#bronze ablaze

[slavonicrhapsody]

WHO IS THIS SAULTRY LITTLE BINCH

ok this is my extremely unpolished breakdown of MESSMER THE IMPALER from the shadow of the erdtree trailer

The first thing that stands out about this dude is that he’s wearing EVERY possible symbol of treason against the Erdtree: SNAKES and FLAME

Messmer has snakes on his sigil, helm, and 2 snake friends who have dragon wings. Volcano Manor is known for its statues of winged serpents, but the wings are feathered, not dragonlike. these snakes are bright red-orange and are very unlike the Great Serpent we all know and love, who has a heavier build and is blue-grey in color. 

Regarding snakes as symbolism, the Duelist Helm description reads,

“Bronze helm decorated with innumerable snakes. Worn by gladiators who were driven from the colosseum. The wearer becomes a slightly easier target for foes. The snake is viewed as a traitor to the Erdtree, and the audience delighted in seeing these bronze effigies beaten and battered.”

We can bet that whoever is associating themselves with snakes is a confirmed Erdtree hater (Rykard, hello!!!) or perhaps, this dude could even be part of the reason why snakes are considered traitorous in the first place?

In addition to us seeing Messmer wield fire, this line from the trailer (which I think is spoken about Messmer but not by Messmer) implies that he’s known for his fire: “Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death. In the embrace of Messmer’s flame.” 

It’s well known that flame is in many ways a taboo power; particularly the flame of the Fell God, which has the power to burn the Erdtree (the cardinal sin). Messmer’s fire is weird, in some ways it reminds me of the Rune of Death since it starts out black and turns red, but it’s also far too orange to simply be the Rune of Death’s power. 

There’s also this description of the DLC: “The Land of Shadow. A place obscured by the Erdtree. Where the goddess Marika first set foot. A land purged in an unsung battle. Set ablaze by Messmer’s flame.”

I’d guess that the Land of Shadow was the place of Marika’s first conquest, and perhaps Messmer either aided her in razing it or that’s just something he did later? 

so WHO is this dude????

for starters, his name is Messmer the Impaler — M like Marika! Melina, Malenia, Miquella, Mogh, and Morgott. seems to be a pattern...

He says in the trailer, “Mother, wouldst thou truly Lordship sanction, in one so bereft of light?” 

Whoever Messmer’s mother is, she is in a position to “sanction lordship” meaning to give official permission for a lordship to take place. that screams Marika — she is THE goddess, and is responsible for guiding Tarnished to becoming Elden Lord. I can’t think of anyone else who might be called Mother who is in such a position as to allow someone to ascend to the position of Lord. He's also sitting in the same type of throne that the demigods sat in that we see in Morgott's cutscene.

theres 2 ways to interpret this line: 

Messmer could referring to himself when he says this; as if he’s saying, would my mother truly allow me to become Lord even though I’m so dark and edgy?? in a kind of sarcastic way. the flames he produces start out black, and he’s covered himself symbols treasonous to the Erdtree. OR, he’s referring to us, the Tarnished, when he says this; as if he’s saying, would you really let a person with such little light inside them become lord, mother?? (rude!) I’d say we need more context to determine exactly what he means

ALSO, interestingly, his left eye is sealed shut… you know who else has their left eye sealed shut? THAT’S RIGHT… OUR FRIENDS MELINA AND RANNI

The scarseal and soreseal items of Marika and Radagon are also carved into eyeballs… could eye trauma be an empyrean trait?? could Messmer also be an empyrean, one who the current demigods didn’t know the existence of??? 

with all that being said, I really doubt that this guy is Rykard or Rykard’s child as I’ve seen some people speculate… these other clues in the trailer point towards him being another, separate demigod. so what do we make of all the similar imagery?? I think that Messmer might be working against the Erdtree toward his own ends, and he’s embracing similar powers that Rykard did when he turned traitor. 

who is he then? I think he’s a demigod child of Marika, and possibly of Radagon because of the hair (unless his hair color comes elsewhere? a curse?). I think he got banished to the shadow realm for treason reasons, given the heretical symbols. perhaps he was an empyrean with his own agenda who was disposed of by Marika, like the Gloam Eyed Queen? perhaps he has ambitions to return to the real world and become Lord, destroying the Tarnished who might take his throne?

I did this instead of sleeping I hope you’re all happy

[sagi-tori-ous]

INVASION OF PRIVACY

It was roughly 10 at night when Poppy stumbled into her shabby apartment. The sky was pitch black — winter was approaching so daylight seemed to lessen — and a chill swirled in with the wind that seemed to pick up a bit since Poppy had first departed.

She had gone out with a few friends who didn't know how to keep time the best and always somehow got alcohol to be the main hydration system for them — despite its dehydrating qualities. Poppy wasn't drunk but even the small amount of liquor in her body set it ablaze.

Poppy threw her jacket off and keys somewhere she'd curse herself for forgetting later and staggered into her quaint kitchen, she grabbed one of her glass cups and filled it up with tap water that was probably flooded with tons of metals and chemicals that a person's body shouldn't be filled with — but who was going to stop her.

She trailed her hands absentmindedly up and down her body, grasping at the side of her neck lightly before trailing that very same hand just over her breasts and keeping it flat on her stomach.

She guzzled the water down with small droplets escaping, wandering down her chin and almost making it to her neck before she wiped it off.

It wasn't until she finished her glass of water did she hear the light murmur of her tv playing in her conjoined living room.

“Fuck.” she cursed, making her way there but the blare of her phone stopped her, she dug her hand into the back pocket of jeans pulling it out and answering without looking at the caller id.

“Yelloo!” she slightly slurred into the phone, less from intoxication and more from the fact that her energy bar was draining fast at this point.

“Hello my ass!” it was Poppy's friend on the other end, her tone was scornful. “ You said you would call first thing when you got home!”

Poppy rolled her eyes,“Calm down.” She started walking back to the TV to turn it off, not wanting to run her bill up even more “ I literally just got here, I didn't do anything besides get a drink of water mom.” she was thankful for their concern and was going to for sure call them but she wanted to get settled before anything.

Poppy stood in front of the television, a Male news anchor gazed back at her —she turned the appliance off — just barely catching the headline which said something about ‘aliens’, which made poppy scrunch her face up and shake her head. The news seemed to lose its meaning more and more everyday.

Her friend was still lecturing her through the phone but Poppy's mind just trailed, “ Okay okay, I get it Mel, I love you, I'll talk to you tomorrow, goodbye.” she rushed and hung up the phone, not letting ‘Mel’ get another word in.

She let out an agitated sigh.

Poppy shut off the minimal lights that she had turned on when she returned and traversed her way towards her bedroom. Relaxation to the highest degree was the only thing on her mind.

She grasped at the light switch and scrolled through the many colors her LED lights had and stopped on the purple color, giving her room that tranquil lavender hue that she loved. It was relaxing yet sensual, somehow — it described how Poppy was feeling in the moment.

Poppy glided over towards her dresser, going into the exact drawer that held her vibrator — it was pink, it wasn't extremely long (about 6 inches) and it obviously vibrated — it got the job done and that's all that mattered, especially now.

“Hey buddy!” she cood at it, getting even more excited at the thought of her pussy dripping all over it while she fucked herself through as many orgasm as she could.

She threw it onto her queen sized mattress and started undressing, she already unknowingly took her shoes off somewhere near the door — she peeled her snug high waisted dark wash jeans off, leaving her standing only in her subtle yellow thong that contrasted beautifully on her bronze skin.

Next was the random cropped sweater she threw on just before leaving the house, under it was a matching bralette to the thong. The sheer imagery of herself turned her on more.

Poppy loved herself, some could say in a cocky way — but wasn't that the best. She knew her body like the back of her hand, as she should, and loved pleasing herself. She loved figuring something out with her body that nobody else could. The thrill was like none else.

She slid on top of her fluffy comforter, making sure her body was positioned in the most comfortable way — she also aligned herself so she could be facing the mirror that adorned her wall.

Poppy spread her legs and pushed them towards her chest, she could just make out her figure in the mirror due to the purple lights. It added a different layer of scenery, a sight Poppy loved.

Her left hand grasped at her left breast, she kneaded it through the thin cloth. Twisting her nipple between her fingers, a small whimper left her mouth. A small pool slowly seeped through her panties, making the fabric turn a bit sheer, outlining her pussy lips.

She moved the bralette down to let her nipples free, the clothing article still grasped the cusps of her breasts — the air hit the buds making them harden all the more. The same hand came back up and dipped into her mouth, she wet the fingers enough before bringing them back down and circling the erect nipple.

Her hips had a mind of their own, moving to cause some kind of friction. She was needy.

Poppy grabbed at the vibrator with her free hand — she instantly turned it on and delicately placed it over her clothed pussy.

“Oh.” she moaned, her back faintly arching. Applying much needed pressure, the vibrator slid between her restricted folds, brushing against her pulsing clit. The action caused a bit of a tremor in her legs.

“Fuck” tucking her bottom lip into her mouth, she kept a steady teasing pace, every now and then she would skim over her clit. The pace she was going was torturous.

Poppy eventually laid the toy down — although she didn't turn it off, it laid there while it lowly buzzed — she discarded the last pieces of clothing off her body with all speed. She needed to see every inch of her body, she needed to see all of her awaiting chest and the purple light to glisten off her pussy in all its entirety. She needed the full visual.

She disregarded the clothes and with no hesitation dipped two of her fingers into her slick folds. Poppy wanted, no needed a taste of her essence, she tucked those fingers into her mouth and moaned at the taste, she swirled her tongue around the digits before releasing them with a pop. A little saliva dripped down her body but she rubbed the rest right back onto her pussy, creating an — if even possible — wetter mess.

It didn't take long for the vibrator to be right back into her good grasp.

Poppy drug the toy from her clit to her leaky entrance and then back to her clit, she repeated this process two more times before dipping the head in. Throwing her head back, “Shit!” she hissed. She didn't dare to push it in all the way, she lived for the build up.

The way her stomach clenched and legs seemed to have a mind of their own, toes curling and pleasurable sounds getting caught in her throat. It was an euphoric feeling.

A — what she thought — was a familiar sound coming through the walls. She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore her ignorant neighbors, this wasn't the first time that they've had a problem with controlling the volumes in their abode. It didn't help that the sound that had interrupted was loud and shook the walls a bit.

“Fuckers probably dropped something heavy.” Poppy seethed but nestled into her bed, pushing the vibrator in more and more. She'd be damned if she didn't get her orgasm tonight.

“Oh fuck~” she let out when it hit a certain point, if she curved it up just a tad more she was sure she could brush up against her g-spot.

‘BOOM!’ The building shook again, faint screams were heard and to anyone in their right state of mind — they would've known that those screams were not full of anger or passion but of fear, jumbles of genuine panic.

Maybe it was the few drinks she had earlier, maybe it was the orgasmic haze she was building to that clouded her better judgment — that made her think that the world was just trying to make sure she didn't reach her most high. “Please, shut the fuck up! Please!”

