#Melodious Sovereigns

[pinkseas]

thinking about. the sovereign of elegance battle.

how initially nikki seems pretty caught off guard by being puppeted around, and almost like she's in a trance? she definitely doesn't feel fully there, her movements are a lot more limp and being VERY distinctly controlled. she feels more distant, more hazy.

but then there's the point about halfway into the battle where the banshee has her hand over nikki's face, like she's still trying to control her, and nikki looks away. meets the banshee's eyes instead.

and the banshee's own expression shifts, there, too. nikki looks almost defiant, and the banshee isn't quite taken aback or surprised by that, but she doesnt seem to have anticipated it? it seems like she's curious, intrigued. seeing nikki look at her so fearlessly, even after being puppeted by her. almost like a challenge of her own.

and after that, nikki's movements shift. they feel more fluid, graceful, more like nikki is the one in control. matching the banshee's motions and her energy, no longer enthralled but choosing herself to continue the dance. they circle each other and nikki is smiling, like she's genuinely enjoying herself.

if you fail the battle, the banshee and nikki reach out to each other, but the banshee pushes forward as nikki pulls her own hand away, looking more hesitant, almost afraid again. and if you perfect it, nikki pulls away, but not out of fear. she spins again, smiling, taking a bow. enjoying herself, still. regarding the banshee as an equal, even though the banshee had been trying to subdue her.

after that perfect score, nikki, recognizing the melody. upset that the banshee is leaving. wanting to at least know her name. reaching out to her even as she disappears.

[nyxi-pixie]

was listening to where our blue is once more and every time i hear it im thrust instantly back into stsg hell lawd i will never escape

[loveliluc]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⋅ to carry a dragon’s love ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐

— ft. neuvillette, zhongli

synopsis — you’re their precious little mate, and how much more perfect you’ll be when you’re carrying their seed; 1.5k words.

— minors do not interact! unprotected sex. breeding. mating. marking. they have draconic anatomy. double penetration. fem!reader.

— neuvillette 𝜗𝜚

sharp teeth sink into your shoulder and you mewl into the plush pillow. the ache of them in your flesh paired with the way his cocks lodge deep inside of you has you lost somewhere between pleasure and pain. you’re gripping the sheets until you’re knuckles turn white. you’re drooling and your hair is wild around your head; you’re an absolute wreck under him now.

neuvillette’s hips crash against your ass in a loud smack, your slickness adding a lewd wet sound to the action that makes your cheeks burn hot. you hear him grunt from behind you. “you will be the end of me, my love.”

he’s not fairing much better than you, in truth. his breathing is labored and his thrusts are erratic. he’s not the normal neuvillette you’re so used to seeing; no, he’s much more carnal now, so much more like the dragon that he is. he’s fueled by his most primal of instincts, the tight wrap of you around him urging him to take you, utterly and completely.

“neuvillette,” you cry his name in that saccharine melody he adores so much, the one that melts his heart and makes his cocks twitch against the confines of your walls.

“when you say my name like that, my love, i simply cannot help myself.” and the next thrust into you is brutal and bruising and so deep your breath is knocked from your lungs. he’s fucking you with a purpose, fucking into you so right that you’re sobbing into the pillow.

you know what he’s wanting, what he’s after, and you’re almost unraveling at the mere thought of it.

he’s all too aware of the squeeze of your walls and he groans, muffling the sound with another bite to your shoulder. it’s already marked, and he just can’t help but revel in the fact that’ll be days before it leaves your pretty skin. “you are close, yes?”

you attempt a nod and a small, broken moan that resembles the word yes.

“how perfect you are for me, my love.” neuvillette is flush against you, pressing you deeper into the mattress while his hips maintain a ruthless rhythm, urging you closer and closer to your climax. “do you still want it? please, tell me you do. tell me you still want me to mate you, breed you.”

his voice is deep and gravelly yet tender, and his words are so lewd that you whine underneath him. you know his dragon nature has taken over, you know it’d be practically impossible for him to not breed you now, to sink his seed so deep into your womb with a promise to gift you a child, an offspring. but above all he always wants your approval, and you’re so thankful for that.

“yes,” you hiccup, back arching and ass attempting to meet his hips with little thrusts of your own. a way to show him how eager and willing you are. “i want it. please neuvillette!”

the sovereign above you grins with elation, his hands gripping your waist as he increases his thrusts to a bruising pace; but even with the wild way he takes you, you still feel love in every kiss of his cocks against the deepest parts of you, every squeeze of his palms against your skin.

“you will be my lovely mate, so beautiful pregnant with our young.” he’s close, achingly so. he’s driving into you deep and hitting the sweetest of spots until you’re shuddering under the weight of your orgasm.

you cum with a cry of his name and tight squeezes around his cock. it’s maddening, the pleasure he gives you, and it’s heightened by the promise of his seed, of what it means to be taken so wholly by your mate.

neuvillette is close behind you, reaching his own completion with a guttural groan that echoes against the bedroom walls. he empties himself within you, stilling his hips to plug your holes so that not a single drop goes to waste. you’ve never felt so full in your life.

in your post orgasm state, you barely register the way he kisses all the marks he left behind, soothing the aftermath of his desire. “you did well, my love.”

you breathe as his hands caress your frame. “i love you.”

and oh, how he loves you, his most beautiful mate. his one and only.

— zhongli 𝜗𝜚

“relax, dearest. you are doing so well for me.”

the soft baritone of your lover’s voice fills the space between you and you feel your muscles ease at the sound immediately. zhongli coos while his large palms soothe at the plush flesh of your thighs, careful of his long claws against your precious skin. he pushes your legs open even wider to allow his hips to drive in deeper and you keen when he seems to reach beyond what you can even fathom, broken mewls spilling out of your kiss-swollen lips.

“ah, that’s it. so perfect,” the godly being groans above you at the tight squeeze of your walls around him; he’s got you filled to the brim with both of his large cocks, and they sit heavy and hot in the wet depths of you.

you whimper when he shifts your hips upwards for better leverage. he settles your thighs at his waist while his hands grip even tighter into your hips. he slides even deeper into your weepy holes and all you can do is lay against the sheets and take what he gives. “zhongli, my love, please. i’m so full.”

zhongli’s hips retract before springing forward to offer you swift thrust. the clap of skin resounds in the air of your bedroom and it’s so beautifully lewd it makes your walls flutter. he’s looking at where your bodies are joined with the upmost adoration and love, amber eyes bright and so incredibly soft with fondness. “feels wonderful, doesn’t it?” he palms at the evident bulge in your tummy; he doesn’t miss the way you shudder under his hot touch. “you feel divine. so immensely perfect–” a thrust, “–around me.”

he presses forward, your thighs giving way as his larger frame folds yours in half. he mouths down your cheek to your neck, sharp teeth pricking playfully at your skin until you’re whining out. he’s so much deeper like this, in this mating press he’s now got you in. he thrusts and you swear the force of it shakes you to your core.

“going to breed you,” zhongli says lowly, voice gravelly and rough as he begins to lose himself to the way you wrap around his cocks. “my perfect little mate. you’ll take every last drop of my seed. won’t you, my dearest?”

your mouth opens to reply but oh how your lover likes to tease, driving his cocks deeper at the same time as you begin to speak; instead of words, the most helpless cry tumbles out of your throat.

teeth sink into the flesh of your neck hard, leaving behind a mark that’ll remain for the days to come. “you’ll be so beautiful pregnant with our child, all round and full. don’t you think so?” zhongli picks up his pace suddenly and your body rattles underneath him, crystalline beads falling down your cheeks as you grow overwhelmed. “tell me, you’ll let me make you wholly mine, yes? be the best mate and mother of our offspring.”

your mind is so full of cotton and pleasure and his words do nothing to help you, wearing you down until all that remains is the most vulnerable parts of you. you, your body are his. you give yourself to him completely; you wish to say it, to tell him, but in this state all you can manage is a broken, “yes!”

he’s pressing a languid kiss against your lips, swallowing your cries of bliss before his tongue slips its way through your lips, laving at your wet mouth with its forked tip. it’s messy just like what lies between your thighs where he enters you, over and over and as he fucks you closer to your completion. you’re so pliant and malleable for him as he molds you to his desire.

there’s a clawed thumb against your clit and your body jerks at the spike in pleasure. you’re so sensitive and overwhelmed with pleasure and his cocks and just him entirely. “zhongli, gonna cum!” and it’s all the warning you can offer him before you’re breaking under the weight of euphoria.

the god above you groans when you go rigid beneath him, holes so tight and wet around him. “good girl,” his hips stutter as he nears dangerously close to his own end. “my precious, perfect girl.” he fucks you through the last remaining moments of your orgasm, hips urgent as he seeks his own pleasure. you wail at the overstimulation, one of your small hands grasping at the golden marks on his bicep.

and just as he promised, he fills you with his thick seed, flooding the depths of you until it begins to seep around the base of his cocks. his body shudders under the immense pleasure, hips rocking once, twice before he stills completely.

“mine,” a kiss to your temple. “all mine.”

nat’s notes — was very much in my feels for these two dragon men thus this was created! also wanted to commemorate a successful banner for these two as it now nears it’s end. so happy to be a neuvi and zhongli haver. hope everyone had a great time, and got the character(s) you wished for! <3

[violet-eng]

Fem!reader married to a Neuvillette who loves not her but someone else | NSFW 🔞 + 😢

In this one I'm going out on a limb, because I presume without any argument other than my own intuition, that Neuvillette and Focalors had a platonic relationship with feelings never confessed out of fear or genuine ignorance of them (like Violet Evergarden, yes). But you are Neuvillette's wife and so you will fall victim to his coldness when Focalors dies.

Includes NSFW with the reader and angst. Never mistreatment because Neuvi is a gentleman. NOTHING BETWEEN FOCALORS/FURINA AND NEUVI NONONO

⚠️ Warnings: established relationship between Neuvillette and reader, implied cheating, unloving and unprotected sex, pregnancy, sex during pregnancy, mentions of masturbation. Mentions of death. More sex between spouses bc yes.

mndi, if you feel unconfortable reading this then don't. Your mental health is first.

6k words, not edited.

