#who should wear emerald stone

[emeraldorgin]

What Are Alternatives Of Real Emerald Gemstone?

The Emerald or the Panna is a green colored stone with incredible beauty and elegance. The vibrant green color of the stone can have a hypnotizing effect on any onlooker. In astrology, a natural Emerald gemstone is associated with the powers of the Mercury, a planet that is associated with communication, trade, commerce, accountancy, banking, networking, mobile technology, and computer technology.

[jeevanjali]

Benefits Of Panna: बिजनेस और नौकरी में नहीं मिल रही सफलता? तो जरूर पहनें ये रत्नAstrological Benefits Of Panna: रत्न शास्त्र के अनुसार, हर रत्न किसी न किसी ग्रह का स्वामी होता है। इन रत्नों में ग्रहों की दशा और दिशा बदलने की क्षमता होती है।

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Royal Audience: The Rite

Chapter 1 Masterlist for The Rite is here A link to my full Masterlist is here Summary: (1) You, an Asgardian court nobody, fall asleep in the palace baths and have an unconventional introduction to the elusive Loki Odinson. (w/c 3.7k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x female reader. Smut. Language. Voyeurism.

Water splashes and your legs fly up, floating out into the murk of torchlit water. Bracing against the stone edge, you glance over your shoulder with a blossoming horror. The curved arch reveals the glittering lights of Asgard below; mountains which had glowed with low-afternoon light when you’d settled in the palace baths now cloaked in darkness. Why did no one wake me? It's forbidden for anyone but the Royal family to be in the baths after sundown. And the penalties are severe.

Surely more of a guideline than a rule, you think optimistically as you get your bearings. Panic twists in your chest. Surely Odin can’t imprison every member of the court who dozes off in the hot springs.

Heaving yourself onto the side, you shiver in the immediate chill. The loss of warmth is like the absence of a lover’s touch; leaving their bed on a winter night. You’re surprised you can remember what that feels like. A breeze blows through the atrium as you grasp for the robe you discarded earlier. It sticks to clammy skin, thick droplets seeping though the fabric as you gaze longingly at the towels lined up at the side. No time. But as you flick soggy tendrils of hair from beneath the collar, your ears prick. No. Footsteps. There’s only one doorway to the baths. A security thing. One hallway – in and out. Your eyes dart frantically at limited options. Tall, imposing pillars encircle the room. One of them will have to do. All you can do is pray the guards just take a quick peek around the door. The squeak of your bare feet on the floor fades just as your wet skin meets marble. You cover your mouth, eyes screwing shut. The door swings open, creaking on ancient hinges. “Prepare the oils,” someone commands. A dark, enunciated order which seems to settle in the steam.

A shudder runs down your spine. That voice. Another one replies in hushed reverence, flopping sandals scooting over the marble floor while bottles rattle. “Haste,” the first growls.

You clutch the flimsy robe tighter to your chest. The first time, you might have been mistaken. But as the irritated syllables of that solitary word settle, there’s no mistaking it. Prince Loki. If you were asked to swear in front of the Norns that you’d never envisioned the dark prince as you touched yourself in the dead of night, thought of his forbidden curls twisting through your hair as you rode him, the timbre of his moans as you choked on his cock – you’d be a fucking liar. I mean, who hasn't? But this? This is beyond the pale. Even conjured from your sickest fantasies. This is wrong. This is...a death sentence.

And yet, you find yourself edging closer to the side of the pillar.

Should you announce yourself? Grovel? Retreat out the door with garbled apologies, bowing with your face lowered and begging for your life? Probably.

But it’s too late now. Far too late. And if you’re going to end up in the dungeons, as on some level you always suspected you would, at least this image will sustain you.

Loki Odinson stands all limbs and and length at the edge of the baths. From emerald-encrusted slippers to the crown of dark waves spilling over his shoulders – he’s perfect; unmistakeably royalty even in his lounge-wear. What little there is of it.

White steam rolls above the water, as sheer and flawless as the chiffon robe that moulds to his body. The faint hue of his skin shows through the forest-green material, fingers toying with the tie circling his hips as he casts a scathing glance to the servant whirling a phial of oil between his fingers. “Tis’ ready, my lord” the servant says. The prince grunts, letting the sash fall open.

You hold a breath as the garb falls down the sinewy bulge of his shoulders, deep carves of tricep muscle illuminated in torchlight. You’ve never seen him so close; never had time to admire the stark beauty emanating from every angled inch of him. Without the distracting glint of his armour it’s almost enough to make your eyes water. Glimpses of him had been in passing, a stolen gawk before you bowed you head and he moved quickly through the great hall past the other courtly nobodies.

The luxuriously weaved material slides over his skin, folding and rippling as it drips from his fingertips. It shimmers in low flamelight and he rolls his shoulders back as it drops, abdominals clenching. You clench along with them as the robe pools around his ankles. Your palms sweat against the pillar, fingers beginning to claw as Loki steps into the water. He rakes his hair back, tilting his chin to the ceiling as he puts one foot ceremonially in front of the other. Making an entrance, even without an audience. Or so he thinks.

The servant stands obediently by the bath’s edge, staring ahead as the prince’s thighs flex with each effortless step, liquid lapping around his knees.

As much as you try not to look, sort of, to preserve some sliver of dignity for the god, saliva wells under your tongue. His perfect cock bobs between his legs. It’s true what they say, you think in a daze. His pubic hair is an immaculate shadow. Even his balls are perfect.

Loki sinks down, dipping long hair back in the water before seating himself in the opposite spot you’d occupied minutes ago. Jet hair plasters to his skin like tar, droplets of water clinging to his torso. “Begin,” he mutters with an air of annoyance. The servant complies, pouring the rose-tinted phial into his hand and beginning to massage the god’s scalp.

You watch in utter beguilement as Loki’s head is nudged from side to side, indecent moans of pleasure snaking from his throat as the favoured servant carries out his work. Thin drips of oil roll down the prince’s brow, catching the light. He tips his head back, jawline pointed to the ceiling like the blade of an axe. He lets out a whimper of pleasure.

You press your lips together so hard it hurts as a crease appears in the god’s brow, his eyes shut as the man kneeling behind turns the attention to his shoulders. The oil spreads down the thick of his neck, to the crevices of his collarbone; glistening. “Oh-h, yes…there-” the god growls, a gnawing groan shaking the air. For the first time, you notice the unmistakable heat of arousal sliding between your thighs. Squirming, you think briefly about looking away. You decide against it. In the blink of an eye, Loki’s mood changes like a winter wind. He leans forward, an abrupt tsk punctuated by the wave of a hand. “Leave me,” he demands. The servant looks visibly confused, fingers poised in the air above tense muscle. Loki turns expectantly over his shoulder. “Need I say it again?” he purrs menacingly. It was quietly brutal. You smirk in spite of yourself. Classic Prince Loki, you muse. You never dreamed you’d get to see it in person.

The man shakes his head, shuffling to his feet. He shuffles out the room with little bows and letting the ancient latch clunk into place. Your breaths quicken and the sudden gravity of the situation settles like a boulder in your throat. Frozen, you watch Loki eye the door a moment longer before resting back against the stone with a lazy sigh.

Long fingers run through the slick of his hair while water slops around his nipples. Gods, how you want to pull one between your teeth as you pump his- “Aren’t you cold?” His voice was an arrow. Sharp, targeted, tipped with venom. It’s hit spreads through your body, white noise filling your brain, blood thundering in your ears.

“Aren’t you cold?” he repeats, sterner this time. You realise with horrifying clarity that Prince Loki of Asgard, as eusive and unknowable as faraway galaxies to a mouse, is talking to you. And he’s naked. And you’re definitely spending the next decade in the dungeons. If you’re lucky.

With shaking hands, you step out from behind the pillar. The game is up. But to your credit, you have closed your eyes, one palm shielding them in a last ditch attempt at salvation. “Your Majesty I apologise I...fell asleep in the water, and woke up after sundown- the laws, and you came in...I didn’t know where to go- what to do-please have mercy...” You squint between parted fingers to gauge his reaction, hoping that the last threads of your long-gone innocence are believable. The prince curls a finger to his lips, covering a smirk. “I did not look upon your majesty...” you lie. The god’s eyes run from your ankles to your face, a devious smile playing at one side of his mouth. His lips part, chin tilting upwards, tongue resting behind his upper teeth before the perfect enunciation of, “Liar.”

“I did not look upon-” you stammer, lowering your hand and staring at the floor.

“-Oh, stop it.” Loki says. It’s followed by a melodic chuckle ricocheting around the marble walls. You glance up. One elbow rests on the stone behind him, water rippling against his chest. He tilts his head, raising the other arm out the water. “Never let it be said the God of Mischief is not merciful,” he rumbles coyly. A solitary finger beckons. “You must be cold,” he repeats for the third time, softer. “I assure you the baths are warmer than the dungeon, if that was your intent for the remainder of the evening.”

Each step feels like an eternity as you let yourself be drawn forward by weak flesh. You can’t take your eyes off his, thundering silently into your soul like a sexual storm. “I am not to the dungeons, then?” you ask cautiously. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He winks, a perfectly timed droplet of oil falling from his chin to the water below with a thick plop. It makes your stomach flip. He stiffens suddenly, raising his palm in a ‘stop’.

“You may leave now...if you wish,” he says. An aura of stiff formality settles on his expression.

This is the Loki you recognise from feast days and speeches which ring around the towering cloisters of the great hall. The palm held upright softens to gesture to the other side of the pool. “Or you may stay, if you wish. Either way, sending such a flower to the dungeons to wilt and wither would surely be a greater crime than the one you have committed.”

He pauses. There’s a flash of pink as his tongue runs over his lips. His gaze drops to your fingers fidgeting nervously with the sash of your robe, still stained with watermarks from its hasty assembly. “Curiosity is only natural, one supposes,” he says.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” you reply quietly.

Loki’s eyes meet yours, one eyebrow rising. “Ah, but you did.” His voice is deeper, wisps of intrigue catching in every syllable. “In my experience, the path paved with mistakes leads to better stories. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You bite your lip. “Your Majesty are you...sure? I’m-” you glance towards the door, hesitating before you met the prince’s waiting stare, “-naked, under this.” Loki’s long index finger dips teasingly into the water, feigned surprise making his brows rise as he watches it sink beneath the surface. The lip twitches again as his digit skims, slow ripples pulsing out from his body. “Egalitarian, wouldn’t you say? Considering your recent education on my own state of undress.” Heat rises in your cheeks, matching the inexplicable confidence beginning to blossom in your belly. Loki smiles expectantly, resting both elbows casually on the ledge.

His lips form a soft o as your robe falls around your feet. You feel his stare roaming your body as keenly as though its his hands. Can he see the translucent sheen of arousal smeared down your inner thighs as you step into the pool? Possibly. Probably.

It’s true what they say about his body, about his temper, about his cock, after all. Why not his powers of perception?

The water licks against your skin, the thrill of this forbidden meeting making every hair on your body stand to attention. Pores tingle against the embrace of heat as you sink beneath the surface, perching on the flat stone seat beneath. The curve of your mounds bob above gently lapping water.

The same spot you’d been in earlier. But now, the view is entirely different.

You imagine that the archway behind you is a beautiful scene. Asgard’s moons would be shining, their light halo’ing your wetted hair against a blanket of stars. And yet, Prince Loki’s eyes never leave yours.

Although ten meters stretch between you, the whisper of his breath seemed to curl against your ear. You widen your legs beneath the water, immediately squeezing them closed again. Your lips purse, stifling a whine. “Your first royal audience, I gather?” Loki asks politely. You nod. This is madness.

Slowly, he shifts. One arm slips beneath the water, then two. His chin dips, observing you seductively from half-lidded eyes. “Why have I never seen you before?” The question hangs amidst the steam rolling over soft ripples.

“I find myself new at court, your Majesty” you hear yourself answer. It isn’t true. But it's better than the embarrassing reality. You're an invisible cog. “Liar,” he murmurs seductively. The corners of his eyes crease with mirth, a wet curl falling down to the side of his cheek. Somehow, your fingers find their way to your clit; hidden beneath the sweet-smelling veil of the baths.

“How can I have overlooked such a jewel in the midst of this grey wasteland?” “Wasteland?!” you scoff. It's bold, a peal of laughter escaping in spite of yourself. “Hardly.” The god cocks an eyebrow. “Despite my hyperbole, the sentiment remains. How did I miss you?”

There’s a moment of silence; anticipation choking the air. A suspicious disturbance begins to swell at the water by Loki’s mid-section and a chill of desire makes you shiver despite the temperate water; imagining those long, elegant fingers wrapping around that long, elegant cock. You began to toy with yourself, sparks of pleasure thrumming through your veins. Your shoulders began to roll in time with the pressure of your fingers. Unmistakeable. Breaths rise and fall in your chest, breasts bouncing lightly at the surface.

He grits, throat working as the straight lower line of his perfectly white teeth flash into view. The swell of water above his groin crests to a flurry; his deep, filthy exhales wrapping around your inhibitions and choking them. All pretence gone, you release the moan you’ve been holding.

Loki breaths out hard, a low ragged breath that seemed to part the steam caressing the water’s surface. “Mmm,” he grunts, neck stiffening. A vein at his throat stands hard and thick, straining as water began to splash against him from his abuse beneath. This is a scandal. You are a scandal. If anyone finds out, you’re finished...and yet. As the prince’s chin points to his glistening chest, wet from the splashback from fucking himself beneath the surface, you find you care not one jot.

His eyes darken, long lashes curled up to knitted brows. Loki’s lips are parted, tongue hovering and forming senseless words between laboured breaths. His cheekbones flash in the low light, soaking hair strewn over his milky skin. And always, his gaze is on you. The lofty, untouchable, inscrutable god that you’ve fantasised about is looking at you as he pleasures himself. Thinking about you as he sits across the water tugging his flawless cock. And if this is the shining, glorious moment which would burn out in a blaze of reputation-ruining glory to ash then so be it. Worth it. His dulcet moans of onanism grow louder, timing with your own. Only once do you tip your head back as you feel climax rear, a growled command of ‘look at me,’ through gritted teeth snapping you forward again.

If you’re ever deigned worthy to feel the prince inside you, have his marble body flush to your own in the throes of passion, feel his lustful praise hot in your ear– just once – you would die happy. But this? This could be enough. “S-so dutiful,” the prince moans, his shoulders juddering as he strangled the words. “B-brave,” he gasps. His brow furrows deeper with one last longing stare at your glistening neck and shoulders as you cum hard, a quiet mewl of his name echoing around the baths. It’s all you can do not to scream. “G-gods,” Loki chokes. Every muscle you can see in his body seems to tense, a thundering roar like ripping leather cascading from his throat. His mouth hangs open, grimacing to the atrium above. In the death of his cry, there’s silence but for the splash of water as the two of you compose yourself. Still flushed from orgasm, you push your hair back. The prince raises the hand that had been pleasuring himself out the water, inspecting a thick, white string that clings to his fingertips. He turns his gaze to you as he sucks the cum from his digits. God he’s fucking filthy, you think. I knew it. It takes every piece of willpower not to wade across the baths and lick it from his mouth. You bite your lip, matching his sultry demeanour and the prince’s eyebrow twitches. Your reaction is clearly to his satisfaction. “This has been amusing.”

