#Illuminated Pavilion

[medo57]

Golden Glow of a Lake Pavilion - Posters with Elegant Frames"Posters with Wooden Frame

A captivating artwork featuring a serene Asian-style pavilion glowing warmly by a tranquil lake, surrounded by lush greenery and tropical plants. The soft reflections in the water and intricate architectural details evoke a sense of peace and harmony, making it a perfect piece for home or office decor when framed in a wooden design.

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[rabbitcruiser]

Evening in Denver (No. 1)

Denver is in the center of the Front Range Urban Corridor, between the Rocky Mountains to the west and the High Plains to the east. Denver's topography consists of plains in the city center with hilly areas to the north, west, and south. At the 2020 United States census, the City and County of Denver had a total area of 99,025 acres (400.739 km2) including 1,057 acres (4.276 km2) of water. The City and County of Denver is surrounded by only three other counties: Adams County to the north and east, Arapahoe County to the south and east, and Jefferson County to the west.

Denver's nickname is the "Mile-High City" as its official elevation is one mile (5,300 ft) above sea level, defined by the elevation of the spot of a benchmark on the steps of the State Capitol building. In fact, the elevation of the entire city ranges from 5,130 to 5,690 feet (1,560 to 1,730 m). Denver lies 750 miles (1,200 km) from the nearest point of the Gulf of California, the nearest ocean to the city.

Source: Wikipedia      

[sayoneee]

☆ CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

“i want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck, not because he owns me, but because he really knows me” - taylor swift (1.6k)

contains: luke castellan x daughter of ares! reader. secret relationship: the three times u guys were almost caught and the one time u were. pre-tlt.

kashaf’s note: working on requests as well so dw!! again. i just like this 1 lyric from this song <;/3

1. 

MORNINGS AT CAMP half-blood were both weird and normal — at a summer camp for kids with godlike abilities, you’d think that maybe they’d be cut some slack from all the monsters they’ve had to evade and maybe be allowed to sleep in some days, but no, life at camp half-blood was a regular survival of the fittest regime. 

or: eat, or be eaten, as you liked to remind your cabin. 

maybe that was why you were notorious among ares cabin, but to the rest of camp half-blood you simply embodied an other-worldly discipline, more of a tactician than anything, when compared to the rest of your half-siblings.  

“hey,” clarisse says in an undertone, nudging you as you take your designated seat beside her, “where were you last night?” 

your hand stilled as you picked up your goblet, shrugging your shoulders as the once-boisterous table came to a stand-still, eager to discover their shrewd head counselor’s indiscretions, hoping for something to loosen your high esteem for them: everyone remembered the time the entire cabin was put on cleaning detail for an entire month to repent for the mistakes of one.

your penchant for collective punishment wasn’t at all well-received among your half-siblings, but well, no one had really challenged you on your position yet, so.

“in bed,” you said, slowly, taking a sip, “why?”

clarisse shrugged, spearing a carrot from your plate, masking her annoyance with you — out of all of your half-siblings, camp half-blood, even, no one could boast of a relationship as close as yours and clarisse’s, yet no one could be more opposite. clarisse was chaotic, you were contained; clarisse was ruthless, you were just.

“i dunno, i just saw two people on the roof of hermes cabin.”

“and?” you drawled, ignoring the blood rushing in your ears, as the rest of your cabin looked on gleefully.

“one of them was castellan,” clarisse paused, searching your face for a reaction — you were grateful for all the nights spent in hermes cabin, because if not for the stolls persuading you to play poker with them almost every time, your expression would’ve never survived under clarisse’s scrutiny.

“the other one,” clarisse pauses as if thoughtful for once, then pointedly stares, pointing her fork at you, “looked like you.”

the other cabins are also looking in your direction as the dining pavilion is so quiet that you can hear a pin drop, before the table finally registers clarisse’s words, resulting in so much whooping and jeering, you’d think ares cabin won the lottery.

you snag a bite of clarisse’s pancakes, each word punctuated by a bite, “what would i be doing with castellan?” you pause, feeling the table pause with you. wrinkling your nose, you continued, “i swear, next you’re gonna say you saw us making out during capture the flag.”

you grinned as the table erupted into laughter once more, this time by your design. while everyone else went back to their original conversations, you’re summoning the memories of last night.

how luke had wrapped his arm around your shoulders and attempted to woo you with myths about the stars, how you had laughed and called him corny. how the moonlight had illuminated his face in the moment, when he laughed back, drawing you in closer, with his usual snarky response of, “you love it though.”

clarisse snapped her fingers in front of your face, bringing you out of your reverie. she frowned, whispering, “you’d tell me though, if that was you, right?”

“yeah,” you nodded, trying not to feel guilty about lying — clarisse deserved the truth. but it went against your agreement with luke. you tried not to think about how you’re essentially picking a boy over your sister.

2.

like all things camp half-blood, if not careful, could result in death — like capture the flag, but did that stop you, or anyone else for that matter, in taking it upon yourself to make winning a matter of life or death. 

this week, you orchestrated an alliance with hermes cabin, because of their numbers and ability to launch unforeseen tactics, and hephaestus cabin, for their resourcefulness. it also didn’t hurt that the head counselors were your boyfriend and his friend, respectively.

you’re standing by zeus’ fist, discussing strategy with luke and charlie, while your respective cabins go off doing whatever it is to prepare, when luke’s sloppily-tied breastplate catches your attention. 

before you’re fully aware of what you’re doing, you’ve already reached forward to grab it, while charlie stares at you like you’ve been cursed by athena and turned into medusa. 

“so,” charlie says, slowly, “anything you guys wanna tell me?” 

luke is silent, watching you work, while you’re too busy focused on fixing the breastplate to notice the knowing expression on charlie’s face, one you would’ve been irritated by if you had.

“nothing,” you say, nonchalantly, whirling back around to face charlie when you’re finished, while luke gets swarmed by the stolls, “these things just bother me.”

“in general, or luke specifically?” charlie grins, that annoying, all-knowing look is back, and although reluctantly, you can see what it is about him that has silena beauregard so hung over. 

“in general,” you say as if it were obvious, as if you’re trying to convince a child that storks are the ones to deliver babies, and no, you’re not lying, (both statements hold the same level of ridiculousness), “it’s the adhd — makes it distracting.”

“uh huh,” he says skeptically, “i’ll take your word for it.”

you resist the urge to shake him and question him more, but before you can toughen up and just ask, “what do you mean?” he’s already turned away, and capture the flag is about to begin. 

3.

“what’s that?” annabeth points at the tiny “L” on your necklace as it swings to and fro, finally set loose from the captivity of your neon orange camp half-blood tee, hidden under your armor.

“what?” you glance down, dropping the sword in your hand to hastily tuck it away, all the while cursing both yourself and luke for being stupidly sentimental. (it was his idea after all, though, you’re not sure how or where he got the necklace from, but you didn’t really care if it was stolen — you wouldn’t put it past him, especially since he was a son of hermes.)

“was that for luke? are you dating him?” annabeth persists, eyes widening with question after question — nothing can satiate the curiosity of athena kids, especially not annabeth, not when luke castellan, her brother, is in the equation.

“no,” you say, trying to catch your breath from the sword technique you had just shown her, and the gaggle of younger campers who have now caught on, looking at you eagerly.

“no to what? no to the initial on your necklace being for luke, or no to you dating him?” another camper chimes in with a bright grin, probably a child of apollo, and you’re so close to shooting yourself on the spot.

“no to all of the above,” you grit out, really regretting being nice for one of the few times in your life, because no one had asked you, in particular, to demonstrate sword-fighting to these kids, luke could’ve done it, but where your boyfriend was concerned, you were too.

“then, how come you have an “L” necklace?” annabeth asks again.

“it’s my mom’s,” you lie, “i’m a year-rounder, so it reminds me of her — before all this,” you waved in the general direction of camp half-blood.

the campers ohh’ed in unison, but you knew annabeth wasn’t convinced.

you sighed, it could’ve been worse.

+4.

you’re not sure when or where the whispers that your boyfriend had returned originated, but after what seemed like eons of not seeing him, you couldn’t find it in yourself to verify the rumors before dropping your sword in the middle of training and sprinting toward half-blood hill to see him for yourself.

you ignore the calls of your name from your half-siblings, as you were kind of in the middle of demonstrating a technique, instead choosing to focus on more important things, like if your boyfriend was even alive.

when you finally do make it to half-blood hill, and catch sight of your boyfriend, with chris and charlie in tow, you don’t stop sprinting, uncaring for all of the whispers from the other campers as they look on. 

when you finally do come in contact with luke, you nearly tackle him into the ground, as he drops his backpack behind the two of you, arms coming to wrap around you to secure you, as you mumbled, “i missed you, asshole,” into the crook of his neck.

luke laughed, the sound reverberating against your skin, and you get off him, taking a step back. he starts to say something, “i —” but is cut off by you grabbing his wrist, and tugging him over your shoulder, his back slamming into the dirt ground. distantly, you can hear the rest of campers gasp, before buzzing with excitement. ignoring them all, you put your knee on his chest, bringing your forearm under his neck. 

