced at your volume. You offered her an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“No worries, Your Highness.” She gently placed a silver tiara in your hair, its sapphires gleaming in the sunset seeping through the castle’s windows.

You studied her face while she adjusted it to her liking, wishing you were even half as calm as she was right now. “Do you think any of them will be a good match for me? The lords of the ton?”

“I would not fret. Her Majesty seemed quite confident in the bachelors she had in mind.” Alice smiled softly, the two of you admiring your stunning appearance in the mirror. The dress’ neckline flattered your bosom in all the right ways before flowing into puffed sleeves and skirts. The two details contrasted perfectly to form a naively elegant silhouette.

“And what if they do not like me?”

“You are a princess. They will have eyes for no one but you.”

“I know, but, Alice–” You gripped her hands between you. “What if they do not like me? What if they care only for what I am and not who I am?”

Alice squeezed your hands comfortingly, leaning in and fervently whispering, “Then do not marry them. Wait for the man who sees your mind and soul and does not shy away from you being more than just your title.”

· · ───────── · ♔ · ───────── · ·

“My dear, I almost feel sorry for whoever I choose to be this season’s diamond. They shall pale in comparison to you,” said Queen Charlotte, studying you across the plush carriage.

You were the epitome of dignity: back straight and chin up, a soft smile permanently gracing your lips, knees and ankles pressed bruisingly together. The tension in your muscles was sure to catch up to you at some point this season. But, if for some reason you did not find a husband the least you could do was leave knowing you’d impressed your aunt. “You flatter me, Your Majesty.”

“Why not declare F/n as the diamond?” Friedrich asked from beside you, where he’d been stealing worried glances your way. As a princess you’d been raised to be proper all of the time, but at home in Prussia you weren’t so…high-strung.

The Queen chuckled. “There is no need. Anyone with eyes could see your sister is worth courting. Naming another lady as my incomparable will give the men of the ton more of a chance to obtain a gem this season.”

Distant chattering and music met your ears and you peered out the window as the carriage drew ever closer to the ball. The sight was breathtaking. The white building was lined with windows and a giant glass dome atop the center—all glowing with golden light.

The carriage came to a stop and you eagerly took the hand of the footman, following the Queen out onto the torch and bouquet lined path. In Prussia, court and society were not so exquisite, and you found your worries replaced with excitement at the sight before you.

It was a struggle not to gawk at the many couples swirling and gliding across the floor, their performance enhanced by the shining chandeliers above their heads. This event was truly grand. It was as if you'd been placed in the middle of a fairy-tale. And if the whole season was to be this way, you were sure you’d never want to step foot out of England again. 

“So many flowers,” the Queen sighed, pausing to survey the guests, “when what I really seek is a gem.”

A middle-aged woman with a walking cane approached your group. Her confidence and blood-red gown contrasted drastically with the nervousness and golden attire of the woman at her side.

“Lady Danbury. A delightful soiree, as expected. Though my own later this week will be much more exclusive.”

While the comment could be taken as quite rude, the woman—Lady Danbury—seemed completely unaffected by it. Obviously no one would dare return the coldness of a royal, but usually one could find some hurt in their expression if looking close enough. Lady Danbury answered with nothing but a smile. Perhaps the Queen and Lady were friends of a sort. “Your Majesty, I would not think to compare.”

Your aunt seemed pleased by this. “And rightfully so. Lady Danbury, I would like to introduce you to my niece, Princess F/n of Prussia. You of course remember her elder brother, Prince Friedrich.”

Lady Danbury bowed her head in your direction. “An honor, Your Highness.”

“It is so very nice to meet you, Lady Danbury.”

“And welcome back to England, Prince Friedrich. I so look forward to you finding yourself a wife this season.”

“Thank you, Lady Danbury,” your brother said from beside you, his hands clasped politely behind his back, “But I am merely here to aid my sister in finding her own match.”

You glanced his way, hoping he’d find some comfort in your empathy even though you could not openly express it here. He had been so heartbroken when last season’s diamond, Daphne Bridgerton, had chosen someone else. Yet pride also swelled in your chest at the fact he’d been genuinely happy for her.

