#luna harp

[wifiwivey]

hitting up the clubs

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

Megaman Production Art Scan of the Day #750:

Shingo Adachi's Story of Meteor Artbook: Page 15

Not making a translated page for this, but essentially the one note here just says to keep Luna flat-chested.

Full Resolution Scan: https://imgbox.com/XGmNSUsY

[cyborgpuppys]

Sirius " Why look who came, why don't you go say hello Mega Man."

Geo "......"

Rogue ready his sword as the full scale of situation struck him. He who rejects the ideas of bonds and seeks the path of isolation is now the one who has to carry those bonds in this fight.

Basically, Geo got kidnapped by Sirius and Rogue is now the only one left to save him. This takes place when everyone is older, so I used the jr.high designs for Luna and Zack. Patrick is the one next to them. I also tweak the wave change users because if Mega Man can get a redesign, then so can everybody else.

[sentient-rift]

MegaMan Star Force Universe

Geo Stelar and Omega-xis

Sonia Strumm and Lyra

Solo and Laplace

Bud Bison and Taurus

Lana Platz and Vogue

[writerwrightlegend]

200 Words challenge:Day 3.

Geo Stelar stared at the other him on the other side of the room. He definitely looked like him, but his eyes were red like Mega's instead of brown like his. His veins were also glowing green and pulsing just like how Mega's body was. He also had green claws at the ends of his fingers. They glowed and were pulsing just like his veins. He was wearing a set of blue robes, like the kind you'd find at a hospital. The strangest part was the wristband around his left forearm with a number on it reading '001'.

"Who are you... and why do you look like me?"

The other 'Geo' spoke up. He had a nervous look on his face as he stared at his other self that suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

"My name is Geo Stelar... What about you?"

"..."

After a bit of hesitation, the other 'Geo' spoke again.

"Subject 001... at least, that's what the scientists call me. My real name is... Subaru Hoshikawa..."

Geo stared at Subaru in shock. He had to process what he just heard.

"Subject... Are you a test subject of some kind?"

Subaru reluctantly responded.

"Yeah, I'm the first of the EM Wave Change experiments... I think that's what the scientists called it."

"Huh? Who are these scientists?"

Subaru gave Geo a worried look. He wasn't sure if he should let him know everything or not. This guy could be dangerous, even if he is another him.

"The only scientist I've met is a lady named Dr. Orihime and her assistant EM Being, Empty."

Geo thought for a moment before responding.

"Does this, 'Dr. Orihime' person happened to study the Mu Contitent?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"And is her assistant based off of her deceased lover?"

"I do think I've overheard her talking to her boss about it one time."

"This, Dr. Orihime and Empty sound a lot like Dr. Vega and Hollow from my world..."

Geo pauses again before asking another question.

"Who's her boss? I don't recall my Dr. Vega ever working for anyone."

"I only know him as Mr. King."

"Mr. King?! He's the one that experimented on you?"

"Shh!"

Subaru clasped his hand over Geo's mouth and made a quiet motion by placing his finger over his mouth.

"If... if they find out you're here... Who knows what they'll do to you?"

"Right, sorry..."

Subaru glanced around to make sure that no one heard them.

"Mr. King is more the director of the experiments, you know. He doesn't actually conduct them. That's Dr. Orihime and Empty's job."

Geo nodded before thinking back on the name of the experiment.

"You mentioned something about an experiment and you being the first subject? The EM Wave Change, I think. What is that, and are there more subjects like you?"

Subaru paused again. He was still a little suspicious about Geo. He hadn't done anything yet, but still, he didn't want to get dragged into any trouble with this 'Geo' character.

"I don't know much, but the basic premise is that a human and EM Being are partnered up, and then they go through a medical procedure in order to make the fusion, permanent, in a sense..."

"As for the others... There's quite a few of us. There's at least seven of us now. Apparently there will be more..."

"There's me and Warrock. We're subject 001. Misora Hibiki and Harp are 002. Luna Shirogane and Ophiuchus are 003. Gonta Ushijima and Ox are 004. Kizamaro Saishoin and Pedia and 005. Solo and Laplace are 006. Shidō Akatsuki and Acid make up 007. I'm pretty sure that's everyone."

"All of those people sound familiar..."

Subaru tilted his head to the side.

"Hey, do you have a Wizard partner too?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, his name is Omega-Xis, but I usually call him Mega."

"Hey kid, where are we?"

Geo pulled on his Visualizer to see Omega-Xis staring at the two of them. He was yawning and looking slightly confused.

"Hey Mega, you choose an odd time to wake up."

"Wow! He looks just like Warrock!"

Mega blinked a few times.

"Kid, why are there two of you?"

"Uh... this is Subaru, and apparently, we somehow ended up in his world."

"Hello!"

Subaru waved at Mega, lifting his hand in the air, revealing a stitch just underneath the wristband.

"Hi... What on earth happened to this guy?"

"Uh... it's kind of a long story. I'm basically an experiment along with quite a few people, and we're inside a lab... Well, this is a containment cell, but it's still in a lab."

"I'm gonna need a lot of context..."

"I'll tell you when we get back to Echo Ridge... Actually, how are we going to get back?"

"Well, how did we get here, kid?"

Geo thought for a moment, trying to recall how they ended up here.

"I think I remember now. We were exploring Netopia with the others, and you and I ran into an older part of the net. A strange vortex appeared and sucked us inside. You were asleep in my Hunter-VG, and I didn't have time to wake you up. I landed in his cell. We spent a good minute or two staring at each other before talking and now we're here."

Subaru tilted his head again and stared in awe at the Hunter-VG. He had never seen anything like it. The only device he's ever had was a Transer, and that was before he became an experiment.

"Ooh... it looks so different from my Transer. I still don't know what happened to it either. That pink haired lady. Heartless? I think that's her name. She took it before I went through the experiment process, and I haven't seen it since..."

Subaru leaned in closer to get a better look at the device. However, his eyes glanced up to the golden star-shaped pendant hanging around Geo's neck. Something about it was familiar. He got even closer to Geo and squinted at the pendant.

"Huh? What are you doing?"

Geo leaned back a bit as Subaru leaned closer to him.

"Oh, sorry... it's just that... that pendant around your neck... it looks familiar. I feel like I've seen it before."

"You have?"

"Yeah... I swear I've seen it somewhere. I think I saw my dad wearing it once... I miss my dad and my mom..."

Subaru started to tear up slightly at the thought of his parents. Geo began patting him on the shoulder and hugging him.

"Hey, it's okay, please don't cry. Who are your parents?"

"Akane and Daigo Hoshikawa..."

Subaru wiped the tears out of his eyes.

"You're right, I shouldn't cry. Misora says that I should be happy since they wouldn't want to see me cry..."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll see them again..."

"I sure hope so."

Before Geo could say anything else, a blue vortex appeared behind him, and his Hunter-VG went off.

"Geo!"

Geo looked to see Dr. Goodall and Arthur on the other side of the vortex.

"Looks like I've gotta go..."

"Oh..."

Geo goes to step in but turns around and holds out a hand towards him.

"Hey, why don't you come with me?"

"With you?"

Subaru was surprised by the offer. He had been trapped here for who knows how long, and yet, here he had a chance to escape. But what would happen if he left? Would his friends be okay? Will he be able to come back and save them? Will something drastic happen to them if he leaves? As much as he wanted to leave this horrible place, he couldn't leave his friends behind.

