#★good lord up in the stars above

[st4rsinthenight]

★okay okay, you know what time it is, random g/t concept time erhhhh. I kinda wanna see a giant butting the tip of their nose against a tiny or something. Maybe it is a sign of a affection as they gently tap on their torso with their nose. Maybe they do it teasingly, to see just how little effort it'll take to knock the tiny over. Maybe they rub the tip of their nose on them just a bit, almost like a gentle nuzzle, just to give em a few butterflies to swarm around in their stomach.★

[dem1verse]

﹏ ❛ all you gotta do is call me.⠀⠀⠀äs nodt.

˖⁺ ⊹୨ ★ the one where you form a friendship with the malevolent enity.

content disclaimers ╱╱ gn!reader. young!reader. HEAVY religious trauma and themes. angst to comfort. vollstandig!äs nodt. mild body horror. wc: 830.

YOU HAVE (1) MESSAGE UNREAD !⠀⠀—⠀⠀“the 2nd halloween short of the month! this one may have been inspired by czs horror history analysis of the man who can't breath from insidious and i might have used my own religious trauma as a base for this. i wrote this with christianity in mind (mainly nigerian christianity). anyways, enjoy 💃🏾”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀YOU DON'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME YOU PRAYED TO HIM.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With the number of times you've been called an abomination before the eyes of the Almighty God, it's no surprise you'd see yourself as an unclean mix of flesh and blood who did nothing but wallow around. Sinner. Sodomite. Witch. Those were a few of many names that followed you around, hanging over you like a haunting veil of shame. Your relationship with your mother had always shown signs of strain, but you couldn't hate her. If anything, it was your fault for not being the ideal child, rebelling against the heavens. She was trying to guide you. Children of God don't act like this. Good children of God don't say that.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀God must hate me, you affirmed. The Lord God above would never approve of you. You swear he's looking down on you this moment, shaking his head in disappointment. Years and years of Christian sermons crept around in your mind, festering in your conscience. You'd be happy, they said. He's the only way, they said. You can depend on him. He'd be there when you called for him. Surely he'd comfort you in your darkest times. Where was he now? You silently cried out to the sky, tears already spilt and stained your cheeks, questioning your faith. That was the first time he showed up.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The second time he showed himself, you'd been jolted awake by a nightmare. You'd gone downstairs to grab a glass of cold water, leaving the sticky heat of your bed. As you opened the cabinet, you couldn't help but notice how cold it'd gotten, the frigid atmosphere making you shiver. That's when you saw it. The man in white. His long, brittle hair shone in the moonlight. His eyes were rolled at the back of his head, drawing tears of blood from his sockets. Your eyes widened in silent fear, shuddering at his appearance. He bore a long white cloak, a prominent and bloody stitch running from the middle of his throat to the bottom of the robe, revealing gory muscle and bone. And his mouth. His teeth were left in the open, lacking the protective soft appendages. His blue star halo hung on the top of his crown, shining brightly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Your goblet had long hit the floor, bits of sharp glass scratching your feet and the floor. Your mother had caught wind of the incident, screaming at you for having broken such a fragile object. She ranted on, but you were too focused on the man standing behind her. Were your eyes deceiving you? Could she not see him? You silently went to your room, ignoring your mother's verbal vomiting and eager to forget the past event.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀By the time you saw him again, he spoke. You were alone, your mother leaving you home in favour of church service. You lay on your bed, feeling drained and sleepy. As you turned over on your back, you opened your eyes, only to be met with those same eerie scleras. You screamed, the apparition looming over you menacingly. Slowly, the man raised a pale, bony arm, and caressed your cheek, paying no attention to your crying and erratic movements. Being raised in a heavily prayerful home stuck with you, no matter who you grew up to be. You've always been taught to condemn the devil, resist temptation and you'd be blessed with favour and prosperity. Yet here you were, finding solace in a demonic entity. You soon stopped crying, the man's nurturing touch gradually lulling you to sleep.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A fight with your mother was never pretty. Silence and dissociation were your sword and shield during those times. Heartbroken at her cruel words, you slammed your bedroom door, heaving and sobbing. The reason for my stagnation, she called you. Nothing could've prepared you for that moment, her mocking shattering your heart and breaking your resolve. Curling yourself up in a ball, you tried your best to give yourself the scarce bit of consolation you had left. Then you heard him. His heavy, raspy breathing. The only sound in your room besides your wailing. He extended his sickly white limb towards you. He took hold of you, his body no longer radiating the icy temperature. You felt like a baby in its mother's arms, the entity stroking your hair. He gave you the nurture and care you've been looking for this entire time. You were no longer going to look above for alleviation. God wasn't there for you when you needed him, so why call him again? On the other hand, the spirit held you in his grasp, emitting a sense of security.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And in that moment, you came to an epiphany. You didn't whether you'd be thrown in hell or not, you could always count on the man in white to be there for you. Even when you were dead, and long gone, you could always count on him. You just had to call him.

DEMI'S POST-IT⠀❞⠀ok im actually kinda proud of myself for writing all of this in like, one night. i also may or may have not nearly started crying in the middle of writing this. i hope this helps somebody with some sort of trauma stemming from religion. kinda based this on my experiences in my life, the ending is kind of how im feeling currently.

template by @tinytowns! taglist: @ue-projectz

[star-captain]

Nightmares and Dreamlight

Happy holidays and a merry @acotargiftexchange ! This was my first secret santa in forever, but I'm so glad I could be a part of it (and finish ACOTAR in time to write a decent story).

@kestrel-tree , here's your gift! I know we got paired pretty recently, but the mods were so wonderful to find the right pairing for both of us! I really truly hope you enjoy this quiet little Feysand hurt/comfort piece!

Ship: Feysand Warnings: mentions of past traumas, making out, night terrors

Word Count: 4361

~~~~~★~~~~~~⭒~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~~⭒~~~~~~~~~~~~★~~~~~~~~~~~

Heels click against the wood, soft and quiet, but Rhysand still notices them. He doesn’t acknowledge his mate’s approach, but he knows she’s behind him. Even if it wasn’t for his Illyrian training- and her short time as a High Fae- he’d know she was nearby. When he closes his eyes, he can feel the bond, a short bridge between the two. Just about the distance he is from the door of the cabin.

Rhys can’t keep his eyes closed for long. Echoes of the nightmare that tore him from bed still linger, like a ghostly white fog, waiting to swallow him whole. He needed space, he needed to breathe.

He needed to see the stars. Opening his eyes, the night sky blankets his vision, calm and comforting. Others might be afraid of the night, for good reason. Monsters roam the darkness, one can never tell if their next step is their last, and without the bright warmth of the sun it can make some feel cold and alone. But Rhys knows that sometimes the worst monsters are the ones that prowl in open daylight, that here in Prythian every step at any time can lead to death, and sometimes the harsh sunlight can be a curse as much as a blessing. 

“Az should teach you to walk quietly.” Rhys drawls, pushing himself off the pile of wood he was leaning against, and finally taking in the sight of his High Lady. “Walk as quiet as his shadows, and I’ll never know when you’re sneaking up on me.”

“Maybe I wanted you to hear me.” Feyre’s voice glimmers like Carynth in early spring. Fuck, everything about her glitters like the tapestry that is the night sky. From the shine of her hair to the iridescence of her skin, even the swirling marks that dance up her arms remind Rhys of the outstretched blazon of the galaxy above their heads. Her light, cool and calm and quiet, scares away the nightmares that lurk just beyond the shadows, just beyond Rhys’s sleep. “You left the bed quite abruptly, it was hard not to notice your leave. Want to talk about it?” 

Rhys doesn’t answer, and that’s answer enough for his mate, his wife. There’s so much to untangle in 500 years of life, sometimes Rhys despises the immortality the fae call a gift. Hell, even in Feyre’s short twenty something years, she’s faced more than a lifetime’s worth of heartache. 

But the High Lord and Lady are quite content with the silence that falls between them. Sometimes, when words aren’t enough to encompass an emotion, an ache in the heart and soul, silence and actions are what’s truly needed. 

And clearly, Feyre believes Rhys truly needs her by his side. She takes his hand, as if inviting him to the dance floor, and guides him to a small patch of fluorescent green grass. All seasons except winter are short in the Illyrian mountains, but nature takes these few weeks of summer in stride. Flowers blossom each moment, day and night, and even in the moonlit sky birds sing and call to each other. It’s quiet, a quiet both Rhys and Feyre have found necessary to heal the wounds war has left behind. 

In their moonlit waltz, Feyre motions for Rhys to sit with her. He raises a curious eyebrow, and opens his mouth to offer her a blanket to sit on- they have more than enough in that cabin. But she’s insistent, pulling him into the soft, lush grass with a strength that always surprises him. Hell, she practically drags him into her lap in her force. 

Silently, Feyre lays back, her hair spreading around her like a halo. It was only a few short years ago- almost nothing in Rhysand’s long, dark life- that he first met the sallow, withdrawn face of a human just trying to survive. To see her now, full of love and life, face full as the moon and as bright as the stars reminds him that maybe he’s not the worst male in the world, if a being like her can grow with him. 

They both know they can commune with each other beyond the need of physical words, sending conversations, images, and emotions down the bond between them. But in this moment, neither want to break the soft symphony of the wild night. And Rhys needs not words nor emotions to know the desires of his mate. So he does exactly as his High Lady wants, and lays down in the grass beside her. 

