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storiesoflilies · 11 months ago

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Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N - What is it with these Zenin boys, huh? They’re just too beautiful hehe. All the big players are finally making their appearances, enjoy!! Ko-Fi.

Next part - interlude (ii)

-•-

Chapter 6

The twins had fussed over her far too long, and it was starting to make Y/N jittery.

“Nanako, you’ve styled her hair too flashy!” Mimiko exclaimed, giving her sister a pointed look.

Nanako dismissed her with a wave of her hand, engrossed in meticulously placing sparkling diamond clips in her hair. “Y/N is practically our queen,” she retorted. “We need to dress her properly!”

“Girls, let’s not fight,” Y/N interjected softly but firmly. “You’ve dressed me perfectly. Thank you.”

On the other hand, it was a blessing that the twins took charge of dressing her, as Y/N doubted her ability to chose something suitable herself. Nothing she could have come up with would have been appropriate for such an occasion – a gathering among the Kings of Hell; convened to strategize and pool resources for the war against Heaven. So far, it seems she would have been underdressed if left to her own devices, as the twins – Nanako – adorned her with even more of Geto’s diamonds. Y/N understood the necessity of this opulence, as did the twins. She and Geto were two pillars of strength, preserving and upholding their dignity with their own hands, against others who would surely seek to bury them in filth and squalor.

Of course, the prospect of seeing Toji again would only have added to her indecisiveness.

Several weeks had passed since her and Miguel’s bloody execution of justice against the traitors, and Y/N had hoped Toji would have paid her another secret visit to her balcony, wanting more than just fleeting whispers of him through their bond. Yet, he had remained almost silent, and her patience had dwindled like a fire burning its last embers. What was the point of a soulmate who never bothered to see her? While the rational part of her understood his need for distance, to protect their bond and keep her safe, another part of her just didn’t care. If anybody dared to come for either of them, then let them cast their own dice in the gamble of death.

The twins nodded and stepped back, allowing Y/N the space to stand and walk over to admire herself in the long mirror. They had chosen an elegant black silk kimono, its fabric elegantly draping over her body. Diamonds decorated her wrists, hair, and neck like stars in the midnight sky of Heaven. She felt luxurious, unable to resist indulging in a moment of vanity, as she savored her almost holy reflection.

“This is perfect,” she complimented, and they both beamed. “Would you girls mind seeing us off?”

They nodded eagerly and trailed behind her as she made her way from the bedroom to the throne room. Gone were the days when Y/N would get lost like a child in her brother’s palace; every corridor, doorway, and secret passageways was committed to memory, each one as familiar as treasured gold. She especially loved the courtyard she had designed with Geto, her own personal sanctuary, where she could find solace and tranquility whenever she wanted to.

It was eerily beautiful; trees with ebony bark and velvety-black blossoms lined the perimeter of the stone pathway, their gnarled branches adorned with swinging lanterns. Nearly trimmed bushes with blood-red blossoms were dotted throughout the courtyard, particularly around the gazebo standing at its center. There were ponds of stagnant opaque water, where koi fish lazily swam, yet these were no ordinary fish – they were Curses, created by Geto himself to dwell there for purely aesthetic purposes.

Her brother was already waiting for her, seated on his throne with legs crossed over. It struck Y/N just how perfectly he belonged here, to be a King of Hell and ruthlessly pursue his ideal world.

And now, she was a part of that ideal too.

Suguru raised an eyebrow at her, amusement twinkling in his warm eyes as he judged her appearance. “Took you long enough,” he teased. “Should I expect a wedding by the end of the day?”

Y/N barked a laugh and snorted, “Surely not. He hasn’t seen me for so long.”

Geto’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, his gaze flitting over to the twins. “Thank you, girls. You may leave us now.”

They nodded, and Y/N smiled softly at them as they left. Her brother’s eyes remained fixed on her with an unreadable expression, but Y/N knew Suguru was analyzing her, contemplating every scenario and outcomes of the impending meeting. She shifted on her feet, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable warnings he was about to impart to her like age old wisdom.

“I trust I don’t need to tell you to keep your emotions in check with Fushiguro around,” Geto said lowly, almost threateningly, as if he was the one she really needed to be wary of.

She almost rolled her eyes at that and muttered, “I won’t even look at him.”

“Good,” Geto said, voice raising an octave. “We have no allies to fall back on, not even him. No matter what the others say or do, you do not react to anything. Because of who we are, the others will look for any excuse to pounce on us. So stay quiet, and try to avoid drawing attention to yourself.”

He sighed. “Although, I’m sure Naoya will have something to say, given the way you look.”

Y/N stuck her chin up, and declared defiantly. “I’m not changing.”

Geto’s gaze softened considerably, and within a second, he stood beside her, looping their arms together. “And why should you, sweet sister? We’re both beautiful, and there’s no shame in that.”

A portal sprung to life in front of them, revealing a dimly lit, oppressive corridor beyond. Without waiting another moment, her brother strode through it, and Y/N almost stumbled as he pulled her with him.

Choso’s palace served as the standard meeting place between all the Kings – a neutral ground, as the half-Curse chose no sides in the wars within Hell. It was nowhere near as grand as Geto’s, exuding an air of shabbiness with walls once vibrant now dulled with time and neglect. There was a distinct lack of refinement or class; the sparse decoration left the place stark and devoid of life. It certainly wasn’t what Y/N had expected for a gathering of the Kings of Hell, simply because it lacked the grandeur she would have associated with such an important meeting. She would have thought that the Kings of Hell would demand only the finest and most grand of places to gather. However, she supposed it served its purpose well enough.

Y/N couldn’t deny her growing curiosity about Choso. Geto had told her that the lowly King was born while his mother was still an Angel, and Y/N wondered how she hadn’t been immediately turned into a Curse following her sin. She guessed that Choso’s conception wasn’t in accordance with the Holy Principles, and the resilience his mother must have possessed to avoid turning against God, given her circumstances, astounded Y/N more than anything. She hoped that perhaps she might have the chance to speak with him, although Geto had warned her the half-Curse was elusive and prone to melancholic moods.

Geto led her down the corridor, their footsteps softly thudding against the faded carpet. He stepped forward to open the twin doors of a chamber lit by orange-flamed torches; a pit of vipers they had willingly walked straight into.

In the center stood a large round stone table in the center of the room, where three Curses were already seated. One, a handsome blonde, had his head leaning casually on his hand, smirking at them as if he was privy to all their secrets. To his right sat Jogo himself, his unmistakable volcano head towering over them like a domineering crown. Almost directly across them sat a dark-haired Curse with his hair scraped into two messy high-ponytails, a curious black line across the bridge of his nose extending to both sides of his face – Choso Kamo himself.

“Ah, the Fallen is finally here,” sneered the blonde Curse. “I thought you seraphim were supposed to be punctual.”

“I see you’re early, Zenin,” Geto retorted smoothly, taking a seat beside Choso, and motioned for Y/N to sit beside him.

She couldn’t help but notice the segregation already taking shape. Jogo and Naoya were seated together, scrutinizing Geto with a mixture of disdain and haughtiness. Choso sat with a hauntingly empty look, his purple orbs fixated on the table as if lost in thought. Y/N ignored the unease settling in her stomach as he met her gaze, exhaustion evident deep within his eyes, and focused on maintaining her composure as she took her seat.

Naoya grinned at her, and purred with words dipped in honey and sugar, “And who might you be?”

“My sister,” Geto stated firmly, his tone protective.

Naoya’s interest seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had appeared, and his lip curled slightly in disgust, while steam started to hiss out of Jogo’s head.

“Oh, another Fallen at this table,” the Zenin sighed, observing her with a bored expression. “How… quaint.”

Y/N didn’t know whether to feel relieved or offended, but remained passive, as Geto remained unaffected by his comment. Choso also remained quiet beside them; he must be so used to their insults and remarks over the centuries.

“Where is the rest of your retinue, Jogo?” Geto asked, swiftly changing the subject, and redirecting their attention from Y/N to him instead.

“On their way. You needn’t worry, little King,” the mountain hissed, his voice as sharp and painful like a spitting fire, his charcoal-black teeth flashing as he smiled darkly.

Her brother’s lips fell into a thin line, refraining from biting back at the insult. As if on cue, a portal appeared, and from it stepped a tiny figure with snow-like hair, which instantly reminded Y/N of Gojo until she saw the red strip of hair running through the back of their head. An uncomfortable chill settled in the room as the Curse raised their head to observe them, moving into the corner of the chamber and blending into the shadows as if it were their natural home.

This had to be Uraume – the only direct connection anybody had to the King of Hell and all Curses. Was it wrong to be so twistedly fascinated by them? Y/N struggled to tear her gaze away, captivated by the mystery and legend that they were attached to. None of the other Kings seemed outwardly perturbed by their presence, as if being watched over by Uraume was the most normal thing in the world, and perhaps it was.

And then, the doors swung open with enough force to command attention. A giant Curse strode into the room, with long thick branches in place where its eyes should have been, and a blooming red rose growing from its left shoulder – decidedly feminine, and grotesquely beautiful. It reminded Y/N of how beautiful the gardens in Heaven were.

And emerging from the shadow of the colossal Curse was Mahito, his face lit up with a delightful expression.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Dread crashed over her like an avalanche.

How?

Geto stiffened beside her, his hands flexing beneath the table.

Mahito locked eyes with her, his grin stretching wider and eyes gleaming madly. Jogo smirked at them both, clearly relishing in their discomfort and the fact he had the upper hand over them. He stared Geto down, daring him to buckle and show weakness.

He knows… they all know.

Her heart raced so fast she feared it might burst from her chest. Desperation clawed at her like a trapped animal, and Y/N’s fought the urge to reach over the table and slice them all into shreds before they had the chance to hurt her or Suguru.

The two Curses took their seats next to Jogo, who cleared his throat before speaking. “Some interesting information has recently been shared with me, Zenin.”

Naoya stopped inspecting his nails, and raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Oh?”

“This little Fallen King has been hiding a secret from all of us. Mahito here has been imprisoned for having knowledge of it,” Jogo said, tapping his fingers against each other, tilting his head towards the silver haired Curse.

Mahito sighed wistfully, feigning a look of pain on his face. “Yes, it was a horrible situation to be in,” he said, his tone dripping with insincerity.

“I don’t care what happened to you,” snapped Naoya, narrowing his eyes at Mahito. “Spit it out.”

“Y/N here…,” Mahito whispered, ignoring Naoya as his eyes sparkled with the thrill of holding everyone’s attention. “Is Fushiguro’s mate.”

It was silent, and then Naoya started to howl with laughter. Y/N shrank into herself, despising her helplessness in this situation. Geto remained silent beside her, likely questioning how Mahito had managed to escape and just how many of the secrets within his kingdom’s secrets were now public knowledge to their enemies. Meanwhile, Uraume stood like a statue in the shadows, unmoved by the events unfolding before them.

Toji… where are you?

“I said you were special,” Mahito murmured to her, his eyes dulled and sad as his mood shifted like the wind. “Why didn’t you save me like I saved you?”

“And so you betrayed us?” Y/N whispered, barely audible amidst the booming of voices, but he heard her words falling from her lips like it was his salvation.

“Not you,” he answered, just as quiet, and it almost felt like they were the only two people in the room. “But your brother just isn’t like us.”

Naoya stopped laughing, wiping away an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. “Now, Geto, how could you keep such a secret from us? Are we not all allies here?” he asked with mock innocence.

Absolutely not.

“Fushiguro and I decided it was best to keep it between ourselves,” Geto stated lowly, his voice dangerously thin. “My sister had just Fallen, and was still vulnerable.”

“Hmm, she still seems ripe for the taking to me,” Naoya smirked, his interest in her renewed as he gazed at her with hunger. “My cousin obviously hasn’t claimed her if she isn’t with him.”

“Why would Fushiguro taint himself with the likes of her?” Jogo sneered, venom lacing his words, reducing her to nothing.

“They are mates; they are one and the same. But, she is just as pure as me,” Mahito whispered, as if he had a say in the matter, his eyes still locked on Y/N as he defended her in his own way. Naoya looked at him sharply, a strange glint in his piercing eyes.

“So you say,” Jogo said dismissively, as if the notion of soulmates was something foul and he didn’t believe in. “My question to you, Geto, is how do I know you won’t exploit Fushiguro’s power to invade my kingdom?”

“You needn’t worry about that, Jogo, as long as you refrain from stealing from me again,” Geto replied, eyes flashing. “I have no need for his strength.”

“Tch, it’s not my fault if my soldiers happen across an opportunity. You should have better control over your own people,” he hissed, flames spurring from his head.

Y/N tuned out as the both of them went back and forth in a heated exchange, choosing to avoid Mahito and Naoya’s heavy stares by staring at her lap instead. She was disgusted with how much fear had gripped her, but with their secret out, she was no longer safe. Her and Geto needed to get out of here and fortify their defenses, and time seemed to be stretching out agonizingly slow.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Naoya started, sickly sweet sugar words returning, and she reluctantly looked up at him. “What does Toji feel like?”

She wouldn’t answer; she refused. Any form of a reply would be a betrayal to herself and to Toji.

His smile faltered, replaced by a dangerous glint of annoyance. “Did Geto not teach you that you cannot refuse to answer a King?”

“He taught me I always have a choice,” she finally spoke, against her better judgment, her voice as cold as ice.

Naoya hummed thoughtfully, but she knew he was really toying with her. “It seems my old cousin shares the same sentiment. If I was him, I would have taken you with me by force.”

“It’s a good thing you can never be me then, cousin.”

Toji.

He stood beside her as if he had been there the whole time. How had she not felt his approach? Was it his unnatural speed? It didn’t matter, she could feel his emotions clearly now – pure white-hot rage emanating from him like the rays of the sun burning against the Earth. And yet, his demeanor remained level-headed, calm, and almost bored. Naoya pulled back in surprise, and the rest of the room fell silent as they all registered his presence.

“Good, we can begin now,” Geto said, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere as Toji took his seat beside Y/N.

Her arm closest to him tingled with anticipation at their proximity, and Y/N craved his skin to brush against hers just a little. She could feel his warmth radiating from him in a delicious caress, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos of writhing snakes, and his nearness stirred a potent cocktail of restraint and desire within her. She couldn’t look at him – she mustn’t look at him.