💧💧💧💧💙💙💙💙💙💙💙🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️💧💧💧💧💧💙💙💙💙🔹️🔹️🔹️

You had seen him crestfallen the last few weeks, after the flood, self-conscious in his own thoughts, drowning in his remorse and cowardice.

Neuvillette does not understand human feelings, not at all, though love is supposed to be a passion that transcends the natural laws of evolution. Focalors had been his friend, his companion, in the bruised body of a puppet that felt so real that its strings seemed invisible.

There was no denying the deep affection that had grown between the two, Neuvillette and Focalors, two wandering souls, roaming the world with ancestral antiquity, companions destined to the sound of agony and separation, haunted by the solemn ignorance of innocent creatures.

Love… what was it but a word in a spoken contract.

Neuvillette had married you months ago, a happy and superficially authentic marriage. You had captured his attention, and his knowledge of humans, as the Great Chief Justice, could be satiated by knowing you, a faithful human companion, devoted wife, and sublime lover.

The bed was the only moment where you two connected, where, to the rhythm of the waves, Neuvillette penetrated his marital responsibility towards your depths, that which he considered appropriate towards his so-called wife, who, in a frenzy of pleasure, crushed his pale back with her nails, set to music by the melodious moans he tore from your sweaty breast… There was no connection beyond the sexual, for as a dragon, despite the years, it is very difficult for him to connect with humans.

Focalors was an oceanid, and he was a dragon sovereign. Both turned human. Nothing more to add, two rulers abandoned by the world they were supposed to protect, what would grow between them but pure trust and admiration that would obviously develop into love?

Neuvillette didn't understand. Not until that moment. He had been deaf to his innocent heart pounding anxiously every time Focalors entered his office in her unruly human form, rampant in color and expression. He had been unaware of the flame of satisfaction in his chest that burned hot when she spoke to him in the privacy of their conversations in the theater…he did not understand, not until he understood that he would eventually lose her.

He cried, for the first time he let someone see him cry in his human form. Focalor's words, so exquisite before him, ethereal in her ornate louvered dress, echoed in his head…and in his heart… ….

"Hydrodragon, Hydrodragon… don't cry," she whispered… and he, very reluctant to leave her, wished with all his might to leap upon her, wrap her in his arms and never let her go. He would flee with her on his lap, in his draconic form, leaving Fontaine and everyone else to their fate.

No… a Sovereign would not do that… he would not do that… for to abandon his oath would deserve the most dastardly punishment of all. And maybe, just for thinking that, he deserved what happened next.

"Farewell, Neuvillette," her words, pure in his human form. His companion, his friend, his mentor… his soul mate, tossed away like the foam on the shore of a beach.

Death was a human concept, without transcendence over evolution… love, however, was another story.

He came home like a soldier after the war, he came back without a part of himself… he came back to his boring life married to a woman he doesn't even love, at least not the way you really deserve him.

"Darling," you offer him a glass of fresh spring water from Quiaoying Village, because you know he doesn't like anything else, especially in dark times like these, a glass of the freshest, coldest water suits him wonderfully.

He drinks from the glass, almost as stoic as ever, though his face is stiffer than usual. Routine is becoming overwhelming for both of you, and Neuvillette is suspiciously distant from you, more so than usual. You stroke his cheek while he sleeps to help him fall asleep, you make him breakfast in the mornings and serve him dinner when he comes home, all without so much as a hello.

You suspect the worst, because your friends have planted the idea in your head that Neuvillette has a mistress, and not far from the truth, his heart belongs to another.

After the flood, many had left Fontaine, and perhaps your husband's mistress was among them, or so you thought. How painful it had been for you to see him break for another woman, to see him crack at his most human for a heart that was not yours.

Overwhelmed, you write him a letter with the idea of leaving him and traveling to Sumeru with one of your friends in search of a new life, but everything is cut short when your symptoms begin. Pregnancy was imminent, after all the nights the Iudex had taken you into your bed, it was to be expected.

You receive Neuvillette that night, frustrated by your own doubts, debating between informing him of your condition or simply fleeing to new horizons with your child. It is so difficult to decide when your husband is the Iudex of Fontaine… and when you care about his reputation because you love him sincerely.

There is no need to search for words when your husband is a dragon with keen senses, for as soon as he set foot in the house, he sensed the scent of his brood stirring within you. The Iudex's interest, however, lay in whether or not you would confess to him.

"A package arrived for you this afternoon," Neuvillette comments as he sips the tea you prepared for him, pointing to a bag on the front table.

"Ah, yes," you say half-heartedly, taking the bag in your hands, emotions spilling from your chest as you crumple the paper between your fingers.

You sigh deeply, thinking that maybe this gift is your way of saying goodbye to him, of silently making amends and apologizing for something that is absolutely not your fault other than falling in love with the wrong man.

You take out of the bag an encyclopedia, a thick book with thick paste and yellow pages, brought from Sumeru, recommended by the very scribe of the Academya, a book of human anthropology for your dear strange husband, who seems to have a real interest in human behavior. Neuvillette looks at it as if it were a revelation, as incredulous as he is moved, touched by your gift and your attention to his interests. You try to say something, to tell him that you are pregnant, but you stop when you hear him speak.

"I know you're expecting my child," Neuvillette says, without going into the details of how he found out, touching the rim of the teacup, a wedding gift. "Whatever you need, tell me, health, food, you know I will cover all expenses."

"I want to go to Sumeru," you confess in an almost whispered tone, your words seeming to be carried away by the wind rushing through the window.

"That wouldn't be good," for a Hydro Dragon hatchling, of course it wouldn't. "You're too young to venture into a new nation, especially one with new leaders like Sumeru, not to mention the dry climate."

You don't argue, knowing he's right, and decide to simply retreat to your room and wallow in your defeat.

Neuvillette, however, with what little empathy he has generated, caresses the book with his fingertips, gliding over the fine markings carved into the cover.

A gift, he had never given you a gift before, but you had given him a gift by taking the initiative.

The months passed quickly. The precariousness of your relationship, increasingly dry on your part, provokes something in Neuvillette.

He looks at you from his side of the bed, the way you sleep peacefully with a swollen belly, carrying his little dragon without knowing it, without trying to get rid of it, loving it from the first moment. Neuvillette has seen you singing lullabies to your child these past few months, reading him stories while caressing your belly, telling him how much you want him to be born strong and healthy.

He's grateful for the deep affection you have for your child, so much so that he has tried to show it. Maybe what he read in the book worked, or maybe it is just a product of his new feelings for his wife, who is about to become a mother. He would do anything for your son to be born healthy and with a healthy mother.

He buys you fritters on the way home, from the store he found out you like best, courtesy of some Melusine, and sits next to you at the dinner table, trying to take an interest in your day and tell you about his, always aiming for your peace, a healthy heart would bring a healthy child.

His devotion is to the birth of your child, because that's what he tells himself. It's not that he was interested in you, of course not… it's not like he was surprised when you told him your clothes were too tight and you hated your new body, not when he likes to see your new figure when you lie next to him at night, with enlarged breasts and a round belly. He bought you new clothes, yes, by the boatload, but because that's what any husband would do.

He only appreciates you for being the mother of his child, it's not like his heart fluttered when he saw you helping some melusines with their problems, or coddling some baby of your friends, thinking what a wonderful mother you will soon be. It's not like h chest filled with pride when he saw you in the stores looking for maternity books and baby clothes, worrying about the weather and your child's health.

And it's definitely not like he's masturbating in his office, remembering the image of you undressing that morning to get into the tub, cutting the skin of your arms and breasts, moaning at the contact of the warm water against your body, and letting out a sigh of deep satisfaction.

That night, he comes home with the usual everyday gift, this time a box of macaroons, because he noticed that you were looking at them in the display case with great eagerness during the afternoon. And he sits down at the table with you, pours you a cup of tea and starts the conversation, even though he notices that you are much more tired than usual.

He carries you into the bedroom and helps you into your nightgown, taking the opportunity to caress your waist and back as he helps the fabric slide over your curves. And then he strokes your head to help you fall asleep, and without realizing it, he smiles as he sees you fast asleep next to him.

The birth is approaching and the strong pains make you desperate, confined to your room and reluctant to go out even to sunbathe. It was the midwife who unscrupulously suggested to Neuvillette that a little sexual activity would help you get through the contractions. And he, as devoted to his wife's health as any good husband, agrees.

You feel Neuvillette's cock thrust deep into you, deep into your velvety walls, soft and slow, not unlike what you've felt before. His hands rest on the sides of your head, his gaze fixed on his cock disappearing inside you, while you curl your legs at the delicious sensation of his thick appendage inside your pussy. He moves cautiously, sharply, trying not to hurt you, and as he pumps inside you, his gaze is lost on your breasts, bouncing to the rhythm of his gentle thrusts.

"Perfect," he whispers through his teeth, because in his eyes you are the perfect reservoir for his brood, yes, just that… he insists that you are simply his good companion, and pretends that he hasn't wanted to have you like this for weeks, under him, a mess between moans pinned to him as you cling to his arms.

"Monsieur~" you whimper, bringing a hand to your face to cover your expression, though he takes your wrist and looks at your face as if you were a treasure just discovered by a hungry, ambitious man.

When you reach your orgasm, he kisses you, for the first time during sex, Neuvillette kisses you, and even he surprises himself with his own actions. He washes your body and dresses you before you rest, now much calmer than before, sinking into your husband's chest as you fall asleep, ignoring the feelings that surface between the two of you.

When the child is born, Neuvillette is surprised to continue his affection for you. He did not fall into the same materialism as before, because now he recognized in the shared work of the novices how difficult it was to take care of a baby. It is he who washes the child because, to your surprise, he knows the strange need for fresh water that your baby requires at least twice a day. Neuvillette enjoys the laughter that you get from your child, and the way that he lifts his arms so that you can hold him and show him how well you are feeding him, he looks strong and healthy.

One day, as he was leaving the Opera Epiclese, he was distracted by the statue of the Focalors, but his attention was immediately drawn to the babbling exclamations of his son, who was waving in your arms near the fountain. How gratifying is that moment when his heart leaps with joy as he sees you holding his child.