And they look up, and see the night sky in all her beauty. It may not be Starfall, or any other of the stunning celestial events that the Night Court gets to enjoy, but the sky itself on any clear night is a mystical, reverent vision Rhys cherishes. Does one get tired of sunsets, when they happen every day? Do they tire of seeing the person they love when they wake up at their side their whole lives? Every tiny, twinkling star and the millions of ages it took to shimmer its light upon his skin is worth giving thanks to, worth celebrating in his mind. 

Some nights when my mother and I would sneak out to fly, Rhys whispers across their bond, unwilling to break the night symphony with meaningless cacophony, I would fly as high as I could possibly dare, hands reaching out to grasp the stars beyond. I wanted to be like them, to join them in seeing the world and knowing every secret they hold. 

What, is being High Lord of the Night Court not enough for you? Feyre’s words are light, a small smile on her face when he glances out the corner of his eye. She knows when he needs to be teased, just like Azriel, Cassian, and Morrigan do. They know when he needs to get out of his head.

Perhaps it’s too much. Perhaps I just wanted to fly free, without the burden of my court on my shoulders. Holding me down, keeping me chained to the ground. I wanted to fly so high I’d become the stars, weightless and free. The sensation of that momentary weightlessness when he lets his wings glide across the stars, the ground far to his back and all that was before him the stars. The cool air kissing his olive cheeks and playing with midnight locks of hair as, for just a second that felt like eternity, he floats among the constellations, before the gravity of the world dragged him back to reality. For one second, he was floating among the stars. For one second, he was free. 

Feyre is quiet for a minute, her bottom lip pursed forward and brows furrowed in a way Rhys knows means she’s deep in thought. He knows her face as intimately as he knows his own, every little muscle and movement telling her story. He could spend eternity watching each muscle twitch and tick, creating the unique, incredible being that he has the honor to call his mate. People say Feyre is lucky to get Rhysand as her mate, but in reality he’s lucky to have ever gotten a moment of Feyre’s time, much less her heart and hand. This strong, courageous woman walking the line between humanity and faehood, who was never afraid to stand toe to toe with the most powerful high lord ever and put him in his cauldron-damned place. Rhysand is lucky to be hers, not the other way around. 

You know, in the human realm, we had stories of kings and soldiers and maidens becoming the stars. They made up the constellations, tales of how they came to be. Rhys turns, angling his body so that he can enjoy the view of the stars and Feyre. She looks at him for just a second, snorting at the way he rests his head on his propped up hand before returning her gaze to the sky. He can see the stars reflecting among the sea of blue grey that create her eyes, like tiny lanterns floating among a storm thrashed bay.

Was there one of a handsome, sexy, mysterious faerie that won the wicked heart of a mischievous human with his dashing good looks? His laughter joins in the orchestra of the birds and beasts as Feyre smacks him on the shoulder, both smiling with an ease only friends, lovers could provide. 

Perhaps if you flew high enough, you’d join the pig constellation, wallowing in the mud with it. Feyre’s nose scrunches with her taunt, and even with such a stab at Rhys, he can’t help but melt at tiny wrinkles that form between glittering eyes. All parts of Feyre he could never go without. 

The fae also have constellations, though I believe it’s mostly used by sailors and farmers of the courts that do experience seasons.

What of the people of Velaris? Do they know the stars?

Rhys shrugs. I’m sure some do, others don’t. Though my mother made sure me and my brothers learned the constellations for navigation. No illyrian warrior would be caught dead lost when the stars are there to guide us.

Feyre seems to snort at the thought, of some lost illyrian brute asking for directions. If only she knew that Cassian once did have to ask for such. If only he had listened to Azriel and not gotten their squad hopelessly lost. 

What are some human constellations? Curiosity was always a trait Rhys had to hinder, at least until he had Feyre to open him up. 

Raising a spindly fae finger, Feyre outlines a collection of stars- starting with a half moon shape, then a triangle atop. The Merchant’s Ship was always my favorite, it reminded me of better times with my family, as well as having an enchanting story. 

Are you going to tell me the story, or leave me in suspense? The constellation she drew holds a piece of a fae constellation, but right now all Rhys wants is to learn more about his mate, his beloved. He wants to listen to her talk for the rest of eternity, Cauldron be it. 

Another roll of the eyes, but she continues. The ship was owned by a merchant, and he searched far and wide for the most unique and rare items all across the human realm to entice a wealthy king. The merchant was a clever bastard, though, and would always tell the king he can have everything- everything but the stars. 