A chair scraped beside him, and Y/N glanced over him to look at a female Curse who had taken a seat beside Toji. She had ice-blue hair braided in two intricate twists, with one long braid cascading over her face like a veil. Y/N didn’t need to see her face to know she was beautiful. The way she sat with her legs elegantly crossed, her skin-tight black dress accentuating her slim build, and the rhythmic drumming of her long red nails against the table all added to her allure. Yet, her beauty was unsettling, for it seemed to mask something as equally dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

Who is she? How come she’s with Toji?

Y/N’s mind began to race, an unfamiliar sting of jealousy prickling at her senses, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

“You think we’re finished with this conversation?” snapped Jogo, glaring daggers at her brother. “Fushiguro, tell me that I don’t need to worry about you turning on us for these Fallen.”

He said it so disgustingly, as if the word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Y/N clenched her jaw.

“You don’t,” Toji agreed simply, his green eyes narrowed.

Both Naoya and Jogo looked at him with just a hint of surprise, as if they were expecting a completely different response. Y/N would be lying to herself if she didn’t think the same – Toji’s unexpected stance felt like abandonment, leaving her and Geto to completely fend for themselves in this precarious situation.

Naoya cleared his throat, resuming his air of arrogance. “Of course not. Now, let us discuss how we exterminate these seraphim once and for all,” he declared with bone-chilling casualness.

-•-

Y/N trailed her fingers back and forth through the water, watching the black and white fish swimming curiously towards the ripples she created. Even as she sat in front of the pond, she couldnt shake the sensation of Toji’s rage pulsating through their bond. He was in Geto’s throne room, presumably letting out his grievances, and she felt a pang of sympathy for her brother, knowing he was Toji’s prime target.

“King Fushiguro expects you to be ready for him,” the ethereal woman had announced without a care in the world, as she strolled through Geto’s court like they were all beneath her.

Y/N bristled at her presence, feeling a surge of tension ripple through Miguel and the others as they seemed to instantly become defensive. Geto sat atop his throne, his anger simmering quietly and deadly; like a volcano on the verge of eruption. He had been unnervingly quiet on their way back from the meeting, and she knew he was ready to blow and unleash his fury at the slightest inconvenience.

“Careful, Mei-Mei,” Geto hissed. “Even crows need to show respect, especially when showing up unannounced.”

Mei-Mei, that was her name, Toji’s second-in-command. Was she considered his queen the way Y/N was Suguru’s? Y/N didn’t bother to ask anyone, instead opting to ignore and walk straight past her on the way outside towards the courtyard. Y/N didn’t want to be in her presence, or anybody else’s – not even Toji’s for that matter. Being in quiet solitude was safe; nobody could hurt her if she ensured she alone. Besides, her soulmate had made it clear that her and Geto were alone in the coming war against their enemies.

Did he really think just a little bit less of Geto and her – because they were Fallen?

Y/N felt so very stupid and naive, realizing how cocky she had been just that morning, about not caring if the others discovered their bond. Reality proved starkly different to fantasies, but it was always be a shock to discover that notion. She’d been too caught up in her newfound power as Geto’s second and her ability to command and rule – a mistake she wouldn’t be repeating again.

A crow cawed loudly from a tree in front of her, and Y/N almost jumped out of her skin. She didn’t know why, maybe it was Geto’s comment echoing in her mind, but she was certain that the crow had everything to do with Mei-Mei, and she resented its presence. Y/N struggled to articulate why she already harbored such a strong dislike towards Mei-Mei, and she didn’t really care to explain it either. The bird continued to watch her closely with its beady eyes, and she glowered darkly in response. It had shattered her sense of solitary safety.

Footsteps tapped against the stone pathway behind her, prompting Y/N to instinctively grab the hilt of her katanas and leap to her feet.

Toji stood there, his usual attire abandoned for a dark blue haori instead. His expression was inscrutable as he regarded her, not saying a word. The crow flitted about in the tree, and his sharp gaze locked onto it. A faint twitch played at the corner of his lip.

“Nosy bitch,” Toji muttered, and within a flash, he flung a small, deadly knife at the bird. It made no sound as it landed lifelessly on the ground.

Y/N said nothing, unfazed by the bird’s death, and ignored Toji as she resumed her previous sitting position, gazing at the koi. She heard him sigh, and a shiver trickled down her spine like water running down a tree. His robes rustled as moved and crouched beside her, his warmth palpable as their shoulders almost touched.

How could he be so dangerous and so intoxicating at the same time?

“Your brother make these?” Toji grumbled, his words still tinged with anger like flint sparking against steel, nodding his head towards the koi.

She nodded wordlessly, and Toji grunted in response. They fell into an uneasy silence, and Y/N felt the urge to break it, even if she didn’t really know what to say to him. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t risk angering him further? And yet, she deserved an answer to the question nagging at the forefront of her mind; would he would ever see them as equals? After all, it was his fault that she had become a Fallen – a fake Curse in the eyes of many.

She just didn’t think his eyes were among those.

“Are you… alright?” Toji asked suddenly, uncertainty lacing his words, and Y/N frowned in response. Her resolve slightly softened when she glanced at the genuine look of concern on his face.

“Not really,” she whispered, her head hanging low.

Toji shifted, as he settled into a reclined position, leaning his weight against his hand. Their fingertips hovered near each other, almost touching, a tantalizing and forbidden electric charge crackling between them.

Y/N swallowed nervously.

“They’re going to come for you, you know?” he said, his voice deep and solemn. “You’re the only thing that could unify me and Geto, so they’ll do anything to stop that.”

A flash of annoyance coursed through her, and she sighed exasperatedly, “I know that.”

Toji exhaled heavily, head thrown back to look at the dark sky as he huffed, “I can’t stop a war that’s inevitable.”

Frustration… at himself?

“I never asked you to,” Y/N murmured, adding perhaps somewhat childishly. “You made it very clear that you wouldn’t stoop so low and help the likes of us.”

“I’m not putting my people at risk for someone else’s war. I’ve said that from the very beginning – me and your brother are not united. I’ve only agreed to leave his kingdom alone, but it has nothing to do with you both being Fallen.”

Someone else.

So she was just someone else then, even if she was the root of all the ensuing violence and death.

Y/N suddenly felt quite foolish.

“I see,” was all she could manage to say, as her face flushed with the heat of embarrassment.

He grunted, “I don’t give a shit about all that you know?”

“You seemed to before,” Y/N snapped, her anger surprising even herself.

Toji rolled his eyes, and droned, “Have you ever heard of lying, little angel?”

“Don’t call me that.”

She felt such crippling shame for being a massive burden on her brother, and for being the cause of the war creeping menacingly closer towards them. Why had he even come if he was just going to be an ass?

A flash of hurt…

A small part of her felt guilty, but it paled in comparison to what she was already feeling, and to how he had added to her turmoil. They sat beside each other in uncomfortable silence, but Toji’s hand remained stubbornly where it was beside hers. Y/N felt only slightly more at ease, finding solace in his silence, until she was abruptly reminded of the crow lying beneath the tree. A gnawing question clawed its way out of her throat, disrupting the fragile peace between them.

“What do the crows have to do with Mei-Mei?” she blurted out, torn between wanting to know nothing about the sly Curse and her insatiable curiosity.

Toji’s brow furrowed as he replied slowly, “She controls them; they’re her eyes and ears.”

“Her spies, then.”

“Hers, mine, same thing. Why do you ask?”

“I just… want to know who she is to you.”

“She’s my second in command, just like you are to Geto. Her crows go anywhere I tell her to send them, and in return, I pay her in gold, diamonds, whatever else she wants.”

“Whatever she wants?”

“Intelligence is everything. I keep her in my pocket so she’s not in anyone else’s. What are you trying to imply?”

Y/N knew Toji was fully aware of what she was really asking, yet she still asked anyways. “Is she anything more?”

Toji gave her a sharp and pointed look as he growled, “Are you sure you want to know if I’ve fucked her or not?”

Y/N blushed furiously at his brash language, feeling so exposed by how easily he was able to pick her apart and read her like a book.

Toji smirked, but it was cruel and cold, and snorted dismissively, “I didn’t think so. Don’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to. My past is no-one’s business, and don’t think for a second I owe it to you.”

Oh.

She moved her hand away from him as his words stung her deeply as if he’d actually bitten her. Y/N realized Toji’s anger never truly dissipated; it lingered beneath the surface, always ready to strike and unleash itself like a viper in the shadows. He was a stormy sea, untamable and unpredictable, and she realized he had absolutely no desire to be anything other than exactly that.

This is who I nearly died for.

Nanami died for me to have him.

Gojo died because of him.

“What’s the point of this, then?” Y/N said softly, almost to herself, her voice barely above a whisper as the waves of loneliness and shame washed over and completely drowned her. “I think you should go.”

Toji’s expression turned inscrutable, and his eyes dulled from their usual intensity. Wordlessly, he rose from her side, the loss of his heat causing prickling goosebumps to appear on her arm. Without so much as any sort of a goodbye, he disappeared straight into a portal, leaving Y/N alone once more.

He never even looked at her.

Her solitary haven didn’t feel so safe anymore.

-•-

Geto came to visit her later that night.

He had immediately noticed her glossy and tired eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I should have checked on you first.”

“It’s ok Suguru,” Y/N assured, as convincingly as she could manage. “There are things that need to be done.”

“May I come in?” he asked politely, offering her a small, yet tight, smile. Y/N moved over to to the side to let him in.

Geto took a seat in the padded chair in front of the crackling blue fire, and sighed deeply. “He came to see you then?”

She took a seat in the chair beside him, and nodded. “Yes, not for very long though.”

“I assume it wasn’t a very pleasant conversation.”

Y/N shook her head, and Geto seemed genuinely saddened by this. “I’m sorry to hear that, I thought perhaps I’d bore the brunt of his anger before he met with you.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. What did he discuss with you?”

“Well, that I should have been more careful with ensuring Mahito could never escape, and he was right.”

“We all underestimated him.”

“So it seems, and we’re paying a heavy price for that now. I should also mention that he demanded I convince you to stay with him.”

“What, really?”

“Oh? He didn’t ask you himself?”

“He… well, no.”

“How interesting, so what happened then?”

“I asked questions I shouldn’t have, let’s just leave it at that.”

Suguru leaned forward in his seat, his eyes comforting and warm, urging her to continue. “Tell me anyways, sweet sister.”

“It’s not worth it Suguru, none of it is anymore,” Y/N huffed, tears prickling her eyes, embarrassed at repeating the incident out loud. “But, I… I did ask him if he and Mei-Mei ever…”

“Oh, Y/N. Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know, Suguru. I just… I don’t know what I was looking for exactly.”

“I don’t know either. But I do know that Fushiguro is definitely not still a virgin after eight-hundred years of living in Hell.”

Y/N’s face burned, and she looked away from Geto, who softly chuckled. “I’m not that naive, brother,” she snapped.

“Good. I’d be worried if you were,” he said, still chuckling.

As her brothers laughter faded away, the atmosphere turned serious, and Y/N tensed as Geto asked gravely. “Do you need me to stay here while you sleep?”

“What? No, Suguru.”

“I’d understand. I’m not going to be sleeping much for the foreseeable future.”

“Neither am I, so there’s no need for you to hover.”

“As you wish.”

Geto stood up from his chair and leaned over to softly kiss her hair. “I’m sorry for not protecting you better,” he whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

“There’s no need, because I wouldn’t have gone with him even if he’d asked me to,” Y/N said firmly, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Geto appeared visibly gladdened at this and bade her goodnight as he gently closed her door. Y/N wasted no time in moving to quickly to lock it and then ensuring the balcony doors were also secured. She checked to see if her katanas were within reach beside the bed, placing a hand over her hip to make sure the hidden dagger buried beneath her robe was still there. The paranoia threatened to consume her alive, like maggots buried deep within her bones, burrowing out from within to devour her flesh, and she felt powerless to stop it.

But now wasn’t the time for weakness; she had to steel herself for battle, as she had done a thousand times before. Despite the comforting inner mantra that she repeated to herself, reminding her of past fights and the resilience she knew she had within her, Y/N couldn’t shake the jarring thought that she had at least gone to bed knowing that she was safe. Nothing could have harmed her in Heaven, under God’s protection, and Y/N was so acutely aware of how vulnerable one was when they were dreaming.

God…

Would it be… wrong?

And yet, there couldn’t be anything that felt more right. Despite the paradoxical nature of it, Y/N knelt at the foot of her bed and clasped her hands together.

And prayed to God.

-•-

taglist: @kkhaosxx @better-imagination-9 @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic @justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @hornabbyyy @mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978 @littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @chososrealwife @iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max @transparent-nature

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cloudshuffle · 8 months ago

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Hi, d for the request can I please have yandere Royal Jade x thief reader?

gem in the rough. yan!jade

nobility au

Her grace, the elegant, classy, duchess Jade, also has a penchant for being frightening.

So terrifying is she that it's said she can make grown men wet themselves at a single glance (this is untrue, on accounts that it was only one man who she caused to wet himself, and there were many other factors involved in his pants-wetting, so he says. I think it’s more amusing to leave it down to the duchess.)

Yet all rumours sprout from a seed of truth. Jade is a formidable individual, demoness or not, and it’d do anyone good not to cross her. She near monopolises the flow of jewels in and out of our borders, and as far as it’s been recorded, none of her ventures have ever failed. She’s wealthy. Some even say she’s more powerful than the emperor himself.

The duchess has an eye for valuable things; things that would pay her back tenfold, if invested in the right way. Despite her cutthroat methods, I know merchants who would kill to be in partnership with her - provided they get an audience with her first. Duchess Jade is a very difficult person to get a hold of.

Speaking of valuable things. I suppose it’s dangerous for a thief to keep a diary, yet here we are. I’ve been feeling rather… lonely and sentimental recently, something about how there might be no one to remember me by. Anyway. It’s been said that the duchess has in her possession something called the Dragon’s Eye - an exquisite, rare, lovely jewel that would buy me not only my freedom out of these borders, but also a life beyond them. I have someone who’s willing to pay.

I do intend to acquire it for myself.

I’ve been watching the duchess’ estate for a period of time now, and I’m quite confident I’ll be able to slip in easily tonight. After that, well, let’s just hope the plans to the castle are up to date. If they aren’t, this will be my first and last entry, which is amusing in a way.

Though aren’t my best heists always the ones less planned?

In confidence, (Name).

I have to admit, the duchess herself isn’t the only frightening thing about her estate.

Security is nearly watertight, and I nearly got mauled at least thrice tonight. But humans are ultimately foolish creatures, and I managed to trick the guards at the outer walls into thinking their mutts were acting up at a squirrel. Still, I thought my heart would jump out of my throat.

