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justbelievinginmagic · 5 days ago

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ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 11: as the world falls down.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: with the sweetness of the fae-fruit on your lips, you blinked your eyes open to a magical celebration. an opulent ballroom spun before you with intrigue and wonder, drawing you into a fantasia and further and further away from the labyrinth and your worries. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, mature, suggestive adult content, faerie lore, world-building, explicit language, implied drugging, a lot of overwhelmed YN, toxic relationship, idolization, manipulation, unequal power dynamics, implied background alcohol consumption, tons of flower symbolism, magic, vomit mention, other than thatttttt lemme know if i need to tag anything else :) this is my favorite chapter fyi ive had it written for literally years. like, all of this was leading up to this chapter in my head lol word count: 7.1 k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

Around her was magic. Not the twisted upside-down magic of the Underground but pure beautiful shimmering magic she had once dreamt about as a young girl.

Y/N was in a ballroom – a grand ballroom with marbled floors veined in sparkling gold. Polished and shiny enough to see herself in, but that didn’t matter now as she heard the music swell and whirl in the air wondrously. Her gaze rose higher and higher, following the tall-mirrored walls to the mirrored ceilings above. With how the room curved into a circle and all the looking glass surrounding her, it made the entrance hall to the grand ball room seem to go on and on for forever. Sparkling with star dust and silver and gold. Long ivory silken curtains that held a soft glow in them towered above her, draping this way and that, hiding what she assumed to be windows of starlight and moonshine in this strange space she found herself in.

Looking ahead, opulent drapery of ancient lace and silken organza linked between marbled cornices, shimmering and glittering in between the dozens of low-hanging chandeliers that glowed with honeyed flames. Milky-beeswax dripped down the chandeliers – leaving long trails of wax in the sky. It looked as if these candles had burned for many, many hundred years; each chandelier had formed wax stalactites of different sizes and colors. Pale pinks, oranges, and blues. Strange and yet beautiful. It didn’t seem out of place and somehow only elevated the wonder of the room.

Bubbles of varying sizes drifted into the room, sparkling unnaturally around her. They almost danced around her in a waltz, urging her to move along. Some pressed soapy kisses to her skin, her cheeks. Popping as soon as they pressed against her. It reminded her of the scene from Cinderella – the bubbles gleaming in different technicolor hues, impossible yet somehow happening before her eyes.

As she blinked about, the large room’s mirrored walls gleamed and shimmered. Winking at her. There was that magic-remnant, sparkling in the glass as if they were made of magic and not simply just a looking glass. The light and magic seemed to bounce off one another, sending a kaleidoscope of sparkles glittering into the candlelight. Y/N was reminded of soapsuds – as if the very ballroom she was standing in was an iridescent bubble.

It was holographic and lacey and wonderful. But the siren calls of the ballroom ahead intrigued her, the giggling and loud conversation clashed with the orchestral music. Taking a few tentative steps forward, she entered the verandah of the grand ballroom.

Every corner was beautiful and intriguing here, too. Opulent but not busy. Ancient but not aged. Flowers beyond anything earthly bloomed around the room. They clung to pillars, to cornices, to statues, to the floor, even to the tall mirrored ceilings. Ivy the color of rich olive and unnatural silver curled around the aging gold-gilded mirrors on the circumference of the ballroom. Blossoms of snapdragons, lyre flowers, camellias, and columbines shadowed the ceiling. Delphinium, jasmine, roses, and peach blossoms climbed down the waxy stalactites like fungus.

Gold and silver intertwined throughout the grand ballroom as she walked down the marble stairway steps to the atrium of dancers. Past a marble sculpture of some woman with twisted horns coming from her forehead, chiseled away in a scandalous attire.

It was odd, because at one glance, it was posing with her arms pressed to her chest, but if you glanced away and back, suddenly the sculpture looked different – with its hands above its head in joy. It had moved. Not in a dangerous way, but as if she itself was dancing. A statue dancing… impossible.

Y/N’s lips parted in confusion before a couple bumped into her as they hurried into the ballroom, giggling as they held their masks up to their faces before she could spot what they looked like. It was too late – they were swallowed up by the crowd, the dancing whirling bodies of opulence and extravagance distracting her.

Women were dripping in pearls and diamonds and flowers as they twirled in the large ballgowns with their breasts nearly tumbling out of their corsets. Their ballgowns consumed the ballroom’s floor in a layered mess, yet somehow none of them stumbled over the fabric in the ocean of people.

Men wore opened silken shirts and tight velvet pants that held little to the imagination as they entranced their partners. Some wore no tunic at all, simply vests of dark luxurious fabric. Sweat slick bared chests, shimmering with the magic dust she saw everywhere. Lip-sticked red mouths cackled and kissed at throats. Some men wore gowns; some women wore trousers and bore extravagant hats.

Hats and horns and wigs and façades of debauchery curled around the mass of attendees. Masks of grotesque creatures . . . of monstrous goblin faces she realized. . . were pressed to their faces as they danced about. Wrinkled greying skin, orange leathered scales, occasionally strange-looking feathers made up the masks. Hiding their youth with monstrosities. Or their monstrosity with their beauty, Y/N didn’t know.

The world was a whirling, swirling, laughing technicolor blur. The air was heady with the scent of sweat, the expensive perfumes and cologne of nobility, and the heavy aroma of the blooming flowers that hung everywhere. It felt primal in a way like a jungle.

Those who were not in the brilliant waltz were strown about the circular ballroom. Reclined in chairs or pressed against columns with tiny goblin servants stacked upon one another to reach their mouths, feeding them odd-looking fruits or pouring wine from elaborately-carved wooden goblets and shining hand-blown glass chalices. Spilt honeyed wine trailed down skin that nearby partners would lick up lasciviously with hot tongues and darkened eyes.

Y/N glanced aside, spotting multiple dips in the marble floor – pillow pits with only the finest of silks, velvets, and lace cushioning the pit into a soft escape for men and women to lethargically lean into one another’s embrace. Lovers were kissing, groping, pouring the honeyed liquid into one’s mouths. She spotted a breast freed and a lovers’ lips lock over a goblet of golden honeyed-wine before there was a whirl of a dancer in front of her gaze, blocking out things she didn’t need to see.

Her gaze left those corners of the party quickly. There was a burning on her skin. Flushing red as she felt the eyes of others sting against her skin. Fanged smiles and cruel chortles behind ornate masks and elaborately painted hand-fans. She hated the burn of the laughter; humiliation and loneliness stung.

Where was her mask? She wondered, looking down at her emptied hands.

Was that why they were laughing at her?

Another group of women rush past, giggling and chortling as they push past her. Spinning in a whirl, alone, finally, Y/N caught a look of herself for the first time since entering the ballroom. And with it, it felt like the weight of the fabric on her skin materialized. Heavy against her bones, real and heavy. Elegant and expensive.

Her gown was a mother-of-pearl color, a shimmering silver thing with a million different layers and large off-the shoulder puffed sleeves. Long sleeves covered her arms, but the fabric was not thick nor lacy but a strange shimmering skin-tight fabric. It made her arms glisten with rainbow constellations as she turned them this way or that in the ivory candle-light.

Her bodice had an intricate brocade fabric of fruit, embroidered in a silver thread that gleamed like spun starlight. Peaches, pomegranates, other organic shapes of fruits she couldn’t describe, and curling leaves made up the design with jeweled beads of sunrise pinks, yellows, oranges and sunset gold and purples embellishing her pearlescent corset. It was laborious work to make this she realized once she brushed her hands over them. They had to have been hand-sewn with how delicate they were. At the top of her sweetheart neckline, there was a constellation of sea-glass pearls, lining and guiding the eye down her corseted bodice to the gathered pooling fabric on her hips. The layers of shimmery organza and silk poured over the crinoline-lining she must’ve been wearing to achieve such a big dress.

Stepping closer to the nearby mirror, she looked closer at herself, awe in her eyes. Her face looked pretty in this light. Blurred and perfect as if there was a filter over her features. Perfect. Large curls made up her hair with portions of her locks gathered in intricate holographic silk ribbons and twisting silver metalwork, tugging it from her face. And around her neck, a necklace held those odd sea-glass pearls, transparent yet cloudy with colors of the rainbow, matching the chromatics of her dress as she twirled tentatively. The fabric swished in a pleasant way, swooshing with a watery iridescence that seemed impossible.

She. . . was beautiful if not a bit youthfully innocent. It wasn’t a dress with slits and curve hugging fabric. Instead, she felt like a princess. Like a magical illustration of a princess from the fairytales she loved.

Approaching one of the nearby mirrored walls, her hand reached out to touch her reflection. Reverently. Disbelieving. In the reflection, she spotted eyes on her again. Too many eyes in fact. Many of the dancers were watching her from behind their mask. Even while they twirled about, they seemed to turn their necks at unnatural angles just to keep their shadowed eyes on her, at all times. Darkened eyes that seemed to watch her every movement. It was a bit eerie. She felt like prey.

She didn’t like that.

Turning, she caught a glance of blonde hair and winter eyes. She gasped at the glimpse of him in between the throngs of dancers. Just barely. He quickly disappeared into the crowds. Vanished. She stood there trying to find him again – like spotting a pearlescent fish in a net of writhing carp.

“You’re her?” a voice murmured.

It was a man – young and handsome enough despite the mask – yet as he brazenly stared at her, up and down her shoulders, breasts, hips, and finally her face, she felt a mixture of disgust and . . . pleasure. His foxy-goblin mask hugged his face tightly, only making his eyes visible. His leering eyes. She couldn’t see if his eyes were curled into a smirk or a frown or a grin.

“A pretty thing.”

She could recall being called pretty by few (recently, it was from the Direwoods), but she disliked how he crowed it out in a laugh as if it was game. A joke. A polite smile of nervousness consumed her beautiful face before she crept back and away. Into the throngs of people, Y/N got swept into the whirlwind of twirling bodies.

Jostled this way and that by the dancers, she entered a new world of mingling and warmth (despite the cold, clammy skin she touched as she tried to pass by the party-goers.) What was this party even for?

As she passed by a horde of closely entwined dancers, she spotted a group huddled around a masked magician who was tugging out oddities from a floppy hat. Puppets of frightening figures and monster-like creatures bellowed in the uproarious music as the viewers laughed.

It was then she could hear the music for what felt like the first time. Truly heard it. What once was something pleasant began to grow into a loud cacophony. Harpsichordal piano, overly powerful, and discordant. A concertina aerophone harmoniced out in a bumbling sound. There was a violin stringing higher and higher. It felt like the song was spinning out of control. Y/N was shoved forward from the arms of a passing dancing couple as they tossed and turned violently in a tango.

She was jostled toward the masked magician whose deep eyes caught her attention as he tugged out what looked like a princess doll, dressed in the same iridescent mother of pearl cloth her dress was cut from. A chill shot through her heart as the man’s shadowed gaze rose to her and gave her a plump lipped smile.

His mouth moved up and down, but she couldn’t hear his words among the chortles and cackles of the others around her. She was shoved this way and that in the ocean of people. Her eyes darted this way and that away as she tried to maintain her balance only to see him again.

He wasn’t passing by or among the dancers or entertainers. No, he was on the outskirts of the masses. Far from her. Back to a twisting pillar, Hyunjin’s eyes were on her even as multiple scantily-clad women draped themselves over him. Bare-chested against him and whispering something in his ear. Lips sticking to his skin as they did so. He never looked at them. He smiled, eyes hooded as he tilted his head at her, acknowledging her as his mouth quipped a reply to the masked woman on one of his arms. In his hand was a lyre flower – the petal forming an almost organic shape, like it was a reddened heart clasped in between his metal-tipped fingers. He fondled it, tilting his head as her.

A wave of heat filled her cheeks – watching the encounter felt strange. His focus was solely on her, and it felt simmering and ever-present even as he ignored the near-nude women about him. There was a poof of magic beside her. The smell of fire-smoke filled her face. She coughed, waving the smoke aside to. Glancing back at the magician in front of her, she saw that now he held a goblin doll rather than the princess doll. The smoke lingered in the air, musky against the opulent sweet aroma of the ballroom.