“i swear to everyone, if you disappear like that again—” you begin, as luke cuts you off.

“i won’t,” he promises, grinning as you pull him up. luke slings an arm around your shoulder, and you finally notice the jagged scar running down his cheek. 

he catches your gaze and stares at the ground instead, avoiding you.

“you look kinda hot now with the scar,” you settle for, you know you’ll get the chance to properly speak about it later, but for now, this’ll have to do. 

a light pink dusts his cheeks, and luke, looking up at the campers gathered behind chiron, then glances back at you, smirking, “looks like you gave them quite a show.”

you glared at him, shoving him, “i’m going to kill you.”

luke shrugged, wrapping the arm around you tighter, “the damage’s done, now i’ll finally be able to hang out with my girl in peace.” 

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[thisfeelslike-iykyk]

diary of a leo valdez ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

leo valdez x female!reader backtrack: "pretty u", seventeen inspiration: my desire to have someone love me like this 🥺

day one: the introduction

today I saw the most perfect girl!

okay, I know I say that every time I see a girl, but I think this time is for real. she’s perfect--beautiful and completely out of my league, like usual. I was just walking around camp when she walked by. it was like the actual grass parted to make way for her. she had a golden aura and flower petals were flying around her, illuminating her beauty. I wanted to ask for her number, but then I remembered that demigods aren’t supposed to have phones.

percy noticed me staring at her, I guess. he said something about me taking my shot, that she was single and I might as well try. I don’t know if he was joking or not, but I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I saw her this afternoon. at dinner my fork missed my mouth because I was watching her laugh with her friends. I was sitting on the other side of the pavilion, but I still heard her laugh. it was like twinkling bells.

I asked percy for her name: [name]. the word sounds like magic on my tongue. I’ve gotta talk to her soon. maybe she can drop something and I’ll pick it up for her and she’ll fall in love with me. maybe she’ll trip and I’ll dramatically catch her before she falls. I’ll say something nice--maybe “hey angel, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”--and we’ll fall in love.

okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. the first step to making [name] love me? I’d have to talk to her first.

day two: the failed meeting

leave it to percy to mess up what could’ve been a fairytale romance.

it was better than I could’ve imagined: we were at the arts and crafts station during afternoon free time. I sat as close to [name] as I could, which wasn’t really close because she was sitting with her friends and siblings. a gust of wind blew by--aeolus must’ve liked me today--and a bunch of feathers that [name]’s group was using blew off the table. I jumped out of my seat to pick up a stray feather that had blown to my side of the table. then I tripped over percy’s outstretched foot right in front of everyone.

he swore it wasn’t on purpose. maybe it really wasn’t--percy’s not that big of a jerk--but I was still mad. that was the perfect opportunity to get [name] to notice me. now it’s gone.

day seven: the beginning of something magical

[name] talked to me today!

she didn’t say much--just “excuse me”, because I was blocking her way to the bathroom. but she looked at me! and she smiled a little when she said it!

percy made fun of me relentlessly after that. apparently I had a “dopey smile” on my face. I didn’t even care that he was laughing at me.

this is a new development. she’s finally noticed me.

day twenty: the realization

I think this is serious.

usually after I see a pretty girl, I think about her for a few hours. maybe even a few days if she’s really hot. but now it’s been almost three weeks since I first saw [name], and I still can’t stop thinking about her. she’s talked to me a couple times now, but she still hasn’t paid much attention to me outside of these two-second conversations. she knows my name now--I made sure to tell her--and I’ve made her laugh a few times though, so that’s progress.

I caught myself tapping out her name in morse code today. I do it a lot now, almost as much as I tinker around with my bolts.

day twenty-five: the first big move

I can’t take it anymore.

she’s always on my mind. I can’t think straight when I’m around her. I get this huge smile on my face whenever I think of her. percy’s stopped teasing me; I think he might actually be kind of concerned.

I wrote her a love letter. cheesy, I know, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was originally planning on just going up to her all confident and smoothly ask her out. but when I opened my mouth to hit her with one of my deadly pickup lines, nothing came out. I got more jumpy than usual, and my chest was all warm and fluttery. I was looking at her--gods, her eyes are so pretty--but then it got really hard to keep looking at her, so I looked away. I was painfully aware of myself tinkering with little bolts. she was looking at me with this little smile on her face, as if waiting for me to say something--I had stopped her to talk to her in the first place--but I couldn’t think of what to say. I said something real smart, like “are you the square root of negative one, because you can’t be real.” she looked at me, kinda confused, and I awkwardly slunk away. I’m used to rejection, but this was so much worse.

then I remembered that we’re demigods. [name] probably hadn’t progressed in school to the point where she learned about radicals.

so now here I am with this stupid love letter. I included a little apology for the confusing pickup line. I don’t know how I’ll give it to her. maybe I actually won’t. yeah, that’s probably for the best. this letter is the most serious, most straightforward I’ve been in the last millennia. even though I’m sure by now that she’s a literal angel and probably won’t laugh at me, I don’t want to take any chances. I know what I want to say to her, now it’s just a matter of how I’ll tell her.

day twenty-six: the betrayal (and the win)

I don’t know what in hades’s underpants happened. but [name] got ahold of the letter.

it was percy. it had to have been percy. percy was the only one who knew about my crush.

well, okay, maybe not the only one--apparently everyone in camp knew, even though I hid it really well-- but he’s the only one who’s ever talked to me about it. it had to have been him, there’s no other option.

I’ll have to get him back. but that’ll wait. because [name]--drumroll, please!

she stopped me before breakfast today and asked to talk somewhere in private. I said I’d follow her to the bottom of tartarus. she laughed and led me to the pegasi stables--kind of an odd place, but definitely private.

she was holding the letter in her hands. she said she was really flattered, that my gesture was “really sweet” and nobody had ever done something like this for her. most importantly, she said she liked me too.

now, even though I can be pretty good at talking to girls, I actually don’t have much experience in a relationship--shocking, I know. I’ve had a lot of potential girlfriends before, but nothing’s ever been this serious or gotten this far.

in that moment, I said what might have been the smartest or the dumbest thing in my life: “so are we official now, or do you want me to yell it out to the whole camp?”

she laughed. and next thing I knew, her lips were on my cheek. she pulled away--my face felt hot, and I took a few seconds to make sure I wasn’t actually on fire--and grinned at me. her face was pink too, and she didn’t have makeup on, but she was just about the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“you’re a dork, leo,” she said. “but you don’t have to tell everyone. I’m pretty sure they already know anyway.”

no idea how that could’ve happened. but it seems like I owe percy jackson a thank you now.

divider by @cafekitsune

taglist: @loveinalocket

[hopefulceladon]

a battered light (can only burn so bright) | sunday x reader

summary: it truly was only a matter of time before he burnt himself out, wasn't it? pairing: sunday x reader word count: 4.5k (help me) notes: the self-indulgent brain worms influenced me i am so sorry. you give sunday a wing massage and he clearly has Mixed Feelings about it all. is he yearning? is he just stubborn? the world may never know.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A blanket of starlight had wrapped itself around the Dewlight Pavilion, the ethereal glow illuminated ever brighter by the governing moon.

On such peaceful nights like this, solace for the fatigued was all too simple to acquire for those who sought it, yet even still, there remained those who did not yet allow themselves the luxury of rest whenever daylight grew dim.

It was just such a terrible pity that the Head of the Oak Family was one of them—a conclusion strengthened by the restless, focused, and very much still awake Halovian displayed before you.

“Mr. Sunday,” you called for him as you balanced a silver tray in your arms, hoping to garner his attention.

Your hopes were soon drowned out by the clatter of footsteps as they treaded to-and-fro against wooden floorboards, a pace that hardly ever changed in stride and never once dared to cease.

The sight laid before your eyes was a troubling one; Sunday was in the midst of sizing up his miniscule-scale model of the Golden Hour, his weary eyes roaming over the elaborate diorama as he muttered words that fell upon your ears like muddled verses of a foreign poem.

It was also a sight that you, unfortunately, were growing all too familiar with.