The guards in the corridors? Less perceptive than the maids. Those twittery ladies never miss the slightest bit of gossip to pass around. I slipped into a uniform, hinted that the stable boy had his eye on the duchess, and slipped out quickly as they begun speculating on what might happen. He does have quite the looks. Shame he might be fired soon.

And finally I was close enough to slither into her jeweller’s vault, right underneath the guard’s feet. Or the carpet under them. It was a tight, unpleasant squeeze, but what’s playing pretend as a snake compared to my future on the line?

Rumour had it that Jade’s vault was manned by a host of the continent’s best lapidarists, all chained to their desks and made to slave away to produce only the best jewels for her. That rumour always seemed a little silly to me. Didn’t people work best when they were well-fed and happy? But there were no lapidarists. In fact, there wasn’t a single soul in that chamber, not even a guard.

The carpeted floor ate up all sound, and the gems sparkled silently in clear cases. I probably could have stolen the cushions they rested on and fetched a small fortune - the workmanship and the gold embroidery spoke enough.

But I was here on a mission. And though I usually turn away at the sign that something might go awry, maybe it was the temptation of my reward, or maybe it was the sight of the jewel that drove me on.

Fiery red and deepest purple laced with the richest gold. Lovely didn’t even begin to describe such a jewel. Though an eye for aesthetics didn’t come with the job, I think even a blind man could simply feel its beauty radiating from it.

The gold in the middle did somewhat resemble an eye. And I took it with gloved hands and slipped it into a velvet pouch.

Leaving was easy. The compound was designed to keep people out rather than in, and I made it back to my temporary quarters without fuss. I deposited the jewel safely (even I’m not foolish enough to note down where it is), and satisfied at having a job well done, decided to treat myself to a drink at the bar downstairs.

There was a lovely lady at the bar with a presence about her. She looked normal enough with a nondescript cloak and brown hair (save the covering across the lower half of her face), but she didn’t feel normal, and so all the other patrons were giving her a wide berth, even raging drunk. I was in no mood to contend with rowdy, stinking men, so I took up the empty seat next to her.

“Good evening,” she said to me, and I had to sigh. Conversation really wasn’t on my agenda for the day, but she must have misunderstood. “Long day?”

“Sure,” I replied. “Just got home from work.”

“So late!” she exclaimed. “You must be working very hard.”

I shrugged. “I suppose I do.”

Conversation died down, and she left shortly after that. She did tell me she was looking forward to seeing me again.

I wonder what she meant.

Yours unsurely, (Name).

With much difficulty, I’ve finally managed to make contact with the buyer! Pardon the excitement, but we’ve arranged for a meeting at the docks tonight, where they’ve already arranged passage for me. I asked why they weren’t worried about me running off with the jewel, and they said that I likely didn’t want to keep it in my possession any longer.

Which is… true. It’s hard to find a buyer for such a high profile object, but harder still to keep it around me. I’ve been checking on it every day, and I’ve noticed that I feel… somewhat queasy around it. Like it’s a drain on my energy.

Hey, I didn’t survive this long without being at least a little superstitious.

That aside, it was discovered that the jewel went missing sometime in the night that I stole it. Though it’s an important item, the upper echelons seem more interested in covering up the theft than issuing a public notice. I suppose I understand. How would it look if not even the nobility had safe, secure homes?

Regardless, as long as it doesn't harm me, I suppose the jewel and I can coexist for a day longer. And I'll let the stone keep its secrets. It’s not much longer before it’ll be off my hands.

Looking forward to the future, (Name).

I’m writing this entry by candlelight, still sweaty and breathless from escaping from that place.

I made my way to the docks once the sun set. The Eye was heavy in my pocket, but in some way, I felt like the weight of my future was finally in my hands.

I was feeling unusually optimistic. And I’ve learnt, thankfully, that that’s when things go wrong.

Like any respectable thief might, I concealed myself amongst the many crates and boxes waiting quietly to be brought inland the next day. Making the first appearance is always foolish. My boat, supposedly, bobbed quietly on the water with not a soul in sight. Not unusual - the sailors would all be inland at the moment, causing ruckus at the taverns. But it didn’t help to reassure me any better.

Shortly after, a trio of horses and riders come down the docks. Not the most discreet way to get somewhere, and definitely not the level of caution I would expect from someone about to attain the Dragon’s Eye. I knew I was right to be suspicious.

The lady in the middle got off first - I knew she was a lady despite the cloak because she rode side-saddle. Also another unusual detail in this day and age. The other two men at her side moved with a familiarity that I didn’t like; the kind that reminded me of trained soldiers and patrolling troops. They didn’t stir up particularly happy memories. When one of them moved, I caught a glimpse of sheathed blade under his cloak.

Two soldiers. And a noble lady.

I knew this, because Duchess Jade lifted the hood off her face in one smooth motion, her pink curls tumbling out like a cascade of silk.

I bit back a gasp. Because seeing the duchess up close, I recognised her too - the same lady who’d just sat next to me at the inn bar. No matter how she’d changed her hair, using magic or otherwise, it was definitely still her, aura and all.

“My dear master thief.” Her voice rang out, clear and full of authority. I knew immediately that confrontation wasn’t an option. “I know you’re hiding somewhere. You’ve done such a wonderful job, attaining the Dragon’s Eye. Do show yourself so I can present you with your reward.”

From under her cloak, she pulled out a drawstring bag, large and heavy with coin. Jade shook the bag as if to prove its contents, then retrieved papers and slipped those inside too.

“More credit, and legitimate papers for your safe passge.” She patted the bag. “This offer won’t last forever, master thief. Or should I call you, (Name)?”

By the time she finished her sentence, I was already gone.

I pick up this entry, once again by candlelight, once again fleeing.

The duchess knew where I was staying, which gave me valuable time to pack what little I had and sneak onto a transport cart. Once out of the city, I hopped off and hitched a more legitimate ride with another cart. Not that I trusted these people not to rat me out, but there was no way I was stopping any of these men in the dark without giving them a fright.

I’m on my way towards the border. The Eye is still heavy in my pocket, sitting quietly like an obedient child. I hadn’t known what to do with it, and figured it might be better to carry it with me, in case I needed to barter for something valuable. Like a life.

This journal will have to take backseat for now. I get the feeling I need to jump carts soon.

(Name).

#this request was so exciting!!#your asks always inspire the best things #spent a bunch of time researching jade hopefully i did her justice #honkai star rail #hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere #yancore #x reader #yandere x reader #jade #hsr jade #jade hsr #yandere jade #yan!jade #cloud answers

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valentine-cafe · 29 days ago

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this definitely wasnt an ask draft from weeks ago but I just needed this out of the gutter— longish ask ahead!

did you say Rasui’s not used to receiving gifts?? Well he’s about to be because my gift giving tendencies knows NO BOUNDS.

Just imagine, a reader who always happens to gift him things every week. Oh would you look at that, a lovely bouquet of his favorite flowers sitting at his office table, biweekly like clockwork just so he always has fresh ones around. Oh look, it’s a small trinket that reminded you of Rasui, he can have it! You happen to have picked up a really nice shirt that happens to fit Rasui perfectly, please wear it love! Bored in his office with nothing better to do? Suddenly theres a bunch of origami flowers you made to compliment the flowers you’ve given him days prior out of spare pieces of paper you found lying around. BIRTHDAY? How about a really nice & fancy pen, one with beautifully engraved decorations that match his aesthetic with his name on it, oh it’s red and gold too! Maybe it even has small rubies and ambers on it for an even more personal touch. Just something nice he can use during work, y’know. <3

This man wouldn’t ever stop me from giving him gifts !!!! Will give anything and everything for this man is what I preach. Sorry if this barley made sense, but the gist of it is— He deserves the world and I would do my damned hardest to give everything and the world to him‼️‼️‼️

Proud no.1 rasui fucker AND romancer, 🦐

˖⁺. ﹙ the fire elemental mercenary leader x reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . i do not deserve you hayati !! 🍒 : mercenary leader ˖ fire elemental﹙ verse 9948e rasui. ﹚

Rasui is not accostumed to the idea of him receiving the gifts. Usually being the one to give them. So when he is suddenly bathed in presents everywhere, flowers and trinkets, he grows shy. Something many would not think he could become.

𖹭. ps : our no.1 rasui romancer and fucked <3 really love whenever your ramble about this man!

Truly, he’d be so very flustered.

He would show you great gratitude and give you soft smiles and gentle nods when you give them upfront, but when you have left or when he comes into his office to see the new gifts. Why, you leave him a spluttering mess.

Magma drips off of him everytime, while his hair bursts into agressive pink flames, to contrast the decorative red ones that surround his office.

Origami flowers that look like all of the bouquets you have been giving him? You must have the intent to explode the entirety of the syndicate and cause a volcano to burst as well with what you do to his heart.

The shirt you gave him? He hasn’t stopped wearing it since, washing it as often as possible to style it in all different ways to his outfits. Sometimes he sprays your perfume on it and rubs it out good so it smells like you.

If only you could see the tremble in his lips. His usual stone faced facade crumbling away like the rocks around the volcano his people reside in back in the elemental realm. Oh they’d all look at him in shame with the way he reacted to all of these gifts.

The day you gave him that pencil, however. Was the first time you delighted in all of his little reactions. You watched him opening the box. Flaming gold eyes widening, flickering between you and the pencil. Throat so dry, he didn’t even think that was possible.

His name engraved in it and all. . . The amber shines so beautiful together with the rubies, and is that— How in all the realms did you get your hands on volcano rock to surround the amber and ruby delicately. Keeping them in place. This is from his homeland he feels it. The magic is so familiar.

“You— Oh you spoil me-” He stammers. A sound rare for most ears.

“Do I? Or is it because you deserve all of the gifts possible in the world?” You chuckle, tilting your head to the side. Soft steps wandering across the intricate carpet on the floor to make way to the desk.

Sighing in relief. You lean against the wooden surface to look at the man before you to murmur: “You’re adorable when you’re flustered Rasui.”

Flame rips through the air as the entirety of his body burns. And once the flames settle, he stands there, in his full elemental form. his magma rock face hiding away in his hands, while lava drips down onto obsidian floor.

#﹙ cupcake rush. ﹚: rasui 9948e 𖹭 ݁#monster boyfriend #teratophillia #terato #monster fucker #fire elemental x reader #mercenary x reader #monster x reader #monster oc #oc x reader #x reader #reader insert #original character x reader #rasui 9948e #asterism

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thatguythatdrawsalot · 6 months ago

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Yang - Atlas Design Critique.

Sorry I took so long I just wanted to catch up on some shows I’ve been missing out on and prepare for college next month- but I got to work on Yang! Who honestly was SO HARD TO MAKE A REDESIGN! And even HARDER, make a CRITIQUE for.

RWBY Archives

Reading her archives she’s reminiscent of a pilot and that’s a pretty odd choice, her design should’ve been at least a skier or a party girl but whatever. She’s never hinted at wanting to learn how to fly an airship, she just drives around a crappy motorbike in Mantle at best. It’s misleading but again, whatever. Jaune dresses as a knight and I don’t expect him to protect anyone, Weiss dresses as a princess but isn’t ruling a kingdom, Yang dresses like a pilot and I don’t expect her to fly an airship when she can just leave it up to Maria and Pietro. But other than the odd aesthetic for Yang, the outfit does look moderately warm with a cool bomber jacket, an orange scarf… and an exposed thigh. Accompanied by a white tube top that just wouldn’t be practical to have in the Great North. I get it, they said aura can keep the characters warm but is Yang really wasting her life-saving aura to be fashionably exposed rather than just, wearing warmer clothes? This outfit can work if she is solely stuck in Mantle but she’s a huntress taking missions out in the tundras!

There’s not a lot of heat generators out there to depend on!

Hair

No, I’m not going to critique the model, her model is fine. I just wanna talk about her hair. Yang has her hair unchanged which is in character for her, she’s pretty strict about her hair being left untouched. I just really think the hair gets in the way of putting Yang in yellow. Trust me, it is. Yellow is very bright and Yang has such large yellow hair with weapons that are two large yellow chunks. I can see why they barely put Yang in yellow anymore. Here’s the thing, they’ve made Yang’s hair no longer yellow but instead an average blonde, the same tactic they did for Blake so they could put her in pure black except they didn’t. To me, Yang isn’t defined by her large yellow hair, she’s defined by her hair shining bright like fire. If they need to cut her hair or just have her hair in a ponytail to put yellow in her yellow, please do so!

Primary Color - Yellow?

I love how her bomber jacket is auburn-red for Ruby, I adore the white tufts on the jacket for Weiss, and I certainly love that more black in on the look for Blake. When she stands next to Blake it looks like they should be a pair… just wished Blake wore yellow/gold in return- but with her teammate's colors on her, I still think Yang has too many colors. She reads to me as muddy and unfocused with the different shades of brown all around! And worst of all they rely on dirty gold-brown and orange to compensate for yellow. Yang IS NOT wearing yellow, at all. Remember when I said I liked her auburn-red jacket? I bet you didn’t know it was supposed to be auburn-red, cause in the show, it’s brown. This is something I’ve been wanting to say for years. In the concept art, they show Yang’s gold matching her hair to be more in line with yellow. Even in the 3D model sheet, the colors follow the concept art with actual auburn-red, tan skin, and a brighter yellow for her weapons. In the show, the colors are just muted or completely changed. Yang’s weapons are now an ugly shade of yellow; Highlighter Yellow. Her jacket is legit brown. The pretty tan is now ugly beige. I don’t understand… her model follows the correct colors but in the show it’s different! Is it the lighting? Was the model tweaked and I’m just using a faulty image? What is going on??? They can put her in the prettiest colors that flatter the gold but it all gets washed out! They need to put Yang in colors that flatter yellow cause this engine or lighting isn’t working.

Negatives?

Yang’s look isn’t great or awful, she’s a neutral positive. Yang does have the second-best look on her team even with silly exposed leg and chest, and lack of yellow. In the end, I think the biggest issue with Yang’s Atlas design is the coloring I mentioned above. They keep making Yang wear anything other than the color yellow and when she does have yellow on her the animation engine turns her yellows into the ugliest shades of it! Highlighter Yellow, Brown, Dirt Gold, Sandy Beige, and Dull Yellow. Whatever is going on with the lighting or model, It seriously needs some tweaks or adjustments, I hope in Vacuo where it’s super sunny and bright, her yellows can pop rather than be muted.

