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lancermylove · 2 months

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Gifts (HC)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Pairing: All x gn!Reader, minus Ortho.

Warning: None.

Prompt: His white day gift to you.

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Malleus

Malleus gifts you a bouquet of red crystal roses. Each flower is gracefully carved from red crystals, and the base stem and leaves are gilded in 24-karat gold.

His gift is meant to symbolize eternal love. He even takes it a step further by saying, "My love for you shall remain until the roses wither."

Lilia

If you are of age, he will gift you a bottle of aged wine.

If not, he will give you a bottle of juice as a joke just to see your reaction. Then, laugh and hand you a luxurious box of heart-shaped chocolates.

Silver

Silver hands you a white velvet box containing a necklace. The necklace has a pure silver base with a white iridescent opal pendant surrounded by diamonds.

Unknown to you, the necklace is actually a gift passed down to the woman in his family as a symbol of being part of his family. Congratulations, he indirectly proposed to you, and you accepted. Lilia is looking forward to the wedding.

Sebek

Gifts you an oversized white teddy bear with a red plaid ribbon around its neck. The teddy bear has a red heart on the left side of its chest.

He practically shoves it in your hands and looks away, not knowing what to say. He hopes that when you miss him, you will hug the teddy bear.

Riddle

Riddle goes through a list of gifts, not knowing which one to give you. He thinks jewelry, then switches to chocolates, but then feels too much sugar is not good.

So, he sticks with a traditional gift: a bouquet of white roses with red trim neatly held together by silver ribbons.

Ace

He goes all out for the gift and makes you a custom deck of playing cards, which are actually 52 reasons why he likes you. Each card has something he likes about you, from your appearance to your personality to the cute things you do that make him smile.

The gift is thoughtful, but part of you wonders why he chose to go all out. Did he do something? Something is definitely fishy.

Deuce

He gives you a white envelope with a lopsided heart drawn on the flap on the back. Inside the envelope is a heartfelt hand-written letter expressing his feelings. There are many scribbles, and apologies for the scribbles between the words, but you can tell each word holds meaning.

Along with the letter is a white ribbon that he wraps around your wrist and ties into an uneven bow.

Trey

He bakes you a cake with ingredients that he grew and harvested himself. And for the ones he bought, he made sure to purchase the finest ingredients.

The cake is layered with fluffy sponges, moistened with vanilla bean syrup, filled with a rich mascarpone and white chocolate blend, and enveloped in a silky white chocolate ganache. On top of the cake are rare white strawberries, highlighted with edible gold leaf and crushed pearls.

Cater

The first thing Cater does is check the internet for the most trending gifts for White Day. He narrows it down to a few gifts and eventually buys matching phone cases for the two of you.

The cases are white with pink, clear, and red crystals. He warns you to be careful with the case in the sunlight. Cater accidentally temporarily blinded Ace and Deuce by holding the case in the sunlight facing them. The shimmer of the crystals was too intense for the troublemaker duo.

Leona

Literally walks into a designer store and chooses the first thing that catches his eye. One can never go wrong with a scarf, right?

The white piped trim bandeau scarf is made of pure silk and has the designer's name monogrammed at the base of one of the ends.

Ruggie

Ruggie learns some recipes from his grandmother and cooks a meal for you. He tries to get the best ingredients he can, with the help of the garden club, so he can give you a decent quality meal.

The recipes are not fancy, nor is the plating, but he put a lot of effort into making it, so he hopes you like it.

Jack

He struggles to find a gift for you, and his siblings give him a few ideas, but none of them sit with him.

Jack gifts you a cactus terrarium with rare, colorful cacti arranged in a heart shape. But in case you don't like the gift, he also hands you a small box with a silver charm bracelet.

Vil

Vil contemplates gifting you apparel or something fashion-related. However, he thinks clothes and accessories wouldn't convey his message properly.

So, he settles for a hand-held mirror. The mirror is made of 24-karat gold with diamonds surrounding the edges. An intricate rose is carved on the back of the mirror, with the stem and leaves curving around the base.

He wants you to know that no gold or diamonds can match your beauty.

Rook

Rook sets up a scavenger hunt for you with some of the most beautiful locations on the campus, where he hides the next clue. The end of the scavenger hunt leads to a picturesque picnic spot in the middle of the woods near a waterfall.

He recites a romantic poem for you, half in English, half in French. Then, the two of you enjoy snacks and talk for a while. Rook hands you a bouquet of white roses with one red rose in the center. The white roses represent your beautiful soul, and the red rose is your priceless heart.

Epel

Epel learns how to knit and crochet from his grandmother so that he can make you a handmade gift for White Day. He can't pick a design, so his grandmother tells him to just follow his heart and not overthink.

He knits you a scarf, using your favorite color as a base. Inside the curves of the scarf, which will be hidden around your neck, are the words "I love you." Epel hides those words on the inside of the scarf because they are meant for you, not the world.

Azul

Azul wants to give you a physical gift but thinks that everyone gives physical gifts, so it's better to do something different.

In the end, he takes you to one of the finest restaurants under the sea, literally. You dine with sea creatures, trying out their unique and exclusive dishes.

Jade

At first, he is tempted to give you a mushroom terrarium but gives into his better judgment and gives you something you might like.

Jade presents you with a beautiful floral arrangement. The bouquet is thoughtfully arranged, and each flower symbolizes his feelings and love for you. Roses show his passion for you. Gerbera daisies represent the playful side you bring out in him and the joy you make him feel when he is with you. Alstroemerias show his care and support for you—know he will be there for you when you need him to. Lastly, Gladiolus represents his eternal love for you and his faithfulness towards you.

Floyd

He doesn't know what to get you, and his mood changes every time he decides on the 'right' gift. In the end, he gets frustrated and decides to just spend time with you in a fun place.

Floyd takes you to an amusement park. The two of you have fun, and he gets to spend the entire day with you.

Idia

His initial idea is something video game-related, but Ortho advises against it. He gives Idia a lecture about finding a meaningful gift.

So, Idia builds and programs a cell phone for you that has some of the most advanced features known to men. The phone makes your life easier - almost to the point that you think it, and the phone has it. With that phone, you might as well change your name to 007.

Kalim

When you arrive in your room, you freeze. Your entire room is filled with gift boxes, and Kalim is sitting in the center, grinning.

He didn't know what to get you and ended up getting you everything on the list, from chocolates to jewelry to teddy bears to clothes to handbags to you name it. It will take you about a day or two to open all the gifts. Good luck finding space for everything in your room and closet!

Jamil

Jamil knows from the start that he wants to give you something meaningful. The entire day is supposed to be special, so he doesn't want to give you a present and call it a day.

In the morning, he brings you breakfast that he cooked. Then, gives you a bouquet of flowers. In the afternoon, he hands you a neatly wrapped gift box with a white ribbon tied around it. Inside is traditional wear from Scalding Sands, but the patterns on the apparel are exclusive to his family. Another one indirectly proposes to you. Congrats!

In the evening, he has a candlelight dinner with countless dishes that he prepared himself.

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nanamimizz · 2 months

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tags: 18+ minors dni / fem reader / fingering / reader is mexican / spanish / religious imagery / aftercare / hinted virginity loss / penetration /2.6k/ pwp - let me know if i miss something.

synopsis: javier escuella feels an all encompassing desire to have you. you feel it too, maybe even more.

Javier laughs into your lips, you are kissing him with the reverence of the faithful. You kiss sweetly, gently with the undercut of hunger he is all too happy to sate. Your form is soft beneath his hands, flesh pillabe like the strings on his guitar and the trigger of his revolver - the hollow of his palms filled with the curve of your hips. Javier nips at your lip until he can hear you hiss from the sting among your sighs from the pleasure of having him suck on your tongue.

“I can’t believe you - all I did was kiss you,” he stops to puff a breathe against your lips snickering at the dazed look on your face and the glistening spit on your lips, “and now you’re letting me fuck you.”

You whine, high and embarrassed but so unbearably needy and pressing yourself up against him like a cat in heat. There’s a little gold necklace threaded along the slopes of your collar - it glints against your untouched and unblemished skin like a comet, looping along your form in a circle until completion where it stays in perpetual orbit. Javier doesn’t know if he should be jealous of the thin necklace or not.

Your nightgown is off, spread out on the ground and Javier’s eyes are caught on the pendant that holds the face of La Virgen that glints in the lowlight of his tent - his eyes meet hers and he feels a shiver against his spine. Of course she would be there, looped above your too-good heart and appearing before him. It almost pains him to touch you, the holiness of your skin burning his palms that are too greedy to stay away.

You gasp his name and it brings him back to you - it brings his lips to your chest and you sigh as your hands twist on the fabric of his shirt clad shoulders like you are scared to touch him. You still have your bloomers, the white cotton stark against his tan hands and he presses another kiss right above your heart as it stutters tucked away in your ribs.

“Esta bien hermosa - you can touch me.” The pet name makes you tremble, whining when the word graces your flushed ears. Hermosa, meaning beautiful or gorgeous in the language your mother would sing you to when you were a girl. Your nostalgia brings desperation and it only serves to make you needier, wanting for more of the man above you like how priests desire the light of God. You think of that ill-stricken Reverend that wanders this camp and something aches in your chest as you let your hands go over the curve of his shoulders and anchor yourself there. Teeth aching with each suck on your tongue you don’t notice it when your bloomers are off until the brisk cool night breeze dances on your bare thighs. The skin there is hot and growing more so when he lets his hands settle on the smooth skin.

It’s almost comical how perfectly you fit in his roughed hands, his callouses from his knife so seamlessly accepted by the plush of your thighs. Like the velvet cushions rich men sit in their gilded train cars and golden stagecoaches. You go from velvet to wet silk with simple touches and you moan something sweetly into his ear as his face goes to your chest and his hands in between your thighs. The backs of his knuckles tease the wetness of your slick that leaks like honey and Javier lets his lips kiss the bud of your nipple softly but not without letting his teeth have their own kiss at the edge to make you whine.

“You are so wet, leaking for me - you’ll make a mess on my pants mi amor.” His teasing is endless and you can hear that smile you see whenever you blink. You jumble out a half-assed apology and it makes Javier laugh at you again. He must have you in quite the state if it’s making your perfectly trained manners fall off like wool when faced with sheep shears. His fingers have made their way to where you are the most needy - letting them pet along the slit and cup at your mound. You moan his name, oh so, softly when he squeezes gently, cradling your most delicate part the same way he cradles the neck of his guitar.

“Javi - please, please.” The shortened version of his name makes him grin, shivering pleasantly at how affection given only to him melts into his ears like syrup.

“Ya se, ya se. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you tonight.” Dark eyes are wicked at how they glint in the low orange light of his tent as he lets one finger slip in. He reclines himself back so he can watch how you take him.

Javier does not profess how he would take care of you every night for the rest of the nights you have in your life.

You whine thinly into the air, and it makes him hiss at how tight you are around his one finger.

“Relax, chiquita - I can’t take care of you when you’re all tense like this. Shh, shh,” he murmurs to you and in return you whine with a nod; pliable and sweet for him as you let your legs shuffle more open, working on letting him in and letting him deeper. One finger turns to two, and they curl into you cruelly without respite for how you weep and sniffle at the pleasure he tugs from you like music from his guitar strings. Your mouth is hanging open, drool shining on your lips as you let out thin little sounds.

You feel full, and pleasure dances along your spine as his thumb plays with the glimmering pearl of your clit. You whine - no sing his name like gospel and it makes something inside his stomach preen like a peacock.

Javier is dedicated, giving you an even pace and deep curls of his fingers to make you soft and loose for him. Dark brown eyes watch you with the precision of a predator - eagerly taking in how sweat drips down the middle of your breasts and how your jaw drops to make out little pants of his name just for him to hear. His fingers do just enough to bring you to the edge, and you stutter over your words as you push at his wrist with the desperation that is unbecoming of you. Etiquette and education are long gone from your mind as you beg him with an addled mind.

“Please, please not - not like that,” you stutter and let out soft little moans in between each word as Javier remains unmoved; letting his fingers stay inside you at their same pace, dark brown eyes taking in how even this almost makes you weep in pleasure. His cock stirs in his jeans at how it will be when he’s inside of you, filling you well beyond anything you’ve ever had.

“No, like this - it will hurt if you don’t cum now.” He mutters, voice thick with lust as he watches your hips twitch and jump when you have begun to hit the highest peak of your pleasure. Your body is eager for his fingers, tightening and fluttering around them as you leak down to his palm. Javier goes to shush you but you’re a good girl he realizes, watching you with a grin at how your hands shoot up to your mouth to muffle your long winded whines when you crash and cum for him. His voice is soft, reassuring you as you ride out your pleasure with the trembling of your hips and the quickened rising falls of your chest.

“Just like that - like that. There you go, there you go. Cum for me, give me this one and I’ll give you another.” He promises you, his accent thick as he watches your eyes go dark and unfocused as you burn with hot desire for him until he hears your broken voice mumble; “There’s more?”

He laughs. Teasingly, adoringly, lovingly and so many other words he can’t quite say.

“Si mi vida, there is always more with me. That I can promise you.”

Again, he laughs at the way he feels you twitch around his fingers that have stilled inside at the prospect of what more entails. He won’t admit to how his cock twitches in time with you tucked away in his pants.

You whine at the idea, hot at the image of being filled with all of him and whine again when his fingers slip out of you. Gossamer strands of your cum follow them, only to break and splatter along the inside of your flushed thighs. Javier smiles the same charming smile as when he sings and soothes you by rubbing your thigh with one hand while the other goes to undo his belt buckle.

You don’t see the length of him, only feel the heat of him against the petals of your cunt and it’s enough for you to yelp like some poor animal caught in a trap. Javier is bent over you, the build of his slim body covering you with his elbow supporting him above your head, eyes attuned to the half lit scene before him. You, sweating enough to make strands of your hair stick your flushed face with your eyes half lidded and mouth parted. His hips move without him thinking, coating his length in your glimmering release and rubbing against your still sensitive clit that it makes you flinch - mewling his name in a wet and defeated tone that makes him huff in half fondness-half teasing.

