#dear-mrs-otome

[syneilesis]

For your writer asks - perspective flip? It can be the Comte fic or any other you'd like 🥰

I AM NOW HERE! 🐱 March was, uh, eventful, but I am making good use of my break teehee.

This got longer than I expected. 1,350 words of nothing but a hungry and thirsty Comte 😂 Hope you enjoy!

The first time it happens it’s as if he’s unearthed a centuries-buried treasure, kept protected by a sturdy wooden chest, its novelty preserved for his discovering eyes. The thrill of unlocking something of great worth electrifies all the nerves of his body, heats his blood.

Le Comte smiles. It feels a little different this time.

¤

“Well done, ma chérie.”

He notices the small hitch of your breath, the tremor that jolts your spine. He imagines dragging his finger from the back of your neck down to the small of your back. Imagines you shudder from the ghost-light touch, your head tilting upward slightly, eyes shut, lips parted.

Le Comte knows that you’ve caught on to the chemical shift between you and him. It delights him, the way you suppress your reactions (lovely, adorable), stubbornly clinging to the boundaries delineated by his status and your respect. He doesn’t mind the resistance – welcomes it, in fact. The more you resist, the more tempting you become.

Desire and restraint, after all, intertwine in the most interesting ways.

¤

Mid-spring, a viscount invites le Comte to a concert that Mozart has mentioned in passing: a violin soloist playing a selection of Saint-Saëns pieces. He accepts and extends the invitation to you – an invitation that brightens your face with excitement.

It’s a beautiful performance. By the end of the show the hall reverberates with a thunderous applause, the standing ovation lengthening into minutes, the musicians on the stage aglow with praise. Le Comte glances to his side, where you stand enraptured by the concert, eyes sparkling, neck flushed from the riveting music, your rose lips open in a smile.

Then his attention falls on your dress. It had taken five hours for le Comte to settle on what you’d wear for the concert, guiding you with his arm (not with his hands, not yet) to different boutiques, trying on various dresses of various designs. He had decided on a gold halter that matches the color of his hair and eyes, a style that provocatively displays your back. 

(A quick look at your expression revealed uncertainty – or was it discomfort? Or something else?

Is it too much? he asked, taking one step closer to you. From that distance le Comte could feel the heat emanating from your body.

Perhaps it was discomfort, because you’re fidgeting under his thoughtful assessment, adamantly avoiding his appraising eyes. It’s not that …

Another step. There was a sharp intake of breath, and le Comte understood.

He gave you a reassuring smile. Made it a point not to mention how it was clear in your flustered face that you’d been picturing him with his hand on your exposed skin.

Made it a point not to mention how he’d been picturing himself tracing your spine with his fingers, followed by his mouth.)

You must’ve felt his stare; your eyes dart to him and you falter from your place, red blooming on your cheeks like cascading ink. It spreads to your chest and your back. You hasten your gaze away, biting your lip, and le Comte finds himself focusing on that little nip.

Later, the viscount corners him for an enthusiastic talk. Le Comte goes along, amicable smile fixed on his face. His concentration derails after the third minute, after which he spots you on the other side of the room, an unrecognizable man at your tail, chatting you up despite your uninterested countenance.

“Pardon me, Viscount,” le Comte suddenly says, cutting off the middle-aged man whose teeth clack upon shutting up, “but I must attend to something important right now.”

“Oh, of course, le Comte. Shall we continue our conversation next time?”

“Indeed. Excuse me.”

By the time he reaches you, you’ve already driven the man away. “It seems that you have no need of my assistance, ma chérie,” he says, noting the man’s features for future deliberation. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you for the concern, Comte.”

“Do you need to rest? Let’s head over to the balcony.”

Outside, Paris glimmers under the star-freckled sky, lamplights like little embers that flicker in the distance. Le Comte opens the door for you and a cool breeze welcomes you at once, causing you to shiver and wrap your arms around yourself.

“Cold?” he asks, and shrugs off his coat.

“Oh, I’m –”

You don’t finish, because le Comte turns to drape the coat over your shoulders. The movement requires him to loom over you, bodies almost touching. The tips of his shoes make contact with your pumps. He leans over, your hair just below his nose, and le Comte smells the fragrant scent of your perfume. Underneath: the ambrosial sweetness of your blood (careful, careful).

