#nephele after dark

[jisungchan]

notice me | lee jeno

or: where your friends set you up (accidentally) so you end up alone with your hot college professor, lee jeno

⚔︎ warnings: professor!jeno x student!reader (therefore powerplay), unprotected penetrative piv sex (pls wrap it we cannot have anymore children in this economy and society), oral + fingering (f receiving) softdom!jeno x sub!reader (ish? not really strong dynamics tbh), bigdick!jeno agenda, light degradation/praise (idk he just yappin fr), oh yea... YAPPER JENO idc🗣, sexy consent, he finished inside so BEWARE (once again PLEASE do not bring anymore poor children in this world), light nipple play, marking ?? (hickeys galore), afab!reader with she/her pronouns, NO race specific descriptors (skin colour, hair texture, etc.), NO body type specific descriptors (size of reader body parts, height, weight, etc.). also this is basically porn w/o plot ngl but it's whatever ig

^^ let me know if i forgot anything hehe

2k word count

a/n: i completely gutted this blog and deleted all my old posts because that was a completely different audience/fandom and i have now ventured here... i haven't wrote something like this in a while so it's quite bad

“yeah i mean, he is hot, but he’s our teacher.” you exclaimed to your friends, gossiping about your teacher, professor lee jeno.

the way he would loosen his tie in class sometimes and peer at students through his glasses was just too much to handle. the dark haired older man was definitely easy on the eyes. 

“okay… so? i would let him hit any day.” your friend said, and you all laughed, yet were all in agreement. 

next thing you knew. it was time for class with the devil himself.

you sat in your usual seat next to your friends. while they all usually messed around during class, you always paid attention. your education was very important to you, and you weren’t going to let anyone get in the way of that. so you sat there, studiously taking notes and listening intently to everything said, taking it all in. 

as you were taking notes, a note got passed to you. “listening extra hard to your boyfriend today huh?” you rolled your eyes at the familiar handwriting and shot your friends an irritated look. 

professor lee got a glimpse of this, he peered through his glasses, and shot you a dangerous glare. 

“y/n, see me after class please.” he said, before swiftly turning around to finish his lecture. 

you couldn’t focus the rest of the class, so you settled for writing your thoughts in your notebook. how were you supposed to see him one on one? you could barely handle him in class. you made note to go off on your friends after you were done seeing mr. lee. 

then, the bell rang. students fled the room, nobody quicker than your friend group, feeling a little guilty for getting you in trouble. 

“so, y/n, passing notes in my class, are we?” he said, his back turned to you, erasing the board filled with an hour’s worth of notes. 

“i’m sorry, it’s just a stupid note my friends passed to me.” you mumbled back. He motioned you to come to his desk as he sat down in his chair. of course you obliged, immediately going to the opposite side of his desk. 

“let me see it.” he said emotionlessly, his hand out expecting it to fall in his palm.

“no sir, please, it’s just a stupid joke.” you pleaded, but his hand still was expectantly extended.

eventually, you dropped it in the palm of his large hands. he opened and read the note aloud, finishing with a hint of a little smirk.

you shuffled in place, cheeks burning and blushing from him reading it out loud, it was so embarrassing and you wanted to die on the spot. 

“i see someone has a little crush. you’re a good student, you know that y/n?” he said to your surprise. 

“thank you sir, i try my best.”

“and i think good girls deserve a little reward, wouldn’t you agree?” 

you looked up to him loosening his tie and taking his jacket off. 

“come, sit.” he said as he patted the desk right in front of him.

blindly, you obeyed. mind blurry from the very sudden and odd words coming from your teacher. you sat atop the desk, right in front of his sitting figure, and more importantly, his face. you kept your legs clamped shut, and you regretted wearing such a short skirt today.

“don’t be shy now love, like i said, good girls deserve rewards, now let me reward you, yeah?

you nodded, and with that, he separated your legs, staring hungrily at the wetness leaking through your underwear. 

he laughed.

“already? i see that ‘stupid little joke’ must be getting to you, hmm?"

this was all too embarrassing, you tried to close your legs back, but jeno was too strong. he tsked and widened your legs even more. then, he scooped your underwear with one finger, tugging it down your legs. 

“was so excited when i saw you with that note, finally had an excuse to get you alone.” he said, his hands lightly grazing your inner thighs.

he stood, hovering over you, and kissed you. 

it wasn’t desparate and harsh, but slow and sensual. he licked your lower lip, then took it between his teeth. he placed his hands on your hips as he continued. he moved down to your neck, embedding hickeys into your skin. 

“how true is that note? is that why you’re such a good student in my class?” he questioned you once again.

“yes, no? i do genuinely enjoy your class, sir” you breathlessly replied. 

he sat back down, you could feel his breath on your wet, eager cunt, just waiting for him to do something about it.

and as soon as you uttered a 

please

jeno wasted no time to please you.

his wet, experienced tongue masterfully landed on your clit, giving you little kitten licks. then, he pressed his lips on you, making out with your sloppy mess of a cunt. his tongue circling around your entrance, teasing it until finally replacing it with a finger. his tongue went back to stimulating your clit as his finger repeatedly abused your hole over and over again. he added another, and you’ve never felt so full. as if his long, veiny fingers weren’t enough, he curled them, hitting your sweet spot causing broken whimpers to fall from your quivering lips. moans escaped your mouth as he kept going.

as he heard your gasps of exasperation, he looked up, boring his brown eyes into yours.

  “such a sweet pussy for a sweet girl.”

he continued his actions, until eventually you started getting restless, pulling on his hair tightly and squirming around.

“go ahead, cum on my fingers darling” he commanded softly.

and with that, you were sent over the edge, making a mess of his fingers and all over his mouth. you thought your ‘reward’ was finished, but jeno had other plans. 

“you thought that was all? y/n, you are my top student, i have to treat you accordingly.”

then, he flipped you over on your chest, ass out in the air.  

“no spanking this time, but if you act up again, i will have to punish you, okay?”

“yes sir!” you replied eagerly.

with that, he placed his throbbing cock at your entrance, teasing you and himself with just the tip. you hadn’t even seen his dick, but from the tip, you could tell it was big.

he leans over, chest to your back, speaking lowly in your ear,

“i’ll show you how a real man fucks,”

he pushes himself in a bit 

“how you should be fucked”

he pushes himself halfway into you, you’re already whining at the stretch 

“you’re gonna walk out of here and never want anyone else’s dick ever again.”

and with that, jeno forces the rest of his length inside you, licking the shell of your ear as he stands back up.

your pussy squeezes in shock from him throbbing inside of you. he hasn’t even moved yet, but you can already feel yourself becoming undone. 

“you still with me baby? hmm? can’t have you fucked out when i haven’t even fucked you yet, can we?” he asks mockingly, squishing your cheeks with his hand to turn your face toward him.

jeno just thinks you look so beautiful, face flushed with lust and eyes glossy with desire as you shake your head no. 

“use your words baby, need to hear how much you want your professor’s cock.” he starts shallowly thrusting, just enough to make you let out a quiet moan.

“please, fuck, please fuck me. needed you for so long.” you whine, attempting to grind back on him in effort to get some friction for your poor needy cunt. he picks up the speed, starting to drag his dick in and out at a more rapid speed. you can feel each vein massaging your gummy walls. 

“fuck, me too baby. every time i saw you walk into class, just wanted to bend you over the desk and fuck you just like this. let everyone see how much of a slut you are for me.”

your head hangs down, forehead against the desk as he presses his hand in your back, causing you to arch even more. high on euphoria and need, you start bouncing your ass back on him, meeting him halfway. you hear a small laugh that turns into a low grunt at your actions, when he suddenly pulls out. 

sad at the feeling of emptiness, you didn’t even have a chance to protest before he flips you around, ass on the desk and your arms keeping you sitting up. 

“wanna see those pretty tits bounce when i fuck you.” is all he says, before he ruthlessly enters you again, going even faster than before. 

you moan and clench around the feeling, never having felt so full before. you’re gushing around him still, causing his length to be covered with your slick, it even dripped all over his desk and over both your thighs; though, you’re too turned on and needy to even be embarrassed. all you need right now is to cum around him.

you lift your shirt up, granting his wish of seeing your chest bounce and jiggle as he fucks up into you. he groans and takes one in his hand, kneading it and rolling your nipple before pinching it, making you yelp. he then brings his head down to paint more hickeys all over your now exposed chest, leaving so many littered across your skin. 

“is my pretty girl enjoying herself on my cock?” he hums as he kisses back up to your neck. 

you moaned in response, not able to formulate words. his gentle question was contrasted by how hard he was ramming into you. with every thrust you heard your skin clapping together; you swore you both were going to break his desk.

“you’re gonna let me cum in you, right? be my perfect little student and let me cum in you, yeah?” 

“yes please, god, i need you to cum in me. wanna be so full of you, please.” you choked out, furiously nodding your head. 

he kept going at a steady pace, fucking himself into you over and over again, chasing after his release. he placed his thumb on your clit rubbing circles, with the other gripping your waist.

“cum with me, yea? make a mess on my pretty cock, okay?” he cooed in your ear once again. that was all you needed to finish, and you came all over him as he came inside of you. 

after a moment of each of you catching your breath, he pulled out. you whined at the feeling, especially as you felt his cum start to leak out of you. he took his finger, gathering it, and pressed it back into you. you hissed at the feeling of his finger in your sensitive cunt again, but he kept fingering you through your overstimulation. the moment he placed his thumb on your cunt, you came for a third time, crying out his name. 

he cleaned you up with his handkerchief, slipped your underwear back on for you, and even helped you fix your clothes and hair. he looked at you fondly as you soothed face, still showing evidence of your semi-fucked out state. 

“you were so good for me, how about a free private tutor session at my place? i could go into so much more depth than what we discussed here.”

i do not give permission for my work to be translated or reposted.

#nephele after dark #nct #nct dream #lee jeno #jeno smut #jeno x reader #nct jeno #jeno #jeno imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct dream smut #nct imagines #nct hard hours

[birdsofvalhallablogs]

Golden Fleece Glittering in the Sky

There’s an old phrase “all that glitters is not gold” from William Shakespear. The phrase meant to point out that outward appearances don’t always mean the true value of the item or person. Throughout history and myths gold is used to represent the eternal, unending, incorruptible, and embracing the powers of the divine. Sif, goddess of fertility and the harvest, had hair of gold that was so coveted by the gods. As a prank, Loki cut the golden locs from her head and they grew back black as night. Golden apples granted youth to the gods and goddesses in Norse Mythology as well. Olympus was a series of palaces made of marble and gold. Anything gold was deemed divine, and so there was always a bit of demand for gold. The color of gold even still is associated with the sun, and this is where we start with the story.

Many generations ago, the gods were present in all aspects of life. Hestia looking after the hearth and home, Athena guiding wartime strategies and knowledge, Hades judging the dead and keeping the underworld contained, Persephone aiding her husband and providing spring and bountiful harvests, and so many more. Poseidon, god of the sea, found a granddaughter of Helios, the titan of the sun, and took her as his consort. Using his divine abilities, he transformed them both into sheep so that her suitors could not find her as the god had his way with his mistress. She bore a son, a ram with glittering fleece of gold that glittered in the sun. He was named Chrysomallos, and he had wings that could carry him great distances. This golden fleeced, winged ram would bring salvation, joy, and death to individuals in its lifetime.

A cloud nymph who was made by Zeus in the image of Hera to trick a lustful guest at one of his feasts, Nephele was indeed beautiful. Her beauty allowed her to marry King Athamas and together they had twins, a boy named Phrixus and a girl named Helle. After a few years, Athamas grew tired of Nephele and sent her away, marrying another woman, Ino, instead. Ino hated her step-children and vowed to get rid of them somehow. So she devised a plot to get the king to slaughter his own son as a “sacrifice to the gods”. She roasted all the seeds meant to be planted, making sure they would not sprout. Then when the citizens went to the oracle, Ino bribed the men who made the trip to tell the rest of the people that Phrixus needed to be sacrificed. Nephele watched as her son was about to be slaughtered and she sent the winged ram Chrysomallos to save her children. The ram descended and picked up Phrixus and Helle before making his way back to his home. However, on the journey, somehow Helle fell from Chrysomallos’s back and died when she drowned in the water. The place that she fell became known as Hellespont, now called Dardanelles or the Strait of Gallipoli. Phrixus on the other hand, safely made it away from Athamas and Ino, as Chrysomallos spoke words of encouragement to him as they fled. When they were finally safe, in what’s now modern day Georgia, on the eastern most coast of the Black Sea, Phrixus sacrificed Chrysomallos to the gods, sending him back to his father, Poseidon. Poseidon put the ram into the sky as the constellation Aries so that all would know they would be watched over. Phrixus gave the golden fleece to a king in exchange for the hand of his daughter. That king would put it in a sacred garden of Ares, where Jason and the Argonauts would try and retrieve the item.

Aries season starts the zodiac cycle as it begins on the Vernal Equinox. Astronomical Spring, March 21st, begins the springtime season and is one of two days that is equal daylight and darkness. From March 21st to April 19th, Aries get their time to shine. They are the cardinal fire sign, the very first fire sign in the zodiac. This makes their temperament very dominant. Aries usually have a lot of problems with the head as that is their body part and they are ruled by the planet Mars. Aries are prone to headaches when there is too much energy around and they’re known for great drive in starting tasks and projects, but not at the followthrough and completion. Aries are known for their mantra of “I Am” as they view themselves as highly important and first in all things. For those who are great with the completion but not starting tasks, having an Aries in your life is the best thing. They will make sure you know how to do what needs to be done and then they will start helping, but leave you to finish it all up which is just the way you like it. Aries can be courageous, determined, confident, optimistic, passionate, enthusiastic, and bluntly honest when you look at them completely. On the flip side, they’re known for being impatient, moody, impulsive, short-tempered, and even aggressive on some occasions. The best thing for Aries when you get one in your life are to make sure they have comfy clothes, a leadership role of some kind, that they can engage in physical challenges, and that they can play individual sports like tennis. The things to never let happen with an Aries are inactivity, delays, and giving them work that doesn’t use their talents.