“Javi-” you whine, hotter than you have ever been and voice cracking when the head of his cock brushes past your entrance and makes its way in. You gasp into his mouth, one hand coming to cover your eyes and the other gripping at the fabric of his shoulder. Javier sighs against your lips and kisses you to muffle his own noises - higher pitched than he’d like to admit they are lost in between your two mouths as you take another inch of him. He is long, he knows this and you are tight ; tighter than anyone else he’s ever been with due to your lack of experience so he is slow with you despite how he wants to devour you entirely with one stroke.

Javier is tactical when he wants to be and is more than practical when he has to be so he controls himself, letting you have him inch by torturous inch. You are panting, throwing your head back in a way that lets him catch the tears that make it down your cheek and are uncovered by your hand. With one hand he bats away yours until your face - glistening and flushed is revealed to him as your mouth shines with drool from pleasure. His thumb goes to wipe away a tear and you move to feel the warmth of him more closely.

“Why are you crying hermosa, hm?” He asks you, sighing at how you take more of him so sweetly. You don’t respond only squealing and squeezing around him as you lose more of yourself on his cock. Half of him is seated inside you, enough for you to moan his name brokenly as you beg for more despite you wincing when he moves. Javier grunts and stops, letting the half of him that’s inside you stay still to let you breathe

“You can,” you pant, “you can put the whole thing in - please, please put it in.” You beg, and a thrill goes up his spine at the idea of seeing you weep from his cock being too much runs across his mind before he pushes it to the side. You are far too sweet, too delicate to be treated so roughly by him. You aren’t a working girl he can forget about come morning but the woman he wants to wake up to, which is why it’s easy for him to do what he thinks to be best.

He denies you.

“No, this is -” he sighs deeply at the way you feel around him - slick and wet and wanting for him to give you more until it aches. “This is enough. You’ll take the rest next time.” You whine at the thought and whine again when he pulls his slim hips back to fuck you like that. He gives you slow, careful thrusts with the hand that cradles your face sneaking down to rub at your pulsing clit with gentle precision. It’s almost too much for you, he notes and he feels bad that the sight of you weeping on half his cock, losing your mind with your eyes glassy from tears is doing it more for him than anything else.

You’ve always been a proper girl, ever since he saw you on your horse in the snow of Colter looking at him with the sweetest eyes framed by snowflakes. There’s a sick pleasure tugging at his stomach at how he has you now, manners gone and all you are now is debauched and drunk on him. It’s almost enough to make him finish and clearly it’s enough to get you there too by the way you weep out the little nickname you gave him.

“Javi, Javi, ’m going to -” He cuts you off with a punched out exhale, grinding his molders to keep from cumming inside by how you keep tightening around him like a vice.

“Go let go for me, mi amor - you’ve been so good.” With that you break, voice so ruined it cracks when you whine out babbles of precious thank yous in his ear as you come to completion a second and last time for the night. It’s painful, the last drag he gets of your cunt before he tugs at his sticky and slick cock to shoot his spend against the mound of your cunt. The sight of him dripping down to your twitching lower half more than makes up for it and he is more than willing to bend back over you to press gentle kiss after kiss on your panting lips. Your eyes had fluttered close and you babbled mindlessly under his gentle touches as you slowly came back down to look up at him with blearily eyes. Javier smiles at you with all the tenderness of the world when you wrap your arms around his neck - he manages to settle on his side with you in his arms and you tuck your face into his neck. You nuzzle the skin and sight softly, eyes red and half lidded tired from all he has pulled for you. Javier is soft with you, spoiling you by letting his nails scratch your scalp the way you like.

“Rest mi vida, I’ll clean you up.” he murmurs into your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. You hum, murmur his name and a soft little confession of love before your eyes slip shut. You shiver when the soft fabric of a pocket square wipes at the mess of your swollen cunt and whine when you are moved to have your nightgown pulled over your head. Through your fussing Javier remains gentle, whispering praise as he settles you to his chest to sleep. When you awake you’ll be faced with teasing you thought you were quiet enough to avoid but that can wait. Now your eyes are heavy and Javier’s heartbeat is soothing - anything else can wait as for now you want for nothing else.

#lamb.writes #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella smut #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption x reader #rdr2 smut

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snowfolly · 4 months

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Devoured

Astarion has only known hunger, be it for gold or for blood in the two and a half centuries of his existence. He feels that he can never be satiated, at least not until he meets you.

Astarion x GN reader | 1,295 words

CW: References to Astarion’s past abuse, sexual content, cursing, vampire feeding, blood

(Thanks so much to @brabblesblog for doing such a stellar job beta’ing this for me! If anything’s still messed up that’s on me)

Read this on Ao3

It seemed to Astarion that all he had ever known was hunger. Before his death he had only been peckish though; he had gathered a taste for riches and glamour rising through the ranks of Baldurian society.

He had sampled the gilded crumbs of debauchery amongst the elite and he had found them quite to his liking. He had enrobed himself in silks and diamonds, had sipped wine from gold and crystal goblets, both of which cost more than most peasants would ever see in a lifetime. He had indulged in carnal pursuits, used to grandstand and garnish attention, and ultimately he had become a glutton for power — power which led to his famine.

(More under the cut)

Astarion has never known true hunger like the ever-unsatiated, unnatural emptiness that has taken over every shred of his being after his untimely death. He is voracious, animalistic; violently craving the blood of sentient creatures every single second of his pathetic undead existence.

But he had been denied that abundance every single one of those countless seconds.

He had been starved to the brink of madness for nearly two hundred years.

But he hasn’t been broken.

He had been fed cold, fetid rats when he yearned for the warmth of red blood coursing through sentient veins. Astarion longingly imagined the feeling of his fangs sinking through supple flesh as his victim panted below him, his teeth so tantalizingly close to their neck as they moaned in ecstasy, knowing that even if he lived another five hundred years he’d never experience anything other than the hands of countless strangers on his body as he starved.

He’d known nothing but humiliation as his body begged him to bite. Just fucking bite. Feed and feel satisfied for the first time in centuries…

But he could not obey his own urges, could obey nothing but his cruel master.

But he hasn’t been broken.

He would never forget those nightmarish years, never forget that starvation — not ever in his eternal lifetime , but he could dull that time of horror whenever he’s with you.

In his time on the road with you the vampire spawn has felt the ecstasy his fangs sinking through sentient flesh many times; not so many that he’d ever forget the endless years of desperation, of course, but he has tasted the blood of many sentient beings and has found it delectable. He relishes in their quickened pulse as he takes their lifeblood, panicked and struggling as they regret their choice to ambush your party.

And as delightful as all that is, it is nothing compared to the blood you gave him freely, intimately.

When he had decided for himself that he wanted space to figure his life out and what he wished for himself, to rediscover what had been lost after so many years as an unwilling thrall, you had readily given him that space. It was a dark time in a dark and hollow land, and again he starved. Despite his revelation to you of how he manipulated you, you had readily offered your wrist to him so that it didn’t have to be as intimate as feeding from your neck if he didn’t want to.

And so Astarion took your offer; in the dark of his tent, he lapped at your wrist and took sustenance as you gently stroked his silver-white curls with your free hand, comforting him deeply as he fed. You had asked if you could touch him first, of course, and he had smiled at you, nodding, before kissing your wrist and biting as gently as he could;opening up a vein, allowing enough blood to flow.

During this time his mind was burdened with many regrets, especially at how your relationship had started. He had slept with you a few times as payment, in a way, for keeping him safe. You hadn’t known that, of course.

You had thought Astarion was attracted to you when he propositioned you, and he was , of course he was — but that wasn’t the reason he had sex with you in the first place. He had nothing else to give, and using his body as a bargaining chip yet again was something that he had grown to deeply regret as you spent more time together, laughing and telling stories, learning about one another while being faced with neverending horrors and the potential for the most horrifying of fates.

You helped him when he needed it, you shared with him what little you had, you gave him your promise that you’d destroy his former master — and of course in time you did. You actually listened to him, the first time anyone had ever truly done so in hundreds of years. And then you gave him space.

The spawn’s sluggish, undead heart hadn’t truly been his own for two centuries, but in his freedom he had plucked it back from Cazador’s icy grip and had learned what it meant to carry such a heavy, guilty thing beneath his ribs. It had been a grim host to the horrors that had been wrought against him and of those he had inflicted on others.

But it isn’t broken, and he made room in his heart for you.

He helps you when you need it, he shares with you what little he can, and he promises you that he’ll be by your side through all the horrors yet to come.

He has listened to you; after hundreds of years of tuning out the prattle of his victims and the vile words of his master, he has truly heard your voice. He has grown to care for you… to eventually love you. Gods, more than anything he loves you.

You are so much more than he feels he deserves, and when he had felt like being intimate with you once again it was so much different than all the years he had spent having uninterested sex with a stranger, some poor victim that he knew would be dead by the morning. He had been forced to use intimacy as a weapon for so long that he thought he’d had his fill of it for good, wasn’t sure that he could ever truly see it in a positive light again.

But with you, he did. On that night in the graveyard every kiss was thoughtful, every movement, breath and touch was with passion; at the first thrust into you it was pure pleasure, almost like it was truly the first time and you both only knew love, and love and love.

He had never imagined he would ever love and be loved in return, had never experienced it before death and had certainly thought he’d never do so in the hell of his undeath, but here you two were. Laying together on his grave under the moonlight, both fully clothed once again, your body heat warming him like a miniature sun.

In Astarion’s long life he had tasted riches and extravagance that had left him wanting ever more; had laid starving upon filthy damp stone, begging uncaring gods for just a taste of blood, just a drop. He knew that unless his curse was lifted he would never be free from this gnawing hunger - he could never in a million years devour enough blood to satiate that undead thirst.

But laying here with you, stroking your hair as you doze, he feels his reclaimed heart overflowing with warmth, better than anything that can ever flow from a golden chalice or an open vein. He can never recall a time before that he has ever felt so happy, so loved.

He gazes at you in awe, now sleeping peacefully at his side and Astarion realizes that he is truly satisfied for the first time in his life.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #snowyfic

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

Note

Prince Paul spreading his wife over a dining table so he can eat her relentlessly 🤤🤤🤤

🥀The Matter of a Good Taste 🥀

AN: relentlessly you say? *Cracks knuckles*

I’ve written so much Prince Paul pussy eating I’m starting to think it’s my kink that I always seem to get this man on his knees to give some amazingly fantastic head when irl he probably never even ate a pussy once but you know what? Fuck it. Also this came out far sweeter than I had intended? Idk how. TW: none really apart from some serious pent up need oral.

Nights at the palace slip in all soft. Slippery and holding the gentle density of clouds.

It’s a rather stark change to the brutality of court in the day. All the velvet draped daggers and sugar faked smiles. The grins that then vanish in passing.

Snide acidic comments designed to poke like sharp gleaming needles. Designed to find the space between the ribs. Whispers wriggle like hissing snakes at your bodiced silk back.

Mornings are a parting wrench. You don your costume to please them all. Tie the stays tight. Lip rouge the colour of split blood. Heartthrob red.

You far prefer the nights. Time that narrows down - tapers, whittled - right the way down to you and Paul. When the candles burn their tongues of gold and spin the room to shadow and gems. Sparkling like the Crown Jewels.

You sit down to dine together and pour way too much wine. A heavy dinner. Always heavy. The same pallid creamy white soup. Roast meat - bloody and smothered sticky with dark wine sauce. Potatoes and onions with thyme and sage. A meal that sits heavy and clunking in your belly.

You chat about your days. You tell him about the tea party for the girls orphanage, and the earned shreds of gossip whispered out the side of Milena’s mouth. He tells you about the military coup, the uprisings. The jagged feeling towards the crown.

When the staff fade away with their chattering’s and cease heavy footfalls on the parquet. That’s your favourite. When peace descends. Thick like a smothering eiderdown.

The exquisite squeeze when your maid undoes your stays. When you can finally breathe out. The hot steam of a bath clearing your sinuses. Clean spice of tuberose soap and being wrapped in a cool cloaking chemise for bed. The smooth cotton sheets crisp and cold that you slide into, as you wait on Paul to join you.

You’d never tell him your habit. That each night as you lay in your bed, you listen out for his footfalls. You smile when you hear them coming closer outside the doors.

And you wait an awful long wait, tonight.

He doesn’t appear to be coming.

The carriage clock on the huge golden mantel strikes twelve. The chimes mock you with their tinny echoing cry. He should be in here, arms stuck wrapped around your back. Lips in your neck. Maybe a rough tumbling fuck if the day has been hellish.

Another half hour. And before the next can come, you throw the covers off and go in search of your absent husband.

Padding barefoot over the numerous antique rugs. Through the gilded doors. You find him in the dining room. Firelight shines wetly off the polished surface of the table. Ripping and curling orange. He’s staring. Transfixed by it.

He’s sat there in his shirt, undone waistcoat, and breeches. Ruffled neck wide open. Whisky eyes cast and doused in flame. Dormant like one of the outer crust of the stuffed animals displayed on these walls. The brushed hyde of glassy eyed stags or the great still plumage of some exotic bird eternally perched.

You lean against the huge door. Hips pressed to the golden handle. Stay to your silence. Watching him for a moment.

When day was done it was a release for you. An undressing. Unwind. For Paul it seemed less so.

Sometimes the tranquility that undid you, paved the way for a whole crush of thoughts in his head. Sisyphus and his boulder up that hill. The press of a frown pinching brows.

Heavy was the head that cannot yet seize the crown.

No one else gets this view of him. You made your mind up to adore it. He was all cherubim beauty. So striking. You thought the very same thing the first time you laid eyes on him. Definitely not a weak chin.

The pillow set of pink lips made to mouth at. Made to bite. The melty eyes that swing between venom and boyish levelled at you. The lush line of his jaw and the way his hair is set with a natural curl. The flick of doe lashes that really should be flecked with dew, they’re so girlish-pretty.

“Something vexes you?” You ask. Crossing your arms and gently intruding into the room. Hair loose down your back tickling your waist.

He looks over at you like he’s startled. Eyes all big and flame captured. Lips part softly. Like he’s a bunny been caught out by the hawk.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks. His tone ripe with accusation. Throat bobs where he swallows.

You lay your vicious tongue to rest tonight. There’s no need for your dagger sharp words.

“You don’t escape my notice that easily.” You level shrewdly.

Not like how you escape hers.

