#Pearl Starburst Earrings

[synajewel]

Shine Bright with Pearl Starburst Earrings from Synajewels

Elevate your look with stunning Pearl Starburst Earrings from Synajewels. Perfect for any occasion, these earrings feature lustrous pearls arranged in a dazzling starburst pattern, creating a timeless yet modern look. Shop now and add a touch of sophistication to your jewelry collection.

Call us at 201.336.4132

[ice-creamforbreakfast]

::Download:: (Patreon - Free from 27th September 2023

A collection that's perfect for hosting festivals in the forest, holding secret gatherings, starting a cult, doing Enya things, farming cats, throwing gemstones at your enemies or all of the above*.

Watermark Dress - Pleated maxi-dress with split sleeves and a metal belt Saoirse Dress - Peasant dress with metallic embroidered details Eithne Dress - Off-the shoulder maxi-dress with bell sleeves and metallic embroidered details Máire Dresses - A collection of three dresses with a gold collar. Comes in maxi sleeveless, maxi with detatched sleeves and high-slit asymmetric with no sleeves (but still enough fabric to prevent unfortunate portal to Narnia flashing situations) Enya Hair - A pixie cut, spiked and flicked to 90s/2000s perfection Céala Earrings - Pearl drop earrings with gemstones Starburst Earrings - Metal starburst earrings with an inlaid cabochon gem

*No shade, I live for all of these things...apart from cults and throwing my gemstones. I love my gemstones I would never.

[the-jewel-catalogue]

Royal Ascot | Day 3

Thursday was Ladies’ Day, so what better occasion to wear the Ladies of India Brooch? This carved emerald brooch, with its diamond border and accents, is a legacy from King Charles’s great-grandmother, Queen Mary.

The carved emerald brooch was a gift to Queen Mary during the Delhi Durbar in 1911 from a committee of women called the Ladies of India. The large emerald is carved on both sides, with a rose on one side and additional floral designs on the other. The jewel is set in silver and gold, with a diamond border and four additional diamond brilliant accents.

Zara accessorized with a lovely pair of modern pearl drop earrings. The pendant section of the earrings features a chain-link construction.

Sophie accessorized with a pair of crescent-shaped earrings that appear to be set with diamonds and pearls, as well as a necklace with a gemstone pendant.

Lady Sarah dipped into her collection of royal heirloom jewelry for Ladies’ Day. She wore the diamond starburst earrings that belonged to her late mother, Princess Margaret, paired with a diamond and pearl star brooch that also comes from Margaret’s collection.

[ps1snake]

day 1 of @book-omens-week : character design!! commentary transcript is under the cut :)

from top to bottom, left to right, aziraphale's commentary reads as follows: - in the top left, some floating text reads "doesn't change his clothes enough (doesn't need to), so it tends to droop & mold to his body. he's worn his shoes for so long that the lace-ends have fallen off!" - an arrow points to the cartoon aziraphale's sideburns, and reads "cloud poof sideburns" - an arrow points to his fingers, and reads "manicured (duh)" - an arrow pointing to his thighs reads "STAIN CITY!!!!! (he miracles them all away. he knows it's there, but that doesn't stop him)" - an arrow pointing to his shins says "a little baggy" - an arrow pointing to his shoes says "popular with nurses & fast food workers" - an arrow points to the semi-realisitic aziraphale's hair, reading "hair tex based on a man from my local post office!" - an arrow points to his neck, reading "droopy bowtie" - detail drawings of his earrings, rings, finger braces, necklace, and bookshop key are blown up. each is labeled as such. the earrings and necklace are matching pearls. the rings are all simple silver bands, with the exception of the right pointer and middle fingers, which are simple silver finger braces, similar to the style used by people with ehlers-danlos syndrome. the bookshop key is the solo key on a large carabiner, hidden in the drawing by his sweater, but shown in the detail image. an arrow points to the key, and reads "just one key, but he wanted a "ring of keys" sooooo bad (he's not a lesbian* but he believes in their beliefs)." the asterisk on "lesbian" leads to a footnote reading "usually." - an arrow pointing to his shoe reads "woman's orthopedic"

from top to bottom, left to right, crowley's commentary reads as follows: - an arrow points to the semi-realistic crowley's head, and reads "F. mercury shades." the shades are mirrored aviators, similar to the style freddy mercury is known to have worn. - detail images of crowley's sunglasses, rings, and earring are blown up and labeled. the earring is a simple black hoop stud. the rings are a snake that wraps around your finger, and a simple dark band. the sunglasses are at an angle that obscures the style of the lens, but the arms are more visible then in the main drawings, revealing that they bend in a severe up-and-down wave pattern between the lens and the ear rest. - an arrow points to his nails, which are painted black, and reads "manifests pre-chipped" - in between the semi-realistic crowley and the cartoonish crowley's feet is text reading ""white" snakeskin shoes match belt and watch" - an arrow points to the cartoonish crowley's head, reading ""he looks like a bug" shades. the sunglasses this crowley is wearing are large circular lenses. - an arrow points to his left ear, reading "pretend this is the gay ear (i forgot)." forgot is misspelled as "forgor." - an arrow points to his chest, reading "this hot pink bitch is named breakfast" - floating text near his leg reads "magic pockets mean the line of his suit is never ruined (which he never rmbrs to take advantage of) - text below his feet reads "those are his hooves you bitch"

the shared commentary is as follows: - between aziraphale and crowley is a line with a starburst in the middle, showing that they are making eye contact. - above this, they are both thinking in a shared thought bubble "i should send him a spam email.*" the asterisk leads below the eye contact line; to a footnote, also in a shared thought bubble. it reads "*in a sex way" - on each character's detail image of thier rings, one ring for each has a asterisk. this leads to a footnote between them, centered in a large patch of negative space, reading "gay ass wedding rings"