“My eldest daughter has the same intention for her sister, but we shall see if she truly ends this season alone,” the woman beside Lady Danbury stated.

“Oh yes, Your Majesty, may I present Lady Mary Sharma, whom you must remember,” Lady Danbury remarked as if she had just remembered the woman was there. You tuned out the rest of what she said, examining Lady Sharma and wondering why the Queen seemed so displeased by her presence. 

The next thing you knew you were being swept away, looking back to find Lady Sharma looking a little stung. Had the Queen said something rude?

“Come, dearest,” your aunt led you to the front of the room with a hand on your back, “We must make your presence known.”

All eyes were already on you as you passed through the whispering crowd. You smiled flirtingly at a few of the men refusing to take their eyes from you, impatient to know which would ask you to dance first.

Brimsley, the Queen’s Butler—and from what you’d gathered, her right hand man—cleared his throat loudly and those still talking grew quiet. “Her Majesty requests everyone’s attention for an announcement.”

Queen Charlotte glowed when addressing her subjects, and you couldn’t help but be jealous of how at ease she seemed in the position. “Welcome to the first event of the season, and a thank you to Lady Danbury for hosting it, as always. We have a special guest participating this season. My stunning niece Princess F/n of Prussia, accompanied by her brother, Prince Friedrich. I trust you will all make her feel most welcome to London.”

As one, the whole room bowed to you and your family. Despite the slight embarrassment the act always had and would cause you, you lifted your chin and presented them with a thankful smile. “I thank you for such a warm welcome.”

The Queen motioned for the orchestra to continue and elegant music once again drifted through the air. And, as if the room was lifted from a trance, men darted in your direction.

The first to reach you was a dark and handsome gentleman, his clean-shaven face giving him a bit of a boy-ish presentation. Though, his stern eyes hinted at his years. His hand dwarfed yours when he took it, bending to place a warm kiss to your gloved knuckles. “Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, Your Highness. It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Masterlist || Chapter I »

Author’s Note: Credit for the lovely royalty divider

Be notified of future chapters!

[deadasursleepschedule]

Waltzing with the Prince of Death ♛

This is a short one-shot story inspired by this playlist currated by the wonderful yuecubed. It goes by the same name as the playlist because I'm really shitty at naming things, which is why the Empire in this story has no name and the titular Prince of Death's given name is so basic.

"And now, to commemorate Emperor Jullian the Third's coronation," the chamberlain bellowed, "He shall have his first dance as Emperor with the Imperial Consort; his Imperial Majesty's first and only spouse!"

The Prince of Death's eyes gleam at you from underneath dark lashes as the music begins to well up from the orchestra. He extends a gloved hand to you as an invitation as he bows.

"May I have this dance?" He whispers, his voice deep and melodic in a way that makes you shiver. You slip your hand, gloved in white silk, into his. "And every dance after," you smile as you curtsy. A soft smile plays at his lips as the both of you rise.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♔ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Crown Prince Jullian the Third, more famously known as the Prince of Death, is a handsome yet dangerous man. His skin is almost sickly pale, nearly translucent in a way that the finest of bone china could never hope to achieve. He towers above most people his age, with perfect posture and dignity. His eyes are dark as the inky vastness of night, and his hair is black like volcanic ash. He dresses in nothing but funeral attire trimmed with gold and always wears black silken gloves, no matter the occasion.

A striking figure, indeed; the kind of man that would be the pride of the Empire if he did not kill all that he touched. Yes, Prince Jullian is handsome, and he is indeed dangerous, but he also seems incredibly lonely.

He has had this terrible power since he was not but three years old. He has not touched a single living soul since, except when old and injured animals came to him, begging for the release that came with the touch of The Prince of Death. Often, no greater blessing can be given to these poor creatures other than the assurance that they are as comfortable as possible when they pass. The Prince of Death is a kind man, as well as a sad one.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♔ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The Prince of Death leads you towards the center of the dancefloor. The exquisite gold and silver decor of the palace glint and shine underneath the light of the grand chandeliers as the champagne flutes of the captivated attendees sparkle and glitter around you. The two of you are quite a pair, The Prince of Death and the Flower of the Countryside. You are rosy-cheeked where he is deathly pale; you are lively where he is calm. He is silent where you are talkative; He is clothed in black where you are draped in colours. You and he are opposites in every way. On the surface, at the very least.