Aries people get along best with Leos and Libras and their lucky colors are red and mustard. The luckiest numbers are one, eight, and seventeen. Aries usually have their best days on Tuesdays and they align with the tarot card, the Emperor. This soap, colored with ethical micas and activated charcoal, swirls the vibrant reds with darker shades and of course that dark black to make things pop. Nestled in the corner of the soap is a pressed emblem of ram’s horns, painted golden with mica powder, to signify the golden ram Aries. This natural soap is the first in the twelve bar series of the zodiac line and is scented in black violet and saffron. Smelling this soap gives you a seductive scent of amber and herbs with the light floral notes. The geranium and bergamot notes blend into a bouquet of violets and roses all nestled on top of the woodsy and deep saffron base note. In between all these fragrances, hints of leather and vetiver poke through and add a bit of mystique and sultry luxury into your senses and collection of fragrances. This soap wouldn’t be complete without the shining carnelian tumble on the top of each bar. Each tumble is hand selected by the CEO and placed with care to ensure it doesn’t escape during curing and transit. Carnelian is a stone used for protection, just as Chrysomallos protected Phrixus, which makes the choice of the reddish stone perfect for the soap. You can buy your bar here on the website or here on Etsy. And don’t forget a few more things! There are wax melts and pendants for Aries that you can grab for that excellent birthday gift bundle. You don’t want to miss out on this opportunity to give the greatest birthday gift.

#birdsofvalhalla #handmade soap #soap #natural soaps #small business #norse #norse pagan #norse theme #handmade soaps #soapmaking #aries #aries season #aries zodiac #aries zodiac sign #zodiac

[feyresdaughter]

A Court of Wings and Ruin, Chapter 79:

I'm just dumping all the Feysand and Miryam stuff and then comment okay it's a lot

Miryam’s smiling face was more human than High Fae. But Miryam, I remembered as she and Drakon rose to their feet to greet me, was only half Fae. She bore the delicately pointed ears, but … there was something still human about her. In that broad smile that lit up her brown eyes. I instantly liked her. “High Lady,” Miryam said,

I took her hands , surprised to find them dry and warm. She squeezed my fingers tightly while I managed to say, “I’ve heard so much about you—thank you for coming.”

I cast a look at where Rhys still remained sprawled on the cushions, watching us with raised brows. “For someone who was just dead,” I said tightly, “you seem remarkably relaxed.” Rhys smirked . “I’m glad you’re bouncing back to your usual spirits, Feyre darling.”

Drakon snorted, and took my hands, squeezing them as tightly as his mate had. “What he doesn’t want to tell you, my lady, is that he’s so damn old he can’t stand up right now.” I whirled to Rhys. “Are you—” - “Fine, fine,” Rhys said, waving a hand, even as he groaned a bit. “Though perhaps now you see why I didn’t bother visiting these two for so long. They’re terribly cruel to me.” Miryam laughed, plopping down on the cushions again . “Your mate was in the middle of telling us your story, as it seems you’ve already heard ours.”

I had, but even as Prince Drakon gracefully returned to his seat and I slid into the chair beside his, just watching the two of them … I wanted to know the entire thing. One day— not tomorrow or the day after, but … one day, I wanted to hear their tale in full. But for now

Miryam asked carefully, “Are you—friends with Jurian?” - “No,” I said. “I mean— I don’t think so. But … every word he said was true. And he did help me. A great deal.”

Rhys asked, “I thought I saw Nephelle during the battle— any chance I’ll get to say hello, or is she too important now to bother with me?” Laughter— beautiful laughter—danced in his eyes. I straightened, smiling. “She’s here?” Drakon lifted a dark brow. “You know Nephelle?” - “Know of her,” I said, and glanced toward the tent flaps as if she’d come striding right in. “I— it’s a long story.”

I said, “Is your island still secret?” Miryam and Drakon exchanged a guilty look. “We do apologize for that,” Miryam offered. “It seems that the glamour worked too well, if it kept well-meaning messengers away.” She shook her head, those beautiful curls moving with her. “We would have come sooner—we left the moment we realized what trouble you all were in.” - “No,” I said, shaking my own head, scrambling for the words. “No— I don’t blame you. Mother above, we owe you …” I blew out a breath. “We are in your debt.” Drakon and Miryam objected to that, but I went on, “What I mean is … If there was an object of terrible power that now needed to be hidden … Would Cretea remain a good place to conceal it?” Again that look between them, a look between mates. “Yes,” Drakon said. Miryam breathed, “You mean the Cauldron.” Drakon and Miryam considered , some unspoken conversation passing between them, perhaps down their own mating bond. “When we leave ,” Drakon said at last, “one of our ships might find itself a little heavier in the water.” I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Kicking us out already?” Drakon said with a half smile. “A few days,” Miryam cut in wryly. “As soon as the injured are ready.” - “Good,” I said. They all looked to me. I swallowed. “I mean … Not that I’m glad for you to go …” The amusement in Miryam’s eyes spread , twinkling . I smiled myself . “I want you here. Because I’d like to call a meeting.” A day later … I didn’t know how it’d come together so quickly. I’d merely explained what I wanted, what we needed to do, and … Rhys and Drakon made it happen.

First of all, I want more of them. I already love their dynamic and Feyre fits right in. She likes Miryam instantly and Miryam obviously likes her, and Drakon too. If that wouldn't be the case Rhys would have cut in the conversation. Second, Rhys just told Miryam about Feyres Story and you can obviously make out from the text that they have respect for each other and I LOVE THAT! They are both so interested in learning each other's stories. Third, FEYRE FANGIRLING BECAUSE NEPHELLE IS THERE!!!! Fourth, Miryam calling Feyre High Lady and Drakon calling Feyre my lady is adorable. Fifth, Rhys and Drakon organizing the meeting instantly, love it. Sixth, I also love how quickly they accepted to hide the Cauldron. Seventh, their friendship give the purest vibes fr. They feel like the couples that go on double dates and drink tea on a porch and gossip about their neighbors.

I’d slept through the night, deep and undisturbed, Rhys in bed beside me. I hadn’t let go of him until dawn had leaked into our tent.

The High Lords arrived first. Starting with Beron. Beron, who did not so much as glance at his son-who-was-not-his-son. Lucien, standing on my other side, didn’t acknowledge Beron’s existence, either. Or Eris’s, as he strode a step behind his father.

PLEASE I love Feyres thoughts when Lucien and Beron or Helion are in the room 😭

I started at the slight, dark-haired female who entered on Miryam’s right, her wings much smaller than the other Seraphim. I glanced to where Azriel stood on Rhys’s other side, bandaged all over and wings in splints after he’d worked them too hard yesterday. The shadowsinger nodded in confirmation. Nephelle. I smiled at the legendary warrior-scribe when she noticed my stare as she passed by. She grinned right back at me.

AZRIEL NODDING IN CONFIRMATION AND FEYRE FANGIRLING ABOUT NEPHELLE IS THE CUTEST THING IN THE WORLD

Graysen looked inclined to turn around, the fresh cut down his cheek crinkling as he scowled, but Jurian nudged him in. A black eye bloomed on the left side of Jurian’s face. I wondered if Miryam or Drakon had given it to him. My money was on the former.

Hehehe, Feyre believes in Miryam so I do too

A half smile. “Partly. Lucien suggested you had gifts. And other High Lords do as well.” Like his father— his true one. Helion.

Again, Feyre 😭 giiiirl I love you

Nesta said, “Do you think it will work— this meeting?” With so many Fae ears in the room beyond, I didn’t dare give any answer but the truth. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.” I offered my hand to my sister. “I want you here for this. With me.” Nesta considered that outstretched hand. For a moment, I thought she’d walk away. But she slid her hand into mine, and together we walked into that room crammed with humans and Fae.

Feyre taking Nestas hand is adorable af Idc

My voice was clear and unwavering. “My name is Feyre Archeron. I was once human— and now I am Fae . I call both worlds my home. And I would like to discuss renegotiating the Treaty.”

YES BABES

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #feyre archeron #feyre archeron supremacy #feyre cursebreaker #feyre darling #high lady feyre #feyre #feyre acotar #feyre supremacy #pro feyre #rhysand acotar #high lord rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand #feysand #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #feyre x rhysand #feyreandrhysand #rhys x feyre #Miryam acotar #Drakon acotar #Miryam and drakon #high lords of prythian #Nephelle acotar #jurian acotar #lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #azriel acotar

[rurus-writing]

Bloody silence

Notes: Those bitches r hurt and homes of sexual AND in pain 🤍I also realised I haven't posted any new writing in a little more than an year and I think that's so funny actually (It will happen again)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Shou, Qiran (Ocs)

Tws: Talks of blood, non graphic descriptions of wounds, biting someone's arm in order to survive and drinking their blood to heal your wound (romantic)

Tags: @a-chaotic-dumbass @edensrose @eden-dum

Word count: 1000 ish words

╔•══════•༺۝༻•══════•╗

The metallic stench filling up Qiran's lungs was far too familiar to be confused for else: blood.

Not theirs, but oh - how they wished It was.

How they wished they weren't on the cold, rough ground, deep into Nadaka's silent, dark forest, clinging to their loved one's now red-stained body, rocking him back and fourth, tears falling on Shou's face, just like drops of rain.

An huge wound that originated from the right side of his neck to his abdomen was threatening to paint the ground red. His breathing worsened as the seconds went on, whereas his heartbeat began to slow down.

The moonlight did not touch the pair, almost as though it wanted to keep them hidden.

Neither of them could talk: one barely holding It togheter, the other closer to Mors's touch. Not even Nephele herself could bestow him protection, after all, what protection could she give for him? A surviving offspring of both a demon and an human, an union unprecedented yet deplorable?

No matter whether they'd invoke her name, she wouldn't have replied to their prayers. Not now, not ever.

Qiran knew they had to act fast, as they couldn't allow panic to swallow them even more, making them shake and weep further. They knew they had to go somewhere - anywhere else, but they couldn't leave his lover in those conditions either.

When their eyes met his, realising how their loved one was falling both in and out of conciousness,as he battled quietly for his life, they knew what they had to do.

Qiran gently raised the man's head, as they came even closer to their lover. After a moment of hesitation, they leaned their other arm over to Shou's mouth.

"SHOU -!"

They panicked, as their breath increased and so did their heartbeat.

"- Listen to me! Demons need blood, right?!? You do as well, don't you!?"

Qiran soon followed with a pause.

"Then if so - just...please...?"

They begged, as they leaned their arm even closer.

They could see a glimpse of pure fear through Shou's widened eyes, however, when he tried to talk, to avoid the inevitable, he could not. A mouth open, without any sound.

The only thing coming from his mouth was a faint, quiet panting, soon accompaigned by the sound of drops hitting the ground.

He had just begun to cry. He couldn't do it.

Qiran quietly hushed them, as they slowly started to caress his face. Shou had tried to keep his eyes shut and pretend not listen to his partner's proposal, to no avail. His head was quickly brought back up, however their arm was far closer than It was before.

He opened his eyes, staring at theirs once more.

Shou knew that he would have never forgived himself if he were to die in their arms, and leave them alone to sob until they physically could. Qiran gave him an encouraging nod, their eyes trying not to pour as they waited for an answer.

After gathering up enough courage, he opened his mouth, a pair of long, sharp canines emerging as soon as Shou's mouth made contact with Qiran's arm. His heartbeat was now increasing with every moment passing.

Then, he bit It, his eyes closing altogheter.

He sunk his teeth into their sweaty flesh, trying not to cut too deep, as he needed blood to flow from the fresh bite. However, as soon as he gulped a few drops from the bite, he felt like he had just gained another life.

The adrenaline rush made him thrust in even more, as with every gulp a part of his wound healed. He was in a state of bliss, up until he opened his eyes, and soon noticed how Qiran's head faced the other way, as they trembled, writhing in pain.

Shou stopped, realising how much he gave in. The sharp, shooting pain was the only thing occupying their mind, as they felt their energies fading more and more as they felt their blood pouring. They swear It had reached their hand for how much they were losing.

He slowly raised his head, his canines abbandoning the flesh he had just damaged. His wound had pratically healed itself, disappearing altogheter. He gasped for air, almost as though he had been underwater for quite a bit of time.

Shou was now sitting, slowly getting used to his sorroundings. Yet, the same couldn't be said for Qiran. Their wound was pouring as much if not more than his, as they felt weaker and weaker.

Neither had something to treat it, or to wrap it in. However, that's when Shou noticed just how long his own robes were, followed by a quick -

- Slash.

He had just torn off part of his sleeve with his nails, as he was fast to wrap it around the biting point.

No exchange of words was needed. The silence around them almost seemed reassuring, peaceful, even.

"We cannot stay here."

That's how Shou broke the silence, as his voice sounded much more like a whisper, with an hint of worry and agitation.

"Before anyone else gets hurt - we have to go."

He paused, looking up to Qiran. They had closed their eyes, and had let their body fall upon Shou's. He immidately reacted, making sure they wouldn't fall on the ground, holding them by the sides of their torso.

Soon though, that transformed into an embrace. The two silently held onto eachother.

"Oh, darling...

How shall I ever repay you?"

He did not expect an answer, but he was given one.

"You did - you already did.

I would not trade this moment,

this memory,

for as long as I'm alive."

╚•══════•༺۝༻•══════•╝

#masterlist #my writing #ruruswriting #my ocs lol #my ocs #rurusocs #qiran #shou #ocs writing #oc fanfiction #ocs #writers on tumblr

[rosenecklaces]

About that last reblog about Elain being a Seer and Azriel a Shadowsinger, I don't talk much of it but I love that – coincidently or not – SJM keeps on to merge them and connecting them with one another

Yes, their names are almost always mentioned with eachother, yes somehow they end being related to every paragraph when someone is addressing only one, but I also love that it extend to their powers.

