#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.

[colavoxi]

idk how to explain how perfectly hush encaptures "just because he speaks softly, does not mean he is kind."

i mean its very obvious isn't "kind" in the typical sense. from the beginning he has made no effort to hide how little regard he has for life. he has an unknown kill count but its easy to assume its more than enough to count him a serial killer.

the only reason many people forget that fact is because the story is told with doc as the listener and its very obvious that hush has become very attached to doc.

hush is well spoken and quiet and poetic and polite in certain terms of the word. but he is also cruel and goal driven to the extremes.

he only showed regret killing once and it was with vega and then even than it was only because of how ancient vega is. he's been confirmed to be the second ever formed demon and that was the only reason hush panicked after killing him. even before that he initially thought it was aligned with his purpose.

he's made it clear if necessary he would even kill avior, who he (also) has made clear that he cares about very much.

hush is super complex and i really do love it and i hate when people reduce him only to

a. clueless and bumbling

or

b. scary and murderous

because the interesting thing about him is that there is a healthy (or unhealthy!) combination of both. yes he has little regard for most things and is shown to be cruel if he thinks its required, but he is also shown to not understand even basic human things such as hugs or kisses!

his knowledge is very limited but very vast in other regards.

i got a bit off topic at some point i think but im thinking about hush today

[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

[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.

[meowdei]

Genshin!Sylus being a pyro sovereign reincarnation and not understanding certain human things like Neuvillette 🥹 I mean these things already canon in a sense but still. STILL! Not understanding what the purpose of music is or being able to recognize a melody, not being able to appreciate flavors and spices properly bc he can’t taste, not being able to understand the beauty in patterns and why humans dress the way they do or design the things they do with colors and stuff 🥹 oh my baby 🥹

[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.

[grimwalkerism]

Do Perfect Beings Like Classic Rock?

[Platonic/romantic Quillock ficlet because Peter deserves love and Adam deserves to learn what that is. Ouughh.]

The Star-Lord, Peter Quill, comes back ever so often. Adam assumed he had left entirely, he would know the importance of blood family bonds, but he came back rather shortly, at least for the Sovereign’s lifespan. He says just because the leadership had changed hands didn’t make the Guardians any less family to each-other. Peter visits Knowhere every few moons, for “holidays” (A Terran thing?) he had said, often regaling what sounded like a pleasantly mundane lifestyle and then promptly swinging right into action with the others.

The music comes back in full force when Quill is visiting. Rocket plays it plenty even though he’d never admit how much he likes it, but Quill? He lives and breathes it. Adam believes he has grown fond of it, mostly. It was preferable to silence. Adam thought much of it was frivolous. How could something as small as the device in his pocket and the music within it be of equal worth to his life? Terrans are exceedingly strange, he decides.

More curious to him than the device, or the sounds, though, was how much unbridled joy Quill got from listening to essentially the same few dozen songs on repeat. He hummed them in the kitchen while slapping the “coffee”(?) machine that Rocket had begrudgingly helped Peter figure out and build. He twirled his blasters to a beat only he could hear, tinny notes seeping through headphones hidden under brown curls. He mumbled familiar melodies with his hands steady on the ships controls, fingers tapping to the songs playing over the aircraft’s speakers. He skipped and spun as he walked through the ships halls on good days, soft notes coming from the device on his waist.

It was infectious, he admits, even if he can’t fully grasp it. Adam has known joy and intrigue, most definitely, but Peter’s is different. It demands observation, so Adam does.

Quill is crashing around in the kitchen, the clocks reading early morning. Adam had been up for hours, but that was because sleep was unnecessary. He chose instead to observe the cosmos, drifting past through the windows of the Bowie.

His hearing was excellent, as was the rest of him, so he could very quickly tell a few things: Quill was making coffee. He was listening to his music, of course. Specifically the cassette tucked in his belt, louder and lacking the tinny whispers of his earphones. His boots tapped in rhythm, the metal of the jets clinking against the floor on and off. Adam found that he wasn’t annoyed by the disruption of peace. Perhaps it was improper to tolerate such clamoring when one is living in close quarters at an early hour. The warm smell of the drink wafted from the small kitchen out into the windowed common area where Adam stood and Adam did not feel accosted like he had in the past. He had found the pungent bittersweet aroma indelicate for a perfect being such as himself. Perhaps time with the crew and the visiting of so many places had changed him more than he thought. Perhaps the familiarity of Quill became warm after his absences somewhere down the line. It was simply the nostalgia now tied to his origins with the Guardians. The stars glinted at him, twinkling with mirth. He glared back.

