#such strong and elegant silhouettes

[a-d-nox]

how can you glow up: your 1h - your look

to work off my recent post about glow ups. today i will be taking a closer look at 1h themes regarding glowing up.

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1h aries (1°, 13°, 25°), 1h mars, and/or mars aspecting asc

style

embrace boldness: strong, eye-catching styles. opt for tailored cuts, statement pieces, and/or vibrant colors like red, black, and/or deep maroon.

minimalist edge: minimalist outfits with sharp, clean lines work well. think structured blazers, fitted jeans, and sleek dresses.

athletic influences: bomber jackets, chunky sneakers, or athleisure pieces that combine comfort and power/strength.

statement accessories: leather belts, combat boots, and/or metallic jewelry.

beauty

defined features: use makeup to emphasize strong features, like sculpted cheekbones (contouring), bold brows, and/or a fierce cat-eye.

bold lip colors: reds and deep tones are perfect for making a statement.

effortless hair: low-maintenance but striking styles suit these people. try tousled waves, a slicked-back ponytail, and/or a pixie cut.

skincare for vibrancy: redness or sensitivity are common for this placement. incorporate calming, anti-inflammatory products (aloe vera, green tea, etc) while also enhancing your natural glow with gentle exfoliation.

body language & presence

command attention: walk with purpose and exude confidence in every movement.

strong posture: your body should radiates strength, so maintain good posture and carry yourself with self-assuredness.

active energy: use expressive gestures and/or physical activity to channel your energy into dynamic actions that captivate others.

mindset mantras

“my energy is magnetic."

"i am unstoppable.”

“i glow when i embrace my strength.”

1h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°), 1h mercury, and/or mercury aspecting asc

style

play with versatility: you are adaptable, so lean into styles that allow you to switch things up easily. opt for pieces that can be layered, mixed and matched, or dressed up or down. modular wardrobes and quirky accessories can also keep things fresh.

focus on youthful, playful vibes: embrace fun patterns, bright colors, or playful silhouettes. think cropped tops (careful if you in corporate - office sirens are a tiktok thing they not real lol), sneakers, and relaxed tailoring.

highlight the hands and arms: gemini rules the hands and arms, so accessories like rings, bracelets, and polished manicures draw attention to you. potentially experiment with finger tattoos (i would say only if mercury beneficially aspecting mars and pluto), colorful nail art, or layered bangles.

embrace intellectual elegance: incorporate "smart", polished touches, like well-fitted blazers, statement glasses, or minimalist yet clever jewelry.

beauty

fresh-faced makeup: aim for light, natural-looking makeup that emphasizes radiance. think glossy lips, dewy skin, and fluttery lashes. experiment with subtle eyeliner or shadow to create a playful but polished eye look.

experiment with hairstyles: don’t be afraid to try new cuts or colors. bangs, layers, or multidimensional highlights could add to your playful energy. accessories like barrettes, headbands, and/or clips can reflect your quick-changing vibe.

skin-care for a luminous look: focus on lightweight, hydrating products that enhance your natural glow without feeling heavy.

body language & presence

curiosity: you should aim for being naturally inquisitive and engaging. a warm smile (ugh hate telling people to smile more) and attentive posture amplify your charm.

express with your hands: use gestures when speaking to showcase your animated and captivating energy.

keep your energy light and flexible: you come alive in conversations and movement, so let your personality shine in how you interact with others.

mindset mantras

“i am curious and adaptable.”

“my versatility is my superpower.”

“my playfulness enhances my every look.”

1h libra (7°, 19°), 1h venus, and/or venus aspecting asc

style

classic elegance: timeless, sophisticated looks. aim for chic silhouettes, neutral tones, and soft fabrics like silk or cashmere. tailored blazers, flowy dresses, or polished trousers.

balance in outfits: libra thrives on symmetry and balance. counter balance proportions (i typically do fitted top with wide-leg pants as someone with this placement) and pair bold elements with subtle ones.

romantic details: incorporate feminine, romantic touches like lace, ruffles, and/or floral patterns. accessories like pearl earrings (my fav).

matching color theory / finding flattering colors: usually these people are in a soft palette. so pastels and harmonious shades like blush pink, light blue, or cream highlight your natural beauty.

stylish accessories: beauty is in the details. think statement jewelry, a chic handbag, or elegant shoes can complete your look.

beauty

glowing skin: prioritize your complexion via hydrating skincare. face mists, illuminating primers, and natural highlighters can give you that venusian glow.

perfecting your brow shape: symmetrical beauty is a libra venus and rising thing, so well-groomed, balanced brows enhance your natural beauty.

soft makeup: opt for soft, romantic looks: rosy blush, nude or pink lips, and neutral eyeshadow. slight winged eyeliner adds a touch of drama without being overpowering.

the art of hair: best suited in polished hairstyles. consider sleek ponytails, loose waves, or elegant buns. highlights or balayage in warm, subtle tones can add to your perceived sophistication.

body language & presence

charm: smile often (i hate when people tell me that) and project warmth. libra risings have a natural charisma that attracts others.

posture: a graceful, upright posture enhances your air of elegance. yoga or pilates can help develop this poise.

be approachable: your energy is diplomatic and magnetic, so lean into your ability to create harmony in social interactions.

mindset mantras

“i am the embodiment of beauty and grace."

“my elegance is effortless.”

“harmony begins within, and it radiates out.”

1h sagittarius (9°, 21°), 1h jupiter, and/or jupiter aspecting asc

style

go bold: embrace bold colors and lively patterns that reflect an adventurous spirit. flowing, luxurious fabrics like satin or silk mirror the abundance you bring.

elevate with elegance: invest in quality over quantity. timeless pieces, like tailored blazers or elegant dresses, will amplify your glow.

cultural inspiration: styles inspired by travel or cultural motifs (like patterns, jewelry, or textiles) resonate beautifully with this aspect. of course in a non-appropriative manner .

comfort is key: ensure your wardrobe blends style with comfort. think soft, flowing cuts or boho-chic aesthetics.

beauty

radiant skin: focus on achieving a healthy, radiant glow through skincare. hydration and nourishing products are essential.

bright and open makeup looks: go for makeup that enhances your natural warmth. think luminous foundation, bronzer for a sun-kissed look, and golden highlighter work well.

hair with movement: jupiter’s energy loves freedom, so hairstyles that are loose, flowing, or natural-looking (like waves or curls) suit you best.

body language & presence

confident posture: you have a natural charisma. stand tall and own your space to project confidence effortlessly.

engaging smile: let your smile be your signature. a genuine smile enhances your approachable energy.

generous energy: exude warmth by being present and enthusiastic when engaging with others.

mindset mantras

“my positivity is my greatest glow.”

“i radiate abundance and confidence.”

“growth and self-love are the foundations of my beauty.”

1h pisces (12°, 24°), 1h neptune, and/or neptune aspecting asc

style

dreamy, flowing silhouettes: soft, fluid clothing. opt for dresses, skirts, or tops with flowing, romantic designs. sheer or satin fabrics amplify this vibe.

whimsical details: lace, embroidery, or shimmery accents add a touch of magic to your look. layering pieces like shawls or cardigans can evoke a dreamy, layered aesthetic.

soft colors: pastel shades, muted tones, or oceanic hues like lavender, pale blue, seafoam green, and silver.

beauty

luminous skin: enhance a natural glow. use hydrating skincare and dewy makeup products, like liquid highlighters or illuminating primers.

soft, diffused makeup: focus on dreamy, blended looks. think soft, smoky eyes, blush with a watercolor effect, and sheer lip glosses.

hair with flow: loose waves, soft curls, or tousled styles. hair accessories, like pearl clips or headbands, add a whimsical touch.

body language & presence

graceful movements: move with calmness and fluidity. practices like yoga or dance can enhance your poise.

mystical energy: lean into your mysterious vibe by being introspective and allowing your presence to speak louder than words.

soft gaze: your eyes are likely a standout feature. enhance your connection with others through warm, soulful eye contact.

mindset mantra

"i radiate beauty and grace effortlessly.”

"my creativity is my greatest assets.”

“i glow when i align with my inner magic."

1h ruler in the 4h

style

comfort meets elegance: blend cozy and chic. think knitwear, flowy fabrics, and soft layers that make you feel at ease yet polished. fabrics like cotton, linen, and cashmere resonate with the homey yet refined vibe they should aim for.

heritage-inspired looks: incorporate cultural or familial influences into your style, like heirloom jewelry, vintage pieces, and/or traditional patterns.

neutral/earthy tones: soft, calming colors like beige, cream, sage green, or light blues create a harmonious, approachable aesthetic.

classic, timeless staples: opt for timeless pieces that feel like a second skin, like well-fitted jeans, crisp shirts, and/or a versatile trench coat.

beauty

natural glow: emphasize a fresh, radiant complexion. focus on nourishing skincare and light, dewy makeup that enhances your natural features.

relaxed hair styles: loose waves, soft braids, and/or simple updos work well; they reflect their easygoing, comforting energy.

soothing beauty rituals: prioritize self-care routines at home, like face masks, at home manicures, or aromatherapy.

body language & presence

grounded confidence: project a calm, steady presence that reflects your inner security.

emotional connection: share your personal story or background when appropriate - it can make your presence more relatable and magnetic.

warm, inviting energy: your glow-up is amplified when you make others feel at home around you.

mindset mantras

“my glow begins from within.”

“i balance comfort and beauty effortlessly.”

“when i feel at home in myself, my light shines everywhere.”

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[1800titz]

The vacay piece I teased ages ago. One night stand :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, oral, brief size kink (if you squint), praise kink, this one’s p vanilla.

WC: 2.5K

It starts like this:

A bohemian beach with a high riding tide, where ripples surge and flood the shore. Sand tears from its home, coasting the verge in the breeze like a fog under the overcast, and when the clouds split open, the rays hug her skin. 

She’s sprawled over a chaise lounge in a little red thing that’s all skimp and no cover besides the intimates. When she rolls onto her side and tips to her tummy, he eyes the flash of skin behind dark tint. His arms brace over the porcelain border of the pool that overlooks the beach up ahead — he’s watchful from a distance. Someone swims up to the bar behind him. Chlorine laps at his back, teeming over the grout between the tiles as he wraps his lips over a straw and nurses something cobalt and strong.

By the time he culls a second one, she’s up, all glistening skin in the sunshine, hips swaying as her toes make doughy prints in the sand. She trails to the sea, and the ocean eats her until she’s just a little silhouette in front of his sunglasses with water-slicked hair and lines that cinch and swell in all the right places. 

He sees her like that, outlying his bubble, in brief pieces like the flashes of skin. Fragments in the horizon, like the border of a stranger’s leg in the background of a photograph. He sees her in slivers where eyes interlock from across the room and linger. This bohemian summer is painted in teal, and it’s waves swathing the coast, warm skin coated in cocoa butter. 

It ends on a night where the teal metamorphose indigo, and then nearly denim, with orange on cords, glinting like miniaturized, splintered orbs of the sun have been caught to glare forever on strings in the night. Harry sees her through that indigo, this stranger’s bare leg waltzing in the depths of his touristy snapshot, mingling in the dancing horde. He trails closer, shouldering through the throng and squeezing through in polite gaps, and she twists like it’s fate — just enough to smuggle a glimpse in her peripherals. 

Eventually, Harry leans in to murmur, “What are you drinking?”

The plush of his mouth ghosts over the cartilage there, and his cadence smooths over like honey, low and deep over the pounding bass of the music. Waned tobacco and spice; a warm, pleasant musk in the flurry of scents. 

She doesn’t immediately respond, observant like she’s weighing whether the invitation is worth entertaining. It only takes a second. Then, there’s a hand over his pec, like she’s already made friends with the filth of his intentions. His red-lycra-skimp mystique rolls up on her toes. 

Harry twists his head just enough for her to respond, “It’s a Blue Lagoon.” 

Saccharine — rich and lux and smooth, something that has her skin glowy and sweeps up her throat, tucks behind her ear, enough so that the scent billows off with the motion of her hair as she flips it over her shoulder. 

Harry casts his gaze to the drink. A red straw is tucked into the ice, and the only remnants of the beverage mingle at the bottom. The ice shimmers in faded teal, much like water sloshing over the flat tides. Her fingers cradle over the cup, and that’s where soft, thin lines of gold coil. Despite the broad array, there’s no wedding band. 

“Can I grab you another?” 

That’s when she does the thing; this patently flirtatious, brazenly get-under-my-crocheted-midi-skirt sort of thing, lashes coy in their sweep and eyes innocuous as the tips of her manicured fingers pinch at the straw and siphon it to her mouth. There’s an elegant presentation to the polish — neat, short lines with a nude base and a white tip. 

The remnants of the beverage vanish until all that’s left is crushed ice painted with blue curaçao. Harry watches the straw. He watches her lips, the way they unlatch and the way the pink tip of her tongue offers a glimpse before it hides away behind her front teeth. 

When she pulls the drink away, she tips her head — an inclination for his ear again — and when he ducks his chin for her answer, she tells him, “Can you make it worth my time?” 

A tongue swipes — his — like it’s already hungry and yearning. Dimples form beside the curling edges of a mouth after the pink muscle retreats. Home in its hungry cavern; limitlessly craving. He doesn’t bother going for her ear again, instead opting to fix eyes that have wandered, all week, onto her face. Definitive, close. Mesh of saccharine and spice. 

“I’ll make it worth your time,” Harry assures. 

His eyes are virid, even in the indigo, under all the miniature suns as the lanterns throw them back into a roll of blue — it climbs over the crowd and seeps with the music. They’re virid and intent. They’re virid, and there’s something lewd that dances in the mottled talc. 