One day, the king finally demanded the stars as his next trinket, and bought the merchant’s ship with his own crown to sail to the heavens and claim his own star. The foolish king sailed and sailed and sailed, until he sailed right into the sky and became part of the stars, rather than taking it. 

And the merchant? Rhys lifts a brow, encouraging her onward. 

He became the king, what with the crown that bought his ship. The smirk on Feyre’s face is enough to banish all creeping concerns from Rhys. Suddenly, with her by his side, the monsters in his dreams are mere mongrels. With her standing shoulder to shoulder with him, he can face his demons. 

Are humans aware the world is round? The coy grin plastered on his face as he rolls over to look at Feyre is met by another shove on his shoulder, disbelief bolting down the bond between the two. 

Of course we do, they’re not stupid! Unlike you lazy fae, they don’t need hundreds of years of life to discover Prythian and abroad’s mysteries. Rhys notes how sometimes she calls humans by ‘we’, yet others times ‘they’. Ever trapped between worlds, a bridge and an island all to herself. She has her sisters of course, also Made into high fae, but her experiences make her unique, and alone. 

Just like Rhysand. 

The silence between them lingers, Rhys trying to keep hidden his conflict over his dreams while Feyre traces the swirling patterns on his arm. But he can’t hide things from her, not anymore. She’s too clever, and he too smitten to keep his secrets. 

“In my nightmare, we were Under the Mountain again,” He takes a deep breath, speaking his nightmare aloud rather than passing through the bond. He doesn’t want to fill her head with the images his mind torments him with. “But instead of Amarantha on that horrid throne, it was me. And- and before me was every single person I’ve ever wronged. Everything I do, I do for the good of my people and others, but in this fucked up realm sometimes even the best of paths still harm people. 

Sitting on that throne, every person I’ve ever wronged before me, I realized maybe I’m no different than Amarantha. Did she think she was making the best decisions in her twisted mind? I could pick out so many faces in my dream. My mother and sister, Tarquin holding his damned blood rubies, even Mor, and Az and Cas. I’ve made decisions that have hurt them all, in my idea of a better future.” 

Rhys opens his eyes, and Feyre remains watching him in silence. She doesn’t have to say a thing, doesn’t have to spur him on, to know there’s still one part of his horrendous nightmare waiting at the tip of his tongue like venom. 

“And at the front of the procession, stood you. What in the seven courts could you possibly see in a monster like me, one who did Amarantha’s bidding, who harassed you as a human, and brought you into a war older than your entire family? You bowed to me, and yet I could still see the anger in your eyes.That you knew I was no worse than that wretch that sat on the throne before.” Rhys’s voice shook, a fear he held long before Feyre ever stepped foot in his court hung between them like fog in the air. 

Every second Feyre is silent is agony to the High Lord, his mate sitting up and looking at the stars. He worries his lip between his teeth, but waits patiently until Feyre seems to have processed his words. His nightmarish reality, and the reality he sometimes finds a nightmare. 

The first thing Rhys feels, however, is a warmth cascading through the bond between them, like sitting beneath the faucet of a bath, hot water warming his very core. Then, like a goddess providing scripture, Feyre finally speaks. 

“Well, firstly, I think the only time you’d ever see me on my knees before you is in the bedroom.” Her joke is a surprise, but a welcome one that melds with the warmth she sends his way, til his muscles relax and the breath Rhys didn’t realize he was holding releases. “But second… we all had to make decisions we weren’t proud of Under the Mountain, and after. Does it make them right? No. Does it mean you’re a bad male though? No. You’re a good male put in a bad situation, Rhys. And the fact that you look for the best solution instead of the easiest shows that. You have such a big heart, in such a cruel world, it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered you in five hundred years.” 

“Sometimes I feel like it has.” Rhys mutters. “But I still don’t understand why you would choose me? That perhaps you deserved better.” 

This time Feyre does move, surprising Rhys as she throws her leg over his hips. He tries his best not to notice how she sits in his lap, the things her body does to him when they’re having a deep midnight conversation. But Cauldron knows she has full control over this male. Her palms lie flat on his chest, thumbs rubbing gentle circles onto his skin. “In all my life, everyone thought they knew what was best for me. Made my decisions for me. You were the first being to give me the freedom of my own choice.” 

