#gossamer spun garden | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saga-project · 7 months

Text

They'd asked him to spar. And Saga really should have said no. Should have just walked away, with the excuse that he needed to work on garden planning or security measures for the lair or a million other projects that he felt like attending to. But Mikey had sent those goddamned sad puppy eyes in his direction, like the manipulative little shit that he was, and, well---he couldn't very well say no to Mikey. It was just his baby brother. He could surely tell the difference between a friendly spar and a death match in the Nexus. It would be fine. It would all be fine.

And it had. For a time. He'd been confident enough to cockily grin as he kept dodging around Mikey's attacks, twirling his scythe around--setting it so that it would only give a light electric tingle whenever it touched Mikey, causing his baby brother to let out giggling yelps--and feinting once or twice before hitting him with the staff end as gently as he possibly could. "You're fast, Mikey! But not fast enough."

"Oh yeah? Fast this!" Mikey was coming towards him then, spinning his nunchakus, and Saga ducked into a crouch and swept one leg out to knock the box turtle off balance before he could even consciously think about the move, instinctively moving to---

--to.

--to pin his opponent.

.....someone was talking to him. But it sounded like it was underwater, and Saga Cain Saga shook his head to try and clear it, whining under his breath. Why did it sound like that. He wasn't....the fight was. Over. Wasn't it? Someone was pinned underneath them. They knew that much. Was this someone telling them to finish the fight?

Very good, Cain. Now finish it.

He spun, hissing under his breath as Rakshan's voice came to his ears. No. No. Rakshan wasn't here. He wasn't. Hadn't they....was. Was he back in the Nexus? He could have sworn he heard several voices, talking to him. Shouting, maybe. Were they the cheers of the crowd? Were they--

"No. I won't do it. You can't make me. The…the dumb-dumb fight’s over! I won! I did what you asked. You got your stupid show. I’m not killing someone who’s already…."

It didn't feel like he was saying the words, somehow. They seemed detached from him, floating, and all he knew was that someone was pinned under him and--

Fine. Don’t do as you’re told. I’m sure one of your brothers would be much more accommodating.

“Screw you. Don’t you dare touch my brothers. You can’t make me hurt them-” Why did their face feel wet. Had they injured themselves, during the match? That wasn't right. Their opponent hadn't been able to get a hit in. At least they thought--

Everything was too loud. Too loud. Why was everything so loud. Was this a punishment for their failing? Would it go away if they just did as they were told? Saga whined, tears trickling down from their good eye as they trembled like a leaf, feeling like they were coming apart at the atomic level. Like they'd unravel and be nothing but gossamer thread, floating away in the wind. If they finished it, if they did as they were told, the hurt would end. It would end, wouldn't it?

They lifted their bo, twisting it to make the blade attachment come out, feeling more than hearing the ragged sob tear its way out of their throat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll make it quick, I'm sorry I'm sorry--"

Hands were on theirs, then, wrenching them backwards and taking the staff from their hands, and they screamed and writhed and bit, clawing at whatever was holding them because no, no, they had to complete their mission, they had to do this, they had to or Red and Blue and Orange would be hurt and---

And then recognition came back to Saga, in one startling, white-hot rush. He wasn't there. He wasn't in the arena.

He wasn't a scared ten year old in his first Nexus match. He was home. He was with his family.

....oh god.

He was with his family.

He'd just tried to put a knife through Mikey's skull.

He'd tried to hurt Mikey. And now they would know. They'd know what a monster he was--

Saga couldn't hear their words, then. They sounded like they were coming from underwater as he stood there, wide-eyed, shuddering so hard he thought he was going to come apart. He could feel the shrieking, sobbing wails coming from his throat but he couldn't hear them, and--

He did the only thing he could do, in that moment. He turned. And he ran, like a bat out of hell, not even caring where he was going as long as it was out of the lair. And all the while, the dark thoughts that he'd thought were buried came screeching back into the forefront of his mind, laughing and laughing and laughing.

JINX! JINX! ALL YOUR FAULT ALL YOUR FAULT AHAHAHAHA YOU RUIN EVERYTHING RUIN EVERYTHING--

#rottmnt rp #sep!donnie #roleplay blog #(no replies please!)

2 notes · View notes

little-engineer-who-cant · 8 days

Text

Jason and Clarisse orbit each other around Silena. Because love is only a triangle if it’s closed on all sides.

Part 9 of Sirens Scream Names Forgotten by Tomorrow, Laid to Rest in Infinity

(also posted under cut)

“The city is for strangers, like the sky is for the stars and I think it’s very dangerous if we do not take what’s ours.”

- Gray or Blue (Jaymay)

She’s on his chest, sleeping peacefully and he has no motivation to move her. The warm sunlight streaming across their bodies, his hand in her hair, the soft sheets tangled around them, her weight grounding him to the here and now, the silence in his head. He could stay here for an age, caught in the restful grey area between sleep and consciousness, warm and content. Bundled in blankets, weighed down by soft breaths and gentle hands, tied up by dark hair and a heaviness in his bones that makes him want to sink into this mattress in a way that will leave a permanent impression.

Something tickles in the back of his mind, a faint niggling reminder that he has things to do, places to be, people to talk to, but he forcibly shoves it away. Days like this were so very few and far between, it would take half of Gotham going up in flames to stir him from this bed. This bubble feels untouchable, a fallacy he knows exists only in his own mind, but it lingers. Sweet and as fragile as spun sugar, alluring to live in. For a moment, he indulges in the fantasy that this is a normal life, a normal day. No work, he and his love could just lounge in bed with no responsibilities other than each other.

The creak of a footstep shatters that illusion, making him fling an arm over his eyes with a bitten back groan. No alarms sound in his head, telling him exactly who is coming down the hallway, who he is going to see.

He peeks out from under his forearm as Clarisse leans into the doorway, braced on the handle.

“What’s up?” he murmurs, doing his best not to disturb the peace.

“It can wait,” she assures, going to lean out of the room again.

“Clarisse.” She leans back in, brow pinched in confusion and he points to the empty space on the bed, right by the door.

“What…” but she’s drawn by the same strings Jason is, the same shape huddled under the blankets, still gone deep in the world of sleep. So she approaches, despite the protest lingering on her lips like syrup, eyes drawn to the spider web, to the honey that brings them both colliding together. She sits, delicate, trying not to break this gossamer thread of a truce that exists in a bedroom that feels removed from the world.