The dance you two start is almost like an argument, but perhaps closer to playful banter. You begin simply enough, a basic waltz that's easy to keep up with. And then, like in every conversation you and The Prince of Death have, you take the lead.

You speed up, quickening your steps and performing complicated footwork. Emperor Jullian, of course, matches you step for step almost effortlessly. You go on like this, rapidly changing paces and patterns as you try and make Emperor Jullian misstep. It doesn't work, of course; he's an excellent conversationalist when he wants to be, and an even better dancer. You make a move to the left, a playful jab to spice up the dialogue. He spins you, a counterargument that makes you grin.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♔ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It is not by chance that you are privy to all this information; it is not by chance at all. You are but the middle child of a lowly viscount, a spare that is almost certainly never going to inherit the title. The highest use your family has for you is being married off to a prosperous man, and The Prince of Death is very prosperous indeed.

It had angered you greatly at first; you knew why it was you that they betrothed to the prince. As a middle child of a relatively unimportant viscount, it wouldn't be much of a loss if you were to perish on your wedding night. Your family and the royals saw it as a good deal; your betrothal elevated you and your family's status without much consequence if you were to die suddenly. You, however, see it for what it was: leaving an innocent, unimportant noble to die like leading a lamb to the slaughterhouse.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♔ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your gown twirls as you do, sparkling and iridescent. The guests gasp as you and The Prince of Death come together once again, this time chest-to-chest, skin almost touching. It's a close call, too close for most people's comfort.

The two of you have only been married for three days and have yet to consummate the marriage; you have never even kissed. That much must be obvious to onlookers, seeing as you're still alive. Emperor Jullian's father died two days after your marriage; Jullian had been crowned as quickly as possible. You smile at him, the only warning that you're about to try and trip him up. He smiles back, warm but tense.

You raise your hands to his shoulders as the music begins to swell; he lowers his hands to your waist instinctively. His eyes widen as he realizes what you're about to do, and you grin mischievously.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♔ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When you had first met The Prince of Death, you had thought he was angry too. He kept his distance and did not converse with you unless you initiated. Even then he only ever gave one-worded answers. Perhaps he was offended that his spouse-to-be was unfit for a Prince, too ugly or without adequate manners or wealth or standing. Or, mayhap he was upset at the implications that he needed an unimportant spouse because he might just accidentally kill them.

Of course, this had not been the case; Prince Jullian was not angry at all. He kept his distance out of fear of harming you and kept his silence out of fear of being broken-hearted if he got too attached and lost you. His efforts were for nothing, for when two people spend as much time together as the two of you did, feelings would be inevitable.

Even as you drew him out of his shell, his quiet demeanour never left. Quiet and calm is just who he is, but more of his personality began to shine through. His love of animals became clear and so did his love of his people. His love of reading and dancing broke through to the surface and eventually, so did his love for you. The Prince of Death is surprisingly gentle and has a lot of love to give.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♔ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The Prince of Death lifted you into the air as he turned along with the music's crescendo. For one moment, it felt as if it was only the two of you in the entire world as you are weightless in your husband's arms. Then, all at once, your feet touch the ground again. The floor is solid beneath your feet as Emperor Jullian twirls you one, two, three times before dipping you as the music comes to a close. It seems that you have come to an agreement. Unfortunately, you always have to get the last word in.

You bring up your gloved hand to cup the back of his head and pull him downwards. You press your lips to his as you look into his eyes before letting yours flutter closed. Everything is silent, the guests have stopped talking and the orchestra has stopped playing. Jullian stills for a moment before panicking as he tries to move backwards. You hold him in place. Your skin is touching and you should still be dead, but still your heart beats and still your lungs fill with air.

The Prince of Death pulls you up out of your dip and you pull apart, still holding hands. The audience that had fallen silent in fear and sorrow suddenly burst into uproarious cheers.

