#breeze nymph ocs

[ivyprism]

Angels Falls Girls: Rewritten (Info Dump)

Warnings: This contains violence mentioned, murder implied, death implied, torture, fear of death.

Aeriana - Feathered Dragon OC

Personality: Aeriana is a stern, strict, and silent woman. She believes that the only way to help a sinner is to be tough and harsh about her laws. She is not without kindness, but she is tempered by her sister. She takes her job seriously and is often angered when people choose not to take their crucial duties seriously. She adores her little sister and constantly watches out for her. She is rougher and colder than the rest of the angels. She prefers to live her life and interact with others albeit slightly quietly. She lacks a ton of energy, though.

Appearance: Aeriana is a feathered dragon. In her main form, she has large wings and a more silvery look. When in human form, she has long silver hair and blue eyes. She stands 5'4" tall. She has two pairs of wings.

Aethra - Feathered Dragon OC

Personality: Aethra is a meek sweetheart, but only because she is overly trusting and nice. She is passionate and possessive about it. She adores her profession and is quite skilled at fighting. She is very interested in humans and has a slightly naive approach to dealing with others. Her older sister is in control of heavier sinning punishments, but she is not. She finds people to be curious and admires the majority of music stars and superstars. She has the best temper of any of the angels present. She is extremely cautious and meticulous about how she treats others.

Appearance: Aethra is a feathered dragon. In her main form, she has large wings and a more silvery look. When in human form, she has long silver hair and green eyes. She stands 6'1". She has a single pair of wings.

Cerise - Lava Elemental Monster OC

Personality: Cerise is just as brutal as Aeriana when it comes to fighting, and she has no qualms about injuring someone if the circumstance calls for it. She did, however, hold a good amount of responsibility for how her family's house fell apart. She is not afraid to fight or damage others when required. She is harsh and fierce, and she is a true force of nature. She adores her sister and is the type to not back down from a fight unless she absolutely has to. She sleeps most of the time and is always in training. She is strong and skilled at fighting.

Appearance: She is a lava elemental monster. She is a deep magenta in color. She is muscular and tall in build. She's 6'0". She has two pairs of wings. She has a scar on her mouth that is jagged in nature.

Hearth - Lava Elemental Monster OC

Personality: She is a nice yet severe person. She is really adept at offering tough love and knows when to apply it correctly. She is largely atoning for her own crimes, and she takes her role very seriously. She knows when someone needs to be harshly evaluated and deals the cards as best she can. She sincerely cares about others, yet she is not hesitant to deliver tough love. Generally, she is a compassionate and lenient person. She is incredibly perceptive and not easily duped. She is always willing to confront and deal with liars when they cause trouble. She tackles the most serious rescue instances.

Appearance: She is a lava elemental monster. She is a deep magenta in color. She is muscular and tall in build. She's 6'5". She has one pair of wings. She has a scar on her left cheek. She is muscular, but flexible.

Eliana - Light Elemental Monster OC

Personality: Eliana is a really upbeat and cheery person. She provides spiritual support during rescue attempts, often breaking the news to families. With her bright and friendly temperament, she can bring her team together with a single look. When it comes down to it, she is also supportive, patient, and gentle. She is not easily misled and is quite perceptive. She can be severe with her group and is a leader. She will not back down from a conflict unless absolutely necessary. She relies on her older sister and admires Aeriana.

Appearance: She is a light elemental monster. She seems to be more blue in appearance though. She is about 5'0". She has one pair of wings.

Citrus - Light Elemental Monster OC

Personality: Citrus is severe and adept at analyzing events, even if they cause problems for her sister. She is laid-back and gentle, although she usually keeps to herself and is really cruel. She is not afraid to fight and is very skilled at it. She enjoys joking and being lighthearted until things get serious, at which point she becomes a more angry and concentrated version of herself. Her bite is far more dangerous than bark. She admires Cerise and Aeriana's calm and controlled demeanors, while she herself is neither. She works hard when it comes to fighting.

Appearance: She is a light elemental monster. She seems to be more orange in appearance though. She stands 6'5" tall. She has two pairs of wings.

Eloria - Siren OC

Personality: Eloria is fierce, strong, and kind. She's quite intelligent and far from naive. She contributes significantly to rescue missions and firefighting efforts. She is not afraid to be unpleasant and aggressive. She isn't afraid to use her charisma to get her way, even if it's merely to find a way out. She is strict and easily angered by her younger sister's sloth and lack of duty. She is fiercely protective of her younger sister and becomes anxious if she believes her sister is in danger. She doesn't back down from a fight and is known to be one of the toughest to deal with among the girls.

Appearance: She is a siren. She has long purple hair and green eyes. She is 5'3". In her full siren form, she has wings and talons. She has one large scar on her left eye. She has two pairs of wings.

Eslyn - Siren OC

Personality: Eslyn is fairly lethargic and laid-back, but she enjoys telling a joke or two. She works hard to foster a positive relationship between the races. She is incredibly apathetic in certain situations, and she will go for the neck when necessary. She has a slight yearning to be alone and a poor relationship with her older sister. She does not take her job seriously unless she is actively involved in it. She is extremely charismatic and a superb manipulator when it comes to getting herself out of difficult circumstances. She prefers not to interact with them in general.

Appearance: She is a siren. She has long purple hair and blue eyes. She refuses to wear her hair up.  She also has a nasty scar on the left side of her face. In her full siren form, she has wings and talons. She has one large scar on her left eye. She has a pair of wings.  She is 6'4" tall.

Deianeira - Feathered Dragon OC

Personality: Deianeira is harsh, chilly, and extremely fierce. She is the group's best fighter, and she is frequently called upon to fight and kill if necessary. She is very attentive about who she is in charge of and tries to assist those who deserve it. She is, nevertheless, a really kind-hearted woman who showers soft compassion on children and those who deserve it. She has little patience for individuals who want to hurt her family, and she is not ashamed to admit it. She's been in a lot of fights and isn't willing to back down from them because she usually wins.

Appearance: Deianeira is a feathered dragon. In her main form, she has large wings and a more silvery look. When in human form, she has long silver hair and blue eyes. She has three pairs of wings. She has soft purple eyes and she is nearly blinkd in her right eye. Her face is riddled with jagged scars. She has two noticeable scars on her eyes, one on her lip (as if she was slashed by a knife) and one on her right eye. She is 6'4" tall.

Morella - Feathered Dragon OC

Personality: Morella is a lovely and quiet individual. She fights quickly and effectively. She is graceful and quick-footed. She has a difficult time understanding what she has done, but she ensures that no one dies without honor. She is a compassionate and kind woman to many others, and she has an extremely close relationship with her older sister. She is lovely and calm, but do not mistake her tenderness for a refusal to battle. She mourns the many losses and gives them appropriate burials.

Appearance: Morella is a feathered dragon. In her main form, she has large wings and a more silvery look. When in human form, she has long silver hair and green eyes. She is frequently seen wearing a face mask. If she ever took off her mask, she'd reveal a wound that had been sewn shut. She is 7'1" tall. Unlike her earthbound counterparts, she has two sets of wings.

Lyrica - Breeze Nymph OC

Personality: Lyrica is modest and quiet, but she is focused and committed. She is stern and cruel, although she prefers to be gentle with others. She, like her sister, dances. She, too, dances, and her style combines ballet and hip hop, but she is just as good as her sister. She is not afraid to snap and be disrespectful to others. She adores her younger sister and will go to great measures to aid her. She is very quick on her feet and enjoys assisting others whenever she can. When it comes to others, she is always concerned about them and frequently becomes ill as a result.

Appearance: Most assume she is made of the air itself, but she isn't. She just goes into a proper breeze form on occasion. Her hair is white and very long. She has a scar on her right eye and sometimes wears makeup on her eyes. She appears to be petite and slightly muscular. She has two pairs of wings. She is a breeze nymph.

Lirissa - Breeze Nymph OC

Personality: Lirissa adores dancing and is often seen doing so. She's a sweetheart. She is both sympathetic and naive. She is both gentle and loving in person. Her favorite dances are the tango and waltz, but she can perform all of them. She is brilliant and courageous. She is courageous, giving Delilah encouraging talks and helping her with her hand-eye coordination. She enjoys assisting people and is an excellent teacher. She is a lovely and confident tango dancer. She is not scared of her innate powers and is fully aware of them. She is brilliant and courageous.

Appearance: Most assume she is made of the air itself, but she isn't. She just goes into a proper breeze form on occasion. Her hair is white (long and wavy), and she has blue eyes. Her hair is usually adorned with a rose. She is 6'1" tall. She also has a petite figure. She has a pair of wings. She is a breeze nymph.

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[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part i)

a/n: I suppose this series will be a short one, 4 parts maybe? I just love Claere so much - she's my little unhinged weirdo :')

It was a rather secluded and quiet affair, the marriage between Claere Velaryon and Cregan Stark. There were no great halls crammed with noble witnesses, no bright banners flying high to announce the union of two ancient houses—only the low rustles of the breeze through the pines and the crackle of a distant hearth as the vows were uttered.

The ceremony took place beneath the watchful eyes of the old gods. The holy weirwood tree loomed with its gnarled white bark, etched with time, and ruby leaves swished in the cold Northern breeze. Claere, a priceless dream draped in rare emeralds, silver silks, and white furs akin to seafoam—a nod to her Velaryon heritage—eclipsed against the stark landscape of Winterfell. She made up for the glitz and grandeur that this lifeless gathering lacked.

Cregan Stark, silent and relentless, took her freezing hand with the kind of sworn resilience that marked Northern might—his bold grey eyes sceptical of the bride before him. Though the match had been arranged by the Sea Snake, the union between them was regarded as special—one for the histories. Theirs was not a marriage forged in the fires of splendour but in the subtle rendition of what they each represented: a union between sea and snow, Velaryon and Stark.

No songs were sung, and no cheers erupted, but in that stillness, something more meaningful lingered.

Cregan was first informed of Rhaenyra's second child and only daughter as if she were a fleeting nymph from a fairytale, a cold mystery whispered from beyond the Wall. "She is adrift in dreams," his maester had told him. Claere Velaryon possessed all of her mother’s fabled graces—from her haunting violet eyes and white-gold hair to the sharp, aquiline features that marked her as pure Valyrian. Her skin, fair and translucent as glass, only furthered the ghostly aura that surrounded her.

If summer snow had ever reincarnated in his time, it would have been Claere Velaryon. The rumours spoke of a 'beautiful freak', chiselled like an ice sculpture, who sang like the sweetest lark, whose fingers danced effortlessly over the harp, filling halls with melodies as delicate as her presence. She was drawn more to solitude and the quiet company of the stars than to her brothers, most of her nights spent soaring high above the world on her silvery dragon, Luna—hatched in her cradle and enormous beyond her years.

The whispers had reached him long before he’d ever seen her. She doesn't eat food, prefers the taste of human flesh and blood, they had said, each rumour darker than the last. She once tried to stab her uncle in the heart. She dabbles in blood magic with that wretched dragon of hers. Some claimed her visions could only divine the worst of futures, and that she would cut herself to the bone just to understand pain. It was said everything she touched withered into the gloom.

Cregan swallowed against the rising dread. He had been pragmatic in agreeing to this union, believing the support of the ancient Targaryens would strengthen the North. Yet now, as he stood face to face with the girl cloaked in a bizarre silence, he wondered if he had invited his own destruction. The North had weathered many storms, but this... this felt different. He had faced wildlings, dire winters, wars, and beasts, but Claere Velaryon might be his greatest unknown yet.

Perhaps this alliance, this bond forged for power, would be his ultimate undoing. The Sea Snake must’ve played him for a fool, tying him to a sorceress masked as a Valyrian princess.

As if her touch had stung him, Cregan recoiled and returned his hands to his sides, a flicker of unease settling beneath his skin. The girl’s violet eyes stayed distant at his reaction, focused on some invisible realm beyond the godswood, oblivious to the accusations that swirled around her name like storm clouds. Never meeting anyone’s gaze, she stood perfectly still, frigid as the legends surrounding her, the direwolf sigil on his chest holding her attention.

When the quiet ceremony was over and it was time for goodbyes, the weight of the moment settled heavily on them all. Soft whispers filled the air as hands were clasped, and final glances exchanged. The warmth of shared vows had already begun to fade whilst the mother and daughter, her three brothers and their grandsire traded farewells. Cregan wavered close by, observing his new wife's interactions.

No one cried except the youngest brother, Joffrey, who had refused to let go of the princess. Everyone around her, her own kin, had kept their distance in approaching her.

"Who'll sing to me now, Claerie? The moon song?" Her little brother wept, shedding his tears into her fair silk gown.

Claere’s eyes moved from her tear-streaked brother to the rest of her family. Her voice was glacial, her expression more bored than curious.

"Why does he cry?"

A brief pause passed between the lot of them.

"Because he... we will miss you, sister. We might not see each other for a long time." It was young Lucerys who eventually answered her, his tone painfully understanding. He must be the forbearing one among them.

"Then do not miss me," Claere said to them simply. "It is not my wish to cause you pain till then."

Her certainty unsettled them, a silent dismissal that left her words hovering unanswered. She seemed unaware, perhaps unconcerned, that her family could not comprehend her detachment.

"I love you, Claerie." He buried his face deeper into her gown, as if afraid she might vanish from his arms. Claere remained still as if brooking her brother's overflowing love.

There it was—a twitch in Claere’s blank eyes, a flicker of something almost human. She glanced down at Joffrey, and with visible reluctance, patted his head. The gesture was mechanical, lacking the warmth he sought. A moment later, Jace stepped forward, his hands firm as he pulled Joffrey away, his actions laced with an unspoken fear that any more time in her presence might invite something unwanted.

"Will you stay with me?" Claere asked them, though her voice, usually collected, wobbled just enough to betray the edge of apprehension.

"Not for long, my girl," Rhaenyra said to her, her smile strained, hiding some secret discomfort. "Your home is here now. You will grow to love this place and your husband. I am sure."

"A cage of stone and ice," she murmured, her gaze distant, as if already relinquished to the cold halls of her future.

Rhaenyra's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was unduly firm. "You speak too soon, Claere. You are a Velaryon and a Targaryen—power runs in your blood. You will learn your duty in time."

"And you'll have Luna on your side," Luke appeased her in vain. An unspeaking, fire-breathing beast for a companion. His tender heart did not hold a candle to his blind faith.

But Claere said nothing more, her expression as stony as ever. The distance between her and the life she was meant to embrace felt as vast as the sky beyond.

Cregan watched the exchange in silence, the chill in his chest deepening with each word. His worst fears were confirmed. Claere was a stranger, even to those who should have known her best. They spoke to her as if she were something fragile, something... unnatural.

A freak.

And now, she was his.

X

No one was more reluctant than Cregan to spend his first night with his new bride.

As far as obligations went, he had managed to ban the sickening tradition of a "bedding ceremony" from the occasion, much to the disappointment of some. The thought of parading the princess through a crowd of leering men felt like an abomination, yet even without that outlandish formality, he still felt the burden of duties and expectations ploughing down on him like an axe.

His familiar chambers felt chillier today, the fire crackling weakly in the hearth as Claere stood near the window, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. She was silent, as she had been throughout the feast, her face betraying little emotion. She refused to eat, revel in wine, or even speak. She had managed a quiet nod after well-wishes, sometimes pressing her lips tight to pass for a smile.

He recalled, with an involuntary tremble, the black rumours that had plagued him during the dinner. The mention of how his wife’s tastebuds were supposedly tempted not by the fine meats and ales of the North, but by the flesh of those who dared to covet a single glance from the Velaryon beauty. Fattened soldiers who sought her favour and found only their doom.

It was absurd, indeed. And yet, as he glanced at Claere, so still and detached by the firelight, Cregan couldn't shake the disturbing thought. What sort of woman had he brought into his home?

The distance between them felt more than just physical—it was as though she existed in another world entirely, one he had no access to. He didn't know what troubled him more: her silence, or the eerie calmness with which she met her fate.

As Cregan set down his ancestral sword and shrugged off his heavy fur cloaks, Claere moved to him with quiet resignation. Her fingers began to undo the delicate laces of her nightgown, her motions disconnected as if compelled by some unspoken assignment. The fabric slipped, gathering at her shoulders, poised to fall, when Cregan's voice broke the tense stillness.

"There is no need for that," he said sharply, cutting through the air between them, the words coming out quicker than he intended.

He stepped forward, his rough fingers gently, yet firmly, adjusting the cloth back over her bare skin. Every inch of paleness he touched was smoother than the silk she adorned, warmer than the ice-cold fingers he had held in the godswood.

