#she could as easily smell of the lavender-rose scent

[billskeis]

Hiiiii, um I'm not sure if this is too much but could you do Bill kaulitz smut win his big poofy hair era with a reader that has like super curly like fluffy hair, and he like pulls in it while there having y'know, fun, it's okay if not but thank you so much :)))

ᡣ𐭩 bill's love for fluffy hair

“okay guys huddle up! we’re gonna play truth or dare!!” one of the girls at the house party shouted loud enough that her voice boomed throughout the first floor.

“c’mon bill! let’s go play,” you grab his hand, leading him to the large circle of bodies that surrounded the living room.

it was just a casual weekend where you and the band got together with a couple of other friends your age to just simply hang out. tom was doing his own thing, hanging with both the guys and the gals that came around, georg was with his girlfriend and gustav was content by himself..

with a liquor bottle..

it wasn’t news to anyone about you and bill dating. both being lead singers of the hottest bands right now, hot, spunky, and the sexiest voices anyone could’ve ever heard this time of year!

you sat down beside a girl you’ve meet a couple times backstage during concerts. she’s really cute you thought, greeting her, the two of you peck each others cheeks saying little ‘hi’s after one another.

bill has a grip on your hand where your fingers are interlocked, you turn to look at him pouting at you. giggling, you think about how he gets jealous really easily, even if you don’t swing that way, the little things seem to just get to him.

you place a gentle kiss on his forehead, leaving him flushed.

“mmm okay let’s start with.. y/n! truth or dare?” tom asks,

“dare!”

“alrightalright, write something embarrassing on your body with a sharpie..!”

scoffing, you raise an eyebrow at the silly dare.

“surely you have something better than that,”

“hey, we’re just getting started y/n”

he tosses a black marker over in your direction and you catch it with ease. you pop off the cap by using your mouth and hand the marker over to your boyfriend.

a bunch of “ooo’s” and “ahh’s” filled the room as bill looked at you in shock, you can hear tom and georg cheer slightly while everyone else was giggling and laughing.

“go ahead babe, write something embarrassing,” winking at bill, he swallows a hard lump down his throat, sweat beginning to form upon his forehead.

“matter of fact, why doesn’t everyone write something! but choose your words wisely, i won’t hesitate to beat someone’s ass.”

placing his hand on your shoulder for leverage, bill leans his head a little closer to your neck to write what he thought was embarrassing.

he feels an uncomfortable tightness grow in his pants. the volume of your hair to which it reaches, lets a curl of your hair touch his forehead, tickling it.

it was also one of the rare occasions where you let your natural hair be. soft curls that adorned your face, draping down your shoulders. you had always straightened your hair as much as bill uses his hairspray.

one can wonder how your hair stays healthy with how much heat you put onto it, but you know how to take care of it.

heaving in a deep breath, bill inhales the scent to which your shampoo left. it smelled, clean and fresh, like that of lavender and roses. he couldn’t tell, but just knew it smelled good.

you had showered earlier that morning, bill reminiscing it. having walked in on you to grab his eyeliner and fix up his makeup, not that you minded it much because you’ve been dating a while now.

watching you through the reflection of the mirror, watching as the water seeps through the scalp of your head, through your hair, and down your soft and supple skin.. falling upon the curve of your back and—

“bill?? are you done??” you ask him, slightly concerned.

“o-oh! right.. yeah ‘m done..” he hands over the marker to the girl sitting opposite to you.

you can’t see what he wrote due to the inability of the human body physically unable to bend your neck far enough, but you couldn’t really care less as to what bill had wrote.

the marker had been passed down from figure to figure, and everyone was finished up writing. there was about ten more people in that circle, which took up quite a lot of time.

snickers and quiet laughter filled up the room, you were really curious as to what people wrote on you in the areas you were unable to see.

but on that where you could, you could see “bitch” and “whore” spelled on your body. rolling your eyes, you laugh and flick away the marker in tom’s direction hitting his face knowing he wrote one of those.

“ow!! what was that for y/n 🥹🥹”

“don’t act stupid tom.. i’m gonna go see what the rest of you fuckers wrote.”

you really did not care as to what anybody wrote, shit like this didn’t get to your head because in all honesty, it was kinda true, in your rockstar nature, of course. just pure curiosity to see it is all.

“i’ll be back baby,” you kiss bill’s cheek, “wait for me kay?”

he just sat there, looking up at you as you stood up and adjusted your dress to walk towards the bathroom down the hall.

a few seconds later, a figure follows you.

pushing aside the hair that hid your neck, you look into the mirror to see what bill had wrote on you.

‘meine liebe <3’

pft, that’s not embarrassing at all, laughing to yourself. endearing if anything. bill probably wrote it not because he thought you wouldn’t be able to handle the insults that decorated your body with black ink, but because he just really really liked you and it hurts him to play rough like that.

for now.

as you’re about to exit the washroom, you open the door and are immediately shoved back into the tight space of the tiled room. “what the fu—”

“shhh meine liebe, i don’t want the others to hear us..”

it was bill. despite you telling him to wait, it seemed as though he had other plans. he left harsh kisses on the bare skin where ink hadn’t stained you, filling the empty space of your body with hickeys.

“b-bill! mmph, people are gonna see..”

“yeah? let them see, let them see how what they wrote is in accordance with who you are,”

he pushes you gently against the bathroom counter, allowing you to slightly sit on the edge of the top for leverage, wrapping your arms around his neck as he assaults your neck and chest with his mouth leaving sloppy wet kisses.

purple and blue bruises finding its way onto you.

using his knee, he parts between your legs. one arm is placed onto the curve of your back while the other slips it’s way under your dress, fingers pressing into your heat while he moves the fabric that gaps the contact of your skin together in circles.

“oh gott.. i can feel how wet you are already, so needy hm?”

“w-well.. when you do that, i can’t help it,”

unconsciously, you find yourself grinding onto his hand and he obviously amused by this. pulling the lip of your panties to the side, bill swiftly inserts two of his fingers into your heat.

“agh..! no warning..?” you yelp,

bill just grins and tilts his head at you, putting on a facade of fake sympathy and pity, beginning to drag his fingers in and out of your cunt slowly,

“pretty lil’ pussy was just askin’ for it.. couldn’t help myself,”

“hair looks beautiful by the way,”

“hahh.. thank you..”

he places soft kisses on your lips, after each compliment that spills out of your body while he slowly finger fucks you. at some point he took out his fingers and pulled your panties down to your knees.

this gives him easier access to rub your clit while his fingers are also inside of you.

“so pretty.. so soft.. you should leave your hair like this even more.”

curling his fingers into your g spot, your body jolts into his, your head leaning forward into his chest, forehead resting on his shoulder as you attempt to quiet down your moans.

simultaneously, bill thumbs your clit in circles, painfully slow. drool threatens to spill out your mouth as you then bit your lip and using your hands once more to keep the moans at bay.

a throbbing to your head as bill has your hair in a tight grasp, “ugh fuck.. you feel so good in my hands—don’t hide your moans schatzi, i wanna hear em..”

“you just told me to be quiet..!”

“well, yeah. for me to hear but not them :) please? wanna hear the pretty noises you make.”

all he could do was smile at you as he begins to thrust his digits into your pussy at an animalistic pace. squealing, you feel the knot in your stomach become tighter as bill’s grip on your hair does too.

“f-fuck bill nngh.. ‘m gonna come,”

“naughty.. you clench harder every time i touch your hair,”

patting your head, he caresses the top of it as he motions his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion, abusing that spongey spot leaving your legs feeling like jelly, almost about to fall onto the floor but he keeps you up with the arm that fucks into you.

you attempt to push him away with what little strength you had, but he only shoves his body closer to you as he speeds up the pace of his fingers overstimulating you.

“b-bill.. enough,”

“but look at how you’re sucking me in!”

bill can’t help but giggle and laugh at how pathetic you are under him. you’re so cute like this! all out of breath and sensitive, he found that every time he pulls or tugs on your hair while fingering you, your cunt cannot help but clench around him.

he’ll have to keep that in mind when the time comes around and he gets to fuck you.

“come liebling.. come while i finger fuck you. just f’me, pretty girl.. my slut, all mine..”

his chin now rests atop of yours, tilting his head a bit down to inhale the scent of flowers, taking it all in along with how fluffy and soft your hair feels on his face.

your body convulses and shakes under his touch as bill jerks his fingers into you. a squelching sound can be heard throughout the small bathroom, hopefully unable to be heard from those outside. you bite your lip so hard to hinder the moan that you swear you bit a cut into your mouth.

“perfect.. you’re so perfect like this baby.. you did amazing..”

bill lets you ride your orgasm out on his fingers, fingers still inside you as his thumb fully positioned where your clit is rubbed as you motion your body. thighs clamping around his limb as to not let go.

as he removes his fingers from your cunt, you whine at the cold feeling of air and emptiness that hit your heat.

taking his fingers into his mouth, he licks up your juices that coats his hand as if it were nectar, like honey, as if it was the last thing he was going to eat. tired, your body falls onto bill’s as he brings you into a hug, rubbing your back.

your body melts within his touch, you don’t wanna move but you didn’t want people to find out what you and bill just did, so you gotta act as though everything’s normal.

bill pulls your panties back up as you adjust your dress. he takes off his sweater to drape it over your body to hide your hickeys. but really, it’s not hiding anything and it also just makes it more obvious as you and bill did something in the washroom.

the two of you basically left the room together. because as soon as bill left to follow you, they all planned to be sneaky and nosy to see what the two of you were up to.

“good job princess, let’s head back out, ja?”

you just nod, humming. cheeks all flushed and shy from what just happened. you intertwine your hands with his as you both exit the bathroom, unlocking the once locked door. only to be meet with a pair of eyes, actually, a lot.

everyone was standing outside the washroom. waiting for you and bill, to.. finish. smiles were shared, eye contact was made.

tom, gustav and georg, well.. they were definitely cheering for their lead singer. your band also hyping you up for the action you so-called do not get.

“well shit.”

[enqmind]

Okay, more fic. This is the one I should have done first, but what can you do?

Will likely turn out to be a multipart. (Word to the wise, I'm very easily bribed with reblogs, follows and kind words -wink wink-)

Ghost/Female Reader WC: 831 18+ content

Warnings: Suicide attempt by reader, gaslighting(?), manipulation(?), Local Manc has worst possible reaction to a suicide attempt

Reader notes: Thin enough to fit into a standard bathtub, light enough to be lifted from a standard bathtub by Ghost, mentally ill, might turn out to be pale skinned later (haven't decided yet. If so, feel free to ignore. I'm not here to gatekeep.)

One Man's Treasure

Next

 The hallway was dingy, even with the lights popping on at the slightest movement. According to the landlord, the lights were dimmed at night to prevent their circadian rhythms from being disturbed.

 Sure.

 Nothing to do with the cost of living crisis. Ghost believed them, thousands wouldn’t.

 He trudged along, each door uniform and bland as he headed to his flat.

 He was almost at his own door as a pocket of shadow caught his attention.

 Door after door after door with the same shiny printed veneer seemed to oddly glow in the dim light. One next to his had a dark shadow lining one side.

 He stalked over.

 Ajar.

 Of course. Fuck he was tired.

 He was about to pull it closed when a scent wafted through his mask.

 Lavender, vetiver and the familiar base note of blood.

 Who lived here again?

 The image of a woman rose in his mind. Pretty, polite, always offering a greeting smile if they happened to run into each other. Sometimes she seemed like she wanted to ask him something, but nothing ever came of it.

 That’s all he knew. She kept to herself and never seemed to have guests over.

 A perfectly functional neighbour.

 He pushed the door open.

 The dim light in the hall let him adjust to the darkness of her flat quickly. It was messy and a certain staleness passed under the perfumed blood scent.

 A soft flickering glow caught his eye, emanating from under the bathroom door. A rectangle of white standing out in the dinge.

 He crept through the living room, eyes constantly moving through the gloom for signs of danger. Ears pricked for any noise.

 A sigh from the bathroom.

 Ghost hesitated, but the smell of blood was strong enough to get his hand on the door handle and swing it open. Ready for any threat.

 All he found was his neighbour in the bath. Wearing only bra and knickers and lying in orange tinted water. A stanley knife dropped on the floor in a pool of blood.

 There was a lot of blood.

 Another sigh.

 But not enough to kill. Not even enough to knock her out, really.

 He approached warily, seeing a mostly empty bottle of spirits sitting on the far side of the bath.

 That explained both her unconsciousness and all the blood.

 Carefully, he took her closest wrist and examined it.

 She hadn’t nicked anything important, despite her best efforts. The lines went vertically, tracing the likely paths of the veins down her forearms. She was clearly seeking results.

 No shit, Sherlock. She lives alone, who the hell could she even get attention from?

 Wasn’t that the point of leaving the front door ajar?

 In the middle of the night on a Tuesday?

 It wasn’t worth thinking too much about. He needed to get her awake and to A&E, not ruminate on her train of thought. That was the psych ward’s problem.

 He rose to his feet and went to pull the light cord.

 The square of white on the outside of the door was a piece of paper stuck to it with some patterned tape.

 ‘Do not enter. Corpse within. Call 999.’

 A sigh more like a gasp came from behind him, accompanied by a splash.

 He turned to see her hugging herself, almost snuggling into the lukewarm water as her head started to slip under.

 He grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her into a sitting position.

 Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked at him, head clearly addled by alcohol and blood loss.

 Then she smiled at him. Lit by the candles that drew him to her in the first place, she looked radiant.

 “You came,” she whispered, eyes glittering with affection.

 She threw her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek that felt like nothing at all.

 She drew back with a wry chuckle and shy smile.

 “I thought you’d be taller.” A giggle. “But not by much.”

 He could almost see it reflected in her eyes despite the low light of the scented candles.

 The white skull of his mask making him look like death incarnate.

 How happy she looked, how relieved to be face to face with the Grim Reaper…

 He wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled into his chest.

 “Thank you,” she murmured. “I was so scared I’d fail.”

 He felt something crack inside his mind.

 Hers was a life she didn’t want.

 Ghost moved an arm under her knees and picked her up out of the bath, blood tinged water sluicing off her and onto him and the floor.

 He didn’t know why she didn’t want it.

 She clung onto him, eyes widening.

 “Where are we going?”

 Frankly, he didn’t care.

 “For now, Purgatory,” he answered. “Later? Who knows.”

 He felt her relax into his arms.

 “Okay.”

 All he knew was that if she didn’t want this life, he’d be more than happy to make it his.

[starrysnowdrop]

Hali Aloke

Just the Basics

B A S I C S

Name: Hali Aloke

Nicknames: Little Star (Her family’s pet name for her) and Snowdrop (Aymeric’s pet name for her)

Age: 29 as of beginning of Dawntrail

Nameday: 31st Sun of the 2nd Umbral Moon (April 29th)

Race: 3/4 Lalafell, 1/4 Hyur; Appears Dunesfolk, but has both Plainsfolk and Dunesfolk blood, along with 1/4 Midlander Hyuran ancestry

Gender: Female, Cis

Orientation: Bisexual/Biromantic, Male Leaning

Profession: Adventurer and Scion of the Seventh Dawn

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Bright, rose pink in color, straight, usually looks somewhat messy in a wide variety of hairstyles

Eyes: Large, wide, expressive seafoam green eyes that shine in the light; glass-like Dunesfolk eyes

Skin: Fair, and absolutely will burn with direct sun exposure for long periods of time

Tattoos/scars: No tattoos; For scars, just small ones here and there over the years from battle

F A M I L Y

Parents: Father is Taito Aloke, a Plainsfolk lalafell aged 50 in ARR, and Mother is Lalani Lani, a 1/2 Dunesfolk lalafell 1/2 Midlander Hyur aged 48 in ARR. Both Taito and Lalani are researchers in Labyrinthos and members of the Sharlayan Forum.

Siblings: None

Grandparents: Nanani Nani, Maternal Grandmother, a Dunesfolk lalafell aged 75 in ARR and Jovian Carraway, Maternal Grandfather, a Midlander Hyur, deceased by ARR. Nanani is a retired Gleaner living in Old Sharlayan and is a widow to Jovian, who was an Astrology Professor at the Studium.

In-laws and Other: All in-laws deceased; Hali has distant relatives in Thanalan that have no current contact with Hali’s close family

Children: None; Will have three children with Aymeric in the distant future

Pets: An alligator named Boudreaux who also serves as Hali’s mount, a crab named Beignet, and Aymeric’s black cat named BonBon.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Astromancy, Divination, Dancing, Singing, Cooking, Fishing, and Botany

Hobbies: Cooking, Fishing, Botany, Swimming, Ice Skating, Going to the Theater, Attending Balls, Dancing, Singing, Reading fairytales and adventure books, and Playing card games

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Hali is hope incarnate. No matter how grim a situation might seem, she wholeheartedly believes that things will get better. She tries to have a smile on her face and spread her positive outlook on life wherever she goes. Hali thinks that her hope is probably the only reason she’s still alive after so many years on the battlefield.

