#like dancers or colorful bells

[xlntwtch2]

(c) two photos by @xlntwtch2 ...pictures taken last summer

"searched online to remember these are called fuchsia, she said"

fuchsia blossoms, like fucksia but nooo - it's fyuushah

"pretty" = what my twin and I call flowers we can't name

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 25 Chapter 25 | love's labyrinth⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

At the royal table, Telemachus sat stiffly between his mother and Andreia, the rich tapestry of the feast unfolding around him. His plate was mostly untouched, save for a few bites he'd forced himself to take to avoid suspicion.

The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and honeyed fruits, but none of it managed to stir his appetite.

To his left, Andreia was in the midst of an animated conversation, her voice melodic but sharp enough to cut through the hum of the gathering. Her hands moved gracefully as she spoke, her words punctuated with occasional laughs that were as polished as the silverware on the table. 

To anyone observing, she might have seemed the picture of charm and grace—a perfect guest, a potential match for Ithaca's prince.

But Telemachus wasn't paying attention to her.

His eyes drifted past the shimmering goblets, past the dazzling decorations that adorned the courtyard, and locked onto the one figure he couldn't seem to tear himself away from.

You.

You were on the dance floor, your laughter ringing out like a bell amidst the music, your blue dress twirling as you moved effortlessly with the rhythm of the song. A group of dancers surrounded you, including Kieran and Callias, their faces flushed with excitement and joy.

But for Telemachus, it was as if the entire scene blurred into the background, leaving only you in sharp focus.

Your smile—so bright, so genuine—was a stark contrast to the carefully crafted expressions of the nobles and guests seated around him. There was no artifice in the way your eyes lit up, no calculated charm in the way you threw your head back in laughter when Kieran spun you around too fast and nearly stumbled.

It was real. You were real.

Andreia's voice broke into his reverie, her words cutting through like an unwelcome breeze. "Prince Telemachus," she said smoothly, leaning slightly toward him. Her tone was light, but the undercurrent of expectation was unmistakable. "What do you think of the decorations? The blending of Ithaca's colors with Bronte's—it's quite striking, isn't it?"

Telemachus blinked, forcing his gaze back to her. He nodded absently, the words barely registering. "Yes, quite," he murmured, his tone devoid of the enthusiasm she likely hoped for.

Andreia tilted her head, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she studied him. "You seem distracted," she observed, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," he replied quickly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He picked up his goblet and took a long sip of wine, hoping it might help to mask his obvious disinterest in her conversation. It didn't.

"Really? Because you've barely said a word all evening," she pressed, her tone now laced with what might have been genuine curiosity—or something closer to annoyance.

Before he could respond, another burst of laughter erupted from the dance floor. His head turned instinctively, his eyes finding you again. This time, you were dancing with Callias, the two of you caught in a lively spin that left your faces flushed and grinning.

Telemachus' chest tightened at the sight.

Andreia followed his gaze, her sharp eyes narrowing as she tracked where his attention had strayed. She didn't say anything immediately, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth spoke volumes.

"Ah," she said after a moment, her voice quieter but no less cutting. "I see."

Telemachus stiffened, his grip tightening on the stem of his goblet. He turned back to her, his expression carefully neutral. "See what?"

Andreia's smile didn't reach her eyes as she gestured subtly toward the dance floor. "She's... captivating, isn't she? The way the crowd seems to revolve around her, the way she lights up the space. It's no wonder she's garnered so much attention lately."

Her words were smooth, almost complimentary, but Telemachus could hear the undercurrent of envy, the subtle jab beneath the surface. He didn't rise to the bait, instead setting his goblet down with deliberate care.

"She deserves it," he said simply, his voice steady but firm. "Everything tonight—she's earned it."

Andreia's smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before she composed herself. "Of course," she said, her tone light once more. "How generous of you to think so."

Telemachus didn't respond; his gaze had already drifted back to the dance floor, where you were still caught in the glow of laughter and joy, oblivious to his turmoil. After a beat, he sighed quietly, dropping his gaze to his goblet before muttering, "Excuse me, I think I need some air." Without waiting for a response, he stood, smoothing his tunic before slipping away from the royal table.

Andreia's sharp eyes followed him, her lips pressing into a thin line as he exited the grand hall. But Telemachus didn't look back. He felt suffocated in a way that no amount of festivity could ease. He passed through the heavy double doors; the distant sounds of music and laughter muffled as he entered the quieter corridors of the palace.

As he walked, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly, though the unease in his chest remained. He wasn't sure why, but something had shifted recently. A distance between you and him that he couldn't quite name but felt acutely all the same. It had started subtly—small things he might not have noticed if he weren't so attuned to you.

At first, it had been minor—a missed smile, a hurried excuse to leave when he approached. He had brushed it off as coincidence, thinking perhaps you were simply preoccupied. But as the day went on, it became harder to ignore.

Every time he sought you out, hoping for a moment to talk, to share in the quiet understanding that had always been there, you seemed to slip away. And each time it happened, it left him with a gnawing sense of unease.

He recalled one time in particular. It was hours before the feast started when he spotted you in the palace halls, chatting with one of the older maids. He had started toward you, eager to steal a moment before the day's activity pulled you both in different directions. But as soon as you noticed him, your expression had shifted—eyes widening, lips parting as if in surprise. And then, just as quickly, you had turned away, muttering something to the maid before disappearing into the palace.

It wasn't like you. The easy camaraderie you had always shared now felt fractured; the invisible thread that connected you stretched thin. He had replayed those moments in his mind, searching for answers.

Had he done something to upset you? Said something thoughtless without realizing it? The question gnawed at him, carving a hollow space in his chest.

Stopping in one of the quieter hallways, he leaned against the cool stone wall, running a hand through his hair. The muted hum of the feast echoed faintly in the distance, but he barely registered it. His thoughts were consumed by you—by the way your laughter on the dance floor had felt like sunlight breaking through clouds, yet he couldn't ignore the way you'd avoided him all day.

Telemachus sighed, his hand falling to his side as he stared at the flickering torchlight illuminating the corridor. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, that there was a wall between you now where there had once been none. And he hated it.

Pushing off the wall, he started walking again, his steps slower, more deliberate. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face the feast again, to return to Andreia's sharp eyes and honeyed words.

But more than that, he wasn't sure how to face you—not when the memory of your bright smile felt so far removed from the quiet distance you now held him at.

As Telemachus stood in the empty corridor, staring blankly at the flickering torchlight, a voice cut through the silence like the sharp edge of a blade, dripping with sarcasm.

"Wow, you sure know how to turn moping into an art form, don't you?"

Telemachus jerked, his head snapping up to locate the source of the voice. His eyes darted around the hallway until they landed on... a boy? A boy who wasn't just standing there but floating a few feet off the ground, one leg crossed over the other as though lounging midair. The boy's golden curls glinted faintly in the dim light, his cherubic face twisted into a grin that was anything but innocent.

"What the—?" Telemachus stammered, stepping back instinctively, his heart racing. "Who are you, and how did you get in here?"

The boy ignored the question entirely, instead tilting his head as he surveyed Telemachus. "You're just as serious as they said. Honestly, I thought royals were supposed to be fun. 'Ya know, with all the having power over other people and stuff."

Telemachus blinked, bewildered. "What are you talking about? And what do you mean 'they said'? Who—"

"Oh, this is going to take forever," the boy groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. He stretched his arms over his head lazily, the motion causing his toga to slip slightly off one shoulder. Then he pointed a tiny finger toward the small wings fluttering behind him. "Take a guess, genius."

Telemachus squinted, his mind racing as he pieced together the image before him: the golden curls, the wings, the glowing quiver of arrows slung across the boy's back. Slowly, realization dawned, and he felt his jaw tighten.

"Eros," he muttered, the name tasting strange on his tongue.

The boy gave a mock bow, his grin widening. "Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! Took you long enough." He floated down a bit, resting his chin in his hands as he leaned toward Telemachus, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've been watching you, you know. You're almost as dramatic as one of my love-struck mortals."

Telemachus bristled, his confusion giving way to irritation. "Watching me? Why? And don't compare me to—"

"Because it's entertaining," Eros interrupted, cutting him off with a wave of his small hand. "Do you know how dull some of you mortals can be? You, at least, have some flavor. All this pining, all this angst—it's like watching a tragedy unfold in slow motion."

"I'm not pining," Telemachus snapped, his cheeks flushing slightly despite himself. "And I don't have time for games, so if you have some divine purpose, get to it."

Eros laughed, the sound light and mocking. "Oh, you are fun. So defensive! You're practically screaming, 'Yes, I'm in love, and I have no idea what to do about it! Help me!'"

Telemachus stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the boy. "I didn't ask for your opinion, nor help."

"Too bad," Eros shot back, spinning lazily in the air. "Because I have a lot of them. And here's one for free: you're making this much harder than it needs to be. You're thinking so much, it's a wonder you haven't combusted yet."

Telemachus clenched his fists, his patience thinning like a taut thread ready to snap. "What do you want?" he demanded, his voice low and firm.

Eros gasped dramatically, placing a small hand over his chest like he'd just been struck by a mortal blow. "So cold, Your Highness!" he whined, floating closer, his tiny wings flitting behind him. "Here I am, offering my invaluable presence, and you act like I'm some common thief in your hallways."

Telemachus raised a brow, unimpressed. "If you're not here to meddle, then why are you here?"

Eros' pout disappeared, replaced by a sly grin. "Business," he declared, straightening up midair and crossing his arms. His golden curls seemed to glow faintly in the torchlight, making him look every bit the picture of an angelic child—if not for the mischief glittering in his eyes. "And that business, dear prince, is you."

Telemachus frowned, stepping back slightly. "Me? Why?"

Eros flipped upside down, lounging as though gravity was an afterthought. "Because watching you wrestle with your own emotions is like watching a bird try to fly while tied to a stone. Entertaining? Sure. But it's getting repetitive." He righted himself, landing on the ground with exaggerated grace. "I'm here to give you a chance—a very generous one, if I do say so myself."

Telemachus narrowed his eyes. "What kind of chance?"

Eros smirked, stepping closer until he stood just in front of the prince. Despite his small frame, his presence felt far larger. "A chance to sort out your girl troubles, of course." He tilted his head, his curls bouncing. "Which you may or may not have." His smirk widened. "Though, let's be honest, you totally have them."

Telemachus' jaw tightened, the subtle heat in his cheeks betraying him despite his efforts to stay composed. "I don't need your help," he said firmly, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Oh, don't be so serious!" Eros exclaimed, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "You mortals always think you can do everything the hard way. Newsflash, princeling: that's why you're all so miserable."

Telemachus hesitated, his internal conflict playing out in the tension of his posture. He wanted to say yes, to grab hold of whatever help this meddling god could provide. The thought of winning your heart, of seeing your bright smile aimed only at him again, was almost enough to sway him.

But something held him back—his own sense of integrity.

"It's... not right," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "If... If I'm going to win her heart, I want to do it the right way. Honestly. Without... tricks."

Eros groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if Telemachus' answer had physically pained him. "You are boring," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Fine, Mr. Morals. I'll give you points for effort, but do you really think she's going to notice you if you keep skulking around like this? You need help, whether you admit it or not."

Telemachus straightened, his expression hardening. "I don't need your arrows or your schemes, Eros. If she's going to choose me, I want it to be because she truly wants to—not because you nudged her emotions in my favor."

Eros studied him for a moment, his mischievous smirk fading into something almost thoughtful. "You're serious about this, huh?" he said, more to himself than to Telemachus. Then, just as quickly, the smirk was back. "Alright, fine. If you're so determined to stick to the 'noble' path, I'll give you an alternative."

Telemachus raised a brow. "What kind of alternative?"

Eros grinned, the light in his eyes gleaming brighter than before. "What if I made Princess Andreia fall for you instead?" he offered, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather.

The reaction was immediate. Telemachus recoiled slightly, his brows furrowing in disbelief. "Andreia?" he repeated, his voice sharper than intended. "No."

Eros blinked, clearly surprised by the speed of the response. "No?" he echoed, tilting his head.

Telemachus straightened, his expression resolute. "Even if ____ might not want me, I wouldn't be able to give mt heart away. She's the only one that can claim it."

Eros stared at him for a long moment, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to Telemachus's surprise, the boy's lips curled into a small, genuine smile—one that lacked the usual mischief. "Well," he said, his voice softer, "at least you're not lying to yourself."

The sincerity of the moment lingered, rare and oddly grounding, but it didn't last long. As though realizing he'd allowed himself to be too earnest, Eros tilted his head sharply, his cherubic curls bouncing. His eyes darted upward, narrowing in focus, as if he were listening to something distant and unseen.

His nose wrinkled, and his expression twisted into one of utter disgust. "Ugh, gross!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out dramatically. He gagged for emphasis, the sound sharp and exaggerated. "You're thinking about her again, aren't you?"

Telemachus blinked, startled. "What?" he asked, his tone defensive but wary, confused by the boy's unpredicatble emotions.

Eros spun in the air, covering his face with one hand like a dramatic actor in the middle of a tragedy. "It's so sweet it's nauseating," he groaned, peeking through his fingers with a squint. "How do you mortals even handle emotions like this? If it were me, I'd shoot an arrow at myself just to get rid of it."

The prince frowned, his arms crossing as he stared at the floating boy. "You're overreacting."

Eros dropped his hands, raising his brows as if Telemachus had just uttered the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Overreacting?" He leaned closer, his face uncomfortably close to Telemachus'. "Listen, princeling, I know love better than anyone. It's practically my whole thing, and I can tell you right now—you're drowning in it. Hopelessly."

Telemachus opened his mouth to respond, but Eros cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "But you know what?" The boy leaned back mid-air, resting his hands behind his head as he floated in a lazy circle. "If you're too noble to make a choice, then I guess I'll have to make it for you."

"What?" Telemachus straightened, his voice suddenly taut with alarm. "What do you mean, make it for me?"

Eros' grin turned sharp, a flash of teeth that seemed far too knowing for his youthful face. "Oh, don't worry about it," he said, his tone far too casual to be comforting. "Let's just say I'll give fate a little nudge. Call it an experiment." He shrugged, spinning lazily in the air. "You'll thank me later. Or not. Either way, it'll be fun."

"Eros," Telemachus warned, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don't—"

"Bye, princeling!" Eros interrupted, his voice sing-song and infuriatingly carefree. He lifted a hand in a cheeky wave, his wings fluttering. "Try not to mess things up too badly, alright?"

Before Telemachus could demand answers or stop him, Eros disappeared in a burst of golden light, the faint sound of laughter lingering in his wake. The hallway fell silent, the encounter settling heavily over the prince.

Telemachus stood there, his heart racing with a mixture of frustration and unease. Whatever Eros had planned, he knew it couldn't mean anything good—or simple. And as much as he hated to admit it, the boy's parting words gnawed at him.

Hopelessly in love.

He shook his head, his jaw tightening as he turned to leave the corridor and return to the feast. Whatever game Eros was playing, Telemachus was determined to face it head-on. If this was a test of his resolve, he would prove that his feelings for you didn't need divine interference to be true.

As he approached the entrance to the ballroom, the muffled sounds of music and laughter grew louder, the atmosphere vibrant with celebration. Stepping inside, the warmth of the grand hall washed over him, along with the mingled scents of roasted meats, sweet pastries, and spiced wine. His gaze instinctively swept across the room, taking in the swirling colors of Ithacan and Brontean finery blending together, the flickering glow of candlelight reflecting off golden goblets and polished silver.

And then, his eyes found you.

You were standing near the refreshment table, laughing at something Callias had said. He was beside you, animated and theatrical as always, gesturing wildly with a cup in hand while Asta, Lysandra, and Kieran chuckled at his antics. The glow of the lanterns above caught on the fabric of your dress, making the rich blue shimmer with every movement, and when you smiled, it was as if the entire room softened around you.

Telemachus froze mid-step.

He had intended to return to his seat at the royal table, to settle back into the rhythm of polite conversation and carefully chosen words. He could already hear Andreia's voice in his mind, ready to fill the space beside him with idle chatter. But just as he turned away from the sight of you, something caught his attention—a flicker of movement, just over your shoulder.

Floating behind you, as if he hadn't a care in the world, was Eros.

The young deity had a glowing pink bottle in one hand, its glass catching the light in a way that made it seem almost alive. Telemachus' breath hitched as he watched Eros tilt the bottle, pouring its contents into the cup you held. The liquid shimmered unnaturally as it swirled in your goblet, like stardust dissolving into wine.