Claere blinked, startled, her violet eyes searching his face for the first time that night. The vigour of that shade disarmed him for a moment before he looked away. Yes, she was his wife, but more than that, she was a mystery. And he was a man who distrusted what he could not comprehend.

"Rest. That is all for now," he added, softer now, the command awkward in his throat.

Claere scrutinized him still, her sharp gaze unrelenting as if she could unearth the truth behind his stoic mask. When she spoke, her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Is there another you hold dear, my lord?"

He sighed, sinking into a cushioned seat by the hearth. "No," he replied, his tone careful, meeting her eyes with conscious composure. "And you?"

A strange smirk flickered across her face, the barest twitch of her lips. "Everything I hold dear gave me away like a pawn on a board."

Her words struck him like a blow, twisting his gut with an uncomfortable pang of pity. He allowed for her loneliness as if somehow, he was responsible for it. Yet, a strange foreboding hung in the air and kept his response locked in his throat.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the flames, fists clenching against the armrests as the fire danced and crackled, its warmth doing little to ease the cold knot of guilt growing in his chest.

"I understand you favour peace and quiet," he began carefully, his words lingering in the space between them. "But would you consider sitting with me tonight?"

Claere, staring at the shadows cast by the firelight, turned her gaze to him. Her eerie eyes, unnervingly calm, gave no indication of her thoughts. For a moment, he regretted speaking.

The pause stretched, and Cregan felt the silence chew at his nerves.

"Why?" she asked finally, her voice as undisturbed as it was empty, as though the idea of companionship was foreign.

He hesitated, searching for words. "I thought it might ease... the strangeness of the night." His eyes flickered to hers. "For both of us."

Claere’s lips barely moved as she gave a soft hum of acknowledgement. The stillness in her made him wonder if she felt anything at all, and a deeper anxiety stirred in him.

Without answering, she crossed the room, her movements as fluid and graceful as a phantom. She sat across from him, her gaze never leaving the flickering flames. Even now, such a short distance felt insurmountable.

"Ask away, my lord," she said quietly, reading into him deftly. "I do owe you many answers."

Cregan’s gaze faltered as Claere contested, and for a moment, the heat of the fire did nothing to chase away the chill crawling up his spine. Something was unnerving about the way she stared at him, something impenetrable, as if her pale eyes held some ancient secret he wasn’t meant to uncover.

"Do you hear them?" His voice was low, almost lost to the sound of the crackling wood. "The whispers about you."

Claere’s expression remained unchanged, her face as still as a porcelain mask. "What do they say?"

"They say that I was a fool to take a girl like you," he said, keeping his emotions hidden. "A girl who walks in dreams, who doesn’t belong to this world. They fear you."

Her gaze did not move an inch, unaffected by his claims. "People fear what they do not understand."

Every rumour, every whispered story of her strange tendencies crept back into his mind, grinding at his resolve. The tales of oddity, rituals, and things best left unspoken—they clung to the air between them.

"Are you afraid of me, my lord?" Her question cut through the silence like a blade.

Cregan swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart lurching in his chest. He wanted to say no, to deny the concern that gripped him, but something in her gaze made him feel exposed, powerless in a way he had not been before. He forced himself to meet her eyes, but the intensity there—the dark, unfeeling stare—made him feel as though he were sinking into a frozen lake.

His jaw clenched for a moment, as though wrestling with the words he ought to say to her. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter, but no less intense.

"I will not be made to live in dread of my wife," he countered firmly. "Though, beyond question, those words waver my trust for you. Upon your integrity. Time will tell."

For the first time, a glimmer of something passed over her face—a brief crack in the mask. Hurt? Confusion? Whatever it was, it was fleeting. Claere tilted her head slightly, studying him from head to toe like one might a curious specimen. He shifted back into his chair, unease unfurling in his stomach.

"You should be afraid of me," she said softly. It wasn’t a threat, but a statement, as if she were merely acknowledging a truth he had yet to accept.

Cregan did not sleep a wink that night. His ancient sword, Ice, lingered closer to him than expected, leaning on his bedside. He laid utterly still as Claere slumbered gingerly, uncaring of the shadows that danced around her, like a tarrying chill that would not leave him alone.

As the sun crested over the horizon, spilling its golden light into their chamber, there was one thing he made certain: Cregan understood that his fear was not of Claere herself, but of what she represented—an unknown force that defied everything Winterfell was. Truth and unity.

X

As the days wore on, Cregan Stark found himself perpetually on edge, his mind halved between the secret suspicions that crept through Winterfell and the cold reality of his new wife. Claere moved through the castle like a careless sprite, floating just beyond reach, drifting from room to room, always apart from the people around her. She left a wake of uncertainty in her path, tales trailing behind her like a fog.

Scarcely did she remain grounded; more often than not, she soared into the skies with Luna, her dragon, a creature so tremendous that many in Winterfell whispered it had outgrown the older beasts of war—Vhagar's equal in size and perhaps ferocity. The sight of it, gleaming silver scales slicing through the frozen air, sent shivers through the keep. Claere’s infrequent appearances at suppers left the hall feeling incomplete, her absence punctuated by muttered resentments from the courtiers and smallfolk alike. The duties of a lady to Winterfell—tending to the hearth and home, overseeing the castle’s workings—were not simply ignored but utterly abandoned.

And yet, Cregan could not bring himself to care. As long as Claere caused no disturbance, as long as she kept to the law, she was no hindrance to him.

As it went, Cregan had not slept in her bed since their wedding night. In fact, they had barely spoken. Claere had quietly suggested moving to a nearby chamber, giving him "his breathing space," as she put it, and he hadn’t objected. He offered up the one with arched ceilings, for when she dabbled in her music, and nearest to the enclosure where her dragon was housed.

Her peculiarities deepened with every passing day. In the dead of night, her harp’s haunting refrain would echo through the passageways, its melody weird and hypnotic. At other times, he would hear her soft footsteps racing through the corridor, out into the courtyard, lost in her dreams until dawn. Most of his courtiers noticed her out on the ramparts after nightfall, laying across the roof—how she got there was a mystery—and staring at the sky for hours on end, speaking to herself. But most unsettling of all were the obscure songs she would hum—songs that danced on the edge of his consciousness, unnervingly poignant, yet cruel in the sweet voice they reached. As if she were singing of things far beyond this world.

Blood and shadow, ice and flame, Sing the tune without a name In the frost, their voices hum Of dead unseen, of eyes aglow Of footsteps deep beneath the snow Ice will crack, and winds will wail, Have you seen the end unfold, the secret that never sleeps?

Claere's songs instilled an image of the most unspeakable cold he knew, distant woods beyond the Wall, where horrors awaited, ready to engulf the unwary. Sometimes, the songs became too much, stirring a dread in him so deep he would storm down the hall, ready to confront her. But each time he did, within her room, like a figure of utmost naïveté, she went by weathering her own storm.

This time, she had ensconced herself by the hearthside, rent of her sleeves, weaving dried winter roses across a vine.

"Did I wake you?" she had asked up at him.

His words faltered. Rather a hollow noise whooshed out his lips, his resentment fleeing at the sight of her. How could someone so callow invoke such unease?

"The hour grows late, princess," he would reply stiffly, the reprimand hollow even to his own ears. "It would be wiser to find some sleep before the morn."

"I adore the night," she had said to him. "Without it, you cannot see the stars. There are no shadows, too."

Cregan had expected to hate her. He had expected to find her burdensome, a hardship forced upon him by duty. But he did not. Indeed, he endured her and accommodated her. As unfamiliar as Claere was, there was something fragile beneath the mantle of her mystery. He found himself unable to despise her, though neither could he truly be fond of her. A part of him, born of compassion, wanted to protect her from the world that had turned its back on her. Perhaps, buried beneath her oddities, she yearned for some semblance of a connection she had never known.

It was one of the handmaidens who had come to him, trembling with unease, to speak of her lady’s growing detachment.

"She barely eats, my lord," the young girl had said. "I fear she grows weaker by the day, surviving on little more than water and grain."

"Have you asked the princess what she would prefer? Surely, our larders are rife enough to sustain her... distinct palate," one of the lords from Cregan's council interjected before he could react.

Cregan shot him a sharp, warning glare. He had long since grown weary of the whispers—the looks exchanged behind his back, the way people averted their eyes when his wife entered a room. The court treated her as if she were a curse, a spectre they wished to avoid. It only stoked his resolve to defend her, to ensure she was not devoured by their disdain. Claere was different, but she was not an object to be mocked.

The maid shifted uneasily. "I have spared no effort in this. Though, there is another issue, my lord."

The Stark lord sighed. "Aye, go on."

"Her ladies have dwindled to nought. I am only charged to tend to her meals, if not no one."

Cregan's heart sank at the thought. He wanted to believe that Claere was merely adjusting to her new life, that in time she would settle. But with each passing day, it became harder to ignore the isolation tightening its grip around her.

"And what, pray tell, has come over them to spurn their service to the Lady of Winterfell?" His voice was low but the threat in it was unmistakable.

The handmaiden lowered her head, unwilling to speak the truth aloud, yet the answer was clear enough. Fear. The court, the smallfolk, her own attendants—everyone was frightened of Claere.

When his eyes bore into her, she hesitated whilst wringing her hands. "We see strange things where the dragon sleeps. My lady's songs... people say they hear them echoing in the courtyard when there is no one."

"These slights must cease at once," he hissed, his voice barely above a murmur, but the weight behind it made the girl flinch. "Claere is a princess of the realm, moreover your lady. Any who fail in their duty will answer to me. Am I clear?"

She nodded hurriedly. "Yes, my lord," she stammered, bowing before retreating from the hall.

And when the next issue reached him, it was, once again, centred on the most pressing concern: Claere's dragon.

"We are unable to feed the beast, my lord," a nervous steward reported, his voice trembling as he stood before Cregan. "The men refuse to go near it. Even the bravest among them say they hear odd noises from its holding."

Cregan's brow furrowed deeply. "Are they afraid of a dragon doing what dragons do—eat?"

"It's not just that, my lord," the steward began, his voice shaky. "We simply do not have the numbers to sustain it. We've lost livestock faster than we can replenish, and there is not enough game in the woods this season. Our people will be left with nothing if it continues like this."

Cregan stood from his chair, pacing toward the hearth as the steward’s words sank in. Feeding Claere's dragon was becoming a task fraught with superstition and suspicion—neither of which he could afford in Winterfell. And now that dragon was a looming menace not just for its size, but even for its insatiable appetite. If they couldn't meet its needs, there was no telling what havoc it might wreak.

"I will take her out to hunt on the morrow," a hushed voice spoke up from across the room.

Cregan turned sharply to see Claere standing in the entrance, her pale little figure silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. No one had even heard her approach.

A rush of murmurs, of "my lady" and "your grace", went across the sparse crowd in the hall.

For the first time, he noticed how discomfited she seemed with the attention on her. She had courteous bows for the little council of lords before she stood before Cregan, silvery hair left dishevelled and her thin lavender silks trailing by her feet. The toll of her attendant's dearth was evident, how she had to cope alone these past days.

“You heard all that?” he muttered to her, trying to mask the unease.

Claere nodded, unruffled. Then she mellowly addressed the rest of the council who was seated and the anxious steward.

"Luna will no longer be a burden to you," she assured. "Thereafter, I will fly her beyond the Wall. There must be plenty of wild herds there that would satisfy her. And it will keep her from Winterfell's rife supply for a time."

While the disparaged lord hung his head, Cregan's breaths began to constrict. The idea of Claere—of anyone—venturing beyond the Wall unsettled him, but the alternative was just as threatening. It was dangerous to let someone so young, so inexperienced roam in the ancient, Northern wilderness. The risks were too great, even for a dragonrider. His argument would be proved right by the last Targaryen who visited the wall, Claere's own great-great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne and her dragon, Silverwing.

His gaze never left Claere as the lords around them voiced their concern, exclaiming how unwise it was for her to embark beyond Castle Black in such perilous times. Yet, she stood before them as cold and unbothered as ever, her violet eyes betraying no hint of fear or doubt.

"You plan to hunt beyond the Wall alone, as winter draws nigh?" Cregan asked, laced with tension. "You would risk that?"

One of his bannermen, old and discerning to the dangers of the North, came forth with an incredulous look. "A Southerner such as you would have no idea of the true perils beyond Whitetree, my lady. Five hundred years have passed since the last great threat, and still, we are not entirely certain what lurks in the darkness. If it isn't the cold that claims you, it might be wildlings or worse—barbed, spindly creatures, drawn from the blackest legends."

Claere tilted her head slightly as if the lord’s words were of little consequence to her. As if she knew something about the Land of Always Winter that he did not.

"Do not fret, ser," Claere replied, gentle yet astute. "Luna is fearsome when she needs to be. She is not just any dragon—she is the last living relic of Old Valyria, a mere egg when Aenar the Exile first claimed Dragonstone. She will protect me."

Her words should have been reassuring, but they left Cregan with a hollow pit in his stomach. It wasn’t her confidence in the dragon that troubled him—it was her complete lack of concern for the threats she would face. He had seen fear in men’s eyes before, but Claere’s violet gaze was barren, as though no amount of danger or uncertainty could touch her.

"You speak of Luna’s strength as if it is enough," Cregan finally said, his voice low. "But what of your own?"

"You needn’t concern yourself with my safety," she replied, her tone as impassive as her expression.

He studied her closely, weighing his options and her obvious solutions, searching her enchanting face for some flicker of apprehension. There was nothing. It irked him to no extent. Did nothing shake her? Did nothing put her off?

"I am the Warden of the North," he bit out. "Your safety is under my jurisdiction."

She shrugged one side of her shoulder. "Then it appears we have reached an impasse, my lord."

Her words were calm and detached, as though she were discussing the weather. Cregan's patience wore thin, his protective instincts clashing with her indifference.

He strode to her side, towering over her, his imposing figure blocking them from the view of the council. Claere leaned away, her eyes dipping down, her face contorting in disquiet at his proximity. Yet he pressed on, tucking a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to him.

"Don't," he tried to protest.

"Look at me," he urged, his grip tightening as frustration bled into his words. "I cannot risk you for something as feckless as a hungry pet. Do you understand me, Claere?"

Her gaze flicked up to meet his. For a brief moment, it was as if she were on the verge of revealing some hidden truth, some implicit fear or vulnerability.

"You do not risk me. 'Tis I who take the risk," she said, her voice painfully even.

Cregan's jaw clenched, his exasperation palpable as he released her chin, stepping back but still glaring at her. He could protect Winterfell, the North, and his people—but her? He was not so convinced anymore.

"Fine. Do as you wish," he surrendered. "Ride past the Wall."

She offered him nothing more than a parting curtsey as if she had already said too much. With that, Claere turned to leave the room but his words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"However, I will ride with you."

For a moment, she remained still, her back to him. Slowly, she turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. And finally—there it was.

A flicker of astonishment in her violet eyes. A break in the mask of indifference she so carefully maintained. Her lips parted, but no words came. Something deeper, more vulnerable, flickered in her violet gaze, a shadow of doubt or unease, quickly concealed again behind her calm facade.

"Why?" she asked, her foremost intuition to always suspect goodwill.

"It's not a request," Cregan replied, his tone brooking no arguments. "If you are to face danger, you will not do it alone."

Claere’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Without another word, she turned once more and left the room, the heavy doors closing behind her with a quiet thud.

Cregan stood still, watching the place where she had just been, and where no one could see him, broke out into a triumphant smirk. This was it then, a game at which two could play. If she was a tempest, then he would be the steadfast mountain, immovable against the storm.

X

thank you for reading! idk how a taglist works but I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

[sotwk]

The Sea Is Always Right (Elendil x OFC) - Part 1 of 4

Summary: The story of how the sea brought to Elendil his wife and the mother of his sons: a nymph in the service of Uinen, who had given up her world to join him in his.

Word count: 1.6k

Content: Romance, Comfort, Fluff, Magic, First Meeting, Mysterious Identities, Sea Nymphs, Reimagined Fairy Tale, SotWK AU and OC

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: Link

This chapter/ficlet is for @dilettantefeminist, who requested an Elendil fic. I hope you like this one. :)

Divider by @plum98

Chapter One

STRANGE TIDES INDEED

Second Age 3204

Andúnië, Númenor

“No--stop! Be careful!”

He snatched her wrist and yanked her hand away in time, before the freshly kindled flames, dancing in fiendish defiance of the seaside breeze, could burn her outstretched fingers. Elendil shook his head, his face swathed in warring halves of incredulity and frustration. But nothing registered in the girl’s expression as she blinked stupidly back at him. When he loosened his panicked grip, she simply withdrew her hand underneath the blanket wrapped about her and buried half her face behind her knees. 