Most Negative Trait: Hali sees the best in everyone except for herself. She’s very insecure about herself, especially in terms of her appearance and her self worth. She doesn’t see that Aymeric could ever possibly love her the way that she loves him, and she doesn’t think she could ever be good enough for him. Even after they are officially together, Hali still struggles with being kind to herself.

L I K E S

Colors: Midnight Blue, Lotus Pink, Pure White, Celeste Green, and Lavender Purple

Smells: Ocean breezes, salty sea air, scent of fresh fallen rain, flowers of any kind, and musky cologne

Textures: Rain and/or snow falling on her skin, warm water, fluffy pillows, warm blankets, soft plushies, and Aymeric’s hands and/or mouth on her skin

Drinks: Strawberry Lemonade, Fruit Smoothies, Boba Tea, Pink Drink, Hot or Iced Chai, Hot Chocolate with lots of marshmallows

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Never

Drinks: Only drinks wine and certain kinds of cocktails, but tries to only drink when she’s not busy with her Scion duties the next day, as she is a lightweight and gets drunk easily.

Drugs: Never

Mount Issuance: Hali was never given a chocobo, because she said she didn’t need one! She always used a magical umbrella that allowed her to float above the ground and fly her to wherever she needed to go. Later on, Hali found her pet alligator Boudreaux on her Island Sanctuary and she rides him most of the time now.

Been Arrested: Yes, Hali was arrested for being a fugitive that snuck back into Old Sharlayan after being banished for helping to bring Sharlayan Astromancy to the Eorzeans. She was found sneaking around Labyrinthos in order to discover the secret project that her parents were hiding from the public at large.

Tagged by: @eriyu @paintedscales @elliewiltarwyn @amalthea-felsblood and @zerelth Thank you all so much for thinking of me!! I apologize for taking so long in responding! 🥰

Tagging: @meepsthemiqo @traveler-of-light @reikatsukihana @mimble-sparklepudding @faerieearthangel and anyone else who hasn’t been tagged yet that would like to fill this out! Please tag me so I can read about your OCs!! 💖

[mbakuetshurisprincess]

The Secret Princess

AN: Hello my loves. Once again this is just a palate cleanser while I work on BTB3, Completely unrelated, y’all liked A Betting Woman A LOT more than I thought yall would fr thank you. I look at the reblogs and giggle at all the funny shit y’all comment so thank you for making me smile. University is about to revamp for me in the next two weeks so if I go ghost I DEEPLY apologize in advance. Also this is my last fic without a taglist, go check out my last post to join it! This fic is my first semi-supernatural reader, I wouldn’t really say she’s supernatural tho, more spiritually inclined. Just wanted to put that in their idk.  Hope y’all enjoy!

Summary: The wind always did seem to have a way of bringing certain things back to your doorstep. 

Pairing: Shuri x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of spirits kinda, idk spiritual stuff about people visiting you in non physical ways after they’ve passed. 

Word count: 3.447

Suggested listening: Moonlight - Chris Bloom

“Your company is my cup of tea This light in between us is dim just like The moonlight Shit got me feeling nice When you hit me up I feel a drop in my tum like Damn, am I in love? I might be if she comes to spend the night That could be nice”

You plopped yourself into your hammock chair and let out a hearty sigh. Finally a moment of calm after a long day, you gazed out into the French Quarter and people watched for a moment. Although you had only been in the space a year you loved how it allowed you to just observe people going about their daily lives. 

You reached for the blunt you had rolled the night before and brought it to your mouth. Taking one final look out into the Quarter you brought the lighter to the tip of the blunt and held it there just long enough for the paper to catch fire. You removed the lighter once you were satisfied and took your first pull of the blunt, savoring the aroma benefits that the rose and lavender had.

A light gust of wind swept past you and when you looked down at your blunt it had gone out. You shrugged your shoulders and relit the blunt, happy that it sparked again without canoeing. You turned your head to place the lighter down on the stand next to you and the same gust of wind swept past you, extinguishing your blunt once again. This time you were smart enough to notice the slight smell of sandalwood and ginger in the air when the wind passed you, both scents unusual for the New Orleans air to have. You were a clever woman and knew that once was an accident, twice was a coincidence but three times, three times was a sign. Deep down you had a feeling that you knew what, rather who the wind was trying to speak for but you needed one more attempt to know for sure. 

You picked the lighter back up again and lit the blunt for the final time. A second passed and the gust of sandalwood and ginger air was back again put out your blunt. You took the hint and put down the blunt and lighter, clearly, he wanted your full attention right now. 

“No sir, I don’t know what it is you want but I can’t today.” You spoke out to the wind, hoping he was listening. “It’s a full moon tonight. I’ve got plans.” 

You waited for a response or sign but none came, evidently, that wasn’t the answer he wanted. You dropped your shoulders in defeat, even in death you couldn't say no to T’Challa. 

“She’s here already?” You asked him. His response was to rustle the leaves underneath a light post across from your home. You could easily see the spot from your balcony and you knew when she came she would be able to do the same from her spot.

You leaned back into your hammock chair, satisfied that at least this time he was bringing her to you. 

While you were now in a relaxed state Shuri was in exactly the opposite. After a mission had gone wrong, Nakia, Okoye, and her were left in New Orleans with no way of communicating with Wakanda. She had sustained a decent injury in her abdomen that her kimoyo beads were not fully healing and Okoye had at least dislocated her shoulder.  Thankfully this city was slightly familiar to Shuri having been here once before. Running on pure hope, the young royal had led the group into the French Quarter hoping that by some miracle someone had heard her prayer and helped her once again. 

“Shuri we are LOST,” Okoye stated plainly. “We need to develop a plan on how we are going to get back to Wakanda.” 

“I have a plan,” Shuri said quietly as she continued walking ahead. 

“Walking around the French Quarter aimlessly is not a plan!” Okoye urged through tight lips, not wanting to alarm any of the drunken guests that surrounded them. 

“Nakia, are you concerned?” Shuri asked, turning around to face the two women. 

“Slightly,” Nakia answered truthfully. 

Shuri nodded, appreciating the honesty in her answer. “Okoye, only worry slightly then.” Shuri turned back around and resumed her path forward leaving the other women to follow her. Her fake confidence was slowly starting to leave her and she soon became worried that maybe her hope was a foolish thing to rely on. 

Just as those thoughts started to enter her head Shuri felt something, it made her pause in her tracks stopping just under a streetlight. She was being watched. Her travel companions stopped behind her and looked her up and down confused. 

“What is it?” Okoye questioned, concerned at the royal's sudden change in attitude. 

“I am being watched.” Shuri looked all around the ground level of the quarter trying to find the pair of eyes that alerted her. When she couldn’t find them she moved her eyes up higher scanning the buildings and open terraces until she found you. There you were just as she had hoped to stare down at her in all of your ethereal glory, lit by the early moonlight. 

You two exchanged looks for a minute before you tilted your head to the side inviting Shuri to come to you and make your way inside your apartment. It took you a few seconds to make it down the stairs and by the time you did Shuri and her partners were standing at the doorway. 

The Queen was the first to approach you, walking up to the bottom of the steps she bowed in front of you. 

“Princess,”

You narrowed your eyes at her when she stood up. Deciding to repeat her gesture you bowed to her. 

“My Queen,” 

Nakia and Okoye could both feel the fake formality in the gesture, it seemed more like a dig at each other than a showing off of titles. 

“You knew I was coming?” Shuri questioned. 

“He let me know not too long ago that you were here. Almost made me waste half a lighters fluid trying to get the message to me.” You replied with a shake of your head. Shuri nodded and Nakia glanced at Okoye to see if she had any idea what you two were talking about; she did not.  You looked over the women's state and instantly saw Shuri and Okoye’s injuries. He always seemed to bring her back to you when she needed you the most. 

 “Well c’mon in.” You stepped aside and held open your arms gesturing towards the door. “An Udaku on my doorstep, I should have played the lottery.” 

Shuri mouthed a thank you to you and led the two women up the front porch and through the front door. You followed behind them, “Take them into the back room Shuri, I’ll bring y’all some tea.” 

The three women walked all the way to the back of your house to the screened-in back porch, Shuri gestured for them to sit on the couch and after exchanging a weary look the women obliged. Shuri sat in one of the bean bag chairs and relaxed into it; silently thanking Bast that her prayer had been answered. 

Okoye and Nakia looked around the room, Nakia admired the art that you had displayed and the photos of snowy mountainsides. Okoye on the other hand was identifying points of exit and possible weapons within the room. What? Someone needed to be rational here.  

“You never answered our question Shuri, who’s home is this? Who is she?” Okoye wanted answers and the way Shuri was so willing to let her guard down only left her with more questions. 

Shuri sighed, she knew Okoye’s questions were reasonable but she didn’t want to give a straight answer before you got back. “She is a friend of the Udaku family, someone to who we owe a thank you for saving us tonight.” 

Okoye groaned, “That is not an answer Shuri! We walk around an unfamiliar city and happen upon some “Princess” to take us in for the night? Nakia, do you know who she is?” 

Nakia shook her head no in response, truthfully she was still too fixated on the art you had displayed. Something about a few of the landscapes felt familiar to Nakia but she couldn’t place them.  

“Shuri just answer the-” Okoye’s words were stopped by your sudden presence at the door, she hadn’t even heard you walk up. 

You smiled lightly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, General.” You set the tray of tea down on the coffee table between you all. “Please have a glass, it’s not like home but it’s still strong.” 

Shuri was the only one to grab a cup and pour herself some of the hot tea. Okoye watched on in horror, wondering if this was how Wakanda’s monarch was going to go out. When nothing happened she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, thanking Bast that everything was fine, for now. 

“You didn’t come in here with that technology this time, thank you.” There was something about the way you said technology that caught Nakia’s ear and brought her back to the conversation; once again it felt familiar as if she had heard it said like that before. She studied you as you sat down on a mat on the floor, tucking your legs beneath your long skirt as you sat crisscrossed.

“I am nothing if not respectful of your space.” Shuri took another sip of the tea savoring the strong herbal taste. “Thank you for taking us in tonight, I am not sure what I would have done without you.”  

You smiled at Shuri’s thanks, “That tea should help with the pain some but if you want me to do something about your abdomen,” You turned to face Okoye. “And your arm, I’m gonna need to actually help you.” 

Shuri went to speak, to tell you that you could do whatever you wanted but Okoye’s voice stopped her. “Does no one else see the problem with this?” Okoye turned to Nakia. “We are just supposed to trust some random American whom we know zero information about to ‘help’ us? After everything?” 

You tried to act like Okoye’s questioning of your intentions didn’t hurt but deep down it did. You rose from the mat and grabbed your medical bag, allowing the sound of the wind to ground you. “Shuri, you’ve brought them here. Explain to them who I am.” 

Once again Shuri went to talk but you sitting down next to her and speaking stopped her again. “But, I can tell you by the way she’s holding her stomach that the first stages of infection are starting to set in. So I can sit here and wait for her to tell you who I am and allow it to fester further. Or you can trust her judgment that she brought you here unarmed in the first place and allow me to give her and you the necessary medical aid you need.”

For a moment nothing could be heard in the room but the faint sound of the wind coming in through the window. Nakia broke the silence first, being ever the pacifier in tense situations. 

“Please go ahead.” She nodded towards Shuri, “And you, start speaking.” 

You opened your kit and began creating the mixture of plants you would need to stop Shuri’s infection. Shuri took off her shirt leaving her in just her sports bra and sweatpants. She rubbed her head for a few seconds debating how to phrase her next sentence before just blurting it out. 

“This is Y/N Y/L/N, Princess of Jabari Land, and M’baku’s baby sister.” 

It all clicked in Nakia’s head, the sceneries were from Jabari Land, and the way you said technology was identical to the way M’baku did. “I was not aware M’baku had a sister.” She studied your face as you lifted it from your kit, noticing your similar features. 

You chuckled at her words as you began applying the paste lightly to Shuri’s stomach.“Then he’s done well by honoring our parents' wishes.” 

The Queen winced for a second when you applied slight pressure to ensure that the remedy had saturated her wound, upon hearing it you spoke a “Je suis désolé mon chéri.” just loud enough for her to hear and she smiled sweetly down at you. 

“You said she was a friend of the Udaku family, Shuri, who else knew of her?” Okoye looked you up and down trying to decide if she believed you let alone trusted you.

You could feel Shuri tense up underneath you before she spoke softly. “She was a friend of ‘Challa’s.” 

Nakia’s eyes became more focused on you, curious as to how you could have come into contact with her former lover. “You knew T’Challa?” 

You pulled your eyes from Shuri’s wound and over to Nakia. She could see the soft smile on your face. “I had the pleasure of knowing him when he was here with us and I’ve got the pleasure to still know him now.”

You spent the rest of the night explaining how you had met the former king. How after being shunned from your Jabari family for not following tradition and refusing marriage with a man, you ventured off out of Wakanda and into the United States, listening to the ancestors who spoke to you along the way through the wind. Eventually, you settled here in New Orleans and after living here for a year you felt a certain breeze come through, it called you into the city with its alluring nature and led you all the way to a very injured T’Challa. At first, he didn’t trust that you weren’t there to harm him but after you revealed your true identity to him, trust became quick with you two. 

You nursed him back to health and in exchange, he promised that he would never forget you and left you with a set of kimoyo beads. Although the physical time that you two spent together was minimal T’Challa still made it his mission to call and check in on you every few months and ensure that you were still doing okay. When he stopped calling one day you just assumed he had forgotten about you finally and had moved on with his life. It wasn’t until you were sitting outside one day smoking a blunt and a warm breeze that smelled like him passed you that you knew. No one had to call you to tell you he had passed, the smell of sandalwood and ginger in the wind was enough to tell you that not only had he passed on but he came to visit you like all the rest. A final way through the wind to tell you that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

By the time you had finished telling the story of you and T’Challa’s friendship you had patched Shuri’s wound and set Okoye’s arm. The moon was high in the night sky letting you know that it was later in the night than you intended to keep your guests up. 

“Alright,” You started with a clap of your hands. “We stay up any longer and I’m gonna run out of stories to tell.” 

Shuri went to protest, she loved to listen to you talk and claimed she could do it for hours but you hushed her with a look. “I’ve only got one spare bedroom, blame New Orleans architecture. But it’s got two beds so you two are more than welcome to have that.” 

Nakia mouthed a thank you to you, glad to have somewhere she knew was safe to rest her head for the night. Okoye just nodded at you, you could tell she had earned some amount of trust or at the minimum respect for you after listening to your story. The two women rose from their seats on the couch and made their way over to the open guest bedroom door. 

“Now you,” You turned your attention back to Shuri who was clearly very sleepy. “You can take my bed and I’ll take the couch.” 

“No, we will sleep together. In your bed.” Shuri declared, scrounging up her face and giving you a ‘what even made you think that wasn’t what was happening?’ look. 

“You need all the space to stretch out tonight.” You retorted, giving Shuri a look of your own. One that said ‘you’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m sleeping with you tonight.’ 

The Queen stood from her chair and did an exaggerated yawn holding her hand out to you. “Let's go.” 

That was all it took for Shuri to get you into your bed with her. You followed her up your stairs and crawled under your plush covers aside from her. As you assumed she would, she laid her head on your breast and wrapped her arms around your waist. You had asked her once why she enjoyed sleeping in that position with you so much, to which she replied that it was because she could hear your heartbeat in her dreams if she slept still enough. You wrapped your free arm around her waist and rubbed circles into her skin until she fell asleep. Only when you were sure she was truly asleep and you felt sleep coming to get you too did you finally speak. 

“Thank you for bringing her back to me.” 

Shuri was pulled from her sleep when her hands realized they no longer were holding tight onto your waist. Before she opened her eyes to find you, she heard you. The sound was faint but she could hear you singing a Wakandan lullaby, one her mother had sung to her many times as a child. She opened her eyes and saw you sitting out on the balcony with your back to her. Moonlight backlit your body and the sound of your voice entered the room through a small crack you left in the door. 

Light on her feet, Shuri made her way over to the doorframe so she could hear you better and watch you more intently. You were singing to the moon, the lullaby was a story about familial love. The song no doubt is a painful reminder for both you and Shuri about your former relationships with your respective families. When you finished, Shuri spoke softly to not scare you. 

“How come you’ve never sung like that for me entle?” 

You chuckled softly, you had already seen Shuri’s shadow so she didn’t alarm you when she finally decided to speak. “You should be in bed.” 

“You should sing more often.” 

You turned around and gave Shuri a look that only made her chuckle this time. She stepped out onto the balcony and sat down on the mat next to you. She leaned her head on your shoulder and you allowed it to rest there for a moment, savoring the sweet moment of silence between you and your love. 

“Did he really tell you we were coming?” You noticed how whenever Shuri brought up her brother her voice got quiet as if she worried saying his name too loudly would disturb his memory. 

You took Shuri’s hand in yours and interlaced your fingers. “Mhm, he always seems to bring you to me doesn't he.” 

Shuri let out a small puff of air in agreement with what you said. “Can you tell me what it feels like again?” 

You had answered this question for Shuri many times, trying to explain to her what it felt like when not only T’Challa spoke to you but any ancestor did. Any regular person would have found it annoying to continually answer the same question but you felt no burden obliging Shuri, especially when it was just you two being bathed in moonlight. 