The party-goers hooted and crowed out excitements. It grated against her ears. Flinching, she glanced back towards Hyunjin, only to find him gone, and the women busied by whirling about with one another now.

Despair. Devastating and consuming despair. Like someone had taken her favorite stuffed animal as a child away. Unreasonably strong. It overwhelmed her. Widened eyes, her head swiveled this way and that to find him. Just once more. Surely… He had to be… he was just there. He had to be nearby. Maybe he was coming her way and she didn’t see him. He was just there.

It made her skin crawl like maggots were creeping up and down her back. She didn’t know why she needed to find him in this ballroom. She didn’t know why she needed to see him, or what she would say or do. She just felt it in the pit of her stomach that it was important to find him. That she should find him. She had to. She had to.

So, Y/N began to wander once more, dodging dancers and minding her step over flowing, long dresses. Tiny goblins seemed to race around the dancers; sometimes they dove beneath dresses to appear on the other side. One even tugged at her gown, scrambling up the fabric with clawed hands. Chittering in a language she could understand as it stared with large yellowed eyes. She jolted backwards. Back hitting a column painfully, flower petals rained down over her in a floral shower.

The goblin startled at that and jumped away onto the marble floor, chattering with sharp teeth at her before scurrying away. A man beside her, lounging in a nearby chair, smirked at her with fanged teeth before offering a glass of something honeyed and alcoholic smelling. The goblet sloshed this way and that, leaving iridescent puddles on the ground. She ignored him and pushed herself up to continue her search for him.

And there was plenty of encouragement. She. Kept. Seeing. Him. If only for a moment, from the corner of her eye. Like a phantom he’d escape her sight, only to appear at the other side of the room. Smirking, smiling, glancing her way before disappearing again.

He was dressed in a deep-cobalt, crushed-velvet long coat with beadwork that matched hers. Sea-glass pearls that seemed to sparkle like caught stars in the candlelight made up the constellations over his shoulders. The inner fabric of his coat gleamed a mother-of-pearl lining, matching hers. His blonde hair was styled in wind-swept waves as if a lover had run their hands through it in an embrace. His pout of a mouth that smirked sharp as always was visible, but his eyes were shadowed by a masquerade mask now. He held the mask to his face, the grotesque thing held up on a clawed hand-like stick. At some point, the mask was stuck to his face instead as he promenaded in between her sight. And then it was on a stick once more.

She was going in circles around the room, chasing after the disappearing King. Head in circles, she felt woozied for a moment. Delirious and blurred. The music triumphed into a loud crescendo. There was a static hum, a taste of ozone on her tongue. She was pushed and pulled by the ocean of people, wrapped up in a dance alone amongst the throng.

It was beyond frustrating. She wanted to talk to him… dance with him. Tears pricked her eyes as she felt a pang in her chest. A prick of a headache behind her eyes. An uproar in laughter, a screech of the almost-violin-like instrument playing in the large room, and she was approaching what felt like an emotional cliff. Stuffy faced and irritable and insecure and alone – her dress was heavied and her arms itched and her face was hot and the room reeked of rotting magnolias.

“Dearest one,” a voice murmured deeply, finally swooping her up into his arms after the long foreplay of their chase.

Arms that were cool to the touch, velvet soft under her overheated fingers as she sagged faintly into his arms.

In that moment, it felt like someone had dimmed the lights. Like they had quieted the world. Dampened her uneasy emotions. Everything zeroed in on him. His mask was on the tip of his nose still, a goblin grotesque facade. But, she could see his shimmering dark blue eyes and his berry-bitten full lips.

“Hyunjin,” she let out a sigh.

Her hands rose to his cheeks naturally so, almost as if she wasn’t in control of her own body. His eyes fluttered shut, pleasantly smiling as she removed his mask. Its waxy texture felt sticky like clay under her fingertips as she pried it from his skin with a suction-esque sound. Like, it was one with his skin until she pried it away. It fell away from her fingertips easily, shattering to the floor. Her hands returned to his smooth tawny skin. His face was perfect, like a sculpture carved meticulously. His face had a youthful flush at her gentleness, a honeyed-blush bloomed over his cheeks, over the bridge of his nose.

A reverent sigh escaped her as Y/N stroked over his cheek carefully. Her thumb grazed over a mole beneath his eye; she had never seen it before. He was cool to the touch, but it felt less like a corpse’s skin and more as if he had been out in the evening rain. A fantasy of him waiting for her with an umbrella came to mind. Romantic.

He breathed out slow, and smiled fondly. One of his own hands rose to caress her cheek. His metal-clawed fingers would never harm her; she knew that. They simply tickled over her blushed skin. His stroke of her cheek was slow as dripping nectar from a flower’s petal, as if he was savoring her skin against his.

“Y/N,” he said sweetly, dipping his head to press his forehead against hers.

His curled bangs pressed against her skin; his horned crown just grazed the top of her head. He pulled her closer, shifting his arms to cradle her securely. Yes, his arms felt right. This felt oh so right. Like a wonderfully soft dream. Her dizzied head eased in his grasp.

“Shall we dance?” he murmured with his mouth close to her ear.

His breath wasn’t warm; no, it was cool and damp as a cave’s interior. The question felt less like a question as he began to sway them. She nodded just a bit, oblivious to the world around her.

The other fae brushing around her didn’t bother her as they continued their wild waltz. The Goblin King did not join the frenzied dance with her, but instead kept their dance to a gentle swaying. Intimate and slow and just what she had needed.

Her hands grasped his arms, nervously. Fingers pressed against his velveteen coat. Almost as if he’d be lost again. But with a curve of his lip and a flash of his intimate eyes, he pulled her ever-closer.

“I’m here,” he whispered, reassuringly gently. “I’ve got you.”

And it did ease her in to a sense of calm, like the sky full of rolling clouds on a sunny day.

There was just a strange melodic tune between them; the grand hapriscordal cacophony traded for a sort of bass-like sound, strumming out chords in a soothing repeating tempo. A piano-esque metallic instrument chimed out in the gentle lullaby.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N,” he admitted, swirling them in a circle to the rhythm.

His shadowed eyes did not wander down her chest, her bare arms, or her neck. They locked onto her eyes. All of his attention was on her.

“So beautiful,” he sighed, neck bending as he leaned close as if he’d kiss her. His breath was cold as it fanned against her face.

“So strong.” His eyes were reverent.

(His Labyrinth-Runner, his body hummed as he smiled with such wicked loveliness.)

Compliments made the back of her neck tingle and burn pleasantly. Far better than the man who had leered at her earlier in the night. When was that? Oh yes, it felt like she had been wandering and tossed about for hours. Her feet ached, snug in tight, sharp shoes. If she had tugged aside her many layers of organza and lace, she’d see them to be the princess-perfect glass slippers. Ones she had dreamed about growing up.

How unrealistic.

As if reading her mind, Hyunjin’s hands shifted to grasp her waist, firmly lifting her into a promenade of an elevated spin. Her arms draped over his broad shoulders to support herself as she left her shoes behind on the polished floor. A mimicry of a Cinderella caught.

She gasped, hugging close to him. Hyunjin buried himself into the softness of her waist as she clung to him. Slowly, he lowered her, sliding he down until her feet touched the tops of his shoes. He kept her in his clutch, holding her close and off the ground. Bosum pressed into his chest intimately.

“My Princess,” he cooed, swaying this way and that. “Swept of her feet, all mine, hm?”

He grazed his nose over her cheek fondly.

She felt his chuckle, like a low tumbling rumble of the Earth. There was an echo of laughter from his subjects around them. Like they were in on a joke she wasn’t privy to. She glanced over at the dancers among them; they were watching them intently. It made that eerie feeling bubble up, breaking the ocean of calm that had once washed over her.

His nose nudged hers, gently redirecting her gaze from the carousel of masked figures about them to him once more.

He smiled, fanged teeth sparkling in the light as he rose her up again by her waist and spun her about. Flower petals tumbled around them in a magic whirl, catching on her hair, her sweatied skin, his jacket.

As he continued their waltz, her bare toes rested on his, depending on him to move her this way and that. A spare hand rose to pluck a petal from her hair, presenting it to her; the petal transforming into a blossoming ivory foxglove before her eyes. He indulged in her wonder; in the innocent way, her shiny eyes flickered from the flower to him in surprise.

He tucked the flower behind her ear, delicately.

“How do you feel?” he asked her lowly, swaying soothingly like the way the waves of the sea magnetically roll with the moon.

“I feel –“ she murmured, tilting her head to look around at the world spinning about.

They’d been dancing for how long? Shimmering magic and sweat stuck to her skin. His breath like cool peach and hot honey-mead, engulfed her senses. Eyes flickering shut, overwhelmed by the scent, his touch, the humid heat of the ballroom.

“Wonderful?” he filled in, lips brushing tantalizingly against her blushed cheek.

He could almost taste the scattered remnant of magic across her skin. Nearly taste her iron-blood just at the surface from how ruby red her cheeks had become.

Salt sweat and sweet magic made a delicious potion.

Hyunjin sighed deeply, his sharp tongue dodging out as he pressed a tender deep kiss to the side of her jaw, too low to be considered simply a kiss upon her cheek. He would’ve moaned if it was his dreams.

“Is this not what you dreamt of, dearest?” he cooed in her ear, spinning her about once more. “I can do far more than these balls. I can do anything you want - you just need ask, properly.”

Flashes of burning desires and demanding needs crossed her mind like wildfire. Things she couldn’t explain or begin to put words to. It was feelings as deep as the darkest of oceans and as difficult to place as a tide underneath the waves. It was golden-spun day-dreams and valentine evenings with phantom kisses to her skin haunted her and an irresistible satiation in her bones heavied her as if she were lost in the galaxy, cool and yet burning. Warmed skin pressed against cool, fingers intertwined. Moans into red mouths, fangs clashing against one another. Flickers of feather-soft embraces amongst flowers, amongst sand, amongst the dirt. Painted pastel mornings, a golden sun outside a balcony looking out over the Labyrinth as she laid in the softest of beds. Warm and comfortable and at peace and not-alone.

Never alone, for he was there. Always.

Hyunjin. No…the Goblin King. Her King. Her ruler. Her Everything.

Every molecule of her was for him. Everything for his eyes only… Even now, as they twirled amongst nobility, she knew he allowed it. She was his after all.

His eyes. Gone were the frozen deep blue eyes that struck an odd sense of defiance in her – and instead – his eyes were glimmering like a pale jewel in a wedding band, like the summer ocean at mid-day. As if she was staring at the bluest sky from the field of flowers. Warm. They were a warm azure. No longer cold and cruel. Why would he ever look at her with cruelty?

His cupid-bowed lips did not smirk and sneer and mock but tempted as they spread into a heart-stopping wide smile as he laughed lowly in her fantasy. Gone were the oil-slick metallic velvets and opened shirts and tight leathered pants. Replaced with soft linens of pearlescent fabric that only highlighted his tawny-tan skin which sparkled with the magic coursing in his veins, making him faintly glisten and glow as if he were an angel.

He was. He was her Everything. Angel, savior, king, lover.

It was like seeing a different man. A man that was only for her. A side of him only for her.

Only when she was his would she see this. Behind closed doors he could be this.

Not a King of the Underground, not the Goblin King. Simply the ruler of her heart. King of her. And if he controlled her, didn’t she control him? What a sweet fooled heart she had.

Flickers of a daydream continued. The sky would be lit up by stars, countless glowing star that held their love. Each twinkling as he pointed them to her, whispered words of how they were strung in the sky for her. This one was devotion, that one her love, that one was his desire. The way he’d consume her bite by bite, kiss by kiss, in the darken rich soil they laid in. Fingers interlaced as her eyes rolled back. The way her skin would cool to a cavern temperature for eternity just to remain in his arms. Here, there was no pain. No injured body. Her fangs didn’t hurt any longer. Her eyes would blink up at a cavern sky. And her memory was a faded hazy thing that was full of him, him, him.

Her king, her king, her king.