You too, it seems, have a lot of love to give

[farewcllwanderlvst]

⸻ꜰʟɪᴘ ᴀ ᴄᴏɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ꜰᴀʟʟ | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐎𝐘

º   .   ♔   ⸻   the  capital  of  king’s  landing  welcomes  THEON OF HOUSE GREYJOY,  the LORD of  PYKE.  news  borne  by  a  raven  sends  word  that  he  bear(s)  a  resemblance  to  JUNG JAE WON.  the  28  year  old  MALE  is  reputed  to  be  PASSIONATE and  BUOYANT,  but  with  the  eyes  of  court  watching  their  every  move,  they  might  turn  out  to  be  INSECURE and  HAUGHTY.  when  songs  are  sung,  their  verses  speak  of  A MIRROR SHATTERED , SHARDS DRIPPING CRIMSON, A PORTRAIT AS LOST AS THE REFLECTION WITHIN | A PIECE TRYING TO FIT, IT DOESN’T BELONG | AT WAR WITH TWO SIDES,  A HOWL IN YOUR HEART,  SALT IN YOUR BLOOD ; THERE IS NO VICTORY whispers  throughout  the  seven  kingdoms�� claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  HOUSE  STARK,  where  they  conspire  to  ASSIST THE STARKS, RETURN TO THE IRON ISLANDS & PROVE HIMSELF TO HIS FAMILY (BLOOD AND NOT).  but  in  the  end  fealty  means  little  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones. 

Headcanons  ⸻

Rose Colored Memories. Balon Greyjoy knew fairly early on that his youngest son was unlike the children he previously sired. He was too compassionate, too eager to please, and too emotional for the iron blood that should have been in his veins. He discarded the boy, and focused on the three children he could make use of. Alannys Greyjoy loved her youngest son all the same, and with Balon’s absence of love she attempted to compensate (she could never quite tip the scales, though she did succeed in citing the envy of her elder children. they all knew who mother’s favorite was). Theon, only a child, did not understand why his father never so much as glanced his way, why his siblings barely tolerated his presence, and why his father was so eager to pawn off the son he never had use of. Theon looks back on his time in Pyke with rose colored glasses and unhealthy idolization. He was too young to see the true picture of the life he lived. When asked about his time in Pyke and his family, he would say his brothers and uncle were far too playful sometimes (they weren’t cruel, they weren’t bullies, it was all well meaning fun), his mother was a wonderful storyteller (she wasn’t losing her mind, she always recognized him, why wouldn’t she?) and father mourned the loss of three sons, not two (he loved theon. he truly did! any bruises left on his skin were meant to make theon tougher, to make him strong. and his father never turned a blind eye to his tears because theon had never cried). 

A Fruitless Rebellion. Theon recalls the day with a vivid clarity in his mind. His elder brothers were dead, his mother was his tears, and his father’s dreams had been crushed into ash. He had attempted to comfort the man, only to be swatted away and stumble into his weeping mother’s arms. The bargain had been struck behind closed doors, and Theon had not been privy to the brokered deal deciding his fate. His mother had told him between her sobs, and Theon tried his very hardest not to shed any tears for the sake of his mother (and for the sake of his father as well, because iron born men did not cry). Theon had desperately tried to meet his father’s eyes, but the man did not spare him a glance. In his stead, he met the eyes of a man that Theon later found out was called Eddard Stark. Warm eyes despite his attire meant for the cold, he held gaze with the frightened child and Theon, for the first time, felt seen. More than a burden, more than a child to protect, but as a person. At the time he didn’t understand the feeling, deeming it strange, and unlike anything he had ever known before. It was a long time before he realized that gaze was a trait, but not of the North.  

Stranger in a Strange Land. The North was terribly cold. It was Theon’s first observation upon arrival to Winterfell but far from his last. The people acted strangely, he was their hostage and yet all he had ever known of the word appeared incorrect. Did hostage have the same meaning in the North as it did in the Iron Islands? In Pyke, a hostage meant shackles, a cell, lackluster food if any at all, and a clear lack of freedom. That could not be said for Winterfell, at least for the ten year old child who had played no part in his father’s uprising. Instead Theon was given warm furs, a room of his own, schooling and a friend in the form of Robb Stark. His memory was scarce on how the friendship came to be, only that it had never felt like obligation and it had made him feel safer than any hostage should have felt. 