"Thank you for the offer, but I've got friends here, and I can't just leave them behind. I don't know how, but I'm going to make sure that everyone is okay."

Geo nodded in understanding. He pulled out a silver emblem that looked just like the star pendant on Geo's neck.

"Here."

Geo hands the charm to Subaru.

"What is it?"

"It's a good luck charm."

With that, they waved goodbye, and Geo walked through the vortex with Mega following behind him.

Once Geo was back home, he was tackled by his friends, who were clearly worried about him.

"Where were you?!"

"Are you okay?"

"Where'd you go?"

Geo smiled nervously. He was happy to be home, but he also wasn't sure how to explain where he was and what happened.

"Okay, I'll tell you guys. It's a little weird, though."

Back in the containment cell. Subaru looked at the silver star and held it in his hands. A good luck charm. He smiled, having a small bit of hope in him. Knowing that there was another him who was having a good life gave him just the strength to achieve his dreams. And he won't have to do it alone.

Write a piece that contains two or more versions of the same character

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part i)

a/n: I suppose this series will be a short one, 4 parts maybe? I just love Claere so much - she's my little unhinged weirdo :')

It was a rather secluded and quiet affair, the marriage between Claere Velaryon and Cregan Stark. There were no great halls crammed with noble witnesses, no bright banners flying high to announce the union of two ancient houses—only the low rustles of the breeze through the pines and the crackle of a distant hearth as the vows were uttered.

The ceremony took place beneath the watchful eyes of the old gods. The holy weirwood tree loomed with its gnarled white bark, etched with time, and ruby leaves swished in the cold Northern breeze. Claere, a priceless dream draped in rare emeralds, silver silks, and white furs akin to seafoam—a nod to her Velaryon heritage—eclipsed against the stark landscape of Winterfell. She made up for the glitz and grandeur that this lifeless gathering lacked.

Cregan Stark, silent and relentless, took her freezing hand with the kind of sworn resilience that marked Northern might—his bold grey eyes sceptical of the bride before him. Though the match had been arranged by the Sea Snake, the union between them was regarded as special—one for the histories. Theirs was not a marriage forged in the fires of splendour but in the subtle rendition of what they each represented: a union between sea and snow, Velaryon and Stark.

No songs were sung, and no cheers erupted, but in that stillness, something more meaningful lingered.

Cregan was first informed of Rhaenyra's second child and only daughter as if she were a fleeting nymph from a fairytale, a cold mystery whispered from beyond the Wall. "She is adrift in dreams," his maester had told him. Claere Velaryon possessed all of her mother’s fabled graces—from her haunting violet eyes and white-gold hair to the sharp, aquiline features that marked her as pure Valyrian. Her skin, fair and translucent as glass, only furthered the ghostly aura that surrounded her.

If summer snow had ever reincarnated in his time, it would have been Claere Velaryon. The rumours spoke of a 'beautiful freak', chiselled like an ice sculpture, who sang like the sweetest lark, whose fingers danced effortlessly over the harp, filling halls with melodies as delicate as her presence. She was drawn more to solitude and the quiet company of the stars than to her brothers, most of her nights spent soaring high above the world on her silvery dragon, Luna—hatched in her cradle and enormous beyond her years.

The whispers had reached him long before he’d ever seen her. She doesn't eat food, prefers the taste of human flesh and blood, they had said, each rumour darker than the last. She once tried to stab her uncle in the heart. She dabbles in blood magic with that wretched dragon of hers. Some claimed her visions could only divine the worst of futures, and that she would cut herself to the bone just to understand pain. It was said everything she touched withered into the gloom.

Cregan swallowed against the rising dread. He had been pragmatic in agreeing to this union, believing the support of the ancient Targaryens would strengthen the North. Yet now, as he stood face to face with the girl cloaked in a bizarre silence, he wondered if he had invited his own destruction. The North had weathered many storms, but this... this felt different. He had faced wildlings, dire winters, wars, and beasts, but Claere Velaryon might be his greatest unknown yet.

Perhaps this alliance, this bond forged for power, would be his ultimate undoing. The Sea Snake must’ve played him for a fool, tying him to a sorceress masked as a Valyrian princess.

As if her touch had stung him, Cregan recoiled and returned his hands to his sides, a flicker of unease settling beneath his skin. The girl’s violet eyes stayed distant at his reaction, focused on some invisible realm beyond the godswood, oblivious to the accusations that swirled around her name like storm clouds. Never meeting anyone’s gaze, she stood perfectly still, frigid as the legends surrounding her, the direwolf sigil on his chest holding her attention.

When the quiet ceremony was over and it was time for goodbyes, the weight of the moment settled heavily on them all. Soft whispers filled the air as hands were clasped, and final glances exchanged. The warmth of shared vows had already begun to fade whilst the mother and daughter, her three brothers and their grandsire traded farewells. Cregan wavered close by, observing his new wife's interactions.

No one cried except the youngest brother, Joffrey, who had refused to let go of the princess. Everyone around her, her own kin, had kept their distance in approaching her.

"Who'll sing to me now, Claerie? The moon song?" Her little brother wept, shedding his tears into her fair silk gown.

Claere’s eyes moved from her tear-streaked brother to the rest of her family. Her voice was glacial, her expression more bored than curious.

"Why does he cry?"

A brief pause passed between the lot of them.

"Because he... we will miss you, sister. We might not see each other for a long time." It was young Lucerys who eventually answered her, his tone painfully understanding. He must be the forbearing one among them.

"Then do not miss me," Claere said to them simply. "It is not my wish to cause you pain till then."

Her certainty unsettled them, a silent dismissal that left her words hovering unanswered. She seemed unaware, perhaps unconcerned, that her family could not comprehend her detachment.

"I love you, Claerie." He buried his face deeper into her gown, as if afraid she might vanish from his arms. Claere remained still as if brooking her brother's overflowing love.

There it was—a twitch in Claere’s blank eyes, a flicker of something almost human. She glanced down at Joffrey, and with visible reluctance, patted his head. The gesture was mechanical, lacking the warmth he sought. A moment later, Jace stepped forward, his hands firm as he pulled Joffrey away, his actions laced with an unspoken fear that any more time in her presence might invite something unwanted.

"Will you stay with me?" Claere asked them, though her voice, usually collected, wobbled just enough to betray the edge of apprehension.

"Not for long, my girl," Rhaenyra said to her, her smile strained, hiding some secret discomfort. "Your home is here now. You will grow to love this place and your husband. I am sure."

"A cage of stone and ice," she murmured, her gaze distant, as if already relinquished to the cold halls of her future.

Rhaenyra's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was unduly firm. "You speak too soon, Claere. You are a Velaryon and a Targaryen—power runs in your blood. You will learn your duty in time."

"And you'll have Luna on your side," Luke appeased her in vain. An unspeaking, fire-breathing beast for a companion. His tender heart did not hold a candle to his blind faith.

But Claere said nothing more, her expression as stony as ever. The distance between her and the life she was meant to embrace felt as vast as the sky beyond.

Cregan watched the exchange in silence, the chill in his chest deepening with each word. His worst fears were confirmed. Claere was a stranger, even to those who should have known her best. They spoke to her as if she were something fragile, something... unnatural.