“But, Under the Mounta-” A pinch to his nipple, followed by a quick “Illyrian baby” down the bond quiets Rhys. 

“Under the Mountain was Under the Mountain. There were no good decisions then, only what was necessary to survive. To be able to reach a future where there could be a choice of my own. You may have forced your hand, you faerie brute,” Her words are laced with humor, even though it’s far from a laughing matter, “but it was what I needed, what we all needed, to defeat Amarantha together.” 

Allowing himself to give into temptation, Rhysand leans in. His fingers caress Feyre’s soft, wavy hair as he takes in her intoxicating scent. “I still wish I could have done things different. Not been such an ass to you.” 

“You being an ass is what I needed, though. Someone to focus my anger, to turn it into a weapon. You were the fire I forged our freedom in.” She kisses him once, twice, before the kiss deepens and Rhys lets his hands wander. “Then afterwards, I got to meet the real Rhysand. Who let me choose who- what- I wanted to be. You never hid me, you never used me. And you loved me for me, broken pieces and all.” 

Another kiss, this time deep enough to quiet the mates for a few minutes, until Rhys is intoxicated by the taste of Feyre and he has to pull away lest he passes out like a drunkard. “I have loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Your fire, your will. I never wanted to hold you back, to use you, to make you into something you never wanted to be. When I saw the shell of a female you had become after being Remade, the blaze in your eyes brighter than any shooting star little more than a sputtering sparkle, I wanted to rip everyone who hurt you to shreds, to make everyone who made you feel that way about yourself regret ever touching you- and I wondered if that included me.” 

“If I was in a gilded cage, Rhys, then you were the one who opened the door. If I was too weak to fly, it was you and the rest of the Inner Court who provided me the lift to keep going. You, and Az and Cas and Mor didn’t just do things for me, you gave me the support to do things myself. To become myself.” Feyre brushes a gentle kiss to the tip of Rhys’s nose. “I love you, Rhys, because of the male you are. A heart so big, so full of love you found it in yourself to love someone broken like me. To love this world and all its broken parts, despite everything that happened to you.” 

Rhys’s hands cradle Feyre’s full, healthy face between them, eyes so full of love as they gaze at him. The bond between them is warm as a summer night in Velaris, the southern breeze caressing one’s cheeks as the night turns the blazing heat into a comfortable warmth. They’re love isn’t a scorching flame, burning each other and themselves. It isn’t the dazzling blooms of summer wildflowers bursting across the foothills under the bright sun. It’s the quiet nights, like these, filled with hope and respite, monsters and nightmares. It’s a love that, like the stars, can only be seen when darkness falls, and the bright hopeful stars dare to shine against the empty sky, forming a masterpiece hidden by the luminous daylight, constellations that tell stories otherwise left unseen.

 Because only in the darkest nights do the stars shine brightest. 

“What have I done to deserve you, Feyre?” He whispers, breath crossing hers as their heads lean closer. 

“Be yourself, Rhysand. And keep loving with that big, broken heart of yours.” I love you surges across the bond as the two surge forward for a kiss, a tangle of limbs and a few teardrops as one another pours their love for each other down the path connecting them. 

He repeats those three words, I love you, in her head over and over again, like a chant from a priestess, the mind she chooses to share with him a holy temple worthy of such a powerful chorus. With every syllable, emotions that are unable to be shared with word alone are carried along, his heart so full of adoration for his mate it might very well make it burst. 

Somehow, in their passion for one another, kissing and caressing each other’s figures and faces, Rhys managed to flip their positions. Or maybe it was Feyre, with her strength that has even him reconsidering things, that dragged him atop of her. Hands explore skin and caress one another, tracing scars and tattoos and muscles. If Rhys could spend his whole life wrapped up in his mate, make his whole world her, he would do so in a heartbeat. Maybe one day, in a quieter, better world, the two can retire to this cabin in peace. No wars, no courts, no plot and plans. Rhys loves the Night Court, his people, but sometimes he wishes he could get away from it all.

At least, momentarily, Feyre offers him such a reprieve. When all his senses are alive with her, the feeling of her soft skin, the taste of her dancing on his tongue. Even the scent of her, his mate, is enough to wash away the tension in his entire being. She’s so much more to him than just a mate. Without her, Rhys would hardly function. And after tonight, he’s more assured than ever just how much he needs her. 

He curses his own lungs for betraying him, forcing him to relinquish his lips’ hold on her own to catch his breath. Rhys feels like he just flew over the peak of Ramiel, gasping in the thin air. But it’s Feyre that takes his breath away. 