[neopronouns]

colorgenders inspired by the results of a “What is your Aura” quiz ((https://)uquiz(.)com/quiz/pxTx2D/what-color-is-your-aura):

Sky: short poems, teacups, clear skies, diaries, dripping icicles, tears, tennis shoes.

Honeysuckle: succulents, key lime, glow-in-the-dark stars, blown glass, honeydew, garter snakes, notes in bottles.

Seafoam: clear water, milkshakes, crystals, agave, candy dishes, converse, seashells.

Yellow: daisies, road signs, bumblebees, lemon meringue, bicycles, polaroids, awnings.

Hickory: felled oak, brass, sunken ships, olive pits, graphic shirts, splinters, dark room.

Orange: guitars, fanta bottles, sunglasses, orange peels, butterflies, popsicles, paper lanterns.

Sage: herb clippings, matcha, bullet journals, mini backpacks, needle felts, pistachio, laptop stickers.

Teal: dyed hair, scales, doc martens, aurora borealis, stormy seas, kingfishers, agate. 

Royal (blue): crown jewels, portraits, satin chairs, masquerades, nebulas, betta fish, secrets.

Gold: lion statues, coins, gold leafing, bound books, goldfinches, crowns, heart lockets. 

Crimson: rose vines, blood, apples, velvet, sharp nails, galaxies, dripping jewellery.

Navy: brush strokes, suit jackets, midnight, comforters, star gazing, arctic waters, starlings.

Forest: fern leaves, greenhouses, cloaks, bookstores, pine trees, chokers, snake scales. 

honey: friendship bracelets, beehives, school buses, children's books, flower petals, honeyed toast, polaroids. 

Ashen: old newspapers, smoke, quiet cities, pale cheeks, pebbles, chalk, the clouded moon.

Garnet: Brooches, anthologies, stained glass, leaves, dining chairs, long robes, curtains.

Chiffon: stone walls, sweaters, moths, dusty lace, animal tracks, incense, throw pillows.

Red: leather jackets, cherries, bruised knuckles, roses, lipstick, fast cars, rose petals.

Magenta: splattered paint, glitter, childhood friends, neon, pleather, dance floors, crystals.

Amaranth: bundled flowers, ribbon, merlot, overcoats, gemstones, lipstick prints, red velvet.

Periwinkle: knit hats, candies, tiny flowers, beads, teacups, washi tape, clouds.

Jade: islands, sketchbooks, rainy windows, pendants, puzzle pieces, tree frogs, sea glass.

Pink: cupcakes, sunglasses, pink sands, starbursts, pinky promises, flower crowns, ice cream.

Rose: lace, blown kisses, milk tea, paper fans, pillows, ballet slippers, fairy wings.

Amethyst: earrings, violet corts, parades, gemstones, insect wings, grape bushels, outer space.

Noir: drops of ink, eyeliner, crows, spiders, charcoal, painted nails, the night.

Cream: dandelions, marble, bottled coffee, hair ties, banana cream, bedsheets, sketches. 

Beige: lattes, dry fields, footprints, easels, cat fur, pottery, fresh-baked cookies.

Pearl: abalone, perfume bottles, chandeliers, tulle, ball jointed dolls, satin, paint palettes. 

Bronze: leather books, cowboy hats, foxes, candle jars, sword hilts, cobblestone streets, hourglasses

Amber: autumn days, freckles, torches, cabins, fossils, unbrushed hair, enamel pins.

Fire: sunrises, woven blankets, campfires, tigers, whiskey, monarchs, road trips.

Purple: geodes, club lights, ferris wheels, sunglasses, hummingbirds, eyeshadow, outer space. 

Blush: lollipops, warm cheeks, lip gloss, flowers, flamingo feathers, painted nails, heart glasses.

finally done with all of these — they're queued!

[fernandidilly-yo]

Image Description: Digital Art of My Hero Academia’s class 1-A students, all sporting their own and each other’s Hero Merch. There are five students on each page, there are four separate pages.

Shoji Mezo (Tentacole) is first. His logo is a cross between the ‘cool S’ and an infinity sign, it’s light blue and dark blue with yellow outlines. Shoji looks to be taking a walk, his arms around him, one with a watch on his wrist, another with a mouth instead of a hand, smiling at the viewer. Shoji is wearing an Ingenium face-mask, which looks like Ingenium mask’s bottom half. Shoji’s wearing his own tank top, which is a dark blue with his symbol prominently on the front. He’s wearing gray gym shorts and red high-tops. He’s also sporting black kneepads, which are Red Riot themed with two red R’s.