A freak.

And now, she was his.

X

No one was more reluctant than Cregan to spend his first night with his new bride.

As far as obligations went, he had managed to ban the sickening tradition of a "bedding ceremony" from the occasion, much to the disappointment of some. The thought of parading the princess through a crowd of leering men felt like an abomination, yet even without that outlandish formality, he still felt the burden of duties and expectations ploughing down on him like an axe.

His familiar chambers felt chillier today, the fire crackling weakly in the hearth as Claere stood near the window, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. She was silent, as she had been throughout the feast, her face betraying little emotion. She refused to eat, revel in wine, or even speak. She had managed a quiet nod after well-wishes, sometimes pressing her lips tight to pass for a smile.

He recalled, with an involuntary tremble, the black rumours that had plagued him during the dinner. The mention of how his wife’s tastebuds were supposedly tempted not by the fine meats and ales of the North, but by the flesh of those who dared to covet a single glance from the Velaryon beauty. Fattened soldiers who sought her favour and found only their doom.

It was absurd, indeed. And yet, as he glanced at Claere, so still and detached by the firelight, Cregan couldn't shake the disturbing thought. What sort of woman had he brought into his home?

The distance between them felt more than just physical—it was as though she existed in another world entirely, one he had no access to. He didn't know what troubled him more: her silence, or the eerie calmness with which she met her fate.

As Cregan set down his ancestral sword and shrugged off his heavy fur cloaks, Claere moved to him with quiet resignation. Her fingers began to undo the delicate laces of her nightgown, her motions disconnected as if compelled by some unspoken assignment. The fabric slipped, gathering at her shoulders, poised to fall, when Cregan's voice broke the tense stillness.

"There is no need for that," he said sharply, cutting through the air between them, the words coming out quicker than he intended.

He stepped forward, his rough fingers gently, yet firmly, adjusting the cloth back over her bare skin. Every inch of paleness he touched was smoother than the silk she adorned, warmer than the ice-cold fingers he had held in the godswood.

Claere blinked, startled, her violet eyes searching his face for the first time that night. The vigour of that shade disarmed him for a moment before he looked away. Yes, she was his wife, but more than that, she was a mystery. And he was a man who distrusted what he could not comprehend.

"Rest. That is all for now," he added, softer now, the command awkward in his throat.

Claere scrutinized him still, her sharp gaze unrelenting as if she could unearth the truth behind his stoic mask. When she spoke, her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Is there another you hold dear, my lord?"

He sighed, sinking into a cushioned seat by the hearth. "No," he replied, his tone careful, meeting her eyes with conscious composure. "And you?"

A strange smirk flickered across her face, the barest twitch of her lips. "Everything I hold dear gave me away like a pawn on a board."

Her words struck him like a blow, twisting his gut with an uncomfortable pang of pity. He allowed for her loneliness as if somehow, he was responsible for it. Yet, a strange foreboding hung in the air and kept his response locked in his throat.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the flames, fists clenching against the armrests as the fire danced and crackled, its warmth doing little to ease the cold knot of guilt growing in his chest.

"I understand you favour peace and quiet," he began carefully, his words lingering in the space between them. "But would you consider sitting with me tonight?"

Claere, staring at the shadows cast by the firelight, turned her gaze to him. Her eerie eyes, unnervingly calm, gave no indication of her thoughts. For a moment, he regretted speaking.

The pause stretched, and Cregan felt the silence chew at his nerves.

"Why?" she asked finally, her voice as undisturbed as it was empty, as though the idea of companionship was foreign.

He hesitated, searching for words. "I thought it might ease... the strangeness of the night." His eyes flickered to hers. "For both of us."

Claere’s lips barely moved as she gave a soft hum of acknowledgement. The stillness in her made him wonder if she felt anything at all, and a deeper anxiety stirred in him.

Without answering, she crossed the room, her movements as fluid and graceful as a phantom. She sat across from him, her gaze never leaving the flickering flames. Even now, such a short distance felt insurmountable.

"Ask away, my lord," she said quietly, reading into him deftly. "I do owe you many answers."

Cregan’s gaze faltered as Claere contested, and for a moment, the heat of the fire did nothing to chase away the chill crawling up his spine. Something was unnerving about the way she stared at him, something impenetrable, as if her pale eyes held some ancient secret he wasn’t meant to uncover.

"Do you hear them?" His voice was low, almost lost to the sound of the crackling wood. "The whispers about you."

Claere’s expression remained unchanged, her face as still as a porcelain mask. "What do they say?"

"They say that I was a fool to take a girl like you," he said, keeping his emotions hidden. "A girl who walks in dreams, who doesn’t belong to this world. They fear you."

Her gaze did not move an inch, unaffected by his claims. "People fear what they do not understand."

Every rumour, every whispered story of her strange tendencies crept back into his mind, grinding at his resolve. The tales of oddity, rituals, and things best left unspoken—they clung to the air between them.

"Are you afraid of me, my lord?" Her question cut through the silence like a blade.

Cregan swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart lurching in his chest. He wanted to say no, to deny the concern that gripped him, but something in her gaze made him feel exposed, powerless in a way he had not been before. He forced himself to meet her eyes, but the intensity there—the dark, unfeeling stare—made him feel as though he were sinking into a frozen lake.

His jaw clenched for a moment, as though wrestling with the words he ought to say to her. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter, but no less intense.

"I will not be made to live in dread of my wife," he countered firmly. "Though, beyond question, those words waver my trust for you. Upon your integrity. Time will tell."

For the first time, a glimmer of something passed over her face—a brief crack in the mask. Hurt? Confusion? Whatever it was, it was fleeting. Claere tilted her head slightly, studying him from head to toe like one might a curious specimen. He shifted back into his chair, unease unfurling in his stomach.

"You should be afraid of me," she said softly. It wasn’t a threat, but a statement, as if she were merely acknowledging a truth he had yet to accept.

Cregan did not sleep a wink that night. His ancient sword, Ice, lingered closer to him than expected, leaning on his bedside. He laid utterly still as Claere slumbered gingerly, uncaring of the shadows that danced around her, like a tarrying chill that would not leave him alone.

As the sun crested over the horizon, spilling its golden light into their chamber, there was one thing he made certain: Cregan understood that his fear was not of Claere herself, but of what she represented—an unknown force that defied everything Winterfell was. Truth and unity.

X

As the days wore on, Cregan Stark found himself perpetually on edge, his mind halved between the secret suspicions that crept through Winterfell and the cold reality of his new wife. Claere moved through the castle like a careless sprite, floating just beyond reach, drifting from room to room, always apart from the people around her. She left a wake of uncertainty in her path, tales trailing behind her like a fog.

Scarcely did she remain grounded; more often than not, she soared into the skies with Luna, her dragon, a creature so tremendous that many in Winterfell whispered it had outgrown the older beasts of war—Vhagar's equal in size and perhaps ferocity. The sight of it, gleaming silver scales slicing through the frozen air, sent shivers through the keep. Claere’s infrequent appearances at suppers left the hall feeling incomplete, her absence punctuated by muttered resentments from the courtiers and smallfolk alike. The duties of a lady to Winterfell—tending to the hearth and home, overseeing the castle’s workings—were not simply ignored but utterly abandoned.