Strange and stranger, Elendil thought, as he plopped back down on the sand. Silence resumed between them, its awkwardness mollified only by the crackle of the bonfire and the rhythmic crashing of waves. He had been a sailor long enough to have participated in the rescue of many near-drowned unfortunates. This one, however, had been a peculiar case from the onset, leaving the young lieutenant wondering whether the situation was too much for him to handle, and how quickly he could pass her on to someone else’s concern. 

He decided to try again. 

“The sun is low,” he began, prodding the fire between them idly with a stick. “If you have nowhere else to go, I know of an inn that will take you for the night. The innkeeper is a kind lady and a good friend of mine. You would not have to pay.”

Only because he would pay her way, but she did not need to know that.

Yet still the girl said nothing. In fact, it only worsened; suddenly she would not even look at him. Curled up into herself, she shrank fully underneath the saddle cloth he had given her off his horse’s back, to provide additional warmth on top of the shirt he had relinquished to guard her dignity.

It was easy enough to overlook decency when he first spotted her pale form prostrate on the shore, water sloshing up to her chest with every sweep of the tide. He leaped off his horse and ran up to pull her further ashore, away from the sea’s covetous reach. 

Once he had positioned her face-up, she was quick to regain consciousness. Before Elendil could lean in to check for pulse or breath, she opened her eyes. There was none of the gasping, coughing, or spitting of salt water that usually came from ones hauled from the deep. With the gradual ease of one waking from a light slumber, the stranger sat up on her own accord and faced Elendil where he crouched next to her. Her wide gaze locked directly with his, and she raised her hand, her fingertips hovering over, but never quite meeting, the hairs of his bearded cheek.

Only then did Elendil’s attention finally fall on the girl’s nakedness, for not an inch of her shivered, despite being thoroughly soaked and at the wind’s mercy. She made no effort to cover herself up. She just stared at him, her features morphing through a progress of expressions too obscure for him to read. 

As Elendil hurried to strip off his outer tunic and help her slip into it, questions rushed from his mouth. 

Are you all right?  Are you hurt?  What happened? How did you come to be in such a state?  What is your name? 

She did not answer, speak a word, or even utter a sound, which left Elendil to surmise that she had gone into shock from her ordeal. He led her inland to drier ground, where he proceeded to build a fire to help warm her up. As he worked he introduced himself, and told her where she presently was, assured her of her safety, and kept up a one-sided conversation using whatever other topics came to mind until he felt like a rambling fool. 

When he finally circled back to his earlier line of questioning, she remained entirely mute, repaying his efforts with that unwavering blank stare. Elendil wondered whether she simply required a hard shake to be broken free of her haze, but he balked at laying hands on such a pitiful waif. Perhaps she needed more time to regain control of her faculties? 

And so Elendil sat across the fire from her in watchful yet uncomfortable silence. He tried to ignore the stare that bore through him with such intensity and persistence. Gradually her gaze learned to wander off and study other things in their surroundings, from her own two feet to the rolling waves far across the blue horizon, but it always returned to Elendil.

Whether those eyes truly saw the things it beheld, was another matter. Elendil had his doubts, judging from the way she looked at him. Without fear, without curiosity, without confusion. Just…nothing. 

After nearly an hour of waiting, not much had changed…except Elendil’s forbearance had run out, leaving space for annoyance to sprout. He would have been home by now were it not for this unexpected detour, and there was nothing left for him to do if the strange girl could not, or would not, communicate with him. 

Elendil scrambled to his feet, a bit too sharply and without warning, yet she did not flinch. “We shall go then,” he announced firmly, to signal that he would accept no argument. “No doubt a hot supper and sleep on a soft bed will refresh you. In the morning you will feel much improved.”

That was the hope, at least. Elendil gave her a faint smile, which received no response like all the others, and walked a short distance across the beach to fetch his horse. 

Valar willing, Yavien would have better luck with the girl. The innkeep had much more experience dealing with all sorts of characters, and maybe a gentle woman would be better received. Leaving her at the inn was surely the correct choice.

Elendil took Súrion by the reins and smoothed a hand over the black courser's neck. He spoke quietly to the animal and began adjusting its tack, preparing him to bear a second rider.

And then he heard it. Soft, high notes carried by the sea breeze, swept into his ears where by its sweetness, it was immediately recognized. Elendil whipped around. The song. That wordless, unknown  melody that had haunted his mind, awake or asleep, recalled or unbidden, unceasing since that day the sea nearly claimed him.

That day he was saved. That day he awoke with the fast-fading memories of clinging to a driftwood plank, and of the desperate moment his strength failed after hours of fighting the raging current. He should have been lost to the deep forever. Instead he found himself with his back to the sands and his face to the dawn sky, bathing in a pale light and a beautiful hymn and a gentle warmth that embraced him from head to toe and told him he was not alone. 

Before his vision could clear, he felt a fleeting weight shift against his chest, and then the light and hymn and warmth all vanished to the sound of men shouting his name. Nearly a year had passed since, and Elendil still clung to those sensations, rejecting the claims of witnesses that there had been no rescuer, no others seen with him on that beach that morning. 

But this voice was indisputably real. It was no taunt in his head or spectre in his dreams. 

Elendil stood frozen for an age, listening. It was THE voice. As dear and as yearned for as the song that had been tormenting him with a crushing sense of loss.

And now, there they were. Both song and singer. Here. Elendil turned, and his feet moved on their own volition, leading him back to the bonfire. 

He fell to his knees. He bent over her, the girl still curled into a blanketed ball in the sand, her face tucked behind her drawn-up legs. Even as the song flowed from her, clearer and louder now up close, and undeniably his.

“You…” He swallowed hard, struggling to raise his voice above a hoarse whisper. “Was… was it you? Who sang to me?”

The tune faded from her barely parted lips as she slowly lifted her head, offering her that unchanged hollow stare. A heaviness gathered in Elendil's chest, choking his hopes. His hands clenched and unclenched. He did not know what to do with them. What he can do with them.

“Please… please, speak. I must know.”

Her brow furrowed with lines so deep it appeared a grimace. As though Elendil’s plea distressed her. Her gaze dropped slightly, resting somewhere in the narrow space separating them…and stopped there. She gasped as one doused by a wall of freezing water.

The transformation that sparked in her eyes spread quickly over the rest of her face, like the first burst of light at the sun's rising. Elendil looked down to find what had caught her interest. 

A spired seashell the size of his thumb, its even whorls colored in perfect patterns of gold upon silver, hung from a thong around his neck. It had fallen out of his shirt to dangle between them. The shell was the second gift that the sea left with him that day, placed upon his chest with the precision of intent. He had worn it everywhere since, to accompany the song and strengthen his faith.

“Elendil.”

She reached out and touched the shell with a single fingertip. His name on her lips spread her trembling mouth into a smile. His hand closed gently around hers, sealing the precious memento she had given him back in her grasp. 

“Elendil.” She whispered again, in the sigh of a traveler that had finally found their way back home. 

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Headcanon Masterlist

[pupsmailbox]

MARINE ID PACK

NAMES︰aalto. adrian. adriana. adrina. aegir. aerwyna. akua. alda. aleksy. alon. amphitrite. andrienne. anemone. anenome. angler. aqua. aquaette. aquata. aquatique. ariel. arielle. ashera. aurelia. azolla. banks. barbeau. bay. beachette. beachie. beachy. beryl. blu. blue. bluette. bonnie. brooke. bubble. bubbles. calamari. calder. calypso. calyspo. captain. cari. caspian. cassius. cattail. cean. cecelia. celesea. cerulean. cerumae. ceto. clover. coastalle. coastelle. coral. coralette. coralie. coraline. cordelia. corel. corelle. coron. coronis. cove. cubit. current. cyx. dari. daria. darya. davy. delja. delmar. delphin. delphine. derya. destiny. doria. dorian. doris. dory. dylan. echo. elles. eyre. fern. fin. finley. finn. fish. fishe. fisher. fishette. fishy. flipper. float. foam. fwish. goldie. guinevere. guppy. hudson. hurley. hyacinth. hydropha. ink. inky. isla. jack. jelli. jelly. jewel. jordan. jordyn. kai. kaia. kairy. kelpie. kelsey. lagoona. lagoonette. lagoonne. lake. lana. levi. leviathan. lorelei. lotus. maelyn. malik. maren. marie. marin. marina. marine. marinette. marion. marissa. maritren. marlin. marne. marnie. marvin. mary. maxwell. meena. mer. merissa. merlin. meryl. mira. mirabel. miranda. miriam. moby. molly. moray. morgan. moss. naiad. nancy. nauticalette. nauticalle. nelum. nemo. neptune. nessie. nina. nixie. nori. nova. nymph. nymphaea. ocean. oceanette. oceania. oceanne. oceanus. octo. oscar. oss. osseo. pacifica. patience. pearl. pearline. percy. pike. pine. pippy. pond. poseidon. puff. rain. raine. ray. reef. reefette. river. ronan. rosemary. sachiel. sailor. sandy. scylla. seaette. seamus. searya. seaseaette. seashelle. seaton. sebastian. selkie. serena. shark. sharky. shell. shelle. shelley. shelly. shorette. siren. sirena. sirenette. sirenne. skip. skipper. snapper. sporty. squid. star. summer. sushi. tail. tallulah. teal. tide. tidette. timin. titus. treasure. trout. twilight. undine. valdrian. vert. verulean. waterette. wave. wavette. wavy. willow. windsor. wisteria. world. wyvern.

PRONOUNS︰ab/abyssal. algae/algae. an/anemone. ang/angelfish. aq/aqua. aqu/aqua. aqua/aqua. aqua/aquatic. aquatic/aquatic. bay/bay. be/beach. bea/beach. beach/beach. bite/bite. bleu/bleu. bloop/bloop. blu/blue. blub/blub. blue/blue. bo/boat. brea/breathe. breeze/breeze. brine/brine. bubble/bubble. ca/catch. cae/caer. carp/carpal. cat/cattail. cattail/cattail. chomp/chomp. clam/clam. claw/claw. cliff/cliff. coast/coast. cor/coral. coral/coral. cra/crab. crab/crab. cur/rent. dae/daem. de/deep. dee/deep. deep/deep. di/dive. dive/dive. dol/dolphine. drift/drift. drip/drop. drop/droplet. drow/drown. eel/eel. enj/emjoy. exci/excite. fi/fish. fin/fin. fish/fish. fish/fishe. fish/fishie. fish/fishy. flo/float. flo/flood. float/float. flow/flow. foam/foam. fwi/fwish. fy/fish. gill/gill. glass/glass. glub/glup. gre/green. gull/gull. hi/hide. hunt/hunt. hy/hydro. ink/ink. jaw/jaw. jel/jelly. jell/jellyfish. jelly/jelly. jelly/jellyfish. kelp/kelp. krill/krill. lagoon/lagoon. lake/lake. li/light. lob/lob. lost/lost. lu/lung. luu/luu. ma/marine. mako/mako. mar/marine. marine/marine. mer/maid. mer/mer. mer/mermaid. natu/nature. nautical/nautical. nep/neptune. oce/ocean. ocea/ocean. ocean/ocean. octo/octopu. oyster/oyster. peace/peaceful. pearl/pearl. pinch/pinch. puddle/puddle. ray/ray. re/reef. reef/reef. riv/river. river/river. sa/sand. sail/sail. salt/salt. sand/sand. scale/scale. scuttle/scuttle. se/sea. sea/sea. sea/seaweed. sea/shell. seal/seal. search/search. sh/ship. sha/shark. shark/shark. she/shell. shell/shell. shimmer/shimmer. shine/shine. shiney/shiney. shoal/shoal. shore/shore. shri/shrimp. sink/sink. skul/skel. soul/soul. splash/splash. spon/sponge. squ/squid. squid/squid. star/fish. star/star. stare/stare. sting/sting. su/sun. sun/sun. sun/sunbathe. swi/swim. swim/swim. swish/swish. tail/tail. tear/tearself. ten/tentacle. ti/tide. tide/tide. tooth/tooth. tre/trench. treasure/treasure. tro/tropical. tropi/tropical. tuna/tuna. um/umbrella. urchin/urchin. void/void. wa/water. wa/wave. wash/wash. wat/water. water/water. water/wave. wave/wave. wet/wet. wha/whale. whale/whale. wy/wave. ☀. ⛱. 🌅. 🌊. 🌞. 🌴. 🍥. 🎣. 🏖. 🐋. 🐙. 🐚. 🐚.🦐. 🐟. 🐠. 🐡. 🐬. 🐳. 👙. 💧. 🚢. 🛥. 🦀. 🦈. 🦐. 🦑. 🦞. 🧽. 🧿. 🩱.

[lanaevyssmoved]

OC + Random Associations

tagged by @cetra , @sleepsvessel & @bootheminiaturegiantspacehamster thank you ^_^

Animal

Afhiri sea slugs, isopods (dairy cow and zebra), geckos and other various reptiles, cats, small birds, musteloids (particularly raccoons and red pandas), viverrids, japanese raccoon dogs, opossums Candor lions, various eagles (wedge-tailed, golden, crowned), hawks, swans and geese, bighorn rams, crocodillians, sea turtles, elephants, animals that use sun compass orientation Cirok corvids (raven, crow), dogs (rottweiler, doberman, pinscher, greyhound), venomous black snakes, scorpions, spiders (particularly trapdoor spiders and sicarius), bats, black caiman, sharks

Colors

Afhiri pastels! pink, yellow, orange, green, blue, white, black Candor changes depending on form but in general purple, blue, red, yellow, orange, gold, brown, white, black Cirok black, grey, white - absolutely no Colour (thanks to booboo i now think of like toxic waste green when i think of cirok too)

Month

Afhiri September Candor August Cirok November

Songs

Afhiri tapi tapi - tempura kidz fear. moe shop and fun - sir sly. sir sly's vibe is way off for afhiri but the lyrics were written for her Candor a sun coloured shaker - yndi halda and (spring) this was your place - sunlight ascending Cirok jouska - evenS (probably favourite song of all time btw) and i come with knives - IAMX

Number

Afhiri two/2 Candor three/3 Cirok four/4

Plants

Afhiri celandine, sunflower, pink tulip, daisy Candor bay tree, gladiolus, heliotrope, rose Cirok chives, anemone, begonia, deadly nightshade

Scents

Afhiri fresh morning, grass, dirt, cotton candy, bubblegum Candor cedar, musk, sandalwood, the ocean, burning  Cirok decay, death, rot, overwhelmingly of resin

Gemstone

Afhiri tugtupite Candor meliphanite Cirok magnetite

Time of day

Afhiri sunrise Candor midday Cirok night

Season

Afhiri summer Candor summer Cirok winter

Places

Afhiri taverns, meadows, by rivers and lakes Candor monasteries, temples, places of worship Cirok the dank, cold and forgotten, the forbidden

Food

Afhiri sweet things, nothing good for you Candor warm meals Cirok raw meat

Drinks

Afhiri sugary sweet drinks, energy drinks Candor various teas (green, oolong, herbal, black) Cirok piping hot black coffee

Element

Afhiri air Candor fire Cirok water

Seasonings

Afhiri garlic, ginger, cinnamon Candor paprika, turmeric, bay leaves Cirok dried chives, cloves, saffron

Sky

Afhiri the most beautiful sunny cloudless summer sky Candor a colourful golden orange, red, and purple with light cloud cover Cirok stratus clouds, grey, calm and quiet

Weather

Afhiri warm day with lots of sun and a gentle breeze Candor blazing hot summers day with minimal to no wind Cirok cold winters day with fog and light snow

Magical power

Afhiri manipulative magic that makes someone act against their own will, anything that makes them laugh or dance. also the magical power of Insults Candor holy smites, blinding lights and divine energy Cirok phasing into the realm of the dead to walk partly as a ghost

Weapons

Afhiri shortsword and dagger combo, dual hand crossbows Candor mace and shield, longbow, floating/flying greatsword Cirok dual daggers, throwing knives, poisons and venoms

Candy/Sweets

Afhiri cotton candy, bubblegum, and i designed her with fruit salad in mind! Candor spicy roasted pecans, maple roasted sweet potatoes, sea salt dark chocolate Cirok liquorice, black jack, toxic waste

Method of long distance travel

Afhiri roadtrip in a classic volkswagen camper van Candor flying Cirok underground trains

Artstyle

Afhiri impressionism, abstract expressionism, street art, dadaism, CoBrA and fauvism Candor baroque and classicism Cirok optical art and minimalism

Fear

Afhiri of the self, of emotional pain, of returning home Candor of imperfection, of failure, of not being worthy Cirok of being seen, of death, of vulnerability

Mythological creature

Afhiri azeban, mujina, nymph Candor chalkydri, phoenix, psychopomp Cirok tsuchigumo, black dog, gargoyle

Piece of stationery

Afhiri a childs box of crayons, dairy Candor fountain pen, ruler Cirok ink, letter opener

Three Emojis

Afhiri 🤡🍀🪈 Candor ☄️🎇🪽 Cirok 🕷️♟️🔪

Celestial body

Afhiri the moon Candor the sun Cirok black dwarf

THIS TOOK ME FOREVER GUYS... TWO DAYS. I WORKED ON IT FOR HOURS. i hope........ its worth it <3

tagging @cetra @dekariosgale @courierseis @euryalex @hibernationsuit @jerichoes @vanoefucks @captaintiny @gwynbleidd @arduath @rcpunzel @avallachs @fuckitwebhaal @hexdruid @sovereign-spaw @galesgrandad @thefathersbride @dandeyrain @doggybone @swanfey @voerman @full---ofstarlight @chaos-storm @covenscribe @raphaelsboudoir @simtalics @kymal @graynstairs @neonbutchery @hungryblackbird @moxley @thlix @isayashai @darlinghowl @astarionsfordf150 @moon-jun @lovaboy @ratscrap @picklepals @crazy-lazy-elder-sims @rigaudon @neosunbrella @sternenstaub28 @centipisde @kirkwall @lusus--naturae

[ramayantika]

Me thinking about my Apsara daughter OC who is sleeping for the first time on a small hostel bed in the mortal world, away from her mother and unaware of her life ahead for the next one year. She lies awake and hears the two other girls sleeping soundly.

