#Lit Fiber Market Lit Fiber Market

[me-amaraja]

[market-research-reports-fmi]

The Lit Fiber Market refers to the market for leased or lighted optical fiber connections used to transfer data and information. In telecommunications and networking, optical fiber is a media that enables for high-speed data transmission across vast distances utilizing light signals.

The global Lit fibre market is predicted to grow at a robust 16.7% CAGR between 2022 and 2032, reaching a market value of US$ 4.28 billion by 2022. By the end of 2032, the illuminated fiber market share is estimated to be worth around US$ 20 billion.

[skelly-words]

sneaking into a witch’s garden to steal something and her vines fertilize you 😩😩 (this sentence is crazy bruh)

wait til she finds you in the morning and fucks you with her huge dick

NSFW, Minors DNI (18+ obv)

TAGS: non-con monsterfucking, vines/plants, aphrodisiac, ovi, all holes, futanari, this is so cursed lol, also a period piece ig

WC- 1.1k

You're hungry. The kind of starving that makes you ask the grocers at the market for vegetable scraps, lift bread loaves out of unattended baskets, and hop the ten-foot cobblestone wall into your neighbor's garden.

You feel like an idiot as soon as you make it into the witch's yard. Nobody ever got away with stealing from her, yet here you were, shivering in the frigid winter twilight, inching across her frosted lawn to the brightly lit greenhouse.

The heavy glass doors barely creak and you're almost sucked in by the humid air. The empty gurgle in your gut makes you press on through the rows of plants, looking for something edible or incredible to make off with.

You search the entire greenhouse before making the mistake of sniffing at her rose bushes. They smell sweet, much less harsh and organic than a normal rose. You sniff deeply into the blossom as it pushed against your nose.

Your mind is gone after that first inhale. The careful brambles shred your clothes, letting the rags fall to the dirt while they carefully wrap around your body. The rosebuds drip with a sweet syrup. It leaks into the seam of your mouth, making you lick out to taste it, to suckle the nectar from the buds until you're drowning in it.

You've been completely pulled into the rose bushes now, so tangled in the tenacious little plant that you couldn't get out if you wanted to. You drink down whatever the bud gives you, even as the sticky liquid makes you gasp and choke. More of the buds press to the corner of your mouth, smearing the substance across your jaw and neck, some drop lower, opening their petals to suckle on your swollen nipples. You haven't noticed how heavy your breasts have gotten. The tight binding of the vines had to adjust so the hungry rosebuds could suck on your fat tits.

Milk spurts out of you as the vines squish and squeeze at your heaving chest. You can hardly breathe. Something is in the syrup, making your mind numb and skin tingle as it smears on your sensitive body. Globs of sticky nectar drip onto your clit so it twitches and throbs as a greedy bud latches onto it. Your hips buck, bumping into a bundle of slender stamen that prod at your entrance. They move with your hips to work your pussy open. The tendrils twist their way into your tight hole and slowly expand. The sucker on your clit helps your muscles relax, but the demanding stretch is too much.

You groan loudly, parting your lips to pant as the fibers pry your cunt apart. The blossom at your lips forces its way deeper, sliding over your tongue, dripping down your throat, snaking its way so deep you can't taste the sweetness of the syrup its pumping into you.

Suddenly, the stretch isn't so bad anymore and you moan, sounding more like a gurgle around the obstruction. You can feel them exploring your insides. The stamen probe at your cervix, getting as deep as possible before turning you into a proper seed bed. It slowly starts to pump you full of spawn, feeding eggs into your cunt with thick spurts of the rose nectar. Your eyes roll back as the band in your belly tightens. It snaps as the effects of the drugged plant take over. Your pussy tingles, walls clenching, squishing the eggs and juice in as you cum. Pathetic dribbles leak down your thighs as the mess sprays out of you.

Streams of milk lead from your nipples, pooling beneath each breast. You're leaking too fast for the rosebuds to suckle up. Time seems to move slow, or fast. You don't really know, counting the eggs being shoved into you instead of the minutes. At least your tummy is full now. You've been well fed by the vine lodged in your throat.

The witch finds you in the morning when she comes to garden. You're so tucked away in the vines, she would've missed you if not for the sound. You're squishing and sloshing from being so stuffed full by her naughty flora.

"Looks like my rosehips like you, they've made you into a perfect seedbed. It's kinda kismet because I've been meaning to propagate them." She grabs your hips, wrenching you halfway out of the bush to look at what the plant has done to you. "The rosehips only care about breeding, so it's left your cute little ass all empty."

Her finger swirls through your drooling folds before dipping lower and sinking into your butt. You're so tight, already squirming around one little finger. She palms her cock with her other hand as she fucks you open on her fingers. Slick drips down from your cunt to help lube up your hole. You watch her black skirt start to lift as she gets harder. Her dripping tip starts to poke from the beneath the hem as she grows. Thick semen runs from the blunt head of her horsecock. She lets it land in your cunt, left gaping by the twenty six eggs the rose has planted in you.

The witch only puts two fingers in your ass before forcing her dick in. She grunts and huffs, grip on your hips only growing tighter with each stunted thrust. You're strung out on the aphrodisiac being fed down your throat. You've been drinking it all night long, more full than you've been in months. The fat cockhead catches on your rim each time she pulls back, you clench and twitch around her, squeezing the life out of her dick.

You take it all, sucking all thirteen inches into your puckering hole. She rolls her hips against yours, mesmerized by how your your cunt twitches and tightens as she fucks you. She's so big and pent up, so it doesn’t take long for her to release, cumming deep in your guts as her balls pump her sticky spunk into you.

You hardly control your body anymore, murmuring weakly as you squirt on the witch's dick. She keeps a punishing pace and you love it. The rough drag of her throbbing cock makes your muscles tense and squeeze. She tugs the bud away from your left tit, leaning down to suck on your abused nipple.

"Your milk's sweet. Taste it." She suckles from you again and spits it between your lips, already left open by the vine, but you can taste the milk as it hits your tongue. It's so good, you're almost jealous she gets to drink it. She mouths at your breast, giving kitten licks to the liquid beading on your cute brown nubs.

You’re making such a mess of cum on her stomach as she leans over you. The overstimulation is hard to register from how hazy your mind’s become. Your clit pulses from being sucked on all night, spasming again whenever she has you at the fullest. She has your ass so stuffed it makes your eyes cross and the stamen are trying to push another egg in you. Every orgasm wrecks you, cresting tears over your cheeks as she keeps her lips pressed around your chest to nurse from you.

Not many people are stupid enough to steal from the witch anymore, and her cock gets so painfully hard when she doesn’t have a slut like you to take care of it. She takes out all of her frustration on your poor virgin ass. You’re so ruined now, only able to cum and spread your legs more because that’s all the aphrodisiac allows you to think about.

you’ve lost count of how many eggs are in your sticky cunt, always being given more and more as you adjust. Your butt is stretched so much by her swollen length that she’s trained you to take her whenever she wants. Your rim easily swallows up her fingers, tongue, or dick, sometimes dildos, whatever she felt like watching you squirt on.

The witch’s cock keeps you plugged up every morning. It's the only routine you can seem to keep track of these days. Oh well, who knows why you came here in the first place anyway?

A/n- i wrote this in one sitting (it’s noticeable)

new tentacle au idea, thoughts?

[arthurbristow]

Keep it close - Shigaraki x Reader

"Keep close," Shigaraki muttered, his crimson eyes scanning the bustling market around them. "I don't want to lose you in this crowd." His white hair fell messily over his face.

It was an unexpected outing, to say the least. The League of Villains rarely ventured out in daylight, especially to something as mundane as a game market. The two of you had left the hideout that afternoon, Shigaraki’s rare urge to indulge in some new video games coinciding with the League’s need for supplies. Dabi had been particularly insistent, his grumbling about running out of cigarettes becoming unbearable. So, with a list of groceries in hand, you accompanied Shigaraki to the market.

“Look at them, scrambling around for their mundane little pleasures,” he continued, hands twitching slightly as he spoke. “Pathetic.”

Navigating through the crowded streets, your eyes couldn’t help but notice the occasional glances and whispers directed your way. Shigaraki’s presence was hard to ignore, even if people didn’t recognize him. And you felt a wave of unease. The noise, the press of bodies, the constant motion—it was overwhelming. Your senses were on high alert, every fiber of your being screaming to find a point of stability. Shigaraki walked ahead, his posture tense but focused, clearly absorbed in his hunt for the perfect game.

The press of bodies around you intensified, and an accidental shove from an overenthusiastic passerby sent you stumbling. Without thinking, your hand shot out, grasping Shigaraki’s. The contact was immediate, grounding. Only a heartbeat later did you realize the full extent of your actions. His hand was bare — no protective gloves. A cold shiver ran down your spine. One wrong move, one slip of control, and you could be reduced to dust. Shigaraki’s Decay quirk was lethal, merciless. 

He stiffened, his head whipping around to look at you. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, but not entirely devoid of curiosity.

“I…” You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I just… needed to hold on to something.”

His laugh was a harsh bark, but there was no malice in it. “You’re insane.” Tomura didn’t pull his hand away though, didn’t dissolve you into nothingness. Instead, his grip tightened slightly, with his pinky raised up in the air to protect you from being decayed on the spot.

The two of you moved through the market like that, hand in hand. It felt strangely intimate, a connection that defied the perilous nature of his quirk. The crowd seemed less daunting with him by your side, your anxiety ebbing away with each step.

Shigaraki led you to a stall filled with the latest games. His eyes lit up as he browsed through the titles, a rare smile playing on his lips. It was a side of him you didn’t see often, this almost childlike excitement. You couldn’t help but smile too, caught up in his rare moment of happiness.

“Found it,” he said, holding up a game with a triumphant look. “This is the one.”

“Great,” you replied, your voice steadying. “Now, let’s get those groceries before Dabi sets the hideout on fire.”

Shigaraki chuckled, “Yeah.”

As you moved to the grocery section, the crowd thickened again. Instinctively, you tightened your grip on his hand. This time, he didn’t question it, at all.