The days have been sunny in Fontaine since your son was born, and to Neuvillette's relief, the bitter memories of his separation from the Focalors are just that, memories… past images that he does not cherish, as he knows humans do, not now that his being is entirely devoted to his mate and his brood. What kind of elixir have you become for him, that he can forget all his sorrows and his past loves?

Neuvillette spends hours in his office poring over the pages of the book you gave him months ago, highlighting this thing called melancholy, the longing for past situations and desires, and feeling sorry for those who feel it, because if it were a disease, he would call himself cured of this melancholy.

He finds it curious how you managed to get rid of all the gloomy feelings that plagued him, and even wonders if you are not some kind of sorceress… No, not you, not when you so devotedly cleanse your child and offer him a carefully prepared dinner, and practically put your heart and soul into every act of domesticity.

Focalors… her name and image sail through the ancient memories of Neuvillette's tattered mind, the smile of a woman he loved, now replaced by that of the one who lies beside him, coddling a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked child. Funny how in such a short time he had acquired such human habits as feeling part of a family he hadn't even planned to have.

Your relationship with Neuvillette, full of respect and admiration, help and companionship, seems to evolve into something more. You become his confidant, his mentor when he has doubts about human children or about the customs between parents and children. Involuntarily, he comes to you when he has questions, not to a library, for despite your young mortal age, you know much more than books could ever give him.

You are patient with his ignorance and loving when he is wrong. Mutual and pure respect, absolute devotion and admiration. Neuvillette doesn't believe you are human, how can you be human with so many virtues… his curiosity grows and changes, so much so that he counts the hours in court to come home and chat with you while you nurse his child.

He returns home that night with new doubts, because he has seen strange devices for children without understanding their usefulness, called fun. Can they have fun by themselves? Aren't they too young for that?…oh, and he brings a storybook, because he understands that made-up stories are interesting for babies, even if they don't understand much of the language.

He goes to the baby's room with an enthusiasm he doesn't know he has, and stops at the door when he hears you soothing your baby's cry with sweet words.

"Hydro-Dragon, Hydro-Dragon, don't cry," you murmur as you caress your child's cheek and try to feed him.

Your child is frantically breastfeeding, his tears fading as he closes his bright purple eyes, his little hands clenched into fists and his nose twitching. Neuvillette watches the whole scene from the doorway, his heart in his throat and his feelings on his skin. Those words that broke his soul so long ago now seem to put the pieces of his shattered existence back together.

He smiles, a melancholy, self-satisfied smile. And he looks at you, he looks at you with devotion, because you have finally made him understand what he feels and has felt for so many months. His devoted wife, as patient as she is charming… seems wiser and more skillful than any scholar.

Leaving your child in its cradle, you straighten your neck and turn to Neuvillette, who has entered the room.

"What a beautiful book," you murmur, picking it up, "the baby will love it.

Neuvillette watches you with one hand on the crib that protects his baby, then watches his son sleep, wrinkling his nose the way you do when you sleep.

"You must be exhausted," he whispers, stroking your arm and leading you out of the baby's room.

"Not at all," you smile, "the child fills me with vitality."

"So… Hydro Dragon," Neuvillette recalls the words you said to his baby.

"I said it when I was a girl, like everyone else in Fontaine, it was an idea that came to me suddenly," you answer, and he smiles at your expression, thinking that maybe he heard you when you were a girl, maybe you were one of the many children who recited the same words when it rained in Fontaine.

"I have to tell you something," Neuvillette says, his voice lacking authority, more like a prayer. You watch him from the kitchen.

"'Tell me.

Focalors, Neuvillette, Furina, Fontaine's hydrodragon, the flood, his never-confessed love… he tells you everything because he understands that you deserve the truth, and that he doesn't deserve you because you're too understanding of his confession. It is as if this conversation has cleared up all your doubts, and you have finally seen the real Neuvillette, who fully trusts you to know what to do with this information.

Neuvillette believes that you will ask him for a divorce and leave him alone with his son, but he is surprised to find you preparing breakfast the next morning with your child tied to your leg while you both laugh.

He does not deserve you, definitely not, for he is perhaps the most despicable man in Fontaine and all of Teyvat. To think of another while he is married, to take his wife with him in a grief that is not hers, to bind her to him forever by impregnating her… how mean he must have been, and how understanding you become as his selfishness grows.

He hugs you from behind, buries his face in your neck, inhales your scent and clings to your waist. He begs for forgiveness countless times, and you feel that he may have already shed a few tears on your shoulder, because the sky suddenly begins to cloud over.

"There's nothing to forgive," you whisper, stroking his head, "we can't choose who we fall in love with."

He looks at you in disbelief, wondering in what book he would find such an accurate statement. You had fallen in love with him, and he finally understands, for you are both victims of the disorderly course of love, so messy in its actions, indifferent to those it hurts.

He thinks about your words as he sits in his office, as he looks at the framed photograph he has of you holding his son, and wonders when he fell into the trap of the reckless love that humans call it.

The name of the Focalors does not mean anything to him anymore, even less when he sees Lady Furina in boutiques or restaurants… surely a memory has finally become just that, a memory. His heart is now the prey of another person, his wife, the mother of his son.

Neuvillette understands that there is a difference between soul mates, first love, and true love. The connection with Focalors had been imminent years ago, as both were unaware of the actions of the society in which they had become intruders, but they were nothing more than that, accomplices in a game of masks and power, the first experience of mutual affection and trust. Focalors was his soulmate, yes, because she understood firsthand everything he experienced, but being a living part of her theater did not feel authentic.

With you, however, Neuvillette had learned to be a part of his people, whether as a human or a dragon, as Chief Justice or as the father of an infant. He was no longer an intruder or a stranger ignorant of human ways, not after you. At your side, Neuvillette had known a new range of sensations, of experiences and learning based on mistakes, all very human on his part, and as expected, he had learned to fall in love again, because it was inevitable, after several problems and misunderstandings between the two of you, after the birth of his son and the new horizons that fatherhood brought. His affection for you had been disguised as admiration and redemption, his ignorance had once again avoided love, a mistake he wanted to make up for.

Sitting in your living room while he reads a book and you braid his hair and hum a lullaby, Neuvillette lets the waves of your voice carry him away, wondering what kind of marital experiences he had missed with you.

"What kind of things do husbands do?" He asks suddenly, looking up at you from the carpeted floor, surprising you with his curious question.

"Well…" you think, it's not like when he asks you why kids suck their thumbs or why people give each other presents on non-holidays. It's not a question about trivial human behavior, not this time.

"I've seen couples go out to dinner, but you told me that friends also go out to dinner," he continues, elaborating on his puzzle. "Wriothesley and I have had tea together, what would be the difference between having tea with him and with you?"

"Well…" you continue to think about your answer. "Perhaps the most obvious is living together, planning the week together, household and food expenses, child care, and confidentiality between the two. When you and I have tea, we talk about things that you probably don't mention to Wriothesley".

" Certainly," he says with a hand on his chin, "you and I do all those things, but how is that different from students who share a house? They also plan expenses and discuss confidences."

"Then I guess the biggest difference is in starting a family. Normally, people get married because they want to have a family with the person they choose, the person they love, or the person their parents impose on them."

"So sex is what differentiates married people," he says, and you remain static at his words, stopping to braid his hair, "of course… the physical and emotional affection shown by both parties in marriage…" Neuvillette rambles on, his own conclusion as he sits on the couch next to you, thinking about how he hasn't shown his affection the way he should.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, you are distracted by the details of your skirt, picking out rebellious threads, and then he thinks about the last time he kissed you and wonders what it would be like to kiss someone with marital affection.

"Can I kiss you?" The question is thrown out with innocence, causing surprise in you.

"You've kissed me before, Neuvillette," you say, smiling and getting up to go into the kitchen, "we even have a son, I don't think there's anything new to try."

"Indeed," he says, getting up and walking toward you, your back against one of the walls, "but the variable that makes this situation different from the others is that I didn't feel that way about you."

"Like what?" you ask, as he moves closer to you, almost cornering you against the wall.

"I like thinking about you, being with you, hearing you talk," he says, his tone low, as if he were ashamed to confess everything to you. "I thought it was a simple instinct to care for you as the mother of my child… but now I know it's something deeper than that."

You look at him in surprise, now it is you who has unknowns that only he can answer. The silence between you is cold and almost tactile.

"What about her? Of the Archon," you whisper, your breath depending on the question, Neuvillette's forehead inches from yours.

"It's not the same. There is no excitement or desire. I never longed for her or desired her like you. She didn't provoke me the way you did, it's almost annoying."

"Am I annoying? "Is that what she's telling me, Judge?" You smile as you touch the tip of his nose, trying to take some of the seriousness out of the conversation.

"You are adorably hypnotic, I must say. More than you should be. You have taken everything from me without me even realizing it, subtly and carefully taking over my mind and my heart," Neuvillette's hands caress your cheek, high above your skin, avoiding friction as if his touch would bruise your flawless complexion.

"Let me show you these human feelings that have taken over me, please," he whispers, his thumb sliding over your lower lip. He says it almost like a complaint, his bursting emotions becoming painful, trapped in his chest, longing for you to give him comfort and permission to act.

"I'll let you… only if you promise me something," you say, taking his hand, avoiding the marks of his fingers on you. "You will never push me aside for another woman again…"

His oath needs no words, not when he has you leaning against the kitchen table, his cock pushing behind you to your cervix. Your muffled moans as he adjusts your skirt over your waist and spreads your legs further to give him free access to your pussy, which sucks him contemptuously.

Neuvillette feels like a fantasy, thrusting relentlessly into you, touching the bulge that has formed in your belly from the penetration of his cock, pushing with his hand so you can feel it better, eliciting a high-pitched moan from you. . He kisses your cheek and you hear his muffled moans against your ear as he utters words of worship.

You grip the marble edge of the table, moaning at the burning building in your belly, your eyes glassy and spit falling from your mouth. It's as if your legs were lifeless, as if you were prey to Neuvillette and the way he drives his love for you so deep that it seems to stir your womb.

