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merakiui · 4 months

Note

Hello! Could I request flower bouquet from the miscellaneous menu.. And as for the dynamic, I'm quite indecisive on that regard, but I recall you saying it's fine to let you chose? Forgive me if I'm wrong. I'd like to order that with red velvet cupcakes & banana pudding from the midnight menu for Jade Leech, with an AFAB reader. If you are unable to do this, it is completely understandable. I hope your day/night goes well, and may you take care.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping, slight angst, royalty au (princess!reader x butler!jade) note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

It’s well past midnight when Jade finds you in the garden. He spots you milling about aimlessly beneath a stone archway. Greenery twists up the rough surface; vines spotted with tiny flowers drape like fruit from a bough. Moonlight paints you in strokes of silvery magnificence, a breathtaking sight even the most skillful painter could never hope to replicate on a canvas. Even though it’s the middle of summer, there’s a fierce bite to tonight’s temperature. It’s in his nature to protect, a bodyguard and a butler in one, which is precisely why he frets when he notices you’re dressed in a thin nightgown and a silk robe.

You’re stunning regardless of your attire. He’s always thought so. A hopeless observation, for you have never belonged to him and thus those words will remain a scandal under lock and key.

“My lady?” He approaches with even steps, his voice a gentle whisper. Despite his best efforts, you still flinch at his sudden arrival. He bows respectfully, a hand held over his heart. “Forgive me for startling you. I noticed you weren’t in bed when I came to check on you, and so I thought I might find you here.”

“Am I really so predictable?”

“Quite.” He chuckles at the pout that twists on your lips. “Admittedly, my advantage is rather unfair. I’ve known you long enough to commit all of your habits and haunts to memory.”

“You’re too good. It’s not fair…”

“Is everything all right?” Jade moves to shrug his tailcoat off, aiming to drape it across your shoulders for extra layering, but you stop him. “My lady?”

“I’m not cold. Thank you, though.”

Jade nods slowly and slides his arms back into the sleeves. “May I ask what’s keeping you up? It’s unlike you to visit the garden so late.”

“It’s nothing major. Just thinking too much about too many things. If that makes any sense…”

He hums in acknowledgement. You fidget on your bare feet. Some days Jade thinks you’d wander to your death if it weren’t for him. Having suspected this, he made sure to bring your shoes. Guiding you to the marble bench at the end of the pathway, where the space opens into a clearing enclosed with shaped shrubbery, Jade lowers to his knees.

“A princess shouldn’t dirty her feet so carelessly,” he reminds you, taking hold of your foot and gingerly sliding your shoe on.

You frown at him. “Does it matter?”

“In polite society, yes, very much so.”

“Polite society is the worst. How am I meant to frolic in the flowers as the fairy tales intended if I can’t even take my shoes off for such a thing?”

“You may do so in your dreams.”

“It’s not the same.”

Jade gazes at your legs from where he kneels. Should his gaze climb any higher… He snuffs that thought before it can take root. “Perhaps not, but the world within a dream is lenient and lawless. You’re free to break every rule you desire.”

He offers you his arm and you take it. Lifting you from the bench, he walks with you and admires lush blossoms alongside you. Sweet is the night breeze, bringing recollections of a childhood that has long since fled. Watching you, future heir to the throne, from afar, an unimportant butler-in-training… You’ve always been his world—the center of his vision. The single flower in a garden infested with weeds.

What he’d do to pick you and put you in a pot of his own making. To keep you solely because it is the whim of a selfish heart caught up in foolish, one-sided limerence.

“What would you do? In your dreams, I mean. If you could experience any dream, what would it be?”

Jade peers at you, taken aback. “You’re asking me?”

“No, I’m asking the flowers.” Playfully, you reach up to pat his head. He leans down to meet your hand halfway, a smile gracing his features. How fervently he wishes you would touch him with more purpose. If only your individual stations were not so far apart. If only he could become your equal just for tonight and know rapture under your fingertips. “Yes, Jade, I’m asking you.”

It’s not a calculated risk, for he knows the outcome will never be in his favor, but he acts on impulse anyway. He seizes your hand. You flinch away, surprised by this forthright display, but he holds firm. He’s determined to see this through to the end, even if it lands him a heart more shattered than when he began.

“I would become a prince and marry you.”

Much to his chagrin, you laugh. “That’s quite the lofty dream. A funny one, too.”

He squeezes your hand, insistent. “That is the truth.”

“It’s not.” You meet his mismatched stare. “It… It’s not, right? Surely you jest.”

“I have always admired you, my lady.” Testing his limits, he brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “Though you may be forever out of my reach and I may be but a mere servant, that does not stop me from loving you any less.”

Your face falls. There is no reciprocation to be found in your gaze. He suspected this from the beginning, but it does nothing to soothe the sting.

He grasps your other hand, hoping to bestow a kiss to it as well, but you jerk away so quickly that you trip over your feet and land in a heap on the grass. He doesn’t make any move to help you up. Not yet, at least. Lying sprawled on your back, you watch him with uncertain eyes.

“How long?”

“The day your father rescued me and brought me in—you offered your hand to me, and you told me I would never know the dangers of the sea again.” Jade stands over you, observing the many emotions flickering on your face, before lowering to your height. He straddles you with ease. “I had never known such kindness until then.”

“Ah, right… I remember that day. You were injured so severely they put you on bedrest. You had to learn how to walk all over again.”

“In spite of everything they told you about me, you visited me regardless. Every day, at every hour, to bring snacks and toys. To cheer me up. To wish for my swift recovery. To act as my crutch. For that, I am forever grateful.” His hands slide your nightgown up, and he feasts on the sight of your panties—on the way you draw your thighs together to hide from him. “I have always stood dutifully by your side, hoping to repay you for all that you’ve done for me.”

You look delicate in the grass, your robe slipping from your shoulders. Like a pinned butterfly or an angel having just fallen from the sky, you’re a sugared fantasy brought to life.

“Jade.” You grab at his shoulders and push back weakly; he doesn’t budge. “We… We shouldn’t. I can’t. If someone were to see—”

“They won’t.”

“Yes, but I—” you turn away from him, worrying your lip between your teeth— “I can’t, Jade… I’m betrothed. F-Furthermore, it’s not safe without…protection. You can’t.”

He smiles fondly, so sickly, stupidly enchanted. With the moon just behind his head, framing it like a hazy halo, you might mistake him for an angel. His actions suggest he’s anything but.

Lifting his index finger to his lips, he shushes you. “In that case, let’s play pretend for tonight—just as we used to—and trap ourselves in a dream.”

Your refusal falls on deaf ears.

Hands crawl along the expanse of your body, feeling everything within reach. He’s overjoyed to behold you, to press down on the space between your legs and savor your staggered breaths. You plead with him all throughout it, begging him to cease now and he’ll be spared. But Jade can’t. If it kills him, he wants to have died knowing he was on cloud nine.

This has always been his dream.

For tonight, he is neither prince nor butler. For tonight, he is simply a monster—the same monster your maids warned you against when you were little: “That cursed child is no good. He will bring ruin to your father—to you, Your Highness. You must keep away, for a child of the sea is a child of destruction and agony.”

The same monster who looked on with a single golden eye, lying in wait like the perfect predator and wearing the skin of a human to hide his true identity. The same monster who took to training as if it were second nature, honing his skills as a butler and a bodyguard. Hardening a heart that has never had the capacity to care for anything other than himself and the ones who have since departed.

The same monster who loves the human he ought to hate, for it is your kind who hunt the waters he was conceived in. Who spear merfolk with harpoons and feast on their flesh and eggs like it’s a sacred delicacy. Who arrange their skeletons in aureate frames. Who mount their taxidermied tails to the wall.

The same monster who, in some distant fairy tale, could have been a king if not for the devastation of his family tree.

Dewy grass sticks to your skin. The scent of moist earth envelops you in its verdant embrace. Jade sinks in slowly, holding you down by your hips. You squirm and cry, but he persists. He could be cruel and callous, rut into you like an animal instead of a lover, but he refrains. He loves you too much, and that hurts more than any pain he could inflict on you.

You dig your nails into his shoulders. If they were sharper, you might have been able to tear through his uniform. Sweet, soft moans spill from pretty, plush lips. He kisses you, adoring the hold your walls have on him when he rolls his hips to fill you deeper.

“Jade… Jade, please,” you ramble, breathing hot and heavy in his ears. It’s musical, the way you sing for him through your tears. “Oh, please pull out. I—aah—can’t… We can’t. Please, Jade.”

Perhaps it would have been easier to hate you and your father—detest the kingdom who has rendered his home an aquatic graveyard. Surrounded in a garden of exotic blooms, Jade thinks that’s impossible. Love born from hate is thorny, impossible to quell once it’s come to fruition. It’s dug its roots into his heart and given way to the most fearsome flower.

He should have killed you. He should have held that pillow over your face all those years ago when he snuck into your bedroom, silent as a shadow. He should have, but he didn’t—couldn’t. And now he’s here, towering over you without the pillow. His hands stray towards your throat, but instead of an execution he drags you against his chest. He can’t.

Years later and he still can’t fulfill his one and only childhood dream.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes glittering. “How I wish you were as ugly as your heart…”

Raindrops spatter your face, a quiet downpour spilling from heterochromatic hues.

You fall apart beneath him, ruined in ways polite society would deem grossly impure.

Now we’re the same, Jade thinks, bowing his head when he reaches his peak. He groans lowly, his eyes squeezed shut. Monsters without homes.

Come morning, the palace is in a panic. The princess has vanished, seemingly whisked away into the night, and the only one who may have any information on her whereabouts has gone with her. Jade doesn’t worry.

No one will find you at the bottom of the sea, unrecognizable as a mermaid in an abandoned coral kingdom.

On his empty throne, he knows of no better place.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade x reader #yandere jade #n/sfw #tw: noncon #lunar love hotel 2023

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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

Text

The Dead, the Half-Dead and the Undead

Synopsis: Baby Alethaine is ten and, apparently, the thing she is a dhampir isn't the only problem Astarion and Tiriel have to face.

Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, necromancy

Alethaine's age: 10

Thanks @queenofthespacesquids for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion immerses himself in one of his books. It is a complex text that has been written by some ancient magic who had probably been completely insane

Necromancy is an interesting subject, but damn difficult for those without an innate aptitude for it.

It's still midday, but out there in the underground part of Daggerlake, it doesn't matter. The city is divided into two parts, above ground and underground. The city is mostly populated

by dwarves, halflings, and humans but for some reason it feels like home for Astarion.

Besides, the town dwellers had decided they'd better have a vampire of their own than be threatened by other undead.

Astarion is still puzzled by this. Yes, these people should be grateful to him and Tiriel for saving them from a particularly nasty fairy pact. But letting them stay? Tiriel, a half-elven warrior, is one thing, but him, a vampire? Do they really want to share the town with him?

But they are fine. They treat him like others would treat some retired wizard or a former mercenary. But he knows he must be careful - one mistake and the neighbors will remember who Astarion truly is and that there is a reason why he never goes to the upper town in the daylight.

And there is a complication Astarion always has to take into account.

“Dad! Dad!”

Astarion looks up and sees ten-year-old Alethaine. She is upside down, but the hem of her dress brushes the ceiling, ignoring gravity. There's a bit of forest dirt on the girl's shoes, and he can distinguish the smell of wood.

“I told you not to go alone,” Astarion says. When she was younger, Astarion often found it difficult to parent her. The moment she asked something or started crying, he was ready to do anything just to make her feel better. It took him time to get a grip and establish boundaries. He is her father. If he wants the best for her, he has to be strict sometimes. Even if the response is tears and anger.

“I didn’t go to the woods! I was in the meadow. It’s still in the town!”

Fair enough. The meadow is a favorite place for town kids since it is indeed the forest but their asses won’t get whooped by their parents.

“So, what is it, princess?”

Alethaine jumps on the floor with a soft “thump” and she inclines toward him making direct eye contact. Astarion still wonders sometimes if her eyes black because his eyes used to be, too, or because of her dhampirism.

Dhampir.

Half-undead. Does Alethaine even understand what it truly means to her? Town kids don’t really care and adore her ability to walk on ceilings and steal sweets for them. But will it last long? She is ten. When she and her friends grow up, they will notice things that make her different. Will they start fearing her the same way town dogs start howling if Alethaine or Astarion pass by? Will they avoid her? Will they force her out of town to go seek her own kind?

“I want a kitten.”

“Princess, last time I checked cats don’t really like us, either.”

Alethaine sits beside him and forces him to close the book. “No, you don’t understand! A week ago, I found a kitten! She didn’t like me at first but I’ve been bringing her food. And today Wyv let me hold her! She doesn’t mind me at all!”

“Wyv?”

“She is albino! She has red eyes and white fur! I think she went missing from her litter. Or maybe her mother's cat forced her to go. Please! Pretty please! She is so tiny, she won’t make it on her own! And I will take care of her!”

Alethaine stares at him with puppy eyes and her elven ears twitch with anticipation.

“Mum won’t mind, she will be happy there is an animal that doesn’t react to me as if I am some evil entity!”

“Princess, there is a very big chance this poor creature will run away once it senses me in the house. Last time I checked I am still undead.”

“And I am half-undead! Wyv got used to me, she will get used to you, too!”

Astarion flicks the tip of her nose. “But if your mother asks, you forced me to say “yes”.

Alethaine squeals and wraps her hands around his neck forcing him to drop the book. Astarion chuckles when he feels the soft prickling of her teeth on his skin.

“I will be right back!” Alethaine rushes outside, slamming the door.

He had 200 years of pure misery and it still hurts him to see how much was taken from him. But then… Thirty years of something else. Something he hadn’t wished to have.

A woman to hold and to love who is brave enough to trust and care.

Fifteen years of adventures, when they could go wherever they wanted and do whatever they desired. Then, they were offered to stay in Daggerlake, a small town near the Unicorn Rim.

Home was a concept unfamiliar to both of them and Tiriel sometimes begged him to return to the road.

But he was adamant. He needed a home. He needed a place to stay. To own. He wanted a place to stash all the artifacts and books they'd found, a comfortable bed to sleep and make love.

Tiriel wanted it, too, though didn’t admit it.

And five years later the thing he’d least expected happened.

He barely remembers how it was - he was so drunk on blood, he felt his undead heart beating. Then he found Tiriel and dragged her home to pin her to the bed.

As a result…

Alethaine.

His daughter. His flesh and blood.

Sometimes he treats Alethaine as a matter of course. Most men in Daggerlake have children, and usually more than one. But sometimes Astarion gets distracted and forgets where he is, and only comes back to reality when Alethaine taps him on the shoulder and then Astarion looks at her in awe, wondering how he even deserves her.

Ten years. Such a tiny piece of time but Alethaine’s whole life. Astarion can already see the woman she is becoming. The woman he will be proud of, the woman who will have the freedom he had to fight for.

Suddenly, Astarion realizes Alethaine has been missing for far too long. The meadow isn’t really far away and it’s already sunset - Astarion feels it.

Astarion locks the house and goes looking for his daughter.

It's already night when he gets to the meadow. Alethaine is there sitting on her knees with her head bowed.