“With T’Challa he comes to me like a breeze, a warm summer breeze. He’s always brief, never staying for too long, just passing by and staying long enough to feel his presence.” You thought for a moment about how you could further describe what T’Challa’s company felt like to you but no more words came to you so you just wrapped your arm around Shuri’s waist and pulled her close to you. You pressed a kiss to Shuri’s cheek and gave her a sweet smile. “Thank you.” She said and you nodded, not needing any thanks at that moment, just happy you could give her some amount of peace of mind. 

As you two sat there intertwined in each other and your own thoughts a breeze passed over you, smelling distinctly of sandalwood and ginger. A small nod from T’Challa signifying you had done well, you looked over at Shuri, and judging by the smile on her face you guessed she had felt it too. 

[bloggingnsfw]

Saved my by Minotaur *smut part 1*

Smut, Monster, Minotaur, (if I didn't list any please let me know)

NOTE: I wrote this a few years back so if there are any mistakes let me know. the full version is on Ao3 it is just to long to put on here it would be 10 parts. so here is the *good* part

for the full thing go to my Ao3 search: Saved by my minotaur (WILL BE POSTED 12/16/2023 @ 5:30 EST)

Part 2

The slushing snow honed in on Nettle’s position. A lavender cord leading straight to you.

The minotaur slammed into Nettle, knocking you right over. She fell back, full breasts clapping back and modesty wrappings curling up as his muzzle, hot, smooshed against them. Vibrations of his large chest causing you tits to quake with his every inhale. “Understand?” the minotaur said, nostrils breathing deep. His exhales causing you chest to break out in sheets of dew-like sweat.

Goosebumps rising to decorate you titties pillowing his heavy and grand front. Oh spite...

The softness of his snout tickled.

You grabbed the back of his head, fingers brushing over tufts of hair snipped to hang over one side.

“Pa-Pause. Stop. Halt. Freeze.” she stuttered. “This doesn’t count, okay. I just want to know how that nice snout feels on my… You get it, right? I want to feel you. I-I want you tyoue. Not killing me but sniffing me. Okay. Sniffing.” He smiled on you skin, those lips of his touching you so gently.

You gripped, pulling him in under the part of you modesty wrappings.

“Use words, Milk Mouth.”

Spite, he wanted you to say it!

You glanced away, cheeks ready to burst.

“Can you... sniff my breasts? Lick my breasts. Have my breasts? Do those things without, err-”

His large snout parted you tits.

“Yes, Milk Mouth.”

He sniffed, his muzzle moving towards you left breast. The plush meat of the minotaur’s snout dragged on you skin cool and damp. Causing the flesh tyoue to prickle and tense as the wrappings gave way. Fabric tugged up to reveal you peach-sized breast capped with juice nipples.

you was flushed all over, you copper-bright skin sweating and sweating as this minotaur furnace took his sweet time. His steaming breath billowing out in waves of misty gray. You mounds seeming to swell, flustered breasts bobbing under his every inhale and exhale. Shaking in anticipation. Pores opening and you own scent, of flint, figs and fresh laundered cloth, intermixing with heavier aromas of lust and sticky, drippy arousal.

Showing you exactly what he meant with his body. Pressing hard. Pressing with promise.

“Smelled this.”

He kissed Nettle’s breast with azurite-blue lips.

“See this.”

Hot saliva dribbled down from his mouth, oozing down to collect between you valley of you breasts.

“Minotaur-!” You breathed, you legs spreading as his knee split them opened. “Oh spite-”

“Edoh.” the minotaur said, letting you breast free. Teeth imprints blooming into a red ravished hicky. “Call me Edoh, Milk Mouth.”

“Name’s Nettle, Edoh.” she panted, awkwardly moving while pinned under him. “Edoh’s such a name. Were you given it by your head minotaur same as my Head Witch?” With Edoh’s arms planted on both sides of you shoulders and the fact that the minotaur was grinning down, mirth obvious in his expression, You wouldn’t be able to fix yourself easily.

Breasts glossy with saliva and sweat.

The minotaur’s shirt rose above his pecs. You felt his thick-set nipples hardening against you.

And she had such a silly idea in mind.

“Those are some hearty bits you have tyoue.” You noted, attempting to hook you arms around his neck. She gotten to Edoh’s shoulders but it was growing apparent that she’d never reach around his collarbone without sitting up. “They remind me of potion corks we use. Could be useful in helping me re-wrap the ribbons, you know. Strong. Steady.”

Ogrum was listening with a la-la look. Listening only to you cadence and not a lick to you words.

“Hmmm….”

You arched up, using his nipples to lead back the wrappings Ogrum moved with his muzzle. The minotaur watched you the whole time. Eyes like a cat watching a chick of a bird flittering in its paw. He was looking at as if she was so fragile. Like glass freshly blown and set aside to harden. Or the porcelain of Witch Horehound most prized tea cups. Things that were to be adored and handled with care.

It was so silly. She was a Nettle. One of hundreds of You just like you in the enclave.

[linasofia]

A Shooting Star

Part 6

Fandom: The Hobbit

Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Vega

Summary: Lady Vega loves to sneak out to Erebor’s rampart to study the night sky, but one night, an unexpected visitor joins her. It is the beginning of a story whose end only the stars can tell.

Warnings: none

A/N: This is the sixth part of this fic. You can read all the previous parts here.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass & @lathalea 💙💙

Khuzdul: Thutratur - Little star Zulfaluf - Tiny sleep

Even before she was fully awake, Vega could smell the faint scent of lavender coming from one of the tiny bags her mother insisted she kept in her chamber during the night. Apparently, it was known to have a positive effect on the mind and help the body to get a restful sleep. Vega took a deep breath and smiled. When she finally fell asleep the night before, it was not thanks to the lavender but due to her body’s exhaustion. The evening under the stars with Thorin took a path she had barely dared to dream of, and his unexpected—and slightly sudden—revealing of his feelings kept her awake long after she blew out the candle next to her bed. She could still feel his tender caresses and the warmth seeping through the opening in his tunic. The taste of his kisses was gone, but she only had to close her eyes to remember how they felt. Sweet and hesitating at first, then, as they both grew bolder, he stole her breath away. Thorin carved a place for himself deep in her heart, and in return he expressed every single emotion in his azure eyes. Without speaking, his lips on her exposed neck gave her promises of intimacy and pleasure beyond anything she could imagine. When he caressed her waist and hip through the fabric of her clothes, Vega secretly longed for the special night when he would fulfill those promises. The husky voice he used when he reverently spoke her name made her inner fire burn with a never before discovered intensity. Thorin was equally fuming hot, yet respectful, and even if she was more than willing to go further, his hand never reached higher under her skirt than her stockings. It was probably for the best, Vega thought, as she gazed at the dress she left in a pile on the stool before she climbed into bed. The nights were not that mild—even if Thorin’s body heat could easily have kept her warm during the coldest winter storm. She wondered what the maid would think if she looked closer at the laundry. The hem was dirty, and a small tear in the fabric reminded Vega of when she accidentally stepped on it as she climbed onto the rock with Thorin closely behind her.

Vega rose from the soft furs in her bed and opened the wardrobe. Absently she selected a clean dress and started to get ready. Her hair was always curly after being captured in braids for so many hours, but this morning it was more unruly than usual. She suspected Thorin's fingers' wonderful teasing of the back of her neck was to blame for the extra work she now had to put into her morning routine. Not that she complained—he was more than welcome to ruin her hairstyle again. And again. When she was slowly combing her long locks, she was careful not to ruin the only braid she did not unbraid last night. Vega ran her fingertips over the thin, but intriguing pattern, remembering Thorin’s words while resting his forehead against hers: With this braid, I commit to you. Vega studied her sparkling reflection in the mirror and admitted she felt different, as if a missing piece of her had returned, even though she never knew it was lost.

Lady Vanadis was seated at their large table, sipping her favorite tea, and Vega smiled at her before she began to prepare her morning meal.

”You are up late today, zulfaluf,” her mother remarked with a hint of worry in her tone. ”Are you not well?”

”I am very well, amad. Please, do not worry. I just had trouble falling asleep last night and my bed seemed unusually soft this morning.”

”I need to refill your bag of lavender, it is my fault. I forgot to do it and now the calming effect is fading.”

”It is not the lavender, my whole chamber smells of it.” Vega let out a short laugh. ”I just had something I could not stop thinking of.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow, put aside the book she was reading, and looked at her with interest. ”Will you share your thoughts with me?”

Vega lowered her gaze and blushed. She had not prepared what she wanted to say about Thorin’s and hers newly formed relationship, and the opportunity to reveal her secret came too soon. With only a short hesitation, Vega quickly decided it might be better to just let it out. Keeping her news and feelings from her mother would only make it strange later on. She brought her meal to the table and sat down on the opposite side, facing her beloved mother.

”I know that look on your face, Vega. Something important has happened and you dread to tell me about it.” Vanadis placed her mug of tea in front of her. ”It reminds me of that time when you were little and came home with that poor hedgehog you found by the stream, remember?” Vega met her mother’s kind gaze. ”Your eyes tell me you are excited, but maybe you are uncertain how I will react.”

”You know me so well, amad.” Vega smiled.

”You were never a good liar.”

Vega took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. She was nervous even if she could not understand why. Her mother had always supported her will to follow her heart and never accept a marriage just out of convenience or to secure a union between two houses. There was no easy way of saying the things she had on her mind, so she aimed for a quick reveal.

”I have met someone. Someone who thinks fondly of me. And I reciprocate his feelings.”

Not a word came from her mother, but her slender hand covered her mouth in the most surprised expression Vega had ever seen. Then she smiled warmly.

”That explains the dreamy look in your eyes.”

Vega took a bite of the newly baked bread. It was her favorite, with butter spread and it was still warm. The baker’s helper must have delivered it recently.

”So, I assume you have not only met him once. Is he an honorable dwarf?”

”Yes, very.” Vega smiled and could not help thinking of her own indecent thoughts while Thorin’s hand longingly caressed her hip. They had both controlled their feelings last night and succeeded only out of willpower and modesty. ”Amad, we are courting.”

A delighted scream fell from Vanadis’ lips, and she waved at Vega with large gestures, urging her to stand and come closer. With her heart hammering, Vega gladly obeyed her mother and moved to the chair next to her. She knew exactly what she was expected to do, and with a slight tremble in her fingers, she freed the braid Thorin had put his heart and soul into the previous night. She had partly hidden it among her other braids but only to avoid unwanted attention later during the day. The beautiful clasp already felt like a part of her, and when her mother reached for it to take a better look, Vega held her breath.

”Vega!” her mother exclaimed and pulled the braid closer. ”This is no ordinary courting braid, this is—”

Vega could swear her mother stopped breathing too, and she carefully met her widened eyes. People often told Vega she had her mother’s eyes, and she almost felt as if she was looking into a mirror when her mother captured her gaze.

”If I am not mistaken, this clasp belongs to the ruler of Erebor. How did you come by this? Is this a joke, Vega?”

Vega slowly shook her head, and her mother stared back at her with shock written on her usually calm face. Vanadis was known to be sensible and smart, and while she studied her daughter, her mind worked frantically to put the small pieces of information together. Vega let out a sigh of relief when her mother finally smiled. Then suddenly, Vanadis put her arms around Vega in the most motherly embrace. She held her close as if trying to comfort Vega in the absence of words. A faint sob erupted in her chest, and when Vanadis finally spoke, it was with a warm and caring tone.

”I think you need to explain to me what happened before King Thorin braided your hair.”

***

A smoking stew stood ready on the table, and Vega nervously waited for her father to come home. He was expected to join his family for dinner but was running late. It was not unusual since meetings often kept him from his home but this time, Vega did not mind too much. She was still going through the things she planned to say, and she hoped he would be glad. After all, he was the one trying to convince her to get married. Married. The thought made her shiver. It was not the thought of being eternally united with Thorin that made her uneasy; it was the thought of being recognized as the king’s consort and having to perform whatever duties might follow. It was nothing they had discussed—it was obviously too soon for that—but Vega could not stop her mind from wandering into the unknown. What awaited her beyond courting—if all went well? How would a life next to the mightiest dwarf of the seven kingdoms be? She was certain of her own feelings, and nothing except honesty and devotion shone in Thorin’s eyes when they parted the previous night. Still, she was filled with questions she had no answers to.

The angry bang of the door slamming shut announced Lord Vimar’s arrival. Long meeting, Vega thought as she stood to greet him. After all his years as the king’s advisor, Vimar’s wife and daughter knew how to tackle his sometimes fast-shifting mood. Plenty of food and good ale got them far, and when that was not enough,a supporting smile and a large portion of patience usually got him in a better place. He was like one of his strange measure-tools, complicated to understand, but when one learned to read him right, he was a fascinating man.

Vega watched her mother quickly embrace her tired husband and then urge him to sit down. A large mug of ale already waited for him on the table, and he grabbed it without a word. Vanadis truly was the best of two worlds; caring, supportive, devoted and always honest. But she also had an iron will and knew how to get what she wanted. Vimar’s and Vanadis’ love was of a deeper kind, the strongest sort, formed during a long life together and eventually graced with a child—Vega. With a knowing smile, her mother sat down at the table and offered Vega to start filling her plate. The two of them shared a secret, at least for now.

Evening meals usually meant time for the family to share events of the day, and even if Vega was a grown woman, she valued the times when they were able to dine together—maybe even more than she did when she was a child. The meal served was, as always, well-seasoned, but Vega had problems focusing on the different flavors. Instead, her mind jumped from one rock to another in the dark pond of uncertainness. She wanted to speak her heart’s words, but something held her back, and it was not the tired look in her father’s eyes. She could not find the right opening for such an important revelation, and she feared she would lose the opportunity. Her mother never failed to read the tension in a room, and after a long look of mutual understanding, Vanadis gave her daughter a gentle push in the right direction.

”My dearest husband, I think Vega looks exceptionally beautiful today, would you not agree?”

Lord Vimar met Vega’s gaze and smiled warmly. From the day she was born she had been his little gem, even if he nowadays often forgot to tell her that. ”She always looks beautiful. Even old Ull with his milky eyes can see that.”

”Thank you, father.” Vega returned his smile, took a deep breath and clasped her hands to prevent them from shaking. Just say it, her heart whispered, and she quickly prayed for strength beyond her usual. ”Father, I want to tell you something.”

Lord Vimar nodded and took another mouthful of stew.

”I have met someone that I care deeply for. In fact—we are courting.”

The expression on Lord Vimar’s face was something Vega would remember forever, and she was suddenly glad she chose to tell him while seated. He chewed slowly as if her words were hard to take in. As he slowly recovered, his initial shock was replaced with the serious look Vega knew too well, and when he spoke, it was the exact words she already had predicted. ”Is he from a good family?”

”Yes… I suppose you could say that.” Vega sighed.

”Excellent! You know how important it is to make good arrangements.” He lifted his hands in defense. ”I know what you are thinking and want to say now, for you have said it many times before. But it doesn’t change the reality under this Mountain.” He tapped his index finger on the table to accentuate his last words.

Vega kept quiet; it was not the type of conversation she wished for. Her father seemed to mistake her silence for consent, and he went on.

”Do I know him? Or maybe his father?” Unable to stop the blush from spreading over her cheekbones, Vega only nodded in reply. Lord Vimar became eager, and his voice changed with his mood, ”I do? Now you must tell me at once. Who is he?”

There it was—the question she dreaded answering but could not escape. She put on what she hoped was a confident smile. ”The king,” Vega replied, but the smile died on her lips when she saw the change in her father’s eyes.

”The king? Don’t be ridiculous—this is no time for games. I am being serious.” Lord Vimar’s nasal voice was slightly raised.

”So am I, father.”

”Vega,” his voice held no doubt a warning—he was too tired for nonsense.

”Vimar, she is wearing the king’s clasp in her hair. What she said is true.”

Vega was not sure if her mother’s words helped or made things worse, but her father stared at her, and Vega could only guess what thoughts were gathering behind his stormy eyes. The silence in the dining area was so thick one could cut it with a dagger. When Lord Vimar finally spoke, it was with a voice filled with bitterness.

”That sly king, he looks me in the eyes almost every day and not a single word has he ever spoken of you.”

Vega tried to find a reason for her father’s strange reaction but failed.

”I hoped for you to be glad. I thought you wanted me to find a man—to get married even.”

”To a wealthy lord, yes. Not to the king!” Lord Vimar shook his head, still unable to control his tone. ”Vega, are you out of your mind? Have you any idea what he will ask of you? Demand even?”

Vega did not reply. The truth was she had no idea what wouldbe expected of her. She had spent half the night pondering that question, along with several other thoughts which simply refused to leave her alone.

”I love him.” The words she had reserved for Thorin slipped from her in an attempt to add more depth to her situation, and she met her father’s piercing gaze with her head held high. Lord Vimar sighed deeply and stroked his long beard.

”Where in Mahal’s name have you gotten to know the king?”

