#reused maiden

[alexanderwales]

Pitchposting: The Reused Maiden

(Pitchposting is a way to write up an idea that won't get the honor of becoming a story. Free to a good home.)

Like a lot of good ideas, this one was based on me misreading something. The actual thing was rescued maiden, but my brain doesn't read so well without context, so I read reused maiden, and it fired up some neurons.

Our protagonist is a fifth daughter, in a time when that means she would be a burden on her family. In other times, on other worlds, she might be sent off to become a nun or work as a governess in a socially ambiguous position, or maybe even be sent to an asylum if she was "difficult". In this world, there's always some demand for maidens, even if they're a low birth. When a dragon spews fire above a village in his third flyby that month, the village elders take stock of who might be able to allay the dragon's desire for "unspoilt" flesh.

Everyone agrees that it's best that a maiden goes willingly. There are always stories about what happens when a maiden gets taken by a dragon, and before a sacrifice, those stories become unaccountably upbeat. They pretend that no one really knows what a dragon does with a maiden, that perhaps it's not horrible, and sometimes, yes, the maidens do go to their fate willingly.

Our protagonist goes kicking, screaming, and biting. She vows revenge on her father, her mother, her sisters, and everyone in the village. She says, in a rage, that she will kill the fucking dragon herself if she has to. She has no means to get free of her chains, let alone to kill a dragon, but her anger is hot enough to sustain her even as the night grows cold. She howls as though trying to awaken something inside of her.

She doesn't end up saving herself. A knight in shining armor comes and slays the dragon in glorious battle, which our protagonist only learns about later. The knight is not even aware of her existence, only of the tradition, and anyway is mostly after the hoard.

When the death of the dragon is reported and confirmed, some very sheepish village elders come to where our protagonist is still chained to a rock. It would be possible, perhaps, for everyone to forget this whole awful thing had ever happened, but the protagonist's threats are echoing in everyone's ears, and her horrible howling could be heard through the night. There is some question about how much she meant it when she said that she would "fucking kill you bastards with my bare hands if I ever get free".

After some discussion, it is decided that the protagonist can have no place within the village, if only for the safety of the townsfolk. But there are other villages, and while there's no question about releasing her, those other villages have their own problems: sometimes dragons, sometimes spirits, sometimes ancient curses. Our protagonist has been spared a messy death at the talons of a dragon, but now she's in the position of being a commodity.

She's first sold to an intermediary, a mercenary group or a passing wizard or someone else that gets her onto the next place. If you wanted to write this story, here is where you could pivot into being a different sort of thing: maybe her captor only meant to free her, and this is the start of a romance, because every romance loves an inauspicious and problematic start. But if I were writing this story, she would be treated as the commodity that she is, only well enough that she can be sold as good stock to the next party.

And there would be a next party, someone who wants a sacrificial maiden for a different purpose: appeasing a volcano or calling on the power of the ancestors or something like that.

And again, fate conspires for the sacrifice to not go through, and our protagonist is shuttled off to another place where she's to be put to death for some reason or another.

Astute readers will have noticed that our protagonist has a distinct lack of agency here, and is essentially being manhandled from place to place. This is the wonderful thing about pitchposting: I'm not actually writing this story, so don't have to actually solve these problems. I think it's fine for a story to be about a character with no agency, who is constantly struggling and fighting and trying every trick and still winds up at the mercy of a knight in shining armor coming to rescue her for unrelated reasons. Maybe that says something, or maybe stories don't have to say something.

(And maybe she gets saved by the same knight in shining armor, who has been crossing paths with her while entirely ignorant that it's simply been the same maiden across different kingdoms and continents. This is one of those little nuggets that I think is almost worth writing a full book for, a scene where it's revealed that they have, impossibly, been entwined with each other this entire time. A mistreated, reused maiden and a knight so shiningly pure that he's been the lone driving force behind putting down thirteen different evils as he came across them? I think there's something there.)

But there's a different version where perhaps the maiden gets out of the jams on her own, using only her wits. Maybe she meets with the dragon and dupes him into going to the trap the knight in shining armor has set for him. Maybe she gets offered as a cultic sacrifice to a demon, but she'd dragged a toe across their waxen sigils and ruined the summoning to her benefit. She uses her wits, and her bag of tricks, and a few things she picks up along the way. The reused maiden, scraping by every time, narrowly dodging death but always with death on the horizon like an arctic sunset.

I guess my version of this story is about the rage, but it doesn't have to be that. Maybe it can be about sadder things, like being sad about the uses that a society has deemed you fit for, or the inhumanity of humans, or something like that. I don't know how many times you can reuse the same maiden for this story before it gets to be boring or unbelievable or you've just mined out the available space. My guess would be that five is stretching it, so long as they're varied enough, and one of them looks like one of those suspicious happily-ever-afters that seems to be coming two-thirds of the way through a book.

But as an ending, I like the idea that the maiden eventually gets thrust at the feet of an old crone, bound and gagged, but with blood around her mouth where she bit one of the guards (and she has, after all this time, become very good at biting guards). The witch waits until the guards have retreated, then cuts our protagonist free of her bindings, and our wily spitfire of a protagonist probably does attack immediately after that. But once the hostilities are over, the witch asks for the maiden's stories, how many times she escaped death and at whose hands, and they drink tea as they talk.

I mean, obviously the witch was once a maiden too, and she had her own trials and tribulations before making a successful transition to old crone. Maybe we reveal that the witch has been a guiding hand this whole time, except that seems needlessly cruel (but perhaps this works as just one more injustice inflicted on the maiden, another battle to fight). I tend to think endings are important and need to be considered, but they're also very hard. Maybe we can have some cosmic reveal about why this world seems to have endless uses for maidens, but that leans just a little too meta for my current tastes.

Look, I'm not going to write this story, even if this was a longer post than pitchposting is supposed to be. There's a lot to be said about the role of the virgin sacrifice, and there's a lot that's been said, with much of it clumsy. There are needles that I would be worried about threading, particularly with regards to sex and sexual violence, implied or otherwise. The obvious thing to do, if you're a virgin about to be sacrificed for the third time, is to just lose your virginity, which ... certainly is a plot beat, I guess. I'm not sure I'd want to go there, or how I would go there. It's hard not to think of the whole thing as social commentary, which makes it hard not to write it like that.

But I think it would be better being its own thing. I guess if you disagree, you could just write it some other way.