And yet, Cregan could not bring himself to care. As long as Claere caused no disturbance, as long as she kept to the law, she was no hindrance to him.

As it went, Cregan had not slept in her bed since their wedding night. In fact, they had barely spoken. Claere had quietly suggested moving to a nearby chamber, giving him "his breathing space," as she put it, and he hadn’t objected. He offered up the one with arched ceilings, for when she dabbled in her music, and nearest to the enclosure where her dragon was housed.

Her peculiarities deepened with every passing day. In the dead of night, her harp’s haunting refrain would echo through the passageways, its melody weird and hypnotic. At other times, he would hear her soft footsteps racing through the corridor, out into the courtyard, lost in her dreams until dawn. Most of his courtiers noticed her out on the ramparts after nightfall, laying across the roof—how she got there was a mystery—and staring at the sky for hours on end, speaking to herself. But most unsettling of all were the obscure songs she would hum—songs that danced on the edge of his consciousness, unnervingly poignant, yet cruel in the sweet voice they reached. As if she were singing of things far beyond this world.

Blood and shadow, ice and flame, Sing the tune without a name In the frost, their voices hum Of dead unseen, of eyes aglow Of footsteps deep beneath the snow Ice will crack, and winds will wail, Have you seen the end unfold, the secret that never sleeps?

Claere's songs instilled an image of the most unspeakable cold he knew, distant woods beyond the Wall, where horrors awaited, ready to engulf the unwary. Sometimes, the songs became too much, stirring a dread in him so deep he would storm down the hall, ready to confront her. But each time he did, within her room, like a figure of utmost naïveté, she went by weathering her own storm.

This time, she had ensconced herself by the hearthside, rent of her sleeves, weaving dried winter roses across a vine.

"Did I wake you?" she had asked up at him.

His words faltered. Rather a hollow noise whooshed out his lips, his resentment fleeing at the sight of her. How could someone so callow invoke such unease?

"The hour grows late, princess," he would reply stiffly, the reprimand hollow even to his own ears. "It would be wiser to find some sleep before the morn."

"I adore the night," she had said to him. "Without it, you cannot see the stars. There are no shadows, too."

Cregan had expected to hate her. He had expected to find her burdensome, a hardship forced upon him by duty. But he did not. Indeed, he endured her and accommodated her. As unfamiliar as Claere was, there was something fragile beneath the mantle of her mystery. He found himself unable to despise her, though neither could he truly be fond of her. A part of him, born of compassion, wanted to protect her from the world that had turned its back on her. Perhaps, buried beneath her oddities, she yearned for some semblance of a connection she had never known.

It was one of the handmaidens who had come to him, trembling with unease, to speak of her lady’s growing detachment.

"She barely eats, my lord," the young girl had said. "I fear she grows weaker by the day, surviving on little more than water and grain."

"Have you asked the princess what she would prefer? Surely, our larders are rife enough to sustain her... distinct palate," one of the lords from Cregan's council interjected before he could react.

Cregan shot him a sharp, warning glare. He had long since grown weary of the whispers—the looks exchanged behind his back, the way people averted their eyes when his wife entered a room. The court treated her as if she were a curse, a spectre they wished to avoid. It only stoked his resolve to defend her, to ensure she was not devoured by their disdain. Claere was different, but she was not an object to be mocked.

The maid shifted uneasily. "I have spared no effort in this. Though, there is another issue, my lord."

The Stark lord sighed. "Aye, go on."

"Her ladies have dwindled to nought. I am only charged to tend to her meals, if not no one."

Cregan's heart sank at the thought. He wanted to believe that Claere was merely adjusting to her new life, that in time she would settle. But with each passing day, it became harder to ignore the isolation tightening its grip around her.

"And what, pray tell, has come over them to spurn their service to the Lady of Winterfell?" His voice was low but the threat in it was unmistakable.

The handmaiden lowered her head, unwilling to speak the truth aloud, yet the answer was clear enough. Fear. The court, the smallfolk, her own attendants—everyone was frightened of Claere.

When his eyes bore into her, she hesitated whilst wringing her hands. "We see strange things where the dragon sleeps. My lady's songs... people say they hear them echoing in the courtyard when there is no one."

"These slights must cease at once," he hissed, his voice barely above a murmur, but the weight behind it made the girl flinch. "Claere is a princess of the realm, moreover your lady. Any who fail in their duty will answer to me. Am I clear?"

She nodded hurriedly. "Yes, my lord," she stammered, bowing before retreating from the hall.

And when the next issue reached him, it was, once again, centred on the most pressing concern: Claere's dragon.

"We are unable to feed the beast, my lord," a nervous steward reported, his voice trembling as he stood before Cregan. "The men refuse to go near it. Even the bravest among them say they hear odd noises from its holding."

Cregan's brow furrowed deeply. "Are they afraid of a dragon doing what dragons do—eat?"

"It's not just that, my lord," the steward began, his voice shaky. "We simply do not have the numbers to sustain it. We've lost livestock faster than we can replenish, and there is not enough game in the woods this season. Our people will be left with nothing if it continues like this."

Cregan stood from his chair, pacing toward the hearth as the steward’s words sank in. Feeding Claere's dragon was becoming a task fraught with superstition and suspicion—neither of which he could afford in Winterfell. And now that dragon was a looming menace not just for its size, but even for its insatiable appetite. If they couldn't meet its needs, there was no telling what havoc it might wreak.

"I will take her out to hunt on the morrow," a hushed voice spoke up from across the room.

Cregan turned sharply to see Claere standing in the entrance, her pale little figure silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. No one had even heard her approach.

A rush of murmurs, of "my lady" and "your grace", went across the sparse crowd in the hall.

For the first time, he noticed how discomfited she seemed with the attention on her. She had courteous bows for the little council of lords before she stood before Cregan, silvery hair left dishevelled and her thin lavender silks trailing by her feet. The toll of her attendant's dearth was evident, how she had to cope alone these past days.

“You heard all that?” he muttered to her, trying to mask the unease.

Claere nodded, unruffled. Then she mellowly addressed the rest of the council who was seated and the anxious steward.

"Luna will no longer be a burden to you," she assured. "Thereafter, I will fly her beyond the Wall. There must be plenty of wild herds there that would satisfy her. And it will keep her from Winterfell's rife supply for a time."

While the disparaged lord hung his head, Cregan's breaths began to constrict. The idea of Claere—of anyone—venturing beyond the Wall unsettled him, but the alternative was just as threatening. It was dangerous to let someone so young, so inexperienced roam in the ancient, Northern wilderness. The risks were too great, even for a dragonrider. His argument would be proved right by the last Targaryen who visited the wall, Claere's own great-great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne and her dragon, Silverwing.

His gaze never left Claere as the lords around them voiced their concern, exclaiming how unwise it was for her to embark beyond Castle Black in such perilous times. Yet, she stood before them as cold and unbothered as ever, her violet eyes betraying no hint of fear or doubt.

"You plan to hunt beyond the Wall alone, as winter draws nigh?" Cregan asked, laced with tension. "You would risk that?"

One of his bannermen, old and discerning to the dangers of the North, came forth with an incredulous look. "A Southerner such as you would have no idea of the true perils beyond Whitetree, my lady. Five hundred years have passed since the last great threat, and still, we are not entirely certain what lurks in the darkness. If it isn't the cold that claims you, it might be wildlings or worse—barbed, spindly creatures, drawn from the blackest legends."