The room is dark and no sweet breeze blows inside. The windows are closed and are covered by old and thin red curtains. No enchanted skies nor bright stars shine down at her and her mother is still disappointed over her for 'accidentally' choosing the mortal world.

But fatigue and worry takes over, and her eyes are gradually closing. 'Is this all worth it.'

__ xxx __

A Nymph's Mortal love ka advertisement lelo guys . I am still working offline on this story but reading thr first chapter on wattpad will not hurt. More updates will be here on tumblr as well as on my writing insta account (samridhi.writes) hehe love you

[florencemtrash]

The Wisp Between Worlds

CHAPTER FOUR: THE FOX AND THE HIGH LORD

Acotar fanfic/rewrite. Inner Circle x OC. Eventual Azriel x OC.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Warnings: None for this chapter 

Masterlist

*Let me know if you would like to join the taglist*

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Nora had to endure horseback riding for another hour, sweat dripping down her back and clinging to her clothes, before she finally felt them slow down. The mask slipped off her face like water, dropping to the grass and immediately springing up into a rosebush. 

Nora gasped at the minor display of magic.

The ground was swollen with the blossoms of spring - marigolds, peonies, hydrangeas, lilies, and roses drifting along in a floral sea. Marble fountains of horned and hoofed creatures carrying instruments were carefully laid out in the garden, carved with such a careful hand that when she dismounted and crawled onto the fountain ledge she could make out their eyelashes. 

Nora dared to touch the wrist of a forest nymph who spilled crystal clear water from her jar. She was smoother than freshly waxed glass.

Tamlin’s estate was sprawled out comfortably amidst the vibrant rolling hills, as fat and happy as the bumblebees that drowsily floated from flower to flower. Blood red roses and emerald green vines dripped down the manor’s alabaster walls and turret roofs, pooling beneath the balconies and windows so that anyone who let the wind in would be greeted with their intoxicating scent.

Tamlin made his way towards the manor without a word. 

Nora hurried after him with awkward strides as her knees and thighs re-acquainted themselves with standing on solid ground. She was in desperate need of a bath and rest.

The faint click of Tamlin’s claws on the checkered floors echoed throughout the empty hall. Nora could hardly breathe, worried that the mere sound of her existence would disrupt the wonderment flooding her mind. The black and white marble tiles were polished so thoroughly she caught her reflection looking back at her, dirty and disheveled, and foxgloves hung in bundles from the gilded buttresses, swaying in the breeze like church bells. 

A manor of this size must have had at least one hundred servants to keep it in order, but when Nora strained her ears she was only rewarded with the lonely, echoing silence.

Left at the portrait with the golden bear, right at the next junction with the 6-foot tall elk horn, past the green stained glass windows, then- 

She traced their steps until they reached a set of oakwood doors as tall as the ceiling and thicker than the length of her hand. 

The doors swung open of their own accord, exposing a grand dining room with velvet curtains and a solitary table cut from a tree trunk. 

A fae male sat at the table, russet brown and golden mechanical eyes staring out from behind a fox mask. His hair was as vibrant and warm as a winter fire, offset by his handsome emerald suit jacket and honey-colored skin. The only imperfection he possessed - if it could even be called that - was the scar that dragged through his ruined eye and landed at the corner of his lip like a lightning strike.

Must be Lucien. 

He shot up from the table, golden eye flashing, “Tam, where the hell have you been?”

Tamlin ignored him and made his way around the table. With a flash of light and a groan he collapsed into his rose-engraved chair. Where there had once walked a beast now sat a very beautiful, and very exhausted fae. 

Nora tilted her head to look at him, carefully observing the gold mask that remained frozen in place as he dragged a hand down his face. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien said. He hadn’t noticed the human girl waiting by the dining room threshold, but he was alerted to her presence when Tamlin raised a single finger towards her.

Lucien’s gold eye whirred, the artificial pupil constricting as he turned around and looked at Nora.

“She’s the one that killed Andras?” Surprise and disdain flooded his voice. She was so… human - a poor credit to her species and thin as a reed. He crossed the floor in three strides and glared down at her. She found only disbelief and mild hatred in his face.

He sniffed the air around her and frowned. “She reeks.”

Color flooded into her cheeks, blood turning hot, “It’s almost like I’ve been traveling the last day and a half. Without a meal, might I add.” 

She scowled at Tamlin as he slunk into his seat further and rubbed his temples. Her hunger had flared up with a vengeance on the last leg of their journey and she felt it twist and tug within her. Just because she was used to an empty stomach didn’t mean it felt any more pleasant.

“Go bathe. You can eat after.” Tamiln said with a lazy wave of his hand like she was some dog to be dismissed.

Nora’s scowl deepened. She was hungry now, although she had to admit a bath also sounded heavenly. 

Before she could shoot back a reply a fae slipped into the room from a hidden hallway, bowing deeply to Tamlin before deigning to give Nora a curt nod. This fae was even shorter than her and a female from the looks of her wide hips and soft features, although the gnarled mask of woven branches made it difficult to make out her face. 

She walked to another set of open double doors and clicked her heels together, waiting expectantly for Nora to follow. 

When Nora glanced at Tamlin, it seemed that he’d already forgotten she existed, eyes roaming over the silverware.

You’re a real charmer. Asshole.

Still she followed the female out of the dining room without a fight. She’d save her energy for another day.

“Best to kill her now and be done with it.” She heard Lucien hiss beneath his breath as the doors shut behind them.

The female was ruthless when it came to bathing. Before the bathroom door was even fully shut, she was pulling away at Nora’s clothes with rough, strong hands as callous as tree bark. 

“Wait! No!” Nora grabbed at Dinah’s coat when it was pulled from her shoulders.

“It’s stiff with dust and sweat, child.” The female clicked her tongue, catching sight of the makeshift bandage on Nora’s arm, “And a good deal of blood,” Her voice held the same texture as her hands. “Best to get rid of it.” 

“No.” Nora said. The fae cast a narrow eye at the girl, ancient and impatient, “Please,” She tried again, softening her tone, “It’s the only thing I have from home.”

The girl in front of her could only be eighteen, nineteen at most - young for a human and absolutely fetal for a fae. 

She sighed, “I’ll wash it and return it tonight.” She said from between tight lips. 

The girl deflated with relief, holding onto the ruined fabric for one final moment before she let it pass from her hands.

“...Thank you….” She murmured beneath her breath, grasping for a name.

“Alis.” 

“...Thank you, Alis.” 

The human had more manners that she would have anticipated.

Nora’s face turned bright red when Alis stripped her of her clothes, but the female only clicked her tongue again like one might reprimand a child. 

With the promise that Dinah’s coat would be cared for, Nora let herself sink into the bathtub up to her neck, groaning as the hot water soaked into her skin and eased her aching legs. 

Alis scrubbed away at her skin with honey-scented soap until it turned red and prickled upon touching the air, as though that would remove her human deficiency. But Nora welcomed the faint pain and the sharp nails that scratched without mercy at her scalp and tore away months of hard living. No matter how long she remained in the bath, no matter how clean she became, the water remained clear.

Alis had no shame in nakedness when she pulled the girl from the bath and began rubbing her down in lavender oils and brushed rosewater through her hair. The girl continued to look down at her feet sheepishly, covering parts of herself as Alis went about her business. She had one duty and one duty only - to make the girl appealing enough for the High Lord to court and seduce. Maybe then they’d all be freed from this mess. 

She finished by wrapping up Nora’s arm in fresh linens the same shade as her skin so the wound would be nearly imperceptible beneath the sheer sleeves of her dress.

Nora was delivered back to Tamlin and Lucien like a trussed up turkey - her neat braids complete with green ribbons to match Tamlin’s eyes. She’d been forced into a similarly toned sage-green gown that swished around on the ground behind her.

She twisted her hands together, suppressing the rising disgust in her stomach. These were not clothes she would have picked for herself. These were not clothes that had been made for her - they’d been made for a fae. 

The gossamer sleeves hung past her hands, clearly intended for a creature with longer, more slender limbs. The neckline of the dress similarly dropped too low, exposing much of her chest and leaving her vulnerable and cold.

She wanted Dinah’s coat back. She wanted to sink into the material and slink off into memories of home. Home with Dinah and Jaskiel. Home with her parents. Perhaps Alis’s bath had been a curse - her hard won outer layer seemed to have fizzled away with the lavender bubbles.

The two males froze in their seats, whatever conversation they’d been indulging in forgotten as they took in the sight of her. 

Lucien knocked his elbow into Tamlin’s side, subtly coughing into a closed fist. Tamlin took the hint and stood up, opening his arm towards the empty seat next to him and across from Lucien. 

Nora didn’t want to move. She wanted to disappear into her room and dive into the satin bed sheets that had been calling her name ever since Alis showed her her quarters. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to run. But her eyes narrowed in on the feast laid out before them.

The table was laden with enough food for a holiday party: whole roasted quails smothered in butter with garlic and thyme, fresh baked bread that steamed from the decorative slits cut into the crust, candied oranges piled on a platter next to a moist chocolate walnut cake. 

Nora’s stomach clenched painfully and her hunger won out. 

She awkwardly slid into her seat, dragging layers of tulle behind her. 

When Tamlin leaned across the table and began piling sausages, creamed spinach, bread, and more onto her plate, Nora had to suppress the urge to cringe away.

The bewilderment on her face seemed to please him as he settled back into his seat and began serving himself. Lucien was left to his own devices.

The first bite of honey-roasted walnuts and potatoes hit her tongue, exploding with a taste so bright and powerful she wondered if she had died and gone to heaven. She’d never tasted food so pure and delicious.

Tamlin stared curiously, watching as she slowly lost all sense of propriety and began stuffing her face, but if he was judging her table manners he didn’t show it. 

Lucien coughed, eyes flashing between the pair and Tamlin caught the message, dropping his wine glass onto the table with enough force to grab her attention. 

Her silverware froze above the piece of chicken on her plate, stopping their planned assault. 

Tamlin clenched his jaw, “Your hair…” 

She could see the place where his brain should be trying to formulate a compliment.

“Is clean. And you smell… nice.” He growled out with difficulty.

It wasn’t a lie. Alis had sprayed her down with enough perfume that a blind man would mistake her for a rosebush.

Nora stifled a laugh and Lucien rolled his eyes, bowing his head so that his forehead rested on graceful fingertips.

If Tamlin actually believed she would fall for his half-brained compliment he was proven wrong. Silence settled over them, thick and uncomfortable. 

She didn’t want to speak to them. She didn’t even know how’d she respond. They expected her to be afraid - hell, she was afraid - but she also felt some minor thread of confidence. For the time being she was safe, and she had to make use of that time as best she could to try and prepare for what was coming. Courting a romantic relationship with Tamlin was secondary. For now the best thing she could do was learn everything there was to learn about Prythian and the Human Lands - things that couldn’t be gained by asking too many questions or staying too long at the dinner table.

They must have a library somewhere.

“I would have expected more questions from you.” Lucien commented lazily, pulling Nora abruptly from her thoughts. The wine swished around in his cup, getting dangerously close to spilling over the sides as he narrowed his eyes at the girl, “You’re the first human in decades to step foot in Prythian, and you’re dining with one of the most powerful Hi-”

Tamlin growled in warning, shooting Lucien a glare strong enough to slice through the end of his sentence. 

Lucien cleared his throat, unfazed by the rude interruption, “You’re dining with two powerful High Fae. Surely your little human brain is curious.” 

Nora tapped her foot impatiently beneath the table, mouth twisting to the side in thought. Every parcel of her being was exploding with questions, curiosity threatening to pour out of her skin, but she didn’t want to interrogate them. She didn’t want to play her hand too early if she slipped up and said something she wasn’t supposed to know.

Her silence was mistaken for a resounding no. Lucien sighed as though disappointed but unsurprised, “How typical of humans to think so small.” 

She bristled, her pride wounded and smarting. 

“Excuse my friend,” Tamlin jumped at the opportunity to come to her aid. “He’s not in the best mood right now.” 

“I suppose you know the reason why.” Lucien’s face soured. 

Andras. 

The name hung above their heads.

She had killed his friend. She knew this, but it was too early to apologize for it, as much as she wanted to. So she once again settled for the safe option of staying silent, letting the guilt pool in her stomach and steal away her appetite.

“What exactly am I doing here? What do you want from me?” Nora asked carefully. It was a safe question - an obvious question, “Shall I sweep the floors? Wash the laundry? Be a punching bag for your thinly veiled insults?” She aimed the last question at Lucien and he had the kindness to at least look ashamed of his comment. 

“You are not a prisoner here.” Tamlin said gruffly. Nora raised her eyebrow. “What I mean is, you are here to fulfill the Treaty’s exchange - a life for a life. Apart from that you have no duties. Walk the grounds, explore the manor, or leave my court entirely. I do not care.” 

You most certainly do care. I know you care. 

“But the moment you step foot outside Prythian the deal is off. There will be no protection for you or your family.” 

“Your court?”

Tamlin froze, teeth clamping down on his tongue until he tasted blood. Lucien simply wanted to crumple to the floor in exasperation. It hadn’t even been a full day and Tamlin had already let slip his identity. He saw her mind stir, eyes fidgeting around the room as she put the pieces together. If he wasn’t mistaken, he even saw laughter behind her eyes.

“That’s what you said, isn’t it? You’re not just some high fae, you’re a High Lord.” 

“Yes.” He gritted out. His knuckles had turned white.

She thought for a long while before hesitantly asking, “So I truly may do as I wish here? You won’t kill me?”

“Yes, and no.”

Tamlin sensed the hesitation in her body before her scent slowly shifted to hope and curiosity. She’d have the run of the manor and for the first time since coming to this world she’d have access to books and music and good food.

Images of Dinah and Jaskiel flashed through her mind: Jaskiel limping to his chair after a long day of scribbling out sums in exchange for pennies, Dinah coming home with raw hands after hours of lime washing a local lord’s floors. Older images that she had buried in her heart also rose to the surface: Mom and Dad setting up the table for three before realizing she wouldn’t be coming home, Mom and Dad taking the long drive around town so they wouldn’t have to pass by the boardwalk. 

This manor was but a beautiful prison, and Nora had so far been treated like a doll to be dressed up and seduced by an incompetent Tamlin. She was painfully aware of it… and yet… it was a better life than the one she’d left behind. At least here she would not starve. At least here she would no longer have to worry about when the money would run out. 

If she asked for books or jewelry or dresses or anything else her heart desired Tamlin would jump at the chance to make her fall in love with him. 

It made her feel guilty.

“And my family?” The weight of her words, the sincerity of them, tempered Lucien’s distaste for the girl who’d murdered his friend.

“I promised you before they’d be taken care of.” Tamlin said.

“But what does that mean?” Nora splayed her hands on the table, hating that her previous excitement over material things had outshone her longing for her home, “What does it mean that you’re taking care of them?” 

Lucien leaned back in his chair, watching her quietly. She wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He’d expected her to blaze through the manor like a hateful and seething flame. Instead she was more like a firefly in a jar - constantly buzzing and flickering with thoughts and emotions that she tried to trap within herself. He didn’t know how to make sense of her.