Poppy screamed. Her chest heaved and skin warmed with irritation, she was pissed. The buildup was gone and anger replaced it. She was so heated that she didn't notice the eerie silence … or the thunderous footsteps that sliced through it.

When she did notice the silence though, it was too late.

The same queen size bed she resided in slid forward, the wall behind it breaking with such force that it caused the piece of furniture to move like it weighed near to nothing — debris flew all over the room and a dusty cloud disturbed her vision, she wasn't able to make out anything but knew from the bottom of her heart she wasn't alone anymore. Poppy's chest heaved with a total different type of emotion, terror.

She was scared.

Her body shook but not with pleasure, not with urgency — well not with that specific urgency but the urgency to live. She knew she wanted to get out of this situation alive, she didn't know how she was going to go about that. Especially when she laid eyes on her guest. The smoke screen dispersed.

Through the mirror that still was across from her, just closer in space, she saw something. Something so tall that it bent down slightly to fully come into the makeshift door it made. Its face was covered with a mask and it had locs on its head, adorned with gold ringlets and other tribal jewelry. Its body was covered in armor and it held a spear in its hand, not like a wooden or traditional spear.

This spear looked Mechanical, it looked as if it wasn't just a spear and even if it was, Poppy didn't want to be on the bad end of it.

You could barely make out its beady eyes from the mask but it was close enough to Poppy to where she could see the light shine off the black orbs.

.”Please don't kill me.” a cry slipped from her lips, tears coming down wetting them in the process “ please, i'll do anything, please don't kill me.” she pleaded, her eyes conveying her vulnerability. It didn't matter that she and whatever stormed into her bedroom didn't remotely share any similar DNA, and the fact it most likely didn't understand a word she was saying.

She was going to beg. She was going to appease whatever sympathetic — if it even had one — bone it had in its body.

The tears continued to flow and her mind started to wander. She thought about how quickly her life had become in danger, she thought about her friend and how she so easily brushed her off. She thought about how rudely she said goodbye, not knowing how those words would literally be the last words shared between them.

The thoughts made her cry harder — the steps it took so casually towards her, made her go into hysterics.

Poppys' back was pressed against the headboard as if it could shield her, she wouldn't dare turn around and become so close within range, cutting off the mere moments of life she had left. She gazed into the mirror and watched it come closer with no worry. Why would it worry though? It knew where the superiority lied.

It was behind her, the only thing that separated them was the splintering wood of what was left of the headboard. Poppy watched it through her tears.

She watched as it gazed down at her like she was a foreign specimen, as its left appendage came and caressed her head — not as if to soothe her but to make an observation as of what she was. This didn't console her, not one bit.

She felt its rough armored covered hand trail its way down her body, tracing over her neck and coming down her chest — it grazed her nipple causing her breath to hitch. A familiar tingle making an appearance at inappropriate timing, Poppy just blamed it on how the human body worked, this is how the body functioned.

It didn't stop its journey. Only when it made its way down to the soppy mess between Poppy’s thighs did it momentarily halt. Detouring if you will.

Poppys clit throbbed as she watched through the mirror, fear entwined with need — a treacherous combination.

The rough hand came in contact with her folds, swiping through and collecting her present arousal. The action was so fast and powerful that a jolt shot through Poppy and she couldn't help the small whimper she had let out.

Tears falling sporadically now, but the full fledged sobbing stopped. She wanted to live but if she were to die, how could she save a life that wasn't hers any longer?

She was miniscule compared to this thing, even slightly bent and playing with her essence it still cast many shadows on her, staying heads above her.

She wasn't paying attention to what it had been studying as she had been studying it. So when it slid a thick, long digit into her soaking folds it had caught her by surprise — her hands shooting up to hold its armored arm and hips jutting forward to meet the calculative thrusts it gave.

“ mhm” she moaned out and rolled her hips at the sensation, her stomach clenching for numerous reasons. Its finger moved around inside, giving her the same fullness as the toy that was inside her mere moments ago.

It curled up, hitting her g-spot, “oh fuck” she cursed, her hips starting to run away on their own but the finger was never far behind and without mere moments to spare she orgasmed all over its fingers.

Her body twitching from the fresh release and her mind not really focusing on the important things. In a way she was almost relaxed.

Till her body flew forward half a foot, she was now on her stomach and face mere inches away from the same mirror that's been the only witness to tonight's ventures. It had smoothly landed on her bed, somehow without making much noise and crouched behind her. She took notice of its strong hind legs.

Poppy's mind went to the news anchor she had silenced, she thought about the headline — Alien. She mentally scoffed, of all things an alien would become the first honest thing anyone has reported in such a long time and yet because of the same deception they casted into homes, Poppy couldn't take the news seriously. She couldn't shield her life.

The alien grasped at the sheathing that adorned its abdomen and nether region, it clicked around before the armor popped off with an almost undetectable hiss.

The covering slid off its chiseled body and Poppy could not help the strangled gasp that left her — when her eyes made contact with its outwardly cock. She didn't know why it astonished her as much, seeing as its stature was much larger than hers.

Its skin was a pale-ish yellow color, and she couldn't help to compare its structure to that of a humans, the way that the muscles were accentuated became vaguely familiar. From its chest, to its abs, the only thing she could honestly differentiate — its bulbous penis — the shape was similar but the size was scary, to say the least.

The otherworldly creature grasped at her hips and tugged her lower half towards it, its cock stood at gruesome attention — its arousal crystal clear. Poppy grasped at her bed covering, she couldn't believe that something like this was happening. How much she wanted it was the craziest part.

She had yet to say a word besides her begging fit earlier and pleasurable sounds from when it had finger fucked her — she was too embarrassed to say anything, she would rather wallow in her shame and its cum quietly. Well as quietly as she could be.

Snatching her from her pitiful thoughts — it dragged its pulsing pre cum dripping head across her wet slit, mixing both of their juices together to create the best lubricant. It let out a hum of approval, the first sound it had made tonight and dare she say, Poppy loved it. How deep and guttural it was made Poppy's stomach clench in the best way.

The alien dipped the head of its hungry cock into her awaiting opening, “oh fuck” Poppy's head lolled forward into the mattress, her mouth was agape and eyes closed as it slid its length inside her. She knew that it wouldn't be able to fit entirely and the thought saddened her, she wanted it all.

When it got in as much as it could it started to move in and out of her wetness, barely giving her time to adjust. Its movements were not humane, yet still calculative. It didn't look down at her with care but as if it were a Predator and she was its prey.

She could feel every groove, bump and vein as it plunged into her — her pussy clenching around it like a glove.

Poppy was so confident in her ability to know her body that it wreaked havoc on her that every time that it pushed into her awaiting pussy it touched her g spot, every time — but yet, she could just merely brush against it.

She couldn't even form coherent words as her second, more powerful orgasm washed over her. Her pussy tightened over its length — which made it growl louder — and creamed all over the resilient alien. It never let up, never gave her a break.

Her body lay limp as she took everything it gave to her, even when it decided to push more of its length inside her battered womb. She could feel her stomach expand everytime it pushed forward, she could only tiredly lay her hand over her stomach as it fucked her into oblivion.

“ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! “ Each orgasm was more powerful than the last, each one did more and more of the impossible.

With a loud rumble, it grabbed her hips so tightly that she knew they were bruised and the skin most likely scratched and raw — ropes and ropes of cum were dumped into her. It's like they were shooting straight at her g spot, her legs shook fiercely and her pussy squirted — not only her juices but the cum that stained her walls gushed out as well.

Black spots painted her vision, her chest heaving at a worrisome rate.

She knew somewhere in her mind that it knew that she was spent — but this wasn't about her.

Its right arm came around her waist to hoist up her pliable body, it grabbed at her legs so that they sat on its muscular thighs — giving a much better access point.

Poppy was basically sitting on the alien's lap with its cock still stuffed inside, still hard and throbbing as if it didn't just fill her to the brim.

She just leaned back and shivered once her back made contact with some cold metal — her eyes barely able to stay open — she could just about make out their figures in the mirror, she could see the mixtures of cum dripping from where their bodies met. She could see how puffy her pussy was and how glossy its cock was as it maneuvered in and out of her.

Saliva slid out of her mouth and down her chin as the all too familiar feeling started to build back up within her. She knew this one would be the one to make her succumb to darkness and maybe even death, at least it was pleasurable.

She whimpered and whined, her legs planting on its steel thighs as she tried to run away from the feeling — she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Poppy knew she lost, she knew when its arms circled around her — locking her in — and started pistoning inside her, it seemed as if its cock only knew to hit her g spot. She cried, tears sliding down her face as her pussy leaked and vision became blurry, breathing didn't come naturally and because of that she became lightheaded.

Sobs racked her body as she came, her hands grasping at the arms holding her. Her stomach cramping from her multiple orgasms and the appendage that has now claimed it as its own.

Not once did the Predator stop. It didn't stop when her legs slipped from their settled position. It didn't stop when her hands stopped squeezing its arms. It didn't stop when her head lolled to the right and eyes closed.

It just held her close to its conscious body and let her pussy envelope him with the warm welcome to its new home.

Dedications: @deunmiu-dessie

Banner/Divider: @cafekitsune @pwixi

[nanamikentoseyebags]

Addicted to your light

He hopes you know his whole world is now reflected in his heavenly blue eyes. Look closer, it's you. Always has been.

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

content: fluff, suggestive themes, use of blindfold, basically satoru and reader's first time together, nothing explicit though

a/n: i got affected by @rossithepixie fic where satoru puts his blindfold on you. here he finds another use for it 🥴 a special thank you to @vagabond-umlaut who read it first 💛

The day gives way to night, as the thick veil of the darkness blankets the walls of the room. The only sources of light in the guise of the young pale moon curiously peering in through the not completely closed curtains, and the small, quaint lamps on the oak bedside tables reveal the mysteries of two stained hearts that try to find their way home. In the subdued, soft lighting two silhouettes sit opposite each other on the king-sized bed. And in the complete silence that reigns here, one can hear their ragged breathing, the hot waves of air leaving their parted lips.

The whole space’s palpably electrified with eager anticipation mingled with infinite tenderness and an overwhelming desire. The threatening mixture that swallows them both not leaving a single chance to escape this sweet torture. And it seems that every atom of their being is transformed into a vibrating movement, fused with an unknown craving that fills their heated bodies.

Your clothes are long forgotten somewhere, discarded on the floor on the way to the bedroom, ready to become a tomorrow’s reminder of this very night. Sitting there on the soft walnut colored silk bedsheets wearing nothing but your underwear, you don't feel any cold; rather, your whole skin seems to be set ablaze, with the heat running through your entire body and waking up all the butterflies that have been sleeping peacefully in your stomach. And he doesn’t even touch you yet.

