#oc: weaving tales

[simcardiac-arrested]

he got carried away (he didn’t call for a while after that)

[darklydeliciousdesires]

A Storm of Stars - An Aemond Targaryen/OC Story.

Okay, I caved and decided to share the first chapter, and will now sit on tenterhooks while awaiting everyone's thoughts! The story runs semi-canon to the events of HOTD, my own weaved in with it, if you will. Enjoy!

Summary: The Targaryen twin stars. Two sides of the same coin. Aemond and Aemella Targaryen, second children of King Viserys I and his queen, Alicent Hightower, had spent their entire lives almost as one, the lines blurring where one twin ended and the other began. What started as an inseparable sibling bond eventually bloomed into a deep, limitless love.

A day would come, though, when their love story - famed for generations to come - would be tested by the one who sought to tear them apart. When the storm of stars descended, nobody who had wronged them would come away unscathed. 

Words - 2,635

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added.

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, incest (because yep, they're Targaryens, Aemond and Aemella twin siblings) and a few other details that will be warned of at the start of each chapter. Oh and yes, it will be very smutty! Minors DNI.

The bitter, northern air whipped frigidly at the knight’s face as he made his way across the unforgiving ground, his boots crunching upon clusters of frozen mud. The skies were thick with clouds, primed and ready to shed further snow upon the already laden terrain, the near distance peppered with the sounds of his king, Stannis Baratheon’s men preparing themselves to move off once more, bound for The Wall. 

Entering the tent, Ser Davos looked upon the sight that greeted him with fond affection. There, warming herself within a swathe of soft bear pelts, sat the apple of his eye. The little Princess Shireen, her nose within a book. 

“What tales of the Seven Kingdoms do you read today, princess?” he inquired, taking a seat at her side.  

Shireen placed a marker upon the page she read, turning to her friend. “The story of Aemond and Aemella, Ser Davos.” 

A famous tale if ever there was one, Davos of course recognising it despite his illiteracy. “Ahh, the Targaryen twin stars,” he spoke knowingly, nodding towards the pages. “Read a little to me, if you’d be so kind.”  

His fondly delivered request was honoured, Shireen going back to the beginning of the chapter as she cleared her throat. “Aemond and Aemella Targaryen, second children to King Viserys I Targaryen and his queen, Alicent Hightower, came to be known widely as the twin stars from the moment of their birth upon the seventh day of the sixth moon, one hundred and ten AC.  

“The name originated from their father, the twins quietly rumoured to be the favourite offspring of their parents, their eternal bond rapidly becoming a famous tale for their unwavering devotion to one another. They were, as many a member of their family, or the servants within the Red Keep could attest, inseparable, from their first day right until their last. 

“From their youngest infancy, the twins were said to possess an otherworldly connection, sensing each other's emotions on an inexplicable level. It was the quiet strength and poised grace of the princess that often harnessed the fiery impulses of her brother, later her husband, the prince Aemond. Though it was known, that once wronged, Aemella made for just as deadly an adversary as her twin.” 

“Betrothed to one another at the age of four and ten, together, they were an unstoppable force, a balance of true compliment to one another’s strengths and weaknesses. It is said that a no greater love than theirs had ever before existed within the Targaryen dynasty, nor ever would again, the siblings forever orbiting one another in perfect harmony.” 

Davos had heard the tale on countless occasions throughout his lifetime, yet would never tire when Shireen recited the stories from her books she so treasured. “They rode the biggest dragons the world has ever known as well, princess, after Balerion the Black Dread. It was said that when Vhagar and Fyreclaw took flight, almost all of Kings Landing was cast into shadow.” 

The princess looked at him with eyes filled with awe. “Can you imagine, Ser Davos?” 

He reached to fondly stroke her hair. “Aye. All we can do is imagine, now that they are long gone.” 

“An inevitability we all must face.” The princess never failed to surprise him with her measured wisdom, such maturity in one so young. Returning her focus to the book set upon her lap, she continued to recount stories from the twins’ early years. 

“They shared not only a bond of blood,” Shireen continued, “but a bond of destiny. It was said that their dragons, the fierce Vhagar and the majestic Fyreclaw, showed a similar affinity, soaring through the skies of Westeros in perfect harmony. Their flights were rumoured to be a sight of juxtapose, both of unparalleled beauty and foreboding terror.” 

Ser Davos couldn't help but smile, imagining the heavens darkened by the might of such creatures. “Aye, princess. The bond they shared with their dragons was almost as legendary as the one they shared with each other. Aemond claimed the biggest dragon in the world when he was not much older than you, and Aemella was first seated upon Fyreclaw at just five in age. Remarkable.” 

Shireen’s face glowed with a quiet awe. “It must have been something extraordinary to witness.” Pondering a moment, she smoothed her hand across the grainy page before her. “Do you think they ever doubted their path, where their lives ultimately took them?” 

Davos shook his head gently. “Not once. Their unity was their strength. Through every battle and every trial, they stood together. An unbreakable force, though of course we know that once, somebody did attempt to break them apart.” 

The princess nodded thoughtfully, her gaze returning to the pages of her book. “Their story is a reminder that we are stronger together than separated. Much like the twin stars themselves, no matter how fierce the storm, there is always an eye to bring calm.” 

He looked at her with pride and affection, his beaming smile crinkling his eyes. He was sorely looking forward to a little calm being restored, once the fight for the Iron Throne was but a distant memory. He just hoped both he and the princess survived the toils of war for long enough to witness it.  

“Wise words, princess. May we always remember them.” 

Shireen resumed reading, her voice weaving the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy, as the sounds of preparation outside grew louder, signalling the impending march of Stannis’s army towards The Wall. 

While the story of Aemond and Aemella was by then long condemned to history, the princess read with the kind of fascination that served to keep their memory alive. The tale itself had begun much like many other, with an expectant queen awaiting the arrival of her babes within the walls of the Red Keep over a hundred years before... 

“I believe, your grace, that you do indeed carry twins.”  

Alicent had known this long before Grand Maester Mellos’s assertion, able to feel the movements of two babes within her womb from the moment they had begun to wriggle. They gave her perhaps the most uncomfortable and difficult of her expectancies, the queen often weary for their activity within her womb, coupled with the heaviness of carrying them both. 

“How do our twin stars fare today, wife?” the king inquired one morning, smoothing a loving hand over the swell of her belly.  

“Busily,” she admitted with a weak smile, her hand joining his. “Aemond is restless and Aemella chastises him for it. I am certain her kicks are more aimed at him rather than shuffling in order to seek comfort.”  

Viserys chuckled, his hand continuing to stroke against his unborn babes. “My dear queen, you cannot know for sure, that it is a boy and a girl that you carry.”  

“I know, husband,” she vowed, her smile crinkling her tired eyes. “Aemond is the storm, and Aemella the eye. She will be the one to tether him if he is ever to sail too high, bring him back to ground.”  

The queen was not particularly one for prophetic platitudes, but if she had ever sensed anything so strongly in all of her days, it was what would indeed come to pass.  

Aemond was born first, Aemella coming into the world moments after. The tiny prince had near wailed the roof right off the Red Keep upon his arrival, but Aemella had been much quicker to quieten, as her mother had indeed expected.  

In fact, in the days that followed their birth, the only time the little princess made her displeasure known was when the babes were placed within separate cribs, seemingly unable to bear being parted from one another.  

The Maesters, handmaidens and royals alike all watched in awe as the bond between the twins grew ever stronger with each passing day. Aemond and Aemella were inseparable, almost as if they communicated in a silent, secret language known only to them. The young prince's fiery temper was often soothed by the calm presence of his sister, who seemed to have a natural talent for bringing peace to her brother's sometimes turbulent spirit. Just as their mother prophesied she would.  

As the years went by, their bond only deepened. Aemond's fierce determination and conniving nature were balanced perfectly by Aemella's gentle wisdom and quiet strength. They complemented each other in every way, their unique qualities harmonising to form an unbreakable alliance. That was not to say that Aemella did not possess her own fire, though. The only difference was that she was shrewd enough to know exactly when to exert it.  

When it came to the defence of her beloved twin, anyone close would feel the roaring heat of her flaming temper, namely her elder brother, Aegon. The young prince sought to make it his mission to mercilessly tease Aemond, bullying the child for his shortcomings, more often than not over the fact he had not bonded with his own dragon.  

Upon hearing of the pig incident, Aemella had stormed to her brother’s bedchamber, striking him with a hard, open-handed strike to his face.  

“You dare to raise a hand to me, sister?” Aegon had raged, holding a hand to his stinging cheek. 

Aemella had merely folded her arms, unmoved entirely by his ire. “If you so insist on taunting Aemond, then know, dear brother, you taunt me by extension. I will not allow that to withstand without consequence. Not now, and not ever.” 

She never did, either. And it extended to anybody who dared to belittle or harm her twin star. When her nephew, the young prince Lucerys had taken Aemond’s eye, she’d been incandescent, her rage pulsing white-hot, brandishing a fire poker and promising of retribution, a literal eye for an eye. Her mother had been all for it, not tethering her normally rational and poised daughter back, the child only thwarted in her plan by Ser Harrold’s restraint. 

Aemond had felt his heart swell with love, to have watched his precious twin become so enraged on his behalf. The wellspring of her devotion to him never faltered, and it was on that day he truly realised it, that their bond was forged in something much stronger than mere blood. It was a connection that transcended the ordinary; even for twins.  

It went beyond, ran deeper, connected them on a spiritual level that they would never, could never be broken from. 

“Tis’ my fault, brother. That I was absent from your side when those wretched bastards set upon you,” she’d lamented later, balling her fists as her anger burned like wildfire. Indeed, at the time she had been bathing, unaware of what was to shortly befall her twin. 

Aemond had taken her hands in his, being the one to tether her for once as she had spiralled. “No, sweet sister. Tis’ an untruth. Do not let your anger surge, for while I may have lost an eye, I have gained a dragon. Now, when you sail through the skies aboard Fyreclaw, I may finally join you.” 

That night, they had shared a bed, curled around one another, just as they had as babes within their mother’s womb. It had been no great anomaly for the pair to have been found in slumber together throughout their childhood, often seeking the comfort of the other when they were feeling listless and unable to sleep.  

This was why, perhaps, that not many an eyelid was batted when further into their young adulthood, being found in one another’s beds became much more of a frequent occurrence. Except it was no mere innocent fondness that began to drive that need when the twins reached four and ten in age. 

Those natural urges experienced led to them creeping carefully into sexual exploration together. Of course, as Targaryen’s, it was commonplace for siblings to partner together, to ensure the bloodline was kept pure. Their union went beyond such, though, their life-long devotion to one another stemming into romantic love. 

Their exploration was never solely physical, but oh, how they did very much enjoy such once they had gotten the hang of it. Leaning how to pleasure one another had become a pursuit undertaken fastidiously, both utterly convinced that there could never be another out there who would ever come close to how intimately they knew one another. Their first time together had been a little disastrous, both having no real clue over what on earth to do with each other’s bodies. The more they lent to practice, though... 

Aemella would never forget the first time she was brought to a climax, lying spread upon Aemond’s bed, his fingers buried within her soaking cunt as his tongue lapped at her bud. Knowing her body so well, he understood then exactly how to send her to the edges of the heavens, further speed and pressure having her waves crashing against his shore with a series of cries. 

“Gods be good, brother,” she’d panted in aftermath, eyes wide, chest flushed. “I believe I rather enjoyed that.” 

“I would say so, Mella,” he’d told her, using his sweet pet name only he was allowed to address her as. “As would the large puddle upon the sheets.” 

“Seven hells!” she’d cried in horror. “Do not tell me that I have accidentally wet the bed!”  

Her brother, ever stoic, could not have helped the rare snort of laughter he emitted had he tried, resting his forehead to her inner thigh, kissing it thereafter. “No, love. Not in the way you are thinking, at least.” He’d then kissed his way back up her body, sheathing himself in her with a soft grunt. 

“My first...” he’d whispered, laying kisses to her throat, “my last...” those kisses peppered lower, tongue flicking against her clavicles, “and my only.” 

They delved into the depths of each other's souls, understanding every facet, every shadow that made up the other. It was in those quiet, intimate moments that they shared their fears, dreams and desires, their bond evolving into an intricate dance of passion and trust. 

The whispers of their union spread through the castle, the twins being called upon by their father, who without hesitation offered his blessing for the pair to marry. They’d expected to perhaps be chastised for their fornication outside of wedlock, but Viserys only sought to quickly remedy this by arranging their betrothal. Young people would indeed be young people, after all. He had once been young himself, too, though it seemed like many lifetimes ago.  

“T’was an inevitability, for you both to have sought such a union upon your maturing into young adulthood. It would be foolish to believe any other course could ever have been chartered.”  

The king understood well that it was not just their Targaryen heritage that bound them, but the unyielding love that had grown from the very moment they had shared the same womb. Their father had no intention of ever separating them by expecting them to marry outside of their house. In his mind, they were two sides of the same coin, twin souls. Separation was entirely out of the question.  

The marriage went ahead upon the third day of the fourth moon, a truly lavish affair that the twins enjoyed enormously, but felt the most elation upon returning to Aemond’s quarters, where all of his new bride’s possessions had now been moved to. They often felt that world outside could barely comprehend the intensity of their connection, but within their private sanctuary, nothing else mattered. Theirs was a love story written in the stars, destined to be eternal. 

Until the day their father, the long-ailing King Viserys finally passed on four years later, his death the catalyst to their entire world set in motion to one day be threatened beyond comprehension.  

A/N - Now, did you enjoy what you just read? Please remember, this is not Instagram. Clicking that heart does little, but a comment? Your author will be rewarded. A comment and reblog? Your author is throwing roses at your feet! It takes less time to do this than it did for you to read the chapter, too. Please, be kind and help support the fandom! :)

Next Chapter

[nikosasaki]

⸻ MARATINES 2025

HELLO! here we are again, another year another valentines oc challenge from me, mara, made specifically for me, mara. as always i want to encourage you all to play along with me, even if it’s just for one of the days, and don’t forget to tag me if you do! you can find all of the prompts under the readmore below.

okay love you, bye!

♥ DAY 1 ⸻ ship parallels

( FEBRUARY 8 ) we’re not so different, you and I; which other iconic pairing(s) do they resemble?

♥ DAY 2 ⸻ love songs

( FEBRUARY 9 ) soundtracks, wedding songs, promposal performances; music and love go hand in hand. which song(s) describe them best?

♥ DAY 3 ⸻ dating history

( FEBRUARY 10 ) not every relationship is going to be The One. what does their dating history look like?

♥ DAY 4 ⸻ across the universe

( FEBRUARY 11 ) let’s put those guys in situations. how would their love story play out in a sci-fi setting, a gothic vampire tale, or just a good old college au?

♥ DAY 5 ⸻ love interest swap

( FEBRUARY 12 ) nobody ever said it’s a bad thing to keep your options open. which other character(s) would they date?

♥ DAY 6 ⸻ web weaving

( FEBRUARY 13 ) which quotes, lyrics, and images make you go ‘oh. that is so them’?

♥ DAY 7 ⸻ one true pairing

( FEBRUARY 14 ) there is no other way to say it; this pairing is simply meant to be.

taglist: @kendelias @eddiemunscns @chlobenet @purpleyearning @bravelittleflower @nolanhollogay @raith-way @lovehermioneforever @hiddenqveendom @dragonsbone @kiara-carrera @witchofinterest @heavenlysurf @luucypevensie @ginevrastilinski @partiallypearl @waterloou @stanshollaand @ginger-grimm @endless-oc-creations @rose-of-oz

[valy-gc]

Game Idea - now a novel

Well... an idea that will stay an idea because I don't have any programmation skills nor the money to pay some developpers, but I like it and got lots of ideas for it so let's just share it.

If you want to make a OC and/or your MC from it, then have fun, I would love it ^-^

It's a dating sim, mix between "Twisted Wonderland" and "Obey me!"

This is mostly ideas thrown like this in a messy way. But you can now read my test for the novel version here:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 -All other chapters will only be on the other plateforms, always free to read

Or on my Tapas, Toyhouse, Ao3 or wattpad

I also introduce all the characters on Toyhouse, UnVale or Deviantart and regularly post here on tumblr about it

everything under the cut

As a new student at Fablewood Academy, you are mysteriously invited after stumbling upon an ancient storybook. Among peers who resonate with legendary characters from fables and folklore, you stand apart—unable to resonate with any historical figure. Instead, you uncover a profound connection to the mysterious Writers.

Navigating the competitive dorm dynamics and building relationships with students and teachers, you begin to unravel the secrets of Scriptoria, the world of stories. With your unique bond to the Writers, you hold the key to saving it from an ancient force threatening to rewrite history itself.

~~~~

World

"Scriptoria" A magical world shaped by the memories and writings of the legendary Writers, who recorded the lives and deeds of its inhabitants.

~~~~

The Writers :

The authors of fairytales we knows, they are called the "writers" not because they have wrote the tales (since it's supposed to be all real stories in this world) but because they were keeper of memories, noting everything that was happening in the world, which permitted the actual characters to knows all about the stories.

The Writers and Their Origins

Connection to Their Stories and Cultures:

Jean de La Fontaine (Beastman from Beasthaven): La Fontaine, a fox beastman, had a knack for observing the social structures of Beasthaven’s vibrant and diverse communities.

Hans Christian Andersen (Mer from the Seafoam Dominion): Andersen was a merman with a melancholic streak, deeply inspired by the beauty and sorrow of the sea. His ability to capture fleeting emotions and weave them into poetic tales was unparalleled.

The Grimm Brothers (Goblins from Myrcadawn): Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm were goblin-faes, an unexpected yet fitting revelation. The magic of the Writers kept their mischief in check, channeling their keen wit and curiosity into recording humanity's most primal fears and hopes. Their goblin heritage explains the darker, more visceral tone of their collected tales.

Charles Perrault (Human from Austreim): Perrault was a human writer from the cobblestone streets of Austreim. Known for his elegance and refinement, he focused on moralistic tales that resonated with high society while still appealing to common folk. His work emphasized transformation and perseverance, ideals he believed could bridge social divides.

An so many more… In short, every single race and country had one or multiple Writers.

The Omniscience of the Writers

The Writers weren’t ordinary historians—they were endowed with a unique form of magic called Storysense.

