#the noble sanctuary book

[eretzyisrael]

We've noted previously that the Waqf tourist guides to the Temple Mount from the 1920s through 1950 freely admitted that the Dome of the Rock was built on the spot of the two Jewish Temples. Now the updated editions of the Waqf guide explicitly denies any Jewish connection to the Mount.

But a new photo book of the Temple Mount, "The Noble Sanctuary Book," has just been released and it was clearly made with the blessings of the Jordanian government and the Waqf, which granted the photographer Bashar Tabbah access to places not open to the public. The introduction was written by a member of Jordan's royal family.

The historical section of the book was written by an American archaeologist, Dr. Robert Schick. And his description indicates that the Temples were indeed on that site - and he brings proof from the Quran:

There is a little wiggle room there to say that it is possible that the Temples were elsewhere in Jerusalem, and it looks like Schick tried to thread the needle between honesty and the desires of the Jordanians. But his wording "Other verses associated with the Masjid al-Aqsa compound" immediately after the Quranic reference to the Temples makes it clear that the book says that the Quran is referring to the Temples on the Temple Mount.

Before anyone heard of Palestinians, this was not a controversial position. Many Muslim scholars over the centuries knew that the entire reason the Dome of the Rock was built where it was is because it was the site of the Temples and they wanted to build something that would approach the majesty of the originals. However, the official position changed in the 1950s and 60s, culminating in explicit Temple denial by Yasir Arafat at Camp David.

[luveline]

Can you write where the reader walks into James room and he's crying and its the first time shes seen him cry so she comforts him pls xx

thank you for your request! fem, 1.2k

James’ house is a sanctuary to everyone he’s ever met. There are scratches on the wall by the door where Sirius has thrown it open, long deep welts of ruin under a drunken hand, two best friends laughing to the bedroom where they share a bed. You’re used to Sirius by now, an extension of James you love and make room for, but waking up to the heir of the most noble family in London sleeping off a hangover with his face buried in your boyfriend's shoulder still surprises you. His snores never change. 

Then there’s Remus, the sweetheart, tracking dirt into the living room because he so often forgets he’s wearing shoes, distracted by a book or a thought he shares in half smiles knowing James will listen. 

You’re everywhere. In photos like the rest of them, in your coat on the hook, your clean washing on the stairs, your shoes in the bedroom cupboard. There’s a red smudge of your lipstick on the wall at the top of the stairs where James wiped your bottom lip and then used the wall to hang over you, kissing. He keeps meaning to paint over it, you know. He says the same thing every time you bring it up, a laughing, “I’ll get to it, you thing!” 

You’re used to smiles and sounds here. You aren’t acquainted with this. Sniffles from the bedroom, long, stringing gulps of air and the answering sob. It makes your chest flip. James hasn’t cried in front of you in a year of dating and two years of knowing him. James doesn’t even get pissed off unless it’s for somebody else. Something awful must’ve happened. You rush to find out what. 

In the bedroom, James is just sitting there falling apart. Just, sat on the bed, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking like an awful jagged up and down, like he’s hurting; the shock of it is in every inch of movement. James is beautiful in everything, skin and hands and dark, dark hair, but he’s hurting now as he drags fingers wet with tears through frizzing curls. He must have heard you coming up but he can’t stop, lifting his chin, an apology twisted in his mouth that he doesn’t say aloud. 

“Lovely, what happened?” you ask, sure you’re gonna fall through the floor. “What happened? What–”

You aren’t giving him time to answer. You need to know. 

“No, it’s alright–”

“It’s not alright,” you say, standing in front of him with stiff arms. “What happened, James?” 

“It’s okay.” He cries a little, sniffs, looking up at you with swimming eyes. “It’s alright, I’m just– it’s just– well, it’s just everything, I suppose, but it’s…” He looks down, his mouth twisting again in an apology you don’t want to take. He shakes himself. 

“James, what’s everything?” 

“Silly stuff.” James takes your hand. Telling, that a boy who’s spent his entire life looking after the people he loves would attempt to comfort you with tears still hot on his cheeks. 

You look down at his long fingers. 

James plays piano. He learned your favourite song for you before he’d ever asked you out, and when he’d played it for you, he’d played so beautifully you felt sick for days, felt sick every time you thought of him, but in the moment he’d laughed at your teary eyes and pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. Lovely girl, he’d said, laughing, I won’t play it again if you’re gonna cry like that.

You figure he must want comfort as he gives it, wrapping your arms around him to steer him toward a soft kiss, his hair like strands of satin under your lips. “Nothing that upsets you like this could ever be silly.” 

He pushes you away. Not without love, but pushing away regardless. He stands in the space you leave and wipes his cheeks with the backs of his hands. It’s nearly like he’s dancing. Just the way his arms move. But then he drops them and turns away from you, your heart plummeting to your stomach. 

“James.” 

“It’s not like that. I was hoping I’d be done before you got home. Should we go out for dinner or something?” 

“James–”

“What?” he asks, smiling, at odds with his sad eyes. “Love, it’s really fine, I’m fine.” Love. You let out a long breath, chest a cold ache slowly warmed by his gaze. There’s care for you in every eyelash, but it still shocks you when he hugs you. “It’s okay. Sorry I scared you.” 

James. “Fucking hell, Jamie, I’m not scared, I want you to tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it for you.”

He chokes on breath. “I’m fine,” he says. He doesn’t believe it himself, a crack running straight through his words. “Sorry,” he says, sickly, kissing the top of your head as you’d kissed his. 

Clearly he’s not going to let you be the one domineering the situation, but that’s okay. He can kiss your head and hold you on the edge of too tight. You slip a hand under the edge of his T-shirt to stroke his back, until your hand is numb to it, and he’s sagging against you heavily. 

“You’re really not fine, I can see that much.” 

He’s quiet, but you can tell there’s something he wants to say. 

“But that’s okay,” you say, hand clasping his back . You pat a steady rhythm there as he sighs. “It really is. I don’t know why you think you have to be finished crying before I get home, but that’s not true. You can cry. You can cry buckets. Please don’t pretend you’re not upset because of me, I’d feel so bad.”

Something hot and wet touches your forehead. “M’sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for.” You pull back to pat his cheek. 

James stares at you. Tears well in usually warm eyes and get caught in the wet hedge of his lashes. You try to wipe them away before they can fall —you don’t wanna see your sweetheart crying. 

“Don’t frown,” he says softly. 

“I’m trying not to. Here, let me,” —you wipe his cheeks with your sleeve, voice a muttering thing as his skin pinks beneath your touch— “just get that there for you. Your eyes are red, Jamie, I hope you haven’t been upset for too long.” 

“No, uh. No, not too long.” 

“Can you please tell me what’s wrong? I’d like to know.” 

James’ face presses to your neck in seconds. He pauses, and then he sobs. That’s more like it. You stand there in the bedroom until your legs are stiff, and then you only move to lay him down in bed to be your little spoon. “It's not fine,” you say, your arm around him, the other playing in the swirl of his parting, “but it will be. You’re really too handsome for all these tears.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

He sounds sweet when he’s trying to make you laugh. You reach over him to kiss his hot cheek.  

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Requiem for the Damned ଓ♱˚⋆

*holds head in hands* Idk why Dottore keeps haunting me with writing inspo. And for this idea to manifest just before Holy Week….fuck it, I hope you all enjoy the blasphemous tale of Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, religious abuse, dubcon, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 2.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Despite your status as a wandering demon, you have no place in human cognizance. Rather, you conceal yourself from mortal eyes in favor of close observations and whispered temptations. Humans, from your perspective, are interesting creatures—they are ambitious, easily influenced by spiritual beings, capable of both good and evil.

♡ And what better example than the one who summoned you on a starry night? Such rituals are not uncommon amongst heretics, but most only succeed in invoking the contempt of their fellow humans. And few would invoke your name, much less commit sacrilege within the walls of the Church.

♡ You sense danger immediately upon your appearance. Within the summoning circle, you take note of your sigil perfectly illustrated in blood against marble. Beyond it, what alarms you is not your sacred surroundings nor the fresh corpse mixed with your offerings of books and fruit. It is the figure standing over you, cloaked in moonlight, gazing at you with eyes the color of hellfire.

“My ritual is a success. Welcome to my humble church, o noble demon…or would you rather be addressed by your epithet? ______, Fallen Seraph, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge.”

♡ A glimpse into his soul is all it takes to strike fear into your heart. Within Hell, there are rumors of a small village in Sumeru. Its people are nothing of note, a congregation of simpletons whose lives revolve around the beliefs of their Church. The lone exception is the main priest, Father Zandik, better known as Il Dottore.

♡ The stories, passed through human voices, speak of a child ostracized for his unconventional beliefs and his interest in the macabre. Branded a madman, he was placed in the care of the Church elders who corrected his ways of thinking. Once he became of age, Zandik was given the choice to move out of the rectory or to remain as a priest; he chose the latter of his own volition.

♡ Since his ordination, Zandik has proved himself to be an exceptional priest. He educates the masses, reviews theological texts, performs exorcisms, and provides religious counsel for the doubtful. He even serves as the town’s doctor, fully gaining the acceptance of his community.

♡ The rumors don’t stop there. For Il Dottore earned his title by performing miracles. It is he who guides the people into religious ecstasy, he who cures the sick from mysterious curses, he who blesses the weak into “enhanced humans.” There are already whispers that once Dottore’s mortality catches up with him, he will surely be canonized as the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles.

♡ But spiritual beings such as yourself know the truth. That Dottore is neither a kind priest nor a devout believer, that his days in the Church only magnified his heretical inclinations. Disillusioned with God, Zandik decided to turn His religious sanctuary into his own laboratory, one where he could fulfill his lust for knowledge through a mask of holiness.

♡ He manipulates the people with false teachings. He triggers religious ecstasy with drugged incense. He singles out devotees to “test their faith” during the quiet hours of the Church. And what the town perceives as curses and miracles are actually scientific experiments in which Dottore plays god.

♡ It’s too late to escape. No matter your divine powers, nothing prepares you for Dottore’s traps. The incantations, the barrier of the summoning circle, an aura so holy yet sinister that it couldn’t possibly come from ordinary religious objects—all you can do is fall to your knees and beg for his mercy, all the while he watches you with a confident smile.

♡ His intentions are like that of any human: He summoned you to form a contract. In exchange for his soul, he demands your knowledge, your resources, your full servitude for so long as he roams the mortal plane. Your hesitation only triggers another wave of scorching pain, followed by panic as Dottore grips your horn and forces you to face him.

“Make no mistake, ______. The mere fact of your divinity does not make you indestructible. In exchange for your cooperation, you will bear witness to experiments of the same magnitude as God’s creations. What say you?”

♡ You have no other choice. And that is how, in the sanctity of the Church, you make a deal with the human named Zandik. Once the pact has been forged, Dottore admires the bright sigil on his chest, plucks a few feathers from your wings, and disables the summoning circle so you can leave. Thus begins your personal hell.

♡ It is easy for you to answer Dottore’s questions about the divine. The horror lies in assisting him in experiments, responding to his summons no matter the inconvenience, allowing him to extract your blood, tears, and feathers. No, what’s most humiliating is when he uses your body for his “research,” bending you over the altar and bringing you to physical ecstasy against your will.

♡ At this point, you don’t know who to pray to. One night, Dottore shows you a secret room in his laboratory. As soon as he lights the lamps, your eyes take in numerous bodies and skeletons of a different classification from his usual victims. The extra bones jutting from the scapulas, the amputated wings, the halos pinned to the walls, the holy aura you’d felt from his religious objects…instantly, Dottore’s powers make sense.

“This is my first specimen. She was my guardian angel…no, I jest. She was a mere messenger who implored me to repent for my sins. From her words, I deduced it had been within Heaven’s capacity to save me during my youth—and yet God only sent an angel to me after my first act of blasphemy.”

The angels…how many has he killed? Not even during your fall from Heaven did you feel such primal fear for your life. But you cannot scream—you have long been trained to resist fight and flight. All you can do is listen to Dottore’s explanation, watch as he approaches a pure white skeleton and wraps his hands around its fractured hyoid bone.

He gives you a calm smile. “Luckily, her body provided me with indispensable resources for my experiments and my procurement of her brethren. I believe her name was Sohreh.”

♡ Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Dottore points at the far corner of the room to reveal a space dedicated to demons. Four dead bodies, their causes of death vividly described. Horns, wings, and other body parts amputated in exchange for lives spared after exorcisms. And when Dottore returns to your side, tracing the wound from where he broke off your horn, you can only tremble and acquiesce to a checkup. It grows back fully by the end of the year.

♡ He has his moments of vulnerability, however. Perhaps it is due to your nature as a demon, a creature which represents evil, that Dottore does not hide his heart from you. Once, after his usual confessions—he always makes up trivial sins—he remains in the confessional until his fellow priest has left. Then he goes to the altar and summons you.

♡ What catches you off-guard is not his lack of greetings. Rather, it’s the way he pulls you close to his body, lips ghosting the curve of your ear. There, in the heart of the Church, he whispers to you every sin he has ever committed. Despite his normal tone of voice, his words have never betrayed a language so guiltless, so sincere, so human.

♡ He asks how much of his madness is to blame on the influence of demons, or if he had been born wicked. He asks if humans were truly given the mental faculties to withstand temptation regardless of their circumstances. He asks if the same can be said for spiritual beings, questioning why former angels like you were also created with the capacity to sin. He even asks if praying for a demon can offer them any hope of salvation.

♡ It takes you a while to answer his questions. It’s just like him to put your emotions in disarray, to make you feel pity for the very cause of your current suffering. Against your nature, you wonder if there is still a chance for Zandik, if he can somehow repent or find a way to save himself from your contract and all of his sins. Even if it is too late, He has always been more forgiving to humans than angels.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Do you know why I became a demon, Zandik?”

Your question is what prompts Zandik to pull away from you, though his touch lingers. His gaze, as always, is unfathomable; you can never discern what hides within those pools of crimson.

“No, I do not. Few demonological texts allude to your existence, and only the Lesser Key of Deshret cites your previous status as an angel of the highest ranking. I have made theories in relation to your epithets but I respect all possibilities. Now what would you, as the primary source, reveal to me?”

Now it is your turn to confess.

“Seraphim are the closest to God but for that reason, we are the most distant from His creations. Everything we know of the world is derived only from what He tells us, not our own insights. And so I defied His Word and ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, committing the same sin which condemned all of humanity.”