That’s all she could think as she blink, blink, blinked at him as they swirled into another twirl on the dance floor. Hyunjin smiled soft as he saw her eyes soften into such a cotton candy gentleness.

She’d want for nothing. Laying amongst silks and satins. Feeding upon fae fruit, the nectar dripping down the column of her throat only for him to lick up greedily. No, no, he wasn’t greedy. She was his after all. Anything he wanted he received.

“Dearest one,” he hummed.

His voice pulled her up from the sea of daydreams she was drowning in. He looked different again. His eyes still that soft blue like the moon on a cool night. His clothes were the white linens she had dreamt of him in before in a blink he was back in the blue-velvet suit. A hand raised to tuck large curls behind her ear only to rest on the column of her neck afterwards. “Is this not what you’ve dreamt of?”

Balls of wonder, pretty dresses, nights of ecstasy, happily ever after with a King. Princess sweet and soft. Sheltered and doted upon. Protected in a high tower above a difficult Challenge. A proper fairytale.

Her eyes blurred as she was spun once more, whirled out of her daydreams as her mind tried to catch up to what was around her. Had his clothes just changed? What? How did that happen?

“I – don’t know what to think,” she admitted as she was whirled around again.

A loud cackle by her ear echoed out. . . almost as loud as the toll of a grandfather clock. A clock?

Her head turned as they twirled again. The people around them felt suffocatingly close and the music that had been soothing, once again battered up into a harpsichordical tune, unnerving and discordant. Clashing of melodies soft and loud, bad.

Bad, bad, bad - why did she feel so bad? So unlike herself?

Her arms and legs tingled like television static and she tried to steady herself while she grasped his hand in hers as she returned from the spin outwards.

Her eyes met his again, and he smiled so kindly and calmly like the images that flashed before her eyes. Yet she saw a flash of something knowing in the gleam of his eyes, a laughing cruelty in his eyes from the dungeons. Dungeons, she pondered? What dungeons? There were no dungeons in his arms.

She felt trapped suddenly. Itchy and buzzing. Aching and sweaty. Real. She felt real for a brief moment before she felt his hand smooth over her bodice until it eased up and down her back, soothingly.

But, it didn’t ease her stomach as she was thrown into a dizzy whirl again. They were dancing in a circle, a whirl of a waltz, less calm like before. Her neck gave out, her head lulling back and her eyes flashing to the chandeliers above. The candles were flickering rapid and erratic; there was a breeze kicked up from the ball room’s dancing. The room smelled of peach flowers. Bubbles floated about like perfect baubles of glimmering light.

A hand went to cup the back of her neck, supporting her as Hyunjin pulled her upright. Her bare feet lifted once more. He held her entire weight then and there as he kept her close. Her arms were lose around him.

There was a purse in between his brows, but he still smiled at her. Patient blue eyes. His blonde hair looked darker in this light she wondered. The shadows of his crown making it look almost as if the blonde grew darker at his roots. His horned crown sat upon his perfect head. Not a tiara, a crown. He was a King, not a Prince. He was so handsome she noted. How could a man with such wicked cruelty be so lovely? It was magical. He was magical. Fae magic. . . dreamy fae magic. Her thoughts were scrambled about like a poorly mixed potion.

“You’ve found a way to your dreams, Y/N,” he confided, his voice somehow perfectly clear in her ear despite the brash music.

“Stay in your dream. . . where you are truly free and wholly yourself. The truest form of yourself. You want that, dear one?”

His lips were hypnotizing. Her stomach bubbled like champagne in a flute. Butterflies aching to be released from the cage of her ribs as she saw him lick over the plushness of his mouth.

And she nodded. Like a marionette.

“Don’t abandon it,” he shifted his hold on her. “Don’t leave it behind – if you leave behind your dreams, your wish, you’ll be at the mercy of other people again and again. Forget them. Trust to your dream.” He lamented, divulged, and pled.

Spellbound, the smell of honey-suckle on a hot day burned her nose as she leaned in closer. Hyunjin grinned, none of it warm nor soft suddenly.

“Trust to me,” he commanded sharply, moving in closer and closer. “Give in to me.”

His breath was akin to a corpse’s chill, and he now reeked of rotted peach blossoms. Of magic and dreams and lies. He did not kiss her yet his lips pressed to her cheek. Only a breath away from her parted lips. They were clammy against her overheated skin.

Her stomach turned as the people around her laughed and chortled. She felt too close to Hyunjin. His skin felt deathly cold and clammy and she was too hot and her dress was too tight and heavy and they were spinning oh too fast. How could they be spinning this much? She shut her eyes tight.

“Believe in me only me,” he whispered, lips trailing over flushed cheeks before stealing a kiss on her lips, startling her eyes open wide. A clock chimed distantly, and she felt her skin burn with his affections. His lips tasted of pomegranates, the dust of a crypt, fizzing candies, and fire-smoke. It muddled her senses as he kept her close, breathing her in. His kiss was insistent as he indulged in her.

“Only I can be your dream-maker.” He pulled away just enough for the words to be shared between their lips. “You need me.”

Her eyes fluttered, and he hummed lowly in his chest, a melody that was distant and familiar. Only I can be your dream-maker whirled in her head like the dancers’ promenade.

That wasn’t true.

A clock tolled again. A clock. . . her eyes fluttered open – when had they shut again? - as she felt hands that were scaly and furry and goblinesque trail over her arms and her bared back. She glanced aside when she felt claws, and saw a goblin mask so large and leathery leering into her gaze. Women chortled and men guffawed at her. She felt small, as small as those goblins she had seen running about.

Hyunjin tugged her close, cheek pressed against crushed blue velvet. The smell of rotten flowers on a hot day overwhelmed her, sickening her. The curve of a smile, triumphant pressed into her hair. She could see a clock distantly – golden and grand with its curling numbers - as another toll cracked in her head.

The burn of laughter around her, only Hyunjin could protect her from here. Why were they laughing? What was the clock for? Why did Hyunjin’s grasp hurt? He needed to protect her; she couldn’t do anything. Helpless. It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

You say that so often.

Where had she heard that before?

The dungeon. The dungeons… Wait, wasn’t she doing something? Why was she here? Why. . . ?

“Stop,” she whispered out; the words feeling like peanut butter was stuck in her throat.

The Goblin King’s eyes widened as she writhed in his grasped. Her hands pushed him away and, with weakened arms, he let her. Her feet tumbled to the floor, sliding against polished tile; her skirt pouring out across the floor as she fell. A startle in the crowd. Her breath gasped; the corset was so tight - how had she not noticed? Glancing up, the attendees were staring down at her with matching blue eyes. Mockery, laughter, anger. Copies of the eyes she knew so well. She heaved herself up at once. She had to get out of here. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Her large dress rammed into the other dancers as she pushed at the crowd. There were shrieks and wails as the clock tolled out another hour. Then another.

A huff left her as she looked around the ballroom. She hadn’t been here before. No - how’d she get here? She can’t even remember getting here in the first place. How did she end up here?

Her eyes met Hyunjin’s with a heat. Cruelty in her eyes, a betrayal of sorts. He simply looked on at her, tall and still among the jostling, jeering crowds. Furred and clawed hands reached out to tug and pull at her, masked faces with no consequences to their actions. She pushed away a woman who draped herself against her back, making her sag against their weight.

“Please, my Lady,” she had pleaded as she shoved with her might.

My Lady. . . as if she belonged here. She didn’t. She wouldn’t.

She would be a spellbound pet to the King. A fae’s human plaything. That wasn’t reality. It wasn’t a reality that would be good. Despite all its wonderousness, all she could remember was the burning emptiness. The shell of herself was all that woman was.

She had something to finish… she didn’t know what. But she couldn’t be here. It wasn’t here. C’mon, Y/N, remember. Grasping the heavy dress-skirts (heavier now, as if they were soaked in rain-water, she noted), she turned and ran.

Where was the stairwell? Where was the exit? Where even was the ballroom? Was she in the Castle? Stolen away to the prize without knowing. No. . . no. . . Hyunjin wouldn’t do that. That’s too close. Too close to her winning that he wouldn’t risk it. He was clever. He was goddamn clever. A burning feeling in her chest was difficult to decipher – was it hatred or admiration? Y/N was confused. She pushed past party-goers with little grace, huffing out in pain as they collided with her.

She couldn’t find any way out. She was met with endless mirrored walls, the shimmering reflection of a debauched dream staring back at her. Like the bubbles around her. A bubble. This place felt like a bubble that could pop.

With a grit of her teeth, she let go of her dress’ skirts in a shimmering flutter of fabric and grabbed a resting chair from nearby. Slamming it into the mirror, there was a tremble beneath her icy bared feet. Frightened and uneasy, she shut her eyes as she slammed the chair into the membrane of the pearlescent mirrored bubble again. And again. And again. Until the world shook and shattered in a whirlwind of screams and yells.

And she was falling - down, down with the world.

The Labyrinth-Runner’s eyes flashed open. She was no longer in the forest-flowers nor in a ballroom of debauchery, but lying still in an unknown darkened space. A starry sort of light gleamed high above her. Haloed in the light, she looked down to see she was in her own battered clothes again. In her hand was the fae fruit she had bitten into. The flesh was rotten-brown, the juices sticky in between her fingers, and the smell akin to rotten fruit in the humid sun. A maggot crawled from the decaying pit towards her palm. With a yell, she threw it to the side. A wave of nausea hit her.

Vomiting to the side, she huffed and panted before fainting backwards into a familiar bed.

Hyunjin’s own eyes flashed open as the fae fruit’s dream was shattered. He could still taste the magic on his tongue mingling with the iron-salt of her lips. He licked his plump rose-petaled lips with his tongue, savoring the taste.

She was so sweet.

She was strong.

She was a good challenge.

Breaking free from a spell was difficult and yet she had. She had manipulated the world around to remind her of her challenge and, with that, Hyunjin admired her. Yes, a part of him even preened that he would have such a clever human soon. A Changeling of his own with devotion only for him.

Her eyes, her eyes, oh, her eyes. He had seen paradise, a promise of her love and her dreams that he could fulfill. Her eyes had shined so sweetly. Her lips were petal roses, curling so gentle into a smile that he wanted all to himself. She was a wonder. How could a human be so intoxicating? He’d make her his. A puppet princess who only cared for him. No betrayals. No others to keep her attention. She’d be all for him. She was different than the others. His Runner was tempting and clever and all the things fae loved.

She had made it far, so much further than any Runner he had seen, but he’ll up the ante. She’ll see his strength. Marvel at his powers! She’d willingly give in once she sees!

He stood from his throne with his trembling hands pushing back raven hair. His breathing was heavied.

He can’t lose.

He walked out the door of the mystical throne room, locking it behind iron-lock and key. He needed his Grimorie. Where had he put it? Magic danced over his fingertips, anxious hands tip-tapping against his palms. His eyes looked wild as he searched among drunk goblins and rambunctious subjects.

He can’t lose.

He would not lose to her. He wouldn’t fall to his Runner. He must win this game.

He wanted her to be his forever.

For Hyunjin had hopelessly fallen under her spell.

#skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fantasy au #hyunjin fluff #written by haley

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prettypeppermint · 1 year ago

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swan song.

for t. shelby. a continuation of 'the gift of silence. (how sweet the sound)'

Sacrifice was your greatest gift. It clung to your name like a drawn bowstring, pregnant with prospective yet surmounting to nothing. You gave to your family until their deaths pried your outstretched palms away; you gave to your future self through tired feet and hard-earned sweat. Now, you've given to Thomas Shelby. Your very own love language.

You would give just about anything to take it all back.

He was kissing you--tasting you. He was asking for more and more of you every day through his longing gaze and patient fingers. You hated making him wait for something unattainable.

He wanted you a certain way--pliant, moldable. Soft.

He wanted you only to take from you. He wanted to collect you piece by piece.

A giver and a God.

"Tell me," he muttered into your mouth, tasting the way your thoughts grew sour on your lips. He read you in a way not kindled through love but through years of hardened business.

You pulled away half-heartedly. Your mind wrapped around him and you needed air.

"Say you love me," you ordered, staring into the core of his glacier-capped irises. There was no hope--no apprehension. You've digested every unspoken word already. You knew.