Panopticon. It was with age that Theon began to learn, though vastly different from the ways of the Iron Islands, that the North did have shackles upon him nonetheless. Despite being treated as a ward in most respects (for which he should have been more grateful then he was), there were many ways to remember he was, just as well. a hostage to the North. A walking reminder came in the form of Jon Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark. What Theon first saw as favoritism, he later learned was indifference. Catelyn Stark favored her own children as any mother would, and in her eyes, neither Theon Greyjoy nor Jon Snow had a place in Winterfell. The worst of it was when other Lords and Ladies would visit Winterfell. He and Jon would be ushered away, out of sight or in the back of the room like they were some dirty secret the Starks kept behind locked doors. It was far easier taking out the ire he had on the bastard, and so Theon did. With taunts and cruelties he knew would hurt the lad the most. 

Hidden Afflictions. Distorting the past was far easier than the present. The Starks were his captors and he should have detested them, despite being aware of this (how it should have been) Theon knew it wasn’t true. Jon Snow was a target for his anger, and a rival (in the iron islands that would have been it, nothing more) but Jon Snow was also fun. Not only in his teasing and prodding (though those played a part as well) but as someone to challenge Theon, to be honest with in a way he could with little others. Little Rickon who toddled after him even when Lady Catelyn called him not to, with the most efficacious smile a toddler could possibly have. Little Bran, who Theon was sure would not remain so little, he would spring up like a weed and outgrow them all. He was already climbing to greater heights than the rest of them, it would only fit. There was Arya, who had a better aim than either of her brothers (not that theon would ever tell them, he would be admitting to seeing her practice weaponry). Sansa was more distant than the rest, much like her own mother, but Theon still remembered when she had only begun needlepoint. To this day, he didn’t know what possessed him when he offered his own clothes for her to practice (especially not when he purposely cut a hole into his own favorite shirt for her to fix up, but she’d been so delighted so there was no regret). Friendship with Robb Stark hadn’t been a choice, not a responsibility, and if Theon had given it a word to it he would have chosen honor. Someone to josh with, who wanted nothing in return but friendship, someone who cared what happened to Theon probably more than anyone he’d ever known (he’d like to think if his father did try a rebellion again, Robb would fight for his life but it was something Theon would never dare to ask). 

Heart in the North. When Eddard Stark became the hand of the king, Theon didn’t think much of it. It seemed more natural than not. If anything, little Sansa becoming a princess was more interesting news (not by much, it was fitting for her frankly). Then King Robert Baratheon was murdered, Eddard Stark was put on trial and Theon felt fear like he had never known before. It was more than the day Balon’s rebellion failed, when he’d lost his brothers and his home. Not only was Lord Stark at risk but Sansa and Arya as well. The thoughts were suffocating. Theon imagined never seeing Sansa and Arya ever again, he had always thought he’d watch them grow, see who they would become. He imagined never seeing Eddard Stark ever again, nevermore seeking his advice, never again seeing a fatherly gaze (he remembered meeting those eyes for the first time. that day when his father had refused to see theon, ned never hesitated). Winterfell was not his home, and the Starks were not his family.  So why did even the thought of their loss hurt so much more than any heartache he’d ever known? 

Loyalty in a War(d): The first time Theon received word of Eddard Stark’s survival, it had felt like a dream. If not for the wilting presence of Jaime Lannister, it would have felt far too surreal to be true. The sentencing was unkind but Ned Stark remained breathing, and that produced more relief than Theon could believe. Calling Robb Stark ‘King of the North’ came as easily as the breath in his lungs. It made think of his own father, and for the first time experienced seeds of doubt for the man’s actions. Balon Greyjoy struggled with something Theon had found terribly simple. Bending a knee to a remarkable man wasn’t an act that needed twice of thought, let alone a rebellion. Perhaps Robert Baratheon was not the great man that Robb Stark was? Or perhaps Theon Greyjoy was not the same man Balon Greyjoy was. Did this make him stronger of a man, or weaker of one? 

