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prettyiwa · 1 day ago

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(Previous) Relationship: Sakura Haruka x Florist!Reader Content Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Wound Tending, Casual Affection, Pining (it starts here) Summary: After staying late to watch your brother's fight, you end up stumbling across Sakura fighting a group near the pub district. Things turn nasty, he takes a hit or three to the face, and you grow upset at the sight. There's no way in hell he's turning you down when you ask him to come with you so you can patch him up. Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Some expansion on Florist's backstory here and some very blatant worrying on both their parts. Admittedly, I am not sure when Japanese boxing matches actually take place, so I went with western times. But this is fanfiction and I get to make shit up so? Good shit, I guess? Tagging my beautiful @owoasis and @kweenkatsuki-fics 💜💜

A bitter breeze blows through the street, rustling the leaves of the trees in your garden. Instinctively, you curl in on yourself, bringing your shoulders close as you dig through your bag. Sakura steps closer to you, also affected by the early spring chill. As you exhale, you try to release some of your anger, imagining it mingling with the breath that’s visible in the night, though you know some of it remains firmly threaded in the fabric of your heart.

You’d rather not take out your exasperation on Sakura.

Glancing over your shoulder once you find your keys, your eyes drop to the dried blood smeared across his face, to the cut above his brow. His attention remains on your garden and you follow his gaze, landing on the adolescent orange tree he helped plant last summer.

You know that the irritation you hold for him at this point is tied to how close you’ve all gotten in the past several months, that it’s lodged in concern more than anything.

“Come on. It’ll be warmer inside.”

He starts at the sound of your voice, the first thing you said to him in several minutes. When he turns to meet you, his eyes search yours for a moment before shifting to the side, the corners of his lips down-turning. He swallows, lips parting as though preparing to say something, only to decide against it. When you sigh, he meets your gaze again and the tiniest sliver of guilt squeezes around your heart.

The two of you enter your home and Sakura closes the door behind him, following your lead as you toe off your shoes and put on your slippers. Silence permeates the house and you wait for him before going through and turning on the lights. From the corner of your eye, he half-hesitates in your hall, turning in the direction of your bathroom where you last treated him.

The soft padding of footsteps come to catch up as you wash your hands and grab your kit from beneath the kitchen sink. As you set up the bowl and ice pack, he hovers in the entrance, hesitating before leaning against the wall. When you look up, his eyes are glued on the azaleas that sit on your table, a very early first bloom encouraged by warmer than usual weather. Fitting.

“Take a seat. I’ll bring everything to you.”

His eyes flash to you, expressive gold and steel blue that drop to everything on the counters. “Let me help.”

“Sakura—”

Before you can say anything more, he closes the distance, picking up your first aid kit with one hand and the bowl with ice water with the other. He looks at you, the tiniest seed of anxiety present behind the light challenge in his eyes.

“It’s the least I can do,” he shrugs, taking them to your kitchen table.

“Is it just your right hand, or is it both?” you call, tempted to prepare a second bowl.

“Dunno. My left feels fine.” The way he leaves it hanging makes it clear he means to defer to your judgment.

“I’ll take a look.”

More than his hands, you’re worried about his face. It’s been years since you assessed whether a nose is broken. What concerns you is the risk of a concussion, even if he’s exhibited no symptoms so far. Your mind flashes to your brother, to playing doctor for him when your mom stopped supporting his hobby, and your chest grows hot as it itches.

Sakura watches as you approach, taking more time than usual in an attempt to stifle the growing discomfort beneath your skin. He remains alert, if not quiet, though that hasn’t changed since he agreed to come with you.

Only once you’ve set everything up on the table and start pulling your chair closer does he seem ready to speak. The words he’s been holding onto for a while build, coming to the front with his quickened breathing as you take his face in both your hands.

There’s nasty bruising just above the tip of his nose and around the ala, the blood from his nostrils looking almost black. His right cheek is swollen, and the cut above his brow is starting to rise, too (honestly, you’re surprised the bleeding wasn’t worse there). Sakura winces when you apply pressure toward the middle of the left side of his jaw, letting you move him so you can assess the bright red bruise that will surely turn into a lovely purple come tomorrow.

“‘M sorry for shouting at you.” The words finally spill from him when you let go, his head tracking the arc your hand makes when you reach for a damp towel. “It wasn’t nice.” Glancing back at him, you find his attention unwavering, intense, searching you for… something.

Does he really think that’s why you’re upset?

“Sakura,” you say, letting his name fall deliberately from your lips, “I don’t care about that. I understand why you told me to stay away.”

Your presence complicated the fight for him, drawing his focus away when he was otherwise absorbed. They already moved to threaten you once, so you understand why he wanted you to keep away when he was finished. Sure, he could have phrased it better, but you can’t begrudge him that.

“Then why’re you so…” Offering you his right hand, swollen and bloody and definitely busted, he doesn’t complain at the temperature of the ice water. As you reach for his face with the towel, he flinches, only realizing after you pause, brows coming together with worry even after he corrects himself and pushes his face in your hand.

“‘So’ what?” His eyes drop to your lips as they shape into a frown, mirroring the movement.

“I dunno,” he says, breath hitching when you apply light pressure while wiping away the blood from his forehead.

“You must have some idea.” Beneath your touch, his skin warms.

“Guess I thought you were mad or somethin’.” Again, he winces as you wipe beneath his nose, though he makes no move to wrench himself free from your hold. As you sigh through your nose, the intensity of his gaze shifts, studying you as though attempting to read your mind.

You don’t answer him, focusing on making it easier to see the damage beneath the caked blood. Once you’re satisfied and can spot all the abrasions decorating his face, you start preparing polysporin on a cotton swab. “You’re not wrong.”

Your brother’s match was tonight—it was the reason you were walking home late enough to have caught Sakura’s brawl in the first place. Your brother was doing fine until he got cocky, opening himself up to a series of hits to the face. The broadcasters shouldn’t have shown his injuries, but they did. If you had started the stream then instead of having watched it from the beginning, you wouldn’t have recognized him.

“Then… if you’re not mad that I shouted at you, why’re you mad?” If you knew any better, you’d think he’s leaning into your touch each time you move to hold him steady.

A lump forms in your throat and you speak without thinking, too focused on preventing him from hearing it. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

He stiffens in your hold and his nose scrunches as he makes a face, though he immediately regrets it. “Doing what? What’d I do?” You finish dabbing polysporin on his cheek and his brows pinch together while his frown deepens. “You’re the one who offered—”

Shit. You didn’t mean it like that.

With the cotton swab held firmly between your forefinger and thumb, you press your middle, ring, and little fingers against his mouth to quiet him. “That’s not what I meant. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to look after you.”

His left hand wraps around your wrist, surprisingly delicate as he removes your hand. “Then what’d you mean?”

“I mean…” You’re usually more articulate than this. Heat starts gathering behind your cheeks, sitting uncomfortably close to your eyes. “At least you’re trying to help people. At least you’re fighting for something beyond your stupid pride.”

“Stupid—? The hell are you talkin’ about?” Confusion swirls with his exasperation and he pulls your hand closer to him.

Tears well in your eyes and your breath grows shaky. “My— My fucking brother and—” The fingers wrapped around your wrist loosen imperceptibly, though he doesn’t let go, not even as you swallow thickly. “My brother… He looked like our father did before he was wheeled away to the hospital after his last fight.”