Elain/The seer, she sees and feels thinks others cannot. I can go as far as to heard things that most doesn't expects her to know (after all, being perceptive is belong just observing, is feeling and hearing)

Azriel/The shadowsinger, in his own words his eyes can't be deceived, he hears and feels way more than the average fae (being assigned spymaster isn't for nothing)

So, we have this couple sharing 3 main themes: Watching. Feeling. Hearing

And I love that we have crumbs of this, how Elain is described as this soft sentimental person in contrast with Azriel that is touch sensitive and haves emotional difficulties, they both take passivenes over agresiveness. Elain prefers a quiet environment and isn't the hotheaded warrior type (she things before doing) while Azriel hates hand on hand combat –he says because of the sweat but I have a feeling is more than that– actually any skin to skin contact makes him pause, prefers to have his space and works in the shadows instead of taking more direct actions

It's just, is all there isn't even a matter of reading between the lines so is frustrating that self proclaimed avid readers suddenly don't understand how they would work, or how a men like Azriel would fall for a woman like Elain when all they do is having their own narratives interlinked since day one:

Azriel the polite voice of reason Elain the mediator middle ground

Azriel the quiet knife in the dark Elain the quiet soft heart

Azriel the True Teller owner Elain who wielded it

Azriel the man who introduced Nephelle's philosophy Elain the woman who proved it true

Azriel representing Death Elain the Life

Azriel being the dark with shadows and terrors Elain the lovely fawn with light and blooming spring

Azriel the Spymaster Elain the secrets Keeper

They both see, feel and hear things others cannot, both are sentient persons and is foolish to try to separete their parallels

This isn't even a SJM couple format, this is a book romance 101 format. End of.

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #pro elain #pro azriel #sorry some haters are getting me tired with their bullshit #bc one thing is not liking a couple for your own reasons or taste #and another proclaiming they can't be together bc........?? #theres no reasons for them to be separated from eachother and yall KNOW

[gabriellaraelyn]

My Original Character 'Nephele' and Her Narrative in My Music

Since beginning my 'Nephele' project earlier this year, I've taken it upon myself as an artist to not only release sonically unique music, but a meaningful, complex story to go along with it. This post will be a deep dive into my thought process while creating the storyline.

Who is 'Nephele'?

Art depicting Greek Goddess 'Nephele' by Francie Klopotic

Nephele is a Greek cloud nymph that among other things, represents duality as well as the dark, mistrustful side of men. She was originally created by Zeus in the image of his wife, Hera, as a test for Ixion, who lusted after Hera. Later on, she was abandoned by her husband for another woman.

She was a woman created by and disposed of by men.

As such, I decided to name my character after her. My Nephele represents the dichotomy between escapism vs. reality in a young woman’s mind, brought on by society’s failure to her and the crushing hardships brought on by living under the patriarchy.

She is a 21 year old stripper and her story takes place around 1987.

She was a rebellious, troubled teenager.

She is running from her feeling of constant misplacement, struggling with the power dynamics between herself and men around her.

She is critical of the imperfect world, and as such, wields a very artistic mind.

She dreams up stories impossible to come true. Stories where she feels loved above all else, stories where she’s the heroin and the world rearranges itself to suit her needs and desires. It’s medicine to her, to numb the pain of reality. 

She struggles with self-worth and self-criticism, social anxiety and depression.

Her ultimate goal is to become a star, a famous singer.

Key Inspirations for the Nephele Project

Nephele is a hopeless romantic at heart, but rather than an easy, happy love story, the ones that grip her are the tragic, heart-wrenching ones instead.

Dance of the Damned (1989) is a movie about a rather existential conversation that takes place between a suicidal stripper and an immortal vampire who wants her as his next meal. Through this movie, I was inspired by the themes of power dynamics and the idea that

Romeo and Juliet (1968) is one of my absolute favorite movies. The idea for inspiration here is that Nephele uses this movie as a basis for all of the daydreams she has about love--they are sad, dramatic, and full of passion that defies fate. Such a love is what she craves; to be wanted so badly that destiny itself is ignored in pursuit of her.

The Phantom of the Opera (2004) is another one of my all-time favorites. The inspiration taken from this movie has to do partly in the actual sound of my music as well as the characterization of Nephele's antagonist. Sonically, I really liked the dramatic string bass, the synths, and the organ used in the score for the movie, so I incorporate those elements into the songs for this project. The Phantom himself influneced the character design I created for Nephele's antagonist, a masked man named 'the Music Man', whom I will talk about in another post.

Sound Design of 'NEPHELE: Act I'

'NEPHELE: Act I' is the name of the first album in my Nephele project, which will be coming out on October 13th (a Friday for the extra spooky vibes), 2023.

I have always loved 80s music, and so that was the very foundation for the sound on this album.

In terms of specific musical inspirations, I have a mix of modern & 80s artists such as: a-ha, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Modern Talking, Lana Del Rey, The Neighbourhood, MARINA, and Billie Eilish to name a few.

Artists like The Cure and a-ha have influenced me the most in terms of sound, while Lana Del Rey (I grew up on 2013-2016 Tumblr, so of course she raised me) has inspired the way I write lyrics.

The genres that this project falls under are Synthpop, New Romantic, New Wave, Alt-Pop, Dream Pop, and Darkwave predominantly

You can see these inspirations amalgamate yourself in some of the songs I have pre-released for this album here:

'DANCE of the DAMNED' is my most recent release, and it's the fifth full song off of the upcoming 'NEPHELE: Act I' album.

I'll explain in a future post what this song in particular is about!

My Hopes for Nephele

As an artist, part of the thrill is putting your work out there for everyone to perceive. It's a scary thing to do, because your creation isn't just your own as soon as it's out in the world, and it isn't up to you how others receive it. While this admittedly intimidates me, I also find it cool. You can relate to my music and art in ways that I didn't necessarily intend, but that fit you better.

With that being said, my intentions for Nephele are that she represents a desire for something more, something better, the deep-seeded need to be loved, and the sensation of missing something unidentifiable inside. 

She is a comfort character and a voice for any woman who feels incomplete, who is dissatisfied with life and who dreams of being more and being strong, who feels the weight of the world on her shoulders and want to make it a better place but feels powerless to do so. 

She is a representation of the journey of self-discovery and a journey of self-mastery.

She creates a space for maladaptive, daydreaming women

She opens the conversation for why we feel the need to self-soothe through fantastical creations of art and stories.

She is a voice for the quiet girl/woman with an overactive-imagination.

If you made it to the end of this post, I thank you sincerely for caring enough to read through it all! I hope it resonated with you in some way, and that if you do decide to check my music out, it does the same!

Keep in touch with me on other platforms:

Instagram

TikTok

YouTube

Facebook

Website

(Oh, and p.s., I do have a new song coming out on September 15th called 'the MUSIC MAN', if you would like to pre-save it! Post to come elaborating on the track :) )

#music #alternative #dream pop #alternative pop #alternative music #new romantics #new wave #synthpop #80smusic #80s aesthetic #80spop #darkwave #darkpop #altpop #indie pop #indie music #indie artist #oc #original character #original art #Spotify

[ameliathefatcat]

Parkwood headcanons

Penny first meet Skye when the Haywoods went to see a Wingtown Wanderers game. Skye was running around the stadium and ran into Penny

Neither of them remember this

Penny fangirled over school since their first flying lesson in first year

Skye didn’t really notice Penny. It’s nothing personal since Skye’s a Gryffindor and Penny a Hufflepuff

Skye struggles a lot with her lessons (she has some issues after nearly dying from dragon pox as a toddler) Penny o to tutor her

Skye was super grateful, she had to keep her grades up to stay on the quidditch team

During these tutoring sessions Skye and Penny got to know each other

Skye talked about her brush with death and that her mother passed away (she doesn’t like to talk about this) Penny talked about her own insecurities

Penny visited Skye all the time after getting injured.

Penny saw Skye’s soft side. She had to promise that she won’t tell anyone about this

Penny started to develop a crush on Skye towards the end of their third year.

Penny started to ✨Gay panic ✨ around Skye and it made tutoring hard

Skye didn’t notice this

Penny asked Skye out in their fourth year

Skye was too busy with quidditch and not failing her classes to date. So she said no

Penny was heartbroken and was an emotional mess for about a week

Amelia (mc) had to explain to Penny that Skye was super busy and didn’t have the time or energy to date

That year Penny found Skye feverish and half a sleep in the library.

Penny tried to convince Skye to go to the Hospital Wing

Skye feel asleep on Penny’s shoulder and Penny carried her to the hospital wing

Skye has fallen asleep on Penny’s shoulder serval times before that officially started to date

Half way through their fifth year they officially started to date

They off and on dating though out there time at Hogwarts

After one Gryffindor Quidditch Party Penny got drunk for the first time and was extremely hungover. Skye helped her though that hangover

There was a lot of drama In Hufflepuff girls dorm. Penny dating a Gryffindor chaser and Tonks dating the Ravenclaw seeker

PDA overload

Often made out under the Quidditch stands

Skye helped Penny though all of the trama

After graduation they took a break from dating so Penny could focus on being a potions master for St Mungo’s

Shortly before the war started Penny and Skye started to date seriously

Skye moved into Penny’s small flat

They attended Ben and Amelia’s wedding together

The two joined the Order of the Phoenix

They both fought in the Battle of Hogwarts

Penny took care of the injured and Skye was on of those to ride into battle on broomstick

Skye seriously injured her knee during the battle

Penny took care of Skye as her knee healed

Skye proposed to Penny in 2004

They got married in 2006

Both wanted kids. They looked into IVF but won’t eligible due to the dark magic they were exposed too

They turned to adoption, Ben and Amelia having several adopted kids helped them through the process

 Around 2012 they got approved to adopt two kids either nationally or internationally

Penny heard about a set of possible magic twins in Ukraine

After seeing the pictures of the twins both Penny and Skye knew that they were their daughters

In early 2013 they travel to Ukraine to adopt their daughters.

Dawn Nadiya Parkin-Haywood and Nephele ‘Ellie’ Ruslana Parkin-Haywood officially became Skye and Penny’s daughter on February Eighth 2013

The twins were very sickly, at nearly five years old they were size of small toddlers and could barely eat or walk on their own or speak

When they got home to the UK Dawn was diagnosed with heart condition and both girls were particularly deaf

Penny and Skye didn’t give up on their girls. The girls made great progress and by their adoption anniversary they were running around and knew about 20 words

Skye is Mummy/Mum and Penny is Mama

Ellie was diagnosed with Type one diabetes at age seven

Penny took great care of the twins many health issues and wanted to wrap them in bubble wrap at times

Skye taught them quidditch and told them that they could be anything they wanted 

Penny freaked out seeing the twins on brooms. Skye told her to take a chill pill

Both Skye and Penny cried when the twins started Hogwarts in 2019

Both Dawn and Ellie are Hufflepuffs like Mama and chasers like Mum

Skye is little spoon and Penny is big spoon

But if Penny needs to be little spoon Skye let’s her

Penny is the more emotional parent

Skye still dyes her hair bright colors (as well as brown to hide the grays)

Skye and Penny always make sure to have date nights at least once a month. When their daughters were little they would go to either Uncle Orion or Uncle Murphy for the night

Push for more LBGTQ acceptation and rights in the wizarding world

Penny often had to stop Skye from beating up homophobes

Skye and Penny are the twins #1 fans and are super embarrassing

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #skye parkin #penny haywood #Parkwood #harry potter hogwarts mystery

[linkedkeysau-official]

Linked Keys Febuwhump

Day 23- "You'll have to go through me"

Zephyr wished he had been open about this from the beginning. He knew right away that Warriors didn’t seem the type to trust many, and neither was his son. But Zephyr had fallen head over wings for the Hylian soldier, with his silky blond hair and eyes bluer than a summer sky, so tall and strong and confident, but with a soft side as well. The kind of man that Zephyr absolutely could not resist. So of course, in his enamored mind, he thought it was a good idea to keep his dark past hidden. After all, there was no way Wars would ever think of him the same way if he knew Zephyr had once been the enemy, would he?

He should have told the truth from the start. If he had, the two Hylians he now considered to be his family would not have turned their backs on him. They would not have seen him as a liar and a traitor… They would still love him. He really fucked this one up and he knew it. And it was going to take a lot to prove he could be trusted again; if they ever forgave him, that was. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. And it just so happened he was presented with the chance to do so.

It hadn’t even been two minutes since he’d pulled Warriors and Mask from the ravine. He hadn’t even gotten Warriors to stop crying, or to tell him what happened. It was obvious it was about Mask, as the poor kid looked downright awful. It wasn’t even immediately clear whether the kid was even alive, he looked so pale, limp and motionless in his father’s arms, covered in what looked like electrical burns. 

“Wars… Is he—?”

“He’s fine. We’re both… fine.” Warriors insisted, brushing Zephyr’s hand away rather harshly when he reached to take Mask from him. Zephyr flinched, but got the hint and backed off. He could see the tears welling up in the Captain’s eyes, but didn’t press the subject. 

“Come on, we need to get you both back to the boat. We may not have your healer friend with us, but hopefully someone will have some supplies or whatever those weird potion things you talked about.” he urged, “Do you need help?” He offered his arm for Warriors to grab so he could lean against him as they walked. Warriors refused.

“I can walk… just fine, thank you!” He groaned, adjusting Mask’s position so he wouldn’t fall, then stumbling forward as if to show that he could in fact walk (even if not very steadily). All of a sudden, his way was blocked by three winged figures descending rapidly in front of him, decorated with the black, blue, and green feathers of the Birds of Prey, war paint on their faces in the same colors. Sensing imminent danger, Zephyr sprinted out until he was between his family and the enemy.

“What do you want now?” He demanded.

“To finish what we started.” Said Corentin, one of the Birds’ commanders, Zephyr remembered, “You are in the way. The enemies of Lord Nihrie must be destroyed.”

“We’re not sure how you two survived the fall, but soon it won’t matter anyway.” Nephele, a former rival of Zephyr’s, drew her bow and aimed over Zephyr’s shoulder at the two Hylians behind him. Zephyr immediately spread his wings to block them from view. He was not letting anything happen to them. He would die before he let the Birds take his family from him again.

“Out of the way, Zephyr. I don’t want to have to kill one of our own, but if you don’t step aside right now, you’re going to become collateral damage.” Corentin warned.

“I’m not letting you hurt them!” Zephyr refused, “And I am not one of you. I wasn’t in the beginning, I’m not now. Especially not after what you did to the Phoenix Clan!”

“Starling, we’re warnin’ ya…” Aither, the third of the enemy combatants, spoke up.

“No. I’m done doing what you ask. I’m DONE pretending to be one of you for my own safety. These two Hylians behind me are my family now, and I love them more than anything in all the worlds. I would die for them. SO IF YOU WANT TO HURT THEM, YOU’LL HAVE TO GO THROUGH ME FIRST!!!” He screamed. Warriors, watching and listening to the whole exchange, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Zephyr really did love him and Mask. More importantly, he’d been telling the truth all along.