Tamlin sighed, hands gently folding in front of him. Something like sympathy peered out from behind the mask.

“Dinah and Jaskiel think your family - your real family - found you and sent for you to be brought back to the Continent. I crafted a final memory of them seeing you off on a carriage with your very wealthy aunt.” 

Nora stilled, tears beginning to gather in her eyes as Tamlin continued. 

“I’ll be sending money to them every month on behalf of your “real” family as thanks for protecting and caring for you. It will be more than enough for them to live comfortably without having to work.” 

“Did you… did you really?” She whispered softly.

“I swear on my life and my court.” Tamlin assured her.

She laughed without humor, brushing away the tears that had spilled onto her cheeks. Perhaps now the villagers would really believe that she was a foreign-born royal. 

“That’s a very good lie you came up with.” Nora muttered with disdain. The chair screeched along the floor when she stood up abruptly, and no one stopped her as she disappeared out the door.

“Well I think that went well.” Lucien said with a grimace. He downed the wine to its last bitter dregs.

Tamlin’s low growl followed Nora as she half-stumbled her way back to her room.

When she finished untangling herself from the wretched dress and sank beneath the covers, she finally allowed herself to cry. 

Tamlin had crafted such a perfect and necessary lie. Dinah and Jaskiel would be able to rest easy believing she was with her true family, but Nora would have to live with the truth. 

She was now utterly alone.

>>>

The chirping birds, obnoxious and hormonal, woke Nora up just in time to see the sun crest over the hills. The moment her heels hit the marble floor Alis snuck in, a pile of dresses stretched out in her hands.

“Good morning.” Alis said, her voice curt as she spread the dresses on the bed, “Which would you like to wear today?”

“I get to choose my dress?” Nora blinked the sleep out of her puffy eyes. 

“Yes, child. You get to choose your dress.” 

Nora said little as Alis fussed with her hair, tying it back in a simple braid before ushering her to the bathroom to deal with her tear-stained face. 

The dress Nora selected was simple - an ankle length riding gown paired with a deep blue vest and short boots. Alis tried not to display her displeasure as Nora dressed herself haphazardly. After a long, dreamless night she was ready to escape her room and find some secret corner of the manor to hide in - preferably in the library. 

Thoughts and plans for the day raced through her head as she followed Alis’s quick footsteps to the dining room, memorizing the path once more.

The frown was clear on her face when she saw Tamlin and Lucien crowding the breakfast table. Alis nudged her forward, unsticking her feet from the floor with a sharp jab to the center of her back. 

“How did you sleep?” Tamlin asked as she settled down and stabbed at a sausage. The faster she ate, the faster she could leave.

“Terribly.” 

“How unfortunate.” Lucien said, decked out in a riding uniform of his own. The deep green jacket was overlaid with gold-plated steel, as functional as it was beautiful. A pearl-handle knife the color of bleached bone was sheathed comfortably across his chest, a matching sword resting against the table as he ate.

Tamlin was similarly armed, but his weapons looked more decorative. After all, how much good were weapons when he could transform into a near unkillable beast at any moment. When the light hit his skin at certain angles, Nora could almost see the skin of the creature beneath, unyielding and impenetrable. 

He caught her staring at the glimmering badges pinned to his coat.

“Lucien and I have business to attend to today,” he said, answering her unspoken question, “You may do as you wish. If you require anything you may ask the servants.” 

Nora frowned at the word - servant, how archaic - and looked around the empty hall. They lurked about somewhere, moving through the estate unseen to her eyes. Were they watching her now? Were they waiting for a moment to report her odd behavior to Tamlin? 

That was the first thing she’d have to fix. There would be no way for her to sneak around undetected if she couldn’t even see who she should be hiding from. Thoughts of the Suriel flashed through her mind, her fingertips rubbing together as she flipped through the pages of a phantom book and imagined what information she might be able to sink her fingers into. 

“I assure you, you are safe here. My people won’t harm you in any way.” Nora snapped her head up, grateful that he’d mistaken her scheming for worry. 

“You promise?” a hint of surprise and hope slipped into her voice.

“I promise.” Tamlin said, nodding his head fervently. He ignored the dampness of his palms and pushed down the revulsion he felt at being reduced to this. He was one of the most powerful creatures in all of Prythian, perhaps in the entire world, and he needed to resort to courting a human to protect his people. The thought made him feel weak, lesser. He hadn’t wanted to send his men out to their deaths in the woods. With every friend he buried he could feel a bit of himself chipping away and landing beside their graces. 

He was desperate, and he would resort to this measure in his desperation.

“And I may go anywhere? Do anything?” 

Tamlin’s lips curled back in a feline grin, catching the light that sparked to life in her eyes. “Within reason.” 

Lucien snorted, “How much damage do you intend on doing, human?”

As much as possible.

“None.”

He snorted again, half-amused at her blatant lie.

“Where’s the library?” Nora stood up abruptly when she finished eating, not waiting to be dismissed from the breakfast table.

“The library?”

“Do you not have one?” She asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Tamlin’s anger flared up like a gasoline fire. Lucien shot him a warning glance, standing up lightly and tilting his head towards the left before his High Lord could say or do anything he might regret.

“We have the most beautiful library you will have ever seen. Tamlin can show you the way, can’t you Tamlin?” 

“I can find it myself.” Nora snapped. She didn’t want company, only to disappear for the day, “Just give me the directions.”

“It’s a very large manor. We wouldn’t want you getting lost.” Something told her Lucien wanted nothing more than for her to ride off into the woods and never come back.

“I’ll ask whoever is around if that happens.” She said quickly, itching to find her escape. 

Mercifully, Tamlin didn’t press her to accept his company. 

He’d barely finished giving her the directions before she was flying out the side door, skirts shifting in the spring breeze like a ghostly afterimage. 

There was work to be done and plans to be made.

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Taglist: @myheartfollower @impossibelle @chybay22 @lahoete

Author's note: I struggled writing this chapter so I apologize if it's slow, but I'm just going to post it anyway so I can continue on to chapters I have more fleshed out plans for. Who knows, maybe I'll actually write down an outline for this fic instead of holding it all in my brain 😅. I hope you all have a lovely weekend.

[shivunin]

Fanfic Writer Questions

Tagged by @greypetrel - thank you so much! 💗

I know this has made the rounds already. If I tag you and you've already done it, please feel free to tag me in the replies or disregard!

Tagging: @nightwardenminthara @vakarians-babe @transprincecaspian @star--nymph @blightbear @inquisimer @dreadfutures @scribbledquillz

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

43

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

688,185

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Published? Just Dragon Age. But I have some unfinished/unpublished Mass Effect and Baldur's Gate stuff as well.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All of these are Cullavellan fic:

Your Fate for Mine (129,681 Words | E)

More Than Memory (5,214 Words | E)

Search Your Hands (13,581 Words | E)

Unyielding (3,083 Words | M)

The Epaulet Mate (7,303 Words | E)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes, though more slowly than I used to!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh. Probably The Scourge of Sundermount, though it wound up less angsty than the original ending (in which Cullen and Lavellan are turned to stone forever)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm a sucker for a happy ending, so this is much harder to answer! I am avoiding answering this with the obvious innuendo haha. Maybe In Any Life? I feel like the vibe of that last chapter is so very soft, with a spring breeze blowing through the window in the house Fenris and Maria made together c:

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten some snarky comments, but never outright hate (thankfully!)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes--not sure what is meant by "kind." M/F and F/F--soft and gentle, hard and fast, mildly kinky, plot-relevant and pwp, etc. A variety of smut, haha.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not really. Crossovers aren't really my jam, but if I wrote one it would probably be Inquisition characters in Mass Effect (like a genre switch thing, not picked up and dropped into our solar system).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

When I was like 13 on FF.net, yes. It's why I stopped writing fic until I was 28.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Only in a sense! I have a few pieces sharing an OC with a friend that were largely rp first before I set them down as a narrative c:

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

God. Don't ask me this haha. My first DA ship was Fenris/Hawke and it still lives so closed to my heart, but Cullen/Lavellan got me into the fandom and Zevran/Tabris brought me someone very dear to me. I don't think I could ever judge any of them by the merits of the ship alone at this point!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Hmmm more than I'd like to admit :/ Probably The Red Crossing Arrangement, which is an arranged marriage/Halamshiral still belongs to the elves AU. It took so much more world building that my ability to write it slowly petered out. The odds are high that it will remain at roughly 80k for the foreseeable future (unless I suddenly want to get back to working out trade routes and governance and commerce, which is what did me in; I'm good at world-building culture on account of the degree and all, but the semantics of daily life don't really interest me as much) (tragically, this means the Adalene and Elandrin fix-it portions of this story may never be published :C and this does honestly make me so sad :C)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Voice and characterization/internal dialogue. I've been told that the canon characters I write feel very similar to canon and that's something I'm really proud of c:

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Physical space. I forget to define the setting very, very frequently. It's the next thing I want to focus on in my writing, actually, when I get back into it!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Eh. I think it can add flavor, especially in fantasy settings where the cultures and worlds are built dissimilarly to the real world. I don't think there's anything especially fun about not being able to discern what's happening in conversation---I think it's most effective when it's a handful of phrases that repeat (hello, I'm sorry, I love you, etc.) or when followed by a translation of some sort. As a lover of Latin, I especially find google translations very unreliable and often incorrect. Better to just italicize it and indicate it's another language, imo.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Code Lyoko

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oof. It depends on when you ask me this haha. For the moment, I think I'm loving As Two Reflected Stars a little extra right now c: I just love wound-tending and idiots in love and this is definitely both!

Blank version below!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favorite fic you've written?

[thesymphonytrue]

For the WIP asks: what's the OCs one about?

Okay, so I talked about that a bit in this ask here

So for this ask, here is a snippet (and draft) of my two MCs meeting for the first time:

“Leonardo?” The voice was bright, like sunlight dancing on the ocean water. Leo looked up from the ship he was repairing to see a woman close in age to his twenty-eight years. She was backlit by the morning sun, her hair appearing to glow golden. Her fair skin looked so out of place in The Sea Village that Leo wondered if a sea nymph had found its way to him, that some creature more magical than him had finally taken notice of his art. Leo wiped his hands with a cloth and stood to greet her. “I am he,” Leo replied, brushing a dark curl from his forehead to see her better. No, she was not a sea nymph, she was undoubtedly human. Her eyes flickered with life and she was….dressed like she was from the mountains. Her formal long skirt and fitted long-sleeved blouse looked very out of place in comparison to Leo’s loose linen shirt and slacks that billowed in the sea breeze. The woman grinned. “I am he,” she said, mimicking him with a comical deep voice, “What kind of greeting is that?” Her smile grew wider and Leo felt color rush to his cheeks. He shifted uncomfortable, toes digging into the warm sand. The waves echoed behind them, offering a soothing backdrop to the encounter. “Well, I am he,” Leo said, frowning slightly, “And you are?” The woman took a step towards him and he felt a sparkling energy as she approached. She has magic. Leo thought, fingers tingling with nervous energy. “I am Anais,” she said softly, looking past him to the ocean beyond, “You can call me Ana if you’d like! I sent the bottle?” Leo’s heart flipped. The bottle. The beautiful stained glass bottle that had tumbled down the Mountain Stream. The craftsmanship of the bottle was like none he’d ever seen. Beautiful colors of emerald, sapphire, and golden all woven into a lovely swirling design. “Oh,” Leo smiled softly, “Um, did you want it back?” Anais let out another laugh and Leo found her laugh starting to become addictive to the pleasure receptors in his brain. “No! Did you not read the message?” she place a hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes playfully.

“Message?” Leo ran a hand through his unruly hair, realizing how…windblown he must look to her. “In the bottle? There’s a message.” “I couldn’t open the bottle.” “Why not?” “Well, I didn’t want to break it and there wasn’t exactly a cap…”

She eyed him curiously, “You don’t have magic, do you?” Leo sighed. Of course. The bane of his existence. A life without magic.

“No. I don’t.” 

He was finished with this conversation. “If you want the bottle back, I will send it back up the stream—” he turned to walk away when Anais grabbed his forearm.

Her hands were cold as ice. He turned to meet her eyes and instead of dancing light, there was longing shining within them. “I can open it for you…” she said softly, then stuttered, “I—I wrote a note and sent it down the stream…I just wanted someone to talk to.” 

Leo arched an eyebrow. “You’re from the mountains, right?”

She nodded and gestured to her clothing, “Yes and I’m roasting right now! The sunlight is so…” she searched for the word, her light brown brows coming together, “bright down here.” Leo chuckled, “Yes, it is. But it is the same sun that shines up there.” 

He nodded to the mountains looming over them, their peaks snow capped. Her face darkened. “It doesn’t feel the same,” she said quietly, breaking his gaze.

They stood in silence a moment, the waves lapping gently at the shoreline, Leo’s boat creaking as it bobbed with the rising tide. “How would you like to take a sail?” he asked, heart hammering, hands sweating. 

Anais’s eyes flitted to him and then grew wide as she studied the boat behind him. “I would love that!” she exclaimed, running to the boat and running her hands along it’s edges, “I’ve never—”

“Obviously,” Leo retorted. She gave him a glare. “Well, you’re dressed to go snowshoeing,” Leo shrugged, “Let me…I have something at home you can wear.” He could feel Anais’s magic sizzling at the sound of that. “Come on,” he beckoned her to follow him, “But leave your shoes.” “What?” 

“You don’t need shoes by the Sea,” Leo said, eyes twinkling, knowing this would delight her. Anais paused and plopped herself onto the beach. With great effort, unlaced her boots, pulled off her long stockings, and set them aside. A soft smile grew on her pink lips as she slipped her toes into the sand. She closed her eyes. 

Leo had never seen anything so strange. But then again, if he was feeling snow for the first time, perhaps he’d do the same. 