You quickly gathered the items on your list, your movements efficient despite the mass of people. Cigarettes for Dabi, snacks for Toga, and various other necessities for the rest of the League. 

Through it all, Shigaraki stayed by your side, keeping his head lowered, reading the information written on the box of his new game, your hand still in his.

Holding Shigaraki's hand was a paradox of sensations. His skin, surprisingly warm, radiated a heat that contrasted sharply with the chilling fear of his lethal touch. The rough texture of his calloused palm told stories of countless battles and hardships. Yet, beneath the coarse exterior, there was a vulnerability — a silent plea for connection. The knowledge that a single slip could mean your end made the experience electrifying, heightening every sense. It was like holding a live wire: dangerous, exhilarating, and oddly comforting all at once. In that grip, there was a fragile trust, a delicate balance between life and decay, and an unspoken promise that for now, in this moment, you were safe.

Eventually, you managed to complete your shopping list. Dabi's cigarettes, snacks and manga for Toga, and even a few items for yourself. Shigaraki, meanwhile, had amassed a small pile of new games, his crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

As you reached the entrance, you reluctantly let go of his hand. 

He glanced at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You apparently liked holding my hand, hmm?" Tomura cooed, his tone softer than you’d ever heard.

"Yeah…" You replied, feeling a warmth spread through your chest and flush claiming your cheeks.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Just don’t make a habit of grabbing my hand. Next time, I might not be so careful."

[mt-oe]

𝙎𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝘼𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙈𝙚—ex bandmate mizu

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

Back with one of my favorite tropes! I high key feel bad for being away for so long and for being too shy to actually interact with anyone so I'll try to make up for it as much as I can.

Will you be the bad guy in this one? Not sure, that's for you to decide. I hope all of you will enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa ;*

warning/s: not proofread, angst, cursing, violence (mdni!), toxic, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

note: I tried fixing some parts because I wrote this while I was drunk and I realized that some parts sucked. I'm sorry, dears!

The sound of cars whizzing past, horns beeping, and the endless conversations of people chatting on the street filled the night. The wind blew harshly, the cold biting at your flushed cheeks. Stars glimmering as bright as your narrowed eyes as you ran, footsteps heavy on the concrete.

Bright lights lit up the city, commercials everywhere of something stupid. Probably the next new hyped up skincare product that was overpriced and didn't work or the next new corny romance film they're trying to sell out. Celebrities' faces plastered on every building, some pretty, some borderline lewd, some dramatic.

God, you hated these fucking displays, always so obnoxious and overly marketed...

Especially her fucking face.

Mizu's stupid fucking face plastered all around the buildings, informing you of her concert in your home city as a way of ending her first oh-so-grand world tour. The new hit guitarist made by Abijah Fowler, the manager of the biggest fucking band in the world. A legend. Anyone he handled turns into a star by the first debut.

Oh, fuck you.

These displays were truly obnoxious, even more so with her stupid fucking face, her stupid hands holding her same old guitar, and her gorgeously blue eyes on display for every passerby to see. For you to see every time you went to work, went to get the groceries, went to...whatever.

Blue eyes reminding you of the times when you were her manager. Of when both of you were young and stupid, when playing in a band was just something you did to unwind and have something to do aside from rot. Reminding you of your promise to make her a star, that talent recognizes talent.

And indeed, she was talent.

She was the greatest fucking talent the world ever saw. Her hands played the guitar as if it was natural to her. As if whatever deity that created her wanted mankind to know what music actually sounded like. Like her hands were made for this. Like she was made for this.

Every time she went on stage, countless would scream for her, cheer for her, throw what ever expensive lingerie they had for her. It took months, maybe even a year, to be able to schedule an interview with her. Her fans would sell their soul for a chance to breathe the same air as her, yet alone be in the same room with her.

Which ever city she went, concert or no concert, paparazzi was waiting for her. Each stage she rocked, she made the floors shake with how hyped her audience got. Everyone who attended had post-concert syndrome. They were star struck. She exuded confidence. She was an icon. Not even the lead singer but she was the front man.

An eye catcher.

Talent personified.

A star.

Your fucking star.

And you hated this bitch with every fiber of your body, with every cell that passed and will pass through your veins, with every nerve, with everything you had. You made her a star, gave her to the best fucking manager known to man. For fuck's sake she even finished a world tour. And this is how she repays you?

Your hands pushed the crowds of people away, legs burning as you tried to run into the backstage. The sounds of people yelling at you, glaring at your figure as you cut through lines echoing across the waiting area.

Was this illegal? Probably.

Who cares?

You were getting this bitch even if you had to be dragged out by every armed force known to man.

Just as you were about to reach the doors, security immediately held you back. Bodyguards grabbing you as you thrashed around, trying to kick them off while pulling your arms away from them. "Let me go! Let me fucking see this bitch!" you screamed at them, nails digging into their skin as they held you back.

"Mizu you fucking bitch! I know you're there! Explain yourself!" you yelled, hissing in pain as security tried to drag you out, yelling at you to leave. Your hair out of the bun you put it in, seams at the corners of your shirt ripping slightly, legs scratched. Their hands leaving red marks on your skin, and yet you continued to try and fight them off, yelling obscenities as they held you down. "Fuck! Get off of me! You motherfucker! You ungrateful bitch!"

With a twist of your arm and an unexpected bite at their hands, you finally broke free from their grasps, only to be tackled to the ground as soon as you tried to sprint towards the door. The impact of your head on the ground making you extremely light-headed. Your vision growing blurry as the warm red liquid started dripping from your nose onto the concrete. You could feel them lifting your body; but just as you were about to drag your body out, you heard a voice. The same fucking voice you were searching for.

"Unhand her. Don't worry she's with me."

Upon her words, the guards looked at each other and security hesitantly let go of you, going back to their stations. With a groan, you sat up straight, blowing the blood out of your nostril before wiping the leftover crimson with the back of your hand as she approached you with an unreadable expression.

Just as you looked up, your breath got caught in your throat as your eyes met. Blue orbs meeting with yours. Those gorgeous blue eyes. Drowning you.

Slowly, you stood up, trying your best to balance yourself. Her eyebrows knitting at how beaten up you looked. But just as she was about to open her mouth...

SLAP

...her cheek was met with a harsh stinging pain, knocking her back slightly. Her chest rose up and down as she panted, trying to register what had just happened, hand slowly clutching her cheek.

Sharp blue eyes glared at you as soon as she composed herself. She watched as you shook the pain from your hand, glaring at her with such loathing. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she growled, grabbing you by the collar.

I asked you a question, I wanna know why Why'd you have to make a record 'bout me?

"What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck do you think you're doing?" you yelled at her, eyes narrowing further as you continued to glare at her, no longer caring if her hold on your collar was choking you. "Answer me, Mizu. Why'd you have to make a fucking song about me, you stupid jackass?"

Her eyes scanned your face, looking over every detail as her grip on your collar tightened. Even with a scratched up face and a bloody nose, you were still so beautiful to her. The most beautiful woman she has ever met.

"That's what you're here for? Hah..fuck...I'm with my own band. Stay out of my business," she said in low voice, pulling you closer, jaw clenching as if holding back some sort of unexplainable anger towards you as well. An exasperated yet angered expression washed over your face at her words.

"Stay out of your business?" you repeated before letting out an angry sarcastic laugh. "How can I when you fucking used my picture? Our picture? On a fucking diss album, for fuck's sake! Are you stupid?!" you yelled, hand gripping her hand around your collar tightly until your knuckles turned white, until your nails were digging into her skin.

That's right.

A whole fucking record about you. A whole motherfucking album dedicated to you. This is how this jackass repays you.

The track list started with innocent cute little love songs about how much she admired you, how much she fucking tried for you, how she constantly played her heart out just for you to realize how in love she was with you.

Then, it went on to heavier songs, talking about how you sold her. How you were a fucking traitor who threw her into the pit, making her feel as if you would be there for her no matter where the band's musical journey took off to only to leave her.

And you wouldn't have minded if it was just some kind of corny ass typical romance album with cheesy lyrics a little angst. Every band had that at some point. Maybe it wasn't even dedicated for you. You hoped it wasn't dedicated to you. However, the moment you saw the album cover, you could physically feel the color draining out of your face.

But it's alright 'Cause it was all in my mind To begin with (And you don't know why)

It was a picture of you and Mizu in the old studio. Your body turned to the side as you wrote something on your clipboard. Mizu was at the background tuning her guitar. Of course they had the decency to blur out your face, but you knew.

You fucking knew.

God, you loved this picture so much.

"Mizu...do you think we should add crushcrushcrush to our song list for the next gig," you asked, eyes trained on your clipboard. Your eyebrows furrowed in thought. Damn, this client was stingy. Only 3 songs? How were you going to fit a whole ass gig into three songs?

She looked up from her guitar before her eyes glanced at Akemi who was just beside you, giggling as she looked at her digital camera then back at her with a sly smile, showing the camera to her mischievously. Mizu immediately turned around in fear of her face being captured in the photo, fiddling with her guitar while she thought of an answer. "...Well if you want a Paramore song, I think Ignorance would be better," she said quietly but loud enough for you to hear.

"Although...I still think One Weak is better. Make Taigen sing or something," she suggested, plucking the strings of her guitar as she tuned it. A small 'I second that' could be heard from Akemi as she pointed the camera towards you. Your eyes widened in delight at the suggestion, immediately writing it down on your clipboard. "That's not a bad idea! Not bad at a—"

You were cut off by the loud click sound of a camera, followed by the bright lights of the camera flash. "Oops.." Akemi mumbled sheepishly as she watched you rub your eyes. Just as she was going to hide the camera in her bag, you waved your hand around before gesturing her to give it to you.

Mizu couldn't help but be curious, setting her guitar down to take a peek. "Woah..." you mumbled, grinning at the picture.

It was perfect.

The slight tint from how old the camera was gave it a vintage look. The way your skirt rode up slightly from how you crossed your legs gave it a slightly lewd feel. And along with your combat boots? It definitely had that edge. Y'know? Like that little irresistible charm that made you stare at album covers like Around the Fur.