His coat is too big for your frame, like it’s swallowing you whole. He adjusts how it hangs on your body, then pats at the lapels once he’s satisfied.

His hands stay there.

Le Comte whispers your name. His voice carries a husky quality to it, brought upon by proximity and bloodsong. But you refuse to respond, your expression tucked away and instead he’s looking at the crown of your head.

Further down: your rubescent neck.

Ah.

He injects a pleading tone to his next words: “Look at me. Please?”

It’s the please that pulls your face up, eyes slightly wide like you can’t believe what you’re hearing. But then you become aware that le Comte’s own face is mere centimeters from yours. Your eyes grow wider, your mouth parting to utter something – 

But then you jerk away. Or attempt to – le Comte’s hands are still on the coat and he’s gripping it this time to foil your escape.

He tilts his chin down, and your staccato breaths puff against his face. He waits until your eyes meet his, then murmurs, “I’m not letting you run away this time.”

Silence. Moonlight pools on the marble balustrade, gleaming ghostly silver. Below the balcony the rasp of leaves; inside the building, the chatter of noblemen, filtered by the double doors. Your breathing staggers, until it shutters into nothing.

A few seconds teeter, and le Comte begins to worry. “Ma chérie?”

A loud exhale, gravel against gravel. You shake your head minutely. “Sorry, it’s just –”

“I know. Do you hate it?”

A tilt of the head, a bite of the lip. An anticipatory moment lurks and then passes.

“No …”

Le Comte draws closer. “Then…?”

A swallow. A shuddering breath.

“... I like it.”

Le Comte smiles. Got you.

“That’s a good girl.”

He tucks a stray lock behind your ear. Your skin burns. He inches closer and closer, until his lips and yours are a hair’s breadth from each other. He steals a glance and finds your eyes half-mast, trained on him.

“Shall I reward you tonight?”

You open your mouth but then you hesitate, and le Comte realizes that any further movement will bring both your lips together. Isn’t this what you and he want? All the hungry gazes, the fleeting ones, the thirst that thrums in his veins, the pulsing desire threatening to burst free from its shackles – all of these converging into this precise, charged moment. There’s electric crackle in his nerves, it heats his blood.

But le Comte remains frozen in his position, watching – waiting – what you’ll do next.

By now your scent has sunken its dulcet claws in his flesh, an unbreakable chain, and le Comte feels his eyelids lower, the press of his canines teasing the inside of his lower lip, a warning, a sign.

And then: “Yes.” 

Finally. Le Comte shuts his eyes tight, leaning back. He drops his hands, releases you. Steps backward; his throat carved with unrelenting thirst.

Then he opens his eyes to trap you under his heavy gaze that robs you of your breath. He smirks, raising his right hand in offering. “Shall we go back, then, darling?”

You stare at the proffered hand, then at his face. Your blush has never left. He can hear your pounding heart, a galloping pace that augments your pinched eyebrows, your quivering lips.

Something shifts in your expression. And then: slowly, slowly – 

You take his hand.

[lorei-writes]

Lorei! I hope you're having a lovely day!

🐱 & 📝

Oh, you bet I am! (I'm terribly hyped, because I've just finished writing a fic.) I hope stuff's going well for you too! Thanks for dropping by!

🐱 - boop!

🐱 @ you too >:)

📝 - tell me about a project you're working on, or share something from a WIP

...It's still a WIP if it needs to be edited, right?

Esther coughed, and in her state between states, she slid into the grey unreality preceding the dawn. Mortar underneath her eyelids turning to sand, she stared ahead, just barely able to see contours and shapes, questioning whether they too would not cease being the second she forgot about breathing. Esther blinked, hard and then harder, the blurriness overtaking her vision casting her into a place at the frontier places. Neither cold nor hot and not even warm, neither sharp, rough, soft nor tender, where up and down seemed to be one and the same… Her head spun, the world heaving, threatening to pull her under its surface yet again.

~ I, Your Rag Doll; Chevalier & Esther (pre-relationship)

It was supposed to be a one shot, it ended up being a two shot, I definitely overcomplicated things because of the approach I've adopted... BUT I AM SO HAPPY NOW.