The tip of your upper wing brushes against Zandik’s face, while your middle wings encircle his body in a loose hug. As for your lower wings…they are nothing but twin scars covered in short feathers. After your descent, it seemed like a rational decision to chop them off, broken as they were. It helped that your wings had just outgrown their original purpose.

For once, you barely flinch at the sensation of his touch against your scars. Many times, Zandik has inquired about the loss of your lower wings and even asked if he could have them. They still remain in Hell, tucked away in a corner of your home, eyes forever closed.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. “Do you ever regret your decision?”

You shrug. “It was difficult at first, naturally. Many of my eyes were blinded—yes, that is why I rarely open the ones on my wings—but those which still function have seen so many wonderful sights up-close. Neither must I cover my face with my remaining wings. And despite being what your kind and my former brethren would dub a monster…I’m happier now.”

“I see, I see.” His curiosity appears far from sated, however, a sentiment you can empathize with. “As I thought, God is incomprehensible. For Him to deny even His greatest creation of salvation…it confirms that there are limits to the forgiveness of that which humans call a ‘loving god.’ Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me.”

And just as quickly as he initiated his confession, Zandik steps out of your grasp and dismisses you. But you make no haste, silently watching him after you “leave.”

His expression is thoughtful. A gloved hand touches his chest, right above your sigil.

Such an interesting creature.

Honestly, you don’t know what to make of your feelings for this human. Much as you despise his cruel treatment towards you, he never fails to capture your interest with his experiments and philosophies. Whenever he speaks of God, you wonder if a small part of him still desires to be saved. But that will never be.

Zandik preaches salvation with the knowledge that he will never receive it. For the Church never taught him how to love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ Il Dottore never became the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles. Neither did he have a funeral mass befitting of a priest, nor a peaceful death from natural causes. Instead, he died young, laicized, once again denounced as a heretic by his community.

♡ You don’t know how his crimes were exposed, and why now. Perhaps it is God’s punishment for him, a blessing for his victims, or both. Either way, Dottore paid for his sins on a sunny day, burned at the stake before a disdainful crowd. Not long after his heart stopped beating, his belongings were thrown into the fire—research, tools, anything which carried his memory.

♡ You never left his side. After his last rites, led by an elderly bishop who condemned Zandik as he did in the past, you sat next to him and offered a final conversation. He didn’t express any fear nor sadness in regards to his imminent death, merely stating it a pity that his achievements could never be appreciated in his town.

♡ …He did ask if there is any chance of meeting again in Hell, but you reminded him that the punishment of sinners is out of your jurisdiction. Plus, it’s better that way—you have no desire to avenge yourself, and you’d rather not witness Zandik’s suffering for all eternity. You can only imagine the severity of his punishment, what more if he is assigned to one of the demons he exorcized.

♡ During his execution, you stood at the front of the crowd. You kept your eyes trained on him, for so long as his scarlet orbs remained open, whispering the prayers for the dead on his behalf. While a part of you felt liberated, another was mournful. You hope your last words to Zandik gave him solace in his final moments.

“Rest now, Zandik. God may never forgive your sins, but I shall.”

♡ And thus ends the life of Il Dottore. In the following days, the Church is purged of its holy, sinister aura, mainly because they discarded the religious objects tainted with angel remains. You continue your usual obligations as a wandering demon, but the humans you observe pale in comparison to your companion of many years.

♡ Not long after, you return to Hell for your other divine duties. As soon as you appear in your abode, however, something feels off. The sinister aura, the offering of books and fruit, your lower wings gone from their original place… The answer comes in the form of a hand grabbing you by the horn, pulling you backwards, twisting your body to meet a familiar gaze the color of hearth-fire. Only, this time, those eyes are brimming with pure joy, paired with a genuine smile.

♡ Apparently, Dottore’s soul did end up in Hell but not in the way you expected. In a proud voice, he explains that the Devil gave him a special fate. Whether it was due to vacant positions or everyone’s fear of the infamous “Demon-Killer,” you’ll never know. What Dottore does confirm is that as the demon bound to him via contract, you have to take responsibility and act as his companion in Hell.

“Rather than subject me to eternal suffering, the Devil believed that my talents would prove useful for the punishments of my fellow sinners. How wonderful is it for my achievements to be recognized in Hell? …Oh? I didn’t predict such a physical reaction from you. All of your eyes are wide open, and you seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

♡ You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. To think your personal hell has been extended to eternity—are your sins enough to warrant such a fate?! But after confirming your misfortune, all you can do is sigh and tend to Zandik. He looks exactly the same, with the exception of a few burn scars on his body. And judging by the familiar black feathers on his person, he seems eager to discard his former religious attire along with his mask of faith.

♡ And when Zandik unfastens his scorched cassock, he takes your hand and places it on his unburned chest, right above your sigil. It glows vibrantly, brighter than any light you laid eyes on in Heaven. And beneath the flesh, you can feel his heart beating in sync with yours.

“Tell me, ______, do I still appear human to you?”

“You already know my answer to that question. But fine, I’ll admit it: Yes, you always have.”

♡ 

More Church AU here!! Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

At long last, I am free from Priesttore…thank you to everyone. To my readers, to my fellow Dottore simps, to my mutuals who indulged my tortured DMs after midnight, to the artist whose fan art inspired this idea to begin with. May you all have a lovely day╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Dottore enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @mochinon-yah @diodellet @lcveaesop @oofasleep @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @boundinparchment @harmonysanreads @teabutmakeitazure @yandere-wishes @yanmaresu @nicebonescomrades @nimandu @lesanyanyas @moarar

[tanuki-kimono]

Cw: We are going to talk here about periods, and sex education in the past. Read this note according to your own sensibilities :)

How women dealt with periods during Edo period, article by shunga enthousiast Shungirl who made a paper pad following instructions found in makura bunko 枕文庫 - ie ancient sex books illustrated with erotic ukiyoe.

One of such makura bunko is 渓斎英泉 Keisai Eisen's 閨中紀聞-枕文庫, first published in 1822. It details Chinese remedies recipes for menstrual pains and irregularities, give tips about sex, and information about menstruations and pregnancy. From a modern point of view, some beliefs are outdated, but it was then such a bestseller it went through several reeditions.

Several words were apparently in use during Edo era to designates menstrual period: keisui 経水, gekkei 月経, tsukiyaku 月水, etc.

When girls went throught their first period, their females relatives or nannies would taught them how to deal with them. One method was to use paper as sanitary products (please note people without easy access to paper probably dealt with periods differently).

__________ 御馬 paper pads

Sanitary pads, such as the one recreated above by Shungirl, were then called mima 御馬 (probably as a pun on true "mima" which were then fine horses own by noblemen, or attached to sanctuaries as mounts for gods etc) or simply ouma お馬 ("honorable" horse).

Ouma were made from inexpensive recycled paper called Asakusagami 浅草紙. Sheets were folded 8 times, tied with twisted paper strings (koyori 紙縒), and then wrapped with another layer of folded paper. It was secured once again with paper strings.

Part of the strings could be left long so to tie around the waist, or/and pad was hold into place by wearing fundoshi 褌 loincloth (which would also help prevent leaking on inner tights).

Asakusagami quality was low (it was also used as toilet paper) so paper pads had to be changed often, meaning you had to fold quite a lot of them to go through your period!

Shungirl folded the pad above following instructions found in the book 実娯教絵抄, which provided several other "models":

__________ 詰め紙 paper tampons

Another method for dealing with periods were tampon-like paper bundles which were inserted into the vagina, the 詰め紙 (tsumeshi? I am not sure of the reading).

This method may have first appeared in red-light districts (?). Beside its use for periods, prostitutes also used those tampons as method of contraception (OP has an interesting article on this subject).

By the end of Edo period and into Meiji, paper tampons were widely used even by women who were not prostitutes - despite voices branding this method as unsanitary.

__________ About girls' coming of age rites

Menarche (first period) was an important milestone for girls, and was celebrated as such via specific rites (shochō o iwau 初潮を祝). Those differed a lot from places to places, and also depended on social status.

Celebrations would concern close family, but often spread to wider community who could received for example a festive meal (sekihan 赤飯) for the occasion (some Edo era senryû poems stress how mortifying this publicity could be!).

Interestingly, some traditions were also pretty sweet: in some places, mothers would sew 3 stiches into their daughter's underskirt (koshimaki 腰巻き) as a good luck charm, hoping their periods would last only 3 days <3

Those rites were part of coming of age traditions (seijoshiki ��女式) which marked the start of a young woman adulthood. Another example is the blackening of teeth (ohaguro お歯黒) which usually started around 16-17 years old.

Celebrating menarche publicly was a way of advertising that the girl was no longer a child and would "soon" be a bride. Yet, if menarche often took place around 13-14 years old, in reality it was somehow unusual to have girls married so soon!

Before marriage, especially in non-noble/samurai families, young women often started their sexual life via flings or yobai 夜這い ("night crawling" ie pseudo-secret nighttime encounters) before any wedding actually took place.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Stolas has an S/O that's obsessed with his scent

His Scent~

You met the prince when both of you were young, Stolas was, well, a nerd. Book worm, rather, if you felt more polite.

And despite his best attempts to interact with other nobles or even other children, it became painfully obvious to the boy nobody really liked him.

A deeply painful realisation for the owls sensitive soul.

This is where you come in, you being the son of an Imp servant, would too lack any real friends, though you were raised as an Imp, so you never really expected much.

This would be how you found the young prince hiding behind the palace.

It was a nook the servants usually used when they wanted soem fresh air, or simply to hide from their work.

You of course, did the whole formal act, asking if he was alright, if he needed anything.

But when it became obvious he was sad, somberly telling you he was fine, but given his statr you didn't really believe him.

Seeing him in such a state, you'd open up to him, asking him if he was alright.

Stolas was hesitant at first, not sure if he could trust you, but when you genuinely opened up to him, he'd warm up to you, the two of you quickly talking back and forth.

It'd be through your talks, you taking e genuine interest in his books that a genuine friendship would develop, the two of you growing close.

You'd end up meeting In that spot often.

You being his only friend, and with the spot being isolated enough to not draw attention, it became your little sanctuary, the two of you spending countless hours there building a deep friendship with one and other.

But it'd be one day, the Owl having received both a verbal and physical lashing from his father, that you'd find him in tears.

You finding him in such a state did the only thing you could. You hugged him.

You'd hold him close and it seemed almost instantly you both realised 2 very important things.

1. Stolas was incredibly touch starved.

The man feeling so very strange, yet so delightful as you held him close. Your warmth and firm body making him feel incredible in your arms.

And 2. You loved his smell.

You didn't know if it was soap, or his clothes, or just his general musk, but you were instantly hooked.

You held the man for hours, the owl holding you back, adoring the contact, relishing every second of it.

This quickly became routine, the two of you meeting in the back of the palace, changing your meeting spot to the middle of the palaces hedge maze, the two of you free to get nice and close.

Literally.

Stolas would lay back on a blanket, the man holding you too his chest. You curling up against him, nuzzling his fluffy chest, adoring his stuffy yet deep scent.

You were hooked. His scent like a drug, your mind going numb as you nuzzled his chest fluff, the chest tuft like a drug for you, as you lay against him, breathing deep.

You'd spend a good bit of time with the Owl, like, not just with your nose in his fluff, the two of you spending lots of time together.

You'd play games, read or just spent time together. Enjoying each other's company.

You'd often spend time around his book, reading it together or the avian would just read it to you, you learning a great deal from the man and his books.

But despite this, you spent most of your time craving his scent, usually curled up against him, breathing in that musk, or wishing you could do as much, keeping close to the owl.

You'd become unreasonably close.

You being Stolas' only and closest friend, he'd become deeply dependent on your, care and your intimate contact, loving the way you'd hug him, expecting nothing in return.

You, adoring his scent, became something of a scent junkie. You taking any opportunity to breath in that distinct avian musk, his feathered form creating a unique and distinct scent you couldnt get enough of.

You spent countless hours together, just curled up. You nuzzling his fluff as he read to you, the both of you happy with the arrangement.

But despite your bliss, your relationship's defining moment would be when your mother caught you with the Prince.

She wasn't demon royalty, something you both thanked Lucifer for.

Though that didn't stop her from chewing you both out, though she targeted you specifically, being her son and ya know, not demon royalty.

She chewed you out, berating you as she demanded you never have such inappropriate contact with a Goetia ever again.

After this the two of you would spend several months apart, even as you both desperately craved each other's embrace, you couldn't risk getting caught, and with your increased duties, you both had work to do.

No chance to sneak off.

In the time you spent apart, you quickly became a servant, working your very hardest to become a trusted and valued servant.

With you working your ass off, you'd eventually end up in Stolas' vicinity.

He was eager to greet you, hoping to rekindle the relationship you once had, the man missing you dreadfully during your separation.

Yet as you walked past the man, you stonewalled him, walking past him like he was nothing.

Stolas' hope dampened, the man going back to the depressed state he was in before. His mood always dampened, believing you never wanted to be near him again.

Yet after a few weeks, Stolas finally giving up on you, falling into a deep depression, believing his only friend had abandoned him, was shocked as one day, as he walked down the halls of his palace, he'd suddenly find himself yanked into a nearby closet.

You'd hug the man close, holding him for several minutes, nuzzling his fuzzy chest, practically huffing his scent.

Stolas, recovering from the shock of the sudden turn of events, smiled. Tears forming in his eyes as he held you close, the two of you holding each other for several minutes as Stolas shed tears, so very happy to hold you again.

You'd talk for some time, speaking softly as you apologised for ignoring him, but you had to play your part, not wanting to blow it before working your way to a position of standing amongst the staff. You taking the occasional sniff of the owl as you explained it to him.

Stolas meanwhile just held you close, relishing your embrace, telling you he didn't care. He was just happy to have you back, missing you dreadfully.

You'd talk, quickly agreeing not to act on your mutual impulses in public. Both of you thinking clearly.

It'd quickly become a part of your daily routine, you always snatching him into a nearby closet, stolas loving the surprise, giggling madly as you held him, you huffing his chest, the man happily holding you close as you both stood there, relishing each other.

This was a common occurrence, and the only thing that kept him sane as he endured the monotony of Royal life.

It became even stranger as you grew, Stolas becoming a lanky, yet powerful man, you still remaining the itty bitty Imp you were as kids, the man now more than triple your height.

Stolas came to love this size difference, never stating as much in plain words and yet he adored the difference, the avian relishing the power dynamic.

It was funny.