Asui Tsuyu (Froppy) is second. Her logo is the name Froppy in pink letters, framed by green. The Rs are both taller than the other letters, their holes made into eyes. The Y’s tail is long, making it look like a tongue. Making her symbol look like a frog face. Asui is holding a Froppy themed umbrella, which is a green frog with spots and eyes on the top, pink on the underside. Asui is holding a coffeecup and looking at the bottom of her right shoe. Asui is wearing a long overall jean-dress, over a light pink shirt. The dress has an A at the right shoulder and bugs (bees, butterflies, worms, ladybugs) flying across the bottom half, this is Anima merch. Her bright pink platform shoes are Uravity themed, with little plantes on the sides.

Tokoyami Fumikage (Tsukuyomi) is third. His logo is of his own head, with Dark Shadow’s red eyes. Tokoyami is staring down the viewer, rubbing his hands together. He is wearing his own brand fingerless gloves, which are black with a triangle cut out on the back, which is outlined in yellow. The halter-top he is wearing is Froppy themed, the inverse of Froppy’s Hero Costume. Mostly black with green and yellow accents. Tokoyami is wearing a green grommet belt over some muddy brown cargo pants. The pants have Dynamight spelled down the sides. Tokoyami’s pants are tucked into only one of his black boots, zipped up with a gold zipper.

Aoyoma Yuga (Can’t Stop Twinkling) is fourth. His logo is made up of a light purple letters, the background of the logo a soft yellow. Each letter looking as much as a sparkle as possible, inside of a starburst of sorts. Aoyoma looks to be ‘nonchalantly’ posing for the camera, one hand coming up toward his face, the other in the pocket of his pants as he walks. Aoyoma is wearing yellow sparkle earrings, his own merch. A Deku pin which is just a D, at the collar of his pink puffy dress shirt. Aoyoma is wearing his support belt over some purple vertical-striped pants, which are tucked into some Tsukuyomi boots, his bird logo on the sides.

Yaoyorozu Momo (Creati) is the fifth. Her logo almost looks like a school crest, a red circle in the middle of two yellow clamps that are holding two smaller circles. The biggest circle, in the middle, has a white C in the center. Yaoyorozu looks like she’s either planning something or getting up to shenanigans. Eyes canted to the side, hair down behind her, hands intertwined in front of her. Yaoyorozu is wearing a cream-colored turtle-neck, Shoto’s merch. With a brown vest over the top, and pearl earrings and a matching necklace. The skirt she is wearing looks like an American cheerleader’s, red with yellow detailing, a C at the bottom left side, her own Hero Merch. The heeled brown boots she’s wearing are Earphone Jack’s merch, with the E J logo on the side.

(End of Image Description)

Hot ticket items 3/4

[peacelovecatsandvintage]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 90's Mother of Pearl & Abalone Starburst Earrings - Inlaid MOP Abalone Dangles.

[beautifulwillfulldead]

[ID: Fanart of A Song of Ice and Fire, featuring Daenerys Targaryen. Everything is tinted slightly orange. Dany is sitting on a long seat covered in flowing red cloth, with three pillows on the ground in front of it, two square yellow ones with a red fringe, and one round red one. She is sitting with her legs and head tilted to her right, and her arms stretched out on either side of her, with her pointer fingers extended and resting on the seat. She is wearing a tight white skirt that ends just below her knees, underneath two sheer overskirts, one of which is patterned with little dashes and a little fringe that ends at her ankles, and the other is completely sheer and ends below her feet. Around her waist is a loose chain decorated with evenly spaced bejeweled medallions.

She is wearing an orange shawl with a small fringe around her shoulders that morphs into a shirt with a dark orange strip, that leaves her stomach bare. The shirt sleeve ends at her shoulder and the shawl sleeve ends mid-arm. She is wearing a snake arm cuff on her right arm, and numerous rings and bracelets on both arms and hands. She is wearing a thick red strap necklace with a little fringe, and on her head she's wearing an ornate striped hairpiece with a little strap by her ear with a medallion hanging from it. The headpiece ends in a short yellow veil, decorated and fringed with strings of pearls. Her hair is wavy and ends just below her chin, with a small braid in it. On her cheek is a small red tattoo of the sun. Over her eye is white starburst, drawing attention to her face. Directly behind her head, haloing her, is the sun. Drogon is on her left shoulder, Rhaegal is on her right arm, and Viserion is on the ground by her feet. End ID]

mhysa

[nahidasjewelry]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Sterling Silver Peridot Ring 925 size 7.

[synajewel]

Diamond Owl Pendant

Add a touch of elegance to your jewelry collection with our stunning Diamond Owl Pendant. At Syna Jewels, we offer exquisite and unique designs that are crafted with precision and quality materials. Browse our collection of Diamond Owl Pendants and find the perfect piece to complement your style. Shop now and make a statement with Syna Jewels. Call us at 201-336-4132 Address: 2125 Center Ave #107, Fort Lee, NJ 07024, United States

[fifthdegreeus]

Opal Starburst Pendant Necklace

These gold-plated hoops are sure to add a touch of glamour to your evening look. Designed to hug the ears, they’re a sure snug fit, finished with pretty pearls swinging off the base. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea…

[shopofthemoment]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: new Nadri ❤︎ Freshwater Pearl Crystal Drop Bridal Earrings ❤︎ Beach Wedding ❤︎.

