#groom shawls

[sephsbat]

Cleanliness in Hellenism

The ancient Greeks were big on this idea of "miasma" - Miasma was the ancient Greek concept of spiritual pollution that had to be purified through rituals.

The Greeks had all these purification rituals. You'd have to bathe, make offerings to the gods, do special ceremonies - all that to cleanse yourself and be right with the divine. Couldn't even step foot in the temple without getting your purity on point first.

And it wasn't just religious spaces that had to be spotless - the Greeks were big on personal hygiene too. They enjoyed all that fresh fit and regular grooming. Anyone slacking on the cleanliness was probably seen as a total weirdo.

So yeah, purity and cleanliness were like, super important in the Hellenistic world. It was a big deal to keep that miasma away and stay right with the gods.

Modern Cleanliness & Purification

Meditation - Quieting your mind and focusing on your breath can help clear out any negative energy or emotional baggage you're carrying around.

Cleansing- Taking some sage or other fragrant herbs and wafting the smoke around your living space or even yourself can help throw out bad vibes.

Salt baths - Soaking in a tub full of Epsom salts or sea salt can help wash away stress and tension, both physical and mental.

Journaling - Writing down your thoughts and feelings can be super cathartic. Getting all that stuff out of your head and onto the page can make you feel lighter.

Spending time in nature - Being outdoors, whether it's a hike in the woods or just chilling in a park, can be incredibly cleansing.

Veiling - Covering your head with a scarf or shawl can help create a sense of sacred space and concentration during spiritual practices. You could also veil as a devotional act to your deities.

[just-some-random-blogger]

hello!! i loved your cregan x martell!reader work sm 😭😭 could you plz bless us with another one? i'm so curious about this pairing, was their marriage arranged or a love match? does little rickon exist in this au? what abt the war?

i'd be delighted to read more about them, if you're willing to write, of course :) thank you in advance!! i adore your writing <3

Heat

You take your husband to Dorne for your sister's wedding. He fairs horribly in the heat.

Cregan Stark x Martell!Reader | 600< | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, dramatic!cregan, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: HI NONNIE! this was my firs req since i closed em so YAY US (and it took me so long to write it lmao). it's just a lil blurb but i hope you like it! also this is the fic in question.

Tagging: @sloanexx

The Lord of Winterfell was leading the travelling party. We were deep in Dorne; Sunspear was already within view. And although the fearsome wolf of the North was not one you could easily defeat, he was steadily losing to the dessert sun.

"Cregan," I call out from my horse beside him, "you will get sun burnt if you keep your back bare."

The Warden of the North had one by one removed the clothes off his back. His face, chest, and back was flush and irritated in more ways than one as he looked at me, "and if I put a shirt on," his brows furrow, "I will faint because of the heat."

With a groan, I remove the silk shawl off my shoulders and I steer my horse closer to his. I place the the fabric on his burning flesh, immediately making him whimper. He shrug it off, "I'm sweaty."

"Cregan," I glare and grab my shawl before it drops, "you're overheating."

He rides faster.

"Cregan," I follow, "come here."

He gallops off as quickly as possible, running straight towards the gates of Sunspear. I am taken aback by his sudden fleeing. I look over to the rest of the party, all of which were Northerners equally melting in the heat, and decide to gallop into Sunspear as well for their sake.

Upon my arrival, I was greeted by many people, all of which expressed their delight to see me again. I greet them with glee as I dismount. I instruct the servants to attend to the men and give them something to cool off with.

"Sister!"

"Sister," I call back with a smile.

My younger sister, Calliope, embraces me and kisses my cheeks. I return her affection and brush her hair behind her ear, "you have grown more radiant since last I saw you, my love. Your groom is blessed to have you."

She giggles, "as is yours" she looks me up and down, "is this a glow of an expecting mother?"

"If it be the will of the gods," I smile and link arms with her, "Lord Stark has been most ardent in his duties."

We share a laugh.

Calliope leans in and raises a brow, "you should have brought a bit of snow with you, sister. I think your wolf has jumped into garden fountain."

"He what?"

My sister and I run off to the gardens, and sure enough, there laid the hulking man, body barely even submerged into the water.

"Cregan!" I snap, releasing my sister to fish out my husband, "you giant oaf!"

The man slowly sits up. He wipes water away from his face and smiles, "hello, beautiful wife."

"Get out of the fountain."

He spits out water.

"There are many pools in Sunspear where you actually fit," I reach a hand out.

He crawls over and takes my hand, only to pull me closer and kiss me. His dripping hand comes to my cheek. I whimper. He pulls away and smiles, "will you be joining me?"

I press my lips into a line, "get out of the pool, Stark."

The water sloshes as he gets on his knees and climbs out, "yes, Stark."

Water spills and drips onto the floor as Cregan stands next to me. My sister, Calliope, giggles from behind me. The man looks at her as she speaks, "it might do you well to know the nights at Dorne are cooler, my lord."

I make a face and pull my skirt away when it begins to absorb the pooling fountain water. Cregan notices this and grabs me by the waist, pulling me tightly against him.

"Cregan!"

He smirks and kisses my neck. I glare at him and he smirks at my sister, "I should hope so. My lady keeps me warm at night."

[smusherina]

bridges burnt - chapter 2 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

chapter 1 / chapter 3

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your suit was still immaculate thanks to your incessant fiddling, adjusting, and pruning. If not for the gel wearing out in your hair and the sweat beading your brow, the illusion was almost believable. Your rings clinked against the sink's enamel, your silver accents glinting in the fluorescent lighting, while a person did their business in the stall behind you. You sighed and washed your hands.

Damn, the soap was nice. They'd really gone all out for the reception, the fall theme extending even to the cinnamon spice soap bars.

Who were you even trying to fool? You were hiding in the bathroom. You'd arrived on the scene of the reception party in relatively high spirits, convinced all was fine and dandy, that Gretchen was looking to make amends in this small way. But you'd been wrong.

The invitation hadn't been a fluke. There hadn't been some mistake, because on the little plaque where your name was scrawled in neat cursive sat another right next to it. On the round table where you'd be sitting, there would be Regina George directly to your left. On your other side would be Shane Oman. Across from you, Damian and Janis.

You stepped out of the bathroom, a lump still firmly lodged in your throat but resolve found. You'd brave it, be an adult about it. The breakup had been perfectly amicable, for the most part anyway, so there was no reason for you to be so wound up.

"The maid of honour is a major bitch." Amanda sidled up to you as you walked towards your table. She directed you to the bar by the arm.

"She won't let us switch?" You asked, dismayed but not surprised.

"She won't even let you move to the spare table," Amanda said indignantly. "The whole time, I swear, she was lookin' me up and down all judgy."

"Ugh," You groaned. "Can she get your strongest drink?" You motioned for the bartender. The man nodded with a smile, seeming relieved to be rescued from the old lady chatting him up. He was a good-looking fella, tattoo sleeves and a military haircut.

"Anything for you?" He asked you, eyes lingering on Amanda shyly. Amanda leered at him unabashedly, batting her eyelashes while he made her drink.

"Just a coke." You'd been sober for a good couple of years now, free of all substances. You'd had a nasty relapse in college, a disgraceful return to party drugs and obscene amounts of alcohol, but you'd been able to find your footing since. Largely due to Amanda's intervention.

"You gonna be alright?" Amanda asked, for now deciding not to make a move on the bartender. You knew she was biding her time, establishing tension before she struck. She picked up men like a shark.

"Sure, yeah. It's gonna be okay. It's just, y'know, my ex. And her ex. And her nemesis and that nemesis' best friend. All good."

Amanda eyed you warily. You sipped at your coke through a straw. She, too, took a large gulp.

By the time the bride and the groom made their entrance, you were sitting in your spot, desperately trying not to make eye contact with the other occupants of the table. Shane was squirming on your right, fiddling with what seemed to be an engagement ring. Janis and Damian, sitting across from you, didn't seem to have changed much, except obviously grown up.

Janis was still unapologetically goth, though seemingly turned more toward clean, angular lines rather than messy, smudged blacks. She had on a dress and a shawl, beaded bangles and silver jewellery covering her wrists. She'd gotten more piercings since you last saw her. Angel bites on her upper lip, a bridge between her eyes, and stretched ear lobes. There were some bold tattoos as well, such as a rose crawling up her neck and the head of a snake on the back of her hand, extending up her arm.

Damian was in a cute, velvety green suit. His shirt, white with light green fleur de lis patterns, had ruffles going down the buttons. The length of its sleeves also surpassed that of the suit's, which made the whole look seem kind of piratey. His natural hair, a poofy afro, the bulky red-tinted glasses, and the pointy boots he had on gave off a bohemian seventies disco star vibe. He had a very specific aesthetic and you couldn't help but be impressed.

The seat on your left was pointedly lacking a person. Only the plaque was there along with its elegant scrawl. You crossed your legs and threaded your fingers together, bracing for the moment somebody said something to you. Or you were forced to do it yourself.

"So..." There it comes. Surprisingly it was Shane, of all people. "You and Regina."

"Huh?" You made a sound.

"I mean, you're here together, right? That's what I heard." He scratched at his neck, seeming nervous. All the confidence and obnoxious self-assurance seemed to have melted off of him.

"No, you- what? Where'd you hear that?"

"Just some nasty gossip. Don't worry about it. Aaron and I know what it's like." He smiled supportively but somewhere in the crevices of his cheeks, it seemed sad. "Have you been out for long?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. Shane and Aaron? Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

"Um, pretty much since high school. To be fair, I didn't tell a lot of people back then. You know how Northshore was." He nodded along solemnly. "But in college I sort of bit the bullet."

"That's really brave. Aaron and I haven't been out for long, only since the new law passed." He still seemed cautious and shy, but talking about Aaron clearly made him happy.

"When did you two get together?"

As Shane began to tell the tale, you slowly began to relax. Maybe Regina wouldn't even show up. If you and Gretchen were estranged, Regina and she were even more so. Regina had never given you details, but you did know Gretchen had been heavily involved in your shitty junior year. They'd had an explosive, very public falling-out that'd led to a whole lot of drama.

By that point, you'd sort of checked out of high school as well as your relationship with Regina, so you'd paid very little attention.

"Oh, here she comes," Shane pointed behind you, cutting off his own story. You whirled around, back crackling as you twisted your spine.

Regina George, in the flesh. Your mouth watered, pupils dilated, and there was no way you could've suppressed your reaction. Her eyes were locked on yours, a predatory glint in her eye as she strutted towards your table.

You almost didn't hear Damian's whistle or Janis' stunned laugh, but as Regina shifted the white fur stole she had to reveal her shoulders and chest, you went wholly deaf to all but the clack of her heels.

She had on a baby pink bodycon dress with a slit sinfully high up on her thigh, satin hugging her hips sensually. She had on white high heels with thin straps at the ankle and fur at the tops of her toes.

Her makeup was natural, with subtle browns and blacks, except for the prominent blush she'd picked. Her hair was a warmer blonde than before, complimenting her tanned skin. She had on golden jewellery, a familiar golden necklace resting on the dip of her clavicles like a taunt.

She kept on advancing towards the table. You could do little else but stare, slack-jawed at the visage of her. Other people were staring too, you could tell. You could only imagine what Gretchen was doing with her face at the moment, perhaps scowling like a pug or maybe looking like she was about to cry. Regina was but a guest and yet...

Regina was never just Regina. You knew that better than anyone. No matter how she dressed, behaved, or what her priorities were, she was an innate presence that influenced those around her. Gretchen inviting her to this wedding was essentially like shooting herself in the foot.

Regina didn't have to try to snatch the attention of the room, but when she did, there was no competition. And Regina had gone all out. You could tell by the movements of her hands, the way her lashes fluttered, and how her mouth parted just a little. It was obvious, at least to you, that Regina was doing what she did best: Revenge.

"Hi, baby," She cooed down at you. You took a moment to react, surprised by how she was suddenly there, right in front of you.

Her hands reached for you, long acrylics brushing against your collar, then your neck, then the back of your neck and in your hair. Her thumbs directed your head to tilt up. She pulled you close as she leaned down and then—peach lipgloss, glittery eyeshadow, saccharine perfume—your skin tingled where she touched you, sparks going off behind your eyelids as they fell closed, bliss pouring out of your pores as you became filled with it.

You kissed her back, took hold of her hips and pulled her to stand between your legs. Fuck, this was bad. But, fuck, it felt good to kiss her again.

Distantly, like someone shouting into the water in which you were submerged, you realized that this was perhaps the worst way, place, and time you could've reunited with Regina.

Even so, you kissed deeper, licking into her mouth until she made a sound you'd so missed all these years. Just as you began debating the pros and cons of laying her down on the table right there in the open, Shane tugged hard on your shoulder.

"What?" You grumbled, turning to him with a glare already in place.

He was red-faced, and frazzled, but had on a wide grin. "Get it, girl, but calm down. The mother of the bride looks like she's about to implode." He inclined his head towards the long table where all the important people sat. The mother of the bride did indeed look to be on the precipice of a furious blow-out.

"Okay," You swallowed, sense slowly coming back to you.

"Ugh, you're such a party pooper, Shane." Regina pulled away, leaving your palms achingly empty. She didn't go far though. She sat down on her chair before reaching into her white Valentino bag and pulling out some napkins. Then, she leaned in again.

Your eyes fluttered closed and lips puckered. Regina laughed.

"Silly, you have gloss all over your face."

"Oh," Your eyes opened. Gosh, that was embarrassing.

Regina wiped your mouth. Then, she pulled out a compact mirror and fixed her own lips. You watched her do all this. She and Shane started chatting. Apparently, they'd been in somewhat regular contact.