When the two birds of a feather had been reunited by the scarred hands of dormancy days prior, you quite naturally—and quite foolishly—had believed they had snatched away the tension that rested upon Sunday's shoulders in exchange.

It hadn't.

The scattered plumes of both deep purple and white, the likes of which were now haphazardly skirting themselves beneath the premises of the table Sunday paced around, had already given that away, after all.

Wordlessly, you avoided trampling any of the fallen feathers by the grace of your careful footing, and you settled the tray that carried both a cup of tea and a small plate of freshly cut strawberries—Robin had let it slip that he was fond of them once before—upon his desk in the room above, before descending the stairs and continuing to observe the madness before you.

Once you decided you could no longer bear the burden of playing a helpless bystander for much longer, you took a step forward and gently tapped Sunday upon his shoulder.

Sunday's feathers bristled in reaction to the abrupt touch, but his gaze softened once he turned around to face the source.

“Ah, do forgive me, please,” he began with a cordial, apologetic smile, his eyes tearing away from the model to glance at the tray. “I must've forgotten about this evening's tea.”

“If it clears your conscience any, I nearly forgot to start brewing it.” you admitted.

“Is that so?” Sunday hummed in response, nearly bewildered by your confession. “Hm, perhaps I should allow for a bit more leniency in the schedule...”

You frowned at the self-deprecating chuckle that left his lips, but you resisted making a remark. Without a further word spoken, you sat down in the chair that he had graciously pulled out for you, planted right next to his desk.

Peeking over at the files he was so adamantly focused upon, a small smile graced your lips at the underlined and emboldened heading, proudly declaring the parchment's title of ’Charmony Festival Preparations’.

“I can see why your memory slipped,” you mused, hoping to stave off any suffocating silence. “It’s an exciting thing to be in charge of something so memorable, isn’t it?”

Sunday tensed, a flicker of something unreadable dimming the usual poised gleam of his golden eyes.

“It... most certainly will be a festival one shall never forget.” Sunday finally replied.

You decided against inquiring as to why his wings had betrayed him, a subtle twitch disrupting their perfectly mundane flutter.

You also decided against dwelling upon the pitiful sight of gaps between his feathers.

As Sunday picked up his pen to scribble something upon the documents, a frown crossed your lips as you noted the way his eyes, with their appearance already marred by the evidence of lack of proper rest, had their corners crinkled from overexertion.

The remnants of a dying flame lingered upon the nearby candelabra’s wick, before extinguishing itself with a forlorn puff of smoke. As the light diminished further within the room, Sunday’s eyes squinted.

With a frown creasing your lips, you finally decided to speak up.

“Sir, if you’d like, I could relight the candle?”

Sunday paused to look up at you, shaking his head in light of your concern. “You really needn’t go through the trouble.” As your unwavering gaze met his, the visible extent of your worry piercing through his obstinate resolve, Sunday promptly faltered. “...but, of course, if you’re so insistent, I won't stop you.”

You nodded before getting up to scour his office for a matchstick, acquiring one with relative ease. As you struck the match against the igniter, you waited for the head to mingle with the worn-down wick with a steady hand.

Your focus soon fell upon Sunday’s weary countenance.

He was much akin to his candle, you reckoned—meant to burn bright for all to see, yet the burdens of his extensive obligations had weighed his benevolent, ever-giving wick down to a charred stub; whenever he had wavered, so, too, did his light.

And, much like a moth enraptured by a kindled flame, you, like most any other Dreamscape denizen, had clung to the luster he meticulously weaved from the luminance of his candle. Nonetheless, his elevated status hadn’t hidden that he was as helplessly human as those he served, and that even he, too, needed a lamppost to sturdy himself upon.

You wondered if he ever allowed himself to acknowledge such logic.

Once the match finally ignited the wick, you silenced your internal musing with a sigh, snuffing the lingering embers upon the wooden stick with a flick of your wrist.

As you set the candelabra back down onto his desk, it was then that you noted the still untouched cup of tea.

“Your tea must be getting cold by now...”

Sunday’s attention drifted away from his paperwork, and he glanced over at the cup. “Ah, right...” he hummed in acknowledgment, studying it carefully. “It’s chamomile, I presume?”

“As evident by the pigment, yes.”

“And the bitter leaves have been amplified by a squeezed lemon, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Thoroughly stirred, though not too harshly?”

“Only the gentlest of stirrings for you, sir.”

“That’s my wonderful assistant,” Sunday mused with a tired smile, lifting the drink up to his lips and taking a small sip from it, before setting it back down. “Life is quite more convenient when everything is coordinated as it should be, isn’t it?”

You nodded at his observation, all too familiar with the principles he's uttered before in the past. “It does have its perks.”

Sunday stirred the spoon in his cup around in slow circles, his expression growing unreadable.

“So, it truly is a shame whenever something disrupts how things ought to be...”

“You’ve... mentioned that before, yes.” you replied, hesitantly clinging onto his every word.

Sunday hummed as he took another sip. As he refreshed the tea against his palate, his eyebrows narrowed in concentration, prompting his lips to form a frown.

“I’ve noticed the sugar you've been sprinkling in.”

“And I’ve noticed that you've begun to molt.” you quickly retorted without much thought. It was childish, yes, you knew, but perhaps your hasty tongue had a point.

The Halovian stiffened at your remark.

“I beg your pardon?”

Your confidence wavered as Sunday’s eyebrows furrowed, yet your shame was outweighed by your concern.

“The floor is littered with proof, and as pristine as you keep your appearance, it’s hard to cover up unevenness caused by fallen feathers," you paused, your focus drifting from the wings near his temples to fall upon his paperwork. “And, given the stress that normally accompanies festival preparations...”

Sunday’s tongue clicked in frustration at the implication.

“Whether or not I was stressed—or even molting, for that matter—my feathers should hardly be any of your concern,” he replied, his voice trailing off as he eyed your approaching hands.

In a swift motion, he pinned your wrists down against the desk, a counteraction made in desperation to prevent them from reaching their destination.

“...and I would appreciate it if you kindly refrained from touching them.”

You tried your best to recoil one of your hands away, but they wouldn't move—how could they, when they now sought the mercy of his restrictive grasp?

Even as Sunday’s palms cordially arranged for your wrists to be wed to the wooden surface, however, you didn't budge. “Were this over anything else, I would gladly listen, but given the fact that you’ll need someone to help you safely-”

Sunday’s eyes squeezed themselves shut in frustration.

“Beloved assistant of mine, please do not be so obstinate.”

As the Halovian's hold upon your wrists gradually softened, you snatched them back to your sides.

“I learn from the worst.” you murmured.

Sunday let out a soft sigh in response before returning to his paperwork. A part of you wondered why you even dared to bother vocalizing your concern.

Nonetheless, in the ever-growing silence, it was only then that you realized how truly worn out the Halovian had appeared. The dark circles underneath his eyes and the missing feathers had been telltale signs, but even his countenance had changed; beneath his layers of practiced, superficial perfection, you could sense that he was exhausted beyond both your unwavering understanding and his intentional ignorance.

Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach as your eyes caught themselves on the sight of dried blood in the center of one of the gaps in his feathers, before they reluctantly tore themselves away. It was hardly like him to ignore his appearance to such an extent.

A sigh crossed your lips as you focused upon a droplet of heated wax, witnessing it roll off the surface of the pitiful candle and onto the table.

You couldn’t hold your tongue for much longer.

“Sir, you really should examine your wings.”

“I hardly have the luxury of time on my side,” Sunday countered swiftly. “Were it not for the preparations, I would've already-”

“Then, please, at least let me try?” you interjected without second thought.

Sunday’s gaze tore away from his desk to stare at you, unblinking, as if you had just uttered the most irrational thing possible, and perhaps you indeed had—an offer made in haste could surely be considered as such, couldn't it?

“Did I not already beg you not to do so?”

“You did, but as your assistant, I’ve known you long enough to be certain you’ll just prioritize perfecting the festival over your own well-being, so...” you stared at the spot once more before glancing back at him. “Please.”

Sunday shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he pondered your offer, his wings twitching from what you assumed was contemplation. He parted his lips to speak, only to draw out a mere reluctant sigh.

Slowly, Sunday opened one of the drawers to his desk, pulling out a cloth and a spray bottle, before holding out his hand with the two items bundled together within his grasp. As he motioned for you to take the items with a nudge of his hand, you noted that his eyes never once met yours.

“Thank you.” you said with a soft smile.