“Zeph…” He muttered, fighting the urge to cry again.

“It’s alright, you two. I won’t let anything—”

Thunk!

In a split second, there was an arrow sticking out of Zephyr’s back, straight through his left shoulder.

“Damn, I missed…” Aither grumbled. Warriors was infuriated. He didn’t care how hurt he was. His loved ones needed him now more than ever. He carefully removed his scarf and set Mask down on the ground gently, behind Zephyr still. Fire rod in hand, he stepped forward, now fueled with rage and the desperate need to protect his family, just like Zephyr had tried to do.

“Link, what are you—?” a burst of flame shot out of the fire rod, straight towards the trio of Avians, who flew up to evade it.

“Take Mask and get back to the ship. Call for backup. I’ll be fine.” Warriors promised. He then spun around quickly and pulled Zephyr into a kiss.

“I’m so sorry I doubted you, Zeph…”

Sorry this one was also late...

#linked keys #lk #loz au #not lu #febuwhump2023 #lk warriors #lk zephyr #mod kj

[jisungchan]

30 minutes | na jaemin

or: where your friend convinces you to get a massage for the first time

further on this drabble i wrote

⚔︎ warnings: masseuse!jaemin x collegestudent!reader, afab! reader, hella petnames from jaem (angel, sweetheart, etc.) softdom!jaemin, nipple play, fingers in mouth, fingering (f!receiving), lighttttt praise (more like encouragement idk), NO race specific descriptors (skin colour, hair texture, etc.), NO body type specific descriptors (size of reader body parts, height, weight, etc.), no piv... jaem does NOT whip his dick out sorry... if i missed anything lmk!

~2k word count

a/n: giving the people what they wanted (by people i mean me and two others)

with the stress of school, your friend had just the thing she said would help you relax and destress.

“i’m telling you! a quick 30 minute massage is perfect to help you work out all this tension in your body!’ your friend said, walking behind you gripping your shoulders.

“i’m not sure, i’ve never had one before; it’s making me even more tense because i’m nervous…” you trailed off, thinking about being practically naked while a stranger felt all over your body. 

with no time left to turn around, you two walked into the doors of the small massage parlour.

massage parlour near your college town. the inside was dim, with warm lamps illuminating the front room. there were green plants everywhere - hanging from the ceiling, the walls, and some on little plant stools. the faint smell of lavender and eucalyptus coming from essential oil diffusers filled your senses as you got closer to the front desk. standing behind the counter was a friendly woman, in about her late 30s, she smiled as you two walked up.

“brought a friend this time, y/f/n?” 

“yup, if you think i’m stiff, wait until you see her.” 

you simply rolled your eyes, taking in the rest of the surroundings as your friend finalised the appointment with the receptionist. finally, she led you two to the hallway, where there were only 4 different massage rooms. she gave you each a fresh warm towel and robe and notioned to your rooms.

rooms,

two opposite rooms.

sensing your confused face, your friend laughed at you, 

“what, you thought i booked us a couple’s massage or something? go! i’ll see you in a bit, hopefully you’re feeling better then.” she snickered and disappeared behind her door. 

following suit, you went into the, once again dimly lit, room. this time, peach and vanilla hit your nostrils. the room was quite small, a cushioned table sat in the middle. similar greenery around like the lobby, with a sprinkle of pink flowers. you start to undress, simply taking off everything but your bra and underwear, opting to leave them on for some sense of privacy. you slip the robe on and sit on your phone, waiting until the masseuse comes in.

after a few minutes, you heard three knocks at the door. jolting up, you meet eye to eye with him.

him…

why were you under the assumption your masseuse would be a woman? you had no clue. wondering if your friend might have strategically picked out the masseuse for you.

“hi sweetheart, i’m jaemin, and i’ll be helping you out today, is that okay?” he asked with a sickly sweet grin. stepping into the room completely and shutting the door behind him. he donned a simple black shirt with loose jogging pants, a comfortable pair of slippers at his feet. you couldn’t help but take a deep breath, he was hot.

his arms had a few veins slightly protruding up to his biceps, which seemed to be fighting against the hem of his sleeve. his chest held itself in a proud position, square and present, which was a contrast to how small his waist was, disappearing under the fabric of his tee. his collar exposed some of his collarbone, shining in the warm lighting of the intimate room. his face, he had plump lips which adorned a small smile. his skin was glistening from within - looking as plump and bouncy as his lips. his hair set a bit messy, but not enough to take away from his beauty, though you’re not sure if anything could take away from his attractiveness.

“hello? you doing okay there angel?” he asked again, teeth showing as he laughed a bit at your obviously flustered state. 

“oh! uhm yea, all good!” you replied quietly yet eagerly - eager to get this massage over so you  can curse your friend out in the car. 

he walked over to you, making your heart race even faster. “let’s take your robe off and get you ready, yeah?” he asked as one of his hands went to undo the tie and the other went to your collarbone, slowly peeling it off just the top half of your body. 

he chuckles again as he sees you in your bra and underwear still,

“trust me princess, it feels much better with all of your clothes off.” 

he then turns you by your shoulders, facing away from him, as he undoes your bra clasp, lightly grabbing the strap and placing it on the pile with the rest of your clothes. 

sensing your rigidness, he leads you to the table, all but two steps, and helps you lay down, keeping you facing away so you don’t expose yourself to him.

he places the towel over your lower half, then finishes taking off the rest of your robe. 

being in such a vulnerable position, you felt goosebumps all over your body, awaiting his next move. you were face down through the hole in the table, trying your best to regulate your breathing. 

“first massage, is it?” he asks, rubbing his hands with a faint sweet smelling oil.

“y-yeah…” you stutter, trying to make yourself as comfortable and relaxed as possible. 

he chuckled, “it’s okay, i’ll take good care of you, but you have to relax, can you do that for me love?” he asks, hands softly hitting your back, starting to rub the oil all over. 

you mutter a quiet yes, letting him get to work. 

he starts on your lower back, working out all the tenseness from your lumbar, working his way up to your mid back at your waist. admittedly, it felt nice. you could feel your mind emptying as you worked his magic with his hands. working his way up to your shoulders, he put a bit more strength into massaging the knots out.

“what’s got you so stressed, hmm?” he asks, seemingly genuinely. 

“school.” you say flatly, focusing on the way his large hands work their way into the grooves of your muscles and release tension. 

he moves down your arms, massaging your biceps and forearms, making his way down to your hands. he takes your one hand in his two, and slips his fingers in between each one, lightly yet firmly squeezing along all sides of each digit, making sure you feel him on every area of your body. he takes your palm face up in his hand, using his other to gently press into it. using his thumbs to splay across the skin. you feel your hand submit into his hold, reveling in the way it feels. once he’s done with both hands, he delicately places them back at your sides.

he walks down the table to your legs. starting at your feet, he works similarly as he did to your hands, working his way up to your calves, he feels the muscle and uses his flat palm to firmly rub up and down. moving onto your thighs, he wraps his large hands around each thigh, using his thumbs to manipulate the flesh and dig into your softness. as he inches closer and closer to the cusp of your rear, he again has his hands wrapped around your lower hips, using his long thumbs to swipe just where your rear ends and your thighs meet. he fingers are so lengthy, you can feel them dangerously close to your pelvic bone, almost skimming the outer edge of your panties. you lightly moan at the feeling, hoping it was quiet enough for him not to hear.

what you didn’t see is how his ears perked up to the beautiful noise that just came out of your mouth. he looks up at the back of your head, which seems to be pressed into the head rest a bit further than before. he releases your hips from his grip and goes back to your shoulders, flipping you around.

your face immediately blushes and your eyes widen, arms quickly going to cross against your chest. 

“this is a full body massage, so let’s see how your chest feels, yeah?” he asks, the same utterly sugary smile adoring his lips as before. you simply nod and slowly lower your arms back to your sides. looking to the opposite side as to try to hide your face from the embarrassment present. 

he reaches for more oil, this time drizzling it directly on your chest, causing you to hiss and arch your back at the cold sensation. his smile turning a bit more devious at your reaction. he reached down and takes each breast into each hand, taking the malleable tissue and squeezing it every which way to his liking. he lets one of your breasts go, opting to softly caress your stomach, while the other lingers to pinch your nipple. 

“ahh! jaemin!” you squeal, back attempting to arch, but his other hand on your stomach presses it back flat. 

“shhh, it’s okay, it feels good, doesn't it?” you nod, one hand up by your mouth, as he continues to twist and pull at each nipple. eventually, the hand on your stomach goes down under the towel, toying with the waistband of your underwear. as he continues his efforts at your chest, his lower hand then moves to feel the seat of your heat, gently pressing to feel your wetness seeping through the thin material. your breath hitches once you realise, and you snap your head back forward to look at jaemin, who is already looking at you. 

‘how about i massage her too, hmm?” he asks, and you just can’t say no when he looks at you with a face that looks like he genuinely wants to help you. 

you eagerly nod your head yes, but he tsks at you. 

“words, darling. need to hear you say you want me to feel her.”

you squeak out a yes, please. and that’s all he needs before he throws the towel off of you.

“‘i think she’s feeling a little neglected, let’s fix that.” is the last thing he says before he pulls your underwear down and off, you bare cunt, glistening with evidence of your need. he taps thrice at it, making you cover your mouth to muffle your yelps. he moves your hand down, and places two fingers in your mouth. 

“full body massage love, gotta make sure every part of your body feels my touch.”

his eyes are glued to his fingers massaging your pussy. his fingers glide teasingly up and down your slit, catching your clit every time he goes up. a muffled please tries to speak around his fingers, and he smiles softly before circling around your pulsing entrance. your hips jolt up in an attempt to push him inside, where you need him the most. sensing your urgency, he pushes a single finger in, tantalsingly slow, and you sigh in relief before he pushes another one in you. clamping down on him in shock, you moan as you’re lightly gagging on his fingers. he slowly motions in and out, shallowly thrusting his fingers into your dripping sex.

“there you go love. you’re so tight, need you to relax a bit for me.” he says as his finger goes to your clit, giving it dainty circles to help you ease up. finally allowing yourself to relax back on the table, your body starts to rock back and forth as he quickens his pace. you suck harsher on his fingers, and he looks back to you with adoration written all over his face before looking back to your gushing cunt. your slick is dripping onto the table underneath you and getting all over his hand. the sound of you squelching around his fingers and the moans coming from your mouth are barely disguised by the faint sound of the parlour’s ocean waves music playing in the background. 

he finally starts rubbing firmer shapes onto your clit, and you start whimpering harder around his digits, your eyebrows furrow as he starts curling his fingers inside you, hitting a new spot which has your eyes fluttering and your heart racing. his fingers leave your mouth and grab you by the chin, moving you to face him. 

“open your eyes when you cum for me sweetheart, need to see what that pretty face looks like when you finally relax.” you try your best to keep your eyes open, thighs threatening to shut around his hand as you get closer and close to coming undone. 

“please please please jaemin, wanna cum…” you mutter, one of your hands trailing down his chest to feel his abs under the fabric. 

“you can do it angel, just stay focused on me.” he says, guiding your hand further to feel his throbbing erection under his pants. you groan at the contact and your eyes flutter back up to him as he goes impossibly harder on your poor weeping pussy, aching to come undone. 

which you do, as soon as he gives you one particularly long and hard thrust. you let out a broken moan as you shake around him, his hand still going at it in your overly sensitive cunt, riding you through your orgasm. your head falls to your side, and you buck your hips as he slowly stops his motions. he brings his fingers up to his mouth, licking them clean as he hums pleasantly at the taste of you on his tongue. 

you breathe out deeply, letting out a long sigh as you feel the towel delicately wiping you dry from your sweat and slick. 

“how about next time you book a 60 minute massage? i don’t think i got your throat good enough.”

a/n2: RAHHH so hear me out... 60 minutes part 2, then 90 minutes part 3... let me know...

taglist: @bockhyun @nctspark

#nephele after dark #minutes with jaemin #nct #nct dream #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #jaemin x reader #na jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin #jaemin smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader

[acourtofthought]

I feel like El/riel seems to have a hard time to seeing anything outside the El/riel ship.

Example: The Nephelle philosophy has nothing to do with Elain or El/riel specifially since it's a goddamn philosophy. Sarah related a song specifally to Azriel has no big meaning and doesn't relate to either ship. Every word "flower" "Shadow" "bread" "fawn" "death" isn't always related to Elain and Azriel. How else is Sarah suppose to describe a dark corner? Or our dark figures that always follow us? Can a place not smell like flowers or bread without having anything to do with Elain? Wasn't Feyre described as fawn and Rhys as death too? Can Sjm just love flowers and put them as decoration without anyone screaming that it comfirms El/riel? Like....

Even the way they talk about Elain and Azriel is like these characters are nothing outside of El/riel.

Not everything Sjm says or do has a whole meaning behind it. I know we want our ships confirmed but goddamnit touch grass.