The woman who is surely preying on his head right now. The glorious Empress, whose long casting shadow governs and hovers his every tiny step.

He doesn’t really respond. In the way he does when he can’t lay his thoughts to bed. Where his head is too heavy and buzzing full to lay on the pillow beside yours. Too itinerant.

You walk to his side. Hesitate before touching him. In case he snaps and insists he needs his space.

He tips his eyes across your body. Sees you whole where you’re stood.

The fire brushed strokes of fuzzy apricot across your chemise. He can see the shape of your naked body barely concealed underneath. Soap skimmed skin. Pillow crease caught in your cheek. Warm dewy from rest.

“Rough day.” He finally answers.

You nod. Just nod.

“Shall I keep to my rooms tonight, Tsarevich?” You enquire. Face a cold bed. Space gaping. Unfilled on the pillow opposite.

You say it without teasing. Without jest. You don’t purr flirt at him. You ask genuinely.

“Don’t.” He answers weakly. Throat bobs again.

You tip your head to the side.

Decide finally to slide towards him and run your fingers through his hair. Hip against the table. Stroking fingers through his pretty curls. The fire shot yellow gold some of the tresses. Chestnut too.

You want to tell him to lay it to rest. Whatever it is. Be done with it now. That the beast plaguing him will seem less daunting - will have its sharp teeth blunted by the dawn after a full night of rest.

He leans to you. Hands come for your hips and tugs you in.

Rests his head against your belly. Rubs his forehead into you there. Mashes his face to your soft body. Rolls to you the way the tide rushes to meet the shore. Breathes perfume and soap. You.

You in pure gunpowder shot form. Dynamite strong. Closes his eyes. Hugs you like he’s been lost at sea for months. Drugged on nearness.

Intoxicated on the fact you’re impossible and bolshy. Hardest, sharpest woman he’s ever met; yet you’re being so easy for him now. No challenge laid before him.

“Anything I can do?” You ask. Feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms where you slide down his shoulders. Kneading skin. Nails withdrawn tonight.

The air shifts on those words. Tumbles away like ash on the breeze.

He pulls back and gazes up at you. Flick of long lashes. Something stirs in his eyes. He looks up at you before suddenly he’s rising to his feet with the scrape of the chair slicing into the silence.

He cups the back of your neck and kisses you firmly. Cotton sleeves drape to your body as he pressed his whole self to you. His lips becomes insistent. Kiss warps into hunger.

He’s ripping away to nip your neck and lick kisses at your shoulders. Back pressed firmly up against the hard edge of the table. His body keeps you there. He’s pawing at your chemise. Melting his mouth to yours again as fumbled hands slip your skirts up.

He’s giving you kisses that make your heart slip to warm treacle. Pouring down your ribs and melting. Stunning your lips drunk that this is how he wants to soothe a bad day. With the endless press and utterly blotting sensation of you.

His cheeks are furiously pink. Eyes black savage pits. Lips all sore. He keeps his hold on your mouth and makes your breath come short.

He plucks you up off the floor and spreads you on the table like you’re the next dinner course. Whips your chemise up to your knees. Lays you back.

You gasp. “Paul. Here?”

He can offer no answer.

His eyes burn shiny with the newly unveiled skin of your thighs right down to your toes. The arch of your legs. Plump thigh. Shapely calves. Delicious pussy all bare. Lips plump and cast in firelight. Ready for him.

He throws one of your chunky thighs over his back, and takes to one knee to eat you out.

Bliss bites right through you - clean through - spiking your blushes to top pitch. Making you shiver. Thighs seek to curl around his head and your hand shoots up to rake your nails through his silky hair.

You groan with the puffy glide of his fat tongue over your pussy. Lathing and searching. Swiping for your taste and diving for more. You taste like every tart sweet fruit - sugared and full with juice. Ripe to burst.

He doesn’t rush a single thing about this; takes his time to prod his tongue into you. Spread you open with tongue alone. Opens the bowl of your hips wide, wider, with his hands digging to the meat on your thighs. Fingers leaving dips in flesh.

Licks and laps at the new fresh slick he coaxed free. He’s chasing your pleasure. Not his. He’s going on search of it; a determined conquest. Touching you like you’re the holiest thing he’s ever known. Ever tasted.

You’re all sighs and easy moans as he digs his face into your mons. Inhaling the smell of your soap that clings to your curls. Eyes flutter closed with the pleasure of it.

“I love when you melt for me.” He says. Breath bursts in warm puffs over your pussy when he speaks. When you uncurl from being impossible and stubborn.

You catch sight of his lips. Glossy. He’s wearing a wet orange smear in the low amber light of the fire.

“I don’t melt for anyone. My angel.” You sigh. Hips leaping to his face as he suckles your clit like a nursing babe. Whining high as you slip your fingers through his scalp.

“Just you.” You gasp. Bliss draped upon every word.

His spit squelches into you. He spits and drools to make you wetter. He likes it. Spitting frothy globs into you, and scooping it out with his tongue when the taste has changed entirely to you. Swirling it around because he loves to have you dripping.

Juices are flowing out of you and dribbling slowly to leave a slippery stain on this shiny table. When he next eats a meal here, in this very chair. He’ll smile remembering this moment.

He twists his head to lap at a new angle. Eyes focused on yours. And it hurts to tear away. You watch him and it makes him want to cum in his breeches right then and there.

It’s hypnotic to have him work you over with his mouth. You adore it when there’s hate-fucking and anger involved; you simply shatter to incomprehensible pieces when there’s slow romantic passion, mixed into the bargain.

He eats you like he’s trying to study you with his tongue. Like he can root out some answers in your taste. That heady flavour of flesh and sex and woman - somehow tangy somehow sweet. Elixir of life;

He swirls tiny sloppy circles around the swelling bead of your clit. Fingertips coming into play - the man was a studying military strategist. That came into use in times like these; rubbing your folds - up down up down - before pushing those slick fingertips in. Sinking deep enough to earn a rise out of you.

He eases back, takes his tongue away to watch as he used just his fingers instead. Watching your face. Watching the glide and pump of curling them to you until he finds a rhythm that drags that silken and soaked giving spot a teasing tickle inside you.

When your hips start to jump and you start squirming. He knows he’s found what he’s after.

That divine spread inside you that rose with every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers. Every vicious swipe with his tongue that cracks flickers of lightning across your nerves. Makes you throb with it. God he’s good.

Suction coming relentless and heavy from his mouth, scorching patterns in harsh zig-zags across your swollen lips. Fingers encouraging that all encompassing pang of pleasure that will wipe out your brain to blank when you cum.

He’s digging his face right in and eating determinedly - relentlessly, to get after that leg shaking portion of your climax that’s steadily growing.

Terrifying trapping fingers travelling up your cunt walls as they flutter fast on his fingers. You’re laying back on the dining room table, near sobbing with the need to cum.

He’s just drinking in every sensation soaked second as he gulps you down. Half to ease away his tensions; half because making you cum has become an occupation that’s scored its devotion on his heart. When he dies he hopes they crack open his chest and find it sat there in bleeding tattooed letters. It feels like it should be.

Wordlessly, he brutally shoved you to the knife edge of your orgasm that has you literally bursting. The shudder of your hips betrays it first. How he doesn’t alter his pace; he keeps steady as he coaxed you through: the way you taught him.

Don’t speed up just because I’m close. Keep steady with whatever it is you’re doing.

You’d taught him that on your honeymoon hazy watercolour memories all misty to recall. With your clit captured in his mouth and your fingers fisted in his hair.

He’s a good student. He makes you gush into and all over his mouth. Spurting across the table top and he hums with the bliss of your release and doesn’t stop just because you do.

He drives and drags and slurps up every tender drop. Nurses you into the aftershocks with his tongue. Gentle gathered little noises as he swallows and gains his breath again. Tries to take control of his heart and the buzzing in his ears.

You’re slowly fading from shouts to whines. Fingers grappled into his on your now clammy thighs. Where you’d thrashed and wailed. Your hands held firm to him like anchors.

“My god, you give good head, my love.” You sigh. Back arching and your eyes still flicked closed.

“I was instructed by the best.” He insists. Before dropping an open mouthed kiss right on your cunt.

“Same time tomorrow?“ You ask with an impetuous smile. The clock strikes two.

He gazes back at from between your legs. Smile finally having returned. Eyes all slippery warm with passion.

“Minx.”

“Yes, but entirely yours.”

“Bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

JQ taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver

#Prince Paul #prince paul x you #prince paul x reader #prince paul x oc #prince paul fanfiction #prince paul smut #joseph quinn #prince paul catherine the great #catherine the great 2019 #prince paul imagine #prince paul fanfic #and prince paul #smutty #so much smut #so much hatefucking

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justbelievinginmagic · 20 days

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ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 3: onwards & downwards.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: alone, you take some twists and turns that lead you deeper into the belly of the Labyrinth. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, some violence, some mild injuries, world building!!, strong language, faerie lore!!, some light groping by Helping Hands but nothing explicit, cameo by knight!hoseok and knight!seokjin! word count: 4.8k series masterlist

The old dusty, cobblestone path shifted the longer she trekked through the Labyrinth. From something aged and grey to a more tan, refined structure of brink. No longer was she watching for raised bricks that she could stumble over and cobwebs of grand spider-silk wefts she could tumble into. It was far more maintained with its tall walls of oak-brown stones. The watch towers soon were exchanged for simple decorative sphere balls; some hollowed structures to have a flame flickering within.

There were still rock and rubble, hugging the corners of the path, but, for the majority, it felt like she had entered a different portion of the Labyrinth. It felt like progress. And that made her giddy. She felt a tumble of adrenaline in her stomach, something urging her forward as she continued to turn and weave throughout the endless Labyrinth.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when she peered up onto her tip-toes to look over the walls as best as she could, she saw she was long gone from the beginning of the Labyrinth with the curly-haired fae, Soobin, and Yeonjun.

All by herself.

Looking for signs of the castle, she had to turn completely around to find its looming shadow. The rolling Labyrinth ahead made it look higher than where she was, if possible. How did it end up behind her? How did it seem to loom as if she was in a deep valley and it on a hillside? That hadn’t been the case outside the Labyrinth. Despite that oddity, the Runner smiled and headed on her way towards the castle.

She can do this. She was on a roll.

Twisting through the pathways was easy. One foot in front of another. There were no signs of other folk, not like before. In fact, some areas of the Labyrinth looked surprisingly well tended. There were ivy covering some of the walls, but it was not brittle and dying like outside the Labyrinth. It was thriving as it crept towards the artificial light of the high-floating candles. Some brittle branches were dead, but it seemed the further into the Labyrinth the more life flourished.

There were the large obelisks at the center of some of the pathways. These were much taller than the ones outside of the Labyrinth, and they weren’t cracking or crumbled. They stood tall with elaborate carvings on each of its faces now.

The Runner paused at each one, hoping they could help her. Maybe they held a story or hints to where she was. Each one as elaborate as the last. Some portrayed the tale of baby-snatching goblins; others illustrated mushroom faerie rings and their powers. There were some carvings of a young girl who was gilded in gold and a man painted in white robes.

As she crept along, she saw a face that looked like the Goblin King’s but younger with an inscription below in that unfamiliar language. He was painted with a gold halo – almost angelical.

It was interesting. She wondered if these were like painted glass windows of churches, retelling lore of the Underground or if they were simply décor. Old myths or moments of the past that were mute as dust. After all, they were stuck here in the Labyrinth.

They didn’t help – she knew that. None really felt like they could point her left or right or that way or this way. So, she continued onwards.

Her eyes took in the landmarks – a trail of ivy, the obelisk with faerie magic rings, a twisted branch with sparkling dewdrops.

Down this path, and then the next. Is this the way or that the way? No, no… she had seen that branch before. Pausing, her lips formed a straight line, and her brow furrowed.

“You’ve gone in circles thrice, Y/N,” a voice taunted and jested in her ear, the brush of phantom lips against her skin eerily familiar.

Her hair rustled in the wind with the sound. It made her stomach dance as she realized it was his voice. Gooseflesh raised on her arms as she turned her head towards the voice. Only to be greeted with nothing.

His laughter shook her; it felt like it shook the rock walls of the Labyrinth even. She heard a scattering of a raven’s caw as a bird-like creature flew away from its perch atop a sphere rock atop the walls.

“Only 10 more hours, my Runner,” he hummed again.

It felt like he was beside her, murmuring the soft words into her hair. It sent chills down her spine as the cool air of his breath tickled her ear. She did shiver when she felt a phantom chill on the apple of her cheek – like a kiss from a ghost. It was icy cold, taunting, and most of all unnerving. She jumped away before walking off quickly, in a direction she wasn’t quite certain of.

There was no laughter, and she didn’t know if he was still there. Or was he everywhere? It made her feel like someone was watching her. Leering at her. Her footsteps were quicker now as she walked down another path until… she saw the same tree branch again.

“Dammit,” she bit out through her teeth.

She has been going in circles.

How could she keep track of where she was going?

Looking about, she saw there was pile of rubble. Picking up a rock, she tested it against the fine stone of the floor. The flat tiles were more organized and leveled than the cobblestone of the earlier pathways. Gritting her teeth, she hoped this worked as she dragged down the rock against the tile. An unpleasant scratching noise occurred but there was what she wanted. A line carved into the soft tile.

It was her way to keep track of where she’s been – her string of thread within the Labyrinth.

Adding an arrow pointing towards her next choice – turning left - she felt triumphant.

Her smile was cunning, almost a mimicry of the King’s. She rose to her feet, energized as she began her trek.

She wasn’t so dumb.

Every so often, she’d pause and kneel to scratch her path onwards onto the ground.

The Goblin King chuckled as he waved a glass bauble aside, a projection of the Runner within its shimmering surface. As he let it go, it floated off into oblivion, devoid of magic and becoming nothing but a regular soap-like bubble rather than a portal to view and affect his kingdom.

Sighing out, impatience clung to his bones as he slung a leg over his throne’s arm rest. The throne was a worn thing, not something of greatness. It wasn’t painted in jewels or gold or ever blooming flowers. It was a simple circular throne, large, with a comfortable cushion of dark velvet. It was elevated above the main floor of the room, forever placing the King above his subjects. The arm rest and backrest were one singular curving bone that had many crushed night-sky drapes tied to it. If anything, it looked like a crescent moon dragging along the night sky.