You'd just kissed Regina George. After, what, eight or nine years? In front of the whole goddamn venue. In front of Gretchen, in front of Gretchen's family, in front of basically your entire year from high school.

You got up. "Oh, where are you going?" Shane asked, all innocent. You hoped you didn't look as panicked as you felt. He didn't seem to think anything was wrong. You glanced at Regina.

Fuck. She totally knew. Obviously, she knew you. She could read you like a book.

"Smoke. Be back in a few." You fled.

"I'm coming too," Janis said.

Notes: Sorry for the long break everybody! I graduated and had a party for that! Went on a little trip to the countryside with friends! And now, at last, I'm back at my desk and ready to churn out some long overdue chapters.

Taglist posted separately! Comment on that post to get on it if you want!

[twistedheartsclub]

Saltblood Bride Merman X Fem Reader

CW: noncon, dubcon, captivity, forced mating, psychological manipulation, obsession, emotional abuse, physical restraint, trauma, body autonomy violations, magical binding, power imbalance, grooming, transformation themes, dark ritual elements, illness, and loss of identity.

The coast always smelled like secrets.

Y/N had grown up in the cliffs above the sea, in a crumbling stone house wrapped in ivy and silence. Her days were simple: gathering herbs for her mother, helping in the market, reading by candlelight. But the nights… the nights were never quiet.

The waves whispered. The wind moaned. And sometimes, just past midnight, she swore she heard singing.

The townspeople avoided the shore after dusk. Fishermen tied iron around their nets. Children were taught never to look too long into the water, in case something looked back.

But Y/N never feared the sea.

She loved it.

She often walked alone, barefoot in the sand, skirts brushing against the foam. The cold didn’t bother her. There was a beauty in it—wild, ancient, unknowable. She thought the stories were just that: stories.

Until the day she saw him.

Below the surface, far beyond human reach, the sea boiled with hunger.

The village of Virellin lay hidden deep within a forest of black coral, guarded by currents that twisted like serpents. It was once a thriving kingdom—home to thousands of merfolk, their voices echoing through the trenches like lullabies and war songs alike.

Now, their numbers dwindled.

The mermaids—their lifeblood—were dying. A sickness, a curse, a vengeance from the gods… no one knew. Only the highborn males remained strong, desperate, and dangerous.

The council made a decision: take from the surface.

Seduce. Steal. Breed.

He had been chosen to lead the hunts.

Kaelen.

The oldest prince. Half-human, half-ancient god. His tail was black obsidian, longer than a ship’s mast. His claws could split bone. His voice could stop hearts—or start them. And his rage… that was legend.

He didn’t waste time with charm.

Other mermen tried to walk on water, to whisper into dreams, to coax girls with flowers and promises. Fools.

Kaelen took what he wanted.

But when he saw her—the girl on the cliffs with wind-tossed hair and eyes like stormlight—something stopped in him.

He watched from the waves, submerged and still, golden eyes tracking her every step.

She smiled at the sky. She sang softly to herself. She didn’t run from the ocean. She loved it.

He would take her. But not yet.

He would watch. Learn her. Lure her.

And then…

He would drag her down so far, she’d forget the sun had ever touched her skin

The wind danced along the coastline that afternoon, catching at skirts and tangled hair as the sun dipped low over the horizon. The sky was painted in strokes of rose and gold, the sea a glittering reflection of both.

Y/N walked carefully along the edge of the path, the cliffs towering beside her, the crashing waves far below. Her soft boots crunched on gravel, her hands wrapped loosely around a bundle of dried lavender—gathered earlier with her friend, Eleanor, who walked just ahead, already laughing about something neither of them would remember.

“Don’t go so close!” chided their chaperone, a stern woman known as Mrs. Weatherby, trailing behind with her heavy shawl wrapped around her arms.

But the girls didn’t listen.

They were eighteen and twenty, caught between obedience and curiosity. They had heard the warnings, yes—but that breeze felt too warm, the ocean too beautiful, the danger too far away to matter.

A gust of wind pulled Eleanor’s bonnet clean off her head.

She shrieked, laughing as her dark curls spun wildly, chasing the fabric as it danced through the air like a spirit set free.

Y/N ran after her, giggling, clutching her own bonnet before it could fly away too. Her cheeks were pink from the chill, her eyes bright with the thrill of it all.

That’s when he saw her again.

Kaelen, submerged just past the rocks, hidden beneath a tangle of kelp, watched.

His arms rested on the curve of a barnacled stone. His long, black tail curled behind him, glistening with sea-slick shadows. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe.

He watched.

Y/N’s voice carried over the wind, soft and sweet, and his pupils dilated with hunger.

Beside him, another shape shifted in the water—a younger merman, paler, leaner, with a wildness in his eyes. Aelric, his closest follower, his loyal shadow. Aelric’s gills fluttered as he rose slightly, peering toward the cliff path.

His gaze wasn’t on Y/N. It was on Eleanor.

“They smell like crushed fruit,” Aelric murmured in their tongue, low and guttural. “The little one laughs like a seal pup. But the tall one… she’s soft. Gentle.”

Kaelen didn’t answer.

He only tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming, nostrils flaring slightly as the wind shifted—bringing her scent to him.

Lavender. Salt. Warm skin.

He tasted her on the air.

Not just human.

Pure.

Rare.

Meant for him.

Aelric licked his lips, the tips of his sharp teeth visible for just a moment. “Shall I take the smaller one tonight?”

“Not yet,” Kaelen said.

“Why?”

“They’re still too loud. Still watched. Let them come again. Let them feel safe.” He stared at Y/N’s pale throat, her exposed ankle, her lips pink from the wind. “Let them believe we’re only stories.”

Aelric grinned. “Then next time?”

Kaelen’s voice was almost a growl. “Next time, she’s mine.”

Far beneath the tide, where no sunlight could reach, the sea did not shimmer.

It pulsed.

The kingdom of Virellin was carved from obsidian cliffs and glowing coral, a drowned cathedral lit by drifting lantern fish and swaying bioluminescent vines. Time moved differently there. The water was heavy with memory, sorrow, and silence.

There were no more songs.

Once, Virellin had been the heart of the ocean—ruled by the line of Kaelen’s father, a god-touched king whose voice could command storms. The mermaids had danced along the current trails, braiding seaweed through their silver hair, gifting their mates pearls and promise. The halls echoed with laughter, with children’s tails flicking through the sacred pools.

Now, it was fading.

The last mermaids—his sisters, his cousins—had withered, their scales falling away like petals, their eyes going glassy and empty. Some blamed the surface world, others the gods, still others the blood they had thinned by mixing with humans.

Kaelen did not blame. He endured.

He had lived over four centuries. His tail had darkened over time, his voice had deepened into something that made sharks flee. His chest was marked with ceremonial scars, and his claws were tipped with pearl from the bones of ancient kings. His people bowed when he passed, but none sang for him.

They waited—for his decision.

And so the council sent him to the cliffs.

To take a bride.

To bring new life.

To begin again.

Above, in the flickering candlelight of Eleanor’s home, Y/N sat cross-legged on the rug, brushing the mud from her worn boots. Rain tapped the windowpanes gently.

Eleanor sat nearby, combing out her curls. “You always bring in the weather when you come, Y/N. You’re cursed, I swear it.”

“I bring the excitement,” Y/N said with a smile, tugging the pins from her hair. “You’d be bored without me.”

“True.” Eleanor flopped back dramatically, her silk nightgown fanned out. “My brothers are dull, and my cousins are worse. But you—you are a poet. And a storm witch.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Just because I like the rain—”

“You like the cliffs. You like the sea. And you look at it like it’s whispering only to you.”

Y/N’s fingers paused.

Was that true?

Maybe.

There was something about the sea. A voice in the waves she couldn’t quite name. Not frightening—but calling.

“I suppose I do,” she admitted softly.

“I’ll tell Mrs. Weatherby we want to walk again tomorrow,” Eleanor said, already plotting. “We’ll pretend we need more thyme. Or rosemary. You’ll wear that shawl I like—the dark one.”

Y/N smiled again, but her heart was suddenly heavy.

She wasn’t sure why.

The chamber was silent, save for the shifting of currents through the coral spires and the rasp of breathing—old breathing.

Kaelen hovered just above the smooth stone floor, his dark tail coiled loosely beneath him. Before him lay Virellin’s last living priestess, her silver-scaled body limp and nearly transparent with age. Her hair floated like strands of moonlight, and her eyes were pale and blind.

But she still heard.

“You are late,” she rasped.

Kaelen bowed his head. “I was watching the cliffs.”

“The one with lavender in her blood?”

He didn’t answer.

The priestess turned her fragile head toward the glowing pool at the center of the room. It shimmered with prophecy, memory, and loss.

“The gods are quiet,” she said. “The old songs have faded. But I see a thread, Prince. Thin. Fragile. Human.”

“Y/N.”

The priestess exhaled slowly. “If you want the bloodline to endure, she must be taken before the moon’s turn. Others will scent her. Claim her. But she will never survive them.”

Kaelen’s fists tightened.

“She will survive me.”

The cliffs again. Another morning. Brighter this time.

Y/N’s boots kicked through the grass as she and Eleanor made their way down the worn path, Mrs. Weatherby trailing behind with her basket.

The sea sparkled beneath a rare clear sky, the waves lazy and warm. Gulls cried overhead, and the breeze carried salt and blossoms.

Eleanor wore lilac ribbons in her hair today. Y/N had helped tie them.

They were giggling over nothing again, sun on their faces, cheeks flushed.

Then they saw him.

A young man on horseback, waiting near the edge of the path—tall, golden-haired, with a navy coat and polished boots. He dismounted as they approached, smiling first at Eleanor, then at Y/N in brief politeness.

Mr. Whitlow.

A local merchant’s son. Well-read, well-mannered, and very taken with Eleanor.

Y/N felt heat rise in her cheeks as she sensed the way he looked at Eleanor—gentle, wanting. The air around them shifted. Hormones. Emotion. Chemistry. Even she, inexperienced and modest, could feel it. It tickled her skin.

And far, far below—two predators reacted.

Kaelen’s eyes opened in the blackness.

Aelric bared his teeth.

“He’s showing his scent,” Aelric growled. “The way a dog would.”

Kaelen’s jaw flexed. “He’s not for her.”

Aelric’s fins flared with agitation. “He looks at the soft one too. The one with the pale throat.”

“She’s mine,” Kaelen growled.

“She smells of want now,” Aelric hissed. “Of blooming heat.”

They surged upward, not close enough to breach—but close enough to taste the current.

Above, Y/N turned to Mrs. Weatherby and touched her arm.

“We forgot to check the rosemary patch,” she said, keeping her voice sweet and distracted. “It’s just around the bend. Should we gather some before the tide rises?”

Mrs. Weatherby hesitated, squinting at Eleanor and Mr. Whitlow deep in conversation, their heads bent close.

“Very well,” she said. “But stay within sight.”

Y/N nodded quickly, heart fluttering—not from fear, but from excitement. Romance made her soft. It wasn’t for her, not really. But watching Eleanor live inside it—even for a moment—felt like stepping into a dream.

She turned toward the patch of green just out of view, skirt brushing against thistles, unaware of the two shadows pacing silently just beneath the surf.

And watching.

Always watching.

The morning was gray again—low clouds crawling across the sky like whispers of something unsettled. The air held a chill, and the waves crashed harder than usual. But still, the girls begged to walk.

Mrs. Weatherby bundled herself in her heaviest shawl and relented, muttering about “wild blood and foolish hearts.”

Y/N and Eleanor ran ahead.

The wind tugged at their cloaks. Their cheeks were red with cold, their laughter softer today. A storm was coming—they could feel it in their bones.

Halfway along the cliffs, Y/N paused, staring down at the dark shore below.

“Wait here,” she said. “I think I dropped my scarf yesterday. I’m going to check near the rocks.”

Mrs. Weatherby opened her mouth to protest, but Eleanor just waved. “We’ll be right here!”

Y/N slipped down the lower path, boots skidding over stone, heart racing for reasons she couldn’t explain.

The tide had pulled back, revealing slick sand and jagged driftwood. Seaweed coiled in lazy knots. The air was thick with salt.

And then—she saw him.

He stood at the edge of the surf, barefoot, tall, and cloaked in a dark blue coat that shimmered like wet silk. His hair was black, shoulder-length, swept back from a face too beautiful to belong to any ordinary man.

His skin was pale with a hint of silver. His eyes—gold.

Not brown. Not amber.

Gold.

He didn’t look surprised to see her. Only… intrigued.

Y/N froze.

She wasn’t afraid.

She was entranced.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her like one might study a delicate creature washed ashore. “You’re not trespassing. This shore belongs to no one.”

His voice was deep. Velvet layered over stone.

She couldn’t stop staring. Her fingers curled around the edge of her cloak. “Are you… are you visiting someone in the village?”

“No.” He stepped forward, slow, smooth. “I’m passing through.”

Y/N swallowed. Her cheeks burned. “You’re not dressed for the wind.”

A smile ghosted over his mouth. “It doesn’t touch me.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Her heart beat too fast.

“I’m Kael,” he said, offering a name—but not a full one.

“Y/N,” she whispered.

His gaze flicked down to her lips. She didn’t notice. He smelled of salt and something strange—ancient.

“You wandered far,” he said. “It’s easy to lose yourself here.”

“I—I was looking for my scarf.”

He stepped closer, and without asking, reached out. His fingers brushed lightly against her collarbone—too close to her throat. He pretended to inspect the clasp of her cloak.

“No scarf,” he murmured. “But I found something prettier.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

She knew she should move. Should step away. But he wasn’t threatening. He wasn’t leering. Just… there.

Looking at her like she was important.

She didn’t understand it.

“You should go back to your chaperone,” he said softly. “Before the tide rises again.”