[rotworld]

1: Decadence

each year, the kingdom of ilcordia commemorates the death of a tyrannical king with a day of feasts and festivals. you see nothing to celebrate about.

->explicit. contains dubcon/noncon, gore, graphic depiction of corpses, various methods of public execution, angst, threesome (kind of), necrophilia (kind of).

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The finest dyes of dawn adorn Lynzveth, City of Beauty. Light shimmers prismic through twisting crystal spires and gilds the gentle waves of the Divinitas River. Flowering trees scatter starburst petals like dots of paint across the Moonstone Promenade. There are only the softest wisps of gossamer clouds drifting across the sky and the warm winds of spring. It is splendid weather for the Day of the Tyrant’s Demise. 

Tranaud, the King’s Ear, catches you slinking out of the royal servant’s quarters long after the day’s festivities has begun. He seizes you by the arm before you can slip past him. “Your mask,” he hisses. You can hardly see him through all the silk and finery, ruffles and scarves and pearls lining the seams of his robes. His mask holds a tranquil expression, emerald blush dusting the sculpted cheeks. “You cannot leave the palace like that. Do not dawdle. His Eternal Eminence will be displeased.” He hears your sigh before you exhale it, snapping, “Now, Eye.” 

You would drag your feet just to spite him, but you’re already running late. When you return, your face covered, Tranaud nods in approval and lets you pass. Merchants gather just beyond the palace bridge, selling silks, pigments and alcoran flowers, their opal blossoms in full, glittering bloom. Children play with toy swords, shrieking and laughing. Their small masks are tipped with horns and flowers, little cherub wings. The one playing the part of the Tyrant is cornered at the edge of a fountain, teetering on the stone edge. “Kill him!” the others cry out in glee, closing in with their paper lances and daggers. “Stab him! Drown him! Slit his throat! As many times as it takes!” 

The glassy, crystal path of the Moonstone Promenade sparkles beneath the noon sun. Rainbows of light arc across a makeshift stage, tasseled velvet curtains and elaborate costumes speckled with kaleidoscopic splendor. The crowd is enormous, gathered on all sides of the elevated stage platform. You spot King Leolis in his ornate robes easily, enormously tall and surrounded by dignitaries. It’s easy to reach him. The crowd parts for you, native Ilcordians bowing in deference, outsiders shrinking back with unease and suspicion. Unnerved the smooth strangeness of your mask, the inhuman shapes, the lack of holes for eyes. 

“A Blessed Day of the Tyrant’s Demise to you, Eye,” King Leolis murmurs. His twin masks are opposites, one of jagged gold and ivory, one of smooth silver and obsidian, sun and moon. The sun mask gazes up at the stage while the other is downturned, scrutinizing you. A noblewoman hangs on his arm—a foreigner, her face bare. She has powdered her face, rouged her lips, painted her eyes in an imitation of the local style with shimmering inks. She makes herself smile brightly, intent on holding this single expression without the slightest twitch. She has tried, meticulously, to make herself resemble a Lynzvethian mask, an effort you find both amusing and pitiable. 

“Which one are you?” she asks. “I’ve met the Ear and the Tongue already. What a delightfully strange practice!”

“The Eye, my lady,” you say. She hesitates to offer her hand, flinching when you press your porcelain mask against her fingers in an imitation of a kiss.

The reenactment is half over. You’ve arrived just in time for the Tyrant’s death by disembowelment. The executioner’s black robes flutter behind her like a crow’s wings as she crosses the stage, ceremonial dagger clutched in one gloved hand. Her beaked mask is scarlet, wreathed with blood red feathers and a veil of black lace. “How unsightly, this beast that once ruled!” she recites. “He has defied the noose and scorned the flame. Shall he face my blade with the same impenitence?” 

The Tyrant, bound to a wooden beam, struggles against his bindings. There is a crack in the facade of his weeping mask, tears of sapphire dotting the golden cheeks. “Please don’t do this,” he begs. “Please, I—there’s been a mistake. I’ve been loyal all my life.”

The noblewoman’s discomfort is obvious. She shifts, the beads and baubles along her dress clinking together. “What is it that you do, exactly? Eyes and Ears and whatnot,” she asks. 

“Ilcordian monarchs are blessed by the heavens,” King Leolis says. He strokes her arm through one velvet sleeve, drawing her gaze to the serene expression of his sun mask. “We manifest our will through these appendages. An Ear and Eye to learn all that happens in the realm, a Tongue to speak what is decreed…”

“Peculiar,” she says. “We have a royal spymaster for such things.”

“A spymaster can’t do what I can,” you say.

On stage, the executioner unsheathes the ceremonial dagger. The blade glints in the golden light, sharpened to a razor point. She begins the Butcher’s Lament, long, poetic verse about duty, honor and the cleansing of sin, drowned out by the Tyrant’s shrieks. “King Leolis!” he screams. “I’ve done nothing wrong! I’ve done nothing—!” 