Storysense Explained: Writers could sense when someone was destined for a life-altering story—one that would leave a profound impact on their world and become a tale told for generations.

When they encountered such an individual, their magic activated instinctively, drawing them to observe and record the person’s journey.

This connection allowed them to witness events in real-time, ensuring no detail was missed.

The Rule of Non-Intervention: Writers were forbidden from interfering in the stories they recorded. Their role was to document, not shape, the fates of those they observed.

Consequences of Breaking the Rule: If a Writer intervened, their Storysense could fracture, leaving them unable to detect new stories. Worse, they might accidentally unravel the tale they were meant to preserve, altering history itself. (e.g. Helping Cinderella to escape her abusing family would prevent her from meeting her prince and she would not become the Great queen Austreim had known)

The Role of the Writers’ Magic

Memory-Keeping: The Writers’ magic extended beyond mere observation. They could project their memories into enchanted quills or scrolls, creating flawless records of events. These documents became powerful artifacts that resonated with the essence of the stories they contained.

The Grand Archive: All Writers’ works were stored in a magical repository known as the Grand Archive. The archive it a living entity, capable of organizing itself and occasionally revealing forgotten tales to those in need of their wisdom.

The Grand Archive’s real position is unknown and is hidden in its own pocket dimension. This dimension open slightly for the Resonance Ceremony.

The Writers’ Legacy

Unique Perspectives: Each Writer brought their cultural background and personal perspective to their work, enriching the world of Scriptoria with a tapestry of diverse stories.

La Fontaine’s fables emphasized cleverness and morality.

Andersen’s tales highlighted emotion and transformation.

The Grimms’ stories embraced the primal, magical forces of nature and humanity.

Perrault’s narratives bridged the elegance of court life with the struggles of common folk.

Potential Plot Hooks Related to the Writers

The Lost Writer: A new Writer, whose identity was lost to time, is discovered. Their work is incomplete, and the students must piece together the fragments to uncover a tale that could change Scriptoria’s history. (My own tales?)

The MC and the Writers’ Resonance

The Hidden Truth: The MC has been brought to Scriptoria because they are unknowingly connected to the legacy of the Writers. Unlike others, the MC cannot resonate with any historical character, which initially sets them apart as an enigma. However, this is because their destiny is not tied to a single story—it is to record and preserve all stories, as a Writer.

A Subtle Awakening: Throughout their journey, the MC may experience fleeting moments of Writer Resonance, a phenomenon that mirrors the Writers’ omniscient Storysense. These moments might include:

Feeling drawn to key events or people who are destined to play major roles in Scriptoria’s history.

An uncanny ability to perceive hidden truths about people or situations, even when they lack all the facts.

Some visions of the Grand Archive. Vivid dreams of MC walking inside.

Unlocking the Legacy: The MC’s Writer Resonance grows stronger over time, but its true purpose is shrouded in mystery. The Grand Archive may hold clues, and certain faculty members might suspect the MC’s potential as a Writer but hesitate to reveal the truth outright.

Key Themes: The MC’s journey could explore themes of identity, purpose, and the weight of responsibility. Becoming a Writer is not just a gift; it’s a burden, as they are bound by the same rules of non-intervention that defined the original Writers.

Unique Powers of a Writer’s Resonance

Unlike regular Resonances, which connect students to specific historical characters, the MC’s Writer Resonance offers broader, narrative-based abilities:

Storyweaving: The MC can see the connections between people and events, almost like invisible threads. This ability allows them to subtly guide others toward their destined paths without directly intervening.

Echoes of the Past: The MC can momentarily tap into the memories of past Writers, gaining insight into historical events or hidden truths. These echoes might appear as glowing fragments or ethereal voices that only they can perceive.

Manifesting Tales: In moments of great need, the MC might be able to temporarily bring elements of stories to life. For example, they could summon a spectral wolf to guide them through a forest or conjure a fleeting vision of Cinderella’s glass slipper to inspire hope.

~~~~

Locations

Austreim: Inspired by European fairytales (Germany, France, Scandinavia). A realm of picturesque forests, cobblestone towns, and grand castles. Home to tales like "Cinderella" and "Little Red Riding Hood."

Beasthaven: A country inspired by La Fontaine’s animal fables. Predominantly inhabited by beastmen. Features different biomes in different part of the land, from lush forests and rolling meadows to savannah or thundra. The country is known for their lively markets in every biome.

Seafoam Dominion: An underwater kingdom of mermen and aquatic fae. Draws inspiration from Andersen's stories. Has shimmering underwater cities and shores dotted with mythical artifacts.

Ebony Sands: Inspired by African folktales such as "The Man Who Never Lied." A sun-drenched land of deserts, savannahs, river deltas and ancient temples.

Celestial Plains: Based on East Asian folktales, blending Chinese, korean, Japanese stories among others. Features rolling hills of bamboo, cherry blossoms, and mystical shrines guarded by spirits.

Myrcadawn: A borderland filled with ancient ruins, magical storms, and creatures from forgotten tales. Mostly inhabited by faes.

~~~~

"Fablewood Academy" An all-boy institution dedicated to preserving the legacy of the writers and their stories. Located at the heart of Scriptoria, blending all cultural styles. Where the Writers’ legacies are studied and the world's future is shaped.

~~~~

The Resonance Ceremony

When a student enters the school, they undergo a Resonance Ceremony, a deeply symbolic ritual that determines their connection to an Historical Character (a character from fairytales and myths).

Ceremony Description:

The Setting: The ceremony takes place in a grand, mystical chamber called the Hall of Echoes, a circular room lined with glowing murals of countless legendary figures. In the center, on the ground like a pond, is the Ethereal Mirror, which shimmers like water and reflects not the student’s image, but fragments of their potential resonance.

The Ritual:

The student steps up to the mirror, guided by a faculty member.

The mirror reacts to their essence, glowing brighter as it identifies the Historical Character whose moral compass and essence most closely align with the student’s.

The chosen figure materializes as a spectral image above the mirror, accompanied by a brief vision of their story, morals, and defining characteristics.

The student receives an Artefact Sigil, a magical mark on their hand, symbolizing their connection. The sigil also acts as a key to their dormitory.

Outcomes:

The character determines the student’s dorm assignment. Dorms represent shared principles or traits rather than region or story type, which creates unique diversity within each house.

The student begins to develop their Legacy Arte, influenced by their resonance.

~~~~

Dorm Names & Founders

Astraquartz (Inspired by Cinderella, Charles Perrault): Represents perseverance, humility, and transformation.

Scarletfang (Inspired by Little Red Riding Hood, Grimm Brothers): Represents courage and cunning.

Everswell (Inspired by The Little Mermaid, Hans Christian Andersen): Represents sacrifice and curiosity.

Mousetrail (Inspired by The Lion and the Mouse, La Fontaine): Represents cleverness and loyalty.

Obsidianspire (Inspired by Mamad in "The Man Who Never Lied", unknown Writer (African tale)): Represents honesty and wisdom.

Verdance (Inspired by "The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter", Minamoto no Shitagō): Represents grace and adaptability.

~~~~

Resonance Dynamics

Living By Their Resonance: Students are expected to uphold the values and morals of their Resonance Character. Deviating too far from these principles leads to a Resonance Crisis, where the bond becomes unstable.

Resonance Crises: In a crisis, a student’s personality and abilities are warped by the unresolved conflict. They might embody the antithesisof their Historical Character, becoming a distorted, corrupted version of their story’s ideals.

Example: A student resonating with The Happy Prince may hoard wealth selfishly, spiraling into greed, causing their Legacy Arte to malfunction.

Resolution: To restore balance, the student must confront their choices and find a way to realign with their character’s core principles, often with the help of peers or the protagonist.

The Nature of Resonance

Resonance is not a rigid set of rules that dictate a person’s every thought or action. Instead, it represents a core essence—a reflection of the Resonance Character’s archetype, personality, and values. When a student resonates with a character, it means they share a similar foundation, but they are free to interpret and act on that foundation in their own unique way.

Core Principles of Resonance

Guiding Influence, Not Control: The Resonance doesn't force someone to behave exactly like their historical counterpart. Instead, it provides a general blueprint of traits, preferences, and tendencies that align with the character’s essence.

Example: Coach Garrick’s Resonance with the Big Bad Wolf doesn’t mean he must terrorize pigs—it means he shares the wolf’s gruff, bold, and predatory nature. How he channels those traits is entirely up to him. For Garrick, they manifest as a tough love coaching style.

Freedom to Choose Actions: While Resonance shapes a student's instincts and inclinations, their choices define their character. They can act in harmony with their Resonance without being confined to it.

Example: Elric, resonating with Cinderella's Stepmother, naturally enjoys luxury and attention. However, he can choose to respect others while enjoying these things, rather than mistreating them like the original stepmother did. If he strays too far—say, by shunning luxury entirely—it might destabilize his Resonance, but small acts of kindness wouldn’t harm it.

Resonance Crisis Is About Extremes: A Resonance Crisis occurs when a student goes against their core nature to an extreme degree, causing an inner conflict. This doesn’t happen because of minor deviations but because of a deep misalignment.

Example: If Elric started wearing rags and actively rejecting his love of luxury, his Resonance would destabilize. But respecting servants or treating them kindly, while still enjoying the finer things, would maintain balance.

Explaining Resonance Through Examples

Here are clear, narrative-driven examples to help clarify how Resonance works without feeling restrictive:

Garrick “Grizz” Wolfin (Big Bad Wolf): Garrick’s Resonance gives him traits like gruffness, strength, and an intimidating aura. He embodies the archetype of the wolf, but how he uses those traits is his choice. He could easily become a bully, but instead, he channels his gruff demeanor into being a demanding yet caring PE teacher. His choices define him, not the wolf.

Elric Briarthorne (Cinderella’s Stepmother): Elric shares the stepmother’s love for luxury, beauty, and a touch of laziness. However, he is not bound to repeat her cruelty. Elric can enjoy being pampered and commanding attention without mistreating others. If he rejects his natural affinity for elegance entirely, he risks a Resonance Crisis, but respecting a servant while maintaining his love for luxury keeps him in balance.

More Examples :

Maestro Lino Minuet (Thumbelina)

Resonance Traits: Thumbelina’s story revolves around grace, adaptability, and finding beauty in unexpected places. Similarly, Lino is elegant, deeply connected to music, and focused on making small yet meaningful impacts.

Free Will: Lino can express his elegance and passion for beauty in various ways without being forced into the hardships of Thumbelina’s journey. For example, he might love creating miniature music boxes but won’t feel compelled to live a nomadic life.

Deviations: If Lino rejects his natural inclination for grace and refuses to use his talents to create beauty, he could face a Resonance Crisis. However, his actions—whether to teach music to others or focus on personal performance—are entirely his choice.

Healer Eamon Wellspring (The Golden Goose)

Resonance Traits: The Golden Goose embodies abundance and generosity. Eamon shares these values by dedicating himself to healing and holistic care. His Legacy Arte, generating golden feathers to heal, reflects this generosity.

Free Will: Eamon can express his nurturing nature in different ways—through medicine, kind words, or even tough love. He’s not bound to share indiscriminately like the goose in the tale.

Deviations: If Eamon became selfish or withheld his healing abilities out of greed, he could experience a Resonance Crisis. However, setting boundaries to protect his own health wouldn’t destabilize him—it’s a choice aligned with self-care.

Cygnus Downwood (The Ugly Duckling)

Resonance Traits: Cygnus mirrors the Ugly Duckling’s journey of self-doubt and eventual self-discovery. His shy and uncertain personality naturally aligns with this story. His Legacy Arte, Swan’s Rebirth, symbolizes personal growth through adversity.

Free Will: Cygnus isn’t destined to remain shy forever—his Resonance encourages him to grow and embrace his potential. He could achieve this through art, friendships, or even by becoming a leader in his own way.

Deviations: Avoiding challenges or rejecting his own strengths might cause a Resonance Crisis. However, he doesn’t need to overcome his doubts overnight—his journey is a gradual one.

Chester Marroway (The Cheshire Cat)

Resonance Traits: Chester reflects the Cheshire Cat’s playful, enigmatic nature. His tendency to tease and love of puzzles align naturally with his Resonance. His Legacy Arte allows him to vanish and reappear, reinforcing his cryptic persona.

Free Will: Chester doesn’t need to be chaotic or untrustworthy like the Cheshire Cat in "Alice in Wonderland." He can use his cleverness to help others solve problems or to entertain his friends with riddles.

Deviations: If Chester abandoned his love of puzzles or became overly serious, his Resonance might falter. However, he’s free to decide how mischievous or helpful he wants to be.

Tressari Manarah (Rapunzel)

Resonance Traits: Like Rapunzel, Tressari is kind-hearted but often isolated. His longing to grow and connect with the world around him drives his personality. His Legacy Arte, Golden Touch, embodies his potential to transform and heal.

Free Will: Tressari can seek connection and growth in his own way—through gardening, alchemy, or meaningful relationships. He doesn’t need to literally escape from a tower.

Deviations: Turning away from opportunities to learn or grow might destabilize his Resonance. However, he doesn’t need to pursue every opportunity; he can choose his path as long as it aligns with his core longing for transformation.

Kadar Serpenscale (The Snake)

Resonance Traits: The snake in the story symbolizes wisdom and calculated action, qualities that align with Kadar’s observant and strategic nature. His Legacy Arte, Whispered Venom, emphasizes his subtlety and precision.

Free Will: Kadar doesn’t need to be cold-blooded or treacherous like a stereotypical snake. He can use his intellect and cunning to solve problems or protect others. His Resonance emphasizes sharp thinking, not malice.

Deviations: Acting impulsively or ignoring his strategic instincts might create inner conflict. However, choosing to use his wisdom for good or selfish purposes is up to him.

~~~~

Resonance Crisis: The Fractured Legacy

What Happens?

When a mage’s bond with their Resonance Character destabilizes, their Artefact Sigil fractures, and their inner conflict manifests as a dangerous, externalized force called a Fractured Legacy. The Fractured Legacy represents the mage's core identity spiraling out of control, with tangible consequences for the individual and their surroundings.

Mechanics of a Resonance Crisis

Stages of the Crisis:

Warning Phase: The Artefact Sigil dims or cracks subtly, signaling instability. The mage exhibits heightened emotional extremes or behaviors contrary to their Resonance Character.

Example: A Cinderella Resonance becoming tyrannical and dismissive, echoing the stepmother’s cruelty.

Threshold Event: A traumatic or critical moment causes the bond to fully destabilize. The mage’s Artefact Sigil shatters, triggering the Crisis.

Transformation:

The mage transforms into an Echoed Antithesis of their Resonance Character—a distorted, exaggerated version of their worst traits.

Example: A Little Red Riding Hood Resonance becomes a wolf-like beast, embodying predation and fear instead of courage.

The environment around them twists to reflect their turmoil—spreading corruption, illusions, or chaotic phenomena tied to the Resonance.

Manifestation:

The Fractured Legacy takes a physical or semi-physical form—either merging with the student or manifesting as external entities they must face.

Example: The transformed mage might summon spectral versions of antagonists, or their minions, from their Resonance Character’s tale, or their surroundings could morph into a warped, nightmarish version of their story.

Consequences

Prolonged Crisis states can cause lasting damage to the mage—mental, physical, or magical.

If unresolved, the bond with their Resonance Character could sever entirely, leaving them vulnerable to permanent loss of their Arte and magical abilities.

Resolving a Resonance Crisis

Core Resolution:

The mage must confront the internal conflict driving their instability.

Example: A Happy Prince Resonance consumed by greed might need to realize that hoarding wealth doesn’t bring joy or fulfill their true essence.

This confrontation often requires the help of others, especially the protagonist, who serves as a mediator or guide.

Reformation:

The Artefact Sigil repairs itself, often evolving into a stronger form, symbolizing the student’s personal growth.

The Legacy Arte might gain new abilities tied to the lessons learned during the Crisis.

Designing the Fractured Legacy

Visuals:

The Crisis should have a haunting yet poetic visual style that reflects the student’s Resonance Character.

Example: A Cinderella Resonance would look more like a deformed version of the stepmother or the stepsisters, surrounded by jagged shards of broken glass and spectral pumpkin monsters.

Themes:

Each Crisis explores the darker side of the Resonance Character’s traits.

Example: A Little Mermaid Resonance, consumed by jealousy, might suffocate others in waves of magical water, symbolizing their suppressed longing for acceptance.

Combat Dynamics in Resonance Crises

Fractured Legacy Boss Fights:

The mage undergoing the Crisis transforms into a formidable, story-inspired boss.

Example: A Big Bad Wolf Resonance could manifest as a towering wolf-like monster with powerful wind attacks, symbolic of their huffing and puffing.

Emotional Mechanics:

Incorporate dialogue or cutscenes mid-fight to remind players this isn’t just a battle—it’s an attempt to reach someone in pain.

Example: As the protagonist deals damage, the Fractured Legacy might shout distorted lines from their tale or reveal their inner turmoil through flashes of memory.

Combat Objective:

The goal isn’t necessarily to defeat the character in a traditional sense but to weaken their Fractured Legacy enough to restore clarity.

Player Options in Combat

Artefact Sigil Powers:

The characters used can use their own Legacy Arte abilities, which align with their Resonance Characters, to counteract the Fractured Legacy’s powers.

Example: A character resonating with the Little Mermaid might summon tidal waves to neutralize a fire-based Fractured Legacy attack.

Special Techniques:

Introduce a Breakthrough Strike mechanic where players can charge a special attack tied to the Resonance Character of the opponent.

Example: Against a Red Riding Hood Resonance, a teammate resonating with the Woodsman could unleash an axe-cleaving move that counters the wolf-like powers.

Group Synergy:

Peers with similar values or with a character from the same story to the Resonance Character in Crisis might deal bonus damage or have abilities to calm the Crisis state.

Emotional Impact of Combat

Hitting Hard With Purpose:

The protagonist struggles with the morality of fighting a friend or peer. Dialogue options or animations could reflect hesitation and determination.

Example: “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t let you destroy yourself!”

Each successful attack might shatter parts of the Fractured Legacy’s appearance, revealing glimpses of the real student underneath.

Dynamic Reactions:

As the player weakens the Fractured Legacy, they could start to show signs of clarity—stammering, pleading, or showing flashes of regret mid-battle.