Without warning, she skipped to the ocean’s edge, dipping her feet in the cool water, her skirt dampening with seawater. She almost seemed to dance in the tide, smiling at him, the sunlight already kissing her cheeks with light freckles. And Leo knew, somehow, his life would be forever changed. 

~~~

Thank you for the ask!! I wish I had more time to work on these two and their story. They and their world fascinate me!

[twoidiotwriters1]

Daughter of Olympus (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: We're almost done with The Lost Hero!! -Danny Words: 3,160 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

XVI. I Miss Ten Seconds Ago When I Didn't Know This Guy Existed

The palace is a wild mix of a TV studio and Greek architecture, Ara doesn't feel particularly threatened by it, just weirded out.

"That's bizarre," Piper points at the satellites ahead.

"Guess you can't get cable on a floating island," Leo says bemusedly. "Dang, check this guy's front yard."

"One section for each of the four wind gods," Jason says in awe. "Four cardinal directions."

"A garden for every season," Ara hums. "I'd love to live in Autumn."

"Big fan of cardigans?" Piper grins. 

"Actually, the color palette matches up with my skin tone," Ara jokes.

Piper squints a little. "Funny, I would've taken you for a pastel fangirl."

Ara wrinkles her nose. "Drew ruined those for me. All the good things in life have vibrant colors in them! The lava wall, those blue gummies mom buys, green..." Her voice dies down, a memory causing her to lose focus.

 "Like pasture," Hedge points out. "You guys mind—"

"Go ahead," Jason allows him.

"Just please, for the love of Pan, don't try to fight any wind spirits!" Ara implores, reacting as the satyr goes away.

"Hello!" A transparent lady shows up out of nowhere. "Are you from Lord Zeus? We've been expecting you."

"Are you a ghost?" Jason blurts out.

"I'm an aura, sir," the lady pouts. "A wind nymph, as you might expect, working for the lord of the winds. My name is Mellie. We don't have ghosts."

"No, of course you don't! My friend simply mistook you for Helen of Troy, the most beautiful mortal of all time. It's an easy mistake," Piper lies.

"Oh..." the nymph blushes. "Well, then. So you are from Zeus?"

"Er, I'm the son of Zeus, yeah."

"And you're Ara Jackson? Daughter of Olympus?" Mellie turns to her, noticing the silver glow Ara still has around her.

"So they tell me, yes," the girl tilts her head, trying to figure out whether Mellie is a cloud or a projection.

"Excellent! Please, right this way." She floats forward. "We're out of prime time now, so that's good. I can fit you in right before his 11:12 spot."

"Um, okay," Jason glances at Ara, and she nods encouragingly.

As they keep moving, they stop to let a harpy pass by. Ara beams, pointing at her the same way people point at cows on the road. "Harpy!"

"Not an aura?" Jason's expression is vastly different from Ara's.

"That's a harpy, of course. Our, ah, ugly stepsisters, I suppose you would say. Don't you have harpies on Olympus?"

"We have them at camp!" The more time she spends outside, the happier Ara gets when she encounters something familiar. "They're fun when they're not trying to eat you."

"What?" Leo steps back.

"They're spirits of violent gusts, unlike us aurai," Mellie nods like that's a perfectly normal thing to say. "We're all gentle breezes."

"'Course you are," Jason agrees casually.

"So," Piper steps in, "you were taking us to see Aeolus?"

"We have a few minutes before he starts," Mellie floats into another room. "He probably won't kill you if we go in now. Come along!"

They're so distracted by what they find inside, that Leo doesn't notice there's no floor. Jason saves him from visiting the Underworld unannounced. "Holy—! Hey, Mellie, a little warning next time!"

"Oh, my," the nymph looks genuinely embarrassed. "I'm so sorry—Hello, sets? Is that Nuggets? Hi, Nuggets," she speaks through a walkie-talkie. "Could we get a floor in the main studio, please? Yes, a solid one. Thanks."

A bunch of harpies hurries to set and start building, their process is unnerving, but Ara trusts these creatures with her life. She was raised around them, they're not bright, but they still get the job done.

"That can't be safe," Jason mutters.

"Oh, it is! The harpies are very good."

Ara steps forward confidently and Jason stops her scowling. "Let me go first."

She raises a brow. "I won't die."

"Good. I'll go first." He pulls her back and then after three hesitant steps, he nods. Piper follows right away and holds onto his hand. "If I fall, you're catching me."

"Uh, sure," Jason replies, visibly flustered.

Leo steps forward too. "You're catching me, too, Superman. But I ain't holding your hand."

Ara snorts. "Now that you're all there, may I join you?"

When Jason glares at her, he reminds her of Thalia when she annoyed her. "Thought a General doesn't listen to orders from lesser demigods?"

"I'm just teasing a friend," Ara steps onto the improvised floor and quickly leaves the other three behind. "Hurry up, we don't have time!"

She knows it'll become just another problem in the long run: caring for people and wanting to look after them, was what put her in this situation, to begin with. But it's not like she can do anything about it now. She's getting a little attached to these demigods.

Mellie clears her throat shyly. "Ah, sir, Mr. Aeolus, these demigods—"

"Hold it! Watch!" Aeolus looks like a news presenter with the exception of his sky-blue suit (clouds included). He points excitedly to one of the screens. He's watching one of those tornado chasers shows. "The Disaster Channel. People do that on purpose! Isn't that amazing? Let's watch it again."

"Um, sir, these are Jason and Ara—"

"Yes, yes, I remember," Aeolus glances at Jason. "You're back. How did it go?"

"Sorry?" He blinks. "I think you've mistaken me—"

"No, no, Jason Grace, aren't you? It was—what—last year? You were on your way to fight a sea monster, I believe."

"I—I don't remember," he stammers.

"Must not have been a very good sea monster!" The god laughs. "No, I remember every hero who's ever come to me for aid. Odysseus—gods, he docked at my island for a month! At least you only stayed a few days. Now, watch this video. These ducks get sucked straight into—"

"Sir, two minutes to air."

"Air! I love air. How do I look? Makeup!"

Ara sighs. "Alright, Jason, he seems to know you. I think you should do the talking."

"Mr. Aeolus." Jason slips off the backpack, offering its contents to Aeolus. "We brought you these rogue storm spirits."

"Did you!" He glances at the bag, not even pretending to be thankful. "Well, how nice."

"Boreas sent us to capture them for you," Jason continues politely. Ara feels a bit sorry for him, she's as knee-deep in this as he is, but at least she knows why she's doing it, Jason has no idea why he's being forced to try. "We hope you'll accept them and stop—you know—ordering demigods to be killed."

Aeolus laughs. "Demigods be killed—did I order that?"

"Yes, sir, fifteenth of September," Mellie looks at her tablet. "'Storm spirits released by the death of Typhon, demigods to be held responsible,' etc... yes, a general order for them all to be killed."

"Oh, pish, I was just grumpy."

Ara's hand tightens around her compass, she's not going to use her sword, but she holds onto it to try and remember not all immortals are assholes. Just grumpy,he says, like causing the deaths of innocents is no biggie.

"Rescind that order, Mellie, and um, who's on guard duty—Teriyaki?—Teri, take these storm spirits down to cell block Fourteen E, will you?" A harpy snatches the bag out of Jason's hands and flies away. "Now, sorry about that kill-on-sight business. But gods, I really was mad, wasn't I? You know... I remember now. Almost seemed like a voice was telling me to give that order. A little cold tingle on the back of my neck."

His suit changes and darkens, Ara gets an unpleasant shiver down her spine.

"A... um, voice in your head, sir?"

"Yes. How odd. Mellie, should we kill them?"

"No, sir. They just brought us the storm spirits, which makes everything all right."

"Of course." He laughs again. "Sorry. Mellie, let's send the demigods something nice. A box of chocolates, perhaps."

"A box of chocolates to every demigod in the world, sir?"

"No, too expensive. Never mind. Wait, it's time! I'm on!" He flies away and stands in front of a camera.

"Mellie," Jason starts, "is he... always like that?"

"Well, you know what they say. If you don't like his mood, wait five minutes. That expression 'whichever way the wind blows'—that was based on him."

"Also good to describe some people," Leo mutters, and Ara has the infuriating feeling he's talking about her.

"And that thing about the sea monster," Jason continues. "Was I here before?"

"I'm sorry, I don't remember," she admits bashfully. "I'm Mr. Aeolus's new assistant. I've been with him longer than most, but still—not that long."

"How long do his assistants usually last?" Piper asks. 

"Oh... I've been doing this for... twelve hours?"

"So you're promising," Ara muses.

As Aeolus continues his predictions, Jason scowls at the screen in front of them. "This can't be right, weather isn't this random."

"And how often are the mortal weathermen right?" Mellie grins. "They talk about fronts and air pressure and moisture, but the weather surprises them all the time. At least Aeolus tells us why it's so unpredictable. Very hard job, trying to appease all the gods at once. It's enough to drive anyone..."

"Completely nuts," Ara says under her breath. "Dear Olympus, these are the beings that control the fabric of our universe?"

"And that's the weather. See you in twelve minutes, because I'm sure it'll change!" His face shows briefly just how exhausted he is before putting on a smile. "So, you brought me some rogue storm spirits. I suppose... thanks! And did you want something else? I assume so. Demigods always do."

"Um, sir, this is Zeus's son," Mellie repeats like it should mean something.

"Yes, yes. I know that. I said I remembered him from before."

"But, sir, they're here from Olympus. This is Ara Jackson, we've heard of her..."

Aeolus bursts into loud chortles, startling both Jason and Ara. "You mean you're here on behalf of your father this time, boy? And you're here supervising his quest?" He eyes Ara with interest. "Finally! I knew they would send someone to renegotiate my contract!"

"Um, what?"

"Oh, thank goodness! It's been what, three thousand years since Zeus made me master of the winds. Not that I'm ungrateful, of course! But really, my contract is so vague. Obviously I'm immortal, but 'master of the winds.' What does that mean? Am I a nature spirit? A demigod? A god? I want to be god of the winds, because the benefits are so much better. Can we start with that?"

"Dude," Leo squints, "you think we're here to promote you?"

"You are, then?" Aeolus beams, his suit matching his humor. "Marvelous! I mean, I think I've shown quite a bit of initiative with the weather channel, eh? And of course I'm in the press all the time. So many books have been written about me: Into Thin Air, Up in the Air, Gone with the Wind—"

"Er, I don't think those are about you," Jason begins before Mellie gestures at him to shut up.

"Nonsense," Aeolus snorts. "Mellie, they're biographies of me, aren't they?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"There, you see? I don't read. Who has time? But obviously the mortals love me. So, we'll change my official title to god of the winds. Then, about salary and staff—"

"Sir, we're not from Olympus," Jason cuts his speech. Ara can tell this won't end well. "I'm the son of Zeus, yes, and Ara's the servant of the gods, but we're not here to negotiate your contract. We're on a quest and we need your help."

The guy's expression darkens. "Like last time? Like every hero who comes here? Demigods! It's always about you, isn't it?"

"Sir, please, I don't remember last time, but if you helped me once before—"

"I'm always helping! Well, sometimes I'm destroying, but mostly I'm helping, and sometimes I'm asked to do both at the same time! Why, Aeneas, the first of your kind—"

"My kind? You mean, demigods?"

"Oh, please! I mean your line of demigods. You know, Aeneas, son of Venus—the only surviving hero of Troy. When the Greeks burned down his city, he escaped to Italy, where he founded the kingdom that would eventually become Rome, blah, blah, blah. That's what I meant."

Ara's skin crawls at the mention, something tells her it holds more than just Jason's lineage. But she can't tell why she's feeling this way. 

"I don't get it," Jason insists in frustration.

"I do," Ara thinks with dread. "Wish I didn't."

"The point being, I was thrown in the middle of that conflict, too! Juno calls up: 'Oh, Aeolus, destroy Aeneas's ships for me. I don't like him.' Then Neptune says, 'No, you don't! That's my territory. Calm the winds.' Then Juno is like, 'No, wreck his ships, or I'll tell Jupiter you're uncooperative!' Do you think it's easy juggling requests like that?"

"No, I guess not."

"And don't get me started on Amelia Earhart! I'm still getting angry calls from Olympus about knocking her out of the sky!"

"You do realize that's on them, right?" Ara frowns. "Demigods never get to choose their fates."

He gives her the coldest look ever. "Didn't you choose to split your world in two?"

Ara pales and shuts up. 

"We just want information," Piper tries to calm him. "We hear you know everything."

"Well..." he fixes his posture. "That's true, of course. For instance, I know that this business here, this harebrained scheme of Juno's to bring you all together is likely to end in bloodshed. As for you, Piper McLean, I know your father is in serious trouble." He makes a photograph appear and gives it to Piper. "This—this is from his wallet. Yes, all things lost in the wind eventually come to me. The photo blew away when the Earthborn captured him." 

"The what?" Piper yelps.

Aeolus turns to Leo. "Now, you, son of Hephaestus... yes, I see your future." He summons a drawing. It looks like something a talented child would've made, but Leo grabs it as if it's covered in acid.

"Leo?" Jason looks at him. "What is it?"

"Something I—I drew when I was a kid. It's... yeah, it's nothing," he hides it.

"Really? Just the key to your success! Now, where were we?" Aeolus looks at Ara and she does her best not to cower. He finds that amusing. "Ah, yes, you wanted information. Are you sure about that? Sometimes information can be dangerous."

"Yeah," Jason speaks for her. "We need to find the lair of Enceladus."

"The giant? Why would you want to go there? He's horrible! He doesn't even watch my program!"

"Aeolus, he's got my father. We need to rescue him and find out where Hera is being held captive."

"Now, that's impossible. Even I can't see that, and believe me, I've tried. There's a veil of magic over Hera's location—very strong, impossible to locate."

"She's at a place called the Wolf House," Jason continues.

"Hold on!" Aelous makes a show out of it. "I'm getting something! Yes, she's at a place called the Wolf House! Sadly, I don't know where that is."

Ara's ready to throw Mellie's tablet at his head, but her three companions are more patient.

"Enceladus does," Piper insists. "If you help us find him, we could get the location of the goddess—" 

"Yeah," Leo adds. "And if we save her, she'd be really grateful to you—"

"And Zeus might promote you," Jason concludes.

"A promotion—and all you want from me is the giant's location?"

"Well, if you could get us there, too," Jason suggests, "that would be great."

"Oh, he could do that! He often sends helpful winds—"

"Mellie, quiet! I have half a mind to fire you for letting these people in under false pretenses."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"It wasn't her fault," Jason hurries to say. "But about that help..."

"He will," Ara replies confidently. "Saying no to us is saying no to Olympus."

"Well... Zeus approves," Aeolus nods a little, listening to his earpiece. "He says... he says it would be better if you could avoid saving her until after the weekend, because he has a big party planned—Ow! That's Aphrodite yelling at him, reminding him that the solstice starts at dawn. She says I should help you—oh, so you are her daughters, huh? Go figure... And Hephaestus... yes. Hmm. Very rare they agree on anything. Hold on..."

"Oh, gods," Ara wonders if they are above her or sideways to the north. She opts for simply raising her voice and clapping a few times. "Hey, my lords, ladies, and in-betweens? Can we hurry up?"

Hedge shows up burping loudly, his face all covered in fresh grass. Mellie gasps and blushes. "Who is that?"

Jason coughs to hide a chortle, Ara elbows him. "T-That? That's just Coach Hedge. Uh, Gleeson Hedge. He's our..."

"Our satyr," Ara can't stop the playful Aphrodite in her from pushing Mellie forward. "My personal guard."

"He's so goatly," Mellie whispers.

Piper pretends to vomit behind the nymph, which causes Leo to snort loudly.

"What's up, guys?" Hedge walks up to them. "Wow, nice place. Oh! Sod squares..."

"Coach, you just ate," Jason reminds him. "And we're using the sod as a floor. This is, ah, Mellie—" 

"An aura," Hedge smiles. "Beautiful as a summer breeze."

"Did I die?" Ara looks at Piper with a straight face. "This feels like a field of punishment."

"Aeolus here was just about to help us," Jason explains to Hedge.

"Yes..." Aeolus replies absently. "It seems so. You'll find Enceladus on Mount Diablo."

"Devil Mountain?" Leo frowns. "That doesn't sound good."

"I remember that place!" Piper exclaims. "I went there once with my dad. It's just east of San Francisco Bay."

"The Bay Area again?" Hedge huffs. "Not good. Not good at all."

"Now... as to getting you there—" Aeolus whimpers, hitting the earpiece desperately, when he looks up he's frantic. "She hasn't spoken to me for centuries. I can't—yes, yes I understand. I'm sorry, son of Jupiter. New orders. You all have to die."

"Oh, c'mon!" Ara groans.

"But—but, sir! Zeus said to help them. Aphrodite, Hephaestus—"

"Mellie! Your job is already on the line. Besides, there are some orders that transcend even the wishes of the gods, especially when it comes to the forces of nature."

"Whose orders? Zeus will fire you if you don't help us!"

"I doubt it." Aeolus makes a cell with storm spirits appear. "Even Zeus understands the order of things, and if she is waking—by all the gods—she cannot be denied. Good-bye, heroes. I'm terribly sorry, but I'll have to make this quick. I'm back on the air in four minutes."

"Oh, she'll be denied alright," Ara draws out her sword. "And you with her."

Jason brings out his sword as well, and Hedge lifts his club. Mellie screams. "No!" 

She pulls them down into the mountain's pit.

"Mellie, you are so fired!" Aeolus shouts above them.

"Quick! Son of Zeus, do you have any power over the air?" She speaks over the wild winds.

"A little!"

"Then help me, or you're all dead!"

"Group hug!" Jason yells at the rest.

"This is NOT GOOD!" Leo screams as they all huddle together.

"Bring it on, gas bags! I'll pulverize you!" Hedge yells.

"He's magnificent," Mellie says dreamily.

"Concentrate?" Jason complains.

She whimpers. "Can't—hold—long! Stay together! When the winds hit—"

"You're doing great, Mellie," Hedge encourages her. "My own mama was an aura, you know. She couldn't have done better herself."

"Iris-message me?"

"I'm gonna let myself fall!" Ara groans.

"Could you guys plan your date later?" Piper adds in annoyance. "Look!"