“Will I see you again?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Kael’s smile deepened. “Yes.”

She turned and hurried back up the path, heart in her throat, eyes wide.

He watched until she disappeared from view.

Then he let the illusion crack. His skin shimmered. The golden eyes burned brighter. His teeth sharpened beneath his smile.

She would never escape now.

Y/N twisted her hair in slow circles as she lay sprawled across Eleanor’s bed, cheeks still pink from the morning’s encounter. The room was bathed in the golden flicker of the hearth, soft shadows dancing across the ceiling. Rain tapped gently against the windowpanes.

“He wasn’t like anyone I’ve ever seen,” Y/N whispered.

Eleanor was curled beside her, chin propped on her hand. “Tell me again—was he truly barefoot?”

Y/N nodded, dreamy. “Barefoot. Tall. Dark hair. Eyes like… gold, Eleanor. Gold. Not like the boys here. He didn’t even seem cold. He just stood there like he belonged to the sea.”

Eleanor giggled, tossing a pillow at her. “You are cursed. You’ve gone and found a sea god.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not! I think it’s terribly romantic.” Eleanor sat up and began braiding her damp curls. “You know, in the old stories, the sea would gift kings to lonely maidens. Maybe he’s yours.”

Y/N laughed softly, warmth curling in her belly. “It felt like a dream. He said he was passing through.”

“You didn’t ask where to?”

“No… I forgot how to speak, really.” She buried her face in the quilt. “He touched my cloak.”

Eleanor squealed. “A scandal!”

“I’ll never see him again.”

“You will. I’ll make Mrs. Weatherby walk us again tomorrow.”

But before they could descend deeper into their shared fantasy, a knock rapped sharply at the open door.

“Honestly.”

It was Clara, Eleanor’s older cousin—twenty-five, unmarried, and very tired of girlish nonsense. She entered the room with her sleeves rolled high and a book clutched to her chest.

“You two are like children still babbling over fairytales.”

Y/N sat up quickly, face burning.

“We were only talking,” Eleanor said coolly.

“About strangers on the beach?” Clara scoffed. “Next you’ll be kissing frogs and expecting diamonds.”

“You don’t believe in romance?” Y/N asked gently.

Clara’s lip curled. “I believe in duty. And knowing your place. Men don’t love—they use. Especially the beautiful ones.”

She turned on her heel and left without waiting for a reply.

The silence she left behind was sharp.

Y/N looked down at her hands. “Maybe she’s right.”

Eleanor leaned her head against Y/N’s shoulder. “Even if she is… I’d rather believe in the magic. Just for a while.”

Y/N smiled, faint but full of hope. “Me too.”

Below the waves, things were not so gentle.

Aelric paced along the spine of a sunken ship, tail flicking in agitation, barnacles crumbling beneath his claws.

“She’s seeing him again,” he hissed.

Kaelen floated above, watching a swirl of glowing shrimp scatter in the current. “You’re speaking of Eleanor?”

“She made plans with the human boy. The one who smells of flowers and sweat.” Aelric’s eyes flashed. “He wants to touch her.”

Kaelen said nothing.

“You let them walk free,” Aelric snapped. “You wait and watch while they giggle in the sun like sea birds. You forget who you are.”

Kaelen turned, slow and cold. “I forget nothing.”

“She is not like the others,” Aelric snarled. “She makes you weak.”

Kaelen swam forward, suddenly close, his teeth flashing in the dark. “Careful, Aelric.”

Aelric bared his own. “She should’ve been mine.”

Kaelen’s claws tapped once against the hull of the wreck, echoing.

“She will never be yours.”

The sky was a sheet of dull gray, the clouds low and silent. Fog clung to the rocks like breath on glass. It was the sort of day Mrs. Weatherby would normally forbid walking, but Eleanor had insisted—smiling too brightly, already dressed in her finest shawl.

Y/N had quietly agreed. If Eleanor was planning to meet Mr. Whitlow, she would need time alone… and Y/N didn’t mind the quiet. She liked walking near the sea. It made her feel alive.

They split paths early.

Mrs. Weatherby, distracted by Eleanor’s cheerful chatter, didn’t notice when Y/N veered toward the rocky edge, boots sinking into damp sand. Mist curled around her ankles. She moved slowly, watching the tide.

Then she saw him.

Kael.

He stood exactly where he had before—barefoot, dressed in strange, flowing layers of deep navy and slate-gray. Today, a silver chain hung from his wrist, and something dark glinted between his fingers.

“You,” she breathed, startled.

He smiled, soft and slow. “You came back.”

She stepped forward cautiously, heart stuttering. “I wasn’t sure I would see you again.”

“I knew you would.” He took a slow step toward her. “The sea doesn’t forget its own.”

She blinked. “I’m not of the sea.”

He said nothing.

She noticed how close he was now. She shifted her weight back a little—and flinched as his hand came up, brushing the side of her face. Not hard, not threatening—just fingertips grazing her cheek like wind.

She pulled back instinctively.

Kael didn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re kind to be cautious.” His voice was steady, unreadable. “But I’m not here to frighten you.”

She lowered her gaze. “You just… surprised me.”

There was silence between them—thick and humming.

Then he held out his hand.

Cradled in his palm was a thin, spiraled shell strung on a black silk cord. Iridescent, glowing faintly blue in the fog.

“For you.”

Y/N stared.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It’s called a marelith shell,” he said. “Where I come from, it’s… personal.”

“What does it mean?”

He hesitated. “To give it is to choose. To wear it is to be chosen.”

She didn’t understand—but her fingers reached for it anyway. He tied it gently around her neck, his knuckles grazing her collarbone. The shell rested just above her heart.

“Thank you,” she said, voice soft and awed.

Then, on instinct, she leaned forward and hugged him.

His arms froze around her for a breathless second, then slowly, carefully, came to rest at her back. He held her like something breakable. Like something already his.

And then—

“Y/N!”

A distant shout. Eleanor’s voice, panicked, echoing through the fog.

Y/N pulled back quickly, eyes wide. “I have to go.”

Kael nodded slowly. “Of course.”

She ran, heart pounding. The shell bounced against her chest with every step.

He watched her go, fingers still tingling from the warmth of her body.

She didn’t know what she’d accepted.

But soon—she would.

Part Eight: Three Weeks

The shell still glowed faintly in the candlelight.

Y/N sat at the edge of her bed, fingers brushing the cool spiral where it rested over her heart. Eleanor watched her from across the room, wide-eyed and breathless.

“He gave that to you?” Eleanor whispered. “Like a gift?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “He said it was personal… but I don’t know what it really means.”

“It means he’s enchanted,” Eleanor said with a grin. “You have a secret admirer—mysterious, handsome, and strange. I’m terribly jealous.”

Y/N blushed. “He’s kind. I think. Gentle, even when he’s… intense.”

Eleanor twirled a strand of her hair. “You must wear it to the masquerade.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t.”

“You must. It would look beautiful with that pale blue gown my mother gave you. And who knows? Maybe he’ll appear again. Maybe he’ll dance with you.”

Y/N laughed shyly. “You think he goes to balls?”

“Everyone wants a dance,” Eleanor said softly, then her voice brightened. “Besides, I hope to dance with Mr. Whitlow. He said he’ll be there.”

Y/N’s smile was warm. “He’ll be lucky if he does.”

Their laughter carried into the night like little bells. But below, in the darkest trench of the sea, laughter had long since died.

Virellin’s Deep Sanctum

Kaelen knelt before the glowing pool again, the weight of the marelith shell still lingering in his hand even though it now hung around Y/N’s neck.

The priestess’s voice was sharper this time.

“You were warned.”

“She accepted it willingly,” he said. “She gave thanks. She touched me.”

The priestess’s sunken eyes opened. “She does not know what it means. To wear the shell is to be bound. In your world. By your laws.”

“She is not of our world,” Kaelen growled. “She will become so.”

The priestess stirred in her coral cradle. “You have three weeks. That is the cycle of the blood. The window of change. After that, the bond withers. She will fall ill. The sea will claim her mind, then her flesh.”

Kaelen’s golden eyes flared. “She will not die.”

“Then take her. Make her yours. Or remove the shell, and let her forget.”

He turned away, jaw tight.

He didn’t want to take her—not yet.

He wanted her to come willingly. To reach for him again. To whisper his name the way she had whispered “thank you.”

He had three weeks.

And a masquerade fast approaching.

The manor was alive with music.

Strings sang beneath the high-vaulted ceiling, golden chandeliers casting pools of warm light across marbled floors. The room glittered with candlelight, laughter, and silk. Everywhere, masks shimmered—some feathered, some jeweled, others dark and mysterious.

Y/N clutched her invitation with shaking fingers as she stepped through the great doors, heart hammering in her chest.

Eleanor had chosen the gown.

Soft blue, embroidered with silver thread, fitted at the waist and flowing like seafoam. Her mask was pale ivory, delicate lace curling like coral around her eyes. The marelith shell rested above her heart, warm against her skin.

“You look like a goddess,” Eleanor whispered beside her. Her own gown was deep violet, her dark curls pinned high. “If he doesn’t fall to his knees, he’s blind.”

Y/N smiled, nerves tangled with excitement. “Do you see Mr. Whitlow?”

“Not yet,” Eleanor murmured. “But I know he’ll come.”

She was right.

Moments later, Mr. Whitlow appeared near the orchestra—a navy mask over his sharp features, silver buttons glinting on his coat. He spotted Eleanor instantly, crossing the floor with a soft smile and a bow so perfect it made her blush.

They moved into the dance without a word.

Y/N stepped back, watching them with a warmth that pulsed like honey in her chest. For a moment, she believed in every story they’d told.

Until her breath caught.

He was here.

Not Mr. Whitlow.

Kael.

He wore black—no mask. None could look him in the eyes long enough to ask why.

He didn’t need a disguise. The crowd parted around him like smoke.

He walked slowly toward her, every step a ripple in the dream she’d built around herself.

“Y/N,” he said lowly.

She looked up. “You’re here.”

“I told you I would be.”

His eyes traveled over her form, lingering on the shell at her chest. “You wear it.”

She blushed. “I… didn’t know it meant something sacred. Not until later. But I couldn’t take it off.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said.

She didn’t know if he meant it as warning or promise.

He offered his hand.

Her fingers trembled as she placed them in his.

They began to dance.

His touch was cold at first—but he moved like water, smooth and commanding. He didn’t speak. He only watched her.

She felt swallowed whole.

Far below, Aelric seethed.

He swam in circles near the cavern where Kaelen’s mantle hung. The shell’s bond was sealed now. The girl had worn it to a human gathering. Let them all see it—let them all smell what she was becoming.

But she still laughed with humans. Still blushed for them.

Aelric watched Eleanor through the portal pool—a scrying current they used to observe the surface.

Her fingers lingered too long on the human boy’s shoulder.

“She should have been taken too,” he muttered. “We should have ripped them both from the cliffs and taught them to sing for us.”

He didn’t care about prophecy. Or patience.

He wanted to taste her breathless. To feel her bones against his claws.

But Kaelen had made his choice.

And Aelric was not done

The music inside swelled, couples spinning in spirals of silk and candlelight. But Y/N barely noticed.

Kaelen’s hand rested lightly against her back as he led her out through the ballroom doors and onto the balcony. The air was cool, salted from the distant waves. The sea was only a shimmer in the distance.

“Do you often attend masquerades?” she asked, voice shy.

“No,” he said softly, eyes fixed on her. “But you asked if we’d meet again.”

She blushed. “I didn’t think you heard me.”

“I heard everything.”

The night wrapped around them in silver mist.

He turned toward her, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek. “The shell you wear—it’s not just a trinket. It binds you to my people.”

“I thought it was just a charm,” she said. “A token.”

“It’s more than that.” His voice dropped. “It marks you. Protects you. It means I’ve chosen you, Y/N.”

She trembled slightly, not from fear—but from something far more confusing. Need. Her body felt warmer. Her skin more aware.

“But I don’t even know what you are,” she whispered.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell at her chest.

“You will.”

Her breath hitched.

He touched her face—slow, reverent. His fingers brushed her jaw, her throat, like he was memorizing her skin. Her eyes fluttered.

But before he could lean in further—

A laugh broke the spell.

A burst of applause. The orchestra struck up again—faster this time.

Y/N blinked, stepping back. “I—I should go find Eleanor.”

Kaelen’s eyes darkened, but he nodded once. “Soon,” he said. “We’ll speak again. When the mask comes off.”

She didn’t understand what he meant.

She ran inside.

Meanwhile, the ballroom had shifted.

Aelric had arrived.

And he was magnificent.

He wore a sleek black suit, tailored to perfection. No mask—but the glint of his silver eyes and the wild wave of his dark-blonde hair made people look away anyway. His beauty was too sharp, too unnatural, like staring into fire.

He found Eleanor before Mr. Whitlow could reach her again.

“May I?” Aelric asked, bowing low, his voice warm and edged with something… dangerous.

Eleanor blinked up at him, stunned. “Of course.”

Mr. Whitlow stepped forward to protest—but Aelric had already swept her into the center of the floor.

Their bodies moved like liquid shadow and moonlight. Eleanor’s gown flared as he spun her, one hand pressed too low on her back, the other gripping her wrist like a whisper of possession.

“You dance like it’s in your blood,” Eleanor said, breathless.

“I’ve been dancing far longer than you can imagine,” Aelric replied, smiling—teeth just a little too white.

She laughed, dazed, unaware how many women on the floor were staring at him.

He pulled her close—too close.

And whispered, “Careful who you let touch your heart. Not all of us are as gentle as we look.”

She shivered.

Across the room, Y/N stood frozen.

Kaelen. Aelric. Neither wore masks.

Both too perfect.