Sakura’s expression goes slack, eyes widening before understanding hits. “Your brother’s match was tonight.”

“Yeah. It was.” He’s still yet to have messaged you back when it’s usually the first thing he does when finishing a bout.

“If you’re mad at them, then why—”

“No, I’m a little mad at you, too,” you snap, the first angry, hot tear falling.

Perhaps mad isn’t the right word, and perhaps you aren’t even mad at him. Of course you’d be drawn to the man with a flower for a name who’s made it his job to protect the town and then some. Sure, he comes to you when he needs to be patched up, only ever sporting busted knuckles and minor scrapes, but how long is that going to be the case?

Your eyes well up and there’s a good chance you’re going to be doing the rest of this with a wet face and blurry vision. Sakura, meanwhile, starts visibly sweating, beads gathering near his hairline despite his hand being submerged in freezing water. His grip around your wrist tightens and you’re not sure whether the shaking comes from him or you.

“How… How much longer are you going to keep doing this? Keep fighting? Keep getting hurt? How much longer are you going to put your body on the line?” As you pull your hand away, his follows, reluctant to release you, even in your desire to wipe away your tears with your knuckle. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

You busy yourself by starting a new cotton swab, the air around Sakura turning panicked.

“N-No, that’s not…”

When you cup his jaw again, he does lean into it, head tilting with the action. The broken skin across his nose begs your attention, and you’re still not sure whether it’s an actual break. He hisses as the cool polysporin meets the wound.

“Do you know how old my father was when he retired?”

“I… don’t.” The low volume of his voice, contemplative as he carries your concern, nestles itself in the skin of your hands, warming them as you continue. “How old?”

“Thirty-three. I was nine.” Your eyes flicker to the subtle movement to your right, the clenching of his left fist before he swallows. “And he fought less often than you do.”

An impressive feat, considering Sakura told you he only moved to Makochi less than a decade ago while your father grew up fighting in these streets.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Took too many hits to the head.”

His cheeks flush in mild admonishment and his stare drops, though he remains pliant in your hand as you turn him to better look at his nose. Your tears stop coming, their tracks feeling sticky against your cheeks.

“I don’t know if it’s broken,” you pout, attracting his attention once more.

“‘T’s fine. Not like I’m askin’ you to re-set it if it is.” He squirms under the look you give him, a deadpan that probably feeds his guilt.

Your free hand moves from his jaw to his chin, gripping it tightly as you pull. “I worry about you. A lot.”

He chokes on his response, his mouth falling open as his face turns pink, making his injuries turn deep red. “I— Yeah, well…” Whatever retort he has dies and his eyes soften, losing their panicked edge. If not for the fact that you’re forcing him to look at you, you’d bet he’d already be turning away. Sure enough, when you do free him, he turns to the left, not that you’re complaining as you need to prepare the bandages.

“Th- Thank you.” It’s low, almost like his gratitude is a secret meant for just you two. It stills your heart before kicking it up a gear and goosebumps cover your arms. “You… don’t have to do all this, but you do. S-So…”

Ducking his head, his left hand comes to rub the back of his neck and you catch the red that burns the tips of his ears. With a bandage ready in one hand, you use your other to tap his chin, softly calling his name to bring him back to you. Despite the way he hid, his eyes find yours immediately, imploring as he swallows.

“Always.”

He burns beneath your touch but doesn’t fidget or attempt to look away, letting you finish patching him up in peace. As much as you want to stop worrying about brain injuries and coming home to find him bleeding out on your steps, you’d rather him come to you than not at all. When everything’s been adequately bandaged, you hand him the ice pack for his nose.

“I assume if I asked you to get checked out by a doctor, you’d be reluctant to go?”

Tilting his head, he peeks a golden eye at you, strategically covering his swollen cheek with the same pack. “Don’t need to see a doctor.”

“Sakura.”

“I’m fine. I have y-you.” He mumbles the last bit, turning away to avoid your stare as the back of his neck and ears turn red.

“Sakura,” you repeat with a sigh, “Just because my mother's a nurse does not mean that I am a stand-in for a doctor.” Shivers run down your spine as you submerge your hands in the water with his, gently washing away what little blood remains on his knuckles. The skin is rough and you wonder if it was that final hit that caused the skin to break, the sound still echoing in your memory. “Would you go if I went with you?”

“What?! I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Is that what you think I am? And here I thought I was offering as a friend,” you say flippantly (you don’t even know if the clinic would welcome you into the lobby, but you’d happily wait outside if it meant he got properly assessed).

“Don’t pretend like you’re hurt if you’re not!” he flusters, lifting the ice pack to glare at you. You watch as his lips shape into a pout at your answering smile before you remind him to keep the pack in place.

“At the very least, I’m glad you seem to be made out of sterner stuff.” At the very least, he seems much better at avoiding hits than your brother or father ever were.

There’s an ache in your belly and you wonder what to make the both of you. “You’ll join me for dinner tonight, right?”

Turning, he watches you from his blue eye, the surrounding skin a light pink from the cold. It’s hard to tell what exactly he’s thinking but he hesitates before asking, “You sure?”

“Do you really think so little of me that I’d drag you from the street and into my home and not offer you food?”

That hesitation evaporates and his shoulders drop as he deadpans (as much as he can with an ice pack attached to his face). “I-I just wanted— You know what, never mind. Yeah, I’ll stay.”

Pulling his hand from the bowl, you grab a clean towel and start patting away the excess water. “You aren’t opposed to yasai yakisoba, are you?” He tries to grimace, wincing instead at the way it pulls at his nose. “Oh, come on. It’ll be delicious.”

“Guess I can’t complain about free food.”

The rest of the night moves without incident as you finish with his right hand. Superficial scratches decorate his left fist, not enough to warrant your continued attention—if he wishes to care for it beyond the initial wash, he has the materials to do so. Keeping his face iced is your priority, leaving you to put together dinner alone, not that you can complain. Simply having him in your house makes the task go by quicker, and you’re grateful for the additional time with him, still worried at the possibility of a concussion.

Sakura lingers, even after the food has been devoured (he did, in fact, enjoy your yakisoba), letting you talk about looking forward to the return of the sakura in the coming week. He surprises you, suggesting hanami together in the park when April rolls around, your heart fluttering at the thought.

When you finally check the clock again, you’re horrified to find that it’s so late.

“Sakura,” you call as he stretches, lifting his arms into the air, “it’s late.”

“Oh, is it?” He pulls out his phone, balking at the time. “Shit. I should—”

“Why don’t you stay on my spare futon?” His headache worries you, even if he’s otherwise fine.

He chokes on his spit, nearly jumping from your couch at the invitation. After his coughing fit, he eyes you like you’ve lost your mind, face red. “What?!”

“It’s not that big of a deal. I just washed the blankets, so they’re clean. And this way I can check on your bandages in the morning.”

“Wh-Why? No— I don’t think—”

“It would also make me feel better.”

The seconds drag on and he cycles through at least five different emotions, slowly processing your final addition. He calms, though his face still resembles a tomato.

“But… I mean— Isn’t it improper?”

Immediately, you clap your hand over your mouth, trying (and failing) to hide your snicker. “Improper?” You never took him for the type to really worry about something like that, but you suppose it isn’t surprising considering his reaction to your suggestion of napping together almost a year ago.