Recalling the multiple occasions you had witnessed him clean his wings, as well as the knowledge you secretly procured from handbooks on Halovian biology, you spritzed the water upon the cloth and held it a few inches away from Sunday’s wing, all memories of the least intrusive methods coming to mind.

As you pressed the cloth against the surface, a sharp breath had made you halt.

“Forgive me.” Sunday muttered. “As you can tell, it’s... been a while.”

You nodded, all questions dying upon your tongue for the sake of his comfort, before gently dabbing the cloth against the spot, wiping away the bloody inequity and restoring his pristine visage.

Setting the cloth down on the desk, you smiled. “And... done.”

“Ah, thank you kindly.”

A small portion of your worry had ebbed away at in light of the relief in his voice, but returned with a vengeance once you remembered the sight of the disastrous floor from moments prior. As your gaze trailed away from him and towards the dark purple feathers that dotted the floor right next to those of cloudy white, Sunday’s gaze had soon followed.

Inquiries regarding their condition formulated themselves without much prompting within your mind, but you couldn’t dare speak them out loud.

Not when he had already been so stubborn over his first set of wings.

Not when he had already faltered so strongly in his breathing, a pattern you associated with immense discomfort.

In the absence of all conversation, you both tirelessly danced around the inevitable before something finally had to give.

“The festival has been, admittedly, more of a... project than I could’ve ever expected,” Sunday began, droning off with an awkward, tensed chuckle. “...and I suppose that, perhaps, amidst the madness of it all, the matter of my wings’ upkeep must’ve slipped my mind...”

“I... I see.” you acknowledged his words with a soft hum, accepting his unlikely-to-be-true excuse without further prompting.

Sunday sighed as his hands absentmindedly fidgeted with his gloves to smooth out an invisible crease, before he finally continued.

“The upkeep of a Halovian’s wings just hardly isn’t a thing to entrust so lightly to another being, you see, and I just, I...” his voice trailed off. 

The eyes that were once so keenly intent on scrutinizing the floor beneath his feet soon met yours.

Had you of been anyone else, you would've surely melted under his weary gaze, but no, quite frankly you couldn't and most definitely shouldn't, for you were merely his assistant, and such feelings must not be stoked by any such foolish thing-

“If I absolutely must trust another soul with such a hefty responsibility, I suppose it would indeed be you.” Sunday finally murmured.

You were startled, to say the least. Hurriedly, you gleaned for any signs of hesitance upon his features, finding nothing except a softness in his eyes that you prayed was not drawn from reverence.

“And you're sure of this, sir?”

Sunday hesitated, his expression unreadable before finally, he nodded.

As Sunday arose from his chair to stretch his stagnant muscles, intent on ridding himself of his white coat, he had reached for his shoulder with a barely-suppressed wince. Without thinking, you rushed over to his side, cupping the top of his shoulder with your palm, attempting to gently work off the sleeveless coat for him.

Seemingly frightened by the abrupt touch, Sunday breathed in sharply, hastily brushing your hand off of his shoulder before his picture-perfect poise could shatter.

“Please,” he murmured tersely, his hand still protectively grasping his clothing. “I believe I can handle doing this part myself.”

You nodded as you slowly stepped back, resting your treacherous hands at your sides.

As Sunday worked the snow-colored coat off of his shoulders, he grabbed the discarded garment and folded it into a neat square before putting it up on his desk, then focused on the silvery blazer that had laid beneath.

After a few moments spent fumbling with his multiple layers, Sunday was now stripped down to his dark turtleneck.

Your eyes fell upon the sight of the dark blue, wing-like vest that wrapped itself around his waist, and just as you were about to ask if they were yet another layer he had to remove, you froze once the ‘vest’ had shifted and twitched.

“Are those...?”

Sunday noted your confusion and shook his head, his fingers working diligently to unwrap the clinging, restrictive article of clothing.

What had twitched underneath the vest was a pair of deep purple wings, their plumes matching the pigments of what was strewn beneath you. As beautiful as the appendages were, the difference between their standard of upkeep compared the likes of which rested above his temples were like night and day.

A part of you wondered if, for whatever unspoken reason, he was ashamed of them.

The Halovian tensed under the weight of your prying gaze, trying to relax to force the dormant plumage awake as he averted his sight. “I know what you must be thinking,” he whispered, his voice taut from the effort. “...but I beg of you, please do not pry.”

Your heart ached at the way he struggled with the furled appendages.

“Do you... require assistance?”

“I...” Sunday fussed with the tight wrap once more, before reluctantly nodding. “I suppose.”

Your hands were quick to approach the wings, intent on massaging the tension out of their pinions so that they'd might unfurl.

The very moment a disgruntled, screechy craw from a raven rung from above, however, Sunday had faltered and hastily smoothened his garments back down, urging your hands to shy away.

You turned to face the direction of the sudden disruption, before tilting your head at Sunday, wondering why he seemed so distraught by the avian's call.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes, there is something wrong!” Sunday snapped, before his tone softened. “This... this is improper ! To have convinced myself to allow you to touch my primary wings was one thing, but this...” his voice broke off as he glanced down at his unsightly feathers. “...this... I truly never should've...”

A frown etched itself upon your lips at his sudden change of heart.

“I’m sorry, sir. I know a Halovian's wings are...” you hesitated, vividly recalling the multiple times he had recoiled at your touch. “...sensitive. I’ve studied handbooks once before, and-”

Surprise briefly flashed in his eyes at your admission, before his face hardened into a disapproving scowl the moment he interrupted you.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve studied handbooks upon such a topic, and yet still, you allow yourself to willingly fall victim to the whims of compliance over my foolish fallacies?” he sputtered, his tone abrasive. “You should've stopped me, for heaven’s sake!”

Irked by the criticism, you, too, began to bristle.

“If this truly is so wrong in your eyes, then did you really ever wish for my assistance?”

Startled by the bite in your words, Sunday bit back any further protests, swallowing down his anxious ire. Loneliness had been his home for so long, and your touch was nearly a dangerous siren's call—he couldn't truly bear the thought of losing such a privilege.

The puffed up, bristling feathers of Sunday’s higher wings smoothened themselves back down as he steadied himself, flexing his fingers against his palms.

“Please, just get on with it.”

“Thank you.” you whispered before leaning forward, your hands delicately palming the fragile cartilage of his wings as you tried to help them unbind themselves. Reluctantly, Sunday flexed them against your touch, trying to encourage them to spread.

“Still, this is all so... terribly insolent,” Sunday muttered through gritted teeth.

You stilled your efforts, desperately wishing you knew why he was so resistant to your assistance.

“Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Sunday winced from the loss of motion, the loss of blissful touch against the very surface that yearned for it, no less, and he was far too quick to nod his head.

“Yes, of course. Loathe as I am to confess such a thing, this... truly is a process that must be done,” he replied, his breath wavering. “It’s hardly your fault that I’ve been so... neglectful.”

As your hands tenderly helped work the cartilage to awaken, massaging the spots you figured must’ve been sore, it only took moments later for them to finally loosen from their protective stance.

Dark, raven-like wings, pigmented like the glimmering skies of midnight, had blossomed forth from Sunday’s sides and splayed themselves before you. Battered and bristled as they were, they were nonetheless a breathtaking view.

As the deep purple plumages fanned themselves out like curtains, you gaped with pity at the sight of the clipped plumes, the multiple defects marring an otherwise symmetrical pair of wings. A remark formulated itself upon your tongue, but died upon your lips once Sunday acknowledged your staring with a slight grimace, as if he could guess what you were nearly about to say.

You continued to stare at his fragile feathers with unwavering wonder.

“Your wings are truly beautiful, sir.” you whispered adoringly.

Sunday turned around to bare his back before you instead, swift enough to conceal the rush of both shame and bashfulness that had abruptly invaded his features.

Gently, you reached your hand forth and tentatively brushed against his plumage.

“Careful.” Sunday reminded you with a slight wince.

You nodded at his warning and reached for the cloth with your other hand, dabbing the damp material against any dried spots of blood where his plumes had fallen out, before placing it back down after you finished tending to them.

Your touch was light, delicate, as your fingertips mapped a path forged by concern against the surface of his wings, seeking out any broken feathers as you sought to soothe as many of his aches as you could.

Unbeknownst to you, your very touch was both a soothing balm for Sunday’s miseries and a temptatious instigator for a stirring within his very core.

Brushing past a sore spot located at the starting muscles of his wings had ripped a soft gasp from Sunday’s throat, and quickly, you stopped.

“Does it hurt?” you asked quietly.