Something wasn’t right. Something ancient. Something coming.

And she was already marked.

The ride back from the masquerade was quiet, both girls curled beneath their cloaks in the carriage, the scent of candle wax and champagne still clinging to their hair.

Y/N clutched the marelith shell against her chest.

It was warm. Almost… pulsing.

She didn’t tell Eleanor.

Not yet.

“I’ve never danced like that before,” Eleanor whispered, staring out the window. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

“With Mr. Whitlow?”

Eleanor blinked. “No. With him. The stranger. The one who looked like he came from a painting.”

Y/N stayed silent.

Eleanor turned to her. “You felt it too, didn’t you? With yours.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “It’s like they weren’t real. Like we dreamed them.”

“Then let’s dream again,” Eleanor said. “Let’s go back to the cliffs tomorrow. Without Mrs. Weatherby. Just us.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because the shell had started to glow.

That night, she dreamed of water.

Dark, endless, velvet-blue water. Hands beneath her. Arms holding her as her body floated weightless. Her lungs didn’t burn. Her limbs didn’t fight.

She dreamed of a voice—Kaelen’s voice—saying her name like a prayer and a curse.

She woke gasping.

The shell burned against her skin.

Below the sea, war almost erupted.

In the ruins of an old palace drowned in coral, Kaelen and Aelric clashed.

Their tails whipped currents into violent spirals, teeth bared, claws flashing in short, vicious bursts.

“She’s not yours to touch!” Kaelen roared, his voice shaking the walls.

“You’ve claimed her but done nothing,” Aelric spat. “She walks free while her body ripens for the taking!”

“She is mine.”

“You had your chance.”

They circled each other, tails lashing, blood from shallow cuts drifting like ink.

But before the next strike could fall, a third voice echoed through the chamber.

The priestess.

“Enough,” she rasped, her voice carried by current and will. “You’ll tear what remains of this kingdom apart over your hunger.”

Both mermen froze.

She turned her pale eyes toward them, unblinking.

“The bond has begun. But it is weak. Your girl still dreams of air. Her spirit floats.”

“Then I will take her,” Kaelen growled.

“No. Not yet,” the priestess said. “You cannot both have the same one.”

She looked to Aelric. “There is another.”

A silence settled between them.

“A trade,” she said coldly. “Take the laughing one first. The rich one. The girl whose heart is soft, but whose blood is unbound.”

Aelric’s jaw tightened.

“Do what you will,” she continued. “Once she is gone, the other will follow.”

In the manor above, Eleanor slept peacefully.

Y/N stood at her window, heart heavy, the shell glowing faintly as the fog rolled in from the sea.

Something was coming.

She could feel it.

The sky was barely touched with light when the girls slipped out.

Y/N carried a woven basket full of bread, cheese, and early figs. Eleanor had packed it herself, smiling like a girl running off to meet a lover—which, in some ways, she was.

They wore simple dresses beneath shawls. No chaperone. No shoes.

The grass was still damp with dew, the fog low and clinging to the earth. Seagulls cried in the distance. The wind was gentle and gray.

“You’re sure he’ll be there?” Y/N whispered as they followed the narrow path down the cliffs.

Eleanor smirked. “He said to meet him before the world woke.”

She twirled once, barefoot in the grass, eyes dancing.

Y/N smiled, but her fingers curled tighter around the basket.

“I want to apologize,” Eleanor added more seriously. “For the other night. For letting that strange man hold me like that. It wasn’t proper.”

Y/N looked away, swallowing. “You didn’t know him.”

“No. But I saw Mr. Whitlow’s face after. And I want him to know I care.”

They reached the shore. The tide had pulled back, revealing a long stretch of smooth, wet sand and seaweed strewn like ribbons.

Eleanor turned to her.

“Walk ahead a while? Let me speak to him first.”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”

Eleanor touched her hand gently, then turned and walked the opposite direction, toward the rocks where the mist was thickest.

Y/N moved slowly along the shoreline, humming softly to herself, looking for shells to fill the basket. The sun tried to rise beyond the fog.

She didn’t look back.

She never saw the man waiting in the mist.

Never saw the way Eleanor paused, surprised… and smiled.

“Not who I expected,” she said.

Aelric smiled with teeth far too white.

“But who you’ll remember.”

She didn’t scream.

Not once.

Y/N returned twenty minutes later, basket swinging lightly in her hand.

“Eleanor?” she called.

No answer.

She wandered toward the rocks, scanning the mist.

“Eleanor, are you playing? We should go before Mrs. Weatherby wakes—”

Silence.

Only the sea, the fog, and the faintest trace of something shining in the sand.

Y/N bent down and picked it up.

A lilac ribbon.

Still damp.

Still warm.

Her stomach dropped.

“Eleanor?”

And for the first time in her life, the sea felt like it was watching her.

“Eleanor!”

Y/N’s voice cracked as she shouted, stumbling across the rocks, skirts soaked with seawater.

“Eleanor, stop playing! This isn’t funny—”

But there was nothing. No giggle. No teasing voice. No footprints. No ribboned silhouette in the mist.

Only fog.

Only sea.

Only silence.

Y/N turned and ran.

Her breath caught in her throat as she climbed the slippery cliff path, legs burning, heart pounding. She didn’t stop. Not for breath, not for tears. Her fingers clutched the basket with trembling hands, its weight useless now.

By the time she reached the manor, her dress was clinging to her skin and her voice was raw from shouting.

“She’s gone.”

Mrs. Weatherby paled, her tea cup falling from her hand and shattering on the floor.

“What do you mean ‘gone?’” cried Eleanor’s mother, rushing into the parlor. “Where did you see her last? Did she fall? Did she—”

“No,” Y/N gasped, “she told me to walk ahead… just for a little… she was meeting someone. When I came back she wasn’t—she wasn’t there—”

“Which path? Which rocks? Was there blood? Footprints?”

“No. No, nothing. Just a ribbon. Just fog.”

The household exploded into panic—maids sent running, horses readied, the steward gathering searchers with torches and oilskin coats.

But Y/N didn’t wait to be questioned again.

She fled up the staircase, heart pounding, chest tight.

She reached her room, slammed the door, fell to her knees.

Her fingers flew to the shell at her chest.

The marelith shell.

The gift.

The chain burned.

“You gave her to them,” she whispered to herself. “You knew.”

She yanked it off.

The moment it broke free—

The air shifted.

The sky darkened.

A roll of thunder cracked through the clouds like the tear of a god’s throat.

Below, the sea rose—waves crashing against the cliffs, pounding the earth with a fury too sudden, too focused to be natural.

Windows rattled.

Wind screamed.

Somewhere beyond the horizon, in the deepest trench of Virellin, Kaelen roared.

He felt the break.

He felt the rejection.

The bond had been severed.

She had removed what bound her to him.

And now…

he would take her by force.

The manor had gone still.

After hours of searching—calling Eleanor’s name into the wind, combing the cliffs with lanterns and dogs—everyone had returned cold, soaked, and empty-handed. No footprints. No signs of struggle. No clues. No answers.

Only fog.

And a rising tide.

Y/N sat in Eleanor’s bed, clutching one of her ribbons, her eyes swollen from crying.

Mrs. Weatherby had tried to comfort her. So had the others.

But Y/N knew.

She knew something had taken Eleanor.

And she knew what it was.

She stared at the marelith shell lying cold and severed on the bedside table. A faint crack had formed in its spiral—hairline, but visible. Like it mourned its purpose.

Thunder shook the windowpanes.

Y/N curled beneath the blankets and cried until her throat ached. Then, finally, she slept.

She woke to wetness.

At first, she thought she was dreaming again.

But her feet were soaked.

The rug beneath her bed squished softly with seawater. A stream of brine crept in beneath the door.

The wind outside moaned like something dying.

She sat up. “Mrs. Weatherby?”

No answer.

She stepped to the floor—barefoot—and opened the door.

The hallway was dark. The candle sconces were out.

There were footprints in the water.

Large. Bare.

She backed away.

But it was too late.

He was there.

Standing in the middle of her room—Kaelen. Shirt soaked and clinging to his frame, dark hair hanging wet and wild around his face. His golden eyes no longer warm. No longer human.

They burned like the deepest parts of the sea.

“Where is she?” she whispered. “What did you do to her?”

He said nothing.

“You… you gave her to him.” Her lip trembled. “You took her.”

Kaelen’s jaw flexed. “You broke the bond.”

“You tricked me.”

“I chose you.” His voice cracked like thunder. “I marked you. Protected you. And you threw it away.”

She backed toward the wall, breath hitching. “You think this is love?”

His face twisted.

Then he moved.

Faster than she could scream.

His hand closed around her throat, lifting her to her toes, pinning her to the cold stone wall.

She choked, gasping, fingers clawing at his wrist.

His other hand gripped her waist—claws extended. She could feel the sharp curve of his nails through the fabric. A reminder that he was not a man.

He was the ocean.

And he was angry.

“You will never run again,” he hissed, voice low and inhuman. “You will wear the shell. You will sleep where I sleep. And when I claim you, you will beg the sea for mercy.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

She tried to scream—but his grip held tight.

Then he leaned close, lips brushing her ear.

“You belong to me now.”

Part Fifteen: The Drag Below

The rain fell sideways as Kaelen carried her through the storm.

Y/N kicked and clawed. Her fists beat against his chest, her nails scraping his skin—but he didn’t flinch. His eyes were locked on the cliffs. On the sea below. His grip bruised her arms, her waist. He walked as if she weighed nothing.

“No—please—” she tried to sob, but no sound came.

Her throat was raw from where he had choked her.

She dug her heels into the mud. Grasped at the grass. Reached for tree roots, stones, anything.

It didn’t matter.

He dragged her to the edge of the world.

The sea roared in fury below. Lightning split the sky above. Waves slammed against the rocks with thunderous hunger. Her dress was soaked, clinging to her like second skin, one sleeve torn completely, the hem shredded.

Her hair stuck to her face. Her tears mixed with rain.

He paused at the cliff’s edge.

She tried to crawl back—no voice, no scream, only the frantic shake of her head.

He leaned down, one clawed hand closing around her ankle.

“You should’ve stayed soft,” he whispered. “I would’ve let you dream a little longer.”

Then he pulled her over.

The ocean did not take her—it swallowed her.

The cold slammed into her body like a thousand knives. She thrashed, kicked, screamed into the water—but it moved around her, coiling like hands, pulling her deeper.

Her lungs burned.

Her vision blurred.

She saw Kaelen beneath her, swimming backward as he dragged her with him—his tail unfurled, vast and dark as night, his claws dug into her hips.

The surface disappeared.

Light faded.

Her strength slipped.

She reached for the surface one last time—arms stretching above her like a girl begging heaven—

And then everything went black.

Later…

She woke in a hollow chamber of coral and pearl. The ceiling above her glowed faintly blue. She was wrapped in sea silk—soft, but tight—binding her wrists and ankles to the smooth stone beneath her.

She couldn’t scream.

Her throat ached.

The shell she had once worn sat in a pool of starlit water beside her, whole again. Waiting.

She turned her face away and cried.

Elsewhere in the palace, Kaelen stood before the priestess.

His body still dripped with salt. Blood—hers and his—was rinsed from his skin.

“She fought me,” he said flatly.

“She will fight more,” the priestess rasped. “Until there’s nothing left to fight with.”

“She rejected the bond.”

“But she wore it once.” The priestess reached out, her frail fingers brushing his chest. “She opened the gate. Now it cannot be shut.”

Kaelen’s jaw clenched. “She looks at me with hate.”

“She will learn worship,” the priestess said softly. “Or she will drown in madness. Either way, she will stay.”

Kaelen said nothing.

But inside him, a storm gathered.

Because he didn’t just want her body.

He wanted her to want him.

Part Sixteen: The Weakening

Time had blurred.

Y/N didn’t know how many days had passed. She slept in short, frightened bursts. Ate when forced. Drifted in and out of pain and confusion.

The sea sang constantly.

The chamber—her prison—glowed softly with bioluminescent coral. Everything was beautiful in a sick, dreamlike way. The sea silk that bound her wrists had loosened, but she didn’t try to run. There was nowhere to go.

And sometimes—when the current shifted—she heard Eleanor’s voice.

“Y/N…”

She would jerk upright, heart pounding. “Eleanor?!”

Nothing. Just bubbles and silence.

Other times, she would see her. A glimpse through the coral archways. Standing still, her lilac ribbon tangled in her hair, arms wrapped around herself like a child.

“Why did you leave me?” Y/N whispered once.

But the figure faded like smoke.

Kaelen came often.

He brought strange food—soft pearls that melted in her mouth, strips of something warm and spiced. He would sit beside her, combing her hair with fingers and claws alike.

“You were born for the sea,” he said once. “You just didn’t know it.”

She didn’t speak.

But she didn’t pull away anymore.

That worried him more than her screams.

He returned to the priestess.

Her eyes were dimmer now. Her voice thinner. But she still sat on her throne of ancient coral like she ruled what remained.

“She weakens,” Kaelen said. “She no longer fights.”

The priestess nodded slowly. “Her strength is in her soul. It will serve your children well.”

Kaelen’s throat tightened. “She hates me.”

“She will give you what you want. The bond is nearly complete.”

“I want her… willing.”

The priestess let out a breath like steam.

“You have three days. After that, the bond collapses. Her body will begin to break. You must mate her before then.”

Kaelen’s hands curled into fists. “She will shatter.”

“Then make her pliant.” Her pale eyes gleamed. “Let her see the other one. The one she clings to in dreams.”

“Eleanor.”

“She is already broken. Her sadness will make your captive grateful for gentler chains.”

Later, in the dark glow of Y/N’s chamber…

The sea silk unwrapped.