“Yeah!” he shouts, indignant at your reaction. “Me, staying the night! We aren’t even—!” It’s his turn to censor himself, his mouth snapping shut, preventing you from hearing the end of that sentence. As much as you’d like to hear the end of it, as much as you can fantasize about what conversation might spring from such a sentence, you refuse to let your mind fill in the blanks.

The two of you sit in tense silence, staring at each other with wide eyes until curiosity burns a hole in your impulse control. “‘Aren’t even’ what?” You draw out each syllable, intent on studying each of his minute reactions.

He gives you nothing beyond a renewed blush. The likelihood that he wants to bolt is high, but he can’t seem to look away from you. “Nothing! N-Never mind! Forget I said anything!”

Perhaps down the line you’ll be able to get him to tell you what he meant, but for now, you’ll release the thought. “I’m not going to force you to stay or anything, especially if it makes you so uncomfortable—”

“It’s not… I’m not uncomfortable,” he justifies lamely, looking away only to peek at you in the peripheral.

“If you’d rather sleep in your own futon, that’s fine by me.”

His shoulders sag with his exhale, exhaustion starting to hit him. Sitting back down, he comes to look at you again.

“But I do worry about you.” You watch as he turns his attention to his hands, his left coming to rub over the wrap that covers his right.

After a beat, he says, “I know.”

“Could you at least message me when you get home safely?”

“Message you?” He tilts his head, eyes tracking the curl of your lips.

“Yeah. Or, better yet, why don’t we just talk on the phone while you walk home?”

“Talk… on the phone?” This seems to bemuse him more and he scratches his cheek while he thinks. “What’d we even talk about? We just talked for the last couple hours.”

“Are you saying you don’t have anything more to say to me?” You don’t mean it as a tease or a goad, nor do you ask to justify some misconceived offense, but you regret the question almost as soon as it comes out.

When he concedes, it doesn’t sound like he does so out of guilt, but rather like he understood your original intent. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll call you.”

“Thank you, Sakura.”

Lifting himself from the couch, he grabs the jacket draped over the arm before watching you stretch as you come to your feet. You hurry over to the kitchen table, grabbing an azalea from the vase. Sakura’s footsteps trail behind, stopping once more once he reaches the threshold of your kitchen while you clip the leaves over the sink. He takes it from you when offered, twirling it between his fingers before chuckling to himself. The two of you pad down your hall to the genkan and a tired yawn escapes you.

“Should go to sleep instead,” he says, transferring the flower to his left hand. Lifting his loose fist, he bumps your head with the side of it. Rather than answer him, you let him take you in, eyes flitting across your face, your posture, making your concern for him plain to see. Closing his eyes, he sighs, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket.

A tired smile pulls at your lips as he pulls up your contact, thumb hovering over the Call button.

“This is stupid.”

“Is it?”

His eyes flick up again before he half turns toward the door. “Guess… if it makes you feel better—”

“It does.”

“—then it’s not.”

“If you don’t have anything to say, you can just listen to me.” You follow him to the door, ready to lock it after he leaves. Giving him another once over, you linger on his bandages, on the bruise beneath his eye and the white gauze covering his nose.

“You sure ‘bout that? Look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I won’t,” you say with misplaced confidence, another yawn blowing through your defense. “And if I do, maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll hear me sleep talk. Might even get me to spill all my secrets that way.”

Chuckling through his nose, his hand comes up again, hovering between you two for a moment before ultimately settling for the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sure.”

He slips through your front door, about to close it when your hand comes to stop him. You lean against the frame, wiggling your fingers goodbye as he makes it down your walkway, and you wait for his call as he disappears past your property line. Your eyes fall to the pink camellias bobbing with the passing breeze when your phone starts to vibrate and something begins to ache in your chest.

Flower Glossary:

Azalea: Temperance, Take care of yourself for me

Camellia (Pink): Longing

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Hanakotoba Masterlist | Wind Breaker Masterlist | Next ❧

#sakura haruka x reader #wind breaker x reader #wbk x reader #sakura haruka hurt/comfort #sakura haruka fluff #✒.ix writes #hanakotoba.✒#wbk.✒

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strangeperfectionss · 2 years ago

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@babyitsmagic continued from here

“i’m not judging you for going grey. i’m not a total asshole. but your eyes are weird. like that’s not at all how they normally look. honestly, i don’t think that they’re how anyone’s eyes normally look?” she was trying not to come off as rude, but a blunt approach seems to be her best option. she’s noticed that things are usually a little…off with danny, but this takes the cake. after all, whose eyes glow like that?

#babyitsmagic #thread: azalea #threads: azalea & danny #mobile reply

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terrorsmade · 4 months ago

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this is kq's fault !!

⋞thread⋟ ( azalea gothel. ) ⋞all my flowers grew back as thorns⋟ ( azalea gothel. ) ⋞headcanon⋟ ( azalea gothel. ) ⋞aesthetic⋟ ( azalea gothel. ) ⋞the isle of the lost⋟ ( verse. ) ⋞auradon⋟ ( verse. ) ⋞thread⋟ ( pelessaria b'sayle. ) ⋞the milky way was so been-there-done-that⋟ ( pelessaria b'sayle. ) ⋞headcanon⋟ ( pelessaria b'sayle. ) ⋞aesthetic⋟ ( peebee. ) ⋞mass effect andromeda⋟ ( verse. )

#⋞thread⋟ ( azalea gothel. )#⋞all my flowers grew back as thorns⋟ ( azalea gothel. )#⋞headcanon⋟ ( azalea gothel. )#⋞aesthetic⋟ ( azalea gothel. )#⋞the isle of the lost⋟ ( verse. )#⋞auradon⋟ ( verse. )#⋞thread⋟ ( pelessaria b'sayle. )#⋞the milky way was so been-there-done-that⋟ ( pelessaria b'sayle. )#⋞headcanon⋟ ( pelessaria b'sayle. )#⋞aesthetic⋟ ( peebee. )#⋞mass effect andromeda⋟ ( verse. )

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thisblogisaboutabook · 1 year ago

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Bad Idea, Right? - Part 8

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

If things go according to plan, Eris and Y/N’s first official date could end in hot, steamy sex. Or, it could end in complete and utter chaos - because when do things ever go according to plan? Azriel almost has a good time, until he doesn’t. We also FINALLY meet Tamlin’s daughter.

Part 7 Part 7.5 Headcanon

Warnings: Alcohol, language, smutty content, assault with non-consensual kissing, breeding kink (kind of)

An evening breeze blew through Velaris sending a slight chill through the champagne golden silk dress I’d chosen for the evening. A caress of warmth rose up from the fingers I’d threaded through Eris’, heat continuing up my arm and throughout my body, counteracting the mild chill.

When he’d shown up to my door right on time, dressed in a deep forest green tailored suit with the top unbuttoned and a turtleneck that was - For one, so perfectly molded to his torso that I practically salivated as fantasies of licking his abs flashed through my mind. And two, conveniently matched my dress perfectly - I almost said “Fuck the date.” and jumped on him then and there.

He’d arrived carrying three things. A bouquet of hydrangeas for my mother, symbolizing gratitude for her grace with the current situation. Freesia bulbs for my little sister to add to her Sprite garden if she wished, a symbol of friendship. I realized the double meaning of it, to draw in sprites with wishes for friendship but also to symbolize their new budding friendship. My mother smiled softly as she realized it too.

For me, he’d brought a “Fire Poppy”, apparently native to his court. His hesitance to express the meaning of the flowers, told me enough. Fire. Passion. But the incredibly faint dust of pink on his freckled cheeks left me wondering if perhaps there was something more.