“Alethaine, what did we talk about not being outside after sunset?”

She doesn’t answer. Astarion comes closer and sees that her face is red as if she has just stopped crying.

“Princess, what happened?”

“It’s my fault” she sniffs. “I should have taken her with me right away,” her shoulders tremble and Alethaine bursts into tears once again.

Astarion kneels beside her, not knowing what to do. He still hasn’t learned how to react to her tears properly - so he does the only thing that works all the time with both her and Tiriel and also works for him.

He hugs her.

Through her muffled cries Astarion manages to understand that the albino kitten got out of the shelter and someone kicked her with such effort she died instantly. Now the kitten’s body lies in a small hole in the ground with her mouth wide open and stains of blood on the white fur.

'It's not your fault, it’s the fault of whoever did this, not yours.’

“No, you don’t understand! I could have taken her with me! If you had said “no”, I would have given her to the neighbors! And now she is dead! She is dead because of me!” Now Alethaine almost screams with all the sorrow a ten-year-old girl is capable of.

Astarion hugs his daughter tighter. He often stays with her on his own when Tiriel leaves to do some adventuring job - and usually, Astarion has no trouble. But right now the only thing he needs is for Tiriel to be at home. Because she can find the right words. She always can. Because what exactly does he need to tell Alethaine? It’s the first time she’s witnessed death. And it was the vilest example possible.

An innocent creature was killed for fun.

Well, maybe he should find that person and break their legs. It won’t help but maybe it will make Alethaine feel better.

“Alethaine, let’s go home.”

Alethaine doesn’t answer.

“Princess, come on,” he repeats.

His vampiric senses feel that something is wrong. As if something eerie, and unnatural has started to happen.

Astarion glances at the dead kitten.

Then the kitten moves.

“What in hell…,” he mutters.

It opens its eyes which glow an unnatural green color. The paws twitch, and the mouth opens showing small fangs.

“Dad! Look! Wyv is alive! She was just wounded! And I thought she was dead!” Alethaine exclaims, grabbing the dead kitten. “We need to show her to the healer!”

Alethaine’s eyes glow with the same eerie shade of green.

Necromancy.

Alethaine has just used the “Rise Animal” spell.

A spell so difficult it takes mages years to learn it.

Alethaine drops the dead kitten on the ground as if it were a poisonous snake.

“No… What is wrong with her, Dad?”

The kitten immediately sits up and freezes. Waiting for orders.

“She is dead, isn’t she?” Alethaine sniffs. The kitten doesn't move, staring at her with its resurrected eyes.

Necromancer. If being a dhampir wasn't enough for her. Necromancers have always been outcasts with their abilities to raise the dead and cast the darkest of spells.

Alethaine is one of them. Twice an outcast.

“Alethaine '' Astarion makes her face him. “Listen to me carefully. There must be strings, connecting you with the kitten. Like a puppet doll. You need to cut them.”

“But she will die”

“It is already dead. it’s not a life. Put it to rest.”

Alethaine wipes tears and the weird glowing fades. Alethaine concentrates, looks at her hands, and then makes a movement with her fingers as if she were tearing threads.

The dead kitten falls on the ground like a puppet.

Alethaine sits down tired and exhausted. Resurrecting a creature, even small animals, is a difficult spell requiring much energy even from adult mages. For a ten year old it’s the equivalent of hiking in the mountains.

Astarion takes Alethaine in their hands.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Will you and mum still love me if I am a necromancer?”

“Of course, we will.”

“You can’t get necrotic damage, can you?”

“Well, I am very undead myself. So fear not, you won’t harm me even accidentally”

“And mum? She is mortal, she can get hurt.”

Astarion sighs. Damn, ‘Tiriel should come back sooner, I can’t answer all those questions’.

“You won’t hurt her. Don’t worry.”

Silence. The little dhampir doesn’t believe him. Alethaine sniffs again.

“Did it hurt when you were resurrected?”

Astarion has to make an effort to keep himself composed. It is still traumatic. Still hurts. Two hundred years of pain. Tortures. Isolation. Transformation.

“I am a vampire, not a ghoul. Ghouls don’t feel anything. They are already dead. you resurrected the flesh but Wyv didn’t feel anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Alethaine, promise me you won't try to practice alone, all right? No one must know you are a necromancer. People won’t understand. ”

The rest of the walk home is passed in silence. That evening Alethaine refuses to eat, and all attempts to cheer her up fail. She's heartbroken and scared, and whatever is weighing on her mind, she just can't process it.

He needs to think something up. The sooner, the better. Before Alethaine harms herself or someone in the town.

Alethaine can't sleep.

It's been a week and she feels terrible. There are whispers on the edge of her mind, dark and frightening, they call to her, they promise her something.

Alethaine can't shut them up.

She sees threads stretching from her fingers to the dead animals. Worse, she feels the threads leading to living people.

Cause them necrotic damage, the darkness whispers. It is going to be fun! Strike fear in them, make them scream, make them cry! And drink their blood if that’s to your liking!

Tiriel didn’t say anything when she heard what had happened. But Alethaine sees uneasiness in her eyes. Of course, she is afraid! There are strings attached to her as well, one or two necrotic spells and she is dead!

Astarion left two days later - he said he would try to look for something. Alethaine cried and begged to take her with him, but he refused.

Alethaine has locked herself in her room, barely leaving. But the silence and solitude are the fuel for nightmares. For the darkness. For tempting whispers.

The little dhampir gets out of her bed and goes to her parents’ bedroom. Tiriel is fast asleep under a blanket. Peaceful and quiet.

Alethaine fumbles at the door. She is ten, not three! She is too old to sleep with her mother. But the thought of spending one more night alone with those whispers feels awful.

“Kitten? Are you alright?”

“Mum… can… I…”

“Come here.”

Alethaine gets under the blanket and her mother’s arms immediately wrap around her.

“I am afraid,” Alethaine finally admits.

“I know, Kitten. Dad will think something up.”

“What if I hurt you while he is away?”

“You won’t”

“How can you know that? I am a necromancer!”

Alethaine turns around to see her mother’s face.

“Alethaine, you are also a dhampir and I don’t remember you ever trying to drain me. And you’ve had your fangs since you were five months old.”

Alethaine relaxes and hugs mother back.

“Mum, did you always know dad was a vampire?”

“Hm, I learned it on the third day I think. Woke up to him trying to bite me. He is lucky I’d already liked him.”

“And you weren’t afraid to be with him?”

“No. Your father was a troubled person, not easy to handle. But he was worth it. I know you are scared. People don’t take it easy when someone can cast dark spells. But it doesn’t mean you have to be alone or be a bad person, even if it’s expected. You will meet people who will accept you for who you are. Who will love you. One of the kindest men I knew was a warlock with a devil pact. Things aren’t always what they seem.”

Your mother’s blood is so warm! You’ve tasted it once, remember? When you were dying of bloodlust! Bite her, take what is rightfully yours!

As if hearing the intrusive thoughts, Tiriel hugs her daughter tighter.

“Whatever happens, we will always be with you. We will help you, we will support you, and no matter what happens, you can always trust us. Even if you do something really bad. ”

Alethaine sniffs and buries her nose in her mother’s neck.

The darkness steps away, and the girl falls asleep.

She doesn’t have nightmares for the first time that week.

“Alethaine,” she feels a soft tap on her shoulder. “Wake up.”

Alethaine opens her eyes and sees she is still in her parents’ bed. Tiriel, fully dressed, stands at the doors.

“Hm?”

“Dad is back. Could you go down to the basement?”

Alethaine, still half asleep, dresses up and goes down. Her senses immediately tell her Astarion isn’t alone.

“Hello, princess,” Astarion strokes her head the moment she gets closer.

A man in a dirty red robe sits on the wooden bench. His head is bald and his right eye is missing. Instead, there is a blue gemstone with intricate runes.

“Astarion, don’t you tell me she is a dhampir.”

“Oh, she very much is! Alethaine, this is Nris. He is going to be your teacher.”

“Astarion, I deeply appreciate you for saving me from that devil but I am not morally ready to teach a dhampir necromancy!”

“I doubt you will be able to pay me. My services are expensive. And I can always sell you back to the devils. I need you to teach my daughter necromancy. End of story.”

“For fuck sake… How old are you?”

Alethaine steps back. “T-ten”

“Fuck, this is the worst age ever! In a year she will hit puberty and it’s bad even without dhampirism and necromancy!”

Alethaine looks at her father.

“Dad, I don't like him.”

“He is a necromancer, princess. People aren’t supposed to like them.”

“Astarion, I knew I shouldn’t have made deals with you! A devil is better than a vampire! At least with devils, I know what to expect! Alethaine, you know what your father did? He took advantage of my desperate situation and forced me to make a pact with him.”

“Nris, don’t be stupid. It’s a working agreement!” Astarion grins. “And I can summon your former master any time, and, I fear, this time he will be harsher on you.”

Nris curses again, and Alethaine makes a note to use one of the slurs next time she gets into a fight.

The necromancer stretches his right hand, covered in weird tattoos. “Come here, Alethaine.”

Nris sends a shiver down her spine, but Astarion only nudges his daughter slightly, forcing her to approach the mage.

“Dhampir, necromancer, and all this with Fey blood. You did pick the wild cards out of Tasha’s cauldron. What exactly did you do to make your father save my ass from the devils?”

“I-I revived a kitten.”

Nris flinches. “I hate sorcerers to my guts! I’ve spent decades learning how to revive small animals - and you did it just like that! But good for you that you didn’t resurrect a human because if you had, the townsfolk would have burnt you alive. I was trying to make the darkness talk to me and it still doesn’t answer back but it calls upon you like an old friend. Life is truly unfair, Alethaine Ancunin.”

Alethaine is silent, unable to stop staring at the gemstone in the eye socket. The runes move resembling trapped flies.

“Very well, let’s start from learning the basics!”

Astarion leaves the basement. When he glances back he sees Alethaine drawing runes on the floor while Nris is giving her the lecture.

Astarion is tired. He didn’t have time to rest during the week, and besides, the worry of leaving a ten-year-old necromancer who didn’t understand how to control her powers alone with Tiriel plagued him like a nightmare.

Nris doesn’t look like the most decent or talented mage but he is bound to him by a pact and doesn’t have any desire to return to the devils. So, he is going to live in the secret basement under their house and teach Alethaine as much as he can.

Wild cards out of Tasha’s dungeon. Yes, that’s true. An unlikely child with dangerous skills.

Astarion finds Tiriel in the inner yard, throwing axes into the wooden wall. He approaches her and hugs them from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder.

“Tired?” she asks.

“Can I take your blood?”

She touches his curls with her tender fingers. “Of course.”

Astarion indulges his fangs in her neck. Blood streams down his throat, calming him down. Tiriel falters. He immediately releases her neck and takes her in his hands to carry Tiriel to the bedroom.

When they get there they lie together on the bed, their fingers intertwined. Due to sharpened hearing Astarion feels a distant echo from the basement. It seems like Alethaine and Nris have started a screaming match.

“You really didn’t warn him, did you?” Tiriel asks, drawing invisible symbols on his back.

“Maybe. Kind of.”

“Well, at least I won’t be the only mortal in the house.”

“Tiriel, don’t make him your drinking pal, I beg you!” Astarion laughs.

“What? A mug of ale after a difficult day hasn't hurt anyone yet.” Tiriel touches the tip of his ear. “Meditate. I will be with you.”

Astarion nods. Thirty years of happy memories are enough to give him bliss. He concentrates and lets the flow of memories take him to reverie.

Astarion holds Alethaine for the first time. A newborn girl is probably still in pain after being pushed into the world. He hears her fast heartbeat as her living heart pumps half-undead blood through her veins.

He cradles her in his arms. Alethaine is so warm, so delicate, so innocent. It’s not yet clear if she is a dhampir but Astarion knows he loves her. It’s a different form of affection, unknown to him. A selfless love for a child, a desire to make sure she won’t endure the same hardships as he did.

And she must not know.

Astarion gives himself a promise. His daughter will never know about his past. it will never taint her. The pain, the touches, the humiliation, the violence - she will not know a word of it.

Her mindset will be free of that dirt and of that darkness. He won’t pass it.

“Thank you, my love,” Astarion whispers. “This is a gift.”

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 6 months

Note

i feel like you’ve done this before but i can’t remember but anyways mini hc idea! m6 when mc tries to carry them (specifically bridal style cuz it’s silly and cute :3)

The Arcana Mini-HCs: Carrying M6 bridal style

@gh0stz404 I could have sworn that I've written these but no matter where I look I can't find them!! Anyways, here ^.^

Julian: scrunches all those gangly limbs in as much as he can so it's easier for you (and so you can carry him for longer, because he is swooning at your show of strength). might ask you to do it again

Asra: starts giggling as soon as you pick them up and doesn't stop until they take advantage of the physical closeness. takes that as permission to try carrying you around bridal style as well

Nadia: surprised. dazzled. she didn't expect mentioning a twisted ankle to result in this. uncharacteristically distracted for the rest of the day, keeps fanning her face like she's overwarm (she's not)

Muriel: ... h o w. that's not to say that it's impossible, but it's certainly unexpected!! he's not used to being carried at all, so be prepared for him to freeze and cling to you like an anxious, oversized lemur

Portia: oh, she's bright red. a bookworm like her has read all about fairy-tale moments, but she wasn't expecting to experience one today! will slyly bring it up and praise you for it for the next few days

Lucio: you're carrying him either because his shoes got dirty and he asked you to, or because you wanted to surprise him. either way, he's not too shocked - he knows he's a princess and he's proud of it

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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shinjisdone · 8 months

Note

Hello! I saw that your request is open so if you don't mind could i ask for a Jack or Ace's version of Fem!MC and friends?👉👈 I love the one you did for Deuce, I have a soft spot for the first years boys 🥺Thanks in advance 🖤

Oh, Deuce is great and deserves the love! You have good taste.

Gonna choose Ace for thsi since his suitor suit and galla outfit SCREAM for an female!mc and friends version!

Gonna go with three cards/events or else its gonna get too long ;;

Female!MC and Friends - Ace Trappola

Ace. Trappola. Sigh.

This guy is...surely...certainly...something, alright.

The way he speaks, the way he behaves, the one-of-a-kind smirk he wears...it's all just "Ace".

You knew that from day 1 when he teased you relentlessly and even got you and Deuce in trouble. Your prediction that he would keep getting himself and you in trouble still rings true.

Although, you cannot deny that he...seems to have grown fonder of you in a way.

When He...Proposes To A Ghost?!

Oh no. This is too funny.

Quite the predicament Idia (and your entire dorm) has gotten into but you never thought you'd see the day where Ace - ACE - would...dress up in a suit with slick hair and...a ring in his palm.

You try not to laugh, really, really hard - you really, really try not to but...just LOOK AT HIM!

Actually, laugh to your heart's content cuz this guy would have done the same if you were in his shoes. Aaaand for all the other things he'd tease you for in the future.

Yeah, yeah...go ahead and get yer sides sore, you'll see that Ace will sweep that egotistical princess off her feet!