Kaelen entered without speaking and held out a hand.

“Come.”

Y/N blinked slowly, sluggish from another strange meal. “Why?”

“You need comfort.”

She followed without knowing why.

Down corridors of glowing coral and slow-moving currents. Through archways carved from the bones of sea beasts. Into another chamber—

Where Eleanor sat hunched on a bed of kelp, her hair limp, her body curled small. Her ribbon was gone. Her eyes were dull.

Y/N’s breath broke in her throat.

“Eleanor?”

Her friend looked up.

And began to cry.

Part Seventeen: Soft Chains

Y/N crossed the glowing threshold like she was sleepwalking, unsure if what she saw was real.

But it was.

Eleanor.

Her friend—her sister in all but name—was curled on a bed of sea-kelp, pale and trembling, her eyes rimmed with salt-crusted red. Her once-vibrant curls hung limp. Her body was thinner. Her hands shook in her lap.

“Eleanor?” Y/N whispered.

Eleanor looked up—and her lips trembled into a smile that nearly destroyed Y/N.

They ran to each other.

There were no words—only arms tangled tight, cheeks pressed together, lips brushing each other’s tear-streaked faces in frantic affection.

Y/N clutched her. “I thought you were dead.”

“I wished I was,” Eleanor breathed. “But then I heard you were here.”

Their foreheads pressed. Their fingers clutched tightly. Every breath was shared, shallow and desperate.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N whispered. “I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve—”

“No,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “Nothing would’ve saved us.”

She pulled back slightly, eyes wide with grief. “Don’t fight them, Y/N. It only makes it worse.”

Y/N’s chest constricted. “What did he do to you?”

Eleanor didn’t answer. But her bruises said enough.

The shimmer of her skin. The hollow of her cheeks. The soft, empty way she spoke. Like a girl already halfway drowned.

They clung to each other tighter.

And then—

A slow clap echoed through the chamber.

Aelric.

Leaning against the coral archway, arms folded, shirt undone just enough to expose the cruel curve of his smile.

“Well,” he said lazily, “isn’t that sweet.”

Y/N turned sharply, shielding Eleanor behind her.

Aelric’s smirk widened. “Two doves in a gilded cage. You’ll keep each other company while the sea claims the rest of you.”

Y/N’s lip curled. “You’re proud of this?”

“I’m delighted.” He pushed off the wall and approached. “I told Kaelen she’d break beautifully. He wouldn’t listen. He’s sentimental, you see.”

He leaned in closer—too close.

“But I? I prefer them ruined.”

Eleanor flinched.

Y/N stood taller, even as her hands trembled.

Aelric’s grin never faltered.

“You’ll see,” he said softly, “it’s not so bad. Once you forget who you used to be.”

Then he vanished into the current.

The chamber was dim, lit only by the soft pulse of bioluminescent moss. The currents flowed slowly, carefully, as if the sea itself dared not disturb what lay inside.

Kaelen entered in silence.

And there they were.

Y/N and Eleanor, curled together on the bed of kelp, their arms still wrapped around each other. Their cheeks rested against one another’s shoulders. Like children. Like sisters.

Like survivors.

Y/N’s brows were furrowed even in sleep, her hand still gently gripping Eleanor’s.

Kaelen stood there for a long time.

Watching.

Feeling something shift in his chest—not pity, not guilt—but curiosity.

How could she still care for someone so broken?

How could she still protect, even in chains?

Her strength is good for your children, the priestess had said.

But this wasn’t the kind of strength he could command.

And he hated that.

Later, in a trench far deeper than any mortal had touched, Kaelen approached the black reef.

The coral here was sharp and dead. The water cold, even to him. And the light—there was none.

Only darkness.

And a voice.

“You seek what the priestess cannot give,” the sea witch said, rising from the shadows like smoke in water.

She was ancient—half stone, half kelp, eyes blind but all-seeing.

��I need her to choose me,” Kaelen said. “Willingly. I have three days left.”

“Then you must show her something deeper than fear.”

“She fears me. She resists.”

“And yet,” the sea witch hissed, “she clings to the girl. Even now. Even in sleep.”

“I’ve tried everything.”

“No,” she said. “You’ve tried to control. You haven’t tried to understand.”

Kaelen’s jaw clenched. “Tell me what to do.”

The sea witch smiled, and her teeth were jagged pearls.

“You must make her want to stay.”

“How?”

“Give her a choice… and make sure both lead back to you.”

Y/N was awake when Kaelen returned.

She sat cross-legged beside Eleanor, brushing soft strands of hair back from her friend’s face, humming something fragile and off-key.

She didn’t look up when he entered.

Only when his shadow fell over them did she turn—and her eyes were hollow but sharp.

“You’ve come to punish us?” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, but steady. “Or just to watch?”

He crouched slowly, careful not to touch her yet.

“I’ve come to talk.”

Y/N laughed bitterly. “You don’t talk. You take.”

Kaelen’s eyes flicked to Eleanor, still asleep and curled like a child.

“You care for her,” he said.

“I love her,” Y/N snapped. “More than I could ever love you.”

He was silent a moment. Then:

“I believe you.”

That startled her. She flinched, wary.

He leaned in, voice calm. Almost… kind.

“I don’t want to break you, Y/N. I want you to choose to stay.”

“I’d rather drown.”

He ignored that. “So I’m giving you a choice.”

She stilled.

He let the silence stretch like a net before delivering the hook.

“You may remain here. With me. Willingly. I’ll give you more freedom. I’ll protect her. I’ll even begin to treat you like a mate.”

Her lip curled.

“Or,” he continued, “you can refuse. And I will give Eleanor to Aelric. Fully. As his own.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Kaelen tilted his head, voice low. “She won’t survive him, you know that. You’ve seen what he does.”

“You’re a monster,” she whispered.

“I’m your future.”

She shook her head. “No… no, this is a game.”

“It’s a choice,” he said firmly. “Your first real one down here. But don’t take too long. The sea waits for no one. Least of all fragile little humans.”

He stood slowly.

“I’ll return when the tide turns. Make your decision by then.”

And then he was gone—vanishing into the current like a shadow that had never belonged to the light.

Eleanor stirred behind her.

Y/N broke.

She clutched her friend tightly and wept into her hair, knowing exactly what she would have to do.

Because cruelty disguised as mercy was the cruelest trap of all.

She said yes.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she had to.

Because Eleanor’s life—what little remained of it—hung in the balance. And Kaelen had made sure Y/N knew the weight of her refusal.

So when he returned, she didn’t look at him. She only whispered, “I’ll stay.”

Kaelen nodded, as if this were a solemn vow.

And without a word, he held out his hand.

She took it.

He led her through winding corridors lit with dim blue light, past quiet chambers and still pools, deeper than she’d ever been allowed before. The pressure grew heavier, the sea darker.

Until they reached his chamber.

It was carved into the stone of a drowned temple—walls etched with symbols that glowed faintly when she entered. The floor was smooth, covered in soft seagrass and folded layers of dark silk.

A bed waited in the center. Raised. Prepared.

Kaelen turned to face her.

“Remove your gown.”

She hesitated.

His eyes burned gold.

“You said yes, Y/N.”

So she obeyed.

The silk slipped from her shoulders, slow and trembling. Her skin glistened in the dim light—fragile, human, exposed.

Kaelen stepped forward.

He lifted the marelith shell—once severed, now whole.

Without asking, he fastened it around her throat again.

It pulsed warm.

Alive.

“You remember how it felt,” he said softly. “When you first wore it. Before you knew what it meant.”

She didn’t answer.

“Lie down.”

She moved stiffly toward the bed, each step echoing with dread.

“On your back.”

She obeyed.

“Bend your knees. Spread your thighs for me.”

She closed her eyes.

She did as he said.

Kaelen climbed over her, tail coiling beneath, his weight settling between her legs. His hand cupped her face, thumb brushing her lips.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered.

She nodded—because she had no voice left.

He entered her slowly.

It burned.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out—but the pain crawled through her body like fire through ice. Her hands fisted the silk. Her thighs trembled.

Kaelen groaned above her, pressing deeper, watching her with something close to reverence.

The shell at her throat began to glow.

Brighter.

Warmer.

Claimed.

She turned her face away, silent tears slipping into her hair.

When he finished, he held her close like a lover.

But Y/N didn’t feel loved.

She felt claimed. Branded. Gone.

Y/N woke in darkness.

Not silence.

Kaelen’s arms were wrapped around her, heavy and possessive, his breath stirring the hair at her neck. Her body ached—not just from what he’d done, but from what it meant. The shell still glowed faintly against her chest.

“Wife,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer.

But he kissed her shoulder anyway.

Later, they came for her.

Servants of the deep—silent merfolk women with soft, expressionless faces. They bathed her in a pool of perfumed seafoam, combed her hair with pearl-handled tools, dressed her in flowing ceremonial silk spun from kelp and light.

Her stomach churned.

When they were done, she was led—barefoot and pale—through a wide coral hall, where dozens of glowing eyes turned to watch her.

Kaelen’s court.

He stood at the center, radiant and terrible. His tail coiled like a throne beneath him. His hand reached out—expectant.

Y/N stepped forward.

The priestess stood beside him, ancient and unblinking. “The bond is sealed,” she announced, her voice echoing through the deep. “Her womb is quickening. The future begins.”

A soft cheer rippled through the court.

Y/N felt sick.

Later, she was summoned

The chamber was deep, still, and cold.

Y/N stood alone, her ceremonial silk clinging to her damp skin, the marelith shell still pulsing faintly against her chest. She was thinner now. Paler. But sharper, too.

The priestess watched her from the center of the grotto—frail, almost translucent, eyes milk-white but piercing. Her bones showed through her silver skin. She was breathing shallowly, her gills flickering slow.

“You summoned me,” Y/N said carefully.

“You are changed,” the priestess murmured. “But not lost.”

Y/N didn’t sit. She stepped forward.

“I’ve been watching. Listening. And I know what’s happening to your kind.”

The priestess tilted her head, amused. “Do you?”

Y/N’s voice strengthened. “The mermaid women. They’re dying. Not because of the surface. Not because of humans. Because of what you’ve done to your water.”

The priestess stilled.

“It’s the coral,” Y/N said. “The glowing kind that lines your sacred pools. It’s not meant to grow this deep. It’s leeching minerals from the water. Poisoning the wombs of the women who rest near it for healing.”

The priestess’s fingers trembled on her throne.

“I read it in a book back home—studies of reef behavior. Coral like yours becomes toxic when overgrown. And I’ve seen the symptoms in the women. In you.”

Silence.

Then—a breathless laugh.

“You speak of science,” the priestess rasped. “But your logic holds.”

Y/N stepped closer. “I can help you. I can stop the extinction. I know what to remove. What to filter. What to plant instead. I can bring your kind back from the brink.”

The priestess’s voice dropped. “And what will you want in return?”

Y/N’s eyes glinted. “Freedom. For me. For Eleanor. For any woman dragged down here again.”

The priestess watched her in silence.

And then—nodded.

“Then we will see,” she said softly. “If knowledge can do what power could not

The nights belonged to Kaelen.

He came to her chamber like clockwork, silent and cold-eyed. She’d lie still as he moved over her, kissed her with possessive reverence, and whispered things she forced herself not to hear.

Sometimes he was gentle.

Other times, rough.

But always, he called her “wife.”

She never cried aloud again. But her fingers clenched the kelp-woven bedding until her knuckles went white.

When he finally left each night, she’d curl away, skin raw, and whisper Eleanor’s name like a prayer.

The days, though—those were hers.

Quietly, Y/N worked beneath the court’s notice. With the priestess’s silent permission, she wandered through the sacred chambers and bathing pools. She directed servants—under the guise of Kaelen’s authority—to begin removing the glowing coral, replacing it with flora from higher reefs.

No one questioned her.

And the results were swift.

The sick mermaid women, once dim and fading, began to stir. Their eyes brightened. Their gills strengthened. The color returned to their scales.

Even the priestess, long resigned to death, stood taller.

“You’ve done it,” she murmured one evening. “You’ve saved them.”

Y/N didn’t smile. “Not all.”

Eleanor was the exception.

But Y/N refused to give up.

She demanded Eleanor be moved—away from Aelric, away from the darker chambers of the palace. The priestess granted it.

And slowly, Eleanor began to change.

She was placed in a quiet coral garden where sunlight touched the water through cracks above. There, surrounded by warmth and softness, she began to laugh again—lightly. Cautiously.

Her skin began to glow again.

She swam for the first time without trembling.

One day, Y/N watched from behind a veil of kelp as Eleanor turned her face toward the light, closed her eyes, and smiled.

She’s coming back, Y/N thought. We both are.

But that night, Kaelen came again.

Harder. Hungrier.

As if he could feel something slipping from his grip.

He kissed her neck where the shell pulsed. Whispered promises of children. Of kingdoms.

She bit her lip until it bled.

She let him take her.

But in her mind, she held onto the image of Eleanor in the garden, glowing.

Healing.

Because the tide was turning.

And soon… it would rise for her.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hey. I absolutely love your desi writing!!!

Can you please write something shaadi related with Carlos Sainz where his family and him are being the baraat and just trying to get into the big fat Indian wedding mood with all events all the way from a roka, sagaai, to the actual festivities to haldi, mehendi, sangeet, shaadi, reception?