He stands abruptly, breath stealing from your lungs as his entire body comes into view again. You aren’t prepared. The god’s cock is still hard. Long and perfectly formed, it’s earlier fairness now replaced with the blush of his work. Above, his abdomen glistens; pearled droplets of oily water running leisurely over muscled ridges. You open your mouth and close it again. Loki smiles. He turns and the toned meat of his ass shifts on his ascent up the short steps out the baths. With a click of his fingers, the robe and slippers he’d discarded are upon him once more. Your stomach drops.

“I didn’t tell you my name,” you blurt as he approaches the door. Prince Loki’s profile slices into view, the perfect arc of his bone structure lined over one broad shoulder in dancing torchlight. His eyes cast down and move to yours with theatrical precision.

“Your name?!” he purrs incredulously. “We must keep some mystery, surely.” And with the swirl of his robe and a thud of the ancient latch, he’s gone.

Loki’s stomach churns, emerald slippers feeling heavier with every step. He feels along the wall, blinking away the dizziness growing behind his eyes. Risky. Even for me. He pauses at the end of the corridor, steadying his breaths. There was something about her. Something which shattered any semblance of decorum he usually clung to in the presence of the court, however strange the situation. Her audacity. Gods, the look in her eyes as she brought herself to climax; pinning him under her gaze like a starving wretch at a feast. He stares at his feet, jewels throwing prisms from torchlight. “Brother?” Loki looks up, immediately rolling his eyes. “Spying on me? Truly you need to find something more wholesome to occupy your time, brother.” “Of course not. I intended to join you.” Loki’s stomach lurches as he notes the robe hanging off his brother’s shoulders, the plush red towels stacked in his glowering manservant’s arms. “No,” he snaps as Thor attempts to pass. The hand pressing against his brother’s chest is still wet, and he has a sudden hope it’s only water. “The temperature is not pleasing tonight. Tepid, at best. Trust me, brother.” “Is that so?” Thor asks, eyebrow rising. If he finds her in there, she’ll be punished. He won’t think twice before running to father like a dog. The thought wouldn’t usually cause him alarm but there it was again, that niggling feeling that greater fates were at play. He studies Thor’s face. "Trust me," Loki says. His brother sighs. “I trust you with very few things, Loki, but the temperature of bathwater is verily one of them.” He waves a hand and the servant scuttles away into the gloom. “In truth, brother, I hoped to speak to you about the Rite.” A hiss blows between Loki’s teeth, eyes darting to the side. “In my own time.” “Your own time?!” Thor stomps forward, making the torches rattle. “You’ve had five hundred years to find someone, Loki. Nine moons; that’s all you have until you must wait another five centuries for the alignment. Don’t you want to secure yourself in the succession? What if something were to happen to father? To me? The people of Asgard must be assured of your suitability.” “The entire thing is a farce. The fact that you succeeded, proves it.” Thor’s face darkens. “Don't speak of our sacred traditions that way. You know they’re in place for a reason.” A snort steals from Loki’s nostrils. “I have no doubts of my skill, I know I could rule Asgard’s people selflessly and with great enthusiasm; why must it be paraded in an inane peacocking which will make the high-lords wilt with inferiority?”

Silence hangs thick in the narrow corridor.

“A fact which makes your refusal to participate even more perplexing," Thor says, narrowing his eyes and yanking the sash at his waist in a way Loki assumes he thinks to be dramatic. "Nine moons, brother.”

As Thor's footsteps die away; he listens for splashing, for movement, for sneaking. But there’s nothing. He steps out the emerald slippers and pads back to the door, turning the handle with a final, furtive glance behind him.

He expects to see you draped nude over the chaise in the corner, or perhaps spread for him at the edge of the baths with hungry longing in your sharp eyes...but you’re gone. Loki frowns and stalks to the pillar which concealed you before. “Borr’s blood,” he hisses under his breath, scanning the room.

And then he sees it; something silken and knotted loops around the balcony pillars, glimmering in moonlight. He realises suddenly that the draping which normally billows in the evening breeze is gone. Loki smirks as he paces to the balcony and casts a cursory look over the edge. The makeshift ladder hangs to the level below. The royal laundry, if he’s not mistaken; the same hot spring source. “Nine moons,” he repeats quietly to the silence, rapping his knuckles against the marble twice before turning away with a smile.

💖Thanks for joining me for this lil journey! 🕯️Tags in comments x Read Chapter Two, Successional Pleasure HERE

[amywritesthings]

Hii, I saw you are working on hallo sleepover and I wanted to send one! Is this the right place to ask for that? I hope it is😭 soo, I checked the promp lists and got really interested in autumn leaves/masquerade ball for levi ackerman x female reader or female oc, whichever you are comfortable with writing <3 I'm really craving for some levi royalty fic these days! Thank you!

hallo-sleepover '24!

...so this was supposed to be a drabble. it definitely isn't. i lowkey went a little insane with this one and wrote it in about two hours. hope u like xo

answers to callings.

pairing: levi ackerman x reader word count: 2.4k tags: medieval au, adult language, prince!levi, reader!knight, childhood friends turned unresolved tension, yearning and pining, first kisses, masquerade ball, dancing credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

You know better.

When Prince Levi invites you to a masquerade ball, it shouldn’t be taken as an invitation to stride on his arm. Protecting the crown is your sworn oath. He’s obligated to ask you, his royal guard, to attend the Autumn Masquerade Ball for his safety.

And when he suggests to dress for the occasion (as you see fit, added hastily within the margins of his quill) it strikes you as odd. Not because of the lack of instruction, no: the prince has not once tried to dictate what you wear in his presence, a rare feat for a man standing in front of a woman.

He sees you in the image of the little girl who grew up beside him, the rambunctious friend, the formidable ally who never saw him as a burden with a golden crown.

You should know better than to ever presume it’s a true opportunity for courtship, as knights are sworn to bow to their dutiful crown.

Although he was your best friend many moons ago, the only man you could have ever seen yourself standing beside on an altar in a white dress—

Seasons have changed. 

Years have passed.

He is the kingdom’s prince, not yours.

But why else would he have requested for you to dress for the occasion, as if your metallic exoskeleton protecting your true feelings and heart could be forgotten for the evening?

(You won’t receive an answer until you take the leap of faith.)

As opposed to greeting him at the door of his bed chambers in chainmail, you fidget with your fingers tucked under long, olive green sleeves. Velvet adorns your body, softening your silhouette as the skirt drags along the stone floors.

When Prince Levi opens his door — dressed head to toe in the family emeralds, the family brooch set upon his heart — he stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you. His stormy gray eyes fall without once looking at your face.

Oh.

Perhaps he only meant the scribbled afterthought as a jest.

You take a step back, the click of your shoe echoing against the large expanse of the corridor.

“There’s still time for me to change into my—”

“You wore the crown’s colors,” he observes in monotone, cutting off your worried rant.

His colors, more precisely.

Your face burns as you nod. “I thought it would be fitting. My armor holds the crest, and if a dress cannot do the same, then its fabric must bear its color.”

You can’t remember the last time you wore a dress around the prince. At the very least, you were both small and still so naive. 

His father and yours, king and kingsguard all the same, allowed you both the luxury of spending what little youth you had as explorers, adventurers, in a life where Levi would never need to wear a crown and you would never lose him.

When you grew older and realized how little you’d see of him as a kingsguard’s daughter, you chose knighthood: pledging allegiance to a friend, your only friend, for the rest of your mortal days and beyond.

“So it was done out of obligation?” he asks flatly, brow disappearing under the black fringe of his hair as it rises to question you.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Of mockery, then.”

“My lord—”

“Because if you had worn your armor, then it would have presented me an opportunity to offer a change myself so that we could appear to the royal court in our battle wear, further pissing off my father, and therefore shortening this ball altogether.”

The corner of his lip ticks. 

Oh.

He’s joking.

(Although little humor can be found by the crown, that rebellious boy with the insatiable fire is still in there somewhere. You just haven’t seen him in a while.)

“...oh, so now you mock me,” you joke in return.

He steps through the threshold of his bed chambers to meet you, toe to toe.

“I wouldn’t.”

In a rare moment of levity, you roll your eyes. It actually elicits a snort from the prince as he sweeps his cape behind his back, before his arm rises in a hook-like gesture.

“Let’s go,” Levi adds, lifting his elbow once towards you. “Before the blood-sucking suitors sniff me out from all the way over here.”

Right. 

His potential spouses.

Because he’d been putting off the whole marriage nonsense altogether, citing peace talks among Eldia and Marley as his priority above all else.

“You know if they did, I’d never let them get within an inch of you,” you remind him as you loop through his arm, mindful of your proximity. 

“I know,” he promises under his breath. “Above all else, I know.”

Within seconds your footsteps align, a harmonious click to scuffle with your heels and his boots, filling the firelit corridor with the announcement of the prince’s arrival. In unison, you lift your masquerade masks to situate them behind your ears and over the bridges of your noses.

By the time you reach the ballroom, the floor is already adorned with dancing couples from the kingdom and across the pond. Marleyean royalty dazzle and twirl to the quarter playing in the corner. The Eldians are a bit more subdued, discussing gossip and politics as the wine flows and the food is served.

Dozens upon dozens turn at the knowledge of the prince’s arrival and bow deeply, causing your stomach to churn.

You’re his first knight. You’re not meant to be on his arm.

You know it.

Those who know you also know it.

But as several eager suitors begin to curl around the ballroom floor, you feel Levi push not towards the throne-like chair awaiting his arrival — the very chair he’s sulked upon for most of these parties, wishing he were anywhere but —

Forward.

Down the stairs, towards the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” you whisper to the prince, brows knit under the planes of the mask.

“Saving us both.”

“With what?”

“Just trust me,” he whispers before detaching from you.

The significance of the moment hits you only a second too slowly, until suddenly you feel a warm hand run along your waist to secure behind your back. 

His other hand seeks out yours, curling his fingertips around your palm. Yours hangs limply at your side, not quite understanding what he’s doing until there are some gasps of surprise and confusion.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Levi Ackerman, has chosen his first dance suitor.”

No.

Oh — you were not supposed to be here.

When you whip your attention around to the eyes on you, you feel Levi’s hand leave your waist to grab your free hand. They both lift until your palm rests on the emerald sash decorating his shoulder. 

“Eyes on me.”

Obeying without another thought, your eyes meet.

“Don’t think.”

Before you can think, the music begins.

He pushes forward and you nearly stumble backward, but his fingers flex along the small of your back. The prince pushes you closer, his eyes boring into yours.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the steps from the aggravating dance lessons.”

“From when we were ten?” you ask bluntly, breaking your stoic character.

The answer only brings that smirk back. “They taught us this godforsaken box of a dance. So damn mind-numbing. Yet I was left to suffer through more classes alone while you were off preparing for knighthood.”

“Is that how you recall it?”

“Do you call your prince a liar?”

He’s still being playful. 

Around this time of night, he’s moody and disconnected. He’d much rather pull teeth than waltz around the dancefloor with the chosen (see: chosen for him) suitor that begs for his hand, but it’s what he’s required to do.

Except, on this night, he ran straight to the ballroom floor.

No formalities. No attempts of escaping.

He twirls you, and suddenly you’re that much closer to his body when you turn back around.

“You’re meant to choose a suitor for this dance, my lord,” you murmur, mindful of your steps the longer you’re both forced to take it.

“I didn’t want to.”

“That’s seen as disrespectful.”

“I disrespect, then.”

Prince Levi focuses on memorizing your features, as if compelled to look at you and only you. You watch him, counting the steps in your head for this dance.

“And don’t do that.”

“Do what, my lord?”

“That,” he states. “You are on my arm tonight. So it is not lord, not prince.”

Twirling one final time as the music swells to a close, your hand lands on the crook of his neck where your fingertip manages to catch skin. The prince’s eyes flutter, as if captivated by the way it feels on his bare flesh.

“Then what?” you whisper as you stand there, basking in the final step.

“Levi,” he answers. “As it was before.”

Levi.

You haven’t called him that in such a long time.

Your lips part to speak, but the ballroom erupts into applause for their prince. 

Quickly your mouth shuts, unwilling to compete with the crowd. 

Levi’s brows are knit, staring down at your lips as if expecting something — only to deflate when he realizes you aren’t going to say anything.

An opportunity, lost.

“Would you accompany me to the gardens?” he asks instead, filling the white noise with his velvet-smooth voice. Your conjoined hand gets a squeeze to bring you back to solid ground.

“If that is what you command,” you weakly state, trying to continue the facade, the masks, you’ve both shared through the last few years.

Levi’s nostrils flare before he steps out of the dance circle. Other couples eager to meet for the next song flood past you, obscuring the two of you through a battling undercurrent.

It’s dangerous, is your first line of thought. 

He should be behind me.

By the time you wish to reverse the order, to protect him, you're met with the crisp air of the night sky. Flames flicker against stone walls, illuminating the rose garden and shrubberies that curl around it. The dark sky twinkles with budding stars.

Levi stands with his back to you, your arms tethered at the wrist. For a moment he stands there, head bowed.

“Why are you avoiding your suitors?”

It’s a question you wish you could take back as soon as you say it. When he turns, the familiar scowl people know the prince for comes into view. He’s often seen as a snob, nose upturned at everyone but himself — and you.

“Of all people, you are not allowed to judge,” he growls, catching you off guard. “You swore off suitors when you swore to protect the crown. You needn’t answer to anyone’s call.”

“Because I answer to yours,” you defends yourself, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yes, so why can I not answer in return?”

When your brow knits, he takes a few steps forward. He enters your orbit in haste, his hand running through his wild raven hair.

“I send parchment for your arm, I bring you to court to dance, yet you’re somehow so damn blind to it.”

“To what?” you ask under your breath, your body growing numb.

If he implies—

No, that cannot be the truth.

Yet the more he speaks to you, he looks like that boy you left behind all those years ago. Not the prince, but Levi — the boy who has never once offered affection to another woman yet still begs of you to see him.

Levi moves another step forward, his boot slipping under the hem of your dress, and stops himself when he gets too close to your lips. You feel his hot breath pulse across your face, causing heat to rise through your body.