And yet, not a single person around you seemed to notice—not Callias, not Asta, Lysandra, not even the servants bustling nearby. It was as if Telemachus was the only one who could see the god's mischief unfolding before his very eyes.

Eros' grin stretched wider as he caught sight of Telemachus, his golden curls bouncing as he gave the prince a playful, fluttering wave. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he disappeared, vanishing into thin air as though he had never been there at all.

Panic gripped Telemachus like a vice. His eyes darted back to you, and his stomach dropped as he saw you lift the cup toward your lips. There was no time to think, no moment to hesitate. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was moving—his body acting on pure instinct. He crossed the room in a blur, weaving between dancers and revelers with a speed he didn't know he possessed.

"Wait!" he blurted, his voice sharper than he intended as he reached your side.

You froze mid-motion, startled by the sudden interruption. Your eyes widened as you turned to face him, the cup still in your hand. "Prince Telemachus?" you asked, confused. "What are you—?"

Before you could finish, he took the cup from your hand in one swift motion, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Without a word of explanation, he brought the goblet to his lips and downed its contents in a single, desperate gulp.

The sweet, otherworldly taste of the drink hit his tongue like a burst of sunlight, warm and intoxicating, but he forced himself to swallow it all, not letting a single drop go to waste. When the goblet was empty, he lowered it, breathing heavily as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

The table had fallen silent. You, Callias, and the others stared at him, utterly bewildered.

"Uh... are you alright, Your Highness?" Callias asked after a beat, his tone hovering between concern and amusement. "Because, damn, you looked thirsty."

Telemachus barely registered the comment, his gaze fixed on you as he tried to steady his breathing. His heart was racing, a mix of adrenaline and whatever magic had been in that drink coursing through his veins. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain, but no words came.

His mind scrambled for something—anything—that would make his actions seem less strange. Then, with a nervous laugh that sounded far too forced, he blurted out, "Oh, I thought you got it for me! Haha—my mistake!"

Your brow furrowed, the confusion on your face deepening as you tilted your head. "You thought... I got it for you?" you echoed, clearly not convinced. The disbelief in your tone only made his awkwardness grow.

"Y-Yeah!" Telemachus stammered, his hand already shooting out to grab a random passerby's cup off a nearby tray. The bewildered servant barely had time to react as Telemachus thrust the drink toward you with a sheepish smile. "Here you go! A replacement. Enjoy."

You blinked, staring down at the cup he handed you, your lips parting to respond. Before you could say anything, he hastily added, "Well, gotta go! Busy night, lots to do. You know how it is!" He waved awkwardly, already stepping back.

Just as he turned to make his escape, a chill swept over him, sharp and sudden, making his skin prickle. Before he could process the sensation, an overwhelming wave of discomfort crashed over his body. His muscles cramped painfully, his head spun, and a heavy dizziness pressed down on him like an invisible weight. He stumbled slightly, gripping the edge of a nearby table to steady himself.

"Prince Telemachus?" your voice was concerned now, but he didn't dare look back, not wanting to worry you—or worse, have you see the panic flickering in his eyes.

"I-I'm fine," he managed to mutter, his voice strained as he straightened with effort. "I just... I need to step out for some air."

Without waiting for a response, he made a beeline for the nearest exit, his steps uneven but quick. The moment he was out of the hall, away from the warm glow of the festivities, a snickering sound made his stomach sink.

Eros was floating in front of him again, lazily spinning one of his golden arrows in his hand. The little god's grin was wide and unapologetically smug, his golden curls bouncing as he tilted his head. "Wow," Eros said, drawing the word out with exaggerated amusement. "You really went for it, huh?"

Telemachus groaned, clutching his stomach as another wave of nausea rolled through him. "What... did you do?" he ground out, glaring at the god through the haze of his discomfort.

Eros burst into laughter, clutching his sides as he doubled over mid-air. "It wasn't supposed to go like this! You weren't supposed to drink the whole thing, you idiot!" He wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye, his laughter subsiding into mischievous chuckles. "It was meant to be sipped, not chugged like it's some mortal drinking contest."

Telemachus leaned heavily against the wall, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to stay upright. "Why would you even try to give it to her?" he demanded, his voice low but filled with anger.

Eros shrugged, completely unbothered. "Relax, lover boy. I wasn't going to make her drink it willingly. I had a whole plan!" He gestured dramatically with his free hand. "I was going to let her take a sip or two, then have someone bump into her to make her drop it, and let the magic work naturally. Subtle. Elegant."

Telemachus stared at him, incredulous. "Subtle? You call that subtle?"

Eros smirked, leaning closer, his golden eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're one to talk, Mr. 'I'll just drink this entire cursed concoction to save her.' You didn't even hesitate." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Actually, I'm kind of impressed. Stupid, but impressive."

Telemachus felt his anger rise, but before he could retort, another cramp twisted through his body, stealing his breath. He hunched over slightly, cursing under his breath as Eros floated closer, examining him with mock sympathy.

"Well," Eros said cheerfully, "on the bright side, at least you didn't ruin my fun entirely. Now we get to see what happens when someone takes a full dose of divine love magic. Should be entertaining!" He clapped his hands together, his cherubic face lighting up with glee.

Telemachus groaned again, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the cool stone floor. "Get rid of it," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Undo whatever it is you did."

Eros snorted, crossing his arms. "Oh, no, no, no. Where's the fun in that? Besides," he added with a wicked grin, "it's not like you're dying. Just... experiencing the full force of what it means to have your heart wide open."

Telemachus glared up at him, his patience worn paper-thin. "I don't need magic to feel what I already feel," he snapped. "I already love her—without your interference."

Eros tilted his head, his grin softening slightly into something more thoughtful. For a moment, the boy looked older, wiser, his golden eyes gleaming with something far beyond mischief. "I know," he said simply. "That's what makes this so fun to watch."

With that, Eros gave him a little salute, his wings fluttering as he began to fade. "Good luck, Prince Charming," he called over his shoulder. "Try not to embarrass yourself too much when the magic kicks in."

And then, he was gone, leaving Telemachus alone in the dim corridor, his body aching and his mind reeling. His breathing was shallow, and every step he took felt unsteady, the tension in his chest coiling tighter with each beat of his heart. He muttered a string of curses under his breath, his frustration mounting.

"By the gods..." he hissed, running a hand through his hair as the dull ache in his stomach made him lean briefly against the wall. His fingers curled against the stone for balance, trying to gather himself. He'd just been humiliated by a pre-teen god with wings, his mind toyed with, and now his body felt like it was betraying him too.

"Stupid little brat," he grumbled, his voice low and bitter. "Should've been clearer it was meant for one sip—"

"Telemachus?"

The sound of your voice cut through the fog in his mind like a beacon. He froze mid-step, his spine stiffening as he glanced over his shoulder. There you were, your dress catching the light of the torches lining the corridor. Your expression was a mixture of concern and curiosity, and your voice softened as you asked, "Are you alright? You left so suddenly."

His stomach turned—not from the remnants of whatever Eros' potion had done but from the fact that you had followed him. Your kindness, your worry for him, felt like both a balm and a sharp blade. He quickly wiped a hand across his face as if to compose himself, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ah, yes," he said, his voice pitched higher than usual. He winced at how unconvincing he sounded. "I just... needed some air. Too much dancing, I think. You know how it gets."

You frowned, taking a step closer, your presence both soothing and nerve-wracking at the same time. "You look pale," you said, your gaze scanning his face. "Are you sure you're okay? You were fine just a moment ago."

The genuine worry in your tone made his chest tighten again, a lump forming in his throat as he tried to think of something, anything, to put you at ease. "It's nothing serious," he tried again, though the weakness in his voice betrayed him. "Probably just... drank too much too quickly. I'll be fine in a moment."

Your frown deepened as you came to stand just a few paces from him, close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of your perfume—a warm, familiar scent that only made his heart ache more. "If it's something you ate, I can fetch some water?" you offered, your tone soft but insistent.

The thought of you fretting over him made his stomach flip in ways that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of Eros' meddling. He shook his head quickly, forcing a weak laugh. "No need," he said, straightening up and attempting to look more composed than he felt. "Really, it's not worth worrying over. Just my... overeager drinking habits causing alarm."

Your brow remained furrowed, and Telemachus could see the gears turning in your head, debating whether or not to accept his excuse. For a moment, he thought you might insist on staying, on pressing the issue further, and a strange part of him both hoped you would and feared it.

But then you sighed, your shoulders relaxing slightly. "If you're sure," you said softly, though the concern in your eyes lingered.

"I'm sure," he replied quickly, too quickly. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to relax. "Thank you, though. For checking on me."

You hesitated for a moment and Telemachus thought he might drown under the weight of your gaze. Then, with a small nod, you stepped back, your expression softening into something gentler. "Alright," you said, your voice quieter now. "But... if you're not feeling better soon, promise me you'll tell someone? Or at least sit down for a bit?"

The sincerity in your words made his resolve falter, and for a split second, he considered telling you everything—about Eros, the drink, the way you made his heart race every time you looked at him.

But he couldn't.

Not here, not now. Not when he couldn't be sure if it was his heart or divine meddling that had led him here in the first place.

"I promise," he said instead, the words feeling both true and hollow at the same time.

You smiled then, small but warm, and Telemachus felt his breath catch. It was the kind of smile that made him believe, just for a moment, that things could be simple. That he could win your heart without gods and potions and convoluted schemes.

"I'll see you back inside," you said, stepping back toward the ballroom.

Telemachus opened his mouth to respond, but the moment he shifted his weight, his legs buckled slightly, sending him stumbling forward.

Your gasp cut through the corridor, sharp and worried, as you rushed to his side. Without hesitation, you slid your arm around his waist, your other hand bracing against his chest to steady him.

"Telemachus! I knew you were lying," you said, your voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and concern. "You're not fine. Look at you—you're barely standing."

"I'm... fine," he insisted weakly, though the slur in his words and the cold sweat breaking out on his forehead betrayed him. He tried to straighten up, but you tightened your grip, determined to keep him upright.

"Stop it," you snapped, your worry bubbling into frustration. "You're not fine, and you're not fooling me. You're going to your room. Now."

He blinked at you, stunned by your no-nonsense tone. "But it's your celebration," he mumbled. "You should be out there enjoying it, not—"

"You're more important," you cut him off firmly, your gaze softening but remaining resolute. "I don't care if the whole feast is for me. If you collapse in the middle of the hall, it won't mean anything."

His throat tightened at your words, a strange warmth blooming in his chest despite the haze of dizziness clouding his thoughts. He wanted to argue, to insist that he didn't want to pull you away from your own night, but he lacked the strength to fight both you and his body's rebellion.

Wordlessly, he allowed you to guide him, his arm draped over your shoulders as you both staggered through the palace corridors. The weight of him leaning against you was heavier than you'd expected, but you pressed on, ignoring the strain. Every step felt deliberate, your shared focus narrowing to the simple goal of getting him to his chambers.

"You should've said something sooner," you muttered under your breath as you adjusted your grip on him. "Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

Telemachus managed a faint chuckle, though it came out strained. "I could say the same about you."

You shot him a glare, but the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself. "This isn't the time for jokes, Telemachus."

"I'm serious," he murmured, his voice softer now. His gaze flicked toward you, lingering on the determined set of your expression. "You're stronger than you realize."

The unexpected sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you faltered. But his weight shifted against you, snapping you back to the present. You didn't reply, focusing instead on navigating the last stretch to his room.

When you finally reached his door, you nudged it open with your foot and guided him inside. The room was dimly lit, the moonlight filtering through the curtains casting pale streaks across the floor. You helped him to the edge of the bed, where he sank down heavily, his head falling into his hands.

"I'll get some water," you said, already moving toward the pitcher on the nearby table.

"____, you don't have to—"

"Quiet," you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for argument. "Just sit there and breathe."

He obeyed, watching as you poured water into a cup with quick, efficient movements. When you turned back to him, your face was pinched with concern, but there was also a steadiness to your actions that made him feel strangely at ease.

You pressed the cup into his hands, your fingers brushing his briefly. "Drink," you instructed, sitting down beside him to ensure he did as you said.

As he sipped, his eyes flicked toward you, taking in the faint sheen of sweat on your brow and the way your breathing still hadn't fully evened out from the effort of helping him. "You shouldn't have to take care of me," he said quietly, his guilt surfacing despite his exhaustion.

"You'd do the same for me," you replied without hesitation, your tone firm. "So stop trying to act like this is some great inconvenience. I care about you, Telemachus. I'm not going to leave you like this."

Her words settled over him like a warm blanket, quieting the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. For a moment, he allowed himself to lean into the comfort of your presence, his usual defenses slipping away.

"You're impossible," he murmured, though there was no bite to his words.

"And you're ridiculous," you shot back, your lips quirking into a small, relieved smile. "Now lie back. You need to rest."

Telemachus complied, easing himself back against the pillows. His body felt marginally lighter now that he wasn't upright, and he let out a small breath of relief as the tension began to unwind from his frame.

For a brief moment, his eyes fluttered closed, the ache in his muscles giving way to an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. He could hear the rustle of your movements nearby, your presence grounding him in a way he couldn't explain.

"Is there anything else you need?" you asked, your voice softer now, the worry still lacing every word despite the slight smile you wore. Your hands fiddled absentmindedly with the edge of his blanket, betraying the nerves you tried to keep at bay.

"No, I don't—" Telemachus started, but his words faltered. His gaze flicked to you, his expression shifting as a strange warmth began to creep through him. It wasn't the usual comfort he felt in your presence, but something heavier, more insistent. The lingering chill that had plagued him since leaving the hall seemed to melt away, replaced by a slow-burning heat that spread through his chest and limbs.

He shifted uneasily, his jaw tightening as he tried to focus on anything but the way his skin seemed to hum with an unnatural warmth. It wasn't painful, but it was undeniably foreign—like an ember catching fire inside him.

You noticed Telemachus go utterly still, his usually sharp eyes now hazy and unfocused. "Telemachus?" you asked, taking a step closer, concern evident in your voice.

Your brow furrowed as you took in the sight before you. His face, pale just moments ago, had turned a deep red, the flush creeping down his neck. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, and his gaze seemed to waver as though he couldn't quite focus.

"Telemachus?" you called again, this time more urgently. He didn't respond at first, his head tilting slightly toward you in a sluggish motion. Your heart stuttered as you reached out, instinctively pressing the back of your hand to his forehead.

"You're burning up," you said, your voice rising in alarm. "Are you alright?"

He blinked slowly, his lips parting as if to answer, but his words were faint and unconvincing. "I... I'm fine," he managed, though his voice was hoarse and weak.

Your frown deepened as you noticed the subtle way his head leaned into your touch, as though seeking the coolness of your hand. It was such an uncharacteristic gesture for him—usually composed and self-assured—that it only heightened your worry. He wasn't being honest, and you knew it.

"Telemachus," you said firmly, your tone soft but filled with frustration. "You're not fine." You moved your hand away, only for him to instinctively shift toward you again, as if unwilling to lose the brief comfort your touch provided. "You were pale a minute ago, and now you're—" You stopped yourself, biting your lip as the sight of him, flushed and clearly unwell, sent a pang of fear through your chest.

Your mind raced with possibilities, each one more concerning than the last. Was this the lingering effect of whatever had happened at the feast? Had he caught some kind of illness? Or... was this something else entirely?

Your fingers twitched at your side as a thought crossed your mind. Maybe... maybe I could use my healing abilities. But doubt quickly followed. You hadn't yet tested the extent of your powers—what if you made things worse? What if this wasn't something you could heal at all?

Still, the sight of him—his usually vibrant energy dulled, his body visibly struggling against whatever was afflicting him—made you hesitate. You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of guilt for even entertaining the thought of not trying.

Telemachus let out a deep sigh, his eyes half-lidded as they stared up at you with an almost lazy haze clouding his gaze. "I'm... fine," he murmured again, his voice softer this time, as though the effort of speaking itself was too much. The words barely left his lips before his eyes rolled back, and his entire body went slack against the pillows.

"Telemachus!" you yelped, panic rushing through your veins like lightning. You lunged forward, your hands grasping his shoulders, shaking him lightly as if that alone could bring him back. "Telemachus, wake up! Please!"

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat thunderous as you hovered over him, frantically trying to piece together what to do. A whirlwind of thoughts tumbled through your mind—should you call for help? Was there even time? Could you use your gift, untrained as you were, without risking something going terribly wrong?

"Come on, don't do this," you whispered under your breath, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. The sight of his still form, his chest barely rising with each shallow breath, was enough to make your throat tighten.

With trembling hands, you moved to touch his face. The warmth of his skin startled you—it wasn't the typical feverish heat; it was something deeper, almost like a flame radiating from within.