No pressure! Thank you!!

cultural observer .☘︎ ݁˖

˚⊱🎀⊰˚ cs55 x desi!reader ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

˚⊱🎀⊰˚ fluff ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

masterlist ☾☼

the aroma of marigolds and cardamom swirled around, a jarring contrast to the fumes of petrol carlos sainz vasquez de castro was used to. he smoothed down his sherwani, the silk rough against his skin, and looked at his father, who was struggling to place a heavily embroidered shawl across his already substantial frame. "papá, are you sure? i feel like i'm being dressed in a wedding cake."

by his side, y/n laughed, her own bright lehenga billowing around her. "you look handsome, carlos. and," she playfully taunted, "you said you'd adopt the culture. remember, when in india…"

"-act like you're in a bollywood movie," carlos concluded, rolling his eyes in good humour. he took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. this entire "big fat Indian wedding" adventure had begun with a simple "yes" to going with y/n's cousin, to his sister's wedding. now, they were all in, much to the entertainment of his whole family.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

it had started with the roka ceremony, a close-knit ceremony where the bride and groom were formally engaged.

y/n walked carlos through the rituals, pointing out the meaning behind each action as they exchanged sweets and gifts with the couple.

the sagaai, the engagement ceremony, was a bigger affair. the sainz family, with their fiery spirit both on and off the racing circuit, welcomed the lively ambiance. they'd even attempted some bhangra, to the joy of the indian guests, though their coordination could have been better.

y/n, on the other hand, who had years and years of practice, was twirling and giggling with her family, dragging a slightly reluctant carlos onto the dance floor.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the haldi ceremony was a yellow riot. carlos was plastered in turmeric paste from head to toe, thanks to y/n's cousin's little mischievous sisters. he fought back, naturally, and then a proper haldi fight ensued, to the dismay of some of the more orthodox aunties, but all were in stitches. y/n, ever diplomatic, attempted to intervene, but found herself covered in haldi too, laughing with carlos.

the mehendi ceremony was a more subdued affair, with intricate henna designs being painted on the bride's hands and feet. y/n, whose hands and feet were already smothered in beautiful henna, sat beside carlos, pointing out the intricate patterns to him. he, impressed by the skill, even had a small design of his initials placed beside her, a small, personal token of their own marriage amidst all the jubilation.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the sangeet was where the party really began. there was music blasting, the dance floor throbbed with activity, and food just kept coming and coming.

carlos, at first reluctant, caught himself swept away by the lively rhythm, at the urging of y/n. she showed him some simple steps of bollywood dances, giggling at his graceless efforts but complimenting him on his effort. he was even able to lift her on one of the dances, garnering applause from the audience.

his dad, unexpectedly spry for his age, was a dance floor star, fronting a conga line that wound its way through the entire club, with carlos and y/n following hard on their heels.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the wedding ceremony was a riot of color and ceremony. y/n, stunning in a silk silk saree, explained to carlos the significance of each ceremony, her voice heavy with emotion.

he stood spellbound as the bride and groom exchanged vows under the holy fire, the flame dancing across their faces sending reflected golden light back.

the groom's procession, or baraat, was an experience. carlos, and all of his cousins rode a horse draped in flowers (though he secretly dreamed of a mclaren), the horse coming at the head of the procession down the streets, a deafening dhol and rowdy band in its wake. y/n danced along with the procession, her mood infectious, occasionally catching carlos's gaze with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

reception was a culmination, a dramatic event with more food, music, and dance. carlos felt no longer bashful in his sherwani, chatting freely with the attendees, sharing laughter and tales, y/n standing beside him.

they were quite the couple, him tall and handsome in his wedding finery, her looking breathtaking in her sleek lehenga.

he found himself even arguing formula 1 with some of the bride's relations over tyre strategy and the drs while y/n spoke of india in general with their mothers.

at the end of the evening, carlos was filled with a sadness, but also with a deep sense of fulfillment. he had shared this once-in-a-lifetime experience with the woman he loved, and it had strengthened their bond.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

in their hotel room, carlos helped y/n out of her cumbersome lehenga, his hand brushing against hers. he pulled her close, kissing her softly. "thank you," he breathed, "for allowing me to experience this with you."

y/n smiled, leaning against his chest. "it was magical," she whispered. "just like you."

he chuckled. "i still can't believe riding a horse in a wedding procession."

"and you had seemed stupid beating the dhol," y/n goaded.

"oi! i was excited!" carlos protested, drawing her towards him. he kissed her once more, only this time there was passion.

he had ventured to india as a cultural observer, but what he took with him when he left was too much. he had learned all about new ways, eaten different flavours, and gained new companions.

but above all, he had shared a life-changing experience with the woman he loved, memories to last a lifetime. drifting off to sleep with Y/N resting in his arms- because obviously, they were exhausted to do any kind of suhagraat- he knew that their love story was far from over, as colourful and vibrant as the wedding they had just witnessed.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

i hope you like this! im sorry it took me so long to write this! i have been taking a bit of a break recently! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff

[hallowpen]

Anil remains of the perspective that Pin's "choice" was made with the intention to hurt her instead of protect her. Their status within their own relationship forced very different reactionary measures that Anil fails to understand from her place of privilege. Anil was ready and willing to sacrifice everything in order to be with Pin, while Pin was willing to sacrifice her own happiness to prevent Anil from being disgraced. Anil has been taught by experience that should she want something, she has the power to make it happen. Pin has lived to serve the royal family and to take responsibility for any wrongdoing that may cause them potential harm.

It was lovely to see Lady Uangfah sympathizing with Pin, especially when it's compared to Princess Patt's harsher approach. Uangfah is in the best position to understand wanting something you simply cannot have... and, thus, succumbing to her own marital fate within society.

สไบ (pronounced 'sa-bai') is a shawl breast cloth that is typically worn for any culturally significant traditions... like a wedding ceremony. Often hand-embroidered, Sbai are made from long pieces of silk that can be draped diagonally around the chest by covering one shoulder and hanging behind the wearer's back. The quality (and color) of its silk and threads were determined by one's status in society. Vibrant and more expensive silks were worn by royalty, with embroideries of gold or silver threads.

Reputational hearsay is disallowed in royal society, as both involved parties typically tend to suffer as a result. Making an accusation against a person of rank requires evidentiary support, otherwise it could look like the intentional spreading of a false rumor. As Pin, Patt, and Anan all point out, should they publicly reveal the truth about Kuea without any proof, his denial could endanger the reputation of the Savettavarit name... which is what this whole insisted-upon marriage is supposed to protect in the first place.

The idea of karmic penance is nothing new in this series (or in Thai Buddhist tradition)... and it is something that has been ingrained into Pin from Patt's influence (re: episode 12). Pin, herself, has described her actions as sinful: that she would "force" Anil to step below her revered standing is considered to be 'immoral'. It can be said that Pin sees herself as a stain against Anil's otherwise pure character. In order to repent for her actions, she must make amends... no matter how much suffering she might endure as a result. And while she may not understand it, Anil can only wish that Pin can endure and find some form of happiness in her pursuit of redemption.

There are several key steps involved in a traditional Thai wedding ceremony...

ขันหมาก (pronounced 'khan maak') is a procession where the groom and his relatives march to the bride's home. The parade will often feature drummers and traditional folk dancers in a lively celebration that announces the groom's arrival. Relatives are often seen carrying monetary gifts to be used as part of the bride's dowry and offerings that represent important aspects of the marriage... such as health, prosperity, fertility and longevity.

พิธีกั้นประตู (pronounced 'phi-thi gan pra-tuu') is the symbolic barring of the groom from approaching the bride. The groom must successfully pass through a number of obstacles that are put in the groom’s way by the bride’s family. These symbolic "doors" can only be entered once the groom has proven his worth to the keepers of the "locks". Gold and silver gates are represented by gold or silver belts, which are held by two female members of the bride’s family and friends. The groom's passage through to the next door will only be granted once a "toll" has been negotiated with the keeper of the lock. The entire process is symbolic of the challenges the groom must overcome in order to be worthy of his bride's love and her family's approval. Upon completion, the dowry (สินสอด or 'sin sod') is then formally presented to the bride's family.

พิธีหลั่งน้ำพระพุทธมนต์ (pronounced 'phi-thi lang naam phra-phuut-ta-mon') is known as the water pouring ceremony. The water pouring is the most important part of a Thai wedding ceremony as it is when a couple can officially be seen as husband and wife.

Before the water pouring can take place, the couple is seated at a traditional water pouring table known as ตั่งรดน้ำ (pronounced 'dtang rot-naam')... with the bride to the left of the groom. They each receive a ceremonial headdress known as มงคล (pronounced 'mong-khol'). The headdress is made from one continuous piece of cotton that forms a circle around each of the bride's and groom's heads... to signify the joining of the two as a couple. Their foreheads are anointed with three dots of white powder to represent the shape of a pyramid, which is symbolic of enlightenment and harmony.

The รดน้ำสังข์ (pronounced 'roht naam sang') is performed by elders pouring blessed water over the couple's hands using a conch shell. The conch shell holds auspicious value through its connection to the Hindu god Vishnu. A trickle of water is poured from the base of the thumb to the fingertips, over first the groom’s and then the bride's, to symbolize the passing of blessings from one generation to the next.

[thaifanfests]

🏳️‍🌈Bridal Wedding Attire🏳️‍🌈

There are many styles when it comes to bridal wedding attire. This previous post has an assortment of bride and groom outfits. However, depending on where the couple is from or where they buy their attire, styles and fabrics will vary. Here are videos and photos that show some of that beautiful variety!

"Here you’ll see a variety of different dressing styles for traditional Thai wedding dresses. All styling prepared by Pearl Ruktawan Yuttawongs of The Phukaw, Los Angeles." (Thailand Insider)

In our companion post about a groom's attire, there are explanations on how a morning ceremony and evening ceremony may call for wearing different outfits for each. For brides, these are some more detailed examples:

"The Ruean Ton consists of a collarless blouse and ankle-length sarong or sinh. The sinh has a striped pattern, usually horizontal and towards the bottom of the skirt. The blouse has five buttons down the center and three-quarter sleeves. The blouse may have the same color as the sinh or its patterns or contrast entirely. Named after the teak houses of Dusit Palace in Bangkok that were built as a more informal reception for the King’s subjects, ...Today, the Ruean Ton is often worn for religious ceremonies & holidays, and going to the temple, and as a uniform in the hospitality industry." (Thai-Shanghai Embassy)

"As one of the most famous and elegant traditional dresses from Thailand, Chakkri boasts a grandeur appropriate for any formal occasion. The outfit includes a long tube skirt with two front pleats and a sabai. A sabai is a top made from silk that wraps around the shoulders and trails to the ground on one side" (Thailand Insider). "Named after the Chakri Maha Prasat Throne Hall, the Chakri is what most people think of when they refer to a traditional Thai dress... the Chakri is also worn to royal ceremonies and by brides-to-be for daytime engagement or wedding ceremonies" (Thai-Shanghai Embassy).

"Named for Siwalai Garden in the Grand Palace, the Siwalai consists of a long-sleeve blouse with a short standing collar, a sabai draped across the chest like the Chakraphat, and a sinh with a front pleat that can be a separate piece or sewn into the blouse as one dress similar to the Boromphiman. The Siwalai is also commonly seen at royal ceremonies or at very formal daytime and evening events." (Thai-Shanghai Embassy; image from Milan Wedding/Thailand Insider).

For those who may want to look for a gown, many Thai wedding studios offer a selection of wedding gowns in white, cream, and other colors. Milan Wedding Studio has a photobook of some examples, as well as Vanus Couture.

🏳️‍🌈A Closer Look: Pha Sinh & Bridesmaids' Attire🏳️‍🌈

"Thai women are commonly seen wearing a full-length ‘pha sinh,’ a tubular skirt wrapped around the waist generally made of Thai silk. Pha sinhs come in many colors with contrasted bands around the hem, paired with long-sleeved silk blouses." (Thailand Insider)

However, bridal parties can wear an assortment of styles, depending on the choices of the couple and the ceremonies they attend.

Bridesmaids wearing chong kraben and matching shawls.

"Amy Morakot's bridesmaid's dress in a one-shoulder dress, simple but beautiful and classic." (Praew Wedding)

🏳️‍🌈 What's ThaiTheKnot2025? 🏳️‍🌈 Guidelines 🏳️‍🌈 Prompts 🏳️‍🌈 Discord & Carrd 🏳️‍🌈

[the-ellia-west]

Fallen (Possibly may revive this WIP)

Dyn and Adémiah - Rustpearl

(I was inspired, have some Fallen)

-

Adémiah ran a hand along his shoulder, smiling with a melancholic grace in her eyes, the pearls and opals strung over her face. Gold tassled to her shawl and dress as her fingers stung across his neck.

"You are my sunrise, my daylight, and my light. The burning passion buried so deep in my heart I forgot what it was like to feel this. You are the reason I awake in the morning, and the reason I do not sob my prayers to the sky for shield in the evening." A strange electric shock racing up her fingers as she teased a touch to his jaw, where the finely groomed beard covered a portion of his skin. "The fox that tricks my dreams, you are my fire."

He glanced at her hand, stiffness trying to tense his muscles, but at her touch, his inhibitions melted, and he allowed her to cup his face in her smooth, elegant hand. Her long, delicate fingers wound into his fiery red hair, and he leaned into her, the same electric connection buzzing beneath his skin as his mind screamed at him to leave her on the sofa and run as far away as he could manage. Her fingers met the skin beneath his hair, cool but not icy, and he turned his face into her gentleness, kissing the heel of her palm softly, just a brush, nothing more.

His breath caught in his throat as she leaned closer, breaths gently caressing his neck as she drew close to his shoulder. "May I?"

He nodded gently, and she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, closing her eyes. She found his breath matched time with hers as he leaned into her, opening a space between them where they rested. And for a moment, she let herself forget it all. Let herself forget how much she loathed him. There was no anger in this moment, no hurt, no hate. There was only him.

Adémiah nestled into him, knowing he wouldn't want to return her affection, but she didn't care. As long as he let her have this one moment. It was all she needed.