“This death I give with pleasure!” the executioner declares. She glides forward, dagger in hand. With vengeful purpose, she drives the blade into the Tyrant’s chest. The sound is a dull, wet thunk. The executioner must always be an actor of great strength and dexterity to strike through flesh, and sinew, to saw through layer upon layer of sacrificial garment and expose the flesh beneath, and to do it all with style. This one is perhaps the best you’ve ever seen. She works with artful precision and wild ecstasy all at once, soft giggles turning to raucous laughter as she begins to gut the Tyrant like a fresh kill. Ilcordians cheer and applaud, chanting, “The Tyrant’s Demise! The Tyrant’s Demise!” Foreigners shift and murmur, hesitantly excited. They were warned, surely, heard stories at the very least, but to see it is another thing, you suppose. 

“I’ve always admired the Ilcordian flair for spectacle,” the noblewoman says. “You make an art of everything.” Blood spatters across the stage and wets the executioner’s gloves. She plunges her fist into the gaping wound, wrenching a length of pulsating intestine from the Tyrant’s stomach. He makes a gurgling, weeping sound, sagging in his bindings. You watch. A dull heat ignites in the pit of your stomach, a quiet rage. 

This is a farce. A disappointing imitation. The Ilcordians who were here that day know it as well as you do, but they’re willing to swallow this uninspired forgery. The real thing, you recall, was indescribably beautiful. 

“Is it true you had to kill him six times?” the noblewoman asks. 

“Eleven, actually,” King Leolis says. He chuckles at her wide eyes and soft gasp. “A dreadful business, but it’s behind us now.” 

“For that, I’m grateful. The old king—the Tyrant,” she quickly corrects as King Leolis’ cold, moon mask turns towards her, “his war against the northern provinces came dangerously close to our borders. I woke each morning to smoke on the horizon, fearing the worst.” 

“Never again,” King Leolis vows. He touches her openly, shamelessly, his hand sliding from her arm to the small of her back as he draws her in. “War is not my way. You will see that, in time.” The noblewoman’s facade nearly crumbles, the corner of her lips twitching, her eyes half-lidded with desire. You wonder what she, and all foreigners, think is beneath an Ilcordian’s mask. Ear has told you all manner of bizarre rumors he overhears, that your masks magically change themselves to suit your soul, that you die if they break, that the masks are your faces. She must believe the latter. Unfortunate, you think. If King Leolis manages to lure her to his bedchambers tonight, she’s unlikely to survive the night.

“Could you send your Eye away?” she asks quietly.

King Leolis’ masks both turn towards you, lingering behind her. He says nothing. You stare back at those mismatched faces, both gentle and stern. He is, to the outsiders, austere and imposing, towering over mere mortals. To you, he is no better than the reenactment, the impotent squelch of flesh unraveling around a blade, a shadow cast by a greater being. You say, with a sweeping bow, “If that is what the lady wishes.” You know that King Leolis lets out the breath he was holding only when you have crossed the Moonstone Promenade and gone far, far away.

Veyette, the King’s Tongue, stands in the town square, drowning in an extravagant gown. The lips of her black mask are stretched in a wide, golden smile, a crescent moon and stars painted across her features. She stands straight-backed, hands clasped together, as motionless as stone. “His Eternal Eminence welcomes you to the City of Beauty,” she says, her voice smooth and pleasing. “Partake in all that intrigues you. Indulge in all that pleases you. That is the Ilcordian way.”

You’re restless. It’s hard to sit still for long. Another, more grand production of the reenactment is staged at the amphitheater, a venue of greenery and marble columns with the scent of flowers wafting through the air. You drift through during the infamous scene where a mob of Lynzvethians storm the palace, disinterested even as the Tyrant is dragged across the stage in chains, sobbing, “Don’t just stand there! Help me! Do something! You really think Leolis is any better? You think it won’t be you up here next year?” 

Courtesans in lavender masks travel in search of the lonely and unoccupied, alcorans and their winding stems painted beside their eyes. They whisper to starstruck outsiders about the coming celebrations, a performance of movement and pleasure held in the royal gardens beneath the moon. Gossip is everywhere. A horde of nobles corner you in the marketplace, fishing for secrets. “King Leolis is refreshing, isn’t he? More fond of the pen than the sword,” one says. 

“He is what he is,” you say, amused. Outsiders are fun to look at with their expressive, fearful eyes and quivering lips. 

“Do you think he’s interested in increasing trade with the western realms?” another presses.

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“I suppose you haven’t been his Eye for long. He only ascended to the throne four years ago. How does that work, anyway? It sounds like sorcery. You simply came into existence when he became king?” 

“I’m not his,” you say. The nobles make even more interesting faces. You watch their skin stretch and furrow, their mouths twisting into worried frowns. 

“That mouth will get you into trouble one of these days.” Oanick, the King’s Hand, drapes his spidery fingers over your shoulder. Swirls of silver are embossed across his mask, a colorful diamond pattern adorning the edges. “Honored guests,” he addresses the outsiders, tilting his tricorn hat, “don’t mind this one. The Eye is a creature of riddles. We are the appendages of His Eternal Eminence. King is such an uninspired title in comparison.” His grip slides down to your wrist and he drags you away, heels clicking across the stone path. 

“Are you upset with me for telling the truth?” you ask.