The moment your fingers brushed against his cheek, his eyes snapped open, and he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath as though waking from a long, suffocating dream.

Your relief was instantaneous but short-lived. "Telemachus!" you started to ask, your voice thick with worry, "What happened? Are you—"

Before you could finish your question, you found yourself abruptly yanked forward. The world tilted, and with a startled gasp, you realized you were no longer standing at the edge of his bed but sprawled across it, pinned beneath him.

"What—Telemachus!" you sputtered, trying to piece together what had just occurred, your hands instinctively pushing against his chest. The words died in your throat when your gaze locked onto his.

His face was mere inches from yours, and the sight made your breath catch. His skin was flushed, a deep crimson spreading from his cheeks down his neck, while his lips parted slightly as though he were trying to catch his breath. But it was his eyes that froze you—their usual warm brown was now darkened, lidded with an intensity that sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine.

"____," he murmured, his voice low and uneven. It wasn't the soft, composed tone you were used to. This was deeper, rougher, and it sent your pulse racing in ways you didn't fully understand.

"T-Telemachus," you stammered, your hands still pressed against him, though your strength felt like it had evaporated. "What... what are you doing? You're—" Your voice faltered as his gaze flicked down, lingering on your face in a way that made your cheeks burn.

He didn't answer right away, his breath brushing against your skin as he leaned in slightly, his weight keeping you firmly in place as he kneeled. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, and for a brief, dizzying moment, the air between you felt charged, crackling with something unspoken.

You gently pushed against his chest. "I-I think you should move, Telemachus." Your words were shaky, your mind scrambling for some semblance of composure as the intensity of the moment engulfed you.

But before you could say more, one of Telemachus' hands darted out, capturing both of yours and pressing them firmly against his chest. The erratic thrum of his heartbeat reverberated beneath your palms, fast and unsteady, matching the breathless tension filling the room.

"Do you feel it?" he murmured, his voice low and almost pleading, tinged with an unfamiliar vulnerability. His eyes bore into yours, half-lidded and heavy with emotion. "It's because of you—only you."

Your breath caught at the raw honesty in his voice. The world seemed to shrink around you, leaving only Telemachus, his warmth, and the rapid pulse beneath your fingertips; you were powerless to look away.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. His other hand rose, calloused fingers brushing softly against your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw with an almost reverent touch. "The way you laugh, the way you always know what to say—even when I don't deserve it."

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, as he went on, his words spilling out in a hurried, unguarded torrent. "I notice everything about you—the way your hair catches the light, the way you hum when you're focused." His thumb grazed your cheekbone, and you felt your heart stutter in response to the sheer tenderness in the gesture.

"I love how kind you are," he said, his tone softening, almost as though he was speaking to himself. "How you always put others first. Even when you're hurting, you smile, and it's... it's unbearable sometimes because I just want to take all of it away."

Your lips parted, but no sound came. Every word he spoke tugged at something deep within you, leaving you utterly defenseless against the raw sincerity in his gaze.

"I don't care if it's selfish," he admitted, his voice trembling. "But right now, I can't think about anything else but you—what it would feel like to have you look at me the way I look at you."

You felt your pulse quicken, your chest tightening as his words settled into the spaces you didn't realize had been left empty. He was so close, his warmth enveloping you completely, his every word seeping into your skin.

"Please," he whispered, his forehead dipping to rest lightly against yours. "Tell me you feel it too."

Your hands trembled against his chest, the erratic beat of his heart matching your own. The weight of his confession, the intensity of his gaze, and the tenderness in his touch—it was too much and yet not enough all at once.

The room seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in this moment of fragile honesty, teetering on the edge of something you weren't sure you were ready for.

Your eyes widened, your thoughts screeching to a halt. Was this a dream? Some vivid, otherworldly trick? Your heart was thundering in your chest, so loud and furious it nearly drowned out the reality unfolding in front of you.

You tried to steady yourself, but it was impossible. The prince—Telemachus—was so close, his presence overwhelming in ways you hadn't prepared for.

The intensity of his words, his gaze, his touch—it was too much. Your mind couldn't keep up. Every nerve in your body was on high alert, each beat of your heart a frantic drum. Overwhelmed and desperate to regain control, you forced your eyes shut, breaking the spell of his gaze.

"Telemachus," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You're not in your right mind. Whatever's happening to you—this isn't—"

Before you could finish, the heat of his breath ghosted against your ear, each word spilling from his lips like honey laced with sin, cutting you off. "Do you know how often I've wondered?" His tone was low, dropping to a husky murmur. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear—not quite a kiss, but enough to leave your skin tingling, alight with awareness. "How it would feel to taste you?"

Your eyes shot open in shock, your breath catching painfully in your throat. His face was so close now, impossibly close.

His voice softened into something darker, more primal, as his hand on your wrist tightened slightly, anchoring you in place. "Just a kiss, ____. One kiss—and yet, it's all I've wanted for so long." His flushed cheeks, the lidded haze in his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on his temple—it was all too much. His lips hovered just a breath away, teasingly close to your own, his presence engulfing you entirely.

You tried to speak, to stammer out some response, but your voice refused to cooperate. "Tele—" you managed to get out, his name barely escaping your lips as your thoughts spiraled into chaos.

And then, just as abruptly as the tension had built, it shattered.

Telemachus' eyes rolled back into his head, his body going slack as he collapsed against you. A panicked gasp escaped your throat, your hands instinctively flying to steady him. His weight pressed heavily against you, the heat radiating from his feverish skin still tangible, still searing.

"Telemachus?!" you called out, frantic now, your voice rising in alarm. You shifted under him, desperately trying to support his unconscious form without losing your balance. "Hey, wake up!" Your heart clenched painfully as his head lolled against your shoulder, his breathing shallow but steady.

Panic and confusion swirled within you like a storm. What just happened? What was happening to him? Your thoughts raced, torn between the lingering heat of the moment and the urgent need to figure out how to help him.

With a deep breath, you steadied yourself, focusing on the immediate task. You couldn't let your emotions—or the overwhelming memory of his words and touch—distract you now.

Telemachus needed you, and that was all that mattered.

A/N: my boi down bad fr, had to show y'all how bad he's been feening for mc, lolz (see y'all in a week~ or sooner who knows)

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre

[purplealmonds]

Continuing to fire on all cylinders to make this Sky 🤝Mononoke collab a reality! 🐲⚖️🌊

Process GIFs and artist commentary below the cut. ⬇️

Left: Process GIF Middle: Just the background, cos I really like how it looks! Right: Illustration without the collab logo

And here are my notes on my inspirations and references. There's a lot of 'em, so instead of embedding relevant images one by one I put them in a callout sheet! For accessibility, I also included transcript (with bonus ramblings) below each sheet.

Ofuda circle modeled in Google Sketchup 2017, then lightly transformed in Photoshop to flare out. I tried my best to hand-draw these, but it the results came out really clunky and stiff. I figured if Mononoke shamelessly utilizes 3D in their show, I can too!

Krill and sky kid composition roughly inspired by the Ayakashi DVD cover illustration. On the surface level, the krill's black-and-red color scheme mirrored that of the bake-neko. Not to mention, in the world of Sky, the krill would be the best fit of a mononoke-like entity. The red background is also a nod to the red skies seen during a shard eruption in Sky.

Sky kid gesture based on the Festival Spin Dancer's Tier 3 poses and the Medicine Seller's iconic pose in the Zakishiwarahi episode as inspiration. This was the idea which springboarded this illustration into existence. I wanted to do my take of the Medicine Seller's pose, but in a more dynamic manner: rotate the pose to a profile position and set the ofuda in a diagonal, flared out arrangement.

Cape inspired by tenbin design featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie. This one's an interesting one - I wanted the cape to be a stiff material that doesn't "flap" when in flight - similar to the Aurora wing capes. It ended up looking like a kite of sorts, which I'm not entirely opposed to! I haven't had the opportunity to showcase the back view of this cape design, but I envision it having some mechanical aspects to it - the "wing" which are flared out in this illustration fold in like moth wings, and a little bell is attached to the "tail" part and it jingles a little whenever the sky kid flaps!

Bandana is based on the Scaredy Cadet's hairstyle from the Season of Assembly. Mask design utilizes the 2023 Days of Style mask and the Nintendo Pack mask as bases. Pretty self-explanatory. I basically went onto the Sky wiki and found the cosmetics that most closely matched what I was looking for. Then if necessary, I went to the Office space to do photoshoots to get the appropriate camera angles for them all.

Seasonal pendant inspired by the classic Medicine Seller's necklace and the eye motif featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie. Possibly the only one-to-one homage to the classic Medicine Seller design here, but his garnet necklace was too good of a match to the seasonal pendant. A side tangent: does the new Medicine Seller possess a necklace, let alone a mirror? So far all the shots of him don't feature it. Fascinating.

Dark dragon krill anatomy references a custom figurine crafted by @/escaflowne_n07 on Twitter. Until I found this, I was honestly at a loss finding reference for this - be it on the internet or during in-game photoshoots. The lighting on the krill in-game focused on its menacing silhouette rather than its structure. And not to mention, getting a close-up shot almost always set off the dark creature's aggro. I have no idea how this guy found the references to put this model together - well done!

Mantas, elder constellations, and sun dog references murals in the Cave of Prophecy. Krill aside, the overall illustration was leaning a little too much towards Mononoke so I tried finding opportunities to insert more Sky into it. Added bonus is that now there's storytelling in the background: during a shard eruption, a giant krill rises from the frothing waves of dark water to hunt down a flock of mantas.

Clouds behind the sun dog reference the ones featuring heavily in the Umibozu episode. This illustration has a lot of ocean theming, so I figured this would be appropriate.

Rendering style of the background is lightly inspired by the 2007 Mononoke illustration. Mainly having a 2D inked style to contrast with the more polished render of the sky kid. Funnily enough, this was a tertiary inspiration, which lead to the discovery in the next point!

Dark water waves and sun dog composition heavily references Hokusai's "The Great Wave". The waves were modified to be bottle-green of the Golden Wasteland's dark waters. The sun dog is in the spot where Mt. Fuji is in the original composition. these were all hand-drawn by the way! I merely emulated the style of the source material. As a side note, I also borrowed the spotted sea spray rendering for the krill's red spotlight.

Background pattern taken from the ofuda design featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie poster. Mainly to add some gritty texture to the sky. I worked pretty hard to replicate this ofuda design as a high-res asset so I wanted to use it more!

[threepandas]

Bad End: My Faithful

Cling. Cling. Sacred bells and jewelry clatter, strike and move, in synch with song. No beat is wasted. No step, anything but sure. Muscles roll in the moonlight. He is beautiful. Enchanting. We gather. Each for different reasons. Each to worship something. As all of us, worship the divine.

The steps having meaning, I am told. They combine into a prayer. Swift and flowing, haunting as it is. His feet are so certain. His movements so graceful. It's no wonder the Gods love him so. His faith shines so purely. The high priest of Nox, beloved child of Night and Mind.

It's appalling, to me, that I should get to see this at all.

Like some cheap dancer on display, the King has demanded he perform, for the "sacred maiden" to witness. Ha. Sacred to WHOM? Certainly not us. The Lumos have been creeping like a sickness. Imbalancing the world, yet daring to proclaim themselves cures. And now? NOW? They have called upon their God to defy the natural order.

An otherworldly soul.

"Sacred", my ass.

She has bewitched the royal family, who already coddled the Lumos. Begun to collect powerful men like trinkets. And now? Now she wants to "learn about the Nox"? Ha! With out a shred of respect! It is because our High Priest is handsome. Because everyone knows that. I... I want to weep. Refuse too, during this sacred Rite.

They have made cheap, lustful spectacle, of one of our most holy rites. A sacred ritual dance. Meant to be perform only in the presence of the inner temple Grand Worshipers. Those who had cleansed themselves and been made pure.

Not... not those who would ogle him. Look upon him like a courtesan dancer.

What threat did they use? What disgraceful tactics? I stand amongst other Priests and Priestess', both in awe and sickened to my core. We have no right to be here. To see this. But... but we WILL. By Nox, none of us will leave.

I gathered as many as I could, when I heard. The purification baths ran from sun down to sun up. We had to borrow every tub we could find. More then a few of us skipping over a day's worth of meals, just to stay pure.

We bunked six or more to a room, traveled for days. But... but by Nox, I gathered them. Every Temple and worshiper I could find. And we are Pure. We are with him. Through us, I hope, Nox is with him, and... and that this ugly desecration of our ways, this foul spectacle, will not mar his soul.

I pray.

Watch, disgusted, as the so called Sacred Maiden "ooos and aaahs" like this is some festival event. Eating food as she blushes and ogles a holy man. The royal family around her, having the audacity to openly look bored. Only the youngest prince refuses food, wear properly dark colors. Treats this as the uncomfortable, twisted, but still holy event that it IS.

Perhaps all is not lost.

The Dance ends.

She has the audacity to CLAP.

The Lumos worshipers in the crowd begin to follow her lead, before noticing the appalled stares from our side. They awkwardly trail off. The youngest prince has closed his eyes in horror. You do NOT make NOISE after the Dance. You LISTEN, in a moment of silence, for the wisdom of Nox, as you consider your troubles.

Why don't you spit in our God's FACE next, you wretch!

You've done EVERYTHING ELSE.

Oblivious, she excitedly chatters, loudly, to her Royal lover. Points down to the High Priest in clear question and intent. No. NO. Absolutely NOT! I could not stop this travesty, but I would rather die at this point, then see it go further.

I step forward. Crossing the unspoken ritual line. My fellow Worshipers inhale sharply. What am I DOING? Have I gone insane? They must wonder. Perhaps I have. So be it. But from the corner of my eye, I see the Lumos harlot bouncing down from her viewing box, dragging along an indulgent royal. Entitled and presumptuous, they have taken ENOUGH.

My hand comes up to my night cloak. Ceremonial, yes, but beautifully indistinct. The wearer could be anyone. My strides lengthen. No more. By Nox, there will be no more.

His Holiness stands where the final step left him, head tilted back in prayer, eyes closed. Face somber in the face of this great insult. He has not bowed before such indignity, as what son of the Gods ever would? Before a mere King.

We, by all rights, should never meet. I am a simple, small time, temple keeper. A handful of Worshipers at best. But my faith can not, WILL NOT, let me stand idle. My presumption is unacceptable... but allowing His Holiness to be drooled over like meat? Be treated like a novelty and toy, to be trotted out for some Lumos woman's amusement? That is unthinkable.

I murmur apologies, even as I drape my cloak around his shoulders, raise the hood. Turn and guild him, gently but with insistence, back towards my fellow Worshipers. The Royals have noticed. Call for me to stop.

Not once do I break stride. They can call all they like. I will not.

The others have figured out my plan, simple as it is. Their loyalty is without question. Gently they drift forward, as though simply making room for each other. Parting to allow us into the crowd. Swallowing us instantly. A cloak is thrown over me by an older Priest, a spare, it seems. I nod. Keep walking.

His Holiness has lost his somberness, his touch of anger. The cold blade-like bite of rage. His arm slides around mine. Merely two Worshipers, out for a stroll. The curl of amusement at the edges of his lips. Behind us, Royal gaurds are roughly shoving people out of the way. The Nox are not making it easy.

Enough is enough.

Down the road, gaudy Lumos gaurds have cut off the path. Their precious little Maiden wants her amusement. If she seeks to meet a holy man? Then it does not matter that he is not for her to meet, that his faith has rules and traditions to adhere too. The spoiled child must have her toys. The burning light will consume as it pleases.

Ritualisticly painted fingers slid between mine. A cool hand, humming with power, gentle as it gripped my own. Startled, I looked down. His Holiness was holding my hand. His grip having casually slide down, even as he remained intertwined. He leaned, as we passed by an alley, nudging me into it. Swinging around me, on dancer's feet, to lightly brush the brickwork edge of the entrance with his other hand.

The one that was solid black, as a night without stars.

All light disappeared.

Behind us, I could hear the noise and fuss of the street. But only a few steps in? It disappeared. Everything hushing, like a heavy blanket upon the night. The stone beneath us... not cobbled. Not brickwork either. A Worshiper of the Light, I imagine, would be terrified. But I? I was in AWE.

It was the Night, concentrated. Shadows and darkness, yet I could see. Holy in its silence. It's quiet contemplation. There... there were colors, here, that I could not begin to name. A softness. Yet? A danger.