Vega hesitated. ”Thorin and I—”

Lord Vimar slammed his palm hard on the well-polished wooden table. ”King Thorin!” he roared, and with his long index finger, he pointed at Vega. ”Nobody disgraces the king like that in my home!”

Silence fell heavy around the table. Vega’s heart was racing, and tears stung in her eyes, but she refused to cry. She forced a piece of bread into her mouth and swallowed it down almost without chewing. It hurt her throat, but she did not care.

An unexpected knock on the door made them all glance at each other, and Vanadis instantly stood from the table and marched to answer the door. Dark, muffled voices were soon heard, and then it became silent again. Vega’s mother called her to the door, and Vega stood up, grateful for the distraction. She had no idea what to expect and for a short moment, she almost hoped it was Thorin who had come.

In the hall stood a very large package resting against the wall. The piece was wide and tall but not very thick. It was carefully wrapped but possibly too unwieldy to be lifted by one person alone.

”For you, apparently.” Her mother pointed at the package and smiled encouragingly at Vega. ”May I guess it is your first courting gift? Maybe larger than the customary gifts, but I suppose the king can send whatever he finds suitable.”

Warmth spread in Vega’s chest, and she smiled back at her mother. ”Will you help me move it to my chamber? It doesn’t look too heavy.”

The women lifted the package easily and carried it to Vega’s chamber—without passing through the dining area. Safely behind the closed door, Vega could not resist starting to unwrap it.

”May I stay or do you prefer to be left alone?” Her mother’s thoughtful question made Vega pause, but she did not need to think long before answering.

”I want you here, amad. Please stay.”

The smile she received warmed more than the hot stew had done earlier, and she eagerly returned her attention to the package. Soon the large piece was freed from the wrapping, and Vega stared at a large piece of art. It was a stunning painting of the night sky, with stars and a full moon above the Lonely Mountain. She instantly spotted both Durin’s Crown and The Hammer. The Mountain was painted with all the familiar details known to its inhabitants, and the sky was almost as breathtaking as the real sky. Only the most skilled royal artists could have created such a masterpiece, and Vega silently wondered how long it took to finish. She gasped as she realized the painting must have been ordered long before Thorin returned from the Iron Hills. Before they both revealed their feelings and shared all those kisses under the stars. Vega could not find a card, but she giggled as she looked at the painting again. No words were needed with such a personal gift, and she would think of their first meeting on the rampart every time she looked at it.

”That is an impressive scene,” he mother said softly. ”I assume it means something to you and only the king knows what.”

Vega nodded. She was not ready to share all the details yet but she promised herself to speak of it when things became a bit more common to her. Suddenly she felt very tired. All the tension of the day was fixed between her shoulder blades, and the air in her lungs seemed heavier than before. She rubbed her temples and gently let her fingertips glide over the courting braid. It was on full display but attached to her other braid. By a small miracle it escaped Lord Vimar’s gaze when he came home, but maybe he was just too tired to notice.

”Your father will calm down, Vega.” Her mother’s reassuring voice was like a warm blanket wrapped around her.

”Are you certain?” Vega did not feel so sure, but her mother took her hand and gently squeezed it.

”Do not worry. He is shocked. Maybe also envious for he no longer stands closest to the king in this family. He would never admit it of course, but I know him. I trust you remember how he reacted when he was invited to that banquet? It was a big moment for him.”

”I remember,” Vega nodded. At the time, she was so confused by the invitation, but she did not miss the proud look on her father’s face as he decided they were all going.

”When your father asked me to court him, our future was more or less already clear for us. We did not have all the things we do today, but we had our love and our mutual family goal. He promised me he was going to do everything in his power to improve our situation, and he really did. I married him out of love, you know that already, but it was more than that. We belong together and when you find that sort of love, nothing can keep the hearts apart.”

”I know what I feel, but how do I know I am the right match for a king?”

”That is why you agreed to court him. Take your time, get to know him well. All dwarves have good and bad sides and make sure you cherish both. The same goes for the king, he needs to be able to understand you. If you are right for each other, the rest will sort itself out.”

Vega nodded. Never before had her mother spoken to her in that way, and it made her heart swell. With all the comfort she could offer, Vanadis wrapped her arms around Vega’s shoulders and held her close. Her mother smelled faintly of lavender, and Vega knew it meant she would soon have a new tiny bag on her bedside table. Thankful for her company, Vega hugged her back tightly, seeking solace in her presence. They stood in silence for a while until Vega felt the stress caused by her father’s outburst leaving her chest. With a soft voice, Vanadis finally declared that she needed to check on her husband too, but she would return later if Vega wished. Too tired to face her father for the second time during the same evening, Vega agreed. Before Vanadis opened the door, she turned to her daughter one last time and offered the most supportive smile.

”True love conquers all, Vega. Have faith in yourself and in our king. How your future will look only the stars can tell.” Then she looked at the painting again. Its significance was unknown to her, but she sensed the beautifully painted full moon was not a coincidence. Mahal never let anything happen without reason.

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Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly @exhausted-humxn-being @beenthroughalot @chaikittie @piscesvancouverite @sotwk @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @mrsdurin

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[lured-into-wonderland]

what does your muse smell like? For everyday use, floral and other botanical scents. Rose, violet, bergamot, lemon, orange blossom, and, less frequently, lavender. For more special occasions, she would use perfumes that contains spice oils and essences like musk, ambergris, and civet. However, she would put perfumes on her clothes and accessories and not directly on her skin.

what do your muse’s hands feel like?  Soft and fragile. Long fingers. Colder than human in touch. But she would often have them covered with mittens or gloves. Often made of dark lace. 

what does your muse usually eat in a day?  Nunnally does not eat much. Neither she cares about food. She used to have nothing to say what she wants to have, so she learnt not to care. Her own choice? Something with vegetables. Fruit. Tea. She does not particularly like meat.

does your muse have a good singing voice?  Decent. But she plays piano and violin much better. She hardly ever sings in public, but she likes humming a lullaby; she especially like Brahm’s lullaby.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?  She gets flustered very easily, so I would say blushing. She blushes both because of something she or someone else says or does. She stutters from time to time when she’s uncertain of herself, bits her lower lips and digs her nails into her palms.

what does your muse usually look like / wear? Old-fashioned-looking clothes. Lace. Petticoats. Corsets. Always dresses or skirts, long, made of good quality materials. Nothing too revealing. Nothing too fancy. Heals. Not high, but always heals.     

is your muse affectionate? how much? how so?  Depending on a person. She can be very affectionate, sometimes even clingy, to a person she is close to, but oftentimes Nunnally is distant and stiff around people. Yet easily flustered and quite quick to cry. Unless she considers herself insulted, for whatever reason, then she can be arrogant and acting as if she was spoiled. She does not believe she deserves love, or thinks she should earn it as nothing comes free in life.

what position does your muse sleep in?  She sleeps little and have problems to fall asleep. She would often lay on her back looking at the ceiling and waiting for falling asleep. She sleeps still on her back, when she does not have nightmares. When she does, she moves a lot and sometimes screams. It would be different if she had someone to cuddle, though.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room? Not unless she would like to be heard. She had learnt how to be silent, almost invisible.

Tagged by: @s-talking Thank you for the tag!

Tagging: @boundcd // @veiledsagacity //@advokatus //@conquestar // @enchantedbrew // @secretarykang // @royaletiquette // @clearbottled // @yuuwen // @of-elitiism // @distopea // @hhemeraa // @pvremichigan // @devourmist // @tximidity and anyone who wants to do it. No pressure of course!

[nelliefm]

haley   lu   richardson.     she  /  her.     cis   woman.      ›spotted   at   the   met   steps   ,   eleanor   '   nellie   '   van   der   linden   ,  most   likely   listening   to   time   after   time   by   cyndi   lauper  with   their   airpods   pro  .   the   twenty   four   year   old   gained   quite   a   reputation   ,  known   to   be   -meek   yet   +compassionate   to   anyone   who   knows   them   .  you'll   easily   spot   them   when   you   hear   about  cinnamon   sugar   melting   over   extra-buttery   popcorn   as   you   mouth   along   to   the   closing   lines   of   a   90s   rom   com   ;   soft   uncalloused   hands   adorned   by   blush   pink   nails   and   rose   gold   rings   ;   loose   blonde   curls   tied   up   with   a   silken   scarf   ;   a   crystal   vase   of   fresh   daisies   picked   daily   by   well-paid   maids   ,   followed   by   bloom   of   rose   by   mon   guerlain   .  latest   nepo   updates   article   talks   about   yet   another   engagement   broken   off   amidst   rumours   that   the   van   der   lindens   are   paying   off   potential   suitors   to   court   their   youngest   daughter   ,   but   i   guess   any   reputation   is   good   reputation   .  

𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚜  .

name  :  eleanor  rosemary  van  der  linden  .

nicknames  :  nellie  ,  nells  .

age  &  date  of  birth  :  twenty  four  &  may  3rd  ,  1998 .

gender  &  pronouns  :  cis  woman  &  she  /  her  .

sexual  orientation  :  lesbian  but  thinks  she’s  straight  .

𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢  .

hair  :  though  naturally  a  mousy  brown  but  dyed  a  warm  blonde  ,  long  loose  curls  and  wispy  bangs  ,  à  la  meg  ryan  in  sleepless  in  seattle  .  

eyes  :  walnut  brown  .

skin  :  fair  ,  smooth  and  unblemished  .

height  :  5'3"  .

build  :  short  and  curvy  .

dominant  hand  :  right  .

piercings  :  earlobes  .

tattoos  :  a  small  butterfly  on  the  nape  of  her  neck  .

scent  :  lavender  ,  vanilla  &  cinnamon  .

faceclaim  :  haley  lu  richardson  .

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛  .

positive  traits  :  compassionate  ,  conscientious  ,  honest  ,  idealistic  .

negative  traits  :  meek  ,  resistant  to  change  ,  gullible  ,  indecisive  .

birth  chart  :  taurus  sun  ,  pisces  moon  .

myers  briggs  :  isfj  .

enneagram  :  6w5  .

temperament  :  melancholic  .

love  language  :  words  of  affirmation  &  gift  giving  .

𝚊𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜  .

cinnamon  sugar  melting  over  extra-buttery  popcorn  as  you  mouth  along  to  the  closing  lines  of  a  90s  rom  com  ;  soft  uncalloused  hands  adorned  by  blush  pink  nails  and  rose  gold  rings  ;  loose  blonde  curls  tied  up  with  a  silken  scarf  ;  a  crystal  vase  of  fresh  daisies  picked  daily  by  well-paid  maids  ;  rehearsing  conversations  in  the  privacy  of  a  hot  shower  ;  using  up  half  a  roll  of  film  retaking  polaroids  until  you’re  satisfied  ;  never  missing  your  ten-step  nightly  skincare  routine  ;  technically  perfect  sketches  of  grand  balustrades  and  vaulted  ceilings  ;  studying  the  waitress’s  body  language  to  try  and  figure  out  if  she’s  annoyed  you’re  sending  your  meal  back  for  the  third  time  ;  the  smell  of  rain  in  a  rose  garden  .

𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍  .

nellie  van  der  linden  has  always  been  the  baby  of  the  famous  van  der  linden  clan  ,  multimillionaire  owners  of  several  luxury  hotel  chains  .  although  it’s  been  many  long  years  since  four-year-old  nellie’s  first  day  of  kindergarten  ,  when  she  bawled  for  two  hours  straight  after  the  nanny  dropped  her  off  ,  in  her  parents’  eyes  ,  she’s  still  that  clinging  ,  crying  child  .  sensitive  ,  fragile  ,  in  need  of  protecting  .  her  whole  childhood  ,  she  was  coddled  and  doted  on  ,  given  the  very  best  that  money  could  buy  .  

it’s  a  wonder  that  with  such  a  spoiled  upbringing  ,  nellie  didn’t  turn  out  to  be  a  complete  brat  .  instead  ,  she  blossomed  into  a  gentle  ,  quiet  young  woman  ,  a  hopeless  romantic  with  a  love  of  rooftop  flower  gardens  and  nora  ephron  movies  .  she  took  easily  to  the  rules  and  structure  of  upper  society  ,  mastering  etiquette  and  charming  the  older  generation  with  a  demure  smile  .

when  it  comes  to  her  own  generation  ,  however  ,  nellie  often  finds  herself  floundering  .  there  doesn’t  seem  to  be  any  rhyme  or  reason  to  the  way  they  act  ,  and  oftentimes  a  sarcastic  quip  or  sly  innuendo  will  fly  right  over  her  head  .  over  the  years  ,  she’s  learned  to  fit  in  by  keeping  quiet  and  listening  .  if  she  agrees  when  asked  a  question  ,  and  laughs  when  told  a  joke  ,  most  people  won’t  catch  her  out  for  the  impostor  she  feels  like  she  is  at  times  .

she  has  an  eye  for  beauty  ,  and  loves  to  surround  herself  with  things  that  are  aesthetically  pleasing  and  harmonious  .  this  was  one  of  the  things  that  drew  her  to  architecture  –  she  was  a  natural  at  capturing  perspective  and  scale  in  a  simple  pencil  sketch  ,  and  dreamed  of  creating  something  as  permanent  and  as  beautiful  as  the  ampitheatres  of  rome  ,  or  the  gothic  cathedrals  of  france  ,  or  the  intricate  mosques  of  the  early  ottoman  empire  .

once  she  graduated  ,  however  ,  her  parents  found  her  work  as  an  architect  for  their  luxury  hotel  chains  ,  and  she  quickly  learned  her  love  of  architecture  did  not  extend  to  commercial  properties  designed  to  maximize  profit  ,  or  working  with  engineers  who  pragmatically  struck  down  and  simplified  all  her  beautiful  designs  .  she  knows  they  roll  their  eyes  behind  her  back  ,  and  she  hears  the  whispers  of  brat  and  spoiled  and  nepotism  .  but  she’s  seen  enough  romantic  comedies  to  know  they’ll  be  eating  their  words  someday  ,  when  she  proves  herself  and  designs  something  beautiful  .

nellie  falls  in  love  easier  than  falling  asleep  .  she  seems  someone  beautiful  on  the  street  and  imagines  them  as  the  love  interest  of  the  rom  com  of  her  life  .  she  dreams  of  the  love  she’s  seen  in  movies  ;  the  automatic  understanding  and  connection  of  a  soulmate  ,  the  love  that  makes  life  easier  ,  brighter  ,  softer  .  she  saves  pictures  of  wedding  dresses  on  pinterest  and  bookmarks  links  to  engagement  rings  .  and  yet  ,  she  can���t  seem  to  find  the  one  ,  her  other  half  ,  the  love  of  her  life  .  

three  times  now  ,  she’s  said  yes  to  a  proposal  ,  eager  to  finally  begin  life  as  someone  in  love  .  and  yet  ,  three  times  now  ,  that  imagined  life  has  crumbled  to  dust  in  her  hands  .  (  wanted  connections  !!!  )  whether  they  weren’t  as  perfect  as  she’d  imagined  them  to  be  ,  or  whether  they  tire  of  her  quirks  and  idiosyncrasies  ,  at  the  end  of  the  day  ,  she  finds  herself  restless  ,  dissatisfied  ,  burnt  out  and  longing  to  be  at  home  ,  alone  ,  in  comfy  pjs  ,  watching  heath  ledger  serenade  julia  stiles  from  the  bleachers  .  

𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜  .

it’s  not  diagnosed  but  nellie  is  autistic  !  thrives  on  structure  and  rules  and  order  ,  struggles  with  social  cues  ,  often  feels  out  of  place  ,  tends  to  be  seen  as  innocent  or  ‘  quirky  ’  by  allistic  people  ,  needs  a  lot  of  time  to  rest  &  recharge  after  any  large  social  event  …  the  list  goes  on  .  she’s  learned  to  be  pretty  good  at  masking  ,  but  it  really  drains  her  :(  +  some  more  common  symptoms  of  autism  in  women  if  anyone’s  interested  !

this  girl  LOVES  rom  coms  .  there’s  something  about  a  guaranteed  ,  predictable  happy  ending  that  she  just  finds  so  soothing  and  comforting  .  something  about  someone  seeing  you  for  all  your  flaws  and  still  chasing  you  down  in  an  airport  to  confess  their  love  .

she’s  also  a  big  ass  lesbian  smh  .  someone  pls  tell  her  that  maybe  the  reason  she  hasn’t  found  her  dream  man  yet  is  bc  he  doesn’t  exist

rumour  is  that  her  parents  paid  her  ex-fiancés  to  propose  to  her  …  and  well  ,  it’s  not  100%  false  .  they  didn’t  pay  them  outright  ,  but  a  discreet  conversation  along  with  well-timed  gift  of  an  expensive  watch  or  fancy  new  sports  car  never  hurts  .  nellie  has  no  idea  ,  and  it  would  break  her  heart  if  she  knew  .  she  adores  her  parents  ,  overbearing  though  they  may  be  .

says  she  wants  kids  but  really  the  idea  terrifies  and  disgusts  her  .  children  are  loud  ,  messy  ,  unpredictable  ,  and  nellie  likes  her  peace  too  much  to  want  to  lose  that  anytime  soon  …  or  anytime  at  all

u  already  know  this  bitch  adores  dr  taylor  alison  swift

she  has  a  pet  tortoise  named  hamish  who  she’s  had  since  she  was  8  years  old  and  is  the  most  spoiled  pet  tortoise  in  nyc  .  has  free  roam  all  over  her  penthouse  &  she’s  hired  a  maid  exclusively  to  follow  him  around  and  clean  up  after  him  .

nellie  is  sweet  but  this  bitch  do  be  spoiled  tho  !!!  don’t  ask  her  how  much  a  banana  costs  .  she  aint  got  no  sense  of  money

𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝  .

mirrorball  (  taylor  swift  )  :  i’m  still  a  believer  but  i  don't  know  why  /  i’ve  never  been  a  natural  ,  all  i  do  is  try  ,  try  ,  try

why  am  i  like  this  ?  (  orla  gartland  )  :  maybe  i’m  an  old  soul  trapped  in  a  young  body  /  maybe  you  really  don’t  want  me  there  at  your  birthday  party  /  i’ll  be  there  in  the  corner  ,  thinking  right  over  /  every  single  word  of  the  conversation  we  just  had

when  (  dodie  )  :  am  i  the  only  one  wishing  life  away  ?  /  never  caught  up  in  the  moment  ,  busy  begging  the  past  to  stay

weird  (  lizzy  mcalpine  )  :  maybe  i’m  weird  ,  or  maybe  i’m  off  the  wall  /  but  maybe  it’s  weirder  not  to  have  dreamed  at  all

four  (  sleeping  at  last  )  :  i’m  stuck  swimming  in  shadows  down  here  /  it’s  been  forever  since  i  came  up  for  air  /  flashlight  in  hand  ,  determined  to  find  /  authenticity  only  poetry  could  even  begin  /  to  try  to  describe

[darby-draws]

26, 30, 34 for Mutt, Bea, and Dorian? (You can answer one character per question or all three for each question!)