That afternoon he takes you in the kitchen, and the next morning he doesn't let you get out of bed, one hand on the headboard and the other around your waist, Neuvillette has you with your ass up like a dog in heat, hitting your slippery with his length. The strength that his support gives you is hard to bear, your breasts trembling strongly as your ass bounces to his rhythm, your skin moving like waves in the sea with each vibration that Neuvillette's relentless interference causes.

His hand slides down your body, caressing your breasts and down to your clit, your face buried in the pillows, almost crying at how good his fingers feel on your nervous lump. He fills you with his seed when he reaches orgasm, because he is dying to see you again with your belly swollen for his offspring. And he kisses you again, he kisses your forehead while you catch your breath, while you cover your body that has been bruised by his fingers, defining the lustful path of his digits over your body.

In his office, he remembers the past hours with fanciful lust and longs to return home to enjoy this new activity that you have made him experience, this new addiction that your body represents against his. He longs for your company and your warmth, your voice moaning with pleasure and the way your nails dig into his back. He adores everything about you, not only because you are the mother of his child, but because he finally understands, after several months of reading and reflection, that he has truly fallen in love with you, his precious human wife.

[justgiulia]

Echoes of The Abyss

Orpheus!Dan Heng x Eurydice!gn reader

Summary: Dan Heng’s world shatters when you, his only solace, are lost to death. Desperate, he descends into the Abyss to bring you back.

Warnings: Major character death.

Author's notes: This is based off Orhpeus and Eurydice's myth. I hope you'll enjoy this <3

Dan Heng was a sensitive musician and poet who accompanied his verses with the sweet sound of the lyre. At his song, the beasts came out of their dens and became tame and the devastating forces of nature lost their fury. But Dan Heng did not boast: grateful, he thanked the Aeons.

When you had met Dan Heng for the first time, he was a mystery few dared to unravel. Yet, you were persistent, breaking through his carefully constructed walls with your genuine curiosity and unrelenting kindness. Where others saw a stoic enigma, you saw a man carrying the weight of his past in silence.

Over time, he began to let you in. You found solace in his presence, and he found peace in yours. He would read you fragments of ancient poems, his voice low and steady, and play melodies on his lyre that seemed to echo the sorrow etched in his soul.

Then came the day everything unraveled.

A mission gone awry, a poisoned blade and you were gone. Dan Heng had been there, holding you as your life slipped away, the light in your eyes dimming like a candle snuffed out by the wind.

"Stay with me"

He had begged, his voice breaking in a way it never had before.

He called you with all his strength, but you were dead.

The young man, as if mad, wandered aimlessly for days and days. He prayed in vain to the wild beasts to kill him. He sang his anguish to the trees, to the birds, but nothing could calm his pain.

The universe did not bargain with love.

And then, the rumors began—whispers of a place beyond the veil of death, where souls lingered, waiting for those brave or desperate enough to find them. The Path of the Abyss was treacherous, but If there was a chance to bring you back, he would take it.

The Abyss was vast. He walked for a long time and his singing moved the souls of the dead.

Dan Heng kept going, driven by the memory of your smile and the warmth you had brought into his life.

In the center of a dark hall was the throne on which sat the two Aeons Arbitrers, who determined the death and birth of common mortals: Lan and Qlipoth. Dan Heng addressed his invocation to Qlipoth.

"Oh sweet Aeon who from your face emanates the light of the universe" - he began - "have pity on my pain. Cruel fate has torn my beloved from life. I have tried to calm my despair, but in vain. Have pity on me. Hear me, I beg you, give me back Y/n or keep me here too. I would rather die than live without them".

The young man's invocation moved the Aeon to pity, who wept softly, looked for a moment at the other Aeon, and implored THEM in silence. Lan would never refuse THEM and THEY too, becoming tender, exclaimed: -

"You seek to defy the natural order," it intoned, its voice reverberating like the tolling of a bell. "To reclaim what has been taken is to invite suffering upon yourself."

"I don't care," Dan Heng said, his gaze unwavering. "I will do whatever it takes."

"Very well...your song, Dan Heng, has moved Qlipoth and me. I want to please you: Y/n will return with you to the earth. You yourself will lead them out of the Abyss. But be careful: you must neither look, touch nor speak to them until you have reached the light of the sun. If you turn around, you will lose them forever".

The poet, his face transfigured with happiness, bowed to the sovereign and headed towards the exit.

They walked for a long time, but Orpheus' thoughts were on his beloved who was following him. You walked behind him, your presence a fragile reassurance, but the silence between you was deafening. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his fear pressing down on him. With his eyes fixed in front of him, he desperately struggled with the desire to turn and look at your face.

Suddenly a terrible doubt gripped his heart: were you following him or had Qilipoth deceived him?Were you truly there? Or was this a cruel illusion of the Abyss? And just as the sunlight began to filter through the darkness, he could no longer resist. He turned around.

You were standing before him and, with your hands, took off a veil that was covering you. You were more beautiful than ever, but your eyes were sad.

It was an instant. A thick, gray fog enveloped you and you disappeared into the depths forever. Form dissolved into the darkness, your voice a fading echo.

"Dan Heng... thank you for trying."

The young man's pain was terrible; he sobbed, he begged the infernal gods once more, he drew the most heartbreaking notes from his lyre. Lan did not take pity a second time and did not grant him grace again.

He emerged into the light alone, the weight of his failure crushing him. The stars above remained indifferent, their cold light a mockery of the warmth he had lost. He wandered for months through woods and grasslands. Little by little his deep despair found comfort in music, whose notes he traced on a tree bark, but the emptiness within him remained.

In the Xianzhou Luofu there is no singer who does not know that magical music.

[anundyingfidelity]

400 followers ask

Adam Warlock and reader with the sunshine x grumpy dynamic, the reader is someone dangerous and very powerful that none of the other heroes want to get close to due to her reputation and her history, but Adam ignores it and in the end they fall in love 😩✊❤

long time i don't write for adam so yesss! hope you like this, i tried my best for a grumpy x sunshine dynamic for this one hahaha

event guidelines ✮ event masterlist ✮

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

I'M NOT IN LOVE — Adam Warlock x female reader

Word count: 689 (got carried awaaayyyy).

Genre: fluff.

Warnings: none I can really tell?

When Rocket and his team broke you out of your prison, he quickly understood why you were locked in the first place. A woman, captive of a crazy sorcerer who just held you as nothing more than a pet on a dirty planet, who was rageous and powerful, capable of destroying a star. That’s what the old man said to them.

Rocket was a fool and didn’t take his word though. Not until you tried to blow the ship going back to Knowhere, or when you tried to escape destroying miles of half built homes, or the countless times where you broke something with your super strength.

“Alright, stay here, witch,” Rocket ordered, taking you with Nebula’s help to a new place you’d call home for now. Behind his small figure, Adam followed closely in silence but intrigued by you, who seemed to completely ignore him.

“I’m not a witch!” you fumed, moving your arm away from the tight grip coming from the purple robot. “Don’t touch me, scum.”

“Nebula, stop,” the raccoon uttered as she stepped closer to you, ready to punch your face. She grunted and left the room, passing by the Sovereign.

Rocket continued. “We don’t wanna hurt you-”

“Then why take me here?! I never asked to be part of your stupid team!”

Being locked for so long had its effects on you, Rocket thought. That day he warned everyone to not be close to you since you were extremely dangerous, but Adam didn’t understand the captain. He had a second chance with the Guardians, it was fair to do the same thing with you. Under Rocket’s suspicious eyes, Adam got his approval to visit you and help you to the real world.

Contrary to the team, Adam was different. He saw pain and fear in your eyes that mixed with your powers made you a dangerous being, but a beautiful one nonetheless. He was the one who introduced you to the terran culture and their music. With it, Adam discovered the sounds of some songs would calm you down and he’d come to see a new sweet side of you. 

“Play it again,” you whispered, as you shared an earphone with Adam on the roof of your place in the middle of a somehow cold night. “I wanna hear it again.”

Adam beamed, doing as you said. The psychedelic melody started anew. “You like this song too much,” he teased.

I'm not in love

So don't forget it

It's just a silly phase I'm going through

Your brows furrowed, clearly annoyed. “Is that a problem, goldie?”

He just chuckled. “Not at all. Stop furrowing, it’s a joke.”

And just because

I call you up

Don't get me wrong,

Don't think you've got it made

Still you narrowed your eyes at him, with that angry face of yours. Sometimes you took so literal anything that escaped his lips. It was cute. Under the light of the city he admired you completely. Yes, sometimes you were a little mean to him and the team. Still you tried because of him. Adam was a very special person for you. But you wouldn’t admit it easily. 

I'm not in love, no no,

It's because…

I like to see you

“Okay,” you whispered finally, your features softening as the song played. It made you feel calm, at peace. Something you didn’t remember feeling before. Now after Adam came to your life, things were sort of different. You could feel it as much as Adam. He was bright, sunny, while you were totally the opposite of that.

But then again

That doesn't mean you mean that much to me

You locked eyes with his own, noticing he had been observing you long before. You sat so close together that you could feel the warmth of his body, contrasting the coldness of your own. He leaned closer with eyes closed, and as scared as you were, you let him kiss you softly on your lips. A quick peck on your lips before he pulled away.

“Sorry…”

You smiled, cheeks flushed. “Don’t.”

 It was the first time he saw your smile.

[riddles-fiddles]

Pspspsp MC with a royalty kink and wants to act out this fantasy with Rook Hunt. Afab please:)

I am hearing you out. I'm pretty sure Rook does have a royalty kink as well, though he would rather take the paper of a knight, a bard, hunter, or any other kind of servant lmao

Au Clair de la Lune (+18)

Synopsis: Rook partakes the role of a loyal knight who's eager to please and show his absolute devotion to you. Charcaters: Rook Hunt Tags: royalty kink, praise kink, worship, oral sex, most foreplay Notes: AFAB gender neutral reader, 1k word count, everyone is 18+ Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Rook rests his forehead down to the back of your hands, the ones which he holds with deepest esteem - like they are a pair of jewels with indefinable value. "I thank the grace you bestow upon this humble knight," his voice is a melody of sincere devotion, lips ghosting over your skin. "I'm grateful for allowing me to taste your skin, your higness."