I agree. Yes, there are key words that do relate to certain characters but if you have an E-Reader and search for that specific words, you'll see many, MANY times of where that word is used and has no connection to the character in question. As far as the Nephelle philosophy, sure. Maybe Elain's scene with helping to save Briar and stabbing the King could be applied. But you know who else can be applied to it? Feyre saving their entire world by repairing the Cauldron. Nesta defeating a Death God. Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta (three females who had never believed they'd be doing much of anything beyond living in the library, running a shop, and living a life of anger away from true human connection, becoming Valkyries. Literally every SJM heroine there is. Because they all started their journey's living simple lives and have gone on to do greater things. No one assumed they'd ever become what they're becoming. That's the point of the philosophy, that these often underestimated females are making a difference in a way that no one would have imagined. It's interesting they fixate so much on Elain as fawn in conjunction with Az (lovely Fawn standing before Death_ because while on some level though it's cute imagery, it's not really a compliment. Yes, "Fox and Fawn" have a nice ring when the readers say it but note how Feyre that. It's a moniker readers have come up with. But Feyre does use Fawn and Death in a painting idea. The problem with that is:

"Fawns instinctively lie motionless when approached by a potential predator" Fawn calls to mind a timid creature who try to hide from things. The Suriel and Feyre, at that point in time, are viewing Elain this way because of her not having found who she is. She still shies away from things and hasn't really found her voice. So Fawn in connection with Az means that Elain is not bold with him and that is NEVER an endgame SJM pairing. And the Carver referenced Nesta to a fawn so yeah, it doesn't always have something to do with Elain. As far as Roses and Bread, I think there's a chance that may have had something to do with Elain. Whether it meant that SJM wanted to draw attention to the fact that she was missing from the Crossover scene in HOSAB or whether SJM did want to hint that she was staying in the townhouse, I think either is plausible. But E/riels using that as proof that E/riel as endgame is a joke because that means they've somehow gone from the Solstice rejection to making up, having their first kiss, asking one another to live together, all off page. When has that EVER happened in an SJM romance? Cassian does note in SF that the townhouse is currently vacant for whoever needs it and the fact that when Bryce enters, it smells like Bread and Roses and has a fire burning does suggest to me that someone is staying there. It would make sense that after what happened on Solstice, Elain would want to move out of the River House because Az often shows up for NC meetings. Why would she constantly want to run into him? So maybe she did ask to find her own space to live which sets her up for a book, just as Nesta began her book living in the apartment. Maybe Elain was watching Nyx at the River House and suggested the IC use her place to take Bryce to so she didn't have to enter the home of Feysand where their child was. Maybe Elain is living in the townhouse but was out somewhere else for the day so they knew it would be safe to use. Or maybe it's Az that's living there and bread and roses is not at all meant to indicate Elain is there with him but merely a clue SJM placed in order for us to note "hey, where IS Elain? Why is she not part of the group?" It's not that I can't understand why they initially made that jump because Bread and Roses are fairly specific to Elain. But the fact that anyone refuses to consider that it doesn't mean what they think it means (as far as E/riel certainty, especially because SJM NEVER has an endgame couples romance and major milestones happen off page) is the problem. It's too easy to point out why E/riel living together at the start of the Crossover makes no sense at all.

#crossover acotar #bread and roses #anti e/riel

[ancestorsofjudah]

1 Kings 10: 26-27. "The Chariot Cities."

What is a city and how is it different from a tent, a village, a town, and what is the difference between a City of Refuge and Chariot City? How does changing a modifier change the Gematria?

All of it turns out to pertain to the teachings of the Oral Law, without which our history would be even more stunted than it is now.

Without cities, we have wilderness. Wildernesses do not have tillable soil and cannot grow crops or pasture livestock. They are places savage men accumulate and hide.

The wilderness is also where natural law reigns supreme. To receive the Torah in the wilderness is to become fully acquainted between the laws of existence that are absolute- they are the climate, the will and appetites of the animals, and the Absolute Authority of the God of Israel. To abide in the wilderness is alone is not a fit place for mankind to develop his necessary faculties and capabilities and serve God as the Torah mandates.

Comprehension of the need to make the leap from a creature of the wilderness to a man of excellent stature is called Shavuot. Muslims perform a similar rite called Ramadan, the Scorching, which took place after war drove Prophet Muhammad into hiding in a cave, meaning civilization was dead. Only after Muhammad emerged with the Quran did civilization restart.

This is the same with Shavuot. From Shavuot we are able to move to shelter in a tent, which moves as we age and make our way to our first adult housing situation. A village , the Shtetl, is where men of honor congregate, such as a neighborhood or community center, the city is where all forms of life affect oneself and oneself has an affect on all that lives.

In Kabbalistic terms, they correspond to the following:

wilderness: "the threefold reverse"- the threshold or tension between what is new and what is old, what is present and what is forthcoming.

tent: "Persia" the place of science. To split or divide and draw conclusions.

village: mikvah "to rinse" and abizou, the abyss, or the place where meaning is complicated through discussion and then simplified again.

βυθος

The noun βυθος (buthos) means depth or the deep, and particularly of the sea. This noun also occurs alternatively spelled as βυσσος (bussos), but in either form is rare in the classics. In the New Testament, it's used in 2 CORINTHIANS 11:25 only.

It's not at all clear where this word comes from (see a brief discussion below), but apart from pointing literally at any vast body of water, our word is obviously also part of the symbolic structure that applies the hydrological cycle to cognition (see our article on νεφελη, nephele, cloud, for more on this). In that sense, "dry land" is that of which one is certain, and thus upon which one mentally stands — and this includes words that define things so that we can discuss these things with other people.

Dry land is the mental foundation upon which we and our people can jointly stand. The deep, on the other hand, is wordless and thus personal and thus emotive. Feelings are of course wonderful things, but they're always unique to ourselves and our own hearts — which is why the heart is the most deceitful thing (Jeremiah 17:9). Without words, our hearts are hopelessly disconnected from other hearts, and our feelings are ours alone. The magic of words is that words are collective things. Words are definitions that work for everybody, always, no matter how we feel. Because words stay the same, independently of how we feel, we can capture our feelings in words and share them with others. Words are based on rules, and rules are agreements that rise above our own private feelings.

Feelings are lawless, and lawlessness binds people in chains of darkness (ACTS 26:29, EPHESIANS 6:20). Words are lawful, and lawfulness sheds light in the darkness of feelings. Words, like love, binds people in living networks. That is why Jesus is the Word, who fulfills the Law (MATTHEW 5:17, ROMANS 13:8). Jesus' enemy is the Man of Lawlessness; the Man of Feelings (2 THESSALONIANS 2:3).

Since reason is enlightenment and joint reason equals standing on dry land in the bright light of day, the deep is utterly dark and breathless (i.e. spirit-less; see πνευμα, pneuma). When Peter sank away in the sea (MATTHEW 14:30), he basically became overwhelmed by a wordless and spiritless mass of feelings. Jesus, on the other hand, walked on water, and so mimicked the Holy Spirit in the beginning (Genesis 1:2), and the Ark of Noah upon the Great Flood (Genesis 7:17).

city: Elohim. The city is where we see all the Sefirot incarnate, become represented in the secular and spiritual phenomena all around us. Cities are proof God exists; none these things we see and experience, are passionate about and terrified of are artificial, they belong to us, but together they thrive because of something we cannot hope to create or match.

Chariot City =An Egyptian Chariot is an addiction, an Israeli Chariot is a reformer. They saddle up and chase us for very different reasons.

The Chariot City of Solomon=Ovid AKA Philemon=

φιλος  φιλεω

The verb φιλεω (phileo) means to love, and the adjective φιλος (philos) means beloved or friend. To be more exact: these words describe a deliberately pursued synchronicity mostly between specific persons. This pursued synchronicity has not so much to do with feelings but with a state of alignment, co-existence, or even symbiosis.

The noun φιλημα (philema) may mean kiss or hug or any such expression of affection.

Solomon apparently had a fondness for this concept:

26 Solomon accumulated chariots and horses; he had fourteen hundred chariots and twelve thousand horses,[i] which he kept in the chariot cities and also with him in Jerusalem.

27 The king made silver as common in Jerusalem as stones, and cedar as plentiful as sycamore-fig trees in the foothills.

Accumulation in Judaism means elaborating upon the basics of life with ultranatural experiences. To value what is above and beyond the natural order and be its agent is of the essence to a Jew.

Solomon added to the ordinariness of life in Jerusalem 1400 Chariots and 12000 horses. They are:

1400 Chariots are what are called 341, גד‎א, gada, "to expose and understand", also the Anunnaki, the sons of the gods. They are "clean politics".

(2350–2150 BC) The name Anunnaki is derived from An, the Sumerian god of the sky. The name is variously written "a-nuna", "da-nuna-ke4-ne", or "da-nun-na", meaning "princely offspring" or "offspring of An". The Anunnaki were believed to be the offspring of An and his consort, the earth goddess Ki.

An =

ענה I

The verb ענה ('ana I) means to answer or respond or even to testify. 

Ki=

The substantive כי (ki), expresses "a temporal, causal, or objective relationship among clauses expressed or unexpressed" (in the elegant words of HAW Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament). It's used more than 4,000 times in the Old Testament and can most often be translated with "that" or "in that (= because)" or "in that (= when)".

This is another instance in which ancient Judaism absorbed its past and kept going.

12000 Horses= Capitalism, or 323, AKA גבג gabag, "to pass very close to the heap of assets."

If clean politics are the vehicle then they are moved by the need for capitalistic societies to encourage the right diversity of employment opportunities and guarantee supply lines to the city.

Corruption, the creation of an underclass with immense wealth at the top has the opposite effect.

This ties to the comment Solomon made opportunities common. This is because he made skilled workers, aka cedars as common as fig trees which are practically weeds.

 The Oral Law is compared to a fig tree, as it is written: 4 “He who plants a fig tree will eat its fruits.”

And our Sages state (Eruvin 54a): “Why are the words of the Torah described with the analogy of a fig tree? A fig tree produces fruit throughout the entire time that a person pays attention to it (i.e., it does not produce its fruit only at one time; instead, today, some, tomorrow, some. At any time, it is fitting to partake of it). The same concept applies to the words of the Torah. Whenever a person meditates upon them, he will find value in them.”

[p0plotte]

❛ 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙖𝙥, 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮. ❜

+ —— 🦷

Name ; Ciel Apocalypse / “No.4”

Age ; 800

Gender ; Male (He/Him)

。 ☆ 。

。 ——— 🕸️

In his human life he was shunned by almost everyone. A gentle soul in the cruel world, old England was a bitch. Found reading by the courtyard fountains? Soon his nose would be touching the bottom of the fountain, arms restrained as he was beaten with books and belts till a teacher found and seperated the attackers from him. Bad grade? Locked away in the attic for a few nights with no dinner. Teachers notice and ask home about your bruises? Another harsh beating a month of chores and little to no water.

Soon, he became skin and bones. After one of the many assaults from his school mates he’d fallen unconscious, and within an hour found dead from starvation and an injury to the chest.

The God of Wind, Nephele, bless her heart - took pity on this boy. She fixed him up and gave him a new home within her group of disciples.

But by then, black spores of hate and darkness had already impanted themselves in his heart. And as he watched the way humans would treat each other, and even him when he rarely walked among them, it continued to fester and fester.

Soon, they would know the same pain as him. They would feel how he ached. They would understand terror for the first time in their naive, idiotic little lives.

They would know death soon enough.

#oc works #oc stuff #oc info #oc lore #oc profile #Ciel Apocalypse #wanderer of the stars #wots #creative writing

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 59

Masterlist

----

“We need a healer!” Drakon shouts. He looks around at Sinna, Nephelle, all these people who are standing around in a loose circle. Why are they just standing around like this? Why aren’t they doing anything to help?

“Drakon.” The sand crunches as Sinna approaches and puts a hand on his shoulder.

He ignores her, looking over his shoulder, then back at Miryam. It cannot possibly take this long to get a healer! Doesn’t anyone realize that she needs help, immediately?

“Don’t just stand around like this!” He snaps. “Someone help.”

“Drakon.” Sinna squeezes his shoulder. “It’s too late. There’s nothing you can do anymore.”

No. No. Drakon pushes off her hand, reaching for Miryam, fingers trembling. She isn’t… She can’t be…

There is so much blood all over her clothes, blood in the sand. So much blood…

She must be unconscious. Of course, blood loss will make people pass out. They just need to get a healer. But they need to hurry, or they might be too late. Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

He jumps to his feet, ready to go looking for a healer himself if necessary, but Sinna grabs him by the arm by the arm before he can take the first step.

“Let go,” Drakon snaps at her, but she doesn’t.

He tries to tear his arm out of her grip, but she is stronger than him. Easily, she catches his other arm as well and forces his hands down. He struggles against her hold, but he might as well have been trying to bend a sword.

“It’s too late,” Sinna repeats. Her voice is so gentle – she’s hardly ever that gentle – and that, more than anything else, makes the reality sink in. This time, her words get through to Drakon and he stops struggling. “She’s dead,” Sinna says. Does she realize that each word feels like a knife to the chest? “There’s nothing you can do.”

Drakon’s body seems to have forgotten how to breathe, how to function normally. He sags against Sinna’s hold. If she hadn’t been holding him, he doesn’t think he would have been able to stay upright as his mind keeps raging against the truth it sees as impossible.

He knows the terrible feeling that this isn’t real, this isn’t possible, this can’t be happening. He knows what it’s like to have his heart struggle against being forced to catch on with what his mind already knows: That there is no undoing what happened, no way to turn back time and bring the dead back to life. No way to stop the pain, either.

When his family got killed, Drakon broke down. He spent the days before the funeral locked in his rooms, trying to vanish into nothing at all to escape the pain. It took days for him to leave his room again, or to realize that his parents’ death meant that he would inherit all of their responsibilities.

When Jurian died, he managed to keep going. Pushed the pain away and forced himself to keep functioning. But then, he had Miryam who needed him, Miryam who he wouldn’t leave alone with her pain. Now, though, it is Miryam who is gone and he can’t…

He closes his eyes, trying to reign in the sob that is building in his chest. Miryam wouldn’t want him to break down. Not now, not when there are so many people who need some sort of leadership, people he is now solely responsible for. For them, he needs to keep going.

Miryam being dead still doesn’t feel real. And just for this moment, he will have to pretend that it isn’t real. At least until they are safe and he can allow himself time to mourn in private.

He opens his eyes. Sinna is still holding his arms, looking at him like she is waiting for him to fall apart. This time, when Drakon pushes off her hands, she lets him.

“We…” Cauldron, why does it hurt so much? His eyes drift over to Miryam and linger. “Can someone please…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, what order to give. Truth is, he doesn’t want anyone to touch Miryam, doesn’t want her body to be brought away like she is reduced to nothing more than a lifeless thing.

“I can see to it,” Sinna offers.

Drakon nods and forces himself to look away from Miryam. “We need to get away from the shore,” he says. His voice is trembling but growing steadier with each word. “Hide in the forest, maybe, somewhere where we aren’t so plainly visible. Set up a camp, tend to the wounded. Food. We also need food, and a water source.”

Sinna scans his face, narrowing her eyes slightly. Then, she nods and jumps into motion.

They move the entire group to the forest bordering the shore. Set up a camp there, hidden by the trees and close to a nearby river. The healers start to work on the wounded, everyone else finds some other things to do: Preparing food, setting up tents, building defences. Someone lights a fire. The fire is put out, word is sent out that fires are forbidden, they are trying to stay hidden.