Almost as amazing is the glimmer in her eyes. To be lost in the stormy sea of blue grey, like the waves that crash against the high cliffs of the most northern reaches of both Prythian and the Night Court, flecked with the reflection of the stars.

So when Rhys notices a tint of green dancing across Feyre’s pupils, it causes a momentary stir of trouble. Feyre doesn’t have green in her eyes- he would know, he’s spent hours of his immortal life gazing into them, memorizing every inch, every hue and emotion that they carry, and wishing he could have hours more to remember every part of her. 

No, this green isn’t part of her, but rather the night sky reflecting off of her. He can even see the hue against her pale skin, giving an almost sickly pallid if he didn’t realize what he was witnessing. Almost as quickly as he was atop of her, Rhysand rolls off, excitement like a child when his theory is confirmed and his breath stolen into the dancing night air. 

Distantly, as if she were on the other side of the world, Rhys hears Feyre protest alongside a questioning sensation trickling down the bond. But any words die in her throat when she notices what Rhys saw shimmering against her face, her eyes. 

Shafts of green, streaking upwards in the middle of the starlit night, bending and dancing to the rhythm of the ethereal. They move like fractals, crystals slowly dancing and shimmering, changing their hues into blues and purples above the couple’s heads. 

The northern lights. 

It’s been decades since Rhysand has had the chance to see them again, and after so long it fills him with a sense of awe and wonder. He feels light as a feather, that moment flying when gravity no longer has control of him, and he’s part of the stars. His heart feels light, floating from his chest as his lips part and eyes dance with the lights. At his side, he can hear Feyre’s breath leave her body, stolen by the spectacle before her.

This is all Rhysand could ever want. The magic of the night, the spectacle of the sky, the freedom of the open air, and his High Lady, the woman who stole his heart and his breath, at his side to experience with him.

“Let’s go flying.” Rhys stands, smooth as a shadow in the night. He bows, offering his hand to Feyre as his wings unfurl behind him. Fuck, even the feeling of the cool night air on his wings sends a thrill up his back. 

Feyre takes his hand without hesitation, but glances between the show above them. “Among…whatever that is? Won’t it hurt us?” 

A low chuckle and a lopsided smile looses from Rhys. The last dregs of fear, still clinging to him from his dream, have all washed away under the green dancing lights. “Hardly, they’re just lights. They appear only in the most northern skies.” He holds her close to his chest, till his breath, his voice, toys with the wisps of hair around Feyre’s ears. “Another treat of the Night Court.”

“What causes them?” Feyre questions, her own wings appearing. Cauldron, just seeing those dark, dusky wings sprawl from her makes his heart skip. He doesn’t deserve a woman like her, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t work every day to earn that honor. When he shrugs, guiding her from the patch of flattened grass, followed by a very ungentlemanly noise akin to ‘I dunno’- courtesy of having two Illyrian warriors for brothers-, she scoffs. “Hundreds of years to live and you haven’t had the time to learn.” 

He doesn’t answer, smirking either way at her disbelief. Drawing Feyre close to him, Rhys kisses her once, twice, then again, deep enough to steal his breath and long enough to whisper down their bond.

Dance with me, in the sky. Dance with the northern lights, my love.

And the two take off, intertwined in each other’s arms, til their wings caress the green luminance, and all nightmares are left far below. 

Until it’s just two lovers, a constellation dancing among the starlit night.

[yanderu-deredere]

THEY GO UP TO 6"3 ⁉️⁉️⁉️ lord have mercy thats an entire foot taller than me (5"3........ crying) i will be cowering in fear (or excitement whichever one comes first)

a/n: really truly, anon.... that's unfortunate LOL me, hiding in the corner at a whopping five foot even. anyway, this isn't abt me, it's abt you.

now that u mention it tho, i think i need to make some of these bitches smaller. i think my size kink is showing lmao but it's just so fun to make them giants! like why not? im god, i control this world! neway, my next oc is gunna be like avg size (which i googled after typing this and apparently is 5'10 so we're both still screwed anon)

liam arieh ★ soren kumar

Liam always stood confidently; he knew he could act arrogantly because he had the guns (both metaphorically and physically) to back him up. However, for some reason, standing in front of a small thing like you, all nervous and fidgety, he couldn't help but stand a little straighter, try to get even a quarter of an inch taller than the dainty pop star on the other side of you.