This was a place that would entice you. Call to you. Invite you to ponder and rest. Have no concern for the harsh light of day, the trouble of man. You could wander forever. Never to return. Sleep for centuries, uninterrupted. It was no wonder, that Nox did not grant this wonder to the common disciple. The strength His Holiness would need, not to go mad? To become lost? Was unimaginable.

I turned to him, certain the wonder must be painted on my face. My jaw on the floor. He seemed delighted by my reaction. A charmed look on his face. I had so many questions. Was uncertain I was even allowed to ask. Where would I even begin? Could I even begin?

"Ask," he allowed, voice soft and inviting. Tucking my arm close. Then moving to slide his arm around my body, no doubt to guide me. "I will-"

"YOU."

The word snapped and cracked through the air, like a great shattering. A command and accusation. It echoed in my bones, rattled in my soul, even as the silence if this place swallowed it's edges. I froze, midstep. Because... because that was impossible. That voice. It could not possibly be behind me.

Because....

His Holiness was standing right next to me.

"Unhand that child, you wretched thing!" Came the command from behind us. The cadence unmistakable, the sheer presence, impossible to match. I had attended enough sermons to know. "Did you think I would not find you?! Not see the chaos you cause in my name? I am not so blind!"

"....aren't you?"

That was not his Holiness voice.

Fear, like the branching death of a lightning strike, shoots through me. Horror and panic, crashing together in a suffocating dance, that commands me to move. Now. NOW! Move!!

I try to jerk away from the imposter next to me. Only to find that I can not. My body pressed against his side, like lovers on a stroll. When? When did he?! How did I not notice!? No. I DID notice. But thought nothing of it! Because His Holiness would never act untoward. Is a respectful and holy man. Oh Nox! But this is not-!

"Now look what you've done. You've upset her. How rude of you, Priest of Nox." Chides the imposter, even as my breath picks up. As I struggle harder, to no avail. No! No no NO! Help me! Somebody-! PLEASE!

His other arm comes up as he turns towards me, about to wrap around me like a cage. I feel tears begin to burn my eyes. Betrayal and fear, confusion and horror, what... what is HAPPENING!?

A shard a night, black and filled with stars, sings death and it shoots between us. Forcing the imposter to lean back. Away from me. The first is followed by a hail of more. Making him step back. One step. Two. Giving me just enough room to struggle free and stumble back.

"Keep your lustful eyes away from that child, Priest of Kháos! You have perverted, desecrated, enough! You will go no further."

Never had I so much as heard, much less seen, the High Priest in such a fury. And it WAS him. It could be no one else. He wore his robe, in full, prayer paint delicate across his face and hands. Starlight clung to his night black hair, danced in his eyes. He was a moon, a light, in this softly shadowed place. How... how could I have mistaken the imposter for him?

Desperately, I tried to run to his side. That pillar of strength, of faith, that would guide me through this nightmare. I barely got two steps. My cloak captured in an unshakable grip.

"Ah~ ah~ ah~, none of that, dear. We're not done." The imposter said, voice light and scolding. As though I was just being silly and difficult, not struggling desperately to escape. "And we were doing so well! Didn't you like me, dear? You were so thoughtful and charming. So cute! I've certainly come to like~ you~♡"

My terrified gaze met his Holiness', in both forever and an instant. There was fear for me there. Strength. Determination. The eyes of the man that had lead us all. With kindness and hope, faith and compassion. A brother and father and friend. I... I could see the exact moment... he decided.

He lunged forward, holy blade surging into being. Cutting through my cloak.

"GO!" He shouted. "RUN! Nox be with you!"

I run.

The silence is consumed behind me. Crashing and clanging. Whoosing and booms. The sounds of great, terrible battle between the powerful. All I can do... all I can hope to do? Is get to a safe distance. Survive this madness. Believe in his Holiness. He will win. He... he MUST win! He is the High Priest of Nox. A child beloved by the gods. He... he MUST win...

Right?

The shadows hide me, and for that I amgrateful, but they also hide all paths beneath my feet. The soft darkness is endless. Running, running, running. Long after it all falls to silence. Even as my lungs burn and my legs cramp. I... I don't know where I am. Can no longer hold back my tears.

What have I DONE?

I brought the loyal to the filthy alter of an imposter. A false idol. I have made apostates of the faithful, lead them astray! Nox, forgive me, I have betrayed my own family! Your people! I sob, curling into myself. I... I didn't mean too! I swear!

Alone, I pray in the dark.

Eventually though, my tears run dry, and all I can do... is wait.

I can not escape this place under my own power. No amount of running will find an exit. And sooner or later? Either there will be a victor... or both His Holiness and the Imposter will perish, and I will starve. Or perhaps be lost to this place? I do not know. All I can do, now, is... is face it with dignity. Wait. Pray.

.......alone.

Steps. Playful and almost dancing. Skipping and swirling erratically to a beat all their own. Discordant humming, three different song all at once, overlapping poorly. Dread seeps through my veins. I... I do not recognize the voice. Yet, I do. If it were to... to pretend to be...? Oh Nox.

"Darling~, there you are! My, my, you ran quite the distance! Didn't you?" The jingle of bells and discordant voices, shifting together as he speaks. I feel frozen. But that does not save me. The imposter merely meandering and dancing his way around, to loom directly above me. "Found~ you~, ha ha!"

As though it were a joke and not a horror. My vision filled with bright and garish colors. Bells and scarves. My cloak, like damning accusation, still draped around the liars shoulders. Eye level to a belt of many different sized bells and beads, I look up. A terrible smile lays in wait there, to greet me. Covetous and manic. Filled with rending teeth.

"You know the problem with assumptions, sweetness? It's the risk that you could be wrong! You go into a situation, think to yourself 'oh, I'm just gonna face off against a boring, lame little priest, like me!' when in REALITY? Your about to pick a fight with something so, SO much better."

"See," the imposter squats, as though about to reveal a secret, just between the two of us. "Cutey," A claw tipped had comming up to slide across my cheek before with a light pat, he decided to grip it. "Kháos? Oh He doesn't HAVE a high priest. No, no! Why waste the time? The effort! You gotta train those. And it's SO easy it lose um."

An exaggerated mockery of sorrow, before the grin returned.

"No, see, Kháos? HE has an AVATAR~! Isn't that fun? And you'll never guess, sweet, who that avatar is~. Go on. Guess." I was frozen. The level of power he was suggesting... oh Nox. No. Please, no. His Holiness was... "That's right! ME. Such a smart girl~! And you know what I've always wanted to do? Steal a pretty little priestess of my very own!"

"You and me? Well get along nicely, sweetheart. You're gonna covert great~♡"

There was no way out. The grip on my face threatened to bruise. All I could see was sharp, sharp teeth and a mad man's grin. Oh, Nox! Oh, NOX! Someone, anyone! Please! Even the Lumos at this point! I called out... but nothing answered.

"Worship at my alter. Just you and me, dear! I can't wait to burn the world down!"

"Now, close your eyes, give us a kiss, and let's pray, m'kay~♡?"

[the-victor-brothers]

The Victors as soldiers (while both Victoria and Elsa as ballet dancers).

Here is Victor VD and Victoria (from CB) in an adapted “Steadfast Tin Soldier” segment, “Piano Concerto No. 2” from Disney’s “Fantasia 2000,” and Victor F and Elsa (from FW) in 1990 animated film, “The Nutcracker Prince.��� From both “Fantasia 2000” and “The Nutcracker Prince,” both the Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Nutcracker Prince (Hans) fought against monstrous enemies (The Jack-in-the-Box and the Mouse King), have their feelings for their love-interests (The Ballet Dancer, and Clara) while protecting them, and do not worked well with rodents (mice and rats). Also, both the Ballet Dancer and Clara do ballet dancing (Clara dreamed about traveling around the world and become a ballet dancer).

1) Steadfast Tin Soldier

I loved “Fantasia 2000” (my favorites were “Pines of Rome” and “The Firebird Suites”). I thought V+V would work well as Tin Soldier+Ballet Dancer from the Disney version. After all, both Victor VD and the Tin Soldier had been separated/isolated from their love ones in different world, while both the Ballet Dancer and Victoria still remain faithful for their true love (Victor and the Tin Soldier) while didn’t work well with suitors (Jack in the Box and Lord Barkis). (And yes, folks - Barkis will be the scary Jack-in-the-Box DX).

I know, Victoria looks like Belle from animated BatB, but funny thing is that the Ballet Dancer has similar hairstyle from Belle’s (after all, both the Ballet Dancer and Belle don’t work well with suitors, while both have feelings for their true love (Tin Soldier and Beast/Adam)). Also, I know in CB that both Maggot and Black Widow said to Emily that Victoria “couldn’t” dance or sing, but - BAH what did they know? They didn’t even know Victoria. In my head canon, Victoria always use her imagination to dance with someone (like dancing with an imaginary friend or a ghost) while she’s a fairytale buff since childhood - so, there you go.

Funny thing was that the Steadfast Tin Soldier from the Russian 1976 short film, “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” by Soyuzmultfilm (known for “The Snow Queen,” “The Wild Swans,” and “The Nutcracker”) looks like Victor VD. Now that’s ironic in this art pic.

2) The Nutcracker Prince

“The Nutcracker Prince” is one of my childhood faves - underrated but great version. (I did read the Alexander Dumas version last time. Right now, I’m still reading the Hoffman version (Penguin Christmas Classics)).

Victor F+Elsa both can work well as Hans+Clara from the 1990 version. After all, both Hans and Victor F involved with Science, dealt with creatures (the mice army, and the monster pets), and help/protect/save the girls (Clara and Elsa) from harm (even saving them from falling off the cliff). As for both Clara and Elsa, they both share their sympathy and caring for the boys (Hans and Victor F), have adorable pets (Pavlova and Persephone) as companions… and dealt with monstrous creatures (The Mouse King, and the monster pets).

As for Mr. Rzyzkruski - yes, he’ll be Uncle Drosselmeier (I like that character from the 1990 version). 😄 That would have been like Vincent Price as Drosselmeier in any Nutcracker film or stage. 😆 As for Edgar, he’ll be Fritz, Clara’s brother (and yes, he’ll do something stupid for the poor Nutcracker). And the Wererat will be… the Mouse King?

Both of these drawings were referenced from the screenshots from the films from online. The backgrounds were just colored in color pencils (the second one from the bottom used Posca markers for adjustments). Done with traditional media tools (Pilot Color Eno (Soft Blue) mechanical pencil, art markers, ink pens, color pencils, and Posca markers). Enjoy.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

As You Wish Pt. 2 | Neil Lewis x fem!reader

Summary| Neil, still thinking about the other day, invites y/n to Gumshoe Video's movie night. The theme (besides vampires) is the 1960s and so she dresses for the part. And like any good vampire thriller- only the good stuff happens after dark...

Warnings| age gap- reader (19) Neil Lewis (27), cursing, kissing, groping, teasing, unprotected sex, penetration, no fore-play.

word count: 4261K

Midnight City- M83 🎶

Our Swords- Band of Horses 🎵

Shout out to the lovely reader who requested a part 2! This is for you!

Please read warnings and continue at your own discretion, thanks!

She can hear the chatter from outside as rain plasters the wide display windows. She stops outside Gumshoe Video and peeks her head inside, sparing her hairdo from the storm outside. Her hair was pinned into a half-beehive and curled up around her shoulders like a young Pattie Boyd. The guests inside turn when the bells above the door announce her presence. They cheer and raise their red plastic cups in greeting and she laughs back, her smile dragging widely across her face. And there he is: Neil Lewis. He’s standing beside the box tv set with a bottle of cheap beer in his hand. He’s wearing a powder blue dress shirt from the seventies and a dark blue suit. His longish hair is swept out of his face and he smiles at something someone has said. When he looks over, he sees her, and his mouth falls open. 

“Oh my God! Where did you get this?” A woman swoops in from the side and admires her dress. 

“It’s a replica mod dress from the 60s. I made it,” she answered with a polite smile and allowed the woman to inspect the stitching. As she raised her eyes, they met Neil’s. His eyes widened slightly as he dropped them down to her thighs before traveling back up to her face. Her dress was boxy, like that of a mod dancer, and so short that it was barely fingertip length (to use school-girl terminology). She was dressed up as a gogo dancer, red vinyl boots and all, for the showing of Gumshoe Video’s The Kiss of the Vampire. Neil bit his tongue as his eyes crawled down her body. Her dark red dress had a high modest neckline but was sleeveless and short. The fabric was a tautly starched linen that didn’t move much as she walked. It hugged her waist with a thick belt but fared out around her thighs in a fixed shape. Her makeup was a copy of one of Twiggy’s famous looks with the exaggerated eyelashes and dark eyeliner. Her eyelids were a bright blue that clashed with her red clothing, a mixing of primary colors. When the woman stepped away, she advanced shyly, resisting the urge to bite her lip and ruin her lipstick. Neil cleared his throat and nodded quickly at Lucien whom he was talking to when she had come in. His eyes darted back and forth, between her and Lucien’s prop pipe. His long eyelashes fluttered as he stole glances at her between pretending to listen to Lucien. 

“Hey! Nice of you to join, I’m Jonathan.” Jonathan appeared beside her and offered his hand not holding a beer. She shook it and smiled. 

���Y/N, I tried to dress for the theme.” She looked down at her costume and he nodded emphatically. 

“I did too. I was going for Ringo Starr.” Jonathan twirled, showing off his bright pink military costume like the one Ringo wore for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. She nodded and smiled. 

“I see the resemblance. Who is Neil supposed to be?” She jerked her head at Neil and Jonathan sighed. 

“He said that he was going as one of the Monkees but personally, I don’t see it.” 

“He must have run out of costumes,” she laughed and Jonathan shrugged dramatically. As she finished that sentence, Neil broke away from Lucien, slightly breathless and placed a hand on her back in greeting. She looked up at him, curling her toes inside her shoes. 

“You’re one of the Monkees?” She teased him lightly and Neil chuckled and shook his head. 

“I did have a hat on, it made more sense when I was wearing the hat.”

“So you were Micheal?” She asked and he gestured wildly at her for Jonathan, “See I told you someone would get it.” 

“That’s only because you both have weird niche knowledge,” Jonathan wrinkled his nose. “Uh oh, Lucien is talking to two strange women. I’m going to swoop in before he says something weird,” he hurried over to Lucien and patted him playfully on the head. Neil immediately looked down at her, his cool resolve slipping slightly. He was flustered. 

“Wow,” he gestured with both hands at her costume and she blushed self-consciously. He stuttered as he tried to say something coherent. “I’m uh, just uh… wow.” He scratched the back of his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing around quickly before leaning in close to her ear. “Jesus Christ you smell good too.” He shook his head, forgetting what he was originally going to say. She smiled giddily. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Do you want to see my office?” Neil cleared his throat as he looked around, trying to look natural to everyone else in the store. His slumped posture and darting eyes would betray him if anyone cared to look at him long enough. He replaced his hand on the small of her back and swirled a finger across the fabric. She played with the hem of his blazer, blushing hard. 

“Hey, Neil!” A couple stopped in front of them and Neil jumped back to attention, his arm flying back behind his head and off of her body. He coughed briefly and cleared his throat. 

“Hey- hey! How’s it going?” He smiled distractedly and greeted his friends. They waited expectantly to be introduced to the girl and Neil gasped slightly, remembering. “Oh sorry, this is Y/N and Y/N, this is Buddy and Marcia.” He waved between them and they all nodded at each other politely, exchanging handshakes and smiles. “Enjoy the movie!” Neil said a little over enthusiastically and Buddy furrowed his brow, slightly concerned as they walked away. Jonathan found them at the makeshift bar and chuckled. 

“That’s the new girl,” he gestured with his cup and Marsha pursed her lip approvingly. 

On the other side of the room, Neil turned back to her and licked his lips. “So… my office?” He raised his eyebrows and jerked his thumbs at the separate office space in the back of the store. She giggled as she dug her toe into the ground and swayed slightly against him. Neil’s smile grew as he led her from the main store area and back into the office. When she passed through the door after him, Neil closed it and lowered himself slightly, his arms going out wide as he looked her up and down again mouthing, “oh my god.”

“So you like it?” She ran her hands down the front of her dress and shifted the weight on her feet proudly. 

“I mean, just look at you!” He ran his hand over his mouth and stepped in closer. The desk knocked softly into her tailbone as she retreated. “I love it,” he emphasized and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was leaning back against the desk, her legs spread and her weight evenly distributed. Neil stepped closer, his body firmly between her legs. She worked up the courage to touch him, sliding her palms around his waist beneath his blazer. 

“Your fucking thighs,” Neil whispered breathlessly as his index fingers traced around the small hairs on her upper thighs. “God…” he gasped softly, already feeling himself get hot under the collar. She rubbed her nose against his and gave him a soft peck on the mouth. 