She watches him. A set of eyes flits to his mouth and stays, brief like a fragment. She nudges the cup — the fragment splinters and fades — extending it against his chest until he raises his hand and his ring clad digits curl over it slowly, wet with condensation. 

“Blue Lagoon,” sweet mystique reminds him, a little curl to her mouth. 

Harry heads to the bar. He orders a Blue Lagoon and refreshes his tequila. Double. He winds through the half-clad crowd, prodding and slipping through sweat-slicked bodies until he finds her again. 

He makes it worth her while when they’re dancing, when her arms are slung over his shoulders and the tips of her fingers graze at the little curls at his nape, like an intimacy beyond a summer fling, or maybe like a restless hunger — its touches only test the waters with dips of toes under lapping ripples. He makes it worth her while when his hand cups the meat of her hip, and she tips her head up for their mouths to meet, when their dancing slows and the kiss turns feverish, cushiony mouths teasing at the seams until they split. 

He makes it worth her time when they make the stroll back to his room, heels clicking over tile and bouncing off from lofty wall to lofty wall, a good bit of distance between them strictly for the sake of avoiding shagging in the middle of a hallway. He makes it worth her while when he braces his wrist band to the lock over the door, when she’s leant against the wall with her irises lingering on him and her lashes batting coyly. She’s well-behaved, hands tucked behind her back like a combat to handsy temptation. 

It’s a different story behind the door. 

He makes it worth her while when her fingers toy at her crocheted halter, index perusing at the fabric below cleavage and brushing over chalky yarn. He makes it worth her time when he steps into her space all slow-like, face tipped down and the pink below his cupid’s bow worked into a soft curve, lengthy, deft digits working over the buttons of his shirt. An untamed tendril teases over one of his brows. Her hands meander from fondling at her own tits, at rogue pieces of yarn in the stitches, to straying up his ink-etched forearms. That’s when he lets her take over the work, when his arms snake over the vale of her waist. When his colossal hands cup lower, when he nudges forward and their mouths brush again. He licks into her mouth and rolls into the gap between her teeth.

Filthy kisses are shrouded behind closed doors, even in the easy ambience of a resort. Furlough on the greedy pursuit of pleasure, on some secluded island with crystalline waters, plus tequila — that’s practically a petri dish for hook up culture. But filthy kisses are saved for the bedroom, and there it’s taste buds doused in citrus limon and gray goose, a tip of a tongue swiping along a row of teeth, basking in the ridges. 

“What do you like, little minx?” Harry murmurs. He climbs the column of her throat with the ruddy border of a hungry cavern, and her pulse murmurs back under his mouth. “Hm?” 

The blunt tip of his forefinger traces her collarbone, follows a line of cleavage, toys at the cinch in her top; unravels her. It splits down the center, and the straps follow limply down her shoulders. Harry pinches a nipple and scrapes his teeth over her neck, humming again. 

Behind closed doors, his red-lycra-mystique (bare, her tits are bare now, in the backdrop of his picture) gets denuded to flesh when she shimmies the dress down her hips. He helps her and then tears his own shirt over his head. It’s hasty, like disrobing takes too much time from a place where time moves slower, riding the water in leisure. Harry still doesn’t know her name, and she slips to her knees, batting her lashes, and takes his buckle apart like unslotting puts the last of the puzzle pieces together. 

When her tongue rides under the ridge of his tip, delving and dragging over the prominent vein jutting on the underside of his shaft, he cranes his neck back and makes a sound like she’s torn into his chest with the tips of her french-polished manicure. He punctuates every pornographic, wet sound with dialogue.

“Christ, you’re a dream.” 

“Fuck, you’re pretty with cock in your mouth.” 

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that, sweetheart.” 

“—Y/N,” red-lycra-mystique supplies, gaze bouncing from the twist of her wrists at his base to his face, and then sweeps his bubbling head over her bottom lip and swallows him down halfway. 

“Y/N,” Harry mirrors, tone bathed in the same sweetness she radiates at his feet. 

And then she trails the very tips of her blunt nails up his sac, and the shiver that rolls up his spine short-circuits every feasible attempt of formulating something in english. Just… gone. Something splinters. 

Harry doesn’t cum all over her tongue, despite the pretty mental image he’d cherish of Y/N on her knees with ribbons of silky white coating the insides of her mouth. He thinks about the way he’d dip the pad of his thumb against her tongue, the way he’d stir and scrub it in. He thinks about her lips latching and her cheeks hollowing. 

He’s got immense willpower, particularly when she takes him all the way down until her nose nearly brushes the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair the tributary of his happy trail pools into. Because then, she pulls off, chin sloppy with saliva, mouth wide, and stares up at him with this wickedly indelicate curl to the corners of her mouth as she gasps in breaths. Like she wants him to. 

Instead, they make it to the bed. He splits her thighs with his palms and spits where she’s puffy and warm, leaky with longing, toying at the seam of her hole with his digits. Smooths the wetness with his thumb when he tucks two fingers in and laves his tongue at the crease between her inner thigh and her cunt. He bumps her clit with the tip and rolls, and her spine arches like the highest point of her torso peaks at the clouds of nirvana. 

“You’re a good girl,” Harry tells her, and his voice is so soft, like he’s reassuring an animal that’s backed itself into a corner, “Want you to drench my face.” 

And she does, because when he holds a placid, unwavering hand out and talks her so sweetly, lips suckling in a vacuumed ‘o’ between her thighs, what can she do besides roll her hips against his mouth in little, desperate juts, face creased before bliss spumes through every major artery.

When Harry sits back, his chin is sticky, glinting in the buttery cast of the lanterns drilled into the ceiling. He kisses her again until her jaw is stained with her own slick, and despite the entire basis of a one night stand, his tongue meddles into her mouth with the same passion of a man carving a piece of her open. A cozy lacuna just for him in the depths of her chest, something that’ll linger and yearn. A hungry chasm that’ll grumble when her cunt pulses — when he’s not there to fill it. She’ll think of him; a stranger’s leg flitting like a passing speck in the background of her photograph. 

Y/N’s cunt hugs him like it can’t get enough. 

Eventually. 

Because at first, it’s: too big, won’t fit, pleated brows when he’d split her spongy walls apart on the latex-coated tip, stretching to tuck in and hovering to imbibe in miniature ticks of her expression. A twitch in her lashes, a shift in the line of her mouth, a little swallow bobbing down the column of her throat. 

“You’re a good girl,” he’d crooned, smoothing a thumb over a rib and then her clit, just to see her squirm more over his cock. 

Eventually, she clambers over his lap, planting her palms back over inky, firm muscle. It’s leverage as she bounces to fill that starving cavity — the one he’d drilled with his tongue, like the shape of him can fill every square inch of space before they never see each other again. Hungry, hungry, hungry. 

“Come on, baby, come on,” Harry coaxes, a low groan mottled with breathy pants, “—Shit.” 

Momentarily, he pauses the guiding grasp he’s got over her hips to drag the pad of his thumb over his tongue lewdly, smearing spit over the digit and swiping circles over her clit, instead. In response, the rolling pace Y/N has set stutters, knees jolting, and her mussed hair spills off her shoulder as she cranes her neck back. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, yes, yes—“

His eyes flit from her cunt to the ethereal line of her neck, the borders of her shoulders, the shape of her tits bouncing. 

Ultimately, of course, his gaze winds back down to ogle where they connect, because that’s the view — that’s where she swallows his cock, thighs splayed and trembling, gliding from the tip until about midway before rising and repeating the cycle. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. He draws his thumb lower, lets it meddle where they merge, where her hole flutters and rolls over him, gleaning the sticky arousal that coats his shaft and bringing the pad of it back to her clit. His eyes linger. Flicker up. Return to watch her ride and nearly roll back into his head. 

He’s carved the void, and later, when she tips forward and her nails scrape over his pecs, feral, she whittles her own. Later, the space between his thighs aches and heats. Something pulses on the underside of his balls. It yearns for blue curaçao, pellucid, crashing waters, and a skimpy red bikini. 

[thefemigirl]

★ Dress Expensive Tips

Let me tell you about something that’s completely changed the way I approach getting dressed: learning how to create an elegant, elevated look—without blowing my budget.

Turns out, you don’t need a closet full of designer pieces to look (and feel) like the best version of yourself. It’s all about working with what you’ve got, adding a few chic investments, and a dash of creativity.

▸ Find Your Shape

Choosing silhouettes that flatter your body makes any outfit look intentional.

Experiment with different cuts (like wide-leg pants vs. skinny jeans) to see which shape brings out your confidence. A quick mirror check can reveal if a piece truly complements you.

▸ Discover Your Colours

Neutrals are classic, but the right pop of color can bring you to life.

Notice which hues make your complexion glow—try pastels, jewel tones, or soft neutrals. If you’re not sure, look for style inspo from people with similar skin tones and test-drive their palette. Using ▹ Pinterest ◃ can be very helpful!

▸ Accessorise with Intention

A few well-chosen pieces can completely transform a basic outfit.

Invest in simple, high-quality everyday jewellery (like gold hoops or a delicate necklace). For statement occasions, add eye-catching pieces—think drop earrings or layered bracelets.

▸ Make the Bag Count

Your purse can be the perfect accent or a major distraction.

Have a reliable everyday bag that’s very good quality. For special outings, grab a fun, budget-friendly statement bag that pops without clashing with your outfit.

▸ Elevate Your Shoes

Footwear can make or break your look in seconds.

Swap casual flip-flops for a sleek flat or kitten heel. If you prefer sneakers, pick a simple, versatile style that doesn’t overpower the outfit.

▸ Tailor and Iron

Wrinkles and poor fit can dull even the prettiest pieces.

Iron or steam your clothes to keep them looking fresh. And if something doesn’t fit quite right, consider tailoring (or learning some basic sewing skills) to make it your own.

▸ Build a Strong Foundation

Basics aren’t boring—they’re the backbone of a versatile wardrobe.

Stock up on neutral tops, flattering jeans, and a few layering pieces. Mix and match these staples with your statement items for endless outfit combos.

Looking elegant is about knowing your body, playing with colour, and being thoughtful with how you style every piece. Your wardrobe should celebrate you—every curve, every shade, and every bit of your beautiful personality.

Sending you so much love on finding your next outfits,

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: Things will start to get interesting now, let me know your thoughts. <3

Word count: 4,9k

Masterlist | Previous chapter (prologue)

You breathed in deeply, closing your eyes and leaning your head back with both arms open lazily beside your body, wind flowing quickly in between your fingers. The skies were clear, morning sunlight reflecting against ashen blue scales as your dragon's wings stretched to their full size.

Dancing and gliding in between clouds, the sky was yours.

As you opened your eyes, you were greeted with a sight that would always leave you breathless, no matter how many times you'd be privileged to witness it. The lands below seemed small, castles, houses, and fields afar dwarfed by how far up you were flying. You could see beyond walls and mountains, as far as the horizon allowed. The back of your dragon's head stretched forward in a relaxed manner, seemingly taking in the view just as much as you; the patch of fur in between her long grey horns flew and flowed with the strong breeze.

You reached your arm past your saddle, the palm of your hand laying flat against her warm scales in a loving caress. She cooed, a low groan coming from the back of her throat as she turned her head slightly so her deep blue eyes met yours for only a moment. You smiled. Khamira had grown to be just as big as Meleys, she was all raw power and formidable wildness, and yet, ever so gentle in your hands.

It would never cease to amaze you, how a beast as strong and majestic as a dragon—wings and legs supported by pure muscle, teeth and horns as sharp as daggers, and fire as hot as the hells—could at the same time be this graceful, this agile, and elegant.

Her wings swished with precision, creating ripples in the clouds as if painting a canvas; her long tail kept her body straight and balanced; multiple shades of dark and pale blue shone under the sunlight with each movement of her body. She was poetry in motion, carrying you through the morning sky on her back.

The feeling, the pleasure, of riding on dragonback was incomparable; a mixture of being invincible, untouchable, and yet completely at peace.

You leaned forward at last, uttering a soft command for her to pick up speed and the adrenaline was quick to kiss your cheeks in the form of a heavy wind. Your dragon bomb-dived suddenly, bringing her wings close to her body and her muzzle downwards. An ecstatic laugh escaped your lips as you felt the power of her body moving beneath you, taking you through the air.

She only opened her wings again when you were short of hitting the roof of a tall church, returning to a steady height as you flew fast above King's Landing. The dragon addicted to the rush just as much as you.

If people looked up, they would see nothing but a flash of blue, the silhouette of massive wings and a long tail vanishing just as fast as it came.

For the first time in seven years, you were finally heading back to the Red Keep. Vaemond had called into question Luke's legitimacy of birth, as he was to be Driftmark's heir, prompting you and your family to meet him for the discussion in King's Landing. While the rest of your family came by ship, you chose to ride over on dragonback and meet them there. The swaying of a ship on the ocean's water could make you nauseous, but flying in between clouds always cleared your head and filled your lungs with the fresh air of unabashed freedom.

After bidding goodbye to your loyal dragon as she was guided into the Dragonpit to rest, a carriage took you to the main gates of the Keep. The guards welcomed you with salutes and curtsies, something you were yet to get used to, even with being born into the royal family.

You were headed to the doors of the castle when they were pushed open by an older, bald man. He walked up to you and bowed his head. "Welcome home, my lady. Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra are already inside, they've gone to speak with the King."

Greeting him back with a nod, you smiled softly; "Thank you..." You dragged the word, raking your head to remember who exactly this was.

"Caswell, my lady," he kindly finished for you.

"Thank you, Lord Caswell."

The castle itself was still as grand and majestic as you remembered it to be, in some ways it didn't even feel like the last time you were here was so many years ago. The torches flickered softly along the grand hallways, casting a warm, golden glow on the stone walls as you walked aimlessly. Although you already had a designed room for your stay here, you refrained from changing out of your riding clothes, choosing to stay in black breeches and a long overcoat rather than a silken dress.