“You forget yourself. You are to watch. Nothing more.” He doesn’t look quite as absurd as the rest of you, permitted sleeker, more subdued garments, embroidered sleeves hugging his long, slender arms. Together, you make your way back to the palace. You pass the marketplace, Veyette still speaking words that are not her own, “His Eternal Eminence asks only that you enjoy yourself to the fullest. Take what you wish and do as you desire.” The reenactment has ended at the Moonstone Promenade, the crowd dispersing. King Leolis and his conquest are already gone, onto the next spectacle. 

“I’m tired of this,” you say. “Tired of all of this.” 

“He does not want to see you like this, Eye.” 

“He’s dead,” you say. 

“Even so.” 

One must pass through the palace gates, the gardens, and the servant’s quarters before finally reaching the royal cemetery. The air is cold here. The grass is gray and brittle, the sky swirling with clouds. There is sunlight beyond the trees but it doesn’t reach here. They call this strangeness “Ilcordian gloom,” and it was once everywhere. It shrouded Lynzveth in its smothering embrace. It followed the royal army into battle. It crept through the earth and menaced the frail realms on the borders of Ilocrdia, threatening to overtake them. Now, it can only be found here. 

Oanick leads you to a mausoleum, the eclipsing sun and moon of the royal crest adorning the heavy, stone doors. He splays one of his long-fingered hands against the stone and pushes. You see it, and he must feel it—how all of Ilcordia trembles when that first wisp of accursed air seeps out. The darkness within is deeper than night. A set of stairs spirals into the abyss. 

You don’t speak to Oanick for the entire descent, and he doesn’t speak to you. It takes everything you have to keep walking, to keep yourself from turning around. That heat in your chest burns hotter, fires of anger licking the inside of your lungs. You long for this, year after year. You dread this more than anything. Deep in the earth, covered in cobwebs, cave moss and ancient dust, lies the tomb of the old king. There is no casket. No headstone. No surviving monument that bears his name. There is only an old throne and his corpse seated upon it, still bearing the wounds of his executions.

He wears the thin, ashy remains of his once splendid robes, his head concealed behind crude burlap, the hood of the executed. Chains bind him and long, iron rods nail him to the throne. His throat is slit and gaping, his bones prominent through stretched, emaciated skin. A rope of intestine dangles from the grotesque woud in his chest, a flayed display of flesh peeled back and held open by insect pins. A snapped noose hangs around his neck. And yet, when you set foot in this old, forgotten place, you see the corpse move. His fingers flex and curl. His chest heaves with rattling breaths. He lifts his head and you feel his gaze. 

Oanick shoves you so hard you stumble. You catch yourself on the armrests of the throne, face-to-face with the grotesque husk of the old king. You look back and he shakes his head. An apology. The action wasn’t his.

 

“Your Eternal Eminence,” you murmur, stroking the mangled, pale hand of the corpse. “You see what I see. But do you see it the way I do? I wonder what you think of all this sometimes.” It’s with some difficulty that you climb into his lap, straddling his bony hips. The chains and sharpened stakes dig into you, catching on your extravagant clothing. You push yourself closer, leaning against his chest. You hear lace tearing. You don’t care. He’s so vast compared to you, even bigger than King Leolis. He towers over you, even seated. “I don’t get it,” you admit. “He’s not much different than you. He does all the same, awful things, but more carefully. He dresses them up, gilds them. There was never any pretension to your cruelty.”

The old king sucks in a low, rumbling breath through his dead lungs. One finger twitches like a dying spider’s limb.

“What do you think of that? Do you think anything anymore?” you ask him, running your hands across his chest, feeling the unraveling silk turn to ash beneath your fingers. It’s maddening. Dead eleven times over, gray as the stone around him, and still so regal. Long, unkempt hair trickles out of the burlap hood and spills down his shoulders, the same immaculate color as the stone path of the Moonstone Promenade. You lean into him, rest your head against his cold chest. His heart beats a faint, stuttered rhythm, once with each breath. “I have always hated being your Eye,” you say. “But I hate this even more.”

You hear the click of Oanick’s heels and then his hands are on you, curling over your shoulders. They’re the same as the old king’s. Smaller, more delicate, but the same spindly fingers, the same firm, confident grasp. You can hear him panting as the old king’s arousal overtakes him, his breath warming the nape of your neck. He took his mask off. A shiver runs through you. 

“I have nightmares where you take your vengeance,” you tell the corpse. “You reclaim everything. Your kingdom. Your palace. You take us, and we are whole again.” You hear your clothing coming apart, seams ripping on Oanick’s sharpened nails. The chill of the mausoleum hits your bare skin, shoulders first and then the expanse of your back. Your hands rise to the hood of the executed, feeling for the shape of the old king’s jaw. You touch him through the burlap, frame his face against your palms. “And when I wake up, I feel the Ilcordian gloom on my skin and in my lungs. And I’m hateful and afraid.” 

Oanick’s lips caress the shell of your ear. His fingers hook into the strings holding your mask in place and you feel indignation. He doesn’t deserve to see you. It’s his fault that Leolin took power, his fault that this new age of masks and make believe began. “Don’t,” you whimper. 