Claere tilted her head slightly as if the lord’s words were of little consequence to her. As if she knew something about the Land of Always Winter that he did not.

"Do not fret, ser," Claere replied, gentle yet astute. "Luna is fearsome when she needs to be. She is not just any dragon—she is the last living relic of Old Valyria, a mere egg when Aenar the Exile first claimed Dragonstone. She will protect me."

Her words should have been reassuring, but they left Cregan with a hollow pit in his stomach. It wasn’t her confidence in the dragon that troubled him—it was her complete lack of concern for the threats she would face. He had seen fear in men’s eyes before, but Claere’s violet gaze was barren, as though no amount of danger or uncertainty could touch her.

"You speak of Luna’s strength as if it is enough," Cregan finally said, his voice low. "But what of your own?"

"You needn’t concern yourself with my safety," she replied, her tone as impassive as her expression.

He studied her closely, weighing his options and her obvious solutions, searching her enchanting face for some flicker of apprehension. There was nothing. It irked him to no extent. Did nothing shake her? Did nothing put her off?

"I am the Warden of the North," he bit out. "Your safety is under my jurisdiction."

She shrugged one side of her shoulder. "Then it appears we have reached an impasse, my lord."

Her words were calm and detached, as though she were discussing the weather. Cregan's patience wore thin, his protective instincts clashing with her indifference.

He strode to her side, towering over her, his imposing figure blocking them from the view of the council. Claere leaned away, her eyes dipping down, her face contorting in disquiet at his proximity. Yet he pressed on, tucking a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to him.

"Don't," he tried to protest.

"Look at me," he urged, his grip tightening as frustration bled into his words. "I cannot risk you for something as feckless as a hungry pet. Do you understand me, Claere?"

Her gaze flicked up to meet his. For a brief moment, it was as if she were on the verge of revealing some hidden truth, some implicit fear or vulnerability.

"You do not risk me. 'Tis I who take the risk," she said, her voice painfully even.

Cregan's jaw clenched, his exasperation palpable as he released her chin, stepping back but still glaring at her. He could protect Winterfell, the North, and his people—but her? He was not so convinced anymore.

"Fine. Do as you wish," he surrendered. "Ride past the Wall."

She offered him nothing more than a parting curtsey as if she had already said too much. With that, Claere turned to leave the room but his words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"However, I will ride with you."

For a moment, she remained still, her back to him. Slowly, she turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. And finally—there it was.

A flicker of astonishment in her violet eyes. A break in the mask of indifference she so carefully maintained. Her lips parted, but no words came. Something deeper, more vulnerable, flickered in her violet gaze, a shadow of doubt or unease, quickly concealed again behind her calm facade.

"Why?" she asked, her foremost intuition to always suspect goodwill.

"It's not a request," Cregan replied, his tone brooking no arguments. "If you are to face danger, you will not do it alone."

Claere’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Without another word, she turned once more and left the room, the heavy doors closing behind her with a quiet thud.

Cregan stood still, watching the place where she had just been, and where no one could see him, broke out into a triumphant smirk. This was it then, a game at which two could play. If she was a tempest, then he would be the steadfast mountain, immovable against the storm.

X

thank you for reading! idk how a taglist works but I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

[kikker-oma]

@luna-lovegreat

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!

Have Sky strumming "Happy birthday" on his harp🥰

I hope your bday was super special❤️

[pupsmailbox]

MUSIC ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abby. ace. adagio. adam. adria. adrian. adriane. aero. alex. alice. angus. ann. anthony. apollo. ari. aria. ariane. ariette. avril. axl. axton. bill. billie. billy. blaze. bohemia. bon. brad. brian. bruce. cade. cadence. cadentia. cantrelle. charlie. cher. chester. chordelle. chordette. chordiene. chrissie. christine. cleo. cliff. coda. cosmo. crescenette. crescenne. cresciene. cruz. dahlia. danny. dave. david. dax. daze. dolce. dolcette. dolciene. dolciette. don. doremi. duff. dusty. echo. eddie. electra. ember. ensemblette. enslette. enzo. eric. estelle. faye. flash. fleetwood. florance. floyd. flux. forte. frank. freddie. geddy. geezer. gene. george. ginger. glenn. glimmer. grace. gregg. halen. halo. harmonette. harmonie. harmony. harp. hayley. helena. iggy. isis. izzy. jack. jasper. jett. jimi. jimmy. joe. john. juno. kade. kai. kairo. keira. keith. kian. knox. krist. kurt. larkin. larry. layla. liam. lindsey. lio. luna. lux. lyric. lyrical. mac. malcolm. maynard. medley. meliene. melodie. melodiette. melody. micheal. mick. mitch. moxie. muse. musette. musine. nancy. neal. neil. neon. nick. nicko. nicky. noel. note. notesie. notesy. nova. octavia. onyx. orchestrae. orchestraette. orchestraine. ozzy. paul. pax. pear. pete. peter. phil. piper. pulse. quest. randy. rave. rhea. rhythm. rick. ringo. riven. robert. roger. ronnie. rosa. rose. sabbath. sable. serj. sierra. sky. skye. sona. sonata. sonette. songbird. songesse. songette. songstress. sonia. sonic. sonnet. spark. steve. steven. stevie. strobe. symphonia. symponiette. talia. taryn. tempo. thom. tim. tom. tony. treble. trix. vibe. viola. violette. violiene. vyn. xara. zack. zeppelin.

PRONOUNS ⌇　aero/aero. ba/bass. band/band. base/base. beat/beat. black/black. blink/blink. bpm/bpm. chili/chili. crash/crash. cream/cream. cue/cue. cure/cure. door/door. dor/doremi. drop/drop. dru/drum. drum/drum. eagle/eagle. echo/echo. electric/electric. electro/electronic. fla/flash. flu/flute. flute/flute. for/forte. forte/forte. glo/glow. guitar/guitar. gun/gun. har/harp. heart/heart. hot/hot. hx/hxm. hy/hym. iron/iron. jam/jam. journey/journey. jump/jump. ke/key. kiss/kiss. la/lala. las/laser. loud/loud. ly/lyric. machine/machine. maiden/maiden. mel/melody. metal/metal. mix/mixed. mu/muse. mu/music. muse/muse. music/music. ne/neon. nirvana/nirvana. no/note. noe/note. note/note. oasis/oasis. oct/octave. pearl/pearl. pepper/pepper. perform/perform. pi/piano. pia/piano. piano/piano. pink/pink. queen/queen. ra/rave. radio/radio. rage/rage. re/reverb. red/red. reverb/reverb. rhy/rhythm. riff/riff. rock/rock. rose/rose. rush/rush. scorpion/scorpion. scream/scream. shred/shred. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sing/sing. soe/song. soe/sonnet. sol/sola. song/song. spike/spike. stone/stone. string/string. stud/stud. sync/sync. tem/tempo. tempo/tempo. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. tra/track. tre/treble. treble/treble. trumpet/trumpet. tu/tune. tuba/tuba. tune/tune. vi/vibe. vio/violin. vocal/vocal. wa/wave. yell/yell. 🎤. 🎧. 🎵. 🎶. 🎷. 🎸. 🎹. 🎻. 🎼. 💥. 📹. 🔊. 🔋. 🔌. 🗯️. 🤘. 🥁. 🧑🏻‍🎤.