“Should I point out the obvious?” It’s not as mocking as he means it to be, not as flippant as he wants. It’s too quiet, too raw. Because he knows what he’s seen, the layers upon layers of history between these two friends turned-

“I’m not you,” Clarisse whispers, her hand resting delicately on the curve of Silena’s hip, eyes shadowed with hesitance and reverence alike.

“And I’m not you,” Jason replies just as quietly. Their eyes meet, the past and present looking a possible future in the eye. One or the other-

Her hand leaves Silena’s hip and grasps his wrist, pulling the arm from his face, over his head and onto the pillow.

“You’d better not be getting fatalistic on me, Todd,” Clarisse growls, bracing her weight on that wrist, pressing it into the pillow even as he snarls at her in reflexive response. Aggression for aggression, her restraint for him to fight. A challenge, given and answered as easy as breathing. It’s only Silena, somehow still sleeping on his chest that stops him from lunging head on into a fight he probably will not win and Clarisse knows it by the grin on her face.

“Fuck off, La Rue.”

“Make me.” She presses further down, arching over the woman slumbering on between them, unaware of what’s surrounding her, restrained only by her presence. The pulsing violence, desperation of each having what the other wants, her, her past, her present, her secrets, her love, suspended together.

It would be so easy for one or the other to snap, to reach out with deadly hands to eliminate the other. So easy for the breaths they’re sharing to become vicious words, bite wounds, bloody caricatures of smiles. Fanged mouths, belonging to fight dogs, tilting in anticipation of ripping out the other’s throat even as they each anticipate one another too well. Like recognizes like and they’re hungry to tear the other apart. Maybe, if she digs deep enough into his corpse’s chest cavity, she’ll find whatever it is she searches for in his eyes, whatever awful thing beats in his brain like a tumor, maybe she can extract it from him with a surgical violence that feels like salvation. Maybe she can succeed where others have failed because she’s not kind, has never had a reason to care about him.

“Do it,” he begs or orders or some derivative combination of the two. Tear it out, and put him back in the ground a whole man even if she has to do it piece by piece.

“What do you want me to do?” Her grip tightens, their noses brush and he can taste the blood on his tongue already.

“Tell me the obvious.” He can see the red sparks that shoot through the brown of her eyes, the minute way her skin strains over veins that pulse with almost too much power for a single being to control and yet she confines it as effortlessly as she regulates her breath, the warmth painting his lips and making him whine.

“I’d rather show you.” Their breaths solidify into a proper kiss, the last space closing and their mouths meeting with more gently than he ever thought either of them capable of with anyone but the woman between them. Fangs blunted, claws retracted, blood firmly within their own veins and not pooling between their mouths. A piece of him expects the darkness knifed between his ribs to rise, a challenge to be made and answered, a struggle, a fight, but nothing stirs. His head stays silent, the warmth of the sun, of Silena, of Clarisse melting into his bones and keeping him supine, relaxed, here in this time and place, this bed, this life.

“Mm?” They slowly part at Silena’s inquisitive little hum, her slight stretch and possible confusion at being squished. But there is no panic in him, no rush in Clarisse’s retreat. No fear in her eyes and Jason doesn’t feel caught. He feels free. “Come’ere,” Silena’s hand reaches blindly behind her and finds Clarisse’s arm at the oddest angle, tugging her rather ineffectively. “Lay down,” Silena nuzzles further into Jason, tugging Clarisse again.

“Silena,” Clarisse murmurs, hand tightening on Jason’s wrist and making his breath catch.

“If you’re gonna make out, do it in bed. ‘M sleepy,” Silena mumbles back, half muffled by Jason. Clarisse has no response for that, no witty come back or sarcastic insult. Slowly, she obeys, releasing Jason’s wrist in the process. Returns her hand to Silena’s waist, thumb stroking soft skin tenderly as she props herself up on one arm, eyes drinking in whatever picture they make in her shadow.

His hand leaves Silena’s hair and cups Clarisse’s jaw, stroking her cheekbone as delicately as she touches the woman between them, silently asking her to come back. A request she answers as they kiss again, gentle and kind with their rough hands, scarred faces and brutalized bodies. Her own hand leaves Silena’s waist to grip his bicep, both of them curled around Silena’s warm body, a shield and a reminder. Two soldiers made for fighting their fathers’ wars, made soft in the sunlight of a spy’s bed, all three of them twisted together in a heaven of their own making, holding a tiny slice of peace in one another’s palms.

“I love you,” Silena whispers as they break apart and Jason doesn’t know or particularly care who she meant it for. If she meant it for either of them at all. Because he loves Silena, of that there is no doubt. And in this syrup-slow sunrise as he looks into Clarisse’s eyes, he thinks he could love her in some way too.

—

“What is this to you?” she asks him as they watch a warehouse burn a few blocks away. The perfect trap, baited and tripped, another rival gone from the underworld that Jason controls with an ever more iron fist.

He wishes that gave him any hope of surviving this conversation.

“What?” Clarisse snorts, but doesn’t look at him.

“What are we doing, Todd. You and I.”

“Burning shit,” he plays dumb. Now she looks at him.

“Don’t.”

He sighs. Looks away. Fiddles with the helmet in his hands. It’s easier to leave the temptation to start a fight if he’s not looking at her. Because the temptation is still there, the desire to dig around in her guts until he pulls out whatever is in her that Silena loves and puts it into himself instead.

(Do an autopsy and a vivisection leave the same scars?)

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But you’re here. You love her. And she’s been alone for a long time.”

“What does that make you then?”

“Someone who will only ever know a part of her.”

“That makes two of us.” He looks back at her, catches her wry smirk. “Between the two of us, she might be a whole person.” That makes him snort, leaning on the smokestack of this old ass warehouse they’ve posted up on.

“Why do you care what this is?” he asks, curious. “Because to me, if you’re going to stay, I’d rather know the writing on the wall and have a chance at making a bridge than fighting you at every turn.”

“You talk as if jealousy is easy to turn off like a switch.”

“Oh, so you want to gut me too?” It’s comforting that he’s not alone in the sentiment.

“I don’t know what she sees,” Clarisse hisses, looking at him with fire in her eye and venom on her tongue. “I don’t get why she keeps you. Why she cares enough to fight for you, in whatever way she thinks she can.”