He peered down at you through his heavy line of lashes. "What--are my acts of service not enough?" he said lowly, an air of an insatiated euphemism in his voice.

A swell.

A silence.

An atonement.

"I love you." His finger traced a lock of hair into the canyon of your ear.

"I don't believe you."

A scoff seared through his teeth--a breath through the cornice of his lips.

"I've been thinking recently. During the day; during the night"--you began walking aimlessly around his office, fingering book spines and swiping the dust off of ledges--"during that ungodly hour before work. And thank God I have, because now I know you've been lying to me."

Thomas analyzed you--dissected every syllable. He listened.

"When you look into my eyes, I see nothing but her in yours."

It always goes back to Grace.

The lack of pain in your voice irked him on a deep, almost irrational level.

"At first I was hurt--confused. But now"--you circled back to him--"now, I feel nothing. I am nothing." You waited for him to interject despite knowing he never would. Sometimes, you were too painfully clear of his character; of just how much control he had over you; of how many ways he could hurt you while protecting you--love you while losing you.

"Then I realized: I'd rather be yours than nothing. Isn't it sad--a lass like me? Maybe I should first learn how it feels to be my own--to know every crease of my skin and grow comfortable in my flesh how you've grown so comfortable in mine."

The man you loved, whom you had sacrificed for one final time.

Your muscles yearned to reunite with him, but you held your arms to your sides in protest. "Thomas Shelby, you love me how a man should, but not how a woman should feel loved."

And now you'll spend the rest of your life chasing a notion--a concept--made only somewhat tangible by a man who could give you no more than all of him. Now you'll lose yourself searching for someone to search for you. Now you'll see him in all the men who fail in forgivable ways and love kindly.

A piece of him you will keep; a piece of you he will throw away. Until the next.

"You love me," he states, seemingly unphased. "And I love you."

"You don't know what love is, Thomas. How could you, when you've never loved anyone more than they've loved you?

"That's the ultimate testament of the caliber of a man's heart. It was never me, Thomas. It's her name you whisper in your sleep. Hear it. Accept it. Remember my voice saying it. Cling to it for the rest of your goddamn life so you never tell another woman you love her again."

For the first time, he noticed, you sounded defeated.

For the first time, he saw the vices of Birmingham shade your rural clarity.

Your voice sounded different without the usual fight in it; it revealed the exhaustion you forced down with cigarettes every morning and night. Suddenly the violet shadows under your eyes introduced themselves. Suddenly you looked 5 kilograms emaciated.

It was then that you became another woman in Thomas Shelby's life. You were no longer of the Kilkee coast or the sweetened countryside. You were ruined, and now you were just like the rest.

No girl who ever got tangled up in Shelby business ever makes it to London.

A swell.

A silence.

An empty impenitence.

"Goodbye, Thomas."

While he waited for you to fight for him, you once more decided to give.

Twice more, he took from you.

You wanted to feel his warmth against your lips once more. You had suddenly wished you'd savored your last kiss. "I hate what you've made me," you whispered.

He hated how the words sounded--how they tainted your tongue.

"You hate what you've become for me," he corrected.

You gave him a lonely, far-off stare, as if you were looking straight through him. He knew he had lost you.

You ignored his previous remark: "I hate how you made me think it was safe to fall in love with you."

You hadn't realized your eyes had welled up with an undeniable glaze until you felt a drop of glass wetness fall from your cheek. "I hate how you've turned me into another one of your women."

When Thomas didn't move, or walk closer to you, or even soften at your unraveling, you felt sour all over. Suddenly, you wanted it to hurt.

"No one has ever loved me in my entire life," you said to yourself, almost inaudibly. It sounded so ridiculously girlish and naive, unlike anything he had ever heard you say before.

A swell.

A painful one in the grit of your heart.

You felt heavy as you slowly turned and left his office.

†

He found you passed out in the chapel, your chest sprawled across the altar, your palms still clasped together in weak prayer. A mistiness clung to your eyelashes. He was once again reminded how much he loved how you looked in your sleep: like a soft lull of the shore had washed over you and cured a light peace into your soul.

He stood over you, counting your breaths and watching your lungs expand with life just to expel it. You smelled of ash and rosaries and beeswax. A tear rolled over the apples of your cheek and onto the peak of your nose.

"Silly girl," he rasped lowly before sitting on the floor and pulling your limp form into the cradle of his chest. His palm met the crown of your head to pull you further into his weight, his other hand hooking around the lonely bend of your waist. He felt his shirt seep with moisture, and he knew you were awake.

"She was a piece of my past I can't go back to take away," he said, his chin resting atop your head, voice bitter yet smooth like coffee on a good day, "But if any part of her had led me to you, I wouldn't go back to change a moment of it even if I could."

Your shoulders shuddered silently, and your sobs permeated directly through his chest and into his heart. He always knew just what to say, to the point it scared you.

"Give it time," said Thomas, petting your head in rhythm with your heart, "Give it time."

While you gave, he invested. He invested in all the times you've chipped away at yourself for him, and he kept them in his heart until the next time he would use them--like a business transaction.

But could you blame him for loving you how he knows best?

To understand his love was more than enough. Yet, your consistent upturned and empty palms rendered you greedy.

He collects your wet cheeks between his hands and brings you to look up at him. In his eyes, you saw the end of a road.

Was this all there was? Maybe so.

"Let's get married. Right here, right now"--he swiped his thumb across the slick of your undereye--"That way you'll be mine to keep. No more goodbyes."

You felt the Lord's eyes on your kneeling form. An odd feeling of shame and acceptance washed over you and clogged your chest.

It was then that you knew: loving Thomas Shelby was never going to be beautiful. It wasn't simple or painless or any of the things love should be. And it would never be the same kind of love that it was yesterday.

But what could you do? What could you do if you loved him nonetheless?

If you would always be loved how broken women are loved?

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foreheadkiss3s · 10 months ago

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Hi! I love your Tate Langdon fic! I was wondering if you’d be ok writing a Tate Langdon x GN!reader request where the reader feels too anxious to eat regularly but tries to hide it from Tate. This could potentially be triggering so I totally understand if you don’t want to write it! Thank you :)

Hi there! Sorry it took me this long but I'm getting right down to it! Also, thank you for your feedback, I truly appreciate it, also I appreciate your requests so if you have any feel free to send them!! Whoever asked for this, I hope you enjoy it :))

TW : implications of ed, angsty.

You were laying down on your messy bed. Eyes fixated on the ceiling, silence deafening your ears.

You had come home from school earlier that day. You couldn't bear anymore the sound of people chattering, laughing, dropping things. Any kind of sound was triggering fits of pain in your head, and you couldn't focus on anything.

So you grabbed your things and went back home where you knew your parents wouldn't question you, since they were respectively both at work. Even Tate seemed to be gone, which was rather strange.

The silence was slowly but surely driving you mad, it had become too loud and if you couldn't focus on anything before, now your mind seemed to be stuck on one thing. You felt your stomach protesting, begging for something you had started denying for a bit now. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, trying to stir your thoughts somewhere else.

Suddenly, you felt feather-like lips leaving a soft trail of pecks from your forehead to your left cheek. Your eyes kept shut, you knew whose lips were those.

" Thought you wouldn't come home until later," His voice didn't seem to cause you fits of pain like the other previous noises. "Don't get me wrong, I like you much better here with me." He said as soon as you fluttered your eyes open and finally acknowledge his presence.

He was on his knees,-you presumed- near the edge of your bed, resting his chin on the edge of the bed, looking at you adoringly. " I was missing you too much." You said with a slightly tired smile cornicing your face.

His eyes seemed to melt right there. You noticed it.

A small part of him knew deep down that you were meaning to be sarcastic, but the other part- the massive one- was relishing in those words. You knew how much he needed you, yet you also knew how much he liked to be needed. Wanted.

Your eyes locked with his. Two pools of honey, warm, scorching, sweet. You closed your eyes again. It was as if you were truly drowning in honey, and perhaps thinking that had been a bad idea since once again your stomach started to protest.

You tried to act as if you weren't fighting a silent and internal battle against yourself, but perhaps your slight grimace or your furrowed brows gave you away because next thing you felt was his cold index finger attempting to smooth down the creases on your forehead.

"What's wrong?" His voice followed next.

You didn't answer, not properly at least. All you did was slowly shake your head once and let out a quiet 'mh'.

You didn't want to tell him. You didn't want anyone to know, but most importantly you didn't want him to know. It was as if your throat was held tightly in a grip, preventing you from speaking out, from thinking about it.

You didn't know how it started, perhaps a multitude of factors pushed you to that point, perhaps you simply didn't want to think about it since hiding it from the world was already eating you alive. But the more you dwelled on it, the more you felt like you were going to burst out crying like a child scraping the knee for the first time.

" You can tell me anything. " He said with that soft voice, slightly stained by concern. "Don't you trust me? I thought you loved me enough to share your secrets with me."

He was being unfair. Guilty tripping you into telling him what bothered you. But could you blame him? Perhaps he was concerned and the only way to know what was causing you to be that distressed was manipulating you into telling him. It wasn't even the first time that it had happened either though.

That wasn't the best way to go about things, and you tried to explain it to him a few times, but there was nothing you could do. He was like a scared cornered animal, he'd use everything to get out of situations that scared him. And perhaps, he had always been scared when it came to you. The idea of losing you for whatever reason scared him more anything else.

You hadn't given him enough credit, but he was really attentive when it came to you. He noticed a lot, even when you thought he didn't. He knew something was wrong with you for a while now, and he had really tried to resist his childish urge to invade your space by bombing you with questions until now. He was afraid, and he was willing to try every way to get through to you.

" I'm losing you. " His voice echoed in your room. You adamantly kept your eyes shut, you couldn't bear the look of his eyes. His voice was already thick with tears.

" I don't know what's happening to you, but you're shutting me out. You're different when you talk to me. You're not even looking at me right now. "

Just like that, you opened your eyes only to see his honeyed pools shed tears that ran down, striking his cheeks.

" Please, don't keep me out. Whatever it is, I'll fix it. I'll fix it for you, I'll fix you, I'll fix everything, just let me in please." His voice broke slightly and his tone became more urgent.

Your eyes mirrored his, warm droplets running down your cheeks.

Eternity passed and as he didn't receive a word from you he got up from his knees, made you scoot away slightly so he could lay next to you and rest his head on your chest, his arms wrapping around you in a tight grip as if he was afraid you'd disappear right in that instant.

His ear to your chest, hearing your heart break as you wrapped your arms back around him, deciding to finally let him in.

Hi again! I'm sorry for any eventual typos, please feel free to point out any mistakes or anything of the sorts!

#tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x you #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon #kyle spencer x you #kyle spencer x reader #kyle spencer #kai anderson x y/n #kai anderson x you #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson #kit walker #kit walker x reader #kit walker x y/n #american horror story #ahs murder house

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theluckywizard · 3 months ago

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Kiss Me Moonstruck, Ch. 2: Introductions

Another installment of my Dragon Age 2, Act 2 matchmaking moms fic! Please join me in rare pair hell.

Chapter Summary: Rose and Alsatia Trevelyan arrive at the Hawke Estate for introductions. Rose can't decide if it's disastrous, ridiculous or utterly enthralling. Perhaps all three.

Chapter word count: 2305

Fic Summary: Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue with a string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

Another dwarf enters and stares at Rose, his wide, ice blue eyes fixating upon her face with both awe and utter delight. Alsatia seethes quietly at the impertinence as he collects their luggage and shoulders a trunk easily, watching Rose the entire time. When he leaves the room, Lady Trevelyan huffs to herself softly. “No footmen?” she remarks on a hiss. Rose hates that her own suspicions were correct. “Indeed. How could they possibly make do?” Rose replies, the edge of sarcasm so soft that her mother might not notice. They pace in restrained circles, taking in the cornices and marble tiles and the elegant staircase that bends around the back of the room. The place feels shockingly hollow, barely lived in in spite of the warmth of the fire. But then, they’d only just moved in that autumn after the younger Hawke’s infamous success on his Deep Roads treasure hunt. As the introduction looms, Rose feels her insides twist and hum, an unruly sense of anticipation muscling its way out from underneath all the disinterest. She chalks it up to being eager to see what manner of man would fail to excite her interest this time, but truthfully the Amell heir has provoked an abiding curiosity that has persisted since she first heard of him. A truth she squashes down as she hears footsteps up above. A man appears on the mezzanine then descends the steps two at a time, advancing toward them in easy swinging strides and stands over them both with a dashing yet remarkably goofy grin under a beguiling bright blue gaze. “So which one of you is the woman I’m supposed to marry?”