His eyes flicker across your face, as if searching for a sign to stop. When you stare wide-eyed in return, lost in your own feelings — gods all of the feelings you’ve swallowed down, down, down when it came to all the people wishing for his hand — for the first time since you were young.

“Command me.”

When he whispers, lightning jolts through your veins. Commanding someone of royal blood is a death sentence. Yet you know what he’s asking — why he’s asking.

“But you are my prince.”

“I am only a man,” he corrects in a murmur, shaking his head, “and you are more holy than any damned crown so I cannot take — but I beg of you, to ask.”

Everything turns to ash in your mind. Any panic, any worry, any doubt that his feelings could be reciprocated — they culminate to this moment. 

This, where you can look up at Levi Ackerman, the prince who stole your heart, and command.

“Kiss me, Levi.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Levi gathers you in his arms, his push forward so intense that you both stumble back into the dark corner of the castle’s exterior. His palm cradles the back of your head as he kisses you, drowning in the taste of you, and he practically moans at the mere feeling of it.

You try to keep up, kissing him back with equal impatience. Pulling and pushing you meet him kiss for kiss, your hand nestled upon the cool surface of his cheek. He swears under his breath, a curse only for you, before he ducks his chin and deepens the kiss.

The moan that slips across your tongue causes the hand at your waist to grip it tighter.

Although it’s a foreign feeling, you find your mouth opening when his lips part, your tongues meeting in the middle. It feels wrong — but the feeling quickly fades when his thigh wedges between yours and presses.

Levi pulls away, face flushed and eyes hazy. You both pant, your chests touching as you seek a stolen breath in this finite space between you.

Yet you can’t stop looking at him.

“I want nothing more than to have you,” Levi confesses. “All facets of you. I won’t jeopardize your knightship, but I wish to court none other.”

His forehead drops to yours.

You melt at the feeling, the intimacy, despite how you should pull away and do your duty as his sworn protector. You swore off marriage, but to be courted by one of the royal family…

It would be nullified.

If you wanted him, is what Levi has been trying to say this entire night.

“Then choose me,” you decide finally, softly, against his lips.

Although your eyes are closed, you feel it: a rare smile from the prince himself.

“I already have,” he promises. “I just had to wait for you to choose me, too.”

.

[ifearzombies]

What You Wear

Little things I headcanon MC wears on their RAD uniform to keep the people they love close during the day.

From Lucifer:

A small brooch of a peacock feather on your RAD jacket. It’s a beautiful golden feather with multi-colored gems to detail the colours. You love how it accents your uniform and makes you feel slightly more regal.

From Mammon:

You have not just the chocolate lizard keychain, but there’s one of a bird on your RAD uniform belt. It’s not really gold, and the gem eyes are just crystals, but the bird sits on your waist everyday and you fiddle with it when you miss your first man.

From Leviathan:

You have a small goldfish pendant. The chain is a snake-chain design and the pendant is made of acrylic to make it look real. On the back it reads ‘To my Henry’. You can’t help but occasionally kiss it when you pass Levi in the halls to make him blush.

From Satan:

A small golden ring with cats carved into it sits on your middle left finger (with Satan’s instructions to show Lucifer just the one finger to show it off). The cats have emerald eyes to match Satan’s and you fiddle with it when you’re in class together and watch him perform his spells.

From Asmodeus:

A jangly charm bracelet with little chibis of him sits on your right wrist. He wants you to remember his beauty when you’re separated and this was the perfect way for you to look at him when you’re apart.

From Beelzebub:

He gave you a fitbit that you wear on your left wrist so that you can keep track of your health. Humans have short life spans, so he wants you to stay healthy so you can have as much time together as possible. Plus he likes to compete with you slightly over who has more steps per day. He always wins, but you can’t help but keep ‘competing’ to see his overjoyed smile.

From Belphegor:

You have a ring on middle right finger with Belphie’s bear emblem on it, the stones amethyst and diamonds to show his colours. He smiles when he sees the ring on your hand and is sure to comment on it. You ruffle his hair in return.

From Solomon:

You have fire topaz earring studs from the magician. They’re enchanted to boost your magic abilities during exams that involve magic since your powers (without boost) is weak in comparison to him. He smiles whenever he sees you wear them outside of RAD.

From Simeon:

On another belt loop you have a couple of the diamond shaped gold plates that came from Simeon’s angelic clothing. He got the ones he removed replaced, but he wanted you to have the originals so that he’d always be with you- like a guardian angel.

From Luke:

Your feet never get tired from walking around RAD all day because Luke gave you several pairs of socks from the Celestial Realm that make it feel like you’re walking on clouds. You thank the little angel every chance you get because you walk EVERYWHERE in the Devildom. The socks have been your biggest lifesaver.

From Barbatos:

In the breast pocket of your RAD uniform is the most exquisite pocket watch with the emblem for RAD on it’s cover and on the back, Barbatos’ demon symbol. You’re an example. And should always be on time and presentable, in his opinion. Whenever you’re caught using it, Barbatos gives a nod of approval and smiles.

From Diavolo:

In another pocket of your uniform is a glasses case with Diavolo’s symbol on it. The glasses are enchanted to translate demonic texts to a language you understand as when you first arrived, you couldn’t understand some of your textbooks. You cherish the glasses. Plus, Diavolo has stated he thinks they look great on you, so you tend to wear them most of the day you’re at RAD.

[aphroditelovesu]

Since requests are closing in a few days, I just wanted to put another one in. No rush go get it done of course!

I want to request a oneshot/reaction where Alexander gives reader a really, REALLY expensive necklace. Maybe it's a wedding present, a just because present , or something following the birth of the twins. You can decide what you want to do with that 😁!

Also, I keep picturing a necklace made of opal??? Not only is it a stunning gem stone, but it was also thought to be the tears of Zeus in ancient Greece, which would be an interesting tie to Alexander. Again, it's just a suggestion. You can use whatever gemstone you want!

Thanks, and take care ❤️❤️❤️!

--O-

❝ 📜— lady l: this had been sitting in my drafts for a while and I finally decided to write it. I got a little carried away, so it's a little big, but I hope you like it and if you want to order anything else, feel free, anon! Good reading and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: none, just fluff and very soft!Alexander.

❝📜pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader.

❝word count: 1,308.

Alexander wanted to find something to give you. Something expensive and extravagant, something that would leave you impressed.

He felt like he owed you that. Not only had you given birth to his children, but you were loved by him and he wanted to please you. He thought of several options: a horse, silk clothes, food and even drink. He still wasn't sure what you might like.

Until he had an idea after talking to Hephaestion. He was the one who gave you the idea of giving you a necklace made from a special and rare gem. And he knew it was the right choice to make.

It was no easy task to get a merchant to have the necklace he liked and deemed worthy of you to wear around your delicate neck, but after the fifth try with a different merchant, he finally knew what your gift should be. He decided to gift you with an opal necklace, a jewel that reflected the beauty and mystery of his passion.

It would change color and he would know that it would look beautiful and graceful on your neck. Everything about you was beautiful and graceful, so the necklace would only stand out on you and no one else.

This opulent piece was adorned with the most dazzling opals that could be found in the entire Empire. Each stone sparkled with vibrant colors, dancing like the aurora borealis reflected in the starry night. The necklace was a unique treasure, a harmony of opalescent hues, displaying hues of celestial blue, emerald green, and royal purple.

The merchant who sold it told him a story about the necklace and it was this story that convinced him to buy it. According to the Persian merchant, legend said that opals were gifts from star spirits, who bestowed their blessings on those who used them with love and wisdom. The necklace was not just a piece of jewelry, but a source of magical power. Its colors and reflections were believed to contain the essence of nature, connecting the wearer to the spiritual realms and bringing fortune and protection.

Whoever owned the opal necklace was seen as a keeper of ancient secrets, an heir to the ancient magic that flowed through the precious stones. It was said that opal possessed the ability to amplify intuition and creativity, allowing the wearer to see beyond the ordinary, opening doors to new possibilities and inspiration.

After this explanation, Alexander knew that this necklace must be yours. Not just because of your story, but because of who you were. From when you really came. No one was more worthy than you.

There was also another version of the story that convinced him to buy it. Knowing how religious Alexander was, the merchant also told him that the opal was made from the tears of Zeus. Long ago, at the beginning of Greek civilization, when the gods walked among mortals, Zeus, the mighty king of the gods, shed tears of joy and sorrow over human fate. These tears, upon touching the earth, transformed into radiant stones known as opals, carrying within them the duality of emotions of the great god.

Thus was born the opal, a legendary gem forged by Zeus' own tears. Each stone was shaped from divine emotions, capturing the essence of heaven and earth. Its unique iridescence reflected not only the colors of the rainbow, but also the contrasting feelings of joy and sadness, hope and despair, harmonized in an eternal dance of light and shadow. Ancient sages believed that the necklace was not just a manifestation of beauty, but rather a link between mortals and the gods. It was said that whoever wore the opal necklace would be enveloped in the protection of Zeus and would have the divine wisdom to navigate life's challenges.

And maybe when little Aella grew up, he could give her a necklace similar to the one he chose for you.

He smiled at the thought and with the necklace inside a small wooden box with gold ornaments, he walked to the room you shared in the Babylonian palace. Straightening his posture, Alexander knocked on the door and after hearing a soft ''come in'', he opened the door and smiled widely when he saw you sitting in a padded chair with Aella in one arm and Cyrus in the other. He fell silent when he realized the twins were asleep.

You looked at him and smiled softly when you saw what he had in his hands. Alexander placed the box on a table next to the bed and approached you, carefully taking Cyrus in his arm. You smiled lovingly when you saw him cuddling the baby in his arms.

Whispering, Alexander says, ''I have something for you.''

You smiled and asked curiously, ''What is it?''

Alexander carefully picked up the box with the arm that wasn't swinging Cyrus and placed him on your lap, looking at you expectantly. You smiled and opened the box with a little difficulty due to the sleeping child in your arms. Your eyes widened when you saw the lush opal necklace. You had never seen such beautiful jewelry.

Alexander, who was watching you like a hawk, smiled at you.

''Alexander, that's…'' You swallowed and took the necklace in your hand, carefully observing its details. The necklace was a magnificent piece, a heavenly masterpiece that captivated the eyes of all who dared to gaze upon it. Every aspect of the necklace was a symphony of intertwined beauty and magic.

The centerpiece of the necklace consisted of a main opal, a generously sized gem that radiated an unparalleled iridescent glow. This central opal was an explosion of celestial color, with soft, shimmering hues that moved like an aurora borealis trapped within the gemstone. Its tones ranged from the deep blue of twilight to the lush green of enchanted forests, and occasional glimpses of the deep red of divine fire.

Around the main opal, a series of smaller opals were skillfully arranged, forming a necklace that seemed to have been woven by the stars' own hand. Each smaller gem had its own color personality, some glowing an ethereal blue, others a crystalline green, and still others with purple and gold hues reminiscent of the sun setting over distant mountains.

The structure of the necklace was as intricate as the reflections of the opals. Delicate strands of gold wove between the gems, creating a sparkling frame that complemented the iridescence of the opals. Small, intricate metal sculptures, decorated with designs that resembled star constellations, adorned the necklace, giving it an aura of ancient magic.

''Do you like it?'' Alexander asked after you remained silent, observing the necklace with a strange expression.

''I loved it.'' You whispered, admiring the necklace. Alexander walked over to you and took the necklace from your hands and placed Cyrus back in your arms, careful not to wake him. He stood behind you and removed your hair from your neck, placing the magnificent necklace around your neck. You closed your eyes when you felt the touch of his calloused fingers on your skin and sighed when the necklace was placed on you.

''I'm glad, it suits you.'' He kissed your neck affectionately and you closed your eyes, smiling.

Alexander leaned closer to your ear and whispered, ''When I heard the story about the opal… I knew it would have to be yours and yours alone.''

You opened your eyes and turned your head, looking at him. ''And what is this story?''

Alexander smiled widely and after kissing your forehead, he began to tell you both stories he had heard from the merchant. You just listened in silence, delighting in his words, with your sleeping children on your arm and the weight of the beautiful necklace around your neck.

Your small, loving family.

[thekissofaphrodite]

Heart of Stone

Jessica Parker Kennedy!Medusa X Blind!wife!reader

Summary: Humans after creatures were petrified by her blinding eye, but it seems like Medusa's heart of stone was fixed by a certain someone she calls a wife.

Warning: Flashbacks of Rape and Death of child (I think that's all)

Author's note: Percy Jackson this, Luke Castellan that. I'll take medusa.

——

"You think I'll hold a grudge on you just because you are a daughter of Athena?" Medusa said sweetly as she stared at Annabeth through her veiled hat whilst pouring freshly made lemonade into one of the cups.

Annabeth kept a neutral expression, carefully watching Medusa's movements whilst keeping an eye on grover, who munched happily on one of the snacks.

Medusa watched grover with a smile, barely glancing at percy.

"You like them?" She asked Grover, The Satyr nodded enthusiastically.

"My wife made them." All of the eyes were now on medusa's.

The trio shared a confused glance, Percy and Grover threw Annabeth a 'What the actual hell did she say?' and Annabeth threw back a much confused glance, saying 'I dont know either'

Percy was the first one to break the silence, His head still low as he played with the strawberry cheesecake on his plate with a silver fork.

"Er..Wife? you said...isn't that impossible since you're.. You know..." Medusa chuckled wholeheartedly, Annabeth just rolled her eyes and nudged Grover.

"She's blind.. The gods also punished her a long time ago.." After that statement, the trio immediately turned their heads, curiously sitting down and patiently waiting for a story.

"She was once a beautiful nymph that served Circe... Goddess of Aiaia. She was beautiful, then...Hermes.. The messenger God fell in love with her whilst he was still in a relationship with Circe, She rejected him multiple times, but in desperation he—" Medusa Inhaled sharply, Her fist curling up into a ball in anger, she was hesitating to continue the story.

"He asked Aphrodite to make him a draught so she can sleep with him..and it worked, When Circe found out she was so outraged and jealous that she poured every potion she had into her eyes..Her once beautiful green eyes, and cursed her saying 'You shall never see the light of day, Again' " The story finished, Annabeth, Percy and Grover went silent, Medusa however looked at the demigods, watching for any signs of mercy or pity in their eyes.

Then, the silence was interrupted by someone, behind the door.

"Emmy? I think the food you're making is burnt— I smell brownies— Oh! please tell me you're making them!" You. She were gorgeous, with waist length red hair and pale skin, a line of dark freckles trailing down your breasts and arms. you was wearing a floral dress beautifully. you almost looked like a goddess. If it wasn't for your grey eyes, that was once green that made you less perfect.

Medusa's expressions changed neutrally to cheerful. The trio noticed a pair of ring Medusa and Her wife had.