There's also a bunch of other projects I'm working on >:) A couple events for the future (next round of IFE, a weekly question type blog for OCs, two creation challenges or so, and a few more), some crafts (I'm making a sweater and should be able to start working on clothes for Chevalier amigurumi soon!), and also... it seems like this summer will be filled with house renovations, so I'm readying myself for that ^^" All of which makes me stupidly excited for the future, haha.

Ask game

[clavissionary-position]

I'm not WIP anon but I'll ask for one anyways 🥺

OH MRS O I COULD WEEP. You are lovely 🥺

☆. Le WIP

If you're being perfectly honest, your vision is a bit blurry. Well, gauzy. Well... full of light-smears, really. The morning rays floating in through your curtains seem to undulate like tendrils, giving a fantastical, dreamy impression of your room being submerged underwater. But only a small impression. The absolute barest. Nothing to intervene with your plans for a picnic in the― Yves rounds in front of you and snatches the vase from your grasp. Cold droplets bead on the thick fabric of your cuff before the shadow of Yves' approaching hand eclipses them. In another second he circles your wrist with scrupulous care, but the tug right after is far more urgent. What follows is a whirlwind of wallpaper, furnishings and fabric until your tush lands seated on the edge of your bed. A modest glance upward reveals a frazzled cat boring the glare of the century into your soul. And his brows twitch in that cute way they do when his glare tries and fails to mask volumes upon volumes of worry. "What if you just end up getting sicker? What then?" His words slip out in a rush, consonants clipping like the wingbeat of a startled pigeon. Above his fidgeting lips, he fights a fruitless war with his bangs which joyfully slip from behind his ear every time he tucks them back. A sight which captivates your current cat-like attention-span. That is, until you realize this extended silence is intended for you to answer what is apparently not a rhetorical question. Oh, Yves.

[revasserium]

A ✒️ but first! A line or two for YOU from the inimitable Edna St. Vincent Millay:

The world stands out on either side

No wider than the heart is wide;

Above the world is stretched the sky,—

No higher than the soul is high.

💕

Send me a ✒️ and I'll tell you a poem or a line of poetry that reminds me of you or your blog!

but the sea does not change and she goes forth out of hands and she returns into hands

and is with sleep….

love,     the breaking

~ e. e cummings, the complete poetry collection

[violettduchess]

A/N: My first Ikevil fic! I loved Harry's route and figured why not ease into writing him by starting with a kiss 💋

Harrison x Reader

WC: 500

Note: I only tagged people who have previously asked to be tagged in everything. If you want to specifically be tagged in Ikemen Villains fics/headcanons, please let me know!

You might think that if you found a man reading by firelight, settled into an expensive leather Ottoman the color of burnished copper, he would be drinking whiskey. Or maybe wine. A rich Irish single malt or perhaps layered, velvety Merlot.

But not your Harry.

He’s drinking strawberry milk. 

The sight of it has laughter bubbling out of you, a soft, almost musical sound and he looks up, his wintergreen eyes suddenly bright as he watches you set down your evening clutch and approach him. The missive he was reading slips from his long fingers, flutters down onto the thick burgundy carpet. There are other, far more important matters that require his attention now.

He reaches for you, strong hands gripping the line of your waist as you boldly straddle his lap, your voluminous maroon skirt spreading across him like a blossoming flower. His smile is slow and unhurried when you lean down, touching your forehead to his. You lock your fingers behind his neck, breathing in the familiar, tangy scent of mint.

“They kept you out far too late,” he murmurs, his voice enveloping you like the softest of cashmere.

“I’m here now,” you answer, falling into the pastel tenderness of his gaze, struck for the hundredth time by just how beautiful he is. You glance over at the glass of pale pink milk he’s set down on the end table. “How’s your nightcap?” You’re teasing him and he loves it.

Gently pulling you closer, his eyes flutter closed like a butterfly closing its brilliant wings. “C’mere and have a taste.”

His lips are sweet, like strawberries kissed by summer sunshine. His palms slide down to feel the curve of your hip through your skirt, his grip tightening, pulling you closer still. Your hands unlock and you wrap both arms fully around him, melting into the hard planes of his body. He kisses you slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, a hedonist indulging himself in the most heady of pleasures. He savors each kiss, languid and almost lazy in the movement of his lips, the slide of his tongue against yours. 