[humming-fly]

Delighted to discover that the way shadow unlocks new abilities in sxsg is a perfect parallel of the pringles iron maiden

[3584-tropical-fish]

Season two bookbinding finally complete!! If you haven’t seen my season one copy, it’s here :D

Progress photos under the cut

[saltysideblog]

[gaymakima]

Two theories I have (well, one theory and a headcanon) regarding Raven.

Headcanon: Raven's kindred links can influence her own emotional state, depending on the intensity of the other person's emotions.

Theory: Raven left to spy on Salem for Ozpin, with the specific purpose of getting close enough to Salem to create a kindred link with her. This plan succeeded. The mysterious portal in the V9 flashback was to Salem. Raven spent enough time by Salem's side to bond with her. Kindred links can only be broken when the other person is dead.

Conclusion headcanon: Raven, as we see her in canon, has been emotionally linked to a whole range of people, none of who have particularly positive opinions on her that don't come with a caveat (namely Taiyang and Qrow being heartbroken and bitter, Yang's feelings of abandonment, Ozpin's guilt, Vernal might be the only exception but, uh... decoy). And then you add in Salem's emotions to the mix, which have been stewing in Raven for over a decade by the time we see her.

Bonus: if kindred links can only be broken when the other person is dead, and Summer has turned into a Hound, what would Raven feel from that?

[smoreal]

Oh yeah! Happy fruity month! :))

[invader-is-cute]

inconsistent art style check

All of these in the span of a week and all of the same character

Granted the last two were her in the two cannon universes she exists in, and the third to last is fanart I got from my bestie. But still.

Runa Tomioka, make up your fucking mind, will you?

[arlenianchronicles]

Some designs for my Tolkien/Snow White crossover, Glossuiel and the Seven Dwarves! This time I've included the Huntsman, the Evil Queen, and the Prince XD Technically redesigns for my old Glossuiel painting!

I drew these back in June 2023 but never got around to posting them because I thought I'd include some actual paintings to go alongside the designs :''') But I never finished those, and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, so I've decided to just post it (especially since there are more Snow White live-actions coming out eventually).

For Glossuiel, the two designs I have for her include a dress the Dwarves made for her (left) and her Sindarin dress (right)! And as you can see, I've reused her Disney colours; same goes for the Evil Queen and the Prince. For the Dwarves, I redid their colours (mostly; the red one is still Grumpy hahaa); I also pulled a Tolkien and took their names from the Dvergatal in the Poetic Edda.

Speaking of names, the Evil Queen is also known as Grimhild, meaning "masked battle," so I had it loosely translated to Sindarin as Dagorwen (battle-maiden). The Prince's name is apparently Florian, so it's now Lothon (using Sindarin "loth" for flower). And the Huntsman's name is just a mix of name elements from the House of Beor since most of them don't have any name meanings recorded loll

[sublimitymp3]

Can we pls get yandere hotd men (aegon, aemond, Jace, daemon, and ser criston) reacting to their darlings father reusing to marry her to them?

I love this trope 🙏

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Aegon would pull the king card, threatening his darling's father with sentencing him to the gallows for treason against his king, and that whatever the king demands must be done, without any hesitation. Almost immediately out of fear, your father accepts Aegon's marriage proposal, silently praying to the gods that you would forgive him for allowing this to happen. Aegon has been denied many things in his life, however, he won’t allow his desire to make you his fall to the same fate, by any means necessary.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Aemond would be more calculated about it. He’d come up with the perfect plan to make your father wed you to him under the guise of free will. Marriage proposals would start to cease, lords wouldn’t bother to make conversation with you at events, and soon enough Aemond would seem to be the only good option your father has. Marrying into the royal family started to not sound like such a bad idea to him anyways. It may have taken some time for Aemond to achieve this, but that was a small price to pay for you to be his bride.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Jace is so delusional that he truly believes you already belong to him, and that your father has no right to keep you from him and try to marry you off to other lords. If all attempts trying to convince your father to “return” you to him fail, he’d straight up kidnap you and wed you without your father's permission. By the time Jace finally allows you two to go visit him, your belly is already swollen with child. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Daemon most certainly does not take no for an answer. He’d probably pull the same shit he did with Rhaenyra, sneaking you out of your home and taking you to a pleasure house, in plain sight too so rumors would spread that you were no longer a maiden due to him. Or he’d actually fuck you and bring the bed sheets that had a little patch of blood on them to your father, presenting them like a badge of honor. Either way, he would put your father in a position where he would have to wed you to him, all while bringing humiliation to him, as penance for denying him in the first place. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Ser Criston could care less about his vows to never take a wife, or his position as lord commander. He wanted you, he yearned for you, he needed you, so much so that he was willing to give up his white cloak completely so he could marry you. So when he went to Alicent to formally give up his position as lord commander, upon learning of the motive behind this, Alicent had deemed it not necessary; and gave him permission to seek you out. He had come all this way, and he wouldn’t allow his plans to be trampled on, not even by your father. If it came to it, Ser Criston would kill your father, and take you back to the Red Keep with him as his wife, regardless of your wishes.

A/N should i start a taglist?? 

[morggo]

Maiden Knight - book cover artwork, please do not reuse.

I'm available for more cover art work, spot illustrations, music album cover art and more. My portfolio is here.

[heartshapedbubble]

Could I perhaps have something like those 2 long and well written Joseph and Luchino fic but with Soul Catcher? Thank you🙏

anon i am SO SORRY this took so long you might as well have my first born

also english isn't my first language so please have mercy on me i know i reuse the same words over and over 😔 reqs like these sadly clog my inbox even tho i like writing them so i'm gonna do something about them after i empty it!!

my very own prince charming, a soul catcher fanfic🧲☠️

cw for vomit mention in case you have emetophobia, reader's gender not specified although soul catcher uses a few spanish pet names (nouns) that are gendered because haha language rules, not proofread, warning for intense corniness, this is very bad i apologize, ALSO VERY LONG

-------------------------------------------------------

~

There are amazing forces of Attraction and Repulsion between souls; just like when fate guides some people together and causes others to part.

~

After a period of indecisive skimming through the bookshelf, you picked out a thick, hardcover book.

You'd consider yourself quite picky regarding books - just a flashy cover and a taunting description wouldn't do it for you. A beautiful, elegant maiden and a handsome, charming prince were just one-dimensional props in the story, and you found all of those "new " and "wonderful " fantasy worlds described and mapped out on the front page generic and bland. You always seeked out something new, something that would leave you thirsting and longing for each damned word pressed onto the yellowing paper, make your fingers trail over dozens of pages in mere minutes. Yet, considering your little town in the south was limited to just one small, dusty library, finding such books would be considered an extreme sport.

So for now, you had to be satisfied with the usual, popular literature that the townsfolk read.

But today was special - you weren't in the mood for something new, or something outstanding, in fact you'd even say you wanted to read something normal. Something you could nonchalantly mention to your friends during afternoon coffee, with a plot so malleable and simple it would be woven around your conversation like it was nothing. The misadventures of a rookie knight, or the sorrows of a young, noble lady, all interpreted differently and abstractly and able to be swiftly analyzed and twisted over a cup of overly sweet coffee. Although the pile of smooth, newly released paperbacks at the entrance intrigued you, a minute later you found yourself squished between two dusty, polished wooden shelves, inspecting the book you just picked out.

Well, you didn't know you'd stoop that low, but what caught your eye right now was a book of fairy tales and fables. It was an old release, presumably donated to the library considering the oil stains on the brown paper that wrapped itself around the thick leather cover. Although worn out by time and basically crumbling from the outside, on the inside the lettering was flawless and written in an old, thick cursive, and simply bringing your face closer to the text would bless you with the scent of old, yet well kept books - the fresh smell of walnuts and baldachin beds and white cotton dresses, and even lilac bushes in the spring. Although all of these associations were of a life unknown to you, for some reason they made you feel at home.

There was another reason for you picking out this particular book - a reason you'd rather carry with you to your grave out of pride, unable to bend your head down and admit it. When life got unbearable and overbearing and the only way you felt safe and well was under heavy linen bedsheets or in the shade of the old pear tree, you'd curl up and indulge in the exact same books you usually despise. A humbling experience, indeed, but at times where safety and love were most neccessary fantasies were the quickest, most low-key way of getting what you needed the most at the moment. Projecting your being onto the flat sheet of a protagonist, you'd visualise yourself instead of them, you being the one kissing the hero's fading scars or having your hair braided by the thin, nimble fingers of the king's son. The amount of scenarios was neverending, and, well, if you couldn't get your fix with all these readily available options, you felt like you're doomed.

The book was now set inside your trusty linen bag while you were walking home. Oddly, the usually loud and populated city market was silent and not a soul could be seen out on the street, not even a head popping out of the window or a hand reaching for the hanged clothes that hung on the ropes high above the rocky path. While you were crossing the town bridge, you decided to stop to take a deep breath and enjoy for a bit, now that you weren't being pushed onward by the citizens and the merchants that usually piled behind you.

It does take a while to learn savor things, doesn't it? It takes until adolescence until the dark chocolate on your tongue unveils its rich, deep and bitter flavor, until you learn how special that first sip of morning coffee is and how good of a feeling it is to simply have another hand wrapped around yours. Same goes for nature, you thought to yourself as you looked over the bridge, watching the river speed under the arch and the plants inside of it wave around like silk scarfs. Without the noise pollution, you were finally able to hear the satisfying noises of the water sloshing over the rocks, droplets hitting each other every second. Without a second thought, you laid beside the edge of the bridge, your bag lazily hanging off of your wrist, and let yourself get lulled to sleep by the melody of the current.

That is, until the straps of the bag slipped off of your wrist.

Fuck.

You immediately jumped to your feet in panic, looking around for your bag. Yet, it was too late. It was nowhere to be found - it was probably already driven away by the river, taken to god-knows-where.

Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the risk. But your heart still ached - that was not your book, after all. And what a beautiful, old edition it was as well! There was no way you'd be able to properly apologize to the librarian, unless....

"Oye, muñeca, ta libre."

You jumped at the sudden voice whispering at your ear. You were sure no one was around here except you... or maybe..?

Slowly turning around, your face was met with another, yet wider, lathered with paint and shaded by the hat above's enormous brim. As the face moved away from yours and the person straightened their back, you found yourself gazing up and down at - what seemed to be, at least - a tall, youngish man, couldn't be above 28. Dressed in gaudy purple, green and black, adorned with flowers and gilded accessories, he looked like a living puppet, his chest and shoulders wide and his waist slim, proportions of a wooden harlequin they sold during the holiday season in the toy shop. Hanging off of his wrist was your beloved linen bag, the forsaken book inside still in tact, not a single droplet of water blemishing the paper.

"Who...? How did you...?" You muttered nonsense, as your arms needily reached for the bag that he gently waved around. Props to the visuals, but you had your priorities.

"It's all reflexes, sugar. Was taking a nap underneath the bridge, you know, all that wandering around numbs out your legs, and your little sack here just happened to fall close enough to my hand for me to grab it in time. Be a little more careful next time, will you, doll?" The man-puppet replied nonchalantly as he tossed the bag into your arms.

"Thank you, I- wait, what?" You quickly snapped out of your daze. "Napping? Under the bridge? "

"Don't judge it before you try it", he whistled, crossing his arms behind his head, "The cobblestone ain't the comfiest, but it does wonders for your back."

You sneered at his carefree expression, as if lying under a bridge was the most normal thing to do. Who exactly was this fellow, and who did he think he was?

"And you expect to believe me all that?"

"Hm?" He jolted a bit, not expecting a question, maybe a compliment, but definetly not a skeptical remark.

"Napping under a bridge? Seriously? You catching my bag is impressive, yes, but there's no way it was that much of a skillful feat. You probably dozed by the river's shore and suddenly found a bag by your side like any other guy at this hour. Who are you even, some wannabe-show-off-superhero?"

To your suprise, he just smirked back at you, lowering his torso until his face was just inches away from yours. So close, you could feel his warm breath on your cheeks, and his raspy voice rumbled inside your ears.

"How about you take a wild guess."

Stumped by his question, you took a few steps back. Your eyes now digesting his form in his entirety, you rubbed your chin as you gazed up and down at the man, posing, obviously very into the careful stare you were dissecting him with.

"Enjoying the view, hm, azúcar? "

"Give me a break! I'm trying to focus." You mumbled, panicking a bit, sensing that your cheeks started to flame up. To be honest - even under all that fabric and thick paint, he was quite a looker. The black paint defined his jawline in all the right places, and man, that silly outfit of his was tailored pretty damn well, gripping his legs and his biceps enough to define them nicely.

Although visually he was as fancy as a rich man's birthday cake, nothing seemed to pop out from his outfit, as if every embroidered piece of textile and every golden stud was carefully planned out. However, upon better inspection, one of them seemed to take the cake - it was the small shiny skull on top of his hat, shaped like a squished pear, a few nails stabbed into it like birthday candles. The cherry on top of it all - metaphorically and literally.

"The skull on your hat... looks like a well-made prop to me. You're some kind of entertainer, huh?"

A playful smile appeared on the lad's lips, yet it wasn't a confirming one. "You're getting closer, but no, not exactly."

"Street musician?"

"I can be one if you desire, but it's not exactly my main job."

"Actor?"

"Only behind the scenes, dear. But I can see by the look in your eye that you're going to head in the right direction." This little guessing game seemed to amuse him to no end.

"With all that flashy wear, it seems fair to assume you might even be some kind of high-end magician, performing for nobles or aristocrats. Or some wannabe wizard."

He bit his lip, the smile widening with each guess. He seemed more excited about this than you were.

A flower painted around his left eye. A belt fastened around his waist, with a big golden buckle. Sheer black gloves covering his hands in their entirety, bones painted in gold on his knuckles and fingers.

A glowing ring - no, a disk - hanging from the side of his belt, rocking with the movement of his hips.

Wait. It couldn't be. The disk looked too...

"Hold on a second. You couldn't be..."

"Sí, muñeca? "

"Are you..."

Before you could even finish your sentence he grinned from ear to ear and inched even closer to you, his nose now touching yours, as if he just managed to read your mind.

"Bingo."

~

The legend of the Soul Catcher was told times and times again, twisted and folded like fresh taffy to suit every possible scenario in one's life. To children, it was told to scare them into going to bed in time. To teenagers, it was told to ward them off from the forest at the edge of the town. To young adults, it was told to motivate them into becoming independent and to work hard. To newlyweds, it became a prayer, to protect the newly formed family and to bring safety to their home. He was not the Reaper, but if a soul was left astray, detached from the body it resided in, everyone knew well that once the Soul Catcher gets his hands on it, that it won't be back ever again. He was both a devil and a saint, a villain and a vigilante - but one thing was sure, he was well respected. No one knew if it was out of fear or out of genuine admiration. And what was even weirder - not a single person was sure if he ever actually existed.

Not a single adult, at least.

The legend was not a new one, in fact, it has been told for a little less than a century. If you were to have a little extra patience and attention, you could hear the town's elders occassionally mumble about seeing him as a child in the forest, or him visiting them in a dream. But their interpretations varied from tale to tale - he went from a spirit, to a ghoul, to simply an omen, either good or bad. Since the townspeople couldn't agree on a single, concrete definition, the Soul Catcher remained a concept, embodied by what seemed to be multiple entities.

However, if you were to ask a child about the Soul Catcher, you'd get a much more vivid and universal description than anything an adult could tell you. All of them were along the lines of "magical jester", and what was weirder, almost all of the children confessed that the Soul Catcher played with them. And no, it wasn't just a single sighting, he played with multiple kids at once, even going as far to balancing three of them on his shoulders and telling them stories. During the hot, damp afternoon hours of the summer, huge groups of children snuck out of their homes just to play with him. When their mothers soaked their cramped hands and their fathers took their first break after the morning shift, their beloved kids were out on the dusty streets, carefully following every word seeping off of the Soul Catcher's silver tongue.

The only thing that bound the varying opinions and theories of both the young and the old was the trusty disk that always hung by his hip, rumored to be the tool he used to attract and harvest souls. And this same legendary disk was now hanging off of the belt of the man in front of you, green and purple mist enveloping it.

The myth himself, in the flesh, in front of you.

"You were quicker than I thought you'd be. Bravo, dollface." He smiled and patted your head. "If we ignore your initial hostility, you seem quite confident in the fact that i'm the real deal. Mind telling me why?"

"Well, you don't see someone parading around with THE exact disk that the Soul Catcher uses. Everyone agrees on the main description of its appearance, but to be completely fair, no one around here is skilled enough to make a replica that's convincing enough."

"I see. It's nice to see somebody with both the wits and the pretty face." He chuckled. Who would have known that he's such a flirt? Nontheless, to your shame your face lit up at his silly compliment. There was just something about him that made you weak in the knees.

"Alright. I believe I should prove you I'm the real thing now." He unhooked the disk from his belt, spun it around in his hand, and hopped a few steps away from you. He pointed the disk at your chest, positioning himself as if he's getting ready to react to a suprise attack. You didn't know what he was trying to do, but you felt as if you shouldn't make a sound or even object to it.

A tension-filled silence wrapped around you two for 20 seconds. After 10 more which seemed more like 10 minutes, you felt your body move. Move, although your legs were planted at the same spot they were before. Your head ached and pulsed, you felt dizzy as if your intestines were tying themselves into knots. To be sick without actual pain, to move without any movement, what was he doing to you? If this keeps up, you might just end up vomiting out your stomach along with its contents. It was like being carsick, except the sickness rumbled not only through your abdomen, but through each one of your limbs as well.

"Here, I stopped. It's all over. Sorry for this."

The headache seemed to halt, and your body was back to normal, yet your hands and legs still felt a bit sore. He was now above you, his hand stretched out to your sides in case you lost your balance.

"...What did you just do to me?" You yawned, trying to stand up straight again.

"What you just experienced was your soul being harvested from your, already inhabited, body. I usually refrain from doing this, but I felt like I should let anyone that witnesses me up close go through this. Y'know, I want to be honest with people. That although they've seen me in the flesh and talked to me, they're fully aware of what I can do so they can prevent themselves from getting harmed."

"Does this imply you sucked someone's soul out from their living body?"

"Maybe", he shamefully turned his head away, "but it was never on purpose. Usually it was them reaching for the disk, or trying to see it up close. It pains me, since in most cases it's nearly impossible to return the original soul to its old body."

An awkward silence ensued.

"Sorry for ruining the mood, I felt like I needed to warn you first."

"Oh no, seriously, it's alri-"

"May I walk you to your house, jewel?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me the first time." He extended his hand, waiting for your next move.

~

What a peculiar man, indeed. First he tries to suck out the life out of you to give you a heads-up, and then he offers to walk you home like a gentleman.

And you'd be lying if that offer didn't sound thrilling. So now, your hand was intertwined with his, you trying to slow down as much as possible to make the moment last.

"I realized I had forgot to ask for your name. My apologies. Not very gentlemanly of me, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't mind it. It's ____."

"___..." He looked up at the sky, rubbing his chin, as if he was trying to remember something, your name echoing on his lips multiple times.

"Pretty name, but it doesn't ring a bell. You're not among the horde of youth that I visit, are you?"

"Nope. I'd say i'm more of a loner most of the time. I like socializing and all, but nothing's like a good book that you can read in one sitting."

"I figured. No way in hell I'd forget such a cute face like yours, even if I saw it for a split second." He smiled and pinched your nose. If his plan was to drive you insane, he was incredibly effective.

"How come people have such different reports about you? Can you shapeshift?" Trying to lead a conversation with him felt like navigating through a mine field - there were no known limits, no known good or bad questions, or any shared topics you two could talk about. But you'd lie if you said it didn't excite you - waiting for his response, never being able to predict the next word that will come out of his mouth.

He sighed. "If you wore the same pair of pants every day, wouldn't you get tired of it?"

"I suppose..?"

"Well, yeah. It's that. Mix it with hallucinations the brain dials up once it's met with something outside the world it knows, and here's your answer. I'm no sprite or shapeshifter, just a regular guy who made a regrettable deal years ago. I might have the powers of the dead on my side, but at what cost?"

You shrugged. As much as you wanted to quiz him and get him to talk about himself, right now biting your tongue and playing it cool seemed like the best idea. Getting deeply invested in his life might not lead to good places.

"So... you're one of those so-called bookworms, hm? You've been carrying a book inside that bag of yours the entire time, too." You could feel his hand slip from yours, trailing across your arm to your shoulder, then to the other, gripping it softly. His touch felt warm on your skin, very human and real despite what he did for a living.

"...Yeah. In fact, I was just on my way from the library back at the bridge where I met you. I just borrowed it." You smiled shyly, holding the bag tightly in your arms. Knowing his curiosity and boldness, a feeling of panic unfolded in your chest, dreading what he might say next.

"Mind me taking a peek at what you're reading?"

Aaand this was it. The moment you prayed will not happen, but his chin was already resting on your shoulder, trying to get a peek at the contents of the bag.

"H-hey, hey! Back off! That book's my business, after all!" You giggled, holding it tighter and tighter, trying to laugh off your growing anxiety. If there's one person that you wouldn't like knowing about your little self-indulgent hobby, then it was Soul Catcher. But your tightest grip was easily undone by his loosest, and now your book was in his left hand, clumsily open, and the digits of his right were buried in the strands of your hair, holding your head away with careful but great strength. Even with your annoyed and panicked groans and your hands clawing at him, he simply couldn't miss the opportunity to steal a look at a few titles.

"Calm down there, you're acting as if it was a pipe bomb that you were carrying!" He chuckled, trying to stay composed as his body lost balance under your pushes and pulls. Yet your delight was short-lived, as only a second was needed for him to spread the pages open with his thumb and smugly read some of the titles out loud.

"Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty... seems like someone's a sucker for Prince Charming, hm?" He snickered, but gave in to your pleas and dropped the book right into your sack.

"Would it hurt your pride to not dig through others' stuff?" You hissed, patting the bag in relief. "A-and is there something so wrong with indulging in childhood comfort anyway?"

"Oh, not only would it hurt it, it would kill it. Besides, something tells me that this little guilty pleasure of yours goes beyond just childhood comfort", he whistled in his usual self-satisfied tone, yanking at his suspenders, "But hey, who am I to say?"

"Oh, does it?" You gave him a taste of his own medicine, grimacing right at his face, making sure each word rumbled through his skull. "Well, what if I told you that such absurd assumptions are indeed incredibly untasteful, especially when left unelaborated? Just imagine how much of a hit that could be to your fragile ego..."

"¡Dios mío! You couldn't possibly...!" He dramatically threw his head back. At least something was true - he really was an actor behind the scenes. "Oh lord, it truly seems like the only way to make it up for you, your majesty, is to explain myself beneath your ice-cold gaze, like an accused pauper chained and laid before the king!"

Both of you laughed away at your ridiculous actions.

He cleared his throat, after a good minute of dying from laughter. "O-okay, where were we? Ah, yes, your dirty little secret." With his hands crossed behind his back and his gaze innocently directed at the sky, it seemed like this was a touchy subject for him, too. "Well, from all my previous experiences with people, I noticed that a lot of them like to fantasize about, well, a world where everything is just better - usually some kind of unrealistic fairytale utopia. It helps them feel better about their problems, especially during adolescence." His eyes briefly shifted to yours, watching them as if he's waiting for you to point out a fuck-up nested in his wording.

"Alright, continue...?"

"And, uhm, although fairy tales are meant for kids and all and are read by them, these same adolescents use them as a vessel for said utopias, or simply, a medium."

His lips were pressed into a firm line, waiting for your feedback.

"Bravo, jester", you treated him with a teasing smile, ruffling the stray locks of hair peeking out from his hat, "You got yourself out this time."

"Well then, call me Houdini." He smiled back, scratching the back of his neck. "Jeez, even though that fantasy thing should have gotten into my skull for the most part, I still can't fathom what's so special about the Prince Charming trope.. It's so annoying! Are y'all really drooling over the same guy in different fonts?"

"To be fair, it leaves a lot to the imagination. You can interpret him however you like, twist his personality to your liking."

"But that's exactly why it's horribly overused! Dressing every fictional man in a suit of already desired personalities is... boring! No variety, no depth - nothing! Do they really not find real people with actual lives, emotions, thoughts and opinions more appealing?"

It was a bit funny, him getting worked up over this, as if he was deeply insecure about it. You decided to fuel the fire a bit.

"Well, what does your average Prince Charming have that, let's say, I lack?"

"A great personality?"

"Oh, come on. Now you're just being mean." He sighed, traces of laughter in his sigh. "Damn you, muñeca." You chuckled.

"Big muscles?"

"These babies don't look defined to you?" He pouted jokingly, flexing his arm. Shit. Your face warmed up for a bit. For a second, a satisfied grin appeared on his face, liking the reaction he coaxed out of you through your composed armour.

"Strength and brave- AH!" You didn't even get to finish your sentence, and a moment barely passed, but his left arm was already wrapped around your calves, his right under your arm and around your back, his body leaned into yours and suddenly - you were hanging off his shoulder stomach-down, like a potato sack. "Oh my god yo- put me down!"

He whistled, holding you down to supress your squirming. "Strong enough for you, doll?"

"Not fair..." You groaned, lifelessly plopping onto him.

"You didn't answer my question~"

"Yes. Strong enough." It was quite enjoyable up on his shoulder, actually. After the initial panic passed it became nice, the rhythmic bouncing of his walk lulling you to sleep. You could get used to this.

"Now that's music to my ears." He showed no sign of letting go any time soon, perhaps he liked the smell of your perfume on your neck, and your weight resting on top of him, like a thick winter blanket.

"Since you've already decided to pick me up, would you be kind enough to carry me to my house?" You mumbled, your eyelids already feeling heavy. "That house, over there." Pointing at the tall, cobblestone house, you yawned.

"Entiendo, sirenita."

~

"How did you- actually, you know what? Nothing can suprise me anymore. You climbed up my balcony, didn't you?"

The sun was setting, and Soul Catcher was leaning against the railing of your balcony, your bag thrown around his frame.

"Actually I slid off the roof, but you're not that far off, beautiful." Every time your name was replaced - or you were simply called by - a soft pet name coming from his mouth, you felt as if your stomach would explode. Something about the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, whispering endearments to you like you're the only person remaining in the world along with him. And whenever he read and peered through your façade as your face turned red and your breathing got deeper, he took a step further, engaging in the sensual, mental tango forming around you two. "I forgot to return your bag. Sorry."

"It's alright. I appreciate that you went out of your way for me." Gosh, the way you tortured him! Whenever he was smooth and flirtly and you punched him in the face with your kind, unfiltered smile instead of flirting back, it was like his heart was momentarily shattered into pieces and then bound again. The irresistable two-step of games and suave words was driving him insane and momentarily, in his mind it was your face, and your body, and your voice that called for him and your coldness clashing with his warmth, and it was making him dizzy. Behind his eyes, his brain was melting, and his heart was no different. To fall so quickly for a stranger - well, it's no secret that he's been depraved of actual love and affection beyond one night stands and empty promises to dozens of lovers from different times - was nothing new to him, but this attachment was not the same, it was permanent, stable, and wasn't going away any time soon.

"So, ___..." You turned quickly. When it was just your name and not something snarky on his lips, it seemed more important. "...You got any plans for the evening?"

"Oh- not really. Do you, though?"

"Not a plan, but rather an idea, a proposition, even." His voice was breathier as if he was nervous, coughing up the words from his chest. "If you want to, we could, y'know, watch the sunset together. I'm quite fond of sunsets myself, so I was wondering..."

"So you're proposing a date?" A date. As if he flinched when he heard the word.

"Well, yeah, a date, if you want to call it that." He said as he bit his lip. "Are you up?"

"Why not?" You whispered, creeping slowly towards him. "That sounds like a nice way to spend the evening."

"I'm glad." he smiled. In that little moment all of his confidence returned, and now his voice was clear again and he was back on his feet, jumping on top of the railing like the most skilled of acrobats and making his way to the roof. "You're coming, no?"

"And how exactly do you want me to come?"

"Grab my hand. Come on." His hand hanged from above, pushed as far as possible to reach you. "I'll pull you up."

You gulped. Heights remained a minor fear of yours ever since childhood, and having to face said fear head-first out of nowhere wasn't very appealing. "But what if I fall?"

"Believe me, muñeca, you won't."

"How can you be so sure!?"

He took a deep breath, trying to speak as gently as possible to calm you down.

"Trust me, ___. It's my hand around yours, no one elses, and my strength that's going to pull you up. I'm here for you. Please."

You didn't know when, you didn't know how, but the height suddenly stopped being a problem and, in a flashing moment, you were in his arms, being pulled to the middle of the roof.

~

"The clouds are such a beautiful color today. Light pink, as if they're crowning the sun before the moon rises."

Your back facing him, his chin on your shoulder, his breath on the nape of your neck.

"It's even more beautiful right before it goes down. They turn blood red, melting with the sky."

His arms wrapped around you, your hand around his wrist, your legs thrown over his.

"Do you have to go soon?" You whispered with a heavy heart.

"I should go." He suddenly stopped. "But I don't want to."

"Please. Stay for another moment."

He pulled you closer and closer to him, now his mouth right by your ear.

"Of course. A moment."

And it was more than a moment.

And more than an hour.

And only the crescent moon was the witness, and what it saw was sealed for eternity once the sun rose on the horizon again.

[bucknastysbabe]

Can I have one where Aegon has married his new wife who he thinks is really uptight and a prude only when it gets to the bedding ceremony (no one watching) and it turns out she’s just as kinky if not kinkier than him which makes him like fall for her instantly. She’s the definition of angel in the streets but freak in the sheets. Can it maybe also end with aegon either now realising he loves her or telling her he loves her

So I reused me Celtigar uptight reader bc I love her. Also slipped some small dick truthing in there. Hope you enjoy!

Continued from

Crab in the sand, conquer a man - Celtigar 101

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Misogyny, asshole Aegon, horrid bedding ceremonies, Aegon has a lil wee wee, creampie, pnv!sex, premature ejac, Celtigar said: when in doubt, be a bitch! Confessions of love

After what seemed like a breakthrough with you and Aegon it promptly turned back into the mummer’s farce. Whoring, drinking, the usual. The wedding was upon you. Today. Surrounded by tittering handmaidens, dreamy Helaena, and the watchful eye of Queen Alicent above all.

You sipped on your wine, contemplating the last few moons. After the dolt had crawled to your knees and begged for forgiveness— even admitted deep seeded insecurities, he went back to carousing the Street of Silk. You about sailed back to Claw Isle when you’d overheard some squire boys.

“Prince Aegon says she’s like to have pinchers in her cunny!”

The other one snorted, “I wouldn’t doubt it, face all screwed up around the keep. Probably hurts the poor wench.”

You blinked back into reality when one of the handmaidens told you not to crack your chalice. Indeed, your bejeweled hand was strained with pressure. You apologized, “Sorry, nerves tis’ all.” The ladies got back in their usual tizzy. They didn’t have to marry a lecherous lackwit.

Your dress was gorgeous though. You felt pretty. Finally after years of knobby knees and bee stings for tits your Rosby side kicked in. Curves, huzzah! Which didn’t draw anything but a drunken grope and sleazy comment from Aegon.

You’d written to your grandfather multitudes of times to no avail. He told you to be a good Celtigar and wait to feed. Hmph.

The dress though, the dress was much better than this horrid day. It was a coarse silk from Essos, the sleeves were loose and dyed a brilliant scarlet. The neckline was of the same color and jewels. Your locks were braided up into a net with the same gems. The maiden cloak hung like a dragon in the corner; gorgeous but dangerous.

It represented the true loss of your body, that one untouched place given up to an idiot. Abruptly standing up you stalked to the cloak. You held back tears while petting the ermine, tracing the sigil of Celtigar, fingering the rubies. Taking a deep breath in you returned to the chair for further treatment.

Standing in the grand throne room had your knees weak. You could see your family proud up in the front, all smiles from Bartimos. You kept your head down, eyes plastered to Aegon’s neckline. He stood stiffly, surprisingly not drunk for the wedding. The septon murmured some things, you both repeated them, then Aegon moved.

You swallowed down the panic as Your father stepped in to remove your maiden’s cloak. The lack of weight made you feel naked for all to see. The fight to hold back tears began again. Aegon moved behind your shaking frame next. On came the heavier Targaryen cloak, scarlet wool and black fur, even dragon’s scales embedded into their sigil.

“With this kiss I pledge my love…,”

Aegon’s hands were wildly trembling as he cupped your face. The kiss was chaste, only a slight movement of dry lips. They separated to share a weighted look. The septon cheered, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever!”

The crowd lit into a frenzy, cheering and calling for the festivities. Aegon turned his violet eyes on you, a quirk of his lips and a squeeze of your hand to indicate he wasn’t truly miserable. You smiled back and let him lead you to the feast.

The pair of you were seated at the head of the table, even the King and Queen at the side. Rhaenyra looked dismissive and Daemon was laughing about something with Viserys. Aemond looked downright jolly— a scary sight. Aegon had shoved meager food down his throat, slamming back the Arbor Red.

Viserys made some announcements and good tidings before allowing you two to begin the dance. Aegon and you once again were face to face, posed for the first notes. You scoffed, “If you get drunk enough then maybe you won’t feel my pinchers, lord husband.” Step back, hold out arms, palm to palm.

He sputtered indignantly, “Where did you hear that?”

Spin closer, one, two.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

Step back, palms out, side, side, step in.

He grinned, “I’m sure you’ll be fine and dandy for the bedding ceremony.”

Spin away to the next. You called over your shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll be able to get it up my Prince!” He coughed, pale face going blotchy.

Aemond’s smirking face looked down at you while he led you two in the line. He hummed, “Brother dear is going to soil himself he’s so beside about the bedding nonsense.”

You laughed, “They don’t watch that part Aemond.”

He enigmatically replied, “I believe that’s the issue, Celtigar.”

The next hours were spent dancing, drinking, and catching up with the Celtigars. Which was a highlight so far. You missed your family dearly. Even if you held a grudge for your grandfather. It passed when he warbled, “My beautiful girl, a princess.” He hugged you tightly before the bellow of some drunken lord echoed.

“TIME TO GET THE GIRL BEDDED!”

“PRINCE AEGON FINALLY FUCKS A LADY!”

A ribald song erupted from the crowd. You clung to Bartimos in fear but was torn away, watching his liver spotted hands disappear from sight. Between the yells of the men, you could hear the ladies coo at Aegon’s raucous laughter. Big hands tore at your nice dress, exposing your teats and belly.

Aegon snorted, “She’s going to be in for a surprise! Riding the dragon!”

The men hauling you had your dress ripped to shreds before depositing you onto the grand bed. Aegon was shoved in after. Even with the deafening noise outside the room felt empty. The prince was naked too, an embarrassed flush suffusing his pale skin. You had pulled up some covers.

“How romantic. Come on then,” you beckoned.

Remaining quiet Aegon crawled onto the bed, pink cock half-hard. He stopped, only a clammy palm around your wrist. Nervous eyes searched your own, the Prince biting his plump lips. You narrowed your eyes and hissed, “You fuck all of King’s Landing, probably going to infect me with a pox, and just stare like a cow now? Gods above Aegon!”

He pouted and crossed his arms. The brat muttered, “This is different!” Exasperated you threw your hands up, “How is this different?”

“Because I like you.”

“What? Speak idiot!,” you barked.

“Because I care for you Crab!,” he shouted back, face going more red.

You blinked at him. Then pondered the situation. Frankly his idiocy made you want to slap the brat around. Wait. Slapping Aegon around sounded splendid. So very splendid your loins began to ache. As any experienced woman would, you snatched your new husband by the hair and yanked forward.

Aegon landed between your legs with a high yelp, eyes going comically wide. He whined, “What the hell?” You shoved down the blanket separating you two and spread your legs. Aegon groaned at the sight of your tits and puffy cunt. Grabbing his plump cheeks you asked, “Do I please you? Does that look like fucking pincers to you?”

He nodded miserably, lips smushed from your iron grip. You sighed at the feeling of his cock twitching against your entrance. Taking your own gander you wrapped an inquisitive hand around his stiff flesh, giving a couple of pumps.

“It can’t be this small can it?,” you blurted.

Aegon shouted into your tits, palms groping roughly, “THASWHAIWASAFRAIDOF!”

You grinned slowly, still jerking his cute little cock. You purred, “Poor little prince’s cocklet. Don’t worry, I know you’ll please me won’t you?

Tears soaked your collarbone as he rasped, “Yesss- promise.” You snickered again at the entire situation, seizing up those pretty lips of his.

He whimpered into your wet mouth, eyes red and watery, “C-can I fuck you princess? M’sorry it’s small.” Poor baby seemed genuinely sad about his situation. You cooed, scratching sweaty white locks, “Be a nice boy like you promised and I’ll let you fuck me alll the time my prince.”

He beamed, head nodding jerkily, “M’please I’ll be so so so good, lemme fuck you sweets pleaaase!”

You cracked the flat of your palm on his flank and teased, “Get to it then. Doubt it’ll hurt.” With a broken noise, Aegon slid into your perfect slick cunt. He tightened his hold on you, gritting through the pleasure. You lied meanly, pussy wetter than ever, “Poor baby, I can’t even feel it.”Aegon furrowed his brow and tried about three angry pumps before splattering your cunt with seed. He wailed, face screwed up, “Ah- ahhh-Ah Love you! Oh my gods I love you- feel so good- oh gods fuck!”