Oanick hesitates. The old king does not. The string snaps and you hear the porcelain shatter on the mausoleum floor. Oanick feels you with the king’s hands, tracing your jaw, your lips, the shape of your eyes. All of them, along your cheeks and bared forearms, wiping away the tears gathering like pearls on your collarbones. It’s the old king who grabs your hips with careless, sharp fingers, the old king who blankets himself against your back as his hands roam your body. Oanick whispers apologies and kisses your neck, and he is just as lost and broken, a disembodied appendage. 

“Let us go,” you beg him. Oanick inhales sharply behind you. Your insolence is rewarded with a hand twisting in your hair and pulling hard on your scalp. The old king takes you both.

Oanick gasps and shivers as he buries his cock inside of you, his lower half moving against his will. It’s misery, shivering in the lap of a dead thing that will not die. He is cruel through Oanick, making his hands pinch and scratch you, leaving marks in your skin. Every thrust pushes you harder against his cold body. You feel his malevolence like a fog in the air, a burning smog in your lungs. You understand, without words, without anything but how frantically Oanick begins to fuck you and his teeth sink into your neck, that he still wants with the same terrifying ferocity he held in life, he still desires. 

Oanick bounces you on his lap. His nails sink into your hip like knives in your skin and every thrust makes them cut deeper. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, but his kisses have turned harsh and biting. The flesh of your shoulder crunches between his teeth and you shiver at the hot press of his tongue against the wound. The pain is not as terrible as the yearning in your chest, the knowledge that this, too, is a pale imitation. A theatrical performance of something greater. The old king watches you shiver and cry as his stand-in fucks you harder, the slap of his hips against yours echoing in the emptiness of the mausoleum.

You cry out when Oanick’s hands wrap around your abdomen and you’re pulled into the rhythm of his thrusts like a toy. He slams into you and holds you still, stammering more useless apologies as you writhe. Oanick's hand wraps around your throat and starts to squeeze. Your fingers scrape at his wrist, tearing the delicate fabric of his sleeve. He rolls his hips and your eyes roll back in your head. 

“He wants you to beg,” Oanick says. 

“I won’t,” you mutter, and he starts to choke you again. 

There is no time in the abyssal darkness of this tomb, no way of knowing how long you’re there, lungs burning, shivering between Oanick and the old king. You are broken and put back together, granted just a glimpse of wholeness. Oanick grasps your hips as he starts to move again, pounding into you faster than before. You find yourself with your arms over the old king’s bony shoulders, your fingers tangled in his hair. Your lips move mindlessly against burlap, kissing something you can only remember. His mouth doesn’t move. He does not speak, does not return your devotion. But there is rigidity in the old king that wasn’t there before, intention that does not belong to the dead. You feel, distinctly, that you are seen, beheld by hidden eyes. You feel him like a fist around your heart, squeezing until you burst. 

Far above in the streets of Lynzveth, the King’s Tongue cannot help the satisfied smirk that crosses her lips. “The King is dead,” she says in a voice not her own, “long live the King.”

[jewelrylove]

����🌹Korean Jewelry Starburst Pearl Pendant Necklace 🌹🌹

“He wanted to die. He prayed for it. Through the roar in his ears, he begged for it.”

[heffrondriving]

❦ ѕσмєтнιηg ℓιкє αη αƒтєʀgℓσω 〣 втʀ ∂яαввℓє ❦

» 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟻 𝚘𝚏 𝚒 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝

❝ IF I CRY, YOU’LL CRY—AND THAT WON’T BE FUN FOR ANYONE. ❞

Carlos’s welling tears glistened under the blaze of the ephemeral sunset, coalescing liquorice-scarlet and honeysuckle-yellow against salty drizzle, and he screwed his blurry gaze shut to keep it from spilling over into coastal ruin. Santa Monica Bay fell heavy with twilight gloom and balmy summer wind breezing past frigid bodies, so Kendall shook the sand off the gingham picnic blanket and carefully wrapped it around their bare shoulders.

“It’s okay to cry, babybear.”

“No...it’s nothing, really. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just...nevermind. It’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid at all. And hey, we had a fantastic afternoon at the beach today, didn’t we?” soothed Kendall, stroking warm fingers through Carlos’s short-cropped hair. “I think those were some pretty tasty corndogs from that newly-opened Korean food stand. I mean, I didn’t even know corndogs could have different flavours on them until now! I think my favourite were the gangnam ones, though. What about you?”

“Hmmm...maybe bacon and mozzarella?” Carlos pondered. “Stretchy cheese is always fun...and the squid ink ones were like, insanely weird-looking, but surprisingly delicious too.”

“Oh, that’s true.” Kendall beamed a black-stained grin, making Carlos giggle breathily despite himself. “What?”

“Umm, I think you have something in your teeth.”

“Oops...I can’t believe I didn’t wash it all down with that lychee-coconut bubble blast yoghurt drink!” Kendall sheepishly chuckled. “I mean, it was refreshing, but I think I got a liiittle too distracted with all the chewy tapioca pearls and giant fancy swirly straws and tiny pink umbrellas.”

As the younger boy tried to wipe away the inky mess with his tanktop collar, the candy-stripe fabric hitched up to reveal a blossoming cluster of purple discolourations just beneath his ribcage—and those stains, Carlos knew all too well couldn’t simply be scrubbed out.

“Ken-ken...” he swallowed hard, transient mirth dissipating to dusky grey, and crushed both palms to his eye sockets so hard the darkness screamed with starbursts and woozy fireworks.