“Is that all I get?” He whispered with a furrowed brow. He ran his knuckles down her neck and tried not to gasp when he found her breasts. She kissed him again, pulling herself up higher by his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the plush fabric of his jacket’s shoulder pads. He responded immediately, shoving his tongue into her mouth. Neil pawed desperately at her, his hands grabbing at her thighs, her breasts, and her head. He pushed her up onto the desk and she whined in protest as he now towered above her. He chuckled breathlessly and dragged his hands up the inside of her thighs. 

“Shh,” he smiled when she glowered, wanting to cling to him as she kissed him. When she stopped wiggling, he leaned down and kissed her slowly. She held onto his hips by hooking her fingers in his belt loops. His hands prodded further, stroking the elastic band of her underwear around her pelvis. She was wearing cotton underwear and Neil could feel the wetness pooling at her opening through the fabric. He started to fall apart as he stroked her clothed cunt with his long fingers. She squirmed on the desk in front of her and the heels of her gogo boots knocked against the desk, her back arched into him. She moved his hands beneath her skirt, looking up at him with wide suggestive eyes. 

“Here? Now?” Neil whispered, slightly shocked at the girl’s suggestion. “Are you insane?” He whispered beside her ear, his voice laced with perverted desire though he tried to shake it from his voice, still wanting to be the voice of reason. 

“Neil…” she muttered at him and petted his crotch with slow, heavy moves. 

“What?” He whispered, an edge in his voice. His forehead was still creased and he tried to even out his breath as his cock pushed against every touch of her hand. 

“You’re supposed to say, As. You. Wish.” She squeezed her thighs around his legs, just below his hips and wrapped her hands around his hips. Neil raised an eyebrow and laughed lightly. He watched her as she bore into his eyes, thick with desire. He looked her up and down and reached both hands beneath her skirt again, pulling her underwear down over her butt. She had to lean back slightly as he dragged the cotton wad down over her gogo boots. He looked down at the underwear in his palm and trilled his lips lowly. 

“This is a bit more involved than I was expecting but I’m all for it,” he shrugged with a loose smirk and put the underwear on the desk beside them. She smiled and pulled on his dress shirt, prompting him to give her a satisfying kiss. 

“You were the one who suggested that I see your office,” she giggled quietly. 

“I needed a sense of adventure.” He muttered against her lips, his eyes closed. 

“Neil… Adventure?” She smiled lazily and stroked his jaw, her short nails running dully down his neck. 

“I like the sound of that,” he continued to kiss her, his nose crushing against her cheek. A knock at the door made them both jump and Neil turned around quickly, shielding her from the view of whomever was at the door. 

“Neil! We’re starting the movie now and Jonathan doesn’t know how to work the player. You gotta fix it.” Lucien yelled through the door. His silhouette showed through the frosted glass. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned quietly and rubbed his face. His erection fell slightly at the interruption and he sighed. “Ok, Lucien. I’m coming!” He smiled falsely as he yelled back his response.   

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Lucien mumbled beneath his breath and hurried back into the store area. 

“I’ll see you out there,” Neil cringed and fixed his suit as much as he could. 

“Break a leg,” she smiled and hopped off of the desk, her underwear still sitting on the desk. She pulled them back on over her gogo boots and followed him out. Neil walked around to the back of the tv and checked the cables. She watched from the back of the room, a deep blush spreading across her face as she noticed the places where her red lipstick had left smudges around his mouth. She smiled down at her boots and bit her lip, trying to compose herself. Neil stepped back in front of the tv with Jonathan and announced the movie, lipstick still smudged around his wide lips. 

“And now, Gumshoe Video presents the 1963 The Kiss of the Vampire,” he extended his hands to the small square tv and waggled his fingers. The audience laughed and hooted. Some glanced over at her and smiled, she blushed deeper. 

“Nice touch,” one guy called from the couches and Neil stared at him blankly, his eyes then slowly drifting to her. She pointed at her mouth and rested her chin on her fist. Neil laughed it off and winked as he stepped aside and the movie started. She sat down on the couch in the back and scooted to the side as Neil joined her, collapsing with an anxious exhale. 

“Kissed by a vampire,” he shook his head, “why didn’t I think of that? That would have been a perfect costume.” He spoke with his hands, and shrugged his shoulders. She hid her face in her hands to hide her smile. “Was it really that noticeable?” He whispered and she nodded, embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” she giggled quietly and wiped the lipstick smudges from his face with her thumb. Jonathan moved around the spread of couches and perched on the edge of the couch beside them. 

“Nice touch, Neil. I think it makes the viewing experience more realistic.” Jonathan snarked and Neil rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, Jonathan.” Neil sighed and massaged his face, pulling down on the skin. Jonathan winked at her and she smiled. Jonathan drifted off as the movie started and the title card appeared. As Neil relaxed into the couch, his hand found her thigh and rubbed his knuckles across her thigh. She leaned against him, her head resting against the wing of his shoulder as he moved his arm around her. 

…

“What’d you think of the movie?” Neil shoved his hands into his pockets as they locked up Gumshoe Video, the store now completely dark. 

“It’s a classic vampire movie,” she shrugged and smiled, “no notes,” she added. 

It had stopped raining but the sidewalks were littered with shallow puddles of dark water. Neil chuckled and placed one hand on the small of her back as they turned away from the store. 

“I thought you’d like it,” Neil smirked and she raised her eyebrow. 

“Why?”

“You would 100% be the kind of girl to get abducted by an insanely attractive vampire and fall in love with him.” 

“Well would he suck my blood at the end and kill me?” She pretended to consider the universe that Neil was suggesting. 

“Oh of course,” Neil shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and furrowed his brows playfully. 

“I can’t see it,” she shook her head and clasped her hands behind her back as they walked. She looked down at her shoes and smiled. Neil fell silent for a moment, his eyes once again trailing her up and down. 

“Have I told you how amazing you look?” Neil cleared his throat. 

“Yes, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” she blushed and cocked her head to the side, looking into his eyes as they walked. Neil wet his lips and stopped, looking her up and down once again. 

“You look amazing.” He said seriously and she looked away, self-conscious. They were stopped in front of Neil’s house, a two-story craftsman in a dark green color that looked dark blue in the darkness. She looked from the house to Neil’s face, the front porch light reflecting in his bright blue eyes. Neil laughed awkwardly when he realized that they had stopped at his house. 

“Will you come inside?” He twisted his hips casually, jerking his head once at the front door. The girl exhaled shakily and nodded. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She answered with a nervous smile. 

Neil broke into a large smile, the lines of his cheekbones stretching down to the edge of his jaw beside his pink lips. They climbed the stairs to the house and Neil let her inside, his eyes traveling up the length of her body as she stepped into the house in front of him. Neil closed the door behind him, exhaling slowly. She met his eyes when she turned back and smiled shyly when she noticed how he stared at her. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” She asked him quietly. Neil nodded emphatically, his hand still on the doorknob behind him. 

“Then come here and kiss me,” she whispered and turned fully to face him. She felt her cunt grow hot and heat billowed down her thighs. Neil clenched his jaw and swallowed, his eyes now fixed on the girl’s mouth. He pushed himself off of the door and approached her, his hips swaying slightly as he walked. She kept her arms by her side as Neil wrapped gentle fingers around her upper arms, right above her elbows, and held his lips within inches of hers. She savored the way he smelled, like laundry detergent and mouthwash. He smelled like what she imagined domestic masculinity would smell like if it could be bottled. She sighed softly before he kissed her, his lips drawing hers between his. He held her in place, not aggressively, and kissed her, moving his head occasionally to taste her from different angles. 

When he broke away she took a step back and clasped her hands behind her back girlishly. Neil laughed like a schoolboy, shocked by the surge of desire and energy he felt just from the kiss. 

“Can I take you upstairs?” He leaned his arm against the wall and pointed to the staircase in front of them. She bit her lip, trying to stop from laughing hysterically from nerves. She took a step backwards and stepped onto the bottom step, facing Neil. 

“Ask me again,” she teased and bit her lip harder. Neil exhaled sharply as he felt his cock twitch aggressively in his pants. The dark room threw her body into shadow and the windows above the stairs illuminated her silhouette. He wet his lips and asked again. 

“Can I take you upstairs?” 

She could still make out his blue eyes in the dark as the windows provided enough light to catch their color. She took a few more steps up, still facing him. 

“As you wish,” she whispered. Neil laughed, thrilled by her little game. He hurried up the stairs but she kept a few steps between them at all times until she reached the top of the stairs. She backed up into the wall beside the window and allowed Neil to close in on her. Neil held her hips in his large hands and kissed her again, this time snaking his tongue into her mouth, testing the waters. They stumbled away from the stairs and rushed into a doorway, Neil catching himself on the doorframe with both arms so that he could turn her around. He twisted her around so that her back was to his bed. 

Neil’s room was exactly as one would expect. His walls were decorated with movie posters with the addition of a few select female movie stars that he had the hots for. He helped the girl back onto the bed and leaned over her on the bed. She weaved her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and traced his jaw with her palms. He worked quickly to pull off her gogo boots and slipped off his suit jacket. She moved onto her knees on the edge of the mattress and slid each button out of its eyelet on his power blue shirt. Neil shrugged it off and pulled each sleeve over his wrists, dropping it to the floor. She pressed her hands against his chest and placed a few shaky kisses against his warm skin. Neil sighed pleasurably and swept her hair over her shoulders to lie flat down her back. Looking up at him, she moved her hand down to the zipper at his crotch. Neil’s eye widened as she unzipped his fly and slid her hand down into the front of his hands, beneath his underwear. She cupped his erection in her hand and rubbed her hand down the hot and trembling length. Neil sputtered as she stroked him, his hands returned to the bed on either side of her body. She leaned down so that she could kiss the side of his neck while she jerked him off. Precum coated his cock so her hand slid easily over him and she shivered when she heard Neil gasp softly beside her ear. 

“Fuck, you’re full of fucking suprises,” he panted and squeezed his eyes shut. She exhaled against his neck and left a fresh hickey before responding. 

“This isn’t a movie, Neil. You can’t predict the ending.” 

She pulled her hand out of his pants and kissed his briefly as she scooted farther into the bed. Neil watched her breathlessly, his face hot. He watched her as she unzipped the side of her dress and pulled it over her head. Her bare breasts confronted the cold air by hardening. Neil’s jaw nearly fell open when he saw her, exposed like that. All that remained on her body was the cotton underwear which he allowed his gaze to linger on, camouflage by her thighs. She laid back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows, her stomach trembling with nerves and desire. Neil’s erection pushed noticeably against his boxers. With his eyes still trained on the girl, he pushed down his pants and crawled onto the bed, stopping over her. He lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed the soft flesh there, savoring how warm she was against his mouth. She worked her underwear down and he could feel her hips shift on the mattress which thrilled him. He sat back to look at her, fully nude now. He raised her leg into the air and kissed down her calf, stopping at the underside of her knee. 

“I want to fuck you,” Neil saidbreathlessly as he moved his fingers down her thigh. She smiled darkly, her bow mouth drawn up into a smirk. His cock throbbed in his underwear and hovered above her navel.

“Say it again,” she whispered. Neil raised an eyebrow and exhaled anxiously.

“I want to fuck you.” 

“Again.”

“I want,” he leaned down to her ear and shoved a finger inside her gently, “to fuck you.” She whimpered and bit her lip. 

“Again,” she struggled to say the words, her cheeks flushed. 

“No, honey. You’re supposed to say, as you wish.” Neil whispered against her skin, his finger curling inside her. He smiled when she squirmed and moaned. 

“Ah, fuck- fuck me,” she gasped before Neil crushed his mouth against hers. He pulled down his boxers just enough to free his erection and centered himself at her cunt which was throbbing as much as he was. 

“As you wish,” he chuckled and removed his finger, swapping it out for his cock. He pushed in gently, working his tip inside her slowly as she squirmed needily beneath him. She was tight from nerves and inexperience and he whined despite himself as he went deeper. Her hands found his back and gripped into his flesh. He watched as his cock struggled to fit all the way inside her and moaned loudly when he saw her mouth held open in pleasurable shock. 

“Is it ok?” He groaned and stroked her flushed cheek. Her red lipstick was smudged again on her chin and he swiped his thumb across it. 

“Mmhm, yes.” She nodded and bit her lip as he thrusted in farther. Once her body got used to his length, he was able to pull out and thrust back in. It took only seconds but the sensations felt as though they were happening over hours. He fucked her gently but fast, his hips rocking against hers and shaking the mattress. She pushed her heels into the mattress and arched her hips up into his pelvis. Neil found it delightfully needy and thrusted deeper, eliciting a loud gasp from the girl.  

“Do you like that?” Neil smiled and cupped her chin with his hand. 

“Uh huh, yeah.” She panted as her eyes rolled back into her head. 

“You’re being such a good girl,” Neil praised her and cussed beneath his breath as he felt her walls tighten around him. His hips bucked aggressively into her over and over again and she yelled and gasped in pleasure. He looked down at his cock, slick with her precum, sliding in and out of her. He held her thighs and coaxed her deeper onto his cock, she gasped and bit her lip, her breasts bouncing against her chest. Neil groaned at the sight and fucked her messily, lossing control as he felt how wet she and tight she was getting as she neared her orgasm. 

“Good girl! I’m so close.” He panted quietly and she wrapped her fingers loosely around the nape of his neck. 

“Cum inside me,” she pleaded. 

“What?”

“Cum inside me,” she repeated, more delirious with pleasure.

“Say it again,” he smirked, playing her at her own game.

“Cum. in. me.” Her words tumbled out in a jumbled mess as she started to climax. Her thighs were tightening and her muscles flexed. He groaned helplessly as she came around him.

“As you wish,” he managed to answer as he buckled his hips against her and prompted himself to finish inside, spilling cum into her. He thrusted as he finished and exhaled when he finally pulled out. She worked to catch her breath as he collapsed beside her on the bed. 

“Fuck.” He sighed and rubbed his face. 

“Yeah.” She laughed lightly and cupped her cunt, still riding out the lasting waves of climax. 

[mintmatcha]

a meet cute

cw: cisfem reader, reader is part gnome, dungeon meshi universe, it's about an insane side character, sorry

A gentle breeze cuts across the shop, just over the front counter. You have to lean into it to get any sort of relief from this summer's heat. Your shop door's bell chimes as a customer walks in. It's unusual that anyone is out this time of day in this type of heat, let someone fully robed, scarf and hat included. He's dressed in dark, rich colors, the types of dye that drip with indigo and money, a contrast to the reddish tuft of hair of his head.

He'd be cute, you think, if he wasn't a gnome.

It's not that you don't like gnomes-- you are one, mostly-- but gnomes around your age are boring. The men nod along to anything you say, try to impress you with pleasantries and tidbits, all with that glint in their eye, they've found their next wife. They are dictated by societal niceities and traditions, topped off with a strange sense of superiority, all while they still eye you like a piece of meat-

But this gnome isn't looking at you like that. No, he's marveling at your wears.

The stranger tilts the glass in the sunlight and rainbows refract across the floor, dancing in looping, wonderful patterns long after his movement has stopped. Figures of dancers twirling around each other, bowing and dipping with ease, disappate into the air. His hands are actually a bit small for a gnome, thin fingers, uncalloused and delicate with the way he inspects the magic.

"The runes on this are subtle," he notes, mostly to himself. "Gnome magic on elven crystal."

"You have good taste." You lean more forward on to the oak surface and he jumps a bit, as if he hadn't noticed you were even there. "And a keen eye."

The man melts into a polite smile. His eyes are downturned and his cheeks are round, tickled pink from the sun. He approaches you, a prickle of chill following suit. There must be some elemental magic sown into his clothing or something.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you," you say. "It's my work."

"You have a talented hand for magic, then."

"And you have a talented eye."

His nose wiggles in that delightfully gnomish way that only old men do. "No talent, all practice."

You give him your name, he gives you his. Holm. Classic. Boring. Standard.

"Is this a gift for your wife?"

"Oh, I'm not--" He waves that thought away with disinterest-- which happens to peak yours. "My party mate is getting married."

"An elf?"

"Dwarf, actually." He twirls to glass again and the waltz of light resumes. "To be honest, we aren't very close. I don't really know what she likes, I just think she deserves something nice."

"The effect won't be as brilliant for her, because dwarfs don't tend to have a very good mana flow, but it'll still be pretty. A couple glasses for her and her beau-" You wipe away a bead of sweat that's begun to roll down the side of your neck. "And maybe a bottle of chilled wine. I think that's a very good present for anyone."