He was comfortable here, but impatient and, frankly, annoyed by the chatter about. His gaze rose to rest on the grand clock, currently hovering above the doorway of his throne room.

If you could call it a throne room. . . In true Goblin fashion, the entire place has become more and more decrepit over the years. Not in the sense it was falling apart like parts of the Labyrinth. It just was messy. A mish-mash of different eras of goblin elite lived in this space forevermore.

Old memories of his father’s court lingered by way of reckless Changeling-Goblins who had little respect for much, causing chaos or drinking honeyed mead ‘til they drowned in it. Even older remnants of the previous Goblin Kings remained with old shrines to fae folk long passed decorating the walls in grand sculptures. The décor wasn’t to Hyunjin’s liking.

The large throne room was in the highest tower of the castle. With mostly open space, the circular interior had dark greys rockwork building it up. Platforms for goblins and goblettes of all shapes and sizes were perched in the tower’s rafters. Creatures from Aboveground, stolen or sacrificed, hobbled about, crowing or hissing. Sometimes there was a puff of magic and a goblin would mimic a chicken or snake to the amusement of his onlookers.

Fae folk of the higher court – with their humanistic glamour and aged visuals - were gossiping about in the alcoves, donning old lace and leathered finery of Court standards long passed. It was never quiet in his throne room. It had become less of his throne-room and more of a gathering space for the court.

Which he despised.

Hyunjin didn’t like gatherings of drunkard goblins and fae-folk. He hadn’t in sometime since he’s taken the throne. In his younger years as Prince, he adored the Court life. Preened on his soon-to-be-subjects’ attention. Before he realized, like a child with toys he outgrew, he didn’t want something simple any longer.

He liked challenges. And the Challenge of the Labyrinth was the truest challenge there was in the Underground. It wasn’t often someone wished themselves away – it used to be village children wished away by towns, babes by their frustrated mothers, forgotten sacrifices to deities unknown, or woeful wanderers in the woods who would be taken by passing through faerie rings.

The wisher – or the taken - would take up the Challenge in exchange for the return of what they so desired – the babe they wished away foolhardily or their ability to return to the mortal realm. Or they’d stay and once 24 hours of time Underground passed, their humanity was the King’s.

His father oversaw these Challenges and, now, so did Hyunjin.

Y/N wasn’t his first Runner through the Labyrinth; most didn’t make it far and none have won against him. He treated his Labyrinth like a game board. It was a game he had studied since adolescence. He knew the rules inside and out, and he liked to win.

Despite this, he can’t recall whom the previous Runners were anymore. Trophies gather dust in his kingdom – sometimes their visages blend together. One had a dimpled smile and blonde hair; another a crooked snaggletooth and soft eyes… or was it reversed? They all failed in their runs and, therefore, were changed. Wishes and deals were magic, and magic was steadfast and always. Nothing can stop it – not even the King.

Their human blood turned to goblin. And goblin-blood took more than it gave; changelings were proof of that. They lose their humanity and something else. Sometimes it’s their talent, or their wits, or their will, or themselves entirely. Some maintained their human-touch, and some shriveled into the very winged, yellow eyed creatures they were trying to conquer. A shadow of themselves and utterly lost.

Hyunjin had at first tried to take care of his Changelings – his father had before him, before he lost everything he had – but it was frustratingly boring. Some whined; some lost their minds. Most were sent off into the castle or the city. Some wandered off. Hyunjin let them most times. After all, he had gotten what he had wanted. Like a spoilt kingling.

There were few Challenges in this day and age. Most of his Changelings were eras old by now.

Hyunjin remembered how his father was overlooking a Challenge every other 13 hours it felt. The older man smiling fondly at the goblins about him. Tending to his changelings with the fondness of a father. He knew their names – given and chosen.

Hyunjin could count those he knew the chosen name of on one hand.

Given names were a different story. Given names were something one kept close to their chest. Hyunjin loved to know given names. He loved having the upper-hand.

Which of course is why his throne room was a circus to the court.

He loved knowing things that happen in his land and what better way to learn that by listening. Listen and give those food and mead and other pleasantries. His goblin-blooded folk were simple. The room a cacophony of noise as they scurried about, chittering and chattering and clanging. Maid-folk and servants rushed to try to clean the mess the goblins left behind. There were few fae-folk of human glamour that were more tamed, lounging beside the open-windows of the tower as if they could spot the Runner. Gossiping at how this one hadn’t given up yet.

Interesting. Intriguing. Insulting.

Hyunjin huffed as his gaze flickered from the clock to the court ladies by the window and back again.

“Can you spot her?” The voice sounded like the garble of a river’s brook, crackling and clinking like rushing currents against river-rocks.

“No, no. Can you?” Another voice - squeaky like a mouse in a field.

“Not quite. I’ve heard something from a guard though.” A third - deep like a fire pit’s roar.

His gaze flickered back to the clock. The clock ticked one second forward, and yet it had felt like five minutes. His fingers tapped against his scepter.

The Runner was taking forever.

It almost humored him. Impatience. Time hadn’t mattered before – but as she stumbled through the Labyrinth’s Outer Rim, he was struck with the realization that she was progressing quicker than any other.

“You won’t believe it, but Han helped her – I heard it from a guard. A fallen pixie tattled for aid.”

Hyunjin’s ears perked at the mention of that.

“Luella! Don’t let the King hear you say his name.” The river-brook voice garbled with a giggle.

“Oh, Han.” The mouse-like fae squeaked with a giggle and swooned into her cohorts. “I miss him.”

Chortles of giggles escaped the trio, their glamours shuddering and revealing their true forms – flickering of flames, moving mist, and, frightening enough, a collection of writhing mice making up a body.

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched as he slung his leg down from his throne’s curved armrest to put his arms on his knees and stare at the clock, harder.

Of course, Han had to have helped her. He’s always getting into his private business. His foot tip-tapped against the tiled floor.

9 hours and 58 minutes. 9 hours and 57 minutes.

She will be his and his alone.

The Runner kept running onwards. Stopping every so often to scratch her directions into the rock work. It felt like she was making progress. Until she paused as she turned a corner. There was a branch that looked a bit too familiar. The curl of it looked like a skeleton hand pointing her away.

Biting her lip, she looked back the way she came only to spot something unusual. The stone she had tagged with her rock was bare of any marking.

“What?” she breathed as she rushed over to it once more. Her hand reached out to rub at the stone – right where she had scratched into it – to feel unblemished stone.

She marked it again, scratching deep into the rock, and watched it with a stoney look. It stayed like any mark should.

Weird.

She looked back in the direction she was headed and when she looked back down, the stone was clear.

“Dammit,” she cursed out, rising from her crouch and tossing her rock aside with a clatter. “That’s not fair!”

“That’s not fair,” the wind mocked; the King’s voice laughed.

She glared up at the cavern sky of candles before stomping off in another direction only to run into a dead end; a large grassy hedge blocking her path.

“This isn’t a fair fight – what’s fair about moving the Labyrinth?’ she gritted out as she turned her back to the hedge to stomp off another way.

“That’s right! It’s not fair!” a voice chimed out.

Now, that wasn’t the King’s voice. Its voice was higher, almost windshield-wiper squeaky as it giggled.

Her head whipped around to see, not a wall of greenery, but two knights guarding grand oxidizing- copper doors, crawling with ivy. They looked very different from anyone she had met yet. Not the worn look of the fae from outside the Labyrinth nor the soft sheltered attire Soobin wore. No, they both were knights that was certain.

They were both tall but one felt larger; mostly, due to the large armor he wore. It was a copper-like metal, flickering orange in the candlelight high above them. Shoulders, chest, neck, legs, everything had the suit of armor in place as if he was ready to go into a fight here and now (except for the fact it too looked rusty like the blue-orange doors they guarded.) How long must he have worn it to become rusted like that? His head, however, was bare of a shielded helmet and, instead, revealed a red-headed sweet-faced man with a heart-shaped smile.

The other knight was much more relaxed, wearing sparse leathered armor over a deep navy-blue velvet button-up and dark slacks. His hair was a dark coal color, swept to one side. He had lips that were a pouted strawberry color and a hyena laugh in his throat.

The red head was ready at attention while the coal-haired man was slouching against his doorway’s arch spinning his sword casually in his hand.

“Oh, hello!” she sputtered at the two strangers.

“Hello, hello!” The redhead greeted as he stood at attention. He smiled at her still, heart-shaped kind.

“You’re here!” The other awed. “Finally!”

“Finally?” she queried.

“I mean, we’ve heard you’ve been here and knew you’d end up here.” One said.

“It’s so nice to meet a real human for the first time,” the other cheesed.

“It isn’t the first time, Jin,” the heavily-armored one claimed with a pursed lip.

“Yes, it is, Hobi,” Jin retorted, as if offended by the others words.

“No, it isn’t,” Hobi replied.

Then, the bickering continued, back and forth. Back and forth. It made Y/N’s head pound. Her eyes shut as she looked about a bit lost with what to do. Behind her was a new dead end, made of cobblestone wall rather than green hedge-work.

God, this place kept changing it’d give her a headache… if Hobi and Jin didn’t first.

“Where is here? It was a dead-end just a moment ago,” she countered. “I need to get to the Castle; is this the way?”

“Oh, this is the checkpoint to the next point of your journey,” Hobi beamed. “The only way to get out of here is to try one of these doors!”

“One of them leads to the castle at the center of the Labyrinth, and the other leads to certain death,” Jin revealed, leaning against the opposing archway of his door.

“Bum-bum-bum-bah!” he dramatized, with a wiggle of his fingers in her direction.

Hobi giggled sweetly. It was almost endearing as if they were some middle-aged married couple with their bickering and yet… they seemed to enjoy each other’s presence.

One must learn to like the person they’re stuck with if there are no others around them.

“So… which is which? You must know,” Y/N prompted.

“We can’t tell you,” Hobi said with a frown. “And we don’t really know why we can’t either.” His pout was gentle and child-like.

“It’s the rules,” Jin reminded.

“You can only ask one of us a question regarding the doors,” Hobi added.

“That’s part of the rules, too,” Jin commented. “One of us always tell the truth and one of us always lies. That’s a rule too.”

His blue eyes flashed to meet hers as he raised a hand up in a mock-whisper. “He always lies.”

“I do not!” Hobi exclaimed; there was a clank of metal against metal as he jumped in offense. His orange eyes flashed to meet hers, almost panicky to prove himself.

“I tell the truth!” he insisted.

“Oh, what a liar,” Jin cooed, reaching a hand to pinch Hobi’s cheek.

It quickly made Hobi giggle lightheartedly as if he wasn’t just called a liar again. Their relationship was odd, bubbly, and cranky yet fond and casual. It was distracting.

“One question,” she hummed as she looked between the two of them.

Jin nodded slowly as he shifted to stand tall in front of his door. A brow raised.

Okay. . . how would she figure this out? She only had one chance. How should she phrase it? She can’t just ask them if their door would be safe? Because they could lie. But—

Y/N smiled.

“Would he,” she pointed to Jin, as she spoke to Hobi,” tell me that your door leads to the castle?”

Hobi’s lips pressed together as he looked at Jin and then her, over and over. It was almost comical if she wasn’t waiting for the answer.

“Yes?” he murmured after a moment. It sounded more like a question than an answer.

“So, your door is certain death,” she said, “and his leads to the castle.”

Y/N beamed brightly.

Hobi looked towards Jin who shrugged in agreement.

“But—he could be telling the truth?” Hobi countered.

“But, he wouldn’t be. So, if you told me he’d say yes, I know the answer is no.”

“But, I could be telling the truth,” Hobi pleaded.

“But then he would be lying, so if you told me he would say yes, the answer is still no!”

A blink, blink, blink from Hobi before he turned to Jin with wide fire eyes.

“Is that right?” he whispered as if she wasn’t there, and, to be honest, she giggled a bit. Because she knew this had to be the right answer – it had to be.

“I don’t know; I never really got the rules,” Jin replied casually before the two of them started to giggle.

The three of them were giggling; it was a bit odd but she realized everything here was a bit odd.

“I think it’s right, really I do,” she commented. “There’s no other way it wouldn’t be… I think I’m getting smarter with this place.” Y/N approached Jin and he scooted out of the way with grandiose.

He bowed to her as she opened the door.

“Thank you, Jin… Hobi – I mean, you were actually really nice!” she complimented as she breached through the door way.

A huff let her as she felt her shoulders lighten from stress. She did it. She took a few more steps into the passageway, the light growing dimmer as Jin began to shut the door.

“It’s a piece of cake,” she breathed with a grin.

Before, she fell through the floor violently with a scream.

Not many people experience free-falling. Sure, tripping or stumbling was common-place. Even jumping into a pool might excite. But it was all controlled. All small distances. All happening with an end in sight.

The Runner was falling straight down into a dark pit that felt endless.

The feeling of surprise hadn’t faded, still bubbling in her stomach like she had cracked open a soda can. Her heart was in her throat as she screeched out. Hands above her head trying to grasp onto something hopelessly.

But she was falling too fast.

“Help!” She screamed. “Please!”

The fall felt infinite, empty, frighteningly so until it felt like things were brushing over her skin. Branches? Rocks? Overgrown damp fungus? She couldn’t tell as she scratched out with her hands

“Help?” she swore she heard a feminine voice chime.

“Help!” Y/N screeched again. “Please.”

Before with a jolt, she was caught. Air knocked out of her and a pain radiated where she had been caught – her arm. Something held first her wrist but then she felt hands on her waist, her shoulders, her legs. Hands everywhere wrapping around her limbs, some squeezing them tightly, others trailing damp-fingers up and down her skin.

She couldn’t help the scream that tore from her throat, raw. Jumping in the hands embrace.

“Stop it,” she whimpered out as she felt more hands crawling, crawling, crawling.

One poked her ear and it made her jolt away. Her head looked up as if she could see where she fell from.

“Help!” she yelled. Maybe Jin or Hobi would come help. They were knights; knights help, right?

Another hand crept to squeeze at her throat, almost curiously, only stopping when she wheezed. The hand wrapped around her wrist tugged her upwards, another hand tugged her another way. She felt like a ragdoll amongst angry toddlers

“Hey, hey, hey,” she heard a masculine voice mutter. “We are helping. Helping Hands.”