Redesign

I understand that yellow is super hard to work with for Yang so here’s the trick, put her in minimum yellow than NO YELLOW AT ALL. I took inspiration from Emerald Sustrai’s Atlas look since she wore limited green but still stunning, and from Mami Tomoe from Madoka Magica where she has limited yellows because of her hair. The least amount of different colors on Yang, the better. Her aesthetic is a motorbike fun girl which I might’ve flopped on, her sleeves are rolled up on her jacket, she has a large purple scarf with an Ursa pattern on the end to help her allusion of being Goldilocks and the three bears, and since she’s the mom/big sister of the team I thought it’d be nice for her to have some of her teammate's emblems on her as patches for her pouch. To top it off I loved Yang’s socks in the concept art that I wanted them to poke out of her boots. It’s not perfect but a good blueprint for me if I ever want to return to this redesign and make a few changes.

Conclusion

Yang’s Atlas outfit is again, a neutral positive for me, despite the odd aesthetic of being a pilot to the bizarre colors on her, she’s fine. I just expect Yang to wear yellow, and I also expect her to look like she belongs with Team RWBY since none of her teammates wear yellow in return. They rely too much on Yang wearing browns and oranges rather than yellow, the presumed teaser image for Volume 10 seems to have Yang in yellow by putting her hair in a ponytail. That way the large yellow hair doesn’t act like a cape, comparable to Ruby’s large red cloak. I always think Yang’s design could work if she just had tweaks of colors if anything else, don’t be afraid to put her in yellow, and don’t be afraid to ditch a color of hers even if it’s a staple to her design. Yang doesn’t need to wear brown, and she doesn’t need to wear orange or lilac. The less colors, the better. I’m tired of Yang always coming out, wearing brown, and reminding me of potato sacks.

But of course it’s just my opinion. If you love this design or hate the design, please share your opinion. I’d love to hear it! :D

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #rwby redesign #rwde

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loop-hole-319 · 7 months ago

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What mythical horse centaurs I think the batfamily would be.

Bruce - Thestral / Batpony

Ties in well to witnessing his parents death. I think he will be able to control his invisibility although if you have scene death you will be able to see through it regardless.

Dick - Peryton

Specifically that one image of the one with the peacock tail. I just think it fits his flamboyant personality and is so colorful. It would also be dishonorable to give him something that couldn't fly.

Jason - Nightmare

I like to think it was a normal centaur but then something bad happened transforming him into a nightmare. I have a vivid image of him entering a building while wearing a smirk with a giant gun on his shoulder. With every step he takes embers fly from his feathering and a magma like texture spreads from his glowing hooves.

Tim - Kirin/Quilin

His appearance would be similar to the ones in My Little pony. With a horn that looks similar to an antler and a set of sharp fangs from dragon-like traits. With a dark red coat and gold scales with a gold horn and highlights. Also keep the setting itself on fire when pissed off cuz it's funny and opens up a whole bunch of scenarios for him.

Damian - Shadhavarr

Combined with constantly being mistaken for a unicorn with the fact that his horn seems to serve no other purpose then as a noise maker has put a damper on his mental health. After all, a wind instrument being stuck to your head is not beneficial to an assassin. He was supposed to have wings, he was supposed to be a Thestral. Although he did inherit his father's black coat and fluffy ears.

He does eventually find love for music in this AU mirroring his love for drawing.

Cass - Thestral / Batpony

Not much to say for her other than aesthetics and that would look badass. Although she is much more fluffy than Bruce.

Steph - Unicorn

Her highly pigmented shiny purple coat and yellow mane almost make up for the fact she can't use magic.

Babs - Hippocampus

Being a Ichthyocentaur on land would be a lot more upsetting if her tail was paralyzed because some asshole The Joker purposefully ran her over with their boat.

Duke - Descendant of Skinfaxi

Despite lacking a horn Duke has the most magic out of everyone in the herd. He can do basic light manipulation and his coat is extremely reflective.

Alfred - A White horse

The one death rode in on.

Jason likes to keep Dicks antler sheds so they can play fight with them later in the year.

Duke and Jason form a glow-in-the-dark club.

Jason likes to piss off Tim to make him flame up. Damian secretly thinks the flames are pretty.

Dick likes to make feather jewelry with his feathers.

Despite being partially paralyzed, Babs is extremely mobile in her wheelchair although she cannot swim.

Steph paints everyone's hooves she needs help with her back feet.

Despite three family members having wings, they rarely use them. Dick uses them the most by giving himself extra air time with jumps.

Despite being an extremely lanky awkward foal, Jason is a Shire. His running has been described as thunderous.

Jason once kicked a man's head off

When Bart met Tim he got extremely excited over 'horsey' and jumped on his back. Tim immediately bucked him off.

Tim kicked Kon in the nuts (thank you invulnerability) once on reflex because he smacked him on the ass. Kon later defended himself by telling him that he lived on a farm and he gave the horses butt pats all the time and it was ingrained.

Jason likes to play Rodeo with his friends. No one has stayed on for more than 4 seconds.

Once out of the assassin Colt Damien takes a deep dive into music and learns like seven instruments.

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ambiguouspuzuma · 1 year ago

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The Colour of Fire

"This must be tough on your lot, huh?"

"What do you mean," Palira asked, already knowing where this conversation was headed. Her tail coiled instinctively beneath the desk.

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean." The customer was human, as they so often were. He counted out his coins on the counter, as if she wouldn't have to tally them herself. "I don't know what the right word is nowadays. Is dragon still allowed? We're not supposed to say wyrms, right? Or is that wyverns?"

"Dragon is fine." She didn't bother outlining the difference. If he cared, he wouldn't already know. "But I understood the your lot, as you so diplomatically put it. I meant the other part. What must be tough?"

"Look, you know, getting rid of coins and that. The paper money. You people like piling it up, right? Hoarding? What are you going to do - make a stack? Build a mattress out of wads of notes?"

"That's a stereotype." Palira let the you people slide. Some days she was just grateful for people. "The idea that we sleep atop of a mound of gold. It really doesn't work that way."

Her ancestors would have swallowed him whole, but evolution had seen them go the way of the giants, adapted for life in the crowded cities. She'd kept her tail, her wings, her penchant for pyrotechnics, but wore clothes and worked behind a counter; the same number of scales, just scaled down. No less a dragon, but more of what his sort would recognise as a person.

She began the process of counting his coins away, keeping a tally as she went. This change to paper money was welcome, but it involved an awful lot of hassle: all of the old coins would need to be taken out of circulation, with notes issued in exchange. Vast exchanges had been set up to manage the transition, with dozens of trusted workers like Palira having to manually convert between the two. It wasn't too bad, when they let her concentrate.

"Right, that's what I'm asking." The human really wasn't getting the hint. "How does it work, then? You just pile it up to look at it? You don't eat it, do you?"

Palira sighed, a wisp of frustrated smoke escaping from her nose. "Traditionally - and I don't speak for all dragons here, because we're all individuals - we've just been drawn to gold for the way that it gleams. In our culture, it's the colour of fire, which is obviously also sacred to us. It's that lustre we revere above all else. Not how much is can be traded for at the greengrocers."

They'd always loved gold for its appearance - just as his ancestors had, before they'd gone and made it weird. Humanity had declared this simple metal to be the unit of all worth, the symbol of trade, and then also used it as the marker of their greed. A love for gold was seen as toxic, the root of all their sins, whilst loving other things was still allowed. Dragons were painted as the embodiment of miserly evil, when they were aesthetes: they'd only ever cared about the beauty of the gold itself.

Of course, the human translation of gold-as-money had also made it incredibly hard to get hold of the stuff. Even those who didn't care for the colour needed it to eat every day, to invest in new clothes, to save to put a roof over their heads. They started hoarding it, hiding it, packing it away in bank vaults where nobody could admire it at all. For Palira and her lot, the transition to paper money couldn't have come sooner.

No wonder so many had applied to work at exchanges like this: handing out the new notes, and taking the redundant old coins in exchange. Finally, they could show the world how little they cared for money: they would make an arrangement of that gold, yes, now that it was no longer legal tender. They would remove it from circulation all right. It had been freed up to be worshipped, just like in the olden days. Legally worthless, but still worth everything to them.

"Fire's red," the man told her. "Everyone knows that."

"You have a good day," Palira said, handing over his wads for safekeeping. She could easily find out where he lived, if she thought he needed more of a lesson, channelling the fury of her ancestors for the modern age. That was the other good thing about paper money, she thought: it was much more flammable.

#writing #short story #writeblr #creative writing #original writing

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amaiguri · 1 year ago

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Saegenfolk Reworks -- How I'm thinking about my pastel-goth Chinese-Viking fusion culture

Okay, so, as some of you may know, I am working on updating my Saegen culture to have more elements of my birth culture -- cuz, I legit don't know enough about it so this is a great way to learn and then like... mind-palace it into my worldbuilding (yes, I just verbed "mind-palace"). And guess what? I just finished my first sketches of a rework of the whole culture!!! <3 <3 <3 I'm REALLY pleased, it's really reasonating with me now in a way Saegen culture NEVER was <3

So, let's go over what some of the different stuff is -- Top to bottom, left to right... And I AM open to feedback and thoughts and, in fact, I encourage it <3 I consent to advice!

First thing to notice is the Saegen now have a color scheme that isn't jewel-toned red and gold… because the SVANHIK people are red and gold. I experimented with Green and Teal for the Northern lights -- but Green felt really weird. It made them too elfy. And Teal is already Telethens' color. Nouveau Thuille is purple/navy blue/black… So instead of making the red more jewel-toned, I took it towards Cyberpunk Neon/Barbie pink. Why? This is Asarlai's color in their culture now. Asarlai is the father of humanity and god of magic (up North) So wearing pink is super fatherly, magical, and clever. We still have black because black plants just work good in these near-underground settings -- absorbing waaay more light. So now the Saegen aesthetic is now like… pastel-goth Chinese-Vikings.

Next, we have the FASHION! The fashion is very very specifically stolen from the silhouette of Hanfu, just with more fur and different materials. I imagine it being Rumateur wool, but also leather and dyed animal skins and maybe bamboo silks and so forth. We still have elaborate braids and wavy hair, but in my mind, their eyes are all like the Sakha people or something. They still use their hands to paint their faces -- typically for sunscreening/snow-glare/sea-glare reduction reasons as well as receiving Asarlai's blessing. And while Thuilleans prefer silver metals, they prefer gold. This is just a contrast thing.

Next next: Houses! They mostly build out of these silvery bamboo stalks that grow under the Upper Continent. I really like these tent-like silhouettes to their houses -- with littler tents stacked atop each other. They also have igloo-like, bulb-shaped homes for temp shelters! Their ships are like dragons with their wings and blade-armored fronts (mostly for ice, but also fighting). And some even ride small whale-landsharks with sealskin saddles ❤️

Weapons and tools wise: They're really well known for their Ysse lanterns (I mean, EVERYONE IS but for different reasons). Theirs are all a really pretty pink -- the "purest form of Ysse light" (Not really.) -- and have the teardrop bulb shape. But they look like these warm, nutrient restoring fungi that naturally grow (or probably a god put them there) in Saegenheim. They also have guns (which have magic bulbs that, when struck, blast out fire. So really, they're flamethrowers but I don't like the way that sounds lol). They also use these Tang-dynasty-inspired swords and poleaxes pretty commonly.

Animal and creature wise: Their rumateurs are much bigger and bulkier -- more cattle-like thanks to the flatter plains around Saegenheim -- than the more lithe, leapy rumateurs of the Nouveau Thuillean valley. They also keep artic bunnies (even though the're considered mild pests in Nouveau Thuille) as easy food and sometimes even hunt seals. However, they have to be super careful not to murder their selkie brethren -- it is generally wiser not-to hunt seals because they might be a selkie -- and instead just ask seals for their molted skins (which they molt in one, thick slough once a year) or milk to make cheese or kumis. Not-shown: They also heavily rely on Butterflies of the Heart for Honey, Wax, and Mead --because despite their name, they're actually bees.

Above the Saegenheim cave are these enclosed plains of black bamboo forests. A currently unnamed but critically important fungus grows in tandem with the bamboo and is part of the bamboo's natural life cycle. I'm not entirely sure, but maybe something like the bamboo grows up and starts putting out leaves to photosynthesize, to pump back into the ground. The fungus feeds on the bamboo but then helps it spread further and also, gives the bamboo nutrients back in the winter. And eventually, the fungus eats the dead stalks WHILE fixing the soil for the new growth?

Regardless, the Saegen people eat this fungus as one of their staple foods.

They also eat a ground-fungus that the rumateurs and bunnies eat up here that grows small and under the frost but VERY PERSISTENTLY, much to everyone's surprise (it's the 5" one). It also works with the bamboo and tree fungus to make this really weirdly balanced flow of nutrients in and out of the soil with the seasons.

The ground fungus is usually dried, ground up, and then used for soups or baked goods (like flat breads or meat loafs.) Meanwhile, the tree fungus is usually eaten without grining but still boiled/fried/baked OR dried and ground up and brewed to make coffee. ((This is where the Northerners get their coffee -- the coffee is a lie, they are perpetually drinking an American Civil War Confederate coffee substitute XDDDDD But at least their coffee usually has good protein, micronutrients, and caffeine-like substances, unlike real Civil War coffee substitute LOL))

So Saegenheim is now in the Womb of the World, (the environment sketch) taller and this tree-like fungus grows that is also edible and can act as a meat-substitute nutrient-wise BUT it grows much slower, so it is carefully monitored by the Sages so they don't fuck it up.

Speaking of the Womb of the World -- this warm, damp refuge in the otherwise hostile, VERY NORTHERN part of the tundra is a cave warmed by the specific way the permanent Ysse Springs interact with the stones here -- warming the cave to very liveable temperatures year round. The Sages of Saegenheim have built their home here to honor the Gods who brought forth all of humanity. However, most Saegenfolk do not live here year round -- they are semi-nomadic, in that they go to the same few places and settle for the season. Different royal families will lead their people to different places, but those who can afford it will return to winter in the safe, reliable Saegenheim to catch up on news and celebrate Godsweek. They hang new pink lanterns in the streets at the beginning of every new year.

And lastly, when they aren't in Saegenheim, the Saegenfolk are often sailing. And this means they are hunting whale-landsharks, sea serpents, shrimp, and artic carp (articarp, if you will XD).