Once youd been enough to pin him to the ground, yet now. Now he held you so easily, the man holding your form like e would a stack of books, and yet holding you was even easier.

But ehat he really found funny was that you still believed you held the power.

You never outright said it, but it was clear you believed you were in charge, you usually being the one to drag him into a closet or private room.

It'd be not long after Octavias birth, you taking your natural place as his right hand as Stolas ascended to head of the household, though your position mostly worked as a cover to worship the man's form when in private, an arrangement he was mostly satisfied with.

Stolas, maturing, grew more confident, his form becoming more dominant, the man deciding he wanted your relationship to become more than it was.

It'd be one day, you attempting to pull the man into a private room that he'd finally take command.

He'd resist your pull, you freezing before looking towards him, concerned you'd been caught.

But instead, you found your face forced into his chest fluff, holding you there as youd stare up at him, eyes widening as Stolas simply smirked at you, the avian gripped the base of your skill, fingers gripped between your horns as you breathed in his musk.

With a smirk he'd hold you there for several minutes, out in the open, relishing the look of shock, then realisation in your eyes as he felt an odd sense of submission, finally feeling the mans power over you.

He was in control.

In Command.

The man claming and relishing this new and odd power dynamic.

Leaning in, he kissed your forehead, you already hooked on his scent as he cooed, telling you he'd handle it.

It'd be as you finally pulled back, Stolas holding you tight. And after panting hard you'd look to him, the owl smiling smugly, leaning in to tell you bluntly.

"Your mine. And you'll do as I say. Understand?" He spoke softly, yet with a commanding edge, a tone used by royalty, staring down at you.

Seeing the man's crimson gaze staring at you, you'd gulp, nodding your head, submitting to the man. Only for the man to shove your face back into his fluff, relishing the newfound power he held over you. Loving your reaction. Your... submission. The man feeling this power for the first time in his life, yet finding it, delightfully Sinful.

This marked a distinct shift in your relationship, the man taking charge from that moment forwards.

You found your relationship change over night, the man taking a dominant stance from that moment forwards. Taking command on your dynamic.

It was... odd. Yet you adored the affection he showed. His power almost as addictive as his scent.

The man became the dominant partner in your relationship. As he always would, yet lacking the confidence to embrace his role.

It became a power trip for the man.

He was so used to you being in control of your meetings, when and where about them that when he took charge, it took a minute or two to get used to being in charge.

It didn't take long though, the man relishing his new found power over you, adoring the way you submitted to him, Stolas especially loving the way you loved his scent.

It was almost funny how quickly the demon came to dominate you, the owl wearing a near sadistic smile as he'd hold you down, face smashed into your chest, or his pits, knowing you loved it, that only making it even better for the man.

Stolas, while it woukd take time, with Octavia being born and thr boost of his confidence and ego from dominating you, along with his love for you, the man would divorce his wife as he went through a slight power trip, taking you as his lover.

He'd spend days holding you close, holding you to his musky, avian form. Holding you to his musty feathered chest. He'd forgo perfumes, preferring to expose you to his natural scents, loving how docile you became.

It was quite the power trip for the owl, the man relishing having you close, and seeing the power he held over you, the man felt like a lord. A king in his own right, his love for dominating you only eclipsed by his love for you.

You of course, adored him, loving the owl with every fibre of your being, ensuring you treated him like a king, A God, adoring every inch of the man you could, something Stolas relished every second of.

It'd take some time, especially with the divorce in progress, yet after winning, mostly with your moral support and gaining majority custody of his daughter, the man became even more drunk with power over you.

You became a pet, yet in the very best ways. The man adoring you as much as you did to him.

The man loved you, loved being with you, and how youd be with him.

The owl relished the way you'd submit to him, his favourite ability being to grab you and shove you into his chest, making you huff his scent till you were drunk on him, the owl utterly dominating you.

It was an absolutely unbalanced relationship, Stolas holding all the power, thr man loving the fact, but put simply, so did you.

Stolas was your S/O and master, and you loved every second of it, breathing in the man's element yet sinfully delightful scent.

[uhhlifeig]

Room of Requirement - Nov. 2 - word count: 239 - @wolfstarmicrofic

The Room of Requirement felt warm, quiet, and peaceful- like a sanctuary. 

Remus reclined on a stack of plush, oversized pillows, a book in his hands, while Sirius sprawled beside him, practically on his lap.

“Are you sure you’re reading?” the dog animagus teased, nudging his boyfriend. “Because it’s been the same page for the last ten minutes.”

Remus smirked, closing the book. “Maybe it’s just a really interesting page. Or maybe I was just trying to not listen to you.”

Sirius gasped dramatically. “I’m hurt, Moony! Ignoring me while I was pouring out my heart-”

“Oh, pouring your heart out, were you?” the werewolf laughed, shoving the noiret lightly. “Tell me, then. What were you saying?”

Sirius huffed playfully, then nestled closer. “It’s just nice,” he murmured, “being here with you. Just us.”

“You know,” the dog animagus continued quietly, “if we could stay here forever, I think I’d be alright with that.”

Remus’s thumb brushed over Sirius’s knuckles. “As long as you didn’t drive me mad first.”

“Me? Drive you mad?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes but pressing closer. “Lupin, I am the picture of calm and respectability.”

The younger boy snorted. “Right. Which is why I caught you trying to charm Mrs. Norris just last week.”

“Now that,” Sirius said, “was for a noble cause. If she’d agreed to be our ally, we could have run Hogwarts in a day.”

“Oh, absolutely. We’d rule this place.”

[katerinaaqu]

May I ask what's wrong with changing modern adaptations of ancient stories to fit the morality of today? The way I see it, it's hard to connect with the characters portrayed when every second one is a rapist of some kind.

Stories adhering as much as they can will never be as popular or appreciated as ones modified to be engaging to the audience they have now.

Stories are meant to entertain, and the audience they were originally made for is dead. What the audience finds entertaining changes in decades. Does it not make sense to adapt them to that?

You answered your question yourself. By placing modern day morality and fitting it to ancient stories we just twist the original stories and their meaning and we create a false idea of the past to make it sound as if that place was consisted of people who were terrible they had no Morals at all and nowadays we are the great moral people that know what's up.

You said it yourself: "when every second one was a rapist of some kind". That is just false assumption on both the characters and the past. In fact rape was severely punished. Even in the Epic Cycle when Locrian Ajax raped Cassandra the soldiers were trying to stone him to death and he had to take refuge to a sanctuary. Him being a noble didn't matter before such an immoral act. Rape was not casual as "modern morality readings" think. There is a big risk of misunderstanding when we project our morality in ancient stories which were not always THAT far away from us at some things.

At another case I have heard people speak of "gay ancient greece" when the concept of "gay" didn't even exist and not only that homosexiality had a much more complicated meaning in antiquity than we think now and no it was not a bunch of people kissing their partners in public as many people do in 21st century. Again there is a danger to misunderstand stuff and they do get misunderstood

Modern day morality changes by experience of mine never realize the harm they do to the narrative and character development (for example Odysseus giving out his name to Polyphemus has nothing to do with modern narrative saying "oh he was stupid" there is an entire analysis behind it which just harms the character and his development by bluntly say that without taking the background in consideration)

Changing stuff to ellegedly "fit modern narrative" is inheritently dangerous because it contains personal biases on what morality is in the first place and it is harmful often because these stories are far from just entertainment; they are witness of the past and a past culture and by changing them according to the bias of one person on modern morality consequently leads to the misinterpretation of the past. And in the end of the day ancient stories are still entertaining today. Look at the festivals in Greece where we play ancient theater as it was written. We have only changed the concept of the full face mask. So allow me to disagree and say the ancient stories still entertain today and the admirers of them are not dead at all.

I am not saying it is wrong in every shape or form in fact as I said million times already it is even expected to add some elements from each culture or era to appease the public. The problem begins when that story is exclusively looked through that keyhole and then we have the bias of one person on the text shaping the past and have a story that simply doesn't work and many people even those with no knowledge in the past realize there is something wrong with the picture. See how many people who love the Iliad and the Odyssey criticized Miller for adding too much of her modern morality in her books. Even people who are not experts realized the story was damaged despite her beautiful weiting etc

[boundinparchment]

Con Clavi - I

You serve the church of the Tsaritsa, under Father Pantalone. Faith is a gift you received long ago but a certain heretical Harbinger is determined to push those boundaries. Il Dottore/Female Reader. Eventual Pantalone/Female Reader. Reader is a Canoness/Nun. Inspired in part by straw-bunbun's Priest Pantalone art. Story is rated Explicit. Minors DNI. Religious symbolism, corruption, many many liberties, eventual smut. Dead Dove applies. Available on AO3 here.

You suppressed a shiver as you listened to the reading by the man standing at the pulpit.  This hour was always the most difficult, you found, not because of the service itself, but because it was always coldest just before dawn.  Of all of the hours of the Divine Office, Prime was, by far, the most tedious.

Those who wanted to stop in for service before they began their day of work did so and were scattered amid the pews.  

Father Pantalone continued on with a prayer concerning work and called for a blessing from the Tsaritsa for those whose safety would be compromised that day.  He treated Agents and miners as equals in his service; before the eyes of Her Most Holy, all were human, Hers to protect.

Your knees ached from genuflection, the wooden kneeler only marginally better than the stone beneath it.  There was no cushioning here.  Some said it was because the Father was a stingy miser; others claimed it served as a reminder that the Tsaritsa’s love was the true comfort.

After this, you would eat in silence before delving into a contemplative study for the morning.  Terce would be observed, and then you would begin your day.  

As a canoness, it was expected of you to take on a social service as part of your dedication. You spent most of your mornings and afternoons educating noble daughters in-between observations of the canonical hours.  

You felt more like a governess than a nun at times.  If not for your strong pull to the faith, you would have considered such a position.

Fate had other plans.

And it was better than nursing.

You needed the Father’s opinion on a particular student prior to their appointment, now that the thought crossed your mind.

As service wrapped up, you responded with the appropriate, “Glory to the Tsaritsa,” before the procession exited the sanctuary, accompanied by song.  

The Father usually waited in the narthex to see people off.  With so few in attendance, save the monastic communities, perhaps you would be able to speak with Father Pantalone early...that would save you the headache later.

You waited until the congregation cleared out and then made your way over to the golden-eyed priest, smoothing out your white tunic, the color expected of your order.  

“Good morning, Father.  May I have a word?” you asked.

“Blessing be upon you, sister.  What can I assist with?”

He always wore a smile, as he did now, one that fooled the common person into making a decision to put even their very last mora into the donation tray during mass.  Such an act would, to some, seem disingenuous, corrupt even.  It ensured that the church remained open.

Towards you, the gesture was an attempt to keep you from taking too much of his time.  If he were approachable at this hour, you would not seek him out again.

“One of my students was recently betrothed, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, I gave approval on the match to both families.  The announcement should be out this week, Archons willing.  Is there reason for concern?”

His smile grew tighter as the words passed his lips.  A strange man, Father Pantalone; full faith in the Tsaritsa but a strange disdain for the rest of the pantheon.  Your revered mother once said that with the way he balanced the church’s books, one would think he worshipped Deus Auri (or Yanwang Dijun as you once heard used).

Usually the request you were about to make would have gone to the revered mother you served but both families supported the church financially.  They paid for the recent reinforced ceiling above your head and the doors that kept out the cold.

Doors that were pushed open by a single figure with a white cloak, bird-like mask over his eyes, and a vicious grin.  His blue hair was plastered with snow, which he trudged in without so much as a toe-tap.

Only Harbingers such as the Father himself wore martial bands on their cloaks, you knew.  And this man certainly wasn’t Tartaglia.

“Shut the door, Dottore.  You didn’t have to bring the weather with you,” Father Pantalone snapped, his smile dropping instantly.  “What are you doing here at this hour?”

The man you now knew as Dottore waved an errant hand and the front doors to the church slammed shut with a final gust of wind.  

“I’m heading back to the Palace after an examination of the northern chasm.  Surely even you wouldn’t allow a fellow heretic such as myself to freeze, would you?  Doesn’t everyone have a place among your flock, Father Regrator?”

He spoke with an arrogance that made your blood boil even more.  As if his interruption wasn’t enough.

The priest regarded the other man with exasperation and disdain, his authority immediately undermined.  It was well-known that Father Pantalone held the Tsaritsa in the highest regard, which most used to refute the rumors that he was nothing more than a money-hungry clergyman.  It was an accusation you never thought to be rooted in anything other than envy and spite.

But Lord Harbinger Dottore spoke with a level of certainty that only came with his position.

Father Pantalone turned his attention back to you, intent on ignoring Dottore, who was now looking up at the ceiling with a sharp-toothed snarl.

“Excuse my colleague’s interruption, Sister.  What were you saying?”

“The young lady wrote a recent essay regarding the duty of the faithful.  It was an interesting analysis on the purpose of marriage and how one might consider matchmaking to be an antithesis to fate.  Her family’s recent choice is clearly a source of contention.”

“A topic that you’re more than equipped to handle, Sister.  After all, you ran away from your own betrothal, did you not?”

You swallowed the dark desire to ask the Tsaritsa to damn him.  

“Something I’m certain neither family wishes for her to emulate.  It would be a shame for them to blame the church if that came to fruition.” The quick, humble save fumbled from your lips as your eyes darted between the Father and the other Harbinger.

Golden eyes disappeared in amusement as the priest gave a soft chuckle.

“I suppose you are correct, dear Sister.  I’ll speak to the Revered Mother about the matter.”

His tone was dismissive; you would receive nothing else from him and determined to escape higher political matters, you bowed and began to head out of the narthex.  You caught whispers before Father Pantalone’s voice rang out again, stopping you in your tracks.

“Sister, you are on your way to breakfast, are you not?”

You turned and regarded both men again.  Dottore’s obscured gaze was no longer on the ceiling but on you and you felt your skin crawl.  Anyone in service to the Harbingers, to the Tsaritsa in any capacity, knew of Il Dottore, the Second Harbinger of Eleven, and his unusual stance on the world.  

Completely unfaithful in the Seven, including the Archon he served, and yet he held a station only surpassed by Capitano.  He was outranked by empathy, some said, for the Captain was often willing to lend his strength to all who asked, provided their goals aligned.

“I am, yes, Father.”

“Please take our guest to the kitchens and see he leaves through the back entrance when he’s finished.  I would rather he not be seen coming and going from the front doors and not immediately combusting.  I have a schedule to keep but even I am not unkind to blasphemers.”