Read the rest here

Start the fic here

DAFF Tag List

@warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren

@breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @plisuu | @hekaerges

@ir0n-angel | @inquisimer | @crackinglamb | @agentkatie | @oxygenforthewicked

@about2dance | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @blarrghe | @delicatefade | @leggywillow

#kiss me moonstruck #dragon age fan fiction #hawke x trevelyan #Garrett Hawke #Rose Trevelyan #romantic comedy #Dragon Age 2 #DA2 #fish out of water #matchmaking scheme

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innerpalaces · 25 days ago

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THE PRINCESS WEI YANG - 192 PART 1

CHAPTER 192: The Death of Huaiqing

After the banquet, Li Wei Yang and Madam Guo walked out of the hall together. Noble Consort Chen was too drunk and had already gone back to rest. Gracious Consort Guo went to see her off personally and sent a personal court lady to lead Madam Guo and the others back. The long palace road was paved with square blue stones, with tall red palace walls sandwiched on both sides. From Li Wei Yang's perspective, you can see the tiled roofs with cornices rising behind the palace walls.

At this moment, the sky had already darkened, and everlasting lanterns were lit on both sides of the palace road. The red lampshades seemed to line up in a long queue, leaving large red shadows on the palace road. It was extremely quiet, except for their footsteps, there was no sound.

Madam Guo looked at the seemingly endless green strips of stone under her feet and said with emotion, "Jia'er, look at the bustling palace, but there seems to be mystery and danger hidden everywhere. Even if you are standing here, I still feel that if we're not careful, we will be swallowed up by this huge palace, so let's go home as soon as possible."

Li Wei Yang heard her words, smiled lightly and said: "Yes."

Madam Guo took two steps, but then said, "No, once we leave, your aunt will be left here alone. Wouldn't it be lonelier?"

Li Wei Yang knew that Madam Guo looked tough but had a soft heart. She was completely different from herself. In her opinion, it was entirely her own choice that Gracious Consort Guo entered the palace for her family, and no one forced her to do so. Now she has established a firm foothold in the palace, gave birth to a prince, has a strong natal family as her backing, and is living well too. Madam Guo still thinks she is pitiful, but who in this world isn't pitiful?

She was not prepared to say these words to Madam Guo, so she just smiled slightly and said: "My mother is soft-hearted, so let's stay and accompany Gracious Consort for a few more days."

Madam Guo glanced at her and said hesitantly: "But I always feel uneasy."

Madam Guo is a smart person, and the whole banquet made her feel uneasy. First, someone deliberately attacked Guo Jia, then Empress Pei gave her a dress, and then many people came to show their goodwill. Those inexplicably eager eyes really made people feel anxious. This banquet looks lively, but in fact it is full of dangers.

Li Wei Yang's smile was as usual: "Mother, there are some things that cannot be avoided. Even if we leave the palace, won't those people still cause trouble for us?"

Madam Guo thought for a moment and said, "Yes, if someone is targeting you, you won't be able to escape. However, we are not afraid of anything. If you want to come, then come." During the conversation, she had already thought about it.

Li Wei Yang had a smile on her face. Madam Guo had an open-minded personality and could understand many things at once.

Returning to Gracious Consort Guo's yard, she saw only a soft light in the distance. Several court ladies were already waiting at the door. When they saw them coming back, they hurried to greet them. Soon, she heard laughter coming from the house. Madam Guo thought about it and pulled Li Wei Yang through the door.

Consort Guo was talking to someone. She didn't know what she was talking about, but she smiled particularly softly. Next to her sat a very young girl, about fifteen or sixteen years old, wearing a pink dress, with plump cheeks and youthful beauty.

When Consort Guo saw Li Wei Yang, she quickly waved to her: "Jia'er is back, come quickly!" Li Wei Yang walked over. Consort Guo held her hand, then took the other girl's and introduced her, "Nankang, this is my niece Guo Jia. She is two years older than you, you can call her sister."

Li Wei Yang instantly understood that this girl was the sixteen-year-old Princess Nankang. Madam Guo once mentioned to her that Princess Nankang was of low origin, and her biological mother was a maid brought into the palace by Gracious Consort Guo. Later, the woman was unlucky enough to die in childbirth. Consort Guo pitied Princess Nankang for having no one to rely on, so she was raised by her side.

Nankang's eyes were very clear, and the black pupils could almost reflect Li Wei Yang's face. Her gaze also revealed trust and enthusiasm. For Nankang, the person who treats her best in the world is Gracious Consort Guo, so Consort Guo's niece is her sister. Therefore, she naturally expressed this emotion and smiled happily at Li Wei Yang.

"Nankang went to Ning Xin'an to pray for me yesterday and just returned to the palace." Gracious Consort Guo looked gentle and said slowly, explaining why she did not see Princess Nankang at the banquet just now.

Li Wei Yang nodded, and found that Princess Nankang had been looking at her curiously, so she gave her a friendly smile. Nankang lowered her head shyly, and then raised her head to look at her while Li Wei Yang wasn't paying attention.

Li Wei Yang was dumbfounded by this childish behavior, but Consort Guo touched her hand lovingly and said: "Nankang, I want you to get along well with Jia'er in the future."

Princess Nankang nodded obediently, and Gracious Consort Guo said with satisfaction: "Okay, you have worked hard, go back and rest early." Princess Nankang stood up, saluted Consort Guo and Madam Guo with the courtesy of a junior to an elder. Then she smiled at Li Wei Yang and reluctantly withdrew.

"I still remember the first time I saw this child, she was like a cat, afraid of people. In the blink of an eye, Nankang haa grown so big." Madam Guo sighed with emotion as she watched Princess Nankang's departing figure.

Consort Guo sighed and said, "If Ye Rong hadn't been trying to protect me, she wouldn't have been tricked by that person and lost her life. So, it was I who let down those two ..."

Upon hearing this, Madam Guo was stunned, and then comforted: "You can't be blamed for this matter at all. If you hadn't arrived in time, this child would have been sent into the coffin with her mother." She looked at Li Wei Yang and fearing that she would not understand, she added, "This child was born in a coffin. Ye Rong died of dystocia before she gave birth. She was born in the coffin, but no one knew. If it wasn't for the fact that Gracious Consort went to see her for the last time and heard the child's wails, forcing those people to get into the coffin, I'm afraid her life would have gone with her mother."

Consort Guo shook her head and said, "This child is really pitiful. When I tell her about Ye Rong, she is always confused and has no idea that she is her biological mother."

Princess Nankang was brought up by Gracious Consort Guo, so she only recognized Gracious Consort Guo as her mother and Yuan Ying as her elder brother. Others were meaningless to her, but Consort Guo persisted in telling her about her biological mother, and the result was natural. It was her blank expression.

Madam Guo sighed: "Having never seen her mother, is it happiness or misfortune?"

Li Wei Yang smiled slightly and said: "Princess Nankang lost her mother when she was young. She is indeed worthy of pity, but it is also her good fortune that she can get the protection and compassion of the consort."

Consort Guo felt that these words were very relevant, so she nodded and said: "I have always tried my best to take good care of her, but - she grew up with me, and her temper is also the same as when I was young, very innocent."

Madam Guo laughed and said, "You, what's wrong with children being innocent? Do they all have to be so cunning to make you happy?"

Gracious Consort Guo disagreed and laughed at her: "You have a smart daughter, don't you allow me to want one too?"

She said this without any malice. Madam Guo laughed loudly, pulled Li Wei Yang over and said: "Why, are you jealous? This daughter is mine, I won't give her to anyone!"

Li Wei Yang looked at Madam Guo, her eyes as calm as deep water, but no one knew what she was thinking.

After chatting with the two for a while, Li Wei Yang returned to her room to rest. Gracious Consort Guo's front and rear courtyards each have five main halls, and there are three east and west side halls. It was more than spacious enough to accommodate them.

The palace maid knew that Miss Guo was a distinguished guest, so she had already tidied up the best palace halls and arranged it neatly according to Gracious Consort's instructions. For fear that it was not thoughtful enough, she even specially ordered calming incense.

Li Wei Yang looked around the hall, and the palace maid quickly said: "Miss, is there anything else you need?" She looked frightened.

Li Wei Yang just smiled and told Zhao Yue: "Everyone has worked hard, please give them the gifts I brought."

Before entering, Zhao Yue had been guarding outside the palace. Later, Madam Guo wanted to stay for a short time. Consort Guo felt that the palace maids might not be considerate enough, so she gave them a favor and had Madam Guo and Li Wei Yang choose a personal servant girl to take care of them.

After Zhao Yue heard this, she immediately smiled and went out with everyone.

The entire hall finally became quiet. Li Wei Yang sighed and said, "Why don't you come out?"

A figure jumped in from the window, smiling. Who could it be if it wasn't Yuan Lie? Just now he blinked at her from behind the window, which shocked her! Li Wei Yang laughed: "Do you think the palace is like a vegetable market, and you can come and go freely?"

Yuan Lie spun around in a circle as if to show off. He had stolen a set of palace guard clothes from somewhere. It had a dark black background and was embroidered with a tiger that seemed to be alive. A pair of sharp embroidered eyes stared out at people, with blue and white sea waves on his lower lapel, and a military crown on his shiny black hair, tied with a five-color sash, which further complemented his fair complexion and made him very gorgeous.

He smiled and said, "Look, I think these clothes suit me very well." It does fit well, but how on earth did he get this clothes? Li Wei Yang raised her eyebrows, but heard him say: "Don't worry, I am so smart that no one will find out."

Li Wei Yang knew his personality and he would definitely not cause trouble for her, so she said: "The palace gate will be locked soon, why are you still here?"

"There is a banquet today, so the lock down will naturally be delayed for half an hour. Why, doesn't Miss Guo know?" He said calmly. His eyes were full of color, shining brightly, and his voice was clear and low, making people feel like there was a warm current brushing their hearts.

"You are always so arbitrary." Li Wei Yang sighed, sat down first, and poured himself a glass of water.

Yuan Lie sat down beside her with a smile and said, "I missed you!"

"What nonsense are you talking about? I met you just now." Li Wei Yang turned her head and saw him staring at her, his eyes as clear as glass. A strange feeling passed through her heart, and she lowered her head, avoiding his eyes. "Today Obedient Consort Hu was staring at you the whole time. Did you not see that?"

"That old witch... is Dowager Princess Xu's biological sister. I took away her nephew's throne, so she is naturally dissatisfied with me. It's not surprising." Yuan Lie smiled nonchalantly.

Li Wei Yang frowned slightly and said: "You are in Prince Xu's Mansion, is everything going well?"

"Naturally. I'm so smart. My father's old ministers were all very kind to me..." He naturally didn't want her to worry, so he replied as if he was joking.

How could a person who showed up halfway so easily please those stubborn old ministers of Grand Prince Xu? However, those people could not be beaten or killed, so he could only slowly subdue them. Li Wei Yang shook her head and smiled.

"What, you don't believe it?" He looked down at her.

"How could that be? You are so smart, who wouldn't like you..." Li Wei Yang followed his good example.

"Don't mention these annoying things. Someone told me today that Gracious Consort Guo wants you to be Princess Jing!" Yuan Lie said with a leisurely smile, but his eyes flashed with strange glittering light.

Li Wei Yang was slightly shocked: "Do you also have an informant in Gracious Consort's palace?"

"What informant! Gracious Consort Guo did it so obviously, and Yuan Ying came to provoke me again. Isn't it obvious enough?" He pretended to be slightly annoyed, but his thin lips flew up and his posture was affectionate: "What's annoying is that you're still talking and laughing with him..."

Li Wei Yang was slightly startled, then laughed and said: "In terms of identity, he is my cousin. Do you want me to put on a different face when I see him? This doesn't make sense."

He smiled softly and said: "So, you will not marry him..." In fact, it was something he had expected. If Li Wei Yang was willing to wrong herself, why would she have made such a fuss with Li Xiaoran in the first place. Deep down, she is clearly an extremely stubborn and tough person.

Li Wei Yang glanced at him and said with a faint smile: "It doesn't matter, it depends on how valuable he is." She was just teasing him - but unexpectedly, Yuan Lie, who was still smiling before, suddenly stood up and without saying anything, he walked toward the window. Li Wei Yang was taken aback, stood up and said, "What's wrong with you?"

Unexpectedly, he turned around suddenly and rushed forward like a gust of wind. Li Wei Yang was unprepared and was firmly hugged against his chest. The boy who was only at her eye-level two years ago is now more than a head taller than her. Li Wei Yang is tall, but she can only barely reach his solid chest.

"Wei Yang..." He leaned down and buried his head deeply in the crook of her neck, whispering her name with a faint lingering and resentful tone.

Li Wei Yang was stunned and said: "I'm just joking with you, why are you so serious?"

He hugged her tightly, indulging his rare weakness in front of her alone. There are obviously thousands of things to say, but when the words reach his throat, he can only say, "Don't make such jokes..."

Li Wei Yang was stunned for a moment, but the various feelings in her chest were indescribable. They were so close, and their body temperatures were connected to each other, which made her heart soften. She couldn't help but sigh.

The next second, he was so strong that he almost broke her waist, but the hand tightly hugging her began to tremble slightly, paradoxically. Li Wei Yang exhaled, hesitated for a moment, and finally slowly stretched out her hand to stroke his hair. After a slight pause, she only felt her fingertips passing through the hair that was as smooth and soft as silk. "You..."

His personality was always like this at all times, mature and aloof in front of outsiders, but in front of her, he was so attached and domineering, even a little extreme. But just like before, relying on each other has become a habit in their blood. Even today, she still can't push him away indifferently.

He raised his head suddenly, obviously in a coquettish way, and whispered: "He can't take good care of you. Does he know what you like? Does he know what you need? He doesn't know anything, right? You don't have to care about him at all."

Seeing how he reduced Yuan Ying to this point, he obviously meant it. Li Wei Yang wanted to laugh, but seeing how persistent he was, she had to hold back her laughter and said, "Yeah, he doesn't understand anything."

"So, how can a person like him be worthy of you?" He whispered, his moist and narrow eyes full of seriousness.

"I told you, it was just a joke. If I were willing to marry the prince, I would have chosen Tuoba Yu back then, right? Why wait until now?" In the past, she had thought of using her marriage as a tool of revenge. Because she was full of distrust in people's hearts and full of uncertainty about the future. But later, when she saw that Duke Qi loved Madam Guo so much and the Guo family lived so happily, she began to feel that a happy marriage might not be impossible.

If she chooses to marry Yuan Ying in order to take revenge on Empress Pei, but cannot guarantee that she will love her husband well, then Yuan Ying will become unfortunate, and so will she. Why do you do it when you know you won't be happy?

She said softly: "I promise you that I will never make such a joke again in the future. However, it's time for you to leave. If it's too late, the palace door will be locked and you won't be able to get out."

Yuan Lie smiled and said: "Okay, I will find a chance to see you tomorrow." After saying that, he touched her forehead, let her go, and in a blink of an eye, he jumped out of the window, Li Wei Yang breathed a sigh of relief.

Outside the window, there were already guards responding: "Your Highness."

Yuan Lie waved his hand and said: "Okay, let's go." As he said that, he turned back and glanced at the figure in the window, with a sly smile on his face. Wei Yang, you always keep saying you are ruthless, but you didn't realize that you would only be soft-hearted when facing me.

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#the princess wei yang

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 2 years ago

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Shirakumo x Aizawa with the word Shelter

NOTE : I ended up gettin carried away by this one, so you can read the long version under the cut!

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ TAKING SHELTER :

« Oboro followed the motion of Shota's little swallow, not even thinking as his hand sneaked to hold him by the waist.

“If you are so cold, we should go find shelter.”

Above, cotton grouped grey and purple on the edges of lightning branches. Both men shivered at the hushing tone, too soft to do anything else but press the words against their cheeks, like the air puffing from their mouths.

Aizawa stopped himself in time to avoid licking away the drop of water on his lip. Oh, how he wanted, enough to spark the world alive if he let himself had it. But the middle of a mission was not place for a kiss. Standing on that rooftop, withholding a storm of his own, Shirakumo was not so sure.

“I— ” stepping back, Aizawa shivered again when he felt his friend's hand dragging loosely over his suit as it fell to his side. His resolution cracked but didn't break and all he could let out was a weak “Later ”, before jumping down the next cornice. »

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Since it's Valentine Day, send me a pair and a word and I'll write a five paragraphs mini fic about them <3

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TAKING SHELTER (EXTENDED) :

« To the and boom of light in the sky, two young men jumped into the void between buildings, allowing gravity to carry them down as one.

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Only then, suspended mid fall, he heard Oboro.

He heard his name ringing in thw wind, his name. Not his hero name, not his surename, not one of the many nicknames Mic and him had came with in the long school days of their teenage years. It was his name, dangerous, real. It had messed with him. To hear the longing of the vowels, the shock of electricity that numbed his tongue.

“ Shota! ” he shout. “ Go up! ”

So up Shota went. Up to follow the impulse that his wrapping commanded, reinforced material that hugged and tensed and dragged him to the next rooftop, the beat of his steps never faltering.

Pale white hit the clouds again and Aizawa turned back on instinct, waiting for his partner.

⠀

A second later, Shirakumo stumbled upon the rooftop as the twist of Aizawa's body allowed the flash to captured the color of his eyes.

Gold. Sometimes he forgot it. There were so many rumors about him on the streets, about his eyes glowing red as he hunted, about the way his body moved as he raced on the veins of the city, that Shirakumo often got lost in the vacuum between the man and the legend.

But now, in front the real thing, he could witness about how much they'd never know.

Aizawa shifted, black hair plastered to his brow and cheeks, waterdrops sliding down the bridge of his nose, the curve of hid upper lip, the hollow of his throat. The passing years were starting to sharpen his features and Shirakumo was thankful for the passing of the clock, but it was beginning to overwhelm him. It was not that he didn't know what to do with his no longer boyish best friend. No, he knew what he wanted. The problem was, his hunger knew no bounds when it came to him. It wanted to grow and grow until the world was covered, to pour and rain and overflow.

There were moments, instants, when Shirakumo thought to see a similar phenomenon in the eyes of Aizawa. They came and went and let him with a bitter taste to chew on. Felt like a burn, for all it refused to fade. It was imprinted on his memory, the brief look Aizawa would give him, so brief he started to believe he was losing his mind.

Although...

There. Brighter still than the neon lights of their beloved city and yet— buried. Buried under the sound of thunder, under the nervous flicker of a young man discoverin the depths of his heart.

A shy smile. Two words.

“ It's cold. ”

Shirakumo captured it all with a slow slow blink. He stepped forward with the vague sensation of being asleep, feather like moving only to crash against the body of his childhood friend.

Oboro followed the motion of Shota's little swallow, not even thinking as his hand sneaked to hold him by the waist.

⠀

“ If you are so cold, we should go find shelter. ”

“ I— ” stepping back, Aizawa shivered again when he felt his friend's hand dragging loosely over his suit as it fell to his side. His resolution cracked but didn't break and all he could let out was a weak “Later ”, before jumping down the next cornice.

Shirakumo was not sure if later would ever come. He was not even sure if they were speaking about the same thing. Lightning parted the clouds in two once more and under its shine, Shirakumo pressed the palm of his hand over his mouth and exhaled.

It felt like the only thing waiting for him later was the shattering of his heart.

Shota, can't you see? I'm cold too.

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omophagist · 1 year ago

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Anatomy

1. If you were composed of something, why?

a. I believe that somewhere really deep, like, really deep, like Hadal deep, or Loubouttin in eye, socket deep, I've got a toms. You know toms? b. I shall supplicate a categorical imperative derived by my years of primatology research with Bonobos and Britney Spears. F, C, U, K—yes, these four nitrogenous bases supplied with bitter sugars form the cataclysmic pudenda that dilates god's creation algorithm. In Genesis, Adam and Eve were basically a torpedo and a wormhole in oestrus, and in a gaping paroxysm of smoke-belching buses in Manila, created that beautiful face you point at called matter. c. Apgar scores, eyes closed, zippers open. Soul snow melting, giving me neo-Pavlovian, colonial shivers. During Grade 6, they said I was too good for the Philippines, that I deserved Hong Kong, or Singapore. There I would be tossed the perfume scented dirt from their necks and knighted for non-conformity, profanity and ability to piss in three legs. d. Tarmac roads of memory foam. Justified by tequila shots anaphasing with Beatniks gargling spoken word. An inch beyond a shoulder, red LED trying out green leather jackets by Zara. Beneath a truck loaded with beer, a pot-bellied man on a hammock rubs his crotch dreaming of quarter-Lebanese rest-human poster Gerbers. e. Dough placed on arpeggio speakers, mashing me to non-Newtonian fluid with friction blisters. When I rise in a subcutaneous oven, I'd be like steroid pumped with lashes on my wrists, 'you are all batards!' f. Shanzai Bucherer. Bucher killed by a bucher. Flesh carved from metal not found in any periodic table with a do-it-yourself best before date and kama sutra malleability. Climbing on my palm is the soft woolly corpse of a magenta chick, and I cry; remembering Tuesdays, coconut husks and/or, scrabble tiles. g. Copy paste Leonardo da Vinci's treatise on water. Not so much architrave, not very cornice. In the extent of dehydration, I would be flattered to be a cell in your sheet #2 dressed in deep blue organza. h. A welterweight neoplasm champion that has eluded the Richter scale. While I live, some Japanese otaku is ejaculating over Generativity sucks Stagnation. In 3 a.m. news Pacman's sandpapering his fists off neurons with prayers and white-petal flowers. i. Can I please be partial points? Or at least, supplementary dusks...tears only flow how other tears fell. Just moved in a M-something street cul-de-sac, behind your back a neighbour with two navels, and you go, this ain't no Narnia. Where did the first tear go?

— Mariel Alonzo, from “ Anatomy"’

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manwalksintobar · 1 year ago

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Summer Solstice, New York City // Sharon Olds

By the end of the longest day of the year he could not stand it, he went up the iron stairs through the roof of the building and over the soft, tarry surface to the edge, put one leg over the complex green tin cornice and said if they came a step closer that was it. Then the huge machinery of the earth began to work for his life, the cops came in their suits blue-grey as the sky on a cloudy evening, and one put on a bullet-proof vest, a black shell around his own life, life of his children's father, in case the man was armed, and one, slung with a rope like the sign of his bounden duty, came up out of a hole in the top of the neighboring building like the gold hole they say is in the top of the head, and began to lurk toward the man who wanted to die. The tallest cop approached him directly, softly, slowly, talking to him, talking, talking, while the man's leg hung over the lip of the next world and the crowd gathered in the street, silent, and the hairy net with its implacable grid was unfolded near the curb and spread out and stretched as the sheet is prepared to receive a birth. Then they all came a little closer where he squatted next to his death, his shirt glowing its milky glow like something growing in a dish at night in the dark in a lab and then everything stopped as his body jerked and he stepped down from the parapet and went toward them and they closed on him, I thought they were going to beat him up, as a mother whose child has been lost will scream at the child when its found, they took him by the arms and held him up and leaned him against the wall of the chimney and the tall cop lit a cigarette in his own mouth, and gave it to him, and then they all lit cigarettes, and the red, glowing ends burned like the tiny campfires we lit at night back at the beginning of the world.

#poetry #Sharon Olds #suicide #American poetry #police #tiny fires #summer #summer solstice

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archupnet · 20 days ago

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#Inspiration #Stories

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mikeversalsblog · 1 month ago

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Kitchen Design in London, UK: Blending Style, Function, and Heritage

Kitchen design in London, UK, seamlessly combines British heritage with contemporary design, creating spaces that are not only functional but also a joy to live in. London kitchens reflect the city’s unique style—whether in compact flats or expansive townhouses, kitchens here emphasise efficiency, sophistication, and timeless design elements. In this article, we explore some key features and trends of London kitchen design that can transform any space into a beautiful, practical, and harmonious kitchen.

1. Understanding Space Challenges in London Kitchens

London homes come in various sizes and layouts, but they often share a common challenge: limited space. Maximising efficiency is therefore essential in kitchen design across the city. Designers strive to use every inch effectively, creating well-organised spaces with smart storage solutions and layouts that allow for easy movement.

Compact kitchens benefit from clever cabinetry and multipurpose furnishings, with slim-profile appliances and cupboards that maximise vertical storage. Adding pull-out pantries, under-sink storage, and even foldable dining furniture can turn smaller kitchens into efficient, multifunctional spaces. Emphasising vertical space with floor-to-ceiling cabinets or open shelving creates both storage and visual interest, helping to declutter the room.

2. Embracing Modern Minimalism

In recent years, minimalist designs have gained popularity in London, particularly in urban kitchens where simplicity and functionality go hand in hand. This approach favours neutral palettes, clean lines, and clutter-free surfaces, which make small kitchens appear larger and more open—especially beneficial in city apartments where space is at a premium.

High-gloss finishes and integrated appliances are common in minimalist kitchen design, helping to maintain a streamlined look. White, black, and shades of grey dominate, with matte finishes often preferred to avoid excessive reflection and lend a calm, grounded feel. Incorporating only essential items and employing hidden storage enables Londoners to create serene yet efficient kitchens that feel spacious and uncluttered.

3. Celebrating Traditional and Heritage Elements

For those who favour a more classic look, traditional British kitchen design elements add charm and character. London is renowned for its Georgian, Victorian, and Edwardian homes, and many homeowners aim to preserve the character of these historical properties. Features such as shaker-style cabinets, Belfast sinks, and decorative cornices can evoke a heritage look without compromising modern functionality.

Using materials like natural wood, brass fixtures, and marble worktops can convey a sense of timeless elegance. Painted cabinetry in colours such as navy, sage green, or soft grey adds depth and warmth, perfectly complementing London’s historical architecture. Designers often blend modern elements like stainless steel appliances with vintage-inspired fittings to create a seamless fusion of old and new.

4. Integrating Industrial Aesthetics

Industrial design has made its way from commercial spaces and lofts into London’s residential kitchens. Exposed brick walls, stainless steel, and concrete surfaces lend a raw, edgy feel to kitchen spaces, particularly in modern flats or converted warehouses. This style offers a pragmatic approach, with open shelving, large islands, and multifunctional surfaces that make the most of smaller areas.

Pendant lighting, often with metal or glass fittings, adds the perfect industrial touch, while metal fixtures and exposed piping provide an urban vibe. Combined with polished concrete or distressed wood floors, these kitchens exude a stylish, gritty charm that suits the city’s more contemporary homes.

5. The Rise of Sustainable and Eco-Friendly Choices

Sustainability is a growing trend in kitchen design, especially in eco-conscious London. Many designers are prioritising environmentally friendly materials and appliances that reduce energy consumption. Recycled or reclaimed materials—such as wooden worktops, bamboo cabinetry, and upcycled furnishings—are becoming more popular, as they reduce environmental impact while adding unique character.

Energy-efficient appliances, LED lighting, and water-saving fixtures are also essential elements of sustainable kitchen design. Many Londoners are also opting for natural or eco-friendly paints and finishes to minimise chemical exposure in their homes, creating a healthier living space alongside environmental benefits.

6. Maximising Natural Light

Natural light is essential in London’s often overcast climate, and kitchen design reflects this need. Skylights, large windows, and even glass doors are popular choices to allow more light into the kitchen, making it feel larger and more inviting. In compact kitchens where large windows may not be possible, strategically placed mirrors or light-reflecting surfaces, like high-gloss cabinets and light-coloured worktops, can help amplify the available natural light.

For those who can open up their kitchen to a garden or patio, bi-fold or sliding doors are an effective way to bring the outdoors in. These design choices enhance the sense of space and create a seamless indoor-outdoor connection.

7. Adding Personal Touches and Unique Accents

No kitchen design in London is complete without personal touches that add unique charm to the space. Open shelving with artful arrangements of cookware, glassware, and even indoor plants brings warmth and personality. Londoners are also known to incorporate elements such as tile splashbacks in colourful, geometric, or mosaic patterns for a pop of character.

Statement lighting—whether a chandelier, pendant lights over an island, or under-cabinet LEDs—enhances both the functionality and aesthetics of the space. Bold choices in lighting and décor make London kitchens a true reflection of the homeowner’s personality while serving as a practical working space.

Conclusion

Kitchen design in London, UK, is all about balancing style, functionality, and the city’s historical charm. From sleek minimalism to heritage aesthetics and industrial influences, the design possibilities are vast. With space often limited, Londoners have honed the art of maximising every inch, while trends such as sustainability and eco-friendly materials continue to shape the future of kitchen design. Whether you’re updating a kitchen in a Georgian townhouse or designing a modern kitchen in a new flat, a thoughtful approach can transform this vital space into the heart of your home.

#london kitchen designer #kitchen designer in london

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newcastleframeandtrussau · 2 months ago

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5 Ways They Add Timeless Grace to Property

A property’s design can be given a lasting sense of sophistication and elegance by including timeless components. These classic additions raise the property’s worth and extend its lifespan in addition to improving its aesthetic appeal. The following five techniques are essential for giving any house a timeless elegance:

CLASSIC ARCHITECTURAL ELEMENTS:

The foundation of timeless design is the incorporation of classic architectural elements. Structures with symmetrical facades, arches and columns elicit a feeling of permanence and heritage that surpasses fads in architectural features can significantly enhance the visual attractiveness of any project, be it new construction or renovation of an existing property.

For instance, Timber Roof Trusses Newcastle elaborate trim work, moldings and cornices give interior spaces complex decoration and visual interest while conveying a feeling of refinement and grandeur. A similar impression of symmetry and balance is produced by external elements like porticos, pediments, and pilasters, which improve the property’s curb appeal and architectural integrity.

Choosing sturdy building materials like brick, stucco, and natural stone also contributes to the properties timeless appeal by guaranteeing its longevity and enduring beauty for future generations.

QUALITY CRAFTSMENSHIP:

Investing in superior craftsmanship is essential to creating a timeless elegance in real estate design. Experts in their fields provide great quality and long-lasting craftsmanship by paying close attention to every little detail and applying accuracy to all aspects of building and finishing.

Whether creating elaborate woodwork, hand-forged ironwork, or custom cabinets, putting an emphasis on craftsmanship Timber Roof Trusses Newcastle guarantees that every feature of the house exhibits unmatched quality and artistry. These custom touches, which range from hand-applied finishes to handmade detailing, give places a sense of authenticity and workmanship that goes beyond fads and trends.

Additionally, selecting high-end finishes and materials like handcrafted tiles, natural stone worktops, and solid hardwood floors improves the entire look and adds to the property’s timeless charm.

TIMELESS COLOR PALETTES:

Choosing timeless color schemes is crucial to coming up with a harmonious and cogent design that can adapt to shifting fashions and tastes. While adding a feeling of calm and refinement to the room, neutral colors like soft whites, warm beiges, and light grays act as a timeless backdrop that lets other design elements take centre stage.

Maintaining visual coherence and classic elegance across the property is ensured by utilizing classic hues for both external and interior design elements, such as trim, accents, and walls. Further allowing for flexibility and customization without sacrificing the overall classic look is the use of colorful accent pieces such as furniture, artwork, and accessories.

Furthermore, Timber Roof Trusses Newcastle helps choosing premium paints and finishes that have a long lifespan reduces the need for regular updates or restorations by guaranteeing that the property’s color scheme will stay lively and current for many years to come.

CLASSIC FURNISHINGS AND DÉCOR:

Timeless style can be incorporated into interior spaces through the careful selection of traditional furnishings and décor components. Timeless furniture styles radiate sophistication and refinement while providing long-lasting comfort and functionality. Examples of these styles include fitted upholstery, simple lines, and graceful forms.

Purchasing high-quality furniture made of long-lasting materials like leather, hardwood floors, and natural textiles guarantees longevity and classic style. Furthermore, adding classic furniture types, heirloom pieces, and antique decorations to a room honors tradition and heritage while bringing character and individuality to the area.

The general atmosphere and charm of the home are further improved by the careful layering of textures, patterns, and accessories, which adds visual appeal and depth. Property owners can design homes that are easily stylish while feeling ageless by combining aspects from both traditional and modern design.

HARMONIOUS OUTDOOR SPACES:

Creating outdoor areas that are harmonious is crucial to bringing the property’s classic charm into the surrounding environment. The architectural style and aesthetic of the property are complemented by the use of classic elements like symmetrical walks, formal gardens, and well-kept lawns, which provide a sense of harmony and tranquility.

To enhance your outside space, consider including patios, terraces, and courtyards as well as landscaping to create areas for lounging, entertaining, and spending time outdoors. The outside atmosphere is enhanced by classic materials that endure the weather and age beautifully over time, like wrought iron furnishings, wood decking, and natural stone.

In addition, Timber Roof Trusses Newcastle adds elements like fire pits, water features, and outdoor lighting gives outdoor spaces more atmosphere and usefulness, making them pleasant retreats for both inhabitants and visitors.

To summarize, the process of bringing classic architectural elements, fine craftsmanship, classic color schemes, classic furniture and décor, and well-planned outdoor areas together are all essential to creating a residence that exudes timeless charm.

#Timber Roof Trusses

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sounds-right · 2 months ago

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Il 4 ottobre Sergio Casabianca @ Gravina International Jazz a Gravina di Catania

Venerdì 4 ottobre alle ore 21.00 Sergio Casabianca si esibirà live in trio all'interno del Gravina International Jazz a Gravina di Catania.

Sergio Casabianca, all'interno della splendida cornice della Sala delle Arti "Emilio Greco" in occasione del Gravina International Jazz, proporrà live alcuni brani tratti all'ultimo album "De Visu" (uscito il 6 ottobre 2023 per TRP Music), alcuni pezzi della tradizione jazz e un'anticipazione di nuovo materiale inedito.

Formazione: Sergio Casabianca (Chitarra), Riccardo Grosso (Contrabbasso), Peppe Tringali (Batteria).

Info biglietti:

"De Visu" è disco jazz di brani inediti, in guitar trio, del chitarrista catanese Sergio Casabianca. Insieme a lui completano la formazione Riccardo Grosso al contrabbasso e Peppe Tringali alla batteria. Il taglio delle composizioni originali di Casabianca varia dal semplice al ricercato passando dal sound soft di ballad eteree e sentimentali come "Sire", "Birds of San Marco" e "Fondamenta Nuove", ad un jazz post-bop dal tono sia dissacrante e diretto, che introspettivo e riflessivo, come in Dreams in a Spiral, Raining in My House e De Visu. Non mancano riferimenti chiari all'interesse ed il piacere per il feel ritmico del funk come in "Desk of Love" e la stessa "Milo Crew". Casabianca usa una chitarra archtop a cassa larga, dal suono caldo e legnoso - tipico del jazz - talvolta miscelando questo timbro a sonorità, effetti e stilemi decisamente moderni.

Spiega l'artista sul nuovo album: "L'uscita di questo mio disco ha sicuramente una notevole importanza per me. De visu è un punto di partenza, un lavoro in cui ho voluto raccogliere materiale musicale di diversa natura, senza lasciare nulla da parte, per cercare di condividere le mie note, le mie necessità artistiche e la mia creatività con colleghi ed ascoltatori. E', come detto, il punto di partenza da cui si diramano diverse strade per il futuro. La mia mappa musicale è in continuo aggiornamento".

Ascolta l'album: https://open.spotify.com/intl-it/album/5U01t0B8t19liv2x1wxS7d

Biografia

Sergio Casabianca è un chitarrista jazz italiano, nato a Catania nel 1990. Vive in Sicilia dove si occupa di didattica, produzione musicale e divulgazione in ambito di chitarra jazz e moderna. Nel 2023 ha pubblicato il suo ultimo disco "De Visu", edito da TRP Music, che ha ricevuto numerosi consensi dalla critica e segnalazioni su riviste specializzate italiane ed estere come Musica Jazz, Jazzit, Jazz Guitar Today ed altre ancora. E' stato finalista di concorsi internazionali come il "Premio Massimo Urbani" ed il "Baku Jazz Competition". Nel 2017 ha pubblicato il suo primo disco da leader, in quartetto, dal titolo "Out of Cage", incentrato sulla rielaborazione della musica del grande Charlie Parker. E' stato Artist- Exhibitor della Wambooka presso il NAMM 2020 a Los Angeles ed Artist Dogal Strings. E' autore di vari articoli per il rinomato blog Guitarprof.it, ai primi posti in Italia, in cui si occupa di chitarra jazz, improvvisazione, trascrizioni, tecnica e storia della chitarra jazz. Dal 2024 collabora stabilmente con AMG - Alessio Menconi Guitar Institute come insegnante. Ha all'attivo 2 dischi da leader e diversi lavori da sideman, come il disco di conduction sperimentale "Another Way For Meditation", d Francesco Cusa e "Glenn Miller Story" con la HJO Jazz Orchestra. Ha collaborato, in ambito jazz e di musica cantautorale con musicisti e progetti del calibro di Francesco Cusa, Giuseppe Urso, Carlo Cattano, Paolo Sorge, Archinuè, HJO Jazz Orchestra, Federico Saccà, Peppe Tringali, Emanuele Primavera, CESM Jazz Orchestra. Ha curato la sua formazione nei conservatori di Catania, Venezia e Palermo. Diplomato prima in Chitarra Jazz presso il Conservatorio "Bellini" di Catania nel 2015, consegue poi il Diploma di Biennio Specialistico in Chitarra Jazz presso il Conservatorio "Alessandro Scarlatti" di Palermo con una tesi compositiva (concerto in 5 movimenti) per chitarra elettrica ed orchestra jazz dal titolo "Making Love To Universe" con il massimo dei voti e la menzione d'onore. Si è esibito in concerto in festival e rassegne come "Zafferana Jazz Festival 2020", in calendario insieme a Matteo Mancuso, Omar Sosa e Kurt Rosenwinkel; "Baku Jazz Festival"(Azerbaijan), "Battiati Jazz Green Festival", "Catania Jazz Marhaton", "ISMEZ MUSIC LIVE 2017" - Casa del Jazz, Roma e altri ancora.

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theluckywizard · 1 year ago

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Hawke/Rose, Dickens prompts, "Accidents will occur in the best regulated families."

Hiii Ammy. Here's the second chapter of my Distraction Fic, the disastrous (at least according to Alsatia!) introduction between Rose Trevelyan and Garrett Hawke. For @dadrunkwriting

This follows the first part which I did for DADWC a few weeks back.

Summary: Leandra Hawke and her old friend Alsatia Trevelyan introduce their incorrigible children at the Hawke Estate in the hopes that a favorable match can be made. Rose POV

Rating: Teen

WC: 1692

Pairing: Rose Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke

oOo

Alsatia’s near giddiness at the sight the Amell mansion’s grandeur chafes unbearably in Rose, who glowers lightly at it with the same remonstrance she always applies to these calculating matchmaking endeavors.

“It’s larger than I remember,” says the elder woman, raffish in her admiration of the excess.

The estate is impressive whether Rose wishes to admit it or not, a work of elegant symmetry in pale gray marble with large windows that gaze upon a courtyard dotted with trees. The entry is festooned in wreaths and garlands of laurel and bay leaves, no doubt the work of Leandra who Alsatia reports has quickly reabsorbed herself in the inane pursuits of most fine ladies.

They pull on their cloaks, the makings of a frigid downpour complicating the short walk between the carriage and the main entry. A stout worn-out looking redheaded man Rose assumes must be a dwarf opens the main entry and stands in wait, a pleasant expression enlivening the deep set lines of his face. Rose could count the number of dwarves she’s encountered on both her hands, the exposure to Thedas’ varied races and cultures she’s long craved and long been denied invigorating her.

“How do you do, my lady Trevelyan. Right this way,” says the man in an immediate breach of protocol that causes Alsatia to stiffen. Doormen should never speak of course. Rose pokes her mother in the back in the hopes of reminding her not to be ungracious with her facial expressions.

The dwarf follows them inside to a substantial vestibule where a fire roars and crackles in wait. A massive creature, so large and muscular it seems one could hardly call it a dog, lazes limp in the fire’s radiance, snoring soundly. A Mabari, Rose notes, delighted to see one in the flesh. Once again her mother is startled by the dwarf, who, in a horrifying turn, appears to be both the steward and the doorman. Rose can gather her mother’s thoughts which almost certainly grapple with the Hawkes’ apparent shortage of appropriate staff.

“Make yourselves comfortable while I fetch Mistress Leandra. My son will see to your luggage.”

When he leaves the room, Lady Trevelyan huffs to herself softly.

“No footmen?” she remarks on a hiss. Rose hates that her own suspicions were correct.

“Indeed. How could they possibly make do?” Rose replies, the edge of sarcasm so soft that her mother might not notice. They pace in restrained circles, taking in the cornices and marble tiles and the elegant staircase that bends around the back of the room. The place feels shockingly hollow, barely lived in in spite of the warmth of the fire. But then, they’d only just moved in that autumn after the younger Hawke’s infamous success on his Deep Roads treasure hunt.

As the introduction looms, Rose feels her insides twist and hum, an unruly sense of anticipation muscling its way out from underneath all the disinterest. She chalks it up to being eager to see what manner of man would fail to excite her interest this time, but truthfully the Amell heir has provoked an abiding curiosity that has persisted since she first heard of him. A truth she squashes down as she hears footsteps up above.

A man appears on the mezzanine then descends the steps two at a time, advancing toward them in easy swinging strides and stands over them both with a dashing yet remarkably goofy grin under a beguiling bright blue gaze.

“So which one of you is the woman I’m supposed to marry?”

Maker.

While her mother stands thunderstruck by the gall, Rose fumbles for words behind a savage blush. Nobody told her he’d so Maker damned… tall. She tries not to think about how the rumors had been true, that he’s devastatingly handsome in a sort of scruffy, roguish way. The finery of his apparel does very little to buff away those rough edges. His overgrown chestnut hair is tucked behind his ears and he hasn’t shaved in a few days at least.

Protocol dictates that they require an introduction, but he’s already barreled his way past that and stands waiting for one of them to speak.

“That would be me,” Rose manages. Alsatia fires a sharp look in her daughter’s direction.

“Alsatia!” A refined voice calls from the top of the stairs. “I see Garrett has preceded me.” She glides her way down with practiced elegance that the years spent scraping by in Ferelden could never take from her. If she’s embarrassed by her son’s presumption one could hardly tell.

“Garrett, may I present my dear friend Lady Alsatia Trevelyan and her daughter Lady Rose,” she says. Both women dip in tidy curtsies and he bows politely with an elegance that startles Rose.

“A pleasure,” he says. “Ostwick, eh? You must be utterly knackered.”

“Not at all, our carriage is quite comfortable,” says Alsatia, the kind of polite lie spilling from her lips with such ease. They’re both exhausted and Rose’s mind wanders after her trunk where a comfortable pair of breeches and a jacket she buried under her finery lies in wait.

“I’ve never been a fan of carriages, to be honest. Turns your arse into a funny wedge shape after a day of travel,” he rambles.

Rose nearly breaks composure, a laugh threatening to bust through her practiced demeanor, the truth of his admission reminding her of her own sore, misshapen rear.

“Can I offer you refreshment? Antivan port? Garrett has procured an apricot brandy from Rivain that is just divine,” says Leandra hurriedly, obviously covering for her son’s casual banter. Alsatia glances at Rose, still in their cloaks. “Or… perhaps you’d just like to wash up and change for dinner. Yes. I— should have remembered. Orana will show you to your chambers.”

Behind them the door flies open and a troupe of three saunters in with such casual force that it seems they must live here as well.

“Shit,” mutters Garrett, running his hand through his chestnut hair. Practically humming with interest, she watches his reaction carefully and then turns to ogle the intruders.

“Hawke— Oh. Company! Delightful.” A woman wearing a frock coat over a shockingly limited amount of clothing for the weather and a suffocating assortment of gold jewelry sweeps her eyes up and down the Trevelyans appraisingly. Rose crosses her arms and lifts her chin, steeling herself against the barrage of nosy looks even as she surveys the intruders with the same sharpened curiosity. By the furrow in his brow, Garrett looks ready to tell them off but someone speaks.

“Dougal is on his way here,” says an elf with a shock of carefully mismanaged white hair and a shockingly large sword strapped to his back.

“Dougal? Now? I thought the deal was settled,” says Garrett who then curses softly. Rose watches her mother tally the marks against him as they roll in.

“Not according to him. He says he wants a bigger cut,” says the half-dressed woman in gold.

“Well sod that,” answers Garrett. “He didn’t do a blazing thing to help the expedition.”

“Then we fight,” says the white haired elf again.

“I’m sure I can talk some sense into him,” says the younger Hawke, glancing back at his mother apologetically.

“Garrett,” Leandra scolds him sharply, her expression agonized as he spoils her carefully arranged fix up.

“He’s on his way here,” he says, leaning to kiss Leandra on the cheek and squeeze her arm with genuine affection. He casts Rose and Alsatia a helpless look, a devilishly handsome one, Rose thinks and makes his apologies. The man strides into the front vestibule with his strange group of friends where he begins divesting himself of his fine clothes without a scrap of shame. Rose’s face is claimed by a wave of heat that washes up into her cheeks as she glimpses his thickly muscled torso before it disappears under a tunic again.

“I’m— dreadfully sorry, perhaps you’d like to settle in right now,” Leandra says, glancing past the pair to see her son donning full plate while he discusses the details of this Dougal character with the others.

They’re swiftly ushered away from the sounds of chain mail and plate as Garrett Hawke dons his armor and makes ready to duke it out on the streets of Kirkwall. Rose feels her mother jerk her forward up the stairs each time she turns to peer at them once more.

The door to their guest wing closes behind them.

“Well. Perhaps it’s just an unlucky coincidence. Even the best regulated families have incidents. And they’re still working out the details. The staffing. The manners will come,” Alsatia rambles like she’s soothing herself.

“I was sure the man’s fortune would quiet all those other concerns of yours,” Rose jokes, laying her cloak over the back of a chair.

Rose flops down onto a chaise, poked again by her Maker-forsaken stay.

“What do you think that was all about?” asks Rose. “Dougal. The expedition.”

“Nothing decent,” her mother laments. “You saw those ruffians. But I suppose a wife could remake his ways.”

The daughter smirks doubtfully at her mother, who scoffs again momentarily before the corner of her mouth twitches in a reluctant admission of the ridiculousness of it.

“You’re right. This could be disastrous,” says Alsatia with a sigh.

Letting her head fall back against the chaise, Rose gazes absently at the ornamentation of the ceiling as she considers it. A thrill is busy consuming her insides. This is already so much more interesting than every other attempt to pawn her off. She smiles to herself softly and bites her lip.

“What are you simpering about?” snaps Alsatia.

“I was just thinking of how well he looked without a shirt.”

“Utterly indecent,” says Alsatia sternly, but her brow twitches ever so slightly. Perhaps the woman isn’t dead after all.

“Utterly and completely,” declares Rose.

#rose trevelyan #garrett hawke #hawke x trevelyan #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age 2 #matchmaking moms AU #leandra hawke #isabela dragon age #fenris dragon age #the awkward introduction #they're in trouble #Kiss Me Moonstruck

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