Now this closeness of location and similarity of lifestyle and respect of the Sages and Gods may lead you to believe that the Saegens are cooperative, extended-family-oriented folks.

No.

Due to the harshness of the environment, a great deal of emphasis is placed on survivability and military. And when everyone is seeking to be better, then you cannot rest for even a moment or you will fall behind. If you are not young enough to be trying to get stronger/cleverer/better/more useful, then you better be teaching others to get there or you're useless. And useless things are to be cast off…

Every family has its own sort of military hazing rituals that involve ridiculously long, cruel, and unnecessary training hours. Admittedly, it's a well-rounded education but there are all these weirdly specific judgements about you, depending on what kind of instruments, weapons, poetry, and cooking recipes you know. And even though your extended family will provide you food and teach you and find your more private tutors as you grow up… you will be constantly compared to your cousins. If you are worse than even one, you are pressed like you are worthless. If you are better than all your cousins and siblings by 200%… why is it not 250%? 300%? You cannot ever be Enough in Saegen culture.

Unless you're a Sage. Sages are judged by entirely different standard. But the number of people who try to become Sages and fail is also… quite large.

Anyway, this might've been poorly organized AND I'm still thinking about all this so if you have thoughts or feedback, let me know ❤️

#whimsigoth #pastel goth #Chinese inspired #viking inspired #fantasy worldbuilding #worldbuilding #brainstorming ideas #brainstorming #creative writing #worldbuilding challenge #fantasy writing #fantasy art #visual design #concept art #concept sketch #Yssaia #Amaiguri

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recitedemise · 1 year ago

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𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀. Nestled along the coast of Waterdeep, it is both sunlight and the insistent cling of salt that Gale's grown to find exceedingly soothing. It is the bastion of his comforts, outfitted with a grand assortment of a thousand enchantments. Charmed, it is far larger on the inside than it appears on the outside, and nestled in its rooms wade about a million secrets. A wizard's tower, after all, should be as much an enigma as the mage themselves.

Entryway.

Upon entering Gale's home, one would be welcomed by a sectioned off room, the house separating its guests from the rest beyond this point. It is nondescript, all deep woods with the warmth of a far away fire, sure, but plainly put, is not what one expects from a wizard's home. There is a mirror by the door, and before it, a little end table with an aging candelabra. There is a thick, fine drape that rests snug at the arch walling off the tower's entryway, and there is a plush, old rug sat in front of the door. Framed, there hangs a painting of a garden by the right-most wall. The decor is dated, speaking of an aesthetic veering on 'dark academia' and here, there is an enhancement Gale placed to thwart those not explicitly welcomed--hold person, in the rug, can hold you still.

But at least the shy smattering of hanging plants can keep you company.

The first floor: Entry way, living room, kitchen, and washroom.

After exiting the entryway, one would at last enter a hall, short, that leads to a cozy and admittedly half-cluttered room. Here, there is a coffee table, some leather seats in a shade of hemlock-green, and a winding staircase--fit with a red stair runner-- that goes, up, up, up (again, enchanted, some time manipulation steeped in the runner to shorten walk-time). In fact, should one look up, one would think Gale has furnished twelve floors at least, the ceiling like a pinprick with rich deep-gold tiles. It's evident this floor's hardly used, however, beyond the kitchen that is sat snug and half-walled off from the adjoining living room. The seats seem seldom used, not a crack or wrinkle in their delicate upholstery, and the cups lines in Gale's kitchen never used beyond the one. There's several books splayed about, a knitted blanket Morena had made him some decades ago--purple, his favorite, shade, of course--thrown about the sofa, and a myriad of paintings lined on the walls. There's a hanging light in the fashion of some brassy armillary. In the built-in shelves in the paneled walls, there rests even more books with some decanters of whiskey. There rests a wide circular window fit with an alcove right at the center wall, too, with a darling view of the waters with some hanging candles.

Beside the living room, the kitchen--again, very frequently used--waits, charmed with a fire that seems always to burn (safely, of course). At all times, something fragrant lingers within it, be it darling, spice-fruit tartlet or a succulent rack of ribs or lamb. Here, the fashion is a touch more rustic in nature, more dark-red bricks and taupe woods. Over his oven--black iron, a simple cast wood stove--rests an overhang of herbs, dried and half-self grown with the pots by his open windowsill, and the other half purchased from the ladies at the markets. He's a sizable coldbox charmed with a suspended chromatic orb of frost (it pulses, giving perpetual cool to the contents inside), beside countertops filled with all manner of jars. Gale makes his own jams, his favorite being a delightful, tart raspberry, and it with its fruity sisters and brothers rests bottled up with delightful cloths. Gale spends much time in here, and it's plain to see he lavishes it with love. Always, there is something delightful set up by the island counter that looks off into the rest of the living room--like a cake stand piled generously with something exquisitely vanilla. With a door nearby, Gale would explain it leads to his little pantry of hundur sauce. There, one will find, too, his notable collection of both red and white wines. An evening with Gale Dekarios is an evening with a five course meal.

The washroom set off by the staircase is humble, a tap of flowing water charmed to flow and stop when you so wish it. There is an ornate mirror, some suspended flowers there for a spot of freshness, and lit candles for ambiance. The small of something earthy and not too overbearing hangs everywhere, steeped in the towels and the wood of the little medicine cabinet.

The second floor: Two bedrooms, with their own personal bathrooms.

Here, you will find Gale's bedroom, and beside it, a spare. To note, no one ever uses that guest room considering, well, one would need guests to start off with. All the same, no would-be over-night stay would find themselves wanting. The guest room, adequately sized, opens up to face a wide, stained glass window-modestly so, just to allow some shades of gold to lick along the floors. A thick curtain dresses it up, its color a burgundy wine that pairs well with the dark woods and surge of white in the bedding. The best itself is a four post one, no veils yet to hang off of them. The large dresser is empty save for some spare things Gale has put in for Tara (spare collars, for example) and a couple of blankets he's never once used. It has its own bathroom as well, its tub charmed to, again, spill water and stopper it whenever you so wish. It's everything you need should you ever stay here, but admittedly, stripped just a bit of any personality.

Gale's room, however, is ride with personality. Here, you will find all manner of trinkets and wide-eyed wonders. It's dark wood again, and lived in, is effectively cluttered. There are books strewn everywhere, laid out on the floors despite two of four whole walls filled completely with tomes. He's a window at the one wall, opening to the scene of the city clamoring just beyond, its windowsill decorated with cups of wine, tea tins, and some pots of terracotta for when he deigns to play gardener. He's a large armillary in a state of perpetual spin, aligned with the real-time turning of the stars. His bed is large, a bed tray usually atop of it with smattering of peeled fruit and his read for the morning, sheets a dark, rich brown with the bedposts taken in dark-green curtains. There's a bed for Tara, too, laid there by one of his growing stacks of ancient reads. His carpet is patterned, a sliver of white to help brighten the space, with some cat toys strewn here and there and an armoire that's charmed much larger on the inside. Beside his bed, there rests Gale's private bathroom. It's impressive, tiled beige with dark woods that border on chestnut black. He's a whole array of bath salts, lotions and creams and shampoos and conditioners, everything combining to capture ascent of sage and jasmine sweetened just a sliver with a persimmon hue. His tub is actually dipped into the floors, a standing shower merely an overhang spout in the space beside the tub. There is incense here, too, that wafts at times with the hot steam of his usual luxurious baths--Gale, let it be known, a sucker for a spot of finery.

The third floor: Dedicated solely to Gale's office and study--dressed up with a terrace. Inside the study, Gale keeps his inheritance and riches.

Going up the stairs this floor has no landing. In fact, it's only a passing door before one continues traveling up towards the rooftops. The door is unassuming, something old and ancient with brass knockers as handles. However, belying its normalcy is the swell of magic and light that glows from crystals within.

This room is what we are most familiar with: it is, as we have seen in game, Gale's study. And yes, it is by and large, Gale's most favored room--kitchen notwithstanding. Here, Gale's study is less a study and more a keep of ancient texts. His walls are littered with them, the copious amount of shelves not enough to cradle their wealth. Stacks of loose tomes can be found crawling up, up, up for the ceiling everywhere, and each one, he'll tell you, is one he's read once before--evidently not faking it like every other bookworm. He knows where each one seems to lay by heart, even the four hundredth manual in an uninspiring shade of brown. He's a crackling hearth, one he's charmed to run forever on and on, with a single chair and a sofa-too-many. He's a statue in a wait-high sizes dedicated to Mystra. He's spent more hours than he'd confess to kneeling before them, a memory he's no rush to indulge in again with any delight, both scrolls and flowers wreathing it like humble offerings. He's a piano he's manipulated to play when he desires, something of a tune that runs very soft and relaxed. At times, Gale himself will even pluck away the keys, the piano chair before it housing some rough compositions.

In this study, one will find a door, locked, to what houses whatever is of Gale's inheritance. Beside that door, one will also find the double doors to his brilliant terrace, outfitted with plants, a rug, and sun-warm sofa. Here, Gale likes to idle away his time, Tara in his lap and some wine on his tongue. In his year in solitude, he would rest here often, looking over the lullabied waters and its quiet ripples... Half mad, half yearning, and entirely wistful.

One can find some empty bottles of wine here with a heavy heart.

The fourth floor: A smaller room, something like an observatory.

Humble but absolutely dazzling, the top floor opens up to a darling observatory of sorts--not a proper room, no, but a mere floor with a railing that looks down to the lower, three-most levels. Here, the ceiling--again, those rich tiles of brown and gold--rest above your head, wide and unobscured of even a hanging light. Instead, there are candelabras set up about this book-littered room (with pillows, too, and a nice rug set up for casually laying) that flicker and whisper with its crackling song. Laid down on this floor, one would look up to that so-bare ceiling...and when Gale so whispers it, says those magical words, the ceiling seems to suddenly disappear, replaced with a ripple of the view of the stars. Here, Gale can trace the course of the twinkling cosmos. Immediately, the shine of the stars come to pale the combined wash of the candles, the atmosphere impossibly drusy and gauzy like silk. Gale likes it up here, relaxing in the majesty of the moon. Sometimes, he will find Tara flapping her wings here, a little trapdoor to the rightmost wall for her to come and go from when she desires. They will cuddle up together as she speaks about her nightly escapades of feline devilry. Gale, in a nest of pillows, will patiently listen.

#HEADCANON.#THis is...SO LONG. This is just describing Gale's 'tower'.#ANd yes... I DO want to add pictures. Maybe once I make it properly in Sims or something #cuz you know I play Sims... A LOT.#I am in love with an observatory floor just for Gale to admire the skies...#So much magic in this house. Perpetually lit fires #tea charmed to always stay warm and ready for consumption #tubs with faucets that can always run as warm as you like (and Gale--to Shadowhearts admission--always smells like a dowager #so YES gale has a LOT of fine creams and shampoos and all that jazz. Man likes to bathe forever in his tiled tub with a a book #i know it.)#We are exploring beyond that little study and terrace we saw in Gale's romance scene. I am talking about a PROPER HOUSE!#Gale's home is so...well dark academia. How typical.

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maga-sanguinis · 4 months ago

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Malicia Sanguisfort, the Blood Witch: [15]

Name: Malicia Sanguisfort

Aliases: The Blood Witch, Malice Bloodfort, The Hag, The Devil

House: Slytherin

Wand: Classic - black | Elder Wood | Thestral tail hair core | Unyielding flexibility | 14 and 1/2 inches

Background:

Malicia is an orphan of unknown parentage, raised in a foster home among other homeless children. She discovered her magical abilities at the age of ten, using a stick as a wand to accidentally set a bush on fire. By fifteen, she entered Hogwarts as a fifth-year student, aligned with the events of the 2023 game.

Appearance:

- Dark crimson hair with black roots

- Dark blue eyes that glow with ancient magic

- Fair pale skin

- Lips as red as a wilting rose

- A dark mole on her right cheek, slightly above her upper lip

- A deep scar on her left cheek and jaw, running up to her eyebrow

- Wears an outfit similar to Ranrok’s, fitting for a human

- Uses a fashionable gold and ebony cane with a ruby handle, imitating the Philosopher’s Stone

Malicia often dresses in elegant dark suits or dresses to fit her dark aesthetic and has many disguises to go out in public without being recognized. She wears a hybrid mask of porcelain and legendary masks from Hogwarts Legacy.

Strengths:

- Mastery of the Dark Arts

- Specializes in blood magic

- Capable of using the Cruciatus Curse (Crucio)

- Does not require a wand to perform spells

Weaknesses:

- Struggles with self-sabotage

- Isolates herself from others

- Fears forming attachments and accidentally harming those she loves

Personality:

- Cunning, ambitious, charming, and power-seeking

- Prefers solitude and deep study over social interactions

- Neutral in her morals

- Advocates for equality and peace among magical creatures and beings

Fears:

- Becoming attached to someone and losing or harming them

Special Abilities and Pets:

- Her Patronus is a winged, four-legged Basilisk

- Keeps Nagini as a loyal companion

- Has a personal carriage pulled by Thestrals

- Gained the trust of a Nundu, showcasing her control and bond with mythical creatures

Notable Actions and Achievements:

- Resurrected the Basilisk after discovering the Chamber of Secrets

- Defeated a bully in a duel to the death, solidifying her reputation

- Controls the Death Eaters post-Voldemort, using them as spies instead of an army

- Rich and powerful by the age of twenty, feared in the wizarding community

- Stands against the abuse of dragons and related creatures, turning abusers into goats for dragons to devour

- Maintains a secret relationship with Nagini, feeding her with captive humans who try to harm Malicia

- Created a spell to absorb the power and life force of enemies, using it on Ranrok

- Immortal, remaining young and in her prime

- Granted Regulus Black immortality as a wedding gift, solidifying their eternal bond

Ultimate Goal:

- To uncover the truth about her parents and master all forms of dark magic, becoming the legendary "Blood Witch."

Key Interactions:

1800s:

- Sebastian Sallow: Rival and reluctant ally, sharing a fascination with dark magic.

- Ominis Gaunt: Wary of Malicia's power but shares an understanding due to their similar backgrounds.

- Poppy Sweeting: Attempts to befriend Malicia due to a shared love for magical creatures, despite Malicia’s dark nature.

Early 1900s:

- Newt Scamander: Uneasy alliance due to mutual respect for magical creatures, but differing views on their treatment.

- Grindelwald: Malicia beats him into submission, rejecting his ideology and believing in equality among all beings.

Mid-1900s:

- Tom Riddle: Mutual curiosity and respect, with hints of future conflict.

- Albus Dumbledore: Unlikely friends or frenemies, with philosophical dialogues and mutual respect despite opposing natures.

Post-2017:

- Harry Potter: Heated debates rather than battles, as Harry tries to appeal to Malicia’s humanity.

- Hermione Granger: Intellectual clashes, with Hermione trying to outwit Malicia.

- Draco Malfoy: Malicia laughs at his attempt to form an alliance, dismissing him.

- Dolores Umbridge: Malicia persuades Dolores to change her ways and supports her therapy sessions, encouraging her to confront her past and seek redemption.

- Regulus Black: Their partnership begins with shared missions against Voldemort, growing into a deep, unbreakable bond. They marry in an intimate ceremony, where Malicia grants Regulus immortality as a wedding gift.

Lairs:

- Primary Lair: A hidden underground fortress beneath an ancient, abandoned castle in the Scottish Highlands. This lair is a maze of dark, winding corridors, hidden chambers, and secret passages. It's where she conducts her most secretive experiments, stores her rare artifacts, and plans her next moves. The fortress is enchanted to remain hidden from those who do not possess Malicia’s unique magical signature.

- Secondary Lair: Deep within the heart of the Forbidden Forest, where magic runs wild. Here, she is surrounded by magical creatures and the untamed magic of the forest. This lair is more organic and natural, with living quarters built into the trees and hidden groves for her to practice her magic and commune with the magical creatures she protects. This lair serves as a retreat and sanctuary, a place where she can connect with the raw magic of the world.

- Tertiary Lair: A secretive castle filled with lavish rooms and furniture fit for a bloodlust-fueled Slytherin and her husband. It includes:

- A ballroom with beautiful music to waltz to

- A trophy room showcasing her many victories

- An art gallery with paintings and sculptures of her victims

- A weapon and artifact room

- A grand library with every book imaginable

- Special rooms for Nagini and the Nundu

- Lavish living quarters for Malicia and Regulus

Visits to Hogsmeade:

Sometimes, after traveling to different parts of the world, Malicia likes to visit Hogsmeade, recalling memories of her time at Hogwarts. These visits are bittersweet, filled with reflections on simpler times and the friendships she once had.

#harry potter #harry potter rp #harry james potter #hogwarts aesthetic #hogwarts houses #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #slytherin #slytherpride #evil main character #voldemort #ranrok #blood sorcerer #blood witch #blood moon #orphan

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bledastray · 5 months ago

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🩸 ︰ # BASIC

name : rafael luis cordero. nicknames : rafe. date of birth : december 2nd 1996. place of birth : mexico city, mexico. ethnicity : mexican. age : twenty7. gender : cis man. sexuality : homosexual. divine parent : huitzilopochtli. god of the sun, war, bloodletting and sacrifice. mother : selena cordero, cult member. education : high school diploma. occupation : former cult member and butcher.

🩸 ︰ # PHYSICAL

hair and eye color : raven black hair. dark brown eyes. height and build : six feet, two inches tall. athletic build with lean musculature. dominant hand : left. tattoos : a tattoo of a crimson sun, the symbol of la sangre del sol, the cult he was he was born and raised in. scars : none notable, a few cuts from blood rituals. clothing style : a very limited wardrobe of hand-me-downs and handmade clothes. prefers comfort over aesthetics, and often wears rugged, worn-in crop tops with bloodstains that are impossible to fully wash out. also has polo and sleeveless shirts that feature sun motifs or fire-like patterns, but with more subdued or tarnished hues, such as faded golds, rusty reds, and deep burgundies. also favors sturdy, practical pants — cargo or leather — that allow freedom of movement while providing protection, some with small stains and worn spots from his past work. but if he's not going out or doing anything extensive, rafael does not like to wear anything at all.

🩸 ︰ # PSYCHE

mbti : estj — the executive. enneagram : 3w2 — the enchanter. moral alignment : chaotic neutral. astrological placements : sagittarius sun, scorpio moon, aries rising. personality : values efficiency and order, preferring clear and defined roles in relationships and life. motivated by achievement, rewards and validation, with the desire to be liked, to be seen as valuable, and to connect — albeit on his terms. he may appear outgoing and friendly, but it's always a means to an end. strategic, calculating, and protective of those he deems loyal while also seeking constant validation through achievements or seduction. desensitized to violence after growing up in a cult that believed in blood sacrifices to sustain the sun and maintain plentiful fertile crops. capable of killing without hesitation if it serves a purpose, especially with his role as a butcher desensitizing him further, turning ritualistic violence into a task that needs to be done efficiently. given the cult’s emphasis on bodily sacrifice and physical rituals, has an internalized sense of power through the body. uses sexuality as a way to assert control and gain validation. charming and seductive, often relying on physicality rather than emotional intimacy because it’s easier to navigate. sex as transactional — a way to get others to value or want him without having to open up emotionally. craves recognition, but fears the vulnerability that comes with true intimacy. habits : strict daily rituals including praying to the sun, as well as grooming and morning preparations. daily exercise to keep top physical shape. polishing tools and weapons, keeping them sharp and clean. subconsciously checking out people's veins. compulsively fixes and arranges objects around him, especially when he’s anxious or feels out of control. quirks : drawn to the color red, often commenting on or admiring red objects or clothing on others. taps his fingers rhythmically when he's thinking or bored, sometimes mimicking the pulse of blood flow. smirking at people in a flirtatious way, almost like a default expression. does not like wearing socks or underwear, finds them restrictive. when in conversation, his eyes may flicker to a person’s neck, fascinated by the blood flowing underneath the skin. often pauses in the doorway as if assessing the space, people, and the flow of energy. hobbies : collects various blades, from ritualistic knives to butcher tools, admiring their craftsmanship. takes pride in cooking, especially working with meat, creating elaborate dishes. his background as a butcher and control over blood makes him naturally interested in anatomy, spending time studying books or models of human and animal bodies. from a self-sustaining cult, he also likes gardening and growing his own ingredients. carves small sculptures out of wood or bone, enjoying the intricacy and precision needed.

#🩸 ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎›‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎rafael cordero ⁝ character study.#pinned.

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maria021015 · 1 month ago

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“Merry Christmas Eve, sweetheart,” Melissa’s warm smile did nothing to heat Zaida’s icy mood, but she plastered a polite expression on her face.

Waving goodbye to the woman, she stepped out of the car and into the thin blanket of snow that had fallen over the sidewalk. Blades of grass across the front lawn were frozen in place by the glassy sheen of frost, and the trek up the front path was slippery beneath her boots. If it weren’t for the fennel’s fire running through her system, she’d likely have been trembling against the cool wind. Snow was rare in California, and rarer still at this time of the year. It was exciting for some - the novelty of a white Christmas. The evidence of it was scattered around the street in small snowmen built by overjoyed children. For Zaida, it only served as a reminder of all that she was missing out on this year.

Christmas had always been a time for family to get together and celebrate. They’d watch all of the cheesy Christmas movies in the days leading up to it and decorate the house together. When they were younger, on Christmas Eve, they’d bake cookies for Santa and their mother would help them set up cameras to try and catch Santa in the act. Their father would wear a red suit and a white beard and make sure to be caught on the footage setting their presents below the tree. On Christmas morning, they’d open all of their gifts and later in the day their family would host large gatherings and dine together. Christmas was hard enough after her parents died, but she’d still had Xander, and her grandparents. Xander did everything he could to keep the spirit of Christmas alive, honouring their silly traditions. He’d even pull on the same red suit their father wore and would keep it on all through dinner. This year there would be none of that. She’d spend it alone, in a big empty house, and Xander would spend it in a shared hospital room with a grumpy old codger. At least he’d enjoy the cookies she’d baked and dropped off - the same ones they used to make for Santa as children.

The McCalls had offered for her to spend Christmas with them. Lydia and Stiles had done the same, but she’d declined all of their offers. The last thing she wanted was to intrude upon their own family traditions with her misery. After jiggling the front door key in the lock for a few minutes, she managed to twist the mechanics inside, and the heavy wood swept open to reveal the dark entryway. Most of the house’s renovations had been finished, thanks to the pack. The walls had been painted, wood had been re-stained, fixtures had been swapped out, and furniture had been built. Zaida and Lydia had spent a lot of time designing each of the spaces and selecting pieces that would match the clean - and slightly moody - vintage aesthetic they were going for. All of the items that had been collecting dust in storage while they lived at the apartment had found their place in the house, bringing fond memories into the spaces. They’d left the guest suite downstairs mostly vacant to have room for all of the specialised equipment Xander would require upon his discharge from the hospital. The empty space left a deep ache of solitude deep in Zaida’s belly as she peered inside, reaching for the handle and pulling the door shut.

The twinkling lights that played across the floorboards caught her eye as she moved past the home theatre space where they’d all watched ‘Back to the Future’ almost a month before. The Christmas tree stood tall and proud in the far corner, surrounded by wrapped gifts and adorned with warm bulbs, burgundy baubles, and strings of gold beads. The matching star lay on the cabinet beside the TV. Zaida had almost fallen off the top of the ladder when she’d struggled trying to place it at the top of the tree last week. That had always been Xander’s job as the oldest - and tallest. It was the last decoration to be added as all the family watched, signifying a job well done for another year. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to place it up there in the first place, given the circumstances.

Metal clinking against glass echoed through the house when she dropped her keys into the bowl perched in the corner of the hallway table. Shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, a clatter sounded somewhere deeper into the house, and she froze with her cardigan drooping from her elbows. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, but she knew the sound of retrieving her keys from the bowl would alert the intruder to her intentions to leave. With the state of the lock in the freeing cold, she would never be able to get the door open in time before the attacker would reach her. She didn’t have any choice but to fight, only right now her abilities were entirely cut off from her. Shifting her weight to her toes so as to not allow the heels of her boots to make a sound, she crept to the door on her right, pushing it open to reach for the handle of a metal bat that was propped against the wall of the laundry room. Thanking Stiles for forgetting the item when the pack had gathered last Sunday, she drew the makeshift weapon into both hands, gripping tightly in preparation to swing.

Following the noise, her mind went to who could possibly be inside with her. Had she dismissed Deucalion too quickly? Had she been naive to believe all that he’d said? Maybe he’d been waiting all this time, regaining his strength until he could come back for her. Maybe he had spread the news of what she was and others had decided to come for her. Maybe it was someone else they’d managed to piss off. Or was it the police? Had they figured out that it was her who had murdered Katashi and his guards? Her waning resolve hardened once more at the sight of a figure in the darkness, sending a bolt of lightning through her heart. Her arms reacted before her brain could catch up, bringing the metal bat down towards the figure’s head before another came at her through the darkness. Larger, stronger hands closed around the end of the bat, stilling it before it could make contact. She grappled with the shorter man as the first whirled around at the sound of the commotion with a loud shriek.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!” The two male voices screamed for her to stop, and it was only then that she recognised who they were. Her fear left her body in a shaky sigh of relief as Scott let go of the bat and her arm fell limply by her side.

“What the hell, you guys?!” Zaida exclaimed and there was a click of a switch as the overhead lights illuminated the open living area.

“Us, ‘What the hell’? How about you, ‘What the hell’?!” Stiles cried out, his brows scrunching incredulously. “You’re the one with the bat! And while we’re on the topic, how about you get your own!”

The metal weapon was swiftly snatched from her hands by the boy in red and black flannel. “Maybe don’t sneak into a girl’s house when she’s home alone?!” She scoffed at them.

“Oh come on, how could you not know we were here?” Stiles shook his head, and Zaida froze when she realised that he was right. For all the others knew, she would have felt their presence through the tugging connections like a spider’s string webbing through the doors in her mind. None of them were aware of the tablets she hid like a dirty little affair. She’d made sure of it.

“How did you even get in? Don’t tell me you already-” Zaida began, changing the subject only for Stiles to pull his cluttered chain out of his pocket and flash the key to her house. “Seriously?”

The boy shrugged but his wide grin told her he was proud of himself. “Hey, don’t rip each other’s throats out,” Lydia spoke up from the kitchen in a sly tone, and Zaida turned to find the redhead carrying a baking dish with mitted hands. “Save that for after dinner.”

“What did you guys do?” The naiad gaped at the spread across the dining table. There were antipasto platters and bowls of creamy mashed potatoes beside dishes of crispy vegetables and plates of basted chicken. Kira was sliding a tray of steaks onto the table and Lydia quickly shooed Malia’s wandering fingers away from the meat.

“Did you really think we’d let you spend the holidays alone?” Scott tilted his head at her, his warm expression mirroring that of his mother.

“Our cooking might not be as good as yours, but I think we pulled it off,” Stiles winked at her, leaving his bat on the living room couch.

Zaida’s lips split into a broad smile as she took a seat at the table, and the others followed. The house came alive with voices and laughter as they all reached over each other to fill their plates with food and their cups with cheap wine. Stiles was the first to grab a Christmas cracker from the pyramid-like pile before them. Thrusting the red and white bonbon in Zaida’s direction, he arched an eyebrow in challenge. She rolled her eyes as she grasped the other end and tugged. With a loud bang, the cardboard tore in two, with the centre staying attached to Stiles’ half. He cheered at his victory, pulling the contents from inside to find a red paper crown, a fake moustache, and a small length of paper.

Unrolling it, he cleared his throat. “What says ‘oh, oh, oh’?” He read aloud and they quietened as they waited for the answer, listening to the loud sounds of Malia ripping into her steak. The werecoyote’s plate was stacked full of meat and nothing else. “Santa walking backwards.”

Loud groans greeted Stiles instead of laughter and they all shook their heads at the awful joke. Lydia smirked, adjusting her newly acquired gold paper crown from her own Christmas cracker. "I've got a better one," She announced, holding up a tiny slip of paper. "Why did Santa go to music school?"

Scott leaned in, eyes twinkling. "Why?"

"To improve his wrapping skills!" Lydia delivered the punchline with a flourish, earning a mix of chuckles and more groans. As the crackers continued to pop and hats of various colours adorned their heads, the pack grew louder. “You know, this was always my favourite part of Christmas.”

“Cheesy jokes?” Malia snarked with a frown, not seeing the appeal.

“No, eating dinner together, as a family.” Lydia corrected with a roll of her eyes. “It was the one time a year when neither of my parents was too busy with work. But family dinner hasn’t happened for a few years now.”

“I know the feeling,” Zaida shot her best friend a tight-lipped smile, understanding the pain of lost traditions.