“Harry…” His name, that cherished and precious word, is a whisper, a twinkle of starlight in the night. Twin tendrils of the softest affection and the brightest desire are twined around it. He drops his head, burying his face into the warm curve of your neck, pressing his lips against the place where your heart is drumming just for him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes because in your arms, there is nothing but truth. He feels it in the way your fingers push their way through his tawny hair. He hears it in the stuttering breath that escapes you. He tastes it on your lips and smells it on your skin.

He rises, effortlessly lifting you into his arms, holding you close against his chest as his long legs swallow the distance to your bedroom. You cling to him, press a kiss to his cheek as he carries you, not caring where you’re going. 

After all, in his arms, you are always home.

Taglist: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey

@mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

@ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics

@justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating

@portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network

[yarnnerdally]

So I found this amazing picrew and it needs so much love??? Like, I can't speak for the amount of POC representation, but I feel like it's much more inclusive than a lot I've seen. There's the option for a character to have a bindi, hijab, turbans, Star of David necklaces, cross necklaces, and the HAIR options! Also disability inclusivity with the option for adding hearing aids and a wheel chair?? I'm in love and I'm going to make so many of my OCs in this. OH AND THE BODIES! Fat bodies! Bodies that aren't just thin. And faces that have double chins. And clothes that fit them!

Djarn really needs so much credit for this maker. I'm gonna see if I can't find a place they post regularly and tag it/link it once I find it here!

Edit: apparently their twit is djarn_ but I haven't found a working link to their account. So. T.T

This is what I imagine more or less most of my self-inserts look like. :)

I'll tag people just to get this going, but no one is obligated to do it ofc!

@violettduchess @aquagirl1978 @scorchieart @jozhenji @venulus @mllorei @katriniac @strawberry-scum @maries-gallery @dear-mrs-otome @ikemen-writer @dark-frosted-heart @solomons-poison @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

[scorchieart]

I want to do something for all the buds on this fine Thursday, but unfortunately I have been reduced to only having very limited Tumblr time these days. First off, thank you to everyone who sent me kind messages in my ask box~ I hope my responses reached you (don't fail me, Tumblr) I can't send personalized responses at this time ;-; so please accept this mass "Reply All" to the buds and bros.

@aide-falls @altairring @aquagirl1978 @atelier-the-atelier @batteryrose

@beneathashadytree @bestbryn @bellerose-arcana @cathyrosse @candied-boys

@cheese-ception @chirp-a-chirp @claviscollections @cottonfluffballofdoom @crystal13unny

@curious-skybunny @cy-inky @dear-mrs-otome @dear-sciaphilia

@drachonia @evil-quartett @fang-and-feather @girlwiththethirdeye7k @gilbertvonobsidian

@ikemen-writer @ikemendood @ikeprinces-stuff

@ikesenwritings @iphigeniainaulis @jozhenji @katriniac @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

@koi-mahou-kakumei @kippin-art @keithsandwich @leonscape @lorei-writes

@maries-gallery @myonlyjknight @maeko-kun @nuttytani @nightghoul381

@norel-ravenclaw @ndoandou @outofthepapers @ominousjangling @olivermorningstar

@ochrosia @orangejuice707 @pieground @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia

@rinaririr @randonauticrap @rhodolitesrose @syneilesis @skoetiepoetie

@themysticalbeing @thewitchofbooks @venti-tangents @venulus @violettduchess

@vioisgoinginsane @vvvavaaa @whitelittlebunny @writingwhimsey @wordycheeseblob

@yukina-otome @yarnnerdally

[wordycheeseblob]

Mattias Osbrink x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

Snow Sand Sakura event hosted by the most wonderful @violettduchess and @dear-mrs-otome

Word Count: 1.8k

Angst

Premise: It was not meant to be, thus fate had torn your paths asunder.

Dark was the night. The stars refused to show their face, shying away from the radiant glow of the palace; their envoys descending to the earth in the form of freshly fallen snow that glistered as it passed the windows adorned in flowers of frost, saluting the guests inside yet keeping a respectful distance and then, becoming invisible in the darkness.