...Even if she doesn't have those anymore.

Besids, what's there to laugh about? Can't you see how he dolled up to be the 'perfect, ideal prince'?

In fact, with a sneaky, toothy grin, Ace is sure that he already made you fall for him right then and there when you saw him in this get-up! Go on, admit it, it's okay. It's like love at first sight...he just needed to look his best for you first!

If you brush him off and say, hah, 'in your dreams', then prepare to have him hang on your shoulder until he has to go and steal the heart of the bride (which he is sooo confident in). Ace will smirk and cackle, poke and provoke you until you just HAVE to admit how wonderfully good-looking he is right now! Oh man, you are just brimming with jeaously that you aren't the one proposed to by Ace, right~? Right~? C'moooon, just admit it!

He'll swing by like a hero, hold your hand and pretend to kiss your knuckles and whisper these stupid, corny lines he read in a manga once - and IF YOU DO BLUSH AND FLUSTER (DO NOT!) YOU CAN BET YOUR LIFE SAVINGS THAT ACE WILL SNAP FROM FAIRY TALE PRINCE TO BAFFONERY PEASANT AND LAUGH AT YOUR FACE

Did you just reaaaally fall for that?! OMG OMG how come he never noticed that you get all flustered like that so easily????

New weakness aquired.

Ace will exploit it.

However, if you play along, you will certainly make HIM blush. What the...??? H-hey, that was just a joke...don't you know we are actually fake proposing here? H-haha...weirdo.

And if you pretend to be Eliza for practice and Ace has to act and say all those things to you? Uh, dude, I mean, l-like thanks for the help but...aren'tchu takin' this waaaay too seriously? Ace got this, you don't need to...you know...

Ace will at first tease you if you try to get he attention of the bride too by wearing a suit. But, well, he will definitely deny of having glanced at your direction if you catch him...

A dress, however? Blushes a bright red, red as his suit. Whoa, whoa, aren't you going a bit too far? Like, way too out for this? You should be wearin' something like that for your real wedding. Not a fake one...(that is to a ghost and not him...)

Anyone with eyes can tell that Eliza is not Ace's type, so if you ask him, he might need time to think. He'd glance at you from time to time and grows a bit nervous under your gaze...

He'd give you an vague answer.

When He Impresses Fairies...

Ugh, seriously? Does he have to make a show for some selfish fairies while wearing this?

Well, at least you are here to join him in the humiliation. Shared pain is...uh, double the gain?

Whatever, Ace can pull this off with your aid. In fact, he might feel more motivated with you by his side, especially if he sees you as another 'audience memeber'.

You are one of his biggest fans when it comes to his magic tricks anyway, right? So having a familiar face here in this show eases him.

These white robes though...as annoying and odd as they might seem, they kinda make you two look like a magic duo! Not bad! And hey, when he looks at them a second time, they ain't soooo ugly anyway...

Well, they certainly look good on you...

The flowers are the confetti on top. Kinda cute to see these butterflies flutter all over yer head. Just don't let them nestle in your hair!

Actually, as dumb as this is, you two CAN act like a magic duo! He is The Great Trappola (roll the r) and you...! Eh, his assistant. Any great magician needs an loyal assisant!

Not like you can do magic anyway, hehe...

Be amazed at his awesome tricks and praise them with jazz hands! Just make him look good.

Y'know, Ace wasn't sure why the clothes were this royal white anyway...but now that he thinks about it, with the flowers and accessories...you kinda look like a fairy. A non-palm-sized fairy! Haha, maybe that'd be the kind of stuff they'd wear if they were as big as you and him...

Heh, you could maybe even be their fairy princess! Or their fairy queen! Go on, tell 'em off and have you two be excused~ OOh, go tell them to serve you two and give extra special attention to the magician guy!

...Oh! H-hey, don't get this the wrong way. Dummy, it's not like you got some ethereal, fey-like beauty about'cha or somethin'...hey, don't laugh! Be glad that The Great Trappola (roll the r) compliments you!

When He Is Stranded At an Island...

Omg, for real, he and everyone else is stranded on this lonely, beautiful, tropical beach whatever shall they do - SIKE THIS IS THE BEST IT JUST MEANS EARLY SUMMER VACATIONS!!!

Are you kidding him? He can have earlier summer vacations on a beach with (almost) no one to bother and berate him?! (Aside from Riddle). This is the best!

Screw learning. No matter how his grades are, he deserves this!

Will definitely take it easy the minute he lands there. Might even berate you to NOT take this seriousy and just relax with him~ The upper classmen will take care of this~

Ace is gonna take advantage of this and drag you to any relaxing activity that there is. Swimming, collecting shells, building sandcastles, cracking coconuts open...

This is a one-in-a-lifetime chance! He ain't gonna miss this!

Realy likes his outfit and will compliment yours too! Dressed like this, how can you not just take a few vacation days?

Kinda wants you two to match? Not in a cute couple way but more like a 'we-are-so-rich-and-the-bosses-here-look-at-us-match-with-our-superiourity' kinda way.

In fact, this could a way to make amends for the winter vacations last time. You know, with *whispers* Jamil-senpai's overblot? yeah, that.

Ace may not be able to show you around his hometown but he can help you have a good time here! Just follow his lead!

He is surprisingly very attentive here. Making sure you are okay and have fun at all times...it's nice.

He'll make things into competitions like collecting the prettiest sea shell or building sandcastles together. Ace will like swimming together the most though.

Jokingly taking his shirt off and flexing but if you were to do the same thing or wear something more skin-revealing, he'll shut up quick. C'mon Ace, get it together...this isn't the frist time you've seen a girl in a swimsuit...or swimear in general...but...you aren't just some random girl...

He'll get it together, don't worry. It just...takes time.

#request #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #ace trapolla #ace trapolla x reader #female!mc #female!reader

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amourcherie606 · 6 months

Text

Princess Tutu and Princess Kraehe Designs!! FYI these are not me bashing on the og designs, i personally love them alot and love the direction inspiration they have from swan lake!! <33 this was just me being silly :3 I took alot of care and research for these designs WHICH i will now be explaining the symbolism for both designs 👏

Lets start with Tutu! I went thru several designs for her, the final design being a combination of elements I like from each of them. The First design was a heavy combination of Swan Lake's White swan costume and the new Ugly Duckling ballet (crazy ik!!!)! I really liked how the ugly ducklings costume had wings attached to her bracelets so I had to obviously give that to Tutu. ALSO I WAS EXTREMELY EXTREMELY TORN on giving her the iconic pink pointes but in the end I decided to give her red shoes cuz of the fairy tale with the cursed red shoes TOOOO represent how tutu is forced to dance for the sake of the story while Ahiru wears pink pointe shoes showing her genuine love of dance on her own. The 2nd design was based off of the barbie nutcracker interpretation CUZ I THINK A HEART SHAPED BODICE IS THE CUTEST THING EVERRRRR i love hearts so much.

3rd design was my first attempt without any inspiration but i still love it alot frfr. overall, im rlly happy with tutus design!! Tutu / Ahiru have an actual, somewhat history with the prince in the actual tale, in my version anyway. With each heart shard she finds, she herself unlocks a memory of her time in her fairy tale, glimpses of her time spent with the prince! crazy! :3

Ohhhhhhh man i loved all of my kraehe designs like i was fighting for my life choosing a design cuz like,, they are so swag... Heavy inspo from the black swan and simply vibes i was going with

OHOHHOHOOOO the veil felt like such a big brain move for me personally- so basically

the veil represents kraehe grieving the "loss" of mytho -via him being obsessed with Tutu and how she feels like shes lost her prince. Also it helps covering her identity! At the end of 1st arc when Tutu and Kraehe dance for Mythos love, Kraehe finally unveils herself as if its a wedding CRAZY I KNOWWW

also she has dark red shoes that show shes also forced to be in this story and they r soaked in her "blood" to show she isnt meant to be kraehe, that she was stolen from her original purpose. she feels as tho shes dancing on glass yet continues to do so for mythos love.

Ill post a more clear front part of her outfit soon! But I felt like her outfit rlly wouldnt have that much details hence the use of only black and red. I rlly love her designs frfr also kraehe has feather weapons...i think thats so swag

So yah! ty for reading my rambles anddd it wouldnt hurt to ask any questions :3

#my art #princess tutu #ahiru arima #rue #character design #character concept #concept art #pretti colors #guys i love princess tutu this is making me crazy #what should i do next?#magical girls #princess kraehe

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blossom-hwa · 5 months

Text

Worn-Out Soles [1] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 10.1k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 1 >> Part 2

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

When the soft rap of your lady in waiting sounds at the door, you barely look up before calling her in. Out of the corner of your eye, Chaeyoung curtsies in the doorway. “Your Highness.”

You continue scribbling at the papers strewn around your desk. “Yes?”

“The royal cobbler has arrived.”

The pen in your hand stops midair.

Slowly, slowly, so as to keep the smile twitching on your lips from taking up your entire face, you raise your head to see Chaeyoung standing in the doorway. “Have my sisters been informed?”

Her eyes glint with mischief and the knowledge that you haven’t managed to fool her at all. “Of course.”

“Well.” You stand up, placing the pen carefully down. Steadfastly ignoring Chaeyoung’s grin, you step around the desk. “I suppose we will all just have to go and meet him, then.”

. . . . .

Yuna’s sharp squeal hits Chan’s ears even before he steps foot into the pavilion, which is all the warning he needs before five princesses accost him at the entrance, bouncing on their toes. “Chan!”

“Hello, Your Highnesses,” he laughs, maneuvering his heavy box around them. “What makes you so excited today?”

“Did you bring our shoes?” Ryujin asks eagerly.

Chan frowns, but not before letting them see the glint in his eye. “Was I supposed to bring shoes, now?”

Amidst the chorus of whines from the youngest and giggles from the older girls, one voice joins the fray. “Well, my sisters would be dearly disappointed if you hadn’t.”

Chan’s heart skips a beat in his chest as he turns around to meet your smile. You stand in the pavilion’s entrance from where he just came, the flower-wreathed arch framing your image perfectly under the sun shining bright in the sky.

A sharp elbow jabs him from behind. “Say something,” Jisung hisses. “You’re staring.”

Chan can feel his ears going red. “Would you be disappointed too, Your Highness?” he asks, making a mental note to flick his apprentice’s forehead later.

“I believe I would.” You step forward with that warm smile still on your face, and for not the first time in his life, Chan wonders what good he must have done in a past life to deserve standing in your presence like this, a sunflower forever basking under the light of your grin. “You know we all look forward to your shoes, Chan.”

Chaeyoung, your lady in waiting, mutters something under her breath. Chan doesn’t quite hear it, but from the giggles of your sisters and the glare you flash at her, it can’t have been anything good.

Chan’s ears must be flaming by now. Putting down the box, he musters his most natural smile. “Well, good thing I won’t have to disappoint any of you,” he says, undoing the latch. “Come closer, Your Highnesses—I hope you are pleased with these.”

Oohs and aahs and squeals of excitement slowly begin to fill the pavilion as Chan and his apprentices begin to hand out the shoes. It’s with no small pride that he takes in the cries of delight from each of the princesses—with each pair made of the finest quality material, hand stitched and sewed with sparkling thread in intricate designs, there is a reason Chan trusts very few people to help with his handiwork. He grins as the five young princesses begin to spin around the pavilion, joyous grace evident in every one of their movements…

You step forward shyly, and Chan snaps back to earth. “Anything for me?” you ask.

“Are you kidding?” Jisung snorts before Chan has the chance to respond. “He spent days on yours!”

“By all the stars—I spend days on all of them,” Chan hisses, praying his hair covers his ears.

“You don’t usually spend two entire weeks trying to get each design right, though.”

Chan stares at his second freckled apprentice, who only stares back with an innocent expression. Jisung he can understand being a pain in the neck, but Felix?

Your shy laugh sounds like bells. “Am I that demanding a customer?”

“Oh—oh, stars, no.” Chan swallows hard, ducking into the box for the last pair of shoes. “I just—” he holds out the box and tries not to react when your fingers brush his as you take it, eyes focused intently on his face—“I just wanted to make them… right.”

Right? Right? Seriously, that was the only word you could come up with?

You start to untie the box, completely oblivious to Chan’s inner imminent mental breakdown. Slowly, too slowly, you lift the shoes from their cushioned spot inside, Chaeyoung taking the box from your hands. For a moment, you don’t react.

Chan starts to lose it.

You don’t like them. You hate them. The design isn’t what you wanted, there are flaws in the fabric, something is terribly wrong with the shoes despite all the time he spent on them—he’s messed it up this time like he always feared, seriouslymessed up—

Your eyes meet his once more, sparkling brighter than the sun and the stars. “I—Chan.” You step forward, holding the shoes to your heart. “Chan, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”

Chan’s knees nearly give out right then and there. Thank all the stars.

“You’re—I—” You look down at the shoes and back at him, as though you’ve lost your own words. Chan’s heart soars with the shine in your expression. “You do this every time,” you say, almost laughing. “Words can’t describe how much talent you possess, how hard you must have worked for this. These are truly…a work of art.”

He swallows down the overwhelming smile itching to reveal itself on his face, forces it into something smaller, more manageable, and infinitely less manic than it would have been. “I’m glad you like them, Your Highness.”

“Chan! Chan!” Ryujin and Chaeryeong come running up, Yeji following behind with a half annoyed, half apologetic glance that she flashes at you. Chan watches as you turn to them, smiling first at Yeji with something in your eyes that immediately wipes the worry and annoyance from your sister’s face, then at the younger girls clamoring for your attention. “Play us music, please! Like you did before!”

You shoot an apologetic look at him. “Girls, don’t demand things from Chan,” you admonish before turning back. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. It would be my honor.” He smiles at the young princesses. “Give me a moment to tune, yes?”

The two of them cheer before skipping away, Yeji corralling them towards the center of the pavilion. You look at him, expression soft. “You really don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” Chan says, pulling out his small flute. “But I enjoy it, and I have some time before my next appointment.” You still don’t look convinced, so he speaks again. “Truly, Your Highness. Your sisters are adorable. I like playing my flute, and I like watching you all dance. It’s a pleasure.”

Finally, you relent. “All right then, Chan. Although—” You stop for a moment, then seem to set your jaw with determination. “May I ask, will you be at the festival?”

Chan blinks. The Moonlight Festival, only the most important festival of the year, the festival that sees the most foreign royalty and dignitaries traveling to your kingdom to partake in the celebrations? “…Yes, I suppose I will.”

“Right.” Your lips curl in light embarrassment. “I…if you happen to be by the palace that night…”

Behind you, Chaeyoung looks extremely amused. So do Jisung and Felix.

That does not bode well for either Chan or you.

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…” You swallow hard, but your eyes don’t stray from his even as your younger sisters run up to try and drag your attention away. “Only if you can, since I’m sure you’ll be quite in demand, please save a dance for me.”

Ryujin and Chaeryeong pull you off, then, eagerly shouting for you to put on your shoes and spin with them in a dance. And as Chan watches you laugh with them, beginning to whirl across the pavilion with graceful steps as light as air, joy spilling from your fingertips into the flowers and grasses and leaves…

All he can think of is his answer, which is of course.