“That makes two of us,” he parrots. She swipes at him and he dances far enough away that it’s a glancing swat across the face instead of a concussive force.

“I have had it with you,” she growls, closing the gap between them faster than he can blink. His helmet clangs to the floor as she shoves him back, the railing digging into his spine, their noses brushing as she bends him further, fangs out again, fighting dogs ready to lunge- “Do you have a death wish?”

“I’ve already died,” he shoots back flippantly, “tends to lose its impact after you’ve walked away once.”

“You fucking idiot-” the air between them is red hot, pulsing with blood and rage and violence in a way they chain for most people. The darkness they only release for the worst of the worst and for each other. It’s nice to have company in the depths of hell, of burning so completely with another person that there will be no telling the ashes apart.

“I’ll be-”

“If you say fine-”

“-alive no matter what you do,” he gloats, his own teeth out and aching to dig into her skin, to rip and tear and burrow his way down into her until maybe, if he curls up in her lungs, he can breathe again. “What?” he taunts breathlessly, half laughing even as he wishes she would press farther, maybe just push-

(Be the monster we know we both are.)

“Not going to kill me?” he continues, laughing in her face like it fools either of them.

“I’ll making living hurt so fucking much you’ll wish your death stuck,” is what she promises instead. Pushes him further, bending him back like this is a dance and not a deadly compromise.

“That’s what this is then,” he wheezes, chest burning as his stomach trembles while trying to keep himself balanced.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” but she’s smiling and letting him stand again.

“How do you want the list?” he asks, following her retreat until they’re both away from the edges and toe to toe, eye to eye.

(Heart to heart.)

“Hm. It’ll be more fun to figure it out,” she promises and he laughs and the city burns behind them.

—

The bed is empty when he wakes up. The sun is high, casting two long shadows across the room in the shape of two familiar women. One is short and hunched, folded over, while the other stands tall and proud, both silhouettes washed out and hazy in the dim light that manages to scrape through both the dingy skies of Gotham and the gunky window.

Turning his head, he sees Silena leaned against the window, watching where Clarisse is bent over the railing in the fire escape beyond.

“You can go back to sleep,” she tells him and he stretches out with a purposefully long and luxurious groan.

“And miss whatever riveting conversation is happening here?” he half-jokes. These two could say more in silences than he’s read in entire novels before, so only their gods know what he’s missed in the quiet.

“Not a conversation,” she corrects, shooting him a smile over her shoulder. There are faint circles under her eye. No sleep. “Just… waiting.”

“For what exactly?”

“For her to… Decide I guess.”

“Hm.” He rolls to his feet and stretches again, reaching towards the ceiling and popping his spine in several places. Clarisse doesn’t move as he joins Silena at the windowsill. Either she’s so deep in her thoughts that she's missed his movement, or she’s ignoring them. It doesn’t matter much either way because neither spectators step out on the fire escape. Silena leans into his side and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. The window is dirty, but he sees their reflections in it, their faces superimposed along Clarisse’s back.

“I don’t know what you want to hear,” she says to their mirrored selves.

“What question do you think I’m asking?” He watches the muscle in Clarisse’s back shift under her shirt as she rolls something over in her hands.

“If I’m happy. With…” she sighs, perfectly shaped nails drumming a staccato rhythm on the sill for a moment. “Whatever arrangement you two have figured out.”

“Arrangement is a harsh word.”

“So give me a better one to use.”

“I prefer understanding.”

“What exactly is there to understand?”

“You.” She looks up at him, lips pursuing but it doesn’t quite stop him from seeing the way they are curling up at the edges.

“And here I’d thought I was at my least mysterious when around the two of you.”

“She knows who you were. I know who you are. Somewhere in there…” he rolls his tongue over his teeth.

“Is a roadmap to learning me?” she asks and he can’t decipher her tone.

“You’re the only one in both our worlds,” he defends. “Maybe, if we both understand you-”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” but her fingers twist with his, cupping the spot where his hand is on her arm. “But I…” she swallows, their eyes meeting in the window over the curve of Clarisse’s spine. “Are you doing this because you want it? Or because you think I do?”

“Can it not be both?” he asks.

“Then which is it more?” He takes a breath.

“Does it matter?” Because he doesn’t know the answer.

“Give me the best you’ve got.”

“This life is going to kill us,” he reminds her and she smiles, sweet and sad and he lets the warmth in his heart melt over onto her tongue. Her eyes flutter shut and she takes a deep breath, shoulders sinking in pleasure as she swallows whatever his devotion tastes like. “Maybe we’ll get back up, maybe we won’t. But…” Her eyes open again and they both look to the dim sky barely visible around the clog of buildings around this shitty sanctuary they’ve made their own.

“Walking together,” she hums. “And you want to understand how I love her too.” Her head tilts up and she presses gentle kisses along his jaw. He nuzzles down into her hair. Her fingers detangle from his long enough to unlock the window but he’s got the strength to push it up with one hand without leaving her arms so he does. She muffles a giggle in his skin as her hand rests on his stomach instead.

“Are you two done gossiping about me?” Clarisse inquires, turning at the noise and he sees what she’s been holding all this time.

His half-mask dangles from her fingers, thumb running compulsively over the slits that cover his mouth.

“Are you done thinking about whatever drove you out here at dawn?” Silena shoots the question back instead.

“I don’t think there’s a cut and clear answer to that.” Clarisse shifts her weight and leans against the rough brick wall next to their window, head back and eyes closed. Silena lifts a hand and hooks two fingers into the pocket of Jason’s sweatpants that Clarisse has claimed as her own.

“Then tell us what you’ve got right now,” Silena leans against Jason’s shoulder, head finding the nook where his neck and shoulder meet.

“I can’t stay,” she whispers, like the admission will shatter them all, staring out across the city instead of looking them in the eye. Jason’s mask spins aimlessly in her hands. “I… Gotham isn’t mine. Not like it’s either of yours.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to leave,” Silena mumbles, her nose tucking down next to Jason’s collarbone to hide her pout.

“It does.” Jason runs a hand down Silena’s arm to soothe the tension. Clarisse is kind enough to ignore it, if she even noticed. “I have people out there I have to help. I have obligations and friends… I can’t stay.”