Thank yooou!!! [Ask Game]

26: how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

Mutt: Hmm how to explain Mutt.. When he's working he walks strongly, confidently, he's in the zone etc. When he's around town, he feels a little out of place with his body, like he's not sure how to present himself around others. Keeps his head down often. Not clumsy per say, but you can tell when he's tired after a long day or has been drinking, he gets a little more, stumbling.

Dorian: Oh so dainty! You could easily assume he used to be a dancer. Dorian walks with his head held high (though he is subtly glancing down so not to step into anything gross...) He's both conscious of how he's presenting himself while somehow appearing effortless about it.

Bea: I could picture Bea walking with a bit of a limp, maybe an old injury acting up, especially after years of helping Mutt on the farm. I could see her using a cane from time to time, or a big ole walkin stick she found when hiking around the farm. She walks with confidence, though a bit different than Dorian, definitely has a certain swagger to her as she walks into a room.

30: do they smell like anything notable? Mutt: vaguely earthy and leather and campfire smoke, sweaty natural scents from the day etc Dorian: flowery perfumes, most notably rose or lavender, you can tell its perfume Bea: Herbs! I think she enjoyed gardening and would continue that practice when [moves in with the unnamed widow] with a nice herb garden! Good for her!

34: how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are. (This one I had a harder time with I think they're still a bit too new to fully feel out this question 🤔) Mutt: "Just a hard worker, I try my best I mind my own business..." (man of few words… leaves out a lotta nuance about himself but he's scared to share too much..?) Dorian: "Talented, beautiful, need I say more? *bats eyes* Oh.. I do, hm? Well-" (proceeds to talk about himself for 8 minutes while Mutt stares on blankly 🧍‍♂️ ohkay..)

[rainstormies]

(14) between waters

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 5.5k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

SAMIRA

Samira sat in the corner of her sister’s chambers, small and unnoticed, as she often was. The soft flicker of the hearth’s flames cast shadows that danced along the stone walls, giving the room an eerie glow. Alina lay on her bed, curled in on herself like a wilting flower. Her beautiful hair, once the envy of every girl in Oldtown, now lay in tangled knots. The vibrant spark that always shone in her eyes had dimmed to a hollow, vacant stare. 

Samira wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest as she watched her sister. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to help. She had never seen Alina like this before—broken, defeated. The proud, adventurous girl who once smiled so easily was now reduced to tears, her sobs quiet but relentless, like the waves crashing against the Hightower far below. 

Samira’s heart ached, but it wasn’t just from sadness. It was from a deep, gnawing fear. She had always looked up to Alina, always admired her for her bravery, her grace. Alina was the one who could dance at court with the poise of a queen and still laugh like a child chasing the wind. But now, that laughter was gone, and Samira didn’t know if it would ever return. 

The room smelled of lavender and old tears, a faint trace of the oils the handmaidens had left behind after Alina’s bath. The scent was meant to soothe, but it did nothing for the heavy weight in the air. Even the once bright sunlight that streamed through the windows seemed dulled, as if the world itself had mourned with Alina. 

Samira watched her sister’s chest rise and fall in uneven breaths. Her grief was a palpable thing, suffocating the room. Alina hadn’t spoken much in days, and when she did, her words were empty, lifeless. Samira bit her lip, wanting to say something comforting, but the words stuck in her throat. What could she say to ease a pain like this?

She glanced at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap. She had always been quiet, always kept to herself. She wasn’t like Alina, who could charm anyone with a smile or a kind word. Samira preferred the company of her books, the quiet comfort of solitude. But now, sitting here in the oppressive silence of her sister’s sorrow, she wished she were different. She wished she knew how to help. 

A part of her envied Alina, even now. Alina had loved someone—truly, deeply. She had given her heart to Robb Stark, and in return, she had known a love that burned brighter than any star. It was a love that had left her shattered, but Samira still couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to love someone that much. To love so deeply that losing them could break you. 

Samira had never known that kind of love. She was only twelve, but she was smart enough to know that she was different. While other girls her age whispered about handsome knights and their secret crushes, Samira found herself more interested in ancient histories and the arcane mysteries of the world. She had always been content in her quiet corner, her thoughts her only companions. But now, watching Alina, she wondered if she was missing something. 

Could she ever love someone the way Alina had loved Robb?

The thought made her chest tighten with a strange mix of fear and longing. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. 

Alina shifted on the bed, her face half-buried in the pillows, and let out a low, broken sigh. Samira’s heart twisted painfully. She wanted to do something, anything, to ease her sister’s suffering. But she felt so small, so helpless. 

Carefully, Samira rose from her chair and padded softly to the edge of the bed. She knelt beside her sister, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to gently take Alina’s hand. Alina didn’t react at first, her fingers limp and cold in Samira’s grasp. But after a moment, she squeezed back, so faintly that Samira almost missed it. 

“I’m here, Alina,” Samira whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m here.”

Alina didn’t speak, but a fresh tear slid down her cheek, sparkling in the dim light of the fire. Samira watched it fall, her own eyes stinging with unshed tears. She had never seen someone so in love, so lost without that love. 

In her heart, Samira wished she could be as brave as her sister—to open herself up to someone the way Alina had with Robb. But she didn’t know if she could. Loving someone seemed so dangerous, so painful. She didn’t want to end up like this—broken, with nothing left but heartache. 

Yet, as she sat by Alina’s side, holding her hand and listening to the quiet sounds of her sister’s sorrow, Samira couldn’t help but wonder if maybe - just maybe - love was worth the risk. 

For now, all she could do was be here. Silent, steady, and strong, as Alina had always been for her. And though she couldn’t erase the pain, Samira hoped that her presence was enough. 

After Alina’s breaths had even out and Samira was sure she was asleep, she closed the door quietly behind her, her heart still heavy from the sight of her sister’s broken form. The hallways of the Hightower were dimly lit, and the flickering torchlight cast long, wavering shadows on the stone walls. She stood there for a moment, trying to collect herself, but her hands trembled slightly. The weight of Alina's grief had seeped into her own bones, and it was hard to shake off. 

As she turned to leave, a sound caught her ear - voices, low and urgent, drifting down the corridor. Samira hesitated, her feet instinctively drawn toward the familiar tones of her mother and the maester. She knew she shouldn't eavesdrop, but something in the tension of their voices pulled her closer. Staying hidden in the shadows, she moved down the hallway toward them. 

The faint outline of her mother, Lady Rhonda, was visible just outside the Maester Bryndon’s chamber, her hands wringing the soft fabric of her gown. The maester stood before her, his posture stooped, his voice grave. 

“My lady, your daughter is sick. Grief is an illness. Soon, it will consume her until there is nothing left.”

Samira’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t realised how deeply the maester feared for Alina. Grief was a poison, the kind that seeped slowly through the body, twisting the mind and heart. Samira’s chest tightened. Was that what was happening to her sister? Was Alina truly sick with grief?

There was a pause, thick with tension, before her mother’s voice broke through, trembling and desperate. 

“No, I will not have my oldest daughter taken away. Not like this. Not over some wolf who was stupid enough to start a war he couldn’t win.” Rhonda’s voice cracked, heavy with anguish. “I warned her, I told her to come home. And now, she’s so different.” Samira saw her mother lift a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. “She’s nothing like herself.”

Samira’s eyes filled with tears, her heart aching not just for Alina, but for her mother too. Lady Rhonda was a woman of grace, strength, and iron-willed resolve. It was rare to see her falter, even more rare to hear the tremor of fear in her voice. But tonight, in the darkness of the Hightower, Samira could feel her mother’s pain as if it were her own. 

Rhonda’s sobs echoed softly in the corridor, the sound foreign and unnerving to Samira, who had always seen her mother as a figure of unshakable authority. But now, with her daughter slipping away, even her mother’s formidable strength had crumbled. 

Samira pressed her back against the cool stone wall, closing her eyes as if it could stop the world from pressing in on her. She hadn’t known it was this bad. Alina was always the one who seemed untouchable, the one who found strength in love, even if it had ended in tragedy. But to hear the maester and their mother speak of her as if she were slowly dying… it made everything feel so much more fragile. 

She wanted to run to her mother, to cry into her arms the way she had when she was little, but instead she stayed rooted to the spot, silent and listening. Rhonda was still speaking, her voice quieter now, a whisper that trembled with both sorrow and a fierce, unrelenting need to protect her daughter. 

“I need her to come back to us,” she whispered. “Not just for her, but for all of us. She must heal. She must…”

The maester didn’t respond right away, and Samira could only imagine the sympathy in his eyes, the gentle, measured way he would deliver the hard truths that no one wanted to hear. But Samira couldn’t bear to listen any longer. 

Without a sound, she turned and slipped away from the corridor, her heart heavy with the weight of her family's pain. She moved quickly, her footsteps barely a whisper on the cold stone floors, her mind swirling with a hundred thoughts. 

Alina, her beautiful, brave sister, was crumbling before her very eyes. And now, she realised, it wasn’t just Alina's grief she had to fear—it was her family’s grief as well. How much more could they bear before they, too, were consumed by it?

Samira sat on the edge of the corridor, her hands tightly clasped in her lap as she listened to the raised voices coming from Alina's chambers. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. Her sister’s grief had taken on a new, volatile edge, and it pained Samira to see it. Alina, once so full of light and laughter, was a shadow of herself, and their mother - Lady Rhonda - was growing more desperate by the day. 

From behind the closed door, Samira could hear the argument escalate.  

“He is dead, Alina. Nothing you say or do will bring him back. No matter how much you wish you could,” her mother’s voice rang out, sharp with frustration. 

“You’re still young, we will find you a husband-”

“I don’t want another husband!” Alina’s voice cracked, filled with both fury and heartache. 

Samira's heart clenched at the sound. She had never heard Alina like this, so broken, so fierce. It frightened her, this new version of her sister - so consumed by sorrow that she lashed out at the very people trying to help her. 

Lady Rhonda’s voice softened, though the determination behind it was clear. "Alina, you might not love him, but you will come to love your children. There is nothing in the world like children."

“I told you,” Alina’s voice trembled with barely-contained emotion, “I do not wish to be wed again.”

“I am your mother. If I tell you to marry someone, you will. I have already spoken to several. A Tyrell or maybe even a Dornishman. Lord Tywin, he wishes to marry his son as well.”

"The Imp?" Alina spat the word out like it was venom. "He is already married. To Lady Sansa." Samira saw Alina's shadow flicker through the crack of the door. That poor girl, Alina must be thinking. She refused to end up like Sansa Stark, trapped in a loveless, political marriage. 

“No, his other son,” Lady Rhonda replied, her tone growing more matter-of-fact. 

Alina’s gasp was audible even from where Samira sat, hidden from view. "What? No, he can’t marry. He is a member of the Kingsguard. They shall take no wives."

“Well, his father needs an heir, and he is not likely to get one from Tyrion.”

“I will not marry a sister-fucker,” Alina growled, her voice shaking with disgust. “I refuse.”

Samira held her breath. She had never seen her mother truly angry - Lady Rhonda was always the picture of calm, sweet and soft-spoken. Whenever Samira would break something or leave Hightower when the sun had dipped below the horizon, her mother would never scream. But she did now, her voice hoarse. 

“Alina, it is time for you to start acting like the woman you are.” Lady Rhonda’s voice was hoarse, her frustration bubbling over. “You will marry whoever me and your father tell you to. And you will act like the noblewoman you are, like the daughter of Lord Hightower.”

Samira flinched. The weight of their mother's words was crushing, and she wondered how Alina would respond. 

Alina, however, was not one to be so easily bent. "You shan’t control me like this," she hissed. 

There was a long, cold pause before Lady Rhonda’s voice echoed again, colder this time. "Oh, Alina. I am your mother. It is my duty to control you."

Samira heard the sound of footsteps, heavy and purposeful. Then, the door to Alina’s chambers flew open with a loud slam as her sister stormed out, her face pale and set in a mask of fury. Alina didn't even glance at her as she strode down the hall, her presence like a storm that had just passed but left destruction in its wake. 

Lady Rhonda sighed deeply, as if the argument had drained every ounce of strength from her. She hadn’t noticed Samira still sitting there until the girl spoke softly. 

“Mother," Samira began, her voice quiet but steady. She watched as Lady Rhonda turned, startled by her presence. “She loved Robb, mother. She’s grieving. But it will pass… just like the winter, and soon it will be summer again.”

Lady Rhonda looked at her youngest daughter with a mix of surprise and sadness, her eyes red and swollen from unshed tears. “My sweet, sweet daughter,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She crouched down in front of Samira, brushing her hand gently through her hair. “Oh, how you’ve grown.”

Samira didn’t move, but the warmth of her mother’s hand brought a fleeting comfort. “Your father and I raised you right,” Lady Rhonda continued, her voice a mixture of pride and exhaustion. She paused, her gaze drifting down the hallway where Alina had disappeared. “And Alina... gods, I do not know what to do about Alina.”

Samira’s eyes softened as she looked at her mother. “She lived in the North for years. It is not strange for her to start acting like them.”

Her mother chuckled softly at the girl’s boldness, the sound almost foreign amidst the tension. “Maybe... maybe I was too hard on her,” Lady Rhonda murmured, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her guilt. “She’s just a girl, after all.”

Samira shook her head slightly, her voice gentle but firm. “No, mother. I think you did well.”

Samira stood at the edge of the wine garden, watching the soft golden light filter through the vines, casting a delicate glow over the celebration. The sound of laughter and clinking goblets echoed all around her, and the scent of blooming roses mixed with the heavy aroma of Redwyne wine filled the air. Noblemen and women from several houses in the Reach were in attendance, their bright silks and fine velvets turning the garden into a show of colour and luxury. Yet, amidst the joy of her brother��s wedding, Samira felt more alone than ever. 

Gerold stood by the altar, tall and proud, his arm around his new bride, Desmera Redwyne. She was radiant, her auburn hair catching the light as her smile lit up the entire garden. The Redwynes had spared no expense, hosting the event in one of their finest vineyards just outside Oldtown, surrounded by rolling hills of grapevines. Samira knew it was a perfect match for Gerold, the eldest of the Hightowers, who was strong and confident, much like the fertile lands they now celebrated upon. 

Samira shifted uncomfortably as she watched the newlyweds. They were the image of a happy union, but she couldn’t help but feel a bitter emptiness gnaw at her heart. Her brother had always been her steady anchor, and now, with Desmera beside him, Samira wondered if he still had room for her in his heart. She wanted to feel happy for him, truly, but the joy felt distant, muffled by the shadows of the past year. 

Then there was Alina. 

Samira’s eyes drifted over to her sister, who sat with the rest of the family, but her expression was distant, almost vacant. Alina was beautiful, of course - her golden hair pinned up with sparkling jewels and her gown an elegant shade of lavender that made her look every bit the noblewoman she was. But there was a hollowness in her eyes, a kind of stillness that wasn’t there before the news of Robb’s death. Samira knew her sister had pulled herself together for Gerold’s sake, but Alina was no longer the same. She was quieter now, less adventurous, her laughter rare and strained when it did come. The grief over her husband’s death had changed her, and though she tried to hide it, Samira could see through her facade. 

It felt as if Samira had lost Alina too, in the same way she’d lost her sister to the North all those years ago. They were once so close, but now a gulf of silence and grief stretched between them. Samira felt more alone than ever, standing on the outside of the celebration, watching but not partaking. 