. . . . .

“…Your Highness?”

You jerk up with a start. Immediately you tear your eyes from the magnificent pair of shoes sitting by your doorway, but it's too late. When you turn your head, Chaeyoung’s face is staring right into yours.

“Stars, Chaeyoung!” You jump again. “What are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that, Your Highness.” She pulls back, one eyebrow raised in an arch. “You’ve been zoned out for the past five minutes.”

It’s the shoes. It’s the damn shoes. You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. Why must Chan’s handiwork distract you so much? Can’t he make them a little less ogle-worthy, less intricate and delicate and graceful and just—a type of beautiful that words can’t describe—

“Are you sure it’s just the shoes you like?” Chaeyoung asks, the other eyebrow rising to join the first. You don’t even need to lift your face to see the smirk on her lips, you can hear it just fine. “Or perhaps the cobbler who made them?”

“Stop it,” you mutter, dragging yourself up once more. You can’t resist the urge to let your gaze wander over the shoes again, though, imagining the care and devotion that must have gone into every stitch, every design. It almost pains you to think about dancing in them, dirtying the silk and ruining Chan’s handiwork as you wear them out.

Chan. You just manage to catch yourself before you sigh. His face dances before you in your memories, his bashful smile, his dark hair that always seems to be ruffled by the wind, his sweet eyes crinkling as he laughs. He’s lovely—beautiful—and you can’t fight the heat crawling up your cheeks whenever his strong, calloused fingers brush yours every time he hands you his latest masterpiece.

He’s beautiful, to be sure. Handsome in the most attractive way to you. But far more attractive is the love he brings to everything and everyone he touches, as though every person he meets couldn’t help but fall in love with his soft kindness, his quiet joy, his gentle earnestness that comes with everything he does. You see it in every delicate golden stitch on the white satin slippers he made you for the upcoming festival. You see it in every seam he sews on all of the other slippers he’s made for your sisters. You feel it in every scant touch you share, see it in his eyes whenever you manage to meet his gaze.

Stars above, all you can think of is the dance you might share with him on the final night of the festival. If you see him, and if he sees you.

With a sigh, you finally look back at your lady in waiting, apologies already on your lips. “I’m sorry, Chaeyoung. I must seem a mess.”

“You kind of do.” Chaeyoung’s blunt tone lifts the corners of your lips. “But it’s the festival. The preparations always drive everyone mad. And combined with your little star-crossed romance—” she easily dodges the swipe of your hand, giggling all the way—“I’m sure you’re very overwhelmed.”

The word stop finds its way onto your tongue once more, but you don’t let it fall because it would be useless. And besides, Chaeyoung’s right—you are overwhelmed. You love the Moonlight Festival, really you do, but being one of those in charge of organizing the largest event of the kingdom every year makes you want to scream to the heavens sometimes.

Maybe you should try that. It sounds like it would relieve some stress.

“Well.” You look down at the piece of paper you were scribbling on before Chan’s craft distracted you (as well as thoughts of his dark hair and smiling eyes as he handed you the shoes). “At least the guest list is finalized. I think.”

“Oh?” Chaeyoung cocks her head. “Who’s coming?”

“An assortment of foreign royals—Joshua and his entourage will be here, thank the stars—and some of the ambassadors whom we sent overseas will return for the occasion.” You flip through a few more sheets. “Of course we also had to account for all the nobility who will be staying at or near the palace during the week.”

“Are Jun and Jeongyeon coming back?”

A real smile spreads across your face at the mention of two of your best friends. “Yes, they are,” you say. “With Minghao and Sana.”

Chaeyoung grins. “It will be wonderful to see them.”

“Surely it will.” You heave yourself up from behind the desk, clutching the sheaf of papers in hand. “Come with me to drop these off with my father?”

. . .

The king’s quarters are in the wing completely opposite from yours and your sisters’. You have no actual idea why this is the case, but you like to joke deprecatingly to Chaeyoung (when no one else is around) that it’s because he has no intention of seeing any of you more than he must. Which is a fair assumption, in your opinion. He doesn’t even show up to dinner these days, just takes his meal with his advisors or foreign dignitaries alone. Unless he decides he also needs you.

The guards part ways upon your entrance into the west wing, bowing respectfully as you pass. You give them a brief nod before stopping in front of your father’s door, knocking twice on the wood.

“Who is it?”

“Y/N.”

“Come in.”

Any trace of your previous smiles falls away as you step into the cold room. Your father hardly looks up from his desk even as you approach. “What is it?”

“I have the finalized guest list, as well as the other preparation details you asked for today.” You place the papers in front of him. “That is all. Please let me know if there are any issues.”

All you get is a hum in response.

Only years of having dealt with this behavior keep you from doing much more than press your lips into a thin, thin line. “I will be off, then.”

You’re opening the door when he speaks again. “Y/N.”

There’s enough time to exchange one bemused glance with Chaeyoung before you turn around. “Yes, Father?”

He’s actually looking at you this time. In his eyes swims some sort of emotion—if you didn’t know better you’d say it was something like regret or worry, but why would he feel anything like that?—as he scrutinizes your face. His throat bobs as though he swallowed something. As though he has something he wants to say, but can’t. Or won’t.

“Father?”

All the emotion falls off his face as soon as the word hits the air. “Don’t forget that you will take dinner with me tonight,” he says, eyes dropping back to the papers on his desk. “The convoy from Ourania will have arrived by then.”

You frown. Since when have you ever forgotten an appointment and needed him to remind you? There was no reason for him to have said that, none at all. In fact, you almost feel offended, but then you look at him again.

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow.

Maybe he did really have something to say, but decided against it at the last minute.

Whatever. You shake off the lingering discomfort. If what he wanted to say was truly important, he would have spoken. Your king may be an absent father, but he doesn’t generally shirk his duties. “Yes, Father,” you say, then shut the door behind you.

. . . . .

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s moping, Lix.”

“Well, he should stop.”

“I am not moping,” Chan says loudly as he dumps scraps of leather into a pile in the far back of the shop.

A beat of silence follows. Then Jisung snorts. “That’s exactly what someone who’s moping would say.”

“Or, it could be that I’m not moping, and you’re misunderstanding things completely.” Chan turns to his two apprentices, both staring owl-eyed at him and his probably very red ears. “Did neither of you hear me ask if one of you could go out and get something for us to start dinner?”

Jisung’s shit-eating grin turns sheepish. “I forgot.”

Chan tries to hide an exasperated smile with a sigh. “It’s fine, just go now.”

Without missing a beat, Jisung grabs Felix, and with a shouted farewell, the two of them go crashing out the door.

Chan returns to cleaning the mess in his workshop, putting away tools, tossing leather scraps into the scrap bag as they emerge from corners he didn’t even know existed. He is not moping. If anything, he’s—daydreaming. Of something. Moping implies that he is upset. He is anything but.

“If we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

He snorts a little. As if the answer would be anything but yes. Which you probably know, because over the years he’s learned that despite his attempts to hide his affections he is still extremely obvious. And if Jisung and Felix are to be believed—which, unfortunately, they often are, because even if they’re loud and obnoxious and love to tease him at any point in time, they’re very observant and usually right—

You hold a similar affection for him, too.

The knowledge doesn’t do much, though. Because for all Chan loves you and prays that his love is returned, it wouldn’t matter if it was. In fact, it might even be for the worse. You are a princess and he is but a cobbler, a commoner without magic, which means he could never be yours. If this were one-sided, at least you might still have a chance at happiness elsewhere. But if you truly do love him back…

Chan swallows down a wave of guilt. It’s not his fault, he knows logically. He doesn’t control your feelings any more than he controls his. But in moments like this, he wishes more than anything that things could be different. That he might have magic, that he might have been born a noble, that he might have even the tiniest of chances with you.

Hm. Maybe he is moping. Chan sighs. He should stop. He should focus on something better—namely the fact that he might finally have the chance to dance with you in just a couple of weeks. A smile begins to lift his lips at the thought as he exits the workroom to wait for his apprentices to return.

As if on cue, the door opens with a loud bang. Two pairs of feet tramp indoors, and then there’s the sound of something thumping onto the table.

It’s suspiciously quiet. Especially for his loudmouth apprentices.

Someone shushes the other. Probably Jisung hushing Felix. Silence ensues.

“…Is he still moping?”

“Obviously, Lix.”

Chan sighs.

. . . . .

The week before the festival brings with it flowers, paintings, gifts from envoys from countries near and far, foreign royalty settling into the palace with their entourage or sending ambassadors if, for some terrible reason, they can’t make it this year. Two days before the full moon, you’re pretty sure you haven’t sat down in over twelve hours—you ate your lunch standing in a corner of the kitchen, and only because Yeji dragged you there under threat of knocking you out for several hours so you could take a break.

Beloved sister, even if not by blood. Also a royal (literally) pain in your behind sometimes. But a needed one.

The palace bustles with controlled chaos, servants in your country’s colors and those of so many foreign lands mingling in the halls as they scurry from room to room carrying linens and luggage and trays of food. They’ve nearly crashed into you more than once, but who can fault them for trying to do their job? It’s all you’re trying to do, too.

(“Chaeyoung, tell me something that will get me through this,” you ask on the third day of this mess, head in your hands as you squat on the floor.

“Well, Your Highness, on the final night of the festival I believe your beloved cobbler may save you a dance.”

She dodges the swipe of your hand with a cackle, but despite what you would have your lady in waiting believe, her words do lift the burden on your heart and make it a little easier to smile.)

Finally, the week before the full moon arrives. You stand with your father in the throne room, looking out into a sea of seated royalty all gazing back, solemn excitement dancing in their eyes.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you’ve been planning this festival for—the celebration of the full moon, yes, but also the hum of excitement in this room, what your very country is so known for. Pride swells in your chest and you stand taller on the dais, smoothing the folds of your ceremonial robes—glowing white, accented with curves of darkness for the still not quite full moon. As each day passes, the darkness will fade from your clothes until you and most of the other festivalgoers are clothed only in white, to honor the moon and the night.

Your father finishes his little speech to a smattering of applause through the room. He turns to you and nods curtly.

Dipping your head in reply, you step to the center of the stage, bowing to the audience. “As my father, king of our land and holder of our magic, just said, I first welcome you to our kingdom once more.” Another polite round of applause. Smiling, you begin to relax, letting your mouth move in the words of welcome you’ve practiced so many times that you could say them in your sleep.

That is, until the throne room door opens with an ominous creak, cutting you off mid-sentence.

Confusion rustles through the crowd as people turn their heads to see who dared interrupt such a time-honored tradition. You yourself let your words fade from your lips, eyes narrowing towards the door in time to catch a glimpse of bright, fiery red.

The emblem takes you a moment to place at first. It looks familiar but not in the same way of so many other royal insignias, in the way that you’ve seen it emblazoned on the clothing and jewelry of real, breathing, living people. You have only ever seen this emblem, fire curling around a spiked rose dripping blood, in textbooks. Because this emblem belongs to a kingdom only ever described to you as having risen from the depths of hell itself. Born of death and flames and blood, nothing the pure magic of your land would ever dare to touch—

“His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.”

Your butler bows low, but even from here you can see that he’s trembling. Your eyebrows furrow further—you have questions, many of which will no doubt be directed at him later when this is over and you have a chance to try and figure out just what in the world is happening—but then—

The king himself steps through the doors, flanked by an armored entourage.

Red and black drape his body, gold hung in chains around his shoulders and chest. A crown of blackest metal rests on his forehead, studded with glowing rubies and amethysts, and a matching necklace hangs around his neck. He’s handsome—ridiculously handsome, as though he were carved from stone by the finest sculptors the land of Apollon had to offer—but the haughty curve of his lips sends walls thrusting up around your heart, hardening your mind to his beauty.

He stalks up through the center aisle, coming to a stop level with the first row of seats. His boots click together on the hard floor, a sound that echoes through the now-silent hall.

One dangerously curved eyebrow raises, and a vision comes to you of a curved blade sparkling under the moon, arcing down in a silver flash before it buries itself in someone’s flesh.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” That haughty smile plays cruelly on his lips, sending a shudder up your spine. “I trust you know why I am here.”

Your eyes turn to your father. Outwardly, he doesn’t look as though anything has gone amiss. His fingers, however, clench the arms of his throne with such force they’ve turned almost as pale as the marble itself.

He doesn’t say anything.

“No? Then perhaps I must jog your memory.” The smile disappears, revealing eyes cold as ice despite the fire burning within them. Those sitting the nearest to the king flinch. You gulp, despite yourself. “I believe I was promised an invitation to your famed festival.”

Your father’s jaw twitches.

“Imagine my surprise as these past months came and went, with not a word from Your Majesty’s hand.” The prince’s theatrical sigh echoes throughout the room. “I thought it only fair, then, that I come to receive an explanation of this misunderstanding.” He tilts his head, revealing a jawline as sharp as the imaginary blade still curving in your mind. “One does know, of course, that a promise made to a Kereseian will never be broken.”

You look straight at your father, the king, who sits wordless on his throne. Why isn’t he saying anything?

Are these claims true? you demand through your eyes. Why did you make the promise? Why didn’t you honor it?

What in the world is going on?

Silence stretches in the throne room, echoing off the stone walls and floors. With every second that passes, your fingers clench more tightly in your skirts, itching to say something, anything to rectify this mess even as your heart pounds in fear, but words won’t come to your lips because your mind is still spinning as it tries to understand the prince’s words and the implications they have on your family—

Your father’s voice cuts through the silence. “I am well aware of this.”

Your own eyes widen in shock as gasps fill the room, but he continues. “There must have been a mistake when the invitations were sent.”

The second dangerous eyebrow rises, fire burning sinister in dark eyes. “A mistake.”

For a moment, you really think that fire might come to life and burn this entire room to the ground.

Your father’s eyes don’t waver. “Yes.”

Everyone’s eyes are riveted on the two men, one high on the throne, one standing tall below. Neither of them looks like they will give in anytime soon.

Which means you might all be dead in a matter of minutes, if what you’ve read of Kereseia is true.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Your heart nearly pounds out of your chest as the eyes of the hall come to rest on you, including those of your father and the bloodred king. Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t shake. “Allow me to clarify one thing. It is true, then, that the king had been promised a place in our celebration, and that therefore he should be allowed to participate in our festivities tomorrow.”

The entire hall seems to hold its breath as they await your father’s reply. You’re not sure whether you want him to say yes or no.

“Yes.”

Gods and stars above.

You swallow hard amidst the gasps and whispers, turning back to the king. “Then I must apologize, Your Majesty,” you say as steadily as your thudding heart will allow—anger or fear, which is it? Perhaps some of both. “I was in charge of the festival’s guest list and many of its preparations, and yet I was never made aware of this…promise. I can only suppose that as your family has not…graced ours with your presence in many years, the knowledge of this promise was perhaps misplaced or miscommunicated. For that, I do apologize, and take full responsibility.”

The Kereseian king holds your gaze for one, two, three long seconds. You swallow hard, refusing to look away, but you can feel yourself trembling all over.