In the dim almost grey light, she some of the hands form … figures. Faces of different shapes made of fingers and thumbs and palms. Horrific in the darkness. Something mussed her hair, twisting it into knots around chubby fingers.

“You’re hurting,” she mumbled, as a sickly pale hand cupped her cheeks and squeezed them.

“Would you like us to let go?” the voice was now a deep mumble of a thing, and she felt some of the hands release her on command. The pressure on her held wrists ached as gravity took hold and pulled her downwards. Her shoulders felt like they were popping out of their sockets.

“No!” she screeched, fingers outstretching to grasp onto a corpse-cold hand.

The hands returned with eagerness. Nails scratching at bare skin, fingers prodding at her waist. A thumb dragged over her ankle. Some fingers combed through her hair like she was a doll.

“I want a body,” she heard a voice murmured quietly.

She couldn’t help but cringe away by some of the cold limbs.

“Which way would you like to go?” she could see a shadowy amalgamation hand-like face speak, the lips fingers and its makeshift eyes two pairs of palms.

“Up or down?” a squeaky voice screeched, almost like it was a poorly oiled door hinge.

“Pick one! Pick one!” that voice sounded childish.

“It’s a big decision for her, hush,” a motherly tone chided.

“Which way do you want to go?” A more urgent voice pushed. A hand tugged her hair and she yelped.

“Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way?”

It was almost hypnotic, how the different voices layered together as they chanted the words urgently. How many people – hands? – were there?

“I, uh,” she blinked as she looked down into darkness and then upwards which showed the same thing. “I guess down? If that was where I was headed?”

“Down?” a voice cooed.

“She chose down!” Another boomed with a jovial cackle.

Laughter that sounded less than nice and coos of ‘poor thing’ crowed out around her as she felt her body shift and move as the hands tugged and pulled her downwards before.

“Down, the Runner goes!”

“Wait,” she tried to stop, before all of the crawling wriggling fingers disappeared, and she was falling again.

“No, no, was that wrong?” she cried out as she continued falling, the sounds of the Helping Hands laughter crowing, growing distant.

Violently, she finally hit the ground. Her knees and legs took the brunt of the fall, aching painfully as she let out a cry. The floor was of dirt and grime, and she coughed as a plume of dust surrounded her.

Lifting herself up onto her knees, she looked around. Darkness was all about her but, suddenly, a light shined high above her as a lid over the hole where she came from with a secure snap.

Sealing her wherever she was, deep below the Labyrinth.

Y/N couldn’t help but sag as adrenaline left her in a huff.

His crystal orb – larger than that of the one he showed Y/N in her bedroom – showed not the Goblin King’s dreams, but his reality. His entire kingdom’s reality. And it showed her. Sitting in the dark of an oubliette after falling down, down, down. His eyes looked closer at her face. What a beautiful face – frustration written clear on her features as she rubbed her knees that were certainly bruised after such a fall.

Hyunjin frowned.

“She shouldn’t have been this far along.” He muttered out, glaring at his Labyrinth-Runner.

He had to admit she was clever – far more clever than he first thought. After all, he thought she’d give up –a life devoted to him was not horrible (so he thought). But the scrambling of goblin-feet about the castle, servants of goblin-blood and changelings from failed runs revealed the truth. The High Fae of the Underground, the royal line, were not of softness. They took and took and took. And he wanted her.

Licking the corner of his lip, he stood from his throne, kicking one leg off the arm-rest to stand.

“Someone must be reminded of their place.” The King muttered, grabbing his staff with ease. “An old friend.”

There was a giggle about as the goblins who were lazing about – the favorites – chuckled at their king’s words.

They knew exactly who he was speaking of.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #skz imagines #hyunjin imagines #skz fantasy au #written by haley

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15-lizards · 6 months

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mrs. reed i have an important question pls. or two actually. it's for fanfiction purposes and also i am obsessed with ur fashion and hair headcanons and regularly check the tag for updates.

how would a fem!selmy character dress ? also important note she spends a lot of time in braavos.

how would a fem!halfdornish half volantene character dress? she also grew up enslaved so not a big fan of red priests OR volantis.

how would a fem!house strong character dress? it's viserys' court in the late (rotting corpse) stages and she's very ambitious. thankyyy

it's very specific but maybe a challenge considering? idk i love your headcanons and want to know your thoughts but feel free to totally and completely ignore/generalize more :))))

Let me read ur fic!!

Selmy girls, to me, dress very down-to-earth casually, with a preference for golden yellow colors. The top gown she might wear in Westeros, plain and long sleeves gowns that may or may not be fitted to her, depending on whether she has a surcoat/overgown on as well. The left is a mash of Pentos/Stormlands she can wear in either place. It has the cut of an average gown she might wear in Westeros, but the overcoat, the belt, the headpiece, and patterns are inspired from her time in the Pentoshi ports. The right is a full-Pentoshi gown (shout out to the Chechen culture for his one) with a simple cut and silky fabric to wick away sweat. Metal jewelry and accessories like belts and brooches hand crafted by Essosi artisans, and of course a loose veil/scarf/head wrap to protect her head from the sun

For your dornish-volantene girl, she might scorn all finery from or that reminds her of Volantis. She wears long strips of light cloth wrapped around to make a loose skirt or pants, and another bolt to create a wrapped top of some kind, and that’s it. Nothing heavy or golden, just something that can give her ease of movement and also not remind her of her enslavers. If she was ever in Dorne, she most likely would adopt that style of clothing, especially on the coasts or in the sands, where there is far less shade than in Volantis. Simple, square cut gowns of cotton that are decorated by incredibly detailed embroidery and other types of patterns. Again, a veil or headscarf is useful in Dorne, but some situations may require full facial coverage from the sun

Unnamed Strong sister my beloved. Bringing her to court while she’s still a young girl, she is dressed as the innocent she is. White gowns with colorful borders and flowery patterns, short puffed sleeves, ringlet curled hair, and a lace neckline high enough to be considered appropriate for a young girl. As she grows up, she starts wearing finer gowns (perhaps from Rhaenyra’s closet), soft silk with gilded lining, neckline pushed down low enough to get a courtiers attention. Once she’s a grown woman, she is far more comfortable, wearing Targaryen colors to symbolize her favor with the crown (or green, depending on which side she’s on). Off the shoulder necklines and flatter sleeves symbolize that she is a woman now, not a child. Many layered gowns with cloth of gold underskirts show off her new wealth.

#asoiaf #asoiaf hair and clothing #justice for the unnamed daughters of Harwin Strong #should’ve been Rhaenyra’s ladies this is highway robbery

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 7 months

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Hi there! Can I request Arthur Dayne x reader!AFAB for kinktober with the age difference prompt please? Thank you!

I am still stunned by this. Thank you for giving me such a character to write about!

“The Black Swan”

Pairing: Arthur Dayne x Fem. Reader (second person) | Location: Street of Silk

Themes: Smut (Lemon/Graphic) | Secret romance

Word count: 1.8k words

Summary: Arthur makes the most of his time alone with his companion, and in one of the only places safe enough for him to do so.

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

A/n: From what I could find, Arthur was born during or 260 AC. Given that this is an age difference post, I decided to go with him being born somewhere during or just after 240 AC. The reader in this scenario is 21+. This story takes places sometime during 280 AC.

Arthur was a sworn brother of the King’s Guard. He pledged a solemn vow to take no wife and father no children after he donned the white. He had honored those vows for most of his years of service, and that was nigh on eighteen years ago, when his father finally agreed to release him from his duties toward his family.

All that changed as the years and time serving Aerys took their collective toll on him. When Arthur kneeled before the High Septon, he had been a man of two and twenty, full of dreams of honor and service and glory. Now Arthur was a man nearing forty, disillusioned with his lot in life and tired of a king that drank deep the poison that plagued many of his forebearers.

He kept his head down and pulled up a thick hood while he walked down the Street of Silk, garbed in rough-spun robes. No one dared to look at him. Everyone else was too occupied with their own business to even care. Arthur threaded his way around peasants and merchants and sailors, taking care not to reveal too much of himself and make himself known. Someone tugged on the hem of his cloak. It was a beggar woman, dressed in rags. He obliged her with a few stars, refusing to linger more than was necessary. Arthur walked on, keeping to narrow pathways and filthy alleys, not stopping until a familiar, well-paved street scented with jasmines and awash in red and gold light came into sight.

His eyes lit up. The gilded lamps of the Black Swan appeared at the far end of the Street of Silk, its garden full of old trees. It was the only place one could find trees outside of the Red Keep, and its night-blooming blossoms were a welcome sight to the knight.

It was also the only place he found pleasing and safe enough for his trysts. Arthur had heard the gossip about how others at court would bring their paramours here, how some of his sworn brothers came here. Arthur understood the appeal. The Black Swan was the only proper trysting house on the Street of Silk for those who were high-born. Its rooms were airy and warm, its wine delicate and fine, and its proprietress and the servants in her employ were considerate and discrete. And those, such as the knights of the King’s Guard, demanded discretion.

Arthur squirmed in discomfort. What he and his brothers-in-arms were doing was wrong. It went against their vows and against the teachings of the Seven who were One. They were damning themselves in many ways by coming here. Still, the chance to indulge in the sweetness that came to him in life was rare. Arthur did not want to let such precious occasions slip by.

“My lord,” Helya lifted her head when large doors swung open, and caught sight of a familiar pair of scuffed-up boots. The mistress of the house went no further than a cursory title. Anything more would be dangerous, not just for her patron but for her and her place of business. “Your lady arrived just before you did. I have set aside a room for your particular use.”

Arthur kept his gaze down and his hood up. He slipped a heavy bag of coin into soft, perfumed hands. “How is she?”

“Uneasy,” Helya admitted, leading him down a dimly lit corridor filled with the smoke of lavender incense. “I hope you understand why, what with all these tales around our king.”

“I do.” Arthur turned to his left and peered down another dark corridor. Was that Oswell’s deep, smug laugh he heard? He prayed that it was not so. One knight of the King’s Guard vanishing into the night, only to appear hours later, could be dismissed easily with a well-crafted tale. Two or more, on the other hand, could not. And then they would all have to answer to both King and the Council.

“You are the only one present this night,” Helya reassured him. “The others are not here.”

Relief, no matter how small, was relief all the same. Arthur nodded and urged Helya to lead him on, his blood heating when muffled moans and gasps and cries spilled out of locked rooms. When they came upon a wide, wooden door, Helya gave him a brass key, made her excuses, and left. Arthur wasted no time, pushing the door open and locking it behind him without another thought. He turned around, sighing softly, when a cooling sea breeze blew in through an open window. The flames of nearby candles flickered and danced, throwing strange shadows onto sandy brick walls.

“Are you here, sweetling?” Arthur removed his hood and hung it on a wooden peg on the back of the door. He slipped out of his boots, already giddy with silent but eager anticipation.

“I am here, Ser,” you reply, and step out of the shadows, clad in the silken wisps Arthur had once gave as a gift.

Impatient as he was, Arthur did not wish to hurry—not for a long while at least. He strode over and took your hand, leading you to a nearby seat made especially for two. As soft and comfortable as that seat was, it was not big enough for him, for Arthur was tall and large and imposing.

Tonight, his often stern eyes were full of sadness. You reached out and caressed his cheek. “What troubles you, Ser?”

“The same as always, sweetling.” Arthur closed his eyes, his mood souring. “The king. The choices I made before coming to this city. I hope you do not take offense to my not speaking further about such matters. I do not wish to soil my time with you by regaling you with tales of woe.”

“I understand. Were you seen, Ser?”

“No. And how many times must I ask you not to call me Ser, at least while we are beneath this roof?”

You smiled broadly. “One more time, Ser. As always. “

Arthur’s smile, a rare sight on most occasions, mirrored yours. Then he leaned in.

His kiss was sweet and languid and patient—a far cry from the wet, messy kisses you had become accustomed to. But then again, such was to be expected of him. Arthur curled a finger under your chin, tilting it to the side before dipping his head, the still brown stubble along his cheeks grazing your skin. The shiver that greeted Arthur made him tremble, filled him with an all-too-common craving that demanded to be satisfied. He drew back, slipped his arms around you, and lifted you up.

The featherbed was soft, and its sheets were made of the finest silk. That was another thing that made the Black Swan special: how Helya spared no expense when turning the abandoned manse of a now-dead merchant into a little haven for those who desired it.

And Arthur was grateful that Oswell spoke to him about its existence.

“Lay back, sweetling,” he surged, impatient to disrobe himself. You move higher up the bed, your cheeks blazing when rough-spun robes are disposed of, and a finely formed body littered with old scars is exposed to dim light. Arthur caught your eyes darting away and chuckled to himself.

“Do not hide yourself from me,” he implored. “We have come to mean too much to each other for that.”

The featherbed sank as you turned to face him, the haunting lilac eyes that were like hooks for the soul, and the skin that reminded you of the golden sands of Dorne. Arthur cupped your cheek again, his thumb tracing a lazy line. The world outside went silent. Or, perhaps, it was just him and you ignoring everything else. He pulled you close, his arms strong but exceedingly gentle. His skin smelled of leather and sweat. It was a knight’s scent. One deep breath was all it took, and you were already under his spell. Arthur pushed you onto your back, closing his eyes when your mouth opened beneath his. He pulled your wisps off you, his hands still warm to the touch.

Kissed by the summer sun, you mused. Just like the rest of him.

His hands glided all over now, leaving no inch untouched. A finger slid up inside you, sheathing itself in your warmth. Your arms slipped around his back and pulled him closer. Arthur found himself being urged to go deeper. He groaned delightfully in response.

“Temptress,” he whispered in your ear and dipped his head, moving even lower, eager to taste.

You moaned, long, deep, and husky. The heat of his mouth and the softness of the tongue pressing broad strokes over your folds, gave way to new pleasure and fed his own. You bowed up, arched your hips, half-whispering words that would have made you blush in the bright light of day. Arthur chuckled faintly. It was another rare thing, and more than that, it was one that was for your ears alone. He dipped his head again, now fucking you with the flat of his tongue, now slipping a thick finger into your cunt, now shifting to that sinful tongue of his again, on and on until his lips and tongue and chin were soaked. You murmured, so close were you to peaking. Arthur stopped and climbed up. The legs that wrapped around his hips were all the invitation he needed to plunge hard and plunge deep.