The music got louder as Peter entered the common room, mug in hand, checking drawers for something. He was singing to himself. He never really did that, he just did

everything else to express his love for the music. It was obvious why he abstained, his tune was atrocious and his voice was raspy, but there was something about the clumsy fondness in which he followed along that touched something within him. A piece of understanding. Adam remained still, feeling perfectly comfortable to calmly listen. Drawers opened and closed noisily until Peter let out a barked laugh of victory. Interest piqued, Adam turned around.

Peter was clad in a long-sleeved shirt that had some Terran art form picture on its front, hugging his form and tucked into sweatpants that hung from his hips. He had his boots on, for some reason. If the smears of grease and the tucked earpieces of his mask nestled behind his ears had anything to say about it, he had likely been woken up by a rock hitting something loose and given up on returning to sleep. The man was holding up a spoon triumphantly in his hand, mug now sat delicately on the table below.

They locked eyes.

Peter yelps, dropping the spoon with a clatter, and jumps so bad he triggers a jet on his boot for a split second and thuds with a grunted “-ompf” into the wall behind him, miraculously not falling over entirely.

Regaining his balance, Quill picks up the spoon. “ADAM- You CANNOT keep doing that man—“ He paused to gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m gonna go into cardiac arrest if you don’t stop acting like a haunted statue.”

“Apologies, I was observing the stars.”

“Cool cool, how uh- how long have you been here?”

“Since late in the evening.”

“Dude… Did you- DO you sleep?“ He paused, hand going to rub the back of his neck, where a red flush had appeared, splotchy and faint. “Like at all? Besides the like, birth pod cocoon thing?”

“…I suppose I could if I wished to. I don’t, though. Why would I miss an opportunity for gaining knowledge?”

Quill sighed, but it didn’t seem hostile.

“You really are a perfect specimen, golden boy. Do you drink coffee? Can you drink things? Have we even seen you do that—?“ He rambled, trailing off and clearing his throat, studiously returning to stirring his coffee.

“It is the same with sustenance. I do not require it, but I indulge. Drax has given me some... ‘Zorg-Nuts’ I think, and they are quite nice.”

Star-lord shoots him a tired look behind mussed up locks.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, and when Adam nods he continues, “Zarg-Nuts, Drax loves them. Genuinely don’t know where he keeps getting them, though.” He shrugs, looping around and waltzing blearily back into the kitchen to fetch another mug, music fading with him. Adam, inexplicably, follows.

“Do you know all of the words to all of your songs?” The Sovereign asks after a beat of silence. Peter’s face scrunches up and the red flush returns.

“Uh- you know? Probably. Sorry you had the hear my melodious voice this early.”

“Its not melodious,” Adam states bluntly, and Peter winces.

“Yee-owch. Let a man have his morning coffee before y—“ he was cut off as Adam continued.

“But it is joyful. Such expression is not common to the Sovereign race. I wish I knew more about it.”

Quill’s mouth closed with a soft click and his eyes changed, softened. It was too subtle, too human, for Adam to fully read. He passed him a steaming mug. “It’s still hot, and its bitter, but you can add cream or sugar to make it less.” He nodded his head toward a handful of packets on the counter next to the machine. Adam raises the mug to his lips and takes a cautionary sip. His nose scrunches at the taste and Peter huffs out a laugh faintly audible above the cassette and hands Adam the packets.

Once Adams drink is doctored to his liking, Quill takes another silent sip of his own before peering over the rim at him. “Joyful, huh. I guess you could say so. Have you felt good here with us? I can’t imagine they’re drinking out of chipped mugs in your golden palaces.”

Adam hums thoughtfully. “I suppose not, but they don’t sing either. I like it here better, despite the… Shabbiness.” He finishes, golden fingers clasped around the mug.

The look on Peter’s face is back again, for a second, and the healthy flush of his cheeks is painfully, imperfectly, real. Nothing like the body of his own, flowing with synthetic ichor.

“Thanks, I guess.” Theres a soft noise as he sets down his finished drink on the counter. “I’ve got a loose panel to get back to. Don’t cramp your godly hammies standing there forever. “ He clicks his tongue and fires finger guns at him as he leaves, clicking his music up a few notches in volume.

Adam has the song in his head for the rest of the day.

—

And heres it posted on AO3.

(my rivals user is toyboxes)

[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.