It's not the incandescent parade of snowflakes that caught your eye, but what lay past it. A whimsical singularity of the ballroom's windows was its height; no ordinary house would stand to risk letting the cold in, bringing an austere look to almost all of Achroite's buildings.

But this place was for show, not living.

Even for their size, you're far below to get a glimpse of what was going on inside.

You observe their dancing forms... or rather the specter of their movement hinted by the subtle shifting light and how, at times, it tangled in the birches branches, shimmering through the crystal rime. You see it vividly as if you were present, the spins of fitted puffy skirts and whispers of delight. But you don't yearn to be there anymore; despite its brightness, there's nothing more than shallowness inside.

You were becoming quite blasé about the spectacle. It could not compare to the first ball you attended when you arrived at Achroite, alighting from the carriage, one of many, and then inside, absolutely dazzled. The lively chatting of the foreign guests animated the atmosphere throughout the halls.

The banquet table was cluttered with all sorts of food; caviar, wine, fruit juice, fried partridges in sauce, food heavier than refined which came with living in the north, different types of bread, pastries, and confectioneries. So, so many of them. Some nobles sauntered more powdered than a beignet; even so, most people there were educated and polite but made friends mostly from ennui.

No, it was all the same. It's just that now you see it with completely different eyes. When it comes to nobles, the bunch were nothing but performers, and when you saw the frivolity for what it was, the spell that held you had immediately broken.

Keeping up appearances was more draining than you thought so you left for a walk in the gardens that were covered in a blanket of white.

The ghost of your memories descends the stairways, sliding their hand over the balustrade and perambulating through the silvery landscape in places you didn't care to notice at the time.

That was when you first met. Someone called out to you pointing out that you were stepping on the castle lawn, the nonexistent lawn buried underneath heaps of snow. It was somewhat awkward and you sincerely hoped you'd never meet again. Back then you didn't know that man was Mattias Osbrink, Achroite's ex-military prince.

Alas, from that day onwards, you kept running into each other almost routinely because wherever you went, much to your dismay, trouble followed suit, and Mattias followed trouble.

Throughout your first days of stay, you had gotten mixed up in an assortment of melodrama which put you in the spotlight more often than you would have liked. As if someone was actively trying to pin the blame on you and sabotage your mission. Your head hurt from thinking how you even got out of it. You think you must have been a troublemaker in his eyes as it became a game of cat-and-mouse because whenever you wanted to escape, slip somewhere else to take a breather, he was there blocking your way, tall with a strong build, and a raised eyebrow. It annoyed you to no end. You were sure it was the same for him, although he never outright showed it. When it came to maintaining order, he was pedant, relentless, and very diligent in everything he did. That in itself was a strength and a weakness.

You really came to know each other. More than that of an acquaintance, it might have been an understanding like that of an officer and outlaw that have known each other's antics for some time. Turned out Matthias didn't really think you were behind it and tried to get the ones pulling on the strings through you. And maybe to anyone else, it might have looked like he was using you but that was not what you believed. You chose to help him, something of an alliance of ragtag detectives.

And to your surprise, the culprit really ended up being caught.

And somewhere along the way, it may just have become an unusual friendship. Despite his fastidious ways, that just might have been his way of showing kindness. Perhaps there was something else, deeply rooted in his adamant fight against injustice. The maelstrom of drama and intractability had passed in the blink of an eye, you really weren't interested in remembering the details. The time for your departure was slowly but for sure approaching.

But strangely, you didn't really want to go home anymore.

Matthias spent almost all his time drowning in legislation and paperwork, but in those last peaceful days, after the trouble was resolved and your assistance no longer needed, he somehow had time to magically run into you as he did before. Maybe more often even.

He happened to cross paths with you, and you happened to need his help with translation to which he would merely nod, adjust his glasses and skim through pages also pointing out any inconsistencies. And you just happened to sometimes find him in the gardens, walking in the same direction.

He didn't talk much. Mattias was curt and always to the point, and you didn't mind that. You preferred it to the flattery and overly adorned flowery language of the court.

¨You seem in a world of your own¨ He said scraping the snow off his gloves

¨Pardon?¨

¨The books. You're always reading in your free time¨

¨Do you think it's a pointless thing to do?¨ You lowered your book, not sure how to respond.

"Not at all. In fact, I've read quite a few books myself. Perhaps I could suggest a good read for you?" he offered.