Then that deadly, knife-blade smile begins to curve his lips once more, and you have the sudden feeling that you have just made a very, very grave mistake.

“…No,” he finally says slowly, eyes traveling over every inch of your face. “No, you would not have been made aware.”

Even though there is still a healthy distance between you two, the oil in his voice, the deadly beauty of his face, the lascivious sweep of his gaze makes you want to take a step back. As though instead of just looking at you with his own eyes, he’d…licked you, or something, instead.

And beyond that—what does he mean? That you wouldn’t have been made aware? Of course you didn’t realize he was coming—your kingdom has never invited his, as far as you know—and your father never said anything, but his words imply that someone knew and should have told you but that he knew they never would—

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow.

You picture your father behind his desk, that moment of strange emotion you saw in the thin press of his lips to each other. Something he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue, perhaps. But something he never did.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at your father. His king’s crown stands high and haughty on his head, his hands placed on the golden armrests of his throne, but the skin of his face has drawn tight around his skull, fingers gripping his seat with undue force. You recall the readiness with which he gave his assent to the prince’s demands, the slightest shake in his voice that only a few of you could have heard. As though he knew the prince’s words had been spoken true.

What deal did he make with the kingdom of hell that could have resulted in this?

“Accommodations for you and your entourage will be prepared as soon as possible, Your Majesty.” You try for a smile. “Until then, please feel free to partake in the evening’s activities. I’m sure you will find something to make your journey worthwhile.”

The prince’s handsome smile curls white, sharp. Like a curved dagger’s blade held up to the light, right before it plunges into your eye.

“Yes.” He seems to lean in closer, that knife-blade grin never once faltering from his lips. “I’m sure that I will.”

. . . . .

Year after year, the Moonlight Festival has never failed to bring joy to Chan’s life. When he was young and his parents were alive, they always took him to the night markets, bought him all the sweets their money could spare, and danced with him in the crowded streets, their three giggles echoing off the laughs of everyone else around them. The royal family has never spared expense on these annual celebrations, meant to honor the entity from which Terpsichore, the kingdom’s patron deity, draws her power. All of the most famous dancers in the kingdom swear up and down that they dance better under the full moon, and as Chan laughs and spins from one person to another, joining hands with a woman and her husband before whirling off to yet another joyous stranger, he agrees. The nearly-full moon above glows pale and bright in the dark night sky, lending energy to all those who celebrate on the earth below.

Yet this year, the celebrations are dampened. By no fault of the royal family, of course—even if Chan didn’t know you were the one behind almost all of the planning for this festival, he could say beyond a doubt that this year’s festivities were fantastic, maybe even more dramatic than last year’s. But whispers permeate the dancing, rumors of a kingdom long cut off that has come to Terpsichani for the first time in decades, maybe even centuries.

Kereseia.

Chan doesn’t like to speak ill of anyone, but his parents told him tales of the Kereseians as a child to scare him into behaving. All children are told the same stories, of fire curling around thorny roses and a kingdom eager to kill.

And now they aren’t just stories. The kingdom is actually here, in Chan’s homeland of Terpsichani, allegedly by invitation of the current king.

They haven’t made an appearance in his area, not yet at least. Chan doesn’t expect that they will. He more or less expects them to be like some of the haughtier royalty from other kingdoms, rarely straying from the immediate vicinity of the palace—and for that he is thankful. He’s not sure he wants to come face to face with any member of that entourage.

Though anxiety twists his stomach every time he thinks of you near them, being forced to entertain them throughout this weeklong stay.

It’s not as though he could do much about it, though. He’s just a cobbler in love with a princess, and no matter how he may fancy himself an acquaintance of your family, a friend if he’s being generous, his shoemaking privileges extend about as far as conversation with you. Which is privilege enough. He won’t be greedy. But thinking about you in that palace, being forced to speak with the Kereseian king himself…

Maybe the Kereseians are nicer than he gives them credit for. Chan doesn’t know. But though he hopes that’s true, something tells him that it's probably not.

Whispers still seem to permeate the excitement of the crowds as Chan fights his way to the palace on the final night of the celebrations, though nothing can fully mute his eagerness when he finally muscles his way as close as he can get to the stage. An enclosed area meant for nobility and visiting royalty blocks his full view of the stage, but no matter. The moon will be full tonight, shining from above to illuminate the loveliest spectacle of the entire festival—the Terpsichorean dance.

Named for the goddess of dance, Terpsichore herself, it is the ultimate homage to the moon. Chan knows the dance itself varies by region, but all serve the same purpose and bring the same honor. And of course, in the capital city itself, who would perform the dance but the daughters of the royal family themselves?

Chan just manages to keep himself from blushing. He watched you dance last year and the two years before wearing white and gold slippers he’d crafted himself, and it had only made him fall even more in love with you. Perhaps it’s shallow, but Chan finds it hard to believe anyone in the crowd could feel anything else if they’d seen you spinning about so gracefully in your white robes edged with gold, a dancing ray of the moon herself.

More and more people crowd in as the sun sets further, until the front of the palace is packed with spectators and the sun only just peeks over the horizon. For all the teasing he had to endure from his apprentices when he left early, Chan feels endlessly grateful that he was able to secure a spot near the stage.

Familiar melodies begin to filter in from the musicians around the stage. The crowd begins to settle, eager whispers turning into cheers as the introduction begins for your piece. By the time the musicians have finished, the crowd is cheering and the sun has finally set, the full, pale moon beginning to hover in the sky.

The music pauses. Changes. Everyone falls silent and Chan finds himself holding his breath as he waits for what he knows will come next—

Your lovely figure draped head to toe in white silk edged in gold that just catches the moonlight, a ray of the moon sent specially to bless the kingdom now.

Chan’s breath lodges in his throat. His chest aches. You’re always lovely, always so lovely, but as you begin to dance, he wonders if the word lovely even begins to capture the mystery, the beauty of your existence. No, not a single word could. But that is what his kingdom’s art is for—dance. A way to express what words cannot.

Just as your performance does now.

It’s no ordinary dance, the way you flit through the air. No. Throughout the kingdom there are those blessed by the goddess herself with magical abilities that come with dancing talent—painting memories through the air through a well-placed movement, calling on rain or sun to bathe the earth. Chan himself has no magic though he loves to dance, but his mother was blessed with the ability to recreate memories through her movement.

But those of the noble and royal lines may be blessed with a different ability, one that marks their special honor by the goddess Terpischore herself. They can weave emotion as they dance.

Just as you do now.

The crowd gasps, sighs, cries as one as you whirl across the stage, painting sorrow, joy, hope—all emotions Terpsichore felt through her journey to godhood, to patronage of this kingdom, to her ultimate tie to the moon. For all Chan watches, almost refusing to blink for fear of missing a single moment, he knows he could never hope to describe the sight before him, for words could never capture the beauty of your movement.

The song ends. You flutter your way to the front of the stage amidst cheers and shouts for an encore, and you bow once, twice, five more times before the crowd quiets enough for you to disappear behind the stage, leaving everyone to disperse under the rising moon.

Chan allows himself to be swept away with the crowd, filtering into the streets as musicians take up their instruments and begin filling the roads with cheer. He tries to stay by the palace, though, remembering your request.

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

Ordinarily, he would never presume to take a dance from your hand. But you requested.

And never would he even think of saying no.

The minutes tick past, though, the moon rising steadily in the sky, bathing the streets in cool, lovely light. Chan laughs, dances, even catches a glimpse of his apprentices as they spin through the crowds shouting things he can’t hear, but though he keeps a hopeful eye out, not once does he see you until—

Someone taps his shoulder, and he spins around to see a very familiar face.

“Your—” Just in time, he sees the finger you have on your lips and cuts himself off before revealing your location to everyone in his vicinity.

“Sorry,” you say, smiling sheepishly. “I snuck away, I don’t want to be found out so quickly.”

You’ve changed out of the filmy white robes you danced in. You still wear white, just like the rest of the crowd, but your clothes are certainly sturdier and more serviceable than your dance garments were. Even then, though, your beauty still shines beneath the moon, and Chan has to remind himself to breathe.

“You were beautiful,” he says, all in a rush. Then he blushes. “I mean—you’re always beautiful.” His blush deepens as you giggle behind a hand. “But your performance…it was beyond words.”

“Thank you, Chan,” you reply sincerely, eyes shining. “I’m glad you were there to see it.”

“How did you feel about it?” he asks. “Were you happy?”

You nod immediately. “I think it was probably the best I’ve ever danced in my life,” you laugh, pulling him clear of someone whirling past. “I was nervous, for certain. But I love this piece, and I’ve practiced it so much. I’m very happy with how I did.”

Chan’s heart seems to burst under the brightness of your smile. “I’m incredibly happy you feel that way, Your Highness.”

“Well, I must thank you for it, too.” You hike up your skirts slightly, waggling a very familiar pair of slippers at him—white satin embroidered with gold accents, every stitch done by his own fingers. “Your shoes are incredibly comfortable, Chan. And so beautiful. I say this all the time, but I almost feel bad dancing in them, they’re such works of art.”

“Well, that is what they are made for.” Your smile gives Chan the courage to continue. “And I will always be happy to make you more, whenever you’ve worn a pair out.”

You look truly moved, your smile growing softer, shyer under the pale light of the moon. Chan himself can feel the redness of his cheeks creeping up his ears. You reach out and take his hands. “Thank you, Chan. I hope this does not come across as…too much, but you are very precious to me.” Your voice takes on a serious note that wasn’t there before, but your eyes shine brighter. “Not just your shoes. You are a wonderful person, and I am happy to have known you, even for the brief duration of our lives.”

Chan’s heart thuds in his chest, his ears echoing with your words. “You—you are very precious to me too, Your Highness,” he gets out, voice trembling. “I will forever be endlessly grateful that we have met.”

For a moment, you only stand, staring into each other’s eyes. Chan forces himself to breathe, to take in the moment—he will never be as close to you again as he is now.

“I do recall asking that you save me a dance,” you finally say, eyes sparkling. Chan’s heart leaps as you continue. “Do you have the time to indulge me, just this once?”

“Of course,” he breathes, squeezing your hand lightly. “Your Highness.”

He doesn’t say the words that ached to come after, though.

For you—I have all the time in the world.

. . . . .

In the end, you’re not sure how long you dance with Chan. It started as one dance, but even when the crowd separated the two of you, sending you off to other partners as the crowd laughed and cheered and spun, you always came back together, over and over again, like…

Like it was meant to be.

A sudden ache races through your heart, and in response, you hold Chan tighter. Not enough to hurt, hopefully not enough for him to even notice. Because as right as this feels, as right as you know this is, so many others would tell you in a heartbeat that this is not your place—would even go so far as to physically pull the two of you apart, if they could.

You love Chan. Have known it for a long time, actually, ever since the day you watched him place Yuna’s first pair of slippers on her feet with the softest smile on his face and every confusing feeling you’d been trying to figure out hit you with the force of a thousand suns. It’s been years since then and the love you have for him has never lessened, only grown.

And, you’re almost sure, it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that Chan loves you too.

Which makes it all the worse. Because if this was one-sided, at least you could comfort yourself with the cold knowledge that you’d be the only one suffering in this love that no one would accept. But if Chan loves you too, then what is this, this something-but-nothing that the two of you have now? Something that won’t just hurt you, but will also hurt him. The best thing you could do would be to end things cleanly on your end, and pray Chan will move on.

Only you can’t. Selfishness, you suppose. The knowledge of how it feels to have Chan’s arms wrapped around you like this only makes it harder—safe, warm, peaceful, even in this chaos of dancers under the full moon. Even this simple frame for partner dancing, closer than you’ve ever dreamed but still leaving some distance that closes every so often as he pulls you out of reach of another laughing couple, is enough to make you feel lightheaded. You’re in too deep. You couldn’t try to drag yourself out of this if you tried.

This is the closest you’ve ever been to Chan, wrapped in each other’s arms as you spin about the roads in front of the palace, cheeks warm with sweat and laughter. Perhaps only your oldest sisters and Chaeyoung know how much courage it took for you to ask him for a dance, how nervous you were for this one little tryst to work out—but it was worth it. Because this is likely the closest you’ll ever be. The closest you’ll ever allow yourself to be.

You’ll never tell him how you feel, after all. Even if you know, and he knows, and everyone knows. Because even though it’s meant to be, it isn’t. And that hurts.

Chan seems to be oblivious to your thoughts as the music begins winding to a close, which you’re forever grateful for as you smile at him. His dark curls stick to his forehead with sweat. His eyes shine almost brighter than the moon itself.

Dancing stars, you love him. You love this gentle man who holds you with so much care, who looks at you like you hung the full moon in the sky. You love him so much.

“Your Highness?”

You blink at Chan, whose expression has turned worried. Damn. You let yourself slip. “Are you tired?” he asks, already guiding you to the edge of the fray, away from the brunt of the music and noise. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. You must need to return soon.”

“No, I—it’s all right.” You try to cheer up, but reviving your fallen smile proves harder than you thought it would. Fumbling for an excuse that isn’t I was thinking about our hopeless love story and made myself upset, you say, “It’s…a lot of things. With the festival.”

Chan’s eyes narrow slightly. “Was it…”

Your heart drops in your chest, and suddenly all the previous lightheartedness of the night has gone, replaced by a curtain of dread. “Kereseia,” you finish quietly.

A short silence punctuates the air between you two. In the whirl of your performance, the final day of celebration, and the ecstasy of dancing in Chan’s arms for the first time in your life, you’d forgotten about the problems that sprouted in your life, fully formed, just a week ago.

The hand holding yours tightens its grip. You welcome the added pressure, squeezing harder as you try to ground yourself against the anxiety beginning to seep back into your chest. “So it’s true,” Chan says lowly, his eyes turning dark. “They’re here.”

You nod slightly. It’s not surprising that he’s heard something already. Rumors spread quickly, and it would only take one whisper about a kingdom as notorious as Kereseia to spark a wildfire. Really, you wish that was it. That it was just a strange delegation from a kingdom never before seen, come to demand that you include them in your celebrations once more.

But the king. He…

“Your Highness!”

Your eyes snap open. You hadn’t realized you even closed them. Chan is gripping your arms now, almost like he’s holding you upright, and you realize you must have been falling, and he caught you.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying to breathe. After the first gasp, breath comes more easily. “I just—this week has been—I love the festival, and I love planning it, but—”

Against your will, unwanted memories of the past week come flashing into your mind. The first time you spoke with the Kereseian king, when he interrupted the opening ceremony for nobility with his grand entrance. Those many times—too many to be coincidence—when you ran into him in the hallways and he begged so graciously for a moment of your time, only for you to feel dirty all over after he spoke to you, his eyes wandering over your figure all the while. When you were trying to speak with your sister and he suddenly appeared, somehow snatched you away, and by the time you realized he was holding your wrist it already felt like snakes had been wiggling up your arm.

“He’s terrible,” you whisper.

Chan sucks in a breath and immediately you regret speaking. “Who?” he asks, voice quiet. Dangerous, maybe. “The Kereseian king?”

Well, there’s no denying it now. Even if you tried, he would know, anyway. “Yes,” you reply miserably.