“I always loved driving around the neighbourhood to see the lights,” Scott piped up, offering his own fond memory. “There used to be a few streets around here that went all out. Inflatable Santas, window displays, the whole nine yards. You remember?”

“Yeah, our moms used to take us.” Stiles nodded, his eyes shining with mirth. “Sometimes they’d even hand out candy canes at the front.”

“In New York, we’d always go out for dinner and then walk to the Rockefeller Center to see the tree,” Kira added sipping at her wine.

“I spent the last eight Christmases as a coyote in the woods,” Malia commented, reaching for another leg of chicken with hands covered in oil and spices.

“I guess we’re all breaking tradition this year, then,” Zaida realised, and she didn’t feel so alone anymore.

“Maybe this can be our new tradition,” Stiles’ hand found hers beneath the table as they shared a smile, and the others watched on knowingly.

“Hey, Zaida, could you grab more wine?” Scott asked, feigning innocence. “I think there’s some in the pantry.”

“And Stiles, we’re out of breadsticks,” Lydia added with a cheeky smile. “Could you check if there are any more?”

“Oh, I can get them,” Zaida offered, seeing as she was headed in that direction anyway.

“No, don’t be silly,” The redhead shook her head. “He can be a gentleman and help you out.”

“But-” The naiad began to protest, her brows scrunching in confusion.

“How’re you gonna carry wine and breadsticks?” Scott reasoned.

“Uh, with two hands…?” Zaida waved her palms in the air but before Lydia could insist once more, Stiles got to his feet.

“It’s fine, I’ll give you a hand,” He shrugged, and he and Zaida stepped away from the table, moving through the kitchen to the walk-in pantry.

Surely enough, there on the bench beside the sink were two bottles of wine, and an opened packet of breadsticks next to each other. Hanging from the overhead shelving was a branch of ripe green leaves with small red berries, dangling right above the items their friends had sent them to retrieve.

“Ah, so that’s why they were so hellbent on us both coming in here,” Zaida hummed, unable to help her burning cheeks. Her abdomen coiled tightly at the anticipation of what might be to come. Eyes flickering up at the boy almost expectantly, she waited for him to make the first move. Would he actually go for it?

“Yeah, we probably should have seen this coming,” Stiles tilted his head, a soft puff of air akin to laughter leaving his lips.

“You know they’re never going to let this go,” Zaida said, shaking her head as she crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter.

“Guess we better get used to it,” Stiles shrugged. Her nerves jittered as he leaned closer, and his hand came up. The naiad didn’t dare to so much as breathe, waiting for his skin to come into contact with hers. Instead, there was a rustle above her ear, and she turned to watch him pluck the mistletoe from the shelf, dropping it on the benchtop. Her heart sank as he picked up the packet of breadsticks and stepped backwards.

He saw the disappointment flash across her face, but it was too late for him to correct his mistake before she whirled, snatched the wine bottles and all but stomped out of the pantry. Retaking her seat at the table, Zaida saw their friends’ faces fall in surprise at her returning separately to Stiles.

"What's wrong?" The redhead asked in a whisper, noticing the dark mood radiating from Zaida.

"Nothing," She muttered, uncorking one of the wine bottles with a bit more force than necessary. Stiles trailed behind her, breadsticks in hand, his face a mask of regret.

As the night continued, Zaida's disposition seemed to lighten with the laughter and shared memories around the table. The pack’s camaraderie was a balm for her soul, easing the sting of her earlier disappointment. Even Stiles, though he kept his distance, managed to make her smile with his antics and terrible jokes.

After dinner, they gathered in the theatre room, scattered across the couch as presents were passed around. Stiles sat across from Zaida, his eyes never straying far from her, but giving her the space she seemed to need. The rest of the pack, sensing the unresolved tension, made a point to include them both in every conversation, bridging the gap with their infectious holiday spirit. Upon hearing about Zaida’s family tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve, they all were excited to partake in it. One by one, gifts were opened, each one thoughtfully chosen and received with gratitude and joy. It had taken Zaida hours at the mall to select something for each of her friends. She’d bought a genuine leather jacket for Scott and limited edition Nike sneakers for Kira. Both gifts remained wrapped, as the two decided to open each other’s presents. Lydia squealed shrilly when she saw the Channel handbag Zaida had gotten her, and even Malia laughed in excitement at the year-long Jerky Box subscription she’d received.

As the group made a mess of tearing open their presents, Zaida spotted the long and narrow box she’d been impatiently looking for amongst the piles of abandoned wrapping paper. A decadent Tom Ford perfume clutched in her hand - a gift from Lydia - she watched Stiles open his present. His jaw fell at the sight of the image on the front of the box. Tearing the cardboard open he pulled out the long item by its handle, pressing the button to light up the length in a brilliant green.

“Oh my God!” He bellowed in excitement, jolting up to his feet and swinging it around in a blur of light.

“Dude! Who got you a lightsaber!” Even Scott identified the item correctly. Though apparently not correctly enough by his best friend’s standards.

“This isn’t just any lightsaber. It’s Yoda’s!” Stiles scoffed, his eyes landing on Zaida. Only one person in the room knew how the Jedi Master was his favourite character in the series - followed very closely by Han Solo. “Thank you, Zay.”

“It’s nothing,” She brushed off his gratitude with a smile, her heart warming at his reaction. She knew he’d love it.

The hands of the clock nearing midnight, the pack tidied up the mess and made their way to the living room where they sat nursing various drinks by the crackling fireplace. Bathed in the warm glow, Zaida’s skin itched. Her throat constricted, growing tighter the longer she spent staring at the mesmerising flames, remembering the way her flesh had burned and her lungs had charred in that basement. Stiles watched her, noticing her fidgeting increasing as she became more and more uncomfortable. Eventually, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

Swallowing thickly, she climbed to her feet and mumbled an apology. “I’m just gonna get some air,” She excused herself from the group and exited from the back door through the kitchen. Sucking in the crisp air with deep breaths soothed her overheated flesh and calmed her racing heartbeat almost instantly. Open flames had become somewhat of a trigger for her, due to not-so-recent events.

“I’m gonna check on her,” Stiles muttered and was quick to hurry after the girl. Crossing over the back porch, his footsteps crunching on the frosted grass was what alerted her to his presence.

He found her perched crosslegged on a cushioned swing bed suspended from the thick branches of the massive tree that took up almost half the backyard. The structure swung back and forth slowly, and it squeaked slightly as he took a seat beside her. Reaching into his flannel he pulled the wrapped gift from behind his back where he’d stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans in the hope he’d be able to give it to her in private.

“I know you only open one present on Christmas Eve, but I figured maybe you could make an exception,” He broke the ice by handing her the box tied with a golden ribbon. Zaida eyed the package as she took it in her hands. It was almost flat but about the size of a piece of paper. She tugged at the ribbon until it came loose, carefully peeling back to wrapping paper to unveil a set of oil paints. Stiles watched her reaction closely and stumbled over his explanation nervously. “If you look upstairs, you’ll find a canvas in the study. I thought a painting would really bring the space together, but I didn’t know what style would match and…well, I thought you might like to paint it yourself. Get back into an old hobby.”

“Thank you, Stiles,” She smiled softly at him, chest warming at the thoughtful gesture, but the emotion didn’t quite meet her eyes. Her mind was still on what had happened - or rather, not happened - earlier in the pantry.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” He broached the subject apprehensively, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he searched her eyes for any sign of forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s okay. I guess we’re both just figuring things out...” Zaida shook her head, though her tone was still flat and she refused to meet his eyes. Staring up at the sky, she watched as fresh snow started to drift through the air, adding to the light blanket of glittering white across the yard.

“I didn’t…It’s not that I…” Stiles stuttered, struggling to find the right words. “I just…I don’t want it to happen just because everyone else wants it to.”

He didn’t want to kiss her. His words were like a jab to the stomach and Zaida’s lips pursed to stop the pained noise from escaping her. Instantly reading her expression, the boy rapidly backtracked. “Wait, no, that’s not what I-”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” She whispered in a defeated voice, her arms folding as she drew her knees into her chest. Had he thought about all of the things she’d done and changed his mind about her? Had he realised what she truly was? Had his feelings faded or disappeared altogether? It had been months since they had spoken about where they stood with one another, and maybe this was why. Maybe things had shifted and he hadn’t wanted to tell her. Zaida had felt somewhat cut off from him lately, and she’d attributed it to the fennel dampening her abilities into non-existence, but maybe it was this all along.

“No,” He shook his head defiantly, determined to explain himself properly. “No, it’s not fine. You told me once that you wanted our first kiss to be real, and so do I. I want it to be our own - not because our friends have pushed us into it.”

Zaida finally met his eyes, her guarded expression beginning to soften as she saw the sincerity in his gaze. "I guess I did say that, didn't I?" She murmured, her lips curling into a tentative smile.

Stiles nodded, relieved to see her smile, even if just a little. "Yeah, you did. And I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I just…I want it to be perfect. Because you deserve that."

The tension in her shoulders eased, and she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “The others have been really pushing us lately, haven’t they?” She’d noticed all of the whispering and glances behind their back, and the suggestive comments becoming more frequent.

“I think everyone just wants something good to happen for once,” Stiles admitted with a heavy sigh, rocking back and forth on his feet to move the bed. “For all of our sakes.”

“With the way that everything is, it doesn’t really feel like it’s the right time,” Zaida relaxed, her limbs unravelling as she let her legs hang over the edge of the swing. “...Does it?”

Her question came out sounding rather hesitant and unsure, as though she couldn’t quite tell for herself. And truth be told, she couldn’t. She was torn in two directions with one half of her wanting him desperately, and the other screaming at her that it was wrong. Wrong to give in to her own desires. Selfish to consider it.

“Doesn’t it?” Stiles’ voice lowered, his own pulse racing. The words hung in the frosty air between them, crystallizing with the chill as they locked eyes. The world seemed to shrink as Stiles’ breath formed small clouds in the cold night. He too had felt something holding him back from her - a niggling in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away - but right now everything was silent. A peace settled over him as he stared into her eyes, mesmerised by the myriad of colours sparkling within them.

Zaida's heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears. The vulnerability in his voice, the raw honesty, stirred something deep within her abdomen. "Stiles..." She whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and desire.

He reached out, not hesitating for even a moment before gently taking her hand in his. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, melting away the lingering doubts and fears. "You consume me, Zaida. Every waking thought leads back to you and every moment without you feels incomplete," He confessed, his voice soft yet fervent as his thumb traced soothing circles over her skin. "I can't stop thinking about you. I don’t want to stop thinking about you."

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” He continued, his voice barely above a whisper as his breath caught in his throat at the feeling of her fingertips dragging up and down his arm slowly. They left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Gusts of wind rustled the branches above them, scattering snowflakes that glistened in the moonlight like tiny stars, landing in her dark waves. Stiles leaned closer, his eyes never leaving hers, the space between them diminishing with each rapid beat of their hearts.

Her teeth bit down on her lower lip, and with a jolt, his mind was taken back to the basement of Eichen House, when her mouth had roamed his neck. A wave of heat ran through his body, accompanied by a pang of anxiety coursing through his chest. The memories of her body atop his were tainted by what had come next, and by the revelation that it had all been a ploy to lower his guard. “Is this real?” He murmured, his lips just a hair’s breadth away from hers.

The intensity of Stiles’ gaze as those amber eyes locked onto her almost made her shudder. They were impossibly darker than she had ever seen them, boldened by the crimson hue of the flannel shirt that hugged his broad body. The thin white shirt beneath outlined every dip and crest of his toned muscle. The sight of him like that - lips parted with desperation as his eyes pleaded with her - left her breathless. There was an overwhelming urge to feel him against her, this time without any ulterior motives or dark spirits clouding her emotions. “Yes, it’s real,” Zaida promised, and dipped her chin in a slight nod, the tip of her nose brushing against his.

“Then I’d say this is pretty perfect,” Stiles’ free hand lifted to sweep her loose hair away from her face, feeling the strands slip like silk between his fingers. “What do you think?”

“I think…” She murmured, but her mind was unable to focus on anything other than his lips - only atoms away from hers - and the warmth emanating from his body. She knew what he was asking her with his insinuation, and she no longer had the strength to deny not only him, but herself, any longer. “I want you to kiss me.”

Zaida didn’t need to tell him twice. In an instant he bridged the gap between them, drawing her face towards him and pressing his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Time seemed to stand still as Zaida tilted her head upwards, granting him more purchase, her eyes fluttering shut. Her heart felt as though it might burst right out of her chest. The only thing that mattered was the soft pressure of the deepening kiss, growing in intensity as their emotions surged to the surface. Stiles’ lips slid against hers, melding together as they found their slow but steady rhythm. It was a kiss of fulfilled promises and unspoken words - a culmination of months of shared glances, fleeting touches, and unexpressed feelings. His hand still cupped her cheek, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding her in the moment. Zaida's fingers found the back of his neck, threading through his hair and pulling him closer, as if afraid that letting go would break the spell of contentedness they’d fallen under.

His head tilted, nose pressing into her cheek as he discovered a new angle, persuading her mouth to part and grant him entry. Gently tugging her bottom lip between his teeth, he coaxed a sharp gasp forth from her. Finally breaking apart with heaving chests, Stiles rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed. The world slowly returned to them, the chill of the night air, the distant laughter of their friends inside, and the soft creaking of the swing, swaying in the wind.

Stiles was the first to open his eyes, his gaze filled with awe and adoration as he admired the sight of her with lips pink and swollen from his ministrations. "Wow," He breathed, a smile spreading across his face. "That was...wow."

Zaida laughed softly, her cheeks flushed. "Yeah," She agreed, her voice light with wonder and heart giddy. Her stomach tickled with the wings of a thousand butterflies. "It really was."

Before either of them could say anything more, the sound of their friends’ voices grew louder with the opening of the back door. A spike of panic rose within them both as they jumped apart, looking towards the source of the noise to see Scott standing on the end of the porch. “Hey,” He greeted them with a concerned expression, and guilt clawed at both Zaida and Stiles’ insides unexpectedly. “You guys have been out here a while. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, man, everything’s alright,” Stiles assured the werewolf, flashing him a tight smile.

“You should probably get back inside, it’s freezing out here,” Scott ushered them indoors, fussing over the both of them with blankets and hot chocolate to warm them up. Only, somehow, that only made them both feel colder.