It was to further your understanding of their native language and culture to improve the diplomatic relationship as he put it. Seemed somewhat pointless since it was almost time to leave, but you appreciated his effort to connect with you. And despite his reasons you were honestly surprised by his interest in your readings and eagerly shared your favorite authors.

You remember apologizing for getting so engrossed to the point where by the end of your enthusiastic speech the sky's rim had gained a crimson tint and the air's crisp cold painted your noses pink.

But this repeated frequently; he would bring you a book and then listen to your ramblings about it.

You enjoyed talking and he enjoyed listening.

And somewhere along the way...

You loved that fool, and you were a fool for loving him.

Too engrossed in daydreams of the past, you don't acknowledge the heavy crunch of snow approaching. Its halt. The slight dip of the wooden bench beside you. Your eyes don't stir from their designated place.

¨ Please, look at me.¨ A cult, rich baritone mixes with the muted waltz unobtrusively.

You turn. It's him, but you already knew that. That thick, navy blue sheepskin coat fastened hastily gave him an unkempt appearance. He must have left in a hurry. His soaked boots only added to the look. Matthias wore his reading glasses, the ones he used to pore over countless documents before, now foggy and hopelessly opaque as he stared at you with a serious expression. Despite yourself, this makes you chuckle and his eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles in return.

You steal his glasses to clean them with your linen handkerchief. Matthias doesn't stop you. His gaze is downcast, white lashes littered with flakes. You reach for him, setting the now pristine pair of lenses on his ears, but as you want to move away, he holds your hand in place, resting on his face. Your eyes finally meet, and it's more painful than you hoped.

" Stay " he asks you quietly but resolutely.

You study his expression, concealing from your eyes a dread that whispered that if you ever were to part, there would no longer exist hope of reuniting. You fear the same because deep down you know it might be true. To get to Achroite you had traversed Obsidian, a harsh and hostile land, and the truce that allowed for your secure passage was as fleeting as your stay.

This diplomatic mission was the only ticket.

You know you have to go: as Belle will always have a duty to her homeland, though it no longer felt like home. It was your duty, your secret burden, and you, its devoted martyr. It was unbearably painful having to love silently, withholding the truth that yearned so badly to be told. But even knowing that you wish you could be selfish just this once and linger.

Instead, you choose to put out the searing feeling using reason.

The words burn on your tongue, but you are mute. Lips sealed, your form encased in an icy cast. His eyes soften. Hushed and, which you may have imagined, almost woeful, he speaks the words you could not bring yourself to say aloud.

"Know... that I loved you."

"I wish..." Your lament is choked and raspy, "I wish... I never..." tears well on the corners of your eyes, and he gently brushes them away. It hurt the way he looked with tacit understanding. "May...be then it... wouldn't hurt so... much" Your words were trembling, you've never seen him look so earnestly at you.

Your breath hitches, and he pulls you close. It feels like an eternity but also like a memory already.

He is the first to pull away, carefully holding your shoulders. Your fur coat no longer remedies the cold.

He pats his coat and retrieves something from a pocket.

"If it's inevitable, I want you to have this"

He hands you the small object, a handcrafted ornamental music box. Holding it gingerly, you wonder if he was the one to piece it. Your fingertips hover over the gilded letters embossed on the margin as you read them. Those were two digits significant to the number of the musical composition. The title left unmentioned.

You try to hand it back, but he presses his rough hands over yours, trapping the dainty object in your hold along some of his warmth.

"I'm sorry I can say nothing more consoling to you, for love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams" The phrase is beautifully spun, but it did not belong to him. A passage from the book he gave you. He said it just to give his feelings form. Perhaps he too, was at a loss for words. But even so, he slowly let you go.

You falter when It opens with a tink. Already Wound, it plays a foreign waltz. There is a cold, mysterious, haunting beauty to it. It is not downbeat; nevertheless, it evokes emotions that you know too well. Yearning, nostalgia, and... heartache. It was like looking through a lens into another epoch, long-lost in time. He gives you a rare smile.

You couldn't tell him, but he understood and accepted it in silence and tranquility.