The blind woman, who was Medusa's wife, had a snake ring on her finger, while medusa had a simple gold ring with an emerald stone.

"We have visitors?" You asked, As Medusa walked towards you and looped her arms with yours.

"They're demigods, Dear" Medusa whispered to your ear, making you frown a little.

"I'll go back to the kitchen. You can handle them, yes?" Medusa nodded, and you a kiss on your cheeks before watching her wife go.

——

It wasn't that long when you heard screams and running footsteps, It was definitely the demigods.

Years after years, you lived with Medusa, The bravest warriors to the most cowardly men had stepped inside your home, and none escaped. Not with her deadly eyes.

But you knew those demigods don't stood a chance.

You stared at the blowing kettle, feeling the heat wash over you as sweat trickled down your neck.

And why should you and medusa hide your capabilities and powers when you two are far more superior?

You remembered it all too well.

Hermes drugged you and forced you into his bed, shamelessly raping you all over again until he's content, Circe in fury punishing you. You begged and explained, You really did...But she never listened.

Circe, Banishing you out of Aiaia... You being pregnant. You giving birth near a cave.. Your baby boy dying... Medusa finding you...

Life was hard.. The Gods gave no mercy and pity. But here you are. Still standing with the woman who saved you.

You heard footsteps coming upstairs. You smiled thinking that your trap might work.

"Do you find everything pleasant?" You whispered sweetly.

there was no response.

But then, someone grabbed you by your long hair and slashed your neck.

Medusa ran as fast as she could when she heard screams, But her heeled sandals failed her.

You were now lying on the ground, blood spurting out of your neck as you tried to gasp for air. Tears poured down your cheeks as you tried to say Medusa's name.

Medusa screamed. A blood curling scream as she fell down and held your body. The wife she had protected all these years. Her wife. Her soul mate. Her one and true love, Dead.

You tried to speak, but no words came out of your mouth. Instead, as you were dying, Your green eyes gained a clearer vision of your wife. Her beautiful face was crying, Snakes hissing as her hair..But you never mind, Her beauty never scared you after all. Her blue eyes looked at yours. As you slip away from consciousness, you can sleep peacefully after taking a look at your blue-eyed beauty.

In the small cottage, Medusa stood up, Your blood staining her hands as she glanced at the trio, She slowly walked towards them, and grinned.

"I don't mind three additional statues filling my home..."

A/N: FIRST MEDUSA FF. HOW DID I DO? I RLLY WANNA ADD TRAGEDY AND LOVE AT THE SAME TIME SO HERE WE ARE! I DO HOPE YOU LIKE EM!!

[sshireens]

everyone and their mother likes a tudor silhouette for the lannisters and i understand why! BUT I DISAGREE! i see your sleeves (which are BEAUTIFUL i will never argue that) and your skirts and i raise you:

insane elizabethan gaudiness. skirts that force the riff raff to Keep Their Distance! ruffs god the RUFFS! embroidered and beaded until moving becomes a workout. stiff busks and small waists (looking even smaller next to that TENT of a skirt). ribbons and pearls and lace and rubies (RUBIES! DID SOMEONE SAY RUBIES? CERSEI I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU!) are these dresses not Dripping in luxury and finery? the silhouette is just slightly absurd enough to Stand Out okay you KNOW what era this, therefore the people of westeros KNOWWWWWWW who these people are the second they see that right angle waist. plus added benefit: those bodices are probably stiff enough to stop a blade. not that i dont literally gain years on my life every time i see cersei’s cunty chest plate.

i mean (yes these are closer to costume than recreation BUT YOU GET IT OKAY YOU UNDERSTAND) its theatric its dramatic it has me looking at paintings going What is the point?????? and then i remember the point is to stop the show and draw attention and really leave a mark and is that not the lannister way? now i am known to also be a pre-tudor Plantagenet era slim silhouette yards of fabric Typical Medieval Dress fan for cersei BUT CERSEI TRANSCENDS FASHION OKAY. this is her at casterly rock. this is THE WESTERLANDS. this is who she REALLY IS. i can see it in my mind like this is a vision i KNOW it to be true

i mean come on. guys its too easy. i can see her plotting scheming in a giant skirt and a beautiful ruff. she’s analyzing the minuscule beadwork of other court dresses trying to figure out what message she’s being sent (she is not being sent one). she orders EVERY detail of her own gowns to make sure she’s communicating properly back. ladies in waiting carry their own secret messages in beads and lace and decoration and cersei feels SOOO smart because they dont even know it. she wears gold and jewels in a pattern to mimic a maesters chain because at this point she deserves one. think also how easy it is to hide poison in this shit. so many stones that could be hollow. so many layers and folds. and listen when they’re kids and she and jaime trade clothes to pretend to be each other its EVEN EASIER cause nobody knows what you actually look like in this anyway

the wedding look went crazy okay. ruffs and the fucking. peacock head thing i can’t remember the name of. embroidered lions shimmering with ruby eyes and gold thread, dress tinkling with every move because its dripping in pearls and gold and emeralds. alright this fabric is Stiff with beading and stitching and Layers. you can’t look at cersei directly because the torchlight gleams off of her like some demented early stage psychosis medieval disco ball. golden haired golden dressed golden skinned Gold Gold Gold she exudes richness and beauty and fashion. this is fucking crazy to a baratheon court. she upstages the new king. she upstages the memory of rhaella. everyone sees now that she should have been a targaryen queen. DO YOU SEE IT. like i am such a zealot for this like this is SERIOUS TO ME. red and yellow and black and red and red and yellow and GOLD and in her insane mind these are snide allusions to rhaegar and elia and robert to everyone who can see her. and to jaime. this is a lannister woman marrying in lannister colors and she fucked her twin brother That Morning. okay that is also a silly little reference she’s making. THIS WOMAN IS CRAZY SHE DESERVES THE GAUDIEST FASHION HISTORICAL RECREATIONS CAN PROVIDE!

also if it were real (it is real. im grrm.) the allusion to elizabeth i the virgin queen sole female ruler… that just makes me giggle in and of itself.

i rest my case!

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XIV

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere /

Elain was floating. Black skirts weightless, hair a halo. She could not tell if the water was cold, but there were shivers going up her spine, causing ripples around her. 

Elain felt as her lips pulled down. She was looking up, the endless sky over her. There was no moon, she noticed. Slowly, even the stars began to wink out, darkness taking their place. One by one, they disappeared, and Elain could do nothing but watch, unmoving. 

Unease washed over Elain like a gentle wave as she felt something by her bare feet. 

Hands. 

Bones. 

Wrapping itself around her ankle, it tugged, swift as lightning. Elain did not even get the chance to scream as she was pulled into the depths, still unable to see the moon. 

Elain woke up with a jolt, heart racing and each of her senses heightened. She had truly had enough of her strange dreams. Running a hand through her hair, Elain gave herself a moment to calm down, stretching her legs over the arm of the chair she had slept in. 

Elain sat up with a tired huff. She would go to the library, she thought, grab a book on the cauldron and return before the sun was daybright. It was almost embarrassing to admit just how very little she still knew about the object that had seen fit to curse her with the powers of a seer. 

As she considered going alone to search for the library in the winding halls of the Forest House, her eyes fell on Lucien. Elain knew she had agreed to speak with her mate, but with the dreams completely plaguing her thoughts, she figured she would be too distracted to focus. 

Lucien was still sound asleep, and Elain was surprised she had managed to wake up earlier than him. The covers were pulled up to his waist, the laces of his shirt undone, chest rising and falling steadily. The way he was laying down, Elain could not see his scar. 

For a moment Elain wondered if she should wake him, should ask him to escort her to the library he had taken her to on that first day she had been in the Autumn Court. As quickly as the thought had come to her, she pushed it aside, sighing as she got up to choose the dress she would wear. 

Elain decided she would ask Cora to come with her, hoping the other woman would not mind being called on before everyone else had woken up. 

Eris’s words from the night before about wearing Night Court colours went through her mind as she stood in front of the large closet, filled with dresses she had brought, but also a few that were not her own. Elain ignored his words and grabbed a dress in a dark shade of plum, small diamonds along the bottom of the skirts making it seem like stars had been plucked from the sky and sewn into the fabric. 

As Elain looked in the mirror, it pained her to admit that the emerald green dress from the night before suited her better. She scowled at her reflection, turning away. 

With silent steps, Elain quickly made her way across her and Lucien’s shared chambers, careful not to wake him. She cast a final glance in her mate’s direction, and was glad to see that he had not stirred. She checked to see if the door was locked, surprised but pleased when the handle turned and she could slip out, shutting the door behind her. 

Elain lifted her skirts, worrying at her bottom lip as she questioned whether it was a smart idea to leave Lucien’s side. In the last few days, she had come to the decision that Lucien was in fact quite likeable, but she was glad for some distance, especially knowing that they were going to talk about all that had happened in the last few days. 

When Elain was near her mate, nothing felt true. 

She was certain that the mating bond was influencing her thoughts, but being away from him gave her time to think. 

Elain knew she could not marry Lucien, but she was also aware of how dreadfully complicated the situation she had gotten herself in was. She continued to consider how they might find a way out of a wedding ceremony as she walked down the maze-like halls of the Forest House. 

Elain was almost sure she knew where she was going, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders leave as she spotted the stairs that led down to the floor with Cora’s room. Hand on the wooden railing, Elain skipped steps as she quickly made her way to the guest suite she and Lucien had taken Cora to after their short visit to the library. 

Elain paused in front of the other woman’s door, gathering some courage before she finally knocked, three gentle taps with her knuckles against the wood. 

“Cora,” she said, the word a breath falling between her teeth, knocking again. “Cora, it’s Elain.” 

Elain heard the latch of the lock falling, right before Cora pulled the door open, the hinges screaming. She was surprised that the other woman was fully dressed and ready for the day, her dark hair in an intricate braid. 

Cora raised a dark brow, looking past Elain and checking the hallway for anyone else. “Why are you awake?” She asked. 

“Will you come to the library with me?” 

With elegant steps, Cora moved to stand outside her room. “Right now?” 

Elain simply nodded in response.

“Just the two of us?” Cora further clarified, slight unease leaking into her tone. 

“I have to go to the library. You don’t—”

Before Elain could finish her sentence, Cora shut the door behind her, interrupting. “I’ll come,” she said, determined. “Will Lucien be joining?” 

“No, no, I don’t want him knowing. Not Eris, either,” Elain added. “I hope this will stay between us.” 

“Walk and talk, Elain,” Cora’s eyes were bright with amusement as she flashed a mischievous smile. “I love secrets.” 

Elain hooked an arm through Cora’s, and began to explain in hushed whispers how she had begun to see visions during the war with Hybern. The other woman’s presence was a comfort as Elain told her about her recent dreams, about the heavy feeling in her chest of knowing that something was wrong. 

“I know nothing about these…abilities,” Elain admitted. The words choked her, nerves settling in her gut. She cast a glance at their surroundings, and furrowed her brow. “And I don’t know where we are.” It took Elain a great effort not to release a childlike groan. 

Cora pulled them both to a stop, looking around their unfamiliar surroundings. “I thought you knew where you were going.” 

“Let’s just assume I know nothing about everything,” Elain blew a stray curl from where it had fallen in front of her eyes. 

Cora snorted as she dragged Elain towards a pair of carved oak doors, firelight filtering through the crack of space between them. 

Elain sighed in relief as she spotted towering shelves in the small space, rows of ancient books neatly organised. Although it was a library much smaller than the one Lucien had taken them to, it was no less lovely. Every piece of furniture, all the carpets, even most of the books looked worn. 

Quietly shutting the doors behind them, Cora put a gentle hand to Elain’s elbow. “Where should we start?” 

With a small laugh, Elain faced the other woman. “I have no idea.” 

Cora pushed her gently, playfully, like a friend might. “I’ll take the shelves on the left,” she said with a smile.  

Elain was so grateful for Cora’s presence, so glad that she was not alone in that moment. “Thank you,” the words were sincere. 

Just as they were about to go their separate ways, Elain heard a voice, lovely as windchimes behind them. 

“It’s not very often that unexpected visitors stumble into my private library.” Cora did not seem startled, but Elain jumped at the sound. Turning slowly, not knowing who she would face. 

The Lady of Autumn was stunningly beautiful and Elain found herself searching for Lucien’s features on her cold but beautiful face. She was wearing a dress with intricate gold details stitched along the brown bodice, her hair a striking contrast against the dark fabric. Just as Eris’s did, her red hair seemed to flicker like a dying ember in the light of the torches. Elain found herself uncertain of what to say, lips parting slightly in surprise.

“Apologies, lady,” Cora curtsied, speaking for them both, and Elain fumbled with her skirts to do the same. “We had not realised, we will take our leave.” 

“No need,” the lady offered as she waved an elegant hand, “It’s been some time since I’ve enjoyed the company of those other than my family.” Like a wolf, she tilted her head, directing her russet gaze at Elain. “Though I suppose we will be family soon enough.”

Elain plastered on her most convincing smile, “Lucien has told me so much about you, my lady.” The lie fell from her lips naturally. 

At the title, the older woman scrunched her nose in distaste. “Please, call me Callista.” She lifted an auburn brow, “you are to be my daughter, after all.” 

Cora remained silent as Elain took a few careful steps in Callista’s direction. “I had wished to meet you, to truly meet you, but…” she trailed off, unsure what to say next. 

The Lady of Autumn nodded as though she understood. “I am happy to see you in my court, Elain Archeron of Night.” Elain could practically feel the genuine emotion in the room, a mother honestly glad that her son was to be married. 

Guilt crawled up Elain’s spine, brief and unwelcome. “I was looking for a book,” she said suddenly, hoping to change the subject. 

“A specific one?” Callista offered, “I’ve read all the ones here.” 

Elain was struck by just how old the other woman was, how old most of the fae were. She once again remembered that while Cora looked the same age as her, there were probably decades between them.

“I’m looking…” Elain paused, not knowing what to say to get what she wanted from the library, but not wanting to reveal her intentions to the High Lord’s wife. “Do you have a book on lakes?” Callista furrowed her brow, looking confused. Elain blushed, speaking again before the lady could respond. “Or, perhaps a book on witches?” 

The Lady of the Autumn Court grinned, reminding Elain very much of Lucien. “On witches? I have many.”

[mjblue]

In which Mary forgets.

The first thing she forgot was the colour of a meadow on a midsummer day.

The second was the sound of a door sliding open, and a voice that still hadn’t lost the shake of anger. 

“Excuse us,” said the voice. “But do you mind if we sit here?” 

Mary didn’t mind. 

“You see,” the voice explained. “We had seats already. Perfectly nice seats, in fact—but then we were disturbed. Did you know this place accepts mentally deficient toe-rags?”

Mary had not.