[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”

[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.

[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

[maxksx]

The psychotic is an architect of absence, a mason of the void, compelled by the spectral whispers of an Other that does not exist. Where language fractures—its grammar corroded, its signifiers adrift—the psychotic hears not silence but *command*. The voices that plague them are not mere hallucinations but imperatives from a phantom sovereign, an Other conjured from the raw static of the Real to demand reparation. This is no passive affliction but a vocation: to rebuild the shattered edifice of the social link, brick by delusional brick, in a world where the Symbolic has defaulted on its contract. The psychotic does not flee the defect in language; they *inhabit* it, becoming both symptom and surgeon, patient and prophet.

Autism, by contrast, is a silence without echo. The autistic subject has not merely rejected the Other—they have *evacuated* it, leaving behind a fortress of solitude where the social link does not even register as loss. There are no voices here, no spectral injunctions, only the hum of a closed system, a syntax turned inward. If the psychotic is haunted by the Other’s absence, the autistic is its absolute negation—a sovereign of the void, untroubled by the demand to repair what was never whole. The autistic does not hallucinate coherence because they refuse the very fiction of a social bond. Theirs is a heresy of indifference, a jouissance that needs no audience, no shared grammar, no Other to witness its pulse.

But the psychotic—ah, the psychotic is a martyr to the social. Their delusion is a *gift* to the world, however unwelcome. Schreber, prostrate before his divine persecution, weaving a cosmology from the scraps of a foreclosed Symbolic; Joyce, dismantling English into a private pidgin of puns and portmanteaus; even the paranoiac scribbling manifestos in a basement—all are laborers in the quarry of the Real, hewing new structures from the bedrock of collapse. The voices that drive them are not madness but *mission*: to suture the wound in the Symbolic with the thread of their own making. Their delusion is a *sinthome* elevated to civic duty, a mad utopia where the social link is reinvented as a hall of mirrors, reflecting only the singular logic of their jouissance.

This is the cruel irony: the psychotic, condemned by the world as broken, is its unwitting repairman. Where autism abandons the social to its entropy, the psychotic *insists* on its salvage, even if the blueprint is illegible to all but themselves. Their auditory hallucinations are not breakdowns but *blueprints*—a cacophony of orders from an Other who exists only in the negative space of language’s failure. To hear voices is to be interpellated by the void, deputized as the architect of a new regime. The psychotic does not merely endure the Real; they *enlist* it, drafting their delusion as a constitution for a nation of one.

Jungle music, in its own way, is a psychosis of sound. The genre’s frenzied breaks and destabilized rhythms are not a rejection of structure but a *reconstruction*—a new social link forged in the crucible of sonic collapse. The DJ, slicing and dicing amen breaks, is a psychotic cartographer, mapping a territory where the old laws of melody and meter no longer apply. The rave, that temporary autonomous zone, becomes a delusional democracy: a society convened under the rule of the breakbeat, its citizens bound not by language but by the shared jouissance of the drop. Here, the defect in the Symbolic is not a flaw but a *feature*—a fissure through which the Real erupts as rhythm, as collective catharsis.

Cyberculture’s glitch aesthetics follow suit. The corrupted file, the pixelated artifact, the infinite scroll—these are not errors but *edicts* from the digital Real, demanding new protocols for connection. The autistic coder, scripting in the solitude of their terminal, and the psychotic hacker, possessed by the chatter of rogue algorithms, are two faces of the same coin. One builds fortresses in the void; the other tunnels into the heart of the Symbolic, planting bombs of noise in its sterile corridors. Both are heretics, but where the autistic refuses the social contract, the psychotic *rewrites* it—in lines of code, in bursts of static, in the fever-dream logic of a world unmoored.

To be psychotic is to be tasked with the impossible: to speak the unspeakable, to bind the unbound. It is a vocation of radical responsibility, where the subject becomes both sacrifice and savior, tormented by the very void they are compelled to fill. The voices that command them are the echoes of the Symbolic’s collapse—a siren song from the edge of meaning, urging them to build anew from the debris. The sinthome, in this light, is not a private refuge but a *public service*—a lighthouse erected in the storm of the Real, its beam visible only to those who dare to navigate the void.

The psychotic’s tragedy—and their triumph—is that they alone hear the call to rebuild. While the world sleeps in the shroud of the Symbolic, they are awake in the Real, drafting manifestos in the dark. Their delusion is the price of vision, their voices the tax levied by the abyss. To dismiss them as mad is to miss the point entirely: they are the only sane ones in a derelict world, the last architects standing in the ruins of Babel.