As his eyelids flutters open, his gaze is captivated by the way you stand there, a mighty and imposing figure sat on the throne - the bed you two shared - as the moonlight hugged your curves with lavender outlines, enhancing the strands of hair shadowing your features, the way your shoulder curved slightly to the front, an uncoscious gesture to your desires.

He revels on your beauty, the way your stern gaze looks back down on him paralyzing his heartbeat; the feeling of being merely a pawn to your orders sending thrills down his spine. Rook has the heart of a poet and the desire to please of a servant, and being by your disposal was enough for him - his merciful, generous ruler.

Rook reserves his duteous instance; knee firm against the floor, hat pressed against his chest in a chivalrous way, his sharp eyes are cloudy with restrained lust, resigned on your next demand.

"Your obedience is commendable," a gracious smile paints shyly between Rook's lips at your words, his features softening in antecipation for your approval. "But it's not quite enough to prove your loyalty to my reign." With a low tilt of his head, Rook glances over your majestic face with inquisitive silence while his hands traveled down to your thighs, his gloved digits a feather brushing along the lines of your knees before tracing the design of your ankles. The gesture was careful and zealous, as if he was touching a monumental paiting - because in his point of view, that's what you are anyway.

"I beg your pardon, my sovereign. Allow me to correct my unfit behaviour."

Rook gently enveloped the back of your sole, bowing down to press an affectionate kiss over the curve of your feet, his warm breath tickling on your skin as the gesture left a lingering, warm feeling over your exposed skin. Taking his time, his lips climbed with passionate devotion over the same trail his fingers had previously marked on your body, his contented sighs a sweet incantation.

You reveled on the silent worship that Rook incited over your skin, wordless promises of his love and desire for you spreading to your nerve endings with every new kiss. His confident gaze met yours by a flickering moment, the sight of his face resting against your skin as he held your thigh with adorational attentiveness making you sigh in antecipation, heart skipping a beat as you marveled at the raw emotions shared between you two. Though you played a stern facade with your uptight words, there was no concealing of the way your body naturally responded to Rook's touch, practically melting against the contrast of his warm lips and the cold leather of his gloves.

Slowly, your thighs parted, revealing your bare core. Rook admired with contented surprise as you did so, tongue dewing over his lips in antecipatio with hunger glistening over his indigo eyes, gladly coming up to meet yours as you held his chin up, grip possessive and urging. "Prove your devotion to me, Rook," your voice lingered like a sweet spell hummed into his ear. "Bring pleasure to your majesty."

"Oui, mon majesté. Votre commande est mon plaisir."

Rook readily removes his gloves, laying them on the floor right beside his hat. His lean, firm hands come to rest on your soft inner thighs before leaning in, pressing a kiss over your clit, tongue spreading the folds. He gently sucks the sensitive bud over his tongue before pressing down, circling around as he alternated between different kinds of stimulation.

Your gratified sigh beckons him further. Rook brings two of his slender fingers to your wet core, slowly pressing down as he kept his mouth occupied with your clit, languish laps being contrasted by the intense, eventual sucking.

His heart jumps with delight as your pleased groan fills his ears, a hand coming to grip on the back of his head before pulling him closer, breath hitching slightly by the feeling of your hips bucking up, desperate for more friction.

His tongue is quick to match the pace you so desperately urges to find, rolling around the bundle of nerves in reverse to your motion as his fingers thrusted inside you slowly - teasing your sweet spot by pressing his digits against the soft area everytime he pushed them deep inside you.

You cry his name out like a prayer as your back meets the bedsheets, pleasure quickly turning overwhelming. Taking advantage of it, Rook positions both of your legs over his shoulders, lifting your hips slightly from the bed to get better access to your sensitive area; skilled, lean fingers rolled deep into your core, building pressure beneath your abdomen. The wet sounds that resonated shamelessly through the room, Rook's slurps and the merciless slapping of his fingers against your slick core sent shivers down your spine, your orgasm nearing its peak as your eyes fixed on the man's focused face.

And with a final, rough thrust, Rook's finger curls agains, sending an aggressive jolt of pleasure all through your body, making your back arch and your thighs close around his head. Rook can feel your orgasm shaking you from head to toe, but his mouth doesn't cease until your body finally starts to relax, too enthralled by the way you squirm under his touch, a shudder of veiled excitement mixed with satisfaction running over his own skin at the prospect of being the one responsible for your climax. His tongue savours the taste of your cum, and as you lift your head, a panting mess from the overwhelming explosion of senses, your flushed face greets Rook's confident yet messy grin, his face glistening with your slick all over. Still, he looks absolutely overjoyed, licking the mess from his lips greedily. "My precious, terrific knight," you sing the praises in soft, panting whispers, your grip easing around his hair in gentle caresses. "Your devotion is undoubtedly unmatched. Come, allow your ruler to reward your efforts." Rook's smile widens, his whole being flourishing with a chaotic mix of love, gratitude, pride and excitement by your sincere praises, quickly lifting himself from the ground to taste your mouth he so much longed for.

[strugglingwriterwattpad]

chocolate flowers sneak peek

Chapter one – a hatful of dreams

As the sun struggled to break through the fog, a chilly morning greeted the passengers of a 1940s trawler boat. The rhythmic sound of ocean waves and the distant tolling of a ship's bell filled the air. Emerging from the thick mist, the boat approached the new city's dock, its passengers eagerly awaiting their arrival. Amidst the scene, a peculiar figure stood out - donning a vibrant green waistcoat and a scarf bursting with colours. With curly brown hair and eyes that matched the waistcoat’s hues, this enigmatic individual climbed the mast, their presence illuminated by the sun's rays piercing through the fog and ship smoke.

“After seven years of life upon the ocean, It is time to bid the seven seas farewell. And the city I’ve pinned seven years of hopes on Lies just over the horizon. I can hear the harbour bell!” Emerging from the icy mist, a magnificent ancient metropolis caught his eye. A grin spread across his face, for he knew that his days as a sailor were numbered and his new life as a proud shopkeeper was about to begin. “Land ahoy!!”

With a firm grip on the rope, Willy descended to the icy deck, while his fellow sailors readied the boat for docking. Navigating through the bustling engine room, he collected his worn-out plum-coloured tailcoat and weathered wooden suitcase. “Got a tattered overcoat and battered suitcase! Got a pair of leaky boots upon my feet. Got to drag myself up by my one good bootlace! Gotta work my rotten socks off if I wanna make ends meet!” With a daring leap, he landed on a supply crate just as it was lifted from the ship's hold. The crate soared high above the dock, swaying gracefully in the air. “I've poured everything I've got into my chocolate. Now it's time to show the world my recipes.” The brunette received a small bag of coins from the captain, the metal creating a clanging sound as it landed in his icy, pale hand. “good luck Willy!” he hollered waving off Willy with a supportive grin. “I’ve got twelve silver sovereigns in my pocket. And a hatful of dreams!”

Willy gracefully leapt off the crate and onto the back of a truck as it passed by, embarking on his exciting journey into the city of his dreams. The landscape he passed was blanketed in a thick layer of ice and slush, a messy combination of cobblestone debris and melting snow. With a burst of energy, the ghostly boy jumped down from the vehicle, his hands gripping a frozen lamp post adorned with tattered flyers and posters. With a graceful twirl, Willy descended the gleaming metal pole and found himself in the awe-inspiring town square. “There’s a famous restaurant on every street here. There's Brandino's and the Bar Parisienne”

The bustling square was adorned with a majestic cathedral, its towering presence casting a shadow over the surrounding area. The harmonious melodies of the choir echoed through the air, filling the square with a symphony of enchanting notes, reminiscent of the sweet songs of songbirds. In the centre of the square, a frozen fountain stood still, its waters suspended in time, a testament to the frigid weather that had gripped the city. On the opposite side, a grand dome building beckoned him with its grandeur, a destination he knew he would eventually reach. However, he couldn't resist the allure of exploration that lingered in the air, enticing him to wander through the square a little longer before embarking on his intended journey.

“Restaurant map, sir?” A cheerful attendant at a cosy booth offered a map of restaurants to the gentleman in a brown top hat, who graciously thanked him with a silver coin. “thank you!”

“Got a little map to tell me where to eat here...” As Willy unravelled his map, he suddenly spotted someone right by his side. To his surprise, it was a shoeshine boy, and the brunette had unknowingly placed his foot on the boy's box. The boy, with a mischievous grin, demanded a sovereign while wiggling his fingers, as if he had just completed a remarkable shine on the chocolate maker’s boot.

“Had a dozen silver sovereigns, now I'm somehow down to ten!”

With excitement in his eyes, Willy made his way towards a vibrant produce stall. As he reached out, his hands embraced an astonishingly enormous pumpkin, bursting with both delectable taste and vibrant hues. “Want the finest produce? This is where they stock it!” Willy narrowly avoided being hit by a streetcar that honked loudly, causing him to drop the pumpkin in shock. “That's three sovereigns, mate” The pumpkin splattered all over his boots, undoing all the work the boy had just completed moments before. “Though the prices are suspiciously extreme!”

“You break my pumpkin; you pay for it.”

“I've got five, six, seven-“

The dreamer strolled past the shops on the street, but his attention was immediately drawn to a charming green cottage-style shop. His eyes widened as he watched a woman inside, working cheerfully in her colourful attire, leaving Willy breathless with admiration. The vibrant hues of her clothing perfectly complemented the lush greenery that adorned her store, resembling ornaments on a festive Christmas tree. She was wearing an off-white blouse with puff sleeves that peeked through her green corduroy pinafore. The seams of the dress were decorated with different flower embroidery similar to his own waistcoat patterns. Her hands, covered in gardening gloves instead of winter ones, bore the marks of soil on each finger, a testament to her love for nurturing plants. The woman appeared to be around his age, her skin plump and her eyes sparkling like shiny coins. She captivated the poor adventurer with her beauty, snapping him out of his trance as she waved goodbye to a customer and the shop door chimed closed.