Satoru looks pretty calm, too calm for your liking. Behind this habitual grin you can’t even discern whether he feels at least a bit as anxious or giddy as you. So your gaze shifts to his torso, causing you to swallow hard, as your eyes flick from his broad chest adorned with crescent scars to his defined abs. The lack of clothes gives you a perfect opportunity to admire his sturdy figure without any shame. Illuminated by the soft yellow light, his snow-white skin takes on a golden hue, like a bronze-carved Apollo, who only smiles softly, as if knowing how breathtaking the sight of him can be. You cannot see his eyes, like treasure sought by pirates hidden behind a black satin blindfold, but you can sense his intense gaze moving slowly along all of your curves, tracing all of your skin, not stopping for a second.

And so you give in, jump in with both feet, unable to languish in anticipation and delay the moment any longer, you move closer, your slightly trembling hands gently reaching for him.

"May I?" a quiet plea comes out of your lips in a whisper, your fingers gently touching the velvet skin of his cheek, slowly moving to his blindfold. Satoru nods weakly, swallowing, feeling your hands gently, as if it might hurt him, untie the knot, and slowly pull the skin-cooling material off his heavenly blue eyes.

You see the stars. He still hasn't touched you yet, but you could swear you see them when your gazes meet. It feels like finding yourself in outer space with no protection and no way to take that much needed breath, hanging weightless, surrounded by celestial bodies and running out of air. Yet you can’t help but marvel the beauty before you, knowing goddamn well that this starry blanket might be your last memory. And you would agree to do it again, just to feel the sense of lightness once more, just to get lost in his light, just to see the world centered in him and hidden behind these two orbits.

He sees the sun. He still hasn’t touched you yet, but he could swear he feels its burning touch when your gazes meet. It feels like floating above the ground not the way he used to do but lifting to the unpreceded heights, striving to reach the biggest star, sense its warm embrace and get lost in its heat, knowing goddamn well that its gentle hold might be the last thing he’ll ever feel. And he would do it again, like Icarus flying up too fast and too close, letting you scorch his wings, letting you take away his strength, only to bask in your presence, only to have a chance to marvel your blinding beauty a little longer, only to make sure you know that his whole world is centered around you and can now be seen in the reflection of his two orbits.

“You’re so beautiful…” he exhales quietly either not fully trusting his voice or in fear of scaring the moment off. His hand flies up to gently tuck your hair behind your ear, a light touch leaving a barely perceptible trace on the curve of your neck. With his fingertips he feels the myriad of goosebumps covering your flawless skin in an instant, and he cannot believe it’s him who does this to you. He lets out a shaky breath, realizing how every inch of his body is shivering at the sensation of the satin fabric you're slowly sliding down his neck. Satoru thanks all the gods above that it's you who's doing this to him. Though no one else ever could.

“Close your eyes,” he commands in a low voice, leaning closer, his hot breath dancing across your skin. You obey pliantly, your heart flutters at his words as he suddenly takes advantage of the situation. Satoru’s delicate hand finds its place on the back of your neck, making you lift your head just a little bit.  With your eyes shut you feel him leaving a small peck on your temple, then softly kissing your closed eyelids and traveling down to your desperately waiting to be kissed and already slightly parted mouth. Gojo makes sure he left the proclamation of his love with the softest brush of his lips on every millimeter of your face while his thumb gently caresses your jawline. He pulls back for a moment, trying to capture in his mind how divinely beautiful you are in the moonlight before drawing you into a deep yet full of fondness and promises kiss. And your worlds collide the moment your lips meet. And if the big bang that started it all for someone seems like a controversial theory, it has now become an absolute and irrefutable truth for the both of you, as it’s just claimed the new beginning. With him being so painfully soft and his lips molding just right against yours and his feather-light touches, treating you like you’re made of the daintiest porcelain, you feel like falling apart right here and right now. With you being so painfully gentle and your fingers tangling in his snow-white hair, treating him like he’s worth of this universal tenderness, he feels like falling apart right here and right now.

Satoru pulls away slightly, a string of saliva still connecting your swollen lips. You don't dare to open your eyes, feeling the thin fabric slowly slip from your fingers. He gently kisses the corner of your lips, unable to resist, before you feel the pleasant coolness of satin on your eyelids. His fingers gently, with apparent skill, fasten his blindfold around your head.

“Relax for me,” he whispers noticing the way your breath hitches and your chest heaves frantically, “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” his thumb stroking the pinkish apple of your cheek.

“I wanna see you…” you say under your breath, covering his hand with yours.

“You will,” he murmurs and takes your hand in his, kissing your fingers, “but for now, I want you to feel it, okay?” is more of a statement said in a saccharine tone, yet you utter a quiet “okay” surrendering completely to his captivity. His arms encircle your waist before gently lowering you onto the cushioned bed.

“I want you to feel all the love I have for you,” he repeats breathlessly, his fingertips grazing your hips, still unable to believe that you let him touch you, let him kiss your perfect skin, let him get lost in you.

And he’ll spend the whole night showing you how pure and overpowering his love for is, how addicted to your light is, and he is not afraid to burn in doing so.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💛

tags: @rossithepixie @pastelle-rabbit @solanaearth @a-nuisance-called-sam @nanamiiss @4sat0ruu @pupkashi @gennysuga

[howtofightwrite]

I'm curious if you have any thoughts on weaponry in an armada, specifically in settings where there are no guns. Would it make sense for an armada to exist without guns and the like, or what weapons would they specialize in instead? (I guess this kind of leads into the question of "What weapons are best when fighting on a ship if there are no guns in the world?" if that would make it simpler.)

I hope this doesn't come as a major surprise, but naval combat is older than gunpowder, so this is more of a historical question than you seem to expect.

In fact, piracy is a practice that dates back to, at least, The Bronze Age, with pirates preying on Greek shipping in the Mediterranean.

While it's not an exact answer to your question, the main answer is probably a lost technology known as Greek Fire. This was a combustible fluid that could be sprayed onto enemy vessels, burning them to the waterline.

Even before the invention of Greek fire, setting your foes ships ablaze was already a popular tactic in naval warfare. Beyond that boarding parties, and ramming using a reinforced bow were also staples in the Greek world.

If you want a specific example to look at, the Battle of Salamis in 480 BC might be a good choice. It's certainly a classic example.

I'm less familiar with the state of naval combat in the first millennium, though again, that is simply historical research. (Worth noting that, in spite of the Hellenic world making extensive use of setting enemy ships on fire, Greek fire proper was a Byzantine technology, and wouldn't be developed until the 7thcentury AD.)

If you're looking at a fantasy setting, then that will probably lapse into a worldbuilding question, and an examination of the technologies available to your characters. But, yeah, in the real world, people were killing each other on the water long before we had guns and cannons.

-Starke

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[obsidiannebula]

Watching my husband play Valheim, wielding a bronze axe and sprinting down a nearly-sheer mountainside, pursued by two wolves as he freezes his ass off. He runs past his campfire, which the wolves run into, getting set ablaze. He is now pursued by flaming wolves and freezing to death. One knocks him off the side of the mountain, but he manages to land on a rock and only take a lot of fall damage, but keeps going. At the base of the mountain, he slides into the Black Forest, and as a trio of evil little blue-eyed bastards starts hurling rocks at him, he zips past yelling "Protect me, greydwarves!" And disappears into the trees

[blackbacchus999]

*** Name: Karneios

***Age: Soul is as Ancient as the Mysteries.

***Nationality: Black/Italian

***Zodiac: ♌️ 🌞, ♈️ 🌙, ♎️ Rising.

***Profession: Author/Dionysian Poet

***Religion: Dionysian Pagan

***Life's Purpose: My purpose is to dance on the edge of chaos, to revel in the ecstasy of existence, and to shatter the mundane. I am here to remind people of the beauty in the wild, the sacred in the uninhibited, and the divine in every moment of abandon. To live is to celebrate, to laugh, to drink deeply of life’s nectar, and to find the sacred madness that awakens the soul.

"Salutations, fellow revelers of the digital vineyard! I am Karneios, a Dionysian Poet navigating the labyrinthine realms of words and wisdom. With 🍷 in hand and spirit ablaze, I pay homage to the ancient gods, with Dionysus reigning primary amidst my pantheon. Join me in the pursuit of ecstatic beauty and the unruly dance of existence, where joy and reverence intertwine under the starlit canopy of the cosmos. Let us embrace the revelry of life and the divine art of storytelling together!"

** My Thoughts On AI-GENERATED Art **

* I am not here to argue, only gave my thoughts on the subject so please keep the disrespect to yourself!!!

I hope this message finds you well and inspired. As we continue to embrace the many forms of art and creativity within our community, I want to address the growing debate surrounding AI-generated art. It's a topic that stirs strong emotions, but I believe it deserves a thoughtful and nuanced discussion, especially given our rich tradition of honoring the Muses and the gods of creativity and innovation. Firstly, let us remember Hephaestus, the god of blacksmiths and craftsmen. Hephaestus created some of the most advanced and intricate technologies in mythology, including the bronze automaton Talos and the golden mechanical handmaidens. These creations were not shunned but celebrated by the gods. Nor did the gods show any worry about how humans would react to such creations. Hephaestus’s work reminds us that technology and craftsmanship, no matter how advanced, are deeply intertwined with divine inspiration. Consider Daedalus, the master craftsman favored by Athena. His inventions, from the labyrinth to his winged escape with Icarus, were marvels of their time. Athena, the goddess of wisdom and crafts, supported Daedalus’s innovations. This myth shows that the gods value and respect human ingenuity and creativity, regardless of the medium. So what makes you think the gods of technology wouldn't honor the same ones who created the AI? Because you think they would be worried about it stealing art from others? They never showed worry about it then so why now? Because a couple of humans fear that their art will be stolen? Anyways we can also look to the story of Pygmalion and Galatea. Pygmalion’s devotion to his art moved Aphrodite to bring his statue to life. This myth beautifully illustrates that the divine is not limited by our human perceptions of art and creation. It is the devotion and intent behind the art that the gods honor, not just the method. Its best for every artist to remember that right there.

[egyptian-architecture]

The scene showing metal workers is part of a wall depicting different professions in the tomb of Rekhmire', vizier of Tuthmosis III and Amenophis II. Above, the fires are kept ablaze with foot-operated bellows; below, the men are casting bronze doors in a large mould. The inscription states that the bronze is brought from Asia, from the land of Retjenu. Atlas of Egyptian art. Page 119

[pretty-paper-cuts]

Blink, you were the daisies. As they kissed our shins when we ran through the parks. Blink, you were the summer. The heat turning our shoulders golden, till they were ablaze. Blink, you were the sound of cicadas buzzing. The way their melody heralded a new adventure. Blink, you were the flowers and the seasons and all the sounds in the world. You were colors, burning bronze like sun baked skin. You were birds, the dove that flew too soon when I dared too close. You were places, the streets of my hometown I’ll never walk again. Blink, you were here. Blink, you are gone.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Daniel's Vision of the Four Beasts

1 In the first year of Belshazzar king of Babylon, Daniel had a dream, and visions passed through his mind as he was lying in bed. He wrote down the substance of his dream.

2 Daniel said: ‘In my vision at night I looked, and there before me were the four winds of heaven churning up the great sea. 3 Four great beasts, each different from the others, came up out of the sea.