He never fumbled—not even once—nothing like wet behind the ears lordling who was your first. Then again, Lord Brynden was a selfish young man who had only ever thought of his pleasure, and never yours. Arthur was different. He wanted to give instead of just taking and taking with no care for anything else. Even now, it is the same. He kept his attention on you, his hands teasing and toying, his eyes flashing—now searing, now hungry, now dark. You reared up and kissed him, then pulled him down with you. Arthur clasped your hands in his and pinned them to the pillows. His grunts were low and ceaseless. They vibrated against your throat. His cock filled you in a way you could never conceive. It was extraordinary and startling at the same time. Your body hummed as if electrified. Something within tightened, then snapped. The orgasm that followed was quick and sharp, like a flash of golden light that blurred your eyes. Arthur drove into you again and again until he shattered, spilling himself after one last powerful thrust.

If I die on the morrow, he thought, it will be as a happy man.

Arthur opened his eyes, his chest still heaving from the exhilaration. Sounds trickled in through the windows and the crack beneath the door. Waves crashed against the cliffs. A storm was approaching. There was music too, though nowhere as loud. Someone was strumming a viol. Another was singing. Two of the servants, no doubt, entertaining those enjoying cups of wine. Arthur took a deep, steadying breath, and slowly rose to his shaky knees. He helped you into your robe, then bent down to kiss you, teasing you with promises of more to come.

“Stay just as you are, sweetling,” he said, his smile warming his eyes. “I will send for a meal and some wine.”

#arthur dayne #arthur dayne imagine #arthur dayne x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader insert request #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #arthur dayne smut

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redrydersrequiem · 4 months

Text

The Raven and the vampire

Chapter 1

This is a twilight and marvel mashup, the daughter of loki finds her soulmate in jasper Cullen and the twists and turns it will take them both

Note this is my first fanfic ever please be nice. I’m trying I constantly reread and change/fix these. As of 1/25/24 i've redone this story it is no longer a reader insert. I want to thank everyone who liked the original and hope you like the updated version more, this was my first ever fic and i've slowly grown as a writer so everyone enjoy

It begins like every other day on Asgard, sunny and golden, gilded with light, as the sounds of a baby’s wails break the silence of the healing wing. Loki paces back and forth, waiting to be with his wife and newborn. The doors swing open and an attendant comes forward.

“You may enter your highness, your wife and child are all cleaned up and waiting for you”. Brushing past the attendant, Loki heads straight for the figure sitting up against the backboard of the green silk bed.

“My darling, how are you? How do you feel? Do you need anything? Are you hung/…’..

“/Loki, calm down. I'm perfectly fine. A little tired but it was all worth it to finally meet our daughter.”

“it’s a girl”

“Yes ,my son , she is a beautiful baby princess and here she is ready to meet her parents .”

Walking to the new parents with a bundle of green and gold cloth in her hands, Frigga handed the new princess to her mother. The baby was a light blue theraise markings prominent on her body, tuffs of deep black hair crowned her head Asher scarlet eyes opened to take in her parents. Lady Sigyn didn't even pause at the baby’s coloring, long since having broken Loki of thinking himself a monster due to his heritage

“She is half Jotun like we expected but her body should adjust to the environment soon just as her father did” queen Frigga states noticing her son had yet to say anything. Loki just stared at his daughter's small form resting in his beloved's arms, slowly offering his finger to the babygirl. Skin turning blue as the bay gripped it in her small hands

“She’s beautiful”,

“Yes, she is! oh Loki look,”

The new parents watched as scarlet eyes gave way to white with beautiful amethyst irises, skin turning a beautiful pale like her fathers with a dashing of freckles like her mother

“She looks just like you, my prince, beautiful dark hair and all.”

“She looks. Like the both of us, a perfect blend. My little Raven, Elara frigga Lokidottir Princess of Asgard.”

800 years have passed and the young princess has grown into a young woman of grace and beauty. A mage like her father and grandmother before her, and warrior in her own right. I mean, how could she not? With private training form an actual Valkyrie, and the literal goddess of war and god of thunder (god of sparkles lol) as her aunt and uncle. In all her time though, she has grown up around love,seeing it in her parents' faces as they look at one another. In her baby brother's eyes as they babble up at her, Her grandparents and uncle and so many others, that she was ready to find it herself.

“Mother, father, I've done it.” Elara omimites as she bursts into her parents sitting room. Sigyn was sitting on the floor with the twins as they had tummy time while Loki was next to her legs crossed at the ankle reading a book to the two of them.

`What is that my little raven?”

“ Father, I've completed the spell to find my soulmate.”

“Soulmate? Spell? Darling what are you talking about, you're still so young you shouldn’t have to be so worried about that.”

“Mother you and father were only 200 years older than me when you both finally married and much younger than that the first time you met and started cavorting with each other. Besides, I'm ready. I want to have what all of you have, especially before I'm used as a pawn to help diplomatic affairs, I want to find my other half.”

“My little raven, we would never allow the allfather or anyone else to use you as a pawn. Besides i second your thoughts”.

“Loki why am i not surprised you are some howenvloved with our daughter trying to leave

“Dear, it will all be fine trust me I would do nothing that would harm our little raven” he kisses his wife soothing her while gesturing to elara to carry on with her proclamation ,

“go ahead love tell us what you’ve discovered”

“ Mother?” Sigyn pinches her mouth looking between her mischievous husband and equally energetic eldest

“Fine, I will go along with you and your fathers plans but i wish to be there when the spell is cast and part of the travel discussions”

“Absolutely mother, I can do the spell now, i just need the maps of the realms”

Loki summons all the maps he's collected over the years including a globe of earth and sets them up for his daughter, when a thought finally occurs to him.

“Odin forbid this adventure, send you to Midgard.”

“Loki we will be supportive of whoever it ends up being and wherever it ends up taking her. Besides, if you didn’t want her to go away, you shouldn’t have helped her make the spell to begin with.”

“Your words cut deep my love. I simply hoped for her future match to be here in Asgard.”

“Of course you did, dear. Now sweetie, let's proceed with this event.”

The maps of the realms litter the giant green carpet. In front of you, setting the small golden bowl of which to concoct the spell in the middle of th wide green rugs.”

“So I modified a spell to find a lost item and a spell to show your hearts desire, combining the two with a very complicated magic circle I should be able to find my soulmate”,

“Very impressive little raven”

“Thank you father ok lets start. The purple magic flows from your fingers towards the bowl containing the two simple spells ingredients while your power spreads out forming the magic circle. As soon as it's complete a bright pulsing light shoots up. Dancing around Elara several times before shooting over to the maps.

“It's working!” Sigyn happily. Awes watching her daughter work.

Pulsing around the realms maps the light simply hoovers before shooting for the Midgardian globe encasing it insistently

“Oh joy of course my daughters soulmate is a Midgardian”

“Honestly, I think it serves you right Loki”, Sigyn states picking at her husband and his distaste for midgardians “but you don’t even know who or what this midgarden is. Who knows, they could be gifted like our dear Wanda”

“Yes my darling” Loki says as he collapses on the nearest couch.

“Well go on my little raven, let's see where in Midgard you will be visiting”

Walking over to the globe, Elara peers over to what small words have now been illuminated.

“It’s a place called….. Forks, Washington.”

#twilight fanfiction #jasper hale x y/n #twilight masterlist #the twilight saga #twilight x reader #last twlight the series #twilight x y/n #twilight #jasper cullen x you #jasper hale x you #jasper cullen #jasper hale x reader #lokis daughter #Loki x sigyn #uncle Thor

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thetravelingtyper · 7 months

Text

Midnight Dance

A Teaser Part from my Labyrinth fic! Enjoy!

FULL FIC HERE!

Amongst a dreamy dance, you find a steady partner...

Inspired by Shake It Out by Florence + The Machine!

You awoke once again in a dream. Like the last night, you were fully aware and conscious, and yet, you looked around, there was no breeze nor the sound of an abyssal sea. Instead, echos of vibrant and silvery conversations faded down a grand hallway. You gaze around and are struck by the grandeur of the room. Marble columns run along the sides of a gilded hall. Your eyes trace up one and are caught in the ceiling. Mosaics and frescos depicting fairy tale-like scenes stretch above. They flicker and move in the firelight of chandeliers, yet there is no trace of smoke and the flames burn occasionally blue. You then notice a weight over your eyes as the feeling of velvet materializes on your face. You run your hands up and find a glazed mask. Startled, you reach behind and untie it. It comes loose without a fuss and you find a beauty staring back at you with a glimmer of gold. A half-face mask sat heavy in your hands and you ran a delicate finger over its surface. It was made to cover the nose and up and had eye holes that seemed made specifically for you.

You turned it in your hands. The mask itself felt like it was made of porcelain, and its back was a rich ruby velvet. You flip it back over. The mask was a rich midnight blue layered over a white bottom layer. On it are inlaid golden set swirls that blossomed out from the edge of the mask and the eye holes. You tilted the mask in the light and the surface shines like a gem as there was a clear layer of crazing leaving a subtle crackle. The mask was meant to be secured to your face with two long ribbons made of fine silk. Your mask was beautiful and you notice your reflection in the solid tile underneath you. A darker reflection than a mirror, the image showed you in dark finery. Fine pants flowed down your legs, a waterfall of silver twisted in the lights. Loosely gathered sleeves hung close to your wrists and the dark blue shirt tucked into the black pants. And a firm but comfortable corset guarded your waist and most of your abdomen. It was midnight blue that matched the mask and had deep maroon flowers stitched in. The flowers were connected with deep emerald leaves and silver vines. You admire yourself in the reflection, steady in the dress shoes on your feet. You give it a spin with a fluttering heart, smiling to yourself as the billows of your shirt flow.

You then look back to the mask, confused but curious. You pull it over your eyes and tie it firmly, completing the outfit. As you look back up you catch the beginnings of music, the melodic sound sweeps down the hall, and the song first mingles then drowns out the gentle tug of conversation. You look down the end of the hall, where the sound is coming from, and find a corner before a solid wall decorated with glazed frescos. You look behind you. The hallway stretches on for a while before hitting a perceivable dead end.

“Well, I can’t go that way.” You straighten yourself and stride forward. As you walk steadily you begin to notice fine furniture. Ornate tables, with delightful little designs held atop them assorted platters filled with fruit. You paused for a moment to look. Most of the fruit you could recognize but other strange and beautiful shapes were mixed in. While interested, you found yourself quite satiated feeling so you waved off the food and continue. At the end wall, you found a chaise lounge, a sturdy yet delicate fixture of dark mahogany with plush lining. It looked ready for some Victorian maiden to cast herself upon in a love-dazed faint. The temptation turns out to be too much and you take a seat. You are pleased with it then stand up, fluff up the pillow and reset the decor. You turn the corner and continue.

The walk continues for a while longer, one continuous hallway sprawling before you. You pass more and more signs of inhabitation, other couches against the wall, pitchers with honeyed wine, the ruby-colored ambrosia giving off a delightful aroma. As you passed further into this place the music grew louder and louder, then at an approaching corner, the candlelight was out. You stop at the edge of shadow and peer around the corner, a solid sliver of light and sound stumbles out of a cracked set of grand doors.

Anticipation built with a raise of strings, within the room sat your hidden music. You were enchanted by the sound of it but lingered in the candlelight. You ran a finger down the smooth glazing of the mask, its cool velvet soft and comforting against your face. You nod to yourself and pass into the shadow of the shortened hall. At your entrance the music softens in expectation, you paused before curiosity insisted you continue. Approaching the grand doors you firmly grasp a bronze handle and push.

Dazzling grandeur hit you, a sweep of music, strings plucked and singing and the swirls of invisibly sourced firelight. Before you, down a dark wood staircase lay a wide ballroom. Silken fabric hung the room in a sparkling sky and lights emanated from above. Other exquisitely dressed and masked couples danced to the music, they paid you little mind. The music came from an equally masked orchestra that played with ebony and golden instruments. Your eyes caught the shape of the harpist in particular because of the size of the harp itself. In the lights, the strings glistened as gossamer threads bowed with ornate gold. He played the music masterfully fully foxed mask tilted towards the ground, he was enthralled with the instrument.

You approached and the musicians kept their eyes on their instruments. You crept down the stairs and kept to the edges of the room, trying your best to not disturb the dancers. Yet even in the occasional flash of lights across your form, no one looked at you. You reached the edge of the stage but did not step up, and as if sensing your approach the harpist behind his mask looked up and peered at you. You stopped and looked back at him, his eyes weren’t exactly human. A soft yellow peered back at you and the fox mask tilted regarding you.

Moments passed, and the harpist continued to play as he observed. His head then turned revealing dark skin that passed under his garments. Dark hair concealed pointed ears, you watched eyes widening at the realization. He turned back to you, the orange of his foxen face blending into his eyes, then he nodded, then in a directive action tilted his head towards the other far corner of the room.

Your eyes traced the path, feeling a sense of building anticipation. The stage here cut off the wall so you would have to pass into the spotlights and the ethereal dancers. You gulped, the anxiety of the crowd latching on to the pit of your stomach. He turns back to you, head tilting in consideration. Then he surprises you, the harpist pauses his song and stands from his stool. Gracefully spinning off, another player takes his place for the sleep song. He then passes behind the group and makes his way down the stairs to stand before you.

The creature before you looks breathed in shadows, his dark skin like obsidian. Under green livery his skin is beautiful. You look up at him and he dips into a bow. You decide to return it and as he rises his yellow eyes nod. He then offers a gloved hand. You consider it and tingling at your fingertips pulls your hand into his. Your stoic partner then guides you gently into the cusp of the dancing crowd.

As you reach the edge it is he who takes the first step. Your companion is cool, calm, and well-collected as he doesn’t exactly dance you through the crowd. It is more of a collection of twirls, as his hands remain respectively at your elbows, then occasionally at your shoulder blade when he spins behind you. You are more whisked through but you soon find some comfort in the continuous movement. As you travel you catch the occasional glint of golden and silver eyes behind flowered and butterfly masks. Most of these dancers have the sharp ears of your guide as well. You also marvel at their beauty. The beings look like they are carved from granite and obsidian. Some are as pale as the moon and others dark as night. The gowns and suits they wear glitter with captured starlight in the haze of fairy light. Occasionally, now that you are amongst them they acknowledge you with a nod before returning to their partners.