“No, no, just...” he breathed out, distracting himself by how heavenly your hands had felt. “If you would just kindly massage them, that'd be-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you worked your thumbs carefully against the cartilage's base, inadvertently rendering him silent, save for a few tender, wavering breaths.

Your hands worked practical miracles against the bothersome likes of his tension, snuffing them out by the source as they brushed up and down the entirety of his wingspan, your body pressed close to his for better grounds.

As your breath cascaded upon the back of his neck, your fingers delved deeper against his muscles. “I hope this is enough...”

Sunday swallowed thickly at your closeness. “Oh, dearest assistant, you...” he paused, clearing his throat. “You haven’t the faintest idea how much of a blessing this is to me.”

Slowly but surely, Sunday’s ever faithful front of ‘perfection’ had bared its frayed threads before you and unraveled itself by its fragile seams, leaving the fate of his precious, oft-concealed vulnerability within your tender hands.

Every trembling breath at each pass of your hands, along with every visible tremor of his bones in wake of your care, had clawed further at your heart, constricting its cage with concern.

Weathered down by his responsibilities and blemished by the expectations placed upon his shoulders as he was, it was clear that he was blind to how thin he had worn down the wick of his perseverance—the very structure of his charitable soul.

Finally satisfied with the sight of relaxed feathers displayed before your very eyes, your hands had retreated back to your sides, and as sudden awareness of your close proximity washed over you like a rebuking flood, you hastily moved yourself away.

Sunday had turned around to face you, his pale skin flushed as he shifted his weight from side to side. The moonlight that filtered through the Pavilion's windows seemed to enhance his ethereal beauty, the glow of the evening catching upon his halo and permitting it to shimmer like an ever-glittering star.

“I must ask,” Sunday began quietly, his gaze fleeting about the room, from the candle, to the barely-sipped cup of tea, even to the untouched plate of strawberries. “Why did you do this all for me? Surely, there must be something you need in exchange...”

You shook your head and frowned at his words. Why did he believe an act of goodwill had such a price to pay?

With so many words you wanted to say and a plethora of woes over his wellbeing you wanted to profess, you held your tongue and swallowed down the bitter medley of trepidation, fearful of shattering the tenderness that graced this rare moment of solitude.

Surely, one day, there would come an opportunity where you could properly formulate all of your thoughts, but this night was far from being that night.

“It’s just that you’ve been working tirelessly these past few days in preparation for the Charmony Festival,” you began, eying the stack of paperwork that laid in a neat pile upon his desk, before turning back to him. “...and it seems to be my obligation to at least try to remind you to take a break.”

“I’m sure I would’ve remembered to take one eventually...” Sunday protested weakly, as if he himself hadn't believed his words.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Perhaps, once you’ve finally burnt yourself out.”

Sunday’s head wings lowered themselves with a meek display of shame upon being put under such conviction.

As his eyes flitted away from yours, far too sheepish to meet your perceptive gaze, you took a step forward and, without much thought behind your all too forward actions, you wrapped your arms delicately around his waist.

Feeling your familiar touch snake around his sides as it enveloped him into a warm, blissful embrace, Sunday stiffened.

You gulped as he tensed against your grasp.

“Forgive me,” you whispered an apology against his chest, careful to not overwhelm him with any further skin contact. “...you just looked as if you needed one.”

Sunday took a few moments to steady his breathing before responding. “I... suppose I did.”

You watched as, with trembling footsteps, Sunday dragged you both backwards, before stopping to allow himself to sit back down in his chair.

His gloved hands clenched at his sides before finding purchase on the tops of your shoulders, pushing you down so that you'd settle against his lap—adjusting you accordingly so it wouldn't look conspicuous—before finally reciprocating the hug.

Completely unsure of what to do with his hands, Sunday had freed one of them to lift your head up with a shaky palm, his cold glove a soothing touch against your chin.

With ever-softening glances being exchanged, the weight of so many unspoken confessions had hung in the balance of the room's silence, but to your surprise, you hardly minded at all. Sunday’s eyes were briefly drawn to your lips before he forced himself out of his stupor, resisting the deafening call of the tender temptation with a soft clearance of his throat.

It was for the best, however—you really weren't sure if you could've resisted the notion of leaning forward yourself.

You were startled as the top of Sunday's head brushed against the underside of your chin, leaning his face down so he could rest the side of his cheek against your chest, breathing softly as he melded himself close to you, cocooning you both together within the vast expanse of his wings.

“I... I truly thank the heavens upon every moment I remember that you're in my life,” Sunday murmured fondly.

Ignoring the abrupt, intrusive flutter in your chest, your arms strengthened the secure hold they possessed against his form.

“I feel much the same, Sunday.”

In the silence of the night, you held each other close, the beat of your own synchronized hearts as you clung to one another the only melody worth dwelling upon.

Even if you couldn't outright plead for him to be more mindful of his limits and capabilities—that his singular light was not enough to shoulder the burdens he subjected himself to, let alone be strong enough illuminate the entire sky—you were grateful that in your arms, he could find his ever-fleeting, redeeming solace.

In that moment, it was enough.

It had to be enough.

[eternalstarlitwonderland]

The Sylph Of The Starlight

As the clock strikes midnight, the enchanting hour of starlight begins

The dancefloor is bathed in a delicate glimmer, emanating from the diamond-coated chandeliers above

The chamber is adorned with a subtle, silvery glitter

The smooth marble floor echoes with the rhythmic clicking of high heels, the constant cadence shatters the silence

The starlight cascaded down onto a stunning, statuesque figure gracing the scene

The stellar effulgence canticle provides the background music for this extravagant ballet performance

She assumes a graceful balletic pose as if frozen in time

With a silvery flourish, her evening attire transitions to a sparkly silvery-white balletic ensemble

She elegantly executes a series of arabesques and exquisitely performed pirouettes around the pavilion, each movement as mesmerizing as the next

As the starlit hour unfolds, the stars crooned delicately with a silvery flicker

She danced the night away and continued to enchant the audience with her exquisite, sylphlike movements,

She moves with an almost otherworldly lightness and grace, exuding an ethereal aura of the belle of the starlight, leaving everyone in rapturous admiration

The starlight assists her through the performance with its brightness, the stars illuminating her path with a gentle brilliance that dances in the darkness, the soft gleam bathes her in a silvery radiance, accompanying her steps with a warmth that envelops her forward through the serene stillness of the night

The ethereal sylph has ascended to her pinnacle, where the crescendo of the night reaches its most exhilarating height

Effortlessly embodying grace as the climax reaches its fullest intensity, unfolds in all its brilliant glory

With graceful movements reminiscent of a lively frisk, She dances with spirited opulence, her movements a flurry of joyful allégros and twirls gracefully among the celestial bodies, a delicate interplay of light and shadow

Her brilliance radiates like the finest diamonds against the vast, inky canvas of the night sky

Her figure gradually diminishes, mirroring the soft dimming of the brilliant glitter that surrounds her, her presence a fleeting whisper of light, shimmering like a distant comet

As the enchanting starlit hour gently begins to wane into the soft embrace of dawn,

merging softly with the gentle twilight and retreating into the cosmic backdrop, drawing the celestial performance toward its bittersweet conclusion

[thinkingimages]

Edith Dekyndt | Installation detail view (Slow Object 08 (2017). Arsenale, 57th Venice Biennale, Venice. Photo: Tanya Rusnak.

Edith Dekyndt presents two site specific installations. Located at the entrance of the ‘Pavilion of Time and Infinity’ in the Arsenale, there is Slow Object 08 (2017) a linen curtain covered with silver foils. This material, apparently so precious and shiny, has been chosen by the artist for its physical properties. The aesthetic of the work is affected by the passage of the visitors and, irreversibily, by the humidity and direct light that slowly oxidize the surface. The second installation is entitled One Thousand and One Nights (2016) and consists of a mantle of dust collected in situ, laid down on the floor and illuminated from above by a stream of light that moves perpetually around itself. To ensure that the projected light coincides perfectly with the area of the dusty surface beneath, an attendant is given regular task of sweeping the dust particles with a broom, for around ten minutes, once an hour, thereby inevitably raising an impalpable and iridescent cloud.

Viva Arte Viva, Arsenale, Venice Biennial 2017

[eriebasin]

Part of our EB collection which uses rare vintage diamonds in modern mountings of our design and manufacture. The diamond is vaguely shield shaped, but also reminiscent of a half-moon. An extremely unusual faceting scheme, with a nearly flat crown and a pavilion of long rectangular facets cresting along the midline. Depending on the lighting and angle of viewing, the diamond is brightly illuminated on one half while the other remains dark, in a striking effect unlike any other diamond cut. Set in a platinum bezel with a wide 18K yellow gold shank. Designed to sit flush with another band. Weighs 6.3 grams.