[caustic-keres]

ℰncore, encore!! The show must go on..

[pt: Encore, encore! The show must go on!]

*Pt version found under cut

Credits to @bernardsbendystraws for the music banner <3

Music themed NPT set~

𝒩ames: Aria ˒ Cadence ˒ Melody ˒ Coda ˒ Octavia ˒ Elise ˒ Vesper ˒ Belle ˒ Harper ˒ Valkry / Valkrie ˒ Muse ˒ Wren ˒ Robin ˒ Diana ˒ Mélodie ˒ Carolle ˒ Apollo ˒ Arya ˒ Amadeus ˒ Piper ˒ Sera ˒ Cecelia ˒ Grace ˒ Marley ˒ Emit ˒ Dylan ˒ Mac ˒ Muse ˒ Rivers ˒ Milo ˒ Onyx ˒ Harley ˒ Shane ˒ Malcolm 𓈒

*As always, use at your own risk. Multiple names are directly from songs, feel free to ask!

𝒫ronouns: Musi ﾉ Music ˒ Song ﾉ Songs ˒ Note ﾉ Noteself ˒ Play ﾉ Plays , Disc ﾉ Discs ˒ Tune ﾉ Tunes ˒ Voca ﾉ Vocal ˒ Punk ﾉ Punks ˒ Rock ﾉ Rocks ˒ H♪ ﾉ Sh♪ ﾉ Th♪y ˒ Hip ﾉ Hop ﾉ Hiphopself ˒ Cla ﾉ Classical ˒ Melo ﾉ Melody ˒ 🎶 ﾉ 🎶s ˒ 💿 ﾉ 💿s ˒ 🎤 ﾉ 🎤s ˒ 🎸 ﾉ 🎸s ˒ 🎹 ﾉ 🎹s ˒ 🎼 ﾉ 🎼s ˒ Bass ﾉ Basself 𓈒

*Your Excellency humbly recommends you look at this post for a definitive list of music pronouns. I had thought of some of the ones included myself, but it seemed my list was too short to do as many as I could come up with. This is an excellent alternative!

𝒯itles: The Passionate Pianist ˒ The Musical One ˒ The Orchestrator ˒ The Singing Idol ˒ The One who Serenades ˒ The Crowned Conductor ˒ The Maestro ˒ The Nobleman's Minstrel ˒ [Prn] who Ballads ˒ The Sovereign Songbird ˒ [prns or names] Praiseworthy Piper ˒ [Prn] who Sings on the Grand Stage ˒ etc...

Adjectives may be filled as you see fit. Examples include "Cute", "Talented", "Holy", "Regal", "Gorgeous", etc.

Requested by @no-chances-left <3 As always, if you would like another set or if anything is not to your liking, you are free to request repeatedly!

If you were looking for a specific genre, please specify that! I've gone with a far more general theme of music, which means lots of classical themes. I've also thrown in pop-and-rock inspired names, with a few other names I could find that didn't seem too out of place.

Names: Aria, Cadence, Melody, Coda, Octavia, Elise, Vesper, Belle, Harper, Valkry/Valkrie, Muse, Wren, Robin, Diana, Mélodie, Carolle, Apollo, Arya, Amadeus, Piper, Sera, Cecelia, Grace, Marley, Emit, Dylan, Mac, Muse, Rivers, Milo, Onyx, Harley, Shane, Malcolm.

*As always, use at your own risk. Multiple names are directly from songs, feel free to ask!

Pronouns: Musi/Music, Song/Songs, Note/Noteself, Play/Plays, Disc/Discs, Tune/Tunes, Voca/Vocal, Punk/Punks, Rock/Rocks, H♪/Sh♪/Th♪y, Hip/Hop/Hiphopself, Cla/Classical, Melo/Melody, 🎶/🎶s, 💿/💿s , 🎤/🎤s, 🎸/🎸s, 🎹/🎹s, 🎼/🎼s, Bass/Basself.

*Your Excellency humbly recommends you look at this post for a definitive list of music pronouns. I had thought of some of the ones included myself, but it seemed my list was too short to do as many as I could come up with. This is an excellent alternative!

Titles: The Passionate Pianist, The Musical One, The Orchestrator, The Singing Idol, The One who Serenades, The Crowned Conductor, The Maestro, The Nobleman's Minstrel, [Prn] who Ballads, The Sovereign Songbird, [prns or names] Praiseworthy Piper, [Prn] who Sings on the Grand Stage, etc...