He nods, button nose crinkled with delight as he places the glasswork on the table before you. "I'll get a sex then."

A beat passes. You can't help the wild smile that sneaks out. "What was that?"

"Hm?" He hasn't moved, frozen in place, still holding the glass. His expression doesn't change, but you swear there's a touch of pink creeping over his ears.

"You said a sex."

"No, I said a /set./"

"No, you didn't." You cock your head to the side in the way that makes your neck look long and your smile charming. "Are you thinking about sex, Mr Holm?"

He swallows and you think maybe you've gone too far. Your brand of needling is more of a half foot type of humor, which isn't universally appreciated, to say the least.

"I'm- I don't--" Holm surprises you by laughing at him self. "I don't do that."

Interesting. A gnome with a sense of humor. You didn't know those existed. You lean back, trying to bite back your smile as you speak. "What? Think about sex?"

"Or anything else to do with that word."

You inspect him a bit closer. The colors, the hat, the symbol burnt into his pouch-- they're religious symbols. He's a spirit worshipper, one of the religions in the south. You aren't sure of all of the intricacies, but you know the most devout are completely celibate.

Holm shrugs rather casually. "Close enough."

"Oh, you're one of those monk-things, aren't you?" For some reason, you're a bit disappointed. Of course the man you have a nice rapport with is one that won't fuck you.

Not that you want to fuck him.

"So, you must think about sex a lot." You call as you walk to your backroom. There's a couple of different versions of the glasses, so it takes you a moment to find another set of dancers. Really, this guy has nice taste; this is your favorite piece. "Since you can't have any."

"Probably less than you do-" he calls back. "Since you heard is when I clearly said set."

Despite yourself, you laugh. It's not particularly funny, but there's butterflies in your chest and a tremble in your hands. You wrap the glasses in pieces of cloth and ribbon-- purple, to match his scarf-- before bringing them back up. The stranger is still watching you with that look on his face, the crinkle in his eye-

"It's on the house," You slide the gift wrapped presents over to him.

"I couldn't possibly."

"Just come back again some time. Or buy me a beer if you see me at the bar."

You both know that isn't a fair trade. Crystal is expensive, magic work even more so; you could charge him a couple hundred gold if you wanted, but... conversation is sometimes more valuable than money.

"I don't drink." He rubs the back of his neck, almost sheepish. "I eat, though."

The flutter in your chest gets worse. "Food then."

He nods. Taking the gift, he picks it up and starts towards the door, a hum on his voice and a deeper smile creeping up on his face. When he gets to the door, he puts up an arm to open it, then pauses.

He turns back around.

"I want to pay." The strange says, firmly. "I'll still buy you food, but I want to pay for these."

He pulls a bag of coins from his belt and presses them into your hand. It's heavy with gold. He doesn't pull away until you meet his dark, stern eyes and close your hand around the bag.

"I don't want to lead you on," he says, softly. "I find you very..."

He says more with silence than his words.

"Don't worry," you say, even though a worry does creep up your spine. "I'm not so desperate that I'll fall in love with a priest."

"Not a priest, but thank you." His cheeks puff with smile and you immediately know that you may have lied.

[p21-larkin-fan]

REGAN PODCAST🩷

School:

- regan wants to be homeschooled this year but her parents don’t want her to lol

- at the end of the year she thought she was leaving so wrote “regan gerena was here” on the chair and jumped off the table lol

- Going into grade 8

TDA experience:

- She said making top 20 she was happy because it was improvement from last year and then finding out she got top 10 was an amazing surprise

- Because she was at the end of the improv she said she waited and almost forgot she had to improv lol

- She was shocked to even get top 10

- She wanted to do things nobody else did to stand out and said she had some things she wanted to do but had nothing really planned

- She didn’t expect to get top 4 so she didn’t have her costume lol and called her mom to get it lol and how she was shocked and stella’s mom did her makeup

- She wasn’t scared for the dnace off or recompete really because she was just happy and didn’t expect it

- They changed a few things before for her recompete

- She’s so proud as she worked so hard this year and it paid off

Groups & P21 S9

- Fav groups: Knives out & Big Noise

- Fav combo: That’s life because it was so different from the rest of the

- Said how she got an email to be in you don’t love me and how she was excited dance with the older girls but also was stressful in the beginning because it was a hard dance and said she wasn’t really getting it

- She’s excited to dance with the older girls more next year

- Getting to do ydlm at TDA was really fun

Tiger Friday

- Talked a bit about the runway show and dancing with Berk & Bris

- Talked about & explained that her design is kind of what they wear for auditions so she wanted a mature professional outfit and look and likes how you can choose black or fun colors

Best Dancer

- She was so shocked when she won and still doesn’t think it’s real

- As soon as she won her first thought was molly and saw her run backstage

- She’s looking forward to assisting

- She wants to do more cities than the west coast this year to assist

- Kenz said she should go to jump new york with molly and do the podcast there

Random

- Tips for confidence: Do everything for you don’t worry about what other people think

- After she won best dancer she had taco bell

[vhyunjinverse]

The Window Seat

dancer!gn reader x mgg (18+)

summary: reader has an 7 hour flight next to a familiar face they just can’t stop eyeing every minute or so..

Warnings : smut, somnophilia, reader is afab

It was 6:45 am, your flight was an early one- you’d be asleep right now, but it was time to go. New York had been fun, you’d been there on a dancer exchange with your dance company. You surely left an impact on them as well, dancing for Julliard was a task off your bucket list. It was amazing, but London was your home. However, being able to go see Harry Styles live in concert the very next day made your week even better. You got to your room very late that night and barely had time for a shower the very morning- this morning. Not only that, your shirt got caught up in your labret piercing which cause a slight set back into your morning. You were upset, and refused to eat something until you made it to the airport.

As your stomach growled slightly, you loaded the flight with your one suit case, still suited in your pajama shorts and Def Leopard tshirt. Your curly fiery red colored hair was tucked into a ponytail with the acception of a few strands fanning along your face like bangs. You grabbed a cozy blanket you brought along , as well as your headphones (with your offline music ready to play) and your laptop. You had the window seat, your favorite. Being by the window was comforting since you hated being close to the isle, people touching you every so often was not something you liked. As more people boarded the flight you eyed the group ever so often, you were a very cautious person, your anxiety spiked at random times.

Convincing yourself it’ll be alright, you settled in comfortably. It was now 6:55, the flight was leaving in a bit. The seat next to you dipped in slightly, letting you know that your buddy for the next 7 hours had arrived. You glanced over slightly, pausing from searching your netflix downloads for Supernatural. You were positive it was a guy- judging by the veiny hands. You took your headphones off as the door to the plane finally shut, and with a sighing breath you listened to the captain speak.

“Nervous?” A voice spoke lowly. You glance over to the man- very gorgeous man- who stared at you with a slight look of concern all the while sporting a smile.

“ mm..no not really. I’d just like to get this over with so i can get back to my bed.” your honey colored eyes stared at the man intently. he looked vaguely familiar- too familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on the matter at all. What you said had made him chuckle out a laugh. His disheveled hair shook just slightly, perfectly, your brain screamed. “I’m guessing you’re from London? I noticed your accent- it’s quite thick.”

“Yes.” you hummed, reaching down in between your lap to pull out the vending machine pack of fruit snacks you’d brought. Your stomach growled hungrily at the bag as it opened. You popped one into your mouth before turning back to the man- who was watching you with amusement. You could see the way his eyes moved around your face, possibly on your septum and labest piercings. They fit your face almost perfectly.

“I was on a dancer exchange trip for Julliard. I do ballet and other forms of dance in london”

“Ahh..” he nodded.

“I’m sorry- have we met somewhere perhaps? You look extremely familiar and it’s bothering me.” You grown up at him, and that only made him laugh.

“Possibly.”

“I’m quite serious, we’ve met haven’t we? Are you an investor by chance?”

“No- this is my first time seeing you-

“but it’s not my first time seeing you. I’m sorry I cut you off that was very rude of me.” you were stuffing your mouth with the strawberry flavored gummies by now. You had a knack for doing so when you were nervous.

“It’s okay! Don’t worry. I’m an actor, Matthew Gray Gubler? Does that ring a bell?”

“Not at all.”

“Really? You’ve never seen Criminal Minds?”

that made you smile a bit. You’ve heard of the show but you never got around for it.

“I’m more of an SVU kind of person.” Matthew nodded as he popped out another smile. The plane began taking off, and the book- which you’ve just realized he held- opened to a page he supposedly stopped on. You guessed it was the end of your conversation.

Turning away from him you glanced at the city on water getting smaller and smaller. You put your headphones back on and began scrolling back on your laptop for the unwatched episodes of Supernatural.

——————————————

an hour and a half into your flight had been comfortable. with your snacks and your headphones you were able to have an easy going ride so far. not knowing where you’d seen matthew still bothered you however. You snuck a glance ever so often.

He read, he listened to music, and he slept. right now he was in a somewhat deep sleep from your view. He had a neck pillow and headphones in his ears. You snorted softly, admiring how cute he looked when he slept. How his hands relaxed yet the veins were still noticeable. You but your lips slightly..he was attractive, and on top of that- apparently famous. You’d have to look him up when you land.

You couldn’t stop staring. He looked so perfect. and he was quiet and still, you could get a perfect look at him. And his hair..you swallowed a moan. pausing the episode on your laptop, you take off your headphones and stand up, suddenly you had to use the bathroom. As you scooted pass Matthew, it didn’t help that your mind was screaming at you to ride him. Your bodies were close, he was warm..sleeping softly. Your shorts felt warm against your sex.

The trip to the bathroom helped however. It made you come to reality: you didn’t know this guy, you think, and the trip wasn’t some wattpad story plot. When you were done, the curtain that covered your seats were down. You move it to the side cautiously to see Matthew wide awake and reading. He looks up and you and smiles,

“Hi there.”

“Hello..” you blink, turning your body at an angle so you could walk back through. “excuse me..” you had muttered, but you were so nervous your legs got a weak feeling in them. You tripped just a bit onto him, your ass landing right in his lap. Gasping you quickly try to move, and also be quiet considering the people on the plane.

“I’m so sorry Matthew- I’m sorry” you whisper out harshly as you scoot over to the window seat. your hands were shaking as you stared down at them nervously. “I’m sorry-

“It’s okay- really. I do have fairly long legs” he patted your shoulder. You felt hot in the face. His hand didn’t move. It rubbed circles and onward to your back in an attempt to soothe you. You breathed shakily. “Is..this okay? Is this working for you?” his hand stopped and you wish it hadn’t. You liked the feeling of his hands on you.

“It’s..alright.” you look over at him only to be met with a slightly red face. He cleared his throat and turned away to go back to his book, his hand still on your back. You couldn’t look away. You’ve seen him somewhere…and now you’ve feel into his lap. His legs..he was so pretty.

——————————————

4 hours in drove you mad. You decided to nap, your head lying on the window. You weren’t asleep entirely, just dozing. You and Matthew had a few word exchanges here and there- his hand moving to new spots ever so often. “That feels good.” you had told him when it moved from your back to your thigh. Your position shifted, it made you sleepy, yet the thick pool of arousal never left from between your legs.

As you drifted off into sleep, you felt his hand stop abruptly. “It was 5 years ago..you were just starting out at the dance academy. Fresh out of college.” he spoke, lowly. What..you had thought. His hand trailed higher and your breath quickened. He played with the hem of your shorts. “We were shooting an episode, it never made the cut- scrapped. And you..well, you were just perfect. You moved so beautifully i knew that the next time I’d see you, you’d be a star. I was right.” his hand slipped underneath. You reacted with movement, adjusting your position..spreading your leg just a little.

“I remember saying to myself, “Man, they’re so gorgeous.” and these legs..” He breathed slowly, fingers treading up the side of your underwear, teasing at the hem. “I wanted you- badly. But you were already fucking the director for that solo.” You gasped loudly, feeling his fingers dip into your sex.

“M..Matthew-

his hand came up to cover your mouth.

“Shh..sleep darling.” he whispered, his index finger rubbing your sensitive bud. You wanted to moan, you throbbed for him, and yet you still couldn’t place him there that day- 5 years ago. “It was truly an amazing dance, i know you practiced hard on it. You’d just had surgery too..i know you were in pain, and yet you still pushed.” He spoke in a whisper, his fingers sinking deeper into your heat, your slick pooling around his long fingers. You moaned softly into your blanket, hips beginning to rock slowly with the rhythm he produced. “F..Fuck..Oh-God” you babbled quietly behind his hand, whimpering softly when the fingers sunk deeper into you. You felt him press and prod at places you’ve never reached before. “I wonder if the director felt that way about you? Did he really want you as badly as I?” he huffed. “Truly, everyone there was red to fuck the next best thing walking through the door- but who was I? Just an actor there on business.” He scoffed.

he worked slow. fingers toying with you, you were panting heavily. You could feel that oh so familiar pool warming in your stomach, and with an aching moan your hips twitched. So close…“please-

your voice called out to him, draped in sleep.

“Please what?” you could hear the smirk on his face. “You still don’t remember..” he mutters. the heat between your legs suddenly cooled, Matthew withdrew his fingers. You could hear a slight sucking noise as he leaned in closer to your neck. his breath fanned over your ear as he bit down gently. “My little ballerina.”

[dawn-moths]

"Snow Angel"

Nanami Kento x Female Reader

word count: 2600+

tags: sfw! christmas special, takes place in my i’ll be your angel au, a kiss at the end but nothing too suggestive, reader is briefly carried, reader is called “princess”.

(hi, everyone! i know it’s been a while since i’ve seen you last, but i wanted to post just a little something for the holiday season. i hope everyone has a happy and healthy holiday and a wonderful new year! i look forward to getting back to writing more regularly in 2025 ♡)

⋆꙳•❅*• •*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅*• •*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅*• •*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅*• •*❆

Christmas with Nanami was truly magical. 

Everything was shimmering with pink and silver, big, glittering ribbons tied perfectly atop every neatly wrapped box waiting beneath the snow-trimmed tree. The whole house had been frosted over with a layer of winter festivity, every single year Nanami taking you on a weekend getaway while the house was professionally decorated with all your favorite colors, the first moment you stepped through those grand front doors your face lighting up with glee at the scene.

You, in your big fluffy white coat, fuzzy pink earmuffs and mittens to match, with innocent wonder shining in your eyes. Nanami in his long, sleek tan coat, soft blue scarf folded perfectly around his neck and hanging over one of his broad shoulders while he wore a look of pride.

He’d lean in, press a tender kiss to your head, and whisper, “Merry Christmas, princess,” as if you didn’t expect this surprise single every year. As if you’d forgotten. As if it was the first time he’d surprised you with the transformation all over again.

Sometimes, Yuuji, Nobara, Megumi, and Gojo would be waiting there to surprise you as well. They’d stay for dinner and all six of you would sit by the fireplace and talk and laugh until it got late and your eyes would inevitably begin to grow heavy and flutter shut. Nanami would notice, would call it a night and see everyone out, handing them their holiday bonuses in shiny black and gold packaging, the envelopes thick with cash. Then it would be off to bed for the both of you, snuggling up under the fluffy layers of blankets while you dreamt of dancing bears and sugar plum fairies.

Every year there was a little something different though, so he supposed there was still an element of surprise left after all.

Last year, he’d had a temporary ice skating rink installed in the backyard, giving you hours of enjoyment, as well as honing your skating skills until you and Nanami could glide steady laps around the fake frozen lake hand in hand.

The year before he’d arranged a carriage ride pulled by four beautiful reindeer decked out in silver bells and mistletoe through the vast neighbourhood of mansions, marveling at the way each one was so intricately decorated for the holiday season as you passed them by.

He’d turned the kitchen into an elaborate candy display, all of the glossy, vibrant sugars beckoning you to sample each and every one. He’d had the hedges trimmed and decorated with lights to look like giant gift boxes with glittering bows. He always made it special, his decorating team always knowing just the right touch to add on that kept that holiday magic alive.

This year, Nanami had the entire house decked out in your favorite pastel pink and white, making you feel like you’d waltzed into the dream house you kept inside your mind, each room themed to fit along with the different numbers from The Nutcracker, since Nanami knew how much you loved the ballet. When you’d first walked into the living room that night, you’d actually been greeted by six dancers performing Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, their glittering tutus and satin pointe shoes mesmerizing as they all did pirouettes and pas de bourées and piqués in perfect unison.

It was all so magical it nearly brought tears to your eyes, the level that Nanami had gone above and beyond this year feeling like something out of a story book, not your real life. But, as Nanami was also quick to remind you, this was your real life. And it would be for as long as you two were lucky enough to love each other as much as you did.