She sighed softly, glancing down at the goblet of wine in her hand. Even the wine tasted bitter today. 

"Samira?" a voice interrupted her thoughts. 

She looked up to see Lanna, Alina’s handmaiden, standing beside her. Lanna had a kind smile, though there was an understanding in her eyes. “You’re very quiet. Would you like to join us?” Lanna gestured to a nearby table where some of the other ladies from Oldtown were gathered, laughing and chatting. 

Samira shook her head gently. “No, I’m fine. I think I’ll stay here for a bit longer.”

Lanna nodded, offering her a small smile before turning back to the festivities. Samira watched her go, feeling that familiar sense of isolation settle around her like a cloak. She had once longed for quiet moments like these, but now, in the midst of so much joy, it felt like a burden. She glanced toward Alina once more, hoping for some sign of the sister she had known. But Alina was lost in her own world, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the celebration. 

Samira swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing she could do something to bring Alina back. But how could she compete with a love like Robb Stark’s? Alina had loved him fiercely, in a way that Samira wasn’t sure she would ever understand. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. The thought of loving someone so deeply that their absence could shatter you - it terrified her. Yet, in some way, Samira envied Alina’s love. At least she had felt something so intense, so real. 

“I hope you find peace,” Samira whispered, though she wasn’t sure who she was talking to - her sister, or herself. 

The wedding continued around her, the joy of the event growing with each passing hour. But for Samira, the weight of everything she had lost hung heavy over her. She had lost her brother to his new life with Desmera, lost her sister to the grief that followed her from the North, and most of all, she felt like she had lost a part of herself in the process. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the beautiful vineyard, the laughter and music feeling worlds away from where she stood. Maybe, one day, she would understand the love Alina had. But for now, Samira was content to remain in the shadows, quietly observing, unsure if she ever wanted to experience the kind of love that could destroy her. 

Samira slipped quietly away from the laughter and music of the wedding, her steps light as she moved through the winding halls of the Hightower. No one noticed her departure, just as she had hoped. She always felt invisible at large gatherings like this, where the attention was on the newlyweds or her sister Alina’s ethereal beauty. But Samira didn’t mind slipping into the shadows. In fact, she preferred it. 

The familiar ascent up the spiralling staircase of the Hightower brought her a strange sense of comfort. It was a long climb, but one she had made so many times before that her legs carried her effortlessly. At the top, her destination awaited—the room that had always been her sanctuary, her grandfather’s private study. 

Even after his death, nothing had changed. The room still smelled faintly of old parchment and the ocean breeze that swept in from the windows. Samira hesitated at the threshold, taking in the sight that had always soothed her. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, a world of knowledge that had once seemed so vast to her younger self. His great oak desk sat in the centre, strewn with papers and tomes, exactly as he had left it. 

She took a deep breath and stepped inside, running her fingers along the spines of the books on one of the lower shelves. She could almost imagine him sitting in his chair, smiling warmly at her, always ready to indulge her curiosity with stories of the Reach, of faraway lands, and of the histories that had shaped their world. 

As she approached the desk, something caught her eye. A large, weathered book lay open, its yellowed pages worn from use. It seemed to have been abandoned in the middle of a passage, as though her grandfather had been studying it before he passed. The title read: The Noble Houses of Dorne. A strange feeling stirred in her chest as she reached out to gently turn the page, her eyes falling on the elegantly inked description of a particular house - House Dayne. 

Underneath the open book was another one, pressed flat beneath the weight of the first. She gently lifted the upper tome and uncovered what appeared to be an older volume. The title on its cover was faded, but she could still make out part of it: The Sword of the Morning: Legends of House Dayne. Samira furrowed her brow in curiosity. Why had her grandfather been studying the history of this ancient Dornish house? He had never mentioned it to her before. 

Her fingers traced the star-shaped sigil of the Daynes on the page, and her thoughts drifted to Dorne itself, that mysterious and beautiful land to the south. She had never been, though she had heard countless stories from travellers and merchants who passed through Oldtown. It seemed like such a distant, exotic place - so different from the Reach, from Oldtown’s towering spires and lush vineyards. Samira had often wondered what it would be like to travel there, to see the sun-drenched deserts and lush oases with her own eyes. 

She let out a soft sigh, leaning back in her chair. The pages of the book rustled gently under her fingers as she turned them, absorbing the words about the Daynes - fabled swordsmen, noble warriors, their ancestral seat at Starfall perched on a cliff overlooking the Torrentine River. There was something in their history, something romantic and tragic that drew her in. 

Samira stared at the open page a moment longer before closing the book, placing it gently on the desk. She glanced out the window, where the moon hung high over the sea, casting a silver glow over the waters below. 

Her thoughts wandered to her own name. She had always been told that she was named after a noblewoman from Dorne, but no one had ever explained who that woman was. It had always been an unsolved mystery in her life, one that her family had never seemed to speak about. Now, as she sat alone in her grandfather’s study, surrounded by the remnants of his research, Samira couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to her connection with Dorne than she had been told. 

She whispered her name softly to herself, "Samira." It was such an unusual name for someone born in Oldtown. It didn’t carry the weight of the Reach or the Hightower legacy; it felt foreign, exotic, like something that belonged to another land entirely. Could there be more to the story? Who was the Dornishwoman she was named after? And why had her grandfather been so interested in Dorne before he died?

Her mind raced with questions, her heart beating faster with each thought. She looked back down at the books, feeling as though she had stumbled upon something important - something that had been waiting for her to find it. Perhaps one day, she would travel to Dorne herself, to uncover the secrets that seemed to be woven into the very fabric of her name. 

For now, though, the mystery would remain unsolved. She stood up and glanced around the room one last time, feeling a sense of peace settle over her. This was still her safe space, the one place in the world where she felt truly at ease, even if her grandfather was no longer here to share it with her. 

Samira turned and left the study, the sound of the wedding still faintly drifting up from below. But her thoughts were far away, lost in the sun-drenched land of Dorne, and in the unanswered questions that lingered in the air like whispers from the past. 

Samira slipped quietly back into the garden, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses wrapping around her like a warm breeze. The wine garden of Oldtown, blooming with bright clusters of purple grapes and vines that twisted elegantly along the arches, felt almost dreamlike in the soft glow of twilight. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the sweet tang of ripe fruit, a far cry from the dark, dusty sanctuary of her grandfather’s study. 

As she made her way to the long table where her family and the guests were seated, Samira tried to blend back into the crowd, her steps slow and careful. She knew her absence wouldn’t go unnoticed, though, not here among so many sharp-eyed nobles. 

“Samira!” Colette Mullendore’s voice broke through the hum of conversation just as Samira slipped into her seat. Colette leaned in with a mischievous grin, her golden hair pinned in delicate curls that shimmered in the candlelight. Samira had always been jealous of how she looked more like Alina than Samira did. “Where did you sneak off to?” Her voice was light and teasing, but Samira could sense the curiosity beneath it. 

Samira forced a small smile and shrugged, picking up her goblet of cider to take a sip. The table before her was laden with a feast that would have made even the most decadent of kings pause in awe. Golden platters were piled high with honey-roasted quail, their skins glistening under the torchlight, while thick slices of venison were soaked in rich blackberry sauce, so tender they could be cut with a spoon. Sizzling sausages, spiced with cracked pepper and garlic, lay nestled beside heaps of buttered peas and carrots, their bright colours a stark contrast to the smoky meat. 

There were bowls of stewed apples, sweetened with cinnamon and cloves, and flaky, hot-from-the-oven bread rolls, perfect for sopping up the thick gravies. Pies filled with rich, savoury pork and onions, their crusts golden and steaming, sat next to towering wheels of yellow cheese. At the far end of the table, near the newlyweds, was a roasted boar, its skin crackled to perfection, wafting the scent of herbs and rosemary. 

Dishes of honey cakes - Samira’s favourite - and lemon tarts were passed around. The wine, a deep red Arbor vintage, flowed freely, its rich, heady aroma mixing with the spices in the air. The sweet cider in her cup was nothing compared to the strong drinks her brother and the other lords were indulging in. 

Samira had been looking forward to the food, the feast fit for the finest halls of the Reach, and yet, she found no appetite for it. 

“Just needed some air,” she replied quietly, her eyes flicking away. She didn’t feel like explaining the solace she had found in the high room of the Hightower, nor the mystery she had unearthed. Colette would never understand. 

The older girl, with her golden curls and wide, doe-like eyes, had always seemed to float through life in a dream-like daze. She was the sort of girl who saw the world through rose-tinted lenses, her mind rarely venturing beyond talk of gowns, betrothals, and the latest gossip from Oldtown’s courts. Conversations with Colette were light as feathers, fluttering from one trivial topic to another, never lingering on anything of substance. She smiled often, laughed easily, and cared little for the undercurrents that might trouble others. 

"Oh," Colette said, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face as she realised Samira wasn’t in the mood to share more. "Well, don’t disappear again! You’re missing all the fun." She gestured toward the table, where laughter bubbled around Gerold and Desmera, the newlyweds looking radiant under the starlight. 

Samira simply nodded, glancing at her brother and his bride. They seemed happy, so effortlessly at ease with each other, as if they had always been meant to be. Desmera Redwyne, her gown a rich shade of emerald green that caught the candlelight, laughed brightly at something Gerold had whispered in her ear. They looked perfect together. 

Her eyes drifted back to Colette, sitting across from her, her face glowing with the flush of wine and the joy of the evening. Colette was everything Samira was not - bold, charming, always at the centre of every gathering. The eldest daughter of the Mullendore family, Colette had an easy confidence about her, as if she had been born knowing exactly where she belonged in the world. Her future was already neatly laid out before her. Engaged to Bryan Fossoway, the son of Mina Tyrell and Jon Fossoway, Colette’s life was on a clear path. A marriage into a noble family, a life spent in the lap of luxury and security. 

Samira couldn’t help but think of how simple it must be for her. No real uncertainty, no dark corners to navigate, no mysteries of the past weighing on her mind. Colette was born into privilege, just like Samira, but her life felt so much lighter - free from the shadows that lingered in the Hightower’s halls, from the grief that had slowly consumed her sister. 

Colette’s bright blue eyes sparkled with contentment as she spoke to the others around her, and Samira wondered what it would feel like to have that kind of certainty about your future. To be able to look ahead and know what was coming, to know that happiness - or at least comfort - was just around the corner. 

When Colette spoke of her engagement to Bryan Fossoway, it was with a girlish giddiness, as though the responsibilities and weight of marriage had not yet occurred to her. She seemed blissfully unaware of the complexities of court life, or the darker truths that lurked behind the pleasantries of nobility. To her, the world was a glittering array of balls, suitors, and summer festivals, with little thought for the winter that loomed ahead. 

For Samira, it was different. With Alina lost in her grief over Robb Stark’s death, their once-close bond had faded into something distant and fragile. Samira felt more alone than ever, even surrounded by her family, even in the middle of a celebration. It felt like she had lost not only her sister, but also a part of herself. Her safe places, the people she had once turned to, seemed further away now. 

She picked at the food on her plate, barely tasting the rich venison and sweet apple cider. Her thoughts kept drifting back to that study, to the books on Dorne and the unanswered questions about her name. 

Samira cast a glance at Colette once more, now deep in conversation with her betrothed. The two were laughing, their hands brushing against one another as they spoke. It looked so easy for them, so natural. Samira wondered if she would ever have something like that - a love, or at least a life, that felt easy. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted, but she knew that it wasn’t what her sister had gone through. She wasn’t sure she could love someone with the same intensity that had broken Alina. 

Would she ever find someone who looked at her the way Bryan looked at Colette? Would her life ever feel as light and carefree as theirs?

Her heart ached with questions that she couldn’t answer. It was easier to slip away into her thoughts, to imagine the far-off lands of Dorne, the unknown paths her name might lead her down. At least in her daydreams, she had control. In the real world, she could only watch as her sister's grief consumed her and her family, as her brother’s life took on a joy she couldn’t quite share.

[rhymingteelookatme]

oh to be the man who might finally get to kiss Antigone Funn

[the-blind-geisha]

Could you see Dems feeling possessive and maybe missing his lady after she left for a while and just immediately going up to properly scent her again cause she doesn’t smell like him anymore?

Demiurge felt like a wild hound, unable to control himself with his Lady out and about for the day. He understood she had to do chores about the tomb like himself and even visit other parts of the New World for diplomatic reasons, but it frustrated him to not be able to join her... The devil had asked to join her, but sadly, she had to decline unless she was in need of an escort. Very few days did she require one—let alone require, him.

Every now and again, he would stop and look at the door with a flick of his metal tail and then continue pacing. He was no different than a pet waiting for their master to return home.

Nobody better have laid a finger on her, he thought angrily to himself, his arms folded behind his back. Nobody is worthy of such a blessing. Nobody!

The door soon opened, causing the devil to pause in his steps as he took to one knee to greet her. She was expecting him to be there, as Demiurge asked if it would be alright for him to visit her bedroom to speak with her about her day.

“My Lady, welcome home,” he said, lowering his head all the more to show obedience.

“Good afternoon, Demiurge. It is a pleasure to see you are well.”

He paused in speaking, catching that his scent had warn off of her. Always did Demiurge have to be a bit secretive where scenting her was concerned. “My Lady, you are tired. I can hear it in your voice.” Demiurge rose to his feet, offering his hand to escort her towards the bed. In doing so, he aggressively began to nuzzle—again.

She recognized that behavior as him just being overly affectionate. Nothing more than that. “Oh, umm, it's nice to see you too, Demiurge.” The scent was still a bit strong. It was something she could easily smell as it was like a type of cologne. It smelled of lavender and smoke for some reason. She often wondered if he just wore some sort of cologne on his person. It wasn't something unlike him to do, but it was still a bit jarring to catch on herself after he was through cuddling and nuzzling.

A low, near protective growl rumbled in his throat as he continued the act even as the two sat down on the bed together. His metal tail laid contently across her lap. “You smell divine now, my Lady,” he murmured with content. “No longer will the elements of this world or those worms remove such a precious mark I've set upon you.”

[ghostdrafts]

Hi, this is for Encanto:

🌹Abuela/Alma

💐Isabela

🌷Bruno and Mirabel

🌸Delores

🌺Luisa

🏵Antonio

🌻Bruno (besides his rat children obvs.)

🌼Julietta

🌱Pepa and Felix

🍃Agustin

🍀Abuela

🌈 Camilio

⚡Bruno and Mirabel

⭐The entire Madrigal Family, or whomever you wanna do is fine with me

Oh gosh, hi anon! This was so much fun to write! Thanks for sending this in :) i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it 🌹- how they take their ice cream Abuela - Alma is a very complex woman with a particular taste for things, but her favorite flavor is alphonso mango ice cream. The kind that you can only seem to find in booths at street fairs. She remembers that it was the kind Pedro got the night they met

💐- favorite scents Isabela - You would think that her favorite scent would be roses or maybe lavender, but the truth is, she gets a little tired of that sometimes. Flowers smell nice, sure. But her favorite smell is actually Juileta's apple empanadas. Crisp, sweet, warm. The night after her ceremony, she'd locked herself away and eaten at least half a dozen of them while she cried under the pressure that came crushing down on her with the expectation of perfect. Ever since then, she's latched onto that comfort and it's a favorite of hers.

🌷- what they do to relax Bruno - Bruno is very easily overwhelmed by other people, so his ideal form of relaxation is a quiet evening. A lot of people think that his visions only come with the rituals, but that's unfortunately just not the case. He's learned how to control them a lot better, and more often than not, they're scattered, rapid fired, but suppressing them as much as he does causes headaches that are pretty much constant until they're unbearable and cause sudden episodes where he can't just shut them out anymore. It'll push him to isolate a little, which might not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but it helps him regroup and recuperate without having to worry about upsetting/hurting other people. So, he'll hideout to deal with it on his own, but he's learned a better sense of self care, so when he's coming down in the aftermath of it all, he'll have a bubble bath and a glass of wine while he watches his favorite telenovelas. Mirabel - She likes to sew! There are a couple of different reasons this helps her relax. Growing up, presumably without a gift, it felt like there weren't many ways she could contribute to the people around her, often brushed aside by others, but she learned to create something beautiful with her own two hands! It gives her something to focus her energy into, and feel like she's actually doing something worth while, with the added bonus of being able to gift something nice to the people she cares about! Every single person in the family and even a couple of kids around the town have something she personalized with a needle and thread for them. It's all made with love and it makes her heart swell with so much pride and joy when she sees them wearing it/carrying it with them.

🌸- how they decorate Dolores - Dolores likes soft colors! Sometimes with her enhanced hearing, it feels like all of her senses just go haywire with everything going on around her, it's nice to be surrounded by something not so overwhelming. She likes pastel shades that kind of make her bedroom look like a cozy little dreamland and as time goes on, powder blue becomes her favorite, because she likes the way it looks on Mariano. She likes the way he writes poems about the sky and the ocean, how taken he is by wanderlust at a little thing like that and she falls in love with a color, the same way she fell in love with him. She'd incorporate it more and more into her decorating and she loves anything soft! Stuffed animals, blankets, pillows. She surrounds herself with it.