Looking back later, Drakon will not be able to tell what he was doing during those long hours. He walks around the camp, anything he does feeling meaningless. Talks to people, finds empty words of reassurance for them. Ignores anyone who tries to offer condolences until people stop trying to talk to him about Miryam.

It is long past midnight and most of the camp is asleep when he finally starts drifting over to the centre of the camp where Miryam has been laid out. Throughout the day, people kept coming by to pay their respects, but Drakon always kept his distance. Now that he is alone, though, he sits down next to Miryam. Next to Miryam’s body. Corpse, but he cannot bear to think of her as that. The idea that she might be dead is so completely and utterly impossible. Drakon would sooner believe that the sun disappeared from the sky, or that the stars all winked out at once.

When he looks at her, he can almost convince himself that she is just sleeping. As long as he only looks at her face instead of the blood-drenched tunic, that is. (Someone has taken out the broken spear, he notices when he finally does look.)

Miryam isn’t dead. She cannot be. If there was one person, just one person he would have trusted to survive this war… How is it that Miryam is dead, that Jurian is dead, but he survived?

It isn’t fair. If there was anyone who would have deserved to survive this war and live to see the better world they wanted to create, it would have been Miryam.

He could cry now, he thinks. The camp is set out, everything is prepared. Everything is safe. He is alone, no one there to see. Now, he could break down, allow the pain in.

But the world-ending sorrow Drakon was expecting doesn’t come. Instead, he is angry. It is all so unfair, so terribly unnecessary. Miryam shouldn’t have died. Not like this, not now that they have already won.

Sometime in the last hours, Nephelle told him about the message Miryam asked her to deliver. I didn’t mean for this to happen and keep my people safe and remember what you promised.

Drakon does plan to keep her people safe. He will do so until his last breath if necessary. And he remembers what he promised. But Cauldron, he doesn’t want to keep that promise. Not now, not after this. How can he keep what Shey and the others did a secret, how can he help them get away with it when Miryam and hundreds of others died? And what would the point be? It wasn’t just Miryam they were after, but all of them. No matter how much Drakon might play stupid, for Shey, him and the hundreds of thousands of people will only ever be unwanted witnesses.

Besides, Drakon doesn’t want Miryam’s killers to get away with it. He cannot bear the thought. He wants to… well, the one thing he really wants is for Miryam to not be dead. But he cannot undo that.

He’s just about to contemplate what might happen if he told Andromache about what happened when he realizes that that he might be a bit hasty. There are a few things in the world that can never be undone. Death is usually one of them. Usually, but not always.

Resurrections are a tricky matter. Highly dangerous and unpredictable. They are not impossible, though, at least not for people who have access to one of the few magical items (or, in some cases, people) that are capable of bringing back the dead.

Years ago, Ghost once told him that the Sword of Daín might be able to help resurrect the dead, that he would help Drakon do it in exchange for his freedom. Drakon refused, then. He briefly considered the offer for Jurian, but then, he did not know if Jurian would even want to be resurrected.

With Miryam, that is a different matter.

The realization that there might be a way to save her yet is like a spark that ignites a fire. Drakon doesn’t stop to consider that resurrections are risky for everyone involved, that Kiko made him promise to never do anything like this or that he had his reasons for not daring to free Ghost. All he can think is that Miryam doesn’t have to be dead. She could still survive.

It doesn’t need to end like this.

They didn’t get around to putting up wards yet, so there’s nothing stopping Drakon from winnowing out of the camp. Hesitantly, he takes Miryam’s hands (her skin is cold to the touch and this is wrong, so wrong, but he will make it right again) and winnows them both out of the camp. Only when they land on the soft jungle floor on Cretea does he remember that he should probably have told someone that he was leaving. His magic, drained as it is, won’t allow him to go back again now, though, so he will just have to hope that no one will notice his disappearance just yet.

Drakon looks down at Miryam, who landed on the ground next to him, realizing only now that he will have to carry her. He reaches out but hesitates. There is something extremely off about just picking up her lifeless body, and he is reluctant to so much as touch her. He sees little alternative, though, so he tells himself to stop being ridiculous, picks her up and starts walking.

The way to the cave seems to take twice as long as usual. Drakon can’t tell if it’s because the darkness makes walking more difficult,  if he is just tired and slowed further by the weight of Miryam in his arms, or if he isn’t slower at all and just imagining it because he is so desperate to reach his destination. After what seems like hours of walking through the dark forest, he finally reaches the cave.

The door opens easily. Drakon storms through and is already halfway through the tunnel before it has closed again behind him. In front of the cave’s entrance, the mist rises but it doesn’t seem to be able to decide on a form, instead lingering in the doorway.

It seems fitting. What would be left for him to fear now?

“Let me through,” he tells the mist, and it does. Without any resistance, he steps into the cave.

The sword is still there, in the same place as usual, its blade shimmering darkly. Gently, Drakon deposits Miryam on the ground, taking care to put her in a position that seems somewhat comfortable.

“What happened?” A voice asks behind him.

Drakon rises and slowly turns to face Ghost, who appeared a few feet behind him. He seems to have changed his clothing style, apparently favouring blue now.

“I need your help,” Drakon says.

Ghost is still staring at Miryam on the ground, not even looking up at the words. The blue of his clothes darkens, colour fading to grey.

“You once told me you could help me resurrect someone,” Drakon pushes. “I want to take that offer now. If you help me bring her back, I’m letting you out of the cave.”

Slowly, Ghost looks away from Miryam and up to Drakon. “I can’t help you,” he says.

Drakon frowns, trying to ignore the dread in his stomach. “You said you could,” he says. “Please. This isn’t for me, it’s… You know Miryam, you know she deserves better than…” He makes a vague gesture. “Please.”

Ghost’s face remains neutral as usual, but Drakon can still feel the struggle that is raging under the surface. “What about the rules?” He asks, his obvious attempt at lightness failing. “Aren’t there millennia of tradition forbidding you from even touching that sword?”

Drakon shrugs. Tradition is the furthest thing from his mind right now. And maybe it makes him a hypocrite that he refused to consider using the sword for during all these years but is willing to use it now, but he will worry about that later. For now, all that counts is that he finds a way to save Miryam.

“It is dangerous,” Ghost says. “You know that mortals aren’t meant to use the sword.”

“You said if I just used it once, I would survive,” Drakon challenges. “It only starts to destroy you if you use it more often, and I only need it for this one thing. It probably won’t do any damage at all.” Ghost still doesn’t seem convinced, and so he adds, “Please. This is the only way to save her.”

That seems to do the trick. Ghost stares at him for a moment longer, then gives a jerky nod. “Alright, then,” he says. His voice is grave, and on another day, Drakon might have wondered about why he sounds so unhappy when he is about to get freed. Right now, though, he still cannot think about anything but the fact that he will be able to bring Miryam back. “That sword isn’t exactly made for resurrections, but if you do as I say, this should work out.”

Drakon promises to do that, and so they begin. Step one is to simply pick up the sword. It is lighter than a sword this size should be, and strangely cold, but other than that, it doesn’t feel particularly magical. There is no pain, no unpleasant sensation at all, which Drakon takes as a good sign.

“Step one accomplished,” he says jokingly, smiling at Ghost.

Ghost doesn’t smile back, instead averts his eyes. He mutters a few words in the language Miryam uses for her spells and the sword comes alive in Drakon’s hands.

Drakon gasps. A wave of cold shoots through his body and he blinks. When he opens his eyes again, the world is different. He can see colourful strings hanging in the air, wrapping around Ghost and moving away from the sword. For a moment, he simply stands and stares. This must be what the world always looks like for Miryam. It is beautiful, and absolutely fascinating. Kiko would probably give his left hand to be able to see this.

“Before we continue, I want you to cut me loose,” Ghost says. He seems far more curt than usual. “You see the string running from the sword’s pommel to me? The black one?” Drakon nods. “Cut it.”

The string shivers slightly, like it understood what Ghost said. Drakon almost feels bad for it, but he did promise to follow Ghost’s directions. Carefully, he brings the sword around and slashes through the string. The blade cuts through it easily, but on the impact, a jolt goes through Drakon’s body, shooting from his right hand through his entire body. He gasps and nearly drops the sword.

Ghost is silent for a moment, staring at the cut string. When he continues, his voice seems a bit thicker. “I’m going to recite a spell to you now. You need to repeat it word by word, as clearly as possible.”

Drakon nods, resisting the urge to rub his aching hand, and they begin. Casting the spell this way is awkward, mainly because he doesn’t understand the meaning of the words, can barely pronounce them correctly. Reciting a spell without understanding a word of what he is saying is extremely unpleasant, and it’s only made worse by the fact that each word burns his throat. He keeps needing to pause and twice, he has to spit out blood.

The further Drakon gets in the spell, the more the strings around him begin to move. Then, slowly, the black jewel in the sword’s pommel begins to glow. By the time the spell is finally done, the entire sword seems to vibrate in his hands and Drakon is just about ready to collapse.

“Take the sword and hold the pommel over her chest. The jewel needs to be over the heart.” Drakon swings the sword around and Ghost’s entire form begins to flicker with annoyance. “Watch out with the strings!” He snaps. “What if you cut one of them and make the entire mountain collapse?”

Drakon swallows and resists the urge to tell Ghost that he really could have mentioned that risk in advance. He keeps his eyes on the blade, watching out for any strings that might get in the way, as he kneels down next to Miryam. Carefully, he places the still-glowing jewel over her heart.

“There’s one more command you need to give,” Ghost says. “And you ought to focus on what you want the spell to do. The sword is sentient enough that it might take your intention into consideration.”

Drakon nods, staring down at Miryam. I want her to not be dead.

Ghost recites the last sentence for him, and Drakon very carefully and slowly repeats it after him, all the while focusing on his wish that Miryam should not be dead, please, just let her live.

He finishes the last word and silence falls. Drakon stares down at the sword at his hands, at Miryam who is still motionless on the ground. His heart is racing as he waits, with bated breath, for something to happen. It occurs to him that he didn’t ask Ghost what the spell would do, how he would know if it worked.

He is about to turn to Ghost and ask him when a beam of light bursts out of the jewel, energy crackling in the air. Drakon is thrown backwards through the air. He lands hard on his back, pain shooting through his sword arm and making him gasp.

Ghost appears in front of him. Drakon is still gasping for air, waiting for the pain to fade as he knows it should, but it doesn’t. Instead, it gets worse, slowly spreading from his arm into his body.

“The spell is working,” Ghost says.

Drakon wants to reply, but in that moment, a new wave of pain rushes through his body. It’s like he’s being stabbed with hundreds of tiny, burning knives. He lets out a strangled gasp, trying desperately to breathe through the pain, to focus on anything but the feeling of being slowly stabbed to death.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost whispers.

Drakon doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, but in that moment, the knives seem to twist and he begins to thrash, his body desperately trying to escape the pain. This shouldn’t be happening. It was just one spell, he ought to be fine, Ghost said… Ghost said…

He lets out a sob, twisting around on the ground. Vaguely, he realizes that he is probably dying – after all, what else could hurt this much? But he cannot die, he wasn’t supposed to… Miryam will be all alone and he…

His vision is already beginning to turn dark around the edges and the pain is only getting worse. Now seems like a good time to pass out, even if it will probably be over soon afterwards. The cave disappears around him, but even if he can’t make out his surroundings anymore, he is still fully conscious. He is trapped alone in the darkness, alone with the pain, and it hurts and hurts and hurts, until time loses all meaning and the only thing that seems to exist anymore is the unending pain.

----

The first thing that returns is the pain. It’s like someone set her on fire, or flayed all the skin from her bones. Miryam wants to cry, wants to writhe and scream, somehow move in a desperate attempt to escape from the pain that seems to swallow up her entire world, but her body won’t obey.

Everything feels wrong. Someone ripped her out of her body and then pushed her back in and everything is wrong. She doesn’t fit, nothing fits and along the ragged edges where she has been ripped out and shoved back into her body the wrong way, it hurts.

The pain feels like she is being torn apart, or burned alive, but it must actually be mending something because after what feels like eternity, she regains some shred of control over her body. She notices because she can feel it beginning to convulse around her – still not from her doing, more like some strange shell that is moving around her.

She vaguely registers that someone is talking, but she can’t make out the words, and the pain doesn’t allow her to focus on anything else. What is happening to her?  She wants it to stop. Someone just make it stop, please…

It doesn’t stop, but at least the burning eases after a while. And whatever rift there was inside of her must be mending because she slowly regains feeling in her body. What she feels isn’t much more pleasant than the burning, though. It’s like each of her senses has sharpened a hundredfold. She can feel the air touching her skin so acutely it’s almost unbearable. Actually unbearable is the feeling of clothes over her skin. It’s like her skin has been ripped off and someone is now ripping sand over her bare flesh.

“Miryam,” someone says.

The voice is gentle, but it still feels like someone is running a knife through her head. She tries to open her eyes and immediately closes them again, unable to bear the light.

“Miryam, hey, it’s alright,” the person continues.

Miryam whimpers. Stop, please stop talking, she wants to say, but her voice doesn’t obey. Her arms do, though, and so she presses her hands against her ears. The other person still seems to understand and stops talking.

For what seems like another eternity, Miryam simply lies on the ground, curled up into a tight ball. At times, it doesn’t seem like the pain will ever end, but eventually, it eases enough that she can begin to contemplate what brought her into this situation.

Straining to focus, Miryam tries to go back to the last clear memory: Ravenia and her, facing each other alone in a narrow passage, water roaring on either side. The spear Ravenia threw, the pain of it hitting. Nephelle trying to fly her out, her desperately trying to hold on and then –

Then, her mind runs into a wall. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot remember anything beyond that point.

She was so sure she was going to die. But Nephelle must have managed to get her out in time after all, she must have misjudged the extent of her own injuries, some healer must still have been able to fix her.

Her entire body shaking, Miryam tries to push herself up on her arms. She manages to turn herself around and push herself into a sitting position. Then, slowly and carefully, she opens her eyes.

Ghost is kneeling a few inches above the ground in front of her. “Are you feeling better?” He asks.

Miryam just stares at him. What is he doing here? Or rather, if he is here, what is she doing here, given that he can hardly be anywhere other than on Cretea? By all logic, she should be lying on a beach somewhere, Drakon and Nephelle and the others nearby.