“Okay,” Silena accepts quietly, squeezing Jason in warning before he can open his mouth and make this sad resignation into a fight none of them will win. “Just remember to come back every now and again, will you?”

“What?”

“You can’t stay,” Jason agrees, squeezing Silena in return. An assurance. This isn’t a fight anymore. “But that doesn’t mean you have to leave forever.”

“That doesn’t mean you two have to wait for me,” Clarisse sighs.

“We won’t be,” Silena replies simply, leaning away from his neck and pushing her sleep-wild hair out of her face, before tucking herself more firmly under his arm. Surrendering to the inevitable. “But just because your path isn’t twisted with ours doesn’t mean it has to separate forever. We love you.”

“However it has to be,” Jason finishes. Silena’s hand clenches against his abdomen. He strokes his fingers through her wild mane in quiet comfort. Clarisse is going to leave. If they let her go, there’s a better chance of her coming back.

“I didn’t think I’d be having this conversation with you of all people,” Clarisse scoffs at him, but there’s no heat and she’s staring at the empty eyes of his carelessly tossed mask instead of glaring at him.

“I like to think I’ve gotten a little closer to living,” Jason muses. Silena turns back into his neck, he kisses her hair. “And I’m greedy. Death took everything once, what little I let myself have. The Pit tries its damnedest to make me get rid of the rest, but fuck that. I’m taking everything I want. Fuck the world and fuck what it says I should want. I’m already defying it by breathing. Why not keep it up?” Clarisse laughs then, the lines around her eyes deepening. Silena hums into his neck, her smile framing a tendon.

He holds out a hand. Clarisse ignores it, but her arm bends at a painful angle to fit through the window frame, their hands tangling together in Silena’s hair. Silena rests her head in the cradle of their palms, calm and trusting. The rabbit baring her throat to the wolves that love her. Clarisse crouches down to their level, presses a kiss to the jugular they both will kill to protect.

They all know Clarisse is going to be gone when the sun rises tomorrow. Her spot in the bed will get cold, her place at the table an empty void, the space at his side a lonely reminder when he’s on patrol, but he’s not going to chain her and Silena certainly won’t. But they’ve made their offer, opened their door. All that’s left is to see if she walks back in.

And as Clarisse squeezes Jason’s fingers, pressing the curves of their entwined knuckles against Silena’s skull, he knows she will.

#jason todd #silena beauregard #clarisse la rue #batman #percy jackson and the olympians #my writing #ao3 link

1 note · View note

imaginaryshorts · 8 months

Text

Shrouded in Light: A Tale of Innocence and Courage

Title: "Shrouded in Light: A Tale of Innocence and Courage"

The picture encapsulates an ethereal image of a young girl garbed in silken white, her tiny frame veiled with an elegance that rivals the beauty of gossamer threads spun by moonlight. Her eyes, innocent yet shimmering with silent strength, beckon us into a world turned with dreams, courage, and resilience.

The village, lovingly coined Harmony Nest, is a picturesque little settlement nestled in the heart of the countryside. It's populated by approximately five hundred residents, a perfect blend of families, elders, and youthful souls carving their niches in this serene environment.

Harmony Nest is known for its charmingly designed cottages, all of which evoke a sense of the traditional mixed with the contemporary. A sprinkling of vegetable patches and small, manicured gardens complement the quaint architecture, adding a vibrant palette of colors to the village landscape.

It is surrounded by rolling green hills, providing mesmerizing views beyond the horizon. They form a natural barrier, cocooning the village in seclusion from the rest of the world. The hills are adequately forested home to diverse flora and fauna. The elders often recount stories of deer and birds of bright plumage sighted during their early morning walks.

Her story begins in a quaint village in the emerald patchwork of the countryside. The girl we'll lovingly name Lily was known for her serenity. Draped in white muslin, she would often skip along warm cobblestone paths, the veil fluttering gently behind her — a symbol of her purity and youthful grace.

Life was simple yet enchanting. However, the tranquility was disrupted one summer afternoon when the village was thrust into chaos, threatening their peaceful existence — a ruthless tyrant desired their tranquil lands. With a spirit torn between innocent trepidation and indomitable courage, Lily found herself chosen by fate to lead her village against the oppressive intruder.

The image transforms into a stunning canvas of emotions as Lily digests this harsh reality. Despite her white dress symbolizing innocence, it now carries a heavy undercurrent of responsibility. Her veil acts as a shroud, shielding her from the upcoming turmoil.

Her village, though initially skeptical about her chosen role, soon recognized the lionhearted spirit flickering in her youthful gaze. With the unity of her people behind her, Lily transformed from a simple village girl into an emblem of untainted courage.

Under her leadership, the villages united an indomitable force facing their common enemy. The image of the girl in white with a veil no longer represented her innocence but also her courage and determination to protect everything she loved.

We watch Lily's veil morph into a banner of defiance against the tyrant; it's ethereal white, a stark contrast against the battlefield's harsh canvas. Her spirit of innocence and courage, born from the image, metamorphoses into an inspiring tale of resilience, proving that heroes can be found in the unlikeliest of people, no matter their size or age.

Her tale reveals the power and resilience hidden in innocence, showing the compelling transformation of a simple girl into a fearless leader. In the end, the image of the girl in white encapsulates the mesmerizing blend of innocence, courage, and victory, inspiring all who glimpse her tale.

#ghost #children #spirituality #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr #digital artist #digital art

0 notes

peaamlipoetrydoctor · 2 years

Text

No Reason To Be Alarmed (Madam)

A cento to finish the re-visited not-NaPoWriMo month - composed from lines extracted from the poems of the re-written-new month.

This time I've restrained myself from changing any of the words, so have worked only with remixing the order in which the lines appear.

Narrate, as precisely as you can,

your journey here.

When I grow up, I will

waste the passing hours –

live in a shed at the bottom of the garden

Dwelling is my gift.

This dwelling, gifted to me,

feeling like a curse until

I was strong enough

to hold it to its promise.

Meetings in the high tower

demand sacrifice,

plucking the slumbering villagers

from deep dreaming,

pressed into mattresses.

A sort of mournfulness

flowed into the room.

What use is it,

when moonlight on the sea

arrests us? – bodies

temporary bollards

on the wide pavement.

Larger-than-life people

have larger-than-life footprints.

Not gonna judge your thigh-gap,

or thigh-gap-lack.

Today is an unstable construct,

too poorly suited for the path I took.