🌺- creative outlets Luisa - Music. She can carry a piano, but what most people don't know is that she can play the hell out of one too. When she was younger, Augustin would hold her in his lap while he played a melody, and let her little hands sit on top of his, dancing over each key. Sometimes, she'd fall asleep there, other's she'd try to keep up and press notes of her own, making for a slightly chaotic, out of tune duet that was their own special song. Sometimes, Augustin will hit random notes and smile, because it reminds him of Luisa learning and growing the same affinity as him. She loves music. Whether it's playing or hearing it and she gets it from her father. Luisa is a daddy's girl.

🏵️- favorite animal (s) Antonio - His favorite animal is a jaguar! This didn't just start when Parce came along and became the best companion he could ever ask for, but it started a little over a year before he got his gift. He always loved animals, had an affinity for anything with fur. Anything that swam or slithered, everything in between. You name it! But during one of the towns many gatherings and street fairs, he got his face painted like one and absolutely fell in love with them! It was actually Camilo that noticed it before anyone else and got him the first book about Wild Cats In the Rainforest that he could find, and it jumpstarted something incredible. He's gotten many more books, probably with better pictures and cooler facts, but he keeps the one his brother gave him and it's his favorite. Camilo never admits to the way it tugs his heart strings every time he sees Antonio reading it for the billionth time, as if he didn't already have the freaking thing memorized.

🌻- if they have pets Bruno - While he does have his rat children (yes, they have names and yes, he can tell them apart) he actually feeds stray cats around the town. He knows what it's like to not belong anywhere and to fend for yourself, but he also knows how much just the littlest bit of kindness can go, how profound and meaningful it is to have somebody show they care for you, so he becomes that person for all the local strays. Most of them are half feral, but they grow to trust him and they have no problem just climbing straight into his lap and purring. He has a habit of snagging the food Juileta makes, because he wants his feline friends to be happy and healthy!

🌼- habits Juileta - Midnight snacks. She spends all of her time cooking for other people. Family meals, snacks, remedies, catering the town that seems to have new ailments and injuries popping up around every corner, and don't get her wrong. She loves cooking, she loves helping people and knowing that she makes a difference to take care of others around her, but sometimes all that cooking gets exhausting and even when she's surrounded by food, she'll forget to eat for an entire day, until she's left restless with a growling stomach late at night. She won't cook. When I say midnight snack, I mean standing at the fridge in cryptid-like lighting, all dark and casting shadows, eating mozzarella cheese by the handful.

🌱- ideal trip Pepa & Felix - Somewhere sunny, Felix will always suggest a beach to see his missus rocking up in a swimsuit. Mi vita, mírate tan hermosa! They would be out of their minds if they went without the kids, worrying every five seconds, and wondering if they're alright. Pepa risks a category four hurricane at one point because she remembered that she didn't make sure everyone else knew to make the animal noises with Antonio's bedtime story (Camilo knows and absolutely blew it out of the water with all of his impressions- when they get back, Antonio asks Pepa if Camilo can keep tucking him in at night) but after about an hour in the sand, they'd be so deep in the R&R (romance and relaxation, that is). They'd be that couple with matching beach bum shirts, hitting the endless drink and dancing at sunset.

🍃- favorite season Augustin - Oh boy. He'd never give you a clear answer, because the obvious answer is summer, but the fact is that he's allergic to bees. He loves bees! But bees don't love him. He loves to see life thrive and feel the sun on his skin, he loves the way it glimmers in Juileta's eyes, and hearing the kids laugh as they run around late into the evening, when it's still light outside. Summer just feels... magical. And trust him, he knows what being surrounded by magic feels like. On the flip side of that, he loves fall! Crunchy leaves, warm drinks, quiet evenings playing piano and the more chaotic ones spent carving pumpkins and telling scary stories! (Felix tells the best ones, he nearly gave Camilo a heart attack once- and you bet your ass the poor boy didn't sleep that night). The truth is that he can find beauty in everything around him and he can fall in love with every season, as long as he has his family to spend it with him, but those two always seem to hold the most special memories.

🍀- collections Abuela - I'm going to keep this one short and sweet, because I feel like it goes without saying that she collects butterflies. The thing that nobody knows is that her favorite out of the entire collection is actually a callophrys rubi acrylic charm Bruno had given her when he was eight. She kept it in her nightstand for many years, and when he disappeared, she placed it close to the candle. She would pray over it every single night and hope that their encanto would be able to grant her son one more miracle and keep him alive, not knowing where he would go or where he would end up. Bruno cried for about three hours when he came back and realized she'd kept it all these years.

🌈- sexuality/gender Camilo - Camilo is driven by how deeply he cares about the people that he loves and those connections are more profound than anything else, so I feel like he'd be demisexual. He wouldn't be the kind to jump straight into a relationship with somebody, or even develop a crush out of the blue. He can acknowledge when somebody is attractive (there are days he'll carry certain traits/features off of other people- straighter smile, smaller nose, different hair, etc., just because he feels out of place in his own skin and he thinks other people look better than him) but anything dipping into romance would come after months or even years of friendship and nothing will truly develop without that connection. When he falls in love though, he'd never stop and he'd love you unconditionally. He/they.

⚡- hobbies Bruno - Rat Boy is a thespian! He did always used to say that his real gift was "acting", and true to his word, a hobby of his was always creating and performing skits! Since he's come back though, him and Camilo work together. He writes and directs, Camilo performs each character. Together they make the family laugh, cry, shock and awe. Especially Dolores who could overhear everything the whole time and got way too invested in Bruno's telenovelas over the years in the walls! Their love could never be- she was his WHAT? More than writing plays however, Bruno just genuinely likes to write. But at least with the makeshift plays, it’s more quality time with his nephews and nieces and that becomes his favorite hobby. Mirabel - Again, short and sweet. But sewing is her thing! She likes to stitch and embroider, tailor and personalize, give sweet little touches to little every day things, because that's her own way of spreading the magic. Even if it is just the way Camilo's eyes light up when he notices the chameleon sewn into his ruana.

⭐- misc headcanons Any - It was Bruno, whose blessing Augustin asked for to marry Juileta. He was the first of the triplets Augustin befriended when they were young, and he was probably Bruno's first and only real friend. For a clumsy, golden retriever at heart, we all know that Augustin is fiercely protective over the people that he cares about, and he stood between Bruno and his bullies quite often. It was actually how they met. He couldn't stand idly by and see the youngest of the three Madrigal counterparts being tormented so relentlessly for a gift he never even asked for. It was because of his time with Bruno that he met the love of his life in the first place and for that, he'll be eternally grateful toward him. So, of course. When he's ready to pop the big question, it's his dear friend who he seeks the blessing of more than anyone else. He would pay his respects to Alma, but it's Bruno's thoughts that he really cares about.

[separatist-apologist]

Honestly whatever works best for you ^^ I just like seeing jealous Lucien

This ask was for jealous Lucien. It's sort of a remix of Elain riling Lucien up, wherein they actually DO stuff. it is NSFW, 18+, and "edited".

Also I like my little Feyre/Lucien moment. I HC them as pranksters

--

--

Lucien was later than he’d meant to be, walking into Solstice. He was still reeling from his day with Elain, stunned that Nuan had been right, and her plan had worked.

She wants you, Nuan had murmured halfway through the larger meeting Lucien had glanced over at Elain, carefully arranging stems across the hall on a glass table.

He’d rolled his eyes, but Nuan insisted.

Let me help you make her jealous.

He’d kissed her hand and now he wanted to kiss every other part of her. He’d settle for polite conversation and maybe a little hand holding. He was nervous, like a young male about to touch his first female. Elain had never given him the time of day before and Lucien wanted to get things right.

He ran his hands down his sage green jacket for the millionth time, his boots echoing off the marble in Feyre’s home. He followed the sound of chatter to a drawing room and paused in the doorway. His eyes immediately found Elain standing beside Azriel, gazing up at him with sweet, doe eyes…her hand on his forearm.

He was so fucking tired of seeing the pair of them. Jealousy burned in his gut and he almost turned around and left. Feyre caught him, perhaps reading his thoughts, and looped her arm through his.

“Will you help me with something?” She asked conspiratorially, walking him out of the cozy drawing room.

“How could I say no?” He replied easily, his mind still back with Elain and Azriel.

“I want to put snow in Rhys’ side of the bed,” she confessed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s been shoving it down the back of my clothes for days now and I haven’t been able to repay him.”

“Because he’s so tall, or you love him so much?” Lucien asked dryly

“Don’t be gross, of course it’s because he’s tall,” Feyre shot back quickly. “I tried his pants but he’s just a little too fast—”

“That’s quite enough. Of course I’ll help you prank your mate. Let’s go to the kitchen for some bowls, though.”

“Smart, I didn’t think of that,” Feyre said with a happy smile.

For the next hour, he and Feyre giggled quietly as they scooped up frozen snow in metal bowls and snuck through the River House. They put the snow on Feyre’s side of the bed, creating a snow person shaped like her body they hoped a very naked Rhys would attempt to cuddle up next to. Lucien didn’t want to think about what Feyre and her mate did in their alone time but he had to admit, it was fun conspiring with Feyre again.

By the time she walked him back to the drawing room, they were pink cheeked from the cold and still quietly chuckling to themselves. Rhys was instantly curious, not that it mattered. Lucien was almost relieved to see Elain had left though Azriel remained behind, standing with Cassian and Mor discussing who knew what. Lucien went to a little loveseat, still amused when he froze.

Elain was there, looking up at him with those same wide eyes. Ah, fuck, he thought, about to turn and find another place to warm up. She scooted, patting the cushion beside her and Lucien couldn’t resist.

She was so gorgeous, her hair curled gently down her back and spilling over her shoulders in a long-sleeved, off shoulder gown of lilac. He wanted to feel hopeful, but her eyes slid past him towards Azriel and Lucien wasn’t stupid. He recognized when he was being used as bait. He nearly rose, nearly left entirely but she set her small hand on his knee and Lucien quickly changed tracks.

She might want to make another male jealous but there was something between them. He could smell her anticipation. He didn’t know what had transpired between the pair of them, if anything had, for that matter given how determined Azriel seemed to be at not looking at her. It didn’t matter. If she wanted to play games, Lucien was leave knowing she was utterly covered in his scent. There would be no mistaking who she belonged with…who she was mated to.

“Are you having a good evening?” He asked, unable to take his eyes off her hand sliding slowly up his thigh. He was so, so hard just from one little touch.

“I am,” she agreed, looking up at him again. Good. He wanted her to keep her eyes on him. “And you, Lord?”

“It’s certainly looking up,” he replied truthfully. Feyre glanced at Lucien and he heard her in his mind.

You two look cozy. Want us to leave for a bit?

He hated when she did that, when she spoke to him mind to mind, worried that she knew every little thing he’d ever thought. This time, though, he was a little grateful for it.

If no one minds.

He heard Feyre chuckle in his head. I promise you, no one minds. I don’t think she’d notice if we left at all…

Feyre withdrew and Lucien looked fully back at Elain, her eyes wholly focused on his face, pink lips parted, her hand so close to his aching cock he felt half insane. He reached for her neck, his hands twining in her hair as he tilted her head towards him. Lucien glanced up when Elain’s eyes fluttered shut, watching as Feyre silently ushered people from the room. His lips curved into a smile and he nodded his thanks to Feyre once before she left, too, closing the door quietly behind her.

Elain sucked in a soft breath, angling her head. He couldn’t resist. He didn’t care if she had started all this to make Azriel jealous. She’d failed on that account though she’d very much succeeded in making Lucien jealous. He ghosted his lips over her own, delighted when she gasped a little, her fingernails digging into his thighs.

“It looks like everyone left us,” he told her, his mouth pressed against her jaw. Her eyes flew open and Lucien, still holding her head, let her turn just long enough to look at the now empty room. The only sound besides their breathing was the cheerful crackling of the fire and the soft hum of the wind tapping on the glass.

“I didn’t notice,” she admitted, proving her younger sister right. Lucien’s heart picked up at the admission, hope re-blooming in his chest. He smiled at her, rubbing his nose against her own. She reached up, cupping his cheek and Lucien was half-lost. He brought his mouth back to hers, kissing her for the first time. It was nothing like he’d imagined, and he had spent years wondering what she might feel like, how she’d taste.

She was better in real life he thought with a soft sigh. Like lavender and honey and warm, sunlit air all combined and mixed with something personal, something uniquely Elain that was sweet and inviting. She opened her mouth for him, surprising him again when her tongue very hesitantly licked against his own.

She moaned and Lucien was fully gone, utterly done. He was going to have her on this too small couch. He couldn’t walk, not with the erection he was currently sporting and especially not with the way her arousal was slowly curling through the air around them. He couldn’t think straight anymore, kissing her with more intensity than he might have. He leaned her back, one hand on the column of her pretty throat as he shoved his knee between her legs, parting them both.

“What do you want, Elain?” He asked before licking up the smooth, soft skin of her throat, his other hand holding her by the hip. Her eyes flashed open, dark with desire.

“You,” she breathed, dragging him back down to kiss her again. Did she knew the affect she had on him, he wondered idly a moment before her hips rubbed against his thigh? She moaned softly against his lips, her eyes closed again.

Would Feyre forgive him for fucking her sister in the drawing room? He hoped so, he thought to himself, devouring her mouth with a hunger that surprised even him. His fantasies could not compete with the real thing.

He ran a hand over her breast, hidden beneath glittery fabric. Elain arched into his hand, moaning softly again. He’d kill to hear her make that notice again, he thought desperately. More, more, more, the bond between them crooned, demanding satisfaction. Elain, too, seemed to be demanding it, given how her hips rolled against his thigh. There was not enough space to spread her out the way he wanted to. They’d have to move.

Lucien withdrew, pleased at the disappointed mewl that escaped her throat.

“Not for long, sweet dove,” he promised, pulling her easily into his arms. Her dress covered his tented trousers and her weight helped ground him back to reality, to slow him down just a bit. Her mouth on his neck, nipping the skin, didn’t make walking any easier, and leaving the drawing room for the bedroom Feyre had offered was difficult, given how badly instinct made him want to slam her against a wall and bury himself within her.

They passed her family, not that she noticed. Feyre pressed a hand over her mouth and Rhys actually winked, which made Lucien almost laugh. The jealous monster that still roared in his chest settled when Azriel, too, glanced their way, catching sight of Elain utterly lost, one hand in his hair, her mouth still licking his skin. What had he been so worried about, he wondered, half jogging up the steps that led to the hall he slept in?

He placed on her his bed with as much reverence as he felt in that moment and Elain sat up quickly, eyes wide. He froze, expecting her to tell him no, that they’d taken this too far and she wanted to leave.

Her fingers found the buttons of his jacket and with a nimble quickness, managed to undo them before he could inhale and exhale. She shoved them down his arms and without any hesitation, pulled his shirt out of his pants and attempted to yank it over his head. Lucien helped, utterly stunned with the image of his mate undressing him with hurried determination. He didn’t stop her when her fingers, trembling now, reached for the laces of his pants though he did gently pull them away when, having gotten them undone, she attempted to yank them off his hips. She was still fully clothed and the part of him that was still a gentleman knew he might be tempted to just flip her skirts up and have her without any other care of consideration.

He heard her swallow when, having divested himself of his boots, he climbed up the bed. He reached behind her for the little pearl buttons on her dress and undid them much slower than she had, reveling in each new inch of skin he revealed. Lucien dragged his hands down her shoulders when he finished, taking the dress with him until she her underthings were exposed, her dress pooled at her waist. He watched as she shimmied out of it, tossing it to his floor. It took her merely a moment to remove her under things as well, leaving her utterly exposed.

“Elain,” he breathed, gently guiding her back to the bed, unable to take his eyes off the peaks and curves of her beautiful, soft body. He almost asked if she’d done this before but the memory of snide, stupid Graysen strutting about flashed through his memory and he knew he might become overwhelmingly possessive if she admitted he’d ever touched her.

Some questions were better left unknown. He simply did not care how many lovers she had or if she’d had none at all. He’d pretend she hadn’t and let her set the pace.

“Now will you remove your pants?” She asked him, her voice catching in her throat. They were hanging embarrassingly low on his hips as it was, hardly keeping him modest and the fabric was beginning to chafe the crown of his cock. Lucien sighed, disappointed to climb off her and slid them down his body, well aware of how her eyes zoomed to the appendage bobbing between his legs. He wished he knew what she thought in that moment, if she found him lacking or not.

She gestured for him to come back, and Lucien obliged, hardly able to keep himself away. This was happening, he thought dazedly, his mouth covering her own again. Elain’s hands slipped up his chest and over his shoulders, her nails dragging down his back. He groaned even as he palmed at her now naked breast, desperate to feel her naked body arch against his own.

She gasped when he rolled her nipple between his fingers, her hips lifting off the bed. He was slowly being driven mad by every little noise that left her lips.