Father only appeared at the last moment to kiss my forehead and likely give a seething look toward Eris while doing so that warned, Just because I haven’t killed you yet doesn’t mean I won’t. Eris paid no mind.

And now here we were, walking through the streets of Velaris hand in hand. Eris’ focus remained intently upon me as I pointed out various shops that I would frequent. I pointed out one that I loved as a child and Azalea still adored. The window was decorated with paint splatters of primary colors that blended together into a rainbow mirroring the Sidra and inside floated hundreds of miniature fae lights imitating the skies of Night Court.

Eris paused as we stood before the shop. “Can we take a look inside?”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely perplexed by his interest in this shop of all the ones we’d wandered past.

“It’s a surprise.” He stated.

Because why would anything with Eris be anything but secretive?

Eris read my responding roll of the eyes for exactly what it was. “Surely you realize there is a difference between a surprise and a secret?”

I couldn’t help myself. “Many of your secrets have left me feeling quite surprised, Eris. Certainly you would realize that?”

He huffed a silent laugh leaving me on the street to go into the store. Set in my stubborn ways, I refused to let him win and stood outside waiting.

Eris was back by my side eight minutes later with a small canvas bag. I raised an eyebrow. “What’d you get?”

“Ah, if you wanted to know, you could have come in with me. Guess it’s my secret to keep.”

“Mother spare me. You are insufferable.” I muttered stepping ahead of him down the street. His long strides caught up with mine within a few steps.

He once again wound his fingers through mine. “You love it.”

And I hated that it was true.

“You’re not going to tell me what you got?”

“Just a gift for a friend.”

———————-

Eris had reserved a table at Sevenda’s where Sevenda herself eagerly greeted us. She ushered us to a private section of the restaurant, lit with candles and within earshot of a performing pianist. She’d kissed me on the cheek and given Eris a respectful bow of the head before bringing out a mouthwatering appetizer of some delectable cheese sauce she’d recently added to her menu.

The secluded setting of our table, incandescent glow flickering off the candles, and soft melody floating in from the piano, all flowed together into a very intimate setting. Strange that I had bared myself to this male so many times, and performed every sexual act imaginable with him, yet I’d never felt so exposed to him as I did in this very moment.

Eris checked his blazer, and gods… I only ever wanted to see him in fitted turtle necks or absolutely fucking nothing again. The male was delicious and his gaze…. He was greedily drinking me in as if he’d splay me out on the table itself and feast. There was no way he couldn’t smell the arousal pouring off of me. I sure as hell could smell his, and it was far more mouthwatering than any of the glorious spices wafting through the restaurant.

Before I could give in to my instincts, Eris’ low tone interrupted. “If you keep looking at me like that, Y/N, I’m not going to make it through this dinner.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.”

He audibly groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Just as our mutual eye fucking grew so intense that I genuinely wondered if Eris really was about take me then and there, our waiter approached with a bottle of the Inner Circle’s favorite wine. “Compliments of the High Lord.” Making eye contact with Eris, the male suddenly seemed to remember who he was in the presence of as he uncomfortably cleared his throat, “of the Night Court.”

Eris paid no mind and thanked the waiter. Surprise crossed the males face as Eris took the bottle from him and poured our glasses himself.

When the waiter took our orders and returned to the kitchen, Eris’ gaze returned to me. His eyes again roving over my body but lingering on my face. He smirked when he realized I was flushing under his intense eyes. “Are you nervous, little Shadowsinger?” He asked. His tone predatory.

I took the opportunity to send a shadow to caress the shell of his ear, effectively shutting him up.

“Now that we’re alone,” I ran my foot up the length of his leg, stopping the journey just short of where I so desperately wanted to feel him. “How long have you had an an apartment here and why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Ahh yes, excellent talk for a first date.” Eris mused, raising the wine glass to his plush lips and taking a long, slow sip before continuing. “Perhaps, I wanted a place to see you without you having to travel through multiple courts to find me.”

“Do you not wish for me to come to the Autumn Keep any longer?”

Eris’ change in tone took me by surprise as it became stern, the voice of a High Lord and not the bedroom voice of my lover. “Don’t you dare think that for a second. There’s nothing mo-“

He stopped himself mid-sentence shifting uncomfortably. “I enjoy your presence in my keep, in my bed, Y/N. But I also like to have the opportunity to visit you in your home court.”

My heartbeat quickened at the power flowing off of him, the desire in his amber eyes.

“So, Rhys was totally fine with you having a place here, just to hook up with his niece?”

“Diplomacy, darling. It is far easier to have a place here for times that negotiations and other meetings run over. It also benefits him to be able to have eyes on a fellow High Lord, no? It was not a difficult matter to convince him.

And I was going to tell you, you just happened to pick up the hobby of drunkenly wandering the streets before I had the opportunity.”

“I was fine.”

I was not fine. He knew it. I knew it. I was borderline feral that night.

“It wasn’t you I was concerned about. It was the poor citizens running the other way, screaming of a rabid, shadow-creature roaming Velaris in search of its next meal.”

I smiled. “For the second time this evening, Eris Vanserra, you are insufferable.”

“And again, little one, you love it.”

I rolled my eyes and took a swig of wine.

————————

Eris

She was fucking captivating. Eris drunk in every detail of Y/N like she was the wine flowing from her glass.

She had to know she looked like a goddess. Had he told her? She could read him like a well-adored book at this point. She read every look he gave her without him needing to speak a word. I want you. You’re perfect. I need you. You’re more perfect than I ever dared dream. I would kiss the earth you walked on if you only asked.

Shit, could she read that all on his face? Should he tell her how damned gorgeous she was or would she give him that all-too-enticing look of “Spare me the compliments, High Lord, you can strip and ravish me once we’re alone.”

And gods, he was going to. He had plans for his little Shadowsinger tonight, plans involving carefully undressing her and pressing kisses to her silken skin, replacing each bit of fabric slipping off of her body with a press of his lips. Instead of burning that lovely little number that was hugging her mouth-watering curves, he would proudly display it in the Autumn Court’s archives. He was a romantic, after all.

Of course, before putting it behind glass for safe keeping, he’d be binding those pretty little wrists behind her back with said dress. He was also a deviant.

As for his plans after that? They were far too filthy to fantasize about at the table.

“Your aroma is rather fragrant.” Her teasing voice broke him from his thoughts.

“And you’re rather intoxicating. We make quite the pair, love.”

And there it was - the little blush she always tried so hard to hide from him.

If just the term “love” brought that to her face, what lovely shades of pink would her cheeks light up with if he laid it all out right now? If he told her how she’d fucking ruined him for anyone else? That to taste her was to taste the nectar of the gods? That he was so hopelessly in love with her that there was no crawling out of this pit of desire, and he’d sooner drown in his need for her than ever swim up for air.

The urge to do just that frightened him. Why did he think this date was a good idea? As far as his self control went, it was a terrible idea. And as far as he cared at this point, it was the best idea. He was here, in front of her, and nothing else mattered.

————————————

Eris had always thought himself better than the primitive beasts fae turned into when it came to their mates. But he truly realized how wrong he was when after dinner, Y/N had requested to walk very slowly along the river until her stomach wasn’t, as she so elegantly stated it, “bursting at the seams.”