In any other capacity, you would have found his remark humorous.  Father Pantalone’s posture was rigid, his jaw tight, and although he smiled, nothing in his brow signaled he enjoyed nor believed the words that came out of his mouth.  

And you had no choice but to agree, even if it meant interrupting the usually silent breakfast, for Father Pantalone had already walked away.  Naturally.  You asked something of him; it was only expected he would ask something of you in return.

To Dottore, you said: “If you would follow me, Lord Harbinger.”

You led the Second Harbinger through the side corridors and back outside, along the covered walkways around a courtyard.  The sun had yet to rise, torches imbued with Pyro throwing shadows as you made your way to the kitchens.  Dottore stopped for a moment, and when you no longer heard a second pair of footsteps, you paused and turned to find him regarding the snowy courtyard, the fountain frozen.

The firelight made his shadow look like a hulking bird.

“Is your student wrong, in your opinion, Sister?” he asked.

“I’m not quite sure I understand your question, my lord.”

You did but you weren’t going to outright answer him.  Not when he was keeping you from the warm hall and your morning coffee.

“To consider an arranged marriage sanctioned and approved by the Tsaritsa to be an attempt to control fate.  That by your student not having a say in the matter, having no control over her life, her own fate is undermined?”

It was too early for this, you thought bitterly.  And Pantalone said too much in front of the wrong person.  Not the first time your own history slipped through during conversations it shouldn’t have.

“That would depend on whether one believes it is the Archons or Celestia who has control over fate,” you said at last.  “Archons interpret the Heavenly Principles but there is a divide on whether the Archons act on their own or Celestia can override their will and therefore they are nothing more than figureheads.  Either way, free will is…difficult to define.  Some find comfort in it; others prefer the idea that another power is in charge of everything.”

“Diplomatic, Sister, but not what I asked,” Dottore chuckled.  “I suppose I should expect as much from someone in Pantalone’s realm but you strike me as someone who has defined free will for herself.”

You suppressed a shiver as you watched a black bird, some kind of corvid that lived around here, flew from a nearby tree and settled into the snow.  It buried its head before it wiggled, covering itself as it played with the newly-fallen powder.

“One should have a say in the long-term decisions of their lives,” you replied.  “Marriage is one of those decisions.  Many know how to wield a hammer and nail two pieces of wood together.  Some can build houses.  Others simply rely on that skill to repair what needs to be fixed and leave it at that.  Faith should be a compass, a guidebook; nothing more than a tool by which to live.”

The corvid made a sound as it wriggled and hopped about, soon joined by its companions.  Here, the birds were well-fed and clever for it, often seen as blessings of the Tsaritsa for their playful and comforting nature.

Elsewhere in the nation, they were absolute menaces.

Your answer seemed to satisfy him, for Dottore’s chest rose and fell once, warm breath snaking from his nostrils as if he were a long-lost dragon.

He fell in step with you again and when you reached the kitchen, he left your side and settled in front of the fire almost immediately.  Attentive eyes fell on you as you spoke to the cook about making sure the Harbinger left through the service entrance.  

In silence, you brought a cup of coffee and a plate of food to Il Dottore.  The only acknowledgement you received was a silent turn of the head along with a slight nod.  

At least he had the decency to respect the atmosphere.

Normally, the smell of coffee and warm bread was enough to shake you from the cold.  You would have spoken softly about what others were reflecting on that morning, sought guidance on which verses might provide insight.

Not today.

The coffee tasted burnt.  The bread felt stale.  The meat was cold.

And too many people were watching.  As if they knew.

You left your hot drink unfinished and tucked the errant bread into your pocket.  As you wished your fellow Canonesses a good morning and departed, you felt ice bloom over your shoulders, unfamiliar and attentive.

As you passed the courtyard, you paused only long enough to break up the bread and feed the eager birds.  They fluttered and squawked, picking up the pieces eagerly.

This morning’s reflections would be tedious but worthwhile.  Reminders of why you came to the arms of the Tsaritsa to begin with.

[liminalpebble]

Between the Lines, Chapter 1 (An AU Loki Story)

Masterlist

AO3 link

Pairing: Femme reader x Loki Pre-Thor 1 AU

CW: Allusions to sexual slavery dubcon/noncon within the society. Power imbalance. Eventual smut with questionable consent. Minors DNI.

AN: This will be a multi-parter but not a particularly long one, so if I leave you hanging between chapters, I promise it won't be particularly long before it all comes together.

Between the Lines

Summary: The exchange of concubines amongst the noble houses of Asgard is nothing new to the royal family, however, it is to Asgard's solitary younger prince. Since Loki had always openly declared the tradition barbaric and loathsome, he shocks the court to its core when he changes his mind.

The trickster had yet another surprise in store when he selected you, a librarian from a noble house to occupy his bed.

You're stunned, intimidated, even afraid, of the sly second prince, but you know as well as anyone that to deny a royal decree is to court death.

And so you go, only to find that this mysterious man is not at all what you expected.

Chapter 1

The stiff satiny material of the fine gown chafed at the tender skin of your throat, your neck, your collarbones. It itched, it tore, it pricked, all for the sake of being attractive. The absurdity of it irritated you just as much as the starched bodice locking you in. It was a far cry from the comfortable cotton clothes and soft sweaters you'd wear to work in the archives each day...your beloved sanctuary of books and dark wood shelves. You already missed the sweet, musky smell of pages and wood polish embracing you as you cataloged and discovered...every day you discovered, learned, waltzed with beautiful words on illuminated manuscripts and lovingly preserved them. But not anymore. Those joyful days were apparently behind you.

You swallowed at the boulder of sorrow in your throat, but failed to erode it. A chilly draft swept through the cavernous, gilded hallway; grazed over your generous amount of exposed skin; a horrible, unwanted, vulnerability. Yet, even as you shivered you could feel nervous sweat blossoming. Your hands shook.

You'd heard stories...everyone had. Stories about the pleasure slaves the older prince surrounded himself with; the beautiful young women he subjected to his whims like play-things, and he was notoriously rough with his toys, like a spoiled brat. The thought made you shudder. Still, a quiet hope fizzled in your chest saying, maybe he's not like his brother. Everyone certainly says he isn't.

Each flickering torch sat fast in its sconce along the expanse at perfect intervals, each clicking footstep marked the uniform persistence of every second, measuring your progress towards his chambers like the tick of a clock.

As you faced the threshold to his chambers, Loki watched the last of grains of sand settle at the base of an hourglass on his desk. You clapped the heavy doorknocker and it rang like the deep chime of an hourly bell. It had the same grim finality. Time's up, it said.

“Enter,” ordered a silky, baritone voice from the other side.

At least the girl is punctual, Loki mused as he set a ribbon between the pages and closed his book.

You braced yourself, struggling to remember the precise instructions. You tried to look regal as you opened the heavy door, tried to sound confident, unwavering, but you knew your voice would falter...you hands would shake.

You knelt, averting your eyes so you could only mark his tall form gliding closer in your periphery, an elegant dark line interrupting the golden glow around him.

“Your Majesty, I come to serve.”

You twitch as long, cool fingers coax your chin upwards. His eyes meet yours, staring down through long dark lashes. Two aquamarine searchlights; unnervingly placid and frigid like a winter sea, and every bit as deadly and beautiful...every bit as likely to drown you in his undertow.

“Hmm. You are so so frightened, aren't you darling?”

“Uh...no...Sire...I just...”

He smirks...a singular, humorless curl at the corner of his thin lips. “Now, now. No lying. I can always tell.”

His long hand cages your cheek, moves in a serpentine arc to comb into your hair, then grip firmly. It's a sharp gesture, like fangs snapping shut. It stings, but if feels so alarmingly good that it punches the air out of your lungs in a helpless little gasp.

He smiles with teeth now as he watches your lips part; a gentle expression but unmistakably carnivorous. Blood wouldn't look out of place in a mouth like that, you think, and he's going to eat me alive.

You finally dare to look fully. He's all jet black hair, sharp angles, and tightly woven garments; precise and lethal and calculated. Fear boils up, hot and insistent, but with something alien simmering beneath it...something pleasurable, and you could swear he knows. He sees it. You wouldn't be surprised if his sharp ears could even hear your pulse quicken, maybe even hear you thoughts. The old saying volleyed around your memory.

Where there are wolf's ears, wolf's teeth are near.

The bone-color fingers release and glide over your cheek, your supple lips, down the path of your chin, and the valley of your throat. Two fingers travel at a leisurely pace over the cusps of your breasts, a ghost of a touch over your plump, corset-tightened flesh, quickly retracted.

He clears his throat, then takes your hand carefully and guides you to stand. Those bright eyes stab even deeper from such a close distance, like a good dagger. But you're chocked when his expression turns soft, the lines around his eyes creasing as his tight-lipped smile turns genuine...real.

“Come. It will be a long night, and we have so much to learn,” he purrs out as he guides you further into his world.

@lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @peaches1958 @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @muddyorbs @mischief2sarawr @icytrickster17 @goblingirlsarah @sweetsigyn @unlucky-number-13 @mochie85 @acidcasualties @alexakeyloveloki @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @ladyofthestayingpower @mischiefmaker615 @loopsisloops @sailorholly @coldnique @smolvenger @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @gigglingtiggerv2 @anukulee @azula-karai-27 @eleniblue @marcotheflychair

(if you want to be added or subtracted from this list, please let me know. I know I always forget someone or add someone who doesn't want to be and it all get lost in the tags soups, so I apologize in advance.)

[luna-naoffcial]

【 𝐀 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 】

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

|| 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 || 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 || 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔�� ||

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Before you found yourself in the chaotic realm of Hell, your life as a human was filled with its own challenges and hardships. Growing up in a small town, you often felt like an outsider. You had a few close friends, but deep down, you yearned for something more—an adventure beyond the mundane routines of everyday life.

Your family life was complicated; your parents often fought, and the atmosphere at home was tense. Seeking solace, you turned to books and music, immersing yourself in fantastical worlds and melodies that transported you far away from your reality. You dreamed of being free, of exploring the unknown, and escaping the troubles that weighed you down.

In high school, you were an artist at heart. Drawing and painting were your escape, allowing you to express emotions you couldn't vocalize. Your art often reflected your dreams of adventure and mystery, and you longed to share your creations with the world. But self-doubt always held you back from pursuing a career in the arts.

Despite your aspirations, you faced numerous obstacles. Financial struggles and family pressures pushed you toward a more traditional path. You studied hard, aiming for a stable job that would bring in money, but it never quite fulfilled you.

One fateful night, after a particularly rough day, you found solace in the moonlit streets, walking aimlessly, trying to clear your mind. It was then that you stumbled upon an ancient, seemingly abandoned bookshop. Drawn in by its peculiar charm, you stepped inside, eager to lose yourself in the pages of forgotten tales.

As you explored the dusty shelves, you found an old tome with an intricate cover that seemed to hum with energy. Without thinking, you opened it, and the moment your fingers brushed the pages, a powerful force engulfed you. Before you could react, you were pulled into the swirling depths of the book, and in an instant, everything changed.

You awoke in a strange place, surrounded by the sights and sounds of Hell. The chaos and vibrancy of your new reality was overwhelming, but deep down, you felt a strange sense of liberation. Perhaps this was the adventure you had always yearned for—yet it was a world filled with danger and darkness, far from the sanctuary you had hoped to find.

─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

You stepped through the shimmering portal, heart pounding in your chest. The moment you crossed into Hell, a wave of heat washed over you, enveloping you in an atmosphere of chaos and vibrant energy. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and something sweet yet unsettling.

“Welcome, welcome!” a cheerful voice boomed, echoing off the distorted buildings that surrounded you. You turned to see a tall figure with a wide grin, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. His eyes were unsettling—one a vivid crimson and the other a deeper shade of black.

“I am Alastor, the Radio Demon!” he introduced himself, bowing elegantly. “And you, my dear, are quite the fresh face around here. What brings you to our lovely little slice of eternity?”

You hesitated, trying to gather your thoughts. "I... I just arrived. I’m looking for a place to stay."

“Ah, the Hazbin Hotel!” Alastor exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight. “A noble endeavor! It’s just down the street, though I must say, it’s more of a work-in-progress than a proper establishment.” He leaned in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “But fear not! I can assure you it’s the best choice you have in this realm of endless torment.”

With his over-the-top enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but feel a mixture of intrigue and wariness. “Why do you care?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Why indeed?” he mused, his grin unwavering. “Perhaps I’m just a benevolent soul looking to help the lost and hopeless. Or perhaps…” He leaned even closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I simply find you fascinating.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, caught between curiosity and caution. There was something magnetic about him, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more lurking beneath that charming exterior.

“Come now, my dear!” Alastor beckoned, gesturing grandly toward the hotel. “Let us make haste! You simply must see this place. I promise you won’t regret it!”

With a deep breath, you nodded, following the enigmatic demon. As you walked alongside him, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something extraordinary—something that would pull you deeper into the shadows of Hell, and into the world of the Radio Demon.

-【 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐚 】

─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

𝐇𝐞𝐲𝐚! 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 '𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐚'. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲!

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Tags: @n0tmentallystable @zoerislovely @mygoldtears @yourmom132 @justawasteoftime1122

[loserboyfriendrjl]

Memories are all that keep what once was alive.

The posters were still plastered to the wall, the magazines still sprawled across the bed, joined by a quill and a pot of ink. The bed was undone, the blanket halfway pulled off the bed, the pillows thrown haphazardly.

The Gryffindor Banner crooked, the candle chandelier dusty.

The curtains were drawn shut; Sirius had not allowed the light to enter his bedroom, the dark his solitude, a quiet confidant when days in Grimmauld Place seemed to be never-ending, and his arrival at Hogwarts was the only thing he had cared about, knowing that he would be free again.

Parchments were scattered across the desk, along with books and more books, pens and pencils thrown around. Sirius, from the doorway, noticed the notes he had once made on the Animagus process; all seemed nothing but a distant memory, a cloud of mist hovering above it.

The thick rug was still covering the hardwood floors. The floorboards creaked under his weight. The room was the same as it used to be, an untouched sanctuary; not by his brother, not by his father, not by his mother, who had gone mad and died in the very house he had not lived, but existed in.

“Sirius”, read a silver plate on the door, yet the room, the house, had never been his. Of course, he had inherited it, the only male in the line; the only possible heir. Whenever he heard Kreacher muttering under his breath about his sweet old mistress and her terrible, wretched son, he could only chuckle; he wanted to be there about as much as the old house elf wanted him to.