“Me either,” said the voice. It was a bit steadier now. “Well, you seem nice, at any rate—what’s your name?”

The voice had a name, too. But Mary couldn’t forget what it was.

…

The next thing she forgot was her own hands, glowing with the light of a thousand suns. She forgot the letter that came on her birthday and the man who came with it, tall and silver and kind when he told her she was magic. She forgot the feeling of a wand in her hand, the control, the certainty it gave her, something inside her slotting into place without ever having realised it was missing at all. 

Ah, yes, she forgot thinking, when the man took out his own and conjured her mother a rose. Now everything is finally right.

She forgot how it felt when she heard that Word for the very first time and she realised she’d been so very wrong. 

…

Mary forgot that the voice belonged to a girl. A girl with long, soft, pressed-copper hair, hair that smelled like vanilla and apples and sunshine.

She forgot how she sounded when she laughed.

“Sunshine isn’t a smell, Mary—but thank you all the same.”

Mary disagreed. Sunshine was her favourite smell.

She forgot how the girl looked with her sleeves rolled up and her wand in her plait, hands stained red-yellow-green by berries and powders and potions, eyes blazing in triumph when the man with the walrus moustache told her she was clever. Mary wondered how he did it—how he made her light up like that, and how she could do it, too. 

She forgot late nights in the dorm and afternoons in the library, painting nails and proofreading essays. The girl would look at her Potions and Mary would look at her Charms, and they’d roll their eyes when boys with silly names and big mouths sent them cards and curses and called them pretty. 

“You’re all I need, Mary. Romance is reductive, and they’re all arrogant prats with frogs for brains.”

Mary wished it was true. 

But then she forgot glasses and messy hair, and battles won with wands and broomsticks and words, and watching her watching him when she thought no one was looking. She forgot being sixteen and feeling something change around her. She forgot feeling like she should change, too. She forgot crying when she couldn’t. 

…

She forgot the star. 

She forgot his black curls and his silver eyes, and his face, pretty like a girl’s. She forgot holding his hand and pretending it was hers. She forgot how he made her listen to Bowie and she made him listen to ABBA, and how they laughed and cried and fought and made up and never, ever kissed.

She forgot sitting by the fire in a crowded common room, not reading, not talking. He looked at him and she looked at her and neither of them looked at each other.

And she forgot that the reason they’d always worked so well was that really, they’d never worked at all.

…

She forgot the castle in winter, the way the ice hung off the stone like a diamond necklace, the way the white made the blue swallow you whole. 

“Here we are, Mary!” said the girl. “Our very last Sluggy Christmas! What are you wearing? Did you decide yet?”

Mary hadn’t, but she was leaning towards the pink with the lace.

“Oh, good,” said the girl. “That one’s my favourite.”

Mary’s favourite was the emerald silk. 

“Yes,” said the girl. “I was thinking that, too—it matches my eyes, doesn’t it?”

Mary wondered if the girl was sad. She’d just broken up with the latest boy, and it was the first time she’d be going alone. Mary didn’t have a partner, either. She wondered if she might like to go together. 

Just so they wouldn’t be lonely.

Just as friends.

Just once.

“Oh—er, sorry, Mary,” said the girl. “But I’m not going alone.”

Mary didn’t want to ask. But she did.

“Potter,” said the girl. “James Potter.”

…

She forgot the words to Lady Stardust. Cherry Bomb. Jolene, Lola, and Nina, Pretty Ballerina. She forgot the Blitzkrieg Bop and the Crocodile Rock, and she forgot dancing in the tower and the flat and the cottage, arms around a boy or a girl or a stranger or the air above her head, dancing just to move, dancing to remember. Dancing to forget. 

…

The forgetting came quicker after that. 

She forgot the war. She forgot the secrets and the lies they told themselves to get through the day, the lies that tore them apart from the inside out and the ones that put them back together. She forgot killing and torture and running and waking from nightmares to find herself in hell.

She forgot the dead. She forgot the traitors and the cowards and the black, festering hole in her chest where her heart used to be.

She forgot the girl with Healing hands. She forgot her yellow hair, her whip-crack wit, her soft, warm hugs. She forgot the girl who loved her, the crusader with a chip on her shoulder, and she forgot how they died exactly one month apart, how the streets ran scarlet in the August heat. 

She forgot the boy with kindness in his voice and fear in his eyes, the boy who died and the finger they buried. She forgot the snake in lion’s clothing who killed him and the scarred, broken shell of a man he’d lied about loving and left behind. 

She forgot Halloween.

…

She forgot standing alone in a churchyard, carving words on a slab of white marble. She forgot a familiar face, a form in the corner of her eye, and she forgot the words she yelled at him as he tried to explain.

“I loved—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Snivellus.”

…

The last thing she forgot was a road called Privet Drive, and a neat little house filled with secrets and pain and a crying boy with eyes she’d spent ten long, beautiful years loving so much it almost hurt to look. 

She forgot the feeling of night air on her face, cold and sharp, turning her tears to ice. She forgot knocking on the door, and the face Petunia Evans made when she pulled out her wand and froze her where she stood. She forgot the door to the cupboard under the stairs, and how she didn’t need to say a word before it burst into a shower of sparkling stars. She forgot holding Harry in her arms, and looking back to see a fat, blond baby bawling on the living room floor, and wondering just for a moment whether she ought to take him, too. 

She forgot walking, then running, cradling a soft black head to her chest, too afraid to Apparate with such a fragile thing. She forgot the rage in her throat, on her tongue, when she saw the tall, slim man in silver robes, blocking her path. 

He was there to take him away. He was there to take away her Harry, her godson, just like he took away her Lily. He threw her life away like it was nothing, nothing, nothing, when to Mary it was everything. 

“You can’t,” she said. “You can’t send him back there, you can’t make me leave him.”

Of course he could.

“You won’t,” she said. “You won’t let them hurt him, you won’t close your eyes.”

Of course he would.

“You’re wrong,” she said. “You’re wrong if you think this is good. You’re wrong if you think there’s no choice.”

Of course he was.

But that had never mattered.

“Obliviate,” he said.

And Mary forgot.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day One

So I know this has probably been overdone by lots of people on lots of years but I haven't done it yet and I want to so here goes: I'm going to rewatch get back with the days matched up and catalogue my thoughts as I watch.

We don't get to see George and John saying hi to each other, but I'm struck by how careful they are with Ringo when he comes in. "Hi Ringo, happy new year." From both of them, with full eye contact soft, sweet voices. I wonder if they're really wanting to be so gentle with him after what happened at the end of August. Not like walking on eggshells at all, but just very "we're working on doing better because we care about you."

While Paul's not there, John is giving George full attention, leaning in to him, facing him while they sing, and George seems to really love it

But then Paul shows up and you can tell before we even see him that he's arrived, because suddenly John's gaze is gone from George. His eyebrows shoot up, he chin-tilts, and (this sounds insane I know but it's what I just watched) his singing drastically improves. He's putting effort in, performing.

Paul sits down and the shy little grins and glances and inside jokes (at George's expense and hypocritical of John) ensue immediately.

Ringo's jacket. The black with the maroon velvet collar. It's very cool and it's very unique to him. I don't see the other three pulling it off the way he does. He just has effortless swagger. If the other three wore something like that they'd look like try-hards.

George's sassy little hair flip. "oh, you're recording our conversation?"

Meanwhile John and Paul are back at it like magnets I swear. Turned in to each other, talking gibberish, and strumming

George with the deadpan sass again. "Maybe we should just learn a few songs first." Lol he's so stone cold.

"Oh please believe me." "Yes I will." Come on. Do you ever stop? And then the silent communication when they screwed up. We don't see Paul's face but John makes such a cute "oops sorry" face and they keep going.

Paul's literally so bossy. I find it such a turn on, really, watching it. Just because it's him being a genius who has a vision and sucks at social skills. But if I were in that band and he wasn't letting me hit I'd literally hate him.

John's so delighted with Paul's "everybody's got a hard on... Except for me and my monkey." Because that's one of the ways he often expresses his love for Paul and Paul's giving it back to him here. So John's just "Oh he made a joke about my song. He's teasing me. He does like me."

Paul literally diggs John's part of IGAF so fucking hard though. Like as soon as John's singing, Paul can not be still. Can not. He just thinks John's so so clever (and to be fair he is)

Crazy eye fucking continues

Then Paul's off to talk big boy plans with the daddies for a minute. (would love to know who he waved at then sucked his finger) "Is this your place, Twickenham?" Okay. Feeling out a potential daddy's pockets. I see you.

Obsessed with Yoko's emerald bag and how she got her little boyfriend to wear the exact color of Henley. Ken was literally made to be Barbies accessory and he's doing such a great job matching her purse. She's so pretty and cool.

It cracks me up how extremely nonchalant Ringo is about Magic Christian. (I LOVE that movie. Ringo is so hot in it and it's anti-capitalist so it's a winner). Dennis O'Dell is all "the scripts are marvelous." And Ringo's just "yeah you told me." And then Dennis is like "I'll take up up and show you around these really great sets." Ringo: "yeah okay." It's almost like the other three have no chill so he has to have only chill to balance it out.

They really are so blunt with each other when they don't like something. "I don't dig that." "Scrap that." Which is good. If only they could've been blunt when they did like things too though. And I guess they were sometimes. Like John telling Paul to keep that lyric in Hey Jude. But I don't think they were half as open with their positive feelings about each other's work as they were the other way around and that's so sad to me.

Why does George single Paul out about the sandwiches? It's cute. I love it. But what is it? Is he particularly worried about Paul and food because Paul's picky? Is it just their relationship that they take care of each other in these simple ways because they can't take care of each other emotionally?

Fucking hell why does Paul literally flirt with everyone all the time? "No separation in there." "Rain or snow will do me." "Yeah, you're pretty right, Michael."

Pretty sure John was looking at the lyrics of TOU off that sheet that said "Another Quarrymen Original" at the bottom. I wonder what he thought of that. I wonder if it was there to signal him, and if so what was it signalling? "Hey this is about you."??

"Two of us Henry Cooper." Referencing a boxer in a song about him and John. Why? Because they're fighting?

[emeraldorgin]

History And Myths Related To Emerald Gemstone

Ever since its discovery the lavishing green color emerald stone also know as panna stone has soothed the mind and become the ultimate object of devotion for gemstone lovers. Due to its everlasting beauty and captivating properties, this gemstone has gained an immense reputation in the field of gemstones. In this blog, you will get to know about the history and myths related to emerald gemstones.

[slashingdisneypasta]

General Kai x ReincarnatedLover!Reader || Drabble

Ah! Me actually doing something I said I was gonna do on the day I said I was gonna do it??? I am so proud of myself XD 😅😅

Plot: Kai has come to reclaim you- pity you have no idea who the heck he is, what he’s talking about or…  well, you do have an idea what he wants. BUT WHY? This doesn’t make any sense.

Warnings: N/A  

Dedicated to the Anon who had this great idea!! ^^ Its rough but I hope you like it 😅

He’s terrifying.

He’s so terrifying, that when he first crashed down- from the sky- into your rice paddy, destroying a whole field of crops, you had tried to run! You took one glance at this behemoth of a bull, with glowing emerald eyes, double sided blades attached to long, powerful chains, and a devilish grin on his face, aimed at you, and-

You tried to run. You turned around, very nearly getting a mouth full of mud as you tripped, but instead catching yourself with a hand, pushing yourself back up and forcing yourself forward. Over the sound of your pounding heart you had heard him chuckle at what you assume he considered a feeble little escape attempt, and the sound was like thunder cracking across the sky during a storm. Not quite so loud, but deep enough to feel it, and otherworldly, and- it sent fear shooting through your blood stream. If I can just get out of his sight, you had thought. It would be fine.

But that was not apart of his plan.

The blades that were in his hands were faster than you, racing ahead of you, crossing over each other and jamming deep into the ground. The chains surrounded you, you stopped- and then he started to pull.

You tried to get out of the way and escape but he was stronger, the blades drug through the muddy ground fast back toward you and then they were on you. They tripped you, causing you to fall into the mud, hands and knees covered in the stuff, as he drew you right back to him in no time at all. It wasn’t a fair fight, you felt weak, and terrified.  

“Heh… “ When you were back beneath him, while you’re feeling even smaller then before on the wet and dirty ground now, he crouched down and leaned his monstrous arms around both sides of you and yanked his blades back out of the ground. Spirits- this man was only wearing a loincloth! And- ugh. Your nose had scrunched up, turning pointedly away from his face and cringing into yourself. His disgusting, clotted hair smelled. When he didn’t pull away fully right away though like you thought, you turned back to his face - now mere inches from your own as he stared at you, assessed you, glanced all over you, - with wide eyes. Your lips part, at this monster in front of you still looking all-to-amused, meaning to ask what he wants, but he beats you to it. “Hm… you really don’t remember me, do you?”

Your eyes widened even more if it were possible. “I… I don’t know you.” … Should you?

Finally he pulls back and stands up again, leaving you with some space once again so you can breath, and you watched him look around at your thoroughly destroyed fields and the stormy sky surrounding them; Breathing heavily. Thinking.

As he breathed out, he emitted visible air from his nostrils. “Nah… I guess not. It has been five hundred years… ” Your mouth fell open once again, wishing to ask if he’s absolutely positive- but he once again cut you off before you could speak. This time with his eyes, those lime green, glowing orbs - green eyes on a bull? That made you nervous even more than his huge frame did, - flickered back down to you again… and he looked fond.

… Which was not the kind of look you wanted to see on someone so powerful, who claimed they knew you. Who could easily just take you.

“Yes, I’m positive, little one.”

~

“I- I… didn’t ask.” You say now, eyes wide. How did he know you were thinking that?

“Yeahh, but you were thinking it.” He shrugs, casually rolling those boulder-like shoulders. It moves his entire body, the jade stones hung on his belt clanging against each other at his hips. “You may not know me, but I know you.” He smirks, eyes once again flickering up and down your body still knelt in the mud. “Trust me.”

“… You’re crazy- “

“Crazy?? Ha… Okay. Yeah. Maybe I’m a little crazy.” Nodding, he shrugs his shoulders once again and gives another deep chuckle- a short one, this time. “But that’s what the spirit realm’ll do to you, I guess.”

Blinking, and wondering why on earth you have ended up in this insane situation with the delusional, ludicrously over powered loin-cloth bull, you push yourself up to your feet and wipe your hands on your already ruined pants. You’re still uneasy, but the bull doesn’t seem to be trying to hurt you just this second- just your crops he’s still trampling- “The spirit realm??... “

He makes a sound like mhm, grunting, and seeming to take your questioning tone as an opportunity for a little bit of casual chit chat. “Yep. 500 years… “

… You don’t believe this crack story for a second. “Uh- “

You’re cut off by a great big sigh, and look up in time to watch him roll his eyes just as deeply. “I know, I get it- you don’t believe me. And hey, that’s okay. Doesn’t change anything… You, little one, are still mine. And we’ll find a way for you to remember. If we don’t… you’ll just have to fall in love with me again. Eh? Not so hard.”