Mellie makes one last effort, and they fly out of the tunnel at an alarming speed.

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @ash-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen

[iluvwerewolves]

when i close my eyes (monprom/oc/sona drabble)

just an idea i had late tnight while procrastinating hacking a robot(), words under the cut

In the chilled breeze of the early fall, Fallon Sprite sat at a picnic table, argyle blue sweater pulled around his shoulders. Outside of the Spooky Academy men's locker rooms, he stood his ground against the quiet after-hours of the school, the place all but abandoned by most scholars and troublemakers alike. He sat with his computer out and glasses on, reading through an old, archived text. Lines and lines of barely discernible Latin or German or Italian somehow made sense to him moreso than anything else; he'd found comfort in old tomes of bygone knowledge.

As he motioned to adjust the rounded spectacles, the doors to the locker room swung open as a group of a few members from the Wolfpack poured out, some other species of monsters filtering through the grey metal doors too. The water fae's eyes traveled to the doors, tracking the faces of each that stepped out, waiting for the one. Person after person. Arthur, the grey skinned, red-haired one followed by his cousin, the wrong cousin, the ever-upbeat Scott. the two were talking about something menial, maybe sports, maybe video games. Yet, the two were not the werewolves he was searching for.

Finally, as a few other monsters filtered through, the brown hair of the man who he was searching for was insight. Wearing a denim jacket and a white shirt, he looked around for a second, before waving to the half-nymph. Fallon waved back him, cracking a smile on his face as the large werewolf bounded up to him.

"Hey there, bro! I hope ya weren't waiting too long." He smiled, tail wagging.

"No worries. I kept myself busy," Fallon said, mentioning his computer. He picked it up and began to put it back inside of his satchel. "What am I helping you study today?"

"Oh! I was kinda...hoping we could go over potions again. I'm still not doing well with that class." Freddy brought a hand to the back of his neck.

Fallon hopped up from sitting down. "Sounds like a plan then," he softly smiled at Freddy. The two had been sharing a class for the semester as of late. Freddy's older brother, Scott, had introduced the two of them. When Scott found out from Fallon that he was also in potions, he practically dragged over Freddy who was struggling with that class. They had gotten closer in the weeks following. "My place or yours?"

Freddy rose an eyebrow for a second, thinking. "Does mine sound alright?" The tall werewolf grinned, fangs showing. Freddy had been enjoying the time the two spent together, loving Fallon's company. A nice break from the testosterone junkie family of his, the water fairy was laid-back, calm, and smart. That last factor helped Freddy a lot during his academic career. The Wolfpack's house, their den, wasn't too far from school, and Fallon secretly liked going there as living alone for a couple years had made him notice the hum of silence all too well. Plus, he liked Freddy's room. It smelled like him, comforting, kinda like a wet dog, the forest, and a little sweaty. Fallon nodded as the two of them began walking to Freddy's red truck, they exchanged small talk. The grey skinned fairy hopped in the passenger seat as the werewolf turned the key, hearing the car sputter and shake, groaning alive.

Fallon looked over at Freddy with a look he didn't know he had, one of peace and kindness. Freddy was warm and happy, loud and boisterous. Something that Fallon wasn't. He was happy, sure, but he found himself often quiet, reserved, content living life on the side. Freddy was a rock to him, the werewolf dragged him back into reality when he was up in his own head.

Freddy smiled at Fallon with a grin he used for everyone, but with a hidden intimate nature behind it. Fallon was cool and mysterious, quiet and observant. The small man was always thinking about something, and Freddy wanted to know what was on his mind. Fallon was the most interesting thing to him, like a new chew toy or a new scent flitting in during a boring class.

The two young men spent the night together, studying until late. Fallon had dinner with the Wolfpack, talking to Grandma Howl about the new things in his life, while Freddy messed around with his brothers. The two went to Freddy's room, where they began to study together. Freddy was questioned by Fallon, flashcards, mnemonics, and mind games casting the information in the plaster of the mind. The moon rose above the trees, high above the land below. That grey sea of sleep beckoned louder and louder as the lamplight was the only source of the day. The two called it a night, and Freddy offered to the smaller man to stay the night. Fallon said he'd sleep on the floor, Freddy said he would, and they traded back and forth until Freddy let Fallon sleep in his bed, sharing it as friends do. Nothing more, no matter how much either of them laid mere inches from each other wishing to bridge the gap that felt miles long, to close the void that separated dreams from matter, mind from reality. No matter how badly, how much the aperture between them threatened to fade away like smoke, how the chill of the falling seasons became apparent, how the silence of the room became a roar, they would not cross that bridge yet. Not yet.

[ivyprism]

The Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU: Characters Rewrite

Character Info

———

The Skeleton Sisters’ Diner AU Skeletons: Delilah, Shelly, Misty, and Lunette Fire Monsters: Blaire and Cherry Bird Monsters: Aurelia and Astra Mermaids: Rainee and Orazia Sea Nymph: Delena and Stella

Children of the Diner Human OCs: Sally, Rosaline, and Kassidy Horror Human OCs: Molly, Kenzie, and Kamryn

The Mafia Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU Skeleton Dragons: Basilisk, Shiva, Naenia, and Manea Demon Fire Elementals: Scarlette and Syrene (Inferno) Bird Monsters: Nebula and Peach

Children of the Mafia Diner Human OCs: Maisie, Ceara, and Delaney

The Galaxy Sisters Galaxy Dragon Older Sisters: Agalea, Galactica, and Ourania Galaxy Dragon Younger Sisters: Marella

Outcode Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU Fish Monsters: Pike and Elixir Ghost Skeletons: Poison, Toxin, and Antitoxin Angel Skeletons: Maricella

Children of the Outcode Diner Skeleton Angel OCs: Eleanor and Talia

Angels Fall AU Feathered Dragons: Aeriana, Aethra, Deianeira, and Morella Light Elementals: Eliana and Citrus Lava Elementals: Cerise and Hearth Sirens: Eloria and Eslyn Breeze Nymphs: Lyrica and Lirissa

[moss-flesh]

Unusual OC Appreciation!!

was tagged by @beastofmoss !! thanku!! im gonna tag @n7viper @arlathen @theharlotofferelden

of course without pressure ! only if u have time and wanna do this! and u can do however many you want <3

im gonna do my main 3 DA ocs <3 but i honestly wanna do this for my other ocs coz this is so cute!!

Aila Amell

she/her

seasoning: black pepper

weather: rainstorm

colour: blue

sky: clear night sky with stars

magic power: shes a mage but she focuses on spirit and entropy magic

house plant: violets

weapon: staff! but she also has a dagger

subject: i guess like ? if magic studies is out of the equation, than astronomy? or history?

social media: in a modern au this woman has like no technology skills at all she stays AWAY from that shit! she would have a pinterest to look up recipes!

makeup product: eyeliner or eyeshadow! womans got dark circles and she multiplies them

candy: dark chocolate

fear: accidentally blowing up at her loved ones and leaving her alone

ice cube shape: ice orb

method of long distance travel: get this woman in a carriage PLEASE she walks EVERYWHERE and HATES IT

art style: ohhhhh romanticism i think

mythological creature: KELPIE!!!! something about how she changes herself based on her surroundings ect ect water being emotional land being grounded and collected, the fight between ect ect

piece of stationary: if its modern au my girl would love a highlighter, annotating ass bitch

celestial body: constellations !! which i know is multiple but whatever, if were picking one than the moon

Erynne Hawke

she/he/they

seasoning: chili

weather: hot summer day

colour: brick red or a mauve purple

sky: burning orange sunset

magic power: babygirl is primal and force mage, she likes explody and power

house plant: algaonema

weapon: staff baby which she loves to beat people with, and their FISTS !! plus an obligatory dagger just in case

subject: FUCK SCHOOL this bitch HATES studying

social media: ifunny because theyre literally the worst

makeup product: really fucked up bad looking eyeshadow

candy: rock candy, let the man crunch

fear: getting her loved ones killed by being stupid

ice cube shape: the horrible kind u get from a shitty tray

method of long distance travel: on foot baby, if he totally has to she will ride a horse

art style: abstract expressionism

mythological creature: PHOENIX !

piece of stationary: a fucked up pencil she refuses to get rid of

celestial body: the planet mars, i will not elaborate

Adahlen Lavellan

she/they

seasoning: basil <3

weather: sunny spring day with a cool breeze

colour: shes basically all red but thats not her fave color her fave is green

sky: clear and blue

magic power: rift magic baby <3 and a touch of blood magic she prefers to keep under wraps

house plant: peace lily

weapon: staff! and a dagger just like my other mages but she never uses the dagger and uses acrobatic type skills to avoid close combat

subject: philosophy <3

social media: she is a creature who only knows how to scroll on tumblr and pinterest

makeup product: chapstick

candy: basically any candied fruit!! mostly candied oranges

fear: being a monster

ice cube shape: those rlly crunchy fluffy ones from fast food places

method of long distance travel: Halla !! or a Hart?? idk im confused about whether the dalish ride the halla theres conflicting sources

art style: impressionism !!!!

mythological creature: nymph!!! omg!!

piece of stationary: parchment that she doodles all over

celestial body: SUN !!!

heres the blank prompt!

(without breaks so u can just copy n paste)

seasoning: weather: colour: sky: magic power: house plant: weapon: subject: social media: makeup product: candy: fear: ice cube shape: method of long distance travel: art style: mythological creature: piece of stationary: celestial body:

[the-gateway-to-madness]

The Dance

Rise of the Guardians oc x canon fic. Completely self-indulgent little scenario of one of many ways Jack Frost and my oc could meet, just cause I'm bored. 2030 words.

Jack Frost should’ve liked parties. He knew that. He was extroverted, and the energy and life and light did energize him.

The problem was it never went anywhere. At human parties he was incessantly aware of the fact he didn’t exist to these people; he’d never even been to any spirit parties.

But now he was a Guardian, a personal guest at North’s day-after-Christmas party. He meant something to other spirits now. Their perception of him, as a whole, was becoming less negative. 

Aella Arbore, spirit of autumn, plunked down next to Jack. Physically, she was younger than him by maybe a year; in reality, she was a century or so older. 

“Not having a good time?” She guessed quietly.

Jack shook his head. “You know how it is. Either they still hate me, or I’m too cold to touch them, or both.”

Aella frowned, considering this, as Cleo Estival, spirit of summer, and Valli Belrose, spirit of spring, came and sat down on Aella’s other side, forming a loose semicircle on the large, three-sided window seat where Jack was brooding.

“There’s tons of spirits here,” Valli told Jack. “Some of them are certainly cold-leaning like you.”

“I’ve met a couple tonight,” Jack said wearily. “I’m still colder. They come up to me and ask me to dance on dares from their friends, and I see them let go the first moment they can and disappear again, rubbing their hands- and that’s the ones that can keep their teeth from chattering.” He leaned over against the window. “Face it, girls, there’s no one here who might actually enjoy my presence. I mean- I flew in here in this.” Jack gestured to a plain old light blue dress shirt and dark blue vest, plus his usual frayed leather pants. “You see some of the layers other people have come in?”

Cleo, the eldest of them, looked around with a quiet determination. She pointed to an arriving spirit. “What about her?”

“What about-” Jack turned his head to look and trailed off, shifting to sit up.

A young woman, somewhere around his and the other seasonals’ age, was brushing some of the snow out of her long, dark hair. Her jaw and chin were long and slender, her nose quite straight, and her smile bright and sweet. Her fair skin glowed like starlight in the warm lights of the pole; the scattered snowflakes that remained in her midnight hair glittered, the light dancing in their fractals. Jack wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t glowing. 

She wore a white dress, sleeveless, with folds of light, loose fabric draped over each shoulder and dipping down into a high cowl bodice. The skirt was a simple circle, flowing seamlessly up into the bodice and down to the ground, swaying like a willow tree in a soft breeze whenever she moved.

She made her way into the crowd and, inadvertently, closer to Jack and the other seasonals. He could see, as she got closer, that her dark tresses were partially pinned up and ornamented with small, white jewels that caught the light. Waves of the thick, smooth mass cascaded over her left shoulder and her back. 

“... who?” Jack finally finished his sentence quietly after a disproportionate pause.

The trio of girls looked at each other in shock (although Cleo just looked casually pleased with herself, really), and then back at Jack.

“That’s Mahina Ó Deóradháin,” Cleo told him. “She’s the spirit of nighttime and kind of this big negotiator of spirit and fae and nymph problems and stuff.”

Jack blinked and then squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his gaze away. He knew better than to ogle any pretty girl he spotted, and internally he berated himself. 

“Sounds stuffy,” he covered.

“More patient than stuffy,” Aella said. “She’s very clever and practical. Loves solving problems the way someone might do a puzzle- fitting everything together all seamlessly and making almost an art form of it.”

Jack’s gaze subconsciously drifted back to Mahina. She was turning down a dance with a wildfire spirit. For some reason, that pleased him immensely. 

She turned away and happened to catch his eye. Instantly she went still, eyes widening, and she barely tilted her head to try to see him better, seeming lost in the same moment of fascination that had overcome him a moment ago.

Jack forgot to breathe for a second until Aella elbowed him. “Earth to Jack. I said, do you wanna go meet her?”

“O-oh- I- I don’t want to bother her,” Jack stammered quickly.

Aella rolled her eyes, grabbed his staff from him, and took off running towards Mahina. 

“HEY-” Jack yelped and shot after her while Valli and Cleo whooped and laughed, cheering on the little autumn spirit.

Jack tried to simultaneously keep up and make sure they weren’t getting too close to Mahina. He didn’t want to disturb her. She felt, somehow, like some ethereal being from another plane. Interrupting her felt wrong somehow. But he quickly lost track of her- he hoped Aella had too.

“Pardon me.” 

Jack gave an undignified yelp of shock and spun-

There stood Mahina, holding his staff in one hand and Aella’s ear in the other. She had a warm, amused smile- up close, he could see she had dimples.

“I believe these are yours,” she said, her tone brimming with the same amusement as her expression.

“I- I am so sorry,” Jack managed, reaching for his staff. “She- I don’t know why she- Aella-”

Aella chortled, and Mahina laughed, instantly making Jack freeze up. 

“You hear that laugh? That was an evil little laugh!” Mahina said, laughing in absolute delight. “Aella, if you wanted me to ask him to dance, there are more effective methods. Like coming up and actually asking me to ask him?”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Aella pointed out.

“Have I asked him yet, miss?” Mahina teased.

“Please ask him he’s been staring at you like a sad puppy since the moment you walked in,” Aella said.

“Aella!” Jack protested, mortified. Usually he’d have brushed this off so easily, what was wrong with him tonight-

Mahina just laughed again and let go of Aella’s ear, then offered Jack a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Jack stared at it blankly, shocked, and then at her. She smiled a little more, raising her eyebrows and gesturing slightly with her outstretched hand in silent confirmation of the offer.

Jack blinked twice, then handed Aella his staff and hesitantly took Mahina’s hand, and sweet Man in the Moon, how was she colder than him???

“You’re freezing,” he blurted automatically before clamping his mouth shut.

Mahina threw her head back, laughing again. “About 40 degrees below freezing, actually. Wherever I go, I match the nighttime temperature. And since we’re at the North Pole-”

“- you’re colder than me,” Jack realized, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he shifted to get a firmer grip on her hand. It was absolutely frigid and felt completely amazing.

Mahina cocked her head at him, smile softening to curiosity. “Does that happen much for you?”

“Never,” Jack said. “I thought I was as cold as a spirit could get.”

Mahina’s smile brightened. “I’m happy to prove you wrong, then.” 

She took his other hand, pulling him to a quieter spot on the dance floor as people began pairing off and the string quartet and piano began a slower piece.

Jack hesitated, glancing at other duos to try to recall how to do this properly. It had been centuries- Moon, he was going to screw this up so badly.

Mahina hummed a soft laugh, guiding his right hand to her waist and putting her left on his shoulder. “I don’t remember how to do the steps,” she admitted quietly, clearly embarrassed as she realized it, and instantly Jack found himself relaxing, chuckling good-naturedly at their shared awkwardness.

“Me neither,” he told her. “Sorry if I step on your feet- at least I’m barefoot, so it shouldn’t hurt.” 

Mahina smiled, lopsided with some sort of mischief, and then he felt her bare toes poke his- she was hiding her lack of shoes under her long skirt.

Jack bit his lip, but failed to restrain his laughter. “Did you even bring-?”

“Why bother bringing shoes if you’re gonna take ‘em off and lose them?” Mahina laughed right along with him, grinning ear to ear.

“Exactly,” Jack grinned back. “You get it, thank you! North was pestering me about it for a whole hour before this thing started.”

Mahina groaned. “Noooo. That’s awful- and so in-character, I hate it, thanks.” She shifted on her feet and squeezed his hand a little. “So, hey, what does being a Guardian actually entail? What do you do every day?”

Jack smiled and straightened subconsciously. “Mostly, keeping winter in balance with the other seasons, bringing snow to places all over the world- but that’s just being Jack Frost. Being a Guardian, for me, means giving kids snow days, and snowball fights- leaving drawings on frosty windows, and sometimes armies of snowmen at parks. Keeping an eye on them. Trying to stay in touch with them and their worlds, no matter how many see me.”