Given that after the wonderful meal they’d devoured, he too was struggling, he obliged her, draping his suit’s jacket as well as his arm over her shoulders. She pressed a hand to her very, very, slightly bloated abdomen, in an effort of easing the discomfort. Such a simple gesture that should have meant absolutely nothing but….

An inferno blazed within him at the thought of her glowing with a round belly, the mating bond’s most primal instinct roaring at him to winnow her away immediately and fill her so utterly full of him that there would be no questioning of whose she was. His.

He prayed to the mother or whomever would listen that the breeze would blow the sickeningly strong scent of his arousal far away.

————————

Y/N

The gallery was packed. Unsurprisingly, anyone and everyone wanted to come out to brush elbows with the Inner Circle and who could blame them? Unlike the other courts of Prythian, Uncle Rhys and Aunt Feyre actually interacted with their people. Well, the people of Velaris at least. Feyre was respected as High Lady but she was revered as an artist. Proceeds from her own work went directly back into the arts district.

“Beautiful.” Eris mused approaching a work of art toward the back wall but keeping his eyes on me. I sipped the champagne an attendant handed me upon arrival, needing it to get through the rest of this evening.

Especially needing it to get through the work of art he was approaching.

“This.” Eris motioned toward the piece, “is stunning.”

“It’s not for sale. Just a work from one of Feyre’s students.”

The art, featuring darkness floating upward from the bottom and a blaze falling from the top, intertwining with licks and whirls of flame and shadow in the middle.

“Cost is of no concern to me, little one. I need it.”

A sing-song voice came from behind us. “It’s magnificent isn’t it?” Feyre asked.

“What can I do to acquire such a fine piece of art?”

“You’ll have to ask the artist.” She nodded toward me.

“Aww, come on my lovely niece. Think of all the supplies it could fund.”

“You’re a busybody.”

She only gave an airy laugh before disconnecting the mental bond and returning to the attendees.

“Wouldn’t it look lovely displayed for all of my court to see?”

My gut lurched and I wasn’t sure if it was from imposter syndrome or excitement.

“Fine.” I’ll make a deal with you, Eris Vanserra. He raised an eyebrow. “This art is very personal to me. And despite the fact that it is hanging in the gallery, I want it to be for your eyes only. Do you agree to hang it in your chambers?”

Eris gave a faux pout. “And not show my lovely lady’s art for all the world to admire?”

My heart raced as I quipped too quickly, not allowing the time to change my mind. “Perhaps I only want to be yours to admire.”

Eris visibly gaped at the statement and my heart sank. Had I read all of his adoration wrong? Was I going to humiliate myself just as I had two years ago when he’d left me on the dance floor and I swore I’d never let him have that power over me again?

He swallowed a lump in his throat. His voice breaking slightly. “And your payment terms?”

“Oh you’ll be paying out the ass for it.”

He grinned. “As one does for the finest things in life. I’ll take it.”

A beat of silence.

“And I’ll take you too, if you’ll have me.”

And with that he leaned in to kiss me, soft and hard, fervently and slowly, wanting more yet only needing this.

A throat cleared behind us as father interrupted. He looked to me and to the art behind me.

“I never realized….” He spoke softly as he took in the work.

I flushed, the work now feeling far too intimate under his gaze.

My father turned to Eris. “You’re purchasing this?”

Eris nodded. “A worthy investment, yes?”

My father remained tense but something in his eyes softened. “A very worthy investment.”

Father leaned in to kiss my forehead. “Enjoy your night sweetheart.”

It was at that moment Adish appeared, his Day Court friends Hem and Apollo in tow along with Nyx and a female I’d never seen before. Nyx looked in my direction with a wink as he saw the piece Eris and I stood before, before heading with the group for glasses of champagne.

Eris spoke, “I’m going to speak with Feyre regarding reservation of the piece before anyone else tries to snag it out from under me.”

“It’s not for sale, Eris. Nobody else would be able to purchase it.”

He pressed his warm lips into mine. “I won’t risk a good thing.”

I blushed, dismissing him.

Nursing my champagne, I perused the various pieces decorating the gallery walls when a female voice came from behind me. “If you wanted your father’s attention, there are better ways than whoring yourself to Autumn Court trash.”

I turned around to see the female Nyx had entered with. Her dark hair and blue eyes fooling nobody. Clever little shapeshifter.

“And I didn’t realize your father was in the habit of allowing females to leave his manor.”

She grinned. “Oh come on, he locked her in ONE time...or at least that’s what he tells me. He really can be an overbearing asshole sometimes.”

I laughed. “I missed you so much, you bitch. Nyx needs to stop hoarding you.”

“Please” she scoffed. “I don’t need Tamlin and Rhys’ melodrama to complicate things.”

“Ha, I’m sure Nyx filled you in on all of the drama in my world recently.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yes, I’ve been living vicariously through your escapades.”

She leaned in to hug me. “So” I took in the brown hair she’d chosen for the evening. “Does the carpet match the drapes?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“Mmm, as enticing as that would be. I prefer your blonde hair and green eyes. It does something for me.”

“It does something for Nyx too.”

I pretended to vomit before Nyx stepped in. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend time with my lady before she decides to leave with you instead and I get stuck with the fireling.”

“He’s quite fun, Nyx. I’m sure you’d enjoy the ride.”

Nyx choked on his drink and whisked Layla away with him, leaving me to take in the art in peace.

A few more minutes passed and my shadows grew restless as if contemplating the same thing as me: Eris should be back by now.

Feyre had returned to the gallery with no Eris in sight. I searched, passing Adish and Apollo, my parents and Azalea, Rhys and Feyre, Cassian and Nesta, even Amren, but no Eris.

Had he left? Did I scare him away?

No, his response was sincere. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t, right?

I walked down a quiet hallway, stepping away from the crowd. “Eris?” I whispered into the quiet of the hall.

Two shadows returned with no information but another returned frantic. “Bad.” “Go.”

I hurried in the direction my shadows shot out, winding further and further down the hall.

My heart stopped. In front of me was the radiant, gorgeous Hemera, pressed up against my man. Lips crashing into his.

“Bad.” My shadow repeated. Whirling to show me something.

Eris saw me and his eyes blew wide, shaking his head.

Hemera turned, wicked grin contorting her gorgeous features into something cruel.

“Sorry, hon. He’s just so needy and so pretty. Can you blame me?”

Did this bitch really think I’d simper and turn away? Oh no. My shadows continued their whispers.

“Blade.”

“Bad.”

“Blade.”

“Bad.”

A sliver of silver caught the dim lights shining down upon them, a blade held to Eris’ neck.

Eris stared at me wide eyed as my shadows erupted into a frenzy around me in effort to distract the Day Court female.

She jolted and her blade knicked his neck and I felt a sudden spike of fear in my gut but the fear, it didn’t come from me. It was coming from…. Eris.

Holy shit.

Willing all of my power to the surface, my tone turned cold, dangerous. “I suggest you step away from my mate.”

The High Lord of the Autumn Court. Eris fucking Vanserra. My mate.

I gave a tug in return to his emotions. A gentle reminder that I had this under control and he instantly tugged back.

He knew. Holy shit, he had known.

I could be angry later, now I needed to save his ass.

A commotion came from behind me. Adish and Apollo rushing in. “What the-“ Adish started. “Sorry, friend.” Apollo spoke before the fucker cast a sedation spell on him.

Apollo towered over me. “You weren’t supposed to find them. For what it’s worth, you would have been a great friend.”