But tonight, one week after the breathtaking spectacle, the living room was filled with the scent of hot cocoa and marshmallows, soft piano classics echoing faintly from the old record player as the fire added its crackling ambiance to the delicate, twinkling melody. Beyond the vast windows that overlooked the yard, the blackness of night shimmered across the freshly fallen snow, the iridescent sparkle just barely visible from the dim light that cast a faint glow upon the back porch.

It was Christmas Eve and you were curled up on the couch next to Nanami, gently dozing off while the end of It’s A Wonderful Life played on the TV. George Bailey had just walked into his house, all of his friends and neighbours gathered around to offer their help. He was holding his daughter. She was telling him that everytime a bell rings, an angel gets their wings.

You’d always loved this movie.

So had Nanami.

Making it a Christmas tradition the two of you could share only made it that much more enjoyable.

But you’d had a long day. Baking cookies and playing in the snow was hard work, after all. It had all been worth it though, because now the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and molasses and a cute little snowman waved at you from the yard.

“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow, princess?” Nanami murmured as he pulled you a little closer, lightly stirring you awake as your eyelids began to flutter closed. “Pancakes?” he asked. “Eggs benedict?”

Because it was a holiday, and therefore a special occasion, that meant that Nanami was going to cook you something special himself. You could have anything you wanted, even waffles topped with ice cream and sprinkles, but since it wasn’t every day that you were allotted one of Nanami’s delectable home-cooked breakfasts, you took a moment to ponder on that.

“Mmm…” you thought. Then, remembering how good your choice for Christmas breakfast had been last year, you looked up at him with an adorably sleepy smile and said, “Can we have gingerbread french toast again?”

Nanami hummed out a velvety chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before gently taking your chin in his fingers. “Of course we can, princess,” he said, smoothing his thumb across your cheek.

“And hot chocolate?” you added.

“Anything you want,” he affirmed.

As the end credits began to roll, you let out a yawn, nuzzling closer into Nanami’s side, your weight laying a little heavier over him and serving as a warning that you weren’t going to be able to stay awake much longer. It was late, and you’d insisted on finishing the movie anyway, but Nanami couldn’t have you drifting off into dreamland just yet.

At least, not until you’d opened your customary Christmas Eve present. 

He handed you a pretty little pastel blue box topped with a silky white ribbon, and as you carefully began to pull back the pristine wrapping paper you attempted to guess what it could possibly be this year. Nanami made a regular habit of gifting you anything from diamonds and furs to designer handbags and luxury accessories.

You were beginning to wonder if he’d ever run out of ideas.

Besides, what did you get for a girl who had practically everything?

Yet he somehow always found new ways to spoil you, new ways to take your breath away with his gifts, gestures, and trips.

By the time you were carefully lifting the lid off of the palm-sized box and Nanami was saying “Merry Christmas, angel,” you almost thought you’d fallen asleep beside him on the couch and this was a dream after all.

A few weeks back, on one of your holiday shopping excursions, you and Nanami had perused around your favorite jewelry store, you carefully examining every new piece behind the spotless glass display cases while Nanami sipped some complementary champagne and chatted about tennis with the enthusiastic salesman.

You knew you were always allowed to pick out one “early” Christmas gift for yourself, one that you didn’t have to endure the painfully long wait until the twenty-fifth to open, so you were always very selective about what that one very special item would be.

You had to admit, this year it was proving extremely difficult. So many of your favorite designers, stores, and brands had released tempting new collections. Not that you wouldn’t get to take your pick among the lot of them, of course. It was just the waiting, the anticipation that caused you to become so picky about this particular gift.

But, as soon as you saw it, you knew.

It was a dainty diamond bracelet that looked like it was made of sparkling, frosted snowflakes, a limited edition run that would be around for this holiday season and then never again, no two pieces exactly alike. They’d been designed so that each and every diamond snowflake on the bracelet was different, and not only that, but different from all the others of its kind as well, the gesture meant to mimic the real thing of which it was modeled after.

Once you’d decided and waved Nanami over, the eager salesman trailing after him, Nanami was already taking out his wallet and preparing to hand over his matte black credit card, but just as your hopes were at an all time high, your joy came crashing down when the salesman regretfully informed the both of you that the bracelets were already sold out and the one on display was intended to be returned to the designer to be stored away in the company vault.

“Surely, there must be a way,” Nanami began to bargain, noticing how quickly and severely your spirits had plummeted. “Even if we need to have it custom made,” he’d said, putting his arm around you in an attempt of comfort. “Whatever it takes.”

The salesman grew slightly more nervous, but no less firm on his stance. “I’m very sorry,” he repeated with a sympathetic press of his lips. “If it were up to me, I’d sell it to you, but the designer was adamant that the original be returned into their hands for safekeeping.”

“It’s ok…” you sulked, though tried to convince yourself you’d find something even better. “I understand…” After that, the salesman had tried to show you several other pieces that perhaps you’d like in the snowflakes’ stead, but both you and Nanami knew that it was no use.

Once you’d made your mind up about something, it was very hard, if not impossible to change it.

He knew you’d forget about it eventually, that once you were surrounded by a plethora of other beautiful, sparkling things it would probably pale in comparison. So the two of you left the store empty handed and headed out to your dinner reservation where, luckily, your mood brightened a little more throughout the remainder of the night.

And you let it go. Knew that Nanami always astounded you more and more with every present you unwrapped come Christmas morning. It would be ok. You already had plenty of other pretty things anyway.

But Nanami, on the other hand, could not let it go.

He was determined to get his hands on one of those bracelets for you, even if it meant sitting down and negotiating with the designer himself.

And, as it just so turned out, he knew someone who could get him in contact with her before the holiday arrived. Because of course he did. If Nanami Kento didn’t have the desired connection firsthand, then it was guaranteed he knew someone within his extensive network who did.

So, while he was driving home from work the following week, he got on a call with her, utilized every ounce of his gentlemanly charm and business negotiation skills, and was able to convince her to have one more of those bracelets made specially for his most favorite, precious girl.

The two of them were able to become fast friends, as it so turned out, and the designer was actually vaguely familiar with the two of you from when you’d attended the Wimbledon Championship the previous summer. Besides, how could anyone who’d taken the time to look ever forget such a striking couple as you and him? They’d made plans to have lunch the following summer at the same event, but Nanami was going to save that as something to surprise you with in the spring.

“Oh… Ken…” you sighed, carefully lifting the bracelet from its resting place as if it were made of the most delicate glass— as if it were made of real snowflakes and not expertly cut and precisely set diamonds. Even in the dimness that the flickering fire provided, it glittered like the golden sun hitting the freshly fallen snow, entrancing and majestic.

You truly didn’t know what to say, you were so taken aback. It wasn’t until Nanami was carefully taking it from your grasp and offering to clasp it around your wrist that you managed to ask, “But how did you—?”

“I pulled a few strings,” he teased, giving you a mischievous side eye that caused you to flash a naughty smile right back at him. “Besides—” He pulled you into his lap, you unable to tear your gaze away from admiring the gift that now adorned your wrist. “What my snow angel wants, my snow angel gets.”

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, savoring the sweet and spicy taste that was created when both your mouths met, the warm glow emanating from the fireplace casting the both of you in dancing amber light. And, holiday or no holiday, you were just so happy that you got to call him yours, that you got to fall asleep beside him, wake up next to him, share these moments together, these memories, things you’d always cherish more than any amount of diamonds anyone could ever give you.

Nanami felt lucky to have found a girl like you to call his own, too. He tried not to feel bad about having to leave for long business trips so often, knew that the time away was a big part of what helped him give you everything your precious little heart desired. But the truth was, he did feel bad. He felt bad every single time he had to go, the guilt steadily gnawing away at him until he’d returned home to you again.

“I love you so much,” you murmured as he held you, lovingly stroking the back of your hair. “So, so much… More than anything…”

Once the initial excitement wore off, he knew your previous tiredness would return, and so he lifted you from the couch and carried you up to the master bedroom, helping you get ready and all tucked in. You’d refused to let him take the bracelet off of you, said you wanted to keep it on so, when you woke up in the morning, you’d know it hadn’t all just been a dream.

“Alright, baby…” Nanami cooed. “I’ll be right in… Sleep well.”

He knew you’d try and wait for him like you always did, but by the time he returned and was ready to fall into bed himself, you’d already be fast asleep. He’d carefully wrap himself around you, cradling your body against his so you could soak in each other’s warmth, and then quickly run through tomorrow’s to-do list before allowing himself to truly clock out for the day.

Because, yes, while you could be a lot of work sometimes, he always knew you were worth every single minute of it.

But first Nanami had to return to the living room to put out the fire and turn off the TV, leaving the Christmas tree lights on and giving the snowman the two of you had made that afternoon a playful little wink before switching off the porch lights. Then he hurried back to you, already imagining how your face would light up with glee over and over again throughout the day tomorrow. Because, whether swathed in the rich, velvety warmth of the summer or bundled up and trodding through the snow, you were, and always would be, his most precious little angel.

[evita-shelby]

Warm as Spring, Sweet as Peaches

refrences to the asoiaf song, the Dornishman's wife

cw: some smut, prostitution, false identity

asoiaf peaky gang: @cillmequick @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @hoodeddreams13 @thegreatdragonfruta

He has a thing for the more exotic sort of beauties.

Jack Blackwood had bedded every whore that took his fancy the moment he proved to be good enough with a tourney lance and the sword his grandsire had given him.

Lovely Valyrian looking girls from Essos and the crownlands, summer islanders dark and raven haired, Yi-Tish girls clad in silk and jade ornaments and Dornish women with the blood of Mother Rhoyne burning through them.

The dancer is tan, tall and covers her face in a veil even if the rest of her leaves little to the imagination. She moves with a smooth rhythm, the bells at her ankles and hanging at her skirt mixed with the music she danced to and the patterns painted on her skin made her the most intriguing thing the place could offer.

The inn had plenty of whores and dancers and yet this woman had never been seen before and not even the innkeep knew who she was.

Lady Sand, some had named her. Came with the Dornish envoy brought by Lady Dyanna Dayne.

When the intricately painted woman in red dances her way to him, the riverlord knows he will be the one to unravel the mystery beauty behind the veil.

“How much for the night?” he asks and sees a glint of mischief in her dark eyes at his question. They looked brown in the candle light but up close he could see the rich purple of it.

A Dayne, perhaps. Or a bastard Aegon the Unworthy left in a brothel at his daughter’s wedding had passed on their coloring to her.

“You may ask after you have pleased me, ser.” The whore spoke like a lady, perhaps they were right and she was a highborn bastard here with the Dornish envoy for the tourney.

The door to his rooms are scarcely shut when he unveils her. Red painted lips and freckles lightly scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

“Who are you?” he asks, not that he wishes for a real answer as he uses his larger size and strength to pin her against a wall with her strong legs barely needing him to hold them at his hips.

“You will find out tomorrow, ser.” She teased, kissing him again tasting of fine wine and smelling like woodswitch beneath the perfume.

“You taste sweet as a peach, Lady Sand, I do not want to taste your husband’s steel.” The knight breaks apart before he’s dueling another man for fucking his wife.

“I have no husband; you will only taste warm spring and peaches from me.” The dancer assured him and urged him to fuck her, to see if what’s in his trousers is worth his gold.

The bells on her jingle as she helps him tear off his clothes until his manhood is exposed against the bare cunt underneath the dancing skirt. The whore had not let anyone get a hint of her sweet cunny as she had turned the men to dogs with her performance, now Jack had seen the Dornishwoman’s treasure and taste it with no need to taste the kiss of a Dornishman’s steel.

The sounds she had made as his calloused fingers readied her for his cock and played with her pearl, the way she begged for him as he feasted on her supple teats and called him by the name his mother gave him, by the time he’d sheathed his sword, Jack knew he’d use the winner’s purse to pay for a second night.

The red paint on her skin does not smudge after he’s fucked her in every position he could think of, she had come as much as he had and by the time they finished, the men below had sung the Dornishman’s wife because they stopped giving a shit who heard them fuck like beasts.

“How much would you charge for a second night, Lady Sand?” Jack asks spent and tracing the crowned skull he’d recognize if he had paid attention to the maesters when he studied the banners of Westeros.

“A crown of love and beauty.” The mysterious Lady Sand says as the moonlight turns her eyes into purple garnets shining with a mischief that will kill him surely. She will leave soon, the room paid for and his squire and horse taken care of, but Lady Sand never stays once it’s over.

She left him her favor, an orange and black ribbon edged in gold that held no hint of what house she belonged to.

He finds Lady Sand dressed in a princess’ finery seated at the royal box with the Dragons and under the banner of the Martell Speared Sun and House Manwoody’s crowned skull.

The bell wearing dancing whore he planned to fuck on top of the gold he will win wearing the flower crown was none other than Princess Aeva Martell with suns and skulls painted in red.

[yohohonabottle]

A letter to the Merlinverse

As fireworks fly and echo through the air, wisps of cheerful energy and mana flow like threads. And a quill materializes, brimming with colors and hues, with powder akin to a fairy wings' dust-- It flits through, and a gloved hand grasps it, scrawling onto thin air-

'Dear fellow Creators, actors (characters), Magisters, from across this vast and boundless expanse of universes-Thank you, for all the days of cheer and love gifted-'

'Thank you, for the adventures unforgettable and unwavering support! Let this new dawn, be our rise to newer heights. To you- A toast! - Ludovic Whiteridge'

'Thank you, for the boundless warmth during the past year of 2024. Here to you, and to these new days. Great luck, health, prosperous thriving and unshakable spirits, to hope kindled but never extinguished. Remember- You're stronger than you suspect. And where you come from, you've come from. Best of regards, your truly - Harlequin P.S : And take good care of yourselves! Be, stay safe and hydrate! >:('

--Somewhere amidst the snow and chill of Holistone, the soft jingles of copper cow and sheep bells rings. A lone masked figure stands, the long, messy fur of light auburn, dark greys and whites sway in the winds. Catching the quill of magic, he draws into a waltz-like dance of circling, drawing lines in the air as he does-

'May your year, and forevermore, be filled with joys and sincerest of camaraderie!' -The Dancer taps his staff on the ground in firm finality- '(Да бъде!) So be it! May you soar, high and far, heart ablaze with love endless!' -Another firm tap on the ground- '(Да бъде!) So be it! Fearlessly ride on the winds with the run of Mistress time! May you come in triumph! Rebound from every fall stronger, tougher and wiser! So be it! (Да бъде!)' -The Missing taps his staff onto the ground, a final resounding clang of his bells.

-A soothing hum echoes from seemingly afar, a song of no lyrics but playful and cheery tones. As a furry, clawed hand grasps the quill, the cryptid's lines sure and sharp motions, yet with a flair of elegant cursive looping. Weaving his own blessings into the tapestry-

'The days coming will challenge and reward handsomely, the brave and the running, lessons waiting to be etched and learnt. Be resilient, be steady with a vigilant mind, know when to regroup from battles - So you'll return to the field trice as armed, and victory, is yours...Should you know where, how to play your cards dealt & gained. Forge forth your fate, dear Magisters and Directors. (creators), Only you hold the threads.'

Soaring through horizons and lands, a weathered hand claps it in firm hold, a steady sure gaze of neutrality gazing. Before swiping across the air in movements both languid, and sharp, precise-

'May your hands not stain, wish this new year and all the ones following, bring you perspectives that you'd not known. So the lessons and tolls on your shoulders lessen in weight, pass smoother rather than thunders and tsunami tides. Hold your compass when you venture, and weigh your risks well, the price you wish to pay. And may the dues you owe, are owed, be paid in full. Not every sea, can be sailed with ease. Watch for currents and underwater vortexes. ..The quiet waters, are most cunning to beware.'

At last, the quill lands in the hands of one- A gleeful and mischievous spirit yet also person, like two twins in a house or gallery of mirrors. A light, knowing smile of warm quiet wisdom on her lips as she scrawls. The final few touches.

"Hello, and Happy New year to all! The previous year was... an up and down ride, like the heartbeat line on a monitor. I lost, and gained (Loved ones moving onto other planes on their own journeys, companions who were with me since childhood and a new one to grow old with me. A taste of the world in the form of travelling both in my country and outside, experiences- where pleasant, where more of a lesson with varying harshness or lightness..), and within that year I found my creative flames once more. Just as I had lost them. I came back stronger, or so at least I hope.