She pulled back slowly, and locked her eyes into his, deep ocean blue lost in the green of the forest on an early summers day when the light drafts through the leaves. His face twisted in a look of joy and pain. They drifted closer together. Fire an inch from water.

"What is this?" She whispered, his breath more gentle than she could have imagined against her cheek. "What are we? Two lone wolves destined to die together? The sun and the moon, partners in a dance who never meet? Are we meant to be, or meant for loneliness? Are we a fated touch and a bittersweet embrace? Or a chain and pendant, a perfect match? Are we a whisper on the wind, or a prophecy a thousand years in the making?"

He leaned closer, darting her fingers from his hair as the air heartened, thickening into a heavy blanket between them, energy and unspoken thoughts racing from one look to the next. "A mistake." He whispered with the urgency of a man warning war, and he pulled her into a kiss.

They connected at a single point and the fizzling energy exploded into a flower, blooming all at once into a sweet scent that washed all around them, a feeling so complex neither remembered how to breathe. Tension travelled from her to him and back again, locking them together as his hand delicately found her shoulder. A million thimgs communicated in a single moment. Passion and desire, love and hatered, regret, and longing, fire and ice, all and naught.

In that moment he was all she knew. The fire inside him she'd seen the moment she first laid eyes on him, his hair as soft as down feathers haloing around her face in the space. His hot, rough skin as one of her hands wove back into his hair and the other found his arm. She smelled the faint wisp of pinesmoke in his hair, heard the loathing in him despite he did not speak, tasted the wine on him that he doubtlessly tasted on her.

"A misfire." He gasped against her. "A crack in our logic, a flaw in the universe. I hate you."

"And I never want to see you again."

But their lips met again despite the warnings tossed between them, a garden of weeds neither had dared to pick, now stuck between them like a magnet. She didn't remember how many times they repeated this dance.

Only that it ended with a scowl, as Dyn pulled away from her, loathing in his eyes and blood on his lips. He smoothed his hair back, glared down at her, and said, "No matter how much you pretend, I see you for what you are. A fragile raven with a silver tongue. She calls misfortune and manipulates the heart. She is afraid of emptiness, because she knows death by name. She lies and schemes to stave off the inevitable when the cold comes creeping in and she is left without love. And the end she calls upon will come for her at last with hollow mind and icy hands."

And with that, he left.

(This is my third time writing a kiss scene...)

Please Comment you thoughts!!! I WOULD LOVE TO READ THEM

(Read tags for extra context)

@thewritingautisticat @yolbert @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @ambersky0319 @lunaeuphternal

@an-indecisive-nerd @homelessnerd @vesanal @thebookishkiwi @write-with-will

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@supercimi @blargh-500 @sunflowerrosy @corinneglass @carb0n-m0n0xid3

@tiredpapergirl @whatwewrotepodcast

[asktheritochampion]

Ooh! What do rito brides and grooms wear?? Do they have special dresses/suits like hylians?? Maybe jewelry or something?

Well this information could be a tad outdated considering I havn't attended a Rito bonding ceramony in over a hundred years. Fashion has likely changed within that time.

Back when I was a boy, it was thought the pair bonding couple should be dressed in incredibly colourful, sparkling clothing, to earn Hylias blessing on their special day. We had a traditional outfit called a Ki-Craw that consisted of a highly decorated shawl adorned with delicate embridery and silver chains and jewels, a half wrap with a floral corsage, usually in the spouses favoured colours, a variety of small crystals worked into the feathers around the crest like a crown, and a pair of silver rings to be worn in the braids of both parties. The only real difference between the male and female attire was perhaps how they styled their braids and plumes.

[goldheartedsky]

Ceremonial

Papercut art is one of my favorite forms of traditional Jewish art and there's nothing that comes close to the magic of a papercut Ketubah, so that was what I drew inspiration from for @theartguard's bimonthly theme: Ceremonies and Rituals

I put a LOT of little details in this and their meanings are listed under the cut:

Dandelions: symbolizes strength and resilience. Hard to kill. Very fitting for these two immortals

'I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine': very famous quote from Song of Songs and commonly seen in regards to Jewish weddings

Horseshoes: seen as a lucky symbol in many cultures. When hung upright, the horseshoe is supposed to "catch" good luck.

Books: seen as a collection of knowledge throughout the world and I thought about how much Andy has learned in her centuries (and fitting for Booker's name, obvs)

Poppies: symbolizes peace and death. Also native to Eurasia

Lavender wreath: symbolizes unending devotion. Also native to Provence, France

Pair of Shrikes: commonly known as "butcher birds", shrikes impale their prey on thorns and spikes

Magnolia boutonniere: Magnolia flowers are some of the oldest flowers in the world, dating back to the time of the dinosaurs. Also symbolizes nobility

Tallit: a tallit is a Jewish prayer shawl and many Jewish weddings involve the groom taking the bride under his tallit or wrapping it around her as well

Scythian flower motif: commonly seen in Scythian art and jewelry

Scythian deer: based on a tattoo found on an ancient Scythian woman. The Scythians believed that, though the deer was an earthly animal, it stood apart from the other animals with its symbolic ability to both fly and guide the dead to the underworld

Ginkgo tree: ginkgo trees are able to live for thousands of years and, because of its longevity, have long since been a symbol of hope and resiliance.

[scribblesbyavi]

Dhwani - a beautiful dream.

We met at a friend's wedding and she was from the bride's side while I was from the groom's. Upon introduction, we started talking and it just kind of continued. I realised that she was younger than me but we instantly clicked. She seemed like an introvert as she didn't mingle with the other guests much. She was very friendly and told me that she has heard about me and my friend from her cousin. But it was already night time the first day so we couldn't talk much. So I looked forward to see her the next day.

In the morning, I kind of looked for her but couldn't find her. Then I went on to get some of my stuff from the car and that's when I saw her near the garden with a beautiful maroon shawl and some flowers in her hand, white and red roses. She was coming for the stairs and I approached towards her and suddenly some flowers fell out of her hand. I told her to stop a while and that I'll pick them up. I started picking them while looking at her and our eyes met each other's. It was not the first time that our eyes met because we had already seen each other the night before but this time was something different. I handed her the flowers, all but one petal. The last one, which I picked of a red rose and kept in my front pocket. She smiled and I asked, "What will you do with these flowers?", to which she replied that she would dry them and keep them inside her books. Amazingly, I loved dry flowers too. I thought to myself, "How in the world she loves them too? But it is not impossible right? I mean, who doesn't love flowers? but also dried?"

Then we both left for our rooms to get ready for the wedding.

It was my time to get dressed but some family member had already occupied my washroom and most of the hotel rooms were occupied and so I was asked to use one of the available rooms. I was okay with that as weddings can be such, specially when family members from all parts of the region have come to attend it. And some of them had reached the hotel on that very morning. Then I walked the hallway with some of my clothes and searched for the room. I found the room no. 207 and without thinking much I rang the door bell of the room and a little girl opened it. Her name was Mouni or Munni, as much as I remembered from all the introductions from yesterday. The important thing was that she was Dhwani's little sister. So I expected Dhwani to be nearby. I looked around the room as much as I could before going all the way inside and there she was, Dhwani, all dressed in her traditional attire.

Dhwani was standing in front of the mirror and she was looking absolutely stunning. I didn't say much. I just explained my situation that all the rooms were occupied so I was told to come here. She immediately acknowledged and graciously offered her washroom and sat on the bed. She started searching for something in her black bag. I planned to have a shower and change myself there itself. I came out after a while and asked if I could borrow a comb. She offered one and now we were getting ready together. It was just the two of us in the room now as Mouni has gone to have her breakfast. Dhwani was wearing a cream colored mekhela sador and was doing her touchups and her makeup. I was wearing my black kurta. I wanted to talk to her about something so I asked her about the makeup kit. She explained to me which item is called what and how it works. I heard words like primer, powder and messcara and understood most of it, may be because I wanted to understand. She said that the kit was only for occasions like this and otherwise she uses some kajal and lipstick only. Then she asked if she can do my makeup as well. And I agreed as most of my stuff were in my room which was occupied. So it was a win-win for me. She started with some moisturizer, followed by a cream, but during this very professional makeup process I was just looking at her eyes, and god her eyes, I could look at them all day. She was praising my skin the whole time and I swear that I never thought so highly of my face or my skin. It would be unfair to not add this but at one point I did try to see us together in the big mirror in front of us. And then suddenly some other people came in to the room and after a while her mother as well and to her she said that she was just helping everyone with their makeup and that she tried her hands a bit on me as well.

Then the whole day went by and we saw each other from time to time while the wedding rituals went by. There was people everywhere and everyone was busy with something, so as the both of us. But whenever we saw each other we exchanged smiles and that was a different feeling altogether.

In the afternoon we all went to change as the reception would start in a few hours. I quickly changed and came to the reception hall so that I can see her but she had not yet arrived. I went to the room where the newly married couple was getting ready and I saw that some flowers are not being used by the bride so I asked the hair dresser and also the bride if I could keep one. They both said okay and my friend gave me the task to create a playlist to play during the reception. I agreed and left after clicking a few pictures with them. But soon realised that I was not that great with party music. I sat near the music system and tried to create a playlist but all the songs I was coming up were the same old generic wedding songs that everyone plays in the weddings, whereas, I wanted to create something special for my friend. I went to the balcony for some inspiration and that is when Dhwani came to my rescue. It was as if she came there in search of me. She came and stood near me and I told her about the playlist. I don't know how but she was way comfortable with me. We both sat in the balcony and she instantly started working on the playlist. Now we were a team and both of us started picking songs one by one. I didn't quite knew some of the songs she had suggested, so she sang bits and parts of the song so that I could recognize them and after a while we were ready with a solid playlist with a perfect combination of party music and wedding songs. And that is when she asked me if I would like to go out with her for a walk as it was getting a bit hot inside the wedding hall and also that there is still some time for the couple to arrive at the reception.

So we took the back door and climbed down the stairs from the second floor to the ground. I was wearing a kurta and she was wearing a saree, both all dressed up, now walking the streets in the evening. This is when we passed by a grocery store upon which she said, "What if we went in like this all dressed up?" I laughed and asked her if she would like to go grocery shopping with me. To which she agreed playfully. In my head I could think of a kickass reply but only after a while, "but the kids are waiting for us at home, no?"

After walking for a while I made the gesture of throwing a cricket ball to which she asked what I did and I said, "nothing". That puzzled her a bit. Then I put my hand inside my pocket and found the flower that I kept from the bride's hair makeup. I gave the beautiful white flower to her and she took it with a smile. She asked what flower it is, to which I replied, "chrysanthemum". She nodded to that. Then I said that she could add this one to her collection of dry flowers. She nodded once again.

We kept walking and it was almost dark by then and so we decided to return. Then I thought to myself that we barely even talked. I wished that the walk could go on a little longer and that I could talk a bit more with her. That is when I saw an ice cream wala. I told her that we can have some ice cream and then we can go back. She agreed. Then we went to have ice cream. I had to get my chocolate ice cream and she took strawberry. This is when we waited a while to enjoy the ice cream and we talked about the wedding. While talking about both the families and their relations she mentioned that she is actually a bit of an introvert and that she can't approach anyone directly. Then I asked her how she was able to talk to me, to which she replied that she was introduced to me by her sister and that is when we started talking from the first day and so it kind of continued. May be we both knew each other from somewhere? I don't know.

I then told her about having a bit of self confidence in us because some things have to be said by us because no one else can think exactly like us so we have to be able to express them in our own way to the world. She then mentioned that she creates art and writes poems and that she also sings and plays the guitar. I was amazed and told her to play something for me as well someday. I also told her that I tried my hand on the ukulele but failed miserably. Then she said that may be I didn't try hard enough with proper focus and so I should give it one more try. Then we returned to the venue and decided to take the lift.

While walking towards the lift we talked about our favourite books and authors and she recommended me some of her favorites. I also read one of my favourite urdu poems to her in the lift and trust me when I say this that I don't usually do such things. And when the lift reached our floor and the door opened, it was playing our playlist in the reception hall. I said, "our background music" to which she smiled and then her phone rang. She told me to come after a while so that no one would know that we were together. She walked in to the hall and after a few minutes I went in. There were guests everywhere, guests taking photos with the newly wedded couple, everyone dancing and celebrating but we could still find each other in the crowd and smile at each other.

After a while we planned to have dinner so she went with her family and I went with mine. After dinner I couldn't find her. I thought she might be clicking pictures somewhere. So I went to meet my friends, some of them just came from downstairs. One friend of mine randomly talked about some family members already leaving. I didn't think it was her. But soon realised that she had left with her family without saying a word, without a good bye.

avis

(i don't usually do long form content here but let's see if my people likes it. thank you for supporting and loving my work so far. it means the world to me.)

[heilith]

Sage Blossoms

Another something for Scribbles and Drabbles 2023, for this stunning piece of art (clicky) by @clumsycopy. This one suddenly grew into a longfic, so yeah...it's just the beginning. Buckle up, have a pleasant ride.

@fall-for-tolkien

Sage Blossoms, Part 1

Miserable and soaking wet.

Half-dressed. And sorely regretful no one was there to hear the cheerful rhythm your teeth were making in vain attempts to meet.

You could do with a laugh.

Or with an embrace.  

The drawbar had always been too heavy for you. You’d never been able to budge it on your own, not with your ludicrous bony hands.

The horses behind the thick oaken door were still raging. You prayed it was not a rat this time. That last incident with a parton’s horse cost the inn twice your yearly wage. You hadn’t had a new piece of cloth on you since.  

The rainwater was meandering down your face, sprouting new and new rivulets. The skin it touched was quickly turning numb.

The smell came first… A strange blend of dead embers and no longer living flesh. For an instant it seemed to you it was oozing from between the doors to the stables.