4 ‘The first was like a lion, and it had the wings of an eagle. I watched until its wings were torn off and it was lifted from the ground so that it stood on two feet like a human being, and the mind of a human was given to it.

5 ‘And there before me was a second beast, which looked like a bear. It was raised up on one of its sides, and it had three ribs in its mouth between its teeth. It was told, “Get up and eat your fill of flesh!”

6 ‘After that, I looked, and there before me was another beast, one that looked like a leopard. And on its back it had four wings like those of a bird. This beast had four heads, and it was given authority to rule.

7 ‘After that, in my vision at night I looked, and there before me was a fourth beast – terrifying and frightening and very powerful. It had large iron teeth; it crushed and devoured its victims and trampled underfoot whatever was left. It was different from all the former beasts, and it had ten horns.

8 ‘While I was thinking about the horns, there before me was another horn, a little one, which came up among them; and three of the first horns were uprooted before it. This horn had eyes like the eyes of a human being and a mouth that spoke boastfully.

9 ‘As I looked,

‘thrones were set in place, and the Ancient of Days took his seat. His clothing was as white as snow; the hair of his head was white like wool. His throne was flaming with fire, and its wheels were all ablaze. 10 A river of fire was flowing, coming out from before him. Thousands upon thousands attended him; ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him. The court was seated, and the books were opened.

11 ‘Then I continued to watch because of the boastful words the horn was speaking. I kept looking until the beast was slain and its body destroyed and thrown into the blazing fire. 12 (The other beasts had been stripped of their authority, but were allowed to live for a period of time.)

13 ‘In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. 14 He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all nations and peoples of every language worshipped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.

The interpretation of the dream

15 ‘I, Daniel, was troubled in spirit, and the visions that passed through my mind disturbed me. 16 I approached one of those standing there and asked him the meaning of all this.

‘So he told me and gave me the interpretation of these things: 17 “The four great beasts are four kings that will rise from the earth. 18 But the holy people of the Most High will receive the kingdom and will possess it for ever – yes, for ever and ever.”

19 ‘Then I wanted to know the meaning of the fourth beast, which was different from all the others and most terrifying, with its iron teeth and bronze claws – the beast that crushed and devoured its victims and trampled underfoot whatever was left. 20 I also wanted to know about the ten horns on its head and about the other horn that came up, before which three of them fell – the horn that looked more imposing than the others and that had eyes and a mouth that spoke boastfully. 21 As I watched, this horn was waging war against the holy people and defeating them, 22 until the Ancient of Days came and pronounced judgment in favour of the holy people of the Most High, and the time came when they possessed the kingdom.

23 ‘He gave me this explanation: “The fourth beast is a fourth kingdom that will appear on earth. It will be different from all the other kingdoms and will devour the whole earth, trampling it down and crushing it. 24 The ten horns are ten kings who will come from this kingdom. After them another king will arise, different from the earlier ones; he will subdue three kings. 25 He will speak against the Most High and oppress his holy people and try to change the set times and the laws. The holy people will be delivered into his hands for a time, times and half a time.

26 ‘“But the court will sit, and his power will be taken away and completely destroyed for ever. 27 Then the sovereignty, power and greatness of all the kingdoms under heaven will be handed over to the holy people of the Most High. His kingdom will be an everlasting kingdom, and all rulers will worship and obey him.”

28 ‘This is the end of the matter. I, Daniel, was deeply troubled by my thoughts, and my face turned pale, but I kept the matter to myself.’ — Daniel 7 | New International Version - UK (NIVUK) Holy Bible, New International Version® Anglicized, NIV® Copyright © 1979, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® All rights reserved worldwide. Cross References: Job 33:14; Psalm 2:6; Psalm 12:3; Daniel 2:40; Daniel 4:19; Daniel 5:6; Daniel 8:22; Matthew 8:20; Matthew 24:31; Matthew 28:3; Luke 1:33; Luke 2:19; 1 Corinthians 6:2-3; 2 Thessalonians 2:3; Hebrews 1:14; Revelation 5:5; Revelation 11:1; Revelation 11:5; Revelation 11:7; Revelation 12:3; Revelation 13:1-2; Revelation 13:5; Revelation 17:8; Revelation 17:12; Revelation 17:14; Revelation 19:20; Revelation 20:10; Revelation 22:5

[chrysochroma]

So many ways to see the sunrise

@febuwhump 2024: Day 13: “you weren’t supposed to get hurt”

@badthingshappenbingo: guilty conscience (card is at the end)

Rating: Teen And Up

Words: 1,158

Fandom: Vat7k

Warnings: Violence, Injury, Crying

read on Ao3

first chapter

prev chapter

Title is from Everything Moves by Bronze Radio Return

Varian held his notebook up to the light of his staff, his eyes tracing the lines of the map he had sketched. He was deep in the jungle now, having to fight his way through hanging vines and stalks of bamboo. He was close; according to the map, the temple should be just a few minutes away. So, he continued on, his face set and his steps deliberate. Then, finally, his boot hit the solid stone of a cracked pathway, and the temple came into view. 

It was made of blocky structures with carved out windows that were stacked on top of each other, looking like almost a puzzle of rooms. The textured stone was spotted with patches of sunlight where the beams shone through the layers of leafy canopy above. Vibrant green vines hung off it, draping to the ground. 

Varian took barely a seconds’ glance at it, though. Instead, he tucked his notebook into his jacket and continued forward, only one thing on his mind—getting to the last key before his mom could. 

Varian stepped into the darkness, his staff illuminating just a small circle around him. His eyes scanned the blackness for a second before he reached into his coat and pulled out a vial, then sprinkled the dust it held out onto his fingers. It was a dark maroon, with specks of shimmering lavender and a dark, rusty blue that shone in the light of his staff. He pocketed the vial, then snapped and flicked his wrist forward in one fluid motion, shooting the dust into the air. The dark metal pieces of his glove scraped together as he snapped, sending a spark tumbling across the powder. It caught ablaze right as it was flicked across the room, carried by the small lavender particles it contained. A line of fire was suspended in the air in front of Varian, casting a bright red glow over the room. Then, the line split into two as he moved his hand to the side, dragging the line away from the center by the darker particles, forced to follow the movements of Varian’s glove. He pushed the remaining line to the other side, then stepped forward, farther into the temple. 

A voice came from the other side of the room. “Clever.” 

Varian nearly jumped, but instead he swung his staff forward and held it steady, ready to lunge forward at a moment's notice. He exhaled. “Thank you. Mom.”

“Of course, sweetie.” She stepped forward, illuminated by a faint green glow. “You really are quite talented, Varian.”

“Thanks, but that doesn’t really mean much coming from you.”

“Well why not?”

He frowned. “Uh, you’re kinda evil.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything. I can still call you smart, and I’m still your mom.” She continued forward as Varian stood, frozen, still pointing his staff at her. 

“Yes, it does.”

Ulla smiled, a tinge of pity in her eyes. “I know it’s been a while-“

“It’s been 17 years!” He shot back, his muscles tensing up. “You’ve been gone for all of my life, and when you finally do come back, the first thing you do is try and get revenge on someone, not to mention the fact that you’re digging up things that shouldn’t exist in the first place!” He gestured wildly with his staff, his eyes wide and screaming. 

She cocked her head to the side. “Demanitus spent years making these compounds. He created these powers for a reason,” She explained, her voice careful, but toeing the line of rage. 

“Yeah, and he split them up and hid them across the world for a reason, too,” Varian retorted. “This stuff is dangerous, and that means nobody should be able to use it.”

“Not even for science? Experiments?” She moved closer. “Aren’t you curious about what they can really do?”

“I know what they can do, and so did Demanitus.” He dropped back into something of a fighting stance. “Which is why I can’t let you have it.”

Midnight blue daggers of metal shining like oil spills shot out of Varian’s pockets as he lunged forward, pushing his staff out ahead of him. Almost immediately after, Ulla returned his attack with a pillar of crystalline amber, shooting out of the ground in front of him. He jumped back to avoid it, but still continued to attack. Varian shot the daggers forward and pulled them back with incredible precision, always keeping them just out of Ulla’s reach. She, on the other hand, pushed forward with huge walls and boulders of green crystal, forcing Varian back. They traded blows in a careful dance, Ulla pushing Varian back but neither doing much physical damage.

Varian was forced to retreat to avoid getting crushed, but as he did so, he stumbled. One of the daggers wavered in the air for just a second and before he could correct it, Ulla grabbed it out of the air. With her other hand, she scooped a handful of the flaming powder from the line, then swept her hands together. 

With a clap that could’ve almost been thunder, molecules crumbled in her hands and melded together, fusing them completely. The new compound flooded the room with a shining white light, seeming to flicker between states of matter every second. 

“No,” Varian whispered. The fear in his eyes seemed to soak into his soul before he pulled himself out of his head and pushed his daggers back towards her. 

This time, though, they were met with seemingly triple the amount of force as previously. Walls of crystal so tall they scraped the roof of the room hurtled towards him, giving him barely enough time to dodge. Then they would crumble, then dissolve, spreading puddles of acid all around him. Varian was fumbling, barely able to keep his daggers in the air as he tried to dodge Ulla’s attacks. 

He looked back, trying to find solid stone to stand on. He looked up to see a flame covered bolt of magic shoot through the air, straight at him. A figure jumped in front of him, then fell to the ground.
 Varian blinked. The world snapped back into his head as he stared at the body in front of him, and its familiar shock of blond hair. He spoke so quietly it was almost inaudible. “Hugo.”

Emerald flashed in his peripheral and his head shot up. His arm flicked out and a dagger followed. With deadly precision, it managed to just graze her temple. He wasn’t watching as she collapsed. 

He fell to his knees and stared in disbelief at Hugo. “No, no, you weren’t supposed to be here,” He muttered, his voice dissolving into a sob. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” His voice finally broke. “Hugo I’m sorry. This is all my fault and I’m so sorry, please-“

His world was dissolving around him and his world was laying in his arms. He didn’t think he would get either back. 

[eudaimonia83]

Chapter 6 is posted! For anyone who felt adrift last week bc of the new character, the Elucien goodness will hopefully make up for it this week. 🥰

Content warning: Solstice, but make it just a bit sinister. Muhahaha. No triggers that I can think of in this chapter.

Trivia moment: this chapter was the original basis for the entire fic. (It has obviously spiraled significantly into larger themes since then, lol.) I’ve long been annoyed that Lucien keeps being forced to hang out w the IC and then they act like he isn’t there, or treat him like he’s an enemy. *cough az and cass cough* So i wanted Elain to make him feel included…and to finally give him a thoughtful present. I also wanted Elain to be a bit more in her element, at a party.

There will probably be a couple weeks before this is updated again bc I will be working on a different piece for a bit, but there’s more coming!

Chapter 6: ELAIN

SOLSTICE NIGHT

The party was a bright affair, lamps all ablaze, faelights swirling like tiny acrobats in the rafters, and fires crackling merrily. Elain wore her lavender silk dress, against the advice of Nuala, who had suggested a darker color to match the rest of the guests. And it was true; Mor was resplendent in red and gold, Nesta icy in silver edged with white and jewelry of sparkling black, Feyre in deep royal blue. The three Illyrian brothers were in their customary matching black, though Azriel’s leathers somehow seemed the most formal attire of the lot. Rhysand had indulged in a violet-trimmed waistcoat and Cassian’s crimson siphons seemed to set everything he touched ablaze.