Chan’s eyes, worried and concerned, despite their hardness. Nothing like the sickly sweet, oily looks the Kereseian king had for you every time you spoke. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Yet. You pray Chan didn’t hear the word you left out, though something tells you he did. “It’s just—the circumstances surrounding their visit. My father won’t tell me anything.” Not for lack of trying, too. You stormed into his office the minute you had time, seething with embarrassment at having to take responsibility for the whole mess of “missing” the invites for the Kereseian delegation, and beyond his trite apology for not telling you earlier, you couldn’t get a word out of him beyond it will be cleared up soon and don’t anger them.

You’ve seen him four times since then. Each time, though you tried, he wouldn’t tell you a thing.

“It’s nothing, Chan,” you say again, as though repeating it will make it true. You attempt a smile. “Really. The festival will soon be over, and this Kereseian business will…go away.” Hopefully. Chan doesn’t look convinced, so you curve your lips wider even though you know this smile is far from reaching your eyes. You try for a joke. “At least, it won’t be my problem to deal with. It’ll be my father’s.”

Chan looks at you closely, and in that moment, you want nothing more than to sink into his arms and cry and tell him everything. Instead, though, you bolster that smile, and though by the end you’re sure Chan hasn’t been convinced of anything, he doesn’t continue to pry. “All right,” he says, worry still on his face, but the concern melting into a small smile instead. “But in any case, it’s late. Maybe—”

“Maybe, Your Highness, it’s time for you to return.”

. . .

For a moment, you think that this is just a bad dream. That you’ll pinch yourself and wake up, and when you do you’ll be back in bed. Safe. Away from the voice.

But you slowly turn around, coming face to face with the Kereseian king himself.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“Your Highness.” He tilts his head in what looks like an attempt at respect, the little smirk that makes your skin crawl never leaving his handsome face. “Your family is looking for you.”

“Your Majesty.” You take a small step in front of Chan, who seems to be frozen to the spot, and give a slight curtsy. “My sisters knew where I was. Did they send you?”

There’s no way they did.

“Not exactly.” His smile widens. “I heard your father ask where you were, and volunteered my services to find you.”

Behind you, Chan shifts. You raise a foot beneath your skirts and step slightly on his toes. He’s smart. He’ll understand that that means please don’t get involved.

“Who’s this?” The king peers past you and you actually feel your throat close up. Not Chan, not Chan, not Chan! “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I don’t believe we have either,” Chan replies, voice polite but cold. You’ve heard that tone before. It usually comes out when one of the more aloof nobles doesn’t plan to give him the time of day or the proper respect due to a human being. “Your Majesty…?”

For all the situation, Chan’s blatantly fake confusion almost makes you want to laugh. “Chan, allow me to introduce His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.” You realize then that you don’t know the king’s name and that almost makes you laugh for real, especially as Chan dips into a stiff bow that looks anything but natural. “Your Majesty, my good friend, Chan.”

“Your good friend,” the king repeats, slowly, like he’s testing out those words on his tongue. You can almost feel Chan stiffen next to you, and you pray you won’t have to step on his foot again to keep him from trying to interject. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Chan. I do have a duty to escort Her Highness back to her family, however, so I fear we must part.”

“Do not worry,” you reply quickly, as smoothly as you can before Chan can retort. “I was going to return soon, anyway. Please, Chan, have fun at the festival.” Your smile turns real, if only for a moment, as you meet his gaze. “It’s the final night. You should enjoy it.”

Chan’s eyes flicker to the side, where you know the Kereseian king stands. “So should you.”

“And I did, thanks to you.” You take his hand, squeeze it for a minute—far longer than you should, with the king’s gaze boring into your shoulder, but you ignore it until you have to let Chan go. “I will be all right,” you add in a whisper that hopefully only he can hear. “Really.”

He doesn’t look happy. His lips press together almost into a line, his eyes dark and serious like you’ve never seen before. But he must sense it when you want this to end, so he only nods, curves his lips slightly, and bows. “In that case, have a good night, Your Highness.” When he rises, his smile is wider. “I had a wonderful time.” With that, Chan disappears into the crowd, leaving you with a man you don’t trust at all.

Without another word, you turn back towards the palace and begin walking. If it’s a little quicker than your usual pace, you try not to let that on.

Unfortunately, the king keeps up. “I didn’t know that princesses of Terpsichani were allowed dalliances outside of nobility.”

You laugh a little, trying not to let the edge in your voice sound. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you’ve only been here a week. There is a lot of you don’t know about us.” Annoyance creeps into your tone, despite your efforts to keep it out. “And Chan isn’t a dalliance.”

“Well, he seems quite taken with you.”

Anger fizzles in your chest, threatening to spill into your words. “We’re friends,” is all you say.

“Good, then.”

Frowning, you turn toward him. “Good?”

“I wanted to ask you something.” The king’s eyes seem to glow under the moonlight, pulsing pools of shadow. You almost fear drowning in them. “Do you know why I have come here, to your kingdom?”

Nothing about this feels right. “I was under the impression it was for the Moonlight Festival, Your Majesty.” You turn to continue on to the palace, but his cold hand catches your wrist. Pulls you back.

“So your father really told you nothing,” he murmurs, almost as though to himself. Before you can digest that, though, he continues. “It was for the festival, Your Highness. Partially. But that was not the promise your father gave me, you know.” His lips curve and you can only think of the cruel blade of a knife, silver under the moonlight before it sinks into your flesh. “He promised me you.”

He promised me you.

“…What?”

“He promised your mother, first.” The king laughs as though you aren’t reeling, about to fall if not for his wrist still grasping yours. “And to my father, not to me. But the poor woman was so sickly after your birth, and ill. My father wouldn’t want a weak woman to bear his own child.” He peers into your eyes and you can do nothing to pull away. “This my father said, and so yours bargained a second time. One of his daughters for my father’s son.” White teeth glint as he grins. “Me.”

Disgust roils in your stomach and gives you the courage to speak. “But why?” you cry out. “Why would my father make such a bargain in the first place?”

“Don’t you know how much trouble your father and mother had, conceiving you?” He smirks. “I suppose, at some point, your father had to take matters into his own hands. And my own father wasn’t going to say no to a princess with magic as strong as yours.”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up. In a horrible way, it makes sense—you know your mother had trouble with your birth and had always wanted more children even after you were born, which is why she adopted your sisters before she died—but this can’t be true. It can’t be. “I don’t believe you,” you snap, ripping your arm out of his. “I don’t believe you!”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me.” Suddenly he has both of your wrists clamped between his fingers, his skin seeping cold into yours. “I will have you, a darling queen to dance with me and entertain my court day and night, and you will have my child. And with your blood, that child will be able to walk in the sun, as so many of us Kereseians cannot.”

Vaguely, you realize you’ve never seen one of the Kereseian delegation under daylight—always in a room with no windows during the day, or milling about at night. You didn’t know they couldn’t walk in the sunlight.

You’re learning so much tonight, and none of it is good.

“So we can do this one of two ways.” His face is so close to yours, so handsome but so cold and so repulsive when his breath hits your skin. “You can come willingly, and we will announce our engagement tonight to your father. It will be wonderful news to crown the final night of the Moonlight Festival, will it not? Our marriage two weeks from now on the new moon, as befits Kereseian royalty.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips. Engagement. As if—as if you would ever—

“Over my dead body,” you snap.

The king isn’t even fazed. “I thought you might say that,” he says with flippant ease, though if you didn’t know better you’d think you heard a ripple of a snarl in his tone. “But think wisely, Your Highness. Your father signed a contract with our kingdom of hell. We did not coerce him. He came to us. We delivered on our end, and now he must deliver on his.” He laughs. “Will you try to resist fate?”

Despair claws its way into your heart, ripping open your throat as you try to think. Try to speak. Your head is spinning and everything is wrong—your father, who you trusted, your mother, who is dead—

Against your will you wish you had never told Chan to leave. That he was still here with you. That you could draw from his strength in this moment where you feel so powerless. But he shouldn’t be caught in this, though. You’d never want him injured. Never want him hurt.

Not in the way you’re sure the Kereseian king could manage.

His memory lends you courage, though. Fate. This is no fate—it will not be your fate. You will not go willingly into the kingdom of hell, and you will not sign your life quietly away to this monster who dares claim you so.

“Over. My. Dead. Body.”

The king’s eyes darken. “Very well, then,” he says, and just for a second his grip loosens. You try to snatch the moment to break free but then it tightens and you gasp against the pain as he brings you even closer. “I should make this clear now, though, Your Highness.”

Flames whirl up from the ground. Heat flares at your skin. And then you’re falling, falling, falling into the earth and the blistering wind is tearing your body apart piece by piece and there’s a horrible noise in your ears that you have a terrible suspicion is your own scream—

Your feet slam into a hard floor. You nearly buckle where you stand, knees shaking, only held up by the painful grip the king still has on your hands. Everything around you is dark, lit up by strange, curling flames, and it is cold. So cold.

He smiles down at you now. Knife blades. Weapons to kill you as his mouth comes closer to whisper in your ear.

“You don’t have a choice."

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

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kquil · 1 year

Text

LOTUS : SERIES MASTERLIST

JAMES P.

COMING SOON ...

✒︎ DADDY'S GIRL : PRINCESS ✒︎ MARAUDERS X FAIRY TALE MINI SERIES : KNIGHT IN THE GLASS SLIPPERS (Cinderella au) ✒︎ MARAUDERS X STUDIO GHIBLI MINI SERIES : SHIPS IN THE SKY SLIPPERS (Castle in the Sky au)

SIRIUS B.

COMING SOON ...

✒︎ DADDY'S GIRL : CHOU ✒︎ MARAUDERS X FAIRY TALE MINI SERIES : RED HOODS (Little Red Riding Hood au) ✒︎ MARAUDERS X STUDIO GHIBLI MINI SERIES : THE SCARECROW CURSE (Howl's Moving Castle au)

REMUS L.

COMING SOON ...

✒︎ DADDY'S GIRL : HONEY ✒︎ MARAUDERS X FAIRY TALE MINI SERIES : APOTHECARY AND THE WOLF (Beauty and the Beast au) ✒︎ MARAUDERS X STUDIO GHIBLI MINI SERIES : SUMMERTIME (Arriety/The Borrowers au)

POLY MARAUDERS

HEROES IN TATTOOS

SUM. : two tattoo artists and a piercer rescue you from a drunk creep on your way home from work, dubbing them your heroes in tattoos. from that moment on, your bond is everlasting TAGS. : modern au ; tattoo artist au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist james ; tattoo artist sirius ; piercer remus ; biker sirius ; sweetheart reader ; poly marauders ; lots of fluff ; misunderstandings ; angst ; hurt/comfort

PLATONIC

DIVORCING ORION BLACK

A Marauders Era Fix-It-Fic - featuring Reader as Walburga Black but better

SUM. : You just got transferred into the world of Harry Potter and you've been put into the shoes of Walburga Black. Splendid… You need to escape this toxic family so your first order of business is divorce AND YOU'RE DEFINITELY TAKING THE KIDS!

#poly marauders x reader #poly marauders #marauders fic #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #LOTUS #SERIES MASTERLIST #𑁍 : lotus masterlist

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gamerbearmira · 7 months

Note

You know, I always loved fairytales, and those episodes of TV shows where the characters are part of a fairytale or in a fairytale setting were always fun for me. A fairytale AU would be super cool, where the Madrigals are all royalty, and each Madrigal is the protagonist of a different fairytale.

Alma is the beauty from Beauty and the Beast, Pedro didn't die, he was cursed and ran away after an angry mob attacked him, he hides in a dark castle in order to protect his family from the angry mob and watches over his family from a distance, whether or not Alma knows what happened is up for debate.

Julieta is the princess from the Princess and the Frog, Agustin is the frog of course, that's why he's so clumsy, the story is basically the same as Julieta helps Agustin break his curse.

Pepa is the Snow Queen, after being bullied as a child for her weather powers, she shuts herself off from others until Felix, the Kai of the story, comes along, he can only sees the bad in the world due to a shard of the cursed mirror in his eye but doesn't see fault in Pepa's perfect snowflakes, Pepa falls in love and helps Felix's sister, the Gerda of the story, break the curse of the mirror shard.

Bruno is the protagonist of The Golden Goose, he wanders into the jungle to hide from bullies and offers some of the food he has on him to an old man, who guides him to the Golden Goose, as Bruno makes his way back home, many people try and steal feathers from the goose and end up getting stuck, they are only freed when Bruno comes home and his family ignores the goose as they embrace him, as he had been gone for hours and they had been worried.

Isabela is Sleeping Beauty, cursed at birth by an evil fairy to prick her finger and sleep forever unless she is given a kiss of true love, when she pricks her finger, everyone thinks Mariano can break the curse, but of course he isn't her true love, so it doesn't work, Julieta ends up being the one to break the curse with a forehead kiss.

Dolores is Cinderella, after Mariano discovers he isn't Isabela's true love, he holds a ball to try and find his true love, Alma is very embarrassed by what happened with Isabela and refuses to let any Madrigal attend, so Dolores has to sneak out with the help of her fairy godmother, when she leaves her shoe behind and Mariano starts looking for her, she ends up coming clean to her family and admitting her feelings for Mariano so she can try on the shoe.

Luisa is the princess from The Princess and the Pea, she gets lost in a different kingdom during a trip and seeks shelter at the kingdom's castle, the Queen doesn't believe Luisa is a real Princess due to her 'un-princess-ly stature' and gives her the pea test, the next day the rest of the Madrigals show up at the palace begging for help to find Luisa, Alma and Julieta give the Queen an earfull when they're told what happened, and poor Luisa is given a week off of chores to rest.

Camilo is Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk, he trades a piece of jewelry for the magic beans, he didn't really believe the beans were magical he just didn't like the jewelry he had and wanted to get rid of it, once the beanstalk grows, he climbs it out of curiosity and takes the opportunity to cause some mischief when he finds the giant, including stealing a goose that lays golden eggs and a harp that plays itself, needless to say he gets in massive trouble when he gets home and Alma returns the items to the giant with a sincere apology.

Mirabel is Little Red Riding Hood, Alma is visiting her family who lives on the other side of the jungle when she gets sick, since she's too sick to make the journey back home, Julieta sends Mirabel with a basket of food to help her get better, the 'wolf' she encounters is actually her Abuelo Pedro, still cursed, he keeps Mirabel safe on her journey and Mirabel is able to reunite Pedro and Alma.

Antonio is the Pied Piper of Hamelin, he uses his flute to help with a rat infestation and decides to keep the rats as pets, but when people start bullying him for having rats as pets, calling the rats disgusting and Antonio himself diseased, he releases the rats back into the town until they apologize, both to him and the rats.

I LOVE FAIRYTALES TOO!!! THEY’RE SO SILLY!!!