The thought of fire was far scarier than the thought of rats.

A horse inside let out a high-pitched shriek, making your hair stand on end.

You shrank back and choked on a short outcry at finding yourself locked between a pair of arms, reaching for the drawbar.  

The presence you’d collided with let out a sound, too, a something you could hear coming out of a mouth curled up in self-ridicule.

Strange as it was, it calmed you down.

A dozen years of serving lord and vagabonds had taught you to know a danger at the first syllable it sent in your direction.

The look you ventured at the man did nothing but add to your surmise. If anything, it was his slouching countenance that reassured you completely. That, and his eyes, the best feature on an otherwise unhandsome face.

He was holding your gaze silently, perhaps, waiting for you to be the first to say something.

It was hard to look away, no matter how troublesome a feeling the expression in his eyes was giving you. He knew exactly how much he had scared you, and what measure you had measured him with, and how by now you had no doubts that unsettling smell was coming off him, after all. And he was jeering at you, you could tell it for sure, in a way a wiseman could jeer at a baby trying to read its first word.

“Why you?” said he at last.

His voice had the same ashy quality to it as his whole self, as if his throat was burnt.  

“The grooms won’t return till the morning.”

The question brought you to the reality where your nightgown and the poor excuse of a shawl were still dripping with cold water and the horses were still going insane, shut in four walls with something that had scared them to death.

“I’m sorry, I have to…”

He didn’t let you finish.

The drawbar came out of the slots without a spare hitch. You couldn’t expect him to dispose of it with enough care, but he did, leaning the thing against the jamb in a weirdly habitual manner.

The dark mouth of the doorframe had swallowed him before you could utter a word of protest.

The beasts screamed so loud you jumped back faintheartedly, giving up the intention of following him.  

A century had passed in feverish struggle with yourself. You had to be there, and you had no courage to step over the threshold.

Your senses were strained to the limit that didn’t seem possible.

To your relief, little by little the clamour started dying down. The horses were falling silent one after another. First there were four of them, then two, then the last one sobbed quietly and all you could hear was a monotonous raspy whisper. Eventually it trailed off, too, leaving the rain the only thing to beget any sound at all.

There was a fresh cut on his cheek, when he stepped out into the yard again. In the scant moonlight the streaks of blood looked almost black to you.   

“Go back to bed, child,” dropped he without any feeling, “You do not wish to die in sickness.”

His breath was coming out weary, too weary for you not to put down your guard once more. With the sense you could find no name for you felt that whatever he had done had cost him more than it was worth.  And you deemed yourself guilty for that.

It was a silly move.

An obvious mistake.

The way his whole body convulsed at the touch of your shawl against his cheek made that clearer than daylight. In that brief moment your eyes met his again, there was such fury in them it made you nauseous.  

But you went on with it till you wiped away all the traces of blood and dirt and could be sure the wound was clean at least by the look.   

“Take care of it, please,” you said firmly.

The stables remained unlocked.

But you didn’t even think of it, as you turned away to leave.

[dufferpuffer]

Order member ages

Just wanted to post this as its own thing for future reference. People often say Dumbledore recruits directly from Hogwarts, but it never seemed to line up with how old most of the members were...? So - I looked up who all the known members are! :)

First War:

Order was founded 1970 at the earliest - dissolved 1981. Earliest birthday possible: 1953, graduating 1970

S. Black, class of 78. R. Lupin, class of 78. P. Pettigrew, class of 78. J.+ L. Potter, class of 78. S. Snape, class of 78 E. Bones - Murdered w. wife + kids. Brother of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones. M. Fletcher - already well integrated in Wizarding crime world. A.+ F. Longbottom - They would have been OLDER than the Potters as they were 'Prominent Aurors' and Auror training takes years to complete. A. Moody - Legendary Auror. Retired after this war. S. Podmore - Born 1956/1957, apparently…? G.+ F. Prewitt - Molly Weasley's brothers. E. Doge - Albus' schoolmate. Ab. Dumbledore - His brother. A. Figg - old Squib. R. Hagrid - He was 51 when Harry was born Unknown age estimate: C. Dearborn - Missing. D. Diggle. B. Fenwick - 'bits of him' were discovered. D. Meadowes - Personally killed by Voldemort, might mean he is a skilled adult. M. McKinnon - Killed 'with her whole family' E. Vance - 'stately looking with a green shawl' in the the 90s.

Note with the Longbottoms: They were 'Prominent Aurors' - which means they worked for the Ministry for some time. If they were born 1953, and thus graduated 1970 - they would only be 27 when Neville was born... giving them a little time to have built their careers while still being a younger couple. But was the Order formed right at the crack of the war...?

Second War:

F. Delacour - 95/96 at Gringotts, joined the order through Bill. H. Jones - Unknown age. Never mentioned to be at Hogwarts while Harry is there. N. Tonks - Adult, well into Auror training. C + B Weasley - Adult, well into their own careers. A + M Weasley - Born 1949/1950. M. McGonagall - I mean I suppose she was recruited from Hogwarts hey haha K. Shacklebolt - An Auror; my man became Minister of Magic F + G Weasley - 'Graduated' 95/96 - opened store H. Granger; R. Weasley - First mission seems to be when 17 H. Potter - Did some things with Albus at 16...? Unclear.

If I am missing anyone please add B^)

- Harry was doomed to face Voldemort anyway. Does he really count as an Order member...? He's more the reason the order exists. - Ron and Hermione are there in support of Harry - and only do things for the Order after Albus' death, when they are 17 and don't have much choice, they are hunted. Is it really 'joining the Order' when the order barely exists anymore...? - Fred and George... did they do any Order things before Albus' death...? Were they just running their shop, with their Mum breathing down their backs to not get involved? Unclear.

Notes to do with the second Order: Molly is against the children participating. Sirius, Lupin, probably some others but I can't remember are in support of it.

Albus Dumbledore was also against the children participating - especially in 95/96, where his whole deal was trying to keep them at school, safe - even though they weren't learning jack shit. It takes Harry having a meltdown, Sirius dying - and Dumbledore being cursed - for him to go "Fuck it... Harry, you should help. I gotta teach you before I die."

Observations about both Orders:

They both have a large group that come from one source. In the First War it was the Marauders, in the second the Weasleys.

They also share an 'Auror talent' that seem more affiliated with Moody than they do Albus: Tonks and the Longbottoms.

It makes sense that when one person joins others are likely to follow. The Weasley parents -> the Weasley kids -> Fleur. James, Sirius -> Peter, Remus, Lily -> Severus.

That's not really recruitment from school.

If I personally were to use the school to groom/recruit children to fight for me in a war: I would be trying to get the best from every year. I would be heavily encouraging kids from all year levels that show promise to take certain classes and learn certain spells... Then, I would assess them when they graduate: '71, '72, '73, '74, '75, '76, '77, '78 was a big year. '79, '80... A constant trickle. A couple of new people this year, one the next - and they are all likely to bring at least a friend along, too - right...?

Yet we don't really see that happen. It's just that one bumper crop from 78, that one friend group. Were there NO talented graduates in any other year...? Was ONLY Griffindor considered...?

There isn't exactly a 'skill requirement' to join the Order. You had people there just to source information. Remus did werewolf jobs. Peter Pete'd all over the place. There were min. 2 pregnancies...

They were losing people - if they needed quantity over quality, if they only really needed base loyalty and a good heart... why NOT recruit more students? And yet there's just one blip in 78.

That doesn't particularly scream 'groomed child soldiers' to me. BUT - there are 6 people from the first Order whose ages can't be estimated. Are they the missing child soldiers from the years before/after the Marauders? Dunno.

[thedeerman]

RadioApple Week Day 5: Domestic

I honestly wasn't sure what to choose for this one, but I just love this scene too much. I think it fits.

An excerpt from DYWTK Ch37: Reach

Understanding, the king turned, pulling his wings in enough to not hit Alastor in the face with them, and said, “Don’t go judging me for how messy the feathers are though, you’ve already got me all self conscious now.”

The radio demon stepped closer, once again running his hand over one of the huge wings. Lucifer seemed to shiver a bit at the contact, making Alastor wonder just how sensitive they were. Perhaps that’s why they’re always hidden away, he thought.

Gently, Alastor began tugging loose feathers from the base of Lucifer’s wings and dropping them on the ground. The king tried to turn around, probably to ask what the demon was doing, but Alastor didn’t let him. “Stay still or this is going to take me all night,” he demanded.

“Are you… Preening me?” Lucifer asked with a laugh. “You don’t plan on keeping every feather though, right…?”

The demon only rolled his eyes. His shadow picked up a few of the feathers on the ground and smiled at them. They then disappeared into the shadow as if they were never there. That fucking thing does have pockets… Alastor thought to himself. 

“No, your majesty, I will not be collecting every last bit of you to add to some collection. However, I won’t be making any promises for Niffty.” The king shuddered a bit at that. What a strange being. The most powerful soul in Hell and yet it’s simple little Niffty that shakes him. 

The pile of giant feathers was getting larger, and there were still so many left to remove. Every time one fell out, it seemed like ten more were in its place. Eventually Alastor said, “Sit.” The king did as he was told without question, making the radio demon smile wide. The great Lucifer, sitting on command like a dog. Only for Alastor, hopefully. 

Once the angel was seated cross-legged in the grass, Alastor knelt down only a foot or so behind him. The massive wings were now draped over the king’s shoulder’s like a shawl, giving the demon much better access to the bunches of feathers underneath the top layer. He put on a little bit of music, and the two sat and listened in silence as the radio demon tidied up his fallen angel.

They sat like that for what had to have been at least an hour, Alastor gently removing old feathers and dropping them in his lap while listening to classical music. By the time the task seemed to be done, he was absolutely covered in the things. It was as if the radio demon had destroyed a bunch of giant, feather stuffed pillows and sat himself in the pile that resulted.

Admiring his work, Alastor broke the silence. “Darling, I believe you may have had enough loose feathers to bury someone with. Let’s not let these magnificent wings of yours be neglected any longer, hm?”

Lucifer looked over his shoulder with wide eyes, just now seeing the absolutely ridiculous amount of angel feathers covering Alastor like a blanket. After the moment of shock, he spun around to face the radio demon and laughed. Now kneeling in front of him, the king said, “Aww man, Al, you’re covered in… Me!” He was laughing even harder now, plucking bits of stray feather fluff from Alastor’s hair and clothes, not that it mattered much. He was literally sitting in a pile of them.

After his laughter had ceased, the king just stared at Alastor with a smile. “Seriously though, thank you. My wings haven’t felt this good in… Well, longer than you’ve existed.”

The radio demon responded, “Well now, we can’t allow that. My king should be properly groomed at all times. I suppose that means I’ll be forced to preen you more often, what a bother.” 

Of course, it wasn’t really any inconvenience. It was a rather enjoyable experience, actually. Sitting, listening to music, staring at the most brilliant blood red and pure white feathers, brushing his fingers through what must have been the softest texture in existence. And, best of all, Lucifer couldn’t leave even if he tried. He was forced to sit still in front of Alastor, listening to music and feeling the radio demon’s clawed fingers caress his wings. The entire scene had been absolutely ethereal.

Lucifer pulled the demon from his thoughts by leaning forward. Now only inches from Alastor’s face, he said, “Oh yes, what a bother. I was definitely getting the sense that you were annoyed at the whole process. Don’t worry, I suppose I won’t really need to ask for another fifty years or so…” He caught on to that one pretty damn quick.

Before Alastor could respond to the king’s sarcastic remarks, the angel closed the gap between them and kissed him. It was so reminiscent of the first time he’d done so, it was almost eerie. It was perfect. The way Lucifer was acting now, the radio demon was quite sure his miserable few days were at an end. Vees be damned, Alastor absolutely was not going to share the attention of his little king.

When Lucifer pulled away from him, he had another sly smile and said, “You wanna go play some music?” Whoever said that Hell was nothing but eternal suffering clearly had never met the man in charge. He might cause a little suffering here and there, but overall, Alastor's darling king was simply a delight. Such an odd being. So powerful, yet so weak. So vicious, yet so kind. The King of Hell, the most brilliant of the archangels. And he belongs to me.  

Alastor smiled wide and brushed a few strands of hair from Lucifer’s face. “Absolutely, dear. I’d love nothing more.” 

[illuzijan]

from (x) @inagent

Attreppo's face was vegetable green with the light emitting from his phone screen. The man was tall, wiry, and his facial texture was broken up by a well healed scared on his forehead that stopped at his left eyebrow. He was a well groomed middle aged man, every bit a dressed gentleman with a too-formal for the early 2010s style.

And beside him sitting on his chair arm was a venomous woman. She draped herself in an expensive, low hanging red shawl and a black dress that was loose cut to her waist, and hugged her knees.

"I'm sure the trespassing was a mistake in earnest. The BSAA doesn't have absolute authority to search medical facilities without reason," said the man, closing his phone and plummeting the dim and loveless room into darkness. His companion, Ada, flicked the dangling string fringe of her shawl away from her chest.

"Hmm," she hummed, holding her tongue but not her obvious disdain for the situation. Ada Wong satisfied the nerves by combing her short bangs back to brush and fiddle with the hoops of her earrings.

"Besides, this formality is out of the abundance of caution. I'm sure you can understand the fact that all companies have a paramilitary for security purposes. I'm surprised we didn't catch you sooner."

Attreppo's tone was always calm, polite, and disarming, and it contrasted his furious appendage who truly wanted to launch verbal daggers.

[lightlyknitted]

Surprise, surprise I finally wrote up the pattern for the groom's edition of the On the Fly shawl. (This may be a week from the last on for you but it's been months for me.)

See the shawl on Raverly here