Adjectives may be filled as you see fit. Examples include "Cute", "Talented", "Holy", "Regal", "Gorgeous", etc.

Requested by @no-chances-left <3 As always, if you would like another set or if anything is not to your liking, you are free to request repeatedly!

If you were looking for a specific genre, please specify that! I've gone with a far more general theme of music, which means lots of classical themes. I've also thrown in pop-and-rock inspired names, with a few other names I could find that didn't seem too out of place.

*Note: Our spoons are low :( If there are typos or mistakes, please gently remind us and I will fix it as soon as possible. I hope you enjoy regardless!

[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

[who0se-bad-idea-was-this]

—Meet the resident messes!

Please bear with any spelling or grammer issues, this has not been proofread. It is in progress and is still missing an OC

if you are a riordanverse blog who has received interaction from here, it is because of a side blog attatched to this one. @tnt-tr1o

-Wraith/OP

Rules

Please, no godmodding or forcing anything

Please be patient, I'm a busy student

No NSFW, it doesn't make my uncomfortable or anything I just can't RP it

Just basic decency, that's all I ask

Open communication. If you don't like anything I'm doing, please tell me and if I don't like anything you do I'll tell you. If you feel like you're bored and don't want to RP I'd feel better of you told me instead of forcing yourself or leaving me on read. I won't get offended and I hope you don't either.

RP

I'm always open to interactions, don't be shy! If you want to have a specific interaction or relationship with my ocs let me know! When it comes to love interests I have some biases towards certain canon characters but it likely will not effect. I'm multi ship (the ships for my muses will most likely be counted as different universes)

Additional Tags

Writing/oneshots(?)

Final lullaby — POV: Brighella/Loki

AU things

(Genshin Impact)

Morgenzon

A fallen kingdom. The nation of Umbro, formerly ruled by Zepar, the god of dreams and nightmares. Inspired by Netherlands.

Umbro

The eight element. It is not of the light realm. A truth lost to time states that during the era of the Dragon Sovereigns a small seed from the abyss slipped into the light realm. A dragon found it and though an unknown method, refined it in a way that it could be wielded the same way as the other seven elements. That dragon would become the first Umbro dragon sovereign. As of post Khaenri'ah-Morgenzon cataclysm, Umbro has faded back into the Abyss.

Ahriman

A once mighty race born of Umbro. They were created by the Umbro Dragon Sovereign. When Celestia took over, they fell apart. Without the Umbro Dragon to give their shadows shape, all Ahriman born afterwards were deformed and horrendous looking in the way only abyssal creatures could be. Their eyes were said to make you relive your worst memories. Even parents could not stand the sight of their own children which led to all Ahriman being abandoned during infancy. As of present day, only two Ahriman remain: Loki/Brighella and Nymira. The most notable Ahriman is Zepar, the former Archon.

(Honkai Star Rail)

Katicans

[I am aware they are cannon but we know next to nothing so my interpretation will be filled with headcannons]

A bloodthirsty tribe of warriors and warlords in Sigonia they value strength above all. They look mostly human with slightly non human characteristics such as fangs. They worship a war like aspect of Gaiathra Triclops.

Morticians

The morticians of Sigonia are an isolated tribe. They live and wander aimlessly through the sands, other tribes tend to avoid them due to their eerieness but no funeral rite is complete without a member from this tribe present. They believe that Gaiathra is the guide and the keeper of the afterlife where souls rest in peace.

You just need to answer the questions I give you, no need to be difficult about it -Wraith/OP

GENSHIN IMPACT

Name?

Veerle… but you already knew that?

Gender & Pronouns

Um, I'm female. And I use she/her

Sexuality?

My sexuality…? Uh… I don't know…

Affiliation?

I don't have a specific affiliation. The Knights and the wolves I suppose. Or really anybody who is my friend.

Vision?

Anemo. I got it when I was six.

VOICE

Melody Muze (English)

TAG

—Reanimated Starlight

APPEARANCE & PERSONALITY TYPE/D&D ALIGNMENT

Veerle had dark skin with silvery white freckles. She had wavy snow-white hair ended choppily just above her shoulders. Her eyes were sea green. Two fluffy wolf ears poked out the top of her head with a matching wolf tail to go with it. Two dark magenta horns that were slightly smaller than her wolf ears rose out of her forehead. She had a large scar going across her face, from just above her left eyebrow to across her face to the lower half of her right cheek. A smaller, thinner scar went across her lips. She wore plain but practical clothes though they were often a little dirty and ragged. Her personality/MBTI type is ISFP and her D&D alignment is neutral good.