Mhmm.. don't even deny it. We've all stared at that album cover before.

Even the way Mizu was standing at the background looked so badass. Her back turned from the camera, so sturdy and strong. She definitely had that natural mysterious vibe that drew everyone in.

Everything about this picture...made your heart race.

"Looks like an album cover," Mizu commented, sitting down next to you. A small blush appearing on her cheeks as her eyes traced your legs. The three of you nodded in agreement, each with your own smiles. "Hmm.. maybe if we make it big somehow. We could use this," Akemi suggested.

You nodded, smiling at the photo fondly. "Yeah, let's make it big together," you mumbled, eyes still staring at the picture. God, you loved this picture so much.

God, you hated this picture so much.

Keep the chaos 'cause you don't know why

"Oh don't be such a fucking narcissist. Just because we used a picture you loved so damn much, doesn't mean its for you," she growled, hairs on the back of her neck standing up from anger.

Slowly, her hands gripped your collar tighter, ignoring the pain your nails were inflicting on her, shoving you until your back collided with the cool metal of the trailer. Your body trapped between the vehicle and her body. The tension was so thick it was suffocating you.

You could feel the air being squeezed out from your throat as you continued to glare at her, not letting this go. "Then tell me, Mizu." A small cough escaping your throat as your breathing turned into wheezing. "Who...who is this stupid fucking album for?"

Her eyes narrowed at your question, continuing to stare at you intensely but gave no answer. Although the slight tremble and weakening of her grip told you that you definitely struck a nerve. The silence was unnerving and even with the lack of oxygen, it was pissing you off.

"Answer me, you bitch!" With the remaining energy you had, you lifted your leg before stomping it towards her, digging your foot onto her stomach.

Immediately, her hands let go of your collar as she reeled back, coughing and wheezing. Your hands rubbed at the area where the friction from your collar burned your skin, trying to soothe it as you tried your best to regain your breath.

It was a good try, but Mizu was strong. So strong and well-built. The body that used to keep you close, holding the umbrella for you, trying to hide the shiver in the cold so she could lend you her jacket, was now pinning you to the ground. Knees weighing down on your hands and her weight pushed on to you. You loved her. You hated her. You love her so much.

I heard your song but I wasn't impressed So, you got your feels hurt and now you're feeling depressed Just because we had sex and it didn't last? Now you want revenge, you wanna put me on blast?

"Give me one good reason to not kill you right now," she said in a low voice. Her long, rough, slender fingers wrapping around your neck, squeezing it lightly. You could feel the hesitance in her hold, the slight tremble of her hands and the almost invisible quivering of her lips, contrasting the harshness of her expression.

"You're such a fucking bitch," you coughed out, eyes narrowing as you tried to lift her weight off your body. "Tell me who that motherfucking album is for! Spit it the fuck out!"

Eyes narrowed further as she gritted her teeth, jaw clenching. Her hands squeezing against your throat further, other hand balling into a fist as she lifted it out. Anger emanated from her gaze, burning deeply as she looked at you. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then her soul must be either dead or burning with rage more than ever. And yours? Yours filled with a type of hatred that seemed to deep to be quenched.

No, don't look at her like that.

Fists raised and clenched tightly, mind violent and filled with rage. And yet, she could see no fear in you. Even with the threat of pain, you looked at her with no fear, as if you thought she could never hurt you. Even with the threat of pain, you felt no fear, as if you knew she could never hurt you. Mizu could never do that to you.

So please, don't look at her like that

Her breathing became heavier as she continued to glare at you, fist shaking until eventually letting go. She let out an exhale, eyes glossing over ever-so-slightly. 'What the hell am I doing?', she thought, throat tightening as a lump formed, making it hard for her to breathe. Your form under her, too beautiful, too lovely.

She couldn't do it. Not to you.

Slowly, she got off of your body, sitting on the spot next to you as the two of you looked up at the sky, except her eyes were on your figure. You took a deep breath before eventually looking at her, admiring her features. "You changed so much.." you mumbled, glare softening but still there. "Tell me. That album...was for me, wasn't it?"

A sigh escaped her lips before she gave a slow, hesitant nod. "Why?" you asked, sitting up slowly.

"Why'd you have to.."

"Because you're a fucking liar."

Your eyes widened before narrowing into the harsh glare it was before. "Liar? How am I a liar?" you almost yelled, voice a bit raspy.

Her eyes glared back at you, nails digging into her own skin of her palms. "You fucking sold my contract. To Fowler of all people!" she exclaimed. "Have you ever considered how I felt? Did you even think of me?"

"Of course I thought of you! If I didn't hand over your contract to Fowler, you wouldn't be where you fucking are!" you yelled back, turning to face her. "Look at you now! The biggest and fastest rising star! People are praising you like you're some sort of modern Kurt Cobain, Mizu! Can't you be fucking grateful?!"

Grateful?

Don't make me laugh

She stood up and grabbed you by the shoulders before pulling you up harshly, your sides almost colliding with the trailer yet again. Rage enveloping her being, radiating from her as she approached you, fingers digging into your shoulders. "You didn't think about me! Fuck, you didn't think about any of us at all!"

"How about Ringo? Taigen? Akemi? Where the fuck are they now after you disbanded us, left us all rotting, for Abijah's stupid fuckin' agenda?!" she almost croaked out, face getting closer to yours. Her jaw clenching as her hands trembled in both anger and the desire to be soft with you.

You couldn't believe what she was saying right now. You didn't even think of her? How could she say that after you gave her to the best, to make her dreams come true? Harshly, you pushed her off of you. Now it was your turn to grab her by the collar, pulling her to your height. "Abijah's 'stupid fucking agenda' is what got you where you are, Mizu,'' you growled. "Talent recognizes talent and Abijah is the most talented manager in the industry and he wanted you. The kingmaker wanted you."

A strange sense of disappointment towards you swirled into her eyes. It was stupid of her to think that if she met you again, things would go back to the way they were. An unexplainable retching in her gut welling up as she listened to you speak. Was this it? Was this why you sold her fucking contract?

"You wanted to be a star, he made you a star. I made you a—"

"I never fucking wanted to be a star!" she yelled, glare hardening. Confusion painted over your face, making the anger in your eyes falter. Her disappointment and dismay in full view as opposed to the anger she held earlier. "I don't understand, Mizu. Isn't this why you joined—"

"I fucking joined your stupid band to be with you, dumbass," she sighed, pulling your hands off of her collar. "It was never about making it big. I just...wanted to play and be with you."

Her hands held yours softly as she looked away. "You told me we'd stay together as a band. That we'd be together no matter if we made it big or not." The grip she had on your hands trembling slightly as it tightened. She took a deep breath to calm herself down before looking at you straight in the eyes. "But you're a fucking liar, aren't you?"

For the first time since you've heard of Mizu's concert in your home city, you were speechless. Thoughts empty as you tried to process her words. Hatred quelled deep in your heart. "Mizu.. I really don't understand," you replied, hands desperately trying to hold hers as she tried to pull away.

She looked down at you with a sigh. The heavy feeling weighing down both your chests. With one look at your eyes, she knew this was too difficult for both of you. And maybe, this was just how the world worked.

She loved you. She loves you. But she can't help but hate you too.

"Go. Get the fuck out of here," she said coldly, turning to head back, making you even more confused and even a bit more pissed off. An unexplainable anger gnawing at her insides, making her throat tighten. "I don't want to see you ever again."

Her feet made its way towards the backstage. Ringing echoing in her ears as you plead her to come back, to explain, to talk to you. She heard nothing because she knew nothing would get her feelings into your dense little brain. This was pointless.

Before opening the door to head into the backstage, she took one last look at you. Her eyes tracing your figure, admiring your features that she had grown to love so much. Even with your bruises, anger, and hatred, you really were the most beautiful woman she has ever seen.

Just as she was about to turn away, your hands traveled to the hem of your skirt, pulling it up to your waist, sticking your tongue out as if to mock her cowardice. A blush appeared on her cheeks as she caught a glimpse of your underwear.

'It's pink', she thought with a groan, glaring at you before storming inside and slamming the door behind her. Once she was inside, she hid her face behind her hands, breathing heavily. How fucked up did you have to be to tug at her heart at a time like this?

She really did hate you. You really did hate her.

The feeling was mutual.

[larvasmoon]

Starry Nights (2)- Queen of bones

Summary : Maven is an outcast, a clumsy Christmas elf, who lives high up in the North Pole's fir forest. She dwells in the shadow, shunned by all of her peers. Yet, when the Christmas preparations turn into a disaster, she has no choice but to partner up with her sworn enemy to save the factory: Santa's secretary, Astarion Ancunín. Pariting: Astarion/Original female character Rating: Explicit Content: Christmas AU, dark christmas tale, angst and fluff and smut, moody elf stuck in an endless party, Astarion as Santa's insufferable secretary, enemies to lovers

Read on Ao3

The night is ending, and Maven spent the entirety of it at the factory. It’s snowing outside, the snowflakes swirl and dance in the pink streaked sky, glittery and fluffy like the fairy floss they sometimes sell at the Christmas market. Her mother used to buy her one from time to time when she was little — a big cloud of rosy sugar that dissolved into a sticky mess when she bit into it, evanescent and cloying like the rest of the North Pole.

She’s hunched over an enchanted music box, a gift for a little girl called Nimiel. Her arms are awfully sore, but she’s stubborn and she won’t stop until she’s done casting her spells. It’s so early that the workshop is still shrouded in darkness, and the tendrils of green light pouring from Maven's fingers illuminate the entire room like some sort of magical lantern. The fire is burning in the hearth, colorful fairy lights twinkle in the obscurity, a few sconces are lit in the hallway, but none of those things shine brighter than Maven herself. She sings a lullaby to the comb and to the cylinder of the red lacquered box, willing it to remember it by heart so that the little girl can fall asleep while listening to it. 

It’s taking her a lot longer than it usually would though; she would already be done if she wasn’t so distracted and so nervous. 