He moved, but I moved faster. Sending a blast of power knocking the male on his ass. My shadows binding him.

“You talk too much.” I spat.

Turning back to Hem and Eris she held him in front of her. “Don’t make me kill him.” She spoke. Now using him as a shield. With his front exposed, I could see the shackles around his wrists. “This could go much more easily if you let me leave here with him. Why do you want a cheating male? You deserve better than that.”

I needed time to assess. My shadows busy with Apollo. Fuck. This was bad.

I laughed. “I hardly call you forcing yourself upon him ‘cheating’, in fact most would call that ‘assault’. And I have no patience for those who force themselves upon others.”

Just then a flurry of shadows shot into the room, ripping Hem’s wrist and dagger from Eris’ throat. My father winnowed into the room. No, this wasn’t my father. This was the feared Shadowsinger, the infamous Spymaster of the Night Court. His tone promised death as he commanded Hem to step away from Eris. She fought his demand, shaking with fear as she remained in place. “Please, you don’t understand. My father is wrongfully imprisoned in HIS court.”

“And this is how you feel it best to approach?” Father stepped closer, a thick, violent air emanating from him. “I will ask you one final time to step away from the High Lord.”

Hemera knew she was no match as she dropped the knife stepping back away from Eris.

Eris ran to me, in an attempt to shield me from any fallout but there was no more danger as father’s shadows apprehended the female.

Rhys and Feyre raced into the room, Nesta and Cassian on their tail.

Rhys whispered to Feyre. “Let Elain know it’s handled.”

Feyre’s gaze went distant as she communicated to my mother.

Rhys commanded Apollo to remove the sedation spell from Adish as Cassian jerked the apprehended male off the ground.

Nesta’s eyes flared with silver as she stared down Hemera before apprehending her as well. My mother and sister rushed in as we followed Rhys down to the gallery basement toward an empty office where the two would be held until Helion arrived. Since they were denizens of his court, it was only right to determine the next steps with him.

As the group strode toward the office, Azalea began tugging at my sleeve. “Sissy.”

“Not now, Azzie.”

She gasped, her little legs trying to keep up. “Sissy, please.”

“Just a minute, Azzie”

I felt guilty for ignoring her but my mind was coming out of the adrenaline state it had been in and my heart racing with rage and shock as I processed the revelation that Eris was my mate. That he knew and didn’t tell me.

Ironic considering that I always found Aunt Feyre and Aunt Nesta to be overly dramatic for their reactions to finding out about their own mates.

They were good, loving males who had enough money to live in lavish comfort for all of their days, and were highly regarded among the people of Velaris. How terrible.

Yet here I was. Fuming. Humiliated. That this male, a gorgeous High Lord and a damn good one at that, with a far softer heart than he’d ever let the world see, courted me because I was his mate.

I thought he wanted me for me.

“Sissy-“ Azalea drew me from my thoughts once again. “What?” I finally asked, raising my voice. But it was too late as the door to the empty office was opened, only to unveil a half naked Nyx, trousers unlaced, his body pinning a no longer shifted Layla with the bottom of her dress hiked up, and breasts fully exposed.

Nyx gaped. Eyes wide and frantic. I sent my shadows out to shield them, my father’s following suit, my hand instantly covering Azalea’s eyes.

Layla only pulled her dress up over her tits as she let out a laugh. “Whoops, we thought this room was unused.”

“I tried to tell you.” Azalea’s little voice whispered.

Darkness erupted through the room as Rhys clenched his fists. “What the fuck?” He growled out to Nyx.

My father only grinned, not caring who saw the smug satisfaction on his face. Fully conveying the look of that’s how it feels, you pompous asshole. Get it now? How’s it feel to be humiliated in front of an audience by the unconventional partner your child has chosen to fuck.

Feyre only covered her mouth, stifling a giggle at the situation. Nesta and mother quietly giggling with her.

I used the distraction to remove the enchanted shackles that were still stifling Eris’ power and apparently his ability to speak.

Fury blazed within me, my restraint failing as I spat out my next words much louder than intended.

“How long, Eris?”

Guilt flooded his features, his head hanging low.

“How. Long? How long have you known that I’m your mate?”

My father choked. The shit-eating grin instantly fading from his face, jaw and fists clenching.

A pitiful sound escaped Eris. “Since the first night… in the alley.”

“Wow.” was all I could manage as the walls began closing in around me.

I stepped away but Eris grabbed my wrist. “Please, Y/N. Just hear me out.” his broken voice pleaded. I couldn’t think. I needed space. Needed to breathe.

“Mom.” I looked to my mother. “Can we go home?”

She gave an empathetic look to Eris. “Come on, Azalea.” She reached out a hand. “Sissy needs us.”

Azalea looked to Eris, letting out a “hmph” as she scrunched her nose and crossed her arms. “That was bad.” She scolded, little wings ruffling with each word.

His face crumpled further as his little friend glared at him with disdain, words failing as she stuck her tongue out and winnowed away with mother.

“I love you.” was the last thing I heard as I spirited away.

———————————————-

A/N: I have had so much fun writing this series! Part 9 will be the final chapter but I may eventually give our main character a name and add a few spin off chapters as well. If that would be of interested to you, let me know!

Tags:

ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

Eris list: @angiedsv

Series list: @b0xerdancer-writes @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe

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irreverent-saints · 2 months ago

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PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST

Mirages Of Paradise

Idun sat by the river, staring at her meandering reflection. She took a deep breath. The stream bubbled alongside birdsong, alpenglow brought distant hills to life, and for just a moment there could be peace. She closed her eyes. She savoured each tickling grass against her skin, each oddly shaped tree, and each break between the hunger pangs. Clouds towered over her. Soft like cotton. Wispy, ephemeral threads upon the sky. Oh to be there, in the realm without pain and toil, where no burden weighed heavier than a feather. It all waited for her. Within it, rest, contentment, parents, siblings. She dug her fingers into the dirt. This trial wouldn’t last forever. But for now, she knew what she had to do.

She experienced adequate sleep that night. Her body had rested, but she still woke with dark eyes and a weight in her chest. She doused her face in cold water and went through the gear she had readied the night before. Idun kicked at her wall, as hard as she could. She pushed and shoved, turning anxiety to anger, and anger to fuel.

“You’ve done this before, you’ll do better this time,” she told herself. A meagre soup of nettles and carrots, a quick read through her field notes. That was all she got. Idun lit a spindly candle. It took about a minute for the wick to burn up. She filled the time with a prayer and a quick reflection upon her life. Any longer and she’d lose her mind, hindering her efforts.

Soon she hurried over the tundra. Every step had to be quick as a hare and nimble as a fox. Were she to hesitate, she’d risk turning around, risk slowly starving…. With determination she could march straight towards a quicker, less painful demise.

She found herself amidst towering, tangled foliage. She kept on high alert, collecting what she needed. Seeds, fruits. Stalks. Anything with sugars and fat. Birds sang, trees were in bloom. The humid air smelled of flowers. She stared at the canopy, a massive ceiling. Branches twisted like fractals, intertwined until she could no longer tell where one tree ended and the other began. Mushrooms lit up the floors, a blue glow throughout the landscape. Deer grazed, minuscule next to the tree roots. She pressed her back against a rock. She picked another berry, eating it then and there. This was not the murky, hostile forest she had first ventured into, nor the eerily quiet backdrop of a murder. Absent of Jotun, this place was alive.