Example: A Cinderella Resonance Crisis might sob, “Why am I acting like this? This isn’t me!” as their Fractured Legacy starts to crumble.

Gameplay Rewards

Stronger Bonds:

The mage recovering from the Crisis could form a deeper relationship with the protagonist and any involved peers, acknowledging their shared struggle. This get the intimacy level way higher, either in friendship or romance.

~~~~

Legacy Arte

Each Legacy Arte is tied to the unique essence of the resonated Historical Character. These are not static powers—they grow and evolve as the student’s connection deepens. It can be an offensive or defensive ability, a practical one for everyday or even a constant unseen ability (enhancing strenght, magic powers or anything else)

For example:

A student resonating with Princess Kaguya might have an Arte called Moonlit Grace, allowing them to summon moonlight to shield themselves and others. As they grow, the Arte might evolve into Celestial Radiance, granting healing and offense.

~~~~

Artefact Sigil

The Artefact Sigil serves as both a resonance stabilizer and a channel for magic, directly tied to the student's connection with their Resonance Character. It appears on the student's hand during the Resonance Ceremony.

Key Features of the Artefact Sigil

Appearance:

A glowing, dynamic symbol or glyph that reflects the essence of the Resonance Character. Its design evolves as the bond deepens, becoming more intricate and vibrant.

Example:

Astraquartz: A delicate glass slipper.

Scarletfang: A bold wolf’s paw print, with thorny vines wrapping around it.

Everswell: A flowing wave, centered with a small pearl-like dot.

Mousetrail: A small mouse.

Obsidianspire: A tall spire with rays of light radiating from its top.

Verdance: A crescent moon embraced by bamboo leaves.

Functionality:

Magic Channeling: The Sigil channels the student’s magic, focusing and amplifying their spells. It glows or pulses during use, with colors and intensity varying based on the magic type.

Legacy Arte Activation: The Artefact Sigil is the key to unlocking and evolving Legacy Arte abilities. As the student grows, the Sigil adapts to better support these powers.

Resonance Stabilization: The Sigil detects and moderates Resonance Crises. If a student strays too far from their Resonance Character’s core ideals, the Sigil dims or cracks slightly, serving as a warning. It also emits calming energy to help realign the connection.

Personal Connection: The Sigil is an inseparable part of the student, growing and changing with them. This deep connection makes magic feel more instinctive and intimate, as it’s literally a part of their body.

~~~~~~~~

Lore Tie-In

Origins: The Artefact Sigil was created by the Writers, using fragments of their own memories as the foundation. This ensures that every Sigil is a direct link to the archives of Scriptoria.

The Resonance Bond: The Sigil embodies the merging of the student’s essence with their Resonance Character. Its visible state reflects the health of this bond, making it both a tool and a representation of their inner journey.

~~~~

Scriptos Currency System

Coins (for smaller transactions):

1 Scripto:Copper coin

5 Scriptos: Bronze coin

10 Scriptos:Silver coin

50 Scriptos:Gold coin

Bills (for larger transactions):

100 Scriptos

200 Scriptos

500 Scriptos

1,000 Scriptos

10,000 Scriptos

Design Details

Coins:

Each coin feature an emblem of a quill or an open book to symbolize creativity and storytelling.

The coins shimmer faintly or show shifting patterns when exposed to light.

Bills:

The bills have holographic text or illustrations that animate briefly (e.g., a bird flying off a quill or ink drops forming a picture).

They feature famous Scriptoria figures, mostly the Writers, with each having different possible figures. -the 100 could feature Pu Songling or D. O. Fagunwa, -200 feature Don Juan Manuel, Alexander Pushkin or Giovanni Francesco Straparola -500 feature Charles Perrault, the brother Grimm or La Fontaine, -1000 feature Al-Jahiz, Hans Christian Andersen or Valmiki, -10 000 feature Joseph Jacobs or Alexander Afanasyev …)

The bills and coins are waterproof. Coin will not get rusty if used by merpeoples.

Practical Conversion

1 Scripto = 0.01 USD

100 Scriptos = 1 USD

The School Farm:

Purpose:

Self-Sufficiency: Provides fresh produce and farm-to-table ingredients for the cafeteria.

Community Spirit: Encourages students to bond and learn teamwork through shared responsibilities.

Practical Skills: Offers hands-on experience in agriculture, animal care, and commerce.

Earning Opportunities: Students can earn pocket money by working on the farm, in the cafeteria, or at the shop.

Animals on the Farm:

Poultry: Chickens/hens/roosdters, ducks, geese, turkeys, quails, guinea fowl, pheasants, maybe pigeons and even a few peacocks

Dairy Animals: A couple of cattle, buffaloes, goats, sheep and camels for milk production (and maybe cheese or yogurt). Other less common milk animals are yaks, horses, reindeers and donkeys. (the farm would include the stables for horse riding club... and horse riding club could be about riding other type of animals)

Companion Animals: Perhaps a farm dog or cat that the students adore.

Fields and Crops:

Vegetables and Herbs: A variety of seasonal vegetables and herbs used in the cafeteria.

Orchard: A small orchard with fruit trees like apples, pears, or peaches.

Flowers: Some fields could grow flowers for decorative purposes or events.

Farm Activities:

Animal Care: Feeding, cleaning stalls, gathering eggs, milking cows, etc.

Crop Maintenance: Planting, weeding, harvesting, and learning about sustainable farming practices.

Event Preparation: Preparing products like jams, baked goods, or decorations for events.

Market Days: Selling fresh produce and handmade goods at school fairs or town markets.

How It Benefits Students:

Pocket Money Opportunities:

Students can earn wages working on the farm, at the cafeteria, or in the school store. They can also work in exchange of products instead of money.

Wages could be small, but enough for personal expenses or extracurricular activities.

Skill Development:

Responsibility: Managing shifts and caring for animals.

Practical Knowledge: Learning about agriculture, cooking, and business.

Teamwork: Collaborating with peers to keep things running smoothly.

Cultural Exchange:

Students from different homelands can share farming techniques or recipes.

Characters with unique Resonances could find ways to incorporate their powers into the farm (e.g., enhancing crop growth, making food preparation more efficient, etc.).

Integration with the School’s Themes:

Character Development:

Working on the farm could help shy or isolated characters open up and feel a sense of purpose (e.g., someone like Cygnus could bond with animals).

Ambitious or overconfident students could learn humility through manual labor.

Narrative Opportunities:

Events like harvest festivals, cooking competitions, or fundraisers could revolve around farm activities.

Farm responsibilities could create moments for character interaction, conflict, or bonding.

The farm could become a place of solace or reflection for students facing challenges.

Magic and Resonance Use:

Some students might creatively use their Resonances on the farm

Potential Challenges (For Story Conflict):

Mishaps:

Animals escaping, crop failures, or pranks leading to chaos on the farm.

Competition:

Students might compete for the highest sales during events, leading to friendly rivalries.

Misuse of Magic:

A student using magic irresponsibly on the farm could result in humorous or serious consequences.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maps and infos about the world:

Seafoam Dominion's infos are not especially true, because the site don't let me place a kingdom on water, so it's on a super small island with some burgs in the other states.

Also I didn't changed the number of people by burg, so this don#t count either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The magical sport of Scriptoria:

Color Clash

Teams and Gameplay

Number of Teams: While six teams (one for each dorm) could add unique dynamics, it might be chaotic if everyone plays simultaneously. A good compromise might be:

Rotating matches with two teams battling at a time during recurring events.

A six-team free-for-all for larger, more chaotic rare events or tournaments.

Team Members: Teams could consist of 5(six teams) to 7(two teams) players. This allows for strategic play while keeping the matches manageable.

Playing Area: The sport could take place in a dedicated arena designed to resemble various terrains and obstacles, such as forests, caves, open fields, and ruins. Alternatively, for special events, the entire campus could be used for a massive "battle royale" version.

Rules and Objectives

Objective: "Paint" members of opposing teams with arrows (colored magical powder). Each successful hit earns points for the team.

Scoring System: Players are assigned point values based on their skill level. Before each match or tournament, players are ranked based on their performance in trainings and skill tests. This ensures fairness and adds an extra layer of strategy as teams must protect high-value players.

1 Point - Squire: Absolute beginners, bad or first-time players. Could be a player that is really good at shooting his arrow but bad at dodging the opponent’s.

2-10 Points - Adept : Average players, ranked incrementally based on skill and experience, with tiers such as Adept II, Adept V, Adept VIII ...

50 Points - Elite: Highly skilled players with notable achievements during training. Usually the captain if there is no Champion.

100 Points - Champion: The best player, often the team’s captain or standout star. Each team can only have one Champion.

It is mandatory for each team to have at least one Elite or Champion, but both at the same time are not always necessary, as not all team always have a Champion.

Points are calculated at the end of the game, and the team with the highest total wins.

Rank Titles :

Instead of saying, “That’s a 100-point player,” you’d say, “They’re the team’s Champion.”

The ranking titles could also play into the strategy:

Teams could call out, “Focus on their Elite!” or “The Champion is exposed!”

Elimination (Optional): Players could be "eliminated" when hit a certain number of times (10). This adds an extra layer of strategy, as players would have to decide whether to go on the offensive or protect high-value teammates.

Strategic Importance

Protecting High-Value Players: Teams will need to strategize to keep their Elite and Champions safe while using lower-point players to distract or disrupt the opposing team.

Not focusing too much : The lower rank players could think they are less important, but if they are eliminated, or permit the opponent to mark lots of points by touching them multiple time, they could makes the team loose even if the high-rank are safe.

Risk vs. Reward: Opposing teams may focus on targeting high-value players, leaving them vulnerable to counters.

Dynamic Rankings

Rankings could shift between matches or seasons based on performance. For example:

A player in the Adept X tier who performs exceptionally well could move up to Elite in the next game. The number of points earned in a match can play a huge part in the promotion.

Conversely, underperforming high-tier players might drop to a lower point value. (not after a one-time fail, of course, only after repeated defeats)

A player reaching the Champion rank will automatically take the captain place. But a Elite don’t necessarely become captain, except if there is no other Elite (and no Champion either)

A player reaching the Champion rank while there is already a Champion in the team will have to either decide to leave the team, change team, or the other player will have to make this choice, as no team should have more than one Champion.

A Champion or Elite disguised as a lower rank will lead to the immediate disqualification of the team. (in the situation of the others players are perfectly award of his real skill. If a Champion or Elite pretend to be lower to his own team, his teamate not knowing, then only the guilty player will be disqualified and forbbiden to join another team.)

Scoring System (Extra Points)

Player Elimination Bonus:

Every time a player is eliminated (hit 10 times), the opponent who lands the 10th shot earns 50 extra points.

If multiple players contribute to the 10 hits, only the final player earns the elimination bonus.

Chain Elimination Bonus:

For every consecutive opponent eliminated by the same player, the elimination bonus increases:

1st elimination: +50 points.

2nd elimination: +75 points.

3rd elimination: +100 points.

4th elimination and beyond: +150 points per elimination.

Entire Team Elimination Bonus:

If one player manages to eliminate an entire team (all members), they earn an extraordinary bonus of 500 points, in addition to the chain bonuses.

Last Player Standing Bonus:

If a team has only one player left, and this player wins the match (survives or eliminates all opponents), they earn an extra 300 points for their victory.

If the last-standing player of a team is eliminated, the player who lands the final hit earns 200 extra points, regardless of who dealt the previous hits.

Why extra points ?

Encourages Team Play: Collaboration is still critical for securing eliminations.

Rewards Exceptional Skill: Outstanding feats like eliminating entire teams or clutching a win alone are significantly rewarded.

High-Stakes Showdowns: The final moments of a game become more tense, as eliminating or saving the last player has huge scoring implications.

Magic and Special Elements

Magic Use: Magic could be allowed with restrictions, such as:

Spells must be harmless and non-lethal (e.g., creating distractions, shields, or minor obstacles).

Magic usage is tied to a temporary power-up system.

Power-Up Spheres : These floating objects can grant random temporary bonuses, such as:

Allowing harmless magic use for a limited time (depend of the power-up).

Shielding the player from one arrow.

Granting a "stealth" mode (invisibility for 10 seconds).

Doubling points for a short period.

Speed boost for a short period.

Freezes all opponents or arrows in place for 5 seconds

Emits a shockwave that knocks back opponents or clears arrows in the immediate vicinity.

Restores one "life". (Allow to be touched once more before getting eliminated)

Grants the ability to jump to high platforms or hover for 10 seconds

Allows instant teleportation to another part of the map, chosen randomly or directed by the player. (depend on the power-up)

Creates an illusory double of the player that moves randomly

Allows the player to place a one-time trap on the map that immobilizes or slows opponents who step into it.

Nullifies the effect of traps or hazards for a limited time

Temporarily causes all incoming arrows to change direction and return to the sender.

Randomizes everyone's positions on the map by teleportation, creating confusion and disrupting strategies.

Permit a one-shoot elimination (very rare)

Equipment and Mechanics

Bow and Arrow:

The bow transforms into a bracelet when not in use, making it easy to carry.

The arrows are tipped with harmless "pompoms" filled with colored magical powder.

Type of game :

Standard Matches: Two teams face off in a timed match.

Battle Royale: Six teams compete simultaneously until one team remains or the time runs out.

Infection Mode : One team starts as "infected," trying to tag players on the opposing team. This mode don’t use bows and arrow but gloves soaked in the magical powder. Tagged players become infected and switch sides. The game ends when all players are infected or time runs out.

Mystic Duel : Head-to-head duel with only two players of two different team or even the same team. The arena transforms into a smaller battlefield where they must outshoot each other. Often used when two players on the same team fight for the captain place or the Champion rank.

This sport is a traditional practice for students to sharpen their focus, strategy, and teamwork.

The power-up spheres are said to channel ancient magic from the Writers, rewarding clever players with bonuses.

Each dorm's strategy reflects their core values (e.g., Scarletfang play aggressively, while Verdance focus on defense and teamwork).

Additions or Clarifications

Audience Engagement

Magical displays show player stats, power-up activations, or instant replays during matches to entertain onlookers.

Spectator areas with enchantments allowing a "first-person view" of any player could immerse viewers.

Tiebreakers

In case of a tied score, there is a "sudden-death" shootout where each team selects one player of the same level of a Mystic Duel.

Seasonal Variants

Seasonal power-ups or obstacles (e.g., icy surfaces in winter, blooming vines in spring) to keep the sport fresh and tie it to the fantasy world’s calendar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clubs :

Litterature Club : Cygnus Downwood, Mahdi Alclaris

Horse Riding Club : Minwoo Kinsei

Swordmanship Club : Lupin Vardred, Jin Haruto

Gardening Club : Tsuki Laito, Porcus Huffsbrick

Music & Dance Club : Lyricis Farahdein,

Drama Club : Imperius Wovengale, Éponine D’Orveil, Elric Briarthorne

Exploration Club : Marinus Tideshade, Gael Lumespring

Art Club : Faylen Charmwright, Rune Spindlewick

Cooking Club : Ambrosine Forrant

Chess Club : Archer Verdain, Khamari Duneshade

Science Club : Noel D'Orveil, Hatterick Marchhare

Photography Club : Ren Chisora

Cheering : Chester Marroway, Tressari Manarah

Color Clash Club : Thatcher Squeakefield, Lazlo Quickstride

Basket Club : /

Baseball Club : Imran Frosham

Racing Club : Caspian Willorun

Gymnastic Club : Kadar Serpenscale

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Classes and Seats :

First Years

1-A 05 – Tsuki Laito 1-A 09 – Rune Spindlewick 1-A ?? – MC 1-B 02 – Hatterick Marchhare 1-B 04 – Lyricis Farahdein 1-B 07 – Imperius Wovengale 1-B 08 – Elric Briarthorne 1-C 10 – Archer Verdain 1-D 02 – Kadar Serpenscale 2-D 07 – Ren Chisora 1-E 01 – Imran Frosham

Second Years

2-A 06 – Marinus Tideshade 2-A 08 – Minwoo Kinsei 2-B 06 – Tressari Manarah 2-B 08 – Cygnus Downwood 2-B 11 – Noel D'Orveil 2-C 03 – Porcus Huffsbrick 2-C 05 – Thatcher Squeakefield 2-D 03 – Mahdi Alclaris 2-D 17 – Éponine D’Orveil 2-E 04 – Caspian Willorun

Third Years

3-A 02 – Faylen Charmwright 3-A 16 – Khamari Duneshade 3-B 03 – Lupin Vardred 3-B 04 – Ambrosine Forrant 3-D 07 – Chester Marroway 3-D 15 – Jin Haruto 3-E 05 – Lazlo Quickstride

Fourth Years

4-A / 4-B / 4-C 02 – Gael Lumespring 4-D 08 – Kael Thornweald 4-E /

Fifth Years

Intership

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[the-raven-lady]

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”

Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender

The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor. 

The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.

The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.

Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.

You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.

What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.

You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty. 

The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target. 

With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it. 

A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.

You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?

…Hadn’t you?

You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.

A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing. 

At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.

Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”

You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip.

“About time,” a voice spits.

You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.

“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”

You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.

“How about I help with that?”

A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.

A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.” 

Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.

…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.

He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”

Bait. The word is sour in the air.  

“So unwilling to have fun–” 

She had just been bait. 

“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”

You were the game.

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—” 

Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.

“You stupid bitch!”

The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror. 

This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.

And wait.

…And wait.

But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t. 

Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight. 

Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.

Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down. 

Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.

Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes. 

The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.

“Get up.”

The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”

He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor. 

The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.

“Clean it,” he barks. 

You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.

[Part 2]

[alliskit]

BG3 Headcanons Nobody Asked For.

Part 4: Alternate Classes

The great joy of D&D is how creative you can get with your characters’ abilities. I love the concept of multi-classing to enhance and tell a better story of who each of my OCs are. But, standing before Withers, I’ve always wanted to see what would it be like if we changed it up for companions.

I’ve based these on the 2024 D&D 5e classes/subclasses so some of these aren’t in game (though might be available as mods!).