The diamond has a GIA certificate stating M color (faint yellow) and VVS2 clarity (nearly flawless).

Currently a size 6-1/2 and can be resized in the 5.5 to 7.5 range.

eriebasin.com

[yuesya]

Yuanyuan nervously tucks her hands into her sleeves, and tries not to shuffle in place anxiously. 

As merely one among many of the countless scores of seafolk living beneath the ocean waves, Yuanyuan knows that she is fortunate. She is but a minor pufferfish-spirit, and yet she has been blessed with the opportunity to come into service of the most powerful god who claimed dominion in these waters. 

Everyone knows that it is but a matter of time before the Lord of the Vortex defeats the Lord of Summer Rain, after all. And in restless, dangerous times like these when conflicts broke out between different gods every other day, the smartest thing that one could do when they were weak and helpless was to seek the protection of powerful gods that held territory. 

Safety, in exchange for service. 

But Yuanyuan is not a fighter, and she knows that only death would await her if she tried to serve in the Lord of the Vortex’s armies. So she’d cleverly applied to be a servant instead. Cleaning maids and cooks and all manner of serving staff were needed in the Dragon Palace, were they not? Yuanyuan could do that, at the very least– 

Except Yuanyuan had found herself assigned not to the Dragon Palace, but instead the Coral Pavilion. 

Which was just awful! 

The Dragon Palace was where the Lord of the Vortex resided, along with his chosen consort Lady Beisht and young Prince Ao. But the Coral Pavilion? That was where Princess Su lived. 

Yuanyuan is a servant; she knows that she doesn’t get to pick and choose, that she’s already fortunate compared to so many other seafolk, but… but… 

But Princess Su does not hold a single shred of her Lord-father’s love. To the point where the Coral Pavilion is a pavilion in name only; it’s not even remotely connected to the Dragon Palace –in fact, it’s located on the outskirts of the Lord of the Vortex’s territory! 

Which means it’s dangerous!

Yuanyuan had decided to serve the Lord of the Vortex so she could be safe! This was the opposite of being safe!

And there were so many rumors about Princess Su, too. Yuanyuan had heard from other servants that Princess Su had literally executed servants in her pavilion before, and that a single look upon Princess Su’s visage would be enough to invite her wrath. That Princess Su was so terrifying that to meet her gaze would be to court death.

Yuanyuan doesn’t want to serve such a scary master! Yuanyuan is just a round little pufferfish! She doesn’t want to be sliced into pieces by an ill-tempered mistress! Gods, why couldn’t she have been assigned to the Dragon Palace instead– 

“You are the newcomer?”

The shock of being pulled out of her thoughts by a male voice suddenly sounding behind her almost causes Yuanyuan to instinctively inflate herself and double her own size. A stream of bubbles gurgles out from her mouth as she struggles to wrestle down the reflex. 

“Y-yes! I am!” she yelps. “M-m-my name is Y-Yuanyuan, and I-I’m the new servant!” 

… Oh. Oh wow, Yuanyuan has never seen a proper golden koi spirit before. But the one suspended in the waves before her must be nearing the level of an illuminated one, because his human guise looks so very realistic. Could Yuanyuan ask him for tips? If she could prove her worth as a high-level servant, maybe she’d be able to request a reassignment away from the Coral Pavilion– 

“I am Changxi,” the golden koi spirit says, calm and composed. Pretty much the exact opposite of Yuanyuan’s own embarrassing, panicked self-introduction. “Head of the servants of the Coral Pavilion. You are the only one who was assigned here this time?”

“T-that is correct,” Yuanyuan responds. 

The golden koi spirit does not appear to be pleased by this response. Luckily, he doesn’t take it out on Yuanyuan; instead, he merely nods and turns around, gesturing for her to follow.

“Within the Coral Pavilion, the princess’ orders are absolute,” he says. “Come. You will pay your respects to the princess first, before being assigned to your duties.” 

“Understood!” 

… actually, wait. Wait wait wait. Does this mean that the golden koi spirit is leading Yuanyuan to see the terrifying Princess Su right now?!

[22ayla21]

Can I request a Chocolate Mousse and Red wine for Zhongli? He's my favorite, plus I feel he would be very classy...

"Chocolate Mousse and Red Wine"

Event: "Sweet Stories, Intoxicating Feelings"

Evening descended upon Liyue, painting the streets in soft hues of sunset, like ancient silk, faded with time but retaining its nobility. The sea merged with the sky in a light haze, and the shadows of the pavilions grew long, reminiscent of days gone by. In this serene atmosphere, Zhongli sat at a table in a teahouse. On the table was a cup of amber tea, and beside it sat a woman whose presence felt like a fresh spring breeze in a snow-covered garden, disrupting the usual tranquility of his soul.

She possessed no divine power, wore no armor, and wielded no elemental power. Her charm lay in her gentle gaze, in the warmth of her hand, which he had once touched and never wanted to let go. Her voice sounded not like the ringing of a bell or the melody of a flute, but like the quiet rustling of the pages of an old book – familiar, cozy, constant. She was mortal, and it was this very fact that touched his heart most deeply.

"You're lost in thought again," she said, not taking her eyes off her cup, gently stroking its rim.

"I was pondering..." Zhongli began, his voice calm, yet a deep note, like a crack in ancient stone holding the memory of ages, could be felt within it. "About how wonderful and pleasant it is to feel warmth unrelated to fire, light not from a lantern. About you."

She smiled – a rare, quiet smile, like moonlight barely breaking through the clouds to illuminate the path of a lonely traveler.

"You always speak so beautifully," she gently remarked. "But tell me simply: are you happy?"

He looked at her for a long time, as if at a sunrise, understanding that this was a fleeting moment, yet unable to look away.

"Yes," he replied. "Happy. Although the word 'happiness' seems too simple to describe what I feel beside you. It is... love. It is as weightless as airy chocolate mousse, melting in the mouth and incredibly tempting. I am afraid to touch it too abruptly – and it will disappear. But at the same time, I cannot get enough of its taste, having barely touched my lips to it."

She listened to him, and a light blush touched her cheeks. Not from the words themselves – but from the sincerity with which they were spoken. She was a little afraid to love a former Archon whose past stretched beyond her comprehension, while her future was but a fleeting shadow on the sand.

"You've lived so much longer than anyone I know," she said softly. "Will you be sad when I leave?"

"Do you think I haven't been sad before?" he asked, gently taking her hand. "I have lost friends, entire nations, even my power. But my love for you is different. It is like aged red wine, growing deeper, richer, and leaving a long, pleasant aftertaste with the years. Even if one day you disappear, like the morning mist over the water, your taste will remain in me – in my memory, in my feelings, in my very essence."

Then she wept beside him for the first time. Not from pain or fear, but from tenderness. From the realization that her simple, earthly love had not only been noticed but elevated to heavenly heights.

He did not wipe away her tears. He simply squeezed her hand tighter, allowing her to express her feelings. After all, even tears are a part of love, just as rain is a part of spring.

Time flowed on, days turned into nights, new buildings appeared in Liyue, generations changed. But in one quiet teahouse on a mountainside, a man in a dark robe still sat, holding a cup of amber tea, into which he sometimes added a few drops of wine – as if longing for her, for her laughter and the quiet that reigned beside her.

And each time he brought the cup to his lips, he tasted her – light, like mousse... and deep, like aged wine.

[sir-tuitsum]

An Empress' Harem: Catch Up!

A continuation featuring: Luocha!

Part 1

Notes: pregnancy mention

It must have been many years since you stepped foot into the capital, then you were still a young princess carrying out orders from the late Empress, your mother. Then it had been a calculating princess working against her sisters to stand out, in her return she was the still newly ascended Empress here to enjoy The First Bloom Festival in public as a testament to her ascension. The First Bloom was a grand one meant to celebrate the return of spring, in the past you had only taken part in planning the Summer celebrations on orders of your mother, much to your displeasure.

Gracing the festival with your appearance in the year of your ascension would be a good move, you had thought. Normally there were separate celebrations for those in the Imperial Palace for your family but this would possibly be the one time in a while where you would celebrate it outside instead, for the praise of the people you suppose.

Dressed in ceremonial robes of deep violet and gold, you stood upon an elevated pavilion overlooking the central square. Fireworks cracked against the night sky, illuminating the swirling dancers below. The dancers and their silk ribbons flashed like rivers of light, twisting and curling to the music. You rarely appeared before your people, having spent most of your youth in the palace’s secluded halls but tonight, you allowed yourself this indulgence, even if it was for your own benefit of seeming humble to your people to spend a holiday with them, it was nice to witness the joy of your empire firsthand.