[fasterthanfury]

it came too easy sometimes, and francis almost found it laughable. poor sally mckinght, swept up in the raging cyclone that was the world francis ran... it was too bad she wasn't able to just click her heels three times and find her way home. too bad for her, certainly not for him. a gleam in his eyes spoke louder than his words could, holding her chin fondly now as the pad of his thumb rolled along the all-too-familiar surface of her lower lip. ❛ i do know you, better than you know yourself sometimes... wouldn't you say ?? ❜ he whispered in reply, a husk clinging onto his words, making them almost gritty. at her following words, he chuckled lowly, the hand nursing his drink finding the curve of her hip, resting upon it as if it owned the territory. ❛ is that so ?? ❜ francis cooed, amusement in his features, leaning his face down a bit further so he could brush the tip of his nose against hers, eyes heavy with ulterior motive. chuckling at her words, he almost grinned. ❛ so spit in my face, thorn, ❜ francis encouraged, his words fanning her lips as he dared to hover his near hers, angling her face up further so he had easier access to her lips. ❛ —spit in my face and leave. don't considerate it. ignore what your body is telling you it wants and walk away. ❜

here she was again, left with a choice that could either make things feel better for a small amount of time and shit worse in the long-run or a moment to have a learning lesson and be the bigger person. when he looked at her like that it made her skin crawl and her heart pump. "oh francis, you know me..." she practically whispered, only for him to hear now. his finger on her chin only gave her the urge to try and bite it, but the more she looked into the darkness of his eyes the more she found herself losing a battle she was only having with herself. the choice was made before she even knew it, really. which, truly, made it shittier. her judgement was clouded and that was her own doing. "....i don't do anything without a good fight." that was the truth. thorn always went down kicking and screaming. biting her lip, she let out a laugh. "i should spit in your face and leave. i can't believe i'm even considering this."

[wifiwivey]

meet luna harp

her rich parents kicked her out because she kept maxing out her credit cards. she needs to get a job and probably should go to school. even though they probably shouldn't have. her parents set her up with a house in san sequoia and some cash even though they probably shouldn't have.

her traits are squeamish, materialistic, and outgoing.

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

Megaman Production Art Scan of the Day #746:

Shingo Adachi's Story of Meteor Artbook: Page 11

I really wasn't sure on the literal muffler/scarf translation, so I had to look up the merch from the 20th, because I really didn't remember it, to know what he was mentioning. But it was likely this towel scarf:

And just in case I have to explain orz's meaning: here.

Full Resolution Scan: https://imgbox.com/h2Kolg2Z

English Translation Scan: https://imgbox.com/RSFZRaJX

[sir-malk]

Weapon struggles (Sandy's fault)

(Smal low quality sketch of magical girl au designs)

Red- Big sword (Was thinking of brass knuckles or gauntlet, but sense i see her as on the shorter side, her lugging around a giant sword is fun)

Sandy- ???

Rica- Gun (specifically a revolver or an older type, most likely rusted with gears on it. She definitely plays russian roulette with it)

Ivy- Bombs (Very unnoticeable until they blow up in your face and kill you! Ride arrangement of bombs, but mainly toxic chemical based)

Luna- Bow and arrow (Her harp in superstars looked like a bow and arrow, and I don't want 2 people with swords. Plus, if I make heavenly virtues, I can give her opposite a CROSS-bow)

Nana- Plush (Unsure what animal it will be, probably not gonna stay a rabbit. She's certainly not actually fighting people cause she's sloth and also tiny.)

Moira- Sythe (She's partially an angel of death. She needs it. Plus, it's the most flashy and eye catching)

Magical girl au was all fun and games until I had to give sandy a weapon :(

[0-rosa-draws-0]

🌙Moondrop playing his harp🎼

🌞And thank you for the 16 followers! Welcome!🌙

@solarisdabest69

@oh-flute

@get-total-eclipsed

@that-starry-freak

@pupptdrop

@ethiicalkiit

@su-gu3

@luna-eclipse17916

@sleepy-kam1

[helionpegasus]

ceilings (part 4)

Azriel x Reader

masterlist

summary: Reader always had vivid dreams due her Seer heritage. But things take a twist in her life when she starts dreaming with a male she never seen, and wake up in a world that is not hers.

warnings: a bit angst 

words count: 3273

author’s note: damnnn this the biggest one so far! as always, thank you for your patience <3 and i hope you like it! :)

There was too much information to absorb. Azriel’s mind was spinning since he found the female yesterday, and now this? A chance of her being able to listen to his shadows? That’s definitely not how he expected to begin his week.

He was trying to understand how the shadows are so fond of her. Because once they announced she was awake, it takes all of his strength to control them. They were trying and trying to run directly to the female, and Azriel had no clue why. And if there’s one thing that makes the Shadowsinger upset, is not knowing what’s happening with something he used to have control of.

"I don't think my shadows have the power to travel between worlds." He states.

They were in the meeting room. Cassian, Nesta, Mor and Amren arrived right after the female told the story. She came with them, eyes wide with confusion, body slightly shaking, probably scared of all the situation and scared of them. 

He thought it was completely normal, given all she's been through the past day. They were a bunch of strangers to her, and she's also a stranger to them. That's why Azriel has been keeping his eye on her since they left the nursing room. She was clearly uncomfortable with the look he's giving her from the opposite side of the table, but didn't say a word of complaint.

"Maybe not traveling between worlds, but perhaps being able to connect with other shadows?" Feyre says to everyone but her stare was empty, like she's been trying to formulate a proper answer. "If she's able to hear them, like we think she is. Maybe she has such power in her world."

"I don't think that's possible." The girl says. Azriel was starting to think her accent is cute, but he'll never admit it. "I've never shown such power. I have a friend who has similar powers to that, I know how it is, but it just never happened to me. How can the first time it happens I end up in another world?

"Plus, how were you guys able to open a portal? I thought only the Horn were able to do that." Her facial features pulled in confusion.

"There's other objects that can open portals?" Nesta asked, straightening her back on the chair.

"In my world, there's the Luna Horn, a Fae relic that holds such power. My friend was trying to find it, her intentions was not to travel this much like me, but to Hel find help."

"She needs help with what?" Rhysand asks.

"Our world needs help."

Suddenly the atmosphere of the room was dense. They were still recovering from a War, now they were almost facing problems that weren’t even in their world.

Everyone got lost in their own thoughts.

Azriel didn’t waste time to call Rhysand in his mind.

“I think Nesta should play the Harp and we send this girl right where she came from.”  He said once he felt Rhys presence in his mind.

“Don’t be so intransigent. She’s not some dog that we can simply deliver back to the adoption care.”  His voice was firm. Making Azriel glance move to the High Lord for the first time since they arrived.

“Already so protective?”  

“Not protective, Azriel. I have values. This court as well.”

Azriel was angry, because (Y/N) clearly made him uncomfortable. He didn’t know why, but there was this strange feeling starting to rip in his chest, a feeling that was not welcoming.

He was even more scared of his friends realizing that something was wrong. And he freely gave Rhysand the first sample of it in their conversation.

Their full minds were interrupted by the loud sound of the travelers belly. The Inner Circle realizes that she hasn't eaten for a long time.