All of these are so cool and fit so well. Tbh I like Alma, Luisa, Mirabel, Antonio and Pepa’s. I mean all of them are so rad, but those have my heart‼️‼️ They’re all so unique and. Love how some of them tie into each other. And all of them fit so well with each of the Madrigals and that is just so cool tbh. Love seeing AUs like that. AND PEDRO MENTIONED 🗣️🗣️🗣️ YEAHHHHHH

Wanted to draw Alma and Pepa but didn’t :((((

LOVE THIS AU RAHHHHHH 🗣️🗣️🤠🤠🤠🤠🦅🦅🦅🦅

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 3 months

Note

Turns out, the writers wanted to, and stop me if you've heard this before, play with the tropes and symbolism of fairy tales. Wow, I've never seen any kind of pop culture do that before... except for Into the Woods, The Princess Bride, Hook, Shrek, Princess Tutu, Ella Enchanted, Hoodwinked!, Enchanted, Tangled, Once Upon a Time, Frozen, RWBY, Ever After High, Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarves, Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio, and Nimona. But other than those, that's so original!

Dude, I don't know why, but that gave off so many Nostalgia Critic vibes. I'm sorry if it gets annoying mentioning him so many times on your blog, but damn that was just funny. Bravo man. 👏

It's okay. I used to watch him a lot when I was in high school, so I guess a bit of his comedic style influenced me when writing that part.

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #not miraculous ladybug #the nostalgia critic

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best-fictional-cat · 1 year

Text

Welcome! To the official list! Of the Best Fictional Cat competition!!!

Edit: here is the list of who's going up against whom in round 1

Here's our pawsome contestants:

Garfield (Garfield)

Puss in Boots (Puss in Boots / Shrek)

Kitty White / Hello Kitty (Sanrio)

Firestar (Warrior cats)

Khoshekh (Welcome to Night Vale)

Jiji (Kiki's Delivery Service)

Domino (Amphibia)

Ghost (The Owl House)

Cat (Stray)

The Admiral (The Magnus Archives)

Thomas O'Malley + the Aristocats (Aristocats)

Puppycat (Bee and Puppy cat)

Kyo Sohma (Fruits Basket)

Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

Morgana (Persona 5)

Meowth (Pokémon)

Kitty Softpaws (Puss in Boots)

Salem Saberhagen (Sabrina the Teenage Witch)

Luna (Sailor Moon)

Spot (Star Trek: The Next Generation)

Cheshire Cat (Alice in Wonderland)

Princess Carolyn (BoJack Horseman)

Hobbes (Calvin and Hobbes)

Chi Yamada (Chi's sweet home)

The Cat (Coraline)

Pounce de Leon (Homestuck)

Goose (Marvel comics / MCU)

Plagg (Miraculous)

Catbus (My Neighbor Totoro)

Catra (She-Ra)

Blaze the Cat (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Baron Humbert von Gikkingen (The Cat Returns)

Aslan (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Tom (Tom and Jerry)

Holly leaf (Warrior cats)

Jayfeather (Warrior cats)

Yellowfang (Warrior cats)

Bluestar (Warrior cats)

Miyo Sasaki / Muge / Taro (A whisker away)

Cake (Adventure Time)

Bob (Animal Crossing)

Raymond (Animal Crossing)

Frumpkin (Critical Role)

Maurice (Discworld)

Happy (Fairy Tail)

Cattail (Plants vs Zombies)

Angel Grimalkin (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Pusheen (Pusheen)

Cat (Red Dwarf)

Judd (Splatoon)

Lil' Judd (Splatoon)

Garfield the Deals Warlock (The Adventure Zone: Balance)

Mad Mew Mew (Undertale)

Mothwing (Warrior cats)

Shoe (Ace Attorney)

Blanca (Animal Crossing)

John Blacksad (Blacksad)

Yoruichi Shihoin (Bleach)

Lumi (Cats are Liquid)

Mr. Mistoffelees (Cats the musical)

Gatomon (Digimon)

Pib (Dimension 20 - Never after)

Greebo (Discworld)

You (Discworld)

Felix (Drawtectives)

Minerva McGonagall (Harry Potter)

Heathcliff (Heathcliff)

Jaspers (Homestuck)

Sox (Lightyear)

Chat Noir (Miraculous)

Valerie Oberlin (Monster Prom)

Juan The Small Magical Latino Cat (Monster Prom)

Capper (My Little Pony)

Opalescence (My Little Pony)

Nyan Cat (Nyan Cat)

Mewo (Omori)

Bungle the glass cat (Oz)

Kyubey (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Coco Grimalkin (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Felix Munch (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Mittens Wichien (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Shrödinger's cat (you know the one)

Artemis (Sailor Moon)

Chococat (Sanrio)

Big the Cat (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Gary the Snail (Spongebob Squarepants)

Lion (Steven Universe)

Aldwyn (The Familiars)

Simba (The Lion King)

Chairman Meow (The Shadowhunter Chronicles)

Kuroneko-sama (Trigun)

Leona Kingscholar (Twisted Wonderland)

Catty (Undertale)

Sandstorm (Warrior cats)

Squirrelflight (Warrior cats)

Tigger (Winnie the Pooh)

Nali (AC: Valhalla)

The Sphinx (Adventures of Puss in Boots)

Leone (Akame ga Kill)

Jonesy (Alien)

Domino 2 (Amphibia)

Ankha (Animal Crossing)

Kabuki (Animal Crossing)

Rosie (Animal Crossing)

Rover (Animal Crossing)

Tangy (Animal Crossing)

Darwin (April and the Extraordinary World)

Miyuki (Avatar the Last Airbender)

Serafina + Wolfie (Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper)

Taokaka (Blazblue)

Grimmjow Jaegerjaques (Bleach)

Kuro (Blue Exorcist)

Periwinkle (Blue's clues)

Catbug (Bravest Warriors)

Atsushi Nakajima (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Natsume Soseki (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Assistacat / Sub-manager (Cardfight!! Vanguard)

Brave Heart Lion (Care Bears)

Midnight (Castle in the Air, Diana Wynne Jones)

Potato (Cat loaf adventures)

CatDog (CatDog)

Skimbleshanks (Cats the musical)

Rum Tum Tugger (Cats the musical)

Jemima (Cats the musical)

Victoria (Cats the musical)

Ember (Cattails)

Lyrus (Cattails)

Mayor (Cattails)

Missy (Cattails)

Sarge (Cattails)

Scout (Cattails)

Nyako / Meowy (Chainsaw Man)

Lucifer (Cinderella)

Arthur (Code Geass)

Constable Whiskers (Cookie Run)

Cool Cat (Cool Cat Saves the Kids)

Mao (Darker than Black)

Catti (Deltarune)

Mingus Crown (Dialtown)

Ortensia the Cat (Disney)

Sisters of Plenitude (Doctor Who)

Jellie (Double Life SMP)

C!Antfrost (Dream SMP)

Izutsumi (Dungeon Meshi)

Yuigadokusonmaru (Durarara)

Thomas (Earwig and the Witch)

Carla (Fairy Tail)

Panther Lily (Fairy Tail)

Felix (Felix cat food mascot)

Felix the cat (Felix the cat (Paramount))

Candy + Cindy (Five Nights at Candy's)

Hiili (Fox Fires (webcomic))

Lucrezia and Meek (Frakk, the Cats' Nightmare)

Heinkel (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Arlene (Garfield)

Nermal (Garfield)

Amanojaku (Ghost Stories)

Cringer / Battlecat (He-man)

808 (Hi-Fi Rush)

Stelmaria (His Dark Materials)

Kirjava (His Dark Materials)

God Cat (Homestuck)

Vodka Mutini / Dr.Meowgon Spangler (Homestuck)

Macskacicó (Hungarian folk tales)

Cheetu (Hunter x Hunter)

Finley / Jelly Donut (Hustle Cat)

Samantha / The Cat (Infinity Train)

Solembum (Inheritance Cycle)

Nameless evil white cat (James Bond)

Jenny Linsky (Jenny Linsky, Esther Averill)

Stray Cat (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

Kaspar, Prince of Cats (Kaspar, Prince of Cats, Michael Morporgo)

Mr. Kat (Kid vs. Kat)

Magolor (Kirby series)

Tigress (Kung Fu Panda)

Remlit (Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword)

Mo (Lego Monkie Kid)

Meowthra (Lego Ninjago Movie)

Nyanta (Log Horizon)

Sylvester (Looney Tunes)

Mao Mao Mao (Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart)

Alpine (Marvel comics)

Behemoth (Master and Margarita)

Mog (Mog books, Judith Kerr)

The Cat (Monster Camp)

Ren (Monstress)

Haru (My Roommate is a Cat)

Ghazt (My Singing Monsters)

Pasty (Neko Atsume)

Sakamoto (Nichijou)

Niko (Oneshot)

Eureka the pink kitten (Oz)

Pangur Bán (Pangur Bán (Irish poem, 9th century))

Findus (Pettson and Findus)

Whiskers (Pixel Cat's End)

Pixie (Pixie and Brutus)

Glameow (Pokémon)

Litten (Pokémon)

Meowstic (Pokémon)

Skitty (Pokémon)

Sprigatito (Pokémon)

Jess (Postman Pat)

Tigger Sugden (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Slugcat (Rain World)

Rivulet (Rain World: Downpour)

Shampoo ( Ranma 1/2)

Squanchy (Rick and Morty)

Talking Cat (Rick and Morty)

Blake Belladonna (RWBY)

Diana (Sailor Moon)

Charmmy Kitty (Sanrio)

Khajiit (The Elder Scrolls)

Tabby Slime (Slime Rancher)

Blair (Soul Eater)

Barry Ill ( Sparklecare hospital)

Caroline Coughs (Sparklecare hospital)

Grudge (Star Trek Discovery)

T'Ana (Star Trek: Lower Decks)

Cure Cosmo / Yuni (Star Twinkle Pretty Cure)

Pet cats (Stardew Valley)

Cat Steven (Steven Universe)

Nyanky (Taiko no Tatsujin)

Archie (Tales of Arcadia)

The Kitty (The Bad Guys)

The Black Cat (The Black Cat, E.A.Poe)

The Cat in the Hat (The Cat in the Hat)

Pixel (The Cat Who Walks through Walls, Robert Heinlein)

Amp / Anp / Anpu (The Disastrous Life of Saiki K)

Boo (The Funky Phantom)

Wagahai (Ace Attorney)

Invisible cat (The Invisible Man, H.G.Wells)

Bagheera (The Jungle Book)

Xiaohei (The Legend of Hei)

Nuka (The Lion King 2)

Pippa (The Penumbra Podcast)

Black Cat (The Price, Neil Gaiman)

Church (The Shadowhunter Chronicles)

Tom Kitten (The Tale of Tom Kitten)

Mew (Marvel comics)

Ichigo Momomiya (Tokyo Mew Mew)

Hong (Trash of the Count's Family)

On (Trash of the Count's Family)

Captain Amelia (Treasure Planet)

Thomas Kincade Brannigan ( Doctor Who)

Tumblr lore witch

Luxor (Tutenstein)

Che'nya (Twisted Wonderland)

Cheka Kingscholar (Twisted Wonderland)

Grim (Twisted Wonderland)

Burgerpants (Undertale)

Varjak Paw (Varjak Paw, S.F.Said)

Bristlefrost (Warrior cats)

Cinderpelt (Warrior cats)

Graystripe (Warrior cats)

Leopardstar (Warrior cats)

Scourge (Warrior cats)

Spottedleaf (Warrior cats)

Ferncloud (Warrior cats)

Leafpool (Warrior cats)

Mapleshade (Warrior cats)

Sol (Warrior cats)

Tallstar (Warrior cats)

Turtle Tail (Warrior cats)

Tab (Watership Down)

Tabby Von Meow (Webkinz)

Opera (Welcome to demon school Iruma kun!)

Fluffal Cat (Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Chester the Cat (Bunnicula)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And here, as requested, are Honorable mentions, in no particular order (some less honorable than others), with their reasons for exclusion:

Mikeko (Ace Attorney): Apparently Apollo's cat but as far as I can tell it was only mentioned not shown, you've got other cats in

Any of the playable cats (Catlateral Damage): yeah I'm not even digging into that I mean I tried but naaaah (not to sound lazy but if it doesn't have a good wiki page I'm not doing it sorry I've had this many cats to dig through; I did save the game to check out in my own time tho so cudos for that)

Tasque Manager (Deltarune): not cat enough

Doraemon (Doraemon ): if only this thing had cat ears... or a cat tail... preferably both... I get that it's a robot but it could be a lot of animals honestly

Lizzie (Empires Smp): whomst (if what I found is what was meant then it's a fish not cat)

Kitty Cheshire (Ever After High): not cat enough

Nepeta Lejiom (Homestuck): not sure she's cat at least ENOUGH if at all, don't know enough about homestuck, owner of Pounce who is in anyway (entry said they're sorry lmao)

Schrödinger (Időfutár): "Time-travelling cat" I have failed in finding their picture and it seems too niche to be presented without it even though I am so intrigued and regret I don't know the language of the source material I'd love to give it a read/listen

Revolver Ocelot (Metal Gear Solid): Compares himself to ocelots and meows apparently, but no visible cat aesthetic sorry

Raku-chan (Nyan Neko Sugar Girls ): why.

Aisha Clan-Clan (Outlaw Star): not enough cat

Honey the Cat (Sonic the Hedgehog): that's enough cats from sonic (real reason: model so low-poly she would cut her opponents, and before you argue - there's a difference between pixel models and low-poly old games models)

The song pet cheetah twenty one pilots concept album lore: oof yeah um I get what a concept album is kinda buuut it's just a weird entry idk we've got plenty of fandom cats to go around

Gaetan (The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt): Witcher from school of cat but he's still well pretty much human (don't come at me about witchers not being the same as humans he's not a CAT and that's all that matters to me)

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What's next?

Well, I have to make the bracket itself. As you can see, there's a bit more cats than I was intending to have, which means that certain polls in round 1 will have more than just two options. I can already tell you that a lot of the cats from the same fandoms are going to be eliminated in round one. That's why I kept them in. I'm planning on making up the first round match ups based heavily on the similarities between cats and the fandoms they're from. ALSO as you've probably noticed, some cats come in a bundle. That's because they're a family. I'm not doing this to Kitty Softpaws and Puss (at least YET), because even though they also get married in the end, there's a huge gap in their submission numbers. If you're wondering, how big, you may want to know that up to Tigger from Winnie the Pooh (that is, almost the entire first pic) are the cats that got 2+ submissions, in their order of popularity.

Next step - brackets!!! I want to do this well and I hope I don't underestimate certain fandoms!!!

#best fictional cat #polls #cats #competitions #competitors #it you have any questions send them my way you know the drill!!! if you have any advice or propaganda also send them!!!!!

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adarkrainbow · 8 months

Text

I was recently reminded of the existence of this artwork, so I'll make a quick post about it. I had a very large version of the picture allowing t scrutinize little details - but unfortunately the size limit of Tumblr shrunk the picture.

This is the map known as "The Land of Make Believe", the most famous work of Jaro Hess - a collection of more than sixty references to various fairy tales, nursery rhymes, pieces of children literature and European legends, collected together in the shape of one fantastical and magical land. It was published in the early 1930s.