I floated high into the close darkness

of the storm sky falling through space

inefficiently, like a discarded feather.

By the door, Death-of-Plants was waiting.

Tick-tock…

The long stretch of the diving board is

selfish – cold.

I guess a star and a comet

might look the same.

Our lives are spun in gossamer.

Our lives, these fragile things.

Sometimes, a young urban fox

pauses in a courtyard,

no figures dancing

in the eye of the mind –

watching bees

fly loops around our flowers.

And as it sings,

it sings me home,

this thing I know.

I needed a lot of life insurance – a drink –

a vacation – a home in the country…

No amount of sparkle

will be able to conceal

we’re out of synch

with the soup-bread-cheese.

The faces in those old photographs

are so dirty even intelligent pigeons

can’t tell them apart.

My great-grandmother blew hot-and-cold.

Now I am Initiate, tending the fires.

In this story, we begin at the end.

No reason, said Father,

for feeling alarmed.

#cento poem #napowrimo #poetry #poetic

0 notes

kaiijo · 2 years

Text

through the ages lilia vanrouge x fem! fae! reader summary: your relationship with lilia was something most could only dream about. for fae, it was rare to stick with one partner for so long. but no matter how you look at it, you and lilia have a love story for the ages. word count: 3.2k

notes: a little suggestive at one point, reader has long hair, mix of eng and jpn translations, royal sword academy is co-ed in this, spoilers for the savanaclaw arc

ONE THOUSAND YEARS BEFORE.

You met Lilia on a balmy night in the summer at a party thrown by the Fae Queen herself at her palace in the forest that lay just outside what would one day be Briar Valley. You had been in a dress made of shimmery gossamer, which glittered and sparkled in the moonlight when you moved, and you kept your hair loose, falling over your shoulders like a waterfall.

You had been making idle conversation with a fae lord, though the conversation turned unpleasant as it dragged on, the lord making increasingly flirtatious and downright suggestive comments to you. You had tried several times to leave the conversation, though he hadn’t taken the hint. You were ready to just teleport yourself elsewhere, far past the point of caring about propriety, before someone tapped your shoulder. You spun around to see a fae you’d never seen before. His hair was choppy and black, highlighted with streaks of pink, and his eyes were red, framed by long, pretty lashes.

He smiled genially at you, saying, “I believe you owe me a dance.”

“Oh?” you said, and the tilt of his head told you to play along. “That’s right, I’m sorry I forgot, I was caught up with this…” You struggled to find a nice word, “...gentleman.”

The fae lord sized up the other fae, scoffing and looking down his nose at him. “We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

The unknown fae’s eyes narrowed but he kept his smile on his face. “Terribly sorry, but I’m just so anxious to dance with this lovely one.” Before the fae lord could argue, the fae grasped your arm and you two disappeared.

You re-appeared on the balcony overlooking the palace garden, where you had been talking to the fae lord. The two of you peered over the side, watching as the lord whirled around and around, eyes scanning for where you could have gone to.

You looked over to your new companion, who met your gaze, and you stared at each other for a split second before erupting into giggles. “Thank you,” you said as your laughter died down. “I might’ve done something regrettable if you didn’t save me.”

“Always a pleasure to help a beautiful lady,” he said. Then, carefully, he stepped forward and held his hand out. You placed your hand in his, and he brought it to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Lilia Vanrouge,” he said, eyes gleaming.

You introduced yourself and his grin widened, mouth opening to show sharp canines. You found yourself admiring the way the pale moonlight illuminated him. From the angle you were looking at him from, he almost seemed otherworldly.

The musicians in the garden began playing a new song, and Lilia said, “I believe I’m owed a dance.” He bowed, and you curtsied back with a coy smile.

You were almost frightened by how easy it was to get along with Lilia, to fall into his benevolent charm and youthful playfulness. But nonetheless, you replied, “I believe you are.”

SEVEN HUNDRED YEARS BEFORE.

You paced about the throne room anxiously, the Queen of Briar Valley following your movements. “I haven’t heard from him,” you said, “and that’s not like Lilia.”

The war between Briar Valley and Rosia had been raging for about ten years; though a decade was nothing but a drop in the ocean of time for you fae, it didn’t mean that ten years wasn’t long for a war. Lilia, your bright, beautiful Lilia, was off at the frontlines, leading battalions and acting as if he was invincible though you both knew that wasn’t wholly true.

The queen stood from her throne, moved into your path, and placed her hands on your shoulders. “I’m sure he’s well,” she said. “Lilia is strong and capable.”

“So many of those who are strong and capable have died in the war,” you said. “I wish I could be there beside him, if only to just know that he’s safe.”

“You know that women aren’t allowed to fight, though I will say this is a case where that’s rather unfortunate.”

You didn’t respond, changing from pacing to tapping your foot anxiously. The queen placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “Why don’t you visit the princess? She’s been begging to play with you.”

“Alright,” you said. “Please, let me know if you hear anything.”

“Of course.”

You played with the young princess for hours, taking on dozens of different roles from the knight coming to save her imperiled toy or the evil witch trying to destroy her kingdom made of pillows and blankets.

You were in the middle of your make-believe tea party when a guard burst in, telling you, “The infirmary, now! It’s General Lilia.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and before you could even finish your apology to the princess, you were running out of the room, bound for the infirmary. When you arrived, you saw healers swarming him, calling for others to bring them potions and herbs and everything.

You pushed your way to your lover’s unconscious body and gasped upon seeing the wounds on him, hand flying to your mouth. The king, who had seen better days, turned to you, an apology already on his tongue. “I’m so sorry, my lady. It’s all my fault. There was a stray fire spell I hadn’t seen coming and Lilia rushed to my aid.”

You drew in a sharp breath, whispering, “Of course, he did.” You tried to get closer, but the king pulled you back.

“Please, I need to—”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but the healers must do their jobs.” You tried again, but the king’s grip was firm and you knew better than to exert your fae strength on your master. As he led you from the infirmary, all you could do was watch over your shoulder helplessly as more healers swarmed Lilia, desperate to save him.

Hours went by of you sitting with the king, queen, and princess in the throne room, awaiting news. You entertained the princess as best as you could, but you felt as if you had no energy left. You couldn’t think about being a knight or a witch or anything else but Lilia.