You eventually got hold of Jace and Luke who were also wandering about the castle and reminiscing on their childhood here. Despite your differences and disagreements during early childhood, you'd grown closer with both boys during your time at Dragonstone. Quickly enough, between dragon rides at sunset and playing together day in and day out, they became almost like brothers to you.

"It's so cool to be back here," Luke spoke, excitedly walking ahead of you and Jace, "I wonder why we haven't visited more."

"You know why, Luke," Jace raised a brow, his voice holding a smidge of warning to it. "It's not like we parted on the best of terms."

Immediately you knew what he was talking about. You recalled it as if it had been yesterday. Laena's funeral, the commotion in the dead of night, the red of blood, stitches piercing the skin of the prince who'd lost an eye. Your heart sped up then, hands feeling clammy and cold at the same time.

Aemond. He'd be here too, surely. It's been far too long since you've seen him, yet not long enough for you to stop counting the years. Part of you wondered if he did so too.

Something like guilt started weighing down on your stomach, because there had been letters exchanged over the years, mostly holding empty promises that you'd see each other again soon. A young hope that was snuffed out as you got older and wiser; it never happened, it was out of your reach. And for many seasons now, there had been no letters at all. You weren't sure who stopped first, there just came a day when you knew not to send another letter his way, because you wouldn't be getting any back either.

"Why don't we check out the training yard?" You suggested with a grin, "To remember the times when I kicked your butts there." With a giggle, you pushed Jace's shoulder halfheartedly.

"Hey, hey, I don't remember any of that," Jace countered, holding back a smile of his own, whilst Luke was already chuckling with a hand over his mouth.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

The sound of swords clashing was already loud and sharp as you descended the stairs to the training yard; many people were there, some sparring with each other as others watched and clapped and gossiped.

"Looks smaller than I remembered," Luke commented as he glanced around.

"It looks exactly the same," Jace concluded, skipping the last few steps of the stairs and landing on the gravel grounds of the yard. "Come on, you two."

The older of the brothers ran forth to check a dent in the stone walls, a mark of their old training days here. You, on the other hand, stopped to check out the weapons displayed for choice on the tables; maces, morningstars, swords, and daggers.

A faint smile came to your lips. The smell of smoke and sweat, the clash of metal, the grunts and cheering of the soldiers—it all reminded you of cherished memories. Firstly, of the first lessons your father had ever given you, sword all too big and heavy in your small hands, you were only five, yet he insisted that regardless if you were a boy or girl, you should learn how to fight; you still remember the first time you were finally able to best him in combat, you were ten, it took you five years but you had done it; Daemon smiled the biggest on that day, telling everyone how his daughter was a born fighter. And secondly, came the memory of your sparring sessions with Aemond when you were young, he'd refused to put up a fight in the beginning, afraid he'd hurt you; but he started to give you a fair fight when you'd bested him the second time around; you still remember how he'd run around the castle, searching for you and then holding onto your hand to lead you to the training yard, "You're too slow," he used to say with a smile, "If I don't drag you around we won't be there on time."

Part of you wished those moments were infinite.

By the time your mind returned to the present, Luke and Jace had joined you. Jace began picking up the weapons on the table with an excited grin; yet Luke seemed on edge, glancing around himself and at the piercing gazes on your backs from the people here. You felt it too, the judgment and the whispers.

"What's wrong, Luke?" You asked, one hand reaching up to touch his arm comfortingly.

The boy furrowed his brows in discomfort, head hanging low. "Everyone's staring at us."

A soft grimace passed over your features as you tilted your head at him, eyes glinting with silent understanding. In part, you knew what he was feeling, you'd received your fair share of odd glances when at court as well; you were a royal prince's daughter yet had hair in the shade of the warmest grey that almost resembled brown in certain lights, and eyes as dark as the night sky, so of course, people would talk.

"No one would question me being heir to Driftmark," Luke spoke, his tone a mix of frustrated and defeated as he still avoided your gaze, "If... if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon, than Ser Harwin Strong."

"It doesn't matter what they think," Jace at last spoke up, ducking his head to meet his brother's eyes.

"He's right, Luke," you reassured, "Don't mind them."

A sudden crash of something heavy hitting a wooden shield caught your attention then, and all three of you turned around to watch as a small crowd gathered around two people sparring. Luke and Jace ran toward it to watch, so you followed close behind, squeezing yourself past and between a few people so you didn't have to stand on your tiptoes to catch glimpses of the fight.

One of the two you recognized almost instantly, Ser Criston Cole, you had never particularly been too fond of him. The other, who still had his back to you, you hadn't recognized, even if there was something familiar about the way he moved. His long silver hair bounced over his shoulders as he dodged Cole's attacks quite expertly; his movements swift, calculated, and still somehow elegant. The shield held by the mysterious man broke and he threw it aside without a second thought, going in for another attack. The sword cut through the air, Cole's morningstar slammed into the ground, and finally, the silver-haired man turned in your direction.

A teasing grin and an eyepatch framed the sharp features of the young man, his single bright eye glinting under the hazy sunlight as he held the sword with a firm grip, ready for another attack.

You felt as if all air suddenly left your lungs and refused to come back, your lips hanging open as your gaze was all but locked onto him. Aemond. You'd recognize him anywhere, in any lifetime, you feared. He looked so different yet somehow still the same; his hair was much longer, features older and sharper as he'd grown over the years; his harsh scar, you noticed, was now fully healed, and yet still evident as a reminder of the fateful night he'd claimed Vhagar and lost his eye; but his smile seemed to be the same you were used to, that mischievous tilt of lips he'd wear against his opponents.

A smile of your own began to stretch your lips and you took half a step toward him before stopping yourself, your heart beat painfully against your ribs and in your ears, bringing a nearly nauseous twist to your guts. It felt as if your body had trouble picking an emotion upon seeing Aemond again after all these years.

You'd wished, prayed even, for the day you'd finally be able to meet one of your best friends again; the lonely, outcast boy you had grown so fond of over the course of mere months. The one you had shared most of your afternoons in the Red Keep with, the one who'd steal you away to the library to share tales of the old dragons. Yet seeing him now, after so many seasons of pure silence, you had no idea where you stood with him.

The fight ended with Aemond holding the sharp end of his sword against Cole's neck, staring him down as a dragon would with its prey.

"Well done, my prince," Ser Criston spoke, rather breathless from the exertion, "You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about tourneys," Aemond answered back without pause, his tone filled with finality and eye holding a piercing stare. "My lady," he said then, voice just a tad softer, whether he meant for it or not. Twisting the hilt in his hand, Aemond lowered his sword, his gaze now landing on you. "Have you come to train?"

You were unable to hold back a small gasp as he addressed you so directly. Your whole body tensed up, part of you wanted to answer yet any and all words were completely tangled in your tongue. You could faintly feel Jace's hand on your shoulder yet you barely registered the touch, unable to tear your eyes away from Aemond. And he held your gaze with his unwavering one, almost challenging you to break the connection.

It felt all kinds of wrong, for this to be your reunion and first words to each other after so long, for Aemond's words and gaze to be this... cold. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

You were saved by the sudden opening of the heavy doors of the gate behind you. Soldiers marched through with proud strides as they escorted Vaemond Velaryon into the castle.

Even as you turned around to watch their entrance, you could feel how Aemond's gaze didn't leave you even for a moment.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

A storm raged outside during your first night back in the Keep, you didn't sleep much, tossing and turning in bed and pacing around the spacious room they'd given you. Part of you almost wanted to step outside into the dark hallways of the castle and head to Aemond's room. It would be improper of you, but that's not why you did not go.

When the morrow came at last with the sun rising on the horizon of King's Landing, it was time to head into the throne room to discuss what you had come here for, the succession of Driftmark.

A small crowd of lords and ladies had already gathered in the large room, with Otto Hightower standing before the grim Iron Throne. The image of the seat of swords, being highlighted by the sunlight coming through the tall windows, would always make a shiver run down your spine.

You walked in with steady steps, sensing a few eyes land on you as you smoothed the fabric of your dress—hardly your preferred choice of attire, but Rhaenyra might just have your head if you showed up in your riding clothes. She, her sons, and your father were already here as well.

Daemon spotted you from the corner of his eyes, he squeezed Rhaenyra's hand once before stepping away from her to walk toward you.

"Father," you spoke in a low voice when he met you halfway. Over his shoulder, you caught sight of Aemond, who stood near the Iron Throne with his family; for a small moment, you held his gaze, even if you couldn't possibly read it.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up," Daemon raised his brows at you, a rather amused grin playing on his lips.

"Oh, you know me," you chuckled quietly, shrugging your shoulders as you continued walking to where Rhaenyra waited, "I wouldn't miss court drama for anything."

Daemon snorted, uncaring if his laugh would attract the attention of the nearby lords, "Yeah, tell me about it." He brought a hand up to rest between your shoulder blades, guiding you through the remaining steps. "It's like they look for reasons to break any resemblance of peace we might have."

You hummed at his words, biting back a laugh of your own, "Se iēdrosa, Rhaenyra ivestretan nyke ao gaomagon naejot mōris se lyks aōla gō īlen āzma." ('And yet, Rhaenyra tells me you used to raise quite the trouble yourself before I was born.')

"Kessa, sȳrī, īlen drējī tolī kirimves skori paktot zirȳ, mērī." Daemon defended halfheartedly. ('Yes, well, I was admittedly more fun than these people, at least.')

"Hen rhinka," you mumbled, stopping beside Rhaenyra and greeting her with a warm smile. ('Of course')

From the other side of the room, the one-eyed prince watched. He'd kept his eye fixed on you as soon as you stepped through the throne room doors. His hands clasped behind his back tightened their grip with each step you took. And for each of your steps, his heart beat twice as hard, heavy and hurting for an escape.

It was true that you had grown into a stunning young woman over the years; enticing curves, soft hair falling over your shoulders, freckles still dusting your cheeks and nose, delicate hands holding onto the fabric of your dress. Many gazes turned your way whenever you walked into a room, it came as no surprise to Aemond, even if it bothered him.

And yet it wasn't just that, no; he could see so far beyond, that same spark in your eyes lingered, the one he'd see each time he'd ask you to tell him the story of how you found your dragon; that same smile that was so contagious still had the same sway to it; your mere presence still made his heart race and hands itch to touch you, as it always did.

Aemond thought, perhaps wished, he would have forgotten all about you over the years. You had abandoned him, after all. You had abandoned him, maybe at a time when he needed you the most. His only friend, and you never came back.

The prince had waited, for nights and days on end, he'd stare out the windows to the horizon and past the sea, hoping with all he had that one day he'd spot the blue hue of your dragon's scales in the distance. And he knew he'd cry, and run to you, and hold you close no matter who was watching. But it never happened, you never came. And the years kept on going by, years of which he kept a close count. By year three, he decided he wouldn't feel within the right to hug you anymore. By year four, he decided he wouldn't cry anymore. By year six, he decided it would be best you didn't come back anymore.

Alas, perhaps he could have gone to you. But he hesitated, he knew he wouldn't be welcomed in Dragonstone; and after a few years went by, as much as Aemond would never admit it, he lacked the courage to go after you. In the most fragile parts of his heart, he feared you'd react as all ladies of the court did when they looked at him; with wide-eyed gazes and poorly concealed whispers about his ugly scar and 'off-putting demeanor', as they'd say.

Yet he had missed you, oh he missed you. In a way that he'd walk into every room hoping to find you there. And now, it finally happened. You came back to King's Landing, but you didn't come back for him.

Aemond watched as you walked into the room, your father meeting you halfway and guiding you to your family. The prince felt a tightness build in his throat, he tried to gulp it back, squaring his shoulders. Even after all these years, all it took was one look at you, and Aemond's resolve crumbled. All his attempts at putting you behind him were suddenly futile, if the speed at which his heart was racing was any indication.

Yesterday, when Aemond spotted you in the small crowd of the training yard, he nearly lost his balance, nearly lost the fight. Seeing you again after so long brought an onslaught of confusing feelings to his chest—one of them being petty bitterness, perhaps even betrayal, despite not having the right to feel so, for seeing you stand beside Jace and Luke so amicably—he hardly knew what to think or do; all he knew was that he was angry that you'd abandoned him. Or perhaps just hurt, but broken things tend to have sharp edges.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You held back a scream as the severed head of Vaemond Velaryon fell from his body, staining the floor of the throne room with deep crimson blood. Your father had unceremoniously beheaded the Velaryon knight after he accused Rhaenyra's sons of being bastards. You watched the gruesome scene with wide eyes, goosebumps on your skin, and a hand clasped over your mouth.

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower screamed to the guards, who readily took to their weapons and surrounded Daemon.

"No need," the Rogue Prince uttered all too calmly, cleaning the blood off the blade of his sword with the hem of his clothing. He then extended said sword to you, without bothering to look in your direction.

You hesitated for only a second before taking Dark Sister from him, and once you did so, Daemon raised both hands in surrender; yet a smug smirk still played on his lips.

You held tight onto the hilt of his sword, until your knuckles turned white, watching as the room filled with fearful whispers and terrified gazes of everyone around you. All eyes were seemingly glued to the pool of blood on the floor that only got larger by the second.

"We are done here," Viserys spoke with finality to the best of his ability, before falling back on his throne as the pain of his wounds filled his decaying body.

Slowly and hesitantly, people began leaving the room, a certain eeriness lingered in the air. From afar, you met your father's gaze, and he simply gave you a curt nod, which meant you'd be giving him his sword back in private, later. He'd told you once; "People don't usually fear women with swords, even if they should. Therein lies your advantage."