Plot Points⸻

An extension of the first plot point, is Theon’s warring viewpoint of what he was taught in the Iron Islands vs what he was taught in Winterfell. When Robb Stark is called King of the North, pledging fealty to him comes naturally to Theon, which makes him wonder why his father struggled so terribly with it (though struggling may be an understatement). He’s wondering if loyalty is something that makes him a weaker man than his father, or a stronger one? Is kneeling a weakness or a strength? Are the Starks his family or his captors? 

The second plot point is Theon’s opinion of his own self, and in relation, his place in the world. He wears his arrogance and pride like armor, as if it would hide all his many insecurities. It’s far easier boasting, cracking jokes, putting others down, than allowing any smidge of his own self worth into the forefront of his mind. He knows so little of his people, of the Iron Islands, the home he was supposed to return to someday (if he was ever to return at all, but that was a thought he often didn’t allow). Not to mention the sword hanging over his neck the day his father decided his son’s life wasn’t a worthy leverage any longer. The fear that he mattered to no one, that if he were to die his memory would be buried with the word unimportant just like his brother’s had been. Theon wanted to matter, if not only to the world but to others as well. Even the ones who claim to care for him, he harbors doubts. There was nothing Theon could offer them besides his own self, and that wasn’t much worth at all. 

[starneko123]

Malign Presence

Nova Nagako belongs to (me) @starneko123!

Yujiki Strigandr and Nirene Strigandr belong to @anxietymuffin!

OC CHARACTERS INVOLVED

Nova Nagako ♔ Yujiki Strigandr

Yujiki rubbed her face as she walked into her bathroom. She had one night of sleep. One. She didn't know if Nova was feeling nicer towards her and giving her a grace night or she just forgot altogether. Nova had put her through everything and she had a gut-wrenching feeling that she wasn't even close to finishing. Her eyes narrowed at the thought of her but more so at her reflection. She looked like she was from the Netherrealm. But she canceled it out that nobody would care and they didn't not until Nirene brought it up. He had been busy with missions in Outworld and with the witch but she had also been busy with the Lin Kuei. Nirene let out a whistle as his eyes landed on Yujiki’s person and uncrossed his legs in the process.

Yujiki let out a sigh as she grabbed a tea set and started preparing the tea. "I haven't slept in eight days I was only able to sleep last night and do you know why that is?" Yujiki raised an eyebrow but didn't waste the energy of looking over at Nirene. Nirene hummed and shrugged his shoulders as he swirled his morning coffee and side-eyed his sister pouring herself a cup of tea before slamming it down on the table. "It was that witch you call your friend!" Nirene leaned back in his seat looking up at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting surface in the world. He was in thought and then a lightbulb appeared. "Oh! Elise? She's not a witch she's a necromancer and she keeps to herself half the time so how would she-" Nirene was cut off by Yujiki slamming her hands down on the table.

"It's Nova! She is giving me nightmares and haunts me wherever I go and it doesn't matter who I am with unless it's you!" Yujiki finished with a huff and Nirene peered over at the clock "Well, If I know Nova at all she doesn't do those types of things unless they deserve it. It could be worse honestly." Yujiki clenched her fists "What is that supposed to mean?" Nirene stood from his chair retrieving his mask "Exactly what I said. I hope I didn't stutter." Yujiki grit her teeth and her eyes bore into Nirene "She has you on some type of leash better yet she has you brainwashed. She has you wrapped around that dainty goddess finger of hers as if she can't do no harm!" Nirene let something between a hum and a grunt. "Nova is as violent as they come she just doesn't make it her entire personality." and with that he left.

Yujiki was left staring at the door Nirene had just slammed. "If it was up to me she wouldn't even be standing right now. I could kill her." Yujiki uttered the words like a curse and a moment went by. Maybe two. "Then do it." Yujiki yelped as she saw before her eyes a purple mist circled itself in front of her and materialize into Nova. She wore casual Earthrealm attire as far as it could come. Black heels, a black silk dress with her hair curled, and black lips on display with a smile nonetheless. "I love a challenge. Never forget that Strigandr." Nova said as she took a step closer to Yujiki and she took a step back. "He's right you know, it could be much worse. You could be back in that one nightmare where you are covered to the brim in snow or the one where Bi-Han rejects you at every turn and advance. I could make where you never joined the Lin Kuei maybe I will go all the way and make sure you were never born." Yujiki grabbed one of her wooden chairs and threw it at her to which she dodged easily.