“What happened?” She croaks, almost surprised by the sound of her own voice.

Her clothes are still scraping against her skin and she is surprised to find that she isn’t bleeding. Not anymore, at least, because her clothes are entirely drenched in dried blood. So much blood… She does not think she should have been able to lose this much blood and survive. Maybe with a really talented healer…

She reaches up for the hole in her tunic where the spear went through, expecting to find bandages. Instead, there is only bare skin. Even a really talented healer should not have been able to completely patch up a wound like this. And she has little first-hand experience with getting stabbed in the chest, but she doesn’t think it should have hurt the way it did. She might have been imagining stuff, of course, but -

“You died,” Ghost says, shifting around uncomfortably.

“Ah.” Miryam nods numbly. “That makes sense. I lost a lot of blood.”

Ghost manages a somewhat convincing frown. “You are remarkably calm about this.

Miryam nods again. “It’s the shock,” she says.

“Ah,” Ghost says, nodding as well. There seems to be a whole lot of nodding in this conversation. “Should I wait until you are… done? Before telling you the rest?”

“No, you go on.” Miryam squeezes her eyes shut – the light, dim as it is, is still painful – and tries to ignore the painfully sore feeling of her entire body. Even breathing hurts, like the air is suddenly acid.

“Okay,” Ghost says. “So, you died.” Then, he stops speaking.

“You said so already. Why am I here?”

“Well, Drakon…” Ghost hesitates. “He brought you here and used the sword to resurrect you.”

Miryam opens her eyes. “Drakon,” she says, mind finally catching on with the part that makes the least sense out of everything. It shouldn’t be Ghost explaining any of this to her but Drakon. He would never have left her to endure that pain alone, never just disappeared. “Where is he?”

Ghost just stares back at her, form darkening slightly. Then, he slowly points his chin behind Miryam.

Miryam scrambles to her feet. Her lefts fail to support her, though, and she falls over halfway through turning around. She makes a sound somewhere between gasp and sob as she lands on the ground, pushes herself up again and turns around fully.

Before her, Drakon lies sprawled on the ground. His right arm is bent at an odd angle and the skin on his hand and arm looks wrong, charred, like it has been burned. He doesn’t seem to be conscious, but as Miryam is watching, his body begins to twitch and convulse.

Miryam is beginning to shake. Her arms barely manage to support her as she crawls over to him.

Drakon is still thrashing on the ground. It’s clear that he’s in pain. He doesn’t seem to notice Miryam as she approaches, either too caught up in his pain or unconscious.

Tears are stinging in her eyes. Trembling fingers hover over Drakon’s chest, dancing over to his arm. Something looks off about his aura, she can sense it, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. She doesn’t dare to touch him for fear of accidentally making things worse, can’t even get to close because he is still thrashing uncontrollably.

“Drakon,” she whispers, knowing he likely cannot hear her. “Drakon, please.” He doesn’t answer, doesn’t react at all.

She twists around to Ghost. “What happened?” She asks. Her voice is louder than she expected and echoes in the small chamber.

There are far too many strings in that tiny chamber. Around Ghost, around her and Drakon. All of them shivering away from the sword that is lying discarded on the ground. Miryam can sense where it is even without looking, can feel it beckoning. It wasn’t like this before.

Ghost disappears and reappears again, closer to her. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “Using the sword… It’s not made to be used by mortals. Still, once would have been fine, but Drakon… I don’t know if you know, but the rulers of Erithia swear all swear a vow to the mother to never use the sword. A binding vow.”

Miryam doesn’t allow herself to contemplate what that might mean. She can feel herself on the brink of breaking down, but she cannot allow herself to, not now.

“Well, I’ll undo it, then,” she says. She tries to sound firm, but she is shaking, her voice jumps between octaves as she speaks. “What can I do to undo it?”

Ghost slowly shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be done,” he says. “The only people capable of breaking a vow like that are the involved parties.”

“And what will happen if it isn’t broken?” Miryam asks.

Ghost seems distinctly uncomfortable. “That varies from vow to vow,” he says. “In this case, though, I’m afraid the effect is meant to be a punishment for using the sword.” He hesitates. “It will kill him in the way using the sword would have over time. Just more slowly.”

Miryam starts shaking her head. “No,” she whispers. “No, no, that’s not possible.”

She turns back to Drakon, reaching for his hand. He shouldn’t have… What was he thinking throwing his life away over her? And like this…

It’s all wrong. It’s all so terribly, terribly wrong. Why did he do this? He knew that she has a death sentence hanging over her head no matter what. And she can’t… She can’t lose another person she loves, she can’t…

“He can’t die,” she whispers. “Not like this, not for me. Why did he do this?”

She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just screaming her desperation out at the universe in general, but Ghost still answers. “He didn’t know,” he says very quietly.

Miryam pauses. Slowly, she turns around to him, pieces clicking into place to form the entire picture of what must have happened while she was dead. “But you did,” she says, very softly.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost says. “I just wanted – “

Miryam doesn’t even hear him. All she can think is that he knew, and he didn’t tell Drakon. Probably lied to him about it. And he… he must also have helped Drakon, explained to him what to do. Alone, he would never have known how to do a resurrection. He knew. He knew and still helped Drakon do it, deliberately damned him to a horrible death.

“You…” Miryam stares at Ghost, slowly shaking her head. She trusted him. Trusted him and he…

She picks up a loose stone lying on the ground before her. With all the force she can muster, she hurls it at Ghost. It flies right through him, sending ripples through his form, revealing something like a knot of strings below for a moment.

“You bastard!” Miryam shouts.

She reaches for another stone, not caring that she knows it can’t hurt him, but her legs give out from under her and she falls to the ground. The impact revibrates through her entire body, driving fresh tears into her eyes. Sobbing, she turns back around to Drakon, who is still thrashing lying on the ground. He makes a noise somewhere between whimper and scream, and Miryam reaches for his uninjured arm and takes his hand as if that will somehow make it better.

This is some terrible nightmare. She might have survived, but the price is that she has to sit here and watch Drakon die slowly and painfully. And the worst part is, she can’t do anything at all. She can’t save him. She can’t even comfort him or make things easier.

“What is going on?” A new voice asks from behind Miryam.

She looks up, not letting go of Drakon’s hands. There is a woman standing – or rather hovering – by the cave’s entrance. She has freckles and startlingly blue eyes, ginger hair done up dramatically with pearls and gemstones woven into it. Her dress is nothing short of dramatic either, glowing lightly in the dark.

“Étaín,” Ghost says, voice unreadable. “I was wondering if you would turn up. After all it has been, what, six millennia, since you locked me up in this cave.”

“More like eight,” the woman – Étaìn, Miryam heard that name somewhere before, but where? – replies. “But I see you’ve finally found a way to get out.” Her eyes flicker over to Miryam’s direction, ignoring her entirely and giving Drakon the briefest glance before returning to Ghost. “Disappointing, I must say,” she says. “But I suppose that’s what I get for trusting mortals to safekeep my possessions.”

Miryam stares at her. Étaín. Of course. Étaín as in The Mother. The Faes’ goddess.

Well, she supposes that’s just about the only thing that stood a chance of making her day even worse.

“No thanks to you,” he replies. His voice is sharp, but there is some other emotion there. Hurt, maybe. “What did you do the last millennia, I wonder? Sulk? How very mature of you.”

Around the two of them, the strings are beginning to move around, seemingly driven into a frenzy by the argument. Their movement is making Miryam dizzy, her head is quickly beginning to hurt.

“And what reason would I have had to return for you?” Étaín snaps back. “You killed me and – “

“Oh, as if you didn’t kill me first!” Ghost interjects.

“ – betrayed me,” Étaín finishes. “You chose these stupid mortals over us, and – “

“Shut up!” Miryam shouts, jumping to her feet. She is shaking. Étaín and Ghost both turn around to face her. “Do you think I care about your stupid argument?”

Étaín wrinkles her nose. “You might have the good sense to stay quiet.” She turns back to Ghost. “What is the mortal doing here, Daín?”

Gaping, Miryam stares back and forth between the two of them. Daín. Ghost is… That doesn't make any sense. Ghost can’t be Daín, he is in this cave because he killed Daín. But now, Étaín – the Mother, Miryam is actually going to lose it – apparently was the one to kill him, and he killed her, and…

It’s just too fucking much.

Étaín and Ghost-or-Daín-or-whoever are already jumping back into their argument again, seemingly having forgotten about Miryam altogether. The strings are still moving and everything hurts and Drakon is thrashing around on the ground, and Miryam just cannot take it.

“- really do not get to complain,” Étaín is saying. “You were the one who betrayed me. You threw everything away and – “

“I said shut up!” Miryam shouts.

Étaín turns around to her. Her entire form seems to grow, glow dimming. “Watch yourself, mortal,” she says, voice turning deeper and echoing. It’s almost like there are two people speaking simultaneously. “Do not forget your place. I am god. You think you get to speak to me?”

“Oh yes, I do,” Miryam snaps. She is so far beyond caring about threats. “You are god? Fine, then let us talk about your stupid world and what it does to my people! Millennia of slavery and suffering and death, and you did nothing. What claim do you have to my worship or my respect? This is our world.”

Étaín’s form darkens further. She turns to Daín. “You told her?” She asks, something like betrayal in her voice.

Miryam, who had meant to say that this world belongs to the humans just as much as anyone else, is mildly confused. As soon as Drakon is no longer dying and she doesn’t have a potential goddess standing in front of her, she will have to think about how Étaín understood her comment and what that might mean.

Daín scowls. “You kill me. You leave me in this cave to metaphorically rot. And despite that, you still expect me to keep your secrets?”

“Oh, as if you – “

“That is enough!” Miryam shouts.

Her voice seems to echo through the strings, making them shiver and shy away. For a moment, the forms of Daín and Étaín flickers and reveal a bundle of strings beneath, curled into a tight ball and far too complicated for Miryam to read. The strings are all cut up in places, though, loose ends hanging out, black and charred at places. Daín looks a bit worse off than Étaín, but not by much.

Huh. That’s another thing she will have to think about. Sometime. Right now, though, she will deal with the fact that the being in front of her is not just potentially a goddess but also happens to be her only shot at saving Drakon.

Miryam turns to Étaín whose form is steady again now. “A binding vow always needs at least two people involved, one swearing and one receiving,” she says, forcing her voice to sound even, “I assume that you are the receiving party in the vow Drakon took.” Étaín doesn’t react. She just stares at Miryam without blinking. Before she can lecture Miryam for daring to speak to her again, she continues, “So release him from his vow. Please.”

Étaín studies her in silence for a moment. Then, she asks, “He’s your husband, isn’t he?” Miryam nods stiffly. Étaín shrugs and gives Daín a sharp look. “Then you ought to be grateful. Husbands are overrated and too often turn out to be nothing but nuisances.”

“One might say the same about goddesses who only turn up after everything is over and refuse to be helpful,” Miryam snaps. Insulting the person who has Drakon’s life in her hands is probably not the smartest strategy, but she isn’t feeling particularly smart right now. “You are going to release him from the vow. Now.”

Étaín cocks her head to the side. “You’ve certainly got nerve, little mortal, and I do not mean that as a compliment. My patience only goes so far.”

Miryam shakes her head. She is far beyond caring about threats. Especially when Étaín still hasn’t followed the threats up with anything, which, together with the frayed, torn strings, leads Miryam to believe she might not be able to.

“If you don’t release him, he is going to die,” she says.

Étaín begins to smile. It is a horrible smile, far too big and wide, making it abundantly clear that she is neither Fae nor human and only mimicking the expression. “Extraordinarily slowly and painfully, I know,” she says. “It’s what I set the spell to do as punishment for any ruler of Erithia who might be stupid or arrogant enough to use it – the pain of being killed by the Sword, drawn out over days and years and centuries. A slow, painfully death. Just what he deserves for daring to use the sword.”

She might have said something else, but Miryam no longer listens. She can’t hear anything over the roaring in her ears. Fear and pain and confusion all merge and turn, within moments, into blinding fury. There are a thousand things Miryam could be furious about – Shey and the other Fae and Ghost-who-is-Daín and maybe even Drakon and the sheer unfairness of it all – but right now and here, all her fury concentrates itself on what is in front of her. And that is Étaín. This person – Miryam refuses to call her a goddess, will never give her that honour – who could have likely ended slavery with one word but didn’t, who allowed for all that suffering to happen, who only turned up at the last moment and now dares to stand here and tell her that Drakon deserves to die, as if he is somehow beholden to her wishes when she never one did anything to help any of them.

Miryam stretches out a hand. There is no command she gives, no thought or intention behind it – she is just acting, maybe on instinct or maybe just pure desperation.

The sword jumps off the floor and into her waiting palm. Without pausing to consider, to think about what she is doing, Miryam brings the blade around, gripping the hilt with both hands. It is cold under her fingers, so cold it stings, and lighter than a sword this size should be.

Around her, the world comes into sharp focus. The strings are clearer than they have ever been before, and she can see the strings that seem to make up Étaín and Daín shimmering below their forms. Strings move away from the sword, as if they are scared of it. One isn’t fast enough, though. It comes into contact, and the blade cuts right through it, leaving the string to fall to the ground, charred and broken. The mountain rumbles. Miryam brings the sword around the entire way until the tip is pointing at Étaín.

A sword that can cut through strings and a being that seems to be made entirely from them. How extremely convenient.

“See, Étaín,” Daín says, “this is why you don’t tell the woman standing next to the one weapon capable of killing you that you hope her husband will die painfully.”

Miryam ignores him, keeping her attention entirely focused on Étaín. “Release him,” she says very softly, “Or you will learn what it feels like to be slowly killed by the sword.”

Étaín looks down at Miryam’s hands on the sword and snorts. “You would be a whole lot more intimidating if you weren’t holding that sword the wrong way. This isn’t a stick, girl.”

Wrong grip or not, it does not take any particular skill with a sword to hit a target that is only inches away from you. Miryam slashes forward, cutting through one of Étaín’s outer strings before she has time to move away. Lighting sparks at her fingertips, the sword sings in her hands.