Lilia. Lilia. Although you had only spent three hundred years together, you couldn’t recall a time when he had not been by your side with wise advice or a cheeky joke, both paired with a kiss. You were both immortal, sure, but that didn’t mean invulnerable. If anything happened to him…

When the head healer entered the room, you all stood and you swore you could feel yourself trembling ever so slightly as you walked quickly to meet her in the middle of the room. “Well?”

“Thankfully, because General Lilia is a fae, his accelerated healing ability saved him from what would have been fatal for mortals.” You let out the breath you had been holding since the moment the guard called for you. “He still needs some rest, but he is well enough for visitors.”

“Go ahead,” said the king. You swiftly made your way to the infirmary. Lilia’s head turned, and when he saw you, he perked up. You didn’t give him a chance to say anything before you were pressing your mouth desperately to his. You felt him smile into the kiss, bringing his hands to brush your cheek.

When you parted, he smirked. “Did you really miss me that much? Hmm… maybe I should sustain life-threatening wounds more often.”

“That’s not funny,” you huffed but you leaned down to press another kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, and his chin, and his lips one more time. “I was so scared.”

His smirk dropped and he took your hand in his, pecking your knuckles. “I’m alright, beloved, there’s no need to worry anymore.” He gazed up at you. “Besides, I have a feeling the war will draw to a close soon.”

“Really?”

He hummed and nodded. “Just a hunch, though,” he added, but over your centuries together, you had learned that more often than not, Lilia’s hunches were correct. “But when it does,” he said, “I have a feeling life will be very different.”

FIVE HUNDRED YEARS BEFORE.

Lilia’s hunch was correct. The war had ended shortly after he had been wounded, the rulers of Briar Valley and Rosia reaching an agreement that was mutually beneficial. He was also quite right about life being very different. In the two hundred years since the war, you two had served many royal families and beared witness to the overtake of faes in the lineage. Soon, there was but an ounce of mortal blood in the family tree.

The current royal family was the House of Draconia, made up of dragon fae. The queen had bore her son and given him the name Malleus. “A noble choice,” Lilia had said and you couldn’t have agreed more.

Like you had loved the young princess so many years ago, you were so taken with Prince Malleus. He was a joy — curious, diligent, and kind, with a nice mix of fire and spunk.

The three of you were playing in the forest behind the castle, chasing after one another and play-fighting. Lilia managed to nab Malleus as he ran away, pinning him beneath him and tickling him. Malleus burst into fits of laughter, trying his best to squirm away, kicking futilely at Lilia.

“Beloved,” Lilia called over his shoulder, “a little help?”

“Oh, of course!” You stalked closer and leaned over Malleus, who yelped. Your fingers ran up and down his sides as you joined Lilia’s tickling.

Tears ran down Malleus’s face and as his head thrashed around, you and Lilia leaned back to avoid the sharp horns at the top of his head.

Neither of you expected what came next. You had moved away for a split second, which turned out to be a great decision because a moment later, Malleus opened his mouth and a burst of flames came forth. Lilia tried to dodge it, and while his body was intact, his hair was another thing.

You took one look at your lover, whose bangs had been singed off by Malleus’s fire, and you dissolved into uncontrollable laughs. “I’m sorry, love,” you said between gasping breaths, eyes screwed shut. When you ventured another glance, you burst into laughter again.

Lilia pouted mockingly. “You wound me,” he sighed.

Malleus grasped Lilia’s pant leg, saying, “I’m sorry, Lilia.”

“It’s fine, I guess,” said Lilia. “Actually, do you know how you can make it up to me?” Malleus tilted his head questioningly and Lilia nodded at you as you laid on your back trying to catch your breath. “Revenge.”

Malleus seemed to understand what he meant, and the two advanced on you and attacked your sides with tickles.

That night, as you and Lilia settled into bed, you reached over and ran your fingers through Lilia’s shortened hair. “Oh, love,” you sighed, shaking your head pityingly.

He looked at you for a few seconds before you saw the mischievous look in his eye that you knew all too well. Suddenly, he pinned you against the bed, looming over you. “I’m still hurt,” he said.

You gazed up at him, still in awe of his beauty even after all these centuries. “Oh, how can I ever make it up to you?”

His mouth broke into a wicked grin and he replied, “I have a few ideas,” before descending upon you.

EIGHTEEN YEARS BEFORE.

You reread the letter over and over again, in shock. You stood alone on the balcony of the castle, leaning against the rail and letting the breeze wash over you.

Malleus, now an adult, walked onto the balcony, noticing your frozen form. “What’s distressing you?” he asked.

You sighed. Honestly, Malleus was the last person you wanted to tell this to. “Nothing,” you said, trying to hide the letter, but nothing escaped Malleus’s keen gaze.

“What’s in the letter then?”

You opened your mouth to come up with an excuse, but Lilia entered your field of vision. He stood at the threshold of the balcony. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing!” you quickly replied before Malleus could say anything. Still, everything was futile with these two.

“Y/n has a mysterious letter she won’t tell me about,” Malleus said, taking on a slightly whiny tone that only you and Lilia had the pleasure of hearing.

Lilia’s eyes narrowed and he spotted the letter. “Oh, is that so?” Then, he moved so quickly you didn’t have time to react, pressing you close against the counter. Easily, he swiped the letter from your grasp.

His eyes darted over it before looking up at you. There were very few times in your life that you had seen Lilia speechless and shocked, and this was one. “The Kingdom of Rosia wants you to be the overseer of their son?”

Malleus’s head snapped toward you. Like Lilia, there were very few times Malleus was caught off-guard. You tried not to wither under both of their intense gazes, Lilia’s more curious while Malleus’s was a glare. “The queen is still pregnant,” you said. “But, yes, she’s asking if I would be the future prince’s overseer.”

“Are you considering it?” Lilia asked.

“Honestly,” you said, “I… I think so. Especially if we’re thinking about one day having Malleus attend Night Raven College.”

“Why can’t you just come?” Malleus asked.

“Night Raven is all-boys,” answered Lilia.

Malleus said, “They can make an exception.” If there was one thing you learned about Malleus over the years, it was that he could get quite possessive. It wasn’t frequent, but there were definitely times when he didn’t want to share you and Lilia with others.

You shook your head. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Malleus frowned deeply, shoulders tense, and he said, “I’m going to take a walk.” He didn’t wait for the two of you to respond, leaving the balcony.