As you pass to the center of the room you begin to catch another figure. The dancers are a bit tighter here and your partner, feeling you tense, pulls you closer to keep from brushing too much against the others. You capture glimpses of blond hair amongst the masks. Then a spin, your partner begins to transition from swirls into dance and you find yourself naturally falling into step. You give an airy laugh, then a flicker of black in the corner of your eye. The music sweeps up like a bird, light and soulful.

You look up into the fox mask and the yellow eyes meet yours. You whisper a thank you as he pulls you in. You both swirl then he guides you out in a spin. You laugh and throw a careful arm out in pleasure, moving on your toes and he steps around you to catch you at the drop of your momentum. You almost bump into his chest but he grasps your outstretched arm he pulls you in safely. He stops for a moment in the swaying crowd, looking down at you while you catch your breath. His eyes twinkle and you send a small smile up to him.

When he senses you're ready he pulls your right arm to his shoulder and grasps your left hand. The movement brings you closer to his chest and the smell of the woods. The sent makes you sigh contented with the memories of deep woods hiking and summer camp. It is comforting and you relax against him while keeping a respectful distance. He begins you spin you through the crowd again, now while not straying too far from the center.

The music shifts now, more reminiscent of the night at twilight with the occasional sounds of bells. The pace in the room slows from the high waves of music, and the lighting above darkens more into a flicker. Your partner slows as well, sweeping you in an arc before, with a quick step forward, moving his hand to the small of your back and dipping you. The sashes of your mask lower and your eyes widen in surprise. You can see the synthesized stars behind the fabric sky of the ceiling. A flicker, then the lights brighten and you are steadily pulled up. His eyes twinkle in delight and the mask nods at you.

He spins you and in the blur of the room, blue passes closer amongst the dancers. Back into his chest, a surprising laugh bubbles again up and out of your chest. You felt light on your feet. His arms lift off of you and you twirl on your toes, moving with the building strum of the music. The mask seems to grin at you as he shifts back into a shadow, guiding and following without touch. He mirrors your lead and you take the initiative. You step forward and his mirrored foot falls back and you begin to dance.

Lights dazzle off gems inlaid in your corset and silver and gold dance in the shadows. Your arms pass up and then flow down and your body waves, caught in a spell. Masks become beautiful adornments as these beings become them, swans and butterflies living in eternal music. Dreams fuzz the air, but your mind remains clear and your soul sings in the dance. In one final song you and your fox spin and dance, not touching but echos. A sense of finality grows in the music when your partner grasps your hands as you reach. He turns down to you and nods and you return it. You begin your travels around the center of the floor in a spiral. You both sway together in calmer motions but your steps build, and with one final goodbye he raises your connected arms and sends you out in a twirl.

Your breath catches in your chest as you spin, the room blurring. You pull your arms in and then reach out to catch yourself. But instead of collision, strong arms catch you. Warmth tingles down your spine as your eyes catch sapphire blue stitched into midnight.

You were caught from your spin by a tall man. Your eyes went up to his and you were met with the obsidian crow mask and behind it sapphire and emerald eyes. Your eyes widened and your heart skips a beat, you know those eyes. They warmed at your recognition and he dipped his head in greeting. You raise a hand and he gently grasps it while his other went to the small of your back, he pulls on you gently with a suggestion and you fell into step with him in a slow dance. You brought your free hand to his shoulder.

You two danced for a minute, slow and steady while the music slowed to a crawl. Then a soft song began. You looked up at him again and sensing your eyes he met them.

“Hello.” You whisper the greeting shyly, eyes dropping to his mouth under the mask. You can see the scar of your owl on his face. His lip turns up in a smile and he nods...

FULL CHAPTER CONTINUES HERE

#fanfiction #sneak peek #jareth the goblin king #jareth x reader #labyrinth 1986 #gender neutral reader #florence and the machine

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degournay · 5 days

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Transform Your Space: Where to Buy Wallpaper in the UK

One of the main places to buy wallpaper in the UK is at specialist interior design stores. These stores often have a wide selection of wallpaper designs, from classic patterns to trendy prints. Our knowledgeable staff will provide advice and support, so you can easily navigate through our wide range of options to ensure you find the ideal wallpaper to match your home's aesthetic. For those who prefer the convenience of online shopping, many websites cater to your wallpaper needs. From big box stores to private sellers, there are plenty of options on the internet. Many online stores offer detailed product descriptions, customer reviews, and even virtual room visualizations, so you can imagine how different wallpapers will look in your room before you buy. . Additionally, when looking for wallpaper in the UK, don't ignore what hardware stores have to offer. These stores often stock a variety of wallpapers, ranging from budget options to high-end designer brands. In-store displays and samples allow you to see first-hand the texture, color and pattern of each wallpaper, allowing you to make an informed decision. Another option to consider is visiting a local wallpaper supplier or independent design boutique. These establishments may offer unique, hand-crafted wallpaper that you won't find anywhere else. By supporting local businesses, you not only have access to unique designs, but you also contribute to the economy and creativity of your community. In addition, do not forget about the possibility of individual wallpaper solutions. Many companies in the UK specialize in producing bespoke wallpaper to your specifications. Whether you want a custom pattern, color scheme, mural, or more, these professionals can bring your vision to life and give your home a truly unique and customized look. In summary, there are plenty of options when it comes to buying wallpaper in the UK. Whether you prefer the convenience of shopping in-store or browsing online, there are many options you can consider. By taking the time to research different retailers, consider your tastes, and explore different designs, you'll find the perfect wallpaper to enhance your living space and create a home that reflects your style and personality. I can. So why wait? Transform your space with the beauty and versatility of wallpaper today.

#wallpaper-design #white-gold-gilded-silk #wallpaper-home #luxury-wallpaper #wallpaper-desig-for-home #emerald-green-dyed-silk

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fashionsfromhistory · 2 years

Photo

Caroline Harrison’s Inaugural Gown

Ghormley, Robes et Manteaux

1889

Smithsonian Institute & Daughters of the American Revolution Museum

#fashion history #historical fashion #1880s #bustle era #gilded age #19th century #victorian #off white #gold #silk #1889 #united states #photography #art history #historical photography #smithsonian institution #DAR museum

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morelikeravenbore · 3 months

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imma be cheeky and ask for 3 and 4: what’s your favourite lines of narration and dialogue? 💚

Well hello there, small green gremlin, and what a wonderful trench coat you have on today!

Thanks for the question! I'm answering yours first because I thought it'd be the easiest. Plot twist: it was hard af (that's what she said.)

✨ Favourite narration. I loove writing prose. One of my biggest inspirations is L. M. Montgomery and the way every single paragraph she writes is just stunningly beautiful — not that I dare compare myself to a talent like hers, but bloody hell, nothing else inspires me quite like her work does.

I remember being stoked on this description of Hogsmeade when I first wrote it, and I don't cringe reading back on it so, that's a good sign, I guess.

Like everything in the Scottish Highlands, Hogsmeade village appeared to have grown right out of the earth itself, all mossy-greens and earthy-browns as if its architects had been garden gnomes and fairies. Rows of precariously leaning shopfronts lined the cobbled streets, their facades reaching toward the sky like twisted tree trunks, crooked and uneven. Aurélie would not have been surprised to learn that Hogsmeade hadn't been built at all, but grown from the soil up. Where she'd come from, everything had been pink, not green. Her home of Toulouse, whose magnificent terracotta buildings had given it the nickname La Ville Rose, was a far cry from the rugged wilds of Scotland. Though, much like Hogsmeade, Toulouse was a maze of narrow streets, there was nothing organic about the Pink City; everything within it had been meticulously crafted, a living fairytale, a refined work of art that glowed pink and gold whenever the sun set over its stunning facade. A rose quartz city, her mother used to call it. More starkly still, Beauxbatons had been clean and white, adorned with trimmings of gold and powder blues. Grand and imposing with its seven stories of gleaming alabaster marble, soaring windows and endlessly high ceilings, it had surely been built by angels, not garden gnomes. Taking in her surroundings, Aurélie was certain there were no Baroque carvings or gilded mirrors in the Highlands; no silk curtains or velvet sofas, no marble fireplaces or tapestries woven with unicorn hair, and surely when the sun set over the tiny magical village, there was not a shade of pink to be seen. And yet, for all its ramshackle structures and muddy roads, Hogsmeade was not without its charm; uneven and loud, yes - but alive. - How to Make a Villain, chapter 8.

✨Favourite dialogue. I freakin love writing dialogue nom nom nom, especially the flirty bickering between Sebastian and Aurélie. Its my favourite. I could write an entire book of nothing but these two pretending they're not into eachother. No plot, only banter.

Merlin, and here he was thinking that Anne had been the most exasperating girl he'd ever known. 'What rubbish!' she snapped, suddenly sounding very French again. 'You can't seriously believe that nonsense! I'm not going to turn into some soulless creature of darkness just because I want to keep my magic under control! What kind of ridiculous concept is that? What sort of Dark-Arts-loving nutjob wrote this book, anyway?' - Sebastian tried really, really hard not to laugh at this, - 'and why should I believe what's written in some crusty old book, anyway? You know what, just forget I told you anything about this whole stupid magic thing! I don't want to talk about this ever again! And don't you dare tell another living soul, Sebastian Sallow, or I swear -' 'Please,' he scoffed, 'who am I going to tell?' 'I don't know!' she burst out. 'All your girlfriends probably!' Sebastian choked. 'Girlfriends?' he spluttered. 'What girlfriends? You think I have girlfriends? Plural?' 'I don't know!' 'I don't even have one girlfriend, let alone several!' 'Well, you seem...' she gestured at him, visibly flustered, 'popular!' 'I'm not popular!' 'Well, I don't know, do I? I don't know anything about you, but you know all these secrets about me and I don't even know if you-' '-have a girlfriend?' 'No! I mean - that's not - I don't care if - that was just an example!' - How to Make a Villain, chapter 11.

OOP OKAY THIS WAS LONG. THANKS AGAIN FOR THE QUESTION. SORRY IF I WENT OVERBOARD LOL.

How to Make a Villain: wattpad | ao3

#morelikeravenbore writes #how to make a villain #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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phoenixrsing · 2 months

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your muses aesthetic. list your muse’s aesthetic from tastes, smells, outfits, and sceneries. add as many subjects as you like, it can help with people tagging you in aesthetically pleasing things towards your muse.

tastes: traditional fire-nation cuisine. spicy fire-flakes, roasted pork, and hot tea infused with jasmine. dragon fruit, lychee, and mangoes, grilled sea pawns. aged fire nation wines with complex flavors of oak and spice. fire nation whiskey, intense and smoky, with hints of charred oak, toasted spices, and a touch of volcanic ashroasted chestnuts. green tea ceremonies, delicate jasmine tea, and rare white dragon jasmine tea leaves—a specialty of his father. rare spices from trees that are native to fire nation, including cumin, saffron, and cardamom.

smells: a scent of smoldering cinnamon, cloves, and star anise in the air. jasmine blossoms, lotus flowers, and orchids from the royal gardens. the crisp scent of autumn leaves and the smoky aroma of fire pits. herbal notes. a hint of sage, lemongrass, and mint leaves in herbal teas. sandalwood incense burning in meditation rooms. crackling hearth fires in the royal palace.

sights: volcanic landscapes. volcanoes looming on the horizon, with smoke rising from their peaks. intense flames swirling, casting shadows against the red walls. royal palace. opulent halls decorated with gilded ornaments, tapestries depicting ancient fire nation legends, and imposing thrones. fire nation technology—advanced warships, steam-powered machinery, and towering factories billowing smoke. traditional fire nation dances—graceful movements accompanied by the flickering light of torches and lanterns. colorful celebrations featuring elaborate firework displays, traditional music, and performances. endless amount of war memorials. monuments honoring fallen soldiers of the fire nation, with eternal flames burning in their honor. regal crimson robes with intricate gold embroidery, adorned with the fire nation insignia. messages of propaganda, supremacy, and strength through firebending. a recruitment poster featuring a soldier, with the caption, join the fire nation army and defend our sacred land.

sounds: the rhythmic sound of flames dancing in fire pits and torches. trumpets heralding the arrival of fire nation royalty, accompanied by drums and cymbals. war drums—thunderous beats echoing across training grounds, inspiring troops before battle. lightning crackling in the foreground. melodic tunes played on traditional fire nation instruments, the pipa and guzheng. the chirping of fire nation birds, the rustling of palm trees, and the distant roar of waterfalls. war machinery—clanking gears, hissing steam, and the rumble of warships off the shorelines. moments of quiet contemplation, where the only sounds are the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle crackle of embers. practicing the dizi, traditional flute in between training sessions.

sensations: the comforting heat of firebending flames against the skin during training sessions. luxurious fire nation silks and satins, smooth against the touch. intense warmth radiating from the earth's core during visits to volcanic hot springs. humid, sea breezes brushing against the skin from the coastlines. tactile connection—a sensation of firebending energy pulsing beneath lu ten's fingertips, responding to his every movement and command. resilient spirit and unwavering determination. a deep sense of connection to the spirits of fire. commitment to serving the fire nation. isolationism, a loneliness you cannot shake. failure is not an option. reluctant heroism, internal struggles between morality and obligations. inside of me, there are two dogs. one is mean and evil and the other is good and they fight each other all the time. when asked which one wins, i answer, the one I feed the most. ambiguous loyalties.

tagged by — me. tagging: @hotknickers, @denouemente, @linghung, @hookedswords, @dropovers, @fearbend, @kniveds, @yourideaguy, @bowbend, @rotpoetry

#[ aesthetics. ]

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cypriathus · 3 months

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Here are two ascended deities!

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: I go into detail about mental health issues, how the following characters died, and a bit of sexual content.