“I’m sorry. I got dragged here while I was making breakfast.” She said with eyes wide. Cheeks red with embarrassment.

“There is no reason to apologize!” Feyre turned herself to face the female at her left side. “You must be starving, come with me. I’ll get something for you.”

She got up signaling for the female to the door. Mor and Nesta followed them right after.

“I’m sure of one thing…” Amren says when the females exit the room. “Mother wouldn’t let the world portal open and let the girl slip in our court with no purpose.”

“The thing is if the purpose is good or not.” Cassian says.

“She came with your shadows, boy.” The gray eyes fixed themselves on Azriel. “They didn’t tell you anything?”

“No. Apparently they’re refusing to. All they told me was that they found her in a cavern and brought her here.”

“I thought you controlled them.”

“Yes, I do. But I can not control what they say to me.” 

The Shadowsinger’s voice was stiff. All he wanted was to have some free days to relax, and now it seemed like the Cauldron was throwing a bomb near to explode in his lap.

Rhysand and Cassian noticed their brother's change of mood since they saw him this morning at breakfast. Azriel was usually quiet, but now his silence was ice cutting.

*

You were walking in the hallways trying to remember all the turns you made on the big place those people called home, in case you needed to go back all by yourself.

At this point of the day, you were sure that in this world they were not near the advanced technology you had in Midgard. The lights were pure magic, not electricity; Their clothes were like the ones described in your favorite novels stuffed in your bookshelf and now while you were entering the kitchen you realize that they don’t even have a fridge.

“Do you want anything specific?” Feyre asked you. 

She has been nothing but lovely with you since you met her. Clearly not acting like most female rulers you know about.

“Anything is fine, really.” You answer her with a shy smile.

“A bit of everything then, I guess.” The High Lady gives you one of her own.

The counter in front of you was full of food in a blink. Your body stiffen in surprise. 

“How can you do that?”

“It’s the House.” The female that resembles Feyre says. Nesta, you remembered. “The House is conscient.”

“B-but how? It’s like a century spell or something like that?”

“Kinda like that.” Feyre says with a laugh. “There’s magic of a whole bloodline in this building, but I have to acknowledge that Nesta played an important part to make it more… alive.”

You read between the lines that they would not explain more than that to you, so you content yourself with only that.

Your belly was almost protesting again, which reminded you to make a move to eat something. The pies and cakes looked delicious, but eating something sweet being so long without eating anything didn’t sound really appealing, so you reach for a sandwich that was apparently with chicken and a salad. 

At your first bite you couldn’t control the growl of satisfaction leaving your lips. With everything happening all at once you didn’t even realize you were hungry. But now that you had so much in front of you, your stomach was anxious to be full of everything you lay your eyes on.

“So… (Y/N), what do you work with in your world? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.” The blonde female asked. Morrigan was a name that fitted her so well, you thought, both were extremely beautiful.

“I am in my last year of studies at Crescent City University.” You answer her once you swallow the food. The name coming out of your mouth is more familiar, saying in your accent and language. “I pretend to work with Social Sciences. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to say it in your language. But basically, I want to work with people. Understand different organizations and cultures, and also learn a lot of history. That’s how I learned a bit of this language.”

“That’s really cool. I don’t think we have anything like that!” Feyre says, eyes shining with curiosity.

“The Day Court must be doing something similar, but certainly not that deep.” Morrigan add.

“You must be really smart, then.” Nesta points, making you choke on the piece of pear you were eating.

“Don’t expect a lot.” You gave her a nervous laugh. “That’s how you are divided here? By courts?” You changed subjects, embarrassed by the statement.

“Yes, there are seven of them. Night Court, where you are right now, Day, Dawn, Summer, Winter, Autumn and Spring.” The blonde answered. “We’re in Prythian. In the Continent there’s more places, but there are no Courts, just territories.”

You nod in agreement, processing all the information. Two continents, from what they said until now, but there’s probably more.

“You said you didn’t have powers with the shadows, what powers do you have then?” Nesta asked, plating a piece of the strawberry for you and the three of them as well.

“I don’t have any outstanding power. I can levitate and summon objects like most Fae. My grandmother was a Seer, but I don’t have practice with this power, since it was always very unsteady.” 

“What do you mean unsteady?” Feyre asked.

“I don’t have visions out of nowhere like other Seers. It happened like once or twice, and it was nothing big and world saving. Lately I’ve been having a lot of them in my dreams, but I still don’t know if they’re exactly visions.” You feel the edge of your ears burning when you remember about Azriel. Still not trusting them so much to say such a thing. And you feel relieved to have your hair down.

 “How come you hear the shadows?” Morrigan looks at you. Her brown eyes piercing yours, like daring you.

“I-I don’t know. I heard them in one of those dreams as well, before everything.”

The blonde gaze softens, surprise flashing fast on them. Not going unnoticed by you, but you decide to not comment on it. The air in the kitchen suddenly thick.

“Well…” Feyre deflected our attention. “There’s anything more you need, (Y/N)?”

“I would like to clean myself if it’s possible.” Your voice was shy. Your body contorting while feeling the stick material of the dried blood in your shirt.

“Yes, of course! I’m sorry, we should have given you the time to clean yourself before everything.” She says grabbing your hand. “Nesta will lead you to a bedroom. You can clean yourself, put some new clothes on and later someone will pick you up for dinner.”

“Alright. Thank you so much, really. You’re making this whole experience a bit less traumatic.” A nervous laugh goes out of your mouth, your eyes watering.

“Don’t need to thank me. We’re gonna figure this all out.” Her arms embraced you. 

And how you needed this. The comfort settles in your body to calm your heart at least a little bit.

But that’s not when you break down. It was after Nesta led you down the hall, to a bedroom she said was near hers in case you needed anything. When you took your clothes off and the movements seemed more heavy than normal. It was when you sat inside the bathtub, your body covered in the warm water, muscles sore from everything that you broke down.

Tears falling down your face nonstop. A million thoughts per second all at once. So many feelings at the same time, fear, tiredness, relief, sadness, and mostly, you were feeling lost. When you finally meet the person you swear to yourself would answer all your questions and lead you to find the right path. You were feeling lost.

You were trying to steady your breath, not handling the hurt in your chest, like it was almost ripping itself open. Once you are feeling more calm, you finally start cleaning yourself. Washing your hair that still has some leaves from the forest, your nails still with mud and face that you doubted that the tears already did the job for you. You trace your finger in the thin scar that took place in your ribcage, but stopped before you got caught in a loop of thoughts again.

A small presence made itself known caressing your forearm out of the bathtub. A shadow lacing itself on your arm like a bracelet.

“You’re here to give information to your master? On how pitiful I am?” You ask quietly to the dark smoke, not expecting an answer.

The shadow only hugs your arm tighter. 

“I’ll consider this a no. It would be really disrespectful to take information from me while I’m bathing, though.”

It makes no way to leave your arm. Circling your wrist and forearm continuously.

“I guess I’m supposed to be able to hear you. Do you have anything to say?”

“Nothing for now.” 

Your body shivers seeing the shadow move to your ear and back to your arm. So it was really it. The voice you heard before was the same as this one.

You got out of the bathtub with a sigh, deciding the time was done. Confused on how the water didn’t go cold. 