"Its why you have to drink your milk." He teased you, broad hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. Though his words seemed innocent enough, there was a tone in his voice that made it sound like there was something more to it than that. Coupled with the smirk on his face, all devilish and handsome, well...

Soren, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. If Liam was shady, Soren was the sun. It was what he was known for after all; the sunny member of his band, the leader who could do no wrong. Standing in front of him like this, you could understand. He was tall and broad-shouldered, looking dependable and responsible. Yet, when he looked down at you, there was a gleam in his eye that made a cold shiver roll down your spine.

"Don't tease them." Soren swatted Liam's hand away from you before pulling you close by the shoulders. Your head hit his very firm and solid chest and you couldn't help but think huh, you only came up to his chest?

Somehow, standing so close in between the two of them, you didn't feel very safe.

You were right not to feel safe. Standing next to them, you were small. Bent in half like this, with Soren holding your knees to your ears, you were even smaller.

"Fuck," you heard Liam mutter into your ear, his breath making you shiver and his thick cock in your entrance making your head absolutely spin "You're going to take your milk like a good little pet, right?"

You heard Soren laugh boyishly above you, his cock pressing in right beside Liam's, both of them thick and throbbing and stretching you past your limits and beyond, teetering you between pain and pleasure. "Hey, maybe if you drink enough of our milk here, you'll grow taller, hmmm?"

"Oh, yeahhh." Even though you could barely think, you could still recognize the sarcasm in Liam's voice "We should definitely try that. What do you say, baby? Wanna take all our milk like a good little pet, get nice and tall?"

Yeah, sure, it was worth a try, wasn't it?

[guardianofconventus]

The Planets in my story

okay so there's more than one planet in this story, and this is the planets there are in the story

okay lets go

Name of Planet: Conventus

Danger Rating: ★★★★☆

Planet’s Champion: Fair Lady Rita Aquara of Solus Hill

Planet’s Population: 16,000,459,223

Risks: 

“The Interplanetary Travel Commission must warn the public that this planet is the closest one to Mors Jail. Thus, breakouts often result in the criminal arriving here to exact their first move. While Lady Rita can deal with these threats, it can take her some time if she is not in good health. It’s a comfortable planet to live on if you can trust the Planet’s Champion and ignore the high crime rate.”

Other Notes: 

“I lived here before coming to work for the IPTC, it’s lovely. Mostly temperate forests on the surface and the settlements on the surface are large. It’s no Aleator-Fortuna but if you need a different place to go, please give this place a chance!”

Richard Draker, An Agent with the IPTC

Average Temperatures: 20-40 degrees Celsius year-round, can get cold snaps of around 5-10 degrees.

Average Climate: Temperate forests, Grasslands and Rainforests

��

Name of Planet: Bellator

Danger Rating: ★★★★★

Planet’s Champion: Changes every year, currently The Wind Of Bellator, Akito.

Planet's Population: 10,000,000,001

Risks: “The Interplanetary Travelling Commission highly discourages a traveler from making their way to the planet of Bellator. It is a violent place full of civil unrest and the locals will try to initiate combat upon seeing you. If you refuse combat, they will get highly upset. While the cuisine is incredible and the scenery is lovely, you don’t want to get tied up in Bellatorian duels.”

Other Notes: “HEY!! Are you trying to call us barbarians again?? We’re not! Our culture is based in friendly duels, there is no civil unrest! We duel at funerals, parties, holidays, and festivals, and that's just because it’s what we do! You’ll put this in the file too, right?? RIGHT???”

The Wind of Bellator, when asked for his comment on the information presented in the file

Average Temperatures: 15-50 degrees depending on the season.

Climate: Mostly grasslands with tall mountains interspersed. Areas of desert and tundra are also present.

—

Name of Planet: Noctra

Danger Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Planet Champion: The Angelic Above, Phimir

Planet Population: 100,000

Risks: “Noctra, for the most part, is a safe planet. Though right now under the control of Phimir, a dangerous cult leader. The Angelic Above has disclosed to the IPTC that they do not seek to harm those coming into the planet and for now we are forced to say EXERCISE CAUTION. It’s only retained a 2-star rating due to the cannibalistic nature of those on the planet leading to issues if you get tied up in the religion of the place.”

Other Notes: “Oh, darling… Danger in my care? Don’t be ridiculous. I escaped Mors Prison to help! Though, if I must say… you look lost, lonely. I can fix that, you know? Just come to Noctra, I’ll show you the way out of your trouble..”

The Angelic Above, speaking with the writer of this file (Irene Skeleta, IPTC Inspector)

Average Temperatures: 0-10 degrees on average but can dip into the negatives.