But after Elain had spent two hours trying to decide between a dark blue high-necked velvet gown and a long black dress festooned with big pink roses — hating how pale she looked, how thin and wan — she had finally thrown open her wardrobe doors and pulled out the soft, swishing dress with its fluttering skirt. It was not truly fancy enough for the occasion, she knew. It was a dress for a day in the gardens in the height of summer, for running in and out of the shade of her tall hedges, for trailing her hand in the fountain and dabbing the cool water on her neck to soften the heat of the sun’s kiss, for spending hours lying in the grass trying to identify the scent of each particular flower. But her heart had eased the moment she’d held it up and looked at herself in the mirror. It felt right. And in it, she felt beautiful. She knew people called her the pretty sister. She had used that as currency herself, drawing the attention of men and boys alike. But standing next to Nesta, regal and austere; or Feyre, slender and magnetic and alluring; or Morrigan, glowing and brash and curvaceous…she just felt ordinary. In this dress she could at least compare. To keep warm, she picked out a plum-colored velvet high-cut jacket edged in brown fur. The gentle color of it warmed against the bronze of her curls, which she left down; and her cheeks, still hollow from the weight she’d lost as a new Fae, looked like they picked up some color. She stared at her reflection for a while, feeling as though it all looked unfinished, when the bell tinkled merrily to announce that dinner was ready. On her way down the stairs, she passed a dripping bouquet of winter roses and pine garlands; one of the arrangements the decorators had brought earlier. The roses were cream-white with a pink edge to their petals. In sudden inspiration, Elain twisted two buds from the bouquet and prepared to tuck one into her hair, before thinking, be daring. Be brave. With the slightest of tremors, she instead tucked both of the flowers into the sweetheart collar of the dress, right above her décolletage. They warmed against her skin. Somehow, she didn’t need a mirror to know she had chosen well; she lifted her chin and walked down the steps. She passed a massive gilt-edged mirror as she went down the hallway to the dining room, and noticed that the buds had opened slightly against her skin, blushing and pale in equal measure. She stopped to straighten them only to find their stems firmly tangled in the fabric of the lining of her dress, so they pressed lightly against her breasts. Like they were hugging her. And when she’d entered the dining room, ever so slightly late — she remembered one of her human friends insisting they be late to a party, saying “no, Lainey, you must make an entrance” — she’d been pleased to find all eyes drawn to her. Even Amren’s steely gaze had narrowed.

Dinner had been loud, especially when Nyx had made an appearance after his nap. His eyes were ringed with tiredness, but lit up merrily when he saw Cassian, the undisputed favorite, who immediately waved at him and stuck his tongue out. Feyre now relinquished her son to his uncle and sat back on the lounge chair, tucking her feet up under the blue silk of her gown. Elain hadn’t spoken to her all day; when they’d arrived back from the Hewn City, later than people had expected, she had looked unsettled, and shuttered herself in with Rhysand for a good hour, the shields around the room thick and humming. She looked happier now, her pale blue eyes alight as she watched her family.

Elain couldn’t think of how to begin the conversation, but felt obliged to ask, “Are you enjoying your birthday?”

Feyre glanced at her briefly before directing her eyes back to her son. Rhysand had pulled him up from Cassian’s shoulders and his little wings beat frantically, though they weren’t yet strong enough to bear his weight. Feyre smiled, lines fanning out from her tired eyes. “I am now,” she said. “It wasn’t an auspicious start to the day, though.”

“What happened?” Elain wondered if she just meant being at the Hewn City or if something worse had happened.

But Feyre shook her head and said, “Oh, it was a tense day at the tithe. The Lesser Fae have had a bad harvest this year so the totals were unimpressive. And they want more than ever from Rhys,” her eyes darkened, brows creasing, “as though he doesn’t protect them enough. As his mate it’s hard to sit by and hear them blame him, like he can control the weather or eliminate bandits.”

She shifted in her seat to keep Rhys and Nyx in her view, and Elain caught a glimpse of a bright gold medallion around her neck, hung on a knobbly homespun cord. The gold was yellow and white hammered together, in painstaking handmade relief, to make a shimmering, undulating surface; Elain saw as the light played on its surface that it was worked into an image. An image of a toothy maw spread wide…claws on disturbingly human hands extended…

Feyre smiled brightly at her sister, noting the direction of her gaze, and picked up the medallion to show her. “Isn’t it lovely? I know the image is grotesque, but the workmanship is stunning, especially to be handmade.” She tilted it so Elain could see better. “One of the tithe attendees gave it to me as a gift. For my birthday.”

Elain leaned forward in appreciation. “What is it?” she asked. She’d never seen such a creature before, even with all the horrors of the past two years.

“I don’t know,” Feyre said, shrugging. “A creature holy to that specific tribe, I shouldn’t wonder.” She lowered her voice as if about to divulge a secret. “I think he thought appealing to me would make Rhys grant his request, but it was all the way in the south, and we haven’t any time to go so far. And it’d be close to impossible to travel there with Nyx so young too.” She admired the gleaming surface. “It is lovely though. One of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen at the tithe. Usually their work is so simple compared to the jewels of Velaris.”

Elain leaned forward and touched the medallion with her fingertip, and as she did, she heard a low roaring in her ears that swelled to obliterate the laughs of the party: a humming growl, low and undulating. The light of the party faded, until it was nothing more than the sparkle of a candle…and before her, a darkness, near total, but for the occasional glimmer. The light wavered oddly, like the cast from a flame — a larger flame, the writhing of its light against the shadows nearly twice Elain’s height, bent violently by gusts of wind. It reached no more than a few inches beyond where Elain stood, then slipped back into blackness. But there was movement there; movement that materialized into fur, mangy and stinking, and teeth, dripping with saliva, light glinting on the points of fangs as long as her fingers, vicious, hungry for blood. And then a rushing voice, filling her ears with a thousand whispers. A pact. An agreement. An old magic, invoked by charm and wrought by hand. It must be honored.

A vision. She knew it even as it spiraled into darkness, the whispers coiling into chaos and then clarifying into something more familiar. Into words. BACK. HOWEVER YOU FIGHT, IT WILL BE OF NO USE. WE WILL HAVE IT ALL BACK. It melted into a hoarse scream, a cry of attack…

But then she was sucked backwards into light, so bright that her eyes watered a bit in protest, trails of blackness still lingering across her vision; and she was at the party, thrown into its chatter and charm, and Feyre was laughing, throwing her head back, exclaiming, “Lucien! As I live and breathe! Rhys told me you were back, and I would’ve been so upset if you hadn’t come to see me.”

Elain blinked, and the last of the darkness slid away. Before her was the erstwhile prince of Autumn, his hair braided and smoothly caught back at the nape of his neck, a bright blue coat with subtle gold threading outlining his broad shoulders. Even dressed relatively modestly, he gleamed, all color and light, all mischief and elegant trickery. So Fae. Even now it sent ripples up her spine, sliding along the knife edge between fear of him and trust in him. His golden eye glinted as he returned Feyre’s smile. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday for all the stars in Velaris,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “Not that even you could give those away.”

“Don’t put it past me,” Feyre winked at him.

Lucien turned to Elain, whose voice was as firmly caught in her throat as a burr stuck in a glove. “Good evening, Lady,” he said, with a slight bow. She swallowed, and nodded.

His good eye narrowed, ever so slightly, taking her in at a quick glance. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, swinging his eyes back to Feyre, and smiling disarmingly. “The pair of you aren’t doing the party any favors sitting here without partaking.”

Feyre protested, laughing, but Lucien cocked his head and stared at her in mock accusation until she relented with a roll of her eyes. “Very well then. A half glass of the gold wine.”

He moved off toward the bar cart with a smooth stride. Feyre’s gaze shifted to Elain, whose hands were clenched tightly in her lap. What had he noticed?

Feyre leaned in and said, her eyes dancing, “That’s a magnificent color on him, don’t you agree?”

Elain blushed from her ears to her chest, hating her sister for being so open, so obvious, so damn gleeful. It was confusing enough to be around him without everyone watching and whispering. She was trying to figure out what to say when he returned, a glass in each hand. He handed the wine cup to Feyre, who thanked him and then slyly slid away; he pushed a highball glass into her hand as they found themselves alone.

“Drink it,” he murmured, almost inaudible over the chatter of the party. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

She clutched the glass hard and stared at him.

“It’s only water,” he said, a trifle defensive. “You should drink it. It’s too warm in here and you’re flushed.” He leaned forward against the chaise, body language utterly relaxed — no one watching from a distance would think he was talking about anything but pleasantries — but a strain in his voice belied all that as he asked, “Did you just have…a vision?”

She put the glass to her lips and drank, the cold of the water a welcome rush on her tongue. The shock of it loosened her voice. She tried to stay as calm as possible, to imitate his nonchalance. “How did you know?”

His smile was tight. Pained. “Even if I hadn’t felt it here…” he touched his chest lightly, over his heart — “your face would’ve given it away.”

“How?”

“You…” He flexed his fingers as if they hurt. “You looked the same as…as back then. When you were first Fae.” He threw a glance at the fireplace with its evergreen bower and gestured at it, maintaining the small talk facade with ease. “Are you well?”

Surprised, she couldn’t help but turn and look him full in the face. “I’m…”

He turned his head, quizzical, as she trailed off. “You’re…not well?”

“No, I’m all right,” she said, hurriedly. “But — you don’t want to know what I saw?”

Everyone always pounced when they heard she’d had a vision, starving for details, most of which she could never recall. But his eyebrows twitched together and back apart as he wiped the concern from his face, turning it bland and calm. “Not if you don’t want to tell me.”

Elain drew in a deep breath and let it out in a trembling sigh that turned into a laugh, tremulous and true and even a little sad, if she was honest. He cast his eyes down and smiled at his hands, folded on the back of the couch. “Don’t laugh at me, Lady.”

“But you’re ridiculous, my lord,” she said, her humor finally cresting over the prickle behind her eyes.

“Eternally,” he agreed.

She was about to give him a pert answer when she noticed Feyre, standing on the other side of the parlor and grinning like the Mad Cat in their childhood storybook. As their eyes locked, Feyre seized Mor’s arm, and the two of them turned away at the same moment, leaning their heads together. Elain fought against a stab of annoyance at their interference and slid her gaze across the room, only to briefly lock with Amren, who returned it with narrow, flinty eyes that were somehow both flat and depthless. Elain felt her hackles rise like she was staring down a predator…like the gaping hungry mouth in her vision. But she forced a smile, and raised her glass slightly. Amren inclined her head in the barest of nods and raised her own goblet, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a knowing, feral smirk.

Lucien followed her gaze and then looked immediately away, back down at his hands, shifting as though he too had caught the expression on Amren’s icy features. “Being watched all the time must get tedious,” he said. “No wonder you guard your secrets.”