"I don't deserve this! I know I'm not the greatest person in the realms but even I know I'm worth more than the torture you're giving me! I deserve better than this!" Nova tilted her head to the side in amusement "What do you think you deserve? I'm confused. Would you like worse? So be it." Yujiki felt as if she could collapse "What?" It came out as a whisper almost "Yes I suppose I'll do just that but you must be patient with me I have my family problems at the moment." Nova turned to gaze at the clock and groaned "You've made me late." Nova snapped her fingers and dematerialized in front of Yujiki once more. Yujiki just stood there as tears rolled down her ivory cheeks.

What an eventful morning.

[ravusnightblossom]

She was out doing a supplies run to Lestallum and though she knew the garage was in good hands with Ravus and paws with Lexus, Cindy still felt an unease in being away. But her job would not halt, even for a day reserved for lovers, regardless if the pair weren't really into the holiday. Regardless she would leave a note upon the kitchen counter for when he returned from one of his patrols, something reminiscent of the letters they shared as children.

It drives me crazy to leave you boys like this, but I know you’ll behave yourselves. I understand this day is supposed to be a special one, but I also know neither of us are really into it. Besides, you've made each day extraordinary. I mean you already know I'm nuts ( and bolts ) about you, but let me write it out just in case… I love you, Ravus. Today, yesterday, and all the days after. I'll be home soon, darlin'.

Oh, and could ya meet me in the diner? I was going to fix up a little something for us when I get back! 💛

And as he ventures to the Pitstop with Lexus pulling up the rear almost excitedly as keen nose catches the smells coming from within, sure enough the aroma of food would hit him as well. The sight within could be considered quite awe inspiring; a veritable banquet running along the length of the counter bar, probably three difference kinds of mac and cheese, whiskey smoked pulled pork, naturally a few different variations of fries, and even some grilled fish and lightly steamed vegetables, overall a wonderful mix of down home and gourmet.

In but a moment there’s a faint humming coming from the kitchen and sure enough out comes Cindy, not donning her work attire or sporting a few streaks of oil upon her skin but in a bright, flowery sundress with her hair in a few loose braids twisted to a sidebun. There might be a couple little puffs of flour on her cheeks however the culprit for that would be the strawberry shortcake she just finished.

“ Happy Valentine’s Day, Hun! ” Cindy beams as she places the cake upon the counter then steps from behind it to properly greet him with a kiss. “ Oh an’ don’t worry about overindulgin', I’m sure we can burn off any extra calories later~.”

V-Day 2.0 || @topmechaniic 

⋞⁘♔⁘⋟       Once he had returned from his patrols and taken some time to shower and take a seat upon the sofa, Ravus found the letter that had been left for him. He’d been expecting of her to do a supply run soon, so it hadn’t been alarming for her presence to be absent. Still, the gesture was appreciated and he smiled as he read it, scritching behind Lexus’ ears as he did so. 

“Why do I have a feeling your mother is plotting something?” he asked the coeurl with a slight chuckle, then placed the note aside, one one of the side tables for safe-keeping. 

When he spotted the truck’s headlights in route to the diner, he took a few moments to tidy the main rooms, also giving her some time to compile whatever she had in store. He didn’t want to seem too eager, after all. Finally, he tugged on a sweater and beckoned Lexus to his side so they could meet up with her, as requested. 

As soon as Ravus opened the door, the smell of food touched his nose and he hummed in approval. Whatever she was preparing smelled absolutely fantastic! He was drawn to a pause, though, seeing the literal banquet of dishes set out! There was so much, and such a variety! He also saw a number of things he had never even had before. 

“What is all this?” he asked with a light laugh, somewhat taken aback. As she approached, he hugged her closely and smirked at the remark. “You’ve outdone yourself. Mm, thank you. I have full intentions of indulging. Even if I gain several pounds in doing so.” Everything he’d tasted that she’d made had been amazing, and he had no doubts this would be anything less! Now if he could only figure out where to start.