Of course, he had inherited it; for the name of Black brings wealth and royal blood, or so they believe. He had been stripped of what freedom he had when Dumbledore had shut the door in his nose and told him it was “for the better”.

For the better, he had said, watching him from under his moon-shaped glasses, his long fingers knotted together as he explained the situation to Sirius, who could do nothing but agree to it. That, and offer his ancient house as headquarters for the people he had once fought alongside with, and as an ode to the people he had once loved; give the house an use, make it a temporary shelter, a possible home, when it would be filled with people who would not let him close the door to his bedroom and sit in silence, Buckbeak, his only companion.

Do not run away from a place. Do not try to desert your noble blood, for you are chained to it for eternity. Spit it, spill it, it will run through your veins nonetheless, a curse to bear to death.

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

Realizing a widely popular historical fiction/modernist novel (in 20th century) had a political figure fighting for freedom of his people, more influential forces wanting him and his people to lose autonomy, a borderline fanatic head of the church interfering in political affairs, a young woman who has special connection with animals and particularly deer getting caught in-between conflicts, an old spellcaster who has lived many lives with different identities who keeps secrets, and a civil war. Why does this remind me of Shadow and Bone trilogy...🤔

Only in this book, the man who fought for freedom of his people for years is not framed as an absolute villain, even though he led a battle because he wanted to pursue a woman. But rather, the narrative acknowledges he was a brave man who served his people since he was thirteen and fought countless battles for his country. And that such responsibility is heavy, and even he was human, wanting a connection. Although, his actions aren't excused, no one says it was right of him to go to such lengths for a woman and to maim her lover. His end is still tragic. But it doesn't feel like a disservice to his character because people know the good he did and acknowledge it. He showed more mercy at first than his enemies deserved. He had friends who were good people and loved him. Even people who hated him for personal reasons said it was better for him to rule than to start a war and get someone far less competent in charge, which would leave them vulnerable to foreign enemies.

But what does the Darkling from Shadow and Bone get? His centuries of work erased, his name being more demonized than ever and eternity of suffering. LB could either make him an actual villain, or let him be a morally grey tragic character. Instead, he got tossed between both of those and then got blamed for everything that went wrong ever. While the rapist King got a nice retirement and the leader of the witchhunters who was actively committing genocide is spared because he was only the product of the system, apparently.

"Aleksander had marched south with the king’s soldiers, and when they’d faced the Shu in the field, he’d unleashed darkness upon their opponents, blinding them where they stood. Ravka’s forces had won the day. But when Yevgeni had offered Aleksander his reward, he had refused the king’s gold. “There are others like me, Grisha, living in hiding. Give me leave to offer them sanctuary here and I will build you an army the likes of which the world has never seen.”

“He … he said that Darklings are born without souls. That only something truly evil could have created the Shadow Fold.”

"Not everyone thought like Eva or the old serf, but I’d been in the First Army long enough to know that most ordinary soldiers didn’t trust Grisha and felt no allegiance to the Darkling."

"I've committed many sins, Pippa, as a king and a man. I carried almost all the virtues and all the defects of my people. I was bold and faint-hearted. I set at nought the Byzantine Emperor but was afraid of snakes. I was conceited, heartless and loathsome, but I never betrayed my people, Pippa. Our misfortune is the same now: among us, the traitors outnumbered the loyal ones. I know very well, even in my army, half of them were bought by the Byzantines, and half by the Sarkinos. When the people have so many traitors at home, even Alexander the Great cannot defeat the enemy. If the nobles had not deserted me at Basian, I would have defeated Basil Caesar there too, you know. If the whole nation doesn't want to win, Alexander Macedonian can't help either, Pippa, because cowards and emissaries have never won anywhere. I gave my childhood and my youth to Georgia, but the Kartlels called me "the Abkhazian," and by the Abkhazians I was considered to be a Kartalinian spy, I who was a Bagration, a Laz."

"I rarely saw the Darkling, and when I did it was from a distance, coming or going, deep in conversation with Ivan or the King’s military advisers. I learned from the other Grisha that he wasn’t often at the Little Palace, but spent most of his time traveling between the Fold and the northern border, or south to where Shu Han raiding parties were attacking settlements before winter set in. Hundreds of Grisha were stationed throughout Ravka, and he was responsible for all of them."

"The King is a child. But you've made him a very happy child."

"I was slowed down by the squabbling of the nobles and the commanders, Pippa. Every scoundrel in us longs for nobility, every bastard - to be a commander.

No one knew his name to curse or extol, so I spoke it softly, beneath my breath. “Aleksander,” I whispered. A boy’s name, given up. Almost forgotten.

"He took off his clothes and was surprised when he saw a body marked by wounds, some old, some newer. A completely young man's body."

"It was a gravedigger who dared to confront the truth first, once everyone had left: "Not even in death has King Giorgi had any luck."

[winxanity-ii]

REVELATION'S EDGE

ship: simon basset x fem!sister!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 3.6k a/n: Had to dive deep into the emotional turmoil for this one! Simon's story really hits a nerve for me and wholeheartedly believe Daphne should have had consequences for what she did, but I digress. Can't wait to hear what y'all think!

★·.·´🇧‌🇷‌🇮‌🇩‌🇬‌🇪‌🇷‌🇹‌🇴‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You lived in luxury your entire life, born into a world where wealth was as normal as the air you breathed.

Your family, known for its long history and great wealth, always moved in the highest circles of society. Aristocrats, nobles, politicians—they all knew your family's name as symbols of power and prestige.

The grand estate you called home was a symbol of generations of success. Its big gardens were always kept perfect, and the detailed, fancy architecture showed a legacy built carefully over the years.

Every corner of the estate felt like a part of history, reminding you of your family's lasting influence.

Every hallway you walked down was filled with history, as if the footsteps of those who came before echoed along with yours.

From the moment you were born, your life was set in a backdrop of fancy rooms and whispered secrets.

Your childhood was like a colorful, rich tapestry—filled with private tutors, elegant parties under sparkling chandeliers, and summers spent in grand villas overlooking the endless blue sea.

Your earliest memories were of people fixing your clothes to perfection, polite nods at gatherings, and the smell of roses always in the air from the beautiful gardens outside.

Yet even with all this luxury, you found yourself wanting more. Behind the fancy smiles and fake conversations of high society, you longed for something real—something that wasn't covered in velvet and gold.

You wanted to see the world beyond the polished staircases and perfect lawns, to find out what was behind the curtain of perfection that had always been pulled over your life.

Your father understood your curiosity. He noticed your distant looks during social events, the way you seemed to want something else when you thought no one was watching.

Seeing your dislike for the superficial life around you, he decided to give you something special. He had a room made just for you—a sanctuary, a quiet place where you could get away from the endless politics and shallow conversations that filled the rest of the house.

Now, you sat in that very room, remembering how it came to be. It always gave you a deep sense of comfort.

The room was spacious, with high ceilings that made it feel open and free, yet cozy enough to be a perfect retreat. The warm, welcoming feel of the room wrapped around you like a familiar hug. The walls were covered with bookshelves, filled with books you had collected throughout your life.

It was a collection that had grown with you—from the fun stories you loved as a child to the deep, philosophical works you studied. Each book had its own story.

Many of these books were gifts from faraway places, collected during family travels or brought by guests who stayed at the estate.

You remember the feeling of unwrapping a beautifully bound book, the crispness of its new pages, the promise of a new adventure. Some books were finds from your own explorations—rare books discovered in little shops hidden in the city—each one handpicked and cherished, with worn edges from your constant reading.

In the far corner of the room, large bay windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing a beautiful view of the estate’s gardens. Through them, you could see the carefully trimmed hedges, the colorful flowers in full bloom, and the old oak trees standing tall. The windows were made to capture the natural light of the day, filling the room with a soft, golden glow.

On bright mornings, the sunlight warmed the floor, inviting you to stay a while. Sheer curtains hung gently, softly moving with the breeze that came in, carrying the scent of jasmine and fresh earth.

Your rocking chair sat in the middle of this peaceful space—a big, comfy chair, almost like a throne, covered with the softest blankets and pillows.

You couldn't count the hours you spent there, curled up, letting the chair rock gently while you read. It was your favorite place—a place where you could leave behind all the expectations, the responsibilities of your family name, and get lost in the pages of your books.

Here, you fought dragons, sailed across oceans, and discovered new lands.

Here, you loved, lost, and lived a thousand different lives, all while the real world moved on outside those windows.

The room was your haven—a place where you could finally breathe freely and be yourself. No grand halls, no watchful eyes, no heavy legacy—just you, the soft sound of turning pages, and the warm glow of sunlight, reminding you that there was beauty in simplicity too.

To your left, Kira, your personal maid, was a constant presence. Her Blasian heritage gave her a unique beauty, with reddish-dark auburn hair that cascaded in gentle waves down her back. Her light brown eyes were expressive, often reflecting her mood before she even spoke.

Her skin was a rich dark brown, sprinkled with freckles that added to her distinctive appearance. Tall and slender, she moved with a grace that belied her underlying strength, and her voice, airy yet slightly scratchy, filled the room with a comforting familiarity.

As she knitted you a pair of winter gloves, Kira spoke up, her tone carrying her characteristic brashness mixed with a hint of humor. "You wouldn't believe the latest rumor I heard from the market," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Apparently, Lady Edith was caught in a rather compromising situation with the Duchess of Wohrmans. It seems high society isn't as prim and proper as they pretend to be."

You couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, appreciating her candidness and the way she always managed to bring a slice of the outside world into your sheltered life. "Kira, you do realize that half of these rumors are probably just wild tales, right?"

Kira looked up from her knitting, a sly smile on her face. "Oh, of course. But it's always fun to speculate, isn't it? Besides, it's the only entertainment we get around here, given how these snobby lords and ladies turn their noses up at everything."

Her brash temperament, so carefully controlled yet so openly shared with you behind closed doors, was a refreshing contrast to the often stifling decorum of high society. Her rants about the various characters you both encountered were a source of much-needed levity in your life.

But in truth, Kira was more than just a maid; she was a confidant, fiercely loyal, and the only one who heard your true thoughts about the high society you navigated.

The tranquility of the room shattered when the doors slammed open, the sudden noise breaking the delicate calm that hung in the air.

You looked up, startled, to see Simon, your older brother, standing there.

Simon's visits were always a highlight for you, especially given the circumstances of your life. Your father's dying wish was that you reside in the family home until you were eligible to wed.

At nearly nineteen years old, you were yet to experience the onset of your period, a traditional marker of marriage eligibility in your society. This delay had kept you bound to the family estate, and though you often found the confines of this life stifling, Simon's infrequent but cherished visits were what made it bearable.

Ten years your senior, Simon was your half-brother, sharing the same father but born of a different mother. The tragic fate that befell your mother during childbirth mirrored the loss Simon experienced with his own mother, creating a bond of understanding, of shared grief between you two that had only grown deeper over the years.

As Simon stepped into the room, his presence filled the space like it always did, but today, something was different.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement—he was your lifeline to the world outside these walls, and you were eager to hear the latest news and gossip from town.

The last you had heard, he had attended the 1813 social season hosted by Lady Danbury, a significant event in high society, and you were curious to hear every detail.

"Simon!" you exclaimed, rising quickly from your chair, a wide smile lighting up your features. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Tell me everything. How was the social season? Any interesting gossip, brother?"

But something about Simon's expression gave you pause. He always had a commanding presence, his handsome features often drawing admiring glances—his skin, a deep, rich brown, perfectly complemented by his neatly styled black hair.

His eyes, usually bright and full of life, a striking contrast against his complexion, were different today. They were dim, devoid of their usual spark, and you noticed a wetness behind them that most others might miss. This ability to read him so well came from a lifetime of shared secrets and experiences.

Your smile faltered; the initial joy at seeing him now replaced with concern. His face was stony, but those eyes—they betrayed the turmoil within.

Quickly, you gestured for Kira, your trusted maid, to leave, understanding immediately that whatever Simon was about to share required privacy. As she slipped out, you felt a knot of worry forming in your stomach, tightening with each passing second.

Simon shuffled over, his steps lacking their usual confident stride, his shoulders hunched in a way that made him look smaller, almost like a child seeking comfort. His vulnerability struck you hard, and in almost a whisper, laden with concern, you called out, "Brother… are you alright?"

Suddenly, Simon's composure broke. His sobs echoed through the room, each one more heartbreaking than the last. The sound was raw, and it cut right through you.

Without a second thought, you rushed forward and pulled him into an embrace, feeling his body shake against yours. "It's okay, Simon. I'm here," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you cradled him, your own eyes filling with tears.

You had never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so broken. It stirred something primal within you—a fierce protectiveness, an ache in your heart that made you want to destroy whatever it was that hurt him.

The two of you stood there for a while, locked in that embrace, the room filled with nothing but the sound of his sobs and your gentle shushing.

Eventually, Simon's sobs subsided, and you pulled away just enough to look at his face. Gently, you lifted his chin with your hand and used a soft handkerchief to wipe away his tears. "Brother, what's wrong? Did something happen? You're scaring me," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady, though inside you were anything but calm.

Simon looked at you, his eyes full of anguish, the storm of emotions swirling there almost too much for you to bear. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before I say anything… please promise me you won't do anything rash." His words sent a chill down your spine.

Perplexed but too concerned to argue, you nodded slowly. "I promise."

Simon took a deep breath, as if trying to steel himself for what he was about to say. "It's… Daphne," he finally admitted, his voice breaking on the name, a fragile whisper that left you cold.

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion and fear swirling inside you. "Daphne?" you repeated, your voice trembling. "What about her?"

He looked away, unable to meet your eyes, his expression one of shame. "She… forced me into… into having a child with her."

The words hit you like a physical blow. For a moment, the world around you blurred, and you couldn’t breathe. "Daphne… she… she what?" you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper.

Simon gripped your hands, his own trembling as he tried to ground you. "____, please. You promised. Just listen to me."

"Promised!?" you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief, your emotions starting to boil over. "How dare you ask for calm when I've just learned that… that she…"

"____, please."

But you couldn't hold it in any longer. "…raped my brother!?" The word came out like venom, filled with fury and disbelief, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of it.

Simon visibly flinched at the word, his eyes closing briefly as if to ward off the pain it brought. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent plea, but you were too incensed to care. "It's sickening, Simon! She knew you didn't want children. You told her, and yet, she still…"

"____, I know," Simon said, his voice cracking. "I know, but please, don't do anything… don't make it worse."