Snowflakes fall around you, waltzing rhythmically, lackluster, slowly burying the footsteps long after he's gone. You didn't stop him. Not only that, you saw him off while the tune lulled you in the stillness of the night. Caressing your treasure, only then, do you notice the inscription inside its golden dome. A poem. He shared your interest in books, shared stories, and loved to reference his favorite achroitian and foreign authors, be it a quote, or a quip.

But there was no witty remark this time, merely a Farewell.

𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖;

𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏;

𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝑰 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.

𝑯𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆-𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒅, 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒅 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘;

𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅, 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚,

𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒅 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐.

Poem by Alexander Pushkin

You can find the waltz Farewell here, on YT

Well, I'm not really a writer usually and I don't know much about editing a story. So when my head hurt about it I thought: hey, at least it's out there.

A/N: I honestly don't know. I wanted to trim this leaving the first cut and last, cutting everything in the middle. Sometimes context isn't needed and each can work as a standalone fragment, but though they're less fleshed out than I would have liked, I really enjoyed some things in them and couldn't bring myself to do it.

[dania-otaku12]

Getting depressed because of otome games...

1. Love and deepspace

2. Mr. Love: queen's choice

3. Tears of themis

These 3 games are going to bring me a lot of anxiety.

Lnds not yet very dark, but the myths and every character backstory really make me suffer.

Mlqc... This game is literally depressed itself. The main story, with all conflicts in EN server. I just hope everything is going to be ok. I love this game so much that i willingly get back to this game after few times dropping this game. I just can't leave this game, especially my dear Victor.

Tears of themis. My fav. But the main story... I only saw red flags everywhere. Don't make me lose hope in every boy especially Artem.

HONORABLE MENTION: Life Makeover. This can also be considered as otome despite it focus on dress up unlike the other otome games. This one is really wholesome. No red flags so far, literally just solving the mystery with the help of the boys!

[ambrosiallkiss]

switch it up 💧

@dear-mrs-otome

[flash-exchange]

The groups have been assigned :)

Tags for Exchange participants.

@the12thnightproject @olivermorningstar @evil-quartett @rinaririr @violettduchess @dear-mrs-otome @spoopy-fish-writes @cottonfluffballofdoom @keithsandwich @wordycheeseblob @claviscollections @iphigeniainaulis @venulus @yarnnerdally @kippin-art @daegupaksu

[syneilesis]

Ok gonna ask for 🍃 for the handwriting game! 🥰

MRS. O!!!!! (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

LOL SORRY FOR THE LITTLE TYPO/MISTAKE THERE 😂

handwritten ask game

[lorei-writes]

Hi hi Lorei!! 💘 your wallpapers look so good I’m so 😍 over them hehe. If you’re still taking requests would you be willing to do a mobile wallpaper for Silvio? ✨ thank you lovely!!

Hello!

Thank you! I've tried, haha. I hope you like it <3 Mr "Jingle my Coins" gave me a bit of a hard time. Many searches were made in pursuit of anything gold or vaguely dalmatian-or-cow-print-like.

@dear-mrs-otome Thank you! Haha, I think those two are my favourites for their respective games so far. I hope you like this Silvio <3 Attempt #2, because of course he had to be extra like that, pfft.

[redheadkittys]

...Happy whatever you been comfortable with...

...if you celebrate Christmas or not isn't the most important thing but what is, is that you be together with ppl you love...for me Christmas is the memories of my childhood, decorating the flat and tree with my family, baking with my mum, walks with them in the snow, my first mule wine (and hangover the next morning), singing christmas songs, playing games, the smell of fresh fir branches, candlelight and amazing food (bc my mum was a great cook)...my mum is gone but every Christmas after her passing was wonderful bc we did the same as if she was there with us...so i wish you all a great time (celebrating or not), get cozy, eat nice food, be together with ppl who are important to you, do things that makes you happy, take care of yourself...