She lowered her shoulders. A dove flew past her. It cooed, bundling up inside a purple flower. Idun scanned for any sudden movements. Conspicuously hairy trunks, a tail that coiled like a vine around a tree, a wolfish eye amidst yellow azaleas. Her face felt warm, and she had a slight flutter in her chest. For the first time in weeks a smile emerged on her face. She picked a small white flower, no bigger than her palm, and placed it behind her ear. As she did, laughter rang through the valley. She jumped, clutching her knife. The laughter continued.

Laughter, not jeering, not mockery. It must have been at least three voices, chatting away with infectious glee. It came from somewhere down in the marsh. They spoke in a melodic fashion. Idun spotted two tall pairs of antlers in the peat. She looked closer and noticed three more. They walked in a straight line, ranging from the size of a rabbit to a moose. They all wore intricate robes that covered most of their body. Their long wispy tails entangled. They held hands, almost as if they feared their friends would disappear if they were to let go.

“Well, how do you usually steal from him?” One asked. The other shushed them.

“Stealing happens when you get caught. Take something he won’t ever miss, and remain stealthy. That way we wont be thieves,”

“We would never want to steal. That’s just horrible,” another agreed.

“What if he catches us?”

“Well. My cousin lost his hand to him. Heckling. Jaws. Too slow,”

Trolls. She lowered herself, giving them all a wide berth.

“Don’t be afraid. He’s sluggish and mellow. It takes a very annoying person to trigger a fight,” the third troll chimed in, “his currants are well worth the risk,”

“A garden with as many different plants as there are grains within an hourglass! A river as clear as glass and as giving as the sea! You must see it for yourself,”

“But, are the rumours true?”

“Quiet. It’s fine,”

They went on their merry way, seemingly oblivious to Idun’s presence. She watched as the strange beings marched. From many yards away the largest antlers were visible like a bright sign. She crept out of hiding. She wouldn’t follow them, but her steps would line up with theirs eventually. She walked slowly, with a pit in her stomach, yet she couldn’t change course. Those glimmers in the distance almost seemed to beckon her, and before she knew it she had put miles behind her.

The forest opened up. She found herself atop a cliff. Beneath it a coursing river. An intense glow warmed her face, causing shadows to appear jagged and blocky. Sunlight. She covered her eyes. When she looked again a huge garden laid in front of her. A mountain wall cradled it. Berries and flowers bloomed like a chaotic, scattered rainbow. Rays of sunshine landed through holes in the canopy. Against the otherwise dark forest it was almost as if the light itself was an object you could hold like fine threads of silk. The far edges were covered in thick, impenetrable forest. The trolls were already crossing the shallow, rocky part of the river.

A huge arch stood within the mountains face. A wooden door, dozens of meters tall. Intricately carved. Around it were various tools, and what looked to be a makeshift veranda. She stayed behind, opting to watch the intruders from a safe distance. They played around in the thick grass and helped one another steal. Others decided this was the perfect time to snuggle up under a thick tree root and stare out at the river. She narrowed her eyes. The Jotun could wake at any time, ready to tear them apart last and devour every last one. But these vapid creatures showed zero concern. One plucked a strawberry, passing it amongst his friends in the meadow. One seemed to be asleep. Another one raced over slick boulders by the water. He paced in a zigzag pattern. That went on for a while, until she heard a shriek. She ducked. The troll had slipped. He grabbed at his side, leaning over with a grimace.

What were you expecting, Idun thought, that’s what you get for treating the world around you with zero concern. The troll cried. His friends all perked their ears. Soon the entire group huddled near him. Arms around his shoulder. Kisses on his forehead. Within minutes they coaxed him up on his feet again, wiping sand from his wound and tears from his eyes. Idun walked away with a clump in the back of her throat.

#story update #FUCK posted one day early #Oh well better than the alternative

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skies-painted-pink · 1 year ago

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It feels awkward walking into a strip club for business reasons, especially with the glances a few of the patrons give her. Could they not have met anywhere else?

Still, it's better than some of the other places she's been, minus those specific patrons that make it feel necessary to walk a little faster to Yancy's office. She can only hope he's more respectful.

When she gets there, she knocks on the door in a surprisingly rhythmic pattern and waits, a folder of all the information Yancy would need to know in one arm and her bag held on the other.

Leiana had recently been hired to man the accounts of a specific sector of a rather large business. However, the name Berlusconi brought a certain dismay to her brother when she mentioned it to him.

She knows why, of course. Yancy's name isn't exactly glistening, after all. But she doesn't really care much about his reputation; his base rules are in order and respectable. Besides, it's interesting.

Today, she has to go talk to Mr. Berlusconi about something with the accounts in person. The one for this business has been labelled 'suspicious'.

@skies-painted-pink

After having to get rid of his last accountant because of their incompetence, Yancy was actually rather pleased with the new one. Hank had been all over his ass to hire someone as he could only do so much, which was fair.

But now, she needs to talk to him about something, and he's... uneasy. Anytime someone wants to talk to him about his revenue, especially his legitimate businesses, he would just about rather do anything else.

But he's here and waiting at The Grind of all places, but hey, he ran a respectable place here. Even if he always wasn't.

#azalea (threads)#pompous principal (club owner yancy)

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andmaybegayer · 1 year ago

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A Memory Called Empire is so good.

It sells the feeling of foreignness in that weird way that exists where it's fine that you are foreign but important things are happening now well, getting you to side with Mahit despite the fact that you get almost no background on what Lsel life is like. I also appreciate that it leans hard in on the allure of the Empire, even from the perspective of an outsider. It would have sucked if Mahit wasn't a huge nerd who loved Teixcalaanli poetry and wasn't at some level interested in integrating.

It does not really show the empire operating which is unusual, I guess? The sequel might cover that.

I like how it handles switching between the moments of high political intrigue and horribly domestic life. Twelve Azalea eating instant noodles on his couch and watching the news (after you have both done a murder oops) is perfect.

Threaded the needle on showing how weird it is to have an imago and how weird it is not to have an imago when you're expecting one neatly. Also reminds me that the handling of the less-glittering towns on the periphery of The City was great.

I gotta read more space opera it's such a good genre. Or just political thriller I guess? I like political thrillers fine but the advantage of sci-fi is that you get the fanciful exoticism without the occasional spectacular racism of such things done in the modern day.

Actually this reminds me I should read Baru Cormorant. There's a few old web space operas that I remember reading too.

#a memory called empire #I'll go take out the sequel soon but I think someone else has it now

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bruisedswan · 4 months ago

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a (𝔴)✶lƒ h͟α͟†͟h͟ ⁿ̛̩̣̜͈̈̇͋ᵒ̛̹̐̀̕ ʎɔɹǝɯ ... 𓇢𓆸 RUNETERRA REALITY

𓇢𓆸 NOW PLAYING :: LA FEMME RESORT - la femme

"... there was a sniffling child standing out among the burly sea of my mother's greatest warriors. to noxus' elite, it was known that, despite the girl's frail frame, she had the strength of a dozen soldiers and the rage of a thousand suns, as though the embodiment of mars. the tears running down the chosen wolf's face was not of despair but of fury..."