“I have none of consequence,” she murmured.

“And now you’re even bringing in lies. How enchanting.” His foxlike grin split his face. She couldn’t control the lurch in her chest. “I like you deceitful, Blossom. It’s intriguing.”

“Well, everyone else has their secrets,” she fired at him. “Can’t I have any of my own?”

“Certainly,” he said. He seemed utterly earnest. “I only ask that you promise to share with me the ones you ask me to keep.”

She paled. Was he going to give her away? An outright lie to Cassian and Nesta, a lie of omission to Rhysand and Feyre…they’d have her under the daemati claws in no time…there would be no secrets then, no mind left, they’d have it all and she’d be a shell of herself…

He extended his hand in a calming motion, seeming to sense her unease. “Not just yet,” he murmured. “When you’re ready. Til you instruct it, I’ll keep my silence.”

She couldn’t think of what to say, but he straightened up and nodded as Rhysand approached. She froze, feeling the sly rake of her brother-in-law’s claws across her thoughts, and focused hard on the half-full drink in her hand.

“Lucien,” Rhys greeted him, smooth and effortless as always. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Lucien replied, and Elain was strongly reminded of the dukes and earls at the dances back in the human lands; that charm, the utter facility of sliding from one interaction to another. “Happiest of birthdays to the High Lady.”

Rhys nodded, immense satisfaction on his face as his violet eyes scanned the merry gathering. Cassian had Nyx on his shoulders; Nesta’s hand rested protectively on Nyx’s leg to keep him from falling backwards. Azriel sat by the window, shadows romping with the fluttering faelights, while Mor and Feyre argued playfully over a chessboard. And Amren stood slightly apart from the rest, her pale eyes surveying keenly. Rhys asked, a trifle absently, “How do the human lands fare?”

Lucien sighed. “The lands are buried under snow, as the seasons dictate. The humans themselves are…suffering.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “The fall harvest was sufficient. Once the crops come in in spring…”

“…they will still be suffering,” Lucien interrupted. “They cannot eat their seed crops if they hope to lay in the fields for next season. And yet they cannot starve. Everything there is restless. People who are hungry and sick and neglected will not tolerate it for long.”

Elain felt her insides squeeze in shock. No one interrupted the High Lord. Not even Feyre, who always gazed at him with pride. But even more critically, his words burrowed through her surprise: the humans were hungry and sick. That was her village. Her friends. Mayfer, the bustling harbor city where she’d visited to wait for her father’s ships. Her former home.

Lucien continued, “Jurian has purchased extra grain stores from the continent. And Vassa took in several hundred of the country folk who would have starved otherwise, onto Lord Nolan’s estate.”

“Generous of her,” Rhys remarked. He sounded ever so slightly bored, as his eyes followed Feyre’s every move.

“Just keeping body and soul together,” Lucien replied, and his tone dropped. His expression remained mild as Elain glanced between the two males. But without even knowing how she knew it, she thought he is angry, before remembering to keep her thoughts focused on her glass of water. Angry at Rhysand. For what?

It could be any number of things, a small voice inside her head hissed, and she felt a tiny stab of shame, then covered it with thinking of how cold the glass was in her hand, beading with condensation.

“Clearly. Come see me in the morning and give a full report,” Rhys said, calm and unconcerned. But his eyes flashed as they settled briefly upon Elain. “And get Elain another glass of water. She’s parched, aren’t you, little sister?” His smile was thin and cold, and he moved away, sleek as a shadow, to stand behind Feyre, one arm draped lazily over her shoulder, fiddling idly with the knobbly handwoven string that supported the gold medallion around her neck. She reached up to stroke his wrist; the very picture of domesticity. Elain was pleased to discover that she could in fact distract him with obvious surface thoughts, to misdirect from her deeper misgivings — since she had no expertise in mental shields, that could be a useful tactic, even if it was flimsy. But warring with her satisfaction came a deep unease. A pact. An agreement. An old magic…

“Presents!” Mor called out from close to the fireplace, dragging a sack of brightly wrapped gifts out of a pocket realm, and everyone clustered around the couch for the exchange. Elain knew this would dissolve into spoiling the baby, and she was right; everyone competed for the best present for Nyx, who was getting a bit tired and cranky, and wanted only to play with the bright ribbons on the packages. Everyone had gotten one another gifts, and everyone exclaimed over the silk scarves, the sharp knives, the antique astrolabe that Feyre had sourced from the Day Court for Rhys…but, Elain noticed again and again, no one had gotten any gifts for Lucien.

She stole another glance at him. He seemed unperturbed, smiling at the chaos of wrapping paper and mirth as Cassian opened a leather satchel from Mor with a suggestive shape. He howled with laughter as she winked and told him with supreme innocence that it was for use in the annual snowball fight. Nesta rolled her eyes, and Cassian stuffed the satchel into her hands with a hooded glance. Elain felt curiously voyeuristic, as though she’d witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to see; a tiny window into a private moment between her sister and the powerful male she was mated to. She thought of the little blue box, sitting on the table in the next room, and longed for the right moment to give it to Lucien. But it didn’t seem appropriate, not here; not with everyone watching. She didn’t dare to give everyone else a tiny window into what was — or perhaps wasn’t — between her and Lucien. Not when it would be giggled over and teased and demeaned.

She broke away a few minutes later to gather all her presents together — jasmine soap from Nesta, tulip bulbs from Feyre, a box of expensive spices from Rhys — and found him in the hallway pulling his cloak off the hook.

“You’re leaving?” she blurted out, before she could think of anything better to say.

He turned, masking his surprise with a wry grin. “Overstaying a welcome is poor etiquette, I’ve found.”

“You’re welcome here,” she insisted. Was it her imagination that his eyebrows twitched in denial?

“Thank you,” he said, “but I think this party is for family now. And I’m not that. Whatever else I may be.”

“But…” — was she really going to say it? Her stomach clenched. Brave. Be brave. “But…I haven’t given you your present yet.”

He froze, comically halfway through securing the cloak buttons. “My what?”

“Your — your present,” she stammered. Gods above, untie her tongue from these hopeless knots. “I’m sorry no one else got you anything. But I did.”

As soon as she said it, it sounded false. Petulant. Like she was seeking a compliment.

“What for?” he asked, and he sounded bemused enough that she laughed, short and quiet.

“For Solstice, silly,” she said. She beckoned him into the darkened sitting area, turning on the lamp as she did. He followed, wary, keeping his distance.

She pushed the box at him, unsure of how to proceed, but now committed to seeing it through. He stared at it as though it was a trick, or a bomb that would explode in his face if he touched it.

“But you didn’t need to get me anything,” he said.

“I — I know,” she said, and her courage flagged. The box sank an inch or two from where she’d held it out to him. “But I wanted to. You did save my life, remember, so it’s only fair that I thank you properly.” She squared her shoulders, and in an attempt at being merry, said with a faint smile, “And I have a few Solstices to catch up on with you.”

He still didn’t move.

“Take it.” She moved two steps closer, til the box was within reach of his hand.

And with a brief hesitation, he reached up and took the box from her, pulled the ribbon off it, and opened it.

Elain was consumed with the strangest twirling in her gut, a spiral of anxiety and excitement. Gods. Dear gods. It was stupid. So stupid. Unutterably stupid, in fact. How could she have thought that it would be enough, when she had never accepted his gifts with anything but awkwardness, that this tiny thing would say everything she wanted it to?

Her cheeks flamed. She wondered if this was what it was to slowly choke…to asphyxiate under the weight of her own mistakes.

And still it was quiet. Finally, desperately, she dragged her eyes up from where her fingers twisted with anxiety and —

— and he was looking at her, his face a mix of gratitude and grief. Their eyes locked so tightly she almost heard the click of a key.

“A hyraeth,” he murmured, pulling the little pin from the box. The jeweler had fashioned it from a single piece of bright yellow amber that caught the light like honey, but also gleamed like sunshine on water. Elain had selected it herself. The etchings on the edges were done in black lacquer, faceting the surface of the amber just like the patterns on butterflies’ wings. The jeweler had done a lovely job, but her stomach corkscrewed into her legs nonetheless. Did he not like it?

“Well, not a real one,” she said hurriedly. “Just their likeness in a pin for your hair, or your lapel. But I thought you might like it…they’re from the Autumn Court,” she blurted, realizing she was babbling and cursing herself roundly for it, trying to lower her voice, which - drown her in the damned cauldron - was so much louder than was necessary.

“I know,” he said. “From the Vilderavian Groves, at the borders of Summer.” His voice fractured ever so slightly at the edges.

Her eyes widened. “Have you seen it?”

“Yes,” he replied, and there was a reverence in his voice that rippled through her like wind through grass. “Long ago. Just once. They alight on the great trunks of the hemlock trees in a shimmering mass. An ocean of tiny wings, all amber and gold and black, whispering among the green foliage. It’s a special place; the only evergreen spot in Autumn. And the sight — the whole forest alive with trembling light — is magnificent. There’s nothing like it.”

She nodded. “It made me think…” She spread her hands in defeat. That home is a journey, rather than a place. That it might not obey borders or rules, but seek its own way across barriers. That to find it, to keep it, one can endure unimaginable toil and turmoil. That there is magic in the smallest things. “…that you might someday find a place for your heart to rest. Unfathomable as that may be now.”

She could have sworn there was a gleam in his eyes, just for a moment. He closed his hand over the little pin. “It’s beautiful,” he said, softly. And then, so gently that had she not been straining toward him with every cell of her treacherous body, she would not have heard him: “I think you’ve fathomed me quite well, Blossom. Thank you.”

His eyes slid down to her lips, so close…the moment brief and shimmering, a bubble on the wind…

…and it shattered, burst by the arrival of Nyx, screaming in uninhibited toddler glee as Cassian mock-chased him through the hallway and past the open doors. Lucien started and stepped back. Elain very nearly followed him, so strong was the pull of the bond’s tidal undertow in her ribs, but she knew it was too late. Misery blooming in her heart, she turned to go.

“Happy Solstice, Elain,” he murmured.

She looked back over her shoulder, and saw him standing in the pool of light from the lamp. In that moment, he seemed aglow himself somehow. A living sun.

“Happy Solstice, Lucien,” she replied; and, unbidden, unsought, a smile rose to her lips. He returned it, shyly — and low in her gut, an ember, dormant under the ash of everything that had happened, flickered into a tiny flame.

It was nothing, she told herself sternly as she climbed the stairs to her room. So small. But even a tiny light could bring a traveler safe home.

Elain could feel the heat blooming on her cheeks…a light tingling in her fingertips…but somehow, she couldn’t help but feel excited. She knew the dreams would come. But perhaps, even before the dreams arrived, there could be a decision first.