It’s completely irrational, Maven knows she’s safe between the walls of the factory — as safe as she can be in a place owned by a man like Klaus, at least. It’s just that… That bad feeling simply won’t go away. She’s convinced that something horrible is about to happen, every fiber of her body screams at her to run and flee. 

Her hands are clammy, and her heart hammers in her chest. She jumps when a log cracks in the fireplace, and she gasps when a pile of snow falls from the roof with a thump. 

You’re anxious, she tells herself as she hums a soft tune, a lot of strange things happened yesterday, you have every reason to be a bit on the edge. Just take a deep breath and focus on your work! 

But it’s no use, her mind keeps drifting away from the task at hand. It conjures images of Astarion — impossibly beautiful in the chaos of the grand hall, unnervingly sensual when he laid down on one of the workshop’s armchair. It plagues her with dark visions of the creature she encountered in the forest, of its tall horns and mad glare.

And Maven’s hand trembles as she molds and sculpts a little ballerina out of the halo of her palm, pinching the seams of her large and elegant tutu between her thumb and index. 

“It tickles,” the danseuse grumbles, already spinning on herself, held by no string and no golden pole, “Let go of me miss, I need to dance, it hurts if I don’t!” 

She hops out of her hand and lands above the green velvet that lines the inside of the box, outstretched in a graceful arabesque. Maven contemplates her work for a little while, fascinated by the movements of the ballet dancer, by the beauty of her arched back and pointed feet. The gift is so well crafted, the music so delightfully whimsical, that she slowly falls asleep. She’s already dreaming of a long walk on the snowy paths of the forest when a noise startles her. 

Someone or something is walking about the room; a few hushed whispers echo in the silence from time to time. Before she knows it, Maven is already up on her feet again, a candle in one of her hands and a small knife in the other. 

“Who’s there?” 

A little sneer, and a stool clatters on the other side of the atelier.

“You don’t scare me,” she lies, gripping the blade, “Show yourself!”

Everything is still once again, and there’s a few minutes of horrible silence. Maven anxiously waits for the moment the intruder will decide to pounce on her, for the moment she’ll have to make use of this deadly weapon.

But none of that transpires, instead something even more terrifying happens. 

The clock above the door stops ticking. Outside the window, the valley suddenly looks like a painting. The snowflakes have stopped falling from the sky, eerily suspended in the cold air. In the fireplace, the flames have also stopped their undulating dance, frozen in time. And in the trees, the Christmas lights have stopped flickering, stuck in a new and foreign arrangement of bright colors. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, Maven sees a small horned silhouette stepping out of its hide. She gasps and turns with a hiss, both of her hands clamped around the handle of her knife.

The creature’s face is obscured, cast in the shadow by the bright light of the fire burning behind it, but she already knows it’s an imp — the kind that lives on the other side of the hill, right behind her house. The Christmas elves call that place the Black Woods; for beyond them sits the wide and dangerous realm of Klaus’ oldest enemy: Lord Krampus, the malevolent. 

The old man has always strictly forbidden his elves to venture past the limits of the enchanted forest for that reason, but Maven broke that law more than once in the past. 

Santa’s blessings do not reach that part of the North Pole, and all sorts of creatures hide amongst the thick fir trees. She has seen them with her own eyes countless times; boggarts, satyres, brownies, banshees and trolls lurk in that dark undergrowth. Maven used to play with the hobgoblins and the pucks down in the dim lit groves when she was young, trading a few candy canes for a handful of rare gemstones. She wasn’t afraid of them then, and she still isn’t. 

No, what still terrifies her is the memory of the day she was found out by one of the guards near the limits of the enchanted forest, hand in hand with a little brownie. The scar on her cheek is an ugly and painful reminder of it.

“Mistress,” the imp says, ever so softly, “Lay down your blade, I won’t do you any harm.” 

“Why are you here then?” she rasps, frantically looking outside the window to see if one Santa’s sentinels is near. “And how did you manage to get inside of the factory? They’ll kill you if they find you, you know… Actually, they might kill us both.”

The imp slowly steps closer, raising his hands in surrender. 

“Mistress Maven,” he breathes, and something about the way he says her name is awfully familiar, “It’s me. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten—”

Two golden eyes, not unlike her own, rise to look at her. Maven stares down into them, and all of a sudden she’s ten again, racing down the path of the dark forest to outfast one of her little playmates. 

“ Mistress Maven! It’s not fair, your legs are much longer than mine and you said we can’t use magic!” 

“I’ll beat you one day, spells or not! I swear it on the pointy horns of my lord and master Krampus!” 

Amongst all the friends she had in the Black Woods, one was especially dear to her. A little devil that she loved like a brother, and that in turn, loved her like a sister. It’s the closest thing to a family she’s ever had after the death of her mother, but after the incident, she couldn’t bring herself to go back to the rocky banks of the river…To their river. 

And when she lost that love, she pretended that she was doing it for his own good. She convinced herself that her presence would only put him in danger, that he’d be better off without her — Maven, the curse, the child who only brings misfortune to those who dare to care about her.

“Your eyes are beautiful, Mistress, don’t let the others tell you otherwise! They are bright and wide like those of a wolf, the true king of the cold forests of the north.” 

“Rufus?”

Sometimes, an entire world lives in a name.

She says ‘Rufus’ and parts of her that she has long kept locked away break free of their chains. The hopeful Maven, the rebellious Maven, the Maven who still knows how to laugh: they all come rushing back like a child running into the arms of her mother.

Maybe everything isn’t lost, afterall? Maybe life is still worth fighting for, if Rufus is part of it again?

“It’s been a long time since we last saw each other.” He bows low, little tail flicking in the air. “You haven’t changed one bit.” 

Maven’s only answer is a choked and strangled sigh, as she falls to her knees and takes him in her arms. At first, Rufus doesn’t move at all, tense and rigid in her embrace. Right when she’s about to step away though, the imp holds her back, gripping the fabric of her jacket and sobbing in her hair.

“I missed you so terribly, I’m sorry I never came back to the forest.”

“There is no need to apologize,” he sniffs, hoarse and broken,“I know why you stopped coming down the hill, and I know who is to blame for all the time we’ve lost.”

Maven’s eyes drift toward the fire and its unmoving ambers; flashes and images fill the cracks of her fractured mind.

The face of the little brownie as she died. 

Dark terrified eyes.

Blood staining the white snow. 

The skin of her cheek burning and sizzling against the cold steel of a blade.

“Actually that’s why I’m here, mistress Maven,” Rufus continues, still all curled up in her lap like a big cat, “I did not come alone, there is someone else here who would like to talk to you.” 

She has no time to ask any question before a tall shadow emerges from the corridor, gigantic pointy horns cutting into the wood of the ceiling’s joists as it bursts into the workshop. Maven trembles and lowers her eyes, both in reverence and in fear. All she sees are the creature’s large goat hooves stepping closer and closer, hitting the floor so hard that it shakes beneath her. 

“Who are you?” she dares to ask, hopelessly clinging to Rufus for reassurance. 

The voice that answers is surprisingly smooth and gentle. “You already know who I am, sweet child.” 

“Lord Krampus—”

He chuckles, warmer than she’s ever heard Klaus laugh. “Oh there is no need for such formalities, please call me Krampus.”

She slowly tilts her head up, finally daring to look at him properly. It’s the same tall horns, the same rough and bumpy skin, the same piercing crimson eyes, as the monster she saw a few hours ago. 

There is something inherently different about him this time, however.

A gentleness that seems entirely misplaced on his gruesome features; a softness she failed to see that morning.   

“Have you come here to punish me?”

He scrunches his nose and furrows his brows, clearly displeased by her choice of words.

“I’m a teacher of lessons, not a master of punishments — punishment seems to be Santa’s speciality, not mine, as far as I can tell,” he huffs, his burning gaze lingering on her scar, “I come to children to guide them on the right path, not to hurt them.” 

“But Santa kept talking about the evil kingdom—”

“True evil knows how to charm the world, how to appeal to the masses, my dear,” he says, and as he speaks, black smoke curls drapes around his frame and sparks of light dance around his face, his appearance slowly morphing into that of a beautiful elf. “True evil rarely has a set of rather sharp teeth and coarse black fur… No, true evil hides behind pretty lights, joyful carols, bright red uniforms and wide smiles.” 

Long dark green curls fall on the back of his black cloak, and for a brief moment, Maven feels uncomfortable. It’s almost like staring into a mirror…. In this shape, Krampus looks like her — or rather, she looks like this Krampus, the one that has glowing amber eyes and pine green hair.

“I can look beautiful when I want to. I just feel more comfortable when all the world sees when it looks at me, is a monster,” he smiles, sharp and rakish, “It's one of the many differences between Klaus and me. I’m a beast, I’ll always be. I don’t care about power or prestige—"

“Why have you come then?” she finds herself asking, feeling like there’s more behind his words, an answer she longs to hear. 

“Have you ever wondered why you have always felt compelled to tread down the path that leads to the Black Woods, or why all the Christmas elves are so wary of you?” he asks, kneeling down on the floor in front of her and the little imp.

He smells like crushed pine needles and the damp soil of the woods, like home, and Maven fights this feeling, tries to bury it deep in her heart.

Of course, I have, she sneers, eyes pricking with tears, I’ve spent my entire life thinking about those things, desperately looking for ways to fix what is wrong with me.  

Krampus gently takes her face in his hands, and the things he says next feel like a dagger to the heart. “You’re the flesh of my flesh, and the blood of my blood, Maven.” 

“Wait wait wait  —Are you implying that —”  she gasps, pushing him away and stumbling back into one of her coworkers’ workbench, “No, it’s not possible— I’m not — You’re not —”

“Filthy monster! Krampus Kin!” The children laugh and scream at her in her memory. She’ll never forget the countless days spent running home after school, trying to flee the crowd of little elves who liked to make fun of her clothes or throw little stones at her.

Why me? What have I done to deserve all of this? She still ponders, after all those years, always persuaded that the fault is hers, entirely hers… 

Krampus and her bear an unsettling ressemblance — the kind that makes her question the things her mother said and the things that she omitted to say. Did she have secrets of her own? A crime so unforgivable that she took her secret to the grave? Maven doubts and questions, teetering on the edge of madness, clinging to the hope that her mother didn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t a creature as powerful as Krampus be able to assume whatever shape or form he desires? What if he created this one especially from her, an appearance specifically tailored to gain her trust and feed her all sorts of lies? 