I’ve tried to pick new classes but there are many new subclasses in the 2024 within their vanilla classes that would be awesome in game! (I.e. Psi Knight Fighter for Lae’zel)

Layout: My top pick // Honorable mention

Gale:

Storm Sorcerer // Armorer Artificer

This one is a little on the nose. THE GALE of Waterdeep would’ve gone hard lol. All magic workers can be devotees and even chosen of Mystra. Also, Gale being a natural when it comes manipulating the weave makes more sense if he was actually a natural sorcerer who was guided to be classically trained as a wizard so he could get control over his ability. Waterdeep is home to a few Faerûn renowned magic schools.

Armorer Artificer because it would have saved Tara a lot of time searching for “trinkets”.

Wyll:

Monster Slayer Ranger // Oath of Glory Paladin

Considering nearly anyone can make a deal with a devil, it could be a little twist on his contract with Mizora to be a ‘Monster Slayer’ Ranger since he was sent to track down fiends. This class would cover that. It would give him some better fighting skills too. Monster Slayers have magic to take down bigger magic and have a resistance to different kinds.

Paladins can serve patrons and as the Blade of Frontiers, Oath of Glory suits a folk hero.

Lae’zel:

Oath of Conquest Paladin > Oathbreaker // Open Hand Monk

“[She’s] going to break her chains in Baldur’s Gate” The way she adores and views her Undying Queen mirrors that faithfulness of a Paladin. If you skip the crechè and never enter the Prism, it would make her angry but still faithful to the point of becoming one of Vlaakiths chosen kithraaks. But, after meeting the Guardian, she (unless chosen otherwise) picks to fight her instead. She has essentially broken away and is treated very similar to an oath breaker vs just a regular fighter. A Paladin of Conquest fits the Gith narrative and becoming an oathbreaker to defend Orpheus also suits her story. Not to mention, the dialogue options of Paladins are on brand Lae’zel.

There are so many monk fighters in the personal guard of Orpheus, so an Open Hand would suit her.

Halsin:

Oath of the Ancients Paladin // Four Elements Monk

Another pretty tell tale pick. Oath of the Ancients protect nature. This multi-classed as a Druid would be a perfect fit considering he’s not the best Druid. But, as a Paladin, him skirting a lot of the Druidic tenets in favor of serving for the good of others makes more sense. (Looks like I’m reclassing him in my next play through lol)

Considering his preference for peaceful solutions over violent ones (the only way a man-bear gets taken is because he was trying to be diplomatic and failed — again), being a Four Elements Monk would fit too.

Shadowheart:

Circle of Dreams Druid // Lunar Sorceress

Circle of Dreams Druids are feywild sensitive and deal in illusionary and shadow magic. Shadowheart is very good with animals and a natural healer (and a lycanthrope), so being a Druid (even of Shar), is plausible. Shar deals in shifty magic and is associated with the Dark Selandrine. Circle of Dreams fits well for both a Shar leaning path or a Selûne path. It would explain her association with animals and, even if she didn’t remember her dad, her connection to wolves.

Lunar Sorceress would just be a hilarious twist.

Astarion:

Gloom Stalker Ranger // College of Glamour Bard

A Gloom Stalker Ranger is the multi-class favorite for him and a little unoriginal, but it’s because it works. Starting him that way makes a bit more sense too. When he talks about having killed people before at your bite scene, you can assume he has done so for Cazador. There is a rare scene where Astarion talks about Cazador owning the rich of Baldurs Gate (which is how he isn’t dead and allowed to stay), but you need to know how to “twist the knife” to hold control. Gloom Stalker is just the more trained version of an Assassin Rogue.

College of Glamour would explain how he was so good as collecting victims for Cazador and why he’s so damn dramatic. Lol

Karlach:

Swashbuckler Rogue // Samurai Fighter

She grew up like the kids from Elturel with nearly nothing in the lower city/rivington. This girl was hired to protect one of the most up and coming faces so she would need to be crafty as well as a great fighter. “How would she pull off any stealth with her size?” 2 words: Navy Seals (they are often BIG). Add the “swashbuckler” or “marauder” and you’ve got a great Advocatis Diaboli as well.

Considering she is supposed to be one of the best fighters in all the Hells, Samurai would be a great way to express how good. So good, Zariel wants her back.

Minthara:

War Cleric // Path of the Zealot Barbarian

The budget paladin that doesn’t need to worry about breaking from their deity. She can continue to wage war on her own terms. Which is what she ends up doing anyway. Pick up a blessed sword and wreak havoc all the way back to Menzoberranzan. Though, if you give her a good ending it could be blazing through the hells. Honestly, they’d love her in hell.

Considering her deeply harbored and leaking anger issues, having a way to release her rage in a blessed and purpose driven way would do her good as a Zealot Barbarian.

Thank you, once again, for joining my mindless imaginings. I’m going to go now and reclass a few companions. Let me know what other classes these guys can embody!

[rayshippouuchiha]

Hi, Ray! The author of Foxes, Pillars, and Sea-salt Rust here!!! Someone recommended my fic here????? I'm so honored!!! 🥹

So I would like to put forth my own recommendations too. I put it in my fic's AN's also, but I highly recommend Far Beyond the Woods of Dawn by wolfghost (and the entire Drag My Dark Into The Dawn AU series the fic is part of, and I suggest you access the series while logged in, because a couple of the fics are registered users only, I promise it's worth it) and The Weaver by Concerned_Brown_Bread! Both feature OCs as protagonists, a Senju for the former (Tobirama's granddaughter) and an Uchiha for the latter (Itachi's elder twin sister).

Drag My Dark has to be one of the most immersive fiction experiences I've had, up there with the manga Otoyomegatari (if you know, you know), the character psychology is top-notch, the author expertly weaves worldbuilding into the narration in a way that it's so seamless and not at all like an infodump, I like to describe it as “a slice-of-life except that the characters live in a horrible war-torn war and that affects how they navigate their lives”. The world just feels lived-in. There's information about how wars cause sanctions and prices to rise and a good highlight on what it's like to be a civilian in this kind of world. The protagonist is still a child, but the author captures children in their writing so well. She's a traumatized young child and she acts like that!! Her trauma informs how she views everything, and her being raised by civilians (long story, read the prequel to find out lol) affects how she views shinobi and the world at large! I can't wait for what the story has in store for her. We're entering the Kirigakure arc 👀 (also heavily featuring so far are Tsunade and Kushina!! Kushina's chapter has got to be one of my favorites)

The Weaver takes on a different vibe and path regarding the politics and worldbuilding, but also really plausible and I love how the author incorporates academic excerpts from the future like snippets from a history book into the chapters itself like it just gives this work such a grand feel of “oh things are gonna have consequences, we're along the ride of a big, world-changing tale”. The characterization is top-notch in this fic. You really do feel the complicated dynamics between the family members, how for all that Itachi is a prodigy he is also just a child and thus lacks the perspective to see propaganda for what it is, and the author does so brilliantly by contrasting him against his twin sister, the protagonist, who's a reborn adult (a politician in her past life who died of heat stroke before election day, which is objectively the funniest premise for a reincarnation EVER). The protagonist is witty, smart, funny, relatable, and just all-around very good. She lives rent-free in my head, can you tell? I know the fic is on hiatus but I had the privilege to read the unpublished chapters because ✨beta✨ and I promise you, it's very well worth it.

Both fics give weight to civilians instead of immediately dismissing them as “weak and stupid”, I love love love both fics and please please please read them I promise they're amazing! They have very different vibes but they're both amazing.

As for my fic, yeah I did base my protagonist off of Sansa Stark, LOL. I even tried to incorporate Sansa's lines from the first book into my own writing to really sell the vibe!

I love Whirlpool Queen, Maelstrom King but the politics in Foxes, Pillars, and Sea-salt Rust take on a very different shape from WQMK's— a bit more like wolfghost's Drag My Dark. I too will feature civilians in this fic! Daimyo's and nobility and merchants and commoners alike! Please look forward to it! I have Plans™ for Uzushio's politics and its role in the world as a whole.

Hello lovely!!! Glad you dropped by to drop some recs!

[krsnaradhika]

Fanfictions and Hinduism.

Those who are active on Wattpad, might know that there are many many writers (including myself) who tend to write fiction over itihāsa or historical epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, purely for fun and our love for them. It seems very odd, yes, and we do get to see blasphemy there too. People love some characters, hate the others with a burning passion and there are hour long debates over human nature, characterisations, myths involved, folklores and the many versions both of them have.

We have OCs, we make graphics and video edits, we pair the said OCs with CCs and sometimes with other OCs. The comment sections are the most fun things because writers and their audience interact there. Some works are much more impressive than published paperbacks while some are simply atrocious. You know it, shades are everywhere.

Now, very recently did I come to know that in Tamil literature, a fictional tale that is weaved around a couple or more incidents or points coming from the purānas or itihāsas is called a prabandha. Fun, right?

We do get to see fanfictions in Hinduism by the name of Pancharātram by Bhāsa (the one who also penned Svapna Vāsavadattā) and Kalidāsa's Abhigyāna Shākuntalam. While the latter romanticises and adds non canon events to the canon event of Lady Shakuntala and King Dushyanta's love story, the former is about a "what-if" scenario based on the Mahabharata.

So, do we promote fiction writings on such stuff? Definitely. I got much into the Sanatana culture solely via such fictions. They promote higher thinking skills, brainstorming, even fun facts many a times if the author is literate enough. And is that different from disrespecting scriptures and our very own ancestors? Also yes. Because neither of these authors claim to strictly follow the canon events. You do not like something you see, click away. As easy as that.

Do I support all of them, tho? For sure not. There are some which whitewash the bad guys and blackwash even the divine figures. Some straight up induce cringe. But that's just my opinion. A debate is always based on facts, not personal opinions. So yes, you do you.

But are they also dangerous? Umhm. Look at the Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. One word : atrocious. Some modern day prabandha style novel which sat a little above average in my reading experience? Abhaya by Saiswaroopa Iyer is the one (she's also written Mauri, Avishi, Draupadi and a few more if I'm not wrong.) (Abhaya is an OC paired opposite Kanha and tbh their chemistry was chef's kiss jsjshdjsjd-)

Should you write such, if that is what you want? Yes! I'd love to read-

But do you have to be careful with the message you deliver via your work? Swayam vichar kijiye *wink wink*

Some fanfictions which I may recommend. Note : not all of them involve OCs. All of these are from Wattpad. The authors' usernames are in bold.

— To Love A Murderer, Hope Embodied, and Samsrishti ; ruhitherambler.

— Satata Haritam ; Ramayana_Lover.

— Hello Mahabharata and My Days In Mahabharata ; thewomanwhobleedsink.

— Sambhavāmi ; indeevara18ls.

— Mathuraraaj ; Shivran86.

— Ehi Murare ; kanakangi.

— The Diary Of A Gopika ; Thoughtshub.

[rand0m-pine]

Welcome Warriors and Catters

Hello all!! 

Are you a fan of Warrior Cats? 

Are you looking for a place to roleplay ocs and join a community of 

Well.. You have found your spot here at-

A NEW CHAPTER

A New Chapter is a discord based Warrior Cats roleplay, where we have: 

Traditional Clan Roleplay (With a few exceptions to some new lore we have made) 

New Culture and Lore for each Clan (Including festivals, customs and specific items for each group) 

LGBTQ+ friendly! A good community here too

Questing system (quests to help you gain more xp slots and badges, earning fun new items) 

And some DND inspired stats to help RP combat and hunting. 

This is an older server, having been around for a year or two, but we are doing a reboot and even more lore leading into our Season 2, and looking for plenty of new members to join us. 

DM me if you have any questions or want to join the server! 

Also continue on to see all we have to offer. 

“After years and years, journeys upon journeys, the clans found themselves back in the original forest territory, grown over and renewed. They had been able to find a sense of peace within the forests and rivers, the marshes and plains.

But peace can only last for so long. 

There is something stirring. Something underground, something in the air. A disaster waiting to wake. Have the clans had their time spent here, Starclan forcing them to move along once more? Will the clans survive the darkness looming over the horizons?” 

As stated before, each of the individual clans has some updated customs that our lore writers have been working on, and we’d love to show you. 

Thunderclan: 

The Greenleaf Trials - A form of competition and games for apprentices, the winner of said challenges gets to be Deputy for a day.

Den building

Courtship rituals (Showing skills of power) 

Shadowclan: 

Fall Feast - A day full of hunting leading into a night full of prey and celebration. Usually celebrated on the brightest night of Leaf-Fall 

The Hunt - Basically a game of tag between warriors, while the younger cats and ones not participating celebrate in camp, dressing up in whatever they can find (think Halloween for cats) 

Windclan: 

New Moon gatherings, no work during the day and stay up all night to share-tongues with clanmates and the stars above. 

Wall paintings/carvings - Using paste and dye like materials to draw on the sturdy walls of camp, telling tales of the older times. 

Storytelling is a very important practice here

Winter Solstice (think gift giving and remembering their kin) 

Riverclan: 

Shell necklaces, each with a different accessory to show the personality of the cat and any endeavors they have been in. 

Basket weaving 

Courtship rituals (Gift giving) 

All the clans are open! Roles such as warriors, apprentices, elders, queens and kits are all welcome. Each having a unique role for each of them. 

Thunderclan is currently looking for a deputy, so if you are interested, feel free to audition! (Just note, these are auditions so you may not get the spot.) Again, if you are interested in joining or have any questions, please feel free to DM me!

[goldnsyren]

— Will it be enough? (m.) ⋆ pairing: gojo satoru/oc (noa hasegawa) ⋆ genre: angst, touch of fluff ⋆ wordcount: 𝟷920 ⋆ cw: JJK 261 SPOILERS

tags:

Note: Does it count as a comfort fic if all I comforted was myself?? Anyways, spoilers so don't read. Can be read as reader since technically no descriptions given.

“Why are you so upset?” “They’re talking about you like you’re dead!” “It’s just a backup plan. I'm fine. I’ll be fine, promise.”

“Satoru,” his name was like a prayer on her lips. A siren call he had no choice but to follow.  Gojo stopped and turned to appraise his wife. Noa’s brow was furrowed, and her bottom lip jutted forward disapprovingly as she stayed at the doorway. Oh. She was serious.

Doubt darkened her expression. “I don’t like it. What if-”

He grabbed her by the chin, silencing the rest of her argument with a kiss. “You worry too much.”

“Always.” She didn’t deny it. As far as she was concerned, someone had to look after the idiot— her idiot. He certainly wasn’t going to.

Gojo couldn’t help but smirk as he wiped away the streak of blood from her cheek.

His stupid smile, calm and confident even in the face of such overwhelming power, lulled her as it always did. She should have seen the mischievous-manic glint in his eye. Instead, she was distracted by the foolish promise she had desperately wanted to believe. “Have some faith. I’ll see you later.”

Those had been the last words he’d said to her.

There was no “goodbye” because that would be overdramatic. No false promise of “I’ll be careful!” - he never was.  And certainly no gut-wrenching sentimental  “I love you” - it wasn’t their style.

Just -

I’ll see you later.

He lied.

Noa stared unblinking into his eyes - a new emptiness to their once lively blue hues - searching for that glint once more. The vortex of calculated curse energy and cheeky mischief that swirled within them was gone. Dull and lifeless, it felt almost like a stranger starred back. 

She brushed the hair from his face, calm and steady - with the most delicate of pressure massaging his forehead and scalp. The same way she always did when he had a migraine and overworked himself. Again and again, her fingers comforted him. A soothing motion - if not for him than for her. The air vibrated in her chest, a song just for him, even if she had no voice left to hum.

With vivid imagination, she could picture them at home. Satoru would throw himself on the couch and drop his head in her lap like a spoiled cat. A tell-tale scrunch to his eyes, he’d pick up her hand and plop it on his head in wordless command.

No one does it like you, Gojo whined. It was the closest admission to ‘ I need you’ he’d ever make. Noa never made him ask after that. 

“Better?”

“Much.”

Noa continued anyway. His migraine would fade, his shoulders would ease, and the deep, steady breaths of sleep would slowly take him. 

She’d keep her hand in his hair as he softly exhaled, relishing in the soft rise and fall of his chest.

But this wasn’t home.

His head rested in her lap as she knelt on the dust and glass-strewn street. The hand that didn’t thread his hair cupped his face with a lover’s gentleness. Bowed over him, she silently wept. 

“Get down here before you fall on your head.”

“C’Mon, you’re telling me you don’t wanna try the Spider-Man kiss, not even a little?”

She didn’t care about the blood soaking her. Some hers, some his, and a lot of others spilled in there, too, she was sure. What did it matter anymore? Her thumb rubbed back and forth across the cold skin of his cheek. It smeared the congealed blood that hemorrhaged from his mouth. 

She regretted every kiss she didn’t take.

“Hasegawa-sensei,” Yuta’s voice seemed hollow.

She didn’t respond.

“Noa,” Shoko tried this time.

Her back and arms ached something fierce. A sharp pain seemed to weave between every joint and vein in her body, pulling taunt and beckoning her towards the ground. The exhaustion of overtaxed curse energy. 

The weight of grief. 

And yet, like an excellent little sorcerer, she persevered through the pain for the sake of the mission. The same mission she had dedicated her life to since she was tasked with it.

Protect Satoru from himself.

Noa may have been oblivious to the tension and strife of the sorcerers around her, but she was hyper-aware of every almost invisible pore on her husband’s face.

“Will you love me when I’m old and wrinkly and as ugly as those old farts?”

“Satoru-”

“Even if I looked like gramps-Gakuganji?”

“That’s just ridiculous.”

“...is that a no?”

The corner of her mouth twitched on its own accord at the memory. Her fingertips caressed the wrinkle-less forehead below her, her nails lightly scratching against the soft white strands of his temple as she pulled away to repeat the motion. Touch, oh, what a profound thing it was to be able to TOUCH him. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d turned off Infinity outside their home the past ten years. He hadn’t gone a day without it since -

“I’m here, Satoru. You can sleep; I’ll keep watch.” It was as much a promise then as it was now.

“Is she even listening to us?”

“Give her a minute-”

“We don’t have-!”

“Hasegawa-sensei,” Yuta’s voice broke through the back argument as he stepped closer. “we have to start-”

“ No.” Cold and firm, the croak was enough to still them all. What little curse energy she still had flared around her wildly in warning. No one dared move closer.