— mel medarda to jayce talis, piltover

✶ DISCORDIA'S MORTAL CHILD ... she can only be described as a double-edged dagger. strong, the blade paper thin with an uncanny ability to pierce the heart of the desired target while simultaneously piercing her own — if she had one. an ethereal beauty with the ferocity, intelligence, and rage of an apex predator. the chosen wolf, the youngest of three capable prodigies produced to bring pride to the medarda name. out of all three, she remains the only one tied not by blood but by name. a dagger among spears.

in the ashes of war, ambessa medarda found and saw in an infant strength and survival, and named the child lycia as tribute to the medarda name and the twin figures of death: the kindred, namely the wolf, derived from lykōs. the lamb carried souls to the afterlife, but it is the wolf who sought them out. lycia laid in the presence of death before she could even speak, branded a wolf before she could walk, made a tool of war before her hands could properly hold its hilt. little medarda was a double-edged blade indeed, a wolf indeed. and ambessa wielded the dagger with efficiency, tamed the wolf with precision. until the warlord realised that the blade was emergent, newly formed, and metal still hot to the touch — rebellious. lycia medarda was, in lack of any better terms, a wild card. despite her timidness, her sole existence relied on chaos. it fuelled the bright white inferno that was her soul, made the stale dull air feel like lightning igniting in her lungs. she could not live without the mayhem and rage that clawed in her chest. she was the lightning in the tempest that brought down temples of false gods.

the young medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing: a captivating blend of ethereal allure and fawn-like delicacy, features soft. a porcelain mask carefully crafted to hide sharp intellect, a sharper tongue, and a pit of fire waiting to burn all that opposed her. honing this angelic innocence like a knife, she is a master in the art of manipulation. she embodies the calm before the storm and the tempest itself. she smells of azaleas, pomegranate, citrus and the overwhelming fear of religion and her makers. even before obtaining the title of balance keeper, she was known as the deadliest of the medarda children.

𓇢𓆸 NOW PLAYING :: INSIDE OUT - martin dupont

"...you do not just tip the scales, you are the scale. you are the opposing forces that givern all things. you are the empty space in between... you, and those who came before and will come after you, are the catalysts leading the arcane to its inevitable equilibrium... you must be the temple and the priestess and the lamb and the knife and the almighty deity that which the creatures of death follow..."

— the forgotten to lycia medarda, between space & time

✶ EQUILIBRIUM CODEX ... "the forgotten are described vaguely in texts throughout history as primordial entities that exist beyond the veil of space, time and mortal comprehension. known by many names — whisperers beyond, the watchers — these beings represent the ultimate balance across all realms. their very existence is tied to the delicate dance of creation and destruction, beginning and end, life and death. these voices do not speak in words but in intentions, threading themselves into the minds of chosen individuals deemed balance keepers...

the forgotten are said to have come into existence at the inception of the cosmos, birthed alongside the arcane forces that govern all creation. neither deities nor mortals, they occupy the liminal spaces between realms, monitoring the equilibrium that sustains existence. their purpose is singular yet monumental: to preserve balance within the interconnected forces that define reality. they do not act directly within the mortal world, for their touch would fracture the fragile threads of existence. instead, they choose intermediaries — balance keepers — empowered to act on their behalf..."

"in the cycles of creation and decay, a figure has always emerged when the balance between order and chaos tilts beyond repair. her existence is not one of choice but of cosmic design— one of many souls bound to the forgotten, those ancient entities who dwell between realms, where time and space converge into infinite possibility. the forgotten themselves are said to have crafted this role, infusing the chosen keeper with fragments of their essence. it is through this connection that the keeper stands as a bridge between worlds, capable of seeing both the infinite chaos that threatens creation and the suffocating order that risks stagnation...

the keeper exists to recalibrate the natural order when it falters. while many see chaos as destruction and order as peace, the keeper understands that true harmony lies in the interplay of the two forces. her purpose is not to eliminate one in favor of the other but to ensure their dance remains. when chaos consumes, she summons control. when stagnation reigns, she breathes life through upheaval. the keeper wields her connection to the forgotten to act where mortal intervention fails—whether through subtle manipulation of events, the quiet guidance of those in power, or direct intervention with her abilities. her powers are a manifestation of this balance. she is not a savior, nor is she a destroyer but the fulcrum — the axis upon which the balance turns..."

now, lycia believed in no religion, not entirely. she couldn't even devote herself to the beings that instilled their divination in her bones, couldn't kneel at their altar nor find the words to whisper false promises of worship and blessings. for there was no real benevolence in beings like the forgotten, no malevolence either. they stayed in their neutrality and watched as their forces balanced the scale of absolute equilibrium. instead, she found herself centered around the raw purity of the kindred. the hunt of ani, the light embrace of ina. they were who she found herself crawling to when the rotting discord in her soul spread like poison in her spirit, a poison not even she could break down. the twin faces of death saw the unbinding of eternal energy in her being like something coming undone.

when the lykōs could feel like her sense of awareness splitting and tearing at invisible seams between the living's mayhem and death's serene quiet, soul torn and dissipating. it was fascinating to them, for no keeper had ever built a nexus of energy within itself only to break it apart and split into different selves (not in this lifetime). kindred never before seen a being choose both sides of the veil, of both lamb and wolf, ina and ani, karma and vengeance. a being so close to true balance that it baffled even them. in the the paradox of space and time, they forgone all previous procedures just for this one living dead girl: they let her choose both sides of existence.

𓇢𓆸 NOW PLAYING :: HARDLY EVER SMILE (without you) - poison girl friend

"...never did i think i'd find my mind whirling with thoughts of them. a hurricane of images underneath my eyelids — snippets of raven and pink and storms of blue and grey and bone and blood and gun powder. i think i'd risk getting washed away in the havoc of my psyche if it meant i could see through the veil of beautiful distortion in its eye..."

— lycia medarda in journal entry xxv, piltover

✶ JOURNAL OF THE FULCRUM: ENTRY XXXIX ... "i've always known myself to be what has been branded on my existence. the chosen wolf, the wolf in silk, the silver serpent etc etc... i am no more than a title, a shell of excellence, rotting flesh inside the perfect skin of fruit. yet, somehow, i have found sanctity in the presence of two other souls — found purity and cleanliness and holiness inside twin flames as if a temple. for the first time since i've entered the threads of existence, i have found peace and my soul is quiet..."

"...the kindred's favourite daughter was known to be a cold-hearted one, soul weighted with the pillars of death, of ani and ina, wolf and lamb. her methods of ensuring balance were so calculated, as sharp as her blade bellona concealed in her bodice, that it was almost as if they were meant to happen. there were rumors through both districts of piltover and zaun that she was a living time paradox, her inner eyes holding the power of prescience as she glided through the here. both districts thought her callous, conniving, dead, and just a body corroding from the inside out. for, if she communed with those passed, surely a piece of her had passed too. except piltover's finest, of course. while every single soul of the districts saw a goddess of war and blood, her beloveds saw a girl: one of smiles and snorted giggles, one in love with poetry and metaphysics, enjoyed cigarettes in the quiet of the birth of the day, who loved azaleas and earl grey tea and the sharp sound of thunder before piercing webs of lightning. while the world saw the lykōs, violet lanes and caitlyn kiramman saw lycia, their lyla..."

𓅔 inspired HEAVILY by: @hrrtshape <33 aka the loml/jk (no im not) 𓅔 dedicated to my shayla aka: @cocozydiaries (for my sanity can we act like this isn't like 200000 years overdue 💀)

#reality shifting #loassumption #shiftblr #shifting blog #shifting antis dni #dr scrapbook #yen's methods of madness ✶

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