Aegon was shivering head to toe, babbling about his love for you. That made you ache in more than one place. You pressed little kisses to his drooling lips and red cheeks, savoring the moment. He collapsed into a sweaty heap on top of you, panting.

“I think I love you too. Once you get your empty head down between my thighs and clean up your mess, puppy.”

[bornetoblood]

YES!!! Yes!!!

I think this fits really well with the idea that we walk in on Amelia literally just becoming the head of the Church (Cus of the “touch the altar skull engrave the adage on your flesh” note next to her boss room). Like we have no idea how many vicars Yharnam has gone through or how long the Church has even been around and I like that quite a lot. Like the exact length of time doesn’t matter it matters that it is a cycle!!!!

on the subject of amelia — it’s always vexed me that we know so little about her. no history, no background, she doesn’t even have a unique model! but it got me thinking that maybe that’s intentional. the church around her still clearly wields the highest authority in the land with a crop of devoted subjects singing its praises in the streets. however, the vicar — the highest church authority! — is an astonishingly minor character.

i have to wonder if her utter lack of impact on the world around her — punctuated by her explosion into beasthood — is meant to represent the decay of the church, not just morally, but in its fundamental structure. laurence haunts the narrative — but amelia does the opposite. no person or group mentions her by name or by title. for all intents and purposes, it seems that vicar amelia was nothing but a figurehead atop a hierarchy awash with blood-drunken parishioners at the bottom and the madmen of the choir and school of mensis near the top.

i think the void that the character of amelia leaves even before her beastly transformation is highly informative about the state that yharnam and the church find themself in: utter decay. perhaps once the church was an iron-fisted theocracy, but that infrastructure is rotting. the violence committed by the church in the state that our good hunter finds it is utterly arbitrary, and its people too poisoned by blood to care. i think the ultimate proof lies in the fact that killing amelia changes nothing at all: the church in their hubris has meddled in forces far greater than any one man, and now yharnam is paying for it through the nose.

[strqyr]

i should have waited to answer that one ask this morning bc now they've confirmed that alyx and lewis were from pre-war vacuo and it's like. okay yeah maybe i can now see theodore being lewis' descendant lmao

but can you imagine if the summer maiden is the young girl from theodore's photo and is also related to theodore and resembles alyx a lot?? i mean. they did make a 3D model for alyx but not for lewis, might as well reuse it with few tweaks... 👀

[nami-moittli]

Currently trying to figure out a combined family tree for the 1-6 Joestars and the 7-9 joestars, even though I’m only on chapter 12 of Jojolion. Send help

I’m not done yet, mainly because I have NO CLUE how to start going about Johnny’s side of the family tree, considering how 90% of it is just reusing the 1-6 family tree until oops! The Kira’s are here now! And idk how I wanna go about doing that right now, and like I said, I’m still really early on in jojolion, so idk where gappy falls just yet, and I haven’t even touched jojolands yet, all I know is that the jojo is named Jodio Joestar and has a sister named Dragona, and that seems pretty daunting rn lol

Some notes!

Dio and Diego have the Joestar last name due to being adopted

Their mother is specifically Diego’s mother because we have much more to go on for her, at least from what I’ve seen

Her name is Anne because in jojolion it says that George I’s wife’s name was Anne, but I’m pretty sure that Mary is Jona’s mom’s name, so the name has been gifted to the Brandos

Also nicknames don’t show up so imagine that it’s either their nicknames or just the Roman numerals for how many times the name has repeated (ex. Johnny instead of Jonathan (II), Lisa Lisa instead of Elizabeth, George II, Tomoko II, Norisuke IV, etc)

Lucy is Lucy Steel because I find it funny and her maiden name is Pendleton, so I like to think that she’s actually named after Erina’s mom

Yes this means that all of Jona and Eri’s children are named after other people, George II, Jonathan II and Lucy II

No I don’t know how Steven Steel plays into this

Josuke’s donor conceived, so Joseph is technically still his bio dad n stuff and Josuke’s an actual Joestar

Also since this is purely for me, really, imagine Yukako as siblings with Josuke bc I love Yukasuke twins. I did go back and add her in, but then you weren’t able to see everyone on the family tree nicely anymore, so just imagine she’s there

George II and Nicholas have been condescend into one character, feel free to imagine his full name as George Nicholas Joestar II

In the panels of JoJolion I used to get the Higashikatas family tree, it mentioned a few unnamed siblings, due to their lack of importance they have been erased from existence. Who knows, maybe they still exist but I did not add them

Same goes for Johnny’s family tree, for when I get to it

Marina is like, the only non canon name on this list, unless you include Anne but even then I got it from a different character

No idk how some things would play out due to this shift (ex. Sbr) this is mainly just for fun

Ryohei is younger than Norisuke IV, I just didn’t feel like going to the trouble of fixing it and swapping their places around

I… think that’s it? I’ll probably go back and update this eventually with Johnny’s family, and if Lucy ends up with children or anything and where ever the fuck Gappy, Jodio and Dragona end up, but for now this is it

Also thank you to these panels from JoJolion:

Also bonus Johnny family tree:

[sonics-atelier]

Beauty in Thorns : Tamlin and Feyre's Tale

For @feylinweek Day 4 : Beauty and The Beast ( apologises if this is cringey or smtg I'm mentally drained and this is all I could come up with )

In a castle of shadows, where roses bloom,

Tamlin resides in a world of gloom.

A beast of burden, with a heart of gold,

His tale untold, his secrets unfold.

Feyre, a maiden with fire in her soul,

Enters his world, where darkness takes its toll.

But beneath the surface, beauty lies,

In Tamlin's eyes, where love defies.

As they dance through halls of shattered dreams,

Their bond grows strong, or so it seems.

For in each other, they find their light,

In the depths of night, they take flight.

Tamlin, the beast, with a soul to mend,

Finds solace in Feyre, his dearest friend.

And Feyre, the beauty, with strength untold,

Finds refuge in Tamlin, his heart she holds.

Together they journey, through trials and pain,

Their love a beacon, amidst the rain.

For in their union, they find their release,

In a tale of love, where beauty meets beast.

- @sonics-atelier ( do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form , I will decapitate you)