Protectively, possessively , Noa remained bowed over Gojo’s corpse. A renewed anger steeled her features as she kept her eyes on the vacant stare of his unseeing gaze. Aren’t you tired, Sato’?

Exhausted. But I suppose there are no days off for the strongest, he’d humbly bragged.

“Noa…” She felt Shoko more than saw her. The reverse-curse user kneeled beside her, a hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. “It’s what he wanted.” 

“Don’t - “ Noa mouthed, the sound lost in her constricted throat. She flinched, forcing Shoko’s hand off her. A new set of heavy tears squeezed from her eyes. Don’t encourage it. Her initial lack of refusal to this plan had been enough of a betrayal already.

Shoko folded her hands in her lap but did not break from Noa’s side. The raspiness of her breath gave away her stifled tears. Of course, she hadn’t objected to the plan. It was a fleeting idea, a one-in-a-million possibility that she never thought would come true.

Satoru Gojo - the Strongest sorcerer - was dead. 

“I’m sorry,” Shoko whispered. An apology for so much more than just silence. Her voice was lower than expected, burdened by what had occurred and the part she was about to play after.

“It’s our last chance.” Kusakabe reminded her.

Noa’s breathing stopped. The pulverized mass that was once her heart seemed to sink further. With every ounce of strength she had left, she raised her head to look into the eyes of Kusakabe in challenge.

“He’s my husband .” The word cracked and squeaked as it was forced from her choking throat. She stared the sorcerer down until he looked away, ashamed. Noa’s torment was clear as day as she looked at her students and peers with an undercurrent of anger and mistrust.

“Sometimes I think you forget I’m the strongest. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“They treat you like a god; someone needs to remind you you’re a man.”

“You humble me.”

“It’s my job.”

“But I’m your man, right?”

“Till death do us part, baby.”

Fuck Death. They’d have to pry him from her cold, dead hands.

Noa’s voice gained its strength as her anger rose. “He’s not some cursed object, you shit-head. He’s-he-” She couldn’t find it in her to finish. No word seemed apt.

Nonetheless, Yuta understood. “I know.” His mouth was set in a grim determination as he crouched before her. Haunted eyes showed his remorse, but the set of his jaw conveyed his determination. He was certain she would forgive him for his betrayal one day, even if he didn’t live to see it.

“Love’s the most twisted curse of all,” Gojo had once told them. It makes Monsters of us all.

“You don’t ,” Noa replied, just as a matter of fact. They had protected their students from so much... Their strength had been paid for in blood, and pain, and the destruction of youth. All for the sake of the children in their care. And now one such boy stood before her, waiting - begging - to be stolen away from his own youth and transferred into a man who’s soul was already shattered. Did Yuta know what it was like to watch a child beg you to let them die? No. “You wouldn’t ask me if you did.”

��I’m not asking you,” Yuta nodded to the corpse she still cradled so dearly. “ He is.”

Noa’s gaze fell on Gojo’s vacant one.

“What do I care what happens to my corpse?” His voice rang in her ears. “I’m dead!”

I care, she thought. I care so fucking much. Heavy tears spilled anew as she forced herself to be objective. 

She had never deluded herself into believing in some fairytale about retiring and starting a family in the countryside. The elders, the curses, the world wouldn’t allow it—not for someone like him, not for The Strongest. But there had been plans—so many plans …

“I’m so tired, Satoru. When will it be enough?”

“When we’re dead.”

Again, Satoru was wrong. Not even that freed him from his curse of strength. Was it too much to ask to be left alone in death? 

We are good people, and we’ve suffered enough.

“He knew what he was agreeing to.” Shoko’s glassy brown eyes shared her anguish. “He knew we  needed   him.”

“He didn’t know it was an option.” She thought aloud. Rest had always been a foreign thing to him. Her conflict was evident as her eyes darted across his face. She search for a sign, any at all, of what he truly wanted her to do. His once blue eyes, always a reminiscent twinkle of the boy he once was, were now dark and cold. They stared up at something - and yet nothing - above.

Who are you? , she wanted to ask the corpse. 

“If the option is a proper burial or you living ?” Shoko interrupted her dilemma. “I know which he’d take.”

The widow’s face twisted in new grief. Gojo had never been the type to say love , but there wasn’t a day that passed that she was sure of what he felt. 

Her right hand clawed desperately at the shoulders under the black T-shirt to anchor herself. It’s just flesh, she reminded herself. Heavy tears spilled anew, following the dried tracks of her previous silent bout.  She stifled the angry scream that threatened to tear from her.

He’s gone.

They don’t have to be.

With a wobbling lip, Nao could only find it in herself to refute the logic of her head with the anger in her heart. The only argument she could form in her grief-addled mind.

“You’re wrong-” Even defeated, Noa’s voice was steady. Her hooded gaze turned to Yuta. “He never wanted this. ”

Yuta Okkosu and Megumi Fushiguro would surpass Satoru Gojo as the strongest sorcerer. All it costed was their lives.

Noa released her death grip. She did not move, nor speak, as Gojo’s corpse was taken from her. All she could think was

When will it be enough?

“When we’re dead.”

Suguru had been right.

[simcardiac-arrested]

check-up

[cosmicbrowniebox]

Fallen stars

summary: in the world of Delarus, where regal courts and majestic islands intertwine, Fallen Stars weaves a tale of passion, sadness, and obsession. At the heart of the story is Lady (Y/N) Ieiri, a girl just trying to save herself and as many souls as she can before time runs out. The stage is set for an elaborate dance of power, obsession, and secrets. 

co written with @skye-cat-creations

Raven Stones's hot new bombshells / maybe a psych ward is needed for the men here

pairings: yandere vamp gojo x reader mainly but you'll see little bits every now n then that update for each chapter

tags: yandere themes, dead dove do not eat, mature themes, gojo sister! oc, royal au, age gap

warnings: it will have mentions of stalking, murder,illness,basically just a lot of dead dove do not eat, each chapter will have warnings marked, please read at ur own discretion I cannot count that there wont be triggering topics every now n then

taglist: here / playlist here

Act one

scene 0

scene one

scene two

Act two

[littlest-w01f]

In the Shadows

Azriel x Dancer!OC (Mohini)

AZRIEL MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: He's watching her, and has been since he first came to Dawn Court for business, the ethereal dancer that struck in the hearts of not only her people but all of Prythian with every performance

Cw: Stalker!Az

part one

The halls of the most popular Dawn Theatre were bustling with the audience, fae of all kinds trying to get inside, it had been a week of busy days for the theatre, everyone wanting a glimpse of the ethereal beauty that was Mohini, the dancer who's portraits had been handing all over the court, even fae from other Courts were present, not wanting a miss a chance to see her dance. Among the crowd, was Thesan, the High Lord of Dawn, with him stood Aizen, his lover, and the High Lord and Lady of Night, Rhysand and Feyre, with their little Heir, Nyx.

As the doors finally opened, the crowd surged forward, their excitement palpable as they rushed into the grand auditorium. The air was thick with anticipation, each fae eager to lay eyes upon the enchanting Mohini, whose talent had captured the hearts of so many. While Thesan and Aizen led their guests to one of the private boxes on top of the audience.

The theatre's opulent interior gleamed under the soft glow of luminescent orbs suspended from the vaulted ceiling. Velvet curtains in rich jewel tones framed the stage, while ornate golden railings encircled the seating areas. A hush fell over the audience as they took their places, the whispers dying down like embers smothered by ash.

As the lights dimmed and the last fae found their seats, a profound silence enveloped the grand auditorium. The only sound was the faint rustling of silken gowns and the soft hum of anticipation building in the chests of the assembled fae. On the stage, a solitary figure emerged from the shadows, her presence commanding attention without uttering a word.

Mohini, the dancer extraordinaire, stood poised at centre stage. Her form was a vision of elegance, clad in a gown of iridescent blues, pinks and greens. Delicate tendrils of silver embroidery danced across the fabric, catching the light and weaving an ethereal aura around her. Her raven hair cascaded down her back in a glossy braid, adorned with gold, a few loose strands framing her heart-shaped face.

"By the stars," Feyre breathed, her eyes wide with awe as she gazed upon the mesmerizing sight before them, despite the background dancers, Mohini held everyone's focus. Beside Feyre, Rhysand nodded approvingly, talking with his mate in their heads, his hand resting on the small of her back. Little Nyx craned his neck, his eyes shining with childlike wonder at the magnificent display unfolding onstage.

Thesan smiled enigmatically, his gaze never leaving Mohini's form. "There are rumors that she possesses magic beyond our comprehension, a gift granted by the Mother herself with how enchanting her display is." His fingers curled imperceptibly around Aizen's own.

Mohini moved with grace, each step, each breath was measured to perfection, her heavy gown moving in sync, she had her feet in a wrap, to make sure they wouldn't swell with all the dancing she did. Each subtle shift of her weight, each delicate arch of her foot, spoke volumes about the mastery of her artistry. The intricate choreography wove through tales both ancient and modern, each tale told through the language of dance.

The rhythm of the music dictated the tempo of her performance, yet there was something more - a pulse of energy that seemed to emanate from within her. It was as though she were a vessel for the very essence of dance itself, channeling the spirits of those who came before her and giving voice to the hopes and dreams of those watching.

With every movement, Mohini seemed to defy gravity itself. Her steps were precise and deliberate, yet there was an underlying rhythm that spoke of ancient dances performed beneath the faerie lights. The delicate fabric of her gown flowed around her like liquid light, accentuating the curves of her body without ever being overtly revealing.

She began to spin, her arms extended outward like wings, her head tilted back in silent prayer to whatever deity had gifted her with such extraordinary grace. Each revolution brought a new pattern to life within the folds of her dress, the intricate embroidery shimmering like a constellation against the black velvet backdrop of the stage.

Then, suddenly, the tempo quickened, and the rhythm of the music became more complex. Mohini responded in kind, her steps now intricate and precise, each footfall a delicate dance of power and precision. Her dress swayed and fluttered, mirroring the fluidity of her movements. As the performance progressed, Mohini introduced new elements - spins, leaps, twirls - each more breathtaking than the last. The crowd watched, enraptured, their breaths caught in their throats.

A low murmur rippled through the audience as they watched her, spellbound by her artistry. Even those who'd seen her perform countless times before found themselves captivated anew by the sheer mastery of her craft.

Each partner she danced with, felt the same electrifying thrill course through them, as if they were the sole object of her affection, as if the current male she was dancing with, the two of them were the only people that existed, her eyes still always seeming to look past them, as if lost in another world entirely. Her movements were a whirlwind of energy and emotion, yet there was something distant about her, almost untouchable.

As the music reached its crescendo, Mohini's movements became more frenetic, her body a blur of color and motion. She leapt and twirled, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground as she traversed the stage with breathtaking agility. The audience held their collective breath, scarcely daring to blink lest they miss a single moment of her sublime performance.

Suddenly, Mohini froze mid-leap, her body arched in a pose that defied fae physiology. For a single, agonizing heartbeat, she felt suspended in the air, her gown billowing out around her like a light halo. Then, with a graceful flick of her wrists, she descended back to the lands, straightening back up. The auditorium erupted into thunderous applause, fae rising to their feet as they cheered and whistled their appreciation.

Mohini stood, her chest heaving with heavy breaths, she then took a deep bow. As Mohini bowed deeply, acknowledging the overwhelming ovation, even from her dancers, the applause only intensified. Flowers showered down from the balconies above, petals drifting gently onto the stage like confetti. As the ovation died down, she made her way backstage with a poise that suggested she was used to such adulation.

When she reached back, she looked curiously at the bouquet of Night Blooms, and a note in the flowers, it wasn't special to find flowers or gifts from her admirers, but most people didn't sneak into her private rooms in the theaters to send these gifts.

With a puzzled expression, Mohini unfolded the note and read its contents. The handwriting was neat and elegant, but the words were cryptic, causing a frown to crease her brow.

"Your dance tonight was exquisite, sweet thing"

The sender remained anonymous, which wasn't unusual, nevertheless, something about this particular message stirred a sense of unease within her. It was far too personal, too intimate for someone she hadn't met.

Mohini frowned slightly as she read the note again, a strange mix of flattery and unease swirling within her. It was unusual for someone to slip past her guards undetected, let alone gain access to her private chambers. She glanced around warily, half-expecting some mysterious figure to materialize from the shadows. She was sure her mind was just playing tricks on her when she noted something move in the darkness.

She didn't have time to ponder over the secret note as she was supposed to be outside, taking the people who took time out of their day to see her. Her fans awaited, eager for a glimpse of the legendary dancer. With a deep breath, she composed herself and stepped back out onto the stage, a warm smile on her lips.

As she descended the stairs, a sea of faces turned towards her, eyes shining with admiration and gratitude. Mohini waved graciously, her hands fluttering like butterflies as she acknowledged the enthusiastic crowd. She paused to engage with her public.

Mohini's radiant smile and effortless charm worked their usual magic on the audience, many of whom had traveled great distances simply to catch a glimpse of her. She signed scrolls and parchments, and accepted tokens of appreciation with gracious humility. Despite the weariness etched on her features, her spirit remained bright and unflagging, a true testament to her dedication to her craft and her people.

She had met the High Lords and Lady as well as the little heir they had brought, she didn't mention the flowers but the Night Blooms made sense from the Lord and Lady of Night, even if it was weird either of them would call her "sweet thing". She was respectful throughout the meeting as Thesan, her High Lord kept reminding her there was no need for strict formalities.

As the evening drew to a close, Mohini bid farewell to her fans with heartfelt thanks, promising to return soon with more performances to delight and inspire them. With a final wave, she retreated to her private quarters, her mind already turning to the next show, the next challenge. But first, she would need to unravel the mystery of the cryptic note, and perhaps, uncover the identity of the elusive admirer who had managed to breach her defences so effortlessly.

Azriel Shadowsinger watched intently as Mohini removed her elaborate jewellery piece by piece, placing them carefully on a silver tray. Her fingers were nimble and practised, betraying years of experience handling precious stones and delicate ornaments. Next came the intricate hairpins, each one seemingly more beautiful than the last, until her dark tresses fell freely around her shoulders, cascading down to her waist.

For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it might feel like to run his fingers through those locks, to explore the gentle contours of her body with his hands.

Finally, she approached a large mirror, peeling off layer after layer of makeup, revealing the natural beauty beneath. There was an intimacy to the act that was both fascinating and strangely arousing to watch. Azriel found himself transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away from the captivating image before him.

He had followed his High Lord and Lady to Dawn, not because he didn't trust Thesan's genuine offer to his High Lady who had wanted to watch Mohini after she had heard of her from someone in the Rainbow but rather because he had seen her before, he was drawn to her, unable to keep the thought of her away from him.

Azriel silently watched her step behind a dressing screen to remove her clothing, her silhouette was shadowed against the white screen, giving him a straight view of her curves.

Azriel watched as her form from behind the dressing screen, her skin glowing under the soft moonlight streaming through the window. He could make out the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the smooth expanse of her stomach. His pulse quickened as he imagined the warmth of her skin, the softness of her flesh. He knew he should turn away, that he had no right to invade her privacy in this manner, but he was helpless to resist the allure of the vision before him.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched her, mesmerized by the sight of her naked form bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight, his shadows were all over the room, just as crazed as him. He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he stared at her, drinking in every detail. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, the gentle sway of her hips, the soft curve of her thighs. His arousal grew with each passing second, fueled by the forbidden nature of his actions.

She slipped on a pair of casual clothes, reaching her dresser to pack some of her important things up, he watched her eyes go over the flowers he had gotten her. Azriel's breath hitched as he saw her eyes linger on the flowers, his heart pounding in his chest. He wondered what she was thinking, whether she suspected anything, or if she was oblivious to his presence. He watched her closely, his gaze never leaving her, fascinated by her every movement. He couldn't help but admire her grace, her elegance, her sheer beauty.

His heart and shadows all almost sang as she picked the flowers up to take them with her. Azriel felt a surge of excitement coursing through his veins as he watched her pick up the flowers. His heart hammered against his ribs, echoing the rhythm of his pulse. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he held back, knowing that now was not the time, not the place. Instead, he remained hidden in the shadows, watching her with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

For now, he would simply follow her home, to keep her safe through her journey of course, a few weeks ago, he had seen a few drunken males trying to follow her home, he could hear what they were whispering to each other about her, the things they wanted to do to her, and he had felt anger burning in him way hotter than any he had ever felt, and he for a moment had thought of digging truth-teller so far up their spine no amount of medicine or magic would make their legs work again. Instead of that, he had done the more sensible thing, he had left them bloody and beaten on the side of the street.

Azriel felt a rush of protective instinct flood through him as he recalled the incident with the drunken males. The thought of anyone harming her filled him with a primal rage, making him yearn to assert his dominance, to claim her as his own.

As Mohini made her way through the winding streets of Dawn, Azriel melted into the shadows, his form becoming one with the darkness itself. He moved silently, his footsteps barely audible even to his own ears, always staying just out of sight yet close enough to intervene if needed. His keen senses were attuned to every sound, every movement, alert for any signs of danger.

The night air was cool against his skin, carrying with it the distant sounds of revelry and the sweet scent of night-blooming flowers. Above, the stars glittered like diamonds strewn across a velvet sky, casting a faint luminescence over the city below. Yet, none of these details captured Azriel's attention as much as the female walking ahead of him did.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @minnieoo}

{Azriel Taglist- @fxckmiup @annamariereads16 @saltedcoffeescotch @satorusemepls @fieldofdaisiies}

[mccall-muffin]

The Lady and the Major - Part 2/3 // John "Bucky" Egan x OC

Summary: Bucky quickly realizes that Liz is not like any woman he has ever met before. But there is still a war to win, and Bucky has his duties. So, every letter that arrives is a prized possession now.

Warnings: Language, teasing, kissing, sex (not too detailed)

A/N: So, here is part 2 for you. And yes, by now I've seen all the Episodes that are out as of now - so I'm up to date ;)

Here is my Masterlist

Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @mads-weasley, @brassknucklespeirs, @softguarnere, @shesgonna

As the band transitions smoothly into a slow, captivating melody, the atmosphere of the gala shifts, becoming charged with a different kind of energy. Bucky, seizing the moment, sets aside the formalities with the ease of a man used to taking the lead. He gently takes Liz's champagne flute, placing it on a nearby table with a confident grin. "Care to dance, Lady Cavendish?" he asks, extending his hand, his eyes sparkling with an invitation to step into a moment just for the two of them.