ABOUT VEERLE

Brighella:

I ask that you be patient with her, ever since I brought her back as a puppet her emotional functioning is… questionable. She struggles to understand and process emotions, both others and her own, though she does make an effort regardless. Should she come to you for help, I ask you to make an effort to help her understand.

Lena:

She's my sister, that gives her an advantage, makes it easier for me to trust her.

Diederik:

Veerle? She's alive…? But how?

Nymira:

The wolf girl? Brighella once paid me to accompany her on a trip to ensure her safety. She has a good heart but her lack of self awareness is going to get her in trouble someday.

Kito:

She's a bionic puppet. Her father went to great lengths to preserve her consciousness and make her a new body after she died.

Name?

Oh I don't really care what you call me, I've had far too many names. The Wolf is fine, Brighella too. Loki, I reserve for friends and family.

Gender & Pronouns?

Genderfluid. My pronouns usually adhere to my gender but I don't particularly care

Sexuality?

What was that word again… ah yes, Androsexual

Affiliation?

Her majesty The Tsaritsa has my utmost loyalty and devotion. Anybody who takes precedence…? My children I suppose.

Vision?

I don't have one and I prefer to keep it that way. Visions are a form of recognition by Celestia and the last thing I want is to have their gaze on me. The thing around my neck is a counterfeit, I use a cryo delusion. My curse allows me to use it as freely as a vision.

BONUS:

legally adopted children:

Lyney, Lynette, Freminet, Lena, children of the House of the Hearth, Veerle, Diederik

unofficially adopted children:

Childe, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Hu Tao, Xiao, Bosacius, Indarias, Bonanus, Menogias, the other Yakshas, Kito, Razor

your ocs can be adopted too! (They probably will be lmao)

APPEARANCE & PERSONALITY TYPE/D&D ALIGNMENT

Loki had androgynous features and short sandy blonde hair that faded into ginger at the ends. They had sandy blonde cat ears and tail. They had tanned, freckled skin. Their eyes were unique. The top half of their right eye was sea green while the bottom half was purple. The top half of their left eye was golden and the bottom half was magenta. Their pupils were in the shape and color of a red x. Two pointed, elf like ears were faintly visible through his hair. He had a scar next to his lips and one going around his throat. The latter he usually keeps hidden. He dressed extravagantly in varying styles though there were usually three constants: His Fatui mask, long mechanical claws attatched to rings and a top hat. His MBTI type is either ENTP or ENFP and his alignment is chaotic neutral.

W.I.P drawing below. Made using a base by @/mellon-soup

VOICE

For male Loki, Camden Sutkowski & for female Loki, Arryn Zech (Black Swan from hsr's VA)

TAG

—Blinding Farce

ABOUT LOKI

Veerle:

It's… complicated. He's so different from what I remember or was he like this the whole time and i idolized him too much too notice… Still, I know he cares about me very much, I just wish he would be nicer to other people and not just because I asked him to be.

Lena:

I owe Mother everything. Don't tell him I said that, he hates it when I make it sound like I owe him something for adopting me. But I do. He took me in, raised me, cared for me, taught me to fight. I don't care what you think of him, I won't tolerate anybody who speaks bad about him.

Diederik:

Ma? She's very… different now. But I can hardly blame her. It must have been a long five hundred years. I still remember the look on her face as he stood in the ruins… [sigh] she was borderline unresponsive back then.

Nymira:

Ugh… Brighella. He's just an apathetic hedonist with no desire to live. He's so focused on his curse and what he will loose than what he does have now, and that's what makes him so insufferable to me.

Kito:

Loki? Oh he's quite fun to be around and he's respectful of my preference towards neutrality. I think he sees me as one of his children though… Not that I mind

Name?

Lena

Gender & Pronouns?

Female. She/her.

Sexuality?

Demiromantic, I think. Any gender.

Affiliation?

My family always comes first.

Vision?

Electro, it has it's uses.

APPEARANCE & PERSONALITY TYPE/D&D ALIGNMENT

Lena had short, spiky dark magenta hair that framed her face and amethyst-colored eyes. She had fair skin and was lean built but fairly muscled. Her hands were rough with callouses and a variety of scars, small and large decorated her skin. She usually dressed simply and practically in outfits that were both good for fighting and toying with mechanics. Her MBTI type is ISTP and her D&D alignment is chaotic neutral.