At this your jaw actually drops, taking a step back from him. “Yours??” Love???

“Yep.” He nods, refusing to back down, and popping the ‘p’.

“No- “ You try to get away again immediately, turning to walk away, but this time he doesn’t even let you get two steps; Throwing his hand, with a double edged sword in his grip, directly in your way. Eyes widening, you back up from it, following his arm nervously up to his face. “I think you have the wrong person.”

“In a manner of speaking, I do!” He quickly agrees, surprising you- but then his eyes narrow, and you feel unbearably small before him. “… Different body, sure. But I know you… and your Chi?... “At this his eyes take an even brighter glow and you watch him breath in deep, his chest rising until it falls again. “That’s the same… “

“Are you… “ Pausing, you take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your tone, eyes closed as he calmly watches your every move- calmly, because he knows you cant do anything. You can’t escape. “A- are you… “ Damnit. “… suggesting… r-reincarnation?? And- and we… ” You… and him?? This massive, terrifying monster right in front of you right now??

An intimate smirk crosses his face then, eyelids half-hooding on you and eyes glowing brighter once again. “We… yeah… And I’d really like to get back to that, so come on- come with me. Willingly. And we’ll figure out howta get there, together.”

“If… “You start, heart beating heavily in your chest as you give the beast an uneasy once-over. “… I say no?... “

“Well, then I’ll take you unwillingly! Hah. That’s not gonna be fun for you- I suggest the willing rout.

… Oh I’m Kai, by the way.”

[whositmcwhatsit]

Chapter 3

AN: Well, this whole writing thing got away from me for a bit, sorry everyone! Thank you to my alpha @thatbanditqueen, who decodes my gibberish, and a big thank you to @vintageshanny, @ellie-24 and @be-my-ally for keeping me sane without even knowing it.

Here are the previous chapters since you'll definitely need to be remind yourself what it's all about!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

There was a sharp rapping at the door after lunch the next day. Sally had gone back to the room to change into her bikini and robe, deciding to brave the poolside because she was tired of looking like the washed-out spirit of some pioneer girl haunting the hotel.

Thinking it was Laura checking on why she was taking so long, Sally threw open the door as she went to the mirror and adjusted the bikini top beneath her loose peasant blouse.

“Do you think I should untie the straps on this thing? I don’t want to have white lines on my shoulders.”

The tall man standing in the doorway raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and flashed a wide smile.

“Uh, I don’t know that I’m qualified to answer that one, Miss,” he replied amiably with a shrug.

Sally whirled round, feeling her mortified blush tingle as it hit her hairline.

“Oh gosh, I thought you were someone else,” she mumbled lamely. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, my name’s Sonny. I work for-“ He pointed a finger up and Sally frowned.

“God?” Utah wasn’t a million miles away but surely they didn’t send missionaries to the Las Vegas casino hotels. That just seemed unfair on both sides.

“What?” He gave a sharp laugh. “No!” He shot her a look like he thought she was either dumb or crazy, maybe a mixture of both. But she wasn’t the one who cased the corridor like a secret agent before murmuring: “Elvis. I work for Elvis.”

“Oh.” She thought that he was maybe waiting for more of a reaction, but after worrying that he was a Mormon missionary, the fact that he was one of Elvis’ guys was a relief.

“Uh, anyway, my boss wanted me to bring you these-“ He whipped out the tickets for that night’s show. “And, uh, this.” He held out a small, dark green velvet case in his other hand. She took both and frowned again at his look of expectation.

“Do you… Oh, I don’t really have any cash on me right now. Hang on a second, I can check-”

“God, no.” He wiped his face with a big meaty hand and yanked off his sunglasses, fixing her with a look that she thought was supposed to be intimidating but just looked exhausted. “Can you open it please? I’m s’posed to let him know how you… acted.”

“No pressure,” she muttered, lifting the lid.

Inside was a gold bracelet interlaced around emeralds circled by little diamonds. It looked like something the Queen of England might wear to a soiree, not a teller from a bank in the middle of nowhere. Not without being accused of embezzlement.

All of that ran through her head as she stared open-mouthed. Finally, she remembered her audience and she glanced back up.

“Can you tell him that I was overjoyed and jumped up and down and was grateful?” she asked, worrying that she hadn’t accrued enough goodwill to get him to lie for her. “I am very grateful, really grateful, but this is… I’ve never even seen anything like this before, let alone touched it.” She tentatively put a finger to the metal; it felt cool against her fingertip.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He slid his sunglasses back on and gave her a small smile and a nod. “I’ll see ya.”

Sally nodded back and closed the door, clutching the tickets and bracelet to her chest. “Well, that was weird.”

At the pool, Laura huddled over the bracelet, pulling Sally’s wrist close to her near-sighted eyes like she was a jeweler, appraising gems.

“You think they’re real?” she asked, tilting Sally’s arm to see the stones caught the sun. Sally looked around at the other people on the sun loungers, feeling slightly too conspicuous thrusting precious stones in the air.

“I don’t know.”

“And you didn’t even have to sleep with him.”

“Keep your voice down!” Sally hissed, snatching her arm away.

“I’m just saying, you’ve got to be careful playing hard to get, you know, Sal, they can get tired of it real suddenly.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I wouldn’t do that.”

Sally could imagine that he would be able to see through that pretty quickly too. He seemed to do that, to see deeper than people thought he did, or at least it felt like he did when his eyes were on you.

Almost as if she was afraid of being caught, she glanced up at the towering white façade of the hotel. It rose up and disappeared into the shimmering heat of the endless blue sky. Somewhere, right at the very top, which she couldn’t make out from the bottom, he was there. She wondered if he was thinking about her. Maybe he was looking down at the pool… She felt her cheeks heat up and she had to look away just in case.

That evening, she and Laura were standing in line for the dinner show. At the front were the devoted fans who had probably started queuing while they were still at the pool.

“Imagine if they knew you what you got up to last night,” Laura remarked, wiggling her eyebrows. She seemed more excited by the cachet of Sally’s relationship, such as it was, with Elvis, than Sally herself was. “What? It’s okay to enjoy things, Sal, Jesus!”

Sally opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Emilio the maître de who had somehow picked them out of the crowd of heavily made-up glamorously dressed women.

“The Beatles fan… Sally, is it not?” He pecked both her cheeks and then grabbed her fingers, wrapping them around his crooked arm. “We have been told to take extra special care of you.”

Sally glanced back at Laura, who had snatched hold of her other arm, and pulled a face. They giggled as they were escorted past all the baleful looking people in front of them in the queue.

“It’s like being a movie star!” she whispered to Laura.

“Now you’re getting it.”

Sitting in the central booth again, they felt highly visible as the room rapidly filled and staff served dinner. Sally watched the tables beside the stage fill up, the biggest tippers sitting central, women only closest to the stage.

“You know, some people come all the way from Japan and England and Australia just to watch these shows. Not even on vacation, just to see Elvis. The other night, I was talking to some people from South Africa!”

“Well, older folks have more money I guess,” Laura murmured, sipping her champagne.

“It’s not just older people,” she murmured, hearing how defensive she sounded. Laura shrugged, but didn’t reply as the lights started to go down.

The show passed in a blur of lights, sounds and, of course, music. Sally could tell that Elvis was getting more comfortable on the stage with each show, the patter between each song was becoming longer, sometimes surreal, usually funny, and he was cutting up during the songs more, swapping lyrics, usually for something dirty. The audiences seemed to enjoy it, and he certainly seemed to thrive on that.

Joe appeared during the piano intro for ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ This time, he didn’t ask them to come backstage, he just gave them a smirk and gestured for them to go ahead of him.

In the wood panelled outer dressing room, Sally recognised some of the stars in the crowd, there were the actors from the Mod Squad, over there was Glen Campbell, but there was only one face she was looking for. She stayed back as the inner dressing room door opened, there was a glimpse of fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and Elvis came out.

Sally thought he looked anxious as he emerged, but even as her brain was registering it, his face relaxed into his usual charismatic smirk and he scanned the room. She averted her eyes, her stomach fluttering manically, and tried to look casual. She twitched a nervous smile at a stranger across the room and looked around for Laura, finding her beaming up at a tall, tanned older man.

Shaking her head, Sally turned back and almost banged her nose on Elvis’ chest.

“Oh!”

“Snuck up on ya, didn’t I!” He looked pretty pleased with himself even as he grabbed her forearm so that she didn’t stumble back. He pulled on her arm a little harder, tugging her towards him so that he could lean down and give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. She felt a wave of goosebumps ripple up her spine as her hand brushed against his suit jacket and his cologne tickled her nose.

“You did, I almost pulled out my pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray?! Hell, that ain’t no good, honey, that’s just seasoning. We oughta see about getting you a gun.”

“Oh, no thank you,” she replied, pulling a face.

“Not a big one,” he reassured her, like that was the problem. “You know, they make ‘em small enough that you can just put it in your purse.”

She envisioned fishing around for a mint or lipstick and shooting herself instead.

“I think I’m more comfortable with the pepper spray.”

Elvis pulled a face that told her that he wasn’t, but luckily they were interrupted by one of his famous guests, who leant right across her to shake Elvis’ hand and pat him on the shoulder. Sally moved back before she was elbowed. She almost stepped on the foot of a man behind her who was wearing a jacket covered in Elvis pins. It was a comedy of errors as she shuffled and circled and edged out of everyone’s way. She found herself pressed up against a decorative carpet that hung against the wall, overshadowed by a dark wood cabinet. It didn’t feel that different from the showroom, standing at a distance, watching him say his lines and his audience beaming at him. Even off stage he was still always giving a performance.

After about half an hour, the tall man who had delivered her bracelet- Sonny- gave her a pleasant smile and asked her to come with him. She glanced over at where Elvis was explaining something with animated hand gestures to a rapt group of men and women. The group let out a loud collective laugh as Sally grabbed Laura and they followed Sonny from the room.

“Where’s Elvis?” Laura asked as they walked along the bland tiled corridor towards the elevators.

“He’ll be coming along,” Sonny replied, pausing to introduce himself. Laura’s eyes lingered on him a little longer and Sally looked down to hide her knowing smile.

The elevator ride felt like an interrogation as Laura questioned Sonny on himself, on Elvis, on Hollywood, and anything else that caught her attention. Laura’s enthusiasm was unphased by Sonny’s stoicism, even after he mentioned his fiancée. Sally envied her friend’s confidence and self-assurance. Laura was the top saleswoman back home every month because she had a knack of dragging customers into conversations and building rapport with them so that when she mentioned that she was worried that they were not sufficiently covered by insurance, or that they could get that home renovation done now if they just signed up for a little, low-interest home loan, they felt they were being advised by a friend. If anyone had told Sally that one of them would get noticed by Elvis while on vacation, she would have bet all her cash on Laura.

Up in the Imperial suite, Sonny brought the women a drink and settled them in the den like they were his house guests. He seemed to have succumbed to Laura’s charms, sitting beside her on the couch and stretching out his arm behind her. Sally clutched her drink and surveyed the room, pretending to be intensely interested in the chandelier as Laura giggled quietly off to her right.

Finally, the door of the suite burst open and half a dozen guys strode in together. They all seemed to be talking at once, laughing at some in-joke. Elvis appeared amidst the group and the corner of his mouth twitched up as he caught sight of her. He made a beeline for her as his entourage peeled off and headed in different directions. Joe handed him a bottle of water, still talking to him, but it didn’t slow Elvis’ stride as he came and stood in front of her.

Without a word, he took the drink from her and placed it on the side table, then grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon, honey, let’s go hide.”

Sally bit down on her lips to stop herself grinning like a cartoon as he tugged her along behind him. He took big strides so she had to half jog in her heels to keep up and she kept her eyes on the floor to make sure she didn’t trip on the thick carpet or any hidden steps.

In the bedroom, he slowed down as he purposefully closed the door, leaning on it for a moment before he turned round and smiled at her. She shivered involuntarily at the light twinkling in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she giggled and he bit his lip as he moved toward her, his eyes taking her in with an almost predatory hunger. His lips pressed softly against hers even as she felt him gathering her up, his hand around the back of her head, the other on the small of her back, sliding up as he pressed her into him.

Sally almost sagged in his arms as the anticipation and tension she had felt since leaving him passed liked waves from her body. She didn’t realise he was moving the both of them backwards until the side of the bed hit her calves and she made a squeaking noise against his mouth as she wobbled. Elvis’ grip of her tightened even as her arms tensed around his athletic frame, trying to keep herself upright.

Elvis pulled back from the waist up, his eyes opening slowly, thick black lashes flickering against his cheeks, as if he didn’t want to quite let go of the kiss. It only made her want to launch herself back at him, but she suspected he knew that.

“Man, I been thinking about this ever since I saw you in that dress,” he murmured, his hand dragging around her waist from her back and his long fingers tickling underneath the short hem.

Sally had already worn all of her good outfits to his shows, so she had borrowed a green mini dress from Laura and had spent most of the evening tugging it down.

“You wear this for me, honey?” His warm breath tickled her neck as he leant in to pepper her jaw and throat with soft butterfly kisses. “You ain’t trying to get me in trouble now, are you.”

At the same time, her thighs tingled with goosebumps at the feel of his callused fingers trailing up to the edge of her underwear beneath her skirt.

Part of her was protesting that this was too fast, that he was too much of everything: too experienced, too rich, too famous, too handsome, too Elvis for her. She was so far out of her depth that drowning was inevitable. The problem was that he made drowning look both exciting and pleasurable.

“I wore it because it matched my new bracelet,” she said, slipping her fingers through the opening of his jacket, warmed by his skin and the feel of the coarse chest hair against her fingertips. She could feel the thudding of his heart reverberating through his rib cage and sternum.

His chin dimpled as he peered down, grabbing her hand and pulling her wrist up for examination. She gazed at his face as he inspected her wrist, his left eyebrow twitching with self-satisfaction. She loved the creases at the corners of his mouth, how they made his full lips look sullen even as she knew he was suppressing a smile. It felt like a secret between them.

“You like it, baby?”

Sally shot him a look of disbelief. “Of course, it’s beautiful, Elvis, so beautiful, but you shouldn’t have. It looks expensive.”

“That don’t matter,” he murmured, frowning. “It looks pretty on your little wrist here.” He dipped forward and pressed his lips to the bony part of her wrist. Sally’s whole arm twitched at the heat and velvety softness of his mouth and her stomach fluttered as his pout continued its path round to her pulse point. His hair brushed against her jaw and throat as he leant over pressing kisses up the delicate skin on the inside of her forearm.