As he counted his coins, the chocolatier spotted the Shoeshine Boy cleaning his boots once again and reluctantly handed over yet another sovereign. At least the pumpkin was off his boot this time. “...six silver sovereigns in my pocket And a hatful of dreams”

[eatmangoesnekkid]

I want to be pristinely clear that while "The Melody of Love" critiques patriarchy, it doesn't promote the war or tension between sexes, this deep soul wounding, or encourage the de-centering of men. While I understand what women who participate in this movement are trying to do and I agree that there is a dire need for women to stop obsessing over men and generally become priorities in their lives, when you listen to those who promote this movement, there is a haunting hollowness of hidden, unaddressed hurt and pain at the root.

That's why the "de-centering men" movement would never be part of my mission. Far from it. I like to get to the root of the reality—which is deep in the body and not out there. And yes, you should be at the center of your reality, at the center of your universe, the "de-centering men" movement puts a wedge between men and women, instead of bringing us all together, including non-binary people. As usual, I find myself not being part of typical polarized ways of thinking, and more present in a nuanced 3rd lane which has been the case for most of my life. When the handy man comes over to work on my home, if I'm in that movement, I would not consider giving him some tea, juice, or water to quench his thirst. While this gesture from me is not necessary, it does show kindness to someone who enters your home and will feel thought of and move around your space with good vibes due to your hospitality. Such beautiful energy shared between two people and emitted out into an aching world.

Through my critiques, I am making a much larger point about the level of harm these systems-patriarchy, capitalism, and Abrahamic religion do to us because they live in our bodies. They cause breast pain, pelvic pain, back pain, pussy pain, period pain, blood clots, cysts, tumors, and the like. These systems ferment like sauerkraut into our breasts/hearts, hips, bellies, tailbones, and spines and impact our wellness like our moon cycles and experiences with menopause. They negatively influence how we breathe, how we think and perceive, how we make love, how we regenerate, the care and attention we cook a meal, and what we receive and attract. They trigger us to value production over getting a good quality of rest and not staying up late at night. These punitive systems do the work of keeping our nervous systems locked into flight or fight and survival states on a daily basis. Only healthy relaxed women engage the most openhearted passionate love and yield healthy families and healthy communities/villages.

But I don't just critique like an academic. I am rootsy, braless, barefoot, and revolutionary to my core, therefore, I channel practical solutions that lead readers towards healing their bodies and truly evolving their lives into bliss.

The melody of love movement is about deep spiritual repair and care: the strength and capacity of love, the truth of our soul and destiny, the intimacies and passion of the body meeting earth, and the regenerative qualities of the female body and how they favorably impact her quality of well-being and abundance. Essentially my work brings your body into a state of love that allows you to masterfully maneuver beyond these wicked systems as an embodiment of love, one of the highest frequency, a reclamation of your original sovereign template that taps you into the inexhaustible reservoir of energy that lives inside your female body, this spark of creation. After we build up our energy and increase our capacity, it is my vision that we will then lend our bodies over to being of service to something larger that favorably recalibrates our global world into greater harmony.

There is actually a deep yearning present inside my own heart to witness more men truly rise into a more healthy honorable expression of themselves on the planet. To de-center men, no matter what your sexuality may be, yields great harm to the feminine heart. I’m not sorry to say this but-- a real woman could never do that. She would die sorrowful...deeply heartbroken. -India Ame'ye, Author

[cremefrappe13]

Nightglow (Midnight Lily & New OC!)

(I decided to make this one short and sweet because I didn't have that much inspiration for Midnight Lily. She IS the most mysterious NeoBeast after all, and I hope I did her character justice in this little story! And as always, the Beast Ancients AU belongs to @cuppajj)

Silver Autumn hummed a soft, sad tune as she braided her queen’s hair, taking care of each silky and white strand as Midnight Lily kneeled in the moonlight, surrounded by other loyal Fae who were happily playing around her. Midnight Lily seemed more pensive than usual, noted Silver Autumn's quiet melody. The said NeoBeast was quieter and more docile, as Silver Autumn braided her hair and carefully combed through the soft strands. Each strand was like a singular, solitary beam of moonlight, a kind of moonlight that when seen, could cast a gentle and mysterious but sad glow in the night. 

However, quick as the breeze rippling through the surface of a lake, Silver Autumn noted her queen’s change in mood. Her own wings perked up once she noticed that Midnight Lily was more focused on listening to Silver Autumn's tune now. That shrewdness in her queen’s eyes… it was as if Midnight Lily was trying to discern the meaning behind Silver Autumn's humming, and the faerie was now scared that Midnight Lily herself did not like her subconscious habit.

So, she decided to pluck up the little amount of courage she had, and asked her Moonlight Sovereign about her opinion on her humming.

“My Lady, is my humming annoying you?”

“No, not at all, my dear child,” replied Midnight Lily in a gentle voice.

She continued, “Rather, I’d like to learn about that tune. What do you call it?”

Silver Autumn spoke quietly, “I like to call it ‘nightglow’. It’s a tune that was passed down from my family.”

Midnight Lily continued to listen to Silver Autumn talk about the tune as old as song… and when Silver Autumn finished braiding her hair, that was when the story ended. Midnight Lily was fascinated by this story, and turning Silver Autumn to face her, she spoke:

“Teach me.”

And teach her, Silver Autumn did. The same melody that was soft and quiet, was reproduced by Midnight Lily Cookie herself. Both of them… enjoyed it, the company of another for once soothing Midnight Lily’s internal anguish, while for Silver Autumn, it made her feel honoured to be able to teach her Silver Queen a melody that had been passed down through her family for generations. 

By the end of two weeks, Midnight Lily had fully mastered the short song, and their short friendship drew to a close, as Saint Vanilla in the end, had “purified” Honeyflower upon seeing her… attachment, to the young faerie cookie when visiting the Faerie Kingdom.

[crowandmousewritingco]

Pairing: Ezra x trans!reader

Words: 850

Rating: M (nothing explicit but dynamics implied)

Author: Mod Mouse

Summary: You are the center of attention at Ezra's gathering.

Notes: Thanks to @jennaispunk for reading it over!

The candles burn low in the intimate room casting shadows on the walls behind you. But you didn’t notice. You were looking ahead just like you were instructed to do. All you saw were the sparkles that danced on the floor from the multitudes of stars that graced the wall. Your dom had jumped on the idea of a celestial themed night at the club. 

The guests for tonight filed in one by one, escorted to their assigned seats by the attendant. Wine was poured and chattered filled the space as slowly each spot was taken. A soft music from a string quartet wafted through the room, giving a high class feel to the space. 

Once the last guest sat at their plate, the lights switched off sending soft murmurs throughout the crowd. All except for the spotlight on your figure. You were the center of attention for tonight. Legs spread to shoulder width, arms braced behind your back, and nude as the day you were born. Goosebumps prickled your skin as you waited patiently for your duty. 

Soft footsteps ascended the raised dais to where you stood as a soft applause rippled through the crowd. You could feel the presence of your dom standing next to you, and your fluttering heart calmed. The soft fabric of his suits brushing against your chilled skin. How you ached to nuzzle into his side like you could in some scenes, but this wasn’t one of them. He had the ropes tonight, and you were the canvas. 

“Welcome esteemed patrons! Thank you for joining us this twilight. Tonight we have a beautiful array of presentations for you. But first we must prepare the highlight of this carnal evening. So let’s not waste a singular moment. My ropes please.” Ezra spoke as another pair of footsteps came closer. 

The attendant set the rope in Ezra’s outstretched hands. “Thank you. Now maestros, a melody.” 

Soft violin music drifted through the space filling the ears of the attendants. A gentle touch on your shoulder alerting you to his orientation, but you kept your head down. His gloved hands caressed down to your shoulder blades and you instinctively lifted your arms. 

“Such a stunning specimen.” Ezra praised as he slid the rope around your chest, mindful of your scars. Slowly he pulled the two sides of the rope to your back. 

“Mercury takes its place as the sovereign planet keeping close to the warmth of the center of our cosmic asylum ” Ezra recited as he pulled the rope around your chest once again securing the line with the first loop.  

“Venus the next sphere. Brightest amongst her peers shines as a point of lust and love in the darkest of skies.” He continued as he pulled the rope through all three loops containing your torso in the intricate ties. 

His hands never leave your body as he takes his time moving in front of you. You dared take a peak at him and your stomach flushed with heat. Ezra appeared diving in his dark blue suit that glittered in the light from the intricate celestial embroidered sleeves. How you wanted to kneel for him. 

“The mother Earth that houses our great inventions, and keeps us grounded.” He pulled the rope over one shoulder securing it to the front loop before repeating the step with the other shoulder. 

“Mars that brings vengeance and scarlet across the horizon, and yet hope for the future of our kind.” He brought the rope back behind your back making sure everything was secure. 

Ezra returned to your back as he attached another rope to the other ropes. “Jupiter whirls as the storm in his soul, and commands the legions of moons as the army of the skies.” He pulled your arms back, joining them to the knots in your back ties. 

“Saturn with the rings as rich as any royalty's jewelry spinning at such incomprehensible speeds ” Adding a rope around your thigh and the other on your ankles.

“Uranaus and Neptune, the blue giants that are as frigid as their outward appearance.” A steel ring descended from the ceiling. Carefully he joined all three ropes on the ring making sure they were all tight. He turned his head and slowly the circle ascended pulling your body up slowly.

Your head dipped as the meditative sway of suspension took over your psyche. Gently you hung as the art piece you were designed to be. With one knee in the air as if you were kneeling, you drifted as the ropes subtle twisted and turned with the air. 

“Ethereal!” Ezra exclaimed as applause rippled through the room “I present my solar system!” Colorful globes descended and surrounded your form representing the mentioned planets. Lazily they orbited you in slow rotation. You were his sun and he wanted everyone to know that. 

Your eyes gazed down to Ezra as he watched his muse above him. Only adoration for you graced his features, and your heart fluttered in your chest. You closed your eyes once more as you fulfilled your duty to the night: Ezra’s chandelier.

Credit: @inklore

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[pinkseas]

my dealer: got some straight gas, this strain is called "sovereign of elegance" you'll be zonked out of your gourd

me: yeah whatever. i dont feel shit.