You watched Malleus’s retreating form, sighing deeply. Lilia wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck, swaying a little from side to side. “Are you going to do it?”

“I… I might,” you said. “I miss having a kid to take care of like when Malleus was little.”

“I do too.” You glanced at him and he wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe we should do something about that.”

You playfully untangled yourself from him. “Malleus wouldn’t be too happy.” An easy silence fell between you before Lilia said, “I think you should do it.”

“Yeah?”

He hummed, “We’ve been Malleus’s overseers for a while, and while I know we both love him, a little change can do some good.” He placed a feather-soft kiss to the back of your neck and a shiver ran down your spine. “And absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“I don’t know if I can be any fonder of you,” you said, pulling Lilia into a kiss.

THREE MONTHS BEFORE.

“Is it Lilia?” asked Aurelius, the Crown Prince of Rosia, as your phone rang in the library.

“Yeah, let me take this.” You left the library, walking into the main quad of the school before accepting the call.

You heard Lilia’s heavy sigh, “Hello, love, how have you been?”

“I’m good, but it sounds like you’ve been to hell and back.”

“It’s been quite a day. We have the inter-dorm Spelldrive tournament tomorrow. Because Malleus has led Diasomnia to victory twice before, another dorm had plotted to hurt him and other players.”

You gasped, hissing into the phone, “Who? Are Malleus, Silver, and Sebek okay?”

“Everyone’s fine and everything is okay thanks to some freshman and members of the Heartslabyul dorm.”

“That’s a relief. I would have had to kill someone.”

Lilia laughed, “I’d help you hide the body.”

You both laughed again before settling into a silence. Then, you said gently, “I miss you. I think the next chance we’ll get to see each other is at the inter-scholastic Spelldrive tournament.”

“Right,” Lilia said, and you could practically hear the pout in his voice. “I miss you too. So do the boys. Do you really not have any time to see us?”

“Sadly, no. I have to prepare for finals and to help Aurelius.” You sighed before checking the time on the clocktower. “I have to go soon for an evening class.”

“Alright…” Lilia seemed reluctant to hang up and honestly, so were you.

“Remember,” you said, “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

PRESENT.

The Spelldrive tournament had been electrifying, though Night Raven College still lost. After congratulating Aurelius and the rest of the team, you made your way to the Night Raven College side of the stadium, waiting for the boys to meet you.

“Hmm, who are you?” You looked up to see a lion beastman and a hyena beastman — two of the players — emerging from the stadium. The lion glared at you. “Come to rub our losses in our faces?”

“You’re quite presumptuous,” you replied, straightening. Still, your height was nothing to him. He and his friend came closer, peering at you with casual curiosity. Their eyes roamed you, taking in your pointed ears and slitted pupils. “Do you do this to all strangers you meet or am I just lucky?”

The hyena said, “No, you remind us of—”

“Kingscholar, Bucchi.” Lilia, Sebek, Silver, and Malleus approached. There was a smile on Lilia’s face but you knew it was anything but friendly. Before Lilia could continue, Sebek jumped in, “Why are you harassing Mistress Y/n?”

“Huh?” The hyena hybrid, Bucchi, drew back. “Mistress Y/n?”

“Ah, I see it now,” Kingscholar said. “You’re also part of the lizard’s retinue.”

Silver glared. “Don’t speak about Malleus like that.”

“I’ll say whatever I want,” Kingscholar bit back, but he examined you again before saying, “Must take a hell of a spirit to keep up with this lot.” His tone, though not exactly friendly, did seem to hold some respect.

You shrugged. “I manage.”

Bucchi said, “Leona, we should get going.”

Kingscholar — Leona — turned on his heel and walked away. You looked towards the boys and said, “They seem nice.” You opened up your arms, waiting for one of them to step up.

“They’re the housewarden and vice housewarden of Savanaclaw,” Silver told you before coming into your embrace and wrapping you into a hug. Malleus followed, then Sebek, and finally Lilia, who snuggled into your neck and pressed a trail of kisses down it, making Silver groan and Sebek gag.

“Oh?” You glanced in the direction of the Savanaclaw students. “So those were the two who tried to hurt you guys?”

“Father,” Silver said, “you said you wouldn’t tell her.”

Lilia tilted his head and looked at you from the corner of his eye, arms still tightly wrapped around you. “Did I? I don’t remember.”

You shook your head, leaning a little away from Lilia before kissing him, eliciting more complaints from Silver and Sebek with Malleus just sighing through his nose. As you two parted, you rested your foreheads against each other’s, ignoring the others. “I can’t believe this,” you told him.

“What can’t you believe?”

“That I’ve grown even fonder of you.”

#lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lilia fic #lilia vanrouge fic

569 notes · View notes

aphroditestummyrolls · 3 years

Note

👀👀👀 8 or 53 (or 8 and 53?) for the intimacies prompts?

Take drabble prompts, she said to herself, you can keep them short, she assured herself. (She was lying). This is almost 1.5k hahahahaha I’m insane, but this was also so much fun and I’m really glad I decided to do it. Thanks so much for participating, friend! I loved the ones you picked.

8. Brushing noses, and 53. Listening to each other’s breathing

He was much more grateful for the heavy weight of his new winter finery out in the purple glow of the terrace than he was in the heat and light of the ballroom.

For all your bitching and moaning about the soupy summer, the cold of the mountains makes winter it’s own beast… Yusuf griped, pristine snow crunching under his dancing shoes. Mama would have told you to be careful what you wish for, silly boy.

He took slow steps to the bannister, puffy with white flakes, and let himself sigh out a long breath. He was still hot, reveling in the refreshing chill of the air. And the quiet. The swell of music and the titter of laughter was more distant now than the short distance would usually imply.

Yusuf’s exhale curled past his lips in a swirl, dissipating fast before his eyes.

The snow covered gardens of il Palazzo seemed to glow with a lavender light, radiating up into the deep night sky. It glimmered like a sheet of diamonds, illuminating everything under the moon— both pale and dark, muffled and crystalline clear, Yusuf felt like the world was all his own.

Perhaps it’s cold, he found himself smiling, flexing his fingers with his need for a warm hand in his own, but at least it’s beautiful.