Mahina seemed impressed, and squeezed his hand and shoulder. “It sounds incredible.”

“I’m sure there are a lot of other spirits who are much more qualified,” Jack added hurriedly, only for Mahina to shake her head.

“You’re smart, powerful, and in tune with the kids’ emotional needs,” she said, smiling, seeming proud of him. “You’re a perfect Guardian. The Man in the Moon chose well.”

Jack found himself grinning and ducking his head a little. “And how are you so sure of that, hm?”

Mahina shrugged. “Just am,” she said, tone relaxed and smile crooked. 

Jack chuckled, surprised by how easily it came after how tense he’d been when they started. “So what about you? What do you do?”

“Oh, nothing near as exciting as you,” Mahina laughed a bit, looking down briefly. “I’m sort of a general mediator. I handle territorial disputes, alliance agreements- basically the paperwork and diplomacy between spirits, nymphs, fae, and anything else magic that might show up. Like, for example, I helped negotiate treaties to let the Guardians pass more smoothly through the lands of other spirits a couple centuries back. And I help keep the night in order for Manny- nocturnal animals and monsters, keeping them away from humans and other spirits s much as I can, you know.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Jack told her. “You meet all sorts of people, and they have to listen to you?”

Mahina cackled. “They most certainly do not!”

Jack laughed as well. “Oh gosh, now that sounds-”

“-insane?” 

“Right.”

Mahina chuckled. “You’re not wrong. It’s pretty insane, but I do find it fascinating. I love making everyone’s needs fit together in new ways, helping everyone get the best they can out of things. Usually I can find a mutual benefit somewhere. It’s really satisfying work.”

Jack tilted his head a little. “So then- what’s your center?”

Mahina blinked. “My center?”

“The part of you everything else is based on. The thing you bring out in others,” Jack tried to recall how North had explained it.

“Ohhh,” Mahina nodded a bit, realization clicking in her eyes. “Center- that’s a good word for it.” She squeezed his hand again and closed her eyes, concentrating.

A wave of peace and calm, pure, gentle, and content, washed over Jack- not like denial, but like a real, true moment of freedom from weight, pain, and responsibility. 

“Peace,” Jack summarized quietly, finding himself smiling faintly, relaxed.

Mahina looked up- and the moonlight through a nearby window and the warmth of the party combined in her eyes, shimmering and transforming them into countless facets of very pale, cool blue-lavender.

“Exactly,” she smiled softly. “You get it.” She poked his bare foot with hers, smirking. “So what’s yours?”

“Mine? Mine’s fun,” Jack smirked back. “One of the best centers, in my opinion-”

Mahina giggled wickedly. “So then… do you like pranks?” 

Jack gasped softly in genuine delight, his whole expression lighting up. “Mahina? I think you and I were meant to meet.”

[soft-mafia]

Fond of You

Contains: fem y/n, oc insert, established relationship, smut, grinding, making out, mild spanking, soft love making

I’m sorry I’ve left all of you starved for the past month :”( a lot has been going on in my life and I just hadn’t had the time to sit down and write😭I hope this makes up for it, though!

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A cold breeze tickled Y/n’s exposed stomach, giving her goosebumps along her arms. A tinge of anxiety welled in the back of her mind as she hesitantly peeked over a corner only to find yet another hallway. Endless turns and dead ends— it’s as if she was in a maze.

“Getting lost?” A man’s low voice echoed behind her, followed by a fluttery deep chuckle rumbling in the man’s chest.

Y/n slowly turned around and looked at the man after hearing the soft clunks of his shoes on the concrete ground, walking towards her with a confident, slacked stride, “Wh-.. What are you doing here Hisoka?” Her eyes batted curiously; which seemed to make the large man’s smile curl upwards more than it already was. “Well, I just happened to be in a middle of a job at that nightclub across the street.”

He stepped closer until he was right in front of her, one hand on his hip with the other at his chin, “And I just so happened to see a little nymph float into this.. dingy place. What are you doing in this building? It’s been abandoned for years, it’s no place for a lady.” He cooed and added a false pout.

Looking up at him, it was as if his mere presence was giving her more chills than the breeze was. But Y/n still looked up at him with doe eyes, both of them enamored by each other’s features and small mannerisms.

“I was supposed to.. meet someone here.” She lifted her arms slightly only to bring them down to her sides again, like a mini shrug. However when she looked back up at his face, he was still smirking; but she noticed something in his eyes, something rare for the magician. It was.. concern, worry. Y/n squinted at him, “What?”

“That doctor you’ve been chasing after, I presume.” Hisoka leaned into her, bending over to reach her level to press his lips into the side of her head, “Her ability creates horrors beyond your comprehension. She takes corpses and turns them into monsters to do her bidding. You’ll die if you continue to pursue her, either from madness or mutilation.” He stayed close to her, their faces flush against each other in a very intimate silence before he leaned back up, looking down at her.

The jester’s palm grazed Y/n’s shoulder only for a moment before it was back at his hip again. Y/n had to stop and think for a moment as she soaked in Hisoka’s words.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Hisoka’s smile faded slightly as his arms slowly laid down at his sides, there was that somber look in his eyes again as he stood in thought for a moment. Y/n fixated on the way the bands around his tricep squeezed his at muscles, “I’m very fond of you, Y/n.” He smiled softly again for a moment, “Do you think I don’t get curious about your life? The people you’re so bent on destroying, my dear. That determination. It’ll get you hurt.”

He steps around her, circling her like a wild animal circles prey. Y/n can feel his keen eyes on her body, his eyes narrowing as he pauses for a moment behind her. Hisoka’s thin lips were curled in a smirk as his eyes traveled up and down her backside, then he leaned in from behind; his cheek pressed against hers, “But.. Perhaps that’s what you crave, danger? Am I right? Oh I know what it feels like, I used to crave it myself..” Y/n feels a large hand at the curve of her neck, his fingers softly pressed into her skin, “I can give you that thrill, my dear. All with the needed protection, we’ll have fun together, baby.”

Y/n’s eyebrows twitched, she frowned as her irises glued themselves to the ground, “I can protect myself.” She affirmed, a small growl to her tone which earned a giggle from the magician. Hisoka stands up straight again and curls a finger over his lip to conceal a closed mouth chuckle; that look in her eyes, so determined. It’s what he loved to see, “Oh, such naive certainty.” His hand moved down to her shoulder as he stood at her side, “Very well then, I have faith in your strength; Oh, but come by mine after you’ve finished, my dear.” Head tilted upward at the ceiling, he turned and looked forward before walking, leaving from the entrance he came from.

It left Y/n with a bright hue of pink dusting her cheeks, his touch made her skin heat up with a weird feeling in her chest. She blinked in his empty direction, before slowly turning around and continuing her venture.

—————————

“The balcony is your favorite entrance, is it?” Hisoka chuckled as he turned, dropping the towel he was using to dry his hair and letting it fall to the floor. Y/n chuckled and gave a soft shrug, “Easiest way in without the long fucking elevator ride.”

Hisoka let out a laugh as he pushed his bangs out of his face, they looked soft after drying; the pink hair dye he used was beginning to fade, shifting back the soft ginger hue that she loved to run her fingers through. “So.. why did you want me to come?”

The man looked at her for a moment, before walking to his bedside. He was only wearing boxers, but it was nothing Y/n hadn’t seen before. “I just thought you should have a nice bed to sleep in after your fight.” He smiled at her, though his gaze lingered on her a bit too long while she started to strip, leaving her dirty clothes on his floor.

“Thanks, my legs are killing me..” she grumbled and crawled over on his bed, then sat up to look at him. “I can tell,” Hisoka smirked and laid down flat on his back, arms rested behind his head. Y/n took the initiative and rolled over on top of him, smiling down at him before capturing his lips in hers. “Mm!” Hisoka mumbled quietly with excitement, a hand coming down to hold Y/n’s hip, “Oh dear, I do love these moments we share, just the two of us. It’s so intimate..” he mumbled into her lips.

Y/n pulled away from the kiss to sit up, straddling his hips while she shuffled her underwear off herself. Hisoka licked his lips and held a seductive, narrow darkness in his eyes, he holds onto the feminine flesh of her waist as she finishes sliding her panties off of her ankles and tossing those on the floor as well, “Such a sweet thing.” Hisoka smirks, letting a finger travel down her naval, until he slipped it between her legs, flipping his wrist and rubbing her plump lips, wet with her own mess, “Mm..” the aroma always enchanted him, he brought his fingers up to his lips and licked them clean.

The hem of Hisoka’s boxers was down below his pelvis, his cock bounced upwards and rubbed against Y/n’s clit. She leaned back down, her chest against his as he reached below and held the base of his cock. “I’m not even in, but yet you’re already shaking?” Hisoka teased and looked down at Y/n, his lips grinning against her forehead. One muscled arm wrapped around his lover and kept her flush close to him, he let out a low groan when he rammed his cock deep into her wet hole.

“Uhn~!” Y/n gasped and gripped Hisoka’s shoulders, hips trembling and her breathing picking up pace. “Mmm.. Y/n..” Hisoka hissed under his breath, cock throbbing with ecstasy as her walls hugged him and welcomed his shaft inside of her once more.

Y/n raised her head and hovered it over Hisoka’s again, their lips connected like a puzzle piece. The feeling of Hisoka’s slimy tongue wrapping around her own was so addicting, even when they were connected she could still feel him, taste him; it was a sensation she craved. In public or on jobs it wasn’t considered “professional” to slurp your partner’s face out in the open, but whenever Hisoka shared eye contact with Y/n, it reminded both of them of their heated, intimate moments. Moments that nobody else but them knew about; Y/n can feel his hands on her body, squeezing and grasping. While Hisoka feels her nibble at his bottom lip, whispers of her soft moans echo through his memory.

Their tongues lapped at each other, Y/n whimpered as she rolled her hips on him, grinding up and down— back and forth, clenching, bearing down and hitting all of the right spots. That explosive, swollen feeling in her pussy made her wet, she could feel Hisoka’s pre-cum spill into her, rolling down the base of his long shaft if a drop of it slipped out of her.

“H-Hiso..” Y/n breathed into his mouth, his arm squeezed tighter around her and beckoned her to grind faster, emitting soft wet noises from their friction. “Y/n, my pretty.” Hisoka grunted breathily, his other hand slid down her body and grabbed a handful of her ass, molding his fingers into the fat of it and letting out a gruff sigh of pleasure. He let go, watching it jiggle before flicking his hand, slapping it gently and milking a soft squeak from Y/n.

Hisoka did the small motion over and over, squeezing and rubbing Y/n pert butt while she ground her pussy on his cock. “Ahh, look at you just taking it.” Hisoka chuckled and kissed Y/n’s cheek, then squeezing her ass again, “A good slut, you are..”

“Nnnh..! S-shut up..” Y/n panted into Hisoka’s shoulder. Both of his hands held Y/n’s ass, palms gripping into her as he began to move her hips. He created his own rhythm, bouncing her up and down to where a quiet *slap* could be heard each time he brought her down. “Uhh.. Ohh Y/n..” Hisoka tilted his head back and groaned. He felt nibbling at his neck, Y/n’s soft lips on his skin, teeth pulling and sucking on him to create lovely dark marks he could admire the next morning. He chuckled in the heat of the lust before he broke out into a low groan.

“I’m yours, Y/n.” Hisoka grunted through his teeth, rubbing up and down her back while she moved her hips for him on her own. “S-same..” was all she could reply with through her small whimpers and whines of pleasure. Hisoka chuckled in response, her simplicity amused him; oh how adorable you are, Y/n..

The bed creaked underneath them, squeaking which could probably be heard from the other suites neighboring Hisoka’s. He didn’t care, really. If the neighbors really did make a fuss about it the next day, he can send Y/n to deal with that shit for him.

“Cum in me..” Y/n batted her eyes at Hisoka, holding the sides of his perfectly sculpted face, pale skin coated with a thin sheen of sweat. Hisoka screwed his eyes shut and grunted, baring his teeth as Y/n slammed her hips down on him now, they were both getting close. “Rrgh.. Y/n.” Hisoka held her waist. Y/n trembled as she came, her clit throbbing, hole clenching as she released.

Her pants were rhythmic with Hisoka’s hard thrusts, chasing his own orgasm while she was riding out her’s. “You want my cum? Yeah?” Hisoka grinned and slapped his hands firmly onto her hips, squeezing them tightly and keeping her flat down on him while he emptied his sperm into her. Creamy white shoots of cum shot out into her, filling her walls full and even spilling out from her entrance. “Uughh~!!” Y/n buried her face in Hisoka’s neck, body shivering, her pussy was bloated with cum and cock, “Oh fuck..”

Hisoka’s hands rested on her back, they both panted heavily and caught their breaths together. Another memory created for them to reminisce about when they looked into each other’s eyes, when they accidentally graze shoulders while passing by each other— another memory for Hisoka to hold on to.

The next morning, Y/n is fresh from the shower; hair still wet while she’s wearing one of Hisoka’s baby blue hoodies. It was like a dress on her body.

Y/n was sat with her legs criss crossed by Hisoka’s windowsill, admiring one of his bonsai trees cut to be shaped like a heart. Her finger gently dragged over the small leaves, she looked out of the window through the outline of it.

Hisoka was down in the lobby getting breakfast and some snacks for them to share.

For the rest of the morning they sat on the couch, sharing onigiri and eating from each other’s boxes.

[yeoldontknow]

For the WIP game I'd love to hear about Caine's Finest Children, Hero, and An Abundance of Time!

eee hi anon! of course!

Caine's Finest Children -> Vampire Lord!Namjoon x Virgin!Reader (oc; female) ↣ Genre/themes: vampire au; reincarnation au; corruption kink; blood play; manor and the maiden trope | part of the Briarwood Manor Collab ↣ Summary: Briarwood Manor is seeking a cook, and you have been trained for this role from the very moment you entered the church’s covenant. But Briarwood is not merely seeking a cook, nor is Namjoon merely seeking a bride. The moment you enter the Manor’s doors, that is when the dreams start, that is when the lust comes. ➺He was unlike the others, something more perverse than supernatural with flesh made by the moonlight. The church bell chimed thrice and his lips glistened, red with moisture as he looked up towards the cathedral ceiling. Your pulse throbbed eagerly in your neck, as if recognizing something dear. Standing in the shadows, you pressed your back against the stone wall, wondering if he would be the one, the eventual one, to claim you.

Taking your time, you admired him. The cream silk of his ascot seemed to vivisect his chest, a contour to his dark velvet suit coat. Already you could feel him against your skin, marble soft and making your breath hitch within your chest.

Broad shouldered he was heavy, and you imagined him sinking against you, between your breasts. At this thought, you blushed, heated by the sudden beginnings of strange desire, but more peculiar - you discerned much later, in your night chemise before you blew the candle out - you were not ashamed.

An Abundance of Time -> soulmate au; reincarnation au; Time God!Junmyeon x Time Nymph!Reader (oc; female) ↣ As the bright sun begins to crest over the rose quartz waters of Alaset Flow, Junmyeon lies back on the grassy hill beside the shore. Breathing deep, he lets the warm breeze put the smell of your perfume on his tongue, testing you all the way into his lungs.

And with his his eyes closed, he presses his hands into the cerulean earth and thinks of yesterday.

Yesterday, you held his hands in yours and kissed his cheeks. You made a point to avoid his lips, and he knew that if he properly kissed you - with his full heart and his full mouth and his full soul - you look at him with wet, sad eyes, and agree to stay; eventually, you would blame him for your inability to leave. Yesterday, you buried your face into his chest, told him that he was everything and that sometimes everything was not enough. Yesterday, you told him you shared paradise and because paradise was always perfect, paradise always just was, you had grown weary.

Junmyeon wanted to hate you for this, but even as he swallowed the canyon you had placed in his throat, all he could do was love you. He'd never deny you anything, and it seemed he would not start then, even as you were telling him you needed to leave.

Mortality posed so many thrilling challenges - laughter behind tears, grief amongst celebration, the blossoms of hope amongst the cracks of anguish - and you wanted to try them all.

Think of how much I will love our eternity once I witness the way a future can collapse mid-flight, you pleaded through tear stained desperation, not asking for his permission and instead asking him to simply understand.

He couldn't. He tried, but he had you, and so what else could he possibly want?

Hero: Chapter 16 ↣ After six days of training with Yixing, you start to realize the burning ache that consumes your shoulder in the wake of firing a gun never really dissipates.

You’ve done it enough times now to consider the pain a part of you. It has taken to haunting your blood, a ghost rooting in your bones with every metallic and deafening click of the magazine. Yixing smiles knowingly as he places the M45 in the palm of your outstretched hand, astutely aware of the sickening thrill that traversed your veins. Now, as with every time since, his fist curls over your shoulder, nails piercing - an act you interpret as a means of support. Every time you’d previously shot a gun, your balance was precarious at best, your first aim horribly askew and your second merely dumb luck guided by your supernatural gift.

Only after your fifth bullet hits the target do you realize his touch was a means to kill the agony in your limbs, muscles tense from suppressing the kickback, neither supportive nor encouraging.

‘I was badly trained for my first war,’ he comments softly, running a hand over the length of your arm.

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