On the dance floor, Bucky guides Liz with a practiced ease, pulling her close enough that their conversation remains private, a bubble amidst the sea of dancing couples. His hands are respectfully placed, yet the occasional, deliberate brush of his fingers along her back suggests a familiarity that goes beyond mere dance partners.

As they move to the rhythm of the music, Bucky can't resist the opportunity to delve deeper into the intriguing paradox that is Liz. "You know, I've been told quite a few tales about the elusive Lady Cavendish," he teases, his voice low and playful. "Word around is that beneath that veneer of the perfect highborn lady lies a spirit too wild to be tamed by society's chains."

Liz, unphased and quick to respond, tilts her head slightly, a challenge in her bright blue eyes. "And just what exactly have you heard, Major Egan?" she inquires, her voice a mix of curiosity and daring. "I'm quite intrigued to know what stories have made their way to your ears."

Their dance becomes a metaphor for their conversation—each step and turn a delicate balance between revealing too much and not enough. Bucky, navigating this dance of words as skillfully as he does the physical one, leans in, his breath a whisper against her ear. "I've heard that you're no stranger to bending the rules, that you find the conventional life of aristocracy stifling. That you've been known to disappear into the night on adventures that would make your family's esteemed guests blush," he whispers, each word carefully chosen to entice and probe.

Liz's reaction is a soft, genuine laugh, a sound that seems to momentarily lighten the weight of her title and societal expectations. "My, my, Major, such scandalous rumors," she retorts, her tone laced with amusement and a hint of defiance. "Let's just say I believe life is too short to be lived within the confines of what others deem acceptable. And perhaps, I do enjoy the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the unknown."

Their eyes lock, and in that moment, a silent understanding passes between them. Here, in the middle of the dance floor, they've managed to peel back another layer of the intrigue that surrounds their budding relationship. Bucky, drawn to the fire he sees burning behind Liz's poised exterior, finds himself more captivated than ever, eager to discover what other secrets lie hidden beneath her aristocratic facade.

As the song comes to an end, they remain momentarily in each other's arms, the last notes fading into the background. This dance, both literal and metaphorical, has drawn them closer, weaving their stories together in a way that neither had anticipated. And as they step back, rejoining the world around them, it's clear that this evening has only served to deepen the intrigue and attraction that pulses between them.

Liz's invitation to step outside carries an undertone of challenge, a silent test of Bucky's willingness to navigate the complexities of her world. He accepts with a nod, the unspoken communication between them sparking with anticipation. However, as they make their way toward the grand doors leading to the estate's gardens, they are intercepted by none other than the Duke and Duchess of Wellington themselves.

With hardly a moment to prepare, Liz leans in, her voice a hurried whisper, instructing Bucky on the proper etiquette for addressing her parents. "Remember, it's 'Your Grace' for both of them," she murmurs, her tone urgent yet composed. Bucky, despite the sudden shift in situation, nods his understanding, a quick study in the art of aristocratic manners.

The Duke, a figure of imposing stature and dignity, eyes Bucky with a mix of curiosity and the guarded warmth of a father protective of his daughter. "And who might this be, Elizabeth?" he inquires, his voice carrying the weight of authority and expectation.

Liz, ever the adept navigator of her family's expectations, steps in smoothly. "Father, Mother, this is Major John Egan of the US Air Force. We met recently at a charity event where Major Egan was sharing some of his experiences from the war. His stories were quite enlightening," she explains, echoing the innocent tale she'd spun for her brother.

The Duchess offers Bucky a polite smile, but it's the Duke's reaction that holds the room in suspense. After a moment's evaluation, his expression softens, a nod of approval directed at Bucky. "A pilot, you say? Well, that's commendable. Our Edward has told us much about the bravery required in such a role," he says, his voice revealing a hint of the pride he holds for his son's achievements.

Bucky, sensing the importance of this moment, responds with the respect and humility befitting the situation. "Your Grace, it's an honor to serve. And it's been a privilege to share some of my experiences with those who understand the sacrifices made in the skies," he replies, his tone sincere.

The Duke nods, seemingly impressed by Bucky's demeanor and the shared bond of aerial combat. "Well, Major Egan, it's a pleasure to have you among us tonight. The bravery of you and your comrades in the Air Force is something we hold in high regard," he states, extending a hand in a gesture of respect and acceptance.

With the formal introductions made and the Duke's approval subtly given, Liz and Bucky are allowed to continue on their way, stepping out into the cool evening air. The brief encounter with her parents was a test, one that Bucky passed with the grace of a man who, despite his unorthodox entry into their world, understands the value of respect and common ground.

As they move away from the light and music spilling out from the mansion, the night around them feels charged with a new energy. Liz's challenge, Bucky's acceptance, and the unexpected approval of her father have all conspired to deepen the connection between them, setting the stage for whatever comes next under the starlit sky.

As they stand together on the balcony, the cool night air mingling with the tension of their conversation, Bucky watches Liz closely.

"You know why I turned them all down? All those ass-kissers of earls, viscounts, and so on who threw themselves at me?"

Her confession hangs between them, a raw and honest revelation that strips away the layers of aristocracy and high society, revealing the woman beneath. He's moved by her vulnerability, by the glimpse she's offered into the gilded cage that is her life.

"Why turn them all down, Liz?" Bucky prompts gently, already suspecting the answer but needing to hear it in her own words.

Liz's gaze meets his, steady and resolute. "Because marrying one of them would seal my fate. I'd be trapped in this world, expected to play the perfect wife, the dutiful daughter, forever," she confesses, her voice laced with a mixture of defiance and resignation. "I want more than what's expected of me, more than this life can offer."

Bucky's respect for her deepens in this moment, his initial attraction evolving into something more profound. He sees her not just as a challenge or a conquest but as a fellow soul seeking freedom from the confines of their respective worlds.

"And inviting me here tonight?" Bucky asks, the pieces falling into place. "Was that your way of rebelling against all this?" There's a note of understanding in his voice, a recognition of her courage in the face of stifling expectations.

Liz nods a small but significant gesture. "You're... different, Bucky. You don't belong to this world, and yet, you stood your ground. That confidence, that defiance—I wanted that for myself, even if just for a night," she admits, her eyes not leaving his.

Bucky steps closer, closing the distance between them, moved by her honesty. "Liz, I may not know all the rules of your world, but I do know about feeling trapped," he shares, his voice soft but firm. "If you're looking for a bit of freedom, even for just one night, then I say we take it. No expectations, no strings. Just two people enjoying the moment for what it is."

Liz's response is a smile, one that reaches her eyes and lights up the night. It's a smile of relief, of gratitude, of a burden momentarily lifted. "I'd like that, Bucky. More than you know," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they stand there, two figures against the backdrop of a world that demands so much from them, they find solace in each other's company. For Liz, Bucky represents a breath of fresh air, a chance to experience life unfiltered by the expectations of her status. And for Bucky, Liz is no longer just the enigmatic aristocrat but a woman of depth and courage, fighting for her own identity.

In the moment their lips meet, the world around them—the chatter of the gala, the soft rustle of the night breeze, the distant melodies spilling out from the ballroom—fades into insignificance. Bucky, taken aback by the intensity of the kiss, finds himself caught in the current of Liz's boldness and expertise. Her playful bite, the confident dance of her tongue, signals a depth of experience that both surprises and entices him.

As Liz wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the connection deepens, their bodies speaking a language of their own making. Bucky's hands, resting initially at her waist, venture slightly lower, his touch light but daring over the fabric of her dress, a silent exploration of the territory between propriety and desire.

When they finally part, the look Liz gives Bucky is one of playful challenge, a silent dare that speaks volumes. Her wink, a spark of mischief and promise, leaves him momentarily stunned, a statue on the balcony as she turns to make her way back inside. Yet, the invitation in her glance, the unspoken command to follow, ignites a fire within him.

Liz's graceful navigation through the gala's attendees, each step a tantalizing lure, leads Bucky on a path he knows is fraught with both risk and exhilaration. As she ascends the staircase, her silhouette a beacon in the sea of guests, Bucky's decision to follow feels not like a choice but a necessity, a call to adventure too compelling to resist.

The journey to her quarters, a silent procession through the dimly lit corridors of Wellington House, is charged with anticipation. Bucky, aware of the boldness of this pursuit, understands the unspoken rules of the game they're playing. This isn't just a physical attraction; it's a mutual rebellion against the confines of their respective worlds, a shared quest for authenticity and freedom.

As he follows, maintaining a discreet distance to avoid drawing attention, Bucky realizes that this night, this moment, could redefine the course of their acquaintance. Liz, with her daring and defiance, has challenged him to step beyond the bounds of his own experience, to engage in a dance as risky as it is irresistible.

The decision to pursue Liz, to accept her silent invitation, marks a turning point. It's a step into the unknown, a gamble on the promise of something profound. In this game of hearts and wills, where every gesture is laden with meaning, Bucky and Liz find themselves on the brink of a discovery that could either shatter the world they know or forge a new path forward, together.

As the door closes behind Bucky, marking their entry into a realm removed from the eyes of the world, the air between him and Liz becomes charged with an undeniable intensity. What unfolds is a dance of two souls, a private exchange of affection and connection that transcends the physical space they occupy.

In the seclusion of Liz's quarters, away from the rigid expectations of their external lives, they find a freedom and a fervor that is as much about rebellion as it is about attraction. The room, with its soft lighting and the distant sound of the gala continuing below, serves as a backdrop to a moment of vulnerability and honesty.

The exchange of kisses and the exploration of touch speaks to a deep-seated desire for authenticity and understanding. It's a conversation without words, a dialogue where every gesture, every breath, carries the weight of unspoken dreams and desires.

As garments become mere whispers on the floor, the world outside, with its rules and roles, fades into insignificance. What matters in this secluded space is the connection that thrives in the absence of pretense, a bond forged not just in the heat of the moment but in the shared recognition of each other's true selves.

The rustling of bedding, the soft sighs, and the gentle caresses are chapters in a story that is theirs alone—a tale of discovery, of the courage to seek out the spaces where they can be unapologetically themselves. In the quiet aftermath, as they lie entwined, the significance of this encounter is palpable. It's a promise of possibility, a testament to the power of finding someone who sees beyond the facade to the person beneath.

This night, in the privacy of Liz's quarters, is a declaration of their mutual defiance against the constraints of their worlds. It's an acknowledgment that, despite the challenges that lie ahead, they have found in each other a rare and precious solace, a sanctuary where they can explore the depths of their connection away from prying eyes.

As dawn threatens to reclaim the night, the reality of their respective lives looms large. Yet, in this moment, they are grounded in the profound realization that what they have discovered in each other is a strength, a partnership that might just have the power to redefine their destinies.

Two weeks have passed since Bucky's return from London to the base, and the changes in him haven't gone unnoticed by those closest to him. Gone is the relentless flirt, replaced by a man who seems preoccupied, his attention drawn inward. Buck Cleven, ever the observant friend, can't help but notice the shift, especially in light of the increasing pile of correspondence that seems to capture Bucky's focus each morning.

This particular morning, Bucky is more animated than usual, a smile playing on his lips as he carefully unfolds a letter. Buck, curious and a bit concerned, nudges him. "Who's got you smiling like that, huh? Someone special?" he teases, trying to catch a glimpse of the sender.

Bucky hesitates, a brief struggle visible in his demeanor before he decides to share the letter with Buck. It reads:

Dear Major Egan,

I hope this letter finds you wallowing in the misery of our separation, desperately missing my company. I regret to inform you that I've taken up with a prince, a real one this time, who showers me with the adoration and luxuries befitting a lady of my stature. So, it seems our little dalliance must come to an end.

Please, don't despair too much. I'm sure you'll find a way to mend your broken heart, perhaps with one of those American heiresses desperate for a title, or maybe with a nice farm girl? Someone who can appreciate your... what was it you do again? Oh, right, flying planes.

Do not fret, dear Major. You will always hold a special place in my heart, somewhere between my love for my horse and my tolerance for my brother's tedious war stories.

With all the affection I can muster (which, as you know, is quite limited),

Liz

P.S. I've included a photograph, as you so tiresomely begged for one. Please try not to wear it out with your ogling. I expect it back in pristine condition, or you shall owe me a new one.

Tucked within the letter is a photograph of Liz. The image captures her essence perfectly—beautiful, aristocratic, and brimming with the sly humor that Bucky has grown so fond of.

Buck, reading over Bucky's shoulder, lets out a laugh. "She's got you on a string, hasn't she?" he chuckles, handing back the letter. "You've got good taste, I'll give you that."

Bucky, looking at the photo once more, can't help but laugh as well. He can almost hear Liz's voice as she penned the letter, her teasing tone, the twinkle in her eye as she crafted each sarcastic remark. It's a comfort, a tangible connection to the woman who's managed to upend his world and settle under his skin.

"She's one of a kind," Bucky admits, a warmth in his voice that speaks volumes. Folding the letter and slipping the photo into his pocket, he feels a renewed sense of determination. Whatever it takes, he knows he has to see her again, to bridge the distance the war has placed between them. Liz might tease, might play her games, but beneath the sarcasm and jests lies a connection neither can deny, a story far from over.

Buck watches Bucky with an incredulous look. "Alright, spill it, Egan. Who's the dame that's got you all twisted up? I never thought I'd see the day when John Egan, the lady-killer, would be mooning over some broad," he teases, the smoke curling up into the air between them.

Bucky, feeling a mix of defensiveness and pride, takes a moment before he responds, choosing his words with care. "Her name's Liz," he starts, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile at the mere mention of her name. "Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, if you want to get all formal about it. Met her in London. She's... different, Buck. Not like anyone I've ever met before."

Buck raises an eyebrow, taking a long drag from his cigarette before flicking the ash off to the side. "Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, huh? Sounds like a real high-class bird. Got you good and proper, didn't she?" he chuckles, the humor not quite masking the genuine curiosity in his tone.

Bucky can't help but laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, she did. But it's not like that. She's sharp, Buck. Got a wit that could cut glass and a spirit that's just... infectious. And she doesn't give a damn about all that high-society bullshit. She's trapped in it, sure, but she's fighting it every step of the way."

The more Bucky talks about Liz, the more animated he becomes, his usual reserve giving way to a barely contained enthusiasm. It's clear to Buck that this isn't just some fling or a passing fancy. Liz has managed to break through Bucky's well-guarded exterior, touching a part of him that perhaps even he hadn't realized was there.

Buck, sensing the depth of Bucky's feelings, nods slowly, a new respect in his gaze. "Sounds like a real peach, John. A dame like that, yeah, I can see why you'd be hung up on her." He takes another puff of his cigarette, his expression thoughtful. "Just be careful, alright? These broads from the other side of the pond, they play a different game. But if she's got you willing to jump through hoops, she must be something special."

Bucky's response is a simple nod, his mind already drifting back to Liz, to the memories of their time together and the anticipation of what might come next. The conversation shifts as they move on to other topics, but for Bucky, Liz remains a constant presence, her image, her words, a steady pulse beneath the surface of his thoughts.

In the barracks filled with the coarse banter of soldiers, the smoke of cigarettes hanging heavy in the air, Bucky finds himself in a world apart, his heart anchored across the ocean, tethered to the enigmatic Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, who's managed to do the unthinkable—capture the heart of Major John Egan.

As the morning light spills into Liz's room, illuminating the delicate furnishings and the soft, luxurious bedding she's entangled in, her initial irritation at being awakened fades the moment Mrs. Baxter mentions the letter. Liz's eyes, still heavy with sleep, light up with anticipation, a rare show of eagerness that Mrs. Baxter notes with a soft, knowing smile.

"Seems like your American soldier can't quite keep you off his mind, my lady," Mrs. Baxter says, her tone playful yet respectful, as she hands over the letter to Liz.

Grasping the letter, Liz's usual morning grumpiness is replaced by a flutter of excitement. She carefully opens the envelope, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The letter reads:

My Dearest Liz,

Hoping this note finds you shining bright over there. I gotta say, even the best days in Thorpe Abbotts don’t hold a candle to you. Your last letter? A real knockout. It was like a splash of color on a dreary English day, and let me tell you, that’s saying something.

You teasing about ditching this budding thing we got for some high-and-mighty life with the blue bloods almost had me. But behind all that sass, I know there’s a warmth that keeps me going, has me lying awake thinking about you.

That picture you sent is my new prized possession. Seriously, it’s with me everywhere. Every time I look at it, I see that spark in your eyes, that smile of yours, and it hits me hard—how much you’ve come to mean to me.

Even though we’re worlds apart, you’re always on my mind. The thought of seeing you again is the light at the end of this tunnel. I’m holding onto the hope that this mess of a war gives us a break soon, so I can be back by your side, soaking in your glow.

Till then, just know I’m here, waiting and hoping.

Always yours, Bucky

Liz reads the letter, a smile playing on her lips, touched by Bucky's words that manage to be both teasing and heartfelt. The sincerity in his tone, the open declaration of his affection, strikes a chord deep within her, warming her more than the morning sun ever could.

Mrs. Baxter, observing Liz's softened expression, can't help but comment, "Seems like the Major has a way with words, my lady."

Liz, looking up from the letter, meets Mrs. Baxter's gaze, her smile widening. "Indeed, he does, Mrs. Baxter. Indeed, he does," she replies, her mind already racing with thoughts of how to respond, how to match Bucky's blend of humor and sincerity in her next letter.

For a moment, the challenges and restrictions of her world seem distant, as Liz allows herself to be carried away by the promise of what's to come, buoyed by the words of a man who, despite the chaos of war, has become an anchor in her tumultuous life.

What she doesn't know is that soon everything will change.

Next part >>

[ieatcocoa]

A Lasting Impression ♡

Characters: Lucifer/OC/Lilith

Switching POVS

Word count: 3.2k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. fem dom! Lilith, sub top! Lucifer, fem!reader, threesome, fingering, open relationship, penetrative sex, teasing, oral sex, character uses she/they pronouns.

I made this for a close friend of mine, his OC’s name is Ciel, and she is an overlord in the underworld.

Literally, my first time writing smut…so…

Boarder credits to plutism !