“Don’t worry about me, it’s nothing. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Kendall assured, covering up his injuries with barely a passing wince. “On the bright side though, you were right—those umbrellas did look awesome on the sandcastle forts we made! Even if the hermit crabs weren’t too pleased with being appointed moat guards. Those were some snappy lil’ fellas...”

With this, he held Carlos’s clenching hands and softly pinched each fingertip as he traipsed his own along. “And even that treasure hunt afterwards was really fun, ‘cause those couple cool seashells and old pennies we found might just sell for a good museum mint or two. Well, if we could convince Griffin that it’s actually worth bajillions...which shouldn’t be too hard. And then we could finally buy our own private Malibu beach house and invite James and Logan and all our friends over and throw all the beach parties we ever want twenty-four seven, and then we’ll be the Hollywood super party kings of Hollywood forever!”

“That sounds really lovely. But just don’t suddenly grow a yucky caterpillar moustache on me, okay, mi osito?”

“Mmm, I’ll think about it...” teased Kendall, pecking Carlos on the shell of his ear. “Just kidding, of course. I know my babybear doesn’t like scratchy kissies.”

“But yeah...I guess it would be kinda awesome to live by the sea, wouldn’t it?”

“It really would, especially with this whole dry spell making LA’s weather so unbearably hellish lately. And the water always feels really nice out here in Cali, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Carlos sighed wistfully, “and it’s super cold and clear today, too.”

“No offence to the Palm Woods pool, but being out in the ocean is just something else entirely.” the lines on Carlos’s forehead eased as he breathed deeply and allowed his reminiscing thoughts to drift along to the tidal melody of Kendall’s voice, ever so gentle yet steady, “like being submerged in a completely different world, leaving behind the choking smog and blinding lights and noisiness of crazy Hollywood as we drift underwater with crystal blues and peaceful waves instead. Everything’s just so exquisitely beautiful and it takes away the pain, even just for a breathtaking moment. Just you and me, floating hand in hand, with all those colourful reefs and fishes and the teeny silver minnows tickling our skin as they quickly swim past us...”

Kendall playfully poked Carlos’s tummy, making his mouth quirk upwards just a bit; but it still wasn’t enough to hold back the rivulets of tears beginning to trickle down the older boy’s cheeks. From the way they were sitting together, Kendall couldn’t quite see Carlos’s shadow-smeared face, but somehow he already knew. And he understood. All too well.

“I can’t, I...I’m really sorry, Ken...you got in trouble, and—and got hurt because of me. I didn’t mean to...”

“It isn’t your fault!” insisted Kendall. “None of it is, Los. If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry, ‘cause I had to go and let those jerks spoil our fun. Seriously, a bunch of lame CrossFit meatheads who think they could just swagger in and own the whole joint, I should’ve done more than just send their front teeth rattling up their empty skulls for saying all those horrible things about you.” he darkened. “Heck—I would’ve drowned those fishbrained maniacs like they deserve if that useless freaking lifeguard didn’t kick us out of the smoothie shack! I’ll kick him halfway across the Atlantic too, see how he likes it.”

“They...they called me stupid.” Carlos wavered, desperately-fighting whispers almost lost to the splashing of the lulled ocean waves. “And a pansy. And a giant baby. Is that what I am?”

“No, of course not—they’re the stupid giant pansy babies for picking fights and acting like they’re better than everyone else, when all they’re better at is at being total garbage human beings! They’re no one. So forget about them.”

“Okay...I will. Ken-ken?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you so much.”

“And I love you, Carlos. I love you with everything that I’ve got and more, because you’re you, and you’re sweet, and amazing, and so full of love, and just so incredibly wonderful...and you deserve to be happy more than anyone else in the world. And there’s not a single day of my life where I don’t think about just how much I’m so impossibly blessed to get to love you forever. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Kendall drew his arms and knees closer to his boyfriend and nestled him in an ensconcing embrace, washing away every fickle worry and holding him warm with the silent promise to keep each other safe from the world. Carlos closed his eyes and felt water droplets tenderly dripping on the crown of his head, though the tides were low and it hadn’t rained in Los Angeles for a thousand years.

a/n: I KNOW THIS IS SUCH A MAJOR TONAL WHIPLASH BUT I'M BE HONEST WITH YOU CHIEF,, THIS IS MY MOST FAVOURITE DRABBLE OUT OF ALL OF THEM right next to the james/jett one mainly bc they're my rarepair brainworm and no one else will love them NJFNJDKF WHY AM I SO EXCRUCIATINGLY SOMFT FOR KENLOS NOT MANY PPL LIKE IT BUT I REALLY LOVE THEM OKAY THEY'RE JUST TOO CUTE TOGETHER AND MAKE FOR LIKE THE BEST HURT/COMFORT WAX LYRICAL PROSE AND IT MAKES MY IDIOT HEART DO A BIG CRYYY .·´¯`(>Д<)´¯`·.

anyway yeah brb losing my shiz some more to their pet names for each other here being ‘babybear’ and ‘teddybear’ (but ~en español~)...and if anyone somehow made it this far, thanks for sticking around!! 💕 and i apologise for the mess i have become in the notes,,