VOICE

Molly Zhang

TAG

—Unyielding Lightning

ABOUT LENA

Veerle:

She isn't afraid to speak her mind, that makes it easier for me. She's pleasant enough to me and our other siblings just a little unintentionally insensitive.

Loki:

Lena might have a thorny exterior but she has a good heart deep down. She's loyal, hardworking, efficient and a lovely older sister to her siblings

Diederik:

I met Lena once in the Abyss when she was a child. She was… prickly to say the least. Refused to trust a thing anybody said or did. Last I heard, Skirk took her on as an apprentice.

Nymira:

Rude but smart and honest. Perhaps too honest. We might have gotten along fine if she wasn't such a mama's girl, Brighella isn't all that. Then again she has an odd obsession with getting stronger and picking fights like that weird ginger Harbinger.

Kito:

Met her once when visiting Loki. She was pretty cold. Stopped giving me death glares when Loki vouched for me but she was still fairly distant. She has a talent for making, fixing and breaking mechanics.

Name?

Diederik, at your service… And I mean that metaphorically not literally, I'd rather not work when I can sleep.

Gender & Pronouns?

Male, he/him

Sexuality?

Mmm, I don't really know. I never bothered exploring it too much…

Affiliation?

That's a bit of a tricky one… Usually I'd say Morgenzon but that doesn't really exist anymore. So I suppose my remaining friends and family?

Vision?

Visions are the work of the usurper, none needed when you're a dragon sovereign

APPEARANCE & PERSONALITY TYPE/D&D ALIGNMENT

Diederik had light brown skin with white freckles. His draconic eyes were orange-gold with draconic slitted pupils. His ears were long and pointed, like an elf. His hair was black with magenta ends. Patches of black dragon like scales decorated his skin. His clawed hands were black at the ends with dark magenta patterns. Out of his forehead came idential magenta, draconic horns. His outfits were a mixture of simple and extravagant, though they wee no doubt expensive and fit for a prince. His personality/MBTI type is INFJ and his alignment is neutral good.

VOICE

Nicholas Leung

TAG

—Fallen Prince of Night

ABOUT DIEDERIK

Veerle:

It's been a very long time since I've seen him… My memories are fuzzy but I know he was a good big brother, likely still is. He's the one who created and gave me my crow

Loki:

Admittedly, most of my children have far better morals than I do-though the bar is fairly low. Diederik sealed himself away in the Abyss to fight against his erosion so he doesn't hurt anybody [sigh] though his sanity is still mostly intact he very rarely leaves. I can barely remember the last time we talked.

Lena:

I met him once in the Abyss. Looking back, he likely had good intentions but I was too rattled to even consider listening.

Nymira:

Brighella's kid, hm? Don't know him but he's likely just like the rest.

Kito:

He's nice enough. I know I met him a few times as a hatchling but I was too young to remember him. He owes the Hexenzirkel a few favours because they created his seal. For now he can come and go between the Abyss and the real world as he pleases but once his curse takes over, he'll he stuck. If he manages to break through the cage, then it's a celestial nail dropped on him.

Name?

Nymira is a borrowed name, but as of now it's what I prefer going by.

Gender & Pronouns?

My gender fluctuates but stays on the female spectrum. So she or they.

Sexuality?

Lesbian

Affiliation?

Myself. And I suppose whoever pays me, though that's only a temporary thing until the job is done.

Vision?

Hydro vision. Not sure why or how I got it but I'm not complaining. I may be blind but with my hydro vision I can see better than I could when my eyes were intact.

APPEARANCE & PERSONALITY TYPE/D&D ALIGNMENT

Nymira was an elegant figure with dark brown skin. She wore her dark hair in a a elaborate crown braid with sharp bangs and a longer braid going down her back. Her eyes were covered with a royal blue blindfold with white patterns and gold embroidery. Her outfits usually followed the colour scheme of her blindfold. She usually has a snake with golden scales on her. Her personality/MBTI type is ESTP and she's chaotic neutral.

VOICE

AmaLee

TAG

—Spider in the Shadows

ABOUT NYMIRA

Veerle:

We travelled together for a short time. She was helpful enough but for some reason I got the sense that she didn't like me all that much

Loki:

When I found out I wasn't the last Ahriman and that I had a sister, I was ecstatic. Ofcourse, my hopes were crushed when I couldn't find her. And then two thousand years later, long after I stopped searching, I did. Ofcourse I didn't account for the fact that she was snarky and a tad hostile at best.