The eternal crimson light radiates above Pentagram City. It illuminates among crumbling sidewalks whose jagged edges are nearly as sharp as a local thief's blade, leaving behind twisted shadows that linger longer than the pungent odor of regret and sex. Dried blood sticks to any available surface, acting as the only reminder of a being's existence after being viciously gored. The light is a terrifying symbol of one's vulnerability to death, where a person's entire being is stripped down to its core and made visible to their true self.

Most hide away as best they can to maintain their sense of seclusion. Stability.

It would be a lie to suggest Ceil is not among them. She has always found solace in the darkness. That is only natural, as it was the first thing she saw when she entered hell. Many assume that when you meet your demise, you are rudely dropped into a flaming inferno and forced to live out the rest of your days as a helpless slave to the man himself. However, after Ciel's final breath and the way the cold air felt against their blue lips, everything became numb. She seemed caught between time and space, followed by an endless nothingness. They imagine it was their punishment to be alone, with only encounters from the depths of her memory bank. But then there came a light, similar to the one she bears witness to before her…

Nestled in the heart of the city's junction, the enormous white and gold estate is a beacon of splendor and charm. Its pristine facade, adorned with intricate golden accents, shimmers under the gentle caress of moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that enchants all who behold it. It's almost absurd that something so heavenly is here. As expected, its inhabitants are the embodiment of grace and delicacy.

Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

Every sinner knows them, regardless of how recently they have 'dropped.'

Respect is difficult, yet even the meanest brutes can bite their tongues when graced by royalty. Ceil longs for that kind of authority. Talk of the town is like a never-ending telephone game, misconstrued or added on for flare. When others became aware of her presence, there was an unprecedented wave of rumors, specifically in the Pride ring.

That may be why they were invited during their daily tea hour with Rosie. The beautifully sealed envelope exudes an aura of grandeur. Its seal, meticulously stamped with the emblem of the hosting organization, adds an air of exclusivity and importance to the contents within. As they run their fingers along its smooth surface, they can almost feel the excitement radiating from within, promising an evening of elegance.

The king and queen had invited her to their home.

To their party.

To them.

Ciel knew she couldn't pass up this opportunity, which is how she ended up here. Within the walls of the magnificent mansion, the gala unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the exquisitely decorated ballroom. Elaborate floral arrangements adorn every corner, their vibrant hues adding to the lavish surroundings.

Guests, fitted in their finest attire, mingle amidst the grandeur, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Servants move gracefully among the crowd, offering trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine champagne.

At the center of the room, a raised dais hosts a band of talented musicians, their melodies weaving through the crowd with allure. The music swells and dances, carrying with it an irresistible energy that beckons guests to the dance floor.

That’s when she saw them.

The royal pair attracts attention with their elegance and poise. The handsome man with the tousled blonde hair was the first to catch their eye. Despite his stature, his presence fills the room with undeniable charisma. His rosy cheeks hint at his jovial nature, while his piercing eyes sparkle with intelligence.

Beside him is his counterpart, a tall and remarkably gorgeous woman with olive-toned skin that sparkles in the mellow candlelight. Sculpted with refinement, cascading waves of dark hair frame her delicate features.

Together, they epitomize the perfect balance of strength and grace, their union symbolizing harmony and unity within the royal court. As they engage in conversation, their easy rapport and shared laughter illuminate the room, captivating all who have the privilege of beholding them.

Ciel is held hostage by the image of such a delicacy. If she had not been able to feel the gazes of other bystanders, she would have drooled like a starving animal or a dunce.

Amidst the crowd, Lucifer notices the young woman seated alone at a table, her presence a calling to him. He approaches with a stride and a knowing smile on his lips.

As he reaches her table, he offers a drink with a courteous nod. She meets his eyes with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her demeanor guarded yet intrigued by his attention.

“Hello there, a drink?” The champagne in his hand sparkles tauntingly as Ciel takes hold, giving it a small taste. “Why thank you.”

Lucifer takes a seat beside them, manuring ever so gracefully that his pristine tailcoat tucks perfectly underneath him. “Are you that new face I’ve heard so much about? I must say, you are much less intimidating in person.” The mild jazz playing in the background does not drown out his voice.

"Mm, it seems I am; my name is Ciel. Take passing conversations with a grain of salt, as they are often misconstrued.”

“I see.”

“And what about yourself? You’re not at all what the book makes you out to be.” Ciel looked at him carefully, a gentle smile gracing their lips. Lucifer’s bushed brows shot up in amusement. “I understand an introduction is not needed! How grand! Are you pleasantly surprised I’m not some horrid beast?”

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” She teased.

Funny. He likes that.

As the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, they are drawn together by shared laughter and lighthearted banter. Their eyes sparkle with mischief as they exchange playful quips and witty remarks, the intoxicating effects of the bubbly heightening their sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, their inhibitions fade, replaced by a growing sense of desire. Their laughter becomes more animated, and their touches linger a fraction longer, igniting a subtle yet undeniable spark between them.

However, amidst their playful flirtation, a shadow of guilt tugs at the overlord's conscience. She steals furtive glances towards his wife, who converses amiably with an acquaintance just a few feet away. Summoning her wit, she offers a sly remark, "Your Majesty, your charm is as dangerous as it is delightful. I fear I may be getting swept away in a current where I shouldn't be swimming."

The king's demeanor momentarily gives way to a thoughtful silence, his expression becoming unreadable as he weighs the words. For a fleeting moment, the air between them crackles with tension, as if suspended in anticipation of his response.

Then, with a subtle shift in his countenance, his features softened, and his eyes were alight with a glimmer of delight. With measured grace, he leans in slightly. "Ah, my dear, perhaps it is the allure of the forbidden that makes life's dance all the more thrilling."

Hm…

“A beauty she is.” Ciel sighs as their eyes drift across the captivating woman again, no longer masking her words with subtlety.

“Lilith? Indeed.” He responded.

“How would she feel about her husband chatting up a stranger?”

“Is this not a social event? Conversation is the pinnacle, sweetheart.”

“Conversation maybe. Flirting is not.” Ciel quips back.

“Ah ha! I see now. Is that what is bothering you? Lilith is not ignorant of my proclivities; in fact, she welcomes them with open arms!” He expresses himself gleefully, animating with his arms outstretched.

“It still feels wrong to be this friendly behind her back.” The once sweet fizz of the drink now burned unpleasantly at Ciel's throat. There is a beat of silence.

“Would you like for us to all get better acquainted?”

How could they deny an offer as sweet as that?

The ascent up the grand staircase is a haze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, casting intricate shadows that sway with every movement. As they reach the top of the stairs, the air becomes thick with suspension.

Is this the appropriate thing to do?

Scents of jasmine linger in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of musky cologne, creating an intoxicating allure that pulls Ciel forward, ceasing any previous doubts.

Guided by the faint sound of murmured voices, she stands before the elaborate doors of the king and queen's private bedroom. The wood is warm beneath her fingertips as she pushes them open, revealing a sanctuary of luxury beyond.

The inside of the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a halo around Lucifer and Lilith as they recline upon the plush bed. The queen's eyes are alight with a playful spark, and her voice is a melodic whisper as she welcomes them into their intimate domain. With a graceful gesture, she invites her to join them, her words laced with a subtle invitation that ignites a flicker of desire within Ciel's chest.

“No need to be shy, lovely. Your presence is much appreciated.”

Time feels as though it were moving through a thick puddle of molasses. Lingering touches dance along Ciel's skin; the feeling is so overwhelming that a soft whine escapes her lips. It was not her intention to come and seduce the most prominent individuals in the underworld, but she was pleased with the outcome. Little did she know, the feeling was mutual. Lucifer watches from a distance, his eyes ablaze with tension, his demeanor poised yet brimming with desire.

He knew it was not his turn.

He knows to wait patiently.

His gaze never wavers as he observes the exchange between Ciel and his goddess, a silent witness to the unfolding tableau of intimacy. With a tender smile, Lilith reaches out, her fingers grazing Ciel's cheek in a gesture of affection. In that brief touch, a current of electricity courses through, heightening the intensity of the moment. “I've heard so much about you; please forgive me. I just needed to see you for myself.” “You’re much prettier in person.” And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Lilith leans forward, her lips meeting theirs in a gentle yet impassioned kiss.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, the world outside fades away, leaving only the desperation of her and Lucifer, who watches with bated breath, his need now mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He can feel the distinctive strain against his pants.

All three let out short huffs as they hastily dropped their garments. It was too hot, too sticky. Ciel sought comfort in the cold air wafting throughout the chamber, being able to feel herself slip away in the confinements of pleasure. The only thing that drew her back was the distinct ticking of the grandfather clock.

“How do you feel?” Lilith is imbued with a sultry allure, carrying like a whispered caress throughout the air.

The duvet that was once neatly tucked into the soft mattress below was now thrown aside by the movement of bare bodies. Lilith has them right where she wants them. Their legs spread prettily enough for her to see the glimmer of the slick coat along her fingers. Ciel's cunt flutters greedily as the skillful fingers push inside once more. A mewl escapes her lips as she tries to form coherent thoughts. It was all too much. The tips of her fingers press snuggly against the sensitive tissue, making her chase for more.

It’s to no avail.

Each time she experiences that wonderful feeling, it is abruptly taken away, leaving her bewildered and dazed.

“Confined.” Ciel manages to sputter out after the loss of Lilith's touch. “I understand that, darling. What do you seek?” Lilith asks as she presses against her soft and sticky walls once again. She hisses, annoyed by the teasing. With a sharp retort poised on their lips, they muster the courage to respond with a sly remark, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “Release.”

But as the words leave their mouth, a wave of instant regret washes over, like a cold shower extinguishing the fire of their defiance. They realize too late the weight of their words and the potential consequences of their impulsive retort. Lilith's mouth curls into a grin as she makes a disapproving sound with her tongue.

No.

“Greedy thing.”

Please!

Ciel finds themselves consumed by an insatiable desire for her touch once more. Every fiber of their being yearns for the electrifying sensation of her fingers against their skin, aching for the pleasure it brings. Her voice trembles with intensity as they plead, their words an impassioned request for her return. Lilith coos gently, wiping away the salty tears that collected at their lash line. A forgiving queen she is. “Shh shh… I’ll ask you again.“

A murmur echoes within the room, laced with an ethereal appeal that holds them transfixed. "What do you seek?" With trembling breath, they confess their deepest longing, their voice barely a whisper, “Power.”

“Good girl.”

The stretch of Lucifer’s cock lacked the familiar, painful ache Ciel was accustomed to. He glides inside smoothly and bottoms out fully. Lilith’s preparation had made it easy; a puddle of arousal coats the underside of their body. Never in his life would he compare the beauty of another to his love, but this one? This one was making it increasingly difficult. Her walls had him entrapped, earning a low groan from him. So soft, even the jagged stitches that etched across her body felt gentle. His pulse flutters as he drags an earnest finger over the raised skin. He could not explain the growing impulse that rose within him, as he frequently acted on it. Lucifer presses a long kiss on the scar at the junction of her navel. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well.” He softly murmurs while pressing his finger against her sensitive nub, causing Ciel to cry out. His pace quickens and the sound of skins hitting against one another grows in passion-filled intensity.

Ciel's muffled squeak was met with the sweet taste of Lilith, a mixture of nectar and lust. The mound, so snuggly pressed against her lips, flutters with need. “Sweetheart—!” Lilith whimpers.

What a beautiful voice.

Ciel had no time to enjoy the sweet sound as Lucifer's rhythmic hip movements clouded her mind. She could hear the distinctive sound of lips meeting one another in a feverish haze. So passionate. They feel a sense of awe and reverence wash over them as if witnessing a sacred union that transcends mortal understanding.

“I love you.”

It was not said to her, though the effects were all the same. Ciel wailed loudly as their hips stuttered, their orgasm rushing over them so hard it left a dull pulse within. He groans in response to the connection between the inseparable duo becoming tighter. He presses his hands against her thighs, massaging the sweat-coated fat in between.

“You’re okay, lovely. I got you.”

The smooth exchange between the two leads Lilith to rush after her release; she can feel the coil inside snap. Coming down from her high duey sweat beads at her forehead, she was satisfied.

Ciel yearns for the snug embrace of Lucifer, their bodies still entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. It took a moment for her to gasp for breath before her eyes trailed downward. He hadn’t cum.

She could cry.

Lilith, ever so perceptive, notices their discomfort and moves to reassure them. She offers a warm and understanding smile as she softly touches their cheek. "How precious. Do not be troubled, my dear." She says softly, her voice a soothing melody amid their turmoil. Drawing them up into a tender embrace, the queen whispers words of reassurance, her voice a balm to their wounded pride. With her gentle guidance, Ciel begins to feel the weight of embarrassment lift from their shoulders. “This is not your doing. Luci requires a little extra attention.” She gently pulls Ciel aside, then lays her husband down.

He had waited patiently, so who was she to deny his release?

Ciel peeks in marvel as she kisses him up his jaw, her fingers gripping his cock securely and slowly pumping it while cooing.

“My dove?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you feel me?” With that, her free hand glides three fingers into his inviting hole, delicately pumping in and out. She receives no response; instead, Lucifer lets out a pitched whine, and he puffs out a strangled breath. To see someone as significant as him come undone so effortlessly made the familiar warmth of yearning pool in Ciel's gut.

“Are you paying attention?”

In their oblivious state, she fails to register the question, their mind preoccupied with the grandeur of the moment. Her laughter fills the air, quickening their heart with realization. A rush of warmth floods their cheeks as they finally comprehend the implications of the words. With an impish glint in their eye, Ciel teasingly inches closer to her, their movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

How ironic.

Hearts race with excitement at the audacity of their actions. “Whatever for, your majesty?” With a charming smile, the queen leans closer, almost meeting lips for another kiss. How she wishes she could taste her once more, the flavor forever grained into her mind. This was no mistake. She is thankful for the rumors, the yearly gala, and the chance to savor such a delight.

The air surrounding them thickens as Lucifer moans once more before cumming, and the sticky remnants drip from her fingers as she brings them up to Ciel's mouth. They do not hesitate to suck, and the taste is as sweet as hers. Heavenly.

“Why for our next rendezvous, of course.”

Author's Note: thank you so much for reading ! If anyone is here for an update on my Alastor fic I'll be working on it soon enough! Let me know if anyone wants a variant version where it's x gn reader. much love! p.s my ask box is open pls come talk with me.

[snowangie]

the right side of rock bottom.

a rafe cameron x fem!oc series

summary : nailea boo seeks refuge from the chaos of constant family travels in the tranquil outer banks, only to find herself entangled with rafe cameron. a charismatic yet troubled figure, rafe is captivated by nailea’s mysterious allure. rafe, relentless in his pursuit and explicit in his desires, becomes fixated on making nailea his own, while nailea navigates the intricate dance of desire and restraint. in this tale of love and resilience, set against the backdrop of the outer banks, the pogues and looks, unaware of the brewing storm, find their worlds colliding. the tale weaves through the unpredictable currents of outer banks life, exploring the intertwined destinies of nailea, rafe, and the residents of this coastal haven.

series warnings: swearing, smut, violence, death, mentions of torture, mentions of sexual harassment, weapons, trauma, mental illnesses

genre: angst, romance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, drama, violence, hurt/comfort, smut

auth. note: this series will be quite lengthy, following the actual outer banks storyline from the first season to the third. im so down bad for rafe cameron and i know u guys are too. im gonna keep his psycho ass as it is in this series because its hot asf it probably concerning to think that but idc fr. please don’t forget to interact with me in the replies or pm me and if u have any ideas for this series, any specific scene you would like to see in the coming chapters, don’t hesitate to share. hihi i love u guys and i hope u enjoy. muahhh

chapter one: baby pink convertible

The golden sunlight bathed the Outer Banks beach, casting a warm glow as Nailea Boo emerged from the crystal-clear waves, her raven-black hair clinging to her like a silken veil. Clad in a striking bikini that accentuated her curves, she epitomized the allure of an enigmatic coastal goddess. Not too far away, the Pogues—John B, JJ, Pope, and Kiara—observed her from afar, a silent conversation of curiosity passing between them.

Unbeknownst to the onlookers, Nailea wrestled with an undercurrent of anxiety that accompanied her every step. The crystal-clear waves mirrored the conflicting currents within her. She had perfected the art of the cold demeanor, a shield crafted from years of navigating a world that demanded toughness. Yet, beneath the poised exterior, anxiety churned like the unpredictable tide.

As she emerged from the waves, clad in a striking bikini that accentuated her curves, Nailea felt the weight of scrutinizing gazes. The Pogues, distant observers of her beachside ritual, couldn’t fathom the delicate balance she maintained. Each step was a careful dance between projecting strength and concealing vulnerability.

Meanwhile, on the same beach, the Kooks strolled along the shore. Rafe, Sarah, and Topper, the latter holding Sarah's hand, spotted Nailea. Rafe, ever the provocateur, couldn't resist making his presence known. “Damn, would you look at that,” he remarked, loud enough for Nailea to hear.

The Kooks exchanged glances as Nailea, unperturbed, rolled her eyes at the crude comment. Ignoring the unwelcome attention, she gracefully slipped into her clothes with an air of nonchalance, the fabric became a second skin, shielding her not only from the prying eyes but also from the relentless whispers of doubt that echoed in her mind.

Rafe, however, continued with his brazen demeanor. “Hey, sweetheart, you're gonna make this beach a whole lot prettier. What's your name?” he called out, breaking through the rhythmic sound of the waves

Nailea shot him a withering glance but remained composed. “Not interested,” she replied, her voice carrying a mixture of disinterest and disdain. Brushing off the sand from her clothes, she walked past the Kooks, not sparing them a second glance. Yet, within the fortress of her mind, a voice echoed louder—a whisper that questioned her every move, analyzing whether she had played her part convincingly enough.

As she walked past the Kooks, her mind echoed with the internal dialogue of anxiety. Her car awaited her, a symbol of sophistication and control. To the surprise of both the Pogues and the Kooks, Nailea sauntered toward a sleek baby pink convertible, the epitome of her sophistication. With an effortless poise, she slid into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life. Little did anyone know that behind the wheel, Nailea gripped it tightly, her knuckles betraying the tension within. The car roared, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake as Nailea skillfully navigated her way off the beach.