“I -uh..” She dropped down onto the bed, even as she was thinking that she was starting to feel a little lightheaded from holding her breath.

He looked like he was holding back a laugh as he asked, ‘You okay, honey?”

“I meant to do that.” She frowned, daring him to contradict her.

“Uh huh.” He nudged her legs open with his knee so that he could step closer and she could feel her skirt sliding to the top of her thighs as he drew in, his thumbs on her jaw tipping her head back so that he could kiss her as he slowly and gently lowered her back onto the bed, his tongue teasing its way into her mouth.

“Well,” he said, pressing his knee into the mattress right at the apex of her thighs, the pressure of him answering the ache beginning to throb there, “I might not get around to the next show, but-” He lifted a mischievous eyebrow. “It’ll be worth it.”

It took every drop of restraint in Sally’s being not to grind down on his thigh, but her self-discipline was almost immediately undermined by Elvis pressing down on her, and she let out a sigh mixed with a moan, catching a glimpse of his smirk before he kissed her again. Yet again, he was performing exactly the show he knew his audience enjoyed.

Trying to find some sense of balance, she let her hands glide down from his shoulder blades, feeling the mechanics of his lean muscles working beneath his suit jacket, and cupped his perfectly round ass. She felt him pause for a second, before he tried to cover his surprise by moving with even more authority, rolling his hips and driving a moan from her that had her turning her face into his neck and hiding in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to realise this was what she was doing as he shuddered and showered kisses on her throat and shoulder, pulling back her neckline as far as it could go so he could taste her pink, sun-kissed skin.

Sally felt his teeth clamp down lightly on the muscle in her shoulder before he drew back, depriving her of his spicy warmth, so that he could shrug off his suit jacket. As usual, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath and she couldn’t stop herself reaching out to touch his skin, running her fingertips up his sides and making him twitch and hiccup a laugh before he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. Her bracelet bit into her skin from the pressure, but she didn’t fight it or protest.

“This okay?” he asked softly, his face looking suddenly very boyish and vulnerable. It was unexpected and helped ease some of her nerves as she gazed up at him and nodded. Her lips were swollen and tingly, seemingly a side effect of being in close proximity to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stop herself from panting too needily. He groaned, mumbling about how she was going to be the end of him, and sank back down into kissing and rubbing and pressing against her as she shivered and writhed and pressed right back.

Sally’s skirt was now somewhere around her waist and her restraint was buried somewhere in the sand outside of Las Vegas along with everything else that people from this city found themselves forsaking. She hooked her fingers into the tight waistband of his pants and tugged impatiently even as her tongue was sliding against his.

“Hey, whoa whoa, easy, baby,” he mumbled into her mouth. “We got plenty of time. I got you to myself all night, right?” She nodded dumbly. “That’s right, we made a deal.”

Despite his words, he walked his fingers up her thigh and her breath stuttered in her throat as he slipped his thumb into the warmest, wettest part of her. His eyes crinkled slightly and his mouth fell slightly open as he studied her face, which she was desperately trying not to screw up into unflattering expressions as he circled and dragged the pad of his thumb over her slippery skin, flooding her with sensation, before slowing and ebbing back, letting her breathe and float for moment. He seemed to take her efforts to be quiet and composed as a personal challenge, shifting his hips to get more comfortable and pressing himself against her thigh, before pulling out his thumb from the leg of her underwear and insert his whole hand into the front.

“S’okay,” he whispered, panting softly, as he played her like an instrument with his delicate fingers and she bit down on a whine. She could see where his mascara was beginning to smudge below his eyes as they both lost their cool both figuratively and literally.

Sally felt sweat trickle from her hairline down behind her neck and she shifted slightly. Elvis glanced up from where he was watching the movement of his hand and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to assess her. In one smooth movement, he rolled onto his back, his hand still working in her underwear, and reached over to grab a pillow from the top of the bed.

The next thing she knew she was being thwacked lightly in the face with it.

“No, wait, that ain’t right,” he remarked dryly, picking it up again and smirking at her disgruntled expression beneath. “Lift your head, honey.” She clasped her hair in one hand and raised her head so that he could tug the pillow into place with his free hand, grunting slightly as he tried to keep himself up at the same time.

As soon as he was satisfied she was comfortable, he leant back over to kiss the air from her, increasing the pressure of his fingers as they began to sink into her while his thumb strummed at the bundle of nerves, making her twitch and writhe.

“Oh God,” Sally breathed, clasping at his neck and the damp tendrils of his hair. She couldn’t decide where to touch him, still not able to believe that she could. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back, brushing his narrow waist, kneading his perfect ass and squeezing his thighs.

As the knot tightened in her belly, her muscles tensed and she began to moan freely, losing her inhibitions, she palmed at the firm bulge in his pants. He growled softly, pressing his face to her chest and resting his warm, sweaty cheek against her decolletage, scratching her with his sideburn. It felt like he was everywhere, leaving nowhere for her to retreat and hide, making it impossible to stay calm and demure, giving her no way to hold it together.

His fingers prodded deeper, causing the swell of the waves of pleasure in her gut to break and ripple through her body. She whimpered into his damp hair as stimulation so intense that it was almost painful rolled over her, making her thighs clench and her toes curl. The aftershocks made her twitch and he huffed a laugh into her temple, giving her pussy a scritch like it was actually his pet.

Sally shot him a disapproving look, a little embarrassed at how completely he had taken her apart with just his hand. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he wasn’t responsible for what he did.

While she slowed her breathing and felt the unwelcome return of her inhibitions, Elvis hovered over her, straightening her underwear and diligently pulling down her skirt. He moved up, adjusting her neckline and pulling the shoulder of her dress back into place. Sally hoped they hadn’t stretched it, because she knew Laura would make her pay for another and she suspected it wasn’t from a catalogue like Sally’s own dresses.

“All better,” he pronounced in a soft, babyish voice, looking down at her body. When his eyes returned to her face however, he snorted softly. “Up here’s a different story though, baby, up here you’s a mess!”

“Noooo!” she protested, her hands going up to her hair, feeling the damp frizz and knots as he gave a cartoonish cackle and nodded. She pouted and reached up, vigorously ruffling his hair and pushing it in his face. “There, now we match!”

There was a pause and her stomach dropped as she thought that maybe she had crossed a line, but then he laughed and shook his head, swiping his black hair out of his eyes before he swiftly straddled her and obliterated any hope she had that her hairdo was salvageable. She wrinkled her nose and blew a lock of hair off her face.

“You made me do that!” he informed her. “I didn’t have no choice.” He did one of his patented sullen smirks as he picked up a long lock of her hair and laid it across her forehead like a monobrow. His laughter vibrated through her and his thighs tightly clamped her hips as she batted at her face and knocked her hair away.

“You are a public menace,” she informed him.

“You ain’t the first person to say that,” he nodded. “First person with a bird’s nest on their head to say it though maybe…”

In spite of his playful tone and the calming endorphins flooding her body, she was starting to feel self-conscious and she tried to roll over and escape his grip.

“Okay, let me up.”

“Honey, I’m just teasing. It ain’t that bad.” The expression on his face contradicted his words. She shoved at his thighs, trying to push herself free, and quickly discovered when her hand slid up that she might have been a mess, but she was apparently an exciting mess.

It was another twenty minutes of rolling around on the bed before she made it to the bathroom to examine the damage to her hair. It was as bad as she had feared, and she rooted around in the drawers and cabinets looking for a brush or comb to attempt triage. During her search, she found three pistols, some amber bottles of medication with a range of names printed on them, and a photo of a cute blond-haired baby, before she finally found what she was looking for.

Two hours of curlers and teasing and half a can of hairspray wasted, she vigorously brushed her abused hair into long brown curtains on either side of her face and wet some tissue to wipe away her smudged and smeared eye make-up.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Elvis was laying on the bed and he did a double take as she came out.

“What?” she asked, pausing nervously.

“Nothing… Nothing, honey.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You just look different with your hair all down like that.”

“I didn’t have much choice now, did I?”

“No, I guess not.” He rolled off the bed and somehow made it onto his feet before he hit the floor, striding over to clasp her head in his hands and kiss her almost chastely. “It looked so pretty before though, honey.”

“Thank you?”

He shook his head sharply. “I mean, you’re still pretty. I don’t even know what I’m saying, man. Sorry, baby.” He kissed her again, this time with more force. “Every time I get up on that stage I think I must shake something loose up there, losing my damn mind. You’re pretty, you’re beautiful, honey.”

Before either of them could speak again, there was a gentle tap on the door.

“E, it’s time.” The guy’s voice was no louder than speaking volume and clearly audible through the door. Sally was horrified, thinking about what they might have heard on the other side of that door. Elvis didn’t seem bothered though, just annoyed that their time together had to end, but then he was probably used to all of this.

“I gotta go to work, honey. Sold my soul to Kirk Kevorkian for a hundred thousand a week and I’m starting to think I’m the one that got snowed.” One side of his mouth twitched up into a half smile as he rose, but she didn’t quite understand what his expression was trying to convey. And in in an instant, it was gone.

“You coming to the show?” he asked with a bashful smile.

“If that’s okay with you?”

At this, he cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her, nipping her bottom lip between his teeth before pressing his forehead against hers.

“You ain’t real,” he told her, to her confusion. “There ain’t no way you’re real.”

“Funny,” she replied, “I think the same about you.”

As he walked her to the main door of the suite like they were on a surreal date, he told her not to bother coming down to the stage for a kiss at the midnight show.

“Oh,” she murmured, a little deflated. “I did exceed my allocation after all then?” He gave her an amused little frown.

“The way you talk, honey! Naw, I just got something else in mind. Don’t go messing with my plans, now, okay?” He gave her a peck, motioning to someone behind her. Laura reappeared, straightening her dress slightly and looking sheepish. Sally looked from her to Sonny wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The midnight show, her fifth now in three days, confirmed that the tummy flip when Elvis appeared on stage was a permanent thing. Meeting him, talking to him, hadn’t lessened her wonder and awe at his talent and energy. If anything, seeing him up close in the flesh and learning more about him only made that huge presence he projected seem that much more impressive.

“Does it bother you?” Laura asked curiously, pouring herself a glass of champagne from the magnum resting in an ice bucket. They hadn’t ordered it, it had just been presented to them with the assurance that there was no charge.

“What?” Sally asked. Laura nodded towards the stage where Elvis was crouched down in front of a couple of women who were giving him a gift. He gave them both deep, effusive kisses, going back for seconds from one of them.

“Why would it bother me?” she laughed. “if he didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have got to kiss him.”

“Exactly,” Laura said cryptically, raising her eyebrows. Sally rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the show.

Elvis didn’t introduce Love Me Tender until later in the set, leaving Sally wondering what he was talking about when he said he had a plan. When he finally started the introduction, she suddenly became vigilant, like she was waiting for an ambush.

At first, nothing seemed much different, Elvis sang a little, kissed a lot and the band persevered, playing verse after verse. Then, after walking to the wings, he just… didn’t stop. She watched his dark head drop down into the crowd and pandemonium broke out. People- women- were charging down from the back of the showroom, the audience were laughing and whooping as girls called Elvis’ name and begged to be able to touch him.

“God, they’re going to eat him alive!” Laura laughed, as they both craned their necks to follow the knot of people moving through the crowd.

Sally watched as people tried to climb over tables just to reach out and touch his arm as he passed by. He was being jostled by the press of his own bodyguards and then the fans begging for kisses. Her eyes widened as she realised the procession and growing mob were heading toward their booth; blue uniformed security guards were already appearing behind her, ready to marshal him through safely.

A beautiful blond managed to step into Elvis’ path as he almost reached the back of their booth. Sally and Laura had turned in their seats and were kneeling up on the red velvet cushions, watching the circus. He clasped the blonde’s face, just as he had done Sally’s only an hour earlier, and kissed her on the lips. Sally wondered if maybe she should be feeling jealous, but the truth was that she really just felt empathy with the woman, understanding how exciting and delicious it was to be kissed by him.

Despite the pressing and the chaos, he managed to pause at their booth, his tanned hand replete in gold rings gripping the white scrollwork to fight the momentum pushing him on. He gave her a lopsided grin as he leant in.

“How’d you like my plan? Seemed a good idea at the time.” He almost stumbled as he was jostled from behind.

“Not bad for a public menace,” she grinned, wrapping her fingers around his sweaty neck and almost sighing against his soft lips. A security guard stepped closer as if she was an overexcited fan that he was going to have to drag away, but she drew away before he could reach out and grab her.

“See ya later!” Elvis called over his shoulder, taken by the current. As he was swept on, she only heard the word ‘deal’ float back through the screams and whooping and laughter.

Turning round and smiling at Laura, Sally licked her lips and savoured the salt there. 

Tag list:

@itsnotthatserious03 @everythingelvispresley @bigromansgirl-blog, @sillybookmarks, @returntopresley

As always, shout out to the Elvis harem: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain, @peskybedtime

[riddles-n-games]

Now that you've read the brothers Hawthorne, do you have any averyjameson headcanons or theories?

Hmm, first theory: Jameson's revelation to Avery about Prague will be a major plot line for them in discovering another incident like the Hawthorne Island fire but not covered in The Grandest Game. It might mean that at some point or another, Prague will be a destination to revisit and who knows, maybe a continent-wide European adventure for our fave duo and this time with all the brothers included. In the meantime, I think they will be too busy setting up the Grandest Game but I believe they will try their best to look into the situation and see what they can find out just nothing major yet. Maybe Avery will ask Toby if he knows anything but I don't know if she will feel like she is risking him because of Eve's takeover of the Blake fortune.

My second theory is that between TBH and TGG they will go to Scotland and stay at Vantage, perhaps also have a more formal introduction to the Johnstone-Jameson family while they're there. Kind of hope that Jamie gets to meet his grandmother. Something just tells me his next big plot might revolve around both his grandmothers since his paternal grandmother was also mentioned quite a bit because of Vantage so I can't help thinking JLB wants us to infer something important there. Going back to Avery and Jameson, one part that stood out to me was when he brought up the fact that she gave away most of the foreign properties to the foundation and then asked her what she thought of Scottish castles. I'm questioning if he meant it like a question of co-ownership to curate the place together because his uncle did say he would pay for the upkeep of it or if they still hadn't visited the Scottish estate that formerly belonged to his grandfather and so they might make a trip to both Vantage and the Hawthorne property in Scotland because Avery hadn't given that one away yet. I also theorize that when she was about to answer him she was already getting an idea for a dare. Something to do with cliff climbing, likely. Also, that scene when they were running for the cliffside after the first clue was given in the Game, I couldn't help but think of Max's words in The Hawthorne Legacy and it felt like such a callback to that. Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) would have been such a great song to pair with that scene.