“I took a risk by coming here, and my little trick only works once,” Krampus sighs, turning around to look at the hour hand of the clock, still and unmoving, “As soon as time takes back its course, the magical wards placed around the factory will alert the guards of my presence.”

“Why?” she asks, speaking so low that she’s almost whispering, “Why would you go to such lengths?”

“Klaus knows that one of his elves is a child of mine. His secretary has been tasked to find the half-blood elf for years. The number on your wrist is a seal, a way for Klaus to keep the Christmas’ elves under his influence, to prevent them from having thoughts of their own. It never worked on you for… obvious reasons. It’s only a question of time before he finds out!”

Maven’s eyes widen; she stopped listening as soon as he talked about Santa’s secretary, about Astarion. 

 “I came back for you, to take you back to the woods, where you’ll be safe.” 

Astarion. The entire time, all those days he came to see her down into the factory… He was only trying to collect proof, wasn’t he? He was only doing his job, and obeying Santa's orders.

See, I told you so, a jaded voice chuckles in her head, nobody cares about you, you’re just a pawn in his game, nothing more. 

“I don’t believe you, stop lying to me,” she snaps, running a trembling hand through her hair,“If you are truly who you claim to be, where were you all this time? When all the elves of the North Pole mocked and abused me? Spit it out! What is it that you want for me? There must be something, a reason why you’re here!” 

There’s always a reason; nobody truly wants to be with Maven. She is one unlovable creature…Rufus was right, she is like the big lone wolf that sometimes roams the Black Woods, with big sad eyes and a sharp jaw still covered in the blood of his last catch.

“This place has done a fine job of teaching you that love has to be earned, that only the good ones are worthy of affection, but this is unconditional, Maven. I’ve always watched ove —”

“Stop it— “ she cuts him off, sobbing and snarling like a wounded beast, “Stop saying that!”

How pitiful… She spent her whole life yearning for a love like this, but the day the universe finally hands it to her, she doesn’t know how to welcome it, how to believe it, or how to accept that she’s deserving of it.

“Mistress Maven,” Rufus says, grabbing her hand and desperately tugging on it, “Please, come with us.”

She looks at her friend, and a new terrible thought crosses her mind. He came here in the middle of the night, with Krampus himself— does Rufus serve him in the same way Astarion serves Santa?

“Rufus,” she breathes, new tears rolling down her scarred face, “Were you truly my friend, or were you only doing what was asked of you?”

The imp turns white as a sheet, the pout of his lips a silent confession of his guilt. 

“I — I— At first, master asked me to protect you — But then I truly —” he stutters, pressing his face against the red fabric of breeches, “I promise, Mistress Maven.”

“I should have known…” she mutters, and Krampus says something again, words lost in the chaos of her mind. 

At first, she doesn’t notice the growing pain in her skull, too upset to feel anything else but her heart breaking in two. She’s crying and the next second… She’s struck down by the pain, twisting and screaming on the floor, pulling her hair like a madwoman. Her body is changing, she can feel another pulse than her own beneath her skin, and magic coils tight around each of her limbs.

One final explosion of blinding pain, and she hears something growing out of her head, breaking and twisting her bones like clay in the deft hands of a sculptor. 

“Help her, Rufus,” Krampus says in the distance while she heaves and retches on the floor, “There’s no time left, we must leave.”

A puddle of blood is spreading beneath her head, soft and red like the suit Astarion was wearing the night before. She reaches for her forehead, trying to see if there is anything left of her skull, but her fingers hit something hard and pointy. A bump or… A horn?

No, those are not horns, they are… antlers…soft little antlers picking from under her thick dark curls.

Rufus bends down, groaning as he tries to push her up on her feet, again and again.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams, the green halo of her magic enveloping her once more, “I won’t go with you! You’re no better than all the others.” 

A flash of lightning in the warm atmosphere and Maven is alone in the workshop again, bloody and confused.

Above the door, the clock is ticking again, and some kind of alarm rings in the distance. 

“Seize her!” The guards scream at each other as they march towards her, “Master Klaus is already on his way.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When Astarion arrives at the factory, Maven is tied up in a corner of the Christmas elves’ atelier, flanked by two bulky guards. She always looks a bit terrifying, but today she is a true vision of horror — covered in blood, cold golden eyes shimmering in the early hours of the morning, and… antlers? She didn’t have those before, did she? 

There’s something different about her, and Astarion quickly realises that the ‘emergency’ that Gale was talking about in his missive isn’t just a small fire in one of the warehouses or any kind of silly plumbing problem. No, this disaster could actually ruin his carefully thought-out plan, goddamnit! 

He has known about Maven’s evil lineage for quite some time now. When Klaus asked him to find the half-blood vermine all those months ago, he immediately thought of her. She was the perfect scapegoat and the obvious choice, but it was almost too good to be true… So Astarion kept looking through the endless crowd of Christmas elves, charming them into coming home with him, looking for signs of a family tie between them and the dark lord of the Black Woods. 

His intention was never to hand the child over to Klaus though, he always thought he could find an ally in Krampus’ offspring. He would lure the fool with promises of power, paint a pretty picture of them sitting in Santa’s place in the big office of the factory — or convince them with a few caresses and languid kisses if the rest didn’t work. 

But at the end of it, he’d be the only one to ascend, the only one to become the new master of this factory. 

A new Santa for a new Christmas!

“Lord Krampus was here,” Gale whispers as he steps beside him in his ugly purple suit, “And Aelfric now has a set of horns…I think Santa has finally found the child he has been so afraid of for all those years.” 

Astarion frowns, eyes drifting back towards Maven and the enchanted manacles around her wrists. “Indeed, he has. One less thing I’ll have to deal with, I suppose.” 

Her head slowly turns towards him, her furious gaze quickly finding him in the crowd of elves gathered near the entrance of the atelier. Instead of the despair he is used to seeing in her amber eyes, Astarion only finds a quiet sort of fury. Anger suits her better, she looks quite beautiful like this — taller, coiffed with an intricate crown of bones, glorious and bloody like a queen riding into battle. 

Well, not quite… That queen lost the battle before it even began, she’s a prisoner of war and who knows what Santa will do with her. 

Astarion already knows the answer to that question though, he knows Klaus better than anyone in the factory. The old man is cruel and paranoid… Maven is a threat to his power, in more ways than one. He’ll either imprison her somewhere — or worst 'put an end to her sufferings,’ like the little reindeers who are born with a birth defect in the stables. 

A chill of fear runs down his back. He needs her alive, she’s his only hope of overthrowing Klaus… If she dies, all is lost — they are all lost. 

Behind him, the Christmas elves tremble in fear and in disgust, pointing fingers at Maven. 

“Gods above, look at those antlers, I always knew she was a monster!” 

“She has the eyes of a hungry beast, what a dreadful thing…”  

“I can’t even look at her anymore, she terrifies me.” 

The girl doesn’t lower her head, she stares down at them, unblinking and regal. If looks could kill, all the elves around him would have already drawn their last breath. 

The commotion dies down when Klaus finally enters the factory, all clad in a thick white fur. His long silver hair is tied into a braid and his round cheeks are red. His two sled dogs, Azrhina and Wirinaris, growl at Astarion when he crosses the corridor and steps through the threshold of the workshop.

“My poor poor child,” he coos, affecting an air of worry, “What has Lord Krampus done to you?”

Maven smiles, sharp and menacing, and that is also new . Astarion can’t remember if he has already seen her laugh before. 

“Oh please, spare me the pitch. Let’s not pretend that we don’t know what is going on here. Let’s skip to the part where you tell me what kind of fate I will suffer.” 

A whisper of indignation rises through the crowd of obedient Christmas elves. 

Klaus laughs, loud and obnoxious, and Astarion can hear the anger in his cackle. He has learnt to recognize it over the year, for Santa never yells or gets mad — even when he punishes, he laughs. 

“You have always been such a rebellious little elf, Maven. It is sad that it has come down to this though, I still had high hopes for you.”

She stirs a little, nervously swaying on her feet, and Astarion’s heart is in his throat. 

Santa turns around, speaking to his Christmas elves in a joyous and festive tone. “We all know there is no cure for Krampus’ corruption, don’t we? Every creature that has been touched by him will die in atrocious suffering!”

Lies, Astarion seethes, clenching his fists by his sides, your propaganda grows tiresome, master Klaus.  

Yet, behind him, all the others scream ‘yes’ in unison, spell-bound and blind to his petty tactics. 

“I have no choice but to put you out of your misery, my child,” he says, smiling sweetly at Maven like he is not sentencing her to death, but rather offering her a warm cup of tea.

The guards grab her by the shoulders and force her to kneel on the wooden floor, already soiled with her blood. No elf has ever been killed before, and in spite of their repulsion for Maven, some of the factory’s employees gasp in horror and turn their backs on the scene. 

“Lae’zel Of K’liir,” Klaus calls out, and the officer steps in front him, hand on the richly adorned hilt of her sword, “You will be the one to ease her pain.” 

Maven doesn’t cry or beg, she sits still, staring up at her executioner with unwavering rage. 

“You have a brave heart Aelfric, you stare death in the eyes without fear or regrets,” she says to the elf, unsheathing her blade, “I will give you a death worthy of a warrior.”

The gyth raises the sword in the air, and Astarion notices the way her hands tremble slightly. Is she hesitating? Doubting her master’s orders?

“No!” someone shouts in the assembly, and soon Shadowheart is standing beside him, the threat of magic shimmering at the tips of her fingers, “You’ll have to kill me first. I won’t let Maven be put down like a dog.” 

“Me neither! I won’t sit silently while you kill one of my friends,” Karlach fumes, brandishing one of her heavy hammers, “I’ll fight an entire army if I have to.”

Halsin steps out of the crowd, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, a long knife in his hand. 