@hifftn @lxvescramble @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @voltage-vixen @namine-somebodies-nobody @dear-mrs-otome @cloverthecuddlycactus @angelicapocalypse @lu-mei-ling @laitolove @sweet-pinkitty @rikumorimachisgirl @silver-dahlia @lesserpane @joyfulenthusiastwitch @my-otome-adventures @you-mass-effect-my-dragon-age @crystal13unny @soul-of-the-sanada @randonauticrap @queerbluefae @daeva-agas @syun0acute @altairring @fairstival @otonymous @r-f-a-journalists @venulus @paradisekissmoon @starshards26 @strawberryxlove @ieyasukenshinsandwich @cyncallenreese @xlisayaaa @dan-pol @tiny-wooden-robot @jozhenji @adhd-frequencies @peachycloudcats @ozalysss @mrsmorgenstern @ochrosia @lucyw260 @motylapodkowa @neerons @littlewitty @caffedrine @sylfana @annicaax (like always Tumblr let me only tag 50 of you🥹 don't be sad bc i think of every single one of you😍)

[janumun]

Hi, Faa! I was wondering if you know Japanese and if you have any resources or tips for learning?

Hey Anon!

Unfortunately, I don’t 🥹 I only understand a few broken phrases and words from the spoken language but nothing more. I could, however, point you to a friend @dear-mrs-otome who I think might have an answer for your query! ♥️

[violettduchess]

A/N: My gift for the incredibly talented @dicenete 💜 as part of the excellent @flash-exchange

Prompt: Make It Quiet

Clavis x Reader

WC: 552

“Ah…..there you are. I was just wondering where the brightest jewel in this sea of noble gemstones had ventured off to. I have been speaking to some of our esteemed guests and I’m sure you would have delighted the Azurite prince–”

“You have to come with me.”

He blinks. “Now?”

“Right now.”

“Oh my, my lamb seems rather impatient. Don’t you want to have a quick dance? The orchestra is just finished warming up and–”

“C’mon.” You seize his hand, a prisoner held tightly in your satin glove.

“What a delightful turn of events. Are you perhaps hungry -Pardon me, sir- Yves has outdone himself overseeing the food -Excuse me, madame- although it lacks originality if you ask me-…Um…Darling? This is an exit.”

“Exactly. Come along.”

“I see I never knew the true strength of your grip. You are very insistent, my love. My, how dark the hallway is compared to the bright lighting of the ballroom. Are you sure–”

“Just a little further.”

“Your laughter tells me I shouldn’t be so suspicious. What sort of adventure is my sweet one taking me on? I- Wait, why are we stopping? There’s nothing here.”

“Wrong. THIS is here.”

“An alcove? Are you sure, sweetheart? There isn’t even a statue or painting or decorative anything! It’s nothing but darkness.”

“So perceptive. Come closer.”

“Have I mentioned how astoundingly strong your grip–”

“Stop. Talking.”

Shrouded by the shadows of the alcove, you cover his mouth with yours, fingers curled into the soft velvet of his lavender lapel.

Clavis does not speak. He can’t. He is powerless in the face of your radiant desire. All he can do is return your fervent kisses. He wasn’t entirely wrong about your appetite. Each kiss is hungrier than the last. His back is soon pressed against the smooth, cool wall, a startling contrast to the hastening heat of your body which he can feel through your layers of silk and brocade.

You graze the elegant line of his neck with your lips as you speak.

“I saw you talking to all those people-”

“Esteemed guests, my sweet,” he gasps, his hands grasping at the folds of your voluminous gown as if he needs something to hold on to, lest he fall.

“And you looked so…..” You take his bottom lip between your teeth and bite, just hard enough for him to inhale sharply. “So at ease, in your element. So collected and calm.” Your hands slide down his sides, slip inside his waistcoat. “I suddenly had the burning desire to see you….unsettled.”

Your hands slide down further, over expensive silk and shiny golden buttons and butter-soft leather and metal buckles.

Is he….trembling?

“I believe,” he says breathlessly, “you are getting what you desire, my darling.”

Your smile is hidden in the darkness but he can taste it on your lips.

“Almost.”

“Ah….my love…..” He is losing this battle, falling backwards off the cliff of reason and hurtling towards the sea of no return. “Anyone….could walk by.”

But you both know his protest is hollow as his hands are already under the heavy folds of your skirts, gripping your thighs, pulling you towards him. 

”Don’t worry, my prince,” you murmur against his ear, a music that rivals the greatest of orchestras. “We’ll make it quiet.”

Taglist: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @tele86

@dear-mrs-otome @writingwhimsey @silver-dahlia @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton

@namine-somebodies-nobody @whatever-fanfics @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine

@mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @sh0jun @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing

@nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly