#shall i animate her one day? perhaps

[asp3nn]

more siren penelope bc i really like suffering and i like her and shes altering my brain chemistry for no good reason

[neil-gaiman]

Will you read this? Eh, perhaps. You're a busy man with quite a lot of asks. But there is a very human part of me that wants to say my piece because I owe you quite a bit of thanks. And I shall express this thanks with a story of my first words.

When I was 2, approaching 3, years old my parents were worried I'd never speak. The child therapist we went to - quite an old bat if you ask me, considering the stories I've heard, but what do I know I was 2 - had told them to ever give up hope of hearing my voice.

On the way back from the appointment, my Godmother - the driver of the car used to take me to the doctor - stopped by a small bookshop and took me inside so my mother could weep appropriately out of line of her child. We went inside and she told me to look around for a book for myself. She knew I loved books - wasn't sure if I was reading them or not, but knew that I at least liked looking at them and wanted to keep me occupied.

I apparently stumbled around for a while, grabbed one small book off the shelf and plopped my little arse right down and started flipping through. About fifteen minutes go by - and my mother has thoroughly cried herself dry - and my Godmother comes up to me and scoops me up with the book.

I - being the obstinate two year old that I am - refuse to let go of said book and it's only about 50 American cents so she simply buys me the book.

For the next few weeks I only carry around the book. I do not touch any of my other toys or stuffed animals, only the very small picture book. I sleep with it under my pillow, carry it around happily, flip through it every so often.

And then one unassuming day, at the dinner table - with a set of non-prepared parents - boldly yelled out my first words ever: Blueberry Girl.

Now, I'm sure you've figured out at this point of the story that the book my little self was holding was none other than your boo Blueberry Girl - and this is where my thanks comes. I have spent the last sixteen or so years since first acquiring it repeating the words to myself, asking Ladies of Light and Ladies of Darkness and Ladies of Never-You-Mind to watch over me if they could spare moments of their time. I repeat them whenever I have a difficult test, and even in the few moments right before my graduation speech of high school.

So thank you for the words that touched my little soul and stuck with me till now.

You are so very, very welcome.

[messiahzzz]

You’re one of the most annoying people on this site. And that really says A LOT because WOW! Shut the Fuck up about Gale wanting to be a father or not. He never says that he doesn’t want to be one. You projecting things onto him doesn’t make it Canon.

on a serious note: i’m certainly not the one that continuously brings up this topic unprompted. i personally really don’t understand the entire controversy around the topic or why fandom feels the need to rehash this conversation almost weekly. i truly believe that there’s nothing more of value to learn from it, to address, or add to it… yet fandom won’t let it rest.

to once again clarify: what i mean by “gale wanting to be a father isn’t canon” is that there is no evidence/neither hints anywhere in any of the dialogue that support the contrary. characters like h*lsin, w*ll and la*’zel have entire adoption subplots. all of them mention their children explicitly during the epilogue:

narrator: *your soul warms thinking of lily aurora ravengard, your adopted daughter. a treasure of a girl, found at the entrance of the open hand temple - one grey eye, one brown.* w*ll: ah, the girl could melt the staunchest heart. she might even have brought a smile to old withers' face! w*ll: but tonight is for us - and lily's only four months of age, besides. i promise, the temple will keep her in good care.

player: and our little hatchling? is he safe? la*'zel: of course. i have complete trust in our newest allies. xan is in fine hands tonight. la*'zel: what a wonder he is. he will be a fine warrior, if he chooses. or a poet, or an explorer, or a scholar.

h*lsin: being away from it... i cannot help but worry how they will fare in our absence. player: we'll be back before they know it. h*lsin: i hope so. the children shall miss their bedtime tale tonight - though perhaps i can glean a few new stories from our friends here, to make up for it.

even shad*wh*art has a line where she briefly mentions that children might be a possibility for her in the future.

shad*wh*art: and i get to see my parents almost every day - i need to make every moment with them count, after so much was stolen from us. but they're doing well, [...] shad*wh*art: who knows? perhaps they'll have grandchildren before long.

gale in comparison? he has none of that. he remains childfree during the entirety of the game + epilogue. in fact, his line in the epilogue that addresses the topic of grandkids is this one:

tara: this is why mrs. dekarios and i will be waiting an eternity more for grandchildren. nodecontext: self-pitying gale: psst! shoo, tara. nodecontext: shooing away tara like one would a naughty cat.

i already wrote a post about this entire discourse here [x] but to repeat myself once more: all of the dialogue that vaguely addresses the topic of children in any way in regards to gale are these snippets

player: gale… how would you feel about having another person in our relationship? gale: what, like a child? i’m not quite sure i’d consider myself father material, plus our current lifestyle isn’t exactly what i’d call settled…

gale, upon spotting oliver during their game of hide and seek: ah, i have you! just a shame i don’t want you.

gale treating the children the group comes across with respect isn’t an indicator either. this is a courtesy gale extends to everyone he meets. he’s a character that approves of a protagonist who systematically commits good deeds. whether it’s sparing animals, helping without compensation in mind, or aiding children. wanting children to be cared for… and you know… for them not to die is common etiquette that every adult should extend to a child in need. those are not “dad goals!!!” it’s quite literally just basic human decency. gale is genuinely kind and caring to everyone he meets, there is no reason why this also wouldn’t apply to children.

i often see fandom mention his encounter with mol at last light and how excited he is to talk to her. which i think greatly misinterprets the context of the scenario since he didn’t have much of a reaction to mol before either — gale is ecstatic about lanceboard. again evident by his reaction to the party finding the life-sized board during the wyrmway trials, and how he immediately offers to give tav pointers. explaining different approaches to them in enthusiastic detail if they allow him to. the man just really likes lanceboard… as well as being the smartest person in the room.

gale: ah, lanceboard! why, this might just be the highlight of our misadventures to date.

gale: lanceboard happens to be a game with which i have more than a passing familiarity. might i offer a suggestion? nodecontext: gale's a badass lanceboard player, anticipating showing off

if you want to headcanon your tav and gale raising a big family together that is more than fine and no one is stopping you. whatever you want to happen to these two after the storyline of the game is up to your respective fantasies. no one is policing you on what you should do with your own character. go wild and create whatever fan content you wish, no justification required.

yet once again, as there is no mention in canon anywhere — neither in the main game nor the epilogue — that this is something gale would ever want (whether that may mean immediately or somewhere down the line) gale wanting to be a father remains a headcanon. while gale being childfree is explicitly shown in the game, in strict comparison to other companions that either have children by the end of the game or voice the desire to (eventually) have them.

my personal preferences are of no relevance here whatsoever. i care about accurate and correct characterization and will point out inconsistencies/false information no matter the topic. i, for one, want to appreciate these characters in the way they're written, not how i ideally want them to be.

[ofsappho]

THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani)

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

PART I: JESSICA

Lady Jessica focused her intent gaze on the Reverend-Mother’s... gift. This gaze, to which the minutiae of observation was second nature rather than practiced pretense, followed the lines of the girl-child’s high cheekbones up towards large eyes that appeared to overwhelm the face they were set in.

She’d seen that look in those eyes before. Perhaps a thousand times over, a million times over. Reflected in the mirror back at her on Wallach IX, reflected in the shadowed eyes of the girls she barely remembered. The girls that one by one fell, until amongst a hundred girls there stood five Bene Gesserit.

Jessica’s skirt rustled against the floor as she stalked closer, circling the child, examining every angle.

How interesting.

Such control in the child’s bearing, belied by such fear.

Paul had always been fascinated with off-world animals in the filmbooks; the agrarian creatures that inhabited Caladan for over twenty generations bore no thrill to her clever son. Jessica had never understood his fascination as the filmbooks rendered such organisms dead to her. Mere simulacrums of life with soulless eyes.

Perhaps one such simulacrum stood before her now in the form of a human girl. “Reverend-Mother, does she have a name?”

“We call her Chryse. However, if that name does not suit you, Jessica, you may name her as you wish. It is of no consequence to us.” Reverend-Mother Mohiam’s demeanor certainly hadn’t changed in the slightest from the days when she served her overtly. When Gaius Helen Mohiam spoke, everything from her inscrutable countenance to the even tones of her voice commanded subservience. “You will not harm nor bring harm to the girl-child. It is our one order.”

Jessica watched as Mohiam brushed her fingers against Chryse’s jaw to tilt her still face up towards the sallow light of the glow-globe. Not even a muscle twitched in her smooth facade. Jessica wondered what sort of chaos lay beneath, whether the girl would be like the jagged rocks under the beckoning surface of Caladan’s oceans. Only a fool would dive into the dark water blindly.

There was no other option but to acquiesce. “You have my word. She shall not come to harm under my care or the care of House Atreides.”

“Good.” A look passed between them, lasting only a second. Within that second lay an eternity.

The Reverend-Mother strode from the room with an economical gait, not sparing another iota of energy to look back.

Jessica knew then the precise nature of this “present”.

How many men had failed in the making of the Kwisatz Haderach? How many years, decades, centuries had her sisters carefully tended the most sacred plant, a mind that could bridge space and time. If Paul failed -

She stopped that fearful thought in its tracks, held it in the cradle of her mind’s eye, then let it pass through.

The Bene Gesserit were patient like mountains were patient. Time was an endless resource. It was better to cultivate many plants of good stock than to nurture a small garden and watch as its leaves shrivel and diel. Chryse was not and could never be the Kwisatz Haderach. Perhaps that fact ought to have assuaged Jessica’s fear. Yet - if Paul should die while he was only eleven, the House of Atreides forever extinguished, the child seemed poised to become the next vessel to carry the bloodline of the Kwisatz Haderach. Only ten years old, and she had mastered the prana-bindu like an adept three times her age. Who knew what sort of terror she had been bred to create?

Her son had already shown promise even without her training. Paul might flourish, grow into a man, grow into the mind that the universe needed. That would never come to pass if Chryse supplanted him.

Mohiam must have felt some minute degree of affection towards Jessica. If she hadn’t, the Reverend-Mother would not have left the girl in her care. The blade was double-edged; the Bene Gesserit cared not for which of the two survived, only that one of them did. Motherhood had softened Jessica to the point where she felt some empathy for her poor charge. Not enough empathy to entirely stay her hand, but enough that she wanted the girl to live. Enough that she intended to lift the burden of killing her from Paul’s narrow shoulders.

“Come here, girl.” Once she was close enough that the Bene Gesserit-trained woman could stretch out a single, finely-boned hand and press her fingers to the weapon’s temple, she bade her stop.

Jessica brushed her mind carefully up against Chryse’s, wary of the mind traps the girl had surely been taught from birth.

There were no traps. Not even a token protest.