“Let her go,” he growls at Klaus, more furious and menacing, as protective of Maven as he is of his reindeers, “I won’t say it twice.” 

Santa laughs again, a little twinkling sound in which fear and fury collide. 

“Oh please, calm down,” he chuckles, gently petting his vicious dogs by the fire, “Why does it matter —”

He doesn’t have to finish before Maven breaks free of her chains with a flick of her thin wrists, bending the iron like it’s made of glass. Her glowing hand shoots up, and she murmurs something that Astarion is too far to hear properly. Santa stands up, ready to bark an order, but a flash of light hits him so violently that for a moment Astarion thinks that the impact has turned him into dust. His joy is short lived though; Klaus was simply propelled against the farthest wall of the room, crashing into one of the glittery Christmas trees like a rag doll.

The cloud of light spreads its wings like a bird high up in the sky, nestling Halsin, Shadowheart, and Karlach in its warmth. The very foundations of the factory shake, every of the windows of the workshop shatters, and just like that, they’re all gone. 

A trail of magnificent green rushes out into the snow, and Santa’s dogs race after it. 

But it’s no use, they’re no fit for Maven’s magic.

Not strong enough to catch the Queen of bones.  

Tag list: @roguishcat @karinamay @obsessedwhyyes @zozoparsnips

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Happy holidays everyone <3

[stickycave]

Love is Built on Choices

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61787542

Summary: When your eyes meet your soulmate's for the first time, colour bleeds into your sight. Jack is not your soulmate, but he proves he doesn't need to be. But what will he do when your true soulmates get too close?

pairing: Reader/jack

Warnings: Violence (not to reader)

The first time he saw you, he knew. Sure, colours didn’t pop into his life, the universe hadn’t made you his soulmate, but he didn’t need the universe to tell him. You were perfect and he was perfect for you.

It took time, a lot of time to convince you. That your “real” soulmates weren’t worth waiting for when you could have this, each other. Even long time soulmates say commitment and choice were a huge factor in making it work long term. So if you love each other and make that commitment, it’ll be enough.

It has been the best two years of his life and he hopes he made it the best of yours as well. The late nights together, learning everything about one another. Spending time, not even talking, just both working in the same room as he graded papers, and getting each other coffee. You've both tentatively started planning for the future together, if you want to stay in Cloudy Town, children or not. It was everything he knew it would be the first time he laid eyes on you.

It was a simple farmers market. A flower stall, seeing sunflowers that made him think of his sunshine. His eyes meet the woman who runs it and colour bleeds into his view. His heart stops for a moment, he wasn’t even sure he was breathing as her eyes lit up with realization and joy. A warmth and even elation runs through his body reactively as the link is created. True connection. Every fiber of his being telling him this is it, this is the one. The one who will know you and love you for it better than anyone in the world.

It was only on the walk home, lilacs in hand, that he remembers you. Terrifying. Terrifying that a stranger could make him forget about you like that. He was lucky you weren’t with him this time. He imagines the look on your face if you'd seen his instant connection with this woman, the way they talked and leaned towards one another. How he got lost in the amazing colour of her eyes. 

What colour are your eyes? With the distance between him and his soulmate, the pull towards her fades as well and his mind is flooded again with you. He walks a little faster, needing to know what colour your eyes are.

He knows your a bit confused on why he's holding your face like this, staring so closely into your eyes. Jack just couldn’t help himself, as soon as he got home to see you waiting for him, your old stained sweats, your hair, your eyes, things he’s already so familiar with made aweing and stunning. He almost tells you how beautiful your eyes are before he cuts himself off. If you find out he can see colour, you’ll know he met his soulmate. He’s not sure what you’d do then. No need to risk it. Tonight, he will reexamine every inch of you, every spec of your now colourful body and tomorrow will involve far too much staring as he sees you in as many kinds of lighting as he can talk you into.

He dreams of her. Of her eyes, so different from yours. What her touch would feel like, perhaps calloused from all her gardening. The scent of different flowers following her every day with the undercurrents of earth and green. He wakes with you in his arms and an ache in his heart that scares him.

You sleep, unaware, in the bed. Jack dry heaves in the bathroom, nauseous from the feeling of having his chest hollowed out, longing for something that isn't here. Sick from knowing in he’s being pulled to betray you.

He never liked his father much, not after he learned what he was, what he inevitably passed down to Jack and his sister. Their species had magic, but only a slight bit of it. One innate spell each, and that was it. But even that could come with complications, bodies that hold magic but not designed well to manage it. His family is victim to what is casually called the Love Sick gene, genetically inherited, known for being the main cause in crimes of passion and tragedy. Jack had inherited it from his father, Papa Rise. After that, a part of Jack had always regarded his father as the enemy, a potential risk, a wolf in sheep's clothing. Someone who might hurt him, his sister, or his mother, if he came to some bizarre logic that justified it with love. He doesn't want to admit he’s love sick for you and not just a normal, safe, kind of love. But in a matter like this, so torn, who else can he turn to? So he knocks on his parents door in the middle of the night, disheveled and hunched. A flash of jealousy that his fathers soulmate and Love Sickness was the same person.

Rise knew when he looked out the window and saw his sons condition the nature of his visit. He lets his wife stay asleep in bed as he give his son a talk he knew he'd need to one day. Papa Rise hand signs to Jack, not words of comfort, but of logic. He has to pick one, and then remove the other from the equation. Jack hesitates, then hates himself for hesitating. It's not visions of being in love with either of you, its not the colour of her or your eyes, its not who his very soul or genetics telling him what he needs and will be the happiest with that makes his decision. It's the image of you in pain, of you hurt, sad, heartbroken because of him and him being unable to comfort you. He can't let that happen.

His soulmate stands with her back turned to him. The greenhouse in her back yard is glowing with moonlight, glinting off the leaves and even a section of petals in full night bloom. The connection is seated deep within him. His one, his only, his person, he should put his arms around her, rest his head on her shoulder. He focuses on the image of you in his mind, devastated and heart broken. What he’s fighting to prevent. 

The connection screams at him as he brings the shovel down on her. The crunch of her skull and throat makes the connection tear, like claws tearing down his face and arms in desperation when she can't plead for herself. Her blood splattering on him is like hot irons, the heat as if anguish could be made a physical property and splashed against his skin.

As the soul leaves her body, so does the connection. He can breath. The damp night air cools his adrenaline heated skin. Clean up time. Using her as fertilizer for her plants until someone notices her missing and comes to  take care of them in her absence almost feels thoughtful.

He had to go to his father one more time. This whole event had brought him a new concern. What if you meet your soulmate? Then the blood on his hands would be for nothing. And he will never let himself be the man who forces his darling to be locked up or breaks down their mental state into staying. He can’t become the horror stories he’s read, can’t put you through that.

An old potion passed through the family to see the strings of fate of all people. He is not the first of his blood to have this problem, and his ancestors were resourceful.

The man he pins to the wall is your soulmate. Purple hair, quiet compared to himself, more lean and from what he saw from distance, a bit of a sarcastic ass that still makes people laugh. It’s odd to think your soulmate is so different than him, but at the same time he can see exactly which traits of his you would be attracted to. There’s only a frantic need to remove a threat within him this time. But as he slashes the mans throat, his life bleeding out of him, Jack is struck by one cold realization. You’ll never see colour. Not if you never see your soulmate's eyes. Thinking quick, Jack comes up with a possibility he can only hope will work. He lets the man suffocate and choke slowly on his own blood as he collects the tools. A fitting punishment for taking his place as your soulmate.

He hugs you close when you return home, a kiss on the nose and then returns to his grading. You talk about your day and set up in the kitchen with him, grabbing the sack he prepped for you as you sit at the table and pass him the coffee you brought for him. Your eyes catch on a new knickknack on the shelf. He tells you he found it at an oddity shop, a gift he was planning to give to his friend who teaches biology. You inspect it, turning the bottle to see what's floating inside and go silent. His muscles are taunt and ready for any reaction you give. He watches as you turn pale, breath picking up. You fall to the ground in horror, he is by your side in an instant, holding you and you break into sobs. Muttering almost incoherently that you can see colour now.

You fell asleep in his arms, clinging to him. You only have each other now. He felt guilt for the first time over it not when you were crying, but when you stopped. You'd looked into space, numb. You told him you lost the one person who would know you, understand you, and accept you entirely without ever knowing them. He hates that he took that from you, the euphoria he felt meeting eyes with his own soulmate for the first time. Yet, your words fuel his justification. You would have left him. So he will be the one to understand and accept you entirely. He knows you as you are and what you have will always be more valuable to him than the soulmate connection and he will do what he needs to to make it true for you as well. No soulmate could ever love you as much as he does.

[sagemonsters]

@inkysqueed has a blind date with...

Atesh the Fire Elemental

Atesh is a tall, stern-looking humanoid with dark gray skin the color of soot. Craggy, antler-like protrusions curve backward from his skull, glowing as though their cores are full of embers… and perhaps they are! His eye sockets are filled with fire, and the strands of his long hair (which he typically keeps in a waist-length single braid) are equally fiery and fierce. His body temperature is quite hot, and he most often wears a leather workman’s apron over plain, durable clothes.

Atesh has forsaken his family’s typical profession (some kind of smithing such as silversmithing, goldsmithing, or blacksmithing) and has dedicated himself to mastering the art of glassblowing. The shelves of his workshop are full of intricate, beautiful glass sculptures, some small enough to fit in the palm of a child’s hand and others too large to be carried in the arms of an adult. He is devoted to his craft (he is autistic) and can talk for hours about the history of glassblowing techniques in Egypt, Venice, and the modern world, but respects other art forms as well. He takes your fics just as seriously as he does his own creative pursuits, and is always happy to listen to you talk about your writing.

Atesh’s love language is gift-giving, and he will often surprise you with small sculptures. Some are abstract conversation pieces you can put on your desk or nightstand, while others are sculptures of your favorite Pokémon. He is always touched if/when you give him something in return, and never throws any of your gifts away.

Atesh is ordinarily a very grave person and takes everything seriously, but your jokes and silliness can make him smile like nothing else. He loves your sense of humor and comes to you whenever he needs cheering up after a particularly difficult day in the workshop or from dealing with social events full of people he doesn’t know (generally artist exhibitions and craft fairs).

Atesh completely understands your struggles with familial acceptance and authenticity. As an autistic fire elemental, he often feels like his allistic parents and siblings don’t really understand him or his passion, so he has to censor himself around them to avoid ridicule. Atesh wants to create an environment where you can be 100% yourself around him and his friends without fearing an emotional reprisal.

Part of what you loved about going to the fair was seeing everything that people made to sell in the little market section. Sure, the sheepdog trials were fun, and fair food was always delicious, but it was really seeing all of the crocheted and knitted things that fiber artists had made, as well as the jams, jellies, and other preserves, and the soaps and lotions from local makers, and the creations of the jewelry-makers, as well as the artwork of the painters, sculptors, furniture-makers, and woodcarvers… When you got right down to it, a lot of the joy of the fair’s market came from seeing the variety of things that people had made, and the obvious joy and pride that the creators took in their creations.

You didn’t have any spare cash this time around, so you were just browsing the stalls and giving compliments whenever a vendor seemed to be running low on patronage. As you wandered, you found yourself making your way toward a tall, square tent-booth with a dark canvas exterior that had been lit from within by what seemed like a thousand twinkling, color-shifting fairy lights that had been taped to the interior walls. At the entrance, your eyes widened: the inside of the tent was lined with shelves full of glass sculptures, all of them catching and reflecting the multicolored light in a dazzling display. There was a sign next to the cash register that read: YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT.

“Anything catch your eye?” a deep voice asked, and you startled a bit. A fire elemental with appropriately fiery hair and eyes poked his head out from around one of the shelves.

“Just looking!” you said with a smile. Your eyes wandered over the glass confections that crowded the shelves of the tent. They really were beautiful, and most were abstract; here was a textured plane whose whorls and divots seemed to suggest a face, and there was a spiny concoction that seemed reminiscent of either a sea urchin or a star…

“I think I have something for you,” the fire elemental said, and plucked something off one of the shelves. He approached. Up close, he towered over you, and his broad shoulders strained against the seams of his shirt. It took an effort of will for you to pull your eyes down to the two glass earrings he held in the palm of one hand.

The earrings reminded you of arched cathedral windows, with tiny silver frames filled by deep blue glass that swung on pivot rings from their hooks to catch and reflect the light.

“These are lovely,” you said with an apologetic smile, “but I can’t afford them.”

“They are a gift,” the fire elemental said, without a single note of irony in his voice that suggested he was playing a joke on you. 

Your brows knit with concern. “Are you sure?” you asked.

“Absolutely,” the elemental assured you. “If you’re not really an earrings person, I also have a pendant…” He half-turned back to the shelves of his shop, clearly getting ready to start searching through his inventory.

“Why are you giving this to me?” you asked. “I’m not important or anything.”

The elemental turned back around and frowned gently at you. “Well, that’s not true,” he scolded. “Everyone is important. And I’m offering you a gift because…” He sighed. “Because it’s very difficult for me to talk to people I find attractive, and I think you have extraordinarily kind eyes. I like that in a person, so… please accept the earrings—or a pendant.”

You felt your cheeks heating with a blush at the compliment. “Thank you,” you said, and told him your name.

“I’m Atesh, by the way,” the fire elemental said. “I hope we can stay in touch, if you’re open to that.”

“I’d love that!” you said, and quickly got your phone out of your pocket to add Atesh into your contacts.

see here to get your own blind date with a monster!

[wrestlingcheese]

12/06 Black Market

The next room along from the firing range; the ceiling here is unusually low, forcing anyone over about 5ft to crouch, and the lighting is dim. The floor is metal, and buzzes slightly when trod upon - android characters will immediately detect that the floor is wired to give off a lethal shock if the owner so desires.

One corner of the room is cut off by a metal counter, behind which a thick-set man sits. The counter is armoured, and twin pairs of combat shotgun muzzles poke out of the front indiscreetly. The man is Big Sal, a black-marketeer who runs the shop here.

Only his torso, head and one arm remain, the rest of his body replaced with cybernetics; his legs are gone, replaced by a floating wheelchair, and his right arm is simply a bundle of wires snaking into the console of his desk. Big Sal is jovial and relatively easy-going, though he charges by his own admission “double rate for ‘true believers’ and triple for gangsters”.

If he can be convinced that the party are neither, he will reveal his suspicions about the colony; Big Sal has caught the Posthumans on camera, and knows they are behind much of the colony’s troubles. In his current predicament however, he is safer here than anywhere else.

The doorway to the main concourse is lower still, seemingly stuck half-open and requiring crouching down to one’s knees to get under. The room is lit by hundreds of fiber-optic strings, which glow dimly, giving the impression of wading through the trailing hairs of some bright beast above.

Big Sal sells a plethora of actual weapons, as well as drones, AI companions, high-quality stimpaks and medical supplies, and vehicle parts. Additionally, he will buy back goods for half their listed price, and will buy esoteric goods for much more. Doing jobs for Sal will grant players access to his esoteric weapon collection, and put them in the good books of Sal’s only true friend down here, Ms Alevin.

Additionally, Big Sal is accompanied by his two pets, a pair of Moths the size of cats, named Crystal and Pepper. They’re harmless, but a little unsettling.

[hotcupofmucha]

I want to talk about my most anticipated things for 2025, but I don’t want to blow up my other socials. Tumblr it is!

*In terms of books, I’m especially excited to read Junji Ito’s new books Alley, as well as other horror mangas. I would love to also do a re-read of Nana, and read some more manhwa to get used to the genre so I can market it.

*I have some conferences coming up that I have to read for, but I’m looking forward to reading some books I bought this year. I would also like to catch up on general YA lit because I feel like my recs are getting a little dated.

*In terms of podcasts, I would like to catch up on my favorites as well as maybe revisit or try some new shows.

*In terms of TV, I need to watch The Empress, full stop, for my upcoming Austria trip for historical context. I also want to get back into documentaries and watch some more popular anime (and definitely finish Delicious in Dungeon)!

*In terms of craft projects, I would like to definitely start puzzling again. I would also like to explore some other art mediums - maybe more 3D paper art, clay, fiber art, painting or graphic design. I want to enjoy doing art again instead of seeing it as a chore and use it as an outlet. I am planning to make Ashley a birthday card and I’m thinking of making a tunnel book-like card with intricate layers (not sure of a theme yet) and I obviously want to make something for her for our wedding.

I may be being overly ambitious but I’m hopeful!

[choiceblooms]

Exploring the World of Candles and Air Fresheners: A Comprehensive Guide

Candles have long been cherished for their ability to set a mood, create a cozy atmosphere, and even purify the air. In recent years, candles have evolved into more than just a source of light; they’ve become an integral part of home décor, wellness routines, and even environmental sustainability. With the growing demand for healthier alternatives, products like Hemp Candles, Hemp Wax Candles, and Palo Santo Candles are leading the way. This guide delves into some popular candle categories, including Candle Air Freshener, Candle Fragrance Wholesale, and more.

Candle Air Freshener: Clean and Refresh Your Space

Candle Air Fresheners are a great option for those looking to both add a pleasant fragrance and purify their living space. Unlike typical aerosol air fresheners that can contain harmful chemicals, Candle Air Fresheners are made with natural ingredients like essential oils and soy wax. When lit, they not only release beautiful scents but also help eliminate unwanted odors, creating a more breathable, fresh atmosphere.

These candles are ideal for bathrooms, kitchens, or any area that might benefit from an odor-neutralizing boost. Whether you choose a lavender, citrus, or herbal scent, Candle Air Fresheners are an eco-friendly option for making your home smell wonderful.

Candle Fragrance Wholesale: Bulk Buying for Businesses

For businesses like boutiques, spas, or wellness centers, buying Candle Fragrance Wholesale is a cost-effective way to stock up on high-quality products. Candle Fragrance Wholesale allows businesses to access a variety of scents and candle styles at a lower price point, offering customers premium products while maintaining a profit margin.

When purchasing Candle Fragrance Wholesale, consider factors like the quality of the wax, fragrance strength, and burn time. Many companies also offer custom scents, allowing businesses to create a unique fragrance experience that aligns with their brand identity.

Palo Santo Candles: Spiritual and Healing Benefits

A rising trend in the world of candles is Candle Palo Santo. Derived from the sacred Palo Santo tree native to South America, these candles are made with natural wood and essential oils. Candle Palo Santo is known for its spiritual properties, believed to clear negative energy and promote a calming, grounding effect.

Not only do Palo Santo Candles provide a natural, woodsy fragrance, but they also support mental well-being by encouraging relaxation and mindfulness. These candles have become especially popular in spaces dedicated to meditation, yoga, or self-care routines.

Hemp Candles: Eco-Friendly and Sustainable

With a growing focus on sustainability, Hemp Candles are leading the way in the eco-friendly candle market. These candles are made from Hemp Wax or a blend of Hemp Wax Candles, which are biodegradable and burn cleanly. Hemp Wax is a natural alternative to traditional waxes like paraffin, and it has a longer burn time with minimal soot.

Another sustainable element in Hemp Candles is the use of a Hemp Wick for Candles. Made from hemp fibers and coated in beeswax, Hemp Wick for Candles burns cleaner than traditional cotton wicks, ensuring your candle burns evenly without releasing harmful chemicals into the air.

The Future of Candles and Air Fresheners

As consumers continue to prioritize health, sustainability, and wellness, candles are evolving to meet these needs. Products like Hemp Wax Candles, Hemp Wicks for Candles, and Candle Air Fresheners not only elevate your home’s ambiance but also align with a greener, more conscious lifestyle.

Whether you're looking for wholesale options for your business, eco-friendly alternatives, or candles with therapeutic properties, there’s a wide range of choices available. Explore Candle Fragrance Wholesale options, try the calming effects of Palo Santo Candles, or embrace the sustainability of Hemp Candles. Whatever your preference, candles are an essential part of creating a more peaceful, pleasant, and environmentally friendly living space. https://www.choiceblooms.com/candles

[life-around-me-yura15cbx]

Agave americana, commonly known as the century plant, maguey, or American aloe, Агава американская.