The Pogues exchanged intrigued glances, while the Kooks were left in the sand, a mix of bewilderment and newfound curiosity etched on their faces. Nailea Boo had made a memorable entrance, leaving an indelible mark on the shores of the Outer Banks.

As Nailea smoothly glided away in her baby pink convertible, the lingering echoes of Rafe's comment hung in the salty air. The Pogues huddled together, their eyes still fixed on the vanishing speck on the horizon. John B, the de facto leader, broke the silence with a raised eyebrow.

“Who the hell is that?” JJ asked, squinting against the sunlight.

Pope, ever the thoughtful one, chimed in, “New around here, for sure. But why does it feel like we just stepped into a whole different league?”

Kiara, her eyebrows knit in curiosity, observed, “Could just be a touron but I could’ve sworn I’ve seen her car a few days ago with the moving trucks.”

John B nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on the spot where Nailea's convertible had disappeared. “We need to find out who she is.”

Meanwhile, not too far away, the Kooks were left in the wake of Nailea's departure. Rafe's confident smirk remained, but Sarah shot him a disapproving look.

“Really, Rafe? That was so tacky,” Sarah remarked, her eyes narrowing.

Rafe merely shrugged, unapologetic. “Just being honest. She's a total fucking knockout.”

Topper, Sarah's boyfriend, chimed in, “She's definitely got some kind of presence. Did you see the way she handled that? Ignored us like it was nothing.”

Sarah, despite her initial irritation, couldn't help but be intrigued. “Weirdly bold. I wonder what her deal is.”

Back with the Pogues, the discussion continued as they dissected the mysterious newcomer.

“I mean, did you see her car? Who drives a pink fucking convertible around here?” JJ mused, scratching his head.

Pope, ever the voice of reason, offered, “Maybe she's just passing through. But something tells me she's here to stay, at least for a while.”

As the conversations unfolded, Nailea's departure had left an indelible mark on the dynamics of the Outer Banks. Both the Pogues and the Kooks found themselves captivated by the enigmatic stranger who had effortlessly commanded attention and defied expectations.

Nailea, reclining in the plush leather seat of her baby pink convertible, couldn't shake the lingering taste of annoyance that clung to her after the encounter on the beach. The waves of anxiety retreated, only to linger beneath the surface, ready to rise again with each new encounter. Her eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, reflected a mix of indifference and disdain. The Pogues and Kooks, to her discerning gaze, seemed like mere pawns on the chessboard of her life in the Outer Banks.

The "baby pink convertible" symbolizes her, embodying sophistication, elegance, and a hint of rebelliousness. Just like the convertible stands out in the coastal landscape, Nailea is an mysterious foreign figure, distinct from the usual dynamics of the Outer Banks. The choice of a convertible reflects her ability to navigate smoothly through the intricate social landscape, while the color pink adds a touch of femininity and complexity that mirrors her naturally.

As the waves receded behind her and the beach dwindled in the rearview mirror, Nailea couldn't help but roll her eyes at the audacity of the boy who had tried to stake a claim on her attention. “Boys,” she muttered under her breath, the word carrying a blend of dismissal and amusement. To Nailea, they were like moths drawn to the flame, oblivious to the fact that they had no chance of catching it.

Arriving at her now-permanent residence, a grand beach house that exuded sophistication, Nailea exhaled a sigh of relief. The crisp sea breeze ruffled her midnight-blue hair as she strolled into the house, her annoyance dissipating with each step. The modern luxury of the interior contrasted sharply with the rawness of the Outer Banks, a juxtaposition that mirrored Nailea's own complexity.

At dinner, Nailea recounted the beach encounter to her sister, Jennie, and her brother-in-law, Tommy. They sat around a polished mahogany table, clinking wine glasses in a semblance of celebration.

“You won't believe what happened, Jennie,” Nailea began, her voice carrying a blend of exasperation and amusement.

Jennie, her older sister, chuckled knowingly. “Do tell, Nai. Did you bewitch the local boys already?”

Tommy, a man with an easy smile and a genuine affection for Nailea, joined in. “Let me guess, they fell head over heels for you?”

Nailea smirked, recounting the scene with theatrical flair. “This one guy, a big asshole, had the audacity to announce to the world that I made the beach a whole lot prettier. Please.”

Jennie laughed, raising her glass. “Well, you do have a way of leaving an impression.”

Tommy chimed in, “The Pogues and Kooks are in for a ride if they think they can compete with you, Nailea.”

Nailea, sipping her wine, smirked in agreement. “They have no idea what they're dealing with.”

The trio shared a moment of laughter, a shared understanding that the coastal drama unfolding outside their beach house was just the beginning of Nailea's reign in the Outer Banks. Little did the Pogues and Kooks know, they were playing a part in a narrative where Nailea Boo held all the cards, and the stakes were higher than they could imagine.

Under the golden hues of the Outer Banks sunset, Nailea strolled through the neighborhood at Figure Eight, an air of elegance accompanying her every step. Her sleek white cat, Winter, in a pet stroller—a stark contrast to the coastal simplicity. The feline, adorned with a silver collar, gazed out with curious green eyes as Nailea moved with the grace of a city girl navigating unfamiliar terrain.

As Nailea approached a familiar stretch of houses, she found herself just around the block from the Camerons. It was here that her path intersected with Sarah Cameron, who was out for an evening stroll of her own.

Sarah, a vision of Kook elegance, her eyes lit up at the sight of Winter in the pet stroller. “Oh, wow, your cat is adorable!” she exclaimed, a genuine smile breaking through her initial surprise.

Nailea, her eyes momentarily softening as she looked at her beloved cat, replied with a reserved acknowledgment. “Thank you. Her name's Winter.”

Sarah, finding common ground, continued the conversation. “I'm Sarah, by the way. Sarah Cameron.”

“Nailea Boo. You can call me Nai, if you want to,” she replied with a nod, her gaze cool and calculating.

Unexpectedly, the conversation flowed. The soft side of Nailea emerged as she spoke fondly of Winter, her icy exterior momentarily melting. Sarah, intrigued by Nailea's New York origins, shared tales of the privileged Kook lifestyle and the exclusive private school they attended.

As they continued their walk, Sarah extended an invitation, her eyes assessing Nailea's reaction. “There's a beach party tonight. You should come. It'll be fun.”

Nailea, maintaining her guarded demeanor, contemplated the offer. “I'll think about it,” she replied, a hint of mystery in her tone.

Sarah, seemingly unfazed by Nailea's reserved nature, smiled. “Cool. It's at the beach, obviously. Just in case you decide to show up.”

As they parted ways, Sarah couldn't shake the feeling of being both intrigued and threatened by Nailea. The New Yorker's elegance and poise posed a potential challenge to Sarah's status as the Kook princess. Still, an unspoken understanding lingered between them, a connection forged in the simplicity of a beachside conversation and the shared appreciation for a feline companion named Winter.

Sarah, choosing not to divulge their encounter to her Kook friends, felt a mix of curiosity and caution. Little did she know that Nailea's presence would continue to disrupt the carefully crafted dynamics of the Outer Banks, setting the stage for a night filled with unexpected twists at the beach party.

Nailea's arrival at the beach party sent ripples through the crowd, capturing the attention of both the Pogues and the Kooks. The pulsating beat of the music seemed to synchronize with the anticipation in the air. Nailea, clad in a skin-tight black maxi dress that accentuated her curves, moved with an otherworldly grace, her pale skin glowing in the ambient light. Her hair, in a high ponytail, cascaded down like a midnight waterfall, and her face, adorned only with a glittering lipgloss, radiated a quiet confidence.

As she ventured into the heart of the party, the chatter around her died down, replaced by hushed whispers and intrigued glances. The typical Outer Banks attire took a backseat as Nailea's unique style commanded attention. The Pogues, in their casual beachwear, exchanged wide-eyed glances, while the Kooks, draped in preppy elegance, observed her with a mix of fascination and uncertainty.

Nailea, aware of the attention she garnered, remained impervious to the external reactions. Instead, she sought solace in the rhythmic pulse of the music and the cool breeze that carried the scent of the ocean. Each step she took was deliberate, a dance of control amidst the chaos.

Sarah, standing amidst the Kooks, spotted Nailea amidst the shifting crowd. With a warm smile, she called out, “Nai!” Nailea turned, her expression momentarily softening as she acknowledged Sarah's call.

The Kooks exchanged surprised glances as Sarah approached Nailea, a subtle curiosity painting their expressions. Sarah, with an air of familiarity, introduced Nailea to the group. “Guys, this is Nailea. Nai, meet the Kooks.”

Rafe, ever the provocateur, decided to make his move. With confident strides, he approached Nailea, a crooked smile playing on his lips. The crowd parted as he reached her, his eyes locking onto hers with a boldness that rarely faced resistance.

He felt a twinge of jealousy at the seemingly instant connection between Sarah and Nailea, decided to step forward. “The mystery girl’s got a name,” Rafe drawled, his tone a blend of arrogance and charm. An attempt to join the conversation. “Hey there, Nailea. I'm Rafe Cameron, Sarah's charming brother.”

As he approached, Nailea's eyes, like two pools of mystery, met his with an unwavering gaze. The crowd hushed, sensing the collision of two forces—Rafe's brazen charisma and Nailea's enigmatic allure.

Nailea, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, regarded him with a cool gaze. “I'm well aware.”

Rafe, smirked, undeterred by Nailea's disinterest, continued, “You can call me Rafe, but I’d love it if you’d scream it out for me instead,”

Nailea rolled her eyes at that as she replied, “Rafe, huh? Noted.”

Rafe, interpreting her response as a challenge, decided to add a personal touch. “Actually, how about I call you Nai? You know, like my sister does.”

Nailea's annoyance flickered briefly again across her face. “Nai is reserved for those I permit to use it.”

Rafe, seemingly oblivious to Nailea's subtle defiance, continued his attempts at charm. “Fair enough, Nai. You’re not like the usual crowd around here. So, what brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

Nailea, her patience wearing thin, replied, “Just taking a break from the chaos of the world. Thought the Outer Banks might offer some serenity.”

Rafe, accustomed to effortless conquests, found himself intrigued by the challenge Nailea presented. He reveled in the attention, leaning in slightly. “Serenity, huh? I can assure you, things tend to get a bit wilder when I’m around.”

Nailea’s gaze remained unwavering. “I suppose we’ll see.”

The Kooks, including Topper and the others, observed the interaction with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Sarah, caught between amusement and the realization of the brewing tension, exchanged glances with the Kooks.

Meanwhile, the Pogues, stationed at a distance, watched the unfolding scene with raised eyebrows and exchanged glances. John B, the de facto leader of the Pogues, muttered, “Looks like the Outer Banks is in for a storm.”

As Rafe persisted in his attempts to engage Nailea, the atmosphere became charged with a subtle competition. Nailea, the shining new diamond in the Outer Banks, found herself at the center of attention, a target for Rafe's bold advances and the curiosity of onlooking groups.

As the night wore on at the beach party, the atmosphere became charged with the ebb and flow of conversations, laughter, and the distant crash of waves. Rafe, emboldened by the attention Nailea garnered, decided to take his flirtatious banter to the next level.

Leaning in with a cocky grin, Rafe remarked, "You know, Nai, I can imagine you being quite...pleasing in certain situations." His tone carried a not-so-subtle hint of innuendo, his words intended to provoke a reaction.

Nailea, however, remained unfazed, her expression as cool as the ocean breeze. She met his gaze with a steady, almost indifferent look, and without missing a beat, replied, "Your imagination seems to have quite the vivid spectrum, Rafe."

The Kooks, who overheard the exchange, exchanged glances. Sarah, noticing the tension, shot a disapproving look at her brother, silently signaling him to tone it down.

Undeterred, Rafe persisted with a smug grin. "Come on, Nai, don't tell me you're not the least bit curious."

Nailea, her patience wearing thin once again, simply raised an eyebrow. "Nope."

The Pogues and Kooks observed the dynamic between Rafe and Nailea, sensing a clash of personalities that transcended the usual beach party banter. Nailea, with her poised demeanor, became a fortress against Rafe's advances, navigating the social currents of the Outer Banks with a deliberate grace.

As the night progressed, Rafe's attempts at flirting with Nailea became increasingly audacious. Undeterred by her composed demeanor, he continued to pepper their conversation with suggestive remarks, seemingly determined to break through her unyielding facade.

Rafe, with a smirk that hinted at mischief, leaned in once again. "You know, Nai, there's a lot more to this town than just the scenic views. I could show you some hidden gems." His words carried an obvious undertone, implying a desire for something beyond the ordinary.

Nailea, with an arched eyebrow, responded with a measured tone, "Hidden gems, Rafe? I'm afraid I've already explored more intriguing places than you can offer."

Undeterred by her cool rebuttal, Rafe persisted. "You might be surprised, Nai. The Outer Banks can be quite... a ride.” His eyes bore into hers, a hint of mischief playing in their depths.

As Rafe continued his audacious flirtations, Nailea couldn't deny the magnetic allure he exuded. Inwardly, she admitted to herself that Rafe was undeniably hot, possessing a raw and rugged appeal that resonated with a primal attraction. His features, his confident demeanor—it was impossible to ignore the undeniable charisma that radiated from him.

However, a conflict raged within Nailea. While acknowledging Rafe's physical attractiveness, his typical boyish behavior and brazen attempts to charm her clashed with her desire for genuine connection and respect. She found herself caught in the crossfire of conflicting emotions—the pull of physical attraction and the push against his persistent advances.

As Rafe spoke about wanting to give her the time of her life in bed, Nailea's internal conflict intensified. She maintained her stoic exterior, a façade concealing the tumultuous thoughts beneath. The provocative proposition echoed in her mind, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting feelings.

On one hand, the allure of Rafe's physicality was undeniable, an instinctive response that threatened to override her calculated composure. Yet, on the other hand, his explicit comments and relentless pursuit grated against her desire for genuine connection, leaving her grappling with a sense of inner turmoil.

Nailea, determined to assert control over the narrative of her interactions in the Outer Banks, silently navigated the storm of conflicting emotions. She maintained her poised exterior while internally grappling with the complexity of desire and the need for mutual understanding.

Nailea, maintaining her poise, shot back with a retort that cut through the suggestive tension. “Surprises, Rafe, are subjective. What might thrill some could be mundane for others.”

The Kooks, including Sarah and Topper, observed the exchange with a mix of amusement and concern. Sarah shot Rafe a disapproving look, silently urging him to rein in his audacious remarks. Meanwhile, the Pogues, stationed at a distance, exchanged intrigued glances, recognizing the unfolding drama between the Outer Banks' biggest womanizer and its newest enigma.

Rafe, undeterred by the silent warnings around him, decided to up the ante. “Nai,” he whispered, his tone laden with suggestion, “I bet I could make your night more memorable than any other you've had here.”

Nailea's eyes flickered with a momentary annoyance, but she remained composed. “Your idea of memorable might not align with mine. I prefer to curate my own experiences.”

Rafe, emboldened by the atmosphere of the beach party, leaned in even closer, his words now a provocative whisper. “Nai, you're playing hard to get. I like a challenge. Let's make tonight unforgettable.”

Nailea's gaze remained steady, but a subtle tightening of her jaw hinted at the building irritation. “No thanks.”

Undeterred, Rafe pressed on with his relentless pursuit. “Come on, Nai, live a little. I promise you won't regret it.” His words lingered in the air, charged with a daring invitation.

As Rafe continued his suggestive banter, Nailea couldn't escape the subtle physical reactions her body betrayed. A warmth that crept up her skin, a quickening pulse—signs of an involuntary response to the allure of his words and his magnetic presence.

Internally, Nailea scolded herself for the physiological responses that seemed to betray her composed exterior. She chided the involuntary flush in her cheeks and the faint flutter in her stomach, reminding herself of the boundaries she had set and the desire for genuine connection over mere physical attraction.

While maintaining her outward poise, Nailea's internal monologue chastised the subtle betrayals her body exhibited. ‘Control,’ she reminded herself sternly. ‘Don't let his words and charm blur the lines you've drawn.’

The conflict within her intensified—the tug of attraction warring against her insistence on respect and understanding. Nailea found herself in a silent battle, both with Rafe's suggestive advances and her own body's response, as she navigated the intricate dance of desire and restraint in the vibrant chaos of the beach party.

Amidst the pulsating beats of the music and the lively chatter around them, Nailea confronted the internal conflict head-on. The tug-of-war between physical attraction and the need for emotional connection echoed in her mind, a private struggle unfolding beneath the surface of her composed demeanor.

As the night unfolded, Nailea's internal dialogue became a steady mantra, a reminder to maintain control and not succumb to the allure of the moment. The beach party continued, the unresolved tension creating an invisible thread that connected her to Rafe in a complex dance—one where desire and restraint battled for supremacy in the enigmatic landscape of the Outer Banks.

As Rafe persisted with his explicit innuendos, the crowd around them seemed to ebb and flow, the rhythmic beats of the music providing an unpredictable backdrop to their verbal exchange. The Kooks and Pogues, now more openly watching the drama unfold, exchanged speculative glances.

Sarah, growing increasingly uncomfortable with her brother's relentless advances, intervened. “Rafe, maybe it's time to ease up a bit.”

Rafe, however, was not one to back down easily. With a cheeky grin, he retorted, “Just trying to show Nai a good time, sis. She seems like she could use it.”

Nailea, seemingly unmoved by Rafe's persistence, decided to have the final word. “Rafe, a good time is also subjective. Your version and mine might not align. I suggest you redirect your efforts elsewhere.”

The tension between them lingered, creating a palpable energy in the air. Rafe, seemingly oblivious to the line he was treading, continued his flirtatious banter, intent on unraveling the mystery that was Nailea Boo. As the beach party unfolded, the enigmatic dance between the Outer Banks' most renowned womanizer and its new diamond continued, leaving those who witnessed it with a sense of anticipation about the uncharted territories that lay ahead.

The beach party continued, the music creating a lively backdrop to the unfolding drama. The Pogues and Kooks, each with their distinct reactions, witnessed the power play unfold—a clash of personalities that hinted at the intricate dynamics to come in the coastal haven. Nailea's stoic response to Rafe's flirtations only added to her mystique, leaving those who witnessed the exchange with a sense of anticipation about what lay beneath the surface of the mysterious newcomer in the Outer Banks.