She collapsed against her door, fist pressed trembling to her mouth, as though to stuff the helpless giggle back down her throat, all unguarded from the fizzing happiness inside her. Gods, it was intoxicating. Had she truly forgotten what it was to feel joy? It was a light in her veins. Liquid, effervescent sun on the longest night of the year. She pulled the two winter roses from her bodice, tearing the lining slightly as they relinquished their hold. She tenderly set them down on her nightstand into a glass of water and busied herself undressing…not noticing, as she shucked off the little jacket and unfastened the silk of the bodice, draping the dress over the door of the wardrobe, that the flowers were uncurling, roots extending from the stems faster than any normal plant; leaves stretching out to fill the rim of the glass.

The rustle of the branches in the hedges outside grew louder. It could have been the wind; or a bird sleeping, stirring in its nest; or perhaps a thousand whispers. The moon was the only witness; and she was as silent as she had been since the birth of the planet beneath skies roiling with sulphur and fire, waiting, watching as everything beneath unfolded in miniature.

Back…

We will have it all back.

[starlitangels]

Hey star! For the micro fics could I ask for Asher and Babe with the world

SUNSET

PD: I'm loving your microfics <3

Hello my friend! Delightful word choice! And thank you so much!

Sunset

—

"I-I-I'm sorry, Ash," you stammer out through chattering teeth. Your soaked clothes cling to your skin, lifting gooseflesh all over. Your ankle is throbbing and you can't seem to calm the shivering.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, babe," he replies gently. "You slipped and fell into the river on accident. That's all it is. An accident."

"I know. B-b-but I made our hike take a lllllot longer."

"It's fine. I'm stronger than I look. I can handle carrying you just fine."

"I know but we're not going to get back to the c-c-c-c-c-car until after dark." You teeth clatter together with how cold you are as a breeze brushes over the both of you.

"So?"

"Hiking trails are dangerous after dark."

"I can handle anything in these trees. I'm bigger and scarier than just about everything else."

"But you'd need to keep me safe at the sssame time. Which would make it hard—harder."

Asher shrugs. "Maybe. I'd still be fine." He turns that thousand-watt smile down at you, tucked safely in his arms as you are. His eyes crinkle at the corners, their warm amber glittering in the blazing light of the setting sun.

As he keeps traipsing down the trail like he's not carrying a grown adult in his arms, feet as steady on the uneven path as they'd be on faultless pavement, he talks. "Once we reach the car we can wrap your ankle in the ace bandage I've got in the First Aid kit and then we'll get you home and get these wet clothes off and put you in a nice bath. Not too hot so you don't go into shock from the temperature difference but slowly warm it up so you can thaw out natur—"

"Ash?"

He keeps staring straight ahead. "Look, babe," he says. A bit of wistfulness crosses his face. He nods dead ahead. He'd turned a corner while he'd been talking.

Dahlia spreads out on the valley floor below you, stretching toward the ocean.

Where the sunset has set the sky ablaze. Tongues of orange, coral, salmon, peach, pink, and gold shoot across the rapidly-darkening sky like flame. The warm light makes Asher's black curls shine with a reddish lowlight.

You take in the whole view, a slow smile spreading up your face. Pain in your ankle momentarily forgotten.

"Wow."

Asher's smile quirks in the corner of your eye, the waning sunlight setting his bronze skin glistening. He's always been handsome, and this lighting enhances it. You wish a camera had the ability to capture the whole beauty of the moment—but you know if you pull out his phone (yours in your jacket pocket and desperately needing a bag of rice to save it) to take a picture of him, his camera would never do that bright smile and those glossy curls and the wolf-amber eyes the justice they deserve.

He looks away from the sunset down to you. "What is it, babe?" he asks.

You shake your head, your thumb touching the cold metal of your engagement ring. "I'm just lucky."

"Lucky?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why?"

"Because I have you in my life. You mean everything to me, Ash. And I'm grateful every day that we ended up here together."

"Awww—baaabe! Me too." He curls you closer to his chest to bend his head down to kiss you. You meet his lips enthusiastically. His skin is warm against yours. He shudders. "Your mouth is like ice. Let's get you home, babe."

"Sounds like a solid plan, Ash."

Whistling a jaunty tune, he plods energetically down the path, somehow managing to keep his bouncing gait from aggravating your injury. He doesn't seem concerned about your injury outwardly, but you know him.

"Hey Ash?"

"Yeah babe?"

"Me falling in the water wasn't your fault, okay? No beating yourself up over it."

"I wasn't—"

"Asher," you warn.

He sighs. "Okay. I won't. But—"

"Nuh-uh. No 'but's, Talbot. It's not your fault and that little voice that's saying you didn't do enough to protect your mate and keep me safe is lying. Accidents happen and they're no one's fault. Got it?"

He meets your gaze again. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

You grin. "Don't know. Whatever it was, I'm glad you did it."

"So am I. Every damn day."

[katenewmanwrites]

Salty Summer - Bonfire

Warnings: Emotional Conflict and Alcohol Consumption

As I make their way towards the bonfire, already ablaze on the shore. The air is filled with the scent of smoke and salt, the laughter of my friends mixing with the distant sound of the ocean. I can't help but feel a slight tension building in my chest as I spot Xavier. His presence always seems to bring out the worst in me, and I can already feel my cheeks heating up at the thought of having to endure another one of his stupid jokes.

I take a deep breath and try to compose myself, focusing on the warmth of the fire and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Xavier's gaze meets mine briefly before he turns back to his conversation with Ollie, the light from the fire painting his features in gold and bronze. I can feel my heart racing as I try to calm my nerves, my palms growing sweaty.

I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush, but I can't help but feel it starting to spread up my neck. I take another deep breath and try to focus on something, anything else. I grab a drink from the cooler next to me, trying to quell my nerves. The taste of the Mojito is sweet and refreshing, but it doesn't seem to help.

"Hey, Addie," Mia says, her voice cutting through the noise around us. I look up, grateful for the distraction. "You seem a bit…tense tonight." She raises an eyebrow, her expression curious.

"Xavier just drove me crazy today is all," I reply with a forced laugh, hoping to make it sound more casual than it feels. "He just has this way of getting under my skin."

Mia nods understandingly, her brown eyes sparkling in the firelight. "I know what you mean. He can be a bit…much sometimes." She takes a sip of her drink.

"Right?" I say, "How does he have so much energy?" I ask, more to myself than to Mia. "It's like he's got an unending supply of it or something." I laugh nervously, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Mia glances at me, furrowing slightly. "You know," she says thoughtfully, "sometimes I think he's just trying to impress you."

"What, no, why would he be doing that?" I reply, trying to play it cool. My voice sounds too high-pitched and uncertain even to my own ears.

Mia raises an eyebrow. "Well, maybe he likes you." She pauses, considering her words carefully. "Or maybe he's just trying to win you over." She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful.

"Oh," I reply, feeling the rose blush. "I mean…" My heart feels like it's racing out of my chest. I can't believe she just said that. I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves. Stupid Xavier and his stupid hair that falls into place so perfectly. I need to get a grip.

"Uh, you know what? I think I'm going to take a walk along the beach." Mia nods sympathetically, understanding my need for some alone time.

Without another word, I make my way towards the shoreline, feeling the cool sand beneath my feet. The ocean air calms my nerves, but doesn't help much with the racing of my heart. I can't believe Mia just said that. Does she know something I don't? Am I just oblivious?

The moonlight paints the waves in shades of blue and silver, and I find myself staring at them, lost in thought. I can't help but wonder how I feel about Xavier. Yes, he's annoying, and he gets under my skin, but there's something about him that makes me…feel something. Is it the way his eyes light up when he talks about surfing? Or the way he laughs at his own jokes?

Speak of the devil. There he is, standing a few feet away from me, silhouetted against the moonlit waves. Without saying a word, he comes to stand beside me, our shoulders almost touching. I can feel his presence, the heat emanating from his body. It's intoxicating.

"You know, you're really quite beautiful when you're lost in thought," he says softly, making me jump slightly. His voice is deep, almost raspy, and I can't help but feel red hot flush down my neck.

"I…thank you?" I manage to stammer out, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. He chuckles, the sound warm and inviting.

"I mean it," he insists, turning his head slightly to look at me. "Everybody wants you…" His voice trails off, and I can feel his gaze lingering on my face. My heart skips a beat as I wonder what he means by that.

"Yeah right," I mumble, trying to play it cool. "You're just saying that."

"No, really," he insists, stepping closer. "Have you not see how Ethan and Caleb look at you?" I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. "Oh, come on. I've seen it. They can't help but stare. And then there's me…" His voice trails off.

I try to keep my composure, to focus on the waves crashing against the shore. But it's hard when he's standing so close. "I-I don't care." I stummer, "They only like me because I'm pretty, not because of anything that matters."

He smirks, and it's infuriating. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong." He leans in, so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. "They like you because you're pretty. I like you because you're smart, caring, and strong."

I don't know how to respond to that. His words confuse me, and my heart flutters in my chest. "You hardly even know me," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the waves.

"I've learnt enough the last two weeks." He pauses, searching my eyes, and I realize I'm staring back at him. "I've seen how you are with the your friends, how you treat everyone equally, how you make sure everyone feels included." His hand finds mine, and his thumb gently traces circles on my skin. "I've seen the way you handle challenges head on."

My heart skips a beat as his hand touches mine, and I can't help but think of the night before, when we danced. How his touch made me feel like I was flying. But I've learnt that falling feels like flying… until you hit the ground.

I try to pull my hand away, but it's as if my body has betrayed me. I want to tell him that I'm not interested. That I don't like falling for him. But the words catch in my throat, and all that comes out is a weak, "I…"

"It's alright Adelaide," he whispers, using my full name for the first time. "You don't have to feel the same way. I'm just being honest. And I hope you know that I mean it when I say that I like you for you."

"The problem is I do, Xavier," I confess, meeting his gaze. "I like you too. A lot. And that scares me. Because… because I don't want to get hurt again." The words spill out before I can stop them, but it's like a weight has been lifted off my chest.

He studies me for a moment, his eyes searching mine. Then, slowly, he nods. "I understand that, Addie. what if we take it slow?" He pauses, "if that's what you want."

My heart skips a beat at his words. Take it slow? Is he serious? I want to believe him, but I'm afraid of being hurt again. I want this, but I don't want to lose myself in it. I want him, but I don't want to trust some guy that ends up hurting me again.

My heart skips a beat at his words. Take it slow? Is he serious? "I think it might be too late for that, Xavier," I say, trying to sound confident. "I already care about you."

He smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then let's just… be," he says softly. "Let's see where this goes, but let's take it one day at a time. Okay?"

"Okay," I breathe, relieved. "Okay, let's just be." I feel the weight of the world lift from my shoulders, and I can't help but smile at him.

Xavier grins back, and it lights up his whole face. He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. The touch sends electricity through my body, making my heart race even faster. I lean in, closing the small space between us and pressing my lips to his. The kiss is gentle at first, but then grows more passionate. His hand finds its way around my waist, pulling me even closer as we stand there under the stars.

The sound of laughter from the bonfire finally breaks through our bubble, and we pull away, gasping for air. I feel a rush of heat to my cheeks, and I can't help but wonder if I'm blushing. Xavier's eyes meet mine, searching, and I'm suddenly aware of how close we are. He looks so familiar, but at the same time, I feel like I'm seeing him in a whole new light.