You finally quieted down, the weight of the situation sinking in, the rage simmering under your skin. "She doesn't deserve you, Simon. She never did."

Through his tears, Simon looked at you, begging again. "Please, don't do anything rash."

You gave a non-committal nod, your mind already racing with thoughts of retribution. How could she do this to him? Your heart ached at Simon's vulnerability, but your anger towards Daphne burned fiercely. "How can she live with herself after doing this to you?"

Simon shook his head, lost in his own turmoil. "I don't know. I just…"

Realizing he needed comfort more than anything, you softened. "Alright, Simon. Let's just… let's just sit for a while."

You called for Kira, giving her a specific look that she immediately understood. "Bring us the Night's Whisper tea, please."

Kira nodded and slipped away.

Night's Whisper was a special blend you had created for your insomnia, known only to you and Kira; its calming effect was exactly what Simon needed now.

As she left to prepare the tea, you turned back to your brother, who sat beside you, his frame shaking slightly from the weight of his emotions.

"Brother," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's always been you comforting me… It feels strange, being on this side."

Simon offered a weak smile, a ghost of his usual charm. "Yeah, roles reversed, huh?"

You sat together in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on you both. When Kira returned with the tea, the delicate aroma of Night’s Whisper filled the room, offering a brief respite from the heaviness of your conversation.

As you both sipped the tea, you gently probed, "Simon, tell me… how did it all start? That night with Daphne?"

He took a deep breath, his voice a wistful whisper. "It was a normal night, just like any other. We were both getting ready for bed; the house quiet around us…"

Simon's words transported you to that night, his narrative painting a vivid picture. "I remember the coolness of the sheets, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room. We talked a bit, just mundane things… nothing out of the ordinary…" His voice trailed off, each word heavy with regret and betrayal. His normally animated face was now a mask of sorrow.

You reached out, placing a comforting hand over his.

The tea worked its subtle magic, and you watched as Simon's eyelids began to droop, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll. For him, it was enough to gently lull him into a much-needed sleep in the comfort of your chair.

You stayed with him, a silent guardian, as he drifted off, his breathing evening out until he was finally at peace.

Once you were sure Simon was asleep, you pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. Turning to Kira, your voice was firm, your eyes blazing with determination. "Get my horse ready."

As you rode through the countryside on your favorite horse, the wind whipped through your unraveling braids, your focus laser-sharp on reaching Simon's home.

You cared little for the dirt staining your clothes or the disarray of your hair; all that mattered now was confronting Daphne.

Arriving at the house, you bypassed the maid at the door, your steps swift and resolute. The common room was filled with light laughter, the sound of high society oblivious to the darkness lurking just beneath.

Daphne sat elegantly, her strawberry-blonde hair styled impeccably, her light skin glowing in the candlelight. Beside her were Penelope Featherington and another highborn lady; their conversation filled with hopeful whispers of pregnancies and futures.

You had only heard of Daphne through gossip and Simon's reluctant admissions of their "arrangement." An arrangement that now revealed its ugly truth.

Your steps were purposeful as you approached her, the room falling silent as you called her a "harlot," your hand connecting sharply with her cheek. The sound echoed, cutting through the air and drawing gasps from the women around.

Daphne recoiled, her hand flying to her face, her expression one of shock and indignation. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling between anger and confusion.

"You know exactly why I'm here," you said, your voice cold, vibrating with barely contained rage.

Her confusion deepened, and she shook her head, as if trying to shake away a bad dream. "I have no idea what you're talking about. How dare you assault me in my own home?"

"You've done far worse in this very house," you retorted, your eyes boring into hers, unyielding. "What you did to my brother…"

Daphne’s expression shifted, realization dawning slowly, her face paling as she finally comprehended why you were here. "Oh, this is about Simon?" she said, her voice tinged with a sneer, though there's a flicker of fear in her eyes. “He lied to me. He said he couldn't have children.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. "He never said he couldn't. He said he wouldn't. There's a difference, Daphne. Still, a misunderstanding on your part doesn't justify what you did."

Daphne's defiance was palpable as she straightened up, her chin lifting. "I did what was right. He needed to continue his lineage. It's what anyone in our position would do."

"Please!" you hissed, your voice dripping with distaste. "Don't lump me with the likes of you!" Your anger boiled over, and you took a step closer. "You had no right to take advantage of him! If you were confused, you should have talked to him, not… not violate his trust and his body!"

Penelope and the other woman watched, stunned into silence, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You're twisting the situation," Daphne argued, her voice faltering slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "Simon is my husband. It's my duty to—"

"Duty?" you cut her off, stepping even closer, your presence now towering over her. "Your duty doesn't include rape, Daphne."

She tried to meet your gaze, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, her bravado beginning to crumble. "R-Rape?" she stammered, the word barely leaving her lips. "You're overreacting. It's not like… not like I—"

"Not like what?" you snapped, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look into your eyes. "Not like you betrayed him? A violation of the deepest kind?"

Daphne's eyes widened as she gazed into yours, and for a moment, she saw Simon in you—the same eyes, the same intensity. The resemblance was uncanny, and it shook her to her core, the reality of her actions hitting her in a way that words alone never could.

"Stay away from my brother," you commanded, your voice low and dangerous. "If you ever try to come near him again, or even attempt to justify your heinous crime one more time, you'll have to deal with me. And to the Gods above, that's a threat you don't want to test."

Releasing her chin, you straightened up, your gaze sharp and unyielding. The room, once filled with light-hearted chatter, was now heavy with the weight of unsaid truths and unveiled secrets.

Daphne sat there, her face a mix of shock and realization, the reality of what she had done finally starting to sink in.

You took a moment to smooth out your dress, restoring some semblance of poise to your disheveled appearance.

Turning to the other women in the room, you locked eyes with Penelope Featherington, her face a picture of shock and fascination. Beside her sat Lady Clarissa, a minor yet prominent figure in your social circle, known for her penchant for gossip and extravagant hats.

With a flourish of mock politeness, you offered them a sweet, yet blatantly sarcastic smile, executing a curtsey with exaggerated grace. "Ladies," you said, your voice laced with faux cheerfulness, echoing with underlying scorn.

Penelope seemed at a loss for words; her usual observant nature momentarily stilled.

Lady Clarissa, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered, her eyes darting between you and Daphne, trying to grasp the full scope of the scandal unfolding before her.

Straightening up, you held their stunned gazes for a moment longer, letting the impact of your actions resonate.

Then, without another word, you turned on your heel and strode out of the room. Each step was measured and deliberate, echoing with the resolve of someone who had fiercely defended a loved one.

As you left, the room remained in stunned silence, the ladies left to ponder the events that had just unfolded.

Your heart was heavy with the burden of what you had to do, but it was buoyed by the knowledge that you had done what was necessary to protect Simon.

The walls of the grand house seemed to close in on you as you made your way out, the echoes of high society's hollow pretenses fading behind you, your mind now set on whatever came next—and the promise you'd made to protect your brother at all costs.

A/N: lololo i hope you guys enjoyed, my bby simon deserved more frfr 🥹❤️❤️

[sanctuary1988]

~ Flames Of Passion |15| Gwi

French: /the petals of love/

Pairing: Gwi x fem! noble! Reader

Summary: A heartless vampire falls in love for the first time in centuries of loneliness. Passion, secrets, betrayal and love drown the royal palace. Will your love for Gwi prevail through time or will it wither away like a fallen rose petal? Maybe love was his punishment, maybe love was your salvation. Or wasn't it a curse to you both? Because, who can beat a race against time? Who can love in the dark? Who can love without truth? After all, even the most beautiful flower will wither away and end in ashes of time, remembered only by the one who cherished her the most.

Warnings: DARLING, THIS WARNINGS MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! angst, feral Gwi, typical vampire stuff [biting, blood, killing, blood drinking], violence, burglary?, murder, blood, Chief Counsellor (he is a warning for himself), mentions of drugs/being drugged, fire, possessiveness, typical period misogyny, love, confession, kissing, battling of emotions, TENSION!, flower is described to be shorter than Gwi, historical! AU, royal! AU?, cannon copilant (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 4.5k words

A/N: I know this has been an awaited chapter for many lol so I did my best to finish it as soon as I could. I really hope you will enjoy it and also I loved writing this chapter so much because it has a dialogue I had planned for this series since chapter 2 🙈 lmao. ❤️❤️❤️

Tagging: @my-day6 | @yumisventingmachine | @yukihatesreoyo | @anonymous2828 | @solivagant444 | 🙈❤️*let me know if you liked to be tagged or if you want me to get you off my taglist!

Please let me know your thoughts in the comments! I'd love to hear from you, loves. Enjoy! 🫶🫶🫶

Dusk had settled. The moon hung low in the night sky as deep hues of purple and blue mingled together with the sparkly darkness of the night that painted the sky in its eternal shadow. 

Gwi walked to his underground palace. His hunger satiated, his robes stained with the blood of his victims. But now, as his thirst was satiated and his mind was calm he yearned for nothing else but to return to the palace of shadows where his rose lived among the darkness that was his sole existence. 

The flickering torches casted long shadows on the stone walls as he made his way through the labyrinthine corridors. His heart, usually cold and unfeeling, warmed at the thought of you. He pictured you in your room, brushing your hair or in the library engrossed in one of the many books his sanctuary of knowledge held within its walls. 

And yet the throne room was filled with a deafening silence; the only thing he could hear was his heart. He frowned, you had said you’d be waiting for him and expected for you to receive him but your absence made his heart sting with the disappointment of your broken promise. 

“Petal?”

The vampire called out for you but he only received his own echo as a response. He made his way to the library, his long strides eating up the distance in large strides. But you were not there. Your scent was not as strong as it should be if you were there just as you had promised. 

He hurried to your room, his steps frantic as he entered the large space with the tall cherry blossom tree standing proudly in the middle of the room. The air was soft with the smell of the pink flowers but he couldn’t see you, he couldn’t smell you. 

“Flower, are you here?”

But here was no response at all. He frowned. The room was empty. The bedding was neatly made, the small table where the vase with roses was untouched with some petals already falling onto the surface. His eyes fell upon your desk, where the rose he had given you lay, still vibrant and fresh. Next to it was a letter. A letter that bore your father’s seal. 

Gwi snatched the letter with the broken seal, his dark eyes running over the words inked into the paper. Each word, each threat was enough to make his heart burn with the flames of desperation. His eyes turned crimson in anger, his knuckles white as he crumbled the letter before it fell to the ground. 

The realisation that you had been taken against your will filled him with a fury he had never known. His normally composed demeanour shattered, leaving only the raw, primal anger of a man who had been robbed of his most precious treasure.

He turned around, his robes flying behind him as the vampire lord left his underground palace. His domain. His kingdom to retrieve his stolen flower. His beauty among the darkness of his world. 

Gwi’s steps were purposeful as he left his sanctuary, the cool night air kissed his sharp features as the nature of his existence resurfaced from the chains of his control. His eyes mirrored the colour of blood, his fangs elongated and there was a sudden thirst that took a hold of his mind. But it wasn't because of hunger. It was a thirst for revenge. 

The journey was a blur. His supernatural speed carried him through the city and the woods before he arrived at the mansion of one of the most powerful men in Joseon. The Chief Counsellor didn’t know that by taking the vampire’s petal he had just signed his death sentence. 

The guards at the entrance saw a dark figure emerging from the woods. The moon was not high enough to illuminate the dark path ahead. But the red glint in his eyes gave him away. Gwi approached the two guards, his hands around their throats before he lifted them off the ground, their feet kicking the air. He hissed at them before their necks snapped with a single movement of his wrists. The bodies crumbled to the dirty floor and he advanced, his walk commanding as he entered the mansion of the traitor he had nurtured under his throne of blood and darkness.

“My Lord, is there anything else I can do for you?”

The Chief Counsellor didn’t even look at Ji-ho, his loya albeit young servant before he was dismissing him for the night. 

“Don’t bother. Tomorrow we are leaving to meet with the Crown Prince. Make sure everything is in order.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The boy bowed down before he walked backwards and left the room, sliding the door shut as he walked down the corridor with quick steps. The flickering candles cast long shadows on the walls. Ji-ho’s footsteps echoed softly down the dimly lit corridor, his mind occupied with the tasks the demanding noble man had put over his shoulders. As he rounded a corner, the sound of a commotion reached his ears and he couldn’t help but fasten his pace. Curiosity being his worst enemy. 

He looked over one of the corners of the nearest wall, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw a tall man dressed in noble robes effortlessly dispatching the guards who tried to block his path. The vampire's movements were swift and lethal, his strength undeniable.

Fear gripped Ji-ho's heart, he turned on his heel and sprinted back toward the Chief Counsellor's room, his breath coming in quick, panicked gasps. Along the way, he alerted more guards, his voice urgent and breathless.

“We must protect the lord! The vampire is here!”

The guards followed the young servant all to the Chief Counsellor’s room. The smell of panic rotted through the air, the clinking of the swords could be heard at the distance as well as the frantic steps of the guards sprinting to the old man’s study. 

Ji-ho slid open the doors without knocking, the Chief Counsellor looked up from his desk with a frown between his brows and frustration in his gaze. But as the guards swarmed into the room, he stood up and demanded an explanation from his servant. 

“What is the meaning of this?”

“My Lord… the vampire-”

But Ji-ho never got to finish that sentence as the doors to the study opened harshly and in came Gwi, his once white robes were now crimson with the blood of his obsession. The hallways were strewn with the bodies of those who had tried to stop him, their lifeless forms a testament to his wrath. He moved with a predator's grace, his senses heightened by the scent of blood and the urgency to find you.

“Get him!”

The Chief Counsellor ordered and the battle began. Gwi licked his lips before he fought the men who tried to keep you away from him. Each strike, each stab was proof of his maddening love. How dare your father take you from him? How dare he keep you to himself? 

How. 

Dare. 

He. 

Blood spilled over the floor and over the once beautiful ornates that decorated the room. The white tapestry was now tainted in crimson and the shouts and clanks of swords filled the room. One of the guards sent a direct attack to Gwi but he managed to dodge it yet the sword knocked over some candles, the flames quickly devouring the fabric that hung from the ceiling. 

It reeked of death as he drank the last drop of blood from the remaining guard before he dropped the body to the floor. His eyes were red with fury and the need, the urge to kill. With slow steps Gwi approached the Chief Counsellor. Ji-ho had tried to stop the vampire but his futile attempt ended with his blood on Gwi’s lips and his body on the ground already starting to get enveloped in the flames. 

“Where is she?”

Your father swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure as he lifted his chin in defiance even when he knew he was already dead by the single glint in the vampire’s eyes. 

“Y-you’ll never find her.”

And yet, his voice trembled and stuttered despite his attempt to sound powerful and confident for the immortal being who now threatened to kill him with his gaze alone. But the monster smiled, a cold, dead smile that stretched over his handsome and sharp features while the cracking of the engulfing flames was the only thing he could hear. 

“I will find her. But the longer I take, the more painful your death is going to be.”

With a swift motion, Gwi grabbed the Chief Counsellor by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The older man struggled, his hands clawing at the vampire’s iron grip, but it was futile for his strength was far beyond anything a human could match.

“Where. Is. She?”

He demanded again. His deep voice a deathly whisper. Your father gasped for breath, his eyes widening with fear until he managed to choke out the words that were no longer enough to save his life. 

“I-in her room… down the h-hallway-”

Gwi’s crimson eyes reflected the flames that were consuming the room and most likely the entire mansion but those flames were also a reflection of the fire that burned his heart. With a snarl, he threw the Chief Counsellor aside. The man hit the ground with a sickening thud, unconscious or worse but Gwi couldn’t care. Not when the fire spread and the smoke thickened. Not when he had to find you. 

His heart pounded with a mix of rage and desperation as he sprinted down the corridor, his robes billowing behind him, the flames danced over the walls but his mind was focused on getting to you. With urgent steps he reached the bedroom at the end of the hallway, the double doors banged open against the adjacent walls as he opened them with his vampiric strength.

The moment his gaze laid on you, he felt his heart drop. His eyes returned to their usual deep brown colour as he dropped to his knees next to the silk bedding. His hands, so rough and tainted with so much blood cupped your face with delicate movements as if you were a glass doll he was afraid to break. 

“Petal, wake up.”

But you didn’t stir. You couldn’t. The drugs held you under their chains and left you dancing in the realm of nothingness, of sleep. Of darkness. A tightness gripped at his chest and his eyes stung with tears, whether they were due to the smoke or real fear for the life of his petal he didn’t know anymore.

“(y/n), please.”

He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, even in sleep you were still so beautiful. The very vision of beauty he had missed through his eternal life. He lifted you up, pressing your body against his chest but just as he was about to slide his other arm under your knees, the rackling of the chains rattled against the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. 

Gwi looked down at your wrist, his lips parted at the sight of the iron cuff that kept you tied to the room. To your past. To this house. To the life you had escaped when you had taken his hand that very day in the gardens. When he decided he wanted to keep you for himself. 

Gwi lay you back down on the bedding, his hands tingling with the need to keep you in his arms. But he needed to free you. 

His eyes painted crimson once more as his hands gripped the shackles. His knuckles turned white with the force as he gripped them tightly and with a grunt he broke the hot iron. Your skin was marred by the tightness and it pained him to see your pristine skin so hurt and damaged. 

“I’ll get you out of here.”

Gwi picked you up once more, one hand around your shoulders and the other under your knees before he stood up with you cradled in his arms, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Which you were. You were his treasure in his world of darkness. 

The flames had spread rapidly, the heat was becoming unbearable but he knew he had to get you out of that burning inferno. He moved swiftly, his heightened senses guiding him through the maze of corridors and fire. 

The smoke was thick, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs, but he pressed on, driven by a fierce determination to get you to safety. The mansion groaned under the weight of the fire, beams collapsing and walls crumbling but Gwi's steps were sure and purposeful.

Gwi carried you out of the burning mansion, his grip tightening around your smaller form as he pressed you against his chest. He could feel your shallow breaths against his neck, could hear the weak pulse of your heart through his enhanced senses. The beautiful blue dress you had once worn was now ashen and dirty. 

He knelt on the ground, the estate consuming in flames behind him as he looked down at you. Your red hairpin caught the moonlight and he sighed as he had you in his arms once more. 

“My sweet flower, you have to wake up. Open your eyes, for me. Please-”

One of his hands supported your back while the other cradled your face, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek. He sighed, closing his eyes as his forehead rested against yours. Feeling a tsunami of emotions drown his heart. The desperation, the anger, the fear came crumbling down as he looked at you with such tenderness that belied the rampage that had gripped his soul and left the estate in a bloody bath of flames and ashes. 

“Let’s go home, flower.”

And with that, he picked you up once more, carrying you in his strong embrace through the forest and back to the underground palace. Where you belonged. In his dark domain. In his kingdom of the night. By his side. 

The sound of soft leaves rustling filled your ears. That was the first thing you were aware of before you were to open your eyes. There was a headache that nagged at the back of your skull, causing a groan to escape your lips. Your eyes opened and you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom. The scent of the cherry blossom reached your senses and you instantly calmed down. You knew where you were. You felt instantly safe when you recognised that you were back in the underground palace. 

With slow movements you sat up and noticed you were alone in the room. The only company you had were the shadows casted by the flickering candles around the large bedroom. 

But it didn’t make any sense. The last thing you remembered was going to your father’s estate upon his daring letter. You remembered all the rage you had felt as you read his words, all the frustration to the man who was supposed to protect you but in reality he only used you as his pawn in a game you never agreed to play. 

You remembered the tea he had given you, the dizziness that had wrapped your mind. And how he had looked at you in disdain before your world turned black. 

With a sigh, you looked around the bedroom and your eyes caught sight of the rose Gwi had given you the day he left. It was on your desk, the petals were withering away and an immense sadness pulled at the strings of your heart at the sight of the sad flower that had once been so beautiful. 

You pulled the covers from your body, noticing you were no longer wearing the blue hanbok but were now in a simple white gown, the skirts not as puffy as your usual dresses, the softness of the fabric was more delicate against your skin. And your hair was down, cascading behind your back as you stood up. 

The drug was still in your system and you stumbled, catching yourself against the full-length mirror in your room. You looked up and watched the reflection of yourself, feeling a burning desire that consumed your senses. You were alone in the bedroom. But you craved his presence. It could only have been Gwi who had taken you back to the underground palace. 

Your eyes filled with tears with the need that cursed through your veins and you forced yourself to part from the mirror, walking across the room and through the corridor that led to the throne room. 

Gwi sat on his throne, the candles around him sharpened his ethereal beauty. He heard your footsteps before you entered the spacious room. He smelled your delectable scent as you approached him more and more with each passing second. His heart quickened and his knuckles turned white as fisted his hands over his lap. 

“My Lord…”

Your voice was soft. Shy even. But he didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when his mind screamed at him to be angry at you and his heart whispered at him to be relieved that you were fine and alive with him. 

From the corner of his eye he saw you move through the room, your steps hesitant and he could practically taste whatever herb your father had given you mingling with the scent that kept him addicted to you. 

“My Lord, please.”

His eyes met yours in a cruel dance of emotions. You swallowed as he met your gaze, for his eyes were as dark as ever but you saw no emotion whatsoever in his dark pools of eternal secrets. There was no storm of emotions in them, no warmth, only the coldness of his authority that drowned you in a freezing embrace of regret. 

“You disobeyed me.”

Gwi stood up and you took a step back. His towering height made you shrink within yourself. You had never seen him so cold and stern with you. Not like this. He began descending the steps that led to his throne slowly, like a predator waiting to pounce on his prey. 

“I told you to not leave the underground palace.”

His hissed words made you flinch and you continued to walk backwards as he approached you, instinctively trying to put some kind of distance between you and the barely contained anger that held his heart prisoner. 

“Are my orders nothing to you?”

You shook your head, gasping silently as your back collided with one of the columns in the large space. 

“No, My Lord.”

His eyes narrowed at your response, his sharp features hardening even further. His approach was deliberate, each step getting him closer and closer to you, the candlelight accentuated his fury simmering beneath the surface and you found yourself fisting the fabric of your white skirt that kissed the ground. 

“You defied me. You risked everything—your safety, your life—all because you refused to obey a simple command.”

You pressed yourself against the column, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of his disappointment was crushing, and the fear that he might truly hate you for your disobedience was almost too much to bear. Your mind raced for an explanation, a way to make him understand, but words failed you under the intensity of his gaze.

Gwi halted just inches away from you, his towering figure casting a long shadow that enveloped you entirely. The air around you felt charged, thick with tension as if the very atmosphere was holding its breath.

“I-I was scared. I thought I could handle it, I thought-”

“You thought wrong.”

Tears filled your eyes at the harsh and deep voice in which he spoke to you. It made your heart clench in your chest with the knowledge that you had disappointed him. That you had angered him. 

“I’m sorry..”

You lowered your gaze, not being able to keep eye contact for much longer. He frowned down at you, taking a step closer that narrowed the space between you both even more that had you not been conflicted with your own emotions, your breath would have hitched in your throat at the proximity. Gwi's expression softened for a fleeting moment, the mask of anger slipping to reveal the turmoil within. But just as quickly, the hardness returned, and he took another step closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Sorry?”

He laughed, a humourless laugh that made a shiver run down your spine. You looked into his eyes, even if you wanted to look away his grasp wouldn’t allow it as his fingers travelled from your chin to collar your neck instead, keeping you pressed against the wall behind your back.

“You think sorry is enough? That man you call your father has only ever used you for his own interests. I said I would protect you but you can’t just go wandering into the lion’s den and expect to walk out unharmed.”

His grip tightened slightly, and you could feel the tension radiating from him, the barely contained fury that threatened to boil over at any moment. But within that anger, you could also sense something deeper—a fear that ran so deep it twisted every thought, a fear of losing you.

“Forgive me, My Lord.”

“Silence.”

His command forced your lips shut. His voice was a mixture of something else. Something deeper. Darker. Something almost like a fierce desperation. 

“You don’t understand do you? You are the only thing in this cursed world that matters to me, and you throw yourself into danger as if your life means nothing.”

You swallowed, he felt the motion through his palm that still held your neck. The words hung in the air, leaving you waiting. Expecting for what he had to say when he had already bared his soul out to you. 

“I cannot lose you. Not to that man. Not to whatever fate we tangled ourselves in. I can’t.”

Gwi spoke through clenched teeth, his feelings a whirlwind of emotions within him that he couldn’t bring himself to part from you nor to step closer to the flame he so desperately wanted to burn in. 

There were many things left unsaid. Many emotions that you weren’t quick enough to grasp. But there was a certain warmth in his gaze that was there, for just a split second. A swirling of emotions, the battle between mind and heart. And you surrendered yourself against him. 

“Do you love me?”

The question left your lips in a soft whisper. And yet, it was loud enough to break the fog in his mind. His eyes softened, his lips parted as he stared down at you with so much sadness in his dark gaze that you couldn’t help the tear that rolled down your cheek. But his silence was like a dagger to your heart. 

“You have never said anything but your eyes tell a different story… Forgive me, I thought you loved me as well.”

You dropped your gaze, your hands released the tight fist you had on the white skirt of your dress as you felt the weight of his silence press down on you. You danced in the middle of his secrecy. Of his silent words that left his soul as his grip on your neck tightened ever so slight. 

“You speak as if you harbour such feelings for me.”

His voice was softer, more gentle. But it was that dark symphony of words that made your heart race and your mind spiral with emotions too complex to understand. 

“That’s because I do.”

You looked up once more, meeting his intense gaze that held a softness in such darkness you had never seen before. 

“You claimed me as your own; unknowingly you claimed my heart as well.”

Gwi shook his head, the words he was hearing were not meant to leave your lips. He wasn’t meant to feel his dead heart come back alive with such a declaration of devotions that went beyond your service to him. 

“You cannot love me.”

His words were laced with so much pain, whispered to the air as if he was confessing the biggest of sins. Silent tears rolled down your cheeks, your heart aching for the man that owned you in more ways than he should. 

“Why?”

A question so small yet filled with pain. You couldn’t stop looking up at him. Waiting for him to give you his heart as well. 

“Because you will end up hurt, petal. And the single thought of you being hurt pains me to no end.”

“Then don’t. Don’t hurt me. Do not break my heart.”

He knew the risks. He knew that loving you openly would endanger your life more than it already was with the mere knowledge of you living under his roof. But he couldn’t deny it anymore. He couldn’t resist the pull; not from hunger, not from obsession. The pull of his heart to yours. 

“Please.”

You barely uttered your plea before his lips smashed with yours. The intensity of it took your breath away, his lips moving against yours with a desperate urgency. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing against yours as you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him back. 

You responded in kind, your hands clutching at his robes as you kissed him with equal fervour. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you locked in this moment of raw, unbridled passion.

Gwi's hand tightened on your neck, not in a painful way but with a possessive intensity that made your pulse quicken. His other hand slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer as if trying to meld your bodies together. The taste of him was addictive and you craved more, more, more. You whimpered softly as he broke the kiss, your lips were left tingling with the sensation of your passion. His eyes opened to gaze into your own as you both panted softly into each other’s mouths. 

“Love me. Love with me.”

You craned up your head, wanting nothing more than for him to take you. To mark you. To love you in such an intimate way. 

“I love for you, my petal.”

You moaned as he kissed you again, your hands cradling his face as he pressed you to him in suppressed emotions that spilled like a tidal wave. 

Gwi's lips moved down to your jaw, trailing kisses along the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his hand slid from your waist to your lower back, pulling you even closer. The sheer need in his touch made your heart race, each kiss igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with every second.

A flame of love.

August/12/2024

A/N: Want to be tagged? Let me know in the comments!

Thoughts? O.O

My inbox is open, darlings! Or feel free to leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts and inputs for the story! Take care, everyone 🫶

~ Masterpost

[mahiiimahiiii]

Ok hear me out: once the crew gets to bauldurs gate they have mini funerals ala good place.

(part 1)

I'll give you a taster (+ my beautiful redeemed bhaalspawn):

Gale:

Gales "funeral" would be at a library. He would pile books together as a makeshift coffin and wear a bright pink night robe with fuzzy slippers and curlers in his hair, as well as a dusty pink eye mask. Everyone would be wearing some sort of robe, his flowers of choice for the event would be lilly of the valley.

"gale died doing what he loved, learning."

"some might say this would be the ultimate fate for gale"

He would interject, eating the cucumber on his eye, "I do not think the best outcome for me would be turning into an ilithid. But I must admit- it is fitting."

Later events would be a wine tasting and going shopping for new books.

Shadowheart:

I feel like hers would be a moonlight bonfire, lots of ring dancing and setting her old sharran armor on fire.