Taste, taste, taste his instincts chanted. She didn’t pull away when his head dipped to her chest so he could take that same delicate, pebbled nipple and roll it along his tongue. She squirmed, her nails digging into his flesh in the most deliciously painful way. More of that, his thoughts begged. The idea that his mate might instinctively know what he liked and how he wanted to be fucked was exciting to him.

She writhed against him when he took the other breast into his mouth, lavishing attention even as she ground against the bare thigh he had pressed against the heat of her cunt. His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the slickness she left on his skin, growling softly in appreciation.

“Please,” she begged, lifting her hips again and fuck did he want to take her up on the offer. His hand was gliding down her body and when he dipped one finger into the source of her wet he half died right then and there. She clenched hard around him, the sensation shooting straight into his cock.

“Taste you,” he said desperately, trying to position himself between her hips but Elain screamed with frustration and yanked him by his hair, pulling him back up.

“Later,” she bossed, her kiss a demand. He wanted to taste her so bad it was almost painful.

“Please,” it was his turn to beg.

“Fuck me, Lucien,” she ordered and Lucien’s eyes rolled straight into his skull. Later implied they would do this again, slower, perhaps all night even. He notched himself against her slick opening, groaning at the silky, hot feel of her.

It had been his intention to go slow. He slid in an inch and Elain offered him another soft scream, stopping him dead. She hooked her legs around his waist, dug her heels into his ass, and pushed, slamming him to the hilt within her.

Holy fuck, he thought, dazed. His Lady was practically wanton, he thought with pleasure, watching as her hips arched to meet his next thrust, her eyes half-wild with lust.

“Been thinking of me, have you?” He grunted out, his thrusts almost punishing in their intensity.

“Mm hmm,” she wined, her breath coming in short, shallow pants.

“Tell me,” he demanded, trying to fight back the urge to spill himself inside her like an untested youth. His hand slid between them, his thumb rubbing careful, precise circles over her clit.

“At night,” she gasped. “In bed.”

“Touching yourself?” He asked, needing to know.

“Mm hmm,” she keened, her voice rising an octave. He sped up, both his hips and his hand, dragging her to the edge.

“What do you want?” He demanded again.

“You,” she begged. “Lucien, you, you—” Her words were lost to a scream, so loud he was sure the whole house heard. Lucien snarled with pleasure, still rubbing as he fucked her, driving himself deeper still, desperate to be as close as he could.

“Lucien,” she half sobbed, her body trembling around him, her nails digging so hard into his skin he could scent blood in the air.

“Again,” he told her, his voice rich with authority. She tossed her head side to side. When she came again, the walls of her cunt slick with fluid as the fluttered tightly around him, Lucien couldn’t hold back any longer. His own pleasure burned beneath his skin, coiled tightly in his gut desperate for release. Every part of him tingled wildly. He thrust hard, deep, and pumped his release into her, snarling loudly with satisfaction. This was home, his mind screamed. She was home.

When his body relaxed, Lucien carefully lowered his body to hers. She pressed a lazy kiss to his mouth.

“Again,” he murmured against her lips. She giggled in response.

“Let me breathe, first,” she asked, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. Lucien couldn’t bring himself to pull out of her, to leave her.

So he stayed, nuzzling his head into her shoulder while Elain worked to catch her breath. Minutes passed, timed only by the synced beats of their heart.

“Okay,” she whispered after who knew how long. “Again.”

[ionianstar]

A little Lukanette vignette I guess

*****

"How do you feel?" Alya's hand covered Marinette's as they sat in a corner of the bar. They'd decided to head out for an impromptu girls night. Juleka and Rose had disappeared, probably for Juleka's sake. She was always an easily overwhelmed girl.

Marinette smiled, if somewhat sadly.

"I'm okay. It's been a long time anyway. And I don't regret anything." She forced her voice to remain strong. She picked up the glass of rum and coke on the table and took a hearty swig.

Alya gave her hand a squeeze and retreated.

A loud set of greeting was heard from the entrance and Marinette thought she heard Rose's telltale squeak in the commotion. She shrugged it off and pulled her phone from her pocket and the screen lit up, a message displayed on it.

Luka

Are you alright?

Marinette felt her throat close at the words and she quietly cleared it, taking another sip of her drink.

Her friends knew about her and Adrien, how they'd split up almost a year ago. Alya and Juleka however, knew the inside details as to the why. The arguments, the manipulation, the hurt, all the ugly things the two year relationship brought.

And they could see the toll it took on their friend.

Marinette felt tears prick at her eyes and inhaled, determined not to ruin the eyeliner Juleka had excitedly applied before their arrival. She had even worn her shorts and let her hair down. Marinette refused to let herself wallow, at least for tonight.

"Hey Luka! Hey, Adrien." Alya's change in tone was detected only by Marinette because she was so close and the music was blessedly loud.

Marinette felt her heart drop into her stomach and turn.

She forced herself to look up at the two boys and plastered a smile onto her face. She knew she couldn't form words yet so she raised her half-empty glass to them in greeting, downing the other half in 3 pleading gulps. Alya talked good-naturedly with both as Marinette stuck her hands into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She opened it and flitted about in it, checking for her spending money, and then her emergency money. Satisfied with her spending funds, she snapped it shut and smiled at the trio, avoiding looking at Adrien for too long.

"I'll be back. Just going for a drink."

She slid off the stool and wiggled her way to the center of the bar. An easy feat for a cute girl in shorts on a Saturday night. The bartender looked at her expectantly, if somewhat surprised.

"1 rum punch, please. More rum than punch." She smiled at him and he nodded, returning a smirk of his own.

"Something tells me you don't want to remember tonight, if you're asking for extra rum." She heard Luka's voice before he leaned over her shoulder, smelling of lavender and one of Juleka's perfumes that she couldn't name but knew nonetheless. Marinette huffed a laugh and turned he head to meet his gaze.

"I truly don't. For one reason alone." She spoke into his ear and could see the suppressed shiver go through his body.

Marinette logged the reaction away selfishly.

A glass was placed down in front of her and she whipped her head around to the bartender again, reaching for her purse.

"I got it." Luka handed over the bill before she had the chance to snap open her bag. He took the drink and stepped back, offering a hand to her.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, the bass of the music thudding in her chest, even as a smirk played on her lips.

Luka's eyes didn't leave her as he took a sip from the drink, tonge and lips curling over the straw in a way that made Marinette flush and tingle all over.

She took his hand and she let him guide them back to Alya and Adrien.

At the sight of him, Marinette felt the bile rise in her throat and she stumbled, forcing Luka to whip his head around and stop walking.

She could do this, she could sit at the table and talk, she could smile and laugh with them all, with him, because she didn't hate him. She didn't resent him. She didn't, she couldn't.

She cared too much about him.

But tonight, for some reason, she couldn't bear to look at him.

She opened her mouth to speak, to stop Luka from walking back, to stop herself from bolting, to stop Alya from looking over, but the words dissolved in ber throat.

She couldn't.

Not tonight.

Marinette blinked and then her vision was blocked by a glass of peachy coloured liquid held in black polished fingers. She looked up from the hand and Luka's lips were pulled to a side, a tiny knowing smirk.

She closed her mouth around the thin straw and met Luka's eyes. They widened only slightly. Marinette logged away that reaction as well.

He jerked his chin behind her, to the carpark outside the bar.

Distance was what she needed.

She turned, not letting go of his hand as they wove through the small crowd. They exited the bar and as the music faded away, Marinette felt her ears adjust and her body cool in the quiet night air.

They walked aimlessly to the other end of the car park, towards a bench half hidden under the shade of a large tree. Luka sat and tugged on her hand. She looked at him and then at his lap and then at his face again. His expression was the same, open half smirk. She was free to choose where to sit and he wouldn't judge her for it.

Marinette remembered the shiver and sat slowly in his lap. He released her hand, only to settle his own on her back.

He was letting her lead the way.

She alwys knew he was a gentleman. And he would never pressure anyone into anything, especially not her.

She let herself lean onto his shoulder, her nose just below his pulse. The hand on her back began moving in large, soothing circles.

She sighed into the action, closing her eyes.

Flashes of golden hair and green eyes made her snap open her eyes and the tiniest of growls escaped her throat. Luka wordlessly moved the drink towards her mouth and she took another two gulps, relishing the burn in her chest.

"Never knew you were one to growl." Luka's voice was quiet and deep and soothing in all the right ways. And Marinette let herself enjoy it, even as she snorted at his teasing.

He lifted the glass to his own mouth and took a swig, ignoring the straw.

The glass had enough for one more person and he offered it to her. Marinette took it and knocked it back.

She caught his mild surprise in her periphery and drank that in too.

She set the glass down a safe distance on the bench and turned her face to Luka. He was the picture of relaxation, even with her in his lap.

She was in his lap.

Marinette let the buzz in her bones guide her to back the bar completely and plant a thigh on either side of his hips. Luka's face showed more than mild surprise, even as his hands instictively settled on her hips. They were warm, almost as warm as her chest in the aftermath of the drink.

"Luka." She didn't mean to breathe his name like that.

"Yes, Marinette?" Her name sounded far more sinful than it should've rolling off his tongue.

"I am telling you now that I am not drunk, or tipsy." She began, her hands splayed on his chest and sliding slowly upwards.

"Mhm." His response rumbled beneath her fingers and she felt something in her clench.

"And that I do want to remember this in the morning." She continued, fingers skimming his collarbones and brushing at his throat.

Another rumbling response and Marinette felt herself leaning into the heat of him.

"And I am telling you, right now, that I really want you to kiss me." Her voice was barely a whisper but she knew he heard her because he slotted his mouth against hers as soon as her hand had tangled in the hair at nape of his neck.

Kissing Luka wasn't explosive or worldshattering. Rather, it was slow, meaningful, sensual. His thumbs brushed very lightly against her bare waist under her shirt and she shuddered.

He moaned, a soft, breathy thing against her lips and she tugged lightly on his hair in response.

That released a far louder, far deeper noise in his chest and Marinette drank it in. His tongue poked at her lips gently, and she obliged him.

What she didn't expect was the small stud on it as it touched the roof of her mouth and Marinette heard herself whine. His hips shifted up into hers and her hand went white knuckled on his shoulder. Her chest was pressed against his and his heart thudded against hers as she pulled away. He chased her lips with soft kisses, clearly not wanting to be done but respectful of her retreat.

She rested her forehead against his and breathed. He had his eyes closed and his hands had settled on her hips once again, outside of her shirt as they had been first. They stayed like that for a short while, breathing in each other's scent and commiting the taste of the other to memory.

"You are not a rebound. You are not a replacement. You are not a place holder. I don't exactly know what you are but you are none of those." Marinette kept her eyes closed and let her hands rest on his jaw.

"I want to be with you. I want to try with you. But I do not want to hurt you." She felt tears prick behind her eyelids and she willed them away to protect her eyeliner.

"Thank you for being honest." Luka whispered and placed the softest of kisses to her lips.

"You set the pace. I will follow your lead. I am here for you, in whatever capacity you want me to be." He spoke against her lips and she leaned back to peer into his eyes. He was smiling that easy smile she loved.

She returned the smile and leaned back in for a kiss.

[aparticularbandit]

the problem with - and i’m returning to how does eve smell despite having already decided and written this into the fic and not planning on changing it - the problem with how does eve fletcher smell is that, despite me wanting to make references to things (which is what i did and what i still like) and also wanting it to be something that meshes well with how i describe agatha’s scent (cinnamon, vanilla, apples - specifically like a warm apple pie right out of the oven with a dollop of ice cream on the side)--

outside of wanting references and something that meshes well with agatha, my instinct is to give her a much more floral scent.  like lavender (which would not go well, considering agatha/agnes’s commentary on it in wandavision, so not lavender) or ... oh i don’t use floral scents and my brain is blanking on me ... roses (which i won’t do because rose, who actually...did not smell like roses, rose was...rose was lavender and vanilla?  i think?  because i intentionally wanted to avoid strawberries because i knew that was what other people pulled on - rose was lavender vanilla and luisa was cinnamon honey - luisa was soapapillas, which is an entirely different scent than apple pie, although both have that fried contextual to their scent, and evanora ended up being roses and olives, i think, which is...partly drawing on carrie, right, because when carrie’s mom waited to kill her after prom, her mouth tasted of olives, and the more senile evanora gets, the more she smells like olives instead of roses (i gave evanora a rose garden, i remember, she has a rose garden outside of her house and agatha is still dealing with her house because hers with cian is an entirely separate thing, i should address that at some point, is she going to sell it, she and eve can discuss that later - i don’t know that that’s date material, but eve checking in on how she’s doing with evanora’s death, it could come up, because agatha won’t avoid talking about that the way she’ll avoid talking about cian)--

my mind instinctively pulls for a floral scent for eve, but if i went with a floral scent, it would be something sweet and almost childish, like dandelions or honeysuckle, and dandelions can be turned into wine (which agatha would like and would convey the same thing i currently have part of her scent doing) and honeysuckle you can pick the flower directly off and drink straight from it this sweet juice that collects within (friends and i used to do this when we were very small - elementary school, first grade or younger, because there were honeysuckle along one of the playgrounds - the better playground, i remember - and we would go and pluck honeysuckle and drink) - and that, as a scent, would fit better, i think, with eve and mesh well with agatha, too, in a weird sort of way (not as good as what it is now)--

but - and here is my justification for myself why i’m not changing what i have to something else - eve works at the senior center, and she’s used to being around seniors, smelling like them, having that drift and cover whatever she’s been using, and a lot of - at least, in my mind, and this isn’t necessarily true - but i feel like a lot of them would use certain floral scents, and eventually eve, wanting so much to not smell like the senior center, not because she hates it but because there is a certain scent to those sorts of places (and the book brings this up in the last third that they didn’t put into the show, how she could lift her collar and smell the scent of her that wafts up, and it’s the senior center, and how that could so easily kill a mood - among other things that may have gone wrong that day (in that case, it was a flooding toilet that made her smell also like literal shit, and by the time she’d gone back and showered and gotten the scent off, the moment had passed - and, yes, the next eve/agatha bit does at least reference and deal with that, the need to scrub the senior center off and replace that scent with something else, which is why i was even trying to place her scent in the first place))--

this is a long rambling thought process, bandit, who wants to read this shit, this is brain flow, this is patterns and discussion, this is jumping from one point to the next to the next to the next--

eve spends so much time smelling all of the floral scents at the senior center that when she realizes that her own bath soap or whatever causes that makes her smell as though she easily fits in with them even on days that she hasn’t been there, she changes it to something she thinks none of them would use.  (and she’s not necessarily right, but i could easily see that prompting a change at some point, although i cannot pinpoint just when).  so if i wrote something with a much younger eve, i think dandelions and honeysuckle are the way to go - and that fits a bit, too, i think with the image of eve as a pure mother and then it would be connecting her to earth as a mother and also connect her to innocence because dandelions and honeysuckle are such childhood things, to me, because, other than the honeysuckle discussion above, dandelions, you pick them and you blow the seeds and you make a wish, and eve wishes so hard with her entire being and believes in that wish even when it doesn’t land the way it would, and i think even as an adult, eve does that sometimes, plucks a dandelion and blows and watches the seeds go, and there’s nostalgia and longing and a hint of regret in that, but there’s still maybe that bit of childish wonder in it, too, but she also thinks of brendan doing it, and maybe that’s where the longing for a past time comes in because that would have been when ted was around, and maybe that’s where a bit of regret comes in, too, and she so misses him as a child--

but eve is also the person who would look up and wish on the first star she sees, still, and if she learned about making a wish at 11:11, she would probably do that, too, or when you hold your breath over a bridge - if you make it, you can make a wish - and she wouldn’t always remember, maybe, but she’d have moments of oh! and remember and do them, and she’d smile and feel content, and agatha would look at her with such fondness, because agatha spent so much of her life wishing for something that is not quite as pure or innocent as eve does - eve longs for such simple things that are so often beyond our grasp, and agatha wishes for more time, more time, always more time, especially now, especially after cian, because she knows what it’s like to have and to lose in a way that eve, still angry and bitter and unforgiving towards ted’s betrayal, doesn’t, it’s a different sort of loss, cian vs. ted, and--

what i mean to say is eve’s scent isn’t floral and it isn’t dandelions and honeysuckle, although it should be, because eve has always been capable of taking her life into her hands and making changes, even subtle ones, to make herself seem more...more, so much more than just brendan’s mom or the head of the senior center or whatever she was doing at the senior center but people have to be close to notice that sort of thing, that change in scent, and likely the only person who noticed it was ted, coming to pick up brendan for the weekend, being close enough that eve was slightly uncomfortable (possibly to kiss her cheek, when they were still more familiar, until she told him to stop), and just noticing and asking if it was because of him, when it absolutely was not, and telling her he liked it, and then she felt like she wanted to change it again because of him, but the thing of it is that ted has to have liked things about her initially, has to have liked her initially, and she can’t completely craft herself into a new person and scrub herself raw and bleeding just to get rid of everything about herself that he might have liked--

and what i really mean to say is that things change over time, and it is okay for things to change over time, and i have already made the decision, and i’m justifying it to myself, and maybe, someday, eve will get to return to dandelions and honeysuckle without feeling like it makes her smell like an old, dying woman.