Étaín shrieks, her mortal form shattering, leaving only the strings below. The noise is inhuman, loud and shrill and wrong. It hurts Miryam’s ears, seems to go through her entire body. Daín might have made a noise as well, might have moved forward, but Miryam doesn’t dare take her eyes away from the being in front of her. Not human, not Fae, but something else altogether. It doesn’t matter. Not when she is clearly injured already and Daín just confirmed that the sword Miryam holds is capable of killing her.

“They call this blade Godmaker,” Miryam says, staring at the bundle of strings that is Étaín. “Godkiller would be more fitting a name, I think.” She steps forward. The strings shy away from her, and if Étaín had a face, Miryam is sure she would look at least a little bit terrified. “If he dies,” Miryam continues, “I am going to kill you. I don’t care how far you run, or how long it takes. I will hunt you to the end of earth if necessary, and I will give you the exact death you have given him.”

Slowly, Étaín’s form rematerializes around the bundle of strings. She is staring at Miryam, unmoving, unblinking.

“Don’t be stupid, Étaín,” Daín says. “You aren’t truly going to let her kill you just to be difficult. Please, just give her what she wants.”

Étaín is silent for another moment. When she finally says something, it is in a language Miryam doesn’t know. It is similar to the language of the strings she herself learned, similar in the sounds and the way it makes the air shiver and feel heavy, but just different enough that Miryam cannot understand what Étaín is doing. She tightens her grip on the sword, watching the strings move around her and wondering, idly, if she will die now.

But nothing happens. And then, Étaín stops speaking and turns to Miryam. For a moment, she merely stares at her, eyes seeming to burn from within. Fury – and maybe, just maybe, a hint of fear.

“You’re done?” Miryam asks. She doesn’t dare to look over at Drakon, instead forces herself to keep her eyes trained on Étaín who inclines her head. “Good.” She lowers her sword slightly. “Then leave. If you ever come near me or anyone I care about again, you will regret it.”

Étaín doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t nod. She simply disappears into thin air.

Only now does Miryam dare to turn around to Drakon. He is still lying on the ground, not thrashing anymore but entirely motionless… Throughout it all, Miryam didn’t consider the option that Étaín might kill Drakon instead of helping him. She considers it now, though.

Sword falling forgotten to the ground, she drops to her knees next to him. “Drakon. Hey, Drakon. Can you hear me?”

Her fingers are shaking so badly that it takes her three tries to take his pulse. When she finally does find it, she nearly sobs with relief.

----

They are sitting together outside of the cave, fingers interlaced. At the horizon, the sky is already beginning to turn a creamy pink. Soon enough, the sun will rise.

It has been hours since they stumbled out of the cave, both of them leaning against each other for support. They’ve barely said a word since.

In theory, there would have been a lot to say. There is the entire matter of Shey and the other Fae in the Alliance to address, the mess that is waiting for them on the Continent. Miryam could have told Drakon about her death on the ocean floor, or about her meeting with his goddess, about Daín. Drakon could have explained what happened between her death and her resurrection. Or they might have talked about pain, compared the feeling of being ripped out of your body and shoved back in with being destroyed bit by bit by a magical sword. Miryam might have said that her entire body still feels sore and painful, or Drakon might have told that his right arm hasn’t stopped hurting.

They do none of it. Right there, in that moment, the Continent and all the trouble waiting there is far away, and words seem to have lost all meaning either way.

The sun is just beginning to climb over the horizon when Drakon finally breaks the silence. “What do we do now?” He asks.

Miryam doesn’t tear her eyes away from the rising sun. “I don’t know,” she says. “First, we should probably go back to the others and then take it one step at the time.”

Drakon nods. Then, he suddenly curses and jumps to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” Miryam asks, getting up as well although a bit more slowly.

“I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving before coming here,” Drakon says, hectically running a hand through his hair. “It’s been hours, they are going to be worried sick by now. Sinna is going to kill me.”

Miryam blinks at him for a moment. Then, she bursts out laughing.

“This isn’t funny,” Drakon mutters, and it probably really isn’t, but he is laughing as well. After everything that just happened, being able to worry about something as mundane as this is surprisingly relieving. It breaks the tension and then, they are hugging, clinging on tightly to each other, laughing and crying at the same time as the realization that this is over, they have survived, slowly begins to set in.

----

A/N: We've got a discord group for discussing this story now, so if anyone wants to join up, the link is here :D

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites @femtopulsed

#getting REALLY close to the end #2 more chapters after this probably #the next chapter will be back to the other characters (namely Andromache and Mor) and their side of things again #also one new pov for one scene #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

[gloamingdawn]

Lyn was beginning to find that it was hard to be surprised anymore. After countless years of Azeroth’s own brand of buckwild fuckery — the world heaving and cracking because of a dragon aspect, time travel, the Legion invading, a Titan stabbing the planet, and now death itself shattering the veil between the worlds — it was almost pleasant to recognize that she could still feel some modicum of shock and disbelief. 

The Polemarch had ordered some of the Ascended to the Temple of Humility in an effort to aid the Paragon, Chyrus, and the other aspirants against a wave of Forsworn that threatened to destroy the place. It had been a hurried kind of call. Of course another onslaught was expected, it had been a while, but this felt a little different. As the winged fighters were grabbing their weapons and belting on their armor, two of them that she’d come to know a little better— Ileana and Nephele — bid her to take up arms, too. How could she refuse? 

Initially the Kyrian foray into the temple had been easy enough to keep up with. There were harried trainees being heckled into a state from which they’d never recover by their former comrades who had fallen to Devos’, and now Lysonia’s, force. The efforts of the Ascended in stemming the tide had always been a study in efficiency, but this time was different. The moment they set foot on the grounds the Paragon of Doubt’s voice howled out commands that echoed the Forsworn’s discordant bells, and Chyrus’ pained response answered back as he fought to hold her off. 

To have the Paragon here herself held so much potential — they could end this if they ended her. Who else would take her place? Uther? He was here too based on Lysonia’s calling out to him. 

Her friends were tied up fighting, the clamour of steel on steel ringing in ferocious chimes as each side fought for ground. Lyn had to go while she had the chance. Ileana and Nephele would be fine. The path was wide open, if she hurried she could make it and Chyrus wouldn’t be left on his own. They could do this together. 

So she made a break for it and ran toward the back of the sprawling complex, spear in hand. 

Most of the constructs were engaged, their mechanical voice boxes warbling out unnervingly polite quips as they attempted to subdue the Kyrian they had once served by whatever means necessary. One of the larger ones ambled with heavy, lurching steps back into place after pummeling an aspirant down, blocking her final turn up the stairs. Lyn’s heart lurched as she realized they likely would never rise again, and there was nothing she could do about that. 

But she could do something about the rest of this. 

There wasn’t going to be any getting around the construct, not with the way anima glowed in its palms ready and waiting for the next furious blow. Her plan was a long shot for sure, she wasn’t as young or spry as she used to be, but there’s always that saying about wills and ways. She sprinted in just close enough before dropping solidly onto her knees, momentum and the sharp lack of resistance between her winged metal greaves and the marble footpath carrying her forward faster than she expected. Lyn leaned back and tossed her spear, the weapon disappearing, before she slid between the hefty constructs legs quicker than it could slam a hand down on top of her. 

She pushed herself back to her feet in a fluid motion, running up the stairs and re-summoning her spear to her hands as she went — and that was where the surprise came in. A spectral manifestation, tall in the center of the pavilion that led to the formal floating temple of humility, ripped open a portal made of some of the foulest feeling dark magic Lyn had ever been in the presence of. 

Helya. 

She and the goddess of Helheim locked eyes at the same time and the great witch laughed, the tone making Lyn’s skin crawl. 

“So Eyir is sending her mortal pawns now, too,” she looked down at Lysonia, the Paragon still trying to force Chyrus into pride, “Leave your plaything, my pet. There is work to be done.” 

No. Lyn bared her teeth in an angry snarl as both the Paragon and her Hand turned and left through the portal. Chyrus would be fine, wouldn’t he? She shook off the shock and chased after the departing. If she could just get there before it closed — 

The magic dissipated around her as she stutter stepped and tried to catch herself before she ran smack into the teleportation dais. 

Fuck. 

#kyrian campaign spoilers #spoilers #the chronicle of eyir's chosen

[nightfoxproductions726]

The Healers’ Association, Healers’ Guild, and Ophine’s Sanctuaries

The Healers’ Association:

The Healers’ Association was originally a collaboration between Anise the Goddess of Lands, Ophine the Goddess of Fertility, Terinea the Goddess of Wellbeing, Auna the Goddess of Waters, Dinir the God of Light, and Morrigan the Goddess of Death. This group was created during the Twin Goddesses, Aletha, and Nephele, wars as innocent lives were being lost at a rapid rate and putting stress on the Afterlife and Resurrection Realms as well as Morrigan and the other Death Deities of the time.  

During this time the original healers of the old world were the Priests or Priestesses of Anise, Ophine, Terinea, Auna, and Dinir. Over time as they trained others who had enhanced Light Abilities, the Healers’ Association flourished across Bolyra and to the rest of the countries who were in need.

In modern times, the Healers’ Association doesn’t train people anymore since the Healers’ Guild was founded. But the function is still the same as it was in old times - keep an eye on those in need during disasters and the like. 

The Healers’ Guild:

The Healers’ Guild was founded by five demigoddesses:

Aonani, a Zeniron Demigoddess, Dinir the God of Light’s daughter

Persephone, a Lands Demigoddess, Anise the Goddess of Lands’ daughter

Renata, a Fertility Demigoddess, Ophine the Goddess of Fertility’s daughter

Ninurta, a Wellbeing Demigoddess, Terinea the Goddess of Wellbeing’s daughter

Zarya, a Water Demigoddess, Auna the Goddess of Water’s daughter

These Demigoddesses created the Healers’ Guild to ease pressure off the Association and the Gods and Goddesses as both were stretched thin at the time from the fighting. After the Twin Goddesses were sealed, the Association turned their focus on assisting the various countries and monitored potential problems/threats to life. The Healers’ Guild has two functions - healing and training those who want to become Healers, Head Healers, or Grand Healers.    

There are 6th Healer Crosses/Branches. Each Branch specializes in certain areas. The 5th and 6th Branches are exclusive to one race and the other is currently defunct until towards the end of The Legend of Bolyra and is revived. 

Green Crosses Represents - Animal Healers and Anise the Goddess of Lands

Pink Crosses Represents - Midwife Healers and Ophine the Goddess of Fertility

Purple Crosses Represents - Healers (human/humanoid doctors) and Terinea the Goddess of Wellbeing

Dark Blue Crosses Represents - Aquatic Healers and Auna the Goddess of Waters

Gold Crosses Represents - Zeniron Healers and Dinir the God of Light

Turquoise Crosses Represents - Mental Health Healers aka Therapists and Terinea the Goddess of Wellbeing. This branch was around from the time of the Healers’ Guild inception, but over time as more and more severe cases became apparent; Terinea took over and causing this branch to quietly be forgotten until recent events.

There are also spirit animals and flowers who correspond with these branches as well. 

Animal Healers - The Barn and Snowy Owls 

Midwife Healers - The Lily Stargazer 

Healers (human/humanoid Healers) and Mental Health Healers - The Butterfly

Aquatic Healers - The Water Lily

These animals and flowers are usually in the center of the cross to show 'proof' that they are official Healers, Head Healers, and Grand Healers. Healers who do not have these emblems signal that they are in training.

Ophine’s Sanctuaries

While the Goddess of Fertility’s Churches and Sanctuaries are separate from the Healers’ Association, they are run by the Association, and function as a place for those in need. These places are for those struggling to find work and act as adoption/safe havens for abandoned children or children who cannot be looked after or cared for. The second option of this statement rarely occurs unless someone is in dire straits or there is a safety concern regarding the child, which usually ends up being a safety concern for either the father or mother and child. Even then these places do what they can to keep families together.

#my writing #writers #writers on tumblr #writingcommunity #NightFoxProductionsWorld

[semperlitluv]

𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐚𝐠

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓

baby pink | iridescent | glitter is always a good option | no bra | minimalistic tattoos | cherry patterns | sweet scented perfumes | wearing generous amounts of blush | doodling hearts | getting excited to pet an animal | fun nails | rewatching old barbie movies | hair sticking to glossed lips | heart shaped sunglasses | taking pictures of the sunset or sunrise | stuffed animals | protecting nature | stickers everywhere | teen movies | the light rain that falls from a clear sky at the beginning of the night |

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐀

neutral tones | masculine outfits | studying languages | worn down copy of books | grey skies | turtleneck sweaters | loose fitting pants | hair tied with a silk ribbon | trying to remember a cool difficult word you read somewhere to use in a convo | thick belts | minimal makeup | windows fogged by rain | vintage jewelry | blouses with cuffed sleeves | reading a murder mystery and trying to solve it | oxford style shoes | sweater vests | subtitled old movies in a language you don’t speak | leaves crackling as you walk | annotating books to express your emotions about the story |

𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐘

closet full of dark clothes | fishnet tights | makeup sweating off | neon signs | searching for unknown songs | chokers | band tees | doodling on old converses | finding smoking aesthetically pleasing but not doing it | weird humor | accidentally very dramatic | dim lights | layered outfits | chain belts | chipped nail polish | messy hair | low quality pics | piercings | combat boots | scribbling on desks |

70'𝐬

colorful wardrobe | doodling flowers | wearing short shorts | using a bikini top or bra as a normal top | listening to ABBA | flowers in your hair | DIYing everything | jamming to songs alone in your room | drunkenly telling your friends you love them | patterned bandanas | mid heeled shoes | messy braids | flared sleeves | walking barefoot on grass or sand | bold sunglasses | the good kind of tired you get after doing something you enjoy for hours | feeding stray animals | fun patterned socks | room decorated with succulents and other plants | likes to go roller skating or skateboarding |

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋

collared clothes | drinking juice out of a champagne glass | getting excited to see the met gala looks | thick headbands | small pastel cardigans | making your friends take your ootd pics | plaid mini skirts | tweed two pieces | watching reality tv to pass time | frilly tops | watching old hollywood movies | academically driven | long manicured nails | new year’s eve fireworks | colourful tights | layered golden jewelry | yearns for luxury brand items | decorating your room with fairylights | cursive and neat handwriting | lace details |

thanks for the tag @charmtion ✨ tagging @winterrose527 @the-nephelle @earnmysong ​​