"I think-" karlach would start up "a lot of us would be dead if we didn't have our cleric. So shadowheart has earned her props.. not only is she reliable- she is resilient, she is strong."

"despite our quarrels, I am glad to fight with you. I have watched you bloom into a magnificent warrior, for what force? We will see soon enough. May your death be glorious." La'zel quipped.

Her flowers of choice would be night orchids. she would then insist on learning how to swim and manage a doggie paddle.

Karlach:

I feel like hers would be on the beach with a fruity drink in hand as she floats around in the water. The fish around her have probably boiled, which is more incentive for a fish fry.

Everyone gets like a back breaking hug. Lots of physical activities party games wise, be drunk and merry. Most likely people get a bit sunburnt and burnt burnt.

There is no speeches as Karlach is too busy expressing her gratitude about everyone else.

She gets withers to do limbo with her

Her choice of flower is sunflowers.

La'zel:

She would like to opt out of this. a simple "thank you la'zel, may you die horribly in battle. May your wounds bleed out and may you suffer immensely" will suffice.

(her choice of flower is snap dragons)

Jaheria:

Hers would be a touristy walk of bauldurs gate.

She talks about her life, a sense of oral history to pass onto others. The night ends with root veggies chips and cheese, and a generous donation to animal sanctuaries within the cities from the Harpers.

Her idea of fun is bastardizing the ballads that volo wrote via mad libs. Which immature humor ensues.

The mighty _____ o' noble _____ (noun *x2)

Found ___ and sent them back to ____ and ____ (noun, adj*x2)

She would rest in a fainting couch in a puddle of sun in the wildshape form of a big cat, tail swishing idily as people read off their bastardized poems.

Her choice of flowers are jasmine blooms.

Wyll:

His would be a picnic in the park, as people read their speeches to him in comfortable sun dresses and loose cotton clothing, he would hold a little bouquet of daisies resting on a soft gingham sheet with a crown of flowers.

He would insist of going to his favorite pastry shops in the city. Sweet wine, tarts and small cakes. A day of sweets to remember the sweetest person in the camp.

His whole funeral was about allowing everyone to experience the childhood he knew, which wasn't much, but was something he knew they needed.

The look of pure joy in everyone's faces was enough to sustain him for the rest of his days.

The goals were, teach karlach hopscotch, double dutch with Wynne, climb a tree with astarion, and show la'zel some human dances. The older people in the group were less inclined to indulge, taking the roll of the gossiping parents to the 20 something aged other members in the band.

The night ended with dances and fiddle music.

His choice of flowers are thistle blooms

[phenomenalgirl9]

Wonwoo x Reader: Night and Day

Summary: Where you find the quiet waiter working in your father's in really cute, however he's not so quiet and shy all the time.

A/n: First Seventeen fic!!! Btw Wonwoo is kind of a cultivator (from chinese ancient dramas) but idk if everyone will get the reference so I used the word "demon hunter" not "slayer" cause that a whole different concept. This was a request from my friend, and I hope I could do justice to him and the idea :)

W/c: 2.6k

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You were sitting on your father's inn's roof to watch people, it's your normal routine on quiet days. If this was around meal time the restaurant area would be filled with borders and visitors and you'd have to go down to help your mother in the kitchen. You looked down as the quiet guy that works for your father as a waiter and shook your head when you found him getting bullied by one of the regulars, again. You walked to the stairs and got down, and greeted the customer, eyeing the new woman he brought in today. "Sanghyeon ssi, I hope your wife is doing well" you said, cocking your head and looking him in the eye and he shut up. His wife was one of the main vegetable suppliers of the inn. What a shame his wife was probably working hard in their fields while here he is roaming with Adultresses and bullying poor waiters. You thought to yourself "May I know what's wrong" you then asked and he simply shook his head. You looked to the side to find Wonwoo standing there small and quiet, with his head down. His white robes tied and tucked nicely under his grayish blue half robe. His white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, round glasses sat on his nose bridge that compliments his face. 

"Let's go" you told him "Please enjoy your meal," you said with a light bow and walked off. "Don't let them bully you like that. Speak up" you told him and he simply nodded and almost ran off. You didn't notice but his ears were already red with his interaction with you. 

He snuck a glass at you from behind the kitchen blinds and you sat down on one of the empty tables to read a book. He watched the way your eyes shone as you read with a hint of a smile adorned on your lips. He noticed the way you pulled your hair behind your ear as your new haircut always covers your eyes, hair coming in the way while you're reading. 

"Wonwoo~" he heard a name call from inside the kitchen and he rushed to work. 

You were reading a romantic book to find some inspiration. However, the protagonist kept reminding you of someone, someone you love to watch. His intent gaze, wordless nods and silent eyes, sometimes he sits and stares up at the sky and you wish you could know what he was thinking of. You blushed when you realised all this you have been thinking. You walked back to your spot in the roof and started writing:

In a world of vibrant voices echoing afar,

There lived a quiet boy, like a distant star.

His soft-spoken nature, an enigmatic grace,

Embracing silence, with a gentle embrace.

He wandered through life, a thoughtful observer,

Immersed in solitude, an inward explorer.

His mind a sanctuary, where dreams would unfold,

And secrets whispered, like stories untold.

You smiled when you were done, and you suddenly heard some commotion from downstairs. Now, this was unlikely because it was over dinner time, by now the inn should have been closed and your mother, father and you were supposed to be off on your way home as it's your brother's turn to stay the night. You got down to find a noble man and his wife and attendants checking into the inn. 

"Y/n go home, we'll have to stay and attend them, they're paying great" your mother whispered, you didn't want to stay back so you set off for home. Your home is a cottage just on the extended end of the market. You love it as it's surrounded by nature away from the hussle of the town. But today the walk was rather eerie and extremely quiet, as if the general sounds of the forest were also silent. Suddenly, you heard rustling, you looked around to not find anything. Again, the sound was heard and it's from the trees and bushes just in front of you to the left. Only if you could go a bit more you'd reach home, but now you're alone in the middle of nowhere and helpless, the only minus point of your house decides to come into play the exact night you were walking home alone. A lot of missing people and dead people have been reported on the other part of town since the last two weeks, you remembered and shuddered, you don't really want to end up on those missing posters. 

You heard the sound of footsteps and strain your eyes to look through the darkness to see a figure standing, still as dead, it was as if surrounded with darkness, the eyes (or at least where they supposed to be) show red. Everything in you screamed RUN but you couldn't, your feet felt heavy and tears stung your eyes. Is this how you die?

"Get back!" You heard a sound of a heavy voice and a man in black hanbok literally jumped in front that thing and you, his back faced towards you. He ran at that thing and engaged with it attacking it, a sword in hand. What is going on?, you thought as you tried to step back, when your feet could finally move. The man was finally able to piece his sword through that thing(after receiving lots of blows and scratches) and it started to shudder and burn from within. What is happening?!

The man then suddenly turned and the face shocked you, Wonwoo? He came extremely close within the blink of an eye and you heard his voice clearly as he said "don't roam alone in the night, it's unsafe" right into your ears as you were too stunned to speak. You felt a pressure on your neck and suddenly saw darkness. 

The next thing you know is opening your eyes in your bed as your brother called your name repetitively. "What is it Mingyu?" You asked, "Were you drinking last night?" He asked trying to sniff bard into the air, "why are you in your good robes, sleeping in the living room?" He asked with an amused expression. "I was feeling tired, so I thought to…. Rest a bit here, but I fell asleep. How was the night?" You asked trying to change the subject. "It was so tiring! That man is so demanding and he's gonna stay for three more nights. Mom has already gotten fresh and gone. You go and help them and let me catch some sleep" he said and you rushed to get freshen up and go to the inn. As you entered the inn you saw Wonwoo and Jeonghan serving. Suddenly, last night's occurrences flashed in front of your eyes and you were stunned. Was that all true or a dream? You don't even remember reaching home? What was that thing? What is Wonwoo? Before you could think any further your mother called you inside to help. You and your brother worked as your parents rested to work through the night as the Noble man might just want a baked duck in the middle of the night.  

Thus, here you were walking home with your friend Seungkwan telling him all about the previous night and how Wonwoo has been very smartly avoiding you the whole day and Seungkwan asked "Are you sure you were awake? You didn't chug a peg or two or six?". "No!" You refused "I know what and whom I saw" you said "besides you saw the way he was walking slowly and those scratches on his arm he was trying so hard to cover, they all match I saw him fight" you added. "You're parents and brother won't be home right?" He asked and you nodded. "Then let's go investigate" he said and pulled you towards a different road. "You know where he lives?" You asked as you whisper-yelled."Girl, I know everything" he said "and by your description it was a demon, if what you said is true then it means Jeon Wonwoo is a Demon hunter. Why would he hide it?" He said and suddenly you pressed a hand on his mouth, a figure stepped out of the house. It was actually nobody other than the person in question. In a black hanbok, his wide shoulders were evident. The intricate golden thread design all expanded and his back held his sword. You looked at Seungkwan who's eyes were wide in shock, he removed your hand from his mouth and lipped 'you were right?!' and you shrugged. Before either of you realised Wonwoo had disappeared. "Where did he go?" You both stood up and looked around "He's a hunter, of course he disappeared" Seungkwan said and suddenly you heard a thud and before you could turn you felt a metal on your neck "Gotcha" he whispered near your ear sending chills down his spine and then there was darkness.

When you felt water sprinkled on your face you jolte up! "You!” you told him "you keep knocking me out!" You complained, then looked around to find yourself on the river bank. Wonwoo calmly sitting beside you at a feet distance. "What?" You asked, as you found him looking at you wordlessly. "Some bravery you have to be in the middle of nowhere at night again alone. That too with that sword bearing good for nothing lover of yours" he scoffed. "First Seungkwan isn't my lover he is my friend and second don't say it like that" you frowned. "I didn't mean to offend you. And I didn't know, I just heard the villagers-" he stopped. "Yeah, me and Seungkwan grew up together, his house was the closest one to mine and the only one on this path, the village children used to call us weirdos and never played with us, so it was pretty much me, him and my brother. And he's not into swords, it's just a family thing for him" you said "Wait. Where is he?! Is he safe!" You suddenly remembered and panicked. "Don't worry he's inside my protected circle of talismans nothing can cross it" he assured you, something within you trusted him. You noticed his features more clearly now that the specs are gone. His handsomely sculpted face and the gravity in his eyes. "Why do you hide?" You asked him finally, "I don't hide, I just try to blend in well so I don't stand out. I don't want to gain attention" he said shrugging and you nodded. 

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You watched as Wonwoo walked around serving, the way his demeanor is so different from what you saw the previous night. He passes by you in the same manner he always does in a shy way, you can't help but think how he is both the shy boy with glasses, but also an intimidating man with a sword. 

In the realm of passion, behold a boy,

With stormy hues in his wistful eyes,

Where lightning sparks, an infernal joy,

A tempest within, no disguise.

In those depths, an untamed tempest brews,

A wild force, relentless, undeterred,

The raging winds dance, their primal cues,

Unleashing power with each whispered word

You wrote, you couldn't help but feel warmer now that you know him more than the others, you've seen him more. You met him by the river two days later, you talked about the sun and the moon, the Ajjhumma's tasty mandu that you get in the town's square, your favorite poems by Lan An. You told him about your childhood and he told you how he was, and how he ran away from home 3 years ago and never returned. He had walked you home that night, you had a smile on your face the whole time the next day. He was still shy in front of people, he told you he feels nervous in front of people, but you bring in a sense of comfort in him. 

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1 month later

You often met Wonwoo at night by the river, Mingyu had once asked you where you were going one night and you made up an excuse and bribed him to keep his mouth shut. Since the past week there have been many missing cases so Wonwoo had told you not to leave your house at night, there was a demon on loose in the woods. However today Wonwoo himself didn't turn up to work, it was around midday and he still hadn't come to the inn and your worst thoughts were taking control. Seungkwan tried to calm you but it didn't work, you finally told your parents that you weren't feeling well and left. You speedily walked towards his house with Seungkwan following close behind, and found his door unlocked, tears stung your eyes as you rushed inside, you found Wonwoo lying motionless inside and you ran to him. He was breathing, it was light but his pulse was there. You quickly tried to pick him and made him lie on his bed, you checked and he was running fever, he had several scratches on his arm. 

"Kwannie! Do something" you said in panic. "I'll get a doctor," he said but you stopped him. "You said you knew everything and I know you know about medicines. We can't let anybody know about him, he didn't want that" you said and tears flowed down he was in pain, it was evident on his face. "Wait wait, take off his robes, I know a few herbs that could help him," Seungkwan said. You couldn't think you followed his instructions. You whispered an apology and undid his robes and found more bruises, and then noticed one wound on his stomach that was turning blueish, demon poison, you had heard from Seungkwan that some demons had poisons. Seungkwan quickly came back and prepared the medicine, and you pulled the unconscious man up and applied the concoction. You applied cold wet cloth on his forehead and Seungkwan kept a check on his pulse, by sunset it was steady, Seungkwan promised to sneak you out of the house in the morning and sent you home. "He is sleeping, I'll keep a constant eye in him, trust me, go home before your mother arrives and we're both in trouble, I'll make some excuse at home tomorrow" he assured and you reluctantly went back. 

You couldn't sleep even for a moment, your mind was clouded with thoughts, the wounds, bruises, his face when he was in pain. Your heart had stopped for a moment when you first found him lying on the ground, your heart still aches and something told you it will stay that way until you see him awake.

Its been 2 days, since you and Seungkwan took turns and looked after Wonwoo. You felt your heart empty when you looked at him, you sat at a corner of his cottage and leaned your head on the wall. You didn't realise how tired you were and fell asleep. You woke to the sound of shuffling and opened your eyes to scream. It was the man Jeon Wonwoo himself back from almost his death. He slowly brought his hands and brushed off your bangs out of the way from your eyes. "I don't like this haircut, your eyes are always hidden, I can't look at them from far" he said and tears welled up in your eyes. You stood up and hugged him as you sobbed into his chest as he caressed your hair. "Don't scare me like that" you scolded him as he apologized to you. That was when it clicked what situation you were in and you jumped back away from him. For so long he was unconscious and you never noticed his actual wide shoulders, that seemed so strong. His strong muscular arms and the many old scares that told stories of his bravery. Jeon Wonwoo was a beautiful man, you concluded. 

"Hey Y/- AAAAHHH OH MY GOD!" you heard Seungkwan curse and screech as the two of you broke into laughter. 

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