Once in the bedroom you went to the drawer Nesta mentioned to find something to wear. You put a black leggings and a dark blue sweater that seemed to be the clothes you’re more used to. Socks and a pair of boots to your cold feet.

You used a product that seemed to be a hair product and brushed your hair. Your guess must have been right, because your hair detangle really easily. You finish it up and let it down to dry faster.

Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you realized how your eyes were swollen from all the crying and your nose red. You’re only hope was to not be so noticeable when the dinner starts.

“There’s anything for me to do while waiting? Maybe there’s a book here somewhere.” You say to no one.

You hear a muffled thud in a table near the fireplace, an inviting armchair placed near it. A book was settled on the table, a cup of fuming tea beside it.

“So you’re really conscient.” You say looking at the ceiling, and get by surprise when you see the reflections of the windows making a whole constellation in there.

“A romance, you have good taste. I think I’m gonna spend a lot of time like this to improve my knowledge in the language. Any chance you keep doing this?”

The house answer was a pile of books next to the one it placed before.

“Thank you!” You smiled brightly.

You don’t know how much time you spend reading, but you were progressing very well considering that you haven't read in the language for quite a long time. The reading got interrupted by a knock on the door. Nesta welcomed you with a soft smile when you opened it, but it slowly disappeared.

“You’re okay?” She asked, a little worried.

“Y-Yes, my eyes are still swollen?” Your hand goes right to your eyes, patting it to feel the damage.

“A little bit.”

“You can eat here in the bedroom if you prefer.” The winged male behind Nesta suggested with a look of concern in his eyes as well. Cassian, her mate.

“Ugh, it looks really that bad?” You run your hands in your face not knowing if you cover it or accept your fate.

“No! Your face looks totally fine. You’re even cleaner now!” He says.

Nesta slaps her own forehead before slapping Cassian’s arm.

“What Cassian is trying to say is that if you are still uncomfortable and prefer to be by yourself tonight is completely alright. But we would appreciate your presence with us as well.” The female says calmly to you.

“Yes, I would like to go with you.” You said a bit shy.

“Perfect!” Nesta says and you close the door behind you to follow them to the dining room. 

Cassian eyes go strictly to your forearm, where the shadow is still resting. The small smile that shows in his face eases your heart.

Everyone else was in the dining room, the big table was already settled. But there was a presence of two people you haven't met yet. The first was the little baby sleeping in Feyre arms, that you supposed was called Nyx. The second was a brunette girl sitting on the opposite side of Azriel. 

The conversation eases when they notice you three arrived.

“(Y/N), let me present to you.” Rhysand starts. “This is Elain. Feyre and Nesta’s sister.” He pointed to the brunette, who gave you a small smile. “And the little one is Nyx, my son.” He caresses the little boy's head.

“Nice to meet you.” You say to Elain with a smile. The female just nods in your direction.

“Let’s eat, I’m starving!” Cassian says, making Nesta roll her eyes. 

She led you to the table, to sit beside her, Azriel on your right.

Then everyone enters in a conversation and serves their own plates. Nesta serves your plate before you could feel shy to do it by yourself, you say a quiet thank you to her. 

The dinner flowed fast. They shared stories and news, you stayed quiet most of the time, only answering when the question was asked directly at you. You just didn’t know exactly where to place yourself there when they seemed so complete.

“You almost didn’t eat. Didn’t like the food?” Morrigan asked you.

“Oh, no! The food is delicious, I’m just full from earlier.” You explain yourself and she makes an expression like reminding what happened in the kitchen.

“That little one seems really fond of you, (Y/N).” Cassian points at your right forearm with a smirk. “It was there the whole dinner.”

Everyone's gaze went right to you, making your cheeks burn. Azriel stiff himself in the chair when he sees the shadow. The little thing quickly went to its master, twirling itself along with the others on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. They’re quite… Wild these days.” Azriel says to you.

“It’s okay, They are quite comforting.” You say with a small smile for him, already missing the light feeling in your arm.

Azriel only looks at you in a way you didn’t recognize, then he clears his throat, making everyone go back to what they were talking before.

Later that night, you twisted and turned but couldn’t get yourself to sleep. Mostly scared of what could happen while you sleep. You were on the verge of tears of frustration when you felt a familiar feeling in your arm. There was the shadow again, making you smile to yourself.

“You sense when I’m needing help?” You whisper to the shadow twirling in your wrist. “Thank you.”

With a comfortable presence and the warm bed the House made, it wasn’t a long time for you to fall asleep.

*

When you looked around you couldn’t place where you were. It was dark, really dark, and cold. It got you bracing yourself even with  the thick sweater on.

You hear whispers, coming from behind you.

When you turn around you have to force your vision to see clearly. There was a kid embracing themself in the corner of the place.

“Hello?” You call in a low voice.

The kid looks at you. Eyes big with fear.

You know those eyes. The wings in his back were just a confirmation.

In front of you was Azriel as a kid.

taglist (overlined users i couldn’t tag):

@humanpersonlasttimeichecked @valeridarkness @his-sweet-nightmare @leeknows-wife @mich0731 @kristalhi @marina568 @brekkershadowsinger @cafe-inaaa @lovierhys @kenmaisacinnamonroll @alt-ghost @marigold-morelli @thelightnddarkness @amysangel @thecraziestcrayon @fall-myriad @a-court-of-milkandhoney @hungryforbatboys @elizarikaallen @allison-rosewood-maximoff​ @gamarancianne @weirdo-fun​

[the-silent-orchestra]

but wht dows the muses think about luna

"She is a very good pianinst, nothing compared to Cuoco but still very good nonetheless!"

"Piano sucks. Couldn't care less"

"She is very good at the piano, in fact. But. . . It's a piano, cmon, nobody likes pianos. Just play a harp or something."

*Adagio just stays silent, just thinking*

[pokefangamebrainrot]

Any headcanons for Laura Belrose? Out of her sisters she has some interesting traits and is one of my favorite reborn characters yet also underrated💚

Laura Belrose Headcanons

-in the post game, she becomes an art therapist. she wants to make people feel better than sigmund made her feel

-her and bennet are together in my mind

-out of the three siblings, she’s the most forgiving of lin, even though lin made her life hell the most

-she also gets some courage and self worth. she is still forgiving, but her forgiveness no longer extends to those not willing to change

-instead of having biological kids, she adopts two young sisters. yes, saphira and charlotte both act as cool aunts to them

-she ends up taking the house in chrysolia (saphira goes to live on her own in the mountains and charlotte’s in calcenon)

-she grows the most beautiful garden in her home, and plants flowers where all of the meteor grunts died in the raid in their memory (her reasoning, she has no idea if they were good or bad people, but they deserve a memory all the same)

-she tends to her parents graves in the beryl cemetery. occasionally, she’ll make sure the other graves have some things on them too

-she becomes very close with luna. they see a lot of themselves in each other

-she’s also friends with florinia! they bond over both being grass type users

-she helps taka with collecting fragments of reborn’s history, and with elias setting up his chapel

-she has a bad habit of agreeing to help everyone out with everything, stretching herself thin. bennett helps her get over this

-she learns how to play the harp! her and luna duet a lot

-she assigns everyone she meets a flower in her mind, it’s how she remembers people

i had so much fun with these, she’s such an underrated character!! thanks for the ask!!