Among you sat the council of the current mayor, your concubines were encouraged to go off and perform charity in the festival's events, therefore you were surrounded by mostly government officials who gathered to spend the evening with you. You blamed your dizzy state on them however, you really did make great attempts to spend your company with those of high birth but you would no doubt enjoy yourself more if they did not.. pester you the entire time on stupid things in order to grow friendly with you.

“Ah, it seems even the heavens will celebrate the return of spring with new life,” the man’s voice murmured, when you looked up you saw a blond, a beauty in fact, his eyes reminded her of emeralds and his hair fell below his shoulders. You noticed his eyes flicking toward your stomach and you raised your brow at his boldness.

You turned your head, raising a brow. The speaker was one of the mayor’s male companions- a courtesan, perhaps, or a favored attendant. You recalled seeing his face next to the mayor’s earlier today. He was certainly handsome enough for the role, though his attire did not quite match that of a typical servant. Bold too, too bold.

You chose not to take offense considering the light heartedness of the holiday and instead you replied to him, “I think you're too pretty to make bold assumptions like that, much less think about them.”

He only smiled at you and nodded, “As your majesty says.” And paid his attention back to the mayor, walking over to her.

The exchange was brief, barely a ripple in the night’s festivities. You naturally didn't think much of him for the rest of the evening.

.

By dawn, you were on your knees, emptying the contents of your stomach into a porcelain basin. The queasiness in your stomach had worsened since you went to bed last night, and when you rose, the world spun around you. A physician was summoned immediately. The verdict did not take long.

“Your Majesty,” the elderly doctor had said earlier after his examination, bowing low. “You are with child, almost two months now.”

The chamber fell into stunned silence. Then, murmurs rippled through your attendants. A pregnancy? So soon after your ascension? It had only been months since. The news would send shockwaves through the court.

Wiping the contents from your lips with a silk handkerchief and exhaling slowly, you only said, “Bring me the man from last night.”

The attendants hesitated. It was assumed that he had gravely offended the Empress with his comment. Was she going to punish him?

When the man was finally brought into your presence, he was composed, hands folded in quiet obedience. If he was afraid, he did not show it.

You studied him for a long moment before allowing a rare smile to curl your lips.

“Tell me,” you mused, tilting your head, “how did you know before even I did?”

The man met your gaze, neither meek nor defiant, merely certain.

“A flower knows when spring has come,” he said simply.

The man did not waver under your gaze, nor did he shrink away like most would before an Empress. If anything, there was a glimmer of amusement in his expression, as though he had been expecting this exchange.

You, for all your regal composure, found yourself intrigued. Men in this empire were raised to be demure, their words measured, their presence delicate. Yet here he stood, unflinching, speaking as if they were equals.

Your lips curled. “And where, I wonder, did you find such charm? To speak so openly before a woman, even seemingly comparing yourself to a flower, before your Empress?”

The man’s smile was slight, almost teasing. “Perhaps I was simply raised without the sense to know fear.”

A soft hum of amusement left you. “Is that so?” You let your fingers lazily trail along the embroidery of your sleeve, gaze sharp despite the casual gesture. “Then I wonder… would the mayor like to see one of her men charming her Empress so boldly?”

“I am nothing to the mayor, Your Majesty,” he said smoothly. “Only a passing healer. She was unwell some time ago, and this is merely my payment—a place to rest until I set off again.”

You raised a brow. A healer? That certainly explained a few things. The confidence, the observant gaze, the way he had spoken of your pregnancy as though it were an obvious truth.

A healer, then. Not a courtesan. Not some foolish servant who had spoken out of turn.

And he was charming.

You took a slow step forward, amusement flickering in your eyes. “A healer, yet one who diagnoses ailments before the patient even notices them,” you mused. “How fortunate.”

Your smirk deepened, and with a flick of your fingers, you turned to one of your attendants. “Inform the mayor that I am borrowing his guest for the rest of the day.”

Then, with a glance back at the man, you added smoothly, “Since you seem to be such a seasoned doctor, it would be a shame not to keep you around a little longer, wouldn’t it?”

He said nothing for the moment. And then, he smiled, as though he had expected this all along.

Extra: Interacting with his Empress afterwards..

Silken curtains fluttered as a cool breeze swept through the open balcony, carrying with it the faint sounds of the imperial garden beyond. Water trickling from the carved inner fountains, the rustle of wind through flowering nearby trees, the distant sound of attendants’ feet. The scent of pleasant burning coal paired with a beautiful man, it was all you needed for the night.

Seated atop a divan accompanied with fine brocade, you idly traced the rim of your jade wine cup, your gaze resting on the blond man standing before you.

Or rather, lounging before you on his own divan, utterly relaxed in the presence of the most powerful woman in the empire.

It was still an amusing thought, even now. When you had first met him during the Spring Festival, he had been nothing more than a passing healer, a man who had dared to speak freely in your presence. And yet here he was, standing in your palace, not as a physician, not as a mere guest, but as yours.

“You’re rather comfortable for someone who should be offering his Empress proper greetings,” you mused, sipping from your cup, watching him over the rim.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, stepping forward, but he did not kneel as tradition dictated. He never did. “Would it please Your Majesty if I performed the ritual properly?” His voice carried that same knowing lilt, teasing yet respectful–just enough to keep his head on his shoulders.

You sighed, setting your cup down. “No. It would bore me.”

He chuckled again, stopping just before you, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He was dressed as befitted a favored concubine; robes of deep indigo and silver, his long hair bound with a golden clasp gifted by your own hand. It is not that he did not look the part of an Imperial Concubine, more rather the way he wore it as if he still had freedom. Composed but never restrained.

“I heard you made quite the impression today.”

“You ought to make the load heavier on servants if rumors reach your ears this fast.” His reply was instant. Not a trace of humility or shame.

“You do not deny it?”

“This depends.”

You exhaled, feeling equally exasperated and entertained. This wasn't the only thing he did then.

“The High Twelfth Princess’ Consort-” you stopped then narrowed your eyes at him, not sharp enough to be malice, “My younger sister’s consort almost fainted when you grabbed his wrist so suddenly-”

“Pulse reading is normal.”

You raised your brow at his arrogant reply, towards you of all people, “-which caused the poor man to become frightened as you approached him so suddenly.”

Luocha tilted his head, “I am wounded.” He approached you closer and knelt to you, laying his hands on your lap then placing his head on top of said hands, his eyes gazed up at you, “I cannot be blamed for not knowing he was so fragile beforehand, yes?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curled. He was a menace, truly. When you had first taken him into the palace, you had wondered if he would wilt under the weight of gilded captivity.

But no, he had thrived.

“Shameless,” you muttered.

He grinned. “Only in service to my Empress.”

A laugh escaped you. You reached for your wine cup, sipping slowly before saying, “Perhaps I should keep you locked away after all. My ministers would be relieved if their husbands weren’t at risk of fainting in your presence.” Your smile widened before you could feel it, “Better yet, I should have your hands removed to make their assurance grounded.”

He pushed himself further on your lap. Too close and too bold but he had already crossed that line a long time ago. The best path was forward.

“Would that not be a tragedy?” he murmured. “To cripple such a talented physician, when his skills could be put to better use?”

You set your cup aside, eyes gleaming. “Better use, you say?”

“Mm.” He leaned in just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint trace of fragrant herbal oils lingering on his skin.

His voice then became low, “Surely Your Majesty finds my hands most useful?”

[abstracteddistractions]

"Paired Cubes," Busan, South Korea,

Standing 2.5m tall, the pavilion is built using 10mm thick panels that are assembled without any fittings or glue, ensuring complete recyclability.

This innovative design allows for easy transport and assembly in various public spaces, enhancing these areas while offering an immersive experience for passersby.

The structure comprises over 3,500 panels in opaque white, translucent orange, and clear, forming a composition of eight outer facades and two inner walls.

The pavilion’s fragmented appearance, particularly when illuminated, evokes a sense of floating panels, attracting those who observe it from various angles. 

Courtesy: A + U Lab

[theink-stainedfolk]

Friday Kiss Tag

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet

Here is a snippet from The General's Bride

---

The quiet of the night settled over the Jade Blossom Pavilion, its usual stillness interrupted only by the faint flicker of lanterns swaying in the breeze. Jian sat by the window, gazing out at the moonlit garden, the light casting delicate patterns on his veil.