The end of 2024 was 1000% let loose and of total indulgence, in a way also my rock bottom. But amidst all of that, in that year, I also found... You. This wild, warm, wonderful community. And I'm thankful beyond words for it. And it all started, when I stumbled upon an add for AFKJ- what? Two? Three?? Years ago, while browsing YouTube for something to listen to in the background, or for Genshin Spiral Abyss strats.

And then I hopped onto this new game, fell in love with it, with Esperia - Just when Song of Strife was around the corner to drop. Then my spark for creation has been lit and flared, and here we are with the rest being history. Wild how things work, huh?

With all of this said and done-- Rock on, Merlinverse and everyone over this crazy circus called reality! Shine radiantly as always, you got this! Let's conquer this 2025 and the ones to come!" - Finch/Crow

@meepinmeat, @bunnybird-afk, @windmaedchen-oceanhorn, @fgfirenation, @gloriousrebirth, @wilderhyperfoxations, @magister-violyste, @bentleydings, @laylinara, @feli026, @jailrose, @confusedeldritch, @kurokid1412, I might've missed someone, I hope not-

[randomarttalent]

Apple family redesigns + Family tree

Original posts, info and links down below Keep reading

Apple "Jacqueline" Jack + Rainbow Dash

Apple "Jacqueline" Jack I've added some extra colors to her mane, as I think the design could be pushed further without making her unrecognizable. The extra features I have added are also to make her design more interesting, as well as a call back to her work at the farm. 

I wanted her design to look feminine but also masculine, as that is something I feel fits her character. 

Rainbow Dash Dash's whole color pallet has turned more dark and grey, as this is just a personal taste of mine. Her body features have turned sharp, as a way to show her speed and as a pegasus body type.

She still works for the Wonderbolts as a captain, her badge shows this. Dash is still very adventurous and bold, pushing herself further than she probably should.

Big McIntosh + Sugar "Cube" Bell

Big McIntosh I've darkened his whole pallet, as I wanted him to contras his siblings. I personally also like the fan canon that he's either trans/a drag queen, which he is here in All Love No War AU. So once all the work is done, Big Mac can let his more feminine colors out, which his wife very much supports. She gets to make him pretty and make him feel like his true self.

Sugar "Cube" Bell I've greyed her whole pallet and made her figure more long, as that's the way I draw unicorns. I've shortened her hair and let it loose, as I think it would change with time and all the kids she's had. Plus her working now at the farm and long hair would get stuck on a lot of things. Both are happily married and have been for years now. They have learned to work around their faults and love each other deeply and never would pick another.

Tender Taps + Apple Bloom

Tender Taps Taps is still a dancer but he's now become a backstage dancer. Working with ponies such as Sweetie Bellè, Coloratura "Colorful" and even Songbird Serenade. After passing his exam he was recruited by Sapphire Shores personally and has worked under her ever since.

His whole pallet has been darkened and his markings are very sharp and frame his face. His mane is pretty much the same, it's just become darker and an extra line has been added. For his cutie mark, I've added a bowtie and some sparking but I didn't add much, as I felt it already fit him. The outfit he has on is for the next show, where the theme is more rock.

Apple Bloom Bloom has grown much in height, towering over everyone except her big brother Mac. She still works at the School of Friendship, teaching biology and about cutie marks with (Scootaloo) Speedy Scoot-"aloo".

I made her whole pallet warmer and all of her accessories soft in color. So even though she is extremely tall, she still feels welcoming and like a friend. I've added more color to her mane, making a gradient from a darker red to a pinkish one. Her cutie maker is now more about her talent than just the Cutie Mark Crusaders, the heart in the middle is what ties them together. After Goldie Delicious's passing, she decided to wear her shawl, in memory of her.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 26 Zip

C’oretta zipped up the loose Alexandrian-style jacket, then leaned down to put the shoes on her feet, delighting in the ripping sound of the velcro fastenings a few times before securing them and bouncing out into the hot, sunny streets of Ul’dah.

Hamon gave her a side-eye as he took in her latest eye-searing outfit—the Alexandrians knew how to get a fantastically bright neon pink—and then shook his head before handing her a hefty basket. “We’ve got just enough time before the matches start, so run your little butt up to the top box and make sure all the refreshments are set out for the VIPs.”

“Yessir!” C’oretta cheerfully replied. Violet did not follow as she used her dancer skills to zoom up the coliseum stairs to the fancy boxes where the wealthy gathered.

Coming to town at the same time as a major match meant she would get press ganged by Hamon, Mylla, or both, into helping ensure the stadium was ready for the crowds their fighters drew in. C’oretta truly didn’t mind, as it reminded her of times in her childhood when she had done the same, initially while her father was a contender.

She swiftly set out the ice crystal-chilled drinks and fire crystal-warmed pastries in the royal box. Her Majesty and some of her Royalist supporters on the Syndicate would be attending today’s sport, and several of Nanamo’s known favorites had been prepared. C’oretta also left a hastily scribbled note, letting the Sultana know she was present and promising to drop in close to the end so they could visit and Nanamo could get news of Tural.

Also fashion information. She and the Sultana, along with Tataru, were part of a particular club of specific color enjoyers, and just had to keep each other in the loop, after all. And Nanamo would share with her in return so when C’oretta did return to Tural and met with Aeryn and Dark again she could let them know…

The bells dinged and she cursed and sped back down the stairs, ignoring shouts of concern from various coliseum staff as she skid to a stop in front of Hamon again. “All finished!”

He sighed. “Gonna break your neck like that one of these days.”

“Nah I know what I’m doing oh hey is Aldis participating today or Mylla since there’s an exhibition before the actual blood sports?”

Hamon laughed. “Sure are. There’s even an open spot if a certain zippy lil’ miqo’te lass wanted to get in on the fun!”

C’oretta thought about that. “It has been awhile I suppose and it’s usually fun I can definitely run rings around anyone they set me against not too many know how to deal with a combo of the Fist of Rhalgr and the kriegstanz.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Hamon said, exaggeratedly stroking his chin. “We know what the professor will say, if he deigns to attend, but wonder what your dance instructor’d think of our games here. Say, I don’t suppose you could introduce me to—”

“Absolutely not she’d eat you alive and not in the fun way,” C’oretta cheerfully said, giggling as Hamon sighed again.

“Can’t blame a man for trying to get a meetup with a pretty lass like that!” he laughed. “Go on and get ready, Oretta.”

“Violet stay with Uncle Hamon and I’ll be back after I’ve kicked everyone’s arse in the exhibition okay!” And she took off again to prepare for the first match, a pink and blonde blur of excitement on an already exciting day.

[suguwu]

gothic romance au, hints of vampire!zhongli, gender neutral reader.

wc: 1.4k

minors and ageless blogs dni. divider by @/cafekitsune.

there is a house upon the hill.

the garden it sits in is lush, though the roses are ruined now, their petals dashed against the dirt. they eddy in the rainwater, pearly pink and swirling around like little sailboats caught in the wind. the house cranes towards the weeping sky, the parapets gone dark with the rain, all slick, old stone. it should be a hulking beast, massive as it is, but there's an elegance to it, the curve of a dancer's back.

and there is a light in the window.

you step carefully over the puddles, dancing between the little ponds of them. the scent of wet loam washes over you as you make your way through the garden, thick and earthy. your pace slows as the house draws near; something flickers through you, a guttering candle. still, you move onwards, ducking into the entryway that frames an imposing door. you search but there is no doorbell.

you rap your knuckles against the old wood instead, the sound deep and hollow. you've just barely withdrawn your hand when the door swings open, a golden hue spilling forth, a baptism of light.

it matches the eyes of the man in the doorway.

they're the color of amber shot through by sunlight, striking in a way that makes you ache. they're beautiful. he's beautiful, you realize, as he blinks slowly at your bedraggled form.

"hi," you say, heat rising to your cheeks. "my car broke down, a bit down the road. i was hoping i could use your phone?"

"you must have come far," he says, looking out into the rain, where the trees have become mere shadows in the gloom. "and in this rain, too."

you shift. "uh, yeah, i guess," you say.

he hums and you think of the crash of waves upon the shore, the whisper of the pebbles it carries back into the mouth of the sea. "i see."

"could—could i use your phone?"

he focuses on you, his golden eyes knife-edged, the type of gaze that flays you down to your marrow, and a shiver curls up your spine.

"my apologies. please come inside."

"oh, i could just use your cell phone—"

"i'm afraid i only keep a landline," he says.

you falter for a moment. he meets your gaze again and a small smile flickers on his lips, a sickle moon curve. his eyes gleam.

you step over the threshold.

he closes the door behind you; it clicks into place quietly, but it echoes through you like the toll of a dour bell.

"this way," he says.

you follow him deeper into the house.

"my name is zhongli," he tells you. you give him your own name in return, and he says it, rolls each syllable of it over his tongue as if he's tasting it. a hint of a smile settles in the corner of his lips, tucked away like a secret. "it's a lovely name."

"um, thanks."

he sweeps down the hallway; you quicken your pace to match his long legs. you glance around as you go, taking in the thick wallpaper, lushly patterned with swooping swallows, and the portraits in their elegant frames, their eyes glistening in the low light. you shiver and push a little closer to zhongli.

he comes to a halt before a door and gestures you in. "i'll fetch you a towel," he says. "you must be cold."

a shiver runs through you as he says it, the chill of the house finally sinking through your skin. "thanks," you say. "i appreciate it."

he nods. "of course."

you watch as he strides down the hallway, elegant and purposeful, like each movement is thought out. the tail of his jacket disappears and you turn back to the door he'd left you in front of.

the handle is ornate and crystalline; it reminds you of a spider's web in moonlight. you twist it and come away with a pattern pressed into your skin; you trace your thumb over it as you step inside.

the room is cavernous, a maw of a thing. something unfurls inside you. the phone—a rotary phone, of all things—is tucked away on a writing desk, next to a rolodex. you flip through it, the sound of the paper loud in the quiet room, and find a tow truck company.

you trace your fingers along the desk as the phone rings. you wince as you knock a few papers loose, but can't help but peek at the elegant handwriting staining the page. you read a few lines of it—a beautiful poem, with a few words slashed out of existence with an angry pen—before the line clicks on.

the tow truck dispatcher is kind, but it will be hours before anyone can make it to you.

you tell zhongli as much when he returns.

"ah," he says, handing you a towel, a huge, fluffy cloud of material. "i was afraid that might be the case. you must stay until they arrive."

"i don't want to put you ou—"

"it is no trouble," he says, his eyes gleaming. "stay."

he guides you to the chaise, a large hand cupped over the small of your back. you can't feel the heat of him through your damp clothing, but you can feel the weight of his touch, an anchor dragging through the depths.

"i'm afraid i'm unused to having guests," he says, settling down on the chair across from you. "but i may be able to provide some sustenance if i look hard enough."

"it's fine," you say. "thank you, though."

"of course."

you play with the edge of a nearby pillow; it's silken and slips through your fingers like water.

"the poem," you say. "did you write it?"

he raises a brow.

your cheeks heat. "sorry," you say. "i saw it when i was on the phone."

he smiles softly. "you need not apologize," he says. "but yes, i wrote it. would you like to hear more about it?"

you blink. his amber eyes shine in the light, a firefly flicker. "sure," you say. "if you don't mind."

"i do not."

he spins out his poem, each word perfectly placed, and starts to explain his thoughts behind it. his voice is calm and sonorous; it echoes through you, settles into your bones. you blink, eyelids drooping, and see the smallest flash of teeth across the way.

you don't remember falling asleep.

zhongli wakes you when the tow truck arrives. his touch is gentle, but it flashes through you like cold fire, sending you jolting up. he steadies you with one large hand.

"i apologize," he says. "i didn't mean to frighten you."

"oh my god," you say. "i fell asleep?"

"you did."

"i am so sorry," you say, cheeks hot. "that was so rude of me—"

"it's of little consequence," he says. "you were exhausted from the rain and the walk. i do not mind."

"i'm still sorry."

he smiles. "come," he says. "the truck is out front."

the two of you pause in the hallway, at the threshold of the door. zhongli watches you, his honey-gold eyes glowing like the sunset.

"thank you," you say. "i don't know what i would have done without you."

"you're welcome," he says. "go on, now. the truck won't wait forever, i'm afraid."

"thank you again," you say, pulling on your shoes.

he says something, low and rumbling, but you can't quite grasp it.

"what?"

"good luck," he says. you blink. "with your car."

"thanks," you say, and then you're out into the rain, darting into the tow truck's cab.

as the truck pulls out, you glance back at the doorway.

there's a flash of gold.

you turn around and direct the driver to your car.

the next night, you dream.

you dream of the burning silver of a shooting star; of the slate-gray teeth of the hungry sea. of a house that pierces the sky like a blade. of amber shot through with sunlight.

you're damp when you wake, the dream having seared through you, and you are up far before the sun.

you start the car with no destination in mind. the road is empty; the signs flash by like streaks of lightning, until they give way to the woods.

the air is cool and scented with petrichor; it nips at you, a warning bite. you ignore it and gaze ahead of you.

there is a house upon the hill.

you start up the path.

[invinciblerodent]

Before release, I always kind of thought of Ver's usual haunts in Minrathous being part of an industrial-ish area (factories, docks, the surrounding blue collar residentials, etc.), but I've been thinking, and with Dock Town being what it is in-game (and with what it is to Neve), I think I prefer her being more tied to one of the (no doubt many) entertainment- and nightlife districts of the city.

I'm thinking of one of those moderately seedy parts of town that have pubs/taverns/hookah lounges/drag bars/"specialty shops"/etc. and little mom-and-pop eateries that are definitely not fronts for something all lining the streets on the bottom floors of workers' apartment complexes, and at least three larger nightlife establishments (like a casino [gambling den], a circus [it's a cointoss whether you'll see the best burlesque act or a cagefight], and something they only affectionately call a "dancehall") are all sharing view of the same street.

As of right now, I'm tentatively calling it Redbrick Ridge in my mind, because Minrathous seems to use primarily light-colored stones and red and teal magelights (and I think poorer, mainly Soporati-owned places using red accent-bricks to imitate the red of magic would be a cool touch), but I also like the idea that colloquially, it'd more be known as the Catsbane Quarter, or just Catsbane (after the codex entry for the Sun-Blonde Vint in DAI)- in part because of the way a certain Tevene alcohol is typically served, and in part because, like Dock Town, it's also home to a large colony of feral/stray cats.

(Maybe one of the ways you could easily spot an outsider is that they'd be the ones who say that something is "on the Ridge" or "in Redbrick", but the people who actually live there would say that they're from Catsbane, or refer to the people there as "cats". Like, "where in the city are you from?" "oh, I'm a cat.")

(Lots of fun cat-wordplay for a more "low-class" area, too... "A cat may look at a king" being a bit of a slogan for non-mage and slave rights, or an expression of commiserating over injustice? "All cats are grey in the dark", both as a "we're all equal here", and as a way to say "no officer, I didn't see anything"? Someone suspected to be an informant is someone who "wears a bell"? So many opportunities, and they all work really nicely for a place with pronounced Shadow Dragon presence!)

Since Ver was a (military-trained) Soporati guard/rent-a-cop before joining up with Varric, I originally figured that having her mainly guard (and spy on-) slave-keeping construction sites was a fitting thing, but I think now, knowing both her character and the game as I do, I prefer her as a security guard during the week, and a bouncer during the weekends.

Like I like her not as a go-to problem-solver like Neve, but more like... some sort of a neighborhood Red Jenny, someone who somehow (at least tangentially) knows everyone in her bubble.

And like... she lives in one of the dingy little apartments above a moderately run-down lunch-place (at first I thought it would be run by her uncle, now I'm more picturing an older person who emphatically calls her things like "columba mea" and acts like a doting grandmother, but isn't actually related to her). Her friends are all line cooks, busboys, dancers, dishwashers and all kinds of entertainers, as well as bar owners, bartenders and barflies, not a small percentage of them Liberati- which, with her reputation as a useful person to know and the open secret of her being a Shadow, would be something that probably would have drawn someone like Varric to her very easily. (I mean, he primarily seems to network by just... going to bars and asking the drunkest people still capable of speech about who's worth knowing, lol.)

Plus, I also really like the idea that if the owners/workers at a place know that someone is about to cause trouble, they'd see if she's around, ask her to step in for the night, and maybe crack some heads together.

Like imagine being a big, hotshot wannabe-Venatori swinging their metaphorical dick around over a game of Archon, and in comes this quite pretty, but overall unremarkable woman who is kissing 5'7" from the bottom and is not particularly intimidating, but she still lays you the absolute fuck out to dry without breaking a sweat. Probably one of the top ten most embarrassing ways for that night to end, lol.