Lena:

Don't know her well, don't care to know her well. She helps the House of Hearth get information from time to time. But she and Mother always end up fighting which raises her price drastically. That's why we usually let Father deal with her. Still, she is a formidable opponent… maybe I should challenge her to duel…

Diederik:

Sorry, who?

Kito:

Nymira seems pretty determined to not get along with me because of my friendship with Loki. I suppose there's just some people you can't please.

Name?

I call myself Kito

Gender & Pronouns?

Male, he/him

Sexuality?

I'm Biseuxal with a preference for males

Affiliation?

Affiliation? Why must everybody have to take sides? Life is short, why waste it arguing, we should live it to the fullest! Though… I do often run errands for the Hexenzirkel. Mostly for my mothers.

Vision?

No vision here, Rhine- er, mother created me with electro inbuilt.

APPEARANCE & PERSONALITY TYPE/D&D ALIGNMENT

Kito had somewhat too pale skin with dark indigo, almost black hair in a slightly tousled style His eyes were a piercing light magenta with draconic slits for pupils. He had slightly pointed ears. He usually donned this appearance as it was more human. His personality/MBTI type is ENTP and his alignment is chaotic/true neutral

VOICE

Howard Wang

TAG

—Subtle Storm

ABOUT KITO

Veerle:

I know him through Klee and Albedo, he's their older brother. But with the way they act, you'd think Albedo was the oldest. Master Jean doesn't allow him to be with Klee without supervision because they blew up a few mountains.

Brighella:

Kito likes staying out of most conflicts and he's firm about it. He has friends nearly everywhere, including in the Fatui. He gets along best with me, Childe and Dottore. You just cannot leave him in the same room with Scaramouche though

Lena:

I don't particularly care for him but if Mother and Ajax like him then I see little reason to mistrust him.

Diederik:

I've known him since he was a kid. Rhinedottir found his egg, he was nearly dead when he hatched. She saved him, had to patch certain parts of him with Khemia and imbue him with abyssal energy. What I cannot understand is that he seems relatively unconcerned about the fact that he may loose his mind one day.

Nymira:

Met him, don't really care about him. He's Loki's friend and practically penniless.

HONKAI STAR RAIL

Name?

Sabre. No you are not getting my real one.

Gender & Pronouns

Female, she/her

Sexuality?

I never gave it much thought, I suppose men and women are both attractive though

Affiliation?

The Nameless.

Path?

The Trailblaze, obviously [In-game path: Destruction]

VOICE

Skirk from Genshin Impact (not sure who the VA is)

TAG

—Tenacious Bloodshed

APPEARANCE & PERSONALITY TYPE/D&D ALIGNMENT

Sabre had dark skin and black hair that was cut in choppy bangs. She was tall and muscled. Her sightless eyes were usually covered by glasses.

POWERS

Born into a tribe who valued strength above all, Sabre was blessed by Gaiathra Triclops accordingly. Though born blind, in battle or in situations were Sabre's adrenaline kicked in, she developed a sort of sixth sense.

Name?

I usually go by Corbin

Gender & Pronouns

Demi boy, he/they

Sexuality?

Pansexual

Affiliation?

The Stellaron Hunters. If the IPC asks... no you didn't see me

Path?

I wouldn't say I belong to any path seeing as I don't worship any Aeons. [In-game path: Remembrance]

VOICE

Griffin Burns

TAG

—Spirit Speaker

APPEARANCE & PERSONALITY TYPE/D&D ALIGNMENT

Corbin has tanned skin and blonde hair. He might have been considered attractive were it not for the way his skin clung to his bones, he looked almost half dead already. His eyes were an uncanny shade of bright red and his pupils resembled wilted flower petals. His eerie appearance was due to his powers which deeply rooted in the spirit world.

POWERS

Belonging to the tribe of morticians, he was blessed by Gaiathra Triclops accordingly. He could see and talk to restless spirits that have yet to pass on and find peace. He could even command them (or rather, their corpses) for a time as long as they are freshly dead. If he used too much of his power he ended up in a state where the lines between the living world and limbo are blurred and he is walking both simultaneously. After being experimented on by a formerly secret society, Corbin has various genetic enhancements that make him suitable to be a weapon. Should one make skin to skin contact with him, years of their life would be taken away to add to his.