Beside the Iron Throne, a few steps away from you, Alicent ran to help her husband, Aegon followed after the guards who began removing the lifeless body, Helaena skipped to the main doors with her hands covering her ears, and Aemond... Aemond had his eye burning a hole in the back of your head.

You would be able to feel the weight of his gaze on you from a mile away, you had been feeling it since you took the first step into this room. Part of you hoped he'd have come to you already, you weren't sure what you were expecting exactly, but so far the words he'd spoken to you in the training yard had been the only ones he'd spoken at all. And you were starting to think that, if you didn't go to him, you'd remain forever far apart.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, and then another, and one more, tapping the hilt of Dark Sister with your pointer finger until you built up the courage or until your palms grew sweaty. A sorrowful feeling still lingered deep within your chest, because this was Aemond, the same Aemond you spent nearly entire days with during your childhood, be it training together, sharing stories, or hiding away in the library. You shouldn't be feeling hesitant to face him.

It felt almost as if he had been waiting for you, because as soon as you turned around to face him, Aemond raised his chin a tad, blinking slowly as he watched you walk over to him.

All you could hear was the beating of your heart as you came to stop in front of him, holding tight onto the sword in your hands, its end resting on the floor as you kept it between you and him. "Hello... Aemond." It was the best you could do, voice still too unsure for your liking.

For a moment, Aemond seemed to be hesitating just as much as you. His eye flicked with an emotion you couldn't name, but it was quick and gone as soon as it came. "My lady."

The formality felt wrong and unwanted, like taking a thousand steps backward from what you had once been to each other. Your lips parted but you didn't quite know what to say, so for a moment, you just looked at him, at the new him. The long hair fell over his shoulders, eyepatch covering the deep scar, his perfectly straight posture, and tense shoulders. You saw then, that there was an undeniable wall between you, that Aemond had his guard up and was keeping you at a safe, far distance. It hurt, more than you had the right to feel.

"I'm- It's good to see you again," you stumbled over the words, trying a smile.

Aemond hummed, giving you an almost imperceptible nod in return. For long beats, that was all. He refused to look you in the eyes. "It's been a long time," he chose to say eventually, voice devoid of too much emotion.

Distantly, you felt the back of your eyes burn. "Seven years," you said in nothing but a whisper, as if you could only admit the unfairness of it at a certain decibel level.

"And four months," Aemond finished, his voice just a tad tighter and strained, breath running shallow as he strived to keep his face impassive.

His words took you by surprise, you couldn't help the way your lips parted and the way your heartbeat quickened. He'd kept count, too.

Aemond pursed his lips with something resembling a small pout, he glanced at you briefly as he slowly started walking towards the doors of the throne room, silently beckoning you to follow, his hands still tightly clasped behind his back.

You kept at his side, choosing your words carefully; "I hope... you've been faring well, my prince?"

A low hum came from Aemond again, "As well as a half blind man can be, yes." He stole another glance at you, feeling his heart swell at the fact you'd kept in mind to stay on his good eye's side. "I assume your time at Dragonstone has been a most joyful one?"

You caught the bite at his words then, the concealed hurt. A sigh fell past your lips, the sound of Valyrian steel against stone each time you took a step and tapped Dark Sister on the floors now becoming sharp and loud, as the room was empty, save for you and Aemond. "It was, at times, yes. But I also missed the liveliness of the Keep... on most days." I missed you, you refrained from saying.

Another hum, another beat of silence, as you neared the doors. "I hear you came on dragonback." Aemond observed.

A small smile tugged at your lips; "I did. I've always favored the skies over the seas."

If you looked at Aemond, you'd see him mimicking your soft smile for once. "On that we agree."

Once you reached the main entrance, Aemond stopped, and you had a feeling that regardless of which way you were headed, he'd be going the opposite direction.

He held his stance, chin high, shoulders tensed, hands behind his back. His breath ran shallow and shaky, however, hanging on by a thread under the weight and warmth of your presence; so close.

And you looked up at him, with big and vulnerable eyes. Part of Aemond had always admired how you had a habit of wearing your heart on your sleeve. And he was well aware that if he held your gaze much longer, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together.

"I will see you again soon then, my prince." You spoke with a tight lipped smile.

Yet what were simple words to you, brought back the memories of the last time you'd promised to see him soon, and instead left him alone for seven years. Aemond's sight grew blurry at the edges, and before you could see the tears collecting in the bottom lid of his eye, he cleared his throat and made his way around you.

You watched, with a heavy heart, as he walked away from you, one hand reaching up to his face as his steps quickened.

Your stomach dropped with a mix of guilt and longing, wondering if the distance between you had become one too big to ever be mended.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter

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Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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[nwarrior777]

making Hamlet fanart in 2024, slapping Juicy (main hero of Fat Ham, a modern play, Hamlet version, played by black fat queer person) on char design i saw in old b&w film while listening MCR playlist was an experience

highly recommend. also pls watch/read Fat Ham upd: image description added! (in alt text, but also under the cut)

(Image Description: List of sketches with 3 drawings. The textures used here are elegant looks-like photo silk (for clothes), soft shades and gradients. Shapes are sinking in each other depth. No color, black and white

It's fanart depicting Hamlet character being combination of different versions of him from different media: fat black queer masculine person being elegant, wearing mascara and lipstick (took from modern play Fat Ham) wearing vintage royal clothes (took from old classic film). The narrative of sketches also mixed of modern play (Fat Ham) and classic one

There are 3 sketches:

First one. It's the character described above (TC in text further) sitting in side view. His eyes is closed and face has melancholic emotion. TC is holding a scull. There is a simple-shaped silhouette of crown above his head. This image represent classic play melancholic vibes of character fused with modern play appearance

Second sketch. It's TC singing, while holding white pigeon in hands. It had previous classic-modern fusion vibes + a little vibe of disney princess song (because of bird and emotion expression similar to disney musicals). By left side of this sketch is stylized speech babble with music notes symbols and deformed text, visualization of singing. The text saying: "I want a perfect body", quoting singing of TC from modern play. By the right side of sketch there is arrow pointing at character with text "has most perfect body ever".

Sketch Three. It's dynamic sketch of TC in a duel (opponent is out of the frame), waving a thin sword (idk how it in eng, in my first it's шпага, a sword but specific type of it). From the chest of TC it's going steam, like character is heated mechanism pushed to limits. The face of TC is strong and determined, with mouth wide open trying to catch breath. Near this sketch is text: (text starts here) "He is fat and scant of breath" - original play quote. i know Fat Ham message. this one [the sketch with duel] here for slay jpeg reason (text ends here).

End of Image description)

[vienssunshine]

What are the Halloween costumes that would drive JJK characters crazy?

pairings: Maki, Choso, and Nanami x fem!reader nsfw: drug use, implied sexual activity

Maki: Black Cat

Maki has no issue with your "costume" being just lingerie and cat ears. Well, you had drawn a little triangle on your cute nose, so she'd give you credit for that. But even so, how could she mind the basic costume when you made it look so good? It's hard to focus on the conversation she's having when the body suit—so tight on your gorgeous silhouette—is riding up on your hips, allowing her to make out the curve of your ass. And just below it, she can see your black thigh highs and how they squeeze your legs, a little bit of your flesh spilling out over the top. With a sight like this, she can't stand there staring the whole time, she has to come over and introduce herself to the pretty girl in the cat costume. You'd giggle your name back to her and do a terrible job of hiding how your eyes flick down to the strong but elegant hands of hers that you just took a drink from. Later in the night, when you two end up pressed together in the closet of someone's house, she would show you how she's quite the cat person and knows how to take care of your pussy.

Choso: Vampire

This boy is emo!!! And so touch starved, so when you're smoking his weed outside of your friend’s party and you playfully threaten to bite his neck, he agrees. With a fanged smile, you pass the blunt back to him and place your hands on his built shoulders so you can close in on your victim. He shudders at the sensation of your breath on his throat, pulse thumping through his neck as he senses you move closer and closer until your fake fangs graze his pale skin. His hand grabs onto your arm, but he doesn’t stop you as you gently bite his flesh. It’s not enough to draw blood, but it still sends a shiver of—fear? excitement? ...arousal?—down his spine. As a thank you for providing make-believe sustenance, you remove your fangs from his neck and plant a gentle kiss in their place, causing his fingers to squeeze around your arm. Your kiss leaves a smear of your red lipstick on his skin, but he doesn’t wipe it off, he likes being marked.

Nanami: Classic Movie Killer

Nanami would find all your little teases about how he should ‘watch out’ because ‘there’s a serial killer on the loose,’ very entertaining. You’d brandish your flimsy plastic knife and draw a line across his throat with it while telling him he should be grateful you haven’t killed him yet since, if you wanted to, you could. He’d cross his arms, showcasing his strong, veiny forearms, and tilt his head with an “Oh yeah?” and watch as you stumble over yourself to double down on your empty threats. Aside from the fact that he would be able to pin you in under a second, he knows it'd be impractical to kill anyone in the skimpy get-up you're wearing. Not that he doesn't like the little 'killer' outfit though, he actually has a hard time keeping his eyes from roaming the bloodied, exposed skin your crop-top and skirt reveal. Of course he’d keep his composure at the Halloween party, but after it he'd take you home and rip off your costume, leaving you bare and naked and dripping with arousal, and it’s only then he'd allow himself to teach you who should be scared of who.

[pickingupmymercedes]

It was always them - Lewis Hamilton 1/3

An Invisible String Theory Story - It was always them (pt.1). It still is (pt.2). It will always be (pt.3).

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none, it's pure fluff.

wordcount: +1K

a/n: I need to give all the props to @greedyjudge2 for getting me to finally write this.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The soft hum of the apartment filled the quiet morning. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a warm glow washing over the NYC living room.

Lewis was sprawled on the sofa, a cup of coffee in hand, his eyes glued to his phone, scrolling through his emails.

The soft padding of bare feet interrupted his focus. He looked up to find Y/N, a bouncing figure of energy, emerged from their bedroom. Her hair still damp from a shower as her eyes sparkled with excitement, a stark contrast to the lazy demeanor he expected on a Sunday.

"You have to see this, Lew," Y/N's voice, filled with excitement as she chirped, her voice carrying a playful lilt and, in her arms, she clutched a stack of thick, glossy papers.

"Is this what I think it is?" he replied, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He set down his phone and reached for her, pulling her into a warm embrace.

Y/N wriggled out of his arms and sat down beside him, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "The first draft of my Balmain collection," she said, her voice barely containing her enthusiasm.

Curiosity piqued; Lewis raised an eyebrow as he sat up straighter, "Oh?"

His heart swelled with admiration. He knew how much this meant to her. After five years of revolutionizing sports fashion with Ferrari, she had decided to take on a new challenge. It was a bold move, but watching her grow and evolve in high fashion had been nothing short of inspiring.

"Let's see it then" he said, his voice steady, gesturing for her.

Y/N carefully laid the sketches out on the kitchen island, a pristine expanse of black marble. Lewis got up and enveloped her in his arms as his eyes scanned the sketches.

The designs were definitely a departure from the sports-inspired aesthetic she was so known for, but they still carried her signature flair. The colors were bold, the silhouettes modern, and the overall aesthetic was undeniably Y/N. It was a perfect blend of her signature sporty elegance and the high fashion world she was now navigating.

"I wanted to create something that was both timeless and modern," she explained, her voice soft. "Something empowering"

"These are incredible, Y/N," Lewis nodded, impressed. "You've done that and more," he said sincerely.

A radiant smile spread across her face. "You haven’t even seen them all" she said, her voice filled with mock disbelief. "I was worried it was too much of a departure from my usual style."

"It's not," he assured her. "It's just a different expression of your talent. You've always been able to adapt and evolve."

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. "I know, but I had never strayed that far."

Lewis turned her in his arms and caught her chin so she would look at him "I'm here to support you every step of the way," he said softly. "I know you can do this. You're one of the most talented people I know."

She leaned into his touch, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, Lew. It means the world to me."

He let her go as he reached for the sketches and continued to look through them, he noticed a recurring theme - strong, independent silhouettes but always with a softer note. It was a reflection of Y/N herself.

"You've captured the essence of Balmain perfectly," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "It's bold, but it's still undeniably you."

Y/N beamed. "I wanted to push the boundaries of what Balmain can be," she explained. "To create something that's both classic and contemporary, strong and feminine."

Lewis nodded "You've definitely achieved that." He picked up a sketch of a tailored blazer, the fabric adorned with a subtle Balmain monogram. " It's them but it feels fresh and modern."

Y/N's eyes lit up with gratitude. "I'm glad you like it," she finally said, her voice trembling slightly. "I was kind of nervous about showing you."

"Why would you be nervous?" he asked, taking her hand in his. "I have complete faith in you."

She squeezed his hand. "It's different when it's your own full collection. It's like putting a part of myself out there."

"You're going to kill it," he assured her. "I know it."

He’d always admired her ability to create something out of nothing. From transforming the world of F1 fashion to now, venturing into the realm of high fashion, she was a force to be reckoned with. And yet, despite her accomplishments, she still sought his opinions, her eyes darting to him every few seconds as he went through all the designs.

Y/N explained her inspiration for each piece, the symbolism behind the colors, and the story she wanted to tell. Lewis listened intently, offering his feedback when asked. He was impressed by the level of detail and thought that had gone into every aspect of the collection.

"I love how you’ve sneaked motorsport elements into the designs," he commented, pointing to a dress with intricate leather detailing.

Y/N grinned. "I knew you'd appreciate that," she said. "It's a nod to our roots."

Lewis chuckled. "You're getting too good at this, you know."

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do" she replied, playfully batting his arm.

Just then, as he studied a particular sketch, a memory flickered to life.

He was still a Mercedes driver then, trying to flee from the frenetic energy of the paddock. But amidst the chaos of the circuit, a figure had caught his attention. He saw her standing amidst the chaos, a breath of fresh air in the sea of team uniforms.

She was wearing a tailored pantsuit in a shade of crimson that echoed the Ferrari red, a bold statement in a side of the paddock dominated by neutral tones and controlled imagination.

He'd been drawn to her immediately, a silent acknowledgment of her presence.

He'd asked around, of course. Who was this woman who commanded attention without even trying? The answer both surprising and intriguing: the responsible behind some of the newer Ferrari designs he'd admired from afar. The one he was sure had a new eye behind them.

Y/N's voice pulled him back to New York. “Earth to Lewis?” she teased, waving a hand in front of his face. “You okay there, lover boy?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Yeah” he managed, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Just thinking.”

“About what? Questionable fashion choices?” she asked, feigning offense.

He chuckled. “Far from it. I was actually remembering you a few years ago and that crimson pantsuit.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Smooth. But I'm glad you remembered. I was hoping you would.”

______________________________________________________________

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[call-sign-shark]

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!You || The Darkling x HeartrenderOC!Reader

Summary: Your arrival in the Little Palace doesn't go unnoticed and Zoya is determined to make you understand you're not welcome here. Little does she know that crossing you is the worst idea ever.

Words: 4K

TW: graphic mention of torture.

Part III - The Court of Shadows

Previous || Masterlist || Next

Zoya had been unable to sleep, rather used to sleepless nights when she was all alone in her room. Since her habit of inviting handsome strangers to her bed before going on a mission wasn’t well hidden, some of her friends could not help but wonder if it was for fun or to cure the heavy loneliness that weighed on her. 

 Bored and melancholic, she was staring at her window, praying for the hours to fly fast. Outside, amidst the Ravkan freezing night, the shadows were restless and thick, the moonlight struggling to pierce the gargantuan clouds that hovered above the Little Palace.  Zoya leaned against the frame, her dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders and her tired eyes fixed on the frost-covered path that led to the Palace. She wasn’t particularly afraid of the dark, but the stillness of the night felt somewhat uneasy, as though something invisible rippled through the air. As though something wicked was coming this way. 

And she was right.

A figure on horseback suddenly emerged from the tree-lined path, the timid moonlight revealing an elegant horse, as black as midnight and as sleek as glass, that moved silently, the snow muffling the noise of its hooves. Even in the twilight, its rider was unmistakable — Kirigan. His sharp and commanding silhouette seemed to emerge from the darkness, his black kefta trailing behind him like a grim ghost. What the General was doing outside in the middle of the night was the question she would have asked herself if Zoya’s attention hadn’t been drawn to the person behind him.

Wrapped in Kirigan’s long and black coat was a young woman, pale as freshly fallen snow, her hair cascading over her shoulders and reaching the small of her back in unruly, long white strands. Zoya squinted, for even from a distance her unusual beauty was striking — otherworldly. Chilling. Just like a winter nymph Aleksander would have pried from the forest and who got himself cursed in the process. Her diaphanous skin gleamed faintly, covered with shining ice particles, while her full lips, pink and frostbitten, offered a charming touch of color on her ghostly form. However, as mesmerizing as the creature was, Zoya felt a deeply unsettling something about her.

She kept watching as General Kirigan dismounted his horse and carried the girl in his strong arms like a bride. The creature looked dagger at him but didn’t fight — or at least, she was too exhausted to do so. Instead, she hung limply in the tall darkness’ grasp, her head resting against his shoulder. Another detail Zoya caught was her feet, bare and bloody, dangling above the snow and untouched by the frozen ground thanks to the General’s grip. All muffled in the long dark coat and carried by Kirigan, the woman looked both fragile and dangerous, like a blade crafted from glass — sharp and beautiful, but threatening to shatter at any moment.

The Dark General cradled her close, his expression dark with purpose as he walked toward the Palace’s steps with an unhurried but determined gait. To Zoya’s greatest shock, his hands, which were always reserved, were careful and protective as they held the strange woman, shielding her as if she were the most precious treasure ever. A tinge of envy twisted Zoya’s heart for all of her attempts to catch his attention had always failed miserably. And with envy came shivers that ran down her spine. If Kirigan acted like this, it meant that the girl was no ordinary Grisha. This was someone who defied explanation, someone who certainly should not be welcomed in the warmth of the Palace halls. 

And yet, Zoya thought, her eyes narrowing, why does he carry her like she belongs here?

You remained silent as Aleksander put you back on your feet once inside the main entrance of the luxurious castle, a comforting warmth gently caressing your face the moment its gates had opened. Your steps faltered a little considering how weak you were, but the dark General’s hand was here, right on your lower back, both to help you stand and guide you through this new place. And what a place it was! As gigantic as a maze, the palace was unlike anything you had seen before: a captivating and slightly dizzying shelter of grandiloquent luxury you couldn’t help but find a bit excessive. Walking slowly, you peeked curiously at your surroundings through the ivory curtain of your long mane that fell in disheveled waves around your face, still snuggled in the oversized black coat Kirigan had given you earlier. Rather die than admit it, but the crip, haunting and warm fragrances of him, interwoven with the fabric, were soothing and offered a stark contrast with the air of the Palace, which was heavy with a strange quiet as though the building itself was holding its breath.

It was the General who broke the silence when he turned to you, the reflection of candlelights making his pitch-black iris glint as he gestured toward the grand staircase, “You’ll come to find the palace is as much a home as it is a sanctuary,” he said in the quiet and soft voice of him, “Though I expect it will take some convincing for you to believe that.” A hint of amusement seeped through his tone, referring to your wild nature.

It didn’t make you laugh, nor relax you. Quite the contrary, your plump lips pressed into a thin line for even if the opulence of the place was impressive, you weren’t naïve enough to consider it a safe shelter, “A cage can be gilded and still be a cage,” you replied, your voice cold but even. Gilded cages were something you knew far too well: even made with gold the Menagerie bars’ goal still was to keep you locked up inside.

A faint, barely visible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Your bite was fierce, and he enjoyed that, “A fair observation. But you’ll find that here, the walls protect as much as they confine.”  To this, you said nothing and kept following him reluctantly, clutching the coat tighter around you as he led you up the staircase. The sound of his boots echoed in the vast space while your bare feet didn’t make the slightest sound, just like a ghost haunting the place. Once you reached the third floor, the tall darkness stopped before a dark wooden door, ornate yet subdued compared to the rest of the palace’s splendor. Pushing it open, he stepped aside to let you in and you obliged.

“This will be your room,” he stated, quieter now. It wasn’t in his habits to assume the role of the guide, but you were not a common creature either, so he gladly took the time to do so.

You stepped inside cautiously and discovered the room: a room larger than anything you had ever called your own, with a bed draped in deep black linens, a comfortable sitting area by the window with sofas, and a small fireplace crackling faintly in the corner. Inside this bedroom, the air was so warm that it almost felt a bit suffocating after the bitter cold outside. Your skin tingled as it started to warm up.

“You’ll find clothes and anything else you need in the wardrobe,” Kirigan continued, his tone measured, “And should you need anything else, you only have to ask.”

Once he finished his sentence, you turned to face him, your seraphic face wearing an unreadable expression “What do you expect from me?” you retorted bluntly, knowing full well that nothing was free in this world and that being offered to stay here could only come at an awful price. However, your caustic tone didn’t seem to surprise him.

Far from being taken aback, the black General stepped closer, the tension in the room thickening suddenly as his presence seemed to fill every corner, “I expect you to learn,” he said, his voice soft but definitely firm. Your breath stopped for a brief instant at his closeness, “Your power is unlike anything I’ve encountered, it’s wild, untamed. That makes you dangerous —to yourself and to others. If the rumors about you are true, of course.” He raised one of his dark eyebrows, “Here you’ll train with other Grisha. You’ll learn control.”

“And if I don’t?” Your eyes narrowed, their paleness challenging his black iris.

“Well,” He started, his gaze darkening though his tone remained calm, “That would be… unfortunate.”

He didn’t say much but the weight of his words hung in the air, like a subtle but very efficient reminder of the authority he held. Your jaw tightened, the power he exuded eroding your confidence, but you didn’t look away. Silence fell again between the two of you as you mutually dived into each other’s eyes, both trying to decipher the other. And then, Kirigan’s hand moved lightly, so lightly it was almost imperceptible, until it brushed against the edge of your sleeve. His physical contact wasn’t grounded in command or threat, it was just a touch. Fleeting but deliberate, testing the boundary between you. Somehow, you reminded him of a little feral animal, abused by humans its whole life, that could bite him anytime.

“You’ve spent too much time running, Heaven,” His tone softened a tad bit, “You’re exhausted. Fractured. Maybe if you give it the chance this could be where you rebuild yourself.” Something in his voice — an unspoken promise, a thread of sincerity tangled with manipulation — made your chest tighten. You might have caught the tinge of manipulation in his tone but still, his words had the expected effect on you and you hated the way they tempted you. The way they pulled at something deep within you that longed for rest, for safety. For hope.

Finally, you nodded in a small and reluctant movement, “Fine. I’ll stay. For now.”

He inclined his head, satisfied, but didn’t step back. His presence lingered, heavy and burning, like a shadow that refused to release you yet.

“This room is on the same floor as mine,” he added, almost casually, “Should you need anything, I’m not far.”

I’m never far.

The implication was unsettling and oddly comforting at the same time. Once again you remained silent and, instead, turned your face to the window for holding his intense gaze was far more difficult than you had expected. You could feel his eyes on you, assessing, fascinated, as though you were a puzzle he intended to solve. Finally, he spoke again.

“Rest tonight. Your training begins tomorrow.”

When you turned back to look at him, Kirigan was already at the door even though you didn’t hear him step back. He paused briefly, his strong hand resting on the frame before stepping out and pulling it close behind him.

He left and only at this moment you could breath properly again.

Standing in the middle of the room, you dragged your exhausted body to the fireplace to warm yourself up, but it did little to chase away the chill that lingered in your bosom. It was vain for it wasn’t the temperature that had turned your blood to ice, but him.  Freeing yourself from his heavy coat that fell at your feet when you shrugged it off, you walked to the window and rested your hand on the cold glass, his perfume clinging to your hair and skin. Below, the grounds stretched out in a pristine silence. Yet, in the stillness you felt it — the aura of something vast and dangerous, lurking beneath the surface.

And somehow, you knew General Kirigan was at the center of it.

The pale morning sun filtered through the curtains of the windows, the light casting soft patterns onto the walls of the room. Your night had been short but more restorative than any others you had for years. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you pulled one long white strand of hair from your face and took a deep dive into your own crystal eyes, unnervingly bright against your porcelain skin. The reflection felt foreign again, always here to remind you of the myth you’d unwillingly become: the White Plague. The White Death. With a deep breath, you wrapped yourself in a dark but lighter coat you had found in the closet, then left the room. There was no way you’d showed off yourself in Kirigan’s attire.

On the third floor, the hallway was eerily quiet though you could hear the soft hum of activity barely audible from below. Fuck, you thought, this place is crowded.

As you descended the staircase, the chatter of the Little Palace’s residents came to an abrupt halt when far too many pairs of eyes caught your slim silhouette. Grisha, all dressed in vibrant kefta of various colors, stood frozen mid-conversation, their iris locking on you. Some gazes filled with curiosity, the kind reserved for wild and dangerous beasts as rare as otherworldly. Others carried unmistakable wariness as if they feared your mere presence might cause harm. And among them, there was Zoya Nazyalensky.

The sharp-eyed Etheralki stood near the edge of the hall, her lips curled into a disdainful smirk. There she is, the little nymph from the wood. The terrifying Grisha people talked about, she thought. She leaned close to a friend and muttered something under her breath. Even though you couldn’t hear it, you could feel the judgment radiating from her like heat from a fire. However, you decided to ignore her and walk through the hall with your chin held high, hiding the fact your hands were clenched tightly beneath your cloak. You had never bowed your head down in the Menagerie, not even at Tante Heleen, so you weren’t going to do it here. After all, you were used to other girls disliking you right on the spot, their. The more you walked, the more the sound of your steps filled the heavy silence of the space. When you reached the training grounds, General Kirigan was already waiting, his figure even more imposing in his black kefta and his look even more chilling in the daylight.  He was standing at the edge of the sparring circle, observing the gathered Grisha with a critical eye.

“Heaven,” he said when he saw you, his tone smooth but commanding, “Today you’ll begin your training.” Judging by the Grisha around him, he had already introduced you, “Zoya will start with you.”

Holy shit. Not that joke of a bully.

Zoya stepped forward before you could say something, her gaze as sharp as a blade. If her eyes had been weapons, you would be already lying on the ground in a puddle of your own blood, “Are you sure that’s wise, General?” she immediately asked with a voice laced with sarcasm, “She doesn’t seem to know anything.” It was merely an excuse for her lack of enthusiasm at the thought of training you she didn’t even bother to hide. Her every word and body language were doing her best to make you convey the feeling of being nothing but a burden to her.

Kirigan’s eyes darkened, a warning flickering in his expression, “Do your duty, Zoya.” His decision was taken, and nothing would make him change his mind.

The Etherealki smirked bitterly but nodded before stepping into the circle. If she had to train you, she might as well make you regret your arrival here. Following her, you tried to ignore the weight of everyone’s stares.

She could have waited a bit, starting with a warmup, but Zoya wasted no time: she raised her arms, summoning a gust of wind so sharp that it sent you stumbling back, “Let’s see what you can do, little saint.” Zoya taunted, her tone dripping with mockery.

Your heart pounded in your chest for you had never used your power to fight before, just your fists and teeth. Completely novice and not knowing what you were doing, you tried to concentrate on summoning your power just like the General had explained the night before, but nothing happened. The pressure of expectation and the suffocating silence of the watching crowd didn’t help either.

Zoya didn’t relent nor show a hint of compassion. Quite the contrary, she lashed out with another blast of wind, this one more forceful and aiming at hurting you — you staggered and almost fell, your cloak whipping around you as you struggled to stay on your feet and chased away your own hair that blinded you.

“Pathetic,” Zoya sneered loud enough for everyone to understand, with a tone so sharp it cut through the air.  Her body shifted with ease, circling you like a predator as you struggled against the wind. Every step was an attempt to scare you, and every of her words a dagger aimed to provoke and hurt. When she opened her mouth again to talk, her voice became lower for she intended to keep the conversation between the two of you.

Meanwhile, you could feel his eyes. Not just watching the fight, but dissecting, calculating, and consuming. As Zoya kept circling and taunting you with small bursts of wind, Kirigan’s gaze felt heavier than the lashes of air slicing toward you. Standing nearby at the edge of the training circle with his arms folded, his black kefta stark against the brightness of the place, his eyes remained firmly fixed on you. No, not just on you but through you. The two void-black iris of his followed the twist of your body, the way your white hair clung to your skin as pearls of sweat beaded along your temples. He watched the delicate curve of your neck and your cleavage, your chest rising and falling with exertion at each breath.

There was hunger in his gaze, or something deeper, darker. Fascination perhaps. The discreet hint of obsession.

“I don’t understand what he sees in you,” She sneered again, flicking her wrist to send a sharp gust of wind toward your feet — this time she managed to make you trip, your knees painfully hitting the floor in a loud thud. It sent you gritting your teeth in utter frustration for your powers still didn’t respond, “The great Saint of Death, was it? You look more like a fragile doll about to crack.” 

You didn’t respond, rather standing again even more fiercely than before, holding you ground and your frozen eyes locking onto Zoya with an unsettling calm. You knew better than giving her the satisfaction of showing your panic.

“Or maybe it’s pity,” She continued, her voice more poisonous than snake venom, “The way you clung to his side last night like a lost pup. The rumors didn’t mention that part.” Zoya let out a little – and bitchy – giggle, “They made you sound… Terrifying. But all I see is a frail little girl who can’t even control herself. Maybe you’re not even a Grisha, you dumb Otkazat'sya.”

Still, you said nothing.

“What’s wrong, Saint?” Zoya mocked, stepping closer, her grin dripping with malice. It might have been the first time you encountered her, but her hatred seemed deeply personal for some unknown reasons, “Are you too holy to fight back? Or is this how you made people fear you— by staring at them until they die of boredom?”

Your fingers twitched at your sides for you could feel the heat rising in your chest, the familiar spark of anger igniting like dancing flames licking at dry kindling. Zoya didn’t know it but she was fueling a soon-to-be destructive wildfire. You moved your hands randomly, in the hope it would do something but, once again, it failed miserably.

Zoya tilted her head, mocking you, “Maybe you’re just his new pet. We all know how fond he is of collecting broken things… Until they fall out of his interest.”

Pet.

A fucking pet.

It was the word that made you snap. The match thrown into a tank of gasoline. A cold, searing fury erupted, surging through your veins like liquid nitrogen until your vision blurred and, for a moment, all you could feel was the raw power building within you. An overwhelming and uncontrollable wave you unleashed before even realizing what you were doing. Your hand shot up, your monstrous abilities surging outward with frightening precision

“I’m no one’s pet you fucking bitch!” You roared and the air around you suddenly crackled with energy. A reddish light started to glow around you as Zoya gasped, eyes wide open in agony, her hand clutching own her chest as if invisible barbwires were wrapping around her lungs and pulling tighter as seconds passed.

“What—” She choked, her voice strangled and her face twisting in shock. As hard as she wanted to fight back, her body didn’t allow her to respond and all she did was step backward, staggering, “Stop—”

But you didn’t stop. In fact, you didn’t even hear her beg, watching her with eyes burning with cold anger even though your expression eerily calm when thick, warm blood began to drip from Zoya’s nose. Her trembling fingers clutched tighter on her chest at the feeling of her lungs and heart getting literally crushed from the inside.

“Please,” She rasped, her voice barely audibly now and her once haughty and proud demeanor crumbling into pathetic desperation. The room erupted in chaos around you as other Grisha froze, too stunned to intervene when the Squaller fell to her knees, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. Her eyes bulged, her body convulsing, and soon started to choke on her own blood which had started to pour from her open mouth.

Please. She said again, but you were unmoved.  Standing fiercely, your pale glowing eyes were fixed on the soldier girl as if she were nothing more but an insect to be crushed. Your anger was so that it sent you spiraling until everything around you vanished in darkness. You didn’t even hear the crowd’s panic, nor some Grisha shouting for help while others backed away with their face ashen in terror. No voice could bring you back. No voice except his.

“Enough.” The voice cut through the air like a blade.

Kirigan.

Your eyes quickly snapped toward him, your breathing ragged and your hands trembling as the power coursing through you flickered. For a moment. it seemed like you ignored him, your fury too great to be quelled.

“Enough!” The tall General said again, his tone sharper this time as he stepped into the circle.  With a wave of his hand, he sent his own magic to break your spell. Your fingers twitched and then, released the Squaller who cramped to the floor, gasping for air and coughing blood. All could be heard among the silence was her hitching breath.

“Zoya,” Kirigan said coldly, his gaze finally flicking to the Etherealki, “Your arrogance has no place here. You should know better than to provoke someone like her,” He added, his voice woven with warning and little to zero compassion, “Consider this a lesson.” Then, his attention shifted to you, “And you…”

You clenched your jaw.

“Control is not a suggestion— it’s a necessity. Do not make me remind you again.”

You remained silent, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself and recover from the consuming rage that had possessed you. Pet, the word was still echoing in your brain, rattling at your skull like nails on a board. Despite your silence, your crystal iris looked at Aleksander, and expected to find annoyance and coldness but, surprisingly, you were met by the flicker of satisfaction in his obsidian eyes. You didn’t need more to understand: he wasn’t angry at you, not truly. If anything, he seemed pleased.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The room was filled with tension as the General gestured for Zoya to be taken to a healer. One little movement and the Grisha jumped to their feet to help her stand again. Escorted away, the Squaller shot you a venomous glare but there was no mistaking the fear on her face.

And you? You still stood tall, unyielding, the whispers of your terrifying power rippling through the room like an unspoken warning.

“Come with me,” The General’s voice resounded again with firmness. Overcoming your fury, you simply joined him and tried not to pay attention to the people who parted to let you pass, eyes filled with the same terror as Zoya's when she had thought you were going to kill her. All except for a young Grisha man dressed in a red kefta, who offered you a warm smile and whispered in your ear before you left, “Good job, don’t let her get to you,” Fedyor said gently before punctuating his sentence with a little wink.

And for the first time since you arrived, you felt a flicker of something close to amusement. But it was fleeting, chased away by the suffocating weight of Aleksander Kirigan’s presence and the rest of his Court of Shadow.

Please consider reblogging and commenting. It is what motivates writers to write next chapters...

tags: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara

[hyddeplays]

Redesigning Everlux since FR wouldn't

Okay, so I wanted to do this yesterday, have slept on it, and well... I haven't change my mind. I really don't like the Everlux design, and it's not because they're fat, or they "don't fit Light" or whatever. First off, kudos to FR for trying something truly “ancient” and breaking the mold. It’s creative, and I hope this trend continues! But I find the Everlux poorly designed, both anatomically and compositionally. P.S. Legs got changed because I liked @hypersaw's take that they should be buggy. Old more mammalian legs here. ------- Above is my proposed redesign of the F Pose Everlux, which I think is more functional and aligns with the Everlux’s description in the encyclopedia. Below is my design TLDR:

The legs are too spindly. If they landed, they’d barely touch the ground or be able to move easily. I think fatter, sturdier feet would solve most of the anatomical i

Some argue Everlux are meant to look weird and unsettling, but that’s not true — the encyclopedia describes them as elegant, beauty- and knowledge-oriented, and able to flutter with ease. However, they look like they can barely walk, and the wing-to-body ratio feels inadequate. The "arms" of the wings also don't seem strong enough to support the animal.

A second pair of wings would convey elegance and graceful flight while keeping the breed’s unique, chubby look.

-------

Secondly, the Everlux design suffers from severe tangent issues, a recurring problem in FR’s art direction, but particularly egregious here. Tangents, where lines touch or overlap awkwardly, make the silhouette look like an unreadable spindly ball.

I appreciate FR’s creative direction and efforts to combat fatphobia — many people unfairly dislike the Everluxes simply for being chubby, and therefore "undeserving" of being a Light ancient or whatever. I think it's a really pervasive and disturbing mindset, since I am 100% of the opinion that they could have been fat while still presenting as an elegant breed. I just wish FR would be more mindful of tangents and composition in their breed artwork.

[stevenssacrab]

Do You Hate Me?

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: Loki mistakes your nervousness around him for hatred, will Loki find out the reason behind apprehension, or how you really feel about him?

Rating: 17+ slight angst

Warnings: Mention of alcohol

Word Count: 1.4k

a/n: Apologies for going MIA, I got sick AGAIN but it was even worse the 2nd time around, feeling much better, hope y'all enjoy some Loki fluff

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

"I'm just putting in my earrings; I'll be right there!" you answer back, getting one last look in; your hair is pinned back with two strands framing the side of your face perfectly, the back flowing down a bit past your shoulder blades, with rhinestones weaved into the strands for that ethereal look, you're wearing an elegant a-line silhouette sage green dress with pink and green flowers embroidered through the expanse of the dress, it hangs off the shoulders with corset detailing in the torso, the sweetheart neckline showing off your collar bones beautifully, the puffy sleeves hiding your delicate arms, tea length, displaying your beige block heels perfectly, every detail of your outfit is elevating an overall polished chic aura you could feel radiating off you from miles away.

"You look perfect. Don't worry, let's move," Wanda calls out, grabbing your arm and dragging you to the elevator, "Isn't it kind of expected to be late to your own party?" you retorted, crossing your arms defiantly.

"Yes, but over an hour late is just rude. Didn't I raise you better?" Wanda responded calmly, fixing her hair in the elevator's mirrored wall, "Yeah, I know, I know," you replied, running your hands over the dress, smoothing out any wrinkles; you've been to tons of parties; that's not what's making you anxious, Thor promised you he'd bring Loki, or at least attempt to, just the thought of the tall, mysterious man makes your palms sweat, working as a biochemist under Bruce's watch was amazing, working with the brightest minds, on the edge of multiple scientific discoveries but for you what made it all worth it was the people you got to meet, you've met some of the world's bravest people, some avengers some not, after getting to know them, they're just like everyone else, they have their ups and downs, close friends, family, but one avenger captured your attention as soon as he walked into the room, it was hard to miss the standard Loki holds himself to, always remaining composed under stress, but he's charm, that's what's really got you in his grasps, he'd win over anyone with ease.

"We're here," Wanda said excitedly, patting your shoulder assuringly, "He'll be here, don't worry," you press your lips together into a thin line and step off the elevator; you suddenly feel a strong arm wrap around your shoulders.

"Hello, Lady Y/N," Thor slurs out, giving you a tight hug; you laugh; he's a couple of drinks in; you look around the room, but Thor cuts you off. "He's not here yet," he says sullenly, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze; "Come, Lady Natasha has been looking for you," he grabs your hand and pulls.

"You're here!" Natasha excitedly squeals, wrapping her arms tightly around you, "So, where is the lucky fellow?" she teases, gently nudging you with her elbow; she was the first person you told about your feelings for Loki, but she already knew before you even said anything, according to her you can't hide your emotions well, seems like everyone knows how you feel about Loki except for himself, you still don't know if it's for the better or not.

"He's not here yet," you say sadly, but quickly smile; it is your birthday after all; you're not going to let one person determine if you have a good time or not; with your mood having shifted, you motion the bartender over, "three vodka shots please," you asked politely, you've decided, Loki or not, it's going to be a good night.

You walk out of the bathroom, water bottle in hand, open it, and gulp it down, "Not drinking on your big day?" you hear that delectable English accent, and you already know who it is before you've even turned around.

"No, just taking a break," you laugh nervously, shifting your weight. Loki steps closer slowly; you watch him carefully with doe eyes; he grabs your wrist, gasping at the contact, he pulls you into a warm hug; you sigh contentedly and bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent, a delicious musk, Loki pulls away after what feels like only a second. Loki glides his hand down your arm, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps; he captures your hand and lightly kisses it. "Happy Birthday, Lady Y/N," he says smoothly; you giggle giddily, your cheeks heating up quickly.

"Thank you," you say shyly, gently pressing your cool hands to your warm cheeks, "have you been here long?" you ask, tucking the pieces of hair behind your ear, "No, I just got here,” he says coolly, still holding your hand, he gently runs his thumb across your knuckles, you’re trying your best to remain composed, but every fiber of your being is firing off right now.

“Are you alright, dear?” He brings his hand to your hot cheeks. “Y/N, you’re burning up; let’s step outside for a minute,” not waiting for your response, he whisked you away, not that you’d be able to respond; you were still processing how perfectly his hand fit in yours, to your relief you feel the cool air hit your warm face, you breathe a sigh of relief, you didn’t realize how much you needed this, Loki leads you away from the music and chattering, to a calm and quiet place, with a view of the city.

“This is much better,” he uttered; he turned to you, taking in your dress, how perfectly it fits you, the sage green complimenting your complexion magnificently, “you look beautiful,” he spoke just barely above a whisper, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear it, your heart skips a beat, this unfathomably gorgeous soul called you beautiful.

“Th-thank you,” you respond, eyes looking at the floor; you know if you meet his eyes, you may explode, “you know this has to be the longest conversation we’ve had; you always seem in a hurry to get away from me,” he admits, laughing nervously, playing with his fingers “did I do something wrong?” He asks, his hurt eyes searching yours for answers; you hadn’t even thought about how your behavior has been affecting him; you’ve been so worried he’d find out your feelings that you’ve cut every conversation short, kept your answer one-worded, all to protect yourself, to protect the scared little girl who’s afraid of rejection. Most of all, to protect your heart from the inevitable disappointment, your heart breaks a little; you had no intention to hurt Loki, to make him think you don’t like him, or worse, hate him.

“No, you didn’t do anything I-“You stop yourself before you can say it; you don’t know if you can go past this point.

“Then what is it? I keep racking my brain, wondering if I’ve done something to upset you or make you hate me, but nothing, please, just tell me why,” he said sorrowfully, inching closer to you.

“Loki, I don’t hate you, I just-“ you uttered, “I just don’t know how to act around you; you are so kind and compassionate, and I just didn’t want you to find out how I feel about you,” you babbled out, “ and I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t live with myself if you thought I hated you, and I understand if you don’t wanna talk to me anymore, I just needed to tell you because I-“ Loki cuts you off with a tender kiss, his hands caressing either side of your face, you melt into his touch, your lips moving in perfect rhythm with each other, you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your hands in his hair, playing with the long silk strands, you don’t want this moment to end, he sighs into the kiss, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his body, you pull away to breathe, Loki rests his head against yours, and you both stay there, listening to each others breathing, playing with each other's fingers.

“I could never hate you, Loki,” you confess; Loki chuckles lightly, interlocking your hands together, “you know I always wondered why you always seemed so nervous around me,” he smirks playfully, “shut up, I wasn’t that nervous,” you laughed, playfully smacking his arm, “no? I seem to recall you tripping over yourself in your hurry to get away from me," Loki snickered; you doubled forward in a fit of laughter.

"Okay, maybe I was a little bit nervous," you smiled broadly, "Maybe just a little," Loki teased, pulling you in front of him and hugging you from behind; you sighed and leaned against him, both of you swaying in the cool breeze, relishing in the feeling of bliss that buzzes throughout yours and Loki's body, it's been a pretty good birthday party.

[pastorfutureletthembe]

Just noticed something cool.

This is yuyu's account, and she was in charge of the storyboard for Y6.

And those:

Are Yuki Nakazawa's fanarts. It's fanwork. But she worked on the official content.

The last one makes the set not so innocent. Why? It was published before Y6. So it's not exactly a spoiler but we have some people with media literacy in the link click fandom. This? Not rocket science. As flashy as the dead wife trope, if you ask me.

We'll talk about the set as a whole.

Before I get into it, Yuki Nakazawa also published another fanart which, in retrospect, was an actual easter egg: "And Then There Were None"

This being established, we can assume there is something hidden there. Still, keep in mind that those are, once again, fanarts. It isn't going to stop me from noticing things. I recommend you look at each picture closely before you read any further.

First clue, which is solved: Vein is dead. Or pretending to be, probably. There are clear allusions of him leaving.

A word stands out: CAMFLAGUE. Twice actually: once on the poster and a second time on the magazine cover, concealed by Xia Fei's silhouette. This word? Not a word? it sounds a lot like CAMOUFLAGE though. Or so google keeps correcting me lmao.

which is an interesting word to hide in plain sight when you notice there are also two attempts at disguising Xia Fei as Vein: the coat and the glasses.

CAMFLAGUE is a made up 9 letters word. The Chinese tended to view life diametrically. So when a change occurred in one aspect of life, that change was a result of a change in its opposite. Therefore, as a symbol of extremity, "9" in Chinese Culture is also a warning, a turning point. In ancient Chinese Classic Yijing, or the "Book of Changes", wherever number "9" appears, it is a crucial point of change and transformation. FELIX also contains the number IX.

There is a glint to Xia Fei's left earring, a ring, and to Vein's necklace, a moon. First, earrings symbolize beauty and strength in Vaishnavism while in Hinduism, earrings symbolize elegance, strength, and identity, serving as integral ceremonial adornments, embodying transformation and the sacred nature of beauty in various narratives. Second, in tarot reading, The Moon is a card of illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Much to think about.

One object stands out in the bloody artwork of Vein: the blue and white Vase. Qinghua is traditional Chinese porcelain, painted in cobalt blue glaze on white porcelain. It's an art working on negative spaces. There are different patterns used for this technique, and lotus is one of them. I'm no expert in pottery, though there is obvious meaning lost in translation, as I love to tag it. However, the lotus is important motif, I can tell you that much. Mostly because of its relationship to Buddhism. Buddhism symbolism in Link Click is highly related to Vein's character (I made a long ass meta about this, go check it out if you have time to waste), specifically in term of "luck" and "enlightment".

Lastly, the artwork with Vein and the vase also show figurines of the characters in YINGDU. While a mini Lu Guang seems to be crying over a fallen Cheng Xiaoshi, Liu Xiao is looking right at Vein who is pointing at Xia Fei. It could mean many things so I won't expand on this gesture for now but it's worth mentioning.

In conclusion, I'd say there is a strong possiblity that Xia Fei might take Vein's place as Cheng Xiaoshi's killer, for revenge. He is looking for the truth and when he's going to find out who killed Vein, or who orchestrated his demise, he's going to go after them. He seems to have a good lead on people with powers too. And since he's studying applied physics, he might look for ways to give himself powers, artificially.

Of course, the presence of Liu Xiao in the fanarts and in Xia Fei's life is important but, as always, the mystery around his character makes any theory kind of pointless?

Don't worry, I still have ideas!

His relationship with Xia Fei is important to what is to come in Link Click season 3, that much is obvious.

The PV shows Liu Xiao as Xia Fei's agent or something, while Vein is watching over him from a distance, through screens. We know there is some kind of partnership between them even before that, despite the canon fact Xia Fei strongly dislikes Liu Xiao for some reasons. I think Liu Xiao is taking care of him for his own interests, though.

In Buddhism, whispering in the ear symbolizes a confidential communication method, reflecting the importance of privacy and personal expression in decision-making processes. Of course, in the context of YINGDU, we know it means Xia Fei is giving information on Cheng XIaoshi and Lu Guang to Liu Xiao, but we still don't know to what end.

Additionally, I'm working on a meta about what could be Vein, Liu Xiao and Xia Fei's powers. Basically, it's related to the fourth wall and how Link Click is starting to break it more and more in merch and other media. This meta made me think of it and I can't wait to share the concept with you all. It's based on the three wise monkeys that embody the proverbial principle "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil". Coincidentally, I do think Xia Fei is the one who speaks no evil and Liu Xiao is the one who hears no evil.

I think Xia Fei is just like Cheng Xiaoshi, emotion driven, but he's also very intelligent and surprisingly perceptive: he doesn't like Liu Xiao, he doesn't like working with/for him, he doesn't buy his friendly act. However, I don't see any future when he doesn't get used by Liu Xiao in his evil plans. With Vein out of the picture and Xia Fei's new motivation, it might not be easy to see through manipulations.

Wait and see!

Okay, that's all for today!

[suchawrathfullamb]

Hannibal Inspired Style Essence Quiz:

Inspired by the dark aesthetics and layered themes of Hannibal, this quiz will guide you to discover your unique style essence.

Questions:

Choose a setting for a dream dinner party.

A) A foggy, moonlit forest clearing

B) A secret garden bursting with rare, vibrant flowers

C) A raw, industrial loft with exposed brick and metal

D) A grand, decaying mansion shrouded in shadows

What soundtrack plays in your mind as you enter a room?

A) A haunting, ethereal choir

B) A darkly romantic orchestral piece with unexpected crescendos

C) A pulsating rock anthem

D) An eerie, ambient soundscape filled with whispers and strange noises

Pick a texture:

A) Soft, flowing silk with sheer layers

B) Smooth leather with floral embroidery

C) Distressed denim or worn leather

D) Heavy wool or velvet with dramatic draping

Your ideal accessory is...

A) A silver talisman or amulet

B) A statement floral brooch or colorful scarf

C) A spiked cuff or bold statement ring

D) A wide-brimmed hat or avant-garde mask

Choose a way to express power:

A) Through quiet, mystical presence

B) With elegance and a hint of danger

C) By being bold and unapologetic

D) Through unsettling, magnetic mystery

Choose a drink to set the mood:

A) A glass of absinthe, served with a specific ritual

B) A floral-infused cocktail with an unexpected twist

C) A strong whiskey, neat

D) A deep red wine, almost black

Which piece of art speaks to your soul?

A) 1

B) 2

C) 3

D) 4

Choose a getaway:

A) A remote, mist-covered island

B) A lush, hidden botanical garden

C) A gritty, bustling city known for its underground scene

D) A forgotten castle on a windswept cliff

Pick a quote that resonates with you.

A) “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

B) “The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all.”

C) “I will not be another flower, picked for my beauty and left to die.”

D) “Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

Your ideal wardrobe color palette is dominated by...

A) Deep blues, silvers, and soft neutrals

B) Vibrant greens, golds, and crimson

C) Black, red, and metallic accents

D) Dark purples, blacks, and muted grays

What do you fear most?

A) Losing touch with spirituality

B) Being trapped in a world without beauty or creativity

C) Conformity and losing your individuality

D) Your own mind

How do you want others to feel in your presence?

A) Awed and enchanted

B) Intrigued and inspired

C) Energized and a little intimidated

D) Uneasy but captivated

Results:

If most of your answers were A, you are Achilles.

Ethereal, witchy, gothic, otherworldly. A sense of timelessness and enchantment, as though stepping out of a dark fairytale, you embody the esoteric aspect of Hannibal.

Flowing silhouettes, layered textures, lace, velvets, sheer fabrics. Dark, rich color palettes with hints of silver or moonlit hues. Accessories like talismans, rings, and veils.

Keywords: Esoteric, ritualistic, poetic, haunting beauty.

If most of your answers were B, you are Lethal Spring.

Colorful but edgy, like a blooming garden with a dangerous undertone. A balance of softness and danger, beauty with a hidden bite, you are the tender brutality aspect of Hannibal.

Bold, unexpected color pairings with sharp tailoring. Florals with a twist—think botanical prints with darker contrasts or metallic accents. Structured pieces with soft touches like leather with silk.

Keywords: Elegant, vibrant, sharp, subversive.

If most of your answers were C, you are Guts.

Raw, vibrant, exposed, and visceral. Unapologetically fierce, leaning into primal energy and expression, you are the bloody, raw aspect of Hannibal.

Statement pieces, deconstructed clothing, bold prints, and textures like leather, mesh, and distressed fabrics. Red tones, splashes of color reminiscent of blood or raw earth.

Keywords: Intense, rebellious, raw, unapologetic.

If most of your answers were D, you are Obscura.

Dark, strange, eerie, but elevated. Walking the line between dream and nightmare, unsettling yet captivating, you are the surreal horror aspect of Hannibal, inspired by Will Graham's dream.

Monochrome or muted palettes with pops of deep jewel tones. Asymmetry, avant-garde cuts, heavy boots, and dramatic silhouettes. Layers that create mystery, like long coats or capes.

Keywords: Surreal, eerie, mysterious, avant-garde.

[cythiraeth]

cupid's chokehold! - i. e. the moment genshin men knew they've fallen for you

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x al-haitham, cyno, xiao (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: the exact moment (or process which lead to it) when genshin men knew that they are head over heels in love with you!

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, not proof-read, lighter (?) and more free form of the work this time!

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: ehe, long time no see! i'm back to life and posting, so to start i picked something that was easier to write and is slightly in a different form than my previous works, however, i hope you'll like it :> also, i'm still waiting for any work requests, so if you have any idea, feel free to messege me!!

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 1.5 k in total

 al-haitham

seeing you in a pretty, elegant outfit, probably some kind of dress or suit, maybe showing your collarbones or it just being mesmerizing,  it's up to you how you imagine a perfect fit ;) he is just PHYSICALLY UNABLE to take his eyes off you! the usually calm and collected al-haitham forgets how to use the ability to speak for a brief second.

the moment you left the room in which you were getting ready as he was waiting outside, he almost gasped out loud

i mean literally, this man's brain stopped working for a second

you two were supposed to attend tighnari's birthday party, and while he didn't consider it a occasion to wear something elegant, you did the opposite 

that's why he was left so speechless. because he was caught by surprise! he thought you would wear your casual clothes just as he did…

but it happened, you wore one of your favorite outfits for special occasions, and he was flabbergasted 

of course it's not like your look was the only reason he has fallen for you! he was definitely considering it many times before this happened, but he was living in denial.

"no, i don't actually have feelings for them. they make me feel comfortable, i crave hearing their voice or laugh and i care about them a lot, but no, we're just friends" - probably al-haitham to himself at some point in his life.

but this time, he couldn't explain his feelings in any rational way known to man. you were so stunning that his eyes shined uncontrollably when he laid them on you. he was so busy studying your silhouette, your face and your hair that he didn't even hear your first question, which was:

"and? how do i look?" you asked, opening the door but still keeping your hands on the doorframe and leaning on it. you were slightly blushed because it was quite embarrassing to let him see you like this, but if you were to be honest, you were also a little bit excited to see his reaction

so when he didn't even answer you and remained indifferent on the outside, the slightly raised corners of your mouth drooped

you just weren't aware of what he's been experiencing on the inside…

because his heart started pounding a little bit faster and he was ashamed of it but on the other hand you looked gorgeous and he couldn't stop himself from thinking about what would he do if you were in relationship

(he had such a strong urge to kiss your hand like a gentleman for some reason)

"what? do i really look that bad?" you asked after you have swallowed the bitterness of your first impression

"sorry?" he said, blinking, your words drawing him out of his reverie, "did you say something?" 

you snorted, annoyed by his behavior, assuming that he probably couldn't care less about your look at the moment, but at least he should try to pretend he does 

but oh, how wrong you were…

when you repeated the question he only murmured something under his breath in response, so you decided to let him be

you noticed he got sweaty all of sudden, it was probably too hot for him inside, you thought, so you took the last things and you two left the house.

in reality, he wasn't feeling hot because of the temperature of course, but he was just as surprised by his own actions as you were. surprised in a slightly different way though….

cyno

talking with tighnari... he found all his confidence to talk to him about his possible feelings for you, that he could not recognize and tighnari was left speechless because of how innocent and lost in his feeling cyno looked

he was probably hanging out with tighnari someday, maybe they went out for a dinner, and somehow the topic of conversation has come down to you

for a long time he was hesitant to talk about his feeling towards you out loud but today he decided he'd try discussing it with his friend

because if not tighnari then who would be a suitable person? surely not you 

also, don't think that he was aware of what he's feeling. HAHA, no. he would never 

"what in your opinion y/n thinks of me…?" was his first question. he tried to choose the words carefully and say it in his normal tone but even a small sign of arousal in his voice was enough for tighnari to notice that something is up

"and why are you asking?" he wanted to make sure that his interpretation is right

"no reason in particular," his answer was quick, those words escaped his lips uncontrollably, so he had to add something "i just consider them a close friend and i want to know if they do too."

tignari almost started laughing out loud, but he controlled himself.

close friend? oh man, he is so clueless…

"are you sure that they are a "close friend?"" he was actually having some fun but at the same time he just wanted to smack himself on the forehead, he couldn't decide 

"well, definitely not a "distant friend"" 

that's it, that's the moment when tighnari smacked his forehead 

"i'll pretend i didn't hear that," he tried to be serious, but it wasn't easy. "listen, you look at them like they are your entire world. that's the kind of look people give to their lovers, not close friends!" he finally said it out loud

cyno had to blink twice to process what was just said.

he. in love. with you? 

maybe? i mean, he always cared about your opinion about his jokes the most and he wanted to spend as much time as possible with you… but he thought that it's normal for friends to feel this way. and to steal glances at you person when you aren't looking, and to read every book you recommend him…

"you say so?" he finally asked, resting his chin on his hands "then maybe you're right," he admitted out loud

"FINALLY" tighnari couldn't hold it any longer… he was SO relieved that his friend won't be acting like he is running around in the fog anymore… right?

"and why are you so emotional about it?" cyno was genuinely confused (pls help this man he is often so clueless)

"because by now even collei knew"

xiao

 when you kept coming back after all of his attempts to push you away. he wanted to protect you, protect you from him, because for a human it would be better to stay away from his karmic debt, right? but when you remained determined to get closer to him no matter how many times he tried to disencourage you, he slowly realized that maybe, just maybe he can let you get closer to his heart than he ever let anyone to be.

in his case, there wasn't any particular situation that made him realize his feelings, it was rather a complex and long process (not really a chokehold then but shh…)

he knew you for several months despite of his numerous attempts of cutting any ties he had with you

it was just that… you were stubborn. but not in a regular way, no. your stubbornness was much less invasive and annoying, and it manifested in your constant willingness to get closer to him

however, you never imposed yourself nor did you try convincing him! you were just visiting wangshu inn regularly, maybe tried striking up a conversation a few times, even just sitting in silence was enough for you

and because of all those actions he never felt overwhelmed by your presence! actually, after some time, he just got used to it and secretly started liking it

however, there was always this silent voice in the back of his head that he shouldn't be doing this and that he's forgetting himself

so definitely, when he slowly started thinking of you in that way at the very beginning he was IN SUCH A BIG DENIAL that it's almost unbelievable 

alright, he admitted it to himself, but swore to N E V E R talk to anyone about it, especially and above all, to you.

he just decided to act as if those feelings didn't exist, that's all. and it went like that for quite a long time unfortunately… (at least you can be sure that he keeps his promises at all costs!!)

and after some time, when he was surprised that they didn't just go away, a certain thought crossed his mind…

he started thinking about what ifs and imagining what could happen if he theoretically decided to tell you about his feelings 

(he spent another few months on that though)

at some point he just couldn't look at you without seeing you both holding hands in his mind or stand next to you without the urge to put his hand on your shoulder (of course only in private, he would never do pda…)

but still, his karmic debt… 

he was so torn between those two thoughts (there were two wolves inside of him)

but as you expect, after months of his internal struggling, and your consistency in getting closer to him and encouraging him to open up, he let his feelings win for once in his long life

(take good care of him because he deserves it)

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 23.11.2023. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[bunniehunn]

As someone who’s a big Pomefiore fan, I also have a big problem with the dorm uniforms. I actually quite like the uniforms, BUT. In comparison, some aspects feel lackluster solely because of the formatting of the game. Less of a criticism of the designs themselves and more of them in the context of the game. Now, onto the uniforms themselves first. LOVE the kimono-style twist on the Evil Queen’s dress, very elegant. When looking at the full bodies, the eye (at least, my eye) is drawn downwards towards the middle and bottom because of the stronger gold accents on the shoes and sleeves. The sleeves are one of the focal points, along with the burgundy and gold tassels and the shoes. That’s where the problem starts. When playing the story game, we’re usually viewing characters from waist up, and when behind the text box, elbow up. With Pomefiore’s dorm uniform, it’s severely lacking in visual interest, since the focal points are cut off by the screen. Now, we’re going to be focusing on Vil’s uniform. His is actually one of my favorites, but it suffers even more than the others because of his long train. Take a design like Riddle’s dorm uniform. He also has a strong silhouette on his bottom half, but because there’s a lot more going on near his chest and his crown is a strong, bold statement piece, it keeps your eyes occupied. A lot of the dorm uniforms have hats or headpieces that keep that visual interest upwards, and with those that don’t have either like Savanaclaw, there’s more going on around the neck, with their bold jewelry and patterns and the variation in sleeves and shirt collar types.

I’ve actually made a little simpler explanation with the sprites.

I really hope this doesn’t sound nitpicky to anyone. I really do like the design, I just wish there was a stronger focus around the top like the others since that’s where our eyes are almost the entire game.

[gojoshooter]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEAS- make a part 2 for sukuna x hindu bride/wife btw if it isnt obvious i'm in love with ur writing style please like make it as long as you want (but like longer than part 1) srry if this is too much to ask but damn i loved that one coz like no on ...NO ONE has ever written abt it (make it a lil smutty or suggestive pls<3 )

oops anonie, might've gone lil more than "suggestive" 🤭 here's part 1 for new readers!

Sukuna and his Hindu!Bride pt.2

tw. suggestive, oral (f!receiving), reader wears a saree the old way without blouse

It's been a few months into your marriage with the mighty king Ryomen Sukuna, and you've already started yearning for his undivided attention. Although he has never not been immersed and utterly obsessed with his little pretty Hindu!Bride since the first time, you crave being more than just in your busy man's arms at the fall of night.

Today, you peek out to make sure your husband is out of the chambers before you proceed with planning what to wear—and it's not the regular queen atire.

You're dressed in a long gorgeous saree, heavy golden ornaments dazzling head to toes. Sukuna loved watching you captivate him with your traditional elegance.

-

Out of his thrown room after a long day, the king hears the ringing melody of your payal chiming around the royal garden. His brows rise up, Sukuna missed this playful sound around his shrine... it's about to be an interesting night.

Stepping into the loucious garden, he's walking around in the silver moonlight searching for your familiar silhouette with a subtle grin. “Where's my lady?” he drawls while seeking for your trace like a big cat.

Hidden behind a tree, you attempt your best to stop your giggles well known to the fact how sharp Sukuna's senses are. This little game kept your adrenaline high as you peeked your head to look where he is.

Stepping closer, Sukuna smirks standing right behind you, with your head the other direction. He whispers with a smug look on his handsome face “Brat, brat... so playful”. His sudden rough voice causes you a tiny flinch as you turn your head. Your playful almond eyes looking back up at him.

The king pulls you flush to his firm chest, drawing out a soft gasp from her bride. Two ruby-red eyes set on your softer ones as the smaller pair subtly checks you out up and down... demanding answers for what he didn't ask. A lazy huff leaves his chest as one of his big palm starts to caress your features. He can smell your arousal.

Blushing, you attempt to speak “King... my king,” a rough thumb is placed on your plush lips shutting you effectively. With a few more long minutes of him admiring or rather glaring down your adorable shy face, he finally let's go of your smaller body and you step back, flustered.

The king grips the end of your silky long atire, pulling it slowly with one of his large arms. As your saree unwraps your body, the pull makes you stumble back on his strong chest... now leaving you unveiled in front of Ryomen Sukuna like nothing but a flustered little mess.

The view made him grin. His queen, his Hindu!Bride clad in nothing but heavy jewels to cover her from the night's cold breeze. It almost looks like a part of your golden skin. Shivers run down your spine. No matter how many times, he would never fail to make your body feel worshipped like a real deity before pleasuring it.

“Mohini...” (enchantress) he whispers at the sight. Your heart accelerates at his remark, causing your blush to run down your neck.

The king's smirk widens as one palm goes for your heated centre, a mouth splitting open on it's surface as he hoists you up. A soft yelp comes out of you, while he brings you near a tree and holds you still on it's rough trunk. Your soft-as-petal limbs shake and twitch by the sides of his big wet mouth, chanting your king's name. You gasp for more air.

One snap from one of his hands, and small droplets of rain start falling down in the cold night. Watching your drunken eyes widen with wonder, he uses his two spare hands to grip tight on your ankles, pining them spread on the trunk as well. The first arm keeps you balanced up high in front of him while still drinking in all your essence. Sukuna seemed to be high on it's taste.

In the silent moment of intimacy, little sighs leave you as the rainfall soaks both of your bodies with water. Just how much is he capable of, will ever be a mystery to her wife as well.

“You are one seductive woman...” he grumbles next to your ear, sounding as if he hadn't spoken in ages. Skilled tongue on his palm firmly latched to your tender flesh. The dangling jewels on your hair, arms, waist, hips and ankles clinking together on your damp tan skin as your smaller body shook in his grip, creating music mixed with your whimpers of pleasure only for his ears's to listen.

Your arms flew to hug his neck, bringing him closer as you rode your intense high, eyes watering. Head spinned while Sukuna held you close, watching you breathe in and out to calm your heart.

“More...” came a weak voice from your dry throat, his sharp red eyes set on your pinned open body like a fragile butterfly, “Swami”.

His warm mouth latches on the side of your neck, sharp canines tracing their path to your favourite spot making your toes curl in air. The monster king smiles sadistically knowing he is anything but leaving you undisheveled right now in this royal garden...

masterlist !!

an. AAHHHSHSJ true form sukuna *bites fist* thank you anon for your precious words T-T hope this was long? likes & rbs are appreciated!! <3

tags: @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @ruins-posts @shrekstealedurgurl @bibliophilemiyo @dottedhalfnotes @attackonnat @mangiswig

[thornxkiss]

  "Business. And pleasure."

Dreaming of everything, she truly expected nothing as a true daughter of Zaun should - and she always has been one in her heart of darkness and botanic science. As a fragile flower in her appearance, Corina quickly rose to become the youngest chem baroness beginning her industrial journey as other baroness' most precious protegee. Two women found mutual respect worlds apart. They were elements that are destined to differ. Steel and art. One cherished dangerous beauty embodied in delicacy of petals with toxin hidden in every stem. Other was very practical and strict prefering metal and gear. Between Veraza and Glasc there was however always a silent understanding. Eventually, under strong metal wings of powerful Renata Glasc, Corina would blossom growing her very own roots. And her roots were running deep now. In the eye of many Zaunities she was a sorceress. They believed that deep in the glass - shaped cultivars, magic rituals of enchantment took place and Corina herself did absolutely nothing to prove the Downsiders wrong. She walked across Zaun with grace. Intoxicating. Yearning for the world to be spellbound. The connection she created with her plants felt ethereal, unworldly and unreal yet she was no mage, only a talented scientist. Was she? (Silco's quarters, midnight) Corina emerged from shadows slowly walking down the stairs. Her green dress made of luxury lace was sleeveless, revealing legs and mid - calf long. Her gloves were long. Her ankles covered in climbing vines were no tattoo. Toxic plants entwisted her skin with adoration; tight as dark ropes. - Hush. - Corina whispered with love, her tone tender and sweet. Vines vanished. It understood. Veraza wanted to be alone. Flowers in chem baroness' hair formed a subtle tiara of belladonna's wreath. Deadly, poisonous and delightfully poetic. Silco knew his guest's face and she instantly recognised his tall and slender elegant silhouette as well. The Enchantress came closer. She smiled. - I do still have my most faithful messengers in Piltover but for now, the sound of my name is too loud. I was cleared of charges and I am not wanted yet but the young Kiramman is smart. Shouldn't be underestimated. - Recalling the moment of her being exposed and burnt as a master infiltrator, she offered a new perspective. She always did. Corina was one step ahead her rivals but this time her rival was a challenge; another Mastermind indeed. - I will stay away from the Upper City for a while but I have found someone special. He is spineless, corrupted and with no moral code. You will be delighted. I regret not introducing you personally to this young sheriff enforcer. His name is Marcus and he has a daughter. I'm wondering how much he will cost you but he may be useful. Another gift. Perhaps better one than a pet rat but worse than personal seeds of toxic plants?

@zaunseye ; The High King of Zaun