15 minutes later

me: the previous sovereign of elegance, glorier, had fiery red hair and won her title while wearing a black gown. she vanished 15 years ago, her last known location in the wishing woods. the same time frame that the other missing stylists were kidnapped by the paladins and locked up underground in the wishing woods. in the diary pages of an unknown stylist, the writer refers to the wish master as nothing more than a "puppet" of the dark, and remarks that they've been cruelly experimented on, their body tortured. "even bathing in this moonlight is a rare luxury." the banshee is only ever out at night, under the moonlight, but nobody save for you has actually encountered her clearly. those who might recognize her as glorier haven't ever seen the banshee themselves. the banshee refers to those she enthralls as her puppets, and there are multiple places where her body looks cracked and damaged, more like a porcelain doll than human skin. that same diary remarks that the writer has a daughter waiting at home, and that "even in this dire situation, i will never submit. the unyielding elegance within my resolute and noble soul is my last ace." a torn note found in the room where the humans were imprisoned states that the strongest were tortured and perished or disappeared, expressing a want to go home, written in a very similar manner to the way the banshee herself speaks at the end of your duel with her. if you fail, the banshee tells you to become her puppet and suffer alongside her. an imperfect victory mentions that memories are not enough. a brilliant stylist is rumored to have opened a realm that no one else has entered before, and some say that the most exceptional stylists might even create their own personal realms. cantore's poem states that should one be a fool, their soul will fall into "that bewildering realm" to become another puppet, ensnared for all eternity. "the bitter end awaits with no return, leading you into the heart of the night's abyss, where even the stars fade away." underground, those imprisoned stylists couldn't even see the stars. the reason they were locked up was to attempt to recreate the power of the aureum vase for chigda, who had made a deal with The Dark for eternal life. from him the power of the mutated vines returned, but he was not their original source, nor did they vanish when he was defeated without need for giroda's sacred power. those mutated vines bear great resemblance to the vines, thorns, and roses surrounding the banshee within the visuals of cantore's poem. the banshee wants her puppets to suffer with her, implying that she herself is already suffering. is she, too, a puppet of the dark? back then, could creating a realm have allowed her to escape? did something go wrong? did she, like giovanni, attempt to make a deal with the paladins or chigda, only for it to backfire? did she attempt to defeat chigda herself, only to become corrupt by the vines? if she was captured and held in the wishing woods and hails from florawish, why is it that the banshee now haunts the breezy meadow and shimmer pond specifically? igrainne forbade nonoy from investigating more about her past. the banshee chants a bewildering melody, not dissimilar to that melody of the wishing one from nonoy's music box, the one left with her by her birth mother. how much does igrainne know? was she worried for nonoy solely because of the nature of glorier's disappearance, or is there more to it? could the direct power of the wishful aurosa be enough to save the banshee? how much of her past life does the banshee remember? what am i missing?

my friend nikki pacing: how do i tell nonoy i need to fuck her mom

[dodorimo]

a twist of fate

Camgirl!Tav x Raphael snippet (yeah, you read that right). Haarlep makes an appearance, kind of.

Something I talked about on my priv and wanted to give it a shot. Let me know if you like it, or want it to continue ;)

· · ──────  ❊  ────── · · [23h10] hells-sovereign said: A breath of life in a deadened heart Your head a golden halo Neck the elegance of a swan Would that I could tether your soul to mine Two hearts beat as one

Eirin patiently waited for the text-to-speech to read the message to her, painting her toenails a teal blue color. She always painted them on camera, with her feet in plain view on top of a desk—one of her little weekly rituals, before the main attraction.

Really, poetry?

Did a kid wander into her stream? This wasn’t the 14th century and she wasn’t a wide-eyed teenager. There was nothing impressive about it. Hells, a computer could’ve done it.

Well, she wasn’t going to reprehend anyone’s child. She got enough on her plate as it is. Like keeping a steady grip on her nail clippers. For a $400 tip, she would do a lot more than just sit there for a minute and pretend to listen. Bless their father’s stolen credit card.

She gave the camera her best smile. The one that made hearts race and men forget what to say next—a skill that often came in handy in her line of work. “Well, for that amount, I think it’s only fair you get to decide what I’m going to use in this next part.”

She tilted her camera upward, the fabric of her pleated skirt rustling against the mattress. A collection of dildos decorated the shelves, contrasting sharply with her many stuffed toys. It wasn’t lacking for options to choose from. Rugged and long, small and curved, thick and straight as an arrow. She had them all.

“So, what do you choose?” As she waited, she tapped her chin lightly and pursed her lips; a little theater for her audience. A melodious beat hummed in the background, meant to soothe frazzled nerves.

hells-sovereign is typing…

The text on her screen flickered for a few seconds, then disappeared, only to come back later, this time with a loud beep noise.

[23h15] hells-sovereign said: he wants the biggest the red onr with the ridges

“He wants”? This text was full of typos and lacked the eloquence and carefully placed punctuation of their previous messages. She could see it now: two boys, aged twelve or eleven, hiding in an attic, each armed with a smartphone, snickering at the screen. One is a pretentious brat, the other is an insolent little urchin. Awesome. She tried not to grimace.

“As our sovereign commands.”

Good thing she unpacked her best lube for that day.

[wordsvomit101]

Obsidian Reverie

(??? years, ??? months, ??? days after His Majesty Leviathan received his name )

Amidst the enchanting ambiance of the Midnight Masquerade, an exquisite event held under the gentle light of the pure white twin moons, reminiscent of the legendary quiet goddess, Astrea, attendees are whisked away into a realm of unparalleled opulence and mystique.

Captivated by the allure of the evening, Glasyalabolas finds himself entranced by the ethereal atmosphere. The grand ballroom, adorned with towering marble pillars intricately carved with astrological motifs, emanates an aura of timeless elegance.

Bathed in the soft, moonlit glow that spills through stained glass windows and cascades from the sky above, the palace roof has been removed for this extraordinary occasion, allowing the eerie radiance to suffuse every corner of the room.

Scenes of ancient myths and legends are depicted in the intricate carvings adorning the pillars, their stories coming to life in the flickering torchlight. It is as if the very walls of the ballroom resonate with the echoes of a bygone era, transporting guests to a realm where fantasy and reality intertwine.

Guests, draped in luxurious fabrics of silk and velvet, don ornate masks that conceal their identities, transforming them into ethereal beings of mystery and allure. Each mask is a work of art, crafted with meticulous detail and embellished with feathers, jewels, and intricate filigree, adding to the air of intrigue that permeates the evening.

The flickering glow of glowing mantas and jellyfish swimming languidly as they cast dancing waves of shadows upon the polished marble floor, creating an enchanting backdrop for the swirling movements of the dancers. Soft strains of music fill the air, a haunting melody that seems to echo from another realm, beckoning guests to lose themselves in the intoxicating rhythm of the dance.

As the night unfolds, the Midnight Masquerade becomes a tapestry of secrets and desires, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, and the true nature of its inhabitants is revealed. In this realm of darkness and enchantment, anything is possible, and the masks they wear are but a reflection of the mysteries that lie within.

Dressed in opulent attire and adorned with a mask that concealed his true visage, Glasyalabolas moved with grace and poise, his dark gazes and commanding presence drawing the attention of all who beheld him. Yet, amidst the swirling crowd of guests, his eyes were fixed upon one figure alone—The devil of Envy and sovereign of Hades.

As Glasyalabolas, the towering figure of ambition and madness, approached Leviathan with a graceful stride, his demeanor regal yet infused with a hint of a wild charm. Bowing respectfully, he addressed the beautiful being standing alone as onlookers couldn't help to let their gazes wander to him and the wave of shock could be felt as they saw the figure of the tall devil, having the courage to dare to ask for what they wish for from their king. With the utmost deference, he extended his hand with a regal flourish, and a hush fell over the assembled throng.

"Your Majesty," Glasyalabolas began, his voice carrying a tone of veneration, "might I have the honor of sharing a dance with you this evening?"

His gaze, sharp as the edge of a blade, swept across the room, a silent challenge to all who dared to meet his eye. Yet, beneath his mask of confidence, there lurked a primal fear, a knowing sense of walking straight into the gaping mouth of a monster.

Leviathan regarded him with a cold and measured gaze, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of shadows. There was a silent pause, tension hanging in the air like a taut thread.

Glasyalabolas continued, his tone soft yet insistent, "It would be a pleasure to glide across the floor with you, Your Majesty, to the haunting melody of the tango. Shall we indulge in this moment of respite amidst the chaos of our realms?"

With a distant gaze, the beautiful devil's expression was still a perfect embodiment of indifference, "Very well," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as if granting a trivial request to a begging peasant.

Clad in robes of darkest obsidian with hints of royal violet, Leviathan moved with predatory grace, his every step a silent promise of retribution. Around him, the air seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly aura, a palpable reminder of his status.

Undeterred by Leviathan's aloof demeanor, Glasyalabolas pressed on, seeking to provoke a reaction from his king, "I must say, Your Majesty," he continued, his voice laced with a subtle challenge, "I have always been curious about the secrets that lie hidden within the depths of your kingdom. Tell me, what is it that drives you, that fuels your ambition?", before placing a small but worshiped kiss upon the strong gloved hand of the divine devil opposite of him.

As they came together upon the polished marble floor, the haunting melody of the waltz filled the air, a mournful lament that echoed the pain of ages past. The music, a symphony of longing and despair, wrapped around them like a shroud, enveloping them in its melancholy embrace.

Leviathan's response was brief and detached, his attention only half-hearted as he allowed Glasyalabolas to take the lead in the waltz.

"Ambition is a fool's errand," he remarked coldly as if directing at the devil he allowed to lead him, his silky smooth voice tinted with arrogance before gracefully answering the question beckoned by the noble, "Stability", he continued after finishing an elegant twirl, "is the foundation upon which Hades stands. The foundation that needs to be maintained, regardless of the challenges that may arise"

Their dance began with a delicate grace, each movement a testament to their otherworldly power and elegance. Glasyalabolas's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with hidden intent. "And what of those who would dare to challenge your authority?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you not fear the repercussions of their defiance?"

Their movements are like a symphony of grace and aggression, Glasyalabolas' hand on Leviathan's waist and his other guiding his king to his tempo. Leviathan's long coat floats behind him and with the light from the twin moon shining upon them, makes him shimmer like a thousand stars, glides across the ethereal void with the agility of a practiced ease. His dance is a mesmerizing spectacle, each step a ripple in the fabric of reality. His long limbs extend and retract in fluid undulations, creating hypnotic patterns that draw the eye inward into a vortex of wonder.