"We should go back to the bonfire," I say, taking a step away from him. "Everyone's probably wondering where we are."

Xavier nods, his eyes still locked on mine. "Yeah, probably." He takes a deep breath, before offering me his hand. "Shall we?"

As we walk back to the bonfire, our fingers intertwined, I can't help but feel a sense of both anticipation and nervousness. The night has taken an unexpected turn, and I'm not entirely sure what it means for us. But as we approach the warm glow of the fire, I find myself hoping that whatever it is, it's good.

[luminashdawnwing]

DWC February 2024 Day 3: Bargain / Myth

The icy blue glow of Caeridormi’s eyes bored into Luminash, her gaze cold and level, the expression on her face little more than a porcelain mask. The former magister met her gaze with a glare of his own, the fire in his chest seething.

“You said you would return me to my timeline! With Theras!” Panic was rising, and despite his best efforts, Luminash’s hands had begun to shake, the pain of his burns scarcely felt through the dread, “You cannot simply back out of this, not after everything!”

The Infinite regarded the mage’s shouts infuriatingly calmly, and let silence hang in the air between them for a moment before she responded.

“And you cannot simply change the terms of the agreement.” Her words were sharp, cutting, and coldly precise, “Some of my kin are already defecting and shackling themselves back to the Titans’ will. Neither of us will achieve our goals if we do not keep a low profile. Surely a man of your intellect has perceived this?”

The question hung in the air, the veiled insult not lost on Luminash. You are nothing but a petulant mortal fool.

“But Jaskian…” Luminash finally sighed. He had lost her as surely as Theras, though she yet lived, somewhere across the timeways in his own home, an impassable gulf between them drawn wide when he threw himself into the Maw for Theras. What would she have thought now, to see his skin charred and cracked, his once-blue eyes ablaze?

“Will need to remain in this timeline. I agreed to aid you – and your son. Theras’ death was not your doing, magister. Losing Jaskian, though…”

He knew very well that he was to blame. He had returned from the Shadowlands both empty handed and empty hearted. There had been little love left to give – flowing from his heart, it flooded into the chasm of his grief, leaving the rest of his life sere. From there, no wonder all it took was a spark for a wildfire to spring to life.

“It was a mistake! Surely we are entitled to rectifying our mistakes?” What purpose in this bargaining? Luminash knew its futility, but futility was all that remained. It was better to struggle and have nothing to show than to simply roll over and die, surely?

“I would ordinarily agree with you. This you must know, or else I would be no better than the self-righteous Bronzes.” She nearly spit Bronzes, a rare show of emotion from the impassive dragon, “But I have already said that we can scarcely afford extra attention on…anomalies, not anymore. You must act, and quickly.”

The doubt began to resurface. Act, and quickly. Luminash knew what this entailed, and however long he had waited for this chance, the gnawing wrongness would not leave his mind in peace.

“Kill the magister, Luminash, and take what you deserve.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[stray-kaz]

To Sleep and Not To Wake : a Rhian Mistral x f!reader drabble

A/N: The gif has nothing to do with the story, there are just limited gifs of Rhian.

Summary: You have been put under an enchantment, to sleep as long as there is no one to wake you. But there is someone to wake you.

The coffin was purest glass, gold filigree etched across its surface. As Rhian approached it with shaking hands, the sun bounced off it, light lancing into his eyes, turning them molten gold. He shielded them, and at the same time, glimpsed your face through the gilded glass.

Purple lightning arced against it, rattling the seams, trying to escape its confines. Enchanted and sleeping, your magic was untethered, raw power eager to leap free, to ride the wind and fly over the turrets of his School. 

It had been built in a hurry, the coffin. Rafal had spelled it together, one hand soaking up your surplus leaking magic, while the other spun the coffin into being around you. Rhian hadn’t been present when the lesson you were taking had gone awry, but Rafal had witnessed the fumbling student cast an accidental sleeping curse on you. You had hit the ground before he could catch you, before he could send a fairy to locate his twin, before Rhian had come running.

But now Rhian was there, tracing his fingertips over the golden curlicues that shaded your face, his brother waiting behind his shadow.

“Who did it?” Rhian asked quietly.

Rafal stared at the back of his head. His twin’s voice held an edge rarely present. He spoke again, even harder this time.

“Who cast the curse?”

Rafal cleared his throat.

“Leandra” he murmured, finding himself in the uncommon position of being his brother’s keeper.

Rhian whipped around, his eyes now hard as bronze.

“A third year should know better” he snapped.

“Go to the library, brother” Rafal said sternly. “Read. Find the answer without bloodshed.”

Rhian glowered at him, but Rafal did not flinch.

“You, the Schoolmaster for Evil, cautioning me?” Rhian demanded.

His tone was hot, his eyes ablaze. Rafal nodded, arms crossed casually over his chest, but his muscles were taut, ready to react should he be provoked. He watched Rhian deliberate, pulse like a hammer. Then the angry light shied away and his pursed lips loosened into a soft frown.

“All right, Rafal” he muttered, his voice low and rasping.

He turned on his heel and strode away, shoulders rigid with the effort of not looking back at the coffin, at you lying inside it.

Rafal watched him go for a time, then turned and placed his hand atop the coffin, warmth spreading from his palm over the glass. Purple light beat against the surface, then calmed to his touch.

“Hurry, Rhian” he said quietly to himself. “She is more powerful than I anticipated.”

The door to the tower library slammed against the stone wall, untouched by any hand. Rhian stormed through the gap it left open, power crackling. He began running long fingers down the spines of the books at eye level, moving from shelf to shelf, eventually becoming perturbed, then frustrated, then angry all over again.

“Why are there so many damn sleeping spells?” he muttered to himself, tossing book after book over his shoulder.

And then, just before rejecting yet another tome, he hesitated, his fingertips tingling and hot. Almost mindless with desire and hope, he flipped it open to a page halfway through the book, tarnished and blank except for a shimmering image of a man leaning over a sleeping woman, his lips a scant inch from hers.

Rhian was gone before the book even touched the floor.

When he reached the gold touched coffin, Rafal had both hands flat on it and his chest was heaving with exertion, sweat dampening his temples. He tilted his head to see Rhian, the fine muscles around his eyes straining.

“Did you figure it out yet?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Rhian nodded and Rafal ripped his hands away from the coffin. The glass exploded, a torrent of violet flame pouring into the clouds. The heat of it warmed Rhian’s hands as he gripped two intact, smooth edges and leaned over the side of the coffin.

He gazed at you for a while, ignoring the purple streaks licking at his coat sleeves.

“Beloved” he whispered. “Open your eyes.”

He touched his lips lightly to yours, noses rubbing, breath stealing inside you. He eased back, waiting. It didn’t take long, and his breath shook as your eyes flickered open to meet his. The barest smile graced your lips and the bright glow of your magic faded away.

“Rhian” you murmured, touching the pad of your thumb to his bottom lip. “I -”

He pulled you up, into his arms, smothering your ‘I love you’ in his shoulder. You smiled and held on tight, feeling your heart begin to beat once more.

Tagging: @elizabeth-karenina​

[scotianostra]

On November 15th 1824 Edinburgh's Great Fire began.

Over the course of this evening in 1824, Edinburgh’s most destructive fire reached its climax. It had broken out at around 10pm the previous evening in the workshop of engraver James Kirkwood at the top of Assembly Close, where a pot of linseed oil had been overheated, spilled and set fire to a stack of paper. By morning, the fire had spread most of the way along the close it began in, and by its peak it had spread as far down the Royal Mile as Tron Square, reached uphill to Parliament Square, and extended down Fishmarket Close as far as the Cowgate.

As the city's brand-new companies of firemen (formed that same year by pioneer fire-fighter James Braidwood) desperately fought the blaze, they were hindered by the confusion of the public officials, who gave contradictory orders and caused critical delays. Despite their best efforts, the sheer size of the buildings which were ablaze made it impossible for the firefighters to hold back the inferno. At its peak, as blizzard-like showers of sparks swept through the air and buildings collapsed in clouds of flame, the scene was one of apocalyptic destruction, as the Edinburgh Evening Courant reported:

"The fire however spread resistlessly… The roof of the adjoining house on the east side of the Square first appeared in a flame, and the fire afterwards broke out in the angle towards the Square from the windows and shop doors. From these it ascended in one continuous blaze up the front of the building; and about five o' clock in the morning all the eastern side of the Square, not consumed by the recent fire (of June last) presented one huge burning tower, the beams crashing and falling inwards, and every opening and window pouring forth flame. The scene was now awfully grand; and could we have divested ourselves of the thoughts of the losses, and hardships, and ruin, which attended the progress of the conflagration, we could not have been placed in a situation where we could have derived such a portion of sublime enjoyment.

"The whole horizon was completely enveloped in lurid flame. Spinicular columns of flame shot up majestically into the atmosphere, which assumed a dusky, reddish hue; dismay, daring, suspense, fear, sat upon different countenances, intensely expressive of their various emotions; the bronzed faces of the firemen shone momentarily from under their caps as their heads were raised at each successive stroke of the engines; and the very element by which they attempted to extinguish the conflagration seemed itself a stream of liquid fire.

"The clattering of the horses hoofs and the light reflected from their riders swords added a kind of martial terror to the scene, and when we beheld the whole, surrounded either with burning piles or with edifices that reflected a light more fearful than even that which was thrown upon them, we felt a thrill of mingled fear and admiration. The County Hall at one time appeared like a palace of light; and the venerable steeple of St. Giles’s reared itself amid the bright flames like a spectre awakened to behold the fall and ruin of the devoted city."

Despite the best efforts of the firefighters, sparks blown by the wind enveloped the Tron Kirk, causing its spire to ignite. Soon afterwards, citizens were faced with the additional hazard of literal streams of molten lead pouring from the roof, as it melted in the ferocious heat. As the evening wore on, the firefighters began to make headway in beating back the flames (in part due to the fire having reached a broad thoroughfare in every direction, which worked as firebreaks). A helpfully-timed shower of sleet contributed to the quenching of the blaze, and by the next morning it was contained, though it continued to burn until the end of the 17th.

In all, twenty-four tenement blocks comprising some four hundred homes and dozens of businesses were completely destroyed by the Great Fire, and another building had to be demolished by cannon-fire on the 18th, to prevent it from collapsing on its own and causing further destruction. The Tron Kirk was partly saved, though not before its spire had collapsed completely, the great bell crashing down through the building with a terrifying noise. Thousands of people were made homeless, and the total cost to the city was two hundred thousand pounds. Despite the destruction, only 13 people lost their lives (two of them firemen).

Praise was lavished on the new Fire Company which, regardless of its lack of equipment and incomplete training, and in spite of the interference of incompetent officials, had ultimately prevented the fire from consuming most of the southern half of the city. New laws were enacted providing greater resources and giving the Fire Master sole command of Edinburgh's firemen in the event of such an emergency. Perhaps thanks to these measures, such a conflagration as the Great Fire never troubled the city again.