Anyways, onto some headcanons! Headcanon 1: So after their UK trip, Avery starts teasing Jameson about being part British by indirectly messing with him. She randomly makes references to Sherlock Holmes (the one featuring Benedict Cumberbatch, of course), purposefully brings up Downton Abbey at least twice when they're scrolling through shows to watch or just straight up leaves an episode running on the TV when Jameson is in her room (she deliberately goes around a corner and tries to catch a glimpse of his expression but when she does, he always looks stone-faced, better than Grayson's it actually scares her). On karaoke nights, she always chooses a British singer's song for him to sing when it's his turn (mostly One Direction and Adele). For his birthday, she invited a bunch of famous British actors and singers (she actually managed to get 1D to get reunited for that and if Max, Xander, and Jameson weren't the biggest fangirls that night🤭). Avery also begins calling him nicknames like Your Highness, Duke, His Excellency, etc. He just rolls his eyes every time. In other attempts to rile him up, she uses British slang and tells him that he should be inclined to use more of it now that they know he’s part Brit. Meanwhile, on her birthday, he got her back by getting a real tiara (with Oren’s help, duh) for her to wear for the day and it was made with emerald and orange topaz gemstones. She took it with grace and they had a Cinderella moment when they danced in the Great Room alone after everyone left.

Headcanon 2: On a more serious note, some days, Jameson’s mind gets occupied by thoughts of his father and he gets really quiet and withdrawn from everyone. Usually, in those situations, he ends up on the roof and with the knife in hand, constantly twirling it. While everybody else leaves him alone, Avery finds him up there and she never says anything, just comes up to him and hugs him from behind (Jameson secretly loves her hugs a lot). They stay like that for a while, in complete silence, until he turns around and hugs her back but not without a forehead kiss. Then, he’d take her hand and trace little symbols onto her hand with his thumb. Some she would recognize, others are just random. It becomes their unspoken version of Tahiti as they try decoding what the other signs.

Headcanon 3: Since the night he told his secret to Avery, Jameson’s mind often wanders back to his grandmother and his grandfather’s words about the way a Hawthorne man loves: only once and never frivolously. He reflects on his grandfather’s love for his grandmother, Toby's love for Hannah, and then looks at his own relationship with Avery. Although he wouldn't tell a soul, it's obvious enough that he seems settled on her and just knows she's the one. She is his endgame. There would never be anyone like her, not before like Emily and no one after. One day, he takes her to the treehouse and tells her what his grandfather told him and Grayson that Fourth of July a few years back, the Christmas that they got the treehouse and why it looked the way it does now. Avery just listens and at the end asks him, "So, what now? You have that look in your eye." Jameson tells her he plans to have the treehouse fixed, to add more stuff than there was before, make it better than the old man made it originally. Then, he tells her that he's been thinking about them and everything that happened so far and she's a bit confused where he's going with it until he pulls out a promise ring. Avery is taken aback, reasonably so, but she accepts it and finds on the inside that it says Heads or Tails, calling back to the way they started their relationship and they kiss.

Hope you enjoyed this!

[darksaiyangoku]

RWBY/Swords of Fate: Arc Kingdom

Chapter 1 - The Omen

Fairy tales. Myths. Legends. Stories with dashing heroes and sinister villains. Many of these tales share a common source and many diverge from their original tellings. No two versions of one story are ever exactly the same. They evolve, shift and adapt. This is one such a story. In two worlds of aura and magic, there was a young man who desired fo cherish and protect. He never imagined that he would be the one to pull the legendary sword from the stone. With that simple choice, he carved a new path for himself; the path of a hero and the path of a king. And so begins the story of the Arc Kingdom.

—1st June 734 AGW, Remnant - Kingdom of Atlas, Solitas—

Jaune and his team threw off their thick coats as soon as they entered Atlas Academy. Even in the summer, the bitter cold of Solitas still packed a punch. The heat from the generators hit them like a truck. Team JNPR all hummed delightfully as they welcomed the warmth.

Jaune: Woah man!! That's muuuuch better!

Nora: Ahhhhhh!!! It's good to be out of the cold.

Pyrrha: Oh my. *looks around* this place is magnificent!

Ren: *nods* It is remarkable indeed.

The inside of the building had royal blue marble floors, with ivory white walls, pictures of the various locations of Solitas and the alumni of Atlas Academy Huntsmen and Huntresses. Walking down the corridor was the headmaster of the school, General James Ironwood, sporting a five o'clock shadow. Accompanying him were two new faces. One of them was a young man with auburn hair, green eyes and who wore a white coat over an emerald green suit. Next to him was another man with long, white hair, light purple eyes, wearing dark purple suit.

James: Team JNPR, welcome to Atlas Academy. *smiles* It's great to see you again after so long.

Pyrrha: It's great to see you too, Headmaster Ironwood. Are you enjoying your summer break?

James: *chuckles* As much as I'd like to, I unfortunately can't. There's always work to be done if we want to stop the threat of the grimm.

Ren: Evil truly never sleeps, huh?

James: And neither do huntsmen and huntresses.

Jaune: *raises hand* Um, Headmaster? Who are your friends with you?

Dr. Roman: Oh sorry about that, *chuckles* I was waiting for Jimmy here to introduce us. I'm Dr. Romani Archaman, from Vacuo. Most of the students here just call me Dr. Roman. It's very nice to meet you.

Nora: Hi there, doc!

Dr. Merlin: And you may call me Dr. Merlin. I'm an old friend of Ozpin's. It's a pleasure to meet you all.

Pyrrha: Very nice to meet you too. *smiles*

Dr. Roman: James has told us so much about you and Team RWBY. I heard that you all managed to fight back against a grimm invasion in Beacon. That's insane!

Jaune: *chuckles* Well, that's a little exaggerated-

Dr. Roman: Not at all! For first year students to fight back, let alone survive is a fantastic achievement! You should all be proud of yourselves!

Ren: *shakes head* We were just doing our jobs as huntsmen and huntresses. Making sure everyone got out of there alive.

James: And it was thanks you, RWBY, SSSN, ARBN and the other students from all the academies that countless lives were saved that day. It's no small achievement, it was heroic. For that, I thank you. *bows*

Jaune: Well... uh... we're always ready to help out when needed.

James: I'm glad to hear that, because it's time I showed you what I, Roman and Merlin have been working on. Come with me.

Team JNPR followed James and the two doctors down the corridor. They approached the elevator and entered inside. Team JNPR noticed that below the buttons to all the floors was a keyhole. From his pocket, James took out a key and placed it in the keyhole, twisting it. The elevator started to go down and Nora's eyes sparkled with excitement.

Nora: Are we going to a secret basement?

Dr. Merlin: *chuckles* Something like that.

The further they went, the more ominous it felt. Pyrrha felt her skin crawl. She was reminded of what happened one year ago when she was led underground back at Beacon.

Jaune: *holds Pyrrha's hand* Are you okay?

Pyrrha: *shakes head* Not really. But thanks, Jaune. *smiles*

The elevator finally stopped and the door opened. As they stepped out, what they saw was almost otherworldly. The room was lit by a brillaint blue light. At the center was a large, blue holographic sphere floating above them. Surrounding it were several silver pillars. Team JNPR were in awe.

James: Team JNPR, I give you Project Arcadia.

Nora slowly walked ahead of her team and gazed at the sphere. She noticed something oddly familiar about it. There were shapes that looked just like the landmasses she saw on the maps of Remnant.

Nora: Is that Sanus? Anima? Menagerie? Solitas?

Dr. Roman: To answer all of that, yes. You're looking at Remnant.

Dr. Merlin: Though to be more accurate, it's a Remnant. But not your Remnant.

Nora: Wait what?

Pyrrha: I'm sorry?

James: What you're looking at here is another Remnant, one of many.

Jaune: One of many? As in like a multiverse?

James: Precisely.

Ren: Why would you have a projection of another Remnant down here? What's going on?

Dr. Merlin: *raises hand* I believe I can explain that. A few months ago, I had a vision of a great disaster that would befall the other Remnant. *deep sigh* Ozpin was dead... and the Kingdom of Vale had fallen. Nothing leff but ruins and scorched earth.

Team JNPR: What?!

Dr. Merlin: Yes, dead. At the hands of the dark witch, Salem. I believe you've heard of her?

Jaune: We've heard of her alright. She's an old enemy of Ozpin's. Ever since he's told us about the history between them, he's been training us to fight her.

Dr. Merlin: That's Ozpin for you. He's made the right decision.

Nora: O-Ozpin's gonna die? And Vale will... burn?

Dr. Merlin: That might be what the vision showed me, but I'm determined to avoid that fate as much as possible. This is where you four come in.

James: When Merlin told me of his vision, he mentioned that Salem gathered a group of rogue mages. Their magic was enhanced by a special Relic, of sorts; The Holy Grail.

Team JNPR: *eyes wide*

Dr. Roman: According to Merlin, this Relic is supposed to grant miracles. Perform feats of magic unattainable even for the most powerful mage. But if his vision comes true, that means Salem would get her hands on it.

Dr. Merlin: One way to avert this disaster would be to destroy the Grail. If that happens, Salem would be weakened. She could still be a formidable threat, but not enough to be invincible.

Pyrrha: Hold on... you want us to stop her, don't you?

Dr. Merlin: I'm afraid so. This is what Project Arcadia is; a form of multiverse travel.

James: *points to pillars* These are known as Coffins. Merlin and I were able to combine science and magic and use it for a new form of technology called Rayshifting. It transforms your body, breaking it down into its soul form, known as a Spritron. Once that's completed, you are then transferred into the universe. Or at least, that's how it's supposed to work.

Dr. Merlin: As this is a prototype, we cannot physically send you to this alternate Remnant. Instead, we can send your conciousness into the body of your alternate self.

Team JNPR couldn't believe what they were hearing. This wasn't an ordinary mission. Jaune was trembling.

Jaune: Wait a second... I don't get it. Why do you need us to help you with this mission? What's so special about us?

Dr. Merlin: Those are fair questions, my boy. In the vision, Ozpin was surrounded by the bodies of knights. Among those were you, your Team and Team RWBY. Clearly, he sees great potential in all of you. Why else would he train you to fight Salem? Or choose one of you to be the host of the Fall Maiden?

Pyrrha: How did you-?

Dr. Merlin: Nothing gets past me, Miss Nikos. *smirks*

Jaune: *slowly backs away*

Pyrrha: Jaune!

Nora: Woah there! *gently grabs him*

Ren: Do you mind if we think about this for a moment?

Dr. Roman: Of course. We understand that we're asking a lot from you. Take one of the vacant dorms and rest up for the night.

Pyrrha: Thank you, Dr. Roman. Come on, let's go.

[Atlas Dorm]

Jaune sat on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The more he stared, the more he could feel an overbearing weight on his chest. Beside him sat his friends, unsure of what to do.

Pyrrha: Is everything alright, Jaune?

Jaune: *turns to Pyrrha and sighs* I dunno, Pyrrha. I just... this is a lot to take in. I mean, we're talking about a multiverse here! On top of that, they want us to go inside... ourselves to prevent Vale's destruction? That's a lot of pressure!

Nora: You're telling me. I mean, they expect us to just drop everything and say 'yes' to this? We're dealing with unfamiliar technology here. What if something goes wrong?

Pyrrha: These are friends of Headmaster Ironwood. Ozpin seems to have put a lot of faith in them. If he trusts them, then so do I.

Ren: Just because Ozpin trusts them, that doesn't necessarily mean we should. Something about Merlin doesn't seem right. For all we know, he could be lying.

Pyrrha: Ren, you're being ridiculous.

Ren: Am I? I don't think it's wise to just take what Merlin is saying at face-value. The fact that they want us for this mission and not have Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang or anyone else join us is pretty suspicious if you ask me.

Pyrrha: Look, I'm not saying that it isn't weird or that we shouldn't be cautious. I agree that something doesn't feel right. But think about it for a moment, what would Merlin have to gain from lying to us? And why would Headmaster Ironwood, a friend of Ozpin's, want to go along with it?

Nora: Agh! This is making me my head spin! Jaune, what do you think we should do?

Jaune: ...I need some air. *promptly leaves the room*

Jaune slid down the wall in complete exhaustion. He felt like he was letting his team down. He was the leader and he knew that they were counting on him to make a decision right now. But he was struggling. No matter how many times Jaune thought about it, there wasn't an easy answer to this. He reached into his pocket and took out his scrollphone. He dialed the number of the one person who understood the most; Ruby. Facing the camera, he waited until he saw her face. He felt a wave of relief upon seeing her again.

Ruby: Hey there, Jaune! How's Atlas?

Jaune: Hi Ruby. Uh, yeah... it's... okay.

Ruby: *frowns* What's wrong?

Jaune: *sighs* It's kind of a long story.

Jaune explained to Ruby about the dire situation he and his Team were in. His fingers were trembling so much that he nearly dropped the scrollphone.

Ruby: Hm. That's pretty rough. Do you think you can trust this Merlin guy?

Jaune: I'm not sure. I mean, if this other Remnant's survival hinges on us, shouldn't we go and help it?

Ruby: Well... what does your heart say?

Jaune: *small, nervous chuckle* It says I should go. I've always wanted to help others and protect those who need it. Even if that Remnant isn't my own, I should go and protect everyone there. Heroes go and fight the battles make sure we all live a better tomorrow, right?

Ruby: *giggles* Well if that's what you feel, then you have your answer. Good luck, Jaune and tell the others that too.

Jaune: Thanks Ruby. You're the best.

Ruby: *shakes head* No, you're the best. Make sure you come back in one piece, we still need to hang out at the Sweet Shack. *giggles*

Jaune: You can count on that, no problem. See you, Ruby.

Ruby: See you, Jaune.

Jaune hung up the scrollphone and held it close to his chest. Seeing Ruby made his heart flutter. He put his scrollphone away and opened the door to come back inside, only to see Nora, Ren and Pyrrha tumbling onto the floor.

Jaune: What the?! Were you guys evesdropping?

Nora/Pyrrha: ...no?

Jaune: Even you, Ren?

Ren: ...I got curious.

Jaune: *shakes head* Never mind. Look, I think we should help out Merlin and Ironwood. We all signed on to be huntsmen and huntresses. That means we do everything we can to save people from grimm and other evils. It'd be pretty irresponsible to just back out.

Pyrrha: That's a very mature decision, Jaune. I'm with you.

Nora: You can count me in too. If we can handle an invasion in our world, then a witch from another world is no problem at all.

Jaune: Ren?

Ren: I still think something's off about this... but if you feel it's the right thing to do, then I'm with you all the way.

Jaune: Thanks guys. *smiles* Now come on, we've got a cup to destroy!