Average Climate: Noctra was once defined by Taiga and Tundra, but it's now basically all city.

—

Name of Planet: Inrationalis

Danger Rating: ★★★☆☆

Planet Champion: N/A, no champion submitted when requested.

Planet Population: 9000

Risks: 

“Inrationalis is a wonderful planet but it is defined by extreme temperatures and the locals don’t like letting others into their shelter. If you can figure out how to safely prepare soul-freezing cactus, then it can be of help but generally, The Interplanetary Travelling Commission does not recommend coming here without connections.”

Other Notes:

“What do you IPTC people want now? We won’t give you anything else, bugger off!”

Lord Sterpunk, who we believe to be this planet’s leader when asked for anything he wished to say about his planet.

Average Temperatures: Upwards of 90-130 degrees Celsius, but a comfortable 20-25 when underground.

Climate: Mostly Arid desert. Though some places we call ‘glass forests’ can be witnessed in hotter areas.

—

Name of Planet: Aleator-Fortuna

Danger Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

Planet’s Champion: Champion of Fortuna, Felix

Planet’s Population: 56,000,000,000

Risks:

“Aleator-Fortuna is a surprisingly safe planet despite its large focus on gambling, though you should always be mindful of thieves and other crimes, as no place is truly without any issues with anything, and the poverty crisis in Aleator-Fortuna is felt by the local population. Please keep your eyes on your belongings when traveling here.”

Other Notes:

“Eh? You want commentary from me? Well, sure. This place has a lot of tourism, you need to keep an eye out for scammers here since if ya don’t then well… there goes yer money. Gotta be careful and quick on this planet. It’s worth a good weekend and the government loves tourism but f–k.. Can’t have s–t on Aleator.”

A Local, when asked about how she feels about her home.

Average Temperatures: A comfortable 5-40 degrees depending on the season. 

Average Climates: Was once mostly chaparral and temperate forest but now sadly is all city.

—

Name of Planet: Compositus

Danger Rating: ★★★☆☆

Planet’s Champion: Wondrous Explorer, Alice 

Planet’s Population: 56,456,210

Risks:

“The IPTC doesn’t understand much about the way Compositus works, if you’ve ever read ‘Alice in Wonderland’, you may have an easier time than we did. We are not as familiar with Earth literature, so we couldn’t say much on that front. All we know is that Compositus is a strange planet that requires a lack of logic and more so a willingness to be weird.”

Other notes:

“OHMYGODOHMYGOD GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!”

One of our Inspectors (Miss Valentine Erosia) when asked for an update on her excursion to Compositus.

Average Temperatures: So chaotic that it’s hard to say but most days land on a comfortable 20 degrees.

Planet Climate: It’s pure chaos. Nothing is set in stone.

—

Name of Planet: Melicus

Danger Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Planet’s Champion: The One Man Symphony, Weriak

Planet’s Population: 125,000,000,000

Risks:

“Melicus is a planet that has very few areas of land. It is unadvised to visit but if you do then it isn’t an unsafe place. You will need advanced gear to go under the waters and you’ll need to understand their very complex customs. All of it is about music, in the end. The IPTC is willing to provide this required gear and knowledge before the trip to Melicus if needed.”

Other Notes:

“Hehe, what? Can't understand me? Good! You shouldn't understand us, if you're gonna be so rude about our music and customs! We know how you get about Bellator! I just wanna say that if you're gonna call us all "life of the party" due to the lively jazz club culture then you can GET BENT!”

A translated version of a note given to us by a teenage local, who seemed not too fond of the IPTC.

Average Temperatures: A comfortable 20-45 degrees Celsius

Average Climate: It’s all ocean, but the few islands that are present are entirely tropical rainforest

—

Name of Planet: Ubique-Glacies

Danger Rating: ★★★☆☆

Planet’s Champion: Fiery Eyed Protector, Sealia

Planet’s Population: 45,345

Risks: “Unlike Inrationalis, which is defined by scorching heat, Ubique-Glacies is defined by icy cold surfaces that force the population to live in domes that contain heat for survival. You should keep an eye out for these domes as the locals are very willing to allow outsiders into the domes.”

Other Notes:

“Too cold? You’re a coward! It’s the perfect temperature here, inside and out! You all are just used to hippy-dippy... Warm.. warmmmm… hahahaha…”

- A local when asked her opinion about the planet, she was later escorted to emergency services

Average Temperatures: -50 to -123 degrees Celsius 

Climate: Almost all tundra excluding a few areas of Taiga

—

A Moment of Silence for Planets Lost within IPTC Jurisdiction

Damnum

Profligatus

Depopulatus

Festum

Crimen-Poenae

Incarceratus

Vulcanus

Frustra-Operam

Amissat-Translatione

Bellum-Machinum

Alea-Victoria

Lustitia-Aequalis

Andathen Ψ

Gone, but not forgotten

--

Andathen Ψ was named by my friend @in-a-vancaster so shoutouttt