Holikazuste G’Zneklarbjomithus is an ascended age, commerce, wealth, and sex god with a carefree attitude and he’s noticeably lazy, possessing a disinclination to laborious action. He has a selfish desire for material gain and social value, and he’s concupiscent and flirtatious around those who grab his attention. Due to his greediness, he places value on high status by exhibiting many traits of hegemonic masculinity such as confidence and competitiveness. He derives immense sexual gratification from inflicting pain and humiliation on other people and himself. He's a quick-witted individual and expressive orator with a raunchy sense of humour, intellectual curiosity, and predatory aggressiveness. He’s able to easily adjust to changing circumstances, and he’s often in a continuous state of happiness even if he doesn’t show it. Holikazuste tends to struggle with indecisiveness and engage in irresponsibly playful behaviour that he finds to be fairly endearing. He has narcissistic personality disorder, which means that he’s arrogant with a sense of self-competence. He’s preoccupied with power, beauty, and success, while interpersonally exploiting people for his own gain. He has an inability to handle criticism, excessive craving for admiration, and reduced levels of empathy. He thrives on excitement and merrymaking, and he possesses a catalytic value of truth as he openly embraces his crude assertiveness. He has an irresistible charismatic presence and a fondness for giving excessive compliments in order to make himself feel more attractive and important.

In his humanoid form, he’s a well-endowed man with a gorgeous mesomorphic body type that has broad shoulders, muscular limbs, and a slightly prominent belly. He has an approximate height of 8 ft (243.84 cm) and messy, side-swept hair of brown black that’s often dyed either a mauve, berry blue or raspberry. He also has circumareolo-pecto-sterno-infraclavicular and dispersed abdominal brown black hair. His skin is a platinum grey with dark spots on the face, back of his hands, and shoulders. His forearms, inner thighs, lower legs, and back are covered in numerous healed scars. He possesses dull sunburst viridian-cadillac eyes, shark-like teeth, and two pointed tongues. Holikazuste dons a porcelain white bolero hat of soft velvet with two ostrich feathers as well as gilded galloon and tassels. He has a copper rose mozzetta with the front depicting a brown bear that has a plum blossom branch in its mouth. He has a faded jade sash with gold embroidery of the simurgh and a viburnum willow, a long-sleeved porcelain flax shirt, and silk baggy pants of green pea. He also wears a long, fur-lined robe of shimmering saffron and knee-high, lace-up black leather boots. He has a gold cock piercing, a silver lip piercing, spider bites piercing, an orbital piercing, rhodochrosite wire hook earrings, an obsidian signet ring on his left index finger, and a ruby solitaire ring on his left middle finger.

In his godly manifestation, he retains his slightly prominent belly, hairstyle, skin colour, dark spots on the face, and eyes. He’s now a 11 ft (335.28 cm) androgyne with his head, neck, and a portion of the chest and shoulders covered in lifeless skin. Holikazuste’s skin is pulled by sixteen gold hooks clamped into the uncovered flesh of his ectomorphic body with muscular limbs, slight breasts, sloping shoulders, and both masculine and feminine reproductive organs. The shaft of his crudely circumcised, phallic appendage is wrapped in barbed wire with a four pronged drill-bit surrounding the penis glands, and a nail goes through his nose. His mouth has two rows of yellowed bear teeth and three forked tongues covered in translucent black slime. He has draconic wings from the middle of his back and wires that come out of his cheeks, which intertwine into a metal semi-circle frame. It has six more wires that lead down to the back of his neck where the flesh has been cut and peeled back. His flesh is a glistening cascade and a black eye with royal heath sheen are on both palms of his clawed hands. He still wears his porcelain bolero hat, faded jade sash, and jewellery, but he has new accessories to suit his godly form. Gold bracelets of six hoops adorn his lower arms and he dons a chrysocolla cloth that he uses as a skirt. In both forms, Holikazuste often carries around a leather cat o’ nine tails with spiked ends, a poignard, and a lucky fox tail that’s tied around his waist with rope.

He’s able to fully manipulate age, growth, newness, progress, decomposition, lifespan, youth, puberty, senescence, economy, ownership, rarity, greed, metal, fertility, harvest, passion, pleasure, lust, fetishes, and pain. Holikazuste can bestow longevity to those who truly desire it or he personally likes, and he feeds off of sexual energy. He possesses supreme monopoly, charisma, stealth, luck, stamina, regeneration, endurance, flexibility, and beauty. He can project seductive thoughts into the subconsciousness of his sentient targets and generate pheromones that cause love, economic professionalism, and materialistic desires. He has the ability to mentally sense all kinds of emotions within his vicinity, and he possesses happiness and a libido that are indomitable. His kiss can grant people disease immunity, heal them of their physical wounds, and strengthen their libido. His blood has aphrodisiac properties, and he can sire a generation of children in a matter of months. He has an aura of attractiveness that naturally induces pleasure and libidinous desire, and he knows everything about commerce, love, lust, relationships, sexuality, and fetishes. Holikazuste is able to read, speak, and understand all known languages, but he struggles with putting them in black and white due to his poor writing skills. He can only change between his humanoid, godly, and unknowable manifestations and stop time if things get too hectic for his liking.

FAMILY:

1000+ children

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

Calamus Pig

Lucky Merchant

Maturation of Swiftness

Quick Destroyer of Negotiation

He Who Shall Violate Our Boundaries

Seductive Lord Who Dabbles Into The Game of Chance

Holika (by most people)

G’Znekla (by a few people)

Vinegar son of wine (by most people)

Demented ostrich (by some people)

Messy hair of Kontanas (by Kicnemura)

Khuylo (“dickhead” in Ukrainian) (by Kicnemura)

Tormentor of my ill dreams (by Plocedruszina)

My indescribable hate (by Plocedruszina)

Flesh-clinger (by Plocedruszina)

Molester (by Plocedruszina)

Pussy-eating leech (by Plocedruszina)

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

He’s pansexual

He’s an avatar of Kladjewoszruni

He was a notorious Eurasian merchant and owner of a brothel.

He fell in love with one of the prostitutes that attended his brothel, but it’s unknown what happened to her. After her sudden disappearance, rumours spread that he murdered her and sold her organs on the black market.

He knows how to write in Russian, Ukrainian, Latvian, Finnish, Polish, Georgian, Kazakh, Mongolian, Chinese, Korean, and Italian.

He died of deliberate suffocation and blunt force trauma to the spinal cord by a group of bandits during his travels across Russia. It’s believed that they cut off his head, limbs, and genitals, burying each body part in different locations.

As an Æylphitus, the different parts of his name have special meanings: Holikazuste means “wholly burnt” and G’Zneklarbjomithus means “shepherd who irritably chases the malignant brimstone, phosphorus hazard that laughs of eloquence, tiger’s beguiling cyclone or petulant smoker”.

His sacred animals are the rooster, tortoise, bull, goldfish, opossum, starfish, dolphin, mandarin duck, and nurse shark.

His sacred plants are the palm tree, sweetheart hoya, Dracaena trifasciata, string of hearts, forget-me-not, and Philodendron.

Holikazuste likes to speak in a flowery, yet slightly cryptic manner

He deeply cares about his avatars, especially Plocedruszina as she’s considered to be his “undeniably favourite plaything”.

Bjathurszomeni M’Guktjehodzripa, born as Hendazorsugi Khabletofius, is an ascended knowledge, magic, health, and warden god who has voyeuristic disorder and hoarding disorder. He sometimes becomes distressed due to his voyeuristic urges and fantasies, experiencing a persistent, intense arousal from observing people undress or engage in sexual activities. He feels inclined to keep and collect items that have little or no monetary value, but he mostly struggles with organising them. He’s extremely attached to those items, refusing to let anyone touch or borrow them without gaining his hard-earned trust. As a studious man, Bjathurszomeni is highly motivated and focused on his intellectual pursuits, taking in every piece of knowledge with contemplative care. He shows sincere and intense conviction to a considerable degree, and he has a decently firm grip on wisdom. He can be quite careful and hard-working, but he will occasionally embrace his inner child and take breaks when needed. He’s conservative in his emotions and he possesses a fairly easy-going attitude, but he’ll leash out in fury when his personal space or rules he sees as sacred are purposefully violated. He’s a morally righteous individual who doesn’t stand for heinous acts and irredeemable perpetrators. He shows genuine enjoyment in sharing his spiritual and professional knowledge with others he deems as worthy. He strongly values his autonomy, exhibiting a partial detachment from people in order to work alone. He’s fairly confident, protective, and respectful, and he often maintains an icy, yet polite demeanour.

He’s nearing 7’ 7” (231.14 cm), and he possesses an inverted triangular ectomorph body with a square chest, sloping shoulders, and a slightly rounded belly. He has ivory skin, green eyes with flecks of red and gold, and a short spiky haircut of copper. He also has circumareolo-sterno-infraclavicular and acuminate abdominal hair, and seven black moles across his body: one in the middle of his forehead; one near the left side of his neck; one on his right pectoralis major; one on his right external oblique; two on his left gluteus maximus; and one on his left adductor longus. He prefers to wear a short-sleeved highland green undertunic and white loincloth of ermine tails that’s covered by an alabaster alb and a matterhorn scapular. He also has a matterhorn hooded cloak, a rope-like cincture of intertwining gold and green threads, tamarind canvas trousers, dirty brown boots, and a luxor gold kalimavkion. The turmeric embroidery in front of his kalimavkion depicts a unicorn with an eclipsed sun on its back, climbing up a jagged rock with a lemniscate centipede above calm waters. On the right side above the bat-winged centipede are scissors that form an X-shape with an alchemical retort symbol (🝭) in between the blades.

After he ascended, not much of his physical and outfit appearance has changed, but there are a few differences. His skin is now a white rock, and he has four eyes, a serpentine tongue, red claws and talons, and a near absence of body hair. He has a green head, pointed ears, and three purplish lines underneath each of his eyes to his jawline. He doesn’t have his original trousers and his dirty brown boots are now replaced with a pair of golden rope sandals. His hooded cloak is a dusty grey with wine berry outlining and floral patterning in blue-green, red-violet, yellow-orange, jade green, bronze, and gold. He continues to carry around a satchel, a nazar amulet, an ancient book on alchemy, and bottled herbs. He also carries a gilded papal cross staff with the lowest horizontal bar containing three silver bells on each side and a circular blue apatite on the top.

He’s a master of all alchemical practices with immense knowledge on magic, the occult, the supernatural, and everything relating to it. He possesses and uses extremely dangerous and forbidden knowledge that no mortal should be allowed access to. Bjathurszomeni has encyclopedic knowledge of all recorded material in existence and full comprehension of any situation. He has mental capacity, wisdom, agility, endurance, regeneration, speed, vision, and hearing that nears absolution. He's able to manipulate magical force, supernatural law and properties, the biology of living organisms, cleanliness, healing energy, medicine, intelligence, reading, writing, and studying. His bodily fluids have healing properties and he manually heals people through the use of spiritual energy. He can perform surgeries on a supernatural level in order to treat incurable diseases and reanimate or resurrect the deceased. He's fully immune to all types of poisons, toxins, venoms, viruses, bacteria, parasites, pathogens, allergens, and diseases. He can perfectly recall and remember absolutely everything he thinks, feels, encounters, and experiences. He’s fully capable of psychically manipulating his neurological system by intuitively altering the wiring and functions in his cerebellum. This allows Bjathurszomeni to flawlessly enhance his intelligence to possess insight and knowledge to learn whatever he’s interested in. He possesses mind-reading, telepathy, dream interpretation, precognition, cosmic awareness, omnilingualism, and escape artistry and prevention, and he can shapeshift into a fox, wolf, domestic dog, raven, vulture, owl, and shark. He’s able to imprison spiritual and physical targets in obscuring shadows, spiked threads of blood, and cage-like constructs made from star remnants.

FAMILY:

Unnamed wife

Seven children

Volczebuthrija X’Uylmaboskezirg (lover)

Bonaklemus (descendent)

Unnamed five Phavodimetrus male descendents

Unnamed seven Phavodimetrus female descendents

Zimanoblukter Phavodimetrus (descendent)

Ikarondelus Kurshalojze Phavodimetrus (descendent)

Folsepruniva Phavodimetrus (descendent)

Eyrakhtonius Phavodimetrus (descendent)

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

High Constable

Night Watchman

The Cutter’s Study

Herald of the Silent Night

The Most Sacred Priest of Valczebjowius

He Who Bears Elusive Secrets That No One Should Utter

Father Khabletofius

Mister Hendazorsugi (by some people)

Khableto (by a few people)

Hendazor (by a few people)

Bjathurszo (by some people)

M’Guktje (by some people)

Hodaszrepi (by a few people)

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

He’s panromantic demisexual

He’s an avatar of Hekanotius, Ymabjeloszivth, and an unknown health deity.

He prefers to hoard books, manuscripts, religious clothing, and scraps of fabric.

He tries his absolute best to not drag people into his voyeuristic experiences without consent.

He was originally a hierophant of one of the designated temples of Valczebjowius and his family. He was secretly a practitioner of alchemy and medicine, using the library he owned as an alchemical and medical facility. He also owned an orphanage for parentless children.

He has a tongue piercing, but it’s kept as a secret because he feels immense shame when he brings it up or people notice.

He thinks that Volczebuthrija is a reincarnation of his dead wife

After finding out that he’s an alchemist, his followers were highly offended by this due to their distaste for mages. They stripped him naked, only leaving him in his ermine loincloth, and threw him into the dungeon of the temple he ordered to be built, restraining him with chains. During his detainment, they burned down his orphanage and library, and killed his wife and three of his children were brutally murdered in front of him. He has raped, humiliated, threatened of severe disfigurement, whipped, and let to mostly starve and dehydrate. After three days of torture, he was publicly executed through the use of a wicker man, burning him in a pyre with first fruits and a few animals.

As an Æylphitus, the different parts of his name have special meanings: Bjathurszomeni means “eroded muse of the breeding abundance or knowing revelation” and M’Guktjehodzripa means “horizon over the monarch’s aching pit, partaker in the ambivalent delirium or invading the amber mud”. In regards to his birth name, Hendazorsugi means “torch-bearer who goes in front” and Khabletofius means “to be a worthy successor or breath of god’s king”.

His sacred animals are the giraffe, octopus, crane, ant, dragon, tiger, horse, goldfinch, hummingbird, and Tasmanian devil.

His sacred plants are the passionflower, Calendula, Heliotropium, peyote, daisy, peace lily, and evening primrose.

Bjathurszomeni often talks to himself when he’s alone

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