He hadn’t been able to stop his racing thoughts all night. What would Nicolò look like in the fine dancing clothes of noble northerners? Even in Yusuf’s? Would he be well suited to cyan velvet, to silver constellations glittering in the fabric over his collar, and up the soft gossamer undershirt at his neck? The crown weaved into his curls would look so handsome, maybe even more fitting, on his gardener’s head. Yusuf thought he was as elegant, as kingly as any of them.

Could that ever be? His heart swept up like a bird in the cage of his chest, trying to fly at the thought of a world where Nicolò could share his life. He and Nicolò, Princes, husbands and partners— it was a nice dream.

He could dream. He was good at dreaming.

Even the company of Andromache and Quynh was not enough to keep his mind from wandering. Yusuf wished for him with every round of dancing, and every stolen moment.

Like now. He wished for him now— an arm at his waist, or callused fingers intertwining with his cold hand.

The snow crunched under feet that weren’t Yusuf’s, and he turned, glancing back at the golden light of the gauzily shrouded ballroom. The only track of footprints were his own. The night went quiet again, only broken by the warble of strings, but something had shifted in the air on the snowy terrace.

Yusuf couldn’t help the curl of his smile as he turned back to face the bannister, looking down and into the glittering expanse of reflected moonlight.

“Che bellissimo.”

The words curled into the air on a swirl of frost. Pale eyes blinked up at him, taking in every stitch of thread, every gleaming jewel on Yusuf’s most regal tunic. Nicolò was slack jawed, staring up at him as if he were every star in the sky. He hardly resisted the urge to preen, instead reaching out, leaning down where the bannister held them apart, and took his hand.

“Yusuf, you are the sun.” He breathed, taking his outstretched hand in both of his, kissing the knuckles. It made him warm, like the tingle of wine in his bloodstream.

“Ya Amar,” he barely breathed his reply, “you are too far away, all the way down there.”

Nicolò chuckled against the hand at his lips, curling into a smile against Yusuf’s skin. He looked up, playfully through long lashes, and kissed again.

Them, he hurried away, and Yusuf scrambled along the bannister to the far side, following Nicolò’s steps on the other side of the marble— away from the lights of the ball and the tittering laughter of stuffy nobles.

The shadows of the side of the palace were cold, but not for long.

Nicolò was up the small side steps in a blur, hands on Yusuf’s waist, walking the both of them back into the stone corner. No windows, no prying eyes— Yusuf warmed his hands by twining them into the silky brown hair, pushing the hat from his head.

His lips were dry from the winter air, but it didn’t matter when kissing Nicolò. Broad hands stroked up and down his velvet covered back, and Yusuf ached for him.

“It’s been days, where have you been?” He panted between fervent presses of lips.

Nicolò pulled away, only far enough to press their foreheads together, brushing the tips of their frosty cold noses past each other.

“Preparing for the festival, just as you’ve been, your Highness.” He breathed in, slow and steady, pressing one last kiss to the corner of Yusuf’s beard before fixing him with a proper look. “You received my gift?”

The twinkle in those green eyes said he already knew. Yusuf nodded, humming at the memory of the vase of jasmine and roses at his bedside. “You bring the springs of home to this far away winter. You got my note?”

“I hold every word in my heart.”

He squeezed him round the waist, whispering the words as a secret. They were secret— every word, every stolen touch, every flower in Yusuf’s chambers.

Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the warmth of the ball, alone. He could not stand a single moment of genteel, political dances with fake smiles and simpering small talk— he would be itching out of his skin.

He wanted Nicolò at his side. He wanted arms around him and kisses on his knuckles, pressed close.

He wanted to dance with him in front the eyes of anyone who could see. But the music was no more than a faint melody lilting through on the swirls of snowy breeze.

Listening to the soft echo of the tune, Yusuf found his hands slipping down from that hair, cradling the nape of his neck. He looked Nicolò in his eyes, the moon just barely lighting the planes of his face, and he loved him. He wanted to show him to the world.

He couldn’t.

“What’s wrong?” Nicolò’s breath curled in the air, and he barely broke the hush of the snowy night.

Yusuf cupped his cheek, holding him, studying him.

He shook his head, clearing it as well as he could. Just as he was about to dismiss the furrow of Nicolò’s worried brow, the song changed. It seemed to wrap around them— a waltz.

“Would you dance with me?”

His surprised laugh was more of a muted snort, but Nicolò was smiling. Yusuf felt his heart in his throat, even after all these months of tender steps into each other’s orbits. Nicolò did not have to say yes.

“Dance with you? Right here?”

“We have everything we need— you, me, music, and the moon.” Yusuf only stood straighter, extending his hand just like he had to many a noble guest that evening. But this time, it all felt real. His smile was soft, his frostbitten nose was rosy and cheeks flushed— the snow under his feet crunched, and it felt real. “May I have this dance?”

Nicolò’s palm was broad and warm in his own when he took it. They stepped in close, close enough that the clouds of their breath curled together, mingling. Yusuf took Nicolò’s waist, wrapping him in his arms, and led them in a slow, gentle waltz, never stepping too far from their corner of the world.

It was nearly silent— the muffle of snow and the secrecy of their corner keeping the bulk of the sound away from their ears. There was only the thin strain of the waltz, with its violins and warbling clarinet, and the soft rhythm of breathing. Yusuf could picture it even with eyes closed, their cheeks pressed side by side, the way Nicolò’s tendrils of silver breath caressed over his ear, along his neck and shoulder. He felt so secure. So loved. Hoping his gardener could feel it too, Yusuf took a measured inhale and a long, contented sigh. He pressed his warm lips to the sensitive skin of his neck, nosing at his pulse just to listen to Nicolò’s answering hum.

They turned in slow circles, leaving footprints in the glittering whiteness beneath their shoes. The music was an afterthought. The dancing, even, was beside the point.

Yusuf felt Nicolò’s heartbeat pressed flush to his own, the cage of his ribs expanding and deflating with his soft breaths as he spun them in interlacing circles. What was important was the man he held, the hand that cradled the nape of Yusuf’s neck, and the footprints in the moonlit snow, declaring that they had been here. That their love was real.

Perhaps, he thought, winter is not so bad after all.

#tog #the old guard #tog fanfic #joe x nicky #nicolo x yusuf #yusuf al kaysani #prince Yusuf #nicolo di genova #gardener nicolo #the fairytale au #color and light intimacy prompts #dancing in the moonlight

91 notes · View notes