Luo Xingchen approached silently, his footsteps soft against the polished wood. "You’ve been up too long," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

Jian didn’t turn. "The moon is too beautiful to waste behind closed eyes."

Xingchen stepped closer, his presence grounding. "And yet you hide your face from it."

Jian chuckled softly, his fingers grazing the edge of his veil. "Perhaps the moon isn’t the only thing worth hiding from."

The weight of Xingchen’s gaze pressed against his back, protective but unyielding. “Do you think me a wolf, waiting to pounce? Or the moon itself, casting light where it is not welcome?”

Jian’s voice softened, his words gentle. “You are neither. You are the warrior who guards me from both.”

Xingchen’s hand moved, hesitating briefly before lifting the edge of Jian’s veil. “And who guards you from me?”

Jian met his eyes, his expression unreadable but unafraid. “I don’t need protection from you, Xingchen.”

The veil slipped away, fluttering to the floor like a ribbon freed. Jian’s face, illuminated by the moonlight, was a sight Xingchen had not allowed himself to imagine fully. For a moment, neither spoke, the unspoken tension between them filling the silence.

Xingchen cupped Jian’s cheek gently, his thumb brushing over the smooth curve of his jaw. “You are the most dangerous person in this palace,” he murmured, his tone almost playful. “Do you know that?”

Jian’s lips parted slightly, a quiet inhale, before he responded. “And you are the only one foolish enough to stand so close to me.”

Xingchen leaned in, the space between them vanishing in a heartbeat. Their lips met in a kiss that began slow, tentative, as though testing the fragile boundaries of their world. But it deepened quickly, the weight of unspoken truths and unshed fears driving them closer. Jian’s hands clutched the fabric of Xingchen’s robe, grounding himself as the kiss consumed them both.

When they finally pulled away, breathless but unbroken, Xingchen rested his forehead against Jian’s, his voice low. “The moon can wait. Tonight, the stars are ours.”

---

I'll tag @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @frostedlemonwriter @vesanal @orphanheirs @dauntlessdraupadi @oros-ash3s

[ancientrome]

This ambiguous and sophisticated decoration is a masterpiece of the so-called third style of Roman wall painting, which flourished during the reign of Augustus. The theme is a playful rendition of architectural motif. A low red dado serves as the base from which a skeleton of thin white columns appears to rise against a black background. There almost weightless columns support pavilions, candelabra, tripods, and a narrow cornice that runs around the room. They were embellished with jewel-like decorations. On the back wall tiny swans, the bird of Apollo, patron god of Augustus, perch improbably on threadlike spirals, and yellow panels with Egyptianizing motifs must have brought to mind the recent annexation of Egypt after the death of Cleopatra in 30 B.C. This architectural scheme creates almost no sense of depth or volume. The black walls behind appear at once to be flat and to dissolve into limitless space. Tiny landscape vignettes float like islands in the middle of this blackness. Burnished to a high polish, these walls must have appeared magical indeed when illuminated by lamps at night. x

[himasgod]

Keqing x Reader

Where you convince her to try to rest

(Happy birthday to Keqing, my girl! Although I've never lost the 50/50 with her, I love her character and her background, so as is tradition, a one shot celebrating birthdays!)

Keqing doesn’t rest. To her, rest is an illusory concept, a luxury she can’t afford while the weight of Liyue is on her shoulders. To anyone else, the exhaustion on her expression would be obvious, but it’s taken you a while to notice the subtlety of her weariness, hidden behind her firm words and tireless dedication. Sometimes, when the bustle of Liyue dies down and the citizens rest, you find her on the terrace of the Yuehai Pavilion, looking out at the city she swore to protect.

On this particular night, the lights of Liyue flicker softly in the distance, like stars reflected in water. The merchants and fishermen have already closed their stalls and the nearby mountains seem to keep watch in silence, while Keqing, standing next to you, looks out at her city with a mix of love and frustration.

“Keqing…” you break the silence softly, and her head turns to you, her eyes bright and piercing in the dim light.

“Yes?” her voice is sharp, as if she is not used to hearing her own name tenderly. She is the same determined and bold woman you know, the one who looks to the future without fear, the one who defies the gods and strives tirelessly. But there is something else in that gaze as well. Something vulnerable.

"You know you can rest, right?" you murmur, looking at her with concern. It is a simple offer, but you know it is difficult for her to accept.

Keqing lets out a sigh, a breath that carries with it the weight of all the responsibilities she carries. She looks out at the city again, her expression seeming to be torn between pride and a slight sadness.

"Rest? How could I when Liyue still has so much to accomplish?" she whispers. You can see the reflection of Liyue’s lanterns in her eyes, the symbol of a city that has been her reason for being. Since she was young, she has felt that the responsibility of ensuring its prosperity falls on her, without depending on the will of a god.

“Keqing… you know you’re doing a good job. No one in Liyue doubts that, not even Rex Lapis,” you tell her, lightly touching her arm in an attempt to comfort her. She’s always been skeptical of divine influence, however, you understand that there are times when her determination becomes an almost overwhelming burden.

“It’s not just about doing a good job,” she says, her voice softer now, almost as if she’s talking to herself. “It’s about proving that we humans can create a prosperous future, without relying on the benevolence of higher beings. It’s something I believe in… but will it be enough?”

Her words hang in the air, full of doubt, and you know it’s not easy for Keqing to admit something like that. For so long, she’s kept an unwavering facade, the same one that inspires respect and even fear in others. But tonight, with the moonlight softly illuminating her face, you can see the young woman behind Yuheng, the one who still wonders if her effort is enough.

“Keqing, you don’t have to carry this alone,” you murmur softly. “You’re surrounded by people who respect you, who believe in you, and I… I believe in you too.”

Your words surprise her. She turns, staring at you, with a mix of gratitude and something that seems indecisive. For a moment, you see her falter, her mask of strength cracking.

“It’s hard to believe in yourself when all you do is question and question,” she admits. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever understand what it means to truly rest, what it means to trust in something without looking for proof.”

“Can you trust me, even a little?” you ask softly, feeling your own heart beat faster as you watch her closely. It's a request that, under other circumstances, you might have brushed aside, but tonight, you feel the need to tell her.

She closes her eyes for a moment, as if trying to decide what she truly desires. Finally, she lets her expression soften a little.

"If it's you… maybe I could try," she murmurs, so quietly that you almost don't hear her. But you know those words are sincere, more sincere than any statement in her official speeches or political arguments.

The two of you fall silent, gazing out at the lights of Liyue in the distance. The city seems to glow with an unexpected calm, and the night wind carries with it a tranquility that you can rarely share with Keqing. You don't need her to say anything else; in her closeness, in the way she's let her guard down for an instant, you find an answer to your own question.

That night, Keqing doesn't find all the answers she seeks, but for the first time in a long time, she finds in you a refuge, an unwavering support that she doesn't need to question or challenge.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[eternalstarlitwonderland]

Dancing With The Stars

The night is brilliant and crystal clear,

The Moon is full and beaming, and the stars are brightly flickering

Brightly illuminated throughout

The overall color scheme of the atmosphere is silvery-white

Glooming over the nightly landscape

Everything is set in motion

The stage is set

Inside the moonlit pavilion

There's a young girl dressed in pure white

With a fan in her hand

Her performance has commenced

The heavenly stellar canticle provides the background music for this once-in-a-lifetime performance

The stars in the night sky give her their brilliant shine

Illuminating her in its entirety

The starlight glimmer accentuates her

Highlighting every feature of hers

Revealing her delicate facial features

Her beauty is one of a kind, that can't be replicated or duplicated

She's truly a one-in-a-billion beauty

Enchanting the observers

Watching her dance in the brilliant starlight

Her moves were distinctive and outstanding

Every twirl and every swirl she executes with ease

Her composure was outstanding

Every time she executes an action so effectively

The soft glint illuminated her and her essential essence

Her movements are accentuated

The heavenly gleam compliments the dancer very satisfactorily

The stars' brilliance provides her with enough lighting to shine

Now the spotlight is on her

She's the center of the stage

Through all of the obstacles and tribulations

She went through it with a smile on her face

The sheer willpower that she has

The elegance and the serenity that she possesses

As she dances in its starlit glint

With admiring eyes on her

The stars continue to shine brilliantly outside

Casting her in their brilliant glint

The starlight telling her that she was meant to be here

To shine brilliantly as a star in the night sky

The climax of her stellar performance

The stars above began to slightly wane a bit

She concluded the dance, by concealing herself as The starlight departed, and its brilliant glint departed as well

The darkness concealing her from the view of the spectators

She and the stars simply disappeared

However, her presence has remained…