Leviathan continued to look upon him impassively, not bothering to waste his breath, looking down at Glasyalabolas despite their height differences.

Glasyalabolas, with his silver tongue and piercing gaze, sought to ensnare Leviathan in a web of intrigue and ambition, weaving a tapestry of manipulation and desire with each graceful step. Yet, beneath his facade of confidence, there is still lingered a primal excitement, a recognition of fear before the formidable force that stood before him.

But as the tempo quickened and the music soared to dizzying heights, a shift occurred, a subtle yet undeniable change in the fabric of their dance when Glasyalabolas dared to come closer.

Glasyalabolas's inquiry sliced through the air with calculated precision, his words carrying a subtle edge of curiosity. "Your Majesty," he began, his tone deceptively mild, "forgive my impertinence, but I cannot help but wonder of what happened that day, a spectacle upon the rift of the North of Hades"

Leviathan's gaze darkened at the mention of his past, a flicker of something indefinable crossing his features before he regained his composure, ready to continue to dismiss Glasyalabolas before another audacious question was asked, a glare marred on his gorgeous visage.

"What drove you to such depths? What horrors did you endure before claiming your throne?"

Leviathan's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, a warning simmering beneath his icy face, before an exquisitely cruel smile graced his lips, an elegant arch to his brow, with a soft inquire for a lowly devil before him, "So you seek to understand this King?"

Glasyalabolas felt a chill run down his spine as Leviathan's gaze bore into him with a steely intensity. It was as if he had crossed a line, delving into forbidden territory that should never have been breached. However, his curiosity only mounted higher, the allure of being able to know a side of Leviathan, it is both a threat and an offer that would kill him if he treks further.

But, in the pursuit of knowledge, only fools who are brave dare to venture into the darkness, for they know that it is in the depths of uncertainty that true understanding is found.

With an excited gulp, Glasyalabolas summoned his courage and approached the enchanting Leviathan, his facade of calmness strained but resolute.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice quivering with anticipation, "forgive my audacity, but I must know... What is the answer to my question?"

Leviathan regarded him with a cool detachment, his gaze piercing through Glasyalabolas's facade with unnerving precision.

"The answer?" he echoed, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, "Hmm, how about I let you have a taste then?"

Leviathan tightened his grip and seized the waist of the taller devil. With a steely gaze and a subtle shift in his movements, he seized control of the dance, his silent command rippling through the air like a ripple on a still pond. At that moment, Glasyalabolas realized the true extent of his folly, as the balance of power shifted inexorably in Leviathan's favor.

As Leviathan took control of the dance, Glasyalabolas couldn't shake the unsettling sensation of being ensnared in the coils of a giant serpent, his movements calculated and precise, each step a predatory strike. In his mind's eye, he was no longer the noble demon, but a mere raccoon, small and insignificant in the presence of such overwhelming power.

Leviathan's steps upon the marble floor became a haunting echo of a predator stalking its prey, a symphony of sinewy grace and raw power that left Glasyalabolas trembling in his wake. With each graceful twist and turn, he felt the weight of Leviathan's gaze bearing down upon him like the unblinking stare of a serpent tearing him down to his bone and squeezing every air he had in his organ.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the tumult, there lingered a strange kind of beauty, a twisted ballet of desire and despair that spoke to the depths of a shared agony. The echoes of their voices mingled with the haunting melody of the waltz, a cacophony of whispers and sighs that reverberated through the halls of eternity even fearing away the swimming mantas and jellyfish.

Glasyalabolas found himself swept up in the maelstrom of their dance, his senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of adrenaline and fear. It was as if he stood on the precipice of oblivion, teetering on the edge of some vast abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

However, the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, bringing his consciousness back to reality.

As they stood locked in a silent tableau, the music singing of the two figures bound together by fate and forged in the fires of eternity. However, instead of reveling in the romance of the moment, Leviathan carelessly dipped an exhausted and scared Glasyalabolas, a stark contrast to the beginning where Glasyalabolas had led the dance.

With a benevolent grace, yet a coldness that cut through the air like a blade, Leviathan smiled down at him, his eyes betraying none of the warmth that Glasyalabolas had hoped to find.

"Know your place," he intoned softly, his voice carrying the weight of authority and power.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the terror stirring in his mind, there was a perverse thrill, a perverse ecstasy that coursed through his veins like wildfire. For in the embrace of Leviathan's dark and commanding allure, Glasyalabolas found himself trembling not just with fear, but with a hunger and admiration that burned hotter than the flames of Hell itself for the devil above him.

[ryn-halo26]

Okay part 2 of the sovereign headcanons

P'Taxeck: Tal'Ris, wanna team up with Kir'Sha and S'Thenhin?

Tal'Ris: Uh- sure okay

L'Rhenn: Quit showing off your voice!!!!

G'Girehk: Everyone deserves to hear my melodious voice!!

Fel'Ees: I'm at the soup store, what clothes do you want

D'Deridahn: Excuse me, you are where

I mean, kinda already is

L'Rhenn: Hah, sovereign of dreams gets nightmares

N'Dellex: It falls under dreams so of course I have them!!!!!

Rak'Xit: L'Rhenn, check this out, portal to another plane of existence

L'Rhenn: Aite bet *jumps in*

Kir'Sha: S'Thenhin, what are you reading?

S'Thenhin: *aggressively clicks out of Ao3 tab* NOTHING

Tal'Ris: Maybe you should try something else.?

P'Taxeck: Fuck you! I can make my humans however I want!!

Z'Tinqin: Lafayette!

I'm taking this horse by the reins

Making redcoats redder with bloodstains

Lafayette!

And I'm never gonna stop until I make 'em drop

And burn 'em up and scatter the remains

I'm—Lafayette!

Watch me engaging 'em, escaping 'em, enraging 'em, ow

Use'Dia: Dude, shut up.

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Honoring Lugh: A Daily Dance with the Many-Skilled God

Lugh, the radiant Celtic god, pulsates with the energy of mastery in countless domains. From the fiery forge of the smith to the battlefield's clashing steel, from the whispered secrets of bards to the cunning of a trickster, Lugh embodies excellence in its most vibrant forms. If you feel called to connect with this multifaceted deity, you can weave his essence into the tapestry of your daily life, and establish a dedicated space for him on your altar.

1. The Forge of Skill

Lugh is the patron of crafts, his hands shaping both exquisite jewelry and formidable weapons. Dedicate time to honing a skill, be it wielding a paintbrush, coaxing melodies from an instrument, or nurturing a flourishing garden. Approach your practice with intention, for each step towards mastery is an offering to Lugh. Research techniques used by historical artisans, or experiment with new approaches, mirroring Lugh's own innovative spirit. 2. The Thrill of Competition

Lugh, the champion of warriors and athletes, thrives in the crucible of competition. Challenge yourself, be it through physical exertion in a sport or mental focus with a strategic game. Perhaps you train for a race, push yourself for that extra set of reps, or engage in a friendly board game night with loved ones. As you strive to outdo yourself or a worthy opponent, channel Lugh's competitive spirit, honoring his love of the contest. 3. The Mantle of Kingship: 

 Lugh, a sovereign god, embodies the qualities of a just and righteous ruler. Integrate these values into your daily interactions. Advocate for fairness, stand up for those who cannot defend themselves, and lead with integrity. Is there a cause you feel passionate about? Do you mentor someone less experienced? These are all ways to embody Lugh's kingly nature in your own sphere of influence. 4. The Spark of Innovation: 

 Faced with challenges, Lugh is renowned for his ingenious solutions. When confronted with a problem, don't be afraid to think outside the box. Research unconventional approaches, brainstorm with others, and trust your intuition. Perhaps Lugh will guide you towards a creative solution that surprises even yourself. 5. A Tapestry of Nature:  

Lugh is intricately linked to the summer months, the vibrant life force that bursts forth during this season. Savor the warmth of the sun on your skin, spend time tending a garden, or simply revel in the beauty of a blooming flower. As you connect with the natural world, acknowledge Lugh's presence in the cycle of growth, harvest, and renewal.

6. Sharpening the Mind's Edge: 

Lugh is a god of wisdom and eloquence. Engage in activities that stimulate your intellect. Devour captivating books, delve into philosophical discussions, or learn a new language. Challenge yourself with puzzles and riddles, keeping your mind sharp and ever-curious. By honing your intellect, you honor Lugh's keen mind and gift of gab. 7. Duality's Dance: 

Lugh is a god of both light and darkness, summer's warmth and winter's chill. Recognize the duality present in your own life. Embrace both your strengths and weaknesses, acknowledging the shadows alongside the light. During times of hardship, remember that Lugh navigates both darkness and light, and that even challenges hold the potential for growth. 8. A Life Ignited by Passion: 

Lugh approaches everything with unbridled enthusiasm. Infuse your own life with that same vibrant energy. Pursue your passions with dedication, celebrate your victories big and small, and find joy in the journey itself. Let your spirit soar with the same fervor that Lugh brings to every aspect of his existence.

Weaving Lugh into Your Altar Practice

Your altar can serve as a focal point for connecting with Lugh. Here are some ways to incorporate him: Symbols: 

Include items that represent Lugh's domains. A spear or sword honors his warrior nature, crafting tools reflect his skill as a craftsman, and a quill or book acknowledges his wisdom.

Colors: 

Gold and red resonate with Lugh's solar associations, while green reflects his connection to nature.

Offerings: 

During meditations or rituals dedicated to Lugh, consider offerings that reflect his diverse nature. Freshly baked bread or crafted objects honor his skill, while fruits and flowers connect him to the harvest.

Mantras or Chants: 

If you feel drawn to them, incorporate chants or mantras that praise Lugh's attributes or recount his myths.

By integrating these practices into your daily routine, you establish a connection with Lugh, the multifaceted Celtic god. Remember, this is a personal exploration. Discover what resonates most deeply with you, and weave Lugh's influence into the fabric of your life. As you do, you'll find yourself not just honoring him, but also cultivating the very skills and qualities that he embodies.