I will leave under the cut a complete list of all the places described and named on this map (a bit more than sixty in total):

Here the North Wind lives

Bluebeard's Castle

Here lives Peter Pan

Rip Van Winkle

Do not go in here

Here Little Miss Muffett was terribly frightened

Red Riding Hood's Grandmother's house

Jack Sprat - His house

The dilatory ship that never comes in

The Water Babies live here

Here the old man caught the golden fish

Dapple Gray Poney she rode him through the mire

Little Boy Blue fast asleep

The city of many towers where the beautiful princess lives

The castle of the giants

This is the cow that jumped over the moon

The city of brass

Jack the giant killer's house

Simple Simon met the Pieman here

Goldilocks and the Three Bears

The Pied Piper of Hamelin

The Crooked Man lives in his Crooked House

Mary and her Little Lamb

The black hen who laid eggs for gentlemen

Old Mother Hubbard's place

Bo-Peep's sheep

Contrary Mary's garden

Jack and Jill went up this hill

Here fairies dance in the moonlight

Here the Old King Col lives and the fiddlers three occasionally fiddle

Enchanted woods

Bottomless lake

Here is a desert

High tower where the little lame prince was locked

This house belongs to Grandfather-know-all

Magic carpet

The glass mountain

The wonderful Moo-Moo bird

The Emerald City of Oz

Long, Broad and Swift Glance

Do not walk near the edge!

Hansel and Gretel find the gingerbread house

Here the black bird picked off the maid's nose

Peter Rabbit lives in this hole

Here are the Babes in the Woods, covered in leaves

The shoe here the old woman lives

Little Bo Peep is looking for her sheep

The Wandering Jew

Tom-Tom the piper's son ran this way

Here the mermaids play

The Squall Fish

In this place there are peculiar fishes

The mysterious island

The path that leaves to no place eventually

The house that Jack built

Cinderella lives here

The castle where the Sleeping Beauty sleeps

Humpty Dumpty had that great fall here

The talking bird

The old witch lives here

West of the moon

East of the sun

#the land of make believe #fantasy map #fairytale map #art #jaro hess #fairytale crossover #nursery rhymes #fairytales #children literature #fairytale land

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beautifulbuckys · 2 years

Text

Speakeasy (Steve Rogers x Reader)

“I’m not villainizing your peers because they like to get drunk on the weekend, Mr. Rogers, I’m villainizing you and your peers because you use illegal practices to keep yourself in business.

“You better chose your next few words very carefully, sweets,”

Summary: When Tony Stark insists on hosting a themed party, you find yourself in the shoes of a 1920′s role with all the other Avengers. But what happens when you spot the Avenger you’d been harboring a crush on?

Warnings: Some swearing, intense conversations, some sexual moments but nothing smutty (just spicy!)

A/N: I refuse to write and read mafia fics, but I still somehow came up with this. Enjoy!

Tony Stark lived for dramatics.

Nobody who’s been in a 5-mile radius of the man is surprised. The list goes on with his over-the-top Iron Man suits, excentric galas, and Avengers-themed Pop-Tarts hitting the shelves. The Stark parties hosted what felt like every other week topped the list. More than once, without fail, he found an excuse to host parties. Infiltrated a Hydra base? It sounds like a party needs to be hosted! Bucky’s 106th birthday? The balloons are already inflated! Did Peter get an A on his AP Lang test? A cake has already been ordered.

Tony’s newest fascination has been themed parties. He’s only hosted one, yet it managed to be more extreme than Morgan’s last birthday party; you could’ve sworn you saw a real unicorn. As he put it, the theme was ‘Football’ themed, hosted in a timely fashion for the Super Bowl. It was the grandest Super Bowl party you’d ever attended. Tony insisted everyone wore team colors, much to many people’s dismay. Although it may come as a shock, Bruce and Peter weren’t the most enthused to attend a party about football.

Now, as the summer is winding down, he is planning another. The theme, you ask? He proudly announced it to be Roarin’ 20’s!

“Ladies and gents, I know you’re all so excited! I can see the passion behind Bucky’s cold, dead eyes!” Tony announced in front of the team. You were all seated around the orange curved couch Pepper purchased for the compound,

The silence amongst the team spoke volumes.

“I’m gonna vamp it up a bit! By tonight, Morgan should have dropped off individual letters to each of your rooms. You have 1 week to read the said letter and follow instructions varying on what you received. This party isn’t going to be the only thing modeled around the ’20s,” Tony winked.

After Tony’s small speech, you couldn’t help but feel a little curious. The personalized letter, delivered by Morgan? He must have gone above and beyond on these invitations. A lot of the team got up, leaving to go resume their business. Others stayed back. Sam was already sitting on the couch with Natasha, unpausing the cheesy romcom they started earlier. Steve hung back too, coincidentally he had just finished his workout when Tony called a team meeting. God did he look good!

“Are none of you curious about this personalized letter stuff?” Natasha shook her head, her red waves dancing as she did so. Sam also shook his head, eyes immediately returning to the flatscreen.

Steve sighed, lifting himself from the couch. “You know Tony and his insane theatrics,”

When you got your letter, you were overjoyed. As promised, Morgan knocked on the door. She was dressed in a bright yellow Princess Belle dress and pink fairy wings. Her bright smile shone like a thousand suns when she handed a metallic gold envelope with your name on it.

The second you shut the door, you ripped open the envelope. Inside, was a black piece of cardstock decorated with gold lines and other crazy details. Gold lettering described the overall setting of the party. Nothing you hadn’t been exposed to already. However, on the bottom, there was writing instructing you to look on the back. Curious, you turned the invitation around and began reading the small paragraphs on the back.

This party was also a role-play? We all had characters.

You? You were the “Hollywood Bombshell’, as Tony so kindly put it. The invite had a small paragraph explaining your character for the night. She loved playing hard to get, was extremely confident, and adored attention. She’d do anything in the world for it. Wonderful! In smaller writing, Tony noted that he’d be providing our wardrobe.

And provide he did.

The long, scarlet dress that just barely dragged on the floor was gorgeous. It was pure silk, with a large slit running up the left leg until your mid-thigh. The bodice was loose. 3-finger wide straps hung off your shoulders, creating a purposeful sag right where a small bit of cleevage appeared. All in all, it was gorgeous. Tony provided accessories, a matching set of gloves and pearl earrings accompanied the stunning silk. With the whold get up on, you felt like a hollywood bombshell. Natasha insisted on assisting you with hair in makeup under the ruse of ‘girls time’.

“I bet you’re hoping Steve will be the leading actor to your actress,” Natasha winked, helping create a beautiful red makeup look to match with your outfit. She was wearing a figure hugging black sequin gown. Her ruby colored hair was paired with a small black headband.

You playfully slap her on the shoulder, “And what are you, Cupid? I don’t think he wears a sexy black dress, Natasha,”

Natasha chuckles, grabbing your chin gently and tugging your face closer to hers. She was incredibly concentrated on finishing your pencil eyeliner. “You’re no expert on Cupid, then. Sexy sequins are in. Maybe Steve will be wearing a red tie to match yours! That would be so adorable,” Her smooth voice teased.

“With all this talk about Steve I’m starting to think you’re the one with a crush on him,”

The redhead giggled. “I have my own tall glass of super solider, sweetheart. I can barely handle Barnes. Blondie is all yours,” She commented while resting her hands. “All done. Go look in the mirror, let me know what you think. Hopefully you love it because Tony wants us downstairs in 10.”

You stand up, heading to the bathroom that is conjoined with your bedroom. “What is Bucky anyways?” Tony instructed everyone to not share their roles. Some people respecting the request. Those were the party poopers. Known as Sam, Steve, Pepper, and Wanda.

“He’s a speakeasy owner. Tony put him in a sexy stripey suit,”

You twirl in the mirror, admiring Natasha’s work. “Well Miss Jazz Singer, I guess we better get downstairs so I can see this suit for myself,” The two of you linked arms, leaving your room in it’s modern day glory and stepping into the elevator. Now? You’re no longer in modern times. You’re in the roaring 20’s! A few of the Avengers teased Tony for his commitment and dedication to the theme. You appreciated it. Sure, it was cheesy. Good thing you like cheese.

The main area of the compound was decked out. Sitting on an ivory colored table next to the bar was a gigantic champagne tower. It was nearly taller than Bucky and Steve stacked on top of each other. Gold and black were scattered around the large room, black chairs with gold cushions; golden bartop decorated with black roses. You make a mental note to ask Tony where on Earth he found black roses. Wanda was sitting at the bar with Bruce. The Sokovian was wearing a knee-length flapper dress. It was purple with small silver details scattered throughout the fabric. She also sported a pair of small black pumps and black fishnets. Overall, she looked good. Bruce had a simple white undershirt, which was stained. Suspenders accompanied the shirt, holding up his army green trousers.

“Well hello gorgeous,” You shouted, walking towards Wanda. Her attention switched from the martini glass in front of her to you. Her eyes glowed and a smile struck her face. Bruce turned around too, looking you up and down with wide eyes.

“Says you! You look gorgeous, what are you? A model? Because you look like one!” Wanda laughed as she spun around on the bar stool.

You smiled, seating yourself at the open stool next to Bruce. “As Tony put it, I’m a ‘hollywood bombshell’,” You used hand quotes to emphasize the exact role you were given. “Tony made me look like a million bucks, I’ll give him that.

You felt a hand on the back of your shoulder from behind the bar. “Ladies, ladies, I know we’re not straying away from our roles; are we?” Tony’s familiar playful tone spoke over the suddenly loud 1920’s music. You winced, realizing that was the task you were given. Simply follow your role. Do some improv. Have some fun!

“Of course not, Mr. Stark,” Bruce spoke up. Now that you were closer to him, you noticed more of his outfit. The weird stains on his tee shirt were oil stains. He was a mechanic. Wanda was a flapper. What the hell was Tony?

“That’s President Stark to you, commoner,” That answered your question right there. You laughed, excusing yourself from the bar. The room had filled up, many of the Avengers staff joined the team for these parties. The medical staff from the medical wing were here, as well as the secrataries Tony hired to answer PR emails.

As you scanned the room, you saw Natasha and Bucky tucked away in a dark corner. As Natasha promised, Bucky was wearing a brown suit with thin white vertical stripes. His long hair was gelled back, the white lights from the ceiling comically shining off of it. Scott was sitting with Cassie and Morgan, who were also dressed up. They were playing dolls, the only modern-ish looking things around the room. On the couch, Steve and Sam were sitting and passionately talking. Steve was waving his hands around while Sam laughed. However, Sam’s strong laughter stopped once he made eye contact with you. Taking it as a cue, you strutted up to the men.

“Hi boys,” You winked.

Sam winked back, dramatically raising his eyebrow. “Hello there gorgeous,” He had a small business card poking out of his simple brown jacket pocked. Gracefully, you bend down to retrieve a card. Sam Wilson, New York stock broker. How cute.

“Stock broker,” You say flirtasiously.

“Model?” Sam questioned.

“Actress,” Sam knodding approvingly, the corner of his lips lifting into a small charming smirk.

Steve was uncharacteristically silent. Usually during these events, he was chatting someones ear off. He insisted he wasn’t the biggest fan of the parties; yet he thought it was only polite to try to enjoy himself when they happed. You’d be a liar if you said Steve didn’t look sexy. His plain black suit jacket hugged his biceps generously. The tight mathcing pants didn’t leave much to the imagination. Steve’s pink lips were set in an intimidating frown. Like hell you’d let that scare you.

“Mind if I sit, gentlemen?” You asked.

“Feel free,” Sam stated.

Confidently, and before you could convince yourself otherwise, you plopped yourself into Steve’s lap. His face was etched with shock, but almost immediately fell back into his serious gaze. Sam nearly spit out the water he had been sipping on. Somehow, he stopped himself.

“I hope I’m not interuptting any business,” You combed your fingers through Steve’s hair. Like Bucky’s it also had gel. Not nearly as much, though. A few strands sat on his forehead, framing his beautiful face. Gently, you tug and twist on a few of the strands. “I’d hate to find myself in the middle of an important conversation,”

“Hardly,” Steve finally broke his silence. “We were just finishing up,”

“And what do you do, Mr. Rogers?” You take your hand and rest it underneath his chin, lifting it up so he is looking up at you. His striking blue eyes locked with yours in an instant.

He cleared his throat, “I run a few businesses,” His hand found the small of your back, thumb rubbing up and down the area gently.

“Define businesses. Mr. Banner down at the bar runs a car repair shop. Gorgeous Natasha over there is a jazz singer. Entertainment is big right now, I should know. Her date Mr. Barnes runs a speakeasy. Lots of sketchy characters there,”

“I’m very familiar with Mr. Barnes’ speakeasy,” Steve growled. His large hand came resting on your thigh. Agressively, he played with the flesh. Before you knew it, there were red marks where his hand had rested mere moments before. “I’m one of the sketchy characters you’re speakin’ about, sweets,”

Despite your characters confident facade, you struggled to keep up with it. Your overwhelming crush on Steve was making this interaction incredibly difficult. You could feel the raging heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t mistake the fluttery butterflies that occupied your stomach. Tony had been roaming around the party, waiting for people to break character. Like hell you were going to be caught. Who knows, maybe this could be your shot! Maybe this is the chance you’ve been waiting for to make a move on Steve. You’ve found yourself shy nearly every other opportunity you’ve gotten. Normally, you got cold feet and ran out of the room. The amount of times Natasha has had to cover for you is getting embarrassing.

“And sketchy you are. Those damn bars are illegal, now isn’t the time to be fumbling with the law,”

Steve chucked darkly, “Oh don’t act like you’re all pure and innocent. Hollywood runs rampit with anything illegal. Your folks love that stuff,”

“My folks?” You urged him to continue.

“You heard me the first time, doll. Nobody in that industry is the Virgin Mary. Everyone has that one thing they’d do anything for. Don’t villainize my peers because they like a taste of scotch every once in a while,”

“I’m not villainizing your peers because they like to get drunk on the weekend, Mr. Rogers,” You find your hand back in his blonde locks, twisting and tugging as you spoke. With this leverage, you pulled his hair to twist his head, exposing Steve’s ear. You decide to whisper, making the moment more intimate. “I’m villainizing you and your peers because you use illegal practices to keep yourself in business.

“You better chose your next few words very carefully, sweets,”

Steve Rogers was a mafia man. Golden boy, America’s solider, was a crime lord. And right now? You don’t mind.

“You’re gonna need to try harder than that if you want to shut me up,” The words spilled out of your mouth like milk out of a jug. The words were spoken as your confident, sexy actress character. Yet they hard truth to you. Not this false self someone else spun for you. Not the person gifted the silk red dress. You. You were speaking the truth you had held in for the longest time. The confession, though veiled by flirtatious banter, was transparent.

And Steve Rogers did exactly that. He leaned forward into your lips. His hands found their place on your hips, as yours found a place in his hair. Passionately, he kissed you. His lips violated yours sinfully, in a way that Jeuss Christ himself would need to turn his back from. But you didn’t care.

Breaking the kiss, Steve Rogers only said one thing.

“The only illegal things I’m doing tonight are the things I’m going to do to you,”

And you’d be damned if you stopped him.

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