It is native to Mexico and the United States, specifically Texas.

Family:Asparagaceae

Subfamily:Agavoideae

Genus:Agave

The common name "century plant" stems from its semelparous nature of flowering only once at the end of its long life. After flowering, the plant dies but produces adventitious shoots from the base, allowing its growth to continue. Although it is called the century plant, it typically lives only 10 to 30 years. Towards the end of its life, the plant produces a tall, branched stalk adorned with yellow blossoms, which can reach a height of 8–9 m.

Терпит сильную засуху, ветер, соль, высокие температуры, плохую почву и низкое плодородие, восстанавливается после повреждений и не выпасается скотом, долговечен и не имеет известных паразитов. Он выше других растений в среде обитания. Новые дочерние растения образуются через короткие корневища, а сочные листья прорастают из фрагментов.

agave: From the Greek aganos ‘noble’, referring to its stately form when in flower

If the flower stem is cut before flowering, a sweet liquid known as aguamiel (“lit. 'honey water') can be collected from the plant's hollowed heart. This liquid can be fermented to produce the alcoholic drink called pulque or octli used in pre-Columbian Mexico. In the tequila-producing regions of Mexico, agaves are known as mezcales, A. americana is among the several Agave species used for this purpose.

Agave nectar is marketed as a natural sweeteners with a low glycemic index. The leaves of A. americana yield fibers called pita, which are suitable for making ropes, nets, bags, sacks, matting, and coarse cloth. They are also used for leather embroidery in a technique known as piteado.

It is used in traditional medicine to treat various ailments, and as a laxative, diuretic, and diaphoretic, in constipation, acidity, boils, pimples, and cancer. It is antiinflammatory and cytotoxic. Agave americana L. reduced carrageenan-induced rat paw edema.

Ещё одна самая высокая трава, после другого спаржевого: Furcraea foetida

2 Arran Road, Browns Bay, Auckland 0630, New Zealand

-36.718746, 174.74037

36°43'7"S, 174°44'25"E

наземные растения травы спаржевые высокие

[omshinde5145]

Dark Fiber Market Share, Key Market Players, Trends & Forecast, 2024–2030

The Dark Fiber Market was valued at USD 6.4 billion in 2023 and will surpass USD 12.5 billion by 2030; growing at a CAGR of 10.0% during 2024 - 2030. the importance of robust, high-speed, and reliable communication networks cannot be overstated. While much attention has been focused on innovations like 5G, satellite internet, and cloud computing, one critical component operates largely in the shadows: dark fiber. This article delves into the dark fiber market, exploring its significance, growth drivers, and future potential.

Dark fiber refers to unused or unlit optical fibers that have been laid down but are not currently in use by any service provider. These fibers, also known as unlit fiber, are often laid during the construction of telecom networks but remain dormant until they are needed. The term "dark" refers to the fact that no light pulses are being sent through the fibers, as they are not yet connected to any transmission equipment.

Get a Sample Report: https://intentmarketresearch.com/request-sample/dark-fiber-market-3654.html

The Growth of the Dark Fiber Market

The dark fiber market has witnessed significant growth in recent years, driven by several factors:

Data Explosion: The exponential growth in data traffic, fueled by the proliferation of IoT devices, cloud computing, and video streaming services, has created an insatiable demand for bandwidth. Service providers are increasingly turning to dark fiber to meet this demand, as it allows them to quickly and cost-effectively expand their network capacity.

5G Rollout: The deployment of 5G networks is a key driver of dark fiber demand. 5G requires a dense network of small cells, each of which needs to be connected by high-speed fiber-optic cables. Dark fiber provides the necessary infrastructure to support these connections, making it a critical component of 5G networks.

Enterprise Demand: Large enterprises, particularly those in data-intensive industries such as finance, healthcare, and technology, are increasingly opting for dark fiber to secure dedicated, private networks. This approach offers greater control over network performance, security, and scalability, making it an attractive option for businesses with high data demands.

Cost-Effectiveness: Leasing dark fiber can be more cost-effective in the long run compared to leasing lit fiber services. By using dark fiber, companies can light and manage the fiber themselves, offering flexibility and potentially reducing costs as their data needs grow.

Government and Infrastructure Projects: Governments around the world are investing in digital infrastructure to boost economic growth and ensure future connectivity. These initiatives often include the deployment of dark fiber to provide a scalable foundation for future communication networks.

Market Segmentation

The dark fiber market can be segmented based on various criteria, including:

Fiber Type: Single-mode vs. multi-mode fibers.

Network Type: Metro vs. long-haul networks.

Application: Telecom, BFSI (Banking, Financial Services, and Insurance), healthcare, IT, and others.

Geography: North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, and other regions.

North America currently dominates the dark fiber market, driven by the high demand for advanced communication infrastructure and the presence of major technology companies. However, Asia-Pacific is expected to witness the highest growth rate in the coming years, fueled by rapid urbanization and increasing investments in 5G and smart city projects.

Challenges in the Dark Fiber Market

Despite its growth potential, the dark fiber market faces several challenges:

High Initial Costs: The cost of deploying dark fiber can be substantial, especially for long-haul networks. This can be a barrier for smaller companies or those with limited budgets.

Maintenance and Management: While dark fiber offers flexibility, it also requires companies to manage and maintain the network themselves, which can be resource-intensive.

Regulatory Hurdles: In some regions, regulatory challenges can slow down the deployment of dark fiber networks. Navigating these hurdles requires careful planning and a thorough understanding of local regulations.

Competition from Lit Fiber Providers: Some companies may prefer to lease lit fiber services from traditional telecom providers, which can offer easier management and bundled services. This competition can impact the growth of the dark fiber market.

Get an insights of Customization: https://intentmarketresearch.com/ask-for-customization/dark-fiber-market-3654.html

The Future of Dark Fiber

The future of the dark fiber market looks promising, with several trends expected to drive its growth:

Edge Computing: The rise of edge computing, which brings data processing closer to the source of data, will increase the demand for dark fiber. As more data is processed at the edge, the need for high-capacity, low-latency networks will grow, making dark fiber an attractive option.

Smart Cities: The development of smart cities, which rely on interconnected devices and systems to improve urban living, will require extensive fiber networks. Dark fiber will play a key role in supporting the infrastructure needed for smart city initiatives.

Global Connectivity: As the world becomes increasingly interconnected, the demand for international and intercontinental fiber-optic networks will rise. Dark fiber will be essential in enabling these global connections, supporting everything from international business operations to global internet traffic.

Conclusion

The dark fiber market is a silent powerhouse in the world of modern connectivity, providing the backbone for many of the technologies and services we rely on today. As data demands continue to soar and new technologies emerge, the importance of dark fiber will only grow. Companies and governments alike are recognizing the strategic value of dark fiber, and its market is poised for significant expansion in the years to come. Whether you're an investor, a telecom provider, or an enterprise with high data needs, dark fiber represents a key opportunity in the evolving landscape of global connectivity.

[harshtechsworld]

Dark Fiber Market Size and Share Dynamics: An In-depth Look 2024-2032

Dark Fiber Market Outlook, 2032 The Dark Fiber Market has seen remarkable expansion due to the growing need for enhanced bandwidth and reliable communication channels. Initially, dark fibers were installed during the telecom boom of the late 1990s and early 2000s, often lying dormant as surplus capacity. Today, these fibers are being lit up to meet the soaring demand for data transmission in…

[xasha777]

In the bustling neon-lit streets of Neo-Beijing, amidst the harmonious blend of ancient architecture and cybernetic enhancements, stood Major Anika Singh of the British Indian Army, a sight to behold. Her short, silver hair contrasted sharply with the traditional qipao she wore, a fusion of her Indian heritage and the local culture—a symbol of unity in a world fractured by past conflicts.

Anika was not just any officer; she was a liaison to the International Cyber Defense Coalition, and today marked the 50th anniversary of the Great Truce. The streets were alive with celebrations, holographic dragons danced alongside human performers, and the air was thick with the scent of street food and the hum of quantum-powered lanterns.

But Anika's jubilant exterior masked a covert operation. Beneath her skin lay intricate nanocircuits, a network of intelligence far beyond standard-issue cyberware. She was on the trail of the Phantom Signal, an elusive frequency that held the key to an ancient weapon, hidden since the days before the Truce. Whispers in the dark corners of the net suggested it was hidden within the city, and she knew it could not fall into the wrong hands.

Her cybernetic eye, a relic from a bygone war, flickered with streams of data as she roamed the markets. To onlookers, she was just another reveler, her thumbs-up a sign of peace and goodwill. But Anika's senses were attuned to every fluctuation in the crowd, every whisper of data that flowed invisible to the human eye.

As the sun set and the neon lights flared to life, Anika's enhanced ear picked up the distinct pattern of the Phantom Signal. It was emanating from an old tea house, veiled behind a facade of holographic advertisements. She entered, her presence causing the patrons to momentarily pause and admire the foreign military elegance she embodied.

The source was a small, ancient radio, inconspicuous to the untrained eye. But Anika knew better. She approached the device, her hand hovering above it, hesitating. The British Indian Army had trained her for combat and strategy, not the delicacies of ancient tech.

A sudden blare of the radio broke her hesitation, and Anika's world spun. A flood of information rushed through her, ancient codes unlocking, sequences aligning. She saw it—the weapon—a marvel of pre-cybernetic engineering, capable of disrupting the delicate balance of power.

Anika faced a choice: claim the weapon for the Coalition, or destroy the knowledge to preserve the peace. With the weight of history pressing upon her, she chose the latter. With a press of her palm, the circuits within her body surged, and the radio—along with the Phantom Signal—was no more.

Outside, the celebrations continued, oblivious to the crisis averted. Anika stepped back into the crowd, her duty fulfilled. In this new era, peace was not an artifact to be unearthed but a future to be built, a truth that Anika Singh, a warrior draped in the fabric of harmony, would defend with every fiber of her being.