It was well past midnight when the house finally fell silent, the pack separating to sleep before the much anticipated Christmas day activities they had planned. Lydia had taken the main bedroom, and Malia and Kira were sharing one of the spares with Scott and Stiles bunking together in another. It left Zaida all alone in her own room, tossing and turning in her sleep, her brow furrowed and her breathing shallow. The tendrils of a nightmare wound tightly around her mind, pulling her back to a night she wished she could forget.

The Oni was coming at her once more and she was almost too slow to block the swipe of its sword, her body only moving at the last possible second. She managed to dodge the Oni’s next attack by whirling out of the way, only to put her in direct view of Isaac. She knew what was coming. Failing to move out of the way in time, the black sword sliced completely across the werewolf’s stomach. Zaida’s body moved without her instructing it and the pole in her hand cracked clean in two by the Oni’s next arc. The bottom half of the weapon clattered to the floor loudly. She could only stare as Allison grabbed for an arrow in the sheath slung over her shoulder and notched it, aiming at the Oni who were still attacking Isaac, drawing blood over, and over, and over again. The boy dropped to his knees, unable to withstand the pain any longer.

Zaida had been here before, and there had been no use in it the first time, but she couldn’t stop the girl’s name from leaping off her tongue. “Artemis!”

“On it!” Allison yelled out in response and let her arrow fly. Silver whizzed through the air and embedded itself into the Oni’s chest, causing it to freeze in place. A yellow-green light emitted from the head of the wedged arrow, and the Oni’s sword crashed to the ground, clutching at the arrow. It let out an inhumane shriek before exploding into a cloud of smoke, the force of it shaking the ground beneath them.

Allison’s lips parted in surprise at her success where all else had failed. Zaida was already sobbing, tears streaming down her face as she watched the scene before her once more. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, speak, or even breathe. The world around slowed down, every second stretching into an eternity. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears, a deafening drumbeat that drowned out the sound of chaos around her.

Taking advantage of the distraction, one of the hooded ninjas charged at Allison, the moonlight glinting off the surface of it’s brandished sword. Zaida’s arm tingled with a thousand pins and needles, and as she felt her fingers falter she gripped onto the pole tighter with determination - or was it desperation? Pulling her arm back she launched the pole through the air. Only, instead of stopping the Oni, it flew straight threw the smoke figure, falling to the floor with an echoing clang. The Oni’s sword ran straight through Allison’s stomach and Zaida’s heart shattered all over again. The huntress’ bow dropped and her hands clutched at the embedded weapon that was swiftly drawn back out of her body. The Oni attached to it dissipated into black smoke, the others around them following suit. The weight of Zaida’s failure pressed down on her chest, making it hard to draw breath. The guilt was overwhelming, a suffocating blanket that smothered her.

Scott ran onto the scene and Allison’s limp form collapsed into the werewolf’s arms. The two whispered with one another, Allison’s voice soft in a hurried rush through ragged breaths as she lay in Scott’s arms. The werewolf nodded, brushing dark strands of hair back from Allison’s steadfastly paling face. He gripped her hand, which was clamped over the wound to staunch to flow of blood pooling beneath her, and his brows scrunched. Scott shook his head with a choked sob, refusing to believe what they all already knew was true. Allison was already gone. The world seemed to spin around Zaida, the chaos and noise melding into a distant roar. Her lungs burned, her lungs refusing to expand or retract. It was overwhelming, suffocating, a weight that pressed down on her chest that would not ease.

“I love you...Scott...Scott McCall…” Allison’s declaration gurgled slightly on her own blood, blood blooming over her lips like a crimson stain as her voice faded.

“Don't! Please, don't. Allison, don't, please…” Scott begged the girl desperately, clutching to her like a lifeline. Allison’s last words fell away to her struggling breaths and her form went limp. Her face froze as the light left her dark eyes and her hand slipped from where it was curled, hitting the ground.

“No!” Scott’s body shook with gut-wrenching sobs as he held the body of the woman he loved.

“No, no, no,” Zaida whispered, her voice lost in the cacophony of the nightmare. She tried to move, to run to Allison's side, but her feet felt like they were encased in cement. Her heart jumped in her chest when Allison’s eyes shot open, staring directly into her own.

“This is your fault,” The huntress said, her voice echoing with an eerie clarity that cut through the noise. “I’m gone because of you. Because you didn’t do anything to save me. You knew, and you just stood there. You let me die.”

Zaida’s stomach churned with nausea, her pulse jumping and lungs tightening at the words. “No, I didn’t want this to happen. I love you!” She insisted in a pleading tone, begging the girl to understand.

But Allison’s expression didn’t soften. Instead, her eyes filled with tears. “Didn’t you care about me?” She whispered, her voice cracking with pain.

“I did! I do!” Zaida screamed, her voice raw with desperation. “I tried to warn you, but it was too late. I didn’t know-”

Allison shook her head, her tears mingling with the blood on her face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to die. It should have been you.”

The accusation hit Zaida like a physical blow, and her feet finally unfroze as she staggered backwards. Suddenly, Scott’s eyes shifted to her too, flashing bright red. “You took her from me!” The werewolf screamed, his eyes blazing with fury and grief. His roar echoed through the darkness, a sound of pure, primal pain. “You took her from me!”

Zaida’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat like a sledgehammer against her ribs. She wanted to reach out to Scott, to explain, to beg for forgiveness, but the words stuck in her throat. A metallic taste filled her mouth as something hot and thick rose from her stomach, blocking her airway. Gagging, her hands rose to catch the liquid as it burst forth from her throat. Blood coated her skin, and it would not stop - not even when her lungs burned and her head spun from lack of oxygen, darkness creeping in on her vision.

Zaida woke with a strangled gasp, her body drenched in cold sweat and shivering uncontrollably. The remnants of the nightmare clung to her, vivid and terrifying. She could still hear Allison’s accusing voice, and see Scott’s devastated face. Her mind was a mess of webs all tugging her in different directions, threatening to pull her through doors she did not want to enter. Lunging for the plastic pill bottle on her nightstand, she unscrewed the cap with trembling hands, pouring several tablets into her palm. Tossing them into her mouth and tilting her head back, she swallowed them down, feeling her throat bubble and burn. This time, she welcomed the pain. She deserved it. For what she had to Allison and Scott - for what she had stolen from them.

Her thoughts went to Stiles and their clandestine moment in the garden - to the peace it had brought her soul and the happiness it had brought her heart. Scott had that with Allison, and she had taken it from them. He was in so much pain at her loss, Zaida had felt it, and she had done that to him. If it had been Stiles who was gone…her heart ached simply thinking about it. The way she would miss him like a part of her had been torn away…Her stomach sizzled and lurched as though it was about to be ripped right out of her throat. Feeling the cramping in her abdomen start and the saliva pool in her mouth, she threw the covers off herself. Heavy bangs sounded as she knocked into furniture, staggering hurriedly to push open the bathroom door with a slam.

The nausea hit her hard, and she stumbled to the toilet, lifting the lid haphazardly and emptying the contents of her stomach inside. The partially dissolved pills returned with fire in their wake, leaving ulcers and a bitter, acrid taste in her mouth. As she heaved, her body wracked with sobs, she felt a gentle hand on her back. Startled, she risked a glance in her peripheral vision to see Stiles, his eyes wide with concern. He knelt beside her, gathering her loose hair and holding it back as she continued to vomit until there was nothing left.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Zay,” He murmured, his voice soothing as he rubbed over her back with his free hand. “I’m here. That’s right, just cough it all up.”

When the dry-retching subsided, Zaida leaned against the cool porcelain, her body trembling. Stiles glanced into the toilet, his eyes catching the sight of the golden pills amongst the reddish-brown mess. He didn’t question her, but the worry rising in his chest was unmistakable. Helping the brunette to her feet, he guided her over to the sink and helped her wash the taste from her mouth before taking her back to bed. Pulling the covers around her, he let her exhausted form sag in his lap, her head resting across his thighs.

“You saw Allison, didn’t you,” He murmured, stroking her hair back from her face gently.

“How’d you know?” Zaida’s voice was raw and gravelly from the blisters adorning her vocal folds.

“Sometimes when you dream, I get them too,” He explained. “The same ones. But it was just a nightmare, it wasn’t real. There was nothing either of us could have done that night.”

“How do you know?” She questioned lowly, disbelief evident in her scoff.

“Because I spent almost every night for a month reliving it, trying to find a way to save her,” Stiles answered grimly. “But I never could.”

He decided to leave out the part where he still felt guilty despite himself - for having been a part of such malicious acts. And for being the one to find happiness on the other side of it with Zaida while his best friend still suffered. He stayed there, playing with her hair until her breathing became deeper and more even. When he was sure she was asleep, he reached for the white pill bottle on her bedside table, curiosity getting the better of him. Turning it over to read the label, he was surprised at what he found.

“Paracetamol?” He whispered to himself, brow furrowing in confusion. She had overdone it on pain medication? For now, he pushed the worry aside and replaced the bottle, settling back against the headboard and preparing for a long night. He was determined to be there when she woke.

The Mahealani house was alive with music, laughter, and the buzz of excitement that only a New Year's Eve rager could bring. Zaida made her way through the crowded living room, a drink having already been shoved in her hand. She’d finally chosen to don the black dress Lydia had bought for her to wear to the redhead’s birthday bash earlier that year. It hugged her curves in all the right places, the cutouts exposing more skin than she had ever dared to show before. She felt both nervous and exhilarated as she moved through the crowd, the fabric whispering against her skin.

“Zaida!” Danny’s voice cut through the noise, and she turned to see him standing by the home bar, his eyes widening appreciatively as he took in her outfit. He let out a low whistle of appreciation, reaching for her hand to twirl her around. “That dress is killer.”

Zaida blushed, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “Lydia got it for me,” She explained, glancing down at herself.

Danny nodded, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, that explains it.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. “By the way, Stiles is upstairs on the balcony. He’s been asking around about you. Maybe you should go give him a little surprise.”

“I thought you swore off meddling, Danny,” Zaida rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide her smile.

“Sometimes I just can’t help myself,” He shrugged, flashing his perfectly white teeth before finding more interest in a soccer player across the room.

Zaida took a deep breath and made her way upstairs, her heart racing with anticipation. She found Stiles apart from the others, staring out at the night sky from the upstairs balcony. The cool night air kissed her skin as she approached him quietly from behind. With a playful grin, she reached her arms around him and covered his eyes with her hands.

“Guess who?” She whispered, leaning in close to his ear.

Stiles immediately recognized her voice, and the goosebumps that rippled down his spine fell prey to the effect it had on him. “Is it an angel?” He replied, his voice teasing.

“Far from it,” Zaida snorted and allowed him to gently pull her hands from his face. Turning around to face her, his eyes widened in shock and admiration as he took in her appearance.

“Wow,” was all he could say.

Zaida smiled, feeling a warm flush spread through her at his reaction. She moved to stand next to him, leaning against the balcony railing as they watched the partygoers below. Lydia was nursing a drink with Kira and Scott, while Malia danced energetically in the centre of the makeshift dance floor. Sydney was yelling a warning to a senior who was setting up fireworks in the far corner of the large backyard.

“You know, lots of cultures use fireworks because they believe loud noises scare away evil spirits and ensure a happy new year,” Zaida commented as they watched more and more fireworks being stabbed into the grass in preparation.

Stiles turned to her, his eyes soft with affection. “Did you know there’s a superstition about New Year’s Eve?” He began, his voice thoughtful. “They say that whatever you’re doing, or whoever you’re with when the clock strikes twelve, is what’ll be happening for the coming year. That’s why couples kiss at midnight.”

Zaida’s breath caught in her throat at the mention of kissing. They both fell silent, the memory of their recent kiss hanging heavily between them. Neither of them spoke as they watched their classmates pair off below, the anticipation of the inevitable countdown.

“In some Latin American countries, wearing red underwear on New Year's Eve is supposed to bring love, and yellow underwear is supposed to bring happiness,” Zaida added somewhat nervously, her mind wandering to the way his lips had moved against hers.

“Then it’s a shame my boxers are blue,” He laughed to himself.

“It’s a shame I’m not wearing any underwear at all,” She hummed, suddenly emboldened by the memory of his hands tugging her further into him, deepening their kiss. Stiles immediately began spluttering, choking on his own saliva. He managed to clear his throat and settle by the time the countdown began below.

“Ten…nine…eight…” The crowd’s voices rose in unison, the excitement palpable. Zaida glanced at Stiles, her heart pounding. She could feel the tension, the unspoken words hovering in the air as the seconds to midnight ticked past them.

“Three…two…one…Happy New Year!” The shout erupted from the crowd, and right on cue, the fireworks exploded in the sky, vibrant bursts of colour lighting up the night.

Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off Zaida. The wonder in her features as she watched the fireworks was mesmerizing, the bursts of bright light reflecting off the surface of her eyes. He reached out across the railing to where her hand rested, gently taking it into his.

“Happy New Year, Zay,” He murmured, his voice soft with affection.

She turned to him, her eyes shining. “Happy New Year, Stiles.” They stood there, hand in hand, watching the fireworks together with the promise of a new year stretching out before them, filled with endless possibilities.

The warmth of Stiles' hand enveloping hers - whilst only a simple gesture - grounded her amidst the swirl of emotions the night had brought. She turned her head to face him fully, their gazes locking as the fireworks continued to burst overhead, casting colourful reflections across their faces. The sounds of laughter and celebration seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them in their own private moment.

Stiles reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch tender and lingering. "You look absolutely stunning tonight," He said softly, his eyes never leaving hers.

Zaida's cheeks flushed, and she looked down briefly before meeting his gaze again. "Thank you, Stiles. You look pretty great yourself."

He chuckled, glancing down at his outfit - a simple corduroy button-up and jeans. "Well, I try. But seriously, Zaida...this past year, everything we’ve been through...I couldn’t have made it without you."

Her heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice making her feel like the most important person in the world. "Me neither," She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’ve been my rock, Stiles. More than you know."

He smiled, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. "You know, the superstition...I kind of hope it’s true. The one about midnight, not the underwear thing." He said with a light chuckle, his voice filled with a mix of hope and vulnerability. “Because there’s no one else I’d rather be with in the coming year than you."

Zaida’s breath hitched, her pulse rising as she beamed, leaning her head on his shoulder. The final bursts of fireworks painted the sky in brilliant colours, casting a radiant glow over them, and once again they felt at peace together.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles x oc #stiles stilinski #stiles #teenwolf fanfiction #female oc #female original character #teenwolf #christmas #new years eve

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