Chryse had fewer defenses than a newborn infant. Her mind was splayed out in the open; even the slightest whisper of Voice guaranteed complete obedience. The Bene Gesserit had truly forged a weapon of a girl. She hadn’t a psyche of her own - where there should lay a personality was instead filled with iron bars of mind conditioning. Jessica’s heart ached for her. No child deserved to live like that.

A moment passed wherein she further plumbed the depths of her mind. Jessica knew then that Chryse could never use a Voice of her own. The same breeding that had left her mind wide open had left her unable to Speak. But of what use to the lineage of the Kwisatz Haderach was a girl entirely unable to use the Voice and critically susceptible to it?

The vision came on suddenly, as the waves did against the shores of Caladan. A figure whirled amongst dozens of men as they fell to their knees. The lady knew those movements by heart even though they felt wrong. It was the Weirding Way, without a doubt. At the same time, every action was utterly alien. Chryse moved through the battlefield like a valkyrie of old with hands that created ruination with every twitch. Her deficit of Voice was more than made up by her complete mastery over the physical realities of others. Lungs collapsed inwards; hearts refused to beat; nerves froze. Blood. Oceans of blood.

Without meaning to, her fingers fell away from the girl’s temple in astonishment and the vision dissipated like morning mist.

The Kwisatz Mother had bred an abomination.

The laws of nature should have forbidden such a being from coming into existence. No doubt, she wouldn’t have without the careful guidance of the Bene Gesserit. What infinite combination of genes could produce a person who could bend human bodies to their will? A weapon to be wielded against the very molecules of anatomy? Chryse had quite a bit further to go before she would become the war goddess Jessica saw in her vision, but her raw talent remained a cudgel poised over Paul’s head and ready to end his life.

This was an unacceptable outcome.

Forgive me, Jessica thought; forgive me for what I must do. “You will never harm Paul Atreides. You will never allow harm to come to Paul Atreides. You will always remain loyal to him and never betray him in the slightest. You will lay down your life for him.” She swallowed down her guilt as she watched her Voice take root in the blank shell of the young girl’s mind. That Chryse was now freed from Bene Gesserit absolute control was a small consolation for the crime done against her. For Paul to live, this girl must be subjugated.

Her wide, dark eyes blinked. There it was - a tiny spark of life in her young, solemn face. Chryse was just a girl. A young one, at that. Innocent. Guilt ensnared Jessica’s heart and held it in a chokehold. The sisterhood had not completely uprooted her weak personality, but there was no doubt that their conditioning program left permanent scars. Jessica’s Voice would not have affected Chryse nearly as much without it.

The lady resolved always to be tender to the girl. At a minimum, she could improve the quality of Chryse’s life. Jessica told herself this as she called for servants to take the girl, bathe her, dress her, and prepare a chamber for her near Paul’s. Was it so selfish of her to want her son to live? At any cost? Paul’s new companion would always be treated well and never punished. There were worse fates. For the Kwisatz Haderach, the Bene Gesserit could commit any number of sins.

But Jessica knew her mind and herself. This was a blood debt that she could never repay.

Paul would be safe, and the girl’s powers would never be used against him. That would be her consolation.

-

Her palms smoothed over the muscled plains of Leto’s back. The Duke was her husband in all but name, and Jessica reveled in how he relaxed at her touch. At the school on Wallach IX, she’d learned everything but the warmth of trust and partnership built from deep, mutual love. There was no room in the lives of the Bene Gesserit for any kind of love besides the love of the sisterhood. It was this trust and love that had led Jessica to birth Leto a male heir instead of the daughters she’d been commanded to produce.

Leto reluctantly pulled himself away from her to pick through some papers strewn across his desk. “What’s this I hear about a new handmaiden joining our household?” 

Involuntarily, Jessica inhaled. “Ah, my new charge. Chryse. An orphan, Bene Gesserit trained but not suited to the task. Reverend-Mother Mohiam, the Imperial truth-sayer, has entrusted her safety to me.” She kept her hands out of Leto’s line of sight so he couldn’t see the tension in her white knuckles. Ever so slowly, the lady exhaled. Again, guilt. The guilt threatened to consume her whole.

Her husband had always been far too intuitive for his own good. “She is young.” Sometimes a conversation with him was like playing chess. Every word, every tone, every movement playing off those of the other. Jessica enjoyed such a conversation far more when the stakes were not nearly as high. Perhaps he knew even subconsciously what she felt, what she had done.

Jessica let the silence in the air hang.

Leto sat at his desk, his brown eyes never leaving her smooth face.

She conceded first. “It will be some time before the girl will serve as my handmaiden in truth, but is she not of an age with Paul?” Not quite a lie, not quite a truth. A certainty presented as a question even though she had already decided the answer.

With no other child from her in sight and no political marriage alliance contracted to provide others, her son remained at the forefront of his father’s concerns. “Paul must keep his attention turned towards his lessons. I trust you, Jessica. He cannot be distracted.” Leto was known to others as inscrutable and honorable. She could read every emotion that flickered across his handsome face. He was worried; that much was plain. He was worried about what the legacy he’d built and the enemies he made might do to his kind son. His only son.

Even though he would never know it, the solution to his worries was close at hand. “My love, every child needs a companion. There are no children of an age with Paul on Caladan and certainly none suitable for his station. I’ve seen his loneliness. I know you have too.” The truth in her words was undeniable. Only eleven years old, and Paul had never known a friend his age on Caladan. He glued himself to his filmbooks and the stories of Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck. Leto cared for more than just raising an heir. Jessica knew he loved Paul. He worried about his well-being. Her husband would grant her this wish. Check.

“What better place for a friend than a girl in his mother’s service? They won’t have to be parted for quite some time. And there is no better judge of caliber than the Bene Gesserit.”

His resigned sigh echoed in the quiet of his study. Checkmate. “You’re right.” Leto’s footsteps as he got up and drew closer to her were a comforting rhythm. She knew that rhythm by heart.

“I do tend to be.” The impulse to feel the rhythm of his pulse beneath her hands overtook her, and she let it. Jessica reached out to press herself to him. Her Duke responded in kind as he gently drew her arms around his neck and brushed his forehead against hers.

It was more than enough sometimes to breathe in the same air as her beloved. To know that she shared space, time, and life with him.

Leto pressed a kiss to her mouth. Without any further words, he left the room.

Her fingers pressed against her closed eyes as if to alleviate the burden she’d taken upon herself. All of this would be justified in the end. Jessica had to keep faith in that.

Reposting this unfinished dune fic i started during the 1st movie and orphaned on ao3! Seems as if there's interest. LMK if you want on the tag list.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Rhaenyra with prompt 10 plz

Prompt list - 10. Mutual Masturbation [F/F]

--------------------------------🐲-----------------------------------

Rhaenyra sighed as she sat at her vanity. Preparing for bed, but even looking at her own reflection seemed exhausting at this point.

Had she known the burden of taking the crown and wearing it would be so much, she may have just laid it down to begin with.

“Your Grace,” Rhaenyra turned from her reflection and frivolous thoughts, “are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I am fine.” She told her ladies maid before returning to getting ready for bed. “Just a little tired. That’s all.”

“Hmmm…yes. It has been a long day, hasn’t it.” The young woman came up behind her Queen. Taking the brush and taking over the duties of brushing her long, silver hair. “Any word from Prince Daemon?”

Rhaenyra’s face soured but played it off as if she had hit some knot. “No. Not yet. But we will.” The last part was added as more of a hope than a fact. “I do not wish to talk about that right now. I do not wish to think about anything right now.”

The Queen sighed and slouched in her chair. Her maid chuckled a little and sat the brush down. “Shall I help with that instead, your grace?”

Rhaenyra looked up at the other woman. Her face sincere and non-judgmental. The first face in days she had seen that wanted nothing of her, save Rhaenyra’s happiness. “Yes.”

They come over to the bed and the maid helped her strip out of her nightclothes. “You too.” She ordered. This was not the first time they had done this. Her maid helping her ‘relax’. But Rhaenyra preferred them both to be naked when they did. There was something…vulnerable about it when she was naked and her maid was not. Too much the potential for danger; but perhaps that was her paranoia of late.

“Of course, your grace.” She agreed and stripped out of her simple clothes as well.

They lay on the bed facing each other. A long moment passes over them. Both waiting for the other to move and initiate. No one was sure who moved first, but soon enough they were kissing and the maid’s soft but still calloused hands roamed over Rhaenyra’s body.

Rhaenyra moaned softly into the kiss. Realizing now how devoid of touch she had been since Daemon had left. Her girl’s finger tips brush over a swiftly pebbling nipple. Down her center and over her naval. Finally seeking  purchase between her thighs. “Oh Gods…” Rhaenyra moaned. Hips almost instantly bucking against those practiced fingers.

The digits stroke at her core and moistened folds. Brush over her pearl in a way that makes her shiver. Mind going blank in the fog of passion, just like she wanted.

Rhaenyra’s own hand reached out for her maid and started to touch her as well. “Your grace,” the other woman sighed wantonly, “you needn’t….this is to help you. About what you want.”

“This is what I want.” Rhaenyra told her. Thighs trembling as their panting breathes mix together amongst the whispers of their secret. “Would you deny your Queen?”

The other woman whimpered and leaned in to kiss her Queen.

Their hands continue to touch and fondle each other in the dark. Soon enough, they were rutting against each other like animals. Devoid of the pleasantries of their stations and replaced with the primal urge for climax.

Rhaenyra came first. Apex seizing around her maid’s fingers as her whole body shook. Grasping at her with her free hand while the other toyed with her maid’s clit further to send her over the edge as well.

When it was over, and the fuzzy feeling of the fog had lifted, Rhaenyra turned to slide herself beneath the sheets and felt the bed shift for her maid to leave. “Wait. Don’t go.” The other woman paused, dress in her hand. For a moment looking just a pen drop fearful as Targareyn’s were known to change their mood like the winds. “It is rather cold tonight. I could use a bedwarmer for the evening.”

It was no lie. Dragonstone was much cooler than King’s Landing. Cooler in climate. Cooler in company. Cooler without Daemon here beside her.

Her maid smiled shyly and dropped her dress back to the ground. “Of course, your grace, whatever you need.” She crawled back into bed with Rhaenyra. Coiling about her as the Queen wished before the two fell asleep.

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw (part 1)

Contains: Body Horror, Blood, Violence

You had fallen to Teyvat some time ago, pulled down from the sky by a brilliant platinum star, the elements gently beckoning for you, all of them trying to prove their land the most suitable for your descent.

"Welcome back, Sea-shaper," Hydro murmurs, their voice the babbling of streams and the roar of the angry sea all at once. "Fontaine has such sights to show you. As you created, we have created to honor your actions. For your beauty, we have made our people beautiful. You will want for nothing-"

"COME TO US, HOLY TINDER," Pyro roars, its voice the starving crackle of flame and the churning of molten rock as volcanoes erupt. "NATLAN AWAITS YOU WITH AN OFFERING OF ENDLESS PASSION. YOU SHALL NEVER GO UNPROTECTED, UNLOVED, OR HUNGRY."

"Welcome, almighty Whirlwind of Creation," Electro purrs, speaking with the rattle-boom of echoing thunder. "Shall you grace my people with your presence?"

"Welcome home, Blessed Foundation," Geo hums, their voice the whispers of sand and the ancient growl of tectonic plates shifting. "Liyue has grown prosperous since you've last seen it. Perhaps you should come to us instead, where the riches of Teyvat could be put directly to use in pleasing you?"

"Don't listen to them, First Breath! We've waited for you the longest, like, a whole forever! We were first!" Anemo pleads, in the tones of breeze softly rustling leaves and howling tornadoes. "Even if you just stop by, that's totally fine!"

"You've finally come home, Heart of Winter? Good. We have missed you so." Cryo coos, the flurrying of snow and ancient creaking of glaciers their voice. "Snezhnaya may be a harsh land, but faith is enough to warm the bodies of my people."

"Flower of Irminsul, Root of All, please! You cannot come down! Another wears your face, please turn back if only for a few more days!" Dendro howls, desperate, voice a cacophony of falling trees and leaves rustling. "You ar-"

Dendro's voice fades as you pass the point of no return and begin to burn through the sky towards Mondstadt, Anemo ripping at the air to direct your course even as the other elements rage at them for their impudence.

As you fall, the memory of this conversation fades from your mind.

Welcome home, Maker, whispers the Abyss into the back of your mind.

Since that day, your time in Teyvat had become quite difficult. Whatever hopes you'd had for this world were soundly dashed.

Mondstadt 'welcomed' you with scorn and hostility for sharing the same face as their Heiliger Schöpfer, the Divine above Divines.

You were unsure as to why they hated you so, simply for your face- especially since that face is one that's otherwise looked kindly upon in this world.

You do your best to take in the sights, all the same. Though you are confused by the frosty reception, this place is so much more interesting than the game shows.

There are many more homes and people, you see (and pet) some stray animals, pick a particularly low philanemo mushroom after a couple seconds of jumping and stretching in an attempt to reach it, and generally just enjoy the (rather tense) locale.

Your confusion became fear when the Knights of Favonius begin to chase you. You'd done no crime, why would they hunt you like this, especially with such wrathful looks on their faces?!

The closest you get to meeting any of the allogenes on friendly terms comes when you breeze past Sucrose, yelping out a greeting to her. She just watches you go, incredibly confused, before a Knight accidentally bowls her over in his maddened rush after you.

Just as you exit the gate, the Knights just behind you, yelling curses and what you presume are threats-

P a i n.

Eula Lawrence just pushed a greatsword through your lungs and out your back. You have no clue how she got here so fast, where from, or how you didn't notice her.

You gag and choke as your blood quickly rushes into the space (and out of your body, simultaneously).

With a vicious yank, she tears it from you in a diagonal motion, nearly carving you in half.

A darkly satisfied look in her eyes is all you receive when you uselessly try to gasp for air and plead for help.

Your vision begins to fade, but before you can die of blood loss her boot comes down.

(Your nascent godhood activates the moment you die, and it plots a new trajectory: your misery will shape you until such a time comes that you will never feel this suffering again.)

You wake screaming in the woods, hands coming to clutch at your chest.

A massive golden scar lies just between your xiphoid process and sternum, perfectly horizontal in a way that only comes with practice.

Your clothes are covered in the brownish rusty red of old dried blood, and quite badly torn from where you were sliced nearly in two.

Breathing feels... easier, somehow. Like your lungs didn't just heal from immense trauma.

Your stomach aches badly and your mouth feels like it's full of sand. How long have you been laying here beneath the sun?

Your attempts to rise from this resting place are fruitless. You're so exhausted you can barely move your fingers.

Darkness slowly weighs your eyelids down and you fall asleep, even though you know you should not.

---

Elsewhere in the world, a being wearing your face stares up at a statue to themselves, noting with some alarm the golden scar across its chest.

The only recent news they had about an imposter was the Lawrence outcast running one through.

Now they'll have to find some way to replicate your scar and keep up the ruse.

"The original has truly descended, then... fine." They hiss, words venomous, glaring at the face of the statue. "If I can't have this place as my playground, then they won't get to have you."

---

The next time you wake, it is night, and the hunger in your belly is gnawing at you with such fervor that you feel lightheaded.

When you stand, your head twinges with pain as if to protest even this miniscule expenditure of energy.

Your body stumbles at first, briefly overcome by vertigo, but quickly adjusts.

Your mind changes its tune completely upon seeing a plump, ripe Sunsettia growing on its branch.

You desperately scramble over to pull the Sunsettia from the tree- only for it to drop into your waiting hands as soon as you reach up.

The 'how' of this doesn't quite matter to you in the moment. You bite into the ripe fruit and moan in bliss at the tart taste of the flesh and the sweetness of the juices. Within twenty seconds, you've reduced this fruit to a nubby pit, almost like a peach has.

That's kinda neat, actually. You distantly wonder what you have to crossbreed with a peach to make Sunsettias.

You pat the tree as if to thank it, not noticing that it suddenly stands a bit straighter or how its leaves are just a tiny bit greener, and go to find a nice place to put down this future Sunsettia tree.

You eventually get bored of looking for a good place and just poke a hole into the ground with a fallen branch, then stuff the remains of your first Sunsettia into the hole.

You wander off into the woods in hopes of finding a road, unaware of the golden-leaved sapling slowly growing behind you.

With a new source of energy in your system, you feel the urge to get moving- might as well make the most of this while you have it.

Your stamina is better than before, it feels like. Distances that previously felt difficult feel easier on your legs- and definitely on your lungs.

Perhaps this has something to do with your demise?

...what's that weird whistling soun-

You fall, dead, an Anemo-enriched arrow punching through the back of your head.

For a brief moment, you dream of a place deep beneath the surface of Teyvat, and a ruined statue oozing corruption into infinite darkness.

You wake with a small headache, very hungry, and more than a little pissed. Won't people just leave you the fuck alone?

Somehow, you feel sturdier. Less breakable. As nice as that is, you don't particularly feel up to testing it.

You stand.

Perhaps you should avoid civilization from now on.

[sky-kiss]

Raphael & Jaheira: You All Meet at an Inn

A/N: I had to get an intro out of the way before proper sassing down the line. And apologies, I'm out of practice with writing.

R & J: Let's be honest, his taste in wine is so much better than hers

Like many of his kind, the devil was a series of contradictions. 

Handsome but not striking. Languid, but only on a cursory inspection. A more pointed observation would showcase the taut muscles in his shoulders and thighs, hinting that the lazy rolling motion of his wrist was intentional rather than instinctual. And, perhaps most importantly, despite the ostentatiousness of his garb, rich blues, reds, and golds, which demanded attention and respect, few of the Last Light’s patrons truly saw him. 

Jaheira did not fault them for the oversight. The High Harper noted it with a world-weary amalgamation of affection and exhaustion. Few prey animals noticed the hunter until it was upon them. Man and beast were not such disparate creatures. 

She shifted, rolling her shoulders to alleviate some residual tension—the aches that never seemed to properly fade these days, which had faded until only a decade prior. She should turn him out. And aye, much like the aches, even a decade ago, she might have done something about his presence—but where was the harm? He stuck to his corner and played his games. 

In the darker stretches of the night, his attention shifted away from the lance-board and his books towards the door. The devil waited. 

Jaheira waited, too.  

The devil lifted his head, eyes flicking from the Mystra piece to the Harper. He made a show of it, eyes widening, lips turning up in a smile—noticing her, seemingly for the first time. She snorted, arching a brow. He shrugged, expression relaxing into something more neutral and more genuine, motioning to the seat across from him. 

“You know, I rather wondered which of us would bring our little dance to its close,” he began, voice warm and rich. His lips twitched, expression colored with so many masterful little notes—presumed intimacy, natural familiarity…they might have been old friends meeting for drinks in any alehouse. Easiness and charm…the domain of all his kind. His eyes glittered in the firelight. 

The half-elf sunk into the chair, holding her arms out wide. “Shall we continue circling each other like coquettish maids?” Jaheira waved him off. “Who has time for it?”

“Certainly not you, High Harper. All this,” he motioned around them, attention flicking to the window and the shadows just beyond. “Resting on your shoulders…such a weighty calling.” 

“You offer to take it from me?” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You are so…uniquely equipped for these travails.” 

Jaheira snorted. “Let us call it experience—hard won over many years of life.” She tipped her head to the side, regarding him closely. Without a room of distance between them, she could appreciate the more minor details of this mortal form: wrinkles near the corners of his eyes, hints of sunspots across the back of his hands, and streaks of gray brightening otherwise dark hair. He felt fully manifest in a way so many of his ilk failed to recognize—the little things grounded an illusion in reality. “Come, tell me what to call you. In my head, it is ‘devil this, devil that’...tedious.” 

His eyes widened. “You shall have to forgive this lapse in manners—it’s the setting, you see. One really isn’t at their best.” He mimed a bow, someone still regal despite the confines of the chair. “I am Raphael—very much at your service.” 

“A pleasant name! Well-suited to this pleasant face.”  

Raphael hummed. With a snap of his fingers, the lance-board disappeared. In its place, a bottle of brandy. She did not recognize the label’s language. “A devil in your house, and yet…we are rather blase.” 

“Do not take it personally.” She ghosted her fingers across the table. “Gods of death, demon princes…after these things—” his muscles drew taut, eyes narrowing as she spoke. “ —your feathers are very pretty, but… you make for a much smaller bird.” 

To his credit, Raphael laughed. He poured them each a glass of wine. As if in concession, he took the first sip—no poison. Jaheira bowed her head and followed suit. The wine’s bouquet blossomed across her tongue—rich and deep, a hint of cherry and leather giving way to softer, more subtle notes. It reminded her of Calimshan—pleasant evenings before the true weight of adventuring settled on her shoulder…when she’d been young, Khalid at her side. 

The knowing glint in his eye said he’d anticipated such a reaction. A smaller bird, perhaps, but cunning. I have survived so many years, his gaze said, and I have thrived for good reason. 

“To walk so freely on the Prime is no small thing. And you do not seem the sort to bind yourself to the whims of mortals…” she tapped her chin. “A cambion, then.” 

“Are we to trade parlor tricks, my dear? Shall I ask if your house qualified you as a ‘princess’ or a ‘lady’ in Tethyr?” 

“A lady, though my youngest will argue that point till she is blue in the face.” Jaheira held up her glass in salute. “Do not take offense—it was a compliment, one mongrel to another.” 

Raphael chuckled. “One mongrel to another.” The cambion sighed, relaxing back into his seat. He stroked his chin, fingers teasing across the whisper of stubble—not quite a day’s growth, perhaps a matter of hours. A testament to his dedication and vanity—over the past week, he’d never moved from his seat by the window. “Shall we be honest with each other, ladyship?” 

“It depends. Will honestly not make your skin itch?” 

“You wound me. I am a paragon of virtue to friends and clients both. And the honest truth is I am awaiting a favorite distraction of mine.” He sipped his wine again. “I dare say they might even solve the lion’s share of your problems. Interested?” 

She hummed. Jaheira settled more comfortably in her chair. “Sing me your song, lovely bird. Perhaps…we may yet benefit one another.”

[stiltonbasket]

For the wen!wwx au, how does lwj find out that wwx is a spy for the resistance?

(chapter list here)

On the night Wei Ying's daughter is born, the Wei-fu does not sleep until well past sunrise.

After Wen Qing was summoned to tend to Li Shuai, Wei Ying and Yu Zhenhong began keeping vigil in the rear court's central garden, accompanied by Wen Sizhui. From what little Lan Wangji hears from Wei Ying's private courtyard as the evening draws on, both mother and child seem to be faring well; but as hai shi passes, and then midnight, he takes his wheeled chair to the training field and rolls slowly around the perimeter until Xiao Liuzi comes to bring him a tray of snacks and tea.

"I saw the light in the Jade Courtyard," Xiao Liuzi explains. "Supper was hours ago, Hanguang-jun, so Cook asked me to bring you a tea-tray."

"I have no appetite," Lan Wangji says brusquely, "though I am grateful for your kindness. Tell me, how is Lady Li?"

"Ah, that..."

Lan Wangji's blood runs cold. "Is she—her child, are they—?"

"No, Hanguang-jun! There hasn't been any news at all. This is Lady Li's first child, so it might be early evening before the baby comes."

"And what about Wei Ying? Has he eaten?"

"He and Master Yu are still in the garden," Xiao Liuzi tells him. "My lord managed to eat a little, but he says he won't sleep until everything is over."

He hesitates for a moment, and then:

"He said there was no need for you to wait up for him, Hanguang-jun. You could damage your meridians again, and your legs..."

"One night without sleep can hardly make them worse," Lan Wangji says. "Return to the garden outside Lady Li's courtyard and report back to me the moment you hear anything."

"Yes, Hanguang-jun!"

"And get something to eat."

"Yes, Hanguang-jun! If you don't want the cakes, Cook is making—"

"I meant for yourself."

At that, Xiao Liuzi turns pink and takes to his heels, leaving his plate of cakes behind him; and Lan Wangji comes to a halt under the great oak in the south corner of the field and remains there until Xiao Liuzi comes crashing back through the gates with Wen Sizhui at his heels.

"She's here, Hanguang-jun!" Sizhui cries, grasping Lan Wangji's hands. "I'm a xiongzhang! I have a sister!"

"Lady Li is well, too," Xiao Liuzi jumps in. "Tired, of course, but she had enough appetite to drink a bowl of soup and eat some of the rice left over from supper."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes.

"The general must be delighted," he says thickly.

He could not quite tell what he was feeling, just then. Certainly Lan Wangji is relieved on behalf of Lady Li and her baby daughter—Wei Ying's daughter—but some part of his heart aches as if some small animal had begun to gnaw on it, blind to the fact that even its weak teeth were sturdy enough to do harm. It aches as it had ached on the nights that Wei Ying slept in Yu Zhenhong's courtyard, or spoke of how Li Shuai's beauty had enchanted him at first sight; and though Lan Wangji is dimly aware of the fact merely laying eyes on Wei Ying would be a comfort to him at that moment, he cannot bring himself to go looking for him.

"He is," Xiao Liuzi beams, not noticing the strange look in Lan Wangji's eyes. "Junshang will surely be disappointed, for he was hoping for a new young master, but my lord is overjoyed. Shall I help you to bed now, Hanguang-jun?"

It strikes Lan Wangji then that Wei Ying might not return to his own quarters that day. Perhaps he would sleep on the long sofa in Li Shuai's sitting room, unable to part from his lady and her child. Or perhaps he would go to Yu Zhenhong instead, for he had been too busy preparing for the child's arrival to grant any favor to his most-beloved concubine since the turning of the last month.

He will be a nuisance to Wen Qing and the other physicians if he sleeps in Li Shuai's room, Lan Wangji thinks wretchedly. And if he sleeps in Yu Zhenhong's quarters, then...

But Yu Zhenhong stood vigil with him; he too had not slept, so if Wei Ying could bring himself to leave Li Shuai—and it would be to his credit if he could not, for she had risked her very life to bring Wei Ying's daughter into the world—might he not choose to rest in his own courtyard, rather than troubling Yu Zhenhong?

"Yes, you may," he hears himself say to Xiao Liuzi. "And afterwards, draw a hot bath for your lord and lay out fresh sleeping robes on the bed."

In the end, Lan Wangji breaks his fast alone. Wei Ying does not appear for another three hours; and when he finally returns, heavy-eyed and pale from the night's worry, he has a tiny bundle of blankets clutched close to his chest.

Lan Wangji's heart seizes. "Is that—?"

Wei Ying falls to his knees at Lan Wangji's side.

"Oh, look at her," he whispers, spellbound. "I never dreamed that I would have a daughter, Lan Zhan! Isn't she perfect?"

He draws back the blanket and lets the baby grasp his little finger. "This is your Zhan-shushu!" he murmurs, kissing her downy black head. "His face might be fierce, but his heart is as soft as tofu, really, so A-Mei mustn't be afraid of him."

"A-Mei?"

"It's only her baby name," Wei Ying says, blushing. "A-Shuai always wanted to have a little girl named after the roses that grew in her mother's old garden—but Mei doesn't sound quite right with my name, so we'll have to choose something else for her formal name."

Lan Wangji frowns and opens his mouth, for Wei Mei is a perfectly serviceable name: but then he stops and stares at the crease of pink skin between the child's left thumb and forefinger.

There is a blood-red mole there, shaped like a tiny crescent moon. Lan Wangji ought to have thought nothing of it, for he saw three Lan children born with moles the color of spilt wine on their faces when he was a boy.

But he has also seen a grown man with a mole identical to small Wei Mei's—within the very walls of the Wei-fu, at that—and that man was not Wei Ying.

He reaches out to touch the baby's hand, meeting no resistance from his besotted husband. He places his own finger in the child's left palm, and then in the right; and just as he suspected, the baby's right hand is weaker than the left.

There are no left-handed men in the High General's manor, other than Yu Zhenhong.

Lan Wangji releases the baby's arm and straightens his posture, his heart racing. The more he studies Wei Mei's features, the more he finds of Yu Zhenhong and Li Shuai; but Wei Ying, overwhelmed with happiness at having gained a second child after sixteen years spent wishing for a brother or sister for Sizhui, seems to have noticed nothing at all.

What would he do, if he were to learn that Li Shuai's baby had been fathered by another man? Would he cast her out? Kill Yu Zhenhong? Lan Wangji would keep silent to the end of his days to prevent such a thing from happening, for a wiling affair, while cruel to the utmost, did not merit death as a punishment.

But he knows Wei Ying; and if not for the obedience sigils carved into his back, his husband would have taken up his dao and cut his own throat before spilling even a drop of innocent blood.

"Wei Ying," he says at last. "Return Xiao Mei to her mother. There is something I must ask you."

So Wei Ying goes, ferrying his precious burden back to Li Shuai's courtyard with breathless care, and then he returns to the bedroom he shares with Lan Wangji and brings out the red-jade tea service in the cupboard.

Lan Wangji watches him move about the room, gathering tea leaves and preparing hot water, and decides that the most advantageous way forward is to catch Wei Ying off his guard.

"I know that Yu Zhenhong and Li Shuai are only your concubines in name," he says slowly, for Wei Ying's kindness is not of the sort that might dull a man's wits; and now that Lan Wangji thinks on it, he would certainly have noticed if his concubines were carrying on together in his absence. "But given that you have no interest in either of them, I cannot understand why you took them into the Wei-fu in the first place."

The blood drains from Wei Ying's face—out of fear, not wrath—and in that moment, Lan Wangji realizes that he has stumbled upon something of far greater significance than a love affair between two concubines, though he knows now that Wei Ying had never belonged to either of them.

"Belong to them?" Wei Ying says with a strangled laugh. "I'll never belong to anyone, other than Wen Ruohan."

Lan Wangji is silent for a moment.

"That is not true," he replies. "There is something more behind all this, I know it. Tell me."

So Wei Ying bows his head, and tells him everything; and when they finally begin preparing for bed, Lan Wangji fetches a sandalwood comb from the nightstand and asks Wei Ying to kneel so that he can brush out his hair.

"You will not always belong to Wen Ruohan," he whispers between strokes, his eyes lingering on the back of Wei Ying's fair neck. "You do not belong to him now. A thief may lay his hands on whatever he pleases; it does not follow that he owns it."

"But he can do whatever he pleases with his stolen goods, can't he?"

"You speak as if you have not already betrayed the thief in question a hundred times over, Wei-jiangjun."

"...En, that's so."

Lan Wangji lays down the comb and weaves Wei Ying's hair into a long, thick braid.

"Now that I know," he says quietly, "I beg of you not to keep such secrets from me again! I will follow your commands from this day forth, whatever they may be; and until your work is over, I will not leave your side."

[searchingforserendipity25]

You have been caught in a dream for a thousand years. 

-

You have been sap; you have been an animal's dead pelt, the buzzing mindless whir of a fly. The starlight upon the glade, the roots underneath. 

You are the one who brought it all up from the earth. And you are the thing caught beneath her. 

-

A thousand years; it is a work of will to be a thing apart, for thousands of years afterwards. Pride you make anew, and strength of mind; the clarity that was your own, and remained all that time, but changed. 

-

You have been caught in a dream for a thousand years; one day, you know, he will die, and leave you bereft, absent of starlight, fur, the bright flare of his mind.

-

All things will diminish in his absence; most of all those things you had a hand in creating, for they became his in the loving, and shall ever be his after you met.

-

You have been in this glade for a thousand years. 

You do not know what might make her release you. You do not wish to be released. Once perhaps you had a name, kin, a task and a duty - before you were hers. Elwe died at her feet, crumpling, overgrown with lichens and smooth-faced worms. Thingol returned.

You, Thingol, who hold your wife’s hands as you walk through the dark aisles of Nan Elmoth, boughs and roots curling away to give you precedence.

-

Look away, you say. You: the trees, the night. This is not for you. These sights are not made for your kind. You will burn from within, little king, and starve, and go mad.

He does not want to look away. He does not; and you do not wish him to - and till the end of all things a doubt will remain.

Whose will it was to linger through the years, lost in the meetings of minds?

But then he loves you very dearly, and loves to fear you; until he forgets it. It would have been better, if you had not let him forget it.

-

You blink, and see it still.

The starry night through the tall branches and in the tall branches, in all things - purple starlight, and green, blue, golden celestial creatures whirring in her eyes. 

Then, there are the knives. Inside your own walls, as close to you as your own skin; you fall, blood seeping through the cracks in the stone, sinking. You see it, at the last - your wife the starlit night, your beloved.

-

He remembers the doubt. Dying, remembers what it was like to be dying before her.

The last of vanity was broken away like a mask. If only he could tell her:

I was glad to burn, I chose it - I would choose it always, a death of pride is my own and ever has been -

Melian takes the glade in Nan Elmoth with herself until the end of all things.

[thethreeeyed-raven]

first meeting

make me feel masterlist

navigation | warnings : none? | dream of the endless playlist | tags : @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom , @knight-of-flowerss , @fangsp1der-2099

“Miss Y/n!”

One of your maids entered your bedroom and had drawn the curtains. You sat up tiredly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and shielding them from the bright sun when you opened them to look at the woman.

“Yes, Prudence?” You asked her groggily.

She gave you a small smile, placing the fresh clean clothes she had folded in her arm on the chair in front of your dresser. “Your mother wants you downstairs as soon as you're ready. Your sister, the Duchess, is here for a visit.”

You sighed, already knowing what the visit was for.

“Finally! The diamond is awake!” Violet beamed with glee, taking your hands in hers and leading you to sit next to Daphne.

“Mama, I’ve just opened my eyes.”

Violet shook her head. “No my dear, you should be excited. You're the diamond of the season!”

“Unfortunately.” You whispered under your breath, causing you to receive a whack on the arm from Daphne.

“You know, I actually quite enjoyed my time as the season’s diamond, it was wonderful!” She exclaimed cheerfully.

You rolled your eyes with exasperation. “Yes, only because you got a loving husband out of it.”

“And so will you,” Daphne took your hands in hers, squeezing them with reassurance. “You just have to try.”

But I don’t want to get married…

Morpheus awoke with a light knock on the door.

If it was any other time, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he had been awake for hours. He hadn’t slept properly in a few days, only getting a couple of hours in.

“My lord?” He heard one of his most trusted maids say through the door.

“Yes, Lucienne?” He said exhaustedly.

“Your sister, Death, is here. Would you like me to tell her-”

Morpheus cut her off, suddenly wide awake now. “No. Tell her I shall be only a few moments.”

He rose from the bed, changing into a white dress shirt, and a pair of black trousers. The shirt was half buttoned because he couldn’t be bothered.

“Death.”

Death rose from her seat on the plush black couch, giving her dear brother a smile. “Dream, I have been waiting for you.”

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Morpheus suddenly felt guilty.

She embraced him in a tight hug before sitting back down, patting the space next to her.

“It’s been too long my dear brother, how have you been?”

Morpheus sighed, he hated having to tell people things about him. “Okay, I suppose.”

Death frowned, but shrugged it off. “So, I saw you the other night at the announcement ball. You were talking with the Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Indeed I was, though I did not notice you there. Were you lurking in the shadows?”

He smirked and Death chuckled. “Like you wish you were doing?”

They both shook their heads and the laughter ceased.

“Talking of the Bridgertons, one of their ladies has yet again been named the Diamond of the Season.” Death tilted her head. “Have you spoken to her yet? You are good friends with her brother.”

“Anthony and I are simply good acquaintances, I don’t-”

“Do friends.” Death shook her head and rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “But perhaps you should put yourself out there, maybe try and catch Miss Bridgerton’s attention.”

“I don’t want to catch anyone's attention. I’m fine as I am, alone.”

You had decided that balls and galas were now the bane of your existence.

Anthony stood off to the side with Kate, Daphne and Simon. All of them watching as you would be bombarded with men asking for a dance, or asking if you wanted a drink.

“No thank you.” You rejected once again.

You walked up the the four with an angry look. “Could you please do something about these animals? They won’t leave me alone!”

“Well you are the seasons diamond, men are going to be throwing themselves at your feet.” Kate responded sympathetically.

“Well can they throw themselves out of the window instead?!” You whisper-shouted.

Anthony have you a pointed look, getting ready to scold you until Simon interrupted him.

“Ah look who it is! Lord Morpheus.” Simon reached in for a handshake.

Morpheus reciprocated. “Good evening gentlemen, Duchess, Viscountess, and the splendid Diamond. You haven’t happened to have seen my sister have you?”

Anthony shook his head. “We haven’t, why do you ask?”

Morpheus sighed and leaned in a bit so no one else but your little group could hear. “She’s saying I need to get myself on the market, she’s been watching me all night.”

The whole time he spoke you couldn’t stop looking at him. You watched the way his jawline move as he uttered secret words and the way his eyes shone slightly in amusement.

You swallowed nervously, hoping no one else noticed your ogling, but of course, Kate and Daphne notice everything.

“Well Miss Diamond of the Season here was just saying how she would like all of the men to throw themselves out of the window instead of at her feet.” Kate chuckled slightly.

Your cheeks reddened when Morpheus turned to look at you. And then you gave him a sheepish smile.

He huffed in amusement at the remark, flashing you a smirk. “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

Why did you like the way his voice sounded? Why was he holding eye contact so intensely with you? 

“My dear guests.”

Once again, the interaction was cut short by another one of the Queen’s speeches.

“As you know, this is a ball to celebrate the Diamond of the Season.”

All eyes diverted to you for a few seconds before their attention went back to the Queen.

“So today, I have decided that the Diamond shall have a dance.”

Your eyes widened and Anthony laughed under his breath.

“I’m glad you find my suffering funny brother.” You glared at him from the corner of your eye.

“Come to the centre please, Miss Bridgerton.” The Queen beckoned you with her order and her hand.

You slowly made your way to the centre of the ballroom.

“The Diamond shall have a dance to celebrate their achievement, and they shall have their own choice of man to share this dance with.”

The Queen stood confidently with a smile, waiting impatiently for you to choose.

You looked desperately towards Anthony and your eyes frantically looked around the room.

You didn’t want to dance with any of these men, in fact you didn’t want to dance at all!

Morpheus’ eyes danced around the room, finding his sister.

Death looked at him and then nodded in your direction, clearly telling him that he should make himself known.

He simply looked away trying to ignore her, when his eyes locked with yours.

You raised your brows, silently asking him if you could dance with him.

He nodded once, letting you know that it was okay.

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and stalked towards Morpheus apprehensively.

“Might I share a dance with you my lord?”

[littlest-w01f]

Waterfall

Eris Vanserra x Feyre Archeron

For @erisweekofficial

Eris week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Hounds

Summary: During her visit to Autumn Court, Feyre helps the rut of his Smoke Hounds who is afraid of the harsh stream

Cw: Fluff

It was such a domestic scene, watching Eris with his hounds surrounding him, Feyre smiled seeing him and the cheeky look he gave her as she sat in his lap.

"Mmmhmm," Eris hummed, kissed her jaw, "I love when you're here. But it's still not as often as I'd like for my wife to visit."

"I was here yesterday, Eris..." Feyre giggled, kissing him softly, "I'm handling two cranky possessive males, you know, you and Rhys are so needy." She teased.

Eris chuckled deeply, his arms wrapping around Feyre's waist to pull her flush against his chest. He nuzzled into her neck, breathing in her sweet scent. "Well then, perhaps we should discuss how to manage your... Cranky possessive males, shall we?" His voice dipped suggestively, trailing feather-light kisses along her throat.

The hounds yipped excitedly at the display of affection, their tails wagging furiously, they had been jumping around all over the grass and waterfall. Eris glanced over at them with a smirk. "See? Even the hounds approve of our love." He winked playfully at Feyre before capturing her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his pent-up desire into the passionate embrace.

"They're adorable," Feyre giggled as one tackled her over, licking all over her face, it was clear the hound had missed her.

Eris laughed heartily as he watched Feyre get thoroughly licked by the enthusiastic hound. "Ah, looks like Elide is quite happy to see you too!" He teased, giving the pup an affectionate pat on its head.

As Feyre managed to sit up again, brushing off her clothes, removing the dog slobber on her with a wave of her hand, Eris pulled her back onto his lap, his hands roaming possessively over her curves. "Mmm, but I must say, you look absolutely ravishing today, my love." He murmured huskily, his amber eyes darkening with flames of desire as they raked over her body appreciatively.

Suddenly, a sharp bark cut through the air, followed by a loud splash. They turned to see one of the hounds, Fenrir, had jumped into the pool, sending water flying everywhere.

Ivy, the youngest whined when she got hit with the water, rushing to hide under Feyre, who was the closest to her. Feyre couldn't help but smile at the sight of Ivy cowering under her, the little pup trembling slightly as droplets of water clung to her fluffy coat. She reached down to gently stroke Ivy's damp ears, warming her with her Autumn fire, soothing her. "There there, it's alright little one. No more splashing, okay?"

"She hates water, I don't undersand it, and loves to get into the dirt." Eris sighed softly, stroking Ivy's back as she continued to tremble beneath Feyre's comforting touch. "Poor thing gets so spooked by even the smallest puddles."

As if on cue, Elide, the hound who had earlier covered Feyre in slobbery kisses, bounded out of the water, shaking herself vigorously, spraying water everywhere in the process. The other hounds joined in, creating a chaotic scene of dogs running around, splashing and playing in the sunlight.

Ivy whined again, and Feyre frowned, "Do you think she feels left out?"

Eris nodded in agreement, his gaze softening as he looked at Ivy shivering under Feyre's protective arm. "Absolutely, poor thing doesn't seem to be having much fun right now." He remarked, reaching out to pet another hound that came dripping with water on his thick coat and sat in his lap.

Feyre then smiled, "I might have an idea..." She reached her hand out, and with the Summer powers that flowed through her, she formed a little cub out of the water, matching Ivy in size.

Eris watched with a smile as the water hound stood in front of them, with Feyre animating it. Ivy raised her head curiously at the hound. Intrigued. As the water hound moved closer to Ivy, the young pup seemed to relax slightly, her whining subsiding. She watched the mimicry of herself, ears perked up and tail wagging hesitantly. Slowly, she edged forward, sniffing at the water hound curiously.

"See, Ivy? Just like you. Maybe it'll make her less afraid," Feyre suggested optimistically, her fingers continuing to shape and mould the water hound to match Ivy's movements perfectly.

Eris watched intently as Feyre worked her magic, the water hound becoming more lifelike with each passing moment. He felt a swell of pride seeing his beloved manipulating the elements so effortlessly. With a gentle smile, he reached out to stroke both pups simultaneously, one real, one illusionary, to make Ivy believe it was just like her brothers and sisters. "That's it, Ivy. It's just like playing with a friend."

Slowly but surely, Ivy began to warm up to the watery companion, no longer trembling or hiding behind Feyre. Her tail picked up speed, wagging enthusiastically as she frolicked alongside the mirror image of herself. Feyre watched the playful interaction between Ivy and her newfound confidence-boosting buddy with a soft smile.

The water hound licked Ivy over, cleaning her, letting her lap at it to quench her thirst which she was too scared to do from the fast stream of the waterfall. Eris beamed at the heartwarming scene unfolding before him. Seeing Ivy drinking gratefully from the water hound, lapping up the cool liquid with abandon, filled him with joy. His mate's compassionate gesture had given the timid pup the courage to indulge in something she previously feared.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow across the tranquil garden, Eris and Feyre sat together, surrounded by their lively pack of hounds. The sound of laughter, playful barks, and the gentle babbling of the waterfall created a soothing melody, a testament to the harmony that thrived within their little corner.

Feeling contentment wash over him, Eris leaned back against a moss-covered boulder, pulling Feyre onto his lap. He wrapped his strong arms around her muscular form, pressing her close against his body.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he gazed into her eyes. His amber irises shimmered with adoration and desire, reflecting the fading twilight. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"I love you Feyre," He smiled, pulling her into a kiss. Feyre melted into Eris's embrace, her heart swelling with love as she returned his passionate kiss.

She returned his tender kiss with equal passion, savoring the warmth of his lips and the intoxicating taste of his mouth. As they parted, she rested her forehead against his, a contented sigh escaping her.

"I love you too," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "More than anything in this world or any other."

"Don't let Rhys hear you say that," Eris chuckled softly, kissing her cheek.

Feyre snorted, her voice teasing. "Oh, please, I think my mate can handle that I love our husband."

Around them, the hounds settled down for the evening, curling up in the soft grass or finding cosy spots among the roots of ancient trees. The once chaotic garden now exuded an aura of peace and tranquillity, mirroring the blissful state of the High Lord of Autumn and High Lady of the Night.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo}

{Eris Taglist- @fxckmiup @slut4acotar @secret-third-thing @shadowsingers-mate @fieldofdaisiies @st4r-girl-official}

[purplealmonds]

Extrapolating on my "Karakasa is an abnormally strong mononoke" theory.

Just as a refresher, this was my comment in @sarahwatchesthings's post in the Mononoke community:

I wonder - in the lore video Kusu confirms the existence of other exorcism swords and by extension, more Kusus. Narratively, this newly revealed information should have a payoff. The karakasa is a formidable mononoke - it manifests as a tsunami-like entity and creepy sky vagina. Far more powerful than any mononoke we've encountered. Perhaps we will have an "Avengers Assemble" moment in this movie to, err, shall we say, unfuck the Sky Vagina?

Let's examine the mononoke anime-Kusu previously encountered as a baseline:

The Zashikiwarashi were confined within the brothel-turned-inn and as far as we know, didn't harm anyone except the innkeeper and her assistant. Even Shino's child, who we thought died from miscarriage, was revealed to be alive and well at the end of the story arc.

The Umibozu, while attracting an ocean of Ayakashi, originated from Genkei's soul rather than the sea itself. No casualties here either.

The Nopperabou was bound to Ochou. It's highly implied the murder of her in-laws was a delusion (along with the rest of her daydreams with Fox Mask). The only thing that was metaphorically "killed" was her sense of self but even that is restored in the end.

The Nue probably has the highest body count, but it is all localized in Ruri-Hime's estate.

The Bakeneko is haunting one (1) carriage of a train. Most of the people involved in Setsuko's murder were spared when they showed remorse, and the bystanders were unharmed.

Even the original Bakeneko, as powerful as it was, haunted just the Sakai estate. Although everyone on the premises but Kusu, Kayo, Odajima, and Yoshiyuki were slaughtered, the palanquin drivers just outside the gates were unharmed and none the wiser.

There are a few common threads with these mononoke:

Their influence is constrained to a single location.

Save for the original bakeneko arc, these mononoke did not harm or haunt anyone that was undeserving of their wrath.

They are created from the intense repressed negative emotions of a handful of individuals.

@the-mononoke-facade If any of the Shu novel mononoke support this theory, let me know!

Now let's examine the Karakasa:

In Kusu's words, it is created by the grudge of women- plural. This is not just a few women working in a brothel like in Zashikiwarashi, this encompasses all women's suffering within the ooku. Because each woman's suffering is unique, the form, truth, and reason will be all the more difficult to unravel even if everyone's forthcoming with information.

The Karakasa's manifestations very much resembles the hellish geographical and weather conditions that Japan faces even to this day. The Sky Vagina = typhoons. The rising/exploding water = earthquakes and tsunamis. The Karakasa is not just an entity, it is a forces of nature. And like all forces of nature, it cannot be reigned in, only weathered.

There are massive crowds of civilians in the fourth trailer. Hell, even the faceless women in the ooku can be considered innocent bystanders. If Kusu doesn't solve the mystery quickly enough, the Karakasa will break confinement. The Karakasa is a mass casualty event in the making.

Judging from the second image below of the Karakasa-tsunami expanding beyond the ooku's walls, Kusu failed and people will die because of that failure.

And moments before that disaster, he was at its epicenter taking a bath in the hot tub.

Actually...you could even say that this explosion resembles like that of an atom bomb. And that's a whole other can of worms to unravel.

So, yeah. Although this mononoke originated from a ratty old umbrella, it's abnormally powerful. Too powerful, perhaps, for movie-Kusu and Shingi to best.

It is said that Japanese society is shaped by the forces of nature it must contend with. In order to survive these earthquakes and typhoons and tsunamis, a community must put aside their petty grudges and differences to work as a team. Simultaneously, this tribal mentality is also what makes the ooku a miserable place to live; an outsider who doesn't fall in line is punished no matter how small the infraction.

With these themes in mind, my conclusions/predictions are:

Kusu and Shingi cannot defeat the Karakasa alone. They must put aside their pride and ask for help.

When faced with adversity, the women (and maybe the men too, but they're on thin fuckin ice) in the ooku will band together to assist Kusu in warding off the Karakasa.

To reiterate what I said earlier, Kusu implied the existence of multiple other Kusu's and exorcism sword. Perhaps these other Kusu's will also make an appearance to help him vanquish the Karakasa. Because, you know. The Kun exorcism sword is affiliated with the earth element and Pokemon logic says earth is weak against water.

And as a final bonus observation, given Shingi's more human-like (shall we say down-to-earth? ha-ha earth puns) appearance compared to anime-Hyper, I believe he is not as invincible as one would believe even when the sword is drawn. To supplement this, I'll share a spoiler from the light novel. Putting it below the cut! As a disclaimer, I'm unsure if it is spoilers for the Shu or Oni novel, so look at your own risk!

So, Hyper and by extension all other manifestations of him are not always effortlessly slaying all mononoke nor invulnerable to harm. Like Mani, I'm also rather curious if this will be reflected in Karakasa. The production team's already throwing all sorts of insane lore nuggets at us. This metaphorical curveball of Shingi getting roughed up by the Karakasa is not entirely implausible!!

[starwarsmum]

Chapter 5 of Introducing: Mousinette!

The next time Damian saw Marinette, Grayson and Gordon had dragged him to a tour of his new campus. It had been a fairly uneventful morning, Grayson had felt it necessary to show him around the university, as though he hadn't visited already.

“You did not mention that you were planning to attend Gotham University,” he said, attempting small talk. He felt the discomfort cloak him like a second skin, his arms stiff, jaw locked. When she gave only a noncommittal noise, he tried again. “What course are you planning on studying?”

“I'm sorry, did I land in an alternate universe?” Marinette said, shooting an incredulous look his way. “Because I seem to remember you being kind of an asshole at dinner the other night.”

“Tt, I said you were behaving like a child, which you were,” Damian responded. If he was a cat, his hackles would be raised and he would be yowling, low in his throat. He watched Marinette bristle, pleased, for some reason, that he was able to rile her so quickly. “If you do not wish to be perceived as a child, perhaps you should act your age more than your height.”

“And perhaps you should act more your age than a pompous, stuck up-” she was cut off by Gordon approaching, chatting with Grayson as he pushed her along. He watched her visibly take a deep breath and push down whatever she had been about to say, before looking at him flatly. “I'm planning on studying business,” she said in a monotone. 

That surprised him, but he was spared from responding by Gordon and Grayson beginning a more animated conversation about the dorms. He watched her giggle effortlessly, charming them both as they approached the business school section of the university. 

“Dames, have you seen the dorms? They're so cool, are you sure you don't want to stay here instead of the manor?” Damian gave Grayson a look of incredulity, before turning away with a derisive snort. “What? It's not like you'd be alone, Marinette's planning on staying in the dorms!”

“Dick, please don't try to convince him to stay in the dorms,” Marinette pleaded, shooting Damian a sceptical look. “Besides, I'm pretty sure Mr Rich Boy couldn't handle one week in the dorms. He strikes me as the hapless sort - has he ever even made a meal?”

“Tt, as if it is difficult. Regardless, the idea of residing in these dormitories sounds a specific sort of torture and I shall not be subjecting myself to it.” He refused to be baited by the little witch - he had no need to learn to cook, and she would not taunt him into proving her wrong. 

Marinette gave him a fierce glare but allowed him to have the last word, which made him unreasonably annoyed. He was even more annoyed when she started to ignore him, just as she had that night at the manor. It changed when Jagged Stone arrived with Penny Rolling and they managed to abscond with Grayson and Gordon.

Things continued in a strained way, Marinette shutting down any attempt at conversation, often walking away from him to view the different departments on display for the day. Eventually, he allowed himself to trail along behind her, keeping a slight distance but close enough that the others could find them both easily.

She had vanished around a corner when he let the gap grow slightly, and he sighed, annoyed. He became slightly concerned when he didn't immediately spy her, but huffed in annoyance once more when he saw her flirting with another attendee. He had blond hair, an athletic build and was only a couple of inches taller than her. He decided to approach, if only so he could taunt her with it later.

“...just hope you aren't in any of my classes in the fall, I'd never get any work done,” the boy was saying. Damian rolled his eyes, slowing slightly so as not to draw attention to himself. “But maybe we'll end up in the same dorm and we could-”

“Thank you for the compliment, but I'm afraid I am not interested, Monsieur,” came Marinette's reply, which made Damian pause. He glanced at her face and she still had a smile in place, but perhaps he had mistaken annoyance for attraction. “Please can you move so I may get back to my friends.”

“Ooh, French, that's hot,” came the smarmy reply, plainly not listening to her. “I bet you could teach me a thing or two about kissing.”

“Look, I have tried to say no politely, but you don't seem to be getting it,” Marinette said flatly, putting a hand on his shoulder to push him out of the way. Damian watched, fascinated by the shift in her demeanor. “And the only kissing I would be willing to teach you, is to kiss the asphalt.” and she pushed his shoulder, hard enough that he took a step back. Which is when he reached out and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop.

“What the hell, bitch? Think you're too good for an American, huh? Or maybe you don't know how to be polite when someone is being nice to you,” he said, pulling her back sharply and making her yelp. Damian didn't hesitate, taking hold of the other boys forearm. “And who the hell do you think you are?”

“I think I am one of her companions today, and that you need to learn what ‘no’ means. Both the word and contextual cues, as she gave you both and you ignored them. Let go of her, before I force you to,” Damian said haughtily, releasing his grip when Marinette was free. He watched the other boy beat a hasty retreat before turning back to her.

“I had that handled,” she said immediately, narrowing her eyes at him. “I did not need you swooping in, like a bat and sticking your nose in. And I don't appreciate you laughing at me,” she scowled when he lifted an amused eyebrow at her accidental joke.

He watched her stalk away, impressed in spite of himself. She probably could have taken care of it herself, and he wouldn't normally have stepped in, except that she had been grabbed, and made an involuntary noise, so he had moved. Spotting Grayson and Gordon, he started after her, vowing not to get involved unless she asked for help in future.

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully, although Damian found his gaze drawn more and more to the fiery Parisian. She had seemed empty-headed and childish when he met her, but he was being forced to reconsider his evaluation of her the more he knew her.

He found himself hoping that she would be attending the university later that year, if only so he could add more to the growing list of idiosyncrasies he had made note of about her.

[thesightstoshowyou]

The Collector’s Pet Cricket

- A Sight’s OC -

In the darkness I make my music for myself alone,

I sing for the joy of singing.

The fire in my heart is from you.

[excerpts of The Prayer of the Cricket by John Hall Wheelock]

Information:

Name: [REDACTED]

Nickname: Cricket - Bestowed by Asa Emory

Age when taken by the Collector: 25

Current Age: 31

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hair: Long (falling to her mid-back), straight, chocolatey-brown

Eye color: Left eye is brown, right eye is green

Height: 5’6

Weight: 135lbs

Other notable features: Cluster of freckles across her nose, graceful, and the many, many scars inflicted by Asa

Personality: Reserved, submissive, analytical, intuitive, anxious

Likes: Asa, ballet, reading (mostly high fantasy and adventure), cooking, coffee, pastries, naps

Dislikes: Asa, small spaces, crowds, misbehaving, loud people, pineapple

“Canon” fics featuring Cricket as Reader (the Cricket-verse, if you will):

Asa Emory x AFAB Reader, Ribbon and Lace, Wings, Nightmare, Home, Permission, Timing is Everything, Gift Exchange, Correction, Bug Chocolate, Cold Night, Ice & Handcuffs, Thigh Riding, Bath Time, Omorashi, Late to Dinner, Pie, Choking, Forbidden BJ, Late Night Snack, Two and Five, What’s a Pet Without their Master?, Ripples, Sick Day, Does She Know?, Thunderstorm, Sketch, Office Visit, Wound Care

Backstory:

Cricket’s life before Asa is no longer relevant. All of it now belongs to the Collector. However, one small insight I offer is this:

At the end of Failure, the person that caused the crash upstairs was Cricket.

**

The experiment began as any of the Collector’s tests did: While working with his insects.

Asa spent the morning studying a tarantula infected with Ophiocordyceps unilateralis—cordyceps to the layman. The arachnid stumbled this way and that, controlled totally by the fungus. As Asa observed, his thoughts wandered to those failed subjects stumbling around in the basement of the hotel, drugged out of their minds, uncontrollable, wild like rabid animals.

Could the opposite be accomplished? Could a person be conditioned to follow his orders, and his alone? Could they be trained to be as well behaved and responsive as his dogs?

His thoughts shifted once again to the depatterning and psychic driving experiments performed by MKUltra scientists in the 50s and 60s, as unsuccessful as they were. The framework was already there to create the perfect, mind-wiped puppet. All Asa had to do was expand on it.

Perhaps they just hadn’t pushed hard enough. Burdened by bureaucracy and paperwork, of course they couldn’t accomplish their goals. They did not possess his freedom and foresight.

“Dr. Emory?”

Masking his annoyance at the interruption, Asa glanced up from the tarantula to meet the inquiring gaze of the office secretary. Her glasses looked as though they were about to slip off her face by how precariously they perched at the tip of her nose. In her hands was a clipboard and a pen.

“Shall I mark you down as attending the faculty Christmas party?”

Asa would rather set himself on fire than attend another one of those parties.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied curtly, half-turning back to the enclosure.

“No plus one again?” There was something in her voice, something bordering on the edge of pity. Asa looked back at her again, more ice in his gaze and tone.

“Yes.”

“Very well. Thank you for your time.” Her low heels clicked on the marble floor as she retreated. Asa’s brows furrowed as he slowly twisted back to the terrarium.

Every other faculty member bought a spouse or partner with them to events. He was always the only one without a “plus one.” This never bothered him, of course. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with the trivialities of romance.

But, it appeared to bother others. Did it make him seem suspicious, Asa wondered? Did it draw too much attention?

Asa leaned over the desk, his fingers splayed out. Tap, tap, tap went his scarred pointer finger. Thoughts, ideas, and solutions fell into place.

Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.

**

Months pass. Too many months. Too many failures.

The human spirit was proving difficult to break.

Still, he had faith in his abilities and procedures. The only way to go was forward. The three current hopefuls were showing promise, the heterochromatic one in particular. She was docile and pliant. It appeared misbehavior was not in her programming.

The keys on his belt jingled as he stalked down the hall. First, he would check the cameras. Then he would attend to the “pets.”

Room one was as he left it, except the subject’s blue trunk had tipped over. That would have hurt, considering the state of her arm. Dumb little thing.

Room two was quiet. Asa wasn’t sure if the trunk had even moved an inch since his last visit. He was mildly concerned its occupant had expired, but he wouldn’t know until he looked inside.

Room three…. The trunk was open. Empty. Asa’s eyes widened a fraction and darted around the room, but quickly came to a stop on the girl’s sleeping form.

She’d escaped her case, but hadn’t tried to escape the room? The door lock would have been easy enough to break. Interesting. And what was she wearing—

The Collector couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Very, very interesting indeed.

Finally, a breakthrough.

[metalomagnetic]

Snippet from "It runs in the blood"

We get to hear a little from Arcturus, just because I can't have enough Blacks whispering their opinions in my ear.

***

She’s scowling at Cygnus, eyes barely visible under her dropping eyelids.

“Master shouldn’t yell at Tesuth!” she hisses, snatching Cygnus’ cup away. “Tesuth is old, and she has a headache. If Master doesn’t like the tea-”

“It’s not tea, you cretin! You made me coffee, and you know how I despise-

“Then Master shall drink nothing!”

“Cygnus!” Arcturus warns him, when Cygnus looks ready to blast Tesuth into different pieces. He always was a violent man, this one. Quick to anger.

Cygnus settles, Tesuth leaves, mumbling. Arcturus takes a sip out of his cup. It is, at least, good coffee.

“Forget the elf. Are you certain about Sirius?”

Cygnus stares after Tesuth, murder in his eyes. “I obviously didn’t see for myself, he's not stupid enough to wear it in my presence. But Yaxley told me he wears the ring at all times. When I asked Lucius, he pretended not to hear, and that in itself means it’s true.”

Arcturus turns his head, slightly, to watch the dead garden. Oh, how Orion must suffer.

“Yaxley says Sirius is far too familiar with Voldemort, that they smile at each other, that he gets preferential treatment above all others, even Bellatrix.”

Sirius always was lovable. Since he was born, he was everyone’s favourite. Even Arcturus’ father, a harsh, stern man that never once hugged his children, never had a kind word for them, would often lift Sirius up, tickle him, place him on his lap, whispering all sort of inappropriate things in his ear.

Tom Riddle is a creature, an aberration far from human, yet even it is not immune to Sirius’ charm, apparently.

“And this never happened before?”

“No. Voldemort never paid anyone so much attention.”

“Bella-”

“It’s different,” Cygnus insists. “It’s different with Bella. He is fond of her, but this? He gave Sirius his family ring! When he talks of Sirius, he looks- I have never heard that man speak this way of anyone. Not even at school. Oh, and he very much enjoys speaking of Sirius, asks questions about him, useless things that can be of no use in war.”

“Is it aware of the significance of giving away his signet ring?” Perhaps the animal doesn’t know, what with its terrible upbringing.

“Yaxley alluded that they have an…intimate relationship,” Cygnus sneers. “And, I must say, if Sirius is wearing the Gaunt ring, then- yet I didn’t suspect Sirius finds men appealing. Quite the opposite. As bad as-” he trails off, before he can say ‘Orion' and risk Arcturus’ displeasure. “It’s not something I would accuse Voldemort of, usually, but I am starting to wonder if he…gave Sirius something.”

“Unlikely.”

Riddle has never resorted to bedding anyone to reach its goals. And it was handsome, back in the day, filth disguised by aristocratic features. Yet it never had a lover, not one Cygnus or Yaxley or Arcturus could find, at least.

“But Sirius is- he never shied away from his affairs, he has no shame; if he liked men, surely we’d have heard about it. Especially when he was with those tolerant morons.”

Sirius was, indeed, interested in girls, since he was alarmingly young.

But not many knew about that boy, that Rosier. Arcturus would not have found out either, if not for Walburga, who came to complain to him.

“Orion doesn’t seem to care, but you should. I don’t want Sirius turning into Alphard. Talk to him, or do something about it.”

Walburga was always so dramatic. It was obvious to anyone else that they would have no trouble marrying Sirius off, that he most likely would give House Black many children, what with his appetites. If he kept some male company outside of it, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. But she made such a scene, Orion confessed, when Arcturus asked about it- and no one could throw a fit quite like Walburga. No doubt, she traumatised Sirius, like she traumatised him in so many different ways, to the point where Sirius was never seen even looking at a boy.

“What does Bellatrix think about it?” Another crazy one, prone to rage. So much like Walburga is as if she were her daughter.

Arcturus hears she killed Sirius’ previous woman, in a fit of jealousy. If only she would kill Riddle, too, driven by that same undue possessiveness over her cousin.

Sirius wanted to wed her, but Orion learned from his own mistakes and forbade it. Even Walburga was against it, and she adored Bellatrix back then.

“She’s in denial,” Cygnus huffs. “She refuses to talk about it. She insists that Voldemort gives tokens of affection to his most loyal, that he gave her something, too. Yet I told her this is not some vase, it’s a family ring. She said ‘her lord’ doesn’t put any value in our ‘stupid traditions’ and is probably unconcerned with the significance.”

Arcturus snorts. That could be. But- “Sirius is certainly aware of the implications. And yet he is wearing the ring.”

[flightfoot]

Do you have ML fic rec with supernatural theme? Smt like Spellbound or Bell the Cat thing perhaps?

You're in luck, I love supernatural/fantasy ML fics! I tagged everyone I know the tumblrs for, feel free to tag anyone I missed!

COMPLETE FICS:

---

Dreams of You by @chocoluckchipz

Dreams had long been his only escape. Dreams of Ladybug, the girl who had always been there for him. If only in his dreams. And only while she was also sleeping. Because with the first rays of sunshine gliding over her skin, with the first fluttering of her eyelashes, from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, memories of Adrien would vanish from her mind. She would go on living her life. He would always be the only one who remembered. At least until they meet in the real world and fall in love all over again, something that would’ve been easier to do if Adrien wasn't a prisoner in his own home.

---

May I Introduce Myself, Your Highness? by @chocoluckchipz

Whether picking up a stray animal off the streets or saving a dying child at the market, Adrien had always strived to be the best version of himself. Truly, he would've been the perfect candidate to be snatched up by a kwami, were he an orphan, dying somewhere remote after a short life full of nothing but suffering and misery. Yet as it stood, the sole heir to the French throne had little to complain about. Apart from, perhaps, a complete absence of a love life. That is until a mysterious girl, wandering around his gardens at night, catches his attention.

---

How Marinette Learned to Stop Worrying And Love The Ball by @rosie-b

Hidden from the crowds thronging around the busy fairy portal in Paris's town square, a fae gate sits at the edge of the forest, locked, rusty, and full of ancient magic. Marinette thinks that this abandoned gate must not work anymore... but one day, a fairy disguised as a black cat steps through it.

---

a winter so warm by @rosekasa

winters were hard for even the best of vampires, but at least adrien had marinette to keep him warm with her cuddles.

december was going to suck without her. so it was only to be expected to get extra cuddles in before she left, right?

(well, not really, considering those heating supplements he was taking, but she didn't need to know about that).

---

Stitched Together by @nedjsmlfavs

Stitch Witch Marinette was just supposed to be having a nice, terrifying outing with her best friends. She never expected to find a magically trapped kitten, but here we are! Whatever happened to this poor little guy?

---

The Mer-Human Race by @rosie-b

Bringing her hand closer to his lips, Adrien tried to plant a kiss on it, but Marinette pulled away before his lips could touch her.

“Save it for your girlfriend,” she said teasingly. “Or do you still not have one yet?”

Adrien smirked and crossed his arms.

“It’s a girl,” he said. “And I know her in real life. That’s all you get. Now, let’s get back to planning, shall we? We have a mermaid to beat.”

---

See This Chance by @19thsentry-blog

Luka died in 2016. Yep. Crushed by the Arc de Triumph when Mayura’s Robustus slammed into it. It was kind of a big deal, but once you’re dead, you’re dead—especially when there’s no Lucky Charm to bring you back.

Luka’s been dealing with it in the typical ways.

Written for FeLuka week 2023.

---

the legend of the firefly by @agnes-writes

“She’s… beautiful.

If he were to describe her, he’d say that they bottled summer in her eyes, and painted the night sky in her hair. Her lips are curved into a wistful smile, eyes trailing the thicket of trees where Adrien stands.

Her gaze sets his heart stuttering in his chest as it softens, and Adrien almost believes that look is meant for him.”

OR: A pair of lovers create a romance that transcends time, and leaves a mark like no other.

---

Anchor by @liiinerle

“Marinette. Please take that sabre out of your neck.”

“Right. Thanks. I forgot it was there.” She grabbed hold of the guard and pulled; the blade slid out like it had only been run through butter. After dropping it on the floor, she picked up one of the teacups and picked up a biscuit from a tin she’d brought in; she placed the biscuit on the saucer plate and handed the whole thing to Kagami, who could only really resign herself to accepting it.

-----

Marinette has raised Kagami from the dead, and also happens to be dead herself. It turns out some bad choices were made in the past. But that doesn't mean they'll lead to bad outcomes for them now.

---

delicate in every way but one by katrinette

When Marinette finds a wanted ad that provokes just enough questions in her mind that she can't help answering it, the reward is sweeter than she could have imagined.

---

whose woods these are (I think i know) by Reiaji

Four years after his future turns to cinders, Adrien is a servant in the house he was meant to inherit. Disowned by his father and abused by his stepmother, his days are filled with drudgery until he meets a masked huntress in the forest behind his father's chateau. As his friendship with Ladybug turns to first love, he dreams of a future spent at her side. Then, on the eve of the Princess's masquerade, he meets his guardian—and is granted a wish. [Ladrien Cinderella AU]

---

don't you worry child by @mexicancat-girl

Marc and Nathaniel have a good life, married and living together in a cottage in the woods. But they consider having children at some point. Marc in particular really wants to start a family with his husband. He knows the fey are real, so he goes searching in the woods to find one to strike a deal. He may get a bit more than he bargained for in the process.

---

hella enchanted by @xiueryn:

Years ago, Marinette's father died and she was left with her awful stepmother. With magic forcing her to obey every command, she lived as a servant and gave up hope. When a man appears, searching for the very fairy that blessed her, Marinette decides to give life one more try. AU.

(a different ella enchanted au.)

---

How Could I Not? by SorryJustAnotherPerson

In fairy tale books, Princesses were saved by nights from ferocious dragons. Those books were not their story, but Rose was happy to flip over a new page with her Juleka every single day.

Many years ago, she was put to this tower by her parents and her kingdom, along with a fire breathing dragon, so she could find her prince charming one day. How foolish for them to not calculate her falling in love with the dragon. I mean seriously.

How could she not?

Once Upon A Time by kao_rei:

"Humans fear wolves. I mean, we're horrible, sickening creatures, aren't we?" Adrien laughed.

"I don't think so," Marinette muttered. "Well, not anymore when I met you."

Marinette's days are all the same—she puts on her red cape, makes deliveries for her parents' bakery, and goes home to rest before another busy day. Adrien is a wolf-boy who watches her from afar, awaiting the day they finally meet to change their stories.

While falling in love may bring about some challenges, they're willing to fight through them together because they'd never settle for a "the end". They want a "happily ever after", too.

(In which Marinette is Little Red Riding Hood, Adrien is the Wolf, and they fall in love somewhere between deliveries, flower fields, and shiny red apples).

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life's waiting for you by @mexicancat-girl

Marc is the shy and soft-spoken Prince of the Underworld, used to being ignored at best and feared at worst. He greatly admires Nathaniel, the Prince of Nature, who’s much too out of his league. Handsome, kind, charming, and charmingly modest, with hair as red as a rose and talented artists' hands. Yearning for the love of a nature deity when he’s a deity of death is beyond ridiculous, so Marc keeps his hopes low. But an encounter at the border between the Underworld and the surface leads the two to speaking, which leads to Marc showing Nathaniel his writing and Nathaniel his art. And from there blooms a beautiful friendship…Or maybe more.

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to love beauty is to see light by sagansjagger

Young common-mer Adrien will do anything to please his father, Gabriel Agreste. Adrien will even alter his tail, that hideous thing. But the sea witch he seeks out is not who he expected. A common-mer striking up a friendship with an anglerfish-mer is taboo among mermaid kind, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng is too interesting for Adrien to just leave her alone...

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Ghost of You by its_just_iori

It finally happened. The akuma attacked at the wrong time. They weren't prepared. For the first time, there was a casualty. Someone was killed. Marinette doesn't care that her identity was exposed to the world; she can't stop blaming herself for what happened. If only she'd been ready... if only she'd done more... There's nothing for Adrien to say. There's nothing he can do other than stay by her side and help her through this pain.

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The Pink Lady: Marichat May 2018 by seasonofthegeek

In this story, Chat Noir, Carapace, Rena Rouge, Queen B, and Paon are the heroes of Paris. The Ladybug Miraculous has been lost for almost a century and it takes all of their combined power to cleanse akumas sometimes but they’ve found something that works since they don’t have another option. Hawkmoth is one of their villains, but not the only one plaguing Paris. Chat Noir happens upon an old hotel one night on patrol and discovers something and someone he didn't expect.

INCOMPLETE FICS

The Beauty of a Rose by properjitterbug

In the small town of Bellerose, Marinette and Adrien are childhood friends while secretly pining for each other. They lead happy lives until one day a long, forgotten promise is stirred awake; changing their lives in ways they couldn't imagine. With time marching on, Marinette is left to chase after ghosts of her past as a strange creature appears in the depths of the mysterious forest. Arc 1: Chapters 1-11: Complete Arc 2: Chapters 12-?: In Progress -- Werecat!Adrien x Marinette

Note: this one's M-rated for a reason.

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what worse luck by GuardianKarenTerrier

He doesn't know what happens. One minute he's struggling against the leash spell, the next he's tripping on his own momentum as the magic suddenly snaps, as he tastes freedom for the first time in- in ever, probably. Adrien doesn't stop long enough to think about where he's going or why. He just bolts. (Marinette's spell goes wildly off-target, but it's a stroke of luck for everyone involved that it does).

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fire lily petals by @fragileizy

“Do you believe in soulmates?” His little witch looks up from her mortar and pestle, setting a heavy book in front of him at the table. The weight of the textbook upsets the flame of their oil lamp enough to scatter and smudge the shadows around them, and he stares down at the page for something to do instead of looking at her glittering eyes. Of course I do, he wants to say. Of course I believe in soulmates. I believe in it every time you look at me, Marinette. It’s as true as the demonic seal that stains my chest at our contract— it’s as true as the demonic seals that burn on your ear lobes that you keep hidden with your hair at our contract. But he’s a coward. He’s nothing more than a coward. The great Chat Noir, the legendary demon who has fought countless demonic wars, who has looked at the concept of death thousands of times, helpless to the way this witch looks at him. “It’s very... fairy-tale-like. Is it not?” Part One: Chapters 1 - 20 Complete Part Two: Chapters 21+ In Progress

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Living With Dragons by @nomolosk

Stifled at home, Prince Adrien just wants to have an adventure. Accidentally captured instead of her mistress, Marinette Dupain-Cheng just wants to go home. But when you're living with dragons, things are bound to get interesting, and